there was also the possibility of rescue.
He studied the marks carefully. Although he was no expert, he knew that
the amphibious tractors of the U.S. Marines drove through the water on
special treads with extra-deep cleats. Soviet equipment used regular
treads and either propellers or water jets. But the sand was much too fine
and soft to give him any clue. He could only see that something big and
not wheeled had come this way.
What the hell, this is the era of glasnost. We’re all supposed to be
friends these days. He sat down on a tree root and put his boots on. Then
he checked his pistol. Still, it never hurts to be careful.
Cautiously, Major Mick Gilligan set off into the forest in pursuit of the
vehicle.
The trail was surprisingly difficult to follow. The amphtrack had not torn
up the forest floor as much as he expected. There were no clear tread
marks and in many places broken branches offered clearer indications than
the tracks. Still, you can’t move something that big through a wooded area
without leaving a plain trail.
Except for the breeze in the trees and an occasional bird or animal call,
the woods were silent. There was no sound of an engine, which made
Gilligan even more cautious. But there were no voices, either. Perhaps
they were too far ahead for him to hear.
Gilligan was a pilot, not a woodsman. He had to divide his attention
between trying to follow the trail, trying not to walk into a tree and
trying to scout ahead. So it wasn’t surprising he stepped into the
clearing without seeing Patrol Two standing in the trees on the other
side.
Then the dragon rider shifted. Gilligan caught the motion and looked up.
Then he stared-first at the weapon and then at the wielder.
The bow was nearly as tall as she was and the limbs were of unequal
length. Gilligan remembered seeing something like that when he had been
stationed in Japan and he had gone to a demonstration of traditional
Japanese archery. But the person carrying it was anything but Japanese.
To Gilligan she looked like something out of a Robin Hood movie. She wore
thigh-high boots of soft brown leather, tight breeches that bloused out at
the thigh and a fleece-lined vest over a close-fitting tunic. She was
tall, nearly as tall as he was, and slender. Her hair was cornsilk blonde
and freckles dusted her nose. The eyes were pure, pale blue and very, very
serious. The arrow in her bow was aimed straight at his midriff.
“Uh, hi,” Gilligan said.
Twenty-seven: ENCOUNTER
Karin studied the stranger carefully without shifting the aim of the
arrow. He was a big man, broad shouldered and apparently well muscled,
although it was hard to tell through his clothing. He wore a drab green
coverall with straps, pockets and strange black runes scattered over it.
The thing in his hand was black and shiny and he handled it like a weapon,
although Karin had never seen its like.
In all their patrolling, the dragon riders had never seen a human in this
place. Indeed, they had been told there were only two humans among the
enemy and they never left their castle. Where did this one come from?
He didn’t act like one of the enemy, she thought. In fact he seemed more
confused than hostile. Still better to be safe, so she simply nodded to
him without moving the bow.
“I’m Major Michael Gilligan, United States Air Force. I, ah, had a little
trouble back there and I need to contact my unit.” He stopped, as if
expecting a response. “Um, I don’t suppose there’s a phone around here
anywhere?”
“Air Force? You are a flier then?”
“Yes, ma’am. Only, as I say, I had a little trouble and came down in the
water.”
“And your mount?”
“Down at sea.”
The poor man’s dragon had drowned! To Karin, who had only narrowly avoided
the same fate, the tragedy was doubly poignant.
“I’m very sorry,” she said, lowering her bow. “I am called Karin and I too
am a flier.”
Slowly and with exaggerated care, the man put the black metal thing in a