thousand-pounders alone.” He shook his head ruefully. “But in this weather, with a Bear-J in the vicinity, you gotta have some self-protection.”
Outside the handler’s compartment, the JAST bird and Tomcat 201 were waiting. Both aircraft carried two two-thousand-pound bombs, along with Sidewinders and Sparrows for air combat. According to the SEALs’ mission plan, four bombs were necessary to ensure the desired kill factor on the mission.
“Well.” Tombstone paused at the hatch leading out onto the flight deck from the handler’s compartment and stuck out his hand. “Luck. You’ll need it, an old shit like you pulling this kind of stunt.”
Batman grabbed his old wingman’s hand in a strong, two-handed grip. “Luck always helps, but I’ll settle for some damned fine avionics instead. That I know I’ve got. And the best damned RIO in the Navy.” He jerked his chin toward the short naval flight officer behind him.
“Yes.” Tombstone gazed down at Tomboy, once again aware of how petite she was. If he hadn’t had firsthand experience with her ability as a RIO — and, he admitted, an even closer look at the strength in her body — he might have tried to talk Batman into taking another RIO along for this one. If, he added, he’d somehow found the courage to face the enraged Tomboy.
“Good hunting to you, too, Lieutenant Commander Flynn,” he said formally. He let his eyes show the warmth he purposely kept out of his voice. “You kick ass up there, okay?”
“That and more, Admiral,” she answered, her voice steady and her chin up. “I’ll get Admiral Wayne back in one piece, I promise.”
“See that you do. D.C. is going to be shitting bricks if they have to give me another at-sea command.” Tombstone held out his hand, letting his fingers slide over hers as she did the same. He tugged gently, and she swayed almost imperceptibly toward him. “And hurry back,” he said softly, pitching his voice so that only she could hear it.
She nodded briskly. “I intend to.” She turned and followed Batman out to their aircraft.
And let the Handler try to make something out of that, Tombstone thought, watching the two of them walk away. As fast as rumor control worked on the ship, the story would have worked its way into a passionate orgy in the handler’s office before the JAST bird returned from its mission, if he’d given it the slightest reason to.
White Wolf’s grandson studied the sky. The gods were cooperating, it appeared. Low, scudding clouds rolled in from the north, ominously low to the wind-lashed sea. At the horizon, the clouds and the sea were the same color, a dull, white-gray, featureless wall. Soon, he knew, the storm would blow in, driving visibility to barely two feet. They had to be off the cliffs by then, or the entire plan would have to be scuttled.
Or worse, he thought grimly. The small group had no way of communicating with the aircraft inbound from the American ship. If the fighter-bomber pilot thought he could complete the mission, he would, assuming that all of the ground forces had cleared the area in accordance with the plan. He’d never really see the small band of Inuits and SEALs trapped on the cliffs in the whiteout.
All the more reason to get to it, and get to it quickly. He turned and motioned Senior Chief Huerta up to the front of the line.
“Here,” he said, pointing at a deep rift in the jagged ice. “A fracture line.”
The SEAL studied the narrow chasm thoughtfully. “Might could do it with explosives,” he suggested.
The Inuit shook his head. “We’d get a surface shear. Sure, a lot of debris would rain down, but that’s not nearly what we’re aiming for. Is it?” It was his turn to study the other man carefully.
The two of them were about the same age, which should have given them a good deal in common. And it did, the Alaskan native decided, although he didn’t know if the other man would understand that. Family, phases of life, the way they coped with their harsh environment — while the SEAL may have seen more of the world than the island-bound native, the harsh realities of the sea and ice were the same for both. No amount of training, experience, or philosophy could change that.
“No, we need more force,” he continued. He pointed down at the slope in front of him. “See that? I want the forward thirty feet of this cliff to shear off.”
“Okay, You’re the expert around here.” Huerta trudged back to his knapsack, motioning his men around him. Together, they carefully unpacked the array of sophisticated targeting laser devices they were carrying.
They fanned out around the area, each one carrying one of the precious target designators. Ten minutes later, all four devices were pointed in different locations, each one throwing a red spot on the edge of the rift.
The SEALs rejoined the natives, and both took a moment to proudly survey their handiwork. “They’ll be dropping dumb bombs, but these laser pointers will give them a damned clear landmark.” He gestured at the spires and jagged outcroppings of rock around them. “Without this, all this terrain looks too much alike. Hell, the target point isn’t even visible until you break out over that last ridge.”
Finally, Morning Eagle glanced up at the sky again. “We leave now,” he said forcefully. “We have maybe thirty minutes.”
“I expect you’re right. And I don’t wanna take the chance that you aren’t.”
Morning Eagle took point, and carefully began retracing his path to the east, over the harshest surfaces of the icy environment.
Even for the Inuits, accustomed to this terrain, it was tough going. Twenty minutes later, all the men were soaked with sweat inside their protective gear. To stop now would be suicide. Only their body heat kept the sweat from freezing into an icy, killing sheen of ice. They trudged on, their breathing becoming more labored, heavy droplets of moisture fogging the air as they panted.
Finally, they reached the edge of the ice floe and started their way downward. Ten minutes later, they were gathered around the small boats the Inuits had provided.
The SEAL senior chief glanced up at the sky again. “Do we start back to your island now?”
Morning Eagle shook his head. “Too late.” He pointed at one massive billow now ten degrees off their vertical. “Whiteout before we’re halfway there. We might make do with the compass, but I wouldn’t want to take the chance. Not unless we really have to.”
“Well, as long as our playmates don’t know we’re here, we won’t have to take that chance. I haven’t seen them make a patrol on this side of the island once.”
“Then we settle in to wait. An hour, maybe two, when the weather breaks-” He let the sentence trail off. Whiteouts had been known to last for days, holding every man, woman, and child trapped inside the camp. While some of the tribe possessed an uncanny sense of direction, and could find their way back to camp no matter what the weather conditions, Morning Eagle was not one of those. He respected the power of the weather, and chose to live with it rather than against it.
“We wait,” Huerta echoed. The two teams of men, so alike and so different, quickly combined their gear and began building a small camp that would keep them alive.
Until the weather clears, Morning Eagle thought.
“How certain are you that they’ll come to investigate the cliff, anyway?” he asked the SEAL.
The chief shrugged, then grinned. “Not certain. But it’s what I’d do.”
“Why?”
“While the fellows were busy setting up the designators, I took a little stroll over to the edge of the cliff. If you’d been watching, you would have seen me leave a little present there for our friends.”
“A present?” Morning Eagle was momentarily confused. “What kind of present?”
“Nothing complicated. Just an all-frequency static transmitter. Remote controlled, it is.” He fished into his parka jacket and pulled out a small set of controls. “All I have to do is toggle this switch, and that little bitch starts sending a jamming signal on every frequency these guys are likely to be using. The first thing they’ll notice it on is their hand-held radios. And if I were maintaining a garrison here, I’d damned sure want to find out what was jamming my communications. Especially since it was supposed to be an uninhabited island.”
Morning Eagle regarded him appraisingly. “Nice trick.”
“We get some nice toys now and then. This is an old standby, but it still works just fine.”
“I don’t like this one damned bit,” Bird Dog grumbled. He cast an anxious glance back at the wings, trying to see if there was any ice forming. A visual inspection was not necessary — his instruments would have told him
