Caffey stared out from the snowcat, scanning the rolling terrain for any sign of an enemy. He hadn’t used that word with Cordobes or any of the men because it connoted a whole range of frightening possibilities, none of which he was prepared to deal with. Occasionally he’d notice his reflection in the glass — a man in white camouflage, snow goggles and a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck like some ridiculous caricature of Erwin Rommel.
“Colonel!” Lieutenant Speck lunged forward from his place behind Caffey in the snowcat, pointing ahead. A soldier was waving, motioning toward the ridge.
“I see him, Lieutenant.” Caffey opened the door and climbed down from the cab. “Park this thing under a tree, Parsons, and turn off the engine. Then come with me.” He jogged toward the ridge where Cordobes was sliding down in the snow.
“What’ve you got, Captain?”
Lieutenant Speck and Sergeant Parsons arrived a moment later.
Cordobes lowered his goggles. He glanced at Speck, then Caffey. “You’d better have a look at this, Colonel.”
“What is it?”
“I think you’d better have a look.”
Caffey squinted up the ridge. “All right.” He turned to Speck. “Get the men about twenty yards up this rise and spread them. Lock and load. No talking. No smoking. I don’t want to see or hear anything when I look down here. Right?” Speck saluted. “Yes, sir.”
Caffey sighed. Now wasn’t the time to explain that you don’t salute in fire zones, or, at least, in unsecured areas. He turned back to Cordobes. “Let’s go, Captain. You, too, Sergeant.” It was a struggle, getting up the ridge through the powdery, boot-deep snow. Near the crest the three men knelt into a crouch, then wound up on their bellies and inched along to the top. A brief swirl of wind kicked up snow in front of them. As it dissipated, Caffey had an unobstructed though fuzzy view of the valley below. It was a winding column of troops and vehicles, moving at an angle slightly away from Caffey’s position.
“Holy shit!” Parsons whispered.
“I’m praying, Colonel,” Cordobes said quietly, “that we are all having the same bad dream.” Caffey studied the distant column through his binoculars. “It’s a nightmare, but it’s no dream.” He dug his elbows into the snow for better support of the binoculars. “I figure eight hundred cold-weather troops, battalion strength. About a dozen snowmobiles protecting the flanks. Four armored vehicles, tracked. Heavy machine guns, antipersonnel rocket-launchers, mortars… Christ!” He lowered the binoculars. “The sonofabitches are loaded for bear.”
“Russians?” Cordobes asked, staring down the ridge.
“They’re Soviet shock troops,” Caffey said. “Pathfinders.” He handed the captain the binoculars. “That lead vehicle is flying a brigade commander’s whip flag, Ninth Soviet Army.”
“That doesn’t sound good, Colonel,” Parsons said.
“Those are arctic airborne troops down there. Probably the best-trained in the entire Soviet Army.”
“What the hell are they doing here?” Cordobes wanted to know.
Caffey stared after the column. “I don’t know, Captain, but I don’t think they’re lost.” He glanced at the Eskimo sergeant. “What would a strike force be doing in this barren part of the world, Parsons? What’s up here that has any strategic value?”
“Just what you see, sir. Nothing. They might head north toward Prudhoe Bay, but—”
“That war party isn’t here for any Arctic Ocean port,” Caffey said. He slid back on his haunches.
“C’mon, I’ve seen enough. Sergeant, you keep an eye on our friends. I have a telephone call to make.”
“What are we going to do?” Cordobes said as they moved back down the ridge.
“I’m not sure, Captain,” Caffey mumbled. “But we’re not going to attack them.” An angry General Roberts entered the communications center biting a cigar. He was just leaving his office to go to lunch when he was called by Major Breckenridge to come to the radio room. Urgent, she said. Colonel Caffey had a Green Giant message. Green Giant was this month’s code phrase for contact with hostile forces.
“What the hell is Caffey up to now?” Roberts ranted.
Kate looked up from the duty desk where she’d been making notes. She was obviously shaken.
“Colonel Caffey’s reported a major hostile force in the area of Shublik Ridge.” She nodded at the message center operator who was translating the coded radio key transmission. “The text is coming in now.”
“Hostile force? What goddamn hostile force?” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “I sent the sonofabitch to find ten missing Guardsmen and he calls back with hostile forces at Shublik Ridge?
Christ Almighty, Major, what kind of training game is he trying to pull?” She ripped the page out of the code translator as the operator finished and handed it to the general.
“Read this.”
Roberts’s lips moved as he read quickly over the message.
“Jake Caffey may be a sonofabitch, General,” Kate said evenly, “but he doesn’t play games.” Roberts glanced at the major with a dumbfounded expression, then looked back at the page. “Battalion-strength land force… heavily armed… tracked vehicles… Ninth Soviet Army…” He looked up at her. “Is he nuts?”
“I don’t think—”
“Christ! Where is he?”
Kate pointed to a grease-penciled circle on the plastic map on the wall. “There.”
“Right in the middle of goddamn nothing?” Roberts exploded. “Get Caffey on the horn, Corporal. I want to hear this from him.”
“It isn’t secure, General,” Kate protested. “The radio isn’t—”
“Neither is Colonel Caffey after this little drama.”
“Campus Darkness to Gallant Entry,” the radio operator said into his chest microphone. “Campus Darkness to Gallant Entry.” After a moment the operator looked up at the general. “I have Gallant Entry Six, sir.” Roberts took the microphone and switched on the speaker. “Six, this is One. Do you copy?” The general waited as the speaker rattled static, then—“This is Gallant Entry Six.” It was Caffey’s voice. He sounded impatient. “Did you copy coded message? Over.”
“I send you out to cover a situation that a retarded recruit could handle and you call back with Green Giants? Look, you idiot, don’t start playing training games with this command! I’m in charge here and I’ll let you know when I want to exercise an alert drill. Is that clear, mister?”
“It isn’t a drill,” the voice said tinnily from the speaker. “Over.”
Roberts bared his teeth at Kate. “The sonofabitch wants a court-martial,” he hissed.
Kate glanced up from the message. “He says the squad they were looking for was wiped out, General.”
“It also says they only found one body.”
“One or fifty-one, General, Caffey wouldn’t make it up — not even for a drill.”
“Shit!” To Caffey, Roberts said, “Are you under fire?”
“No,” was the quick response. “This is not a secure net, Campus Darkness.”
“Have you made any contact at all?”
“An observation only.”
“Confirmed?”
There was a momentary silence from the speaker. “How would you like me to confirm it, One? Do you want to speak to them?”
“Insolent bastard,” Roberts said.
Kate moved beside the general. “Sir, I’d suggest Caffey and his men continue to track whatever they’ve found until we can verify who it really is from this end.” The general chewed on it a moment. “Right,” he said finally. “Caf — er, Six, carry on.”
“Say again?”
“I said, carry on… carry on! Continue observation but do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. Wait for my next transmission. Copy?”
“Roger, copy. Gallant Entry, out.”