HUNTER PATROL

By H. BEAM PIPER and JOHN J. McGUIRE

+Many men have dreamed of world peace, but none have been able to
achieve it. If one man did have that power, could mankind afford to
pay the price?+


At the crest of the ridge, Benson stopped for an instant, glancing first
at his wrist-watch and then back over his shoulder. It was 0539; the
barrage was due in eleven minutes, at the spot where he was now
standing. Behind, on the long northeast slope, he could see the columns
of black oil smoke rising from what had been the Pan-Soviet advance
supply dump. There was a great deal of firing going on, back there; he
wondered if the Commies had managed to corner a few of his men, after
the patrol had accomplished its mission and scattered, or if a couple of
Communist units were shooting each other up in mutual mistaken identity.
The result would be about the same in either case--reserve units would
be disorganized, and some men would have been pulled back from the front
line. His dozen-odd UN regulars and Turkish partisans had done their
best to simulate a paratroop attack in force. At least, his job was
done; now to execute that classic infantry maneuver described as, "Let's
get the hell outa here." This was his last patrol before rotation home.
He didn't want anything unfortunate to happen.

There was a little ravine to the left; the stream which had cut it in
the steep southern slope of the ridge would be dry at this time of year,
and he could make better time, and find protection in it from any chance
shots when the interdictory barrage started. He hurried toward it and