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Chapter Twenty

"The Cavalry Arrives"

Paul and his crew arrived just before dawn, looking all the world like the Marines had landed. They were cold, determined, and hungry. Celeste was already up, if she'd ever gone to bed at all. She was in the kitchen cooking, using whatever supplies Flying Eagle had left there, along with a big pot of coffee.

The men appreciated it and went into the dining room for a briefing before the breakfast was ready. Kermit laid out the situation for them in his curt, concise manner.

When he was done, Paul leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Well, I've got a helicopter to assist from Search-and-Rescue. They should be here within the hour. That bird is equipped with thermal scanners, so it can pick up their body heat, even if they are in hiding."

Kermit tapped a pencil on the table. "Peter was just getting his strength back. If he ran into any forces..."

Paul stood. "We go on the assumption that both are still alive." And then he sighed, "But we have to be realistic. If the hit teams called in reinforcements, we might well be facing a ground fight, just to get to the cabin. We must be prepared for the worst as far as the opposing forces are concerned. Everyone is to wear flak jackets and helmets. We will speak via the communications systems in the helmets. Strenlich has the search patterns and assignments, once we assume control of Crowfoot's cabin. Enjoy your breakfast, because in a few minutes, we will hit the ground running."

Paul walked into the kitchen to refill his coffee when he found Celeste crying. He wasn't quite sure how to approach this woman who had been through hell and back. "Miss Crowfoot, I'm not sure I introduced myself in all the commotion of our arrival. My name is Captain Paul Blaisdell and-"

Celeste wiped at her face and turned toward him with a brave smile. "And you're Peter's father...or at least one of them. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Paul shook her hand, and then embraced her when she broke down into tears again.

With her face still pressed into his jacket, she said, "We wouldn't even still be alive if it wasn't for your son. Thank you for his bravery. I know if there's any way possible for him to keep Tommy alive, he will do it."

Paul pulled away and he stared at her for a moment. "You're right about that. Peter's a survivor. He's been through much in his life and he always manages to save the day.

Trust in that."

Celeste wiped at her face, and then picked up a fork, turning the ham steaks cooking in a huge cast iron skillet. "I am," she paused for a moment, looking back at him, "Do you believe in dreams?"

Paul leaned against the counter and folded his arms in front of him. "I've come to believe in many things when it comes to Peter. Why do you ask?"

Celeste wiped her hands on a towel. "I didn't sleep much last night, but what little I did, I kept dreaming of the forest and its protective care over Peter and Tommy, but there is also danger there. A danger apart from the men who came to kill us. Find that danger and you'll find Peter and my boy. That is what the dream told me."

Paul eyed her for a moment before he said, "I believe you. I'll advise my men to be on the watch for someone beyond the hit men."

Celeste embraced him one more time and then pulled away. "I think you came in here for coffee. Here you go. Breakfast will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

"That should work perfectly with our schedule."

Paul walked out, passing Ansel on his way in. "Did you tell him, Little Raven? Did you tell him of your vision?"

"It was a dream, Uncle, not a vision."

"Whatever! Did you tell him?"

She nodded once and shoved a coffee pot in his hands. "Make yourself useful and see if any cups need filling."

Ansel didn't push her further as he walked out of the small kitchen. She was already on the edge. If they found Tommy or Peter dead, it would be enough to push her over. He was still staring back at the kitchen when calls for more coffee multiplied.

Crowfoot turned toward them, and gruffly said, "Keep your pantyhose on, girls. It's a coming."

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Peter was fending off an attacking wolverine, barely keeping the animal's fangs from piercing his skin. It was a life-and-death battle with one of nature's most fearsome fighters, and Peter had a feeling the wolverine was going to win. A small hand jiggled his arm, irritating Peter because he had to subdue this wolf or die.

The small hand shook him stronger, and finally Peter opened his eyes and saw his hands in the air, his illusionary wolverine now vanished. Peter was breathing hard from the exertion and his face was misted with sweat. Looking over, he saw Tommy staring at him with great concern.

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry...about that, sport. Blasted nightmares...Man, this one was...a doozy."

His mouth was dry again and Tommy automatically handed him the bottle of water. The water helped his dry throat, but did nothing to cease the pounding of his head and his side. The newer injuries were more cuts and bruises than serious injury, annoyances he could ignore. The other more serious injuries he'd just have to deal with.

"Tommy, can you open...that hatch by yourself? Remember, the snow...might make it too heavy."

Tommy put a thumbs up, indicating he'd try it.

"Good kid...do us proud. Open it slowly," he said as he slumped back for a moment, wondering if opening the shelter hatch would draw unwanted attention.

Tommy nodded solemnly. He stood and released the latch, and then pressed his head and back into pushing it open, but he wasn't strong enough. With great effort, Peter got to his knees and pushed with all he had which wasn't much, but between the two of them, they got it open.

As they looked around, they saw it had snowed heavily during the night. Now, in the predawn light, Peter pulled his gun and did a sweeping arc of the area. "Looks like we are alone."

He holstered the weapon and reached into the weapons locker, pulling out another gun and two clips of ammo before he helped Tommy climb out. Peter handed him his knapsack before he tried to crawl out himself. It took every muscle he had and some that he didn't know he had to get clear of the shelter. Then he closed the hatch, marking it with one of the carved tokens Tommy and Peter had been making as Christmas gifts.

When Tommy looked puzzled, Peter explained. "It's for...the good guys, so they know...where to come...looking for us."

Tommy nodded in understanding, and then pointed down to the creek.

"Yep, that's the next step Uncle Ansel said to do, right?"

The boy smiled with pride as he nodded.

"So let's do it."

They managed to get going, heading down towards the creek and the canoe, and hopefully, safety, but the snow was too deep in places. Tommy was visibly trembling from the cold when Peter picked him up in his arms.

They hadn't seen a thing move in the forest since they emerged from the shelter twenty minutes earlier. It was eerie. As if the forest had suddenly become a giant tomb and any living thing had long ago departed for safer parts. No sign of man nor animal. Nothing.

Tommy looked up at him, snuggling closer to him. For some reason, the close bond between the two of them made Peter think of another bond. The one he shared with his father. He thought of him, wherever he was, and how much he missed him, wondering about the secret mission he was involved for the Dali Lama.

'Hell, Pop might make it home before me.'

Tommy shifted in his arms, and Peter suppressed a groan as the boy inadvertently pressed upon his injured side. A slow release of air went unnoticed by the boy as he was nearly asleep.

'Maybe,' Peter thought, 'Maybe, I shouldn't give my father such grief over doing what he feels he is obligated to do, just as I'm risking my life to save Tommy's. There just isn't any other option available. Tommy is going to live, even if I don't make it. It's the right thing to do.'

Peter decided he needed to respect his father's decisions more. After all, his father was an admirable man. He just needed to trust more in his father's judgment.

Peter had to adjust Tommy's weight in his arms. He could see the canoes, but they seemed miles away instead for a few hundred yards. He called to his father without conscious effort. 'Pop, can you hear me? Can you help me? I've got this little boy to save and I don't think I can take another step...

Tommy reached up from his drowsy state and hugged Peter, brushing the snow flakes from Peter's face. And then he put his head against Peter's heart and started to drift back to sleep. 'Not a bad idea,' Peter thought, 'I could do with a nap myself.'

Looking ahead, he saw those damned canoes looming closer, but his energy was waning so quickly. Still, he continued to trudge ahead. He didn't have anything better to do at the moment, beside acknowledging the ache in his heart with his father's absence. And he owed Lo Si a major apology. That was, if they actually survived the day.

oOoOoOoOo