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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."

"Understood," Hood said. "We'll sort all that out with the Russian Embassy."

"Private," said Rodgers, his eyes damp, "tell the team that I gave them the impossible to do, and they did it. Tell them that."

"Yes, sir," said Honda. "Thank you, sir. I'll tell them. Over and out."

Hood shut the speaker and looked at Rodgers. "Is there anything I can do, Mike?"

After a moment, the General said, "Can you get them to give Charlie back and take me?"

Hood didn't answer. He just clasped Rodgers's wrist. The General didn't seem to feel it.

"He had a family," Rodgers said. "What do I have?"

"A responsibility," Hood replied softly but firmly. "You've got to hold yourself together so you can tell that family what happened and help them through this."

Rodgers turned toward Hood. "Yes," he said. "You're right."

"I'll call Liz," Hood said. "She can help. She'll also have Striker to deal with when they get back."

"Striker--" Rodgers started, choked. "I have to see to that. If they have a mission tomorrow, someone's got to be ready to lead it."

"Get Major Shooter to start the process," Hood said.

Rodgers shook his head and rose. "No, sir. That's my job. I'll have recommendations to discuss with you by this afternoon."

"Very good," Hood said.

Bob Herbert rolled in then, braking his wheelchair and swinging toward the men. He was grinning broadly. "Just got word from the Pentagon this second," he said. "They listened to the Russian aircraft as they flew over the target area. The pilots spotted the off-loaded Russians, saw the wrecked train, and didn't catch so much as a glimpse of the extraction craft." He clapped once, as though his hands were cymbals. "How's that for 'low observability'?"

Rodgers looked at him. Herbert's smile froze as their eyes met.

"We lost Charlie," the General said.

Herbert's smile fluttered, then crashed. "Oh, man-- man,"