Rodgers shielded his eyes as best he could. He would be able to see as soon as the guns resumed firing. He was going to have to move quickly when they did.
The chopper continued to creep along the glacier. The throaty sound from the rotors knocked loose powder from the crags. Rodgers could feel it hitting his bare cheeks.
That was good. The plan might work.
A few moments later the guns came to life. Rodgers saw the cliff light up and started running toward the others. As he expected, this close to the slope, the sound of the guns and the rotor shook particles of ice from the wall. The area around the helicopter quickly became a sheet of white. And the flakes did not fall. The winds kept them whipping around in the air, adding layer upon layer. Within moments visibility had diminished to zero.
The guns shut down just as Rodgers raced around the front of the helicopter. Even with their night-vision goggles, the crew would not be able to see him or their quarry.
Rodgers had judged the distance between himself and the others. He guided himself toward them by running a hand along the slope. Though his legs were cramping he refused to stop.
'We've got to move!' Rodgers shouted as he neared the spot where he had seen the group.
'What's happening?' Nanda cried.
'Keep going!' Rodgers yelled.
'Is my grandfather all right?' she demanded.
From the sound of her voice Rodgers judged the woman to be about thirty yards away. He continued running hard. A few seconds later he bumped up against one of the refugees.
Judging from the height of the individual it was Friday. They had stopped. Rodgers made his way around him. The general reached for Nanda, who was next in the line. The woman was facing him.
'Grandfather?' Nanda shouted.
'Everyone move!' Rodgers screamed.
In a crisis situation, an individual's fight-or-flight mechanisms are in conflict. When that happens, the shout of an authority figure typically shuts down the combative side. A harsh command usually closes it just enough to let the survival instinct prevail by following the order. In this case, however, Rodgers's cry killed Nanda's flight response. Friday stopped moving altogether as Nanda became as combative as Rodgers.
'Where is he?' the woman screamed.
'Your grandfather didn't make it,' Rodgers said.
She screamed for the old man again and started to go back.
Rodgers stuffed Apu's parka under his arm then grabbed Nanda's shoulders. He held them tight and wrestled her in the opposite direction.
'I won't leave him!' she cried.
'Nanda, he shielded me with his body!' Rodgers shouted.
'He begged me to save you!'
The young woman still grappled with him as she attempted to go back.
Rodgers did not have time to reason with her.
He literally hoisted Nanda off her feet, turned her around, and pulled her forward. She fought to keep her feet beneath her, but at least those struggles kept her from fighting with him.
Rodgers half-carried, half-dragged the woman as he ran forward. She managed to get her balance back and Rodgers took her hand. He continued to pull her ahead. She went with him, though Rodgers heard her sobbing under the drone of the oncoming chopper. That was fine, as long as she kept moving.
The slope circled sharply toward the northeast. Samouel was still in the lead as they rushed to stay out of the helicopter's line of sight.
But without the added drumming of the guns to dislodge fresh ice particles, the pilot would soon be able to see them. Rodgers was going to have to do something about that.
'Samouel, take Nanda's hand and keep going!' Rodgers said.
'Yes, sir,' Samouel said.
The American held the woman's arm straight ahead as the Pakistani reached behind him. He found Nanda's hand and Rodgers released her.
The two continued ahead. Rodgers stopped and Friday ran into him.
'What are you doing?' Friday asked.
'Give me the torches and the matches. Then go with them,' Rodgers said as he took Apu's parka from under his arm.
The NSA operative did as he was instructed. When Friday was gone, Rodgers took one of the torches, lit it, and jammed it into a small crack in the slope. Then he hung Apu's coat on a crag just behind it.
Removing his gun from his equipment vest, Rodgers moved away from the ice wall. He got down on one knee, laid the torch across his boot to keep it dry, then pointed his automatic up at a sixty-degree angle.
That would put his fire about sixty feet up the cliff. He could not see anything above twenty feet or so but he did not have to.
Not yet.
