Authors: Joe Poyer
They ran on, Teleman straining every last ounce of energy he possessed to keep up. Then, as suddenly as it began, the, fire died away, and behind them they could see the stick figures of the Russians up and running after them again. The rock walls of the cliffs had furnished sufficient protection from the missile. fire and they came on unharmed. Teleman suddenly became aware that bullets were kicking up the beach around them again. He flattened, threw a glance over his shoulder, but Gadsen was past and running back before he could stop him. Teleman saw Julie's slight figure go to one knee, heard the sharp crack as he began firing rapidly. The lead figure screamed, threw up his hands, and tumbled headlong. Bullets smacked around Gadsen with curious popping noises, but he continued to fire coolly,
the crack, crack, crack of his AR 18 abnormally loud in the cold air. Folsom yelled at Teleman to run and himself, turned, his rifle blazing toward the Russians. Teleman heard the faint plat of the bullet that struck Gadsen and knocked him backward across the beach.
As if at a great distance, he heard someone ask if Gadsen was dead and realized that it was his own voice. Folsom screamed at him, but he saw from the angular position of Julie's body, where it lay at the water's edge, that he was dead. Nothing exploded inside his brain, no-galvanizing fury flung him at the Russians. Instead a cold fury at the entire foolish system that was responsible for this man's death took hold of him. He cocked the Russian submachine gun, he was carrying and walked back down the beach, away from Julie's body. The submachine gun kicked in his hands and he saw the line of Russians hesitate, then scatter to the right and left. He tripped over a rock and fell headlong. He put his head down on the cold snow and knew that he would never run another step from where he lay. His frustration came out a harsh scream. Folsom and McPherson dropped down beside him and began firing at the zigzagging figures that, in spite of the barrage, seemed to pass through untouched. McPherson emptied a clip at the approaching Russians and rammed a new one home. Carefully he picked his targets as Folsom kept up a continual line of fire to keep the approaching soldiers off balance. McPherson sighted carefully and fired and watched as the soldier in his sights disappeared, his rifle flying from his hands. Then a bullet struck him in the cheek and tore through his shoulder.
Without thinking, Teleman threw away his empty Russian submachine gun and scrabbled for McPherson's carbine. He fired twelve shots, closely spaced, but very carefully, and thought he hit one.
The answering fire was striking ever closer now. The Russians were less than a hundred yards away and still they came on, four left, crouching low and running swiftly forward, firing as they came. These were no sailors, Folsom realized, but trained soldiers, probably marines.
A bullet kicked stone chips and snow in Teleman's face, forcing him to jerk his head away. He rubbed viciously at his eyes to clear them and swung back, but the Russians had turned and were running back to the south. Teleman, stunned, rolled to see Folsom staring after the Russians. Then they heard the heavy, staccato bark of automatic weapons behind them. Both turned to see bluejacketed sailors pouring from a beached whaleboat. Disbelieving, Teleman got to his lames as sailors rushed past them after the fleeing Russians. Then-he - and Folsom began to laugh, both with great tearing gasps that were almost sobs. They were still laughing when the chief petty officer ran up to be confronted with the spectacle of his executive officer alternately laughing and sobbing, his arms around a gaunt scarecrow of a man with a bandaged head.
The North Cape of Norway is perhaps at once the most beautiful 'and the most savage of lands on this planet. In summer it becomes a rendezvous point for devotees of the midnight sun who come as tourists to view the endless daylight of midsummer from this northernmost point on the Scandinavian Peninsula. But in winter the Cape is deserted of all but the fishermen and their families who occupy its handful of fishing villages. Only they are able to survive the rigors of its subzero cold and the Arctic storms that rage down from the Great Barrier two hundred miles north.
In these days of developing international maturity, which are more often expressed through individuals rather than their governments, no part of the world, no matter how isolated or desolate, is free from the complications of national competition for that hegemony called national security.
I wish to thank certain people for their cheerful assistance with this book. First of all, Susan my wife, for her unflagging encouragement and devotion to the typing and editing chores; then to Lieutenant Colonel Robert Gillon of the United States Marine Corp, a seventy-three-mission fighter pilot veteran of Vietnam for reading the manuscript and advising on and correcting the technical aspects; to Olin Witthoft, my good friend and capable representative of United Aircrafts' Pratt. & Whitney Aircraft Division, who spent many hours with me working out the technical details of the A-17
aircraft; and to John Shell, Ph.D. and associate director of the Institute of Pharmaceutical Chemistry, for his analysis of the effects of the amphetamine and lysergic acid families of drugs under conditions of physical exhaustion and subzero temperatures. And, finally, for assistance in coming to know and describe properly the North Cape area and its weather, both the Royal Norwegian Government and the United States Navy. J. POYER