It’s an hour before dawn. Ellis’ face is lit by the glow of the BTR-70K’s remaining radio set. He occasionally blinks. Otherwise, his only movement is a turn of the wrist to adjust a dial.
He’s about to scan away from the frequency that, in the decrypted dossier from Broadstreet, was labeled “DIA liaison,” when:
“Any unit on this net, this is Gunstar Two-Two requesting assistance.”
It’s a male voice with a New England American English accent. Ellis blinks, frowns, adjusts his mic. “Go ahead, Gunstar Two Two.”
“Gunstar Two-Two to last unit, please identify. Over.”
“Gunstar Two-Two, this is Ops. Verify you are aware this is an unsecured transmission.”
“Ops, Gunstar Two-Two is aware I am transmitting in the clear. My crypto is down. I am requesting any available assistance, over.” The voice sounds exhausted.
“Gunstar Two-Two, Ops copies. Stand by for response.” Ellis removes his headset and strides the twelve meters to where Bell is sleeping. “Bell. I need your ears.”
The SIGINT linguist rolls awake, reaching for something before he processes his surroundings. “What? Yeah. Ugh. Gimme a second.” But he throws back his blanket, shoves his feet into his boots, and follows Ellis back to the BTR.
Ellis re-dons the headset and hands the spare set to Bell. “”Gunstar Two-Two, Ops. State your situation and location.”
There’s a distinct pause before the other guy keys up again. “Ops, Gunstar Two-Two is west of the Pilica River and south of the reservoir. No grid reference available. This unit has four personnel, all wounded, two trauma red. Our vehicle is disabled. We’re separated from our parent unit and have been unable to re-establish contact. Be advised, there is a heavy hostile presence in this area, presumed Soviet deserters. How copy, over.”
Ellis and Bell confer quickly. The speaker mispronounced “Pilica” the way a native English speaker would who’s seen the name written but not heard it spoken by a Pole. Speech and diction are giving both men the impression that this guy is either a legitimate Anglophone or as good a linguist as they are, and is also proficient with radio comms. Bell thinks he’s probably from Vermont or New Hampshire. It’s seeming less likely that this is a Soviet or Pole playing games.
“Gunstar Two-Two, Ops copies all. Hold it together. Help is on the way.”
“Ops, Gunstar Two-Two copies. Be aware, I have limited battery. Please advise time for next check-in, over.”
Ellis checks his watch, does some mental math. “Two-Two, Ops copies. Keep your heads down and your powder dry. Talk to you in an hour. Ops out.”
“Two-Two out.”
Ellis looks at Bell. “I’m going to need you on the radio. Get your stuff. Wake up that MP and the infantry chick. They’re going to be driving and gunning. We’re rolling out in thirty.”