hemisphere-which had sigmficandy increased the collective Hawaiian land mass. Now, there were high-ranging cliffs, more like the English coast near Dover than anything John Rourke had seen here centuries ago.
They stopped to rest and reconnoiter at the height of these cliffs, where the coasdine lay more than a hundred feet below them, rugged in the extreme, with black rocks like a fortress wall against the attacking breakers, the waves advancing, retreating, assaulting the land again. This was not the sort of coastline John Rourke would have chosen for a clandestine landing.
The potential for arriving unseen was significant, but even more significant was the potential for arriving dead unless every man jack of the SS commando unit was a superb swimmer and reckless in the extreme.
Rourke said as much to Paul Rubenstein and Ed Shaw. Shaw responded, saying, “They couldn’t have picked a more remote spot. No one comes here. The occasional fishing vessel or pleasure craft might lie well off the coast, there,” and Shaw gestured to the west. “But they won’t have the risk of bumping into military personnel, civilians, anyone. We’ve trained on cliffs like these, but the surf down there is too wild to risk a man’s life in a training exercise.”
John Rourke looked at his watch.
Washington’s team should be in position.
And, in ten minutes, it would be within the window for the arrival of the commando unit.
“We’d better move out,” Rourke advised.
“Agreed,” Shaw nodded, then began signaling his men.
There were niches within the cliff faces, perhaps once volcanic pipes, now the haunts of the occasional seabird-wildlife was returning, in some cases in significant numbers-or merely empty holes in the bleached rock. In one such hole, John Rourke, Paul Rubenstein, Shaw and two of the Tac Team men stopped, the other ten men moving on, to find similar positions here midway along the cliff faces over the rockstrewn beach below.
Shaw and the two other Tac Team men began unlimbering their powered hang gliders.
John Rourke watched Paul’s face. The expression there was one of skepticism, but Rourke said nothing. After a moment, Paul asked Shaw, “Why do you guys use those things? They’re like a kite with a lawn mower motor!”
“A lot of the terrain was given a beating since The Night of The War, and in some places-a lot of places in these islands-the terrain was pretty rugged to begin with. Electronic sensing gear is so high-tech these days, if we had a helicopter waiting to come in anywhere within a mile or more, the bad guys’d know it. This way, we can move in fast, silently, and we have such a low sensing profile, we don’t usually get spotted. Once the bad guys are on the beach, we can get down there in seconds.”
“They can shoot at you,” Paul noted.
“Hard to hit a fast-moving aerial target. Anyway, we can shoot back. You wanna fly one?” Ed Shaw grinned.
Paul grinned back, “Only if I have to, Ed.”
John Rourke racked the action of his HK-91, chambering one of the 7.62mm Boatails. He moved into a kneeling position. The safety on, he settled the rifle to his shoulder, surveying the beach over the rifle’s iron sights. Theirs was a waiting game now, waiting until the commando team started up onto the beach. When the enemy fought its way past the rocks, through the surf, their equipment suddenly feeling as though it weighed twice as much as it had, their breathing hard and rapid, their attention focused only on making it through, getting onto the beach, then it would be time to strike.
War wasn’t a sporting proposition.
3
Nearly an hour passed. Rourke’s head was starting to ache slighdy from the eyestrain caused by constantly peering out over the ocean, both with unaided eyes and through the borrowed pair of German field glasses he was using.
Nothing relieved the sea’s surface except the occasional bird. Many species of wildlife, birds included, were preserved over the centuries
They stopped to rest and reconnoiter at the height of these cliffs, where the coasdine lay more than a hundred feet below them, rugged in the extreme, with black rocks like a fortress wall against the attacking breakers, the waves advancing, retreating, assaulting the land again. This was not the sort of coastline John Rourke would have chosen for a clandestine landing.
The potential for arriving unseen was significant, but even more significant was the potential for arriving dead unless every man jack of the SS commando unit was a superb swimmer and reckless in the extreme.
Rourke said as much to Paul Rubenstein and Ed Shaw. Shaw responded, saying, “They couldn’t have picked a more remote spot. No one comes here. The occasional fishing vessel or pleasure craft might lie well off the coast, there,” and Shaw gestured to the west. “But they won’t have the risk of bumping into military personnel, civilians, anyone. We’ve trained on cliffs like these, but the surf down there is too wild to risk a man’s life in a training exercise.”
John Rourke looked at his watch.
Washington’s team should be in position.
And, in ten minutes, it would be within the window for the arrival of the commando unit.
“We’d better move out,” Rourke advised.
“Agreed,” Shaw nodded, then began signaling his men.
There were niches within the cliff faces, perhaps once volcanic pipes, now the haunts of the occasional seabird-wildlife was returning, in some cases in significant numbers-or merely empty holes in the bleached rock. In one such hole, John Rourke, Paul Rubenstein, Shaw and two of the Tac Team men stopped, the other ten men moving on, to find similar positions here midway along the cliff faces over the rockstrewn beach below.
Shaw and the two other Tac Team men began unlimbering their powered hang gliders.
John Rourke watched Paul’s face. The expression there was one of skepticism, but Rourke said nothing. After a moment, Paul asked Shaw, “Why do you guys use those things? They’re like a kite with a lawn mower motor!”
“A lot of the terrain was given a beating since The Night of The War, and in some places-a lot of places in these islands-the terrain was pretty rugged to begin with. Electronic sensing gear is so high-tech these days, if we had a helicopter waiting to come in anywhere within a mile or more, the bad guys’d know it. This way, we can move in fast, silently, and we have such a low sensing profile, we don’t usually get spotted. Once the bad guys are on the beach, we can get down there in seconds.”
“They can shoot at you,” Paul noted.
“Hard to hit a fast-moving aerial target. Anyway, we can shoot back. You wanna fly one?” Ed Shaw grinned.
Paul grinned back, “Only if I have to, Ed.”
John Rourke racked the action of his HK-91, chambering one of the 7.62mm Boatails. He moved into a kneeling position. The safety on, he settled the rifle to his shoulder, surveying the beach over the rifle’s iron sights. Theirs was a waiting game now, waiting until the commando team started up onto the beach. When the enemy fought its way past the rocks, through the surf, their equipment suddenly feeling as though it weighed twice as much as it had, their breathing hard and rapid, their attention focused only on making it through, getting onto the beach, then it would be time to strike.
War wasn’t a sporting proposition.
3
Nearly an hour passed. Rourke’s head was starting to ache slighdy from the eyestrain caused by constantly peering out over the ocean, both with unaided eyes and through the borrowed pair of German field glasses he was using.
Nothing relieved the sea’s surface except the occasional bird. Many species of wildlife, birds included, were preserved over the centuries
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