August's left arm began to sting but he kept his attention on the cliff.

He had dropped below the mountaintops. The tors were no longer hazards.

They were once again towering, stationary peaks that surrounded and protected him from Indian fire. The enemy now was the valley on two sides of the plateau and the outcroppings of rock that could snap his back if he hit one. The updraft from the cliff slowed August, allowing him to guide the parachute down. He decided to stick close to the steep cliff and literally follow it down, thus avoiding the sharp outcroppings toward the center. Every time the wind would brush him toward the valley he would swing himself against the rock wall. The air rushing up the cliff gave him extra buoyancy. August hit the plateau hard and immediately jettisoned the chute. The shroud crumpled and scooted across the ledge, catching on a three-meter-tall boulder and just hanging there.

Before examining himself for injuries, Brett August stripped off his mask and mouthpiece. The air was thin but breathable. August looked across the plateau for the other Strikers. Medic William Musicant and Corporal Ishi Honda were the two who had made it. Both men were near the edge of the plateau. Musicant was on his knees beside the radio operator. The medic had removed the compact medical belt he wore.

Honda was not moving.

The colonel got to his feet and made his way over. As he did he felt his chest under his vest. It was dry. The pellet had not gone through the garment. His arm was bleeding but the freezing air had slowed the flow considerably. He ignored the wound for now. Try as he might he could not clear his mind of the other Strikers. Sondra Devon the Walter Pupshaw.

Mike. The others.

He concentrated on the Strikers who were just a few meters away. And he forced himself to think about what was next. He still had his weapons and he had his assignment.

He had to link up with the Pakistani cell.

As August reached the men he did not have to ask how Honda was. The radio operator was panting hard as blood pumped from beneath his vest.

The medic was trying to clean two small, raw wounds on Honda's left side. August could not see Honda's dark eyes behind his tinted eyepieces. The frost had evaporated and misted them over.

"Is there anything I can do?" August asked Musicant.

"Yeah," the medic said urgently.

"There's a portable intravenous kit in compartment seven and a vial of atropine sulfate in twelve. Get them. Also the plasma in eight. He's got two more holes in his back. I've got to get him plugged and stabilized."

The colonel removed the items. He began setting up the IV. From triage classes he remembered that the atropine sulfate was used to diminish secretions, including blood loss.

That would help stabilize the patient if there were internal bleeding.