7
The fight with the two tormenting foes in the ravine had robbed Tom of his remaining strength, and still he was fighting enemies. Enemies infinitely more deadly than the ones he had defeated. Enemies he could not hope to conquer: exhaustion, heat — and thirst…
He peered in agony up at the relentless sun, sweat rolling down and caking the acrid dust in the stubble on his cheeks. His lips were cracked, and he could conjure up no moisture for his tongue to soothe them.
He staggered as he made his way along a trail toward a group of craggy rock formations that cradled pools of shade among them.
He passed a round, smooth boulder raised above the burning ground on stubby legs. For a moment he leaned against it. It felt different from other rocks. He worked his parched mouth and squinted toward the shade of the rugged peaks a little farther on. The earth before him seemed to smoke from the fury of the incandescent disk that watched him malevolently high above. Near collapse, he hesitated. There was a little shade where he stood — but the round boulder was out in the open, exposed. He struggled on, brushing past the meaningless markings on the boulder — WATER — and ignoring the spigot with the admonition to use the water in the tank for radiators only, and to close the tap firmly after use.
He reached the rocks. Scraggly, withered clumps of desert brush grew sparsely among them — and also a few spiny, bulbous objects.
He fell to one knee. The world grew fuzzy and seemed to pulsate with indistinctness. He collapsed completely, lying prostrate on the sand. He wiped his face with a grimy hand and peered ahead with sun-blinded eyes, straining to see. Through the shimmering heat rising from the ground he could make out a craggy nook of shade. He struggled to his feet and dragged himself toward the spot. Again he stumbled. He fell, raking his knee across the tough, sharp needles of a small hedgehog cactus. Sudden rage surged through him. Enemies were everywhere. Enemies that frightened, tormented — and hurt. He whirled on the pain-inflicting foe, and with a booted foot stamped on it — again and again — crushing it.
Spent, he sank down beside it. Dully he looked at the trampled enemy. In the pulp, beads of moisture sparkled. He touched it. With his hands he scooped up the moist cactus pulp and buried his burning face in it, sucking the wetness into his parched mouth…
There were four vehicles drawn up on the little spur road that led to the mountain observation point overlooking the valley — two scouts and two Ranger pick-ups. The blazing sun stood high in the cloudless sky and the only shade was a narrow strip along each vehicle.
Paul glanced at his watch, more out of impatience than a need to know the time. It would not be long now. He had always hated waiting. They had reached the time where each second seemed twice as long as the one just past. As soon as he got word that the ring of Ranger spotters was complete, they'd start to patrol the area — hopefully flushing their quarry into the open where he could be spotted. If…
If he was in the area at all.
He looked toward Sergeant Hays standing by the radio in his scout. Good man. And the only one whose face wasn't dripping sweat. He let his mind wander. He was glad to have the big black on his team. The man was experienced, reliable. Paul knew he'd seen service on bases all over the world. There was a strength about him that was infectious.
Ward and Ranger Gordon were conferring over a map, their faces glistening with perspiration, their shirts spotted with dampness. And Wilson was sitting on the ground in the strip of shade cast by the scout, leaning against it, slowly spooning the contents of a canned ration into his mouth. Paul marveled. It was too damned hot to eat.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He glanced at Randi sitting next to him on the rocks, her head lowered, staring down into her lap. The enervating heat was obviously draining her. Later he'd start her on salt pills.
He was suddenly astounded. He found himself thinking about the girl, evaluating her as he would the men under him. Okay, she was living up to her word. She was keeping up. He approved. She was all right. For a woman. Actually, he admitted to himself, he sometimes even forgot she was a woman.
Randi looked up to meet his eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
She gave him a wan smile. “Yes, Paul. Fine.”
He offered her his canteen. “How about a drink?”
She took it and drank. For a moment she sat staring at the canteen, lost in thought.
“What is it?” Paul asked.
She looked at him. “Oh, nothing. I–I was just thinking. It's so terribly hot and I was so thirsty.” She looked at the canteen. “I have water. What about Tom? What must it be like for him?”
He had no answer. Clumsily he tried to change the subject, get her thoughts away from her fears.
“Quite a view,” he said, nodding at the desert panorama below them.
Randi sighed. “Yes. Magnificent,” she said, not really aware of her answer. She knew what he was trying to do — and she liked him for it. She looked closely at him. She found herself buoyed by his strength and stamina, his decisiveness. She understood why Tom called him friend. Not once, since their talk, had he shown resentment of her — or been overly solicitous. He had treated her with complete equality. She respected him for it. It would have been so easy for him to show his displeasure and to make her ill at ease by treating her as a fragile female. He had not.
“Must have been quite a sight seeing those twenty-mule-team wagons plowing along down there,” he said.
Randi gazed out over the vast expanse of the valley below. She spoke, a sudden catch in her voice.
“I–I wish the place could be filled with people,” She said. “Looking for Tom.” She turned to Paul, sudden anger on her face. “Tom's giving his life for the Air Force,” she flared. “Where are they now?”
Paul put his hand on her arm. “You know why we can't,” he said quietly. “It's for Tom's own safety.”
Randi looked away. “I know,” she said miserably. “Oh, Paul… It's so terribly big. Tom could be anywhere.”
She shivered. Shivering is not reserved for being cold, she thought. She glanced up at the incandescent sun high above. She pulled at the sweat-soaked shirt that stuck to her skin. Cold… She suddenly thought of the coldest she'd ever been. 165 degrees below zero. In Florida…
It had been at Eglin Air Force Base. Tom had been stationed there when he came back from Vietnam. It was there they'd met. She had been working in her first job out of college, where she'd majored in business management. It had been with the First National Bank in Fort Walton Beach. In the loan department. She'd met Tom when he applied for a loan to buy a car. They had their first date that same night. She still wasn't quite sure why she'd accepted. She'd never done anything like it before.
She'd visited the Base, and Tom had shown her the landing strip where Jim Doolittle and his volunteer crews had practiced short take-offs in their B-25s before carrying out their historic bombing attack on Japan in early 1942. She had quickly realized that Doolittle was one of Tom's handful of heroes — which included such wildly diverse personalities as Margaret Rutherford and Jules Verne.
They'd grown close. She'd always been curious about the huge Environmental Test Laboratories at Eglin, where the Air Force could create any kind of weather or temperature extreme — from a Sahara sandstorm to an arctic blizzard — in order to test their hardware under the most severe conditions. One of the labs held engines that had to withstand the cold of space itself. She'd been dying to know what it would be like, and Tom had wangled permission to take her in.