Sword Point

Chapter 16

The airfield was visible from a distance as the patrol crossed the open fields. The sight gave the footsore paratroopers heart. After four days of ceaseless patrolling during the day that found nothing and ambushes at night that yielded nothing, the men were tired. The airfield promised them a meal of hot tea and kasha. While they were on patrol campfires had not been allowed, preventing the men from preparing tea to accompany their dry rations of canned meat and black bread. Though they knew they would have only two days, three at the most, before they went out again, any break was welcome.

Before entering the airfield's perimeter, the patrol was stopped by their commanding officer and ordered to straighten out their uniforms and equipment. They would still be dirty, but at least they would give the impression that they were a disciplined military unit. The paratroopers, despite being tired and anxious to get back into the safety of the perimeter, did not complain. No one, not even new men assigned to the unit, complained or hesitated when Lieutenant Ilvanich gave an order.

As if on parade, Ilvanich, followed by Junior Lieutenant Malovidov, walked down the line of paratroopers, stopping in front of each.

Ilvanich addressed each paratrooper by his full name and chatted or joked with him while he inspected or made an adjustment.

Malovidov watched intently everything livanich did. New to the unit, he had been sent on the patrol to learn from llvanich. Intimidated at first due to his teacher's reputation and manner, Malovidov was confused by the time they finished. Most of what the lieutenant did and the way in which he conducted himself had never been taught in the military academy or the officers' training courses Malovidov had attended. Ilvanich often did not follow doctrine or proper procedures.

Despite his cold and aloof manner, the men under his command worshiped him, following his every order and direction without hesitation, question or complaint. When combat appeared imminent, the lieutenant became a cold, unfeeling machine, seeing all and spewing out orders rapidly, efficiently. The men responded to him as if they had anticipated his orders. When Malovidov asked livanich why he had done something, the lieutenant often snapped, "Because that is the way to do it." The junior lieutenant, having much to learn, was not sure he could from such an enigma.

Nor could Malovidov penetrate Ilvanich's personal world. Efforts at striking up conversation about home and family were met with silence or curt remarks such as "That is not important right now" or "You should be concerning yourself with military matters, not idle gossip." As far as Malovidov could determine, Ilvanich had no real friends. What free time he had he spent alone, often out of sight of the rest of the unit. This worried Malovidov. He wondered whether he himself would be come as sullen and unfriendly once he had been in combat as much as Ilvanich had been. He hoped he would not, but he did not discount the possibility. The young lieutenant had heard that combat did strange things to a man's mind.

As the patrol entered the perimeter, Ilvanich was shocked to see the KGB major for whom he had worked in Tabriz. The major was waiting for him.

After the two officers saluted, the KGB major offered a friendly smile, while the lieutenant carefully guarded his surprise and suspicions.

"Lieutenant Ilvanich, congratulations on your well deserved promotion."

Ilvanich, straight-faced, thanked the major. Then, anxious to find out the purpose of the visit, he asked, "What brings you, Comrade Major, to the garden spot of Iran?"

The major laughed and threw his arm around llvanich. "We have a mission for you. Turn your patrol over to the junior lieutenant and walk with me."

A sinking feeling began to grow in llvanich's stomach while they walked.

The image of the dead prisoners stacked against the wall in Tabriz came to mind. Hesitantly he asked, "What, Comrade Major, is the nature of the mission?"

The major, serious now, spoke slowly, guardedly. "It is a matter of great importance to the State. Much depends on its success."

Everything, Ilvanich thought, is a matter of great importance to the KGB.

I wonder how many children we must kill this time.

The briefing, the atmosphere and the collection of rank overwhelmed Second Lieutenant Cerro. As he sat there, he wished he could slither under the table he was seated at and low-crawl out the door. That option, however, was definitely out. There were too few people in the room. His absence would be noticed. Besides, the corps commander kept watching him, almost as if he knew of Cerro's plans to escape. At the table, along with the corps commander, there were several full colonels, a Special Forces major, a naval officer whose rank Cerro didn't know, and two other airborne-company commanders from Cerro's battalion. Cerro had never seen this side of the Army before. Earlier, as he walked through the corps headquarters with the other company commanders and waited for the meeting to start, he had watched majors and lieutenant colonels scurrying about like office boys, scribbling on paper, posting maps, answering phones. Cerro wondered whether there were any second lieutenants in the corps headquarters and, if there were, what their jobs were.

Once the meeting began, behind closed doors with MPs posted at them, Cerro became more bewildered and, because of the subject, frightened.

As the briefers went through their presentations, a story that sounded more like a poor made-for-TV movie plot began to unfold: In a sweep of the battlefield on 13 July, the wreck of an Iranian F-4 fighter-bomber had been found just north of Saadatabad. Shot down on the ninth, the plane was carrying a crude atomic bomb.

Despite the fact that everyone except Cerro seemed to know about the "Device," as they called it, all present still were visibly uneasy every time it was mentioned. When the corps intelligence officer presented his suppositions on what the plane with the Device was up to, several of the colonels questioned him. A lively debate was cut short by the corps commander, who stated, "Gentlemen, I really don't give a damn what they were going to do with it. What I want to know is what we are going to do to find out if they have more and how we are going to keep those fanatics from using them."

The intelligence officer, using a map, explained that by reviewing Air Force records of all air battles fought on the ninth, they had been able to locate where the F-4 had originated. When information obtained from other sources, including a Special Forces team dropped into the area, was added to this, it had been determined that a secret, well-secured base was being operated by the Iranians near Robat-a Abgram in the Dasht-a Lut. Since the F-4 had first been detected by AWACS in that area, the connection was made that the Devices were being either stored or manufactured there. Other than that, intelligence had nothing to offer.

The corps operations officer followed with his report. He stated that CENT COM apprised of the matter, had given the corps the mission of following up on the theory that the Device had probably come from either Robat-e Abgram or one of two other sites. It was the task of the 10th Corps to find the real site and take it out. The operations officer presented to the corps commander all possible options available to accomplish the mission, recounted all pros and cons for each option and presented a coordinated staff recommendation. It had been decided that ground attacks, led by Special Forces A teams and supported by an airborne company hitting each site, were best. By going in on the ground, they could confirm whether or not the secret site was in fact the storage place or the plant where the Device was manufactured. In addition, a ground attack would ensure complete destruction of all critical elements, personnel and Devices.

It suddenly dawned on Cerro why he was there. His company would be one of the airborne companies. When the Special Forces major spoke, Cerro listened intently. His suspicions were confirmed when the major casually mentioned that A Company, 2nd of the 517th Parachute Infantry, commanded by Lieutenant Cerro, would provide fire support and security for the Special Forces assault team in the raid against Robat-a Abgram. At that instant, all faces in the room turned to Cerro. He could feel their eyes drilling through him, wondering if he could pull it off.

For the balance of the meeting, Cerro was lost in his own thoughts. How in hell did I get into this one? he pondered. Don't they know about the anti armor ambush I blew? Isn't there a unit with a more senior commander?

These and similar questions swam through his mind until the meeting broke up. As the people in the room began to rise, the corps commander's aide called to Cerro. The corps commander wanted to see Cerro in his office.

When the door was closed and they were alone, Lieutenant General Weir told Cerro to be seated and relax. "I suppose you're wondering why your company is going in."

Cerro responded, "Yes, sir."

"Well, Lieutenant, you're doing it because your unit is ready, it's proven in battle and, most importantly, you've been ordered to. What do you think about that?"

Cerro looked up at the General for a moment. He thought about giving him "Can do, airborne, sir" yell but decided against that. The General asked what he thought. Fuck it, Cerro thought. He asked, I'll tell him. "Sir, I think you have the wrong unit. You obviously weren't told about the ambush I blew on one July."

A smile flitted across the General's face. "On the contrary, Lieutenant Cerro, I know everything about that action. I also know about your conduct on eight June at Kuhha A Ye Genu, the air assault on Tarom on eleven June and the three successful ambushes your company did pull off. In fact, it was because of your actions when the ambush on one July was blown that I decided your unit should go on the mission."

Cerro stared at the General with a puzzled look.

"Another man in your spot would have tried to pull the ambush off despite the error in firing the wrong star cluster. You made the right choice. In an instant you saw that the ambush could not be salvaged and pulled out, saving your men and equipment for another day. Most second lieutenants would not have done that. Believe me, I know. I used to be one."

Cerro thought about that for a moment. In his wildest imaginings, he could not picture the General as a second lieutenant. Yet, once he had been one, just like Cerro. "Sir, if you're sure, I know we can do it."

"Lieutenant, if I had any doubts, you wouldn't be here."

With that, Cerro jumped to his feet, snapped to attention and shouted, "Airborne!" as he saluted.

A sandstorm from out of nowhere had sprung up and turned the clear night into a swirling nightmare. The M-8 helicopter carrying Lieutenant Ilvanich and most of Junior Lieutenant Malovidov's platoon, Ilvanich's old platoon, was bucking and being tossed about. Visual contact with Captain Lvov's and the other helicopter had been lost shortly after the storm began. The pilot, worried about midair collisions or crashing or losing his way, wanted to abort the mission.

Ilvanich, cradling his AK assault rifle, "encouraged" him to continue.

Ilvanich was not overly concerned. Even if the helicopters dropped everyone off at the wrong landing zone, they still had twenty-four hours to rally everyone at an obscure and well-hidden oasis in the hills southwest of their objective in Robat-a Abgram.

As in the Kerman operation, Ilvanich's greatest concern was not with the enemy or how his soldiers would perform. They would do their duty, as always. His concerns were with his company commander. Captain Lvov had become more overbearing since llvanich was promoted. Ilvanich, experiencing great difficulty in controlling himself in the presence of his commander, had volunteered for every patrol that took him away from Lvov. The other officers in the battalion and the regiment saw his actions as a dedication to duty and a love of battle. Both he and Lvov knew better.

The current operation had done little to overcome the hatred shared by the two. The KGB major who had brought the mission to the regiment had selected Ilvanich's company for it. The major insisted on speaking to Ilvanich, ignoring Lvov, during all the briefings and meetings. The senior officers of the regiment, seeing this, began to do the same. There was, after all, an obvious connection between the young lieutenant and the KGB, and such connections were not taken lightly. Despite his best efforts, Lvov was unable to change this. As bad as that had been for Lvov, the situation became worse when 309 the company was being briefed and prepared. Whenever one of the officers or noncommissioned ofcers in the company had a question or a problem, he instinctively turned to Ilvanich.

Lvov was careful not to say anything in the presence of the KGB major.

In one stormy session when the major was absent, Lvov raged and cursed at Ilvanich, threatening that he had best find himself a new unit after the current mission was over. When Lvov was finished, Ilvanich, face frozen in an expressionless stare, responded as his right hand toyed with the safety of his AK, "If the company is too small for both of us, Comrade Captain, other arrangements can be made."

Above the din of the helicopter's engines and the roar of the storm, the pilot yelled to Ilvanich, "Comrade Lieutenant, we are going down!"

The sudden announcement galvanized Ilvanich. He undid his seat belt and moved up behind the pilot. "What do you mean, we are going down? Are we crashing?"

The pilot was fighting with the controls and peering into the impenetrable sandstorm and darkness. Sweat from exertion and fear covered his face. He answered in a harried manner, "The dust is clogging the engines and the entire system. There are warning lights coming on all over." With a sweep of his hand, he showed Ilvanich a half-dozen flashing red lights on the instrument panel. "Either we land now, while we still have control, or we crash in five minutes."

Ilvanich looked at his watch. "How far to the landing zone?"

Without hesitation, the pilot responded, "Fifteen minutes."

"No, kilometers. How many kilometers?"

"Oh, sorry." The pilot looked at his instruments and thought for a moment.

"Fifty kilometers."

"That's too far. You must get us closer. Keep going as long as you can before you put it down."

The pilot protested, "if I wait too long, the engine will seize up and the helicopter will never fly again. We must land now." Angry, Ilvanich leaned closer to the pilot's ear. "The hell with your helicopter. What happens to it is unimportant. You must get us closer. Do you understand?"

The pilot, his face grim with fear and concentration, nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, Comrade Lieutenant, we will do the best we can. Now go back and strap in, just in case."

The smell of burnt flesh and rubber permeated the area. The wreckage of a Soviet M-8 transport helicopter sat just inside the patch of green vegetation that surrounded the well. The bodies of its crew and passengers were sprawled about the wreckage. Only one survivor, a major, apparently overlooked by the attackers in the darkness and confusion, had been found.

Unfortunately, he was severely wounded and could not, or would not, speak English. While the company medics tended to him, Second Lieutenants Cerro and Kinsley, followed by Lieutenant Commander Hensly, USN." checked out the area. They decided that most of the Russians had been out of the helicopter when it was hit. The discovery of an expended LAW antitank-rocket-launcher tube and small piles of 5.56mm. rounds left no doubt who had hit the Russians as they were disembarking.

Cerro walked up to the helicopter, looked around, then kicked it and let out a string of curses. To date, the whole operation had been plagued with problems. One of the C130 transports that had been loaded on for the jump blew an engine, requiring some of Cerro's company, overburdened with parachutes, weapons and ammunition, to off load and move to a backup plane while the rest waited. When they were all set, they were put on a weather hold-a sandstorm had suddenly cropped up in the area of the drop zone.

After they finally did take off and then made their jump, they found themselves five kilometers from the intended drop zone. As a fitting conclusion to the string of mishaps, the Special Forces team and the pro-U.S. Iranians were not at the well when Cerro's company arrived. Instead of finding them, the company found a smoldering Soviet helicopter and dead bodies, left by the Special Forces team.

Hensly waited for a minute before he asked the question that was on everyone's mind. When Cerro had gotten over his fit, Hensly said as nonchalantly as he could, "Well, I suppose this puts an end to this operation."

Cerro replied, "No bullshit, sir. Unless you happen to know where the place is, how many troops are there, how they're deployed, how many buildings there are and a few other minor details, this operation is officially over."

Hensly was more surprised than upset. "Didn't they tell you anything?"

With a sneer, Cerro shot back, "Yeah, bring lots of ammo and be on time. The green beanies were going to brief us on all the details once we got here." Looking up at the twisted tail boom of the M-8, he mused, "Guess they had everything figured out except for these yahoos. Wonder what they were after."

"Could be a routine patrol or a strike force looking for our friends the snake eaters and their friendly rag heads Maybe they were after the same thing we're here for."

Cerro looked at his platoon leader and laughed. "Now, wouldn't that be a trip. Both we and the Reds chasing a bunch of Irans with the Device." Both Cerro and Kinsley laughed.

Hensly, picking through the wreckage, called out, "That, gentlemen, may be right on the money."

"Come on, Commander. Do you know what the odds of that happening are?"

"Before you put your money where your big mouth is, Lieutenant, come over here and look at this."

Their curiosity aroused, Cerro and Kinsley walked over to where the lieutenant commander was picking through what appeared to be a tool bag.

Without looking up, he asked, "You know that bag of special instruments I carry around?" He picked up a spanner and several other tools. "Look familiar, don't they?"

Cerro stared at the tools, then at the helicopter. "I'll be damned."

Hensly stood up and looked Cerro in the eye. "We'll all be damned if the Iranians pull off what I think they're after. Lieutenant Cerro, you're in command of the ground operation. I'm here only as a technician to identify anything we find and tell the Army what to blow up. I cannot order you to continue the mission. God knows, we've had enough bad luck as it is. But if we fail, and the Iranians do have another Device that they manage to set off, a lot of people are going to die. And that dying may not be confined to this country."

The two lieutenants thought about that. "You mean that the Russians might think we set the bomb off and retaliate?" Kinsley asked.

"Or, Lieutenant," Hensly replied, "it could be the other way around. Both the U.S. and the Soviet Union have a policy of retaliation in kind. Once we start popping nukes, who knows where it will end."

For a long time the three officers stood there, looking at the burned tool bag and one another. Cerro finally broke the silence. "Well, I guess it's decided. We go for it. Now, anyone got any bright ideas on how we're going to do it?"

Kinsley asked, "What about the Commie major? Maybe he can help us?"

Cerro looked at Hensly, then at Kinsley. "Right. You've been reading too many spy novels." He scanned the wreckage and the bodies one more time, then turned back to Hensly. "Well, standing here isn't getting us anywhere. How about some lunch, Commander?"

Through binoculars the wreckage of a helicopter could be seen among the trees. Occasional movement could also be seen. What could not be discerned was who the moving people were.

Ilvanich put his binoculars down and considered the possibilities. They could be the rest of the company. Perhaps one of the other helicopters had crashed, like theirs, because of engine failure. That could still leave the other platoon, if they had made it, to join the one with him to accomplish the mission. If that was so, Ilvanich hoped the helicopter that survived was the one with the KGB major.

That thought surprised him. For the first time, he realized that he actually liked the man. In Tabriz he had hated the KGB major at first for having made him play executioner. When the major pulled the platoon off that duty, he had been grateful, but that was all. At Kerman, Ilvanich had actually been able to hold a decent conversation with the man and had found he was human. What really won Ilvanich over, however, was that the KGB major volunteered to go on the mission.

In a guarded conversation, he told Ilvanich that he did not trust Lvov, but could not relieve him-Lvov's father was too well connected in the Party. Instead, the major said, he would go as the senior officer. That way he could ensure the success of the mission and protect Ilvanich from Lvov. When Ilvanich indicated to the major that he could deal with Lvov himself, the major told him to go easy.

Lvov was not worth a trip to a gulag. Given time, they could take care of Lvov properly. The fact that the major was truly interested in him and was willing to risk his life in battle impressed llvanich.

Putting all thoughts of Lvov and the major aside, Ilvanich considered the matter at hand. If the people moving about were not his, they were Iranians. Hostile ones, no doubt. Sliding back down behind the rise he was on, he turned to Malovidov and his senior sergeant. "Lieutenant Malovidov, you will stay here and cover me. I will go forward with one man and find out who is there. If I do not return in an hour, you will continue with the mission as best you can. Is that clear?"

The junior lieutenant looked confused, but accepted the order. Several men volunteered to go with llvanich, forcing him to pick one. Without further ado, the two set out to crawl up to the well and find out who owned it.

Cerro crawled into the rifle pit between its two occupants. In a whisper, he asked, "What's up?" The sergeant slowly pointed to a spot fifty meters to their front. "Movement. We've been watching them for about five minutes. Looks like one or two guys tryin' to sneak up on us."

Cerro lifted his binoculars to where the sergeant pointed, but saw nothing.

"Iranians?"

The private in the rifle pit replied, "Don't think so, sir. Looks like they got some kind of uniform on, camouflaged."

More Russians, Cerro thought. Had to be. Turning to the sergeant, he said, "They're probably Russian. Chances are they're coming in here to find out what we're doing and what happened to their buddies. Take some men and capture them. I want you to do it quietly and without anyone out there seeing. No shooting, no screams. If you have to kill 'em, use the knife."

After the sergeant left, Cerro sat in the pit and watched for a while longer, pondering his next move.

Everything was spinning, and the back of his head hurt. Ilvanich had not felt that bad since his first true drinking bout as a cadet. The glare of the sun did not help his blurred vision. As he sat up, he saw others standing around him. "What happened?"

The answer, given in English, was a shock. "You are a prisoner. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Ilvanich turned to see who was speaking. The images were still blurry.

The one image that was not blurry was the muzzle of a rifle less than an inch from his nose.

The speaker asked again, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Still befuddled, Ilvanich answered without thinking, "Nikolai Ilvanich, junior lieutenant, no, lieutenant, Red Army. Who are you?"

A new voice from behind him spoke. "Sonofabitch, he does speak English. See, I told ya, Hal. Most of 'em do."

Ilvanich's vision cleared. A group of Americans stood near him, a guard in front of him, a second guard farther back with his rifle at the ready, and two men who were apparently officers squatting down beside him. Ilvanich turned to see a third guard and another officer behind him. Americans.

The younger officer in front smiled and said, "Give that man a cigar. OK, Ivan, what are you doing here?"

Defiantly Ilvanich asked, "Where is the man who was with me?"

Again it was the younger officer who spoke. "He's with your major. Took a bayonet in the side. He'll be all right, if you cooperate."

Letting his astonishment show, Ilvanich shot back, "Major? Is he alive? Where is he?"

"Not so fast, Ivan."

Regaining his composure and going back to the attack, Ilvanich replied, "Ilvanich, Lieutenant Ilvanich. What is your name and rank?"

Cerro considered the Russian before him. He was a hard cookie. The direct approach didn't seem to work. Maybe he could soften him up some. Perhaps little give and-take. "Lieutenant Harold Cerro, U.S. Army. Now, what are you doing here?"

"Before we talk anymore, I must see my major." I must maintain the upper hand, Ilvanich thought.

The younger officer, the lieutenant named Cerro, seemed to be in charge.

Ilvanich kept looking at the other officer, the one with the insignia of an American major, who said nothing. Nor could Ilvanich detect any signals between the lieutenant named Cerro and that major. Perhaps he wasn't in command.

The one named Cerro turned to the major. "I suppose it won't do any harm. What do you think, Commander?"

He is in command, Ilvanich thought. How strange, though-the lieutenant did all the talking. He must be intelligence or CIA.

Ilvanich was led to the KGB major. A medic and a guard were attending him and the man who had accompanied Ilvanich. The KGB major looked bad, very pale and in pain. When he saw Ilvanich he tried to speak, but could not.

Ilvanich knelt down next to him and looked at the wounds. The dressing was clean and neatly tied off. Ilvanich turned to the medic, a young black soldier. "Will he live?"

The medic looked at Ilvanich, surprised that he spoke English. Without a second thought, he began to talk. "He was hit twice by small-arms fire, in the side and the right arm, and he took a fragment, probably a grenade, in the left leg. He's lost a lot of blood, but no major arteries were severed. He was already in shock when we found him, but he seems to be responding well. If we can keep tine infections down, he'll do OK."

The American in attendance had to be a doctor. How strange that such a small unit should have a doctor. "The other man, how is he?"

The American doctor looked at the private who had come with Ilvanich.

His arm was in a sling. "He's in good shape. His backhand ain't gonna be what it used to be, but he'll get used to it."

The American guard laughed at that.

American humor, no doubt, Ilvanich thought.

The doctor said to Ilvanich, "Let me see your head." He looked at where Ilvanich had been hit. "Hell of a bump. Cut too. I'll clean it." He opened his medical bag and worked on Ilvanich for several minutes. When he was done, he handed Ilvanich two white pills. "You're gonna have a helluva headache. Take these."

Ilvanich looked at the pills suspiciously. A drug to make him talk? He took them in his hand and thanked the doctor before he was led away.

While he walked, he let the pills drop to the ground when he was sure no one was looking.

Ilvanich was taken to where Cerro sat alone. Cerro dismissed the guard and asked Ilvanich to sit across from him. Deciding that there was no time to play games and that the Russian was better trained to play them, anyhow, Cerro went straight to the point. "Lieutenant Ilvanich, I know why you're here. You're after the Iranians making the atomic bombs, just like us."

Ilvanich was taken aback by Cerro's statement. He shot back, "I do not know what you are talking about. We were on patrol." "Bullshit, Lieutenant. My explosive-ordnance expert found your explosive-ordnance expert's tools on the helicopter your major was on," Cerro countered.

The American is after something, Ilvanich thought. But what? If he knows what we were up to, what more does he need? To Cerro, "And if we are, what does that mean to me? I am your prisoner."

Cerro thought for a minute. Years of training had taught him not to trust Russians. If he told the Russian everything, he would be giving classified information to the enemy. But there was little choice. His men could not pull off the raid on their own with the little information he had. It was a gamble, but perhaps the Russian had information, and maybe, just maybe, he would cooperate. Kinsley's far-out idea didn't seem so far out anymore.

"We need each other. The people I was supposed to meet ran into your major and his helicopter. Apparently they left after they fired up the helicopter. I have the men to pull off the operation, but I don't know anything about the Iranian installation, troop strength or layout. If you have this information, we can work together."

"What makes you think I might have any such information? I am, after all, only a lieutenant, like you. Besides, we are at war with each other. To tell you anything would be treason. Surely you know that. You are a soldier. "

Cerro became angry. "Yeah, I know that, Ilvanich. But I also know that we, both you and I, are at war with Iran. I also know those crazy rag heads have an atomic bomb. They tried to use one on us already. Your people may be next. Do you know what that means?"

Ilvanich thought before he answered. What a strange situation. Three countries at war with one another. Two men, each trained from childhood to hate and distrust the other. Now one was asking the other to trust him.

Ilvanich said to himself, I wonder what Lenin would have done. Then to Cerro, "And if we do cooperate, what will happen after the raid? Do we start killing each other again?

"Good question," Cerro said. "No, at least not right away. I propose we simply withdraw from each other. I let you and your people, along with your wounded, be extracted, and you let me and my men go."

"How do I know you will do this when we are of no further use to you?"

"You don't-at least, not for sure. Just like I don't know for sure if you'll let me go. You'll have to accept my word."

"And if you are killed, what good is your word?"

"Lieutenant Kinsley will honor our agreement."

Ilvanich was confused. Why was the lieutenant doing this? "What about your major? What does he have to say?"

Cerro looked at him, bewildered for a moment, then smiled. "Oh, you mean Lieutenant Commander Hensly. He's Navy. He's my bomb expert. He has nothing to do with running the operation, just checking out the bomb and showing us what to blow. "

"Like my bomb expert," Ilvanich enjoined.

"Yeah, like yours. Is it a deal?"

How strange war is, Ilvanich mused. "You realize we may be killing each other in another week."

Cerro looked him in the eye and returned, "If we don't pull this off, none of us may be around in a week."