And then the blast-weakened trestle folded under the engine and the stalled, helpless caboose. The collapse seemed surreal, occurring in slow motion and speeding up only when the fires of the explosion caused the boiler to explode. The blast sent pieces of the locomotive flying up, down, and sideways, dark shards riding the red and black fireball. And then all of it, the tracks and iron supports, the shattered train and trailing scarves of flame, tumbled into the gorge.

The fires shrank to flamelets as the Mosquito knifed away through the cold skies.

"No," Sondra was saying over and over as strong hands reached down and grasped her shoulders.

"We've got to bring the ladder in"' lovino yelled back.

Newmeyer looked down at Sondra. "Come back in"' he cried over the howl of the wind. "Please!"

Sondra climbed into the helicopter, helped along by Newmeyer and Pupshaw. As soon as she was inside, Honda reeled in the ladder and the hatch slid shut.

His expression somewhere short of homicidal, Pupshaw used his first-aid kit to tend to Grey, then went over to the Russian. Except for Nikita's moans, the silence in the Mosquito was awful and absolute.

"He was right there," Sondra said at last. "Just a few more seconds, that's all I needed--"

"The pilot was giving them to you," Newmeyer said. "It was the explosion."

"No." she said. "I lost him."

"That's not true," said Newmeyer. "There was nothing you could have done."

She snapped, "I could have done what my guts told me to-- shot the bastard he was trying to save! We made our flying weight," she said bitterly, then turned her glazed eyes toward the Russian. "And if it were up to me, we'd lose even more weight.". Then, as though repulsed by her own inhumanity, she said, "Oh, God, why?" and turned away.

Beside her, Newmeyer wept into the sleeve of his coat as Pupshaw bound Nikita's arm and leg as carefully and gently as his sorely tested charity would allow.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

Tuesday, 9:10 A.M.,

Washington, D.C.

Ishi Honda's voice was thick and slow and weighed on Rodgers from his soul out.

"Newmeyer and Sergeant Grey were rescued from the train," he said, choking, "along with a Russian officer. We… we were not able to extract Lieutenant Colonel Squires. He remained--"

Honda stopped and Rodgers could hear him swallow.

"He remained on the train, which has been destroyed. Our mission has been accomplished."

Rodgers was unable to speak. His throat, his mouth, his arms were paralyzed. His spirit, accustomed to the suddenness with which battle could snatch away life, was still deadened by what he'd just heard.

Hood asked, "How is Sergeant Grey?"

"He took a bullet in the shoulder, sir," said Honda.

"And the Russian?"

"Hit in the thigh and grazed in the arm," Honda answered. "Because of the fuel situation, we can't put him down. He'll have to come with us to Hokkaido."