The general was afraid of hitting Samouel and Nanda in the dark.

The men listened to the crunch of the approaching boots.

The gait was near but uneven. That was due, possibly, to the icy, unknown terrain. The sound skewed toward Rodgers's right, away from the silo. He crept to that side of his position and waited.

A few seconds later someone dropped beside Rodgers. The general reached out to pull whoever it was to safety. It was Nanda. Still on his knees, Rodgers wrapped his arms around her. He literally hauled her in and around him. Then Rodgers turned back to his right. He heard grunting a few feet away.

The general crept over. He found Samouel near the front of the barricade. The Pakistani was on his belly. Rodgers grabbed the man under his arms. His bare right hand felt a thick dampness. The general pulled Samouel back behind the stumps of ice.

"Samouel, can you hear me?" Rodgers said.

"Yes," the Pakistani replied.

Rodgers felt around the man's left side. The dampness was spreading.

It was definitely blood.

"Samouel, you're wounded," Rodgers said.

"I know," Samouel said, "General, I've 'screwed up."

" "No," Rodgers said.

"You did fine. We'll fix this-"

"I don't mean that," Samouel said.

"I… lost the telephone."

The words hit Rodgers like a bullet.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted from the left. The short burst had come from Ron Friday.

"Our buddies are on the move again!" Friday said.

"Get down!" the general shouted.

Rodgers had no time for them. He reached into his vest and removed one of the two cylindrical "eight ball" grenades he carried. Those were the ones no one wanted to find themselves behind, the shrapnel-producing grenades. Without hesitation the general yanked the pin, let the no-snag cap pop off, and stiff-armed the explosive across the clearing. He did not want to kill the Indians but he could not afford to waste time. Not with Samouel injured.

Rodgers ducked and pulled Nanda down. Several seconds later the eight ball exploded, echoing off the walls and shaking the ground. Even before the reverberations stopped, Rodgers had pulled the nine-inch knife from his equipment vest.

He had immediately begun prioritizing. Stop the Indians.

Stop Samouel's bleeding. Then he would worry about the phone.

"Don't bother with me," Samouel said.

"I'm all right."

"You're hit," Rodgers said.

The general cut into the man's coat. He put his right hand through the opening. He felt for a wound.

Rodgers found it. A bullet hole just below the left shoulder blade. He reached out to the right and felt for his gloves. He found them, cut out the soft interior linings, and placed them on the wound. He pressed down hard. He could not think of anything else to do.

The clearing was silent as the reverberation of the grenade subsided.