World War III

“They’re Eskimos,” Roberts said disgustedly. “They ought to know what the hell they’re doing. Eskimos aren’t supposed to get lost.” He puffed on the cigar again. “The governor’s been complaining that his National Guard is getting the roughest duty. This will make him real happy. I don’t think they’re missing at all, you know. Goddamn Eskimos. It’s probably a screw-up between commands.”

“Maybe.” Caffey walked to the map. “How far is that NOR AD station from where this squad was last heard from?”

“Sixty, seventy miles. Why?”

“Just wondering. I don’t suppose they could have wandered up there?”

“In twenty-four hours?”

“No, I guess not.”

“General Hooks called me,” Roberts said. “He wants a senior officer to go up there and supervise the recovery of that squad. He wants someone to bring things together so we don’t have the governor on our backs over this. He wants to maintain ‘a good rapport’ with the state of Alaska.” He licked the end of the cigar, his eyes on Caffey. “I’m sending you.”

“Me?” Caffey smiled and shook his head. “That’s PR work, General. It’s not exactly my line.”

“Your line, Colonel, is what I tell you it is. Today it’s looking for missing Eskimos and I expect you to handle this with your usual fervor.”

“Look, General—”

“Go to that fire base and straighten this mess out,” Roberts said, his voice rising. “That’s an order, Colonel.” Caffey closed his mouth. He stared at his commanding officer.

“Now you can go, Caffey,” Roberts said. He puffed his cigar. “Have a nice trip.” Fire Base Bravo was normally an hour and a half chopper ride from Wainwright, the pilot had explained. Today it was two and a half hours. He didn’t have to explain why. The helicopter rocked violently as it maneuvered through the high wind. “Better hold on, Colonel,” the pilot had yelled over his shoulder when they lifted off the pad, “there’s just you and me in this old bucket. If you get knocked loose from your seat, you’re on your own.” Caffey’s knuckles were white and numb where he’d held onto the nylon seat harness with a death grip for the entire trip.

The fire base consisted of a hundred National Guardsmen on rotating duty, four helicopters and a small encampment of tents within a tiny valley of the Philip Smith Range. The purpose of the camp was primarily for training in arctic survival. Why it was called Fire Base Bravo, nobody knew. It was the only one in the northeast quadrant and there wasn’t a Fire Base Alpha in the state. That was all Caffey knew about the place, but it was enough. He didn’t plan on being here any longer than necessary.

“Colonel Caffey, I’m Captain Cordobes, company commander,” said the tough-looking Hispanic who greeted him in the reinforced headquarters tent.

“This is Lieutenant Ed Speck, exec, and that’s Staff Sergeant Johnny Parsons. Johnny really runs things around here, Colonel. The rest of us just come and go—”

They were young, Caffey noted. Cordobes couldn’t be more than thirty. Speck didn’t look like he’d even started shaving yet. Parsons was the old hand. He looked to be in his late thirties, but it wasn’t easy to tell. He was Eskimo.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Caffey began. “I was hoping you’d have found our wandering squad by the time I showed up. No such luck, eh?” Cordobes shifted his weight. “We were told not to send another patrol out until you arrived, Colonel.”

“What?”

“General Roberts’s orders.”

“Why, that sir—”

“We’ve been ready to go for three hours,” Cordobes said. He looked Caffey straight in the eye. “Do you think you’re ready, sir?” The lieutenant cleared his throat noisily. “Ah, sir, what the captain means—”

“I know what he means, Lieutenant.” Caffey nodded to himself. “He’s pissed. He’s entitled.” He looked at the captain. “I’m sorry about the waste of time, Cordobes. General Roberts is…” He shrugged.

“He’s a general. You’ve heard of the Peter Principle?” Cordobes nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Whoever thought that up served under General Gard Roberts.” Cordobes smiled. “Yes, sir.”