World War III

He held the binoculars on the figure out front, the man obviously in charge. But his expression gave nothing away — not worry, not concern, not even boredom, nothing. Whoever he was, he was a cool sonofabitch.

When the lead vehicle began to move, Parsons nudged an elbow into him.

“They’re moving,” he croaked hoarsely. Even Parsons sensed it, Caffey thought.

“Stand by on the flare,” Caffey said. “When they’re in the middle…” He stopped when he realized that only the first track was moving.

“Sir, just the—”

“I know, I know!” Caffey shot back. He focused on the strike-force leader. “I don’t like this,” he said softly. “I don’t like this.”

“What are they doing?” Parsons said.

“I wish the hell I knew.”

Cordobes came running in a crouch below the crest. He slid to a stop at Caffey’s feet. “Colonel, they’re only moving one vehicle at a time!”

“Goddamnit, Captain, do you think I’m blind!”

“No, sir, I—”

“Get back to your position!”

“But what are we going to do?”

“I’ll let you know! Now get back to your men!” Caffey swung the binoculars back to the column. The command vehicle was moving slowly into the choke point. A company of troops moved to the near flank. Someone started directing traffic — the other vehicles slid into rank formation, but they didn’t enter the choke. Caffey found the strike-force leader again. He was walking toward the missile-launcher and glanced back over his shoulder at the hill. “He knows,” Caffey whispered. “The bastard knows!” He slapped Parsons in the ribs. “Start the choppers!”

“Now?”

“We’re getting the hell out of here!”

“But—”

“They know we’re here, goddamnit! Move!”

“Yes, sir!” Parsons scooted backward on his belly, then jumped to his feet, breaking into a run halfway down the hill.

Caffey inched back from the crest and got on the radio. “This is Caffey to all sections,” he said in a voice calmer than he felt. “I am aborting the raid. Repeat. I am aborting the raid. Evacuate your positions. Do it now.” He crawled back to see the column. He held the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

“Private Cable, you there?”

“Yes, sir, Colonel,” came the delayed response.

“Stay put, Cable. I have some work for you.”

“Work, sir?”

“On my signal, I want you to pick off those fuel drums as fast as you can.”

“Can do, sir.”

“When they’re all gone, run like hell to a chopper. You’re gonna be the next to the last man to get out of here. Got that?”

“Loud and clear, Colonel.”

The Hueys started their engines at nearly the same instant. Caffey glanced around to see Parsons and Cordobes counting off the men as they scrambled out of their positions. “Remember the phosphorus grenades,” he whispered. Then he unbuckled his cartridge belt and took the binocular strap from around his neck. When he started running, he thought, he didn’t want anything to slow him up.

Caffey kept an eye on the column as he loaded a grenade into the launcher on his M-16. He had three shots. Don’t try to be accurate, he told himself — that was Cable’s job. Just add to the confusion. Stir up the snow. Then run like hell.

“Ready, Cable?”

“Ready, sir.”

“The next time I talk to you, you’d better be on the chopper. Shoot!”

Caffey tossed the radio aside and aimed the rifle. He sighted for the missile-carrier. I hope to God this thing works, he thought.

Cable fired. The sharp report reached Caffey at the moment the fuel drum blew up. The blast shook the ground so violently that the trees lost their snow. The orange ball erupted into a flame that shot a hundred feet in the air and with it a ton of ice and snow. Caffey fired the grenade by involuntary reflex.

He watched its flat arc fall short of the tracked vehicles and explode in a shower of snow. He grabbed another grenade, inserting it hurriedly on the launcher. Then the return fire began. It was, Caffey thought later, like being the only mallard in the sky for ten thousand trigger-happy duck hunters.

Pine trees and branches as thick as a man’s arm were cut in two by the withering firepower that poured out of the column — small arms, 30 caliber, 50 caliber, everything they had seemed to be aimed straight at him.

Caffey tucked his head, pointed the rifle without aiming and fired. The next fuel drum explosion provided a lull in the firing. He glanced quickly over the crest to see a company of infantry taking offensive positions. The command vehicle was on its side in the middle of the choke point, less than ten yards away from an enormous smoking crater. The main body of the column was scattering in the debris of falling ice chunks like an angry army of white ants. Another explosion rocked running soldiers off their feet.