There was a short silence. Mike Rodgers knew what was coming. He had heard the change in Herbert's voice during that last question. It had gone from determined to wistfulness.

"Mike, I know I don't have to tell you that this is a shitty assignment," Herbert said.

"No, you don't," Rodgers agreed. He was flipping through the magnified views of the region of the drop. Never mind the terrain itself. The wind-flow charts were savage. The urrents tore through the mountains at fifty to sixty-one miles an hour. Those were gale-force winds.

"But I do have to point out that you aren't a part of Striker," Herbert went on.

"You're a senior officer of the NCMC."

"Cut to the chase," Rodgers told him.

"Is Paul going to order me to stay behind?"

"I haven't discussed this with him," Herbert said.

"What's the point? You've disobeyed his orders before." "I have,"

Rodgers said.

"Kept Tokyo from getting nuked, if I remember correctly at my advanced age."

"You did do that," Herbert said.

"But I was thinking that it might help if we had someone on-site to liaise with the Indian government."

"Send one of the guys the FBI tucked into the embassy," Rodgers said.

"I know they're there and so do the Indians."

"I don't think so," Herbert replied.

"Look, I'll be happy to talk to whatever officials I have to from the field," Rodgers said. The general leaned forward.

He huddled low over the microphone.

"Bob, you know damn well what we're facing here. I've been looking at the charts.

When we drop into the mountains the wind alone is going to hammer us.

We stand a good chance of losing people just getting onto the ground."

"I know," Herbert said.

"Hell, if they didn't need to fly the plane I'd bring the Indian crew down with me. Let them help save their own country," Rodgers continued.

"So don't even try to tell me that I shouldn't do what we're asking Striker to do. Especially not with what's at stake."

"Mike, I wasn't thinking about Striker or the rest of the world,"

Herbert replied.

"I was thinking about an old friend with football-damaged, forty-seven-year-old knees. A friend who could hurt Striker more than help them if he got injured on an ice-landing."

"If that happens I'll order them to leave me where I land," Rodgers assured him.

"They won't." "They will," Rodgers said.

"We'll have to do that with anyone who's hurt." He hung up the receiver and motioned for Corporal Honda to come back and reclaim the TAC-SAT.

Then he rose.

"I'll be right back," Rodgers said to August.

"Is there anything we need to do?" August asked.

Rodgers looked down at him. August was in an uncomfortable spot.