按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
the binoculars already at his eyes。
〃It's a Hip； sir。 Troop carrier。〃 He handed the glasses over。
〃I'll take your word for it；〃 Edwards replied。 He could see the ungainly shape； perhaps three miles away； heading southeast toward Hafnarfjordur。 〃Looks like it's heading for the piers。 Oh。 They came in on a ship。 They want to dock it； and they'll want to secure the waterfront first。〃
〃Makes sense；〃 Sergeant Smith agreed。
Edwards followed the helicopter until it dropped behind some buildings。 Less than a minute later； it was up again； heading back northwest。 He gave the horizon a close look。
〃Looks like a ship out there。〃
MV JULIUS FUCIK
Kherov moved slowly back to the chart table with an Army medic at his side。 His pumps were almost keeping up with the inflow of water。 The Fucik was down half a meter at the bow。 Portable fire pumps were being set near the bilges to draw more seawater out and eject it over the side through the hole the American missile had made。 He smiled wanly to himself。 An Army medic followed him around。 The General had practically pulled a gun on the captain； forcing him to allow the medic to give him a bottle of blood plasma and some morphine。 He was grateful for the latter…his pain was still there； but not nearly so bad as it had been。 The plasma container was a damned nuisance； with the medic holding it aloft as he moved around the pilothouse。 But he knew he needed it。 Kherov wanted to stay alive a few hours longer…and who knows； he thought； if the regimental surgeon has skill； I might even live 。 。 。
There were more important things at hand。 He had studied the charts of this port； but he had never been here before。 He had no pilot。 There would be no harbor tugs； and the tiny barge…tugs carried in his ship's split stem would be useless for docking。
The helicopter circled his ship after making its first trip。 A miracle that it flew at all； the captain thought； after having the one next to it shattered by that strafing run。 The mechanics had managed to extinguish that fire rapidly and place a curtain of water fog around the other aircraft。 Some minor repairs had been needed； there were an even dozen holes in the sheet metal； but there it was； hovering just aft of the superstructure； landing slowly and awkwardly in the roiled air。
〃How are you feeling； my captain？〃 the General inquired。
〃How do I look？〃 A brave smile that failed to draw one in return。 The General knew that he should physically carry the man to his surgeon's emergency medical post； but who then would dock the ship？ Captain Kherov was dying before his eyes。 The medic had made that clear enough。 There was internal bleeding。 The plasma and bandages couldn't hope to keep up with it。 〃Have your men secured their objectives？〃
〃They report some fighting still at the air base； but it Will soon be under control。 The first team at the main quay reports no one there。 That will be secure； my captain。 You should rest a bit。〃
Kherov shook his head like a drunken man。 〃That will e soon enough。 Fifteen more kilometers。 We race in too fast as it is。 The Americans may yet have some aircraft heading for us。 We must get to the dock and unload your equipment before noon。 I have lost too many of my crewmen to fail。〃
HAFNARFJORDUR； ICELAND
〃We gotta report this；〃 Edwards said quietly。 He shrugged out of his pack and opened it。 He'd watched a man test the radio before； and saw that instructions were printed on the side of the radio set。 The six pieces of the antenna fitted easily into the pistol grip。 Next he plugged in his headset and switched the radio on。
He was supposed to point the flowerlike antenna at a satellite on the 30* meridian； but he didn't have a pass to tell him where that was。 Smith unfolded a map and selected a landmark in that general direction。 Edwards pointed the antenna at it and waved it slowly across the sky until he heard the warbling carrier wave of the munications bird。
〃Okay。〃 Edwards turned the frequency knob to a preselected channel and toggled the Transmit switch。
〃Anyone on this net； this is Mike Edwards； first lieutenant； United States Air Force； transmitting from Iceland。 Please acknowledge； over。〃 Nothing happened。 Edwards reread the instructions to make sure he was doing the right thing； and rebroadcast the same message three more times。
〃Sender on this net； please identify。 Over。〃 A voice finally answered。
〃Edwards； Michael D。； first lieutenant； U。S。 Air Force； serial number 328…61…4030。 I'm the meteorological officer attached to the 57th Fighter Interceptor Squadron at Keflavik。 Who is this？ Over。〃
〃If you don't know that； pal； you don't belong on this net。 Clear off； we need this for official traffic；〃 the voice answered coldly。 Edwards stared at the radio in mute rage for several seconds before exploding。
〃Listen up； asshole！ The guy who knows how to work this damned radio is dead； and I'm all you got。 The base at Keflavik was hit seven hours ago by a Russian air and ground attack。 The place is crawling with bad guys； there's a Russian ship ing into Hafnarfjordur harbor right now； and you're playing fucking word games！ Let's get it together； mister。 Over！〃
〃Copy that。 Stand by。 We have to verify who you are。〃 Not a trace of remorse。
〃Dammit； this thing works on batteries。 You want me to run them down while you open a file cabinet？〃
A new voice came on the circuit。 〃Edwards； this is the senior munications watch officer。 Get off the air。 They might be able to monitor you。 We'll check you out and be back in three…zero minutes from now。 You got that？ Over。〃
That was more like it。 The lieutenant checked his watch。 〃Roger； understand。 We'll be back in three…zero minutes。 Out。〃 Edwards flipped the power switch off。 〃Let's get moving。 I didn't know they could track in on this。〃 The good news was that the radio broke down in under two minutes； and they were moving again。
〃Sarge； let's head for this Hill 152。 We should be able to see pretty good from up there； and there's water on the way。〃
〃It's hot water； sir； full of sulfur。 Just as soon not drink that shit； if you know what I mean。〃
〃Suit yourself。〃 Edwards moved off at a slow trot。 Once as a boy he'd had to call in to report a fire。 They'd believed him then。 Why not now？
MV JULIUS FUCIK
Kherov knew that he was finishing the work that the Americans had begun。 Driving his ship into the harbor at eighteen knots was worse than reckless。 The sea bottom here was rock； not mud； and a grounding could easily rip his bottom out。 But he feared another air attack even more； and he was sure that a flight of American fighters was heading this way； laden with missiles and bombs that would rob him of success in the most important mission of his life。
〃Midships！〃 he called。
〃Rudder amidships；〃 the helmsman acknowledged。
He'd learned minutes before that his first officer was dead； from wounds sustained in the first strafing attack。 His best helmsman had died screaming before his eyes； along with many of his skilled deck crewmen。 He had only one man qualified to take the shore sightings necessary for a positive position fix。 But the quay was in sight； and he'd depend on a seaman's eye。
〃Slow to half speed；〃 he ordered。 The helmsman relayed the order on the engine room telegraph。
〃Rudder right full。〃 He watched his ship's head e slowly right。 He stood on the centerline of the bridge； carefully lining his jackstaff up with the quay。 There was no one trained to handle the mooring lines。 He wondered if the soldiers could manage it。
The ship touched bottom。 Kherov was thrown from his feet and cursed loudly with pain and rage。 He'd misjudged his approach。 The Fucik shuddered as she slid across the rocky bottom。 There was no time to check his chart。 When the tide turned； the harbor's strong eddy currents would make his landing an impossible nightmare。
〃Reverse your rudder。〃 A minute later the ship was fully afloat again。 The captain ignored the flooding alarms that hooted behind him。 The hull was penetrated； or maybe the damaged seams had sprung farther。 No matter。 The dock was a mere thousand meters away。 It was a massive quay made of rough stone。 〃Midships。 All stop。〃
The ship was moving far too fast to stop。 The soldiers on the dock could already see that； and were slowly backing up； away from the edge； fearing that it would crumble when the ship struck。 Kherov grunted with dark amusement。 So much for the line handlers。 Eight hundred meters。
〃All back full。〃
Six hundred meters。 The ship's whole mass shuddered as the engines fought to slow her。 She headed into the berth at a thirty…degree angle； her speed now eight knots。 Kherov walked to the engine room voice tube。
〃On my order； shut down the engines； pull the manual sprinkler handle； and evacuate the engine spaces。〃
〃What are you doing？〃 the General asked。
〃We cannot moor to the quay；〃 Kherov answered simply。 〃Your soldiers don't know how to handle the lines； and many of my seamen are dead。〃 The berth Kherov had selected was precisely half a meter shallower than his ship's draft。 He went back to the voice tube。
〃Now； rades！〃
Below； the chief engineer gave the orders。 His chief machinist cut off the diesel engines and ran to the escape ladder。 The engineer yanked the emergency handle for the fire…suppression system