Rolling Thunder. Don Pendleton

to his feet, he grinned at the shepherd boy and told him, “Something tells me your father taught you a few things besides how to tend sheep.”

      The boy grinned back. “He taught me to always be prepared,” he said, adding, “That way, it is easy to keep the faith.”

      CHAPTER SIX

      “There he is!” Manning shouted, pointing at the gorge he and McCarter were flying over in the Sikorsky Skycrane.

      McCarter glanced down and spotted the terrorists’ ATV, still tilting precariously at the edge of the drop-off where it had come to a stop earlier. Encizo remained trapped in the front seat, shouldering the large wooden crate to keep it from sliding forward any farther. The driver hadn’t yet regained consciousness and continued to lie sprawled next to the Cuban, who glanced up and waved faintly with one hand once he spotted the chopper.

      “This could get tricky,” McCarter said, holding the Sikorsky stable in midair. “If we go down to try to help, the rotor wash is liable to push him over the edge.”

      “I think you’re right,” Manning said. “We’ve got to do something, though.”

      McCarter shifted his gaze to the route the ATV had taken once it had left the trail. When he spotted a half-fallen, lightning-charred pine tree twenty yards uphill from Encizo’s position, he thought he might have stumbled on the solution.

      “Check and see if there’s any rope around here,” he told Manning.

      “What for?”

      “Just do it!” McCarter snapped.

      “Since you asked so nicely,” Manning said with a grin.

      The big Canadian swiveled his seat around and snapped open a large footlocker mounted over the rear windshield. The locker was filled mostly with tools and emergency gear, but there was also a large spool of heavy link chain. Manning grunted as he hoisted the spool free.

      “Will this do?” he asked McCarter.

      “That might work even better. How much do you think is there?”

      Manning tried to gauge the length of the chain without unwinding it from the spool. “I don’t know, ten yards. Maybe twenty.”

      “Let’s give it a shot,” McCarter said. He jockeyed the controls, pulling the Sikorsky away from Encizo’s position. As he dropped toward the far side of the charred pine, he spelled out his plan. “I’ll get you as close to the ground as I can so you can hop down and hook the chain up to the crane hook. Then run a line under that pine and find a way to secure it to the ATV.”

      “So you can winch it,” Manning guessed. “Good idea.”

      “That’s why they put me in charge instead of you.”

      Manning let out a snort. “And here I thought it was your charm.”

      “That, too,” the Briton replied. “Now hop to it.”

      “Yes, sir!”

      McCarter brought the Sikorsky to within ten feet of a reasonably flat escarpment. The rotor wash raised a cloud of leaves and pine needles, revealing the bare rock Manning would have to land on. The big Canadian manipulated the boom’s remote controls, releasing the winch hook mounted under the fuselage. Once he’d unwound six yards of cable, he locked the winch in place and swung his door open.

      “Wait for a thumbs-up,” he told McCarter.

      McCarter nodded. “Good luck.”

      Manning stepped out onto the cockpit ladder and lowered himself to the last rung, then reached out and let the chain spool drop with a loud clatter onto the escarpment. Once McCarter had lowered the Sikorsky another couple feet, Manning pushed free and dropped to the ground a few feet from the spool. He grimaced as a flash of pain raced up both legs, but there was no time to dwell on his discomfort. He quickly affixed one end of the chain to the winch hook, then limped faintly as he made his way to the toppled pine, feeding out the length of chain behind him. He was rolling the spool under the pine when Encizo called out to him.

      “That you, Gary?”

      “Stay put,” Manning called back. From where he was standing, the tethered crate blocked his view of Encizo.

      “Don’t have much choice.”

      “We’re going to tug you back to solid ground.” Manning quickly relayed the plan as he continued to unroll the spool. He was halfway to the ATV when he ran out of chain. Staring up at the Sikorsky, which was still hovering in position above the charred pine, he signaled for McCarter to feed out more cable.

      As he was waiting, Manning detected a glint of refracted light to his right. He looked over his shoulder and traced the glint to a mountain ridge a hundred yards away. As quickly as it had appeared, the flash disappeared.

      “Anyone else in these hills that you know about?” he called out to Encizo.

      “Wouldn’t surprise me,” Encizo called back. “Why?”

      “I think I caught some light bouncing off a pair of binocs,” Manning said.

      “Maybe it’s reinforcements,” Encizo replied. “Wasn’t the militia supposed to be on its way up here?”

      “Yeah,” Manning said, “but they were coming the other way.”

      “We better get the show on the road, then,” Encizo said. “Last thing we need is another warm BLM welcome.”

      By now McCarter had let out another twenty yards of cable. Manning tugged at the spool, pulling the chain until he’d reached the ATV. There was no trailer jack and he doubted the rear bumper would hold up, so he dropped flat against the ground and reached under the vehicle, knotting the chain to the chassis. Doing so, he nudged the ATV slightly and it groaned, inching farther over the edge of the precipice. One of the rear tires began to rise off the ground.

      “Shit!”

      Manning quickly scrambled out from under the vehicle and grabbed at the bumper, pressing down with his full weight.

      “Push the crate back!” he shouted to Encizo.

      “I don’t know about—”

      “Push it back!” Manning repeated.

      Manning shifted his weight and began pulling at the bumper. He was in no position to signal for McCarter to start reeling the ATV in, but the Sikorsky nonetheless began to move upward, taking in the chain’s slack. It was going to be close; Manning could feel the ATV slipping forward, pulling him toward the precipice.

      “Faster, David!” he muttered, gritting his teeth as he pulled harder on the bumper. He felt his hamstrings and lower back straining from the effort but he refused to let up.

      Encizo, meanwhile, had thrown caution to the wind and crawled up out of the driver’s seat and begun to scramble across the top of the crate, trying to rebalance the ATV’s load so it wouldn’t go over the side. Manning stared up at him, his face red, the veins in his neck bulging from his exertion.

      “I think we’re gonna make it,” Encizo said. Now that he’d moved from the front to the rear of the ATV, both the vehicle’s rear wheels were back on the ground and it had stopped its forward slide. Moments later, the ATV jerked back a few inches from the precipice. McCarter had taken up all the chain’s slack and was now starting to pull the vehicle from the brink of the abyss.

      “Almost there,” Encizo murmured, preparing to jump to the ground once all four wheels were back on firm ground.

      Suddenly a muffled blast echoed from up in the hills, followed seconds later by a larger explosion, this one in the air just above the toppled pine. Manning and Encizo looked up simultaneously.

      “David!” Encizo cried out.

      A mortar shot had just struck the Skycrane’s