Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control
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personnel jumping from one of their own aircraft, suspended from the
parachutes clearly identified as those belonging to the Indian air
force. This phase of the operation was only supposed to pit trained
professionals against severe elements.
There was going to be a chance for most if not all the Strikers to
survive. How did it go so wrong?
"Colonel August was right about us needing a backup plan," Herbert said.
"We went off the play book We've got to get to work and give him--"
"Hold on," Hood said.
"Something's not right."
"Excuse me?" Herbert replied.
"Look at this satellite image," Hood said.
Herbert did.
"The terrorist cell is still moving beneath the overhanging ledges, just
as they've done since sunup," Hood said.
"But they've also got a little elbow room now. They have these shadows
to move in." Hood pointed at the jagged areas of blackness on the
monitor.
"See how the shadows are lengthening as the sun sets behind the
Himalayas?"
"I see," Herbert said.
"But I don't get your point."
"Look at the direction of the shadows relative to the sun," Hood told
him.
"The cell is moving in a westerly direction.
Not northwesterly. That's different from before."
Herbert stared for a moment.
"You're right," he said.
"Why the hell would they be doing that?"
"Maybe there's a shortcut?" Hood suggested.
"A secret path through the glacier?"
Herbert brought up the detailed photographic overviews from NASA's
Defense Mapping Agency. These photographic maps were marked with
coordinates and were used to target satellites. Herbert asked the
computer to mark the area that Viens was studying now. Hood leaned over
Herbert's wheelchair and looked closely at the monitor as a faint red
cursor began to pulse on the region the cell was crossing.
"There's no shortcut," Herbert said.
"What the hell are they doing? They're actually taking a longer route to
the line of control."
"Will August still intercept them?" Hood asked.
"Yes," Herbert said. The intelligence chief pointed to a region slightly
north of where the cell was.
"Brett came down here. He's heading southeast. He'll just be meeting
them a lot sooner than we expected." Herbert studied the map.
"But this still doesn't make sense. This route isn't going to take the
Pakistanis through more accessible terrain. It's farther from the LOC,
it's not at a lower altitude, and it doesn't look easier to negotiate."
"Maybe they've got a weapons cache or another hideout along the way,"
Hood suggested.
"Possibly," Herbert said. He went back to the live NRO image.
"But they were relatively close to the border where they were. Why would
they want to give the Indians more time to catch them?"
The interagency phone line beeped. Herbert punched it on speakerphone.
"Yes?" Herbert said.
"Bob, it's Viens," said the caller.
"It's getting dark in the target area. The light is now down enough for
us to switch to heat-scan without being blinded. We'll be able to track
the cell easier." "Go ahead," Herbert said. He hit the mute button on
the phone.
Herbert and Hood continued to look at the overhead map.
Hood was studying the area at the foot of the plateau.
"Bob, if we move the satellite will we be able to look into this
valley?" Hood asked, pointing at a grid marked "77." "I don't know,"
Herbert told him. He glanced over at his boss.
"Paul, I want to find Mike too. But we only have the one satellite in
the region. Do we want to tie it up looking for him?"
"Mike could have lost or damaged his radio in the fall," Hood said.
"If he's alive there might be something he can do for Brett. We need
every resource we can get over there."
"Even if they're two thousand vertical miles and God knows how many
as-the-crow-flies miles away?" Herbert asked.
"We don't know for certain where Mike is," Hood pointed out.
"We need to find out."
Before the intelligence chief could consider what Paul Hood had said,
Viens came back on the line.
"Bob, are you looking at the new satellite photos?" Viens asked.
Herbert killed the mute function.
"No," he replied and immediately jumped back to the feed from the Omni
Com
"Is there a problem?" "Maybe," Viens said.
"Even when the cell was under the ledge we always caught a glimpse of a
head or arm so we knew we still had them. What do you see now?"
Herbert and Hood both leaned closer to the monitor as the image formed.
The picture looked psychedelic, like something from the sixties. Hot,
red shadows were spilling out along a field of green-colored rocks and
snow.
The shadows of only three people.
"What the hell's going on there?" Herbert asked.
"I don't know," Viens admitted.
"Some of the terrorists could have been lost along the way."
"It's also possible they turned on Friday and the Indian officer,"
Herbert thought aloud.
"Maybe there were casualties.
We should try and get them on the radio."
"No," Hood said.
"Contact August and let him know there are three individuals ahead.
Tell him they may be hostile and that he is to use discretion whether to
shadow rather than engage. Stephen, can you get me a look at grid 77 on
file map OP-1017.63?"
"I'll bring that map up, see if it's in the Omni Com focal range," Viens
replied.
"It'll only take a minute."
"Thank you," Hood said.
Herbert shook his head.
"What reason would the cell have for attacking Friday?" he asked.
"Maybe it was Friday who turned against the cell," Hood said. Then he
straightened.
"Wait a minute," he said.
"It could be possible that none of the above happened."
"What do you mean?" Herbert asked.
"Ron Friday must have told the cell that the Indian soldiers were coming
toward them," Hood said.
"Right," Herbert said.
"The Pakistanis could not know there was a threat until Friday joined
them," Hood went on.
"They did not know that getting Nanda to Pakistan was the only way they
might be able to stop a nuclear exchange. What would you do with that
knowledge, especially if you were also told that an American strike
force was coming to link up with you?" Hood said.
"If you were smart and bold and probably a little desperate you would
try something unexpected."
"Like splitting your forces and using one group to draw the Indian
soldiers away," Herbert said.
"Right. Which means that the other four people may be somewhere else,
probably holding to the original course," Hood said.
"If that's true, it means we don't want August and Musicant linking up
with the splinter group, since they're probably going to want to draw
fire from the Indians," Herbert said.
"Correct. Bob, let August know what we're thinking," Hood said. He
> leaned back over the computer and returned to the NASA map.
"Stephen, I need to see into that valley."
"I've got your map up now," Viens said.
"I'm looking to see if the coordinates are in the Omni Com computer."
Meanwhile, Herbert punched in Striker's TAC-SAT number.
"Paul, you can't be thinking what I think you are," Herbert said.
"I'm sure I am," Hood informed him.
"Assuming he's all right, you don't even know if you can talk to him,"
Herbert said.
"One thing at a time," Hood said.
"I can do it!" Viens shouted.
"I'm sending up the order now. No guarantees about cloud cover and
visibility, Paul, but I'll have you in the valley in ninety seconds."
"Thank you," Hood said.
"What are we looking for?" Viens asked.
"A parachute," Hood said.
"One that may have Mike Rodgers on the end of it."
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.
The Mangala Valley Thursday, 5:30 p. m.
During the Strikers' descent, the AN-12 had made a quick turn to the
south. A powerful downdraft from the fast departing transport had driven
Mike Rodgers toward the center of the parachutists. As a result, he was
protected from the main thrust of the flak attack. But Rodgers had heard
the explosions. He had seen the results as his teammates fell around
him. By the time the general had guided himself toward the target, only
he and one other striker were still aloft.
Despite the heroic efforts of one of the strikers on the ledge, Rodgers
had failed to reach the plateau. He had struck his shins and then his
right hip and torso on the ledge. Fortunately, his equipment vest took
the brunt of the chest hit.
But Rodgers was dropping too fast and was not able to hold on. He was
also unable to see what happened to the last aloft teammate. At least
that chute was on the correct side of the plateau. If he or she were
able to disengage from the chute it would probably be all right.
As the rock target disappeared from view, Rodgers studied the terrain
immediately below. He had not given up trying to join the others and
looked for a ledge he could reach.
Unfortunately, Rodgers could not stay as close to the mountain as he
would have liked. There were so many rough outcroppings that he ran the
risk of snagging and ripping the parachute. Reluctantly, he made the
decision to ride the chute to the valley.
While Rodgers descended, he looked for signs of other parachutes below.
He had seen the Strikers fall and did not think any of them could have
survived the plunge. If he were able to land near them he could be
certain. Rodgers refused to think about the soldiers who were almost
certainly lost.
There would be time to grieve later. All that mattered now was the
mission and Rodgers had to find a way of getting back into it.
The currents diminished the lower Rodgers dropped. As he descended into
the valley the shroud stopped its side-to side swaying. The officer hung
as straight as a plumb line, protected by the mountains from the fierce
winds that raced through the outer range. He floated down through the
wispy clouds.
Rodgers glanced at his large, luminous watch. He had been aloft for
nearly fifty minutes. He was at a low enough altitude to remove his
breathing apparatus and goggles. He strapped them to his belt. The water
vapor in the clouds condensed on Rodgers's exposed face. It cooled the
hot perspiration on his forehead and cheeks, invigorating him. Below him
the clouds began to thin. He could see the terrain rushing up.
This was not going to be easy.
Technically, the formation below was a valley. It was an elongated
lowland between two mountain ranges. A shallow, fast-running river cut
through the center. To Mike Rodgers, however, the small, barren
formation was just a rocky depression in the rugged foothills. The
sloping, sharp-edged terrain made a soft landing impossible and a safe
landing problematic at best. At least the air was calm. He could work
the chute to try to avoid the most precarious spots.
As he dropped under the last level of clouds he saw the first of the
Striker parachutes. It was bunched like an orchid in the middle of the
river. The Striker was apparently below it. A moment later Rodgers saw
the other chutes. Two of them were tangled together at the foot of one
of the mountains.
The Strikers were sprawled beside them. Their cold weather outfits were
smeared with blood. He saw the fourth Striker beyond and above them. The
canopy was caught on a small outcropping about thirty feet up. Sondra
Devon the was suspended close beneath it. She was rocking gently at the
end of the shroud lines.
Don't think about this now, Rodgers warned himself. He had to look
ahead, at the cause for which these soldiers had sacrificed their lives.
Otherwise there would be many more casualties.
Further beyond, to the south, he saw smoke curling up from behind a turn
in the valley. Something had either exploded or crashed there. He did
not think it was the AN-12.
If the aircraft had been hit, the Strikers probably would have heard and
certainly would have seen it go down. He glanced briefly to the north.
He could see the foot of the glacier ahead. That was why this valley was
so damned cold. The glacier had probably cracked this place from the
mountains eons ago.
The ground was coming up quickly. As much as he did not want to hit the
slopes, Rodgers did not want to land in the water. With the sun setting,
his suit would freeze in a matter of minutes. He also did not want to
hit one of the ragged slopes bordering the river. That was a good way to
rip his cold-weather uniform or break some bones.
Unfortunately, the cliffs tapered so sharply toward the river there was
not much of a bank to land on.
That left him one other option. It was one that Rodgers did not want to
take. But the choices in war were never easy.
The general made his decision and forced it to go down.
Rodgers guided himself toward the downed parachute that had blossomed in
the lake. The fabric straddled the shore on the eastern side. There were
glints of ice around the edges still in the water. The shroud looked as
though it would be stiff enough to take his fall without dumping him
into the river. Hopefully, Rodgers would be able to stay on his feet and
jump to the narrow shore before the canopy folded altogether.
With just seconds to impact, Rodgers positioned himself over the chute.
On one side he could see an arm lying underwater.
The flesh was blue-white. Rodgers did not want to land on the Striker's
body. He kept his eyes on the other side of the canopy.
The target site loomed larger and larger. Its rapid approach created the
distinct sensation that gravity had really grabbed Rodgers. Now he felt
as if he were falling, not floating.
Rodgers landed lightly on the canopy. The rigid fabric gave in the
middle where he landed, but the fringes remained flat. Rodgers managed
to remain on his feet. He immediately popped his chute
and let it blow
away. He turned to the side nearest the shore. It took just over a
second for the canopy to sink enough for water to begin flowing over the
sides. By that time Rodgers had stridden several steps and leaped over
the water to solid ground. The foot of the brownish-white granite cliff
was less than four feet away. Rodgers walked toward it so that he could
see further along the valley.
Landing on the shroud had caused it to drift slightly down river.
As Rodgers looked back he saw a body lying facedown underwater. The dead
Striker's clothing was bloated by the water. The shroud lines were the
only things moving.
Rodgers did not move him. He did not have time. He reached into his
equipment vest and opened a flap to retrieve his radio.