good to be an American. If he ever got out of this, he was going to do his damnedest to make sure that pilot got a commendation.
Suddenly, the ground underneath him exploded, shaking and rolling like the worst earthquake he’d ever experienced in California. He gasped and threw himself flat on the ground, no longer caring whether he lost contact with Morning Eagle’s hand. The hard ice surface rose up underneath him, smashing him in the face, and he felt the delicate bones in the bridge of his nose splinter. A falling rock bashed him in the leg, settling over his lower right shin and ankle. The SEAL screamed, feeling the wind whip away the sound as soon as it left his mouth. He clamped his mouth shut as icy air surged into his mouth, straight down his air passageway, and chilled his lungs. Stupid to survive the actual strike and then be killed by ice crystals forming in his lungs, he thought grimly, falling back on years of training and experience to override survival instincts. He clung to the ground for dear life and waited.
Bird Dog leveled off at eleven thousand feet, and suddenly started shaking. He was safe; he was safe. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how doubtful he’d been that they’d make it.
Below them, the whiteout whipped violently, obscuring sea and island alike. The noise, however, had faded as the aircraft had climbed. Finally, he noticed an odd noise in the cockpit. It took him a moment to puzzle it out. Then an involuntary grin cracked his face. He reached over and flipped on the ICS switch.
“-and if you ever pull this bullshit again, I’m not going to wait for a court-martial, I’m going to personally-” Gator’s voice was saying.
Bird Dog cut him off. “Cool your jets, Gator, we made it.” He moved the yoke back and forth experimentally, testing his control over the Tomcat to reassure himself. “See?”
Gator’s voice broke off. “And just what the hell did you think you were doing, making a blind approach in the middle of a storm cell?” the RIO demanded. “You should have broken off like Batman said.”
“Not a chance. Those men were depending on us.”
He heard Gator sigh. “Well, I guess they were at that,” the RIO said finally. “How close do you think you got?” he continued, his professionalism overriding what must have been a terrifying ride for the backseater.
“Pretty damned close, I think,” Bird Dog said. He felt a sudden surge of joy. “Damned close. In fact, it felt like it went spot-on.”
“It’s not like we can fly over and do a BDA — A bomb damage assessment,” the RIO said. “But from what I could see from back here, it looked good to me, too. Let’s get back to the boat and wait for the weather to chill out.”
“Bad choice of words,” Bird Dog responded. He put the Tomcat in a gentle curve, the motion seeming unusually cautious after the wild maneuver he’d just pulled off.
“You icing?” Gator said anxiously.
Bird Dog glanced at his instruments, then out the window at the wing. “Looks like a little — but not enough to hurt us, now that we’re out of the storm. The deicers will take care of it.”
“You’re damned lucky you’ve got me back here, you know that?” Gator said.
“Oh, really? Why is that?” Bird Dog answered, as he laid in a level course for the carrier.
“Because any other backseater in his right mind would’ve filled his shorts about two minutes ago,” Gator said, amusement in his voice. “It’d serve you right, flying in a stinking cockpit for a couple of months. They never can get the smell out.”
“I guess there’s always something to be grateful for,” Bird Dog answered. “Now, let’s just hope we did the job on the ground,” he continued, his voice suddenly sober.
The Cossack commando barely had time to glance up as the Tomcat screamed in over the barren landscape, only fifty feet above him. He swore reflexively, and dived for the ground. The low, ominous rumble of the engines reverberated through his body. He buried his hands under his arms and waited.
The initial blast tossed him two feet off the icy surface of the island; gravity slammed him back down hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He gasped, trying to breathe, and finally drew a deep, shuddering lungful of air.
The noise hit him again first. He wondered for a moment whether the Tomcat had come around to make a second run on the cliffs. He looked up, trying to focus on the landscape in front of him.
To his horrified eyes, it looked like a wave. Something he’d see in the warmer coast waters of the Black Sea, a phenomenon that belonged somewhere other than this desolate, forsaken island. The land curled slightly at the top, leaning over the rest of the cliff, increasing its similarity to an ocean breaker.
The commando shouted, his words already lost in the massive cacophony of forty thousand tons of avalanche. Two seconds later, the massive wall of ice and snow cut off his words. Forever.
The ground played trampoline for almost three minutes before the violent motion subsided into a series of sharp jolts. At the same time, the wind dropped perceptibly, though the searing blindness of the whiteout remained. Huerta kept his eyes firmly shut, guarding delicate tissues with one hand over his face. The other flailed about him, searching for Morning Eagle.
Finally, after a series of gentle rumbles no more than 4.0 on the Richter scale, Huerta took a chance and stood up. His feet swayed under him slightly, and he had to bend forward to keep his balance in the gusting winds. Still, at least he could move. He opened one eye cautiously. The whiteout was receding, and he could now see almost five feet in front of him.
He scanned the landscape quickly. Crumpled against a rock, curled into a small ball, was Morning Eagle. The Chief SEAL walked over, dropped to his knees, and felt for a pulse. It pounded hard and strong under his fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He checked the man for injuries quickly, a difficult process in the heavy winter parkas. Finally, satisfied that there was no life-threatening damage, the SEAL stood. He touched his pocket, felt the reassuring bulk of the hand-held radio. He held it out, toggled it on, and started walking over toward the rift that had been their aim point.
He took two steps, and then stopped short and gasped. Despite his long experience with naval ordnance, the damage was astounding. The first forty feet of the cliff had sheared off, cascading down the side of the hill. They’d barely been far enough away to avoid being caught up in it. He glanced back at Morning Eagle, wondering if the man would ever realize how lucky they’d been. That was one damned fine pilot.
He lifted the radio to his mouth. “Jefferson, SEAL Team One,” he said in the clear, hardly caring whether or not anyone else could hear them. “Request medical evacuation. Assessment of bomb damage follows — on target, on time. Out.”
With that done, he crossed back to Morning Eagle and sat down beside him. Pulling his pistol out of his other pocket, he sat down to wait.
The Combat Direction Center exploded in wild cheers and victory cries. The TAO stood up, glanced sternly around the spacious compartment, and tried to frown disapprovingly. However, he couldn’t repress the mad exultation coursing through his own body, and settled for a cursory wave of his hand.
The chief sitting next to him took it in, his own rebel victory cry just dying on his lips. “Let’s let them celebrate now, sir,” the chief said. “You take your victories where you can get ‘em.”
The TAO nodded and stared back at the large blue screen dominating the forward half of the room. The small symbol for friendly aircraft separated itself from the mass of land, and was tracking slowly back toward the aircraft carrier. “You take your victories where you can get ‘em,” he echoed softly, and picked up the mike. There was one aircrew that was going to be doing just that in a matter of seconds.
“Hang in there, buddy,” Huerta said softly. He patted Morning Eagle on the arm gently. In the last few minutes, the man’s breathing had gotten deeper and more stentorian. Although his pulse was still strong, Huerta was gravely worried about the condition of the young native. “They’ll be comin’ for us soon — you wait. We don’t ever leave our friends behind. Not ever.”
