The radio squawked to life. The Russian air controller was demanding to know what was going on.

“Hotel Flight. Hotel Flight. Report your status.”

The two SEALs looked at each other and shrugged. The controller repeated himself, more insistently this time.

Martinelli grabbed the microphone, keyed it, and groaned. In his best Russian, he said, “Accident!” He waited a few heartbeats and grunted, “Explosion! Wounded!”

The sound was a cry of pain. It was so convincing that Hall glanced back to make sure his friend was all right.

“Hotel Flight, understand you have wounded on board. Can you return to the base?”

Martinelli groaned again and cried out, “Wounded! Many dead!”

“Hotel Flight, try to make it to the base. There will be ambulances at the helo pad.”

“Good actin’, Shakespeare!” Hall shouted over the noise of the turbines.

“Let’s just hope those guys on the ground back there don’t catch on to what we’re doing before we get to wherever we’re going.”

Hall skidded the Hip around the sky, deliberately flying a clumsy, wobbly course. He needed to convince anyone watching that the pilot was in mortal pain and could barely keep the helicopter in the air.

“Which brings up my next question,” Martinelli yelled. “They’re expecting us to land. Inside the base. You really wanna do that?”

Hall grabbed the little team whisper radio out of his pocket and tossed it to Martinelli. The whisper radios were made for the SEALs to quietly talk to each other when they were close. Their low power output minimized the risk of anyone detecting their signals.

“Call the boss and tell him to be ready for a pickup. We might just as well fly into the mission. Sure beats trying to sneak in any other way I can think of.”

Martinelli shook his head, then smiled and flashed a thumbs-up. “Now, that sounds like a plan. Crazy as shit but a plan nonetheless.”

Commander Bill Beaman was halfway down the slope, crossing an open meadow through the deep drifts, when he heard the beating of the helicopter heading their way. He dropped to the ground and tried to mimic a snowbank as the Hip flew overhead. It swung wide and circled slowly back, hovering over their former camp. It was as if the Russian chopper pilot knew precisely what he was looking for.

Beaman took advantage of the helicopter’s erratic flight and dashed the last few meters to the cover of a line of trees. When he fell to the ground, he landed on top of Chief Johnston.

“Damn, Skipper! Mind not getting so personal?”

Beaman scrambled off the top of him. “Sorry, Chief. You think he spotted us? He sure seems to know—”

He was interrupted by a low sound from his whisper radio.

“Hey, boss, where are you at? Jase thought you might like a lift over to the base.”