The Lotus Eaters

MY Phidippides, Mar Furioso, Terra Nova

Little by little the operation was winding down as the troops of the 22d finished up—rather finished off—the remainder of the opposition, reboarded helicopters and ships, and began to return home. The chief of operations watched the plotter move symbols across the map, marking the progress.

A radio operator reported, "Sir, two more Finches safely landed at Jaquelina de Coco. Refueling now to return to Cameron. The last four report across the border and twelve minutes out from Jaquelina. The Belalcázar force is boarded and in the air . . . they're a couple of minutes late."

Still watching the map, Samsonov's chief of ops dismissed the Turbo-Finches from his mind and returned his attention to the map. He concentrated on the twin lines being plotted from Santa Fe marking the progress of the Santandern fighters. Next to the lines times were written in based on the speed reported by the ACCS. The Santandern planes hadn't been spotted as of yet by any of the six Mosaic fighters in the air and under the regiment's control. He expected radar sightings from the Mosaics as the Santanderns crossed the cordillera that ran like a spine parallel to Santander's east coast. Ops was worried. The orders were to avoid engaging regular Santandern forces . . . unless they were effectively engaging an element of the assault force. The Santandern jets could do that.

"Move the Mosaics west to take positions closer to the coast."

"Sir, Santiago Force is in the air and heading home." The RTO held the headset tighter to his ear and listened closely. After a moment he announced "Sir, Santiago Two Bravo reports transmission trouble in its number two bird. They don't think they'll make it home on their own. Santiago Two Alfa has left them behind."

Again, the regimental operations officer consulted the map. He leafed through an annex to his copy of the operations order, then picked up a microphone. "Santiago Two Bravo, Santiago Two Bravo, this is Marathon, over."

Warbling and distorted as were all radio transmissions from helicopters, the response came back "Marathon, this is Santiago Two Bravo, over."

"Santiago, Marathon. You have two rafts aboard. I want you to head for Checkpoint Papa"—Ops referred to a spot in the ocean where the water was several thousand feet deep—"then ditch. Repeat, get the troops out and ditch your bird. I'm sending a boat for you. I'll also send two helicopters from the reserve." The ops officer looked up at a chart of call signs. "Your rescue birds will answer to Marathon Two Romeo, the boat is Shepherd . . . ah . . . three." Ops hesitated, then resumed. "Santiago, if you can't make it to Checkpoint Papa, you have got to get as far out over the water as you can. Remember, you've got a potential hostile coming in on your tail. Do not let him get you over land."

"Marathon, this is Santiago, Wilco, over."

Ops tapped his lips with his fingers for a moment before ordered, "Send two of the Mosaics to cover Santiago Two Bravo." Then, turning back to the map, he put a finger on Florencia and cursed silently.