"The storm will probably let up by daybreak. That's how the weather usually works here. I don't think it's going to be a problem."
"All right," Armont interjected. "Looks like we'd better come in. I would ask you where you are now, but that might compromise your safety. I do have one more request, though. Could you stay by the radio and assist us after insertion, telling us—as best you know—how the hostiles are deployed? It could be very helpful. And possibly save a lot of lives."
"Yes, I'll do anything you want me to. But you can't wait
until tomorrow night. If you do, there may not be any point in coming at all."
"Then stay up on this frequency," Armont said, and nodded to the others. "You'll be hearing from us."
It was a gamble, taking the word of some anonymous voice on the radio, but sometimes you had to go with your instincts. As he looked around, they all agreed.
"Did you get it?" Radioman First Class Howard Ansel asked. The radio room at Gournes had been particularly hectic the last few hours, but he was glad he had thought of scanning single-sideband. Ansel was twenty-eight and had eyes that reminded people of the German shepherds he raised back home in Nebraska.
"It's on the tape," Big Al replied, lifting off his headphones and scratching at his crew cut. "But I don't have the goddamnedest idea what it means."