"Roger, copy, Beagle. Stand by... Beagle, be advised we're diverting some help your way, ETA two-five minutes. Can you mark your position?"
"Negative, we don't have anything to do it with."
"Roger, understand. Hang in there, Beagle. We'll be back. Out."
Edwards heard a scream to his left. He stuck his head up and saw mortar rounds falling near Nichols's position-and Russians less than a hundred yards to his front. Mike grabbed his rifle and sighted it on a moving shape, only to have it drop out of sight again. He picked his walkie-talkie up with his free hand.
"Nichols, Smith, this is Edwards, report in."
"Nichols here. Whoever has that mortar knows what he's about. I have two wounded men here."
"We're okay, skipper. We seen two Russians go down hard. I sent Garcia to cover you."
"Okay, guys, we have air cover on the way in. I-" The shape came up again. Edwards dropped the radio, aimed his rifle, and fired three rounds, missing the shape that dodged out of sight. Back to the radio. "Nichols, you need help?"
"Two of us can still shoot. I'm afraid your Rodgers is dead. There-" The radio went dead for a moment. "All right, all right. We killed one, and the other is backing away. Look out, Leftenant, there are two fifty yards to your left front."
Mike looked around his rock and got shot at for his trouble. He shot back without hitting anything.
"Hi, skipper!" Garcia crashed down next to him.
"Two bad guys, that way." Edwards pointed. The private nodded and moved left behind cover of the hill crest. He got thirty feet when another mortar round exploded four strides behind him. The private fell hard and didn't move.
It's not fair, it's not fair. I got them this far, and it's not fair!
"Smith, Garcia's down. Get back up here. Nichols, if you can get to my position, move!" He switched radios. "Starbase, this is Beagle. Tell your birds to hurry."
"Two-zero minutes out, Beagle. Four A-7s. We have some other help coming, but they'll get to you first."
Edwards took his rifle and moved over to Garcia. The private was still breathing, but his back and legs were peppered with fragments. The lieutenant crawled to the crest and saw a Russian crouched thirty feet away. He aimed his rifle and fired two bursts. The Russian went down, firing his own weapon in a wide arc that missed Edwards by a scant yard. Where was the other one? Mike stuck his head up and saw something the size of a baseball flying through the air. He scrambled backwards as the grenade went off ten feet from where he'd been. Mike rolled to his right and went back uphill.
The Russian had disappeared again, but Edwards saw the others had reached the foot of his hill on a dead run and were starting up to his position. He strained to look and keep his head down at the same time. The other one-there! He was clambering down the hill, apparently dragging a wounded man with him. Mortar fire started to drop behind him, covering the man's retreat.
"You okay, Lieutenant?" It was Smith. He was wounded in the arm. "Whoever's working that Goddamned mortar must be the Russian Davy Crockett!"
Nichols arrived three minutes later. He was unhurt, but the Royal Marine private with him was bleeding from the abdomen. Edwards looked at his watch.
"We got air support coming in about ten minutes. If we stay here at the top in one place, they can drop all around us."
The men took position within fifty feet of Edwards. Mike grabbed Vigdis by the arm and set her between two boulders.
"Michael, I'm-"
"I'm scared, too. Stay here no matter what happens, stay here! You can-" The whistling sound came again, and this one was close. Mike stumbled and fell right on top of her. A hot needle seemed to penetrate his lower leg.
"Shit!" The wound was just above his boot. He tried to rise, but the leg wouldn't take any weight. He looked around for the radio and hopped over to it, cursing all the way. "Starbase, this is Beagle, over."
"Nine minutes out, Beagle," the voice said patiently.
"Starbase, we're all on top of this hilltop, okay? We're all within fifty feet of the summit." He stuck his head up. "We have about fifteen bad guys coming towards us, maybe seven hundred yards away. We beat off the first attack, but we're down to-four, I guess, and three of us are wounded. For God's sake, get that mortar first, it's murdering us."
"Roger that. Hold it together, son. Help is coming."
"You're wounded, Leftenant," Nichols said.
"I noticed. The planes are eight or nine minutes out. I told them to take the mortar position out first."
"Very good. Ivan's in love with the bloody things." Nichols cut the pants away from the wound and tied a bandage on. "You won't be doing much dancing for a while."
"What can we do to slow them down?"
"We'll open fire at five hundred. That will make them more cautious, I think. Come on." Nichols grabbed his arm and pulled him to a position on the crest.
