A Russland destroyer. There couldn't be anything else that large and moving that fast in these waters now. Nordsbergen's coastal trade was suspended and its ships all tied up at their docks. Blade remembered what he'd read about the three most numerous classes of Russland destroyers. All of them packed speed, firepower, and detection equipment enough to make them formidable opponents even for the most advanced Imperial submarine under the right conditions-such as shallow water.
If Blade tried to escape now with the torpedo or the raft, the destroyer could pick him up on its sonar or radar and probably eliminate him as easily as a lizard picking fees off a rock with its tongue. If he stayed on shore, the destroyer could send a landing party large enough to comb the forest for him. They might not catch him, but they could certainly drive him far inland, away from the sea that was his road home.
Perhaps the destroyer's arrival was a coincidence? Blade doubted it. The Russland hadn't been running any regular surface patrols through the Tagarsson Channel. Yet suddenly here was a destroyer coming straight at him. No, it was here for a purpose, because somebody among the Russlanders had heard or suspected something.
What had they heard and how had they heard it? Blade knew that it would be enormously valuable to find out. He also knew that there were a good many other things he would have to do first, including getting out of here alive!
He pulled on his combat webbing and slung the raft and survival pack on his back. He might not have to move far, but he would almost certainly have to move fast and be ready to shoot at any moment.
His gear rode comfortably, and seventy-odd pounds plus the submachine gun was an easy load for him. He looked at the beach again, paying particular attention to the forest at the far end. That was where the courier was scheduled to appear and give the coded recognition signals with his own IR lamp.
Then Blade was off, moving inland until he was sure he was invisible from the sea. After that he swung north, moving parallel to the beach and covering ground as fast as the forest would let him. Every few yards he went to cover and listened silently for any signs of human movement in the darkness around him.
He wanted to be at the north end of the beach when the courier arrived, so the man wouldn't have to signal. There would certainly be infrared scanners about the destroyer, and an IR signal from the courier would reach more people than Blade. It would be a loud cry of «Here I am!» to the lookouts aboard the ship.
The courier might also have some Russlanders on his trail. That could mean a nasty shoot-out, and in that case the more cover the better. The destroyer would be less able to tell one side from another and join in at long range. No doubt the captain would eventually make up his mind to send a landing party, but Blade and the courier might have plenty of time to get clear before then. Blade was determined to get the courier out as well as the file, if at all possible. The man might be able to give useful information about affairs in Nordsbergen, perhaps including how the Russlanders had got wind of the rendezvous and pickup operation. It would also eliminate any chance of his being captured and questioned before he could commit suicide.
No sounds came from the forest around Blade, no light or movement. Once he swung back toward the beach to take a bearing on the approaching ship. It was now close enough to make out with the naked eye. A low-lying dark silhouette, with squarish turrets forward and aft, two squat funnels, a tall tripod mast-unmistakably one of the Russlanders' fleet destroyers. Still coming fast, too, judging from the growing curl of white at her bow. Blade ducked back into the forest and moved on, faster than before.
At last he reached the north end of the beach and dropped down behind a fallen tree. The tree covered and concealed him from the rear, from the destroyer. The other three directions he wanted to cover himself, watching for the courier, the enemy, or both.
Minutes passed, each one seeming like half an hour even to Blade's disciplined mind and alert senses. His eyes were moving continuously over beach and forest and sea, and his hands held the submachine gun ready.
In those same minutes the destroyer out on the dark sea grew still larger, until she seemed as large and menacing as a battleship. Then the curl of white at the bow began to fade away as she slowed down. Now she was moving past the beach, about two miles off shore and barely maintaining steerageway. She would be practically on top of the submarine lying on the bottom.
That in itself was no real danger. The bottom of the channel was rugged, and more than one sunken ship lay down there in the cold dark water. It would take better sonarmen than the Russlanders usually had to tell one odd-shaped lump on the bottom from another, or one motionless metal hull from another. The submarine was safe, as long as she didn't move.
Unfortunately, it was equally true that as long as the submarine didn't move, she could do nothing against the destroyer or for Blade. Launching an attack from where she lay now would be a gamble, too likely to end in mutual destruction for both ships. That would leave Richard Blade with a long, cold sea road home, if he got home at all.
A minute or two later, a faint sound drew Blade's attention from the destroyer to the forest toward the north. He raised the gun, flicked off the safety, and listened. The sound came again, a second time, a third. It was coming irregularly, confused and broken by the trees and the wind blowing through them, but it was hard to mistake. It was the sound of a man running fast.
If that man was the courier, it was not good that he was running. That could mean an enemy hard on his heels. Blade considered moving farther into the forest, to be ready to ambush anybody pursuing the courier, but decided against it. He already had the best cover and the best field of fire he was likely to find.
The sound of running feet grew louder. Blade listened to them, and also for any sound of pursuit. Except for the wind and the single set of racing feet, the forest remained silent. Either there were no pursuers close behind or they were moving so quietly Blade couldn't hear them.
Suddenly a man dashed out between two trees, into Blade's view. Blade snapped the submachine gun into position to fire one-handed from the hip. He raised his free left hand and made the six quick movements of the hand recognition signal. The man caught the movement, froze almost in mid-stride, and went flat on the ground. Blade could see that he had a blond beard and wore a field jacket and dark trousers. He had a light pack on his back and a holstered pistol at his waist.
Blade aimed the submachine gun directly at the man, waited a moment, then repeated the recognition signal. His finger was tightening on the trigger when the man slowly raised one hand and gave the proper countersignal. Blade saw that the hand was dark with dried blood. It was also shaking so badly that Blade could barely recognize the signal.
«Come on over,» said Blade in English. The man started nervously, looked all around him, then quickly scrambled over to Blade on his hands and knees. He winced each time his bloody hand touched the ground. As he scrambled into cover, Blade could hear him gasping for breath. His eyes were wide and his face bleached to an unnatural white. It was a minute or two before he could even try to speak.
When he finally got the words out, they came in a rush. «They are right behind me, the Russlanders. Somebody gave them the rendezvous and the route. They ambushed us, hit me and Maria. I came away. They are coming only ten minutes behind, maybe.» He shrugged off his jacket, wincing at the pain the movements seemed to awake in his arm, then reached inside the jacket with his good hand and tore at the lining. It gave, and a bulging plastic-wrapped envelope fell onto the dead needles. The man picked it up and handed it to Blade.