the snow off his face it was like a pair of wooden boards scraping against his frozen nose.
With some surprise, he realized that the pain was gone. Numb. Freezing. At least it don’t hurt anymore, he realized. God never gives you a trial that’s too much for you. He watches over you all the time.
He wondered if God was keeping the wolves away. They must be out there. Wolves. They hunt in packs. Prob’ly go after that moose ‘stead of me, he told himself. God won’t let me get eaten by wolves.
Without warning, Charley’s legs collapsed beneath him. He simply folded up and fell facedown into the snow. No pain. He felt like he was floating. Going to sleep. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was a tendril of fear, a vague memory of Martha and the kids.
God, don’t let them die! Charley begged silently. Take me if you gotta, but let Martha and the kids live.
He wanted to hear an answer, but only the biting, moaning wind came to his ears. And the distant baying of a wolf. Charley fought against falling asleep. You fall asleep and then you ireeze to death, he knew. But ultimately he had no more strength in him. He closed his eyes and drifted into the sweet oblivion of sleep.
But just before it all went dark, he thought he heard the snarl of a wolf. Several wolves. Very close to him. He knew he should be alarmed, but it was just too easy to go to sleep.
“So when’s he coming out?” Vickie asked, teen-aged impatience etched onto her face.
Sylvia frowned at her elder daughter. “He’s the President, Victoria. He has a lot of things to do. He’ll be out when—”
“Look!” Denise pointed. A portly woman was striding onto the stage. The audience began to applaud.
“That’s Senator Youmans,” Sylvia told her daughters, feeling relieved that something was happening at last. The chairs were totally uncomfortable.
Senator Youmans basked in the applause for a few moments, then waved both her chubby arms to still the audience.
“Good evening, and welcome to San Francisco, the City by the Bay. This is a momentous occasion for us all…”
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Vickie moaned. “She’s going to give the same speech she gave at the big rally last week, back home.”
The President listened intently to his chief of staff’s cell phone. Foster had laid it on the table between them and clicked on its speaker function.
“Apparently they shot down one of the North Korean interceptors,” General Higgins was saying. In the phone’s minuscule display screen the general’s face looked red and bloated, clownish.
“Apparently?” the President snapped. “Did they or didn’t they?”
“The MiG caught fire and crashed into the sea, sir,” Higgins replied, his voice tinny and small. “Whether it was from ABL-1’s laser or just an engine malfunction remains unclear, Mr. President.”
The President glanced at Foster, who spread his hands, palms up. “Either way, we win,” Foster said.
“So where’s ABL-1 now?” the President demanded.
“Over the Sea of Japan, sir, heading for Misawa Air Base.”
“Can they send out a search-and-rescue team?”
“If the plane ditches—”
“Now! I want it sent out now. Whether the plane ditches or not.”
“Yessir. Of course. I’ll get the word to Misawa right away.”
“Good. Thank you, General Higgins.”
Foster clicked the cell phone closed.
The President stood in silence for a long moment, then said to his chief of staff, “We’ve done all we should do, Norm. Our skirts are clean.”
Foster ran a hand over his shaved head. “But if the North Koreans send out more fighters…” He let the thought dangle.
“If they shoot down our plane over international waters they’re clearly in the wrong. The important thing is that we’ve gotten rid of the missile threat. I don’t want a war breaking out now, there’s no need for it.”
Foster nodded. “Except for the crew of that 747.”
“That’s why I ordered the SAR unit, Norm. They’ll pick up the crew from the water.”
Unless the gooks shoot down the SAR plane, too, Foster thought. But he did not mention his fear aloud.
Out of the corner of her eye Senator Youmans saw the President standing in the wings, waiting to be introduced to the crowd. First I have to talk to them because he’s not ready to come out, she grumbled to herself, and now I’ve got to cut my speech short because he is ready. And antsy, from the looks of him.
She betrayed none of those thoughts on her face. With a dimpled smile, she said into the microphones before her, “So, without further ado, the President of the United States!”
The crowd roared to its feet. The band struck up “California, Here I Come,” and the President strode out onto the stage, grinning and waving both his arms.
“Colonel, we’ve cleared North Korean airspace.” Karen Christopher heard the obvious relief in Lieutenant Sharmon’s soft voice.
She spoke into her lip mike: “Brick, any more transmissions from their defense command?”
“Just repeating their order for us to head inland and wait for another fighter ‘escort,’ Colonel.”
“Screw that.”
Major Kaufman turned toward her and asked, “You think they’ll send another batch of fighters after us?”
“Probably.” Karen realized that she was tired, emotionally and physically drained. But the plane was flying better; they were barely above twenty thousand feet now, but the buffeting had eased a bit. Still, she wondered how long the bird would hold together.
“Obie, you think you can handle things by yourself for a few minutes?”
Kaufman nodded vigorously.
As she unstrapped her safety harness, Christopher said, “I’ll send O’Banion up here, in case you need another pair of hands to work the controls.”
The major nodded again, less enthusiastically.
Every muscle in her body seemed to be aching as Colonel Christopher pulled herself out of the seat and took off her heavy, cumbersome flight helmet. Nestling the helmet under one arm, she stepped to the hatch at the rear of the cockpit. Kaufman clutched his control yoke with both hands. The plane was still vibrating, rattling hard enough to make her grab for the rim of the hatch as she went through.
She stepped onto the flight deck and patted Lieutenant Sharmon’s shoulder. “How’re we doing, Jon?”
“On course for Misawa, Colonel. I’ve got their radio beam loud and clear.”
“Good.” Turning to O’Banion, she said, “Brick, go up and sit with Major Kaufman. Don’t touch anything unless he tells you to.”
O’Banion blinked uncertainly but murmured, “Yes, ma’am” and got up from his seat.
Karen dropped her helmet on one of the bunks, then climbed down the ladder and saw Hartunian and the Japanese-American woman sitting side by side in the battle management compartment.
“Good shooting,” she called to them through the open hatch.
Hartunian grinned at her. The woman asked, “What happened to the second fighter?”
“He stayed where his buddy went down. Standard operating procedure. Waiting for a SAR chopper to pick up the man in the water.”
Hartunian asked, “Are they sending out more fighters?”
