"Yeah." Morris went back to the bridge, playing it over again in his mind. He had the entire sequence memorized now. He walked out on the bridge wing. The spray shields were still perforated, and there was a faint bloodstain where the XO had died. Someone would be painting over that today. Chief Clarke had all kinds of work gangs going. Morris fit a cigarette and stared at the horizon.
The helicopter was the last warning they needed. Edwards and his party were heading northeast. They passed through an area of many small lakes, crossed a gravel road after waiting an hour to see what the traffic there was like-none-and began to traverse a series of marshes. By this time Edwards was thoroughly confused by the terrain. The mixture of bare rock, grassy meadows, lava fields, and now a freshwater marsh made him wonder if Iceland might not be the place where God had put everything that had been left over after the world was built. Evidently He'd made just the right amount of trees, though, because there were none here, and their best cover was the knee-high grass that sprouted from the water. It must be hardy grass, Edwards thought, since this marsh had been frozen not too long ago. It was still cold, and within minutes of entering the marshes everyone's legs ached with it. They endured the misery. The alternative was to travel on bare and slightly elevated ground, not something to be contemplated with enemy helicopters about.
Vigdis surprised them with her endurance. She kept up with the Marines without faltering or complaining. A true country girl, Edwards thought, she was still benefiting from a childhood of chasing the family sheep around-or whatever it was you did with sheep--and climbing these Goddamned hills.
"Okay, people, take ten," Edwards called. Immediately everyone looked for a dry spot to collapse. Mainly they found rocks. Rocks in a marsh! Edwards thought. Garcia kept watch with the purloined Russian binoculars. Smith lit up a cigarette. Edwards turned around to see Vigdis sitting down next to him.
"How do you feel?"
"Very tired," she said with a slight smile. "But not so tired as you."
"Is that so!" Edwards laughed. "Maybe we should step up the pace."
"Where we go?"
"We're going to Hvammsfjordur. They didn't say why. I figure another four or five days. We want to stay clear of all the roads we can."
"To protect me, yes?" Edwards shook his head.
"To protect all of us. We don't want to fight anybody. There's too many Russians around to play soldier games."
"So, I don't hurt-ah, stop you from important things?" Vigdis asked.
"Not at all. We're all happy to have you with us. Who wouldn't like a walk in the country with a beautiful girl?" Edwards asked gallantly. Was that a smart thing to say?
She gave him a strange look. "You think I pretty, after-after-"
"Vigdis, if you were hit by a truck-yes, you are very beautiful. No man could change that. What happened to you was not your fault. What ever changes it made are inside, not outside. And I know somebody must like you."
"My baby, you mean? Mistake. He find another girl. This is not important, all my friends have babies." She shrugged it off.
That stupid son of a bitch, Edwards thought. He remembered that bastardy carried no stigma on Iceland. Since no one had a surname most of the Icelanders had given names followed by patronyrnics-you couldn't even tell the difference between the legitimate and illegitimate. Besides which, the Icelanders didn't seem to give a damn one way or the other. Young unmarried girls had babies, took proper care of them, and that was that. But who would walk away from this girl?
"Well, speaking for myself. Vigdis, I've never met a girl prettier than you."
"Truly?"
Her hair looked like hell, tangled and filthy, Edwards admitted to himself. Her face and clothing were covered with dust and mud. A hot shower could change that in a few minutes, revealing the lovely thing that she was. But beauty comes from within, and he was only beginning to appreciate the person inside. He ran his hand along her cheek.
"Any man who says different is an idiot." He turned to see Sergeant Smith coming over.
"Time to move, 'less you want our legs to stiffen up, Lieutenant."
"Okay. I want to make another eight or ten miles. There's farms and roads on the far side of this mountain we're walking around. We'll want to eyeball that area before we try to cross it. I'll call in from there, too."
"You got it, skipper. Rodgers! Take the point and bend it a little west."
