data would certainly arrive in good order, even if something were to befall the Soviet weapon itself.
Two more days had been spent in travel, stopping first at Lydveldid Island to confer with Madame Jokli and her staff concerning the latest developments in the war; and, of course, to renew the friendship held by the entire Rourke family for Bjorn Rolvaag. The Icelandic policeman asked to accompany them to the fighting. Rourke conveyed to Rolvaag as best he could that they were on their way back from the active front in Eastern Europe to New Germany. But Rolvaag accompanied them in any event. They continued on to near Eden Base, where the women were waiting for them. Although he questioned the wisdom of their leaving The Retreat, he would be glad to have their help and, on one level at least, felt more at ease if they were near …
that if something occurred to endanger them, he would be there rather than unknowing and thousands of miles away.
John Rourke could not escape the feeling that things were now coming to a head, a climax. As to the outcome, he could not predict.
Michael walked aft from the J7-Vs cockpit, announcing, “I just got off the radio. They want us inside quick. One of the Long Range Mountain Patrols reports Soviet troop movement toward the seacoast. There’s some thought to the effect that the Soviets of the Underground City might have already affected their alliance with their counterparts near Mid-Wake and some sort of seaborne attack might be in the offing.”
John Rourke took one of the thin, dark tobacco cigars from the pocket of the faded blue shirt he wore beneath his battered brown bomber jacket. He rolled it across his teeth, setding it unlit at the left corner of his mouth. “If the alliance is already working, going inside might not help much.” Then he started toward the fuselage door. Paul was already opening it, and when the almost uncomfortably bright sunlight washed into the cabin, Rourke squinted against it. There were German military personnel waiting, an honor guard with assault rifles at order arms, and other military personnel as well, from among the number of these latter several assisting the rest of the way with the egress steps. Rourke reached to one of the patch pockets of his jacket, extracting the dark-lensed aviator sunglasses he hadn’t needed very much in the blizzardlike conditions to the north. He needed them now.
He moved onto the steps, his pack in his right hand. One of the German junior officers reached for it and Rourke let him take it. An M16 was secured to the pack, Rourke’s gunbelt was slung over his left shoulder.
From behind him, Paul said, “God it’s bright out here!”
Rourke reached into his jeans, took the battered zippo from his pocket, and rolled the striking wheel under his right thumb, thrusting the tip of the cigar into the lighter’s blue-yellow flame. He inhaled.
The main entrance to the city lay before them, armored vehicles nearly blocking it and positioned to do so rapidly. The blast doors were half closed. More than five times the usual number of guards were stationed there. Just on the exterior side of the entrance stood a military band.
Despite the dark-lensed glasses John Rourke wore, when he looked upward, he squinted against the light. From the air, as the J7-V made its approach, he had detected litde additional fortification of the German city. But, from ground level, able to see beneath the overhangs that were blasted or laser cut into the mountain’s exterior, the city’s level of preparedness seemed considerably heightened. Anti-aircraft and anti-armor missiles were located at regular intervals on three levels, and logic dictated that the armament totally surround the mountain in a staggered tier effect.
Michael and Paul flanked him now.
The band began to play, striking up “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the commander of the honor guard formed on either side of Rourke, his son and his friend calling the unit to
Two more days had been spent in travel, stopping first at Lydveldid Island to confer with Madame Jokli and her staff concerning the latest developments in the war; and, of course, to renew the friendship held by the entire Rourke family for Bjorn Rolvaag. The Icelandic policeman asked to accompany them to the fighting. Rourke conveyed to Rolvaag as best he could that they were on their way back from the active front in Eastern Europe to New Germany. But Rolvaag accompanied them in any event. They continued on to near Eden Base, where the women were waiting for them. Although he questioned the wisdom of their leaving The Retreat, he would be glad to have their help and, on one level at least, felt more at ease if they were near …
that if something occurred to endanger them, he would be there rather than unknowing and thousands of miles away.
John Rourke could not escape the feeling that things were now coming to a head, a climax. As to the outcome, he could not predict.
Michael walked aft from the J7-Vs cockpit, announcing, “I just got off the radio. They want us inside quick. One of the Long Range Mountain Patrols reports Soviet troop movement toward the seacoast. There’s some thought to the effect that the Soviets of the Underground City might have already affected their alliance with their counterparts near Mid-Wake and some sort of seaborne attack might be in the offing.”
John Rourke took one of the thin, dark tobacco cigars from the pocket of the faded blue shirt he wore beneath his battered brown bomber jacket. He rolled it across his teeth, setding it unlit at the left corner of his mouth. “If the alliance is already working, going inside might not help much.” Then he started toward the fuselage door. Paul was already opening it, and when the almost uncomfortably bright sunlight washed into the cabin, Rourke squinted against it. There were German military personnel waiting, an honor guard with assault rifles at order arms, and other military personnel as well, from among the number of these latter several assisting the rest of the way with the egress steps. Rourke reached to one of the patch pockets of his jacket, extracting the dark-lensed aviator sunglasses he hadn’t needed very much in the blizzardlike conditions to the north. He needed them now.
He moved onto the steps, his pack in his right hand. One of the German junior officers reached for it and Rourke let him take it. An M16 was secured to the pack, Rourke’s gunbelt was slung over his left shoulder.
From behind him, Paul said, “God it’s bright out here!”
Rourke reached into his jeans, took the battered zippo from his pocket, and rolled the striking wheel under his right thumb, thrusting the tip of the cigar into the lighter’s blue-yellow flame. He inhaled.
The main entrance to the city lay before them, armored vehicles nearly blocking it and positioned to do so rapidly. The blast doors were half closed. More than five times the usual number of guards were stationed there. Just on the exterior side of the entrance stood a military band.
Despite the dark-lensed glasses John Rourke wore, when he looked upward, he squinted against the light. From the air, as the J7-V made its approach, he had detected litde additional fortification of the German city. But, from ground level, able to see beneath the overhangs that were blasted or laser cut into the mountain’s exterior, the city’s level of preparedness seemed considerably heightened. Anti-aircraft and anti-armor missiles were located at regular intervals on three levels, and logic dictated that the armament totally surround the mountain in a staggered tier effect.
Michael and Paul flanked him now.
The band began to play, striking up “The Star-Spangled Banner” as the commander of the honor guard formed on either side of Rourke, his son and his friend calling the unit to
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