'Shit!' Musicant said.
August watched as the radio operator coughed. Flecks of blood spattered his cheek.
'Ishi, hang on,' Musicant yelled.
'You can do it. Give me another minute, that's all I'm asking.'
Honda stopped panting and coughing. His entire body relaxed.
'Take off his vest!' Musicant yelled. Then the medic grabbed for his medical belt and reached into one of the pockets. He withdrew a hypodermic and a vial of epinephrine.
Colonel August began unfastening Honda's vest. As he bent over the stricken soldier he noticed a stream of red seeping out from between the noncom's spread legs. Honda had to have been losing blood at an incredibly fast pace for it to pool that far down.
August watched as the blood crept to below Honda's knees. When the colonel pulled the vest away he found the front underside to be sticky with blood. The pellets from the Indian projectiles had gone up the corporal's torso through his lower back and emerged through his chest.
Honda must have been near ground zero of one of the blasts.
Musicant knelt beside Ishi Honda. The medic spread his knees wide so he was steady beside the patient. Then he pulled aside Honda's bloody shirt and injected the stimulant directly into Honda's heart. August held the radio operator's hand. It was cold and still. Blood continued to pool on the ledge. Musicant leaned back on his heels and waited. Honda did not respond. His face was ashen from more than just the cold. The colonel and the medic watched for a moment longer.
'I'm sorry,' Musicant said softly to the dead man.
'He was a good soldier and a brave ally,' August said.
'Amen,' Musicant replied.
August realized how tightly he was holding Honda's hand.
He gently released it. August had lost friends in Vietnam.
The emotional territory was bitterly familiar. But he had never lost nearly an entire squad before. For August, that loss was all there in the still, young face before him.
Musicant rose and had a look at August's arm. August was surprised how warm the last few minutes had left him.
Now that the drama had ended his heart was slowing and blood flow was severely reduced. The cold would set in quickly. They had to move out soon.
While Musicant cleaned and bandaged the wound the colonel turned to the TAC-SAT. He entered his personal access code and the unit came on.
Then he entered Bob Herbert's number. As August waited to be connected he removed the radio from his equipment vest.
He placed another call.
One that he prayed would be received.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.
Washington, D. C. Thursday, 7:24 a. m.
'Have we heard anything yet?' Paul Hood asked as he swung into Bob Herbert's office.
The intelligence chief was drinking coffee and looking at his computer monitor.
'No, and the NRO hasn't seen them yet either,' Herbert said.
'Still just the Pakistanis.'
Hood looked at his watch.
'They should be down by now.
Has the transport landed yet?'
'No,' Herbert replied.
'The pilot radioed the tower in Chushul. He said that the cargo had been delivered but nothing more.'
'I don't expect they stuck around to verify that our guys touched down,' Hood said.
'Probably not,' Herbert agreed.
'That close to the Pakistani border I'm guessing the plane just turned south and ran.'
'Hell, why not,' Hood said.
'We're only trying to stop their country from being involved in a nuclear war.'
'You're stealing my cynicism,' Herbert pointed out.
'Anyway, they probably don't know what's at stake.'
As Herbert was speaking the phone beeped. It was the secure line. He put it on speaker.
'Herbert here.'
'Bob, it's August,' said the caller. It was difficult to hear him.
