As he dropped under the last level of clouds he saw the first of the Striker parachutes. It was bunched like an orchid in the middle of the river. The Striker was apparently below it. A moment later Rodgers saw the other chutes. Two of them were tangled together at the foot of one of the mountains.

The Strikers were sprawled beside them. Their cold weather outfits were smeared with blood. He saw the fourth Striker beyond and above them. The canopy was caught on a small outcropping about thirty feet up. Sondra Devon the was suspended close beneath it. She was rocking gently at the end of the shroud lines.

Don't think about this now, Rodgers warned himself. He had to look ahead, at the cause for which these soldiers had sacrificed their lives.

Otherwise there would be many more casualties.

Further beyond, to the south, he saw smoke curling up from behind a turn in the valley. Something had either exploded or crashed there. He did not think it was the AN-12.

If the aircraft had been hit, the Strikers probably would have heard and certainly would have seen it go down. He glanced briefly to the north.

He could see the foot of the glacier ahead. That was why this valley was so damned cold. The glacier had probably cracked this place from the mountains eons ago.

The ground was coming up quickly. As much as he did not want to hit the slopes, Rodgers did not want to land in the water. With the sun setting, his suit would freeze in a matter of minutes. He also did not want to hit one of the ragged slopes bordering the river. That was a good way to rip his cold-weather uniform or break some bones.

Unfortunately, the cliffs tapered so sharply toward the river there was not much of a bank to land on.

That left him one other option. It was one that Rodgers did not want to take. But the choices in war were never easy.

The general made his decision and forced it to go down.

Rodgers guided himself toward the downed parachute that had blossomed in the lake. The fabric straddled the shore on the eastern side. There were glints of ice around the edges still in the water. The shroud looked as though it would be stiff enough to take his fall without dumping him into the river. Hopefully, Rodgers would be able to stay on his feet and jump to the narrow shore before the canopy folded altogether.

With just seconds to impact, Rodgers positioned himself over the chute.

On one side he could see an arm lying underwater.

The flesh was blue-white. Rodgers did not want to land on the Striker's body. He kept his eyes on the other side of the canopy.