Red Storm Rising by Tom Clancy

The man in Scotland was impressed. Edwards’s party had covered fifteen kilometers in the past ten hours.

“What kind of shape are you in?”

“If you want us to go any farther, fella, this radio might malfunction.”

“Roger, copy that.” The major tried not to laugh. “Where exactly are you?”

“About five miles east of Hill 578. Now that we’re here, maybe you might tell us why,” Edwards suggested.

“If you see any, repeat any Russian activity, we want to know about it immediately. One guy taking a leak against a rock, we want to know about it. Do you copy that?”

“Roger. You want the size in inches. No Russkies in view yet. Some ruins to our left, and a farm a ways downriver from us. Nothing moving at either place. Any particular location you want us?”

“We’re working on that. Sit tight for the moment. Find a nice place to hide and stay put. What’s your food situation?”

“We have enough fish to last out the day, and I can see a lake where we might get some more. Remember when you said you’d have some pizzas sent out, Doghouse? Right now I’d kill for one. Pepperoni and onions.”

“Fish is good for you. Beagle, your signal strength is down. You want to start thinking about conserving your batteries. Anything else to report?”

“Negative. We’ll be back if we see anything. Out.” Edwards slapped his hand down on the power switch. “People, we are home!”

“That’s nice, skipper.” Smith laughed. “Where’s home?”

“Budhardalur is other side that mountain,” Vigdis offered. “My Uncle Helgi live there.”

We could probably get a decent meal there, Edwards told himself. Maybe some lamb, a few beers or something stronger, and a bed . . . a real, soft bed with sheets and the down quilts they use here. A bath, hot water to shave. Toothpaste. Edwards could smell every part of himself They tried to wash in the streams when they could, but mostly they couldn’t. I smell like a goat, Edwards thought. Whatever a goat smells like. But we didn’t walk this far to do something as stupid as that.

“Sarge, let’s secure this place.”

“You got it, skipper. Rodgers, sack out. Garcia, you and me have the first watch. Four hours. You take that little knoll over there. I’ll head over to the right.” Smith stood and looked down at Edwards. “Good idea that we all get some rest while we can, skipper.”

“Sounds great to me. You see anything important, give me a kick.” Smith nodded and moved about a hundred yards.

Rodgers was already half asleep, his head resting on his folded jacket. The private’s rifle was cradled on his chest.

“We stay here?” Vigdis asked.

“I’d sure like to go see your uncle, but there might be Russians in that town. How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“Tired as us?” he asked with a grin.

“Yes, tired as you,” she admitted. Vigdis lay back next to Edwards. She was filthy. Her woolen sweater was torn in several places, and her boots scuffed beyond repair. “What will happen to us now?”

“I don’t know. They wanted us here for a reason, though.”

“But they don’t tell you reason!” she objected.

Now there’s an intelligent observation, Edwards thought.

“They tell you and you not tell us?” Vigdis asked.

“No, you know as much as I do.”

“Michael, why all this happen? Why do the Russians come here?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you are officer. You must know.” Vigdis propped herself up on her elbows. She seemed genuinely astonished. Edwards smiled. He couldn’t blame her for being confused. Iceland’s only armed force was its police. A real-to-life Peaceable Kingdom, the country had no military to speak of. A few small armed ships for fishery protection and the police were all the country had ever needed to maintain security. This war had ruined their perfect record. For a thousand years, without an army or a navy, Iceland had never been attacked. It had only happened now because they were in the way. He wondered if that would have happened if NATO hadn’t built its base at Keflavik. Of course not! You idiot, you’ve seen what wonderful folks the Russians are! NATO base or not, Iceland was in their way. But why the hell had all this happened?

“Vigdis, I’m a meteorologist-a weatherman, I predict the weather for the Air Force.” That only made her more confused.

“Not soldier? Not, ah, Marine soldier?”

Mike shook his head. “I’m an officer in the U.S. Air Force, yes, but I am not really a soldier like the sergeant. I have a different job.”

“But you save my life. You are soldier.”

“Yeah, I suppose I am-by accident.”

“When this all over, what will you do?” Her eyes held a great deal of interest now.

“One thing at a time.” He was thinking in terms of hours, not days or weeks. If we do survive, then what? Put that one aside. First comes survival You think about “after the war,” and there won’t be any. “I’m too tired to think about that. Let’s get some sleep.”

She fought it. He knew that she wanted to know things he hadn’t consciously considered, but she was more fatigued than she’d admitted, and ten minutes later she was asleep. She snored. Mike hadn’t noticed before. This was no china doll. She had strengths and weaknesses, good points and bad. She had the face of an angel, but she’d gotten herself pregnant-so what! Edwards thought. She’s braver than she’s beautiful. She saved my life when that chopper came in on us. A man could do far worse.

Edwards commanded himself to lie down and sleep. He couldn’t think about this. First he had to survive.

SCOTLAND

“If the area checks out?” the major asked. He had never really expected Edwards and his party to make it this far, not with eight thousand Russian troops on the island. Every time he thought about those five people trekking over bare, rocky ground and Soviet helicopters circling overhead, his skin crawled.

“Around midnight, I think,” the man from Special Operations Executive said. You could see the smile crinkling the skin around his eyepatch. “You chaps had better decorate this young man. I’ve been in his boots myself. You cannot imagine how difficult it is to do what these people have done. And having a bloody Hind helicopter sit right on top of them! I’ve always said it’s the quiet little bastards that you have to watch out for.”

“In any case, it’s time we got some professionals in to back them up,” pronounced the captain of Royal Marines.

“Make sure they take in some food,” suggested the USAF major.

LANGLEY AIR FORCE BASE, VIRGINIA

“So, what’s the problem?” Nakamura asked.

“There are irregularities in some of the rocket motor casings,” the engineer explained.

“‘Irregularities, meaning they go boom?”

“Possibly,” the engineer admitted.

“Super,” said Major Nakamura. “I’m supposed to carry that monster seventeen miles straight the hell up and then find out who goes into orbit, me or it!”

“When this sort of rocket explodes, it doesn’t do much. It just breaks into a couple of pieces that burn out by themselves.”

“I imagine from seventeen miles off it doesn’t look like much-what about when the sucker ignites twenty feet from my F-15?” A long way to skydive, Buns thought.

“I’m sorry, Major. This rocket motor is nearly ten years old. Nobody checked our spec sheet on proper storage after it was mated with the ASAT warhead. We’ve checked it out with X rays and ultrasound. I think it’s okay, but I might be wrong,” the man from Lockheed said. Of the six remaining ASAT missiles, three had been decertified by the man for cracks in the solid-fuel propellant. The other three were question marks. “You want the truth or you want a song and dance?”

“You gotta fly it, Major,” the deputy commander of Tactical Air Command said. “It’s your decision.”

“Can we rig it so the bird doesn’t ignite until I’m clear?”

“How long will you need?” the engineer asked. Buns thought about her speed and maneuverability at that altitude.

“Say ten or fifteen seconds.”

“I’ll have to make a small change in the programming software, but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. We’ll have to make sure that the missile will retain enough forward velocity to keep its launch attitude, though. You sure that’s enough time?”

“No. We’ll have to check that out on the simulator, too. How long we got?”

“Minimum two days, maximum six days. Depends on the Navy,” replied the General.

“Great.”

STORNOWAY, SCOTLAND

“Here’s some good news,” Toland announced. “An Air Force F-15 Eagle fighter was flying over a fast convoy north of the Azores. Two Bears came looking for the ships and the Eagle got ’em both. That makes three in the past four days. The Backfire raid appears to have aborted.”

“What’s their position?” the group captain asked.