North Cape

`You first, Major," Folsom said tightly, "and don't stop. Just go!' Teleman nodded. McPherson popped up and fired a fast burst, then ducked back down again to scramble to the far end of the slab-shaped rock. A fusilade of rifle fire danced off the rock where he had been. McPherson waited for it to die away and jumped up to fire again, a long burst this time that raked across the top of the cliff. Teleman scrambled forward at the same time. As he dropped onto the ledge he thought he heard a faint scream, but the sound whirled away on the wind, almost instantaneously. It sounded as if it had come from above, but he couldn't be sure. He shuttled along the ledge awkwardly, wondering if it had come from McPherson, until he heard Mac's carbine stuttering again, and he concentrated on his running.

The ledge was less than eighteen inches wide and the footing treacherous with scattered rock and shale. As he neared the end he slipped and fell forward onto the boulder with stunning force. His head glanced off the rock and exploded with pain. Feebly cursing, he dragged himself over, almost directly beneath Mc-Pherson's carbine, and slid down the other side. Seconds later

Gadsen fell over on top of him and Folsom followed in a dive that just missed the tangle of arms and legs.

McPherson crouched down beside them. "Everybody get here in one piece?" Teleman sat up, massaging his forehead, and his hand came away coated with blood. So what else is new, he thought with resignation.

"Julie, check that cut," Folsom snapped. "Mac, what's the situation?"

"About seven of them, I think. One was going over the edge when I hit him. He got hung up on that spur of rock there," he finished.

Folsom pulled the binoculars from beneath his parka and turned them on the cliff tops. In the brightening light of midday he could make out a green-clad arm draped over the same outthrust of rock McPherson had pointed out. Nothing more. The cliff top was bare.

"Okay, you convinced them to keep their heads down anyway. I think we have enough cover, if we move fast and stay close to the rock, to make it down to the beach. We should be able to reach that headland before they hit the beach." He turned to Teleman and squatted down beside him, where Gadsen was wrapping a piece of cloth around Teleman's forehead. The make-shift bandage was already stained bright red, but the blood was congealing quickly in the cold. Folsom had caught a glimpse of the cut before Gadsen had gone to work on it. An ugly gash across the bend of the forehead on the right side, almost three inches long. The fall on the rock had laid the skin open to the whitish bone.

"That cut is going to leave a nasty scar," he murmured as Gadsen tied the bandage tight and sawed off the ends with his sheath knife.

"Big deal," Teleman muttered.

Folsom backed into the shelter on the cleft, stood up, and carefully edged forward until he could just see over the boulder. The sun was just edging above the horizon as they went over the top. Now the line of the cliff was back-lit with what to his night-adjusted eyes appeared as full daylight. Down in the cleft, where the sun would not reach until at least May, he knew that it was still pitch dark. He was counting on the gloom in the southwestward-facing cliff to provide as much shelter as the rock.

He watched for a full minute before he caught sight of someone moving on the top. As he watched, the figure crawled cautiously to the edge and peered over. Folsom motioned to McPherson to raise his carbine. Mac joined him quickly and as Folsom fired a snap shot Mac followed up with a burst. The figure rolled back. Whether or not they had hit him was impossible to tell. Folsom watched for another minute to see if he would try again.. McPherson nudged his arm and pointed to the left of where the figure had appeared. A soldier, almost invisible in his green uniform as he slid over the edge into the gloom, caught Folsom's eye. He nodded to McPherson and together they poured bursts of fire at the figure. But they were too late. The trooper had made it into shelter.

"All right," Folsom called softly. "Let's get out of here before they start tossing grenades down."

McPherson led the way down the cleft, and, singly, they made a dash out of the cleft into the shelter of another overhang. No shots were fired after them. The way down would have been no trouble to rested men, but in their exhausted condition, the journey was another nightmare of snow-covered rocks and icy sheathing. They moved from cover to cover, never daring to pause for rest as they slipped and slid and climbed down and around the cliff face. Near the base they encountered a sloping pile of rubble that eased the steep descent SOME, what, but threw in their path another obstacle of large boulders and chunks of fluted rock that had to be circumnavigated and wriggled through rather than climbed over.