As before, your orders are to evade, observe, and report. You got that?'
'Roger. How long we got?'
'I can't say that, Beagle. I don't know. You want to move right along, though.'
'Okay, we'll be moving in ten minutes. Out.' Edwards dismantled the antenna, then stowed the complete radio assembly in the backpack. 'People, it's time to leave this mountain retreat. Sergeant Nichols?'
'Yes, sir?' Nichols and Smith came over together.
'Were you briefed on what we're supposed to be up to?'
'No, sir. Our orders were to relieve your party and await further instructions.' Edwards had already seen the sergeant's map case. He had cards for the whole western Icelandic coast, all but their drop zone in a pristine condition. Of course, the purpose of their coastal reconnaissance was clear enough, wasn't it? The lieutenant took out a tactical map and plotted their course west.
'Okay, we'll pair off. Sergeant Smith, you take the point along with one of our new friends. Nichols, you take Rodgers with you and cover the back door. You both have a radio, and I'll take the third and keep the rest of the party with me. The groups stay within sight of each other. We keep to the high ground as much as possible. The first hard-surface road we hit is ten miles west of here. If you see anything, you drop and report in to me. We are supposed to avoid contact. No hero crap, okay? Good, we'll move out in ten minutes.' Edwards assembled his gear.
'Where we go, Michael?' Vigdis asked.
'Stykkisholmur,' he answered. 'You feel okay?'
'I can walk with you, yes.' She sat down beside him. 'And when we get to Stykkisholmur?'
Mike smiled. 'They didn't tell me that.'
'Why they never tell you anything?'
'It's called security. That means the less we know, the better it is for us.'
'Stupid,' she replied. Edwards didn't know how to explain that she was both right and wrong.
'I think when we get there, we can start thinking about a normal life again.'
Her face changed. 'What is normal life, Michael?'
Another good question, Edwards thought. But I have too much on my mind to chew that one over. 'We'll see.'
The battle for Hameln and the battle for Hannover were now essentially the same action. Two hours before, the NATO forces had withdrawn to the west, south of the industrial city, allowing them to shorten lines and consolidate. Soviet units were probing forward cautiously, suspicious of another German trap. Alekseyev and Commander-in-Chief West pored over their maps in an attempt to analyze the consequences of the NATO withdrawal.
'It allows them to put at least one, probably two brigades in reserve,' Alekseyev thought. 'They can use this Highway 217 to move troops rapidly from one sector to another.'
'How often have the Germans given ground voluntarily?' his superior asked. 'They didn't do this because they wanted to. Their lines were overextended. Their units are depleted.'
'So are ours. The Category-B units we're committing to battle are taking losses almost a third greater than the 'A' units they replace. We are paying dearly for our advances now.'
'We have paid dearly already! If we fail now it will all have been for nothing. Pasha, we must attack in force. This entire sector is ready to collapse.'
'Comrade General, that is not my impression. Resistance is spirited. German morale remains high despite their losses. They have hurt us badly and they know it.' Alekseyev had returned from the forward command post at Folziehausen only three hours before.
'Viewing the action from the front lines is very useful, Pasha, but it hinders your ability to perceive the larger picture.'
Alekseyev frowned at that. 'The larger picture' was frequently an illusion. His commander had told him that very thing many times.
'I want you to organize an attack along this entire front. NATO formations are gravely depleted. Their supplies are low, they have taken massive casualties. A vigorous attack now will sunder their lines on a fifty- kilometer front.'
'We don't have enough A units to attack on this scale,' Alekseyev objected.
'Keep them in reserve to exploit the breakthrough. We'll launch the attack with our best reserve divisions from Hannover in the north to Bodenwerder in the south.'
'We don't have the strength for that, and it will use up too much fuel,' Alekseyev warned. 'If we have to attack, I suggest an assault on a two-division front here, south of Hameln. The units are in place. What you propose is too ambitious.'
'This is not a time for half measures, Pasha!' CINC-West shouted. He'd never raised his voice to Alekseyev before. The younger man found himself wondering what pressure was being applied to his commander, who calmed down now. 'An attack along a single axis allows a counterattack along a single axis,' he continued. 'This way we can greatly complicate the enemy's task. He can't be strong everywhere. We will find a weakness, break out, and drive our remaining A units through to the Rhein.'
'Drop now-now-now!' O'Malley yelled. The eighth sonobuoy ejected from the side of the Seahawk, and the pilot brought the helicopter around and headed back east.
O'Malley had already been up for three long, grueling hours this time, with precious little to show for it. Stop, dip, listen; stop, dip, listen. He knew there was a sub down there, but every time he thought he was beginning to get a line on it, the damn thing slipped away! What was it doing different?
Hatchet was having the same problem, except its sub had turned around on it and nearly scored a hit on Battleaxe. The frigate's violent wake turbulence had detonated the Russian torpedo astern, but it had been close, too close by half. He brought the helicopter into hover.
'Down dome!' They hovered for a minute. Nothing. It began again. 'Romeo, this is Hammer. You got anything, over?'
'Hammer, he just faded out a moment ago. Our last bearing was three-four-one.'
'Cure. This character's listening for you to stop your sprint, and he cuts his power back.'
'That's a fair guess, Hammer,' Morris said.
'Okay, I got a barrier to the west if he heads that way. I think he's going due south, and we're dipping for him now. Out.' O'Malley switched to intercom. 'You got anything, Willy?'
'Nothing, sir.'
'Prepare to raise dome.' A minute later the helicopter was moving again. They dipped their sonar six more times in the next twenty minutes and came up blank.
'Again, Willy. Prepare to lower. Set it down to, uh, eight hundred feet this time.'
'Ready, sir.'
'Down dome.' O'Malley squirmed in his seat. The outside temperature was moderate, but the sun made a greenhouse of the cockpit. He'd need a shower when he got back to the frigate.
'Searching at eight hundred feet, sir,' the petty officer said. He was hot, too, though he'd brought a pair of cold drinks along for the flight. 'Sir, I have something… possible contact bearing one-eight-five.'
'Up dome! Romeo, Hammer, we got a possible contact south of us. Going after it now.'
'Hammer, we have nothing anywhere near you. Be advised Bravo and Hatchet are working a contact. Two torps have been launched with no hits.'
Nobody ever said it was easy, the pilot thought. He moved three thousand yards and dipped the sonar again.
'Contact, this one's for real. Type-two engine plant bearing one-eight-three.'
O'Malley checked his fuel. Forty minutes. He had to get this one in a hurry. He ordered the dome up again and went another three thousand yards south. His shoulders flexed against the seat straps. It seemed to take forever for the sonar dome to get down to search depth.
'There it is again, sir, north of us, bearing zero-one-three. Bearing is changing. Zero-one-five now.'
'Set it up!' Thirty minutes' fuel. Time was their enemy now. Ralston punched up the Master Arm and Select
