'Stephen, I need to see into that valley.'
'I've got your map up now,' Viens said.
'I'm looking to see if the coordinates are in the Omni Com computer.'
Meanwhile, Herbert punched in Striker's TAC-SAT number.
'Paul, you can't be thinking what I think you are,' Herbert said.
'I'm sure I am,' Hood informed him.
'Assuming he's all right, you don't even know if you can talk to him,' Herbert said.
'One thing at a time,' Hood said.
'I can do it!' Viens shouted.
'I'm sending up the order now. No guarantees about cloud cover and visibility, Paul, but I'll have you in the valley in ninety seconds.'
'Thank you,' Hood said.
'What are we looking for?' Viens asked.
'A parachute,' Hood said.
'One that may have Mike Rodgers on the end of it.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.
The Mangala Valley Thursday, 5:30 p. m.
During the Strikers' descent, the AN-12 had made a quick turn to the south. A powerful downdraft from the fast departing transport had driven Mike Rodgers toward the center of the parachutists. As a result, he was protected from the main thrust of the flak attack. But Rodgers had heard the explosions. He had seen the results as his teammates fell around him. By the time the general had guided himself toward the target, only he and one other striker were still aloft.
Despite the heroic efforts of one of the strikers on the ledge, Rodgers had failed to reach the plateau. He had struck his shins and then his right hip and torso on the ledge. Fortunately, his equipment vest took the brunt of the chest hit.
But Rodgers was dropping too fast and was not able to hold on. He was also unable to see what happened to the last aloft teammate. At least that chute was on the correct side of the plateau. If he or she were able to disengage from the chute it would probably be all right.
As the rock target disappeared from view, Rodgers studied the terrain immediately below. He had not given up trying to join the others and looked for a ledge he could reach.
Unfortunately, Rodgers could not stay as close to the mountain as he would have liked. There were so many rough outcroppings that he ran the risk of snagging and ripping the parachute. Reluctantly, he made the decision to ride the chute to the valley.
While Rodgers descended, he looked for signs of other parachutes below.
He had seen the Strikers fall and did not think any of them could have survived the plunge. If he were able to land near them he could be certain. Rodgers refused to think about the soldiers who were almost certainly lost.
There would be time to grieve later. All that mattered now was the mission and Rodgers had to find a way of getting back into it.
The currents diminished the lower Rodgers dropped. As he descended into the valley the shroud stopped its side-to side swaying. The officer hung as straight as a plumb line, protected by the mountains from the fierce winds that raced through the outer range. He floated down through the wispy clouds.
Rodgers glanced at his large, luminous watch. He had been aloft for nearly fifty minutes. He was at a low enough altitude to remove his breathing apparatus and goggles. He strapped them to his belt. The water vapor in the clouds condensed on Rodgers's exposed face. It cooled the hot perspiration on his forehead and cheeks, invigorating him. Below him the clouds began to thin. He could see the terrain rushing up.
This was not going to be easy.
Technically, the formation below was a valley. It was an elongated lowland between two mountain ranges. A shallow, fast-running river cut through the center. To Mike Rodgers, however, the small, barren formation was just a rocky depression in the rugged foothills. The sloping, sharp-edged terrain made a soft landing impossible and a safe landing problematic at best. At least the air was calm. He could work the chute to try to avoid the most precarious spots.
As he dropped under the last level of clouds he saw the first of the Striker parachutes. It was bunched like an orchid in the middle of the river. The Striker was apparently below it. A moment later Rodgers saw the other chutes. Two of them were tangled together at the foot of one of the mountains.
The Strikers were sprawled beside them. Their cold weather outfits were smeared with blood. He saw the fourth Striker beyond and above them. The canopy was caught on a small outcropping about thirty feet up. Sondra Devon the was suspended close beneath it. She was rocking gently at the end of the shroud lines.
Don't think about this now, Rodgers warned himself. He had to look ahead, at the cause for which these soldiers had sacrificed their lives. Otherwise there would be many more casualties.
Further beyond, to the south, he saw smoke curling up from behind a turn in the valley. Something had either exploded or crashed there. He did not think it was the AN-12.
If the aircraft had been hit, the Strikers probably would have heard and certainly would have seen it go down. He glanced briefly to the north. He could see the foot of the glacier ahead. That was why this valley was so damned cold. The glacier had probably cracked this place from the mountains eons ago.
The ground was coming up quickly. As much as he did not want to hit the slopes, Rodgers did not want to land
