“Okay, thanks,” Kowalski said. “Climbing now.”
Unlocking the brake, Kowalski reached out with his left hand and caught a narrow ledge of rock with his fingertips. With a muscle-cracking effort, he pulled himself up, hand over hand, until he could see the top of the lip. Lance Corporal Tim Henry stood a meter or so back, hanging on to the belay line. The climber grinned at his platoon mates and reached out with his left hand for the next rung of the rocky ladder.
Then Kowalski’s right hand was suddenly empty, except for a fistful of thin, crumbling flakes of red-brown rock. The young Marine felt his combat harness catch momentarily on a projection just below the upper rim of the overhang. In the slow-motion world known only to accident victims, Kowalski saw Captain Taggart, Gunny Frost, and Dr. Ziwi, all lunge for his outstretched hands. Ziwi actually managed to touch his fingers. At that moment, the plastic quick-release buckle of Kowalski’s thick nylon combat harness gave way. The safety line held momentarily, allowing him to drop in relative safety back across the overhang. Kowalski spun and swung in space for a moment, then slammed sideways into the rock face. A rending pop in his left knee sent a galvanic wave of pain through his body. For a second, Kowalski felt he had survived the worst of it. But with the harness no longer firmly buckled around his body, the jarring impact of a ninety-kilo man carrying fourteen kilos of weapon and gear smashing into the escarpment was too much for the unfastened rig to bear.
Kowalski dropped free of his compromised harness and fell the remaining five meters to the rocks below. He screamed as his injured knee was hammered into the ground.
That impact caused the loose ground beneath the escarpment to give way, tumbling him downslope in a miniature landslide of head-sized rocks. He didn’t know how far he slid, but his downhill plunge was only arrested when he slammed into one of the crystalline formations dotting the broken ground. An intense wave of pain washed over him from his mangled knee. He barely noticed the sound of his arm snapping as he landed with his right biceps trapped between his body and the jagged, gemlike growth. Then shock came down like a steel curtain between him and the searing torment of his injuries.
The next thing he knew, Gunny Frost and Captain Taggart were at his side.
“Corpsman!” Frost barked, in a moment of crisis reverting to Marine tradition. “Corpsman!”
Taggart laid a hand on Kowalski’s shoulder, saying, “Lie still, Private, lie still and wait for the docs.”
Almost before the captain had finished speaking, another environment-suited figure leaned over the injured man. Through the helmet’s narrow faceplate, Kowalski saw the dark brown eyes and dark skin belonging to Dr. Lieutenant Rebecca Cortez.
“Take it easy, Private,” Cortez said. “I’m here, and we’re gonna take good care of you. First, can you feel your feet? Can you wiggle your feet for me?”
Kowalski gritted his teeth against the pain and complied with the doctor’s request.
“That’s good, Leo,” Cortez smiled encouragingly through her visor. “Now how ’bout your fingers? Can you move your fingers?”
“M’ right arm’s broke,” he said, surprised at the thickness in his voice. He gamely wiggled the fingers of his undamaged right hand at the doctor.
“That’s good. Now, where does it hurt?” Not waiting for him to reply, Cortez began running her hands over Kowalski’s body. In a few moments, Kowalski saw, rather than heard, her sigh of relief.
“You’re going to be fine, Leo,” Cortez said. “Your right arm is broken, but it doesn’t look too bad. I think your left knee is badly sprained, but it doesn’t look like the neurovascular bundle has been compromised. You sit tight for a moment, and we’ll get you patched up.”
Cortez straightened and waved to two of her medics, who moved in immediately to treat Kowalski’s injuries. As the medics went to work, Kowalski saw the doctor separate herself from the rest of the team. She motioned for Taggart and Frost to join her.
The pair of medics working on Kowalski quickly erected a small tentlike structure, placed the wounded Marine inside, and then crawled in after him. The tent was necessary to perform emergency medical treatment in the field when the atmosphere was hostile to human life. It was pressurized, and had an independent supply of breathable air, allowing the medics to work in relative comfort.
As the medics broke the seals on Kowalski’s combat environment suit, one muttered, “Thank God his suit wasn’t ripped.”
Kowalski shuddered at the very thought of having his suit compromised.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
“Ah, not too bad,” the medic replied. “Sprained left knee and a simple fracture of the right humerus, not to mention numerous scrapes and bruises. You’ll be fine. I’m afraid you’re out of this game, though.”
“No,” Kowalski struggled to sit up, but the pain of his fractured right arm prevented the precipitous action. “I’m not gonna leave my buddies.”
“I’m sorry, Private.” There was sympathy in the doctor’s voice. “You’re gonna have to. Otherwise, someone is going to have to carry you, and you’re too big for that.”
“Don’t worry,” the second man said as he laid out a flimsy-looking array of plastic sheeting and tubes, which Kowalski recognized as an air splint. “We’ll take good care of your friends.”
Treating Kowalski’s injuries was not difficult. A metal-reinforced brace went over the sprained left knee, to support and immobilize the joint. The broken arm required the doctors to administer a painkiller before reducing the fracture and setting it with the inflatable cast. With luck, neither injury would put Kowalski out of the Corps.
“Well that’s it,” the first medic said once they had finished. “You just lie there and take it easy for a minute, and we’ll let your captain know that you’re all right.”
* * *
An hour later, Leo Kowalski was on his feet and preparing to leave his platoon mates behind. Captain Taggart, at Lieutenant Cortez’s urging, had decided to send the injured man back to the landing zone. Abraham Ake, one of the doctors assigned to the rescue party, had climbing experience, and was going to escort Kowalski down the hill. Taggart also contacted the Marine squad left to guard the LZ and instructed Sergeant Stowe to send a couple of men up the trail to meet Ake and his charge.
“Take good care of my boy, there, Doc,” Taggart said, in a tone both light and serious at the same time.
“Will do, Captain.” Ake smiled reassuringly behind his visor. “But he’s more my boy than yours right now. You can have him back in a couple of weeks.”
“Okay.” The captain nodded. “And you, Private, do what the doc tells you. I want you back in the platoon ASAP.”
“Uh-huh, and when you do come back,” Gunny Frost added, her face expressionless, “we’re gonna have a little refresher course in basic combat mountaineering.”
“Well, that’s it,” Taggart said, taking Kowalski by his uninjured left hand. The captain looked up at the darkening sky. The Maw had reached the far horizon while the medics were working to patch Kowalski back together. Even now, the shadows on the east side of the hill had darkened almost into night. “Be careful going down the hill, and we’ll see you when we get back.”
With that, the Marines turned away and continued on their march. Ake laid a gentle hand on Kowalski’s left shoulder, and said, “Well, come on, Marine, we’ve got a long way to walk.”
“Right, Doc, just let me pick up my rifle,” Kowalski said. “Did you see where they put it?”
“No, I didn’t,” Ake replied, looking around. “I don’t see it. They wouldn’t have taken it with them, would they?”
“No, sir, they wouldn’t,” Kowalski answered. “Look, Doc, I’m financially responsible for that weapon. I can’t leave it here. Help me look for it, okay?”
“All right, Private, calm down,” Ake said as soothingly. “You stay put, I’ll see if I can’t find it for you.”
Ake, started moving up the scree-covered slope, hunting for the lost we
apon with the aid of a powerful flashlight. He had only gone ten meters or so when he froze in place.
Kowalski, too, pricked up his ears, listening. A soft scuttling noise, like thick leather being dragged across a concrete floor, reached his ears. Apparently Dr. Ake had heard it, too, because he turned his light in the direction of the sound. Something pale gleamed briefly in the beam of Ake’s light.
Then there was a loud, hollow pop. Ake dropped his flashlight with a gasp, staggered back, clutching at his chest. His heel slipped in the treacherous soil and he tumbled over backwards, rolling down the steep, rocky slope.
As the doctor’s lifeless body tumbled past him, Kowalski thought he saw a heavy steel spike protruding from the center of the man’s chest.
Something moved in the shadow of a boulder. Kowalski scrabbled left-handed for the heavy Pug automatic pistol holstered on his left hip, cursing at the pneumatic cast immobilizing his gun hand.
Before he could drag the weapon free, a misshapen humanoid figure stepped from the gloom into the fading light. The creature was holding Kowalski’s Bulldog support rifle. The weapon’s over-and-under assault-rifle and grenade-launcher barrels seemed to glare balefully at their former owner. So steadily did the being hold the heavy combination weapon that it seemed to have become part of the creature’s right arm.
At last the holster flap gave way, and Kowalski dragged the big pistol clear of its nylon case.
The creature seemed to shrug. A lance of flame reached out from the Bulldog’s muzzle and plunged Kowalski into darkness.
11
* * *
“C over!” Taggart and Frost yelled in unison as a short, rolling burst of fire echoed through the hills. Marines and medical personnel scrambled for what slight concealment they could find along the undamaged section of road.
“Lion Six to Kowalski,” Taggart called, opening a general command channel. “Kowalski, respond.”
“Nothing,” Frost said at the captain’s side. “Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah. First Squad over the edge, find out what the hell’s going on,” Taggart barked. “Second Squad, set up a perimeter here.”
Gunnery Sergeant Frost rolled out of the drainage channel and eased her way toward the top of the wall the platoon had just ascended. Dropping prone, she crawled to the edge of the precipice and peered into the gathering darkness below.
“Still nothing,” she said. “Not even on infrared. Henry, let’s rig the ropes. First Section, you’re the lead group. Second Section will cover. Let’s go.”
Moments later Frost and five Marines from First Squad, First Section stood on the rocky slope below the wall. The troops fanned out, forming a shallow defensive arc facing downhill, as the rest of their squad mates rappelled down to join them.
“Kowalski,” Frost called again. “Ake, do you copy?”
Silence.
“All right, fan out by twos. Standard search pattern,” Frost said brusquely. “We might have two people down, and I want them found, now.”
Quickly the Marines paired off and began searching the treacherous, stony hill for their missing companions. Conducting a search in the deepening gloom could be a chancy thing, even when employing light amplification and infrared detection gear such as that mounted in the environment suits’ helmets. The uneven ground below the ten-meter escarpment would make things even more difficult.
Frost paired off with Corporal Henry and moved carefully behind the center of the searching line. Onawa Frost knew that sometimes a good leader must lead from behind. While her eyes were as sharp as any Marine’s in her squad, she knew the best thing she could do was hang back a bit and coordinate the search.
“Stay sharp, people,” Frost said quietly. “There’s somebody other than us on this damn rock. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”
The Marines moved cautiously, their rifles held at low ready.
Frost knew that her men had switched on the integral starlight systems set into their visors as she had. The electronic light-amplification unit gave limited range and rendered the scene before her as a nightmare vista of green, gray, and white. Using it for an extended period of time would cause eyestrain and a stabbing headache. But the benefit of being able to see in the dark made the inconveniences worth it.
“Gunny, I’ve got something here,” a Marine called, beckoning Frost closer. “Looks like a blood trail, but I can’t tell through the starlight. Request permission to use my flash.”
“Negative, Parks,” Frost shot back. “You know better than that. If there’s bad guys out there, they’ll see your light and use it as an aiming point. Just stay there a minute. I’m coming over.”
“Okay, Sarge,” Parks replied.
When Frost reached Parks’s position, she saw the black smears against the dark green of the rocks. It was impossible to discern the actual color of the stains because of the monochrome nature of the low-light viewer. Briefly, she flicked the system off. In the deep shadows, she could not even see the discoloration. For a moment she considered the situation.
“All right you guys, spread out,” she ordered the small cluster of Marines. “I guess I’ll have to risk the light. I don’t wanna risk you guys if the Sovs see the light and decide to take a little target practice. And turn off your starlights. I don’t want anybody getting dazzled when I turn the light on.”
After waiting for the Marines to move away a short distance, Frost pulled her small, powerful flashlight from the breast pocket of her environment suit. Hooding the lens with her hand, she leaned forward over the spot where Parks had spotted the dark smear and thumbed the switch. In the sudden glare, Frost saw a thick smear of blood. Someone who was bleeding had crawled or been dragged across this spot. Moving carefully, Frost followed the blood trail for a meter or so in each direction, then snapped off the light.
“Captain, we definitely have a blood trail here,” Frost informed her superior. “I’m gonna split my squad and have them backtrack it both directions. How far downslope do you want me to proceed?”
“No more than two hundred meters from your present position, Gunny,” Taggart answered.
Frost opened her mouth to confirm the captain’s orders, but a call from one of her men interrupted her.
“Gunny, I’ve got some spent five-five-six shell casings here.”
Looking around, Frost saw the man waving to her.
“And what looks like a big puddle of blood. Hang on . . . Gunny, there’s a Pug pistol lying here, too. The mag is full, and there’s one in the chamber.”
“Captain, did you copy?” Frost asked.
“Affirmative, Gunny,” Taggart answered. “How does that position relate to your blood trails?”
“Direct line uphill, and a bit across, sir,” Frost answered. “Looks like it’s downhill for us.”
“Right. But stick to the two-hundred-meter limit. Kowalski was too badly injured to have gone much farther than that, and I doubt Ake would have left him.” The tinny-sounding headset speakers could not mask the tension in Taggart’s voice.
“Roger, sir. Two hundred meters it is.” Frost switched her attention back to her squad. “All right, you guys, spread out. You heard the man, two hundred meters. Let’s go find them.”
* * *
“Sarge, we’ve gotta stop,” Tim Henry had switched off his communications set and leaned in close to Gunnery Sergeant Frost’s helmeted head to urge her to halt. What he had to say, he didn’t want going out over the open communications channel. “We’re way past two hundred meters, and there’s been no sign of either of them. The boss said . . .”
“I know what the boss said,” Frost snapped back. Her voice was a sharp growl that Corporal Henry could barely hear, because she had turned her own communicator off. “But you don’t think he’d be out here with us if he could?”
For the past fifteen minutes, Frost and Henry had been quartering the gleaming white pavement of the intact section of road below the rockslide, without discovering any trace of the
missing men. The blood trail ran only a dozen meters farther downhill from the place where PFC Parks had discovered the thick dark smears. No more shell casings were found, in either the 5.56 millimeter used by Union forces or the bigger 7.62 round favored by the Neo-Soviets. Nor were there any signs of anyone else being hit. Then the trail ended abruptly. Twice, Gunny Frost thought she saw a faint depression in the rocky soil that might have been a footprint. But it was too hard to tell. Even risking a second’s worth of illumination from her flashlight did nothing to alleviate the mystery. If the impressions were footprints, she had no way of knowing if they had been left by the platoon as it made its way up the slope earlier that day, or by the unknown assailants who had spirited away PFC Kowalski and Dr. Ake.
“Sarge, we gotta go back.” Henry was insistent, and Frost had to admit that he was right.
“Okay, we go back,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“Lion Six, this is Lion Three,” she called, switching her communicator back on. “Sir, we haven’t seen any trace of Kowalski or Ake since we lost the blood trail. Suggest you recall the scouts and see if they have any better luck. Dade is a helluva lot better tracker than I’ll ever be.”
* * *
At the temporary command post he had set up above the cliff face and broken rocky slope, Captain Taggart considered Gunny Frost’s request.
“I think you’re right, Gunny,” he said. “Mark the spots where you lost the trail and where you found the shell casings. We aren’t going to find much in the dark. We’ll bivouac here and resume the search in the morning.”
As soon as it was light enough for the scouts to follow the faint marks left by whoever or whatever had attacked Kowalski and Ake the night before, Dade and Black took up the search. Gunny Frost and two of the men from First Squad accompanied the recon specialists, keeping well back so as not to spoil any signs.
Frost watched with great interest and open admiration as the scouts followed the unseen enemy beyond the point where she had lost the trail the previous evening. Dade and Black seemed to spot signs invisible to the naked eye, keeping the search party on a straight course downhill.
Operation Sierra-75 Page 8