search radar, they said, would be working in four hours. The satellite antenna was just back on line also. By the time they reached port-if they reached port-everything aboard that his crew could fix would be fixed. That didn't really matter, but a busy crew, the Navy has always said, is a happy crew. In practical terms it meant that the crewmen, unlike their captain, did not have time to brood on what mistakes had been made, the lives that had been lost because of them, and who had made them.
Morris went to the Combat Information Center. The tactical crew was rerunning the tape and paper record of the encounter with the Victor, trying to find what had happened.
'I don't know.' The sonar operator shrugged. 'Maybe it was two subs, not just one. I mean, here he is, right? This bright trail here-then a couple minutes later the active sonar picked him up over here.'
'Only one sub,' Morris said. 'Getting from here to there is about a four-minute run at twenty-five knots.'
'But we didn't hear him, sir, an' it don't show on the screen. Besides, he was heading the other way when we lost him.' The sonarman rewound the tape to run it a again.
'Yeah.' Morris went back to the bridge, playing it over again in his mind. He had the entire sequence memorized now. He walked out on the bridge wing. The spray shields were still perforated, and there was a faint bloodstain where the XO had died. Someone would be painting over that today. Chief Clarke had all kinds of work gangs going. Morris fit a cigarette and stared at the horizon.
The helicopter was the last warning they needed. Edwards and his party were heading northeast. They passed through an area of many small lakes, crossed a gravel road after waiting an hour to see what the traffic there was like-none-and began to traverse a series of marshes. By this time Edwards was thoroughly confused by the terrain. The mixture of bare rock, grassy meadows, lava fields, and now a freshwater marsh made him wonder if Iceland might not be the place where God had put everything that had been left over after the world was built. Evidently He'd made just the right amount of trees, though, because there were none here, and their best cover was the knee-high grass that sprouted from the water. It must be hardy grass, Edwards thought, since this marsh had been frozen not too long ago. It was still cold, and within minutes of entering the marshes everyone's legs ached with it. They endured the misery. The alternative was to travel on bare and slightly elevated ground, not something to be contemplated with enemy helicopters about.
Vigdis surprised them with her endurance. She kept up with the Marines without faltering or complaining. A true country girl, Edwards thought, she was still benefiting from a childhood of chasing the family sheep around-or whatever it was you did with sheep―and climbing these Goddamned hills.
'Okay, people, take ten,' Edwards called. Immediately everyone looked for a dry spot to collapse. Mainly they found rocks. Rocks in a marsh! Edwards thought. Garcia kept watch with the purloined Russian binoculars. Smith lit up a cigarette. Edwards turned around to see Vigdis sitting down next to him.
'How do you feel?'
'Very tired,' she said with a slight smile. 'But not so tired as you.'
'Is that so!' Edwards laughed. 'Maybe we should step up the pace.'
'Where we go?'
'We're going to Hvammsfjordur. They didn't say why. I figure another four or five days. We want to stay clear of all the roads we can.'
'To protect me, yes?' Edwards shook his head.
'To protect all of us. We don't want to fight anybody. There's too many Russians around to play soldier games.'
'So, I don't hurt-ah, stop you from important things?' Vigdis asked.
'Not at all. We're all happy to have you with us. Who wouldn't like a walk in the country with a beautiful girl?' Edwards asked gallantly. Was that a smart thing to say?
She gave him a strange look. 'You think I pretty, after-after-'
'Vigdis, if you were hit by a truck-yes, you are very beautiful. No man could change that. What happened to you was not your fault. What ever changes it made are inside, not outside. And I know somebody must like you.'
'My baby, you mean? Mistake. He find another girl. This is not important, all my friends have babies.' She shrugged it off.
That stupid son of a bitch, Edwards thought. He remembered that bastardy carried no stigma on Iceland. Since no one had a surname most of the Icelanders had given names followed by patronyrnics-you couldn't even tell the difference between the legitimate and illegitimate. Besides which, the Icelanders didn't seem to give a damn one way or the other. Young unmarried girls had babies, took proper care of them, and that was that. But who would walk away from this girl?
'Well, speaking for myself. Vigdis, I've never met a girl prettier than you.'
'Truly?'
Her hair looked like hell, tangled and filthy, Edwards admitted to himself. Her face and clothing were covered with dust and mud. A hot shower could change that in a few minutes, revealing the lovely thing that she was. But beauty comes from within, and he was only beginning to appreciate the person inside. He ran his hand along her cheek.
'Any man who says different is an idiot.' He turned to see Sergeant Smith coming over.
'Time to move, 'less you want our legs to stiffen up, Lieutenant.'
'Okay. I want to make another eight or ten miles. There's farms and roads on the far side of this mountain we're walking around. We'll want to eyeball that area before we try to cross it. I'll call in from there, too.'
'You got it, skipper. Rodgers! Take the point and bend it a little west.'
The ride forward had not been an easy one. Eighth Guards Army moved its forward command post as close behind the leading troops as possible. Its commander, like Alekseyev, believed in having his eyes and ears as close to the front as possible. The trip took forty minutes in armored troop carriers-it was far too dangerous to use helicopters-during which Alekseyev had observed a pair of savage air attacks on Russian columns.
German and Belgian reinforcements had joined the action, and intercepts of radio messages indicated that American and British units were also en route. Alekseyev had called up more Russian units as well.
What had begun as a relatively simple push by one mechanized army was now growing into a major engagement. He took this to be a good sign. NATO would not be reinforcing if they did not regard the situation as dangerous. The Soviet task was to achieve the desired result before reinforcements came into play.
The general commanding 20th Guards Tank Division was in the command post. They'd set it up in a secondary school. A new building, it had lots of space, and until an underground bunker could be prepared, it would have to do. The pace of the advance had slowed, as much because of traffic control difficulties as from the Germans.
'Straight down this road to Sack,' 8th Guards Army told the tanker. 'My motor-rifle troops should have it clear by the time you get there.'
'Four more kilometers to Alfeld. Yes, just make sure you can support us when we jump across the river.' The General set his helmet atop his head and moved out the door. It was going to work, Alekseyev thought. This general had done a magnificent job of delivering his unit to the front in nearly perfect order.
The next thing he heard was an explosion. Windows shattered, pieces of ceiling dropped around him. The Devil's Cross had returned yet again.
Alekseyev raced outside to see a dozen burning armored vehicles. As he watched, the crew bailed out of a brand-new T-80 tank. An instant later the vehicle brewed up: a fire swept through the ammunition racks inside and a pillar of flame rose toward the sky as from a small volcano.
'The general is dead-the General is dead!' a sergeant shouted. He pointed to a BMD infantry carrier from which no one had escaped alive.
Alekseyev found the commander of the 8th Guards Army cursing beside him. 'The assistant commander of that tank division is a new colonel.'
Pavel Leonidovich reached a quick and convenient decision. 'No, Comrade General. What about me?'
Startled, the commander stared at him, then remembered Alekseyev's reputation as a tank commander, and his father's. He made a quick decision of his own. 'Twentieth Tanks is yours. You know the mission.'
Another infantry assault carrier rolled up. Alekseyev and Sergetov boarded it, and the driver sped off toward
