She almost laughed. “Maybe not. Maybe they just want to shoo us out of their territorial waters.”
“We’re not in their fucking territorial waters,” Kaufman grumbled.
She clicked the intercom and called, “Jon, exactly how far off the coast are we?”
“Twenty miles, Colonel, just like you ordered. Uh, actually it’s twenty-two, just at this point. We haven’t been closer than twenty, though, not once.”
“Do you have an accurate navigational fix on all that?”
“Yes, ma’am. I do.”
“Pipe it back to Washington. I want our people to know exactly where we are, that we’re not in North Korean territorial waters.”
“Yes’m,” Lieutenant Sharmon replied.
Kaufman gave her a sour look. “So they can drop a wreath in the water where we went down,” he muttered.
Charley Ingersoll knew he couldn’t get lost, even in this damnable snowstorm. All he had to do was plow straight ahead down the road. The gas station was along the side of the road. His legs flared with pins and needles, his face felt numb, he’d never been so cold in all his life.
But he slogged forward. The snow was almost knee-deep now, and it took a real concentrated effort to pull his freezing feet out of the stuff and take another tottering step forward. He thought about praying, but then he realized that it was the Lord who had put him into this mess. Why? he asked heaven. Why me? No answer. So he staggered on.
Step by step, Charley said to himself. Closer and closer. Somewhere from the back of his mind came the faint memory of some comedy act where a guy says that. Something about Niagara Falls. Step by step. Closer and closer.
At least Martha and the kids are okay. Even if the van runs out of gas it’ll stay warm inside for a while. They’ll be all right. I’ll get to the gas station and they’ll come out in the tow truck they’ve got there and we’ll all be okay.
But you’ve got to get to the gas station first, said a voice in Charley’s head.
He blinked against the snowflakes whipping into his face. Can’t tell where the road is anymore. Everything’s covered with snow. White, white, white everywhere. Maybe this is what heaven’s like, he thought: everything is white. Or hell. There were parts of hell that were freezing, he remembered from his Sunday school days, all snow and ice. Then he realized that there were snowbanks on either side of the road, left by the plows that had scraped the highway earlier. Stay in between the snowbanks, Charley, he told himself. Stay in the middle.
He plodded ahead, his legs like a pair of rigid boards that shot pain up along his spine every time he tried to move them. Lord, help me, he pleaded. You put me into this, help me get out of it!
Something coming up the road!
Charley saw a shape up the road ahead, a dark bulk moving through the blinding white, slowly, patiently, soundlessly.
A car? No, too big, more like a truck. Awful slow, but it’s coming this way. No noise. Maybe I’ve gone deaf. Maybe my ears are frozen.
The shape slowly coalesced out of the wind-whipped snow. It’s a moose! Charley realized. Or is it an elk? Too big to be a deer. What’s a moose doing out here in the middle of the road?
The animal was walking calmly, with great dignity, up the road toward Charley. Strolling along as if this blizzard didn’t trouble it in the least.
It’s a sign, Charley thought. A sign from God. My deliverance is near.
For a wild instant Charley thought he might jump on the animal’s back and ride the rest of the way to the station. But as he staggered toward the beast it stopped in its tracks, snuffled once, then turned and bounded up the snowbank on the right shoulder of the highway and disappeared into the blinding whiteness of the storm.
Charley stood there dumbfounded. It just pranced up that snowbank like it was nothing, he thought.
This blizzard don’t bother it at all. And I’m alone again. Alone and cold and scared.
Why’d it run away? he asked himself. I wasn’t going to hurt it. What’s it doing out here, anyway? Then he realized the reason. Wolves. Where there’s moose or elk or whatever that beast was, there’s wolves. Charley strained to hear the howl of baying wolves. Nothing but the keening of the wind. They hunt in packs, he knew. They’ll come after me.
He sank to his knees. God help me! he screamed silently. God help me.
Major Obadiah Kaufman sat in the copilot’s seat looking out at the dark smudge on the horizon that was the coast of North Korea.
Colonel Christopher said, “Keep your eyes peeled for their launch, Obie.”
“Right,” he said, glancing sideways at her. Sixteen years in the Air Force, he thought, and I’m in the fucking right-hand seat while she gives me dumbass orders. Obie. Like she knows me well enough to call me Obie. How’d she like it if I called her Karen? Or Chrissie? The plane’s radar will pick up their fucking launch. She knows that. But she’s got to make sure I know she’s in charge and I’m just her goddamned stooge.
I graduated fourth in my class at the Academy. Where did she come in? Who the hell put her in here over me? It isn’t fair, it’s not fair. Hotshot B-2 jockey. She gets herself in hot water screwing some general and they bounce her out of the B-2s and break her down to this test program. This is a fucking demotion for her! But they push me into the right-hand seat so this slut of a colonel can take over my place. I worked hard to get to fly this bird! But they just push me aside and let her have it. The Air Force. Screw you every time.
He heard Colonel Christopher call to O’Banion, “Where are those fighters, Brick?”
“Coming up fast, ma’am. They haven’t gone supersonic, but they’re pulling in closer.”
“Jon, keep us on a course that parallels the coast. I don’t want to get any closer.”
“Yes, Colonel,” Lieutenant Sharmon replied.
Christopher toggled the intercom and said, “Mr. Hartunian, you and your people better strap in. We’ll be in action any minute now.”
Hartunian’s voice answered, “Seat belts. Yeah.”
Kaufman spoke up. “You’ll have to swing around and point us at the coast when they launch.”
“I know, Obie. I just don’t want to give those fighters any excuse to open up on us until I have to.”
“But you have to be pointing at the missiles when they launch. Point the nose at them and—”
“And let the tech geek’s laser system acquire them. I know. I flew the simulator, Obie. I just don’t want those fighters to shoot us down before we nail the missiles.”
Kaufman stared at her. She looked like a little kid, sitting in the pilot’s chair with the safety harness over her shoulders and the big white flight helmet sitting on her head like some ostrich egg.
He knew he shouldn’t say it, but Kaufman didn’t care anymore. What the hell, he thought, we’re going to get our asses shot off anyway.
So he said, “Maybe I should take over now. I’ve had more experience handling this bird. I can—”
“No.”
“But you don’t—”
The look on Colonel Christopher’s face could have etched solid steel. “Obie, I’m the pilot here. That’s that. No further discussion.”
He wanted to spit. But instead he shrugged inside his safety harness and said nothing. The plane droned on for a few moments, then Christopher asked mildly, “You ever read
