CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO.
The Siachin Glacier Friday, 3:23 a. m.
Samouel's blood was beginning to freeze. Rodgers felt it in his fingertips. They were the only part of his hands that had stayed warm.
As soon as that happened he picked up his knife and leaned close to Nanda.
'I want you to come with me,' he said.
'All right,', she replied.
Together, they crept across the area between the ice barricade and the entrance to the silo.
'I'm coming in with Nanda,' Rodgers said in a loud whisper.
He did not want Friday thinking it was the Indians circling around.
'Is everything all right?' Friday asked.
'Samouel's been hit,' Rodgers told him.
'How bad?' 'Bad,' Rodgers said.
'You dumb bastard,' Friday said.
'And I'm even dumber for following you assholes.'
'I guess so,' Rodgers replied. He sidled next to Friday and handed him the knife.
'If we're through with your debriefing, I'm going back to get Samouel.
Meantime, I need you to start digging me a hole in the ice along the side of the silo entrance.'
'That's how you're planning to get to the cable?' Friday asked.
'That's how,' Rodgers admitted.
'It could be ten feet down!' Friday exclaimed.
'It won't be,' Rodgers said.
'The ice melts and refreezes out here. The conduit probably cracks a lot. They would not put it so far down that they couldn't reach it for repairs.' 'Maybe,' Friday said.
'Even so, digging through three or four feet of ice is going to take--'
'Just do it,' Rodgers told him.
'Up yours,' Friday replied.
'If Sammy boy croaks we're dead anyway. I think I'm going to have a talk with our Indian neighbors. See if we can't work something out.'
Rodgers heard the knife clunk on the ice.
A moment later he heard the blade scrape the ice.
'I'll do it,' Nanda said as she began chopping.
That caught Rodgers by surprise. Her voice sounded strong. It was the first indication he had that she was 'back.'
It was their first bit of luck and the timing could not have been better.
Rodgers could not see Friday but he could hear his harsh breathing. The general had his right hand in his coat pocket.
He was prepared to shoot Friday if he had to. Not for leaving them. He had that right. But he was afraid of what a cold, tired, and hungry man might say about their situation.
Ron Friday's breathing stayed in the same place. Nanda's action must have shamed him. Or maybe Friday had been testing Rodgers. Sometimes, what a man did not say in response to a threat said more, and was more dangerous, than a saber-rattling reply.
'I'll be right back with Samouel,' Rodgers said evenly.
The general turned and recrossed the small area between the two positions. The Indians maintained their silence. Rodgers was now thinking they had been advance scouts for another party. Their orders were obviously to keep the enemy pinned until backup could arrive.
Hopefully, that would not be for another half hour or so. If everything else went right in his improvisation, that was all the time Rodgers would need.
Samouel was breathing rapidly when Rodgers reached him. The general was not a doctor. He did not know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Under the circumstances, breathing at all was good.
'How're you doing?' Rodgers asked.
'Not very well,' Samouel said. He was wheezing. It sounded as if there were blood in his throat.
'You're just disoriented by the trauma,' Rodgers lied.
'We'll fix you up as soon as we're done here.'
'What can we do without the cell phone?' Samouel asked.
Rodgers slipped his arms under the Pakistani.
