Contents ( 55)
- In Memoriam
- Epigraph
- Cast of Characters
- Americans
- Russians
- Canadian
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Weapons and Acronyms
- Weapons
- Acronyms
- About the Author
- Also by Dale Brown
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
He shut off the radio and waited while Takirak disconnected the battery and stuffed it back in his rucksack to stay warmer. “Nice to know they’re worried about us. Now, at least,” he commented.
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. “Ass covering is a fine art,” he said irreverently. He looked at Flynn. “What are your orders, Captain?”
“We’ll march southeast along the valley toward that downed F-22,” Flynn decided. “But not until everyone’s gotten some food into them.” Extreme cold and exertion burned calories far more rapidly than anyone not used to Arctic conditions could imagine. And fatigue could easily become a lethal weapon in this climate. “Then we’ll move out, deployed in a skirmish line. I want to cover as much ground as we can. We know where one wrecked aircraft might be, but there are at least four others out there somewhere.”
Takirak nodded. “Sounds sensible, sir.” He stood up and slung the radio over his shoulder again. “With your permission, I’ll take point.”
“Good idea, Andy,” Flynn agreed. The older man had decades of experience surviving in this type of rugged terrain and severe winter weather. Relying on him to be their advance scout made perfect sense.
Thirty-Three
Crow Field, inside the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge
That Same Time
Alexei Petrov stood in the shelter of the trees near their camouflaged encampment. He had his head cocked, listening intently as the sound of a large turboprop faded slowly in the distance. The aircraft, invisible in the clouds and darkness, had made one slow pass over the neighboring valley to the west before turning away to the north. He glanced at Bondarovich, standing next to him looking up at the sky. “You can relax now, Sergei. Whoever that was knocking on our door, they’re leaving now.”
The ex-Spetsnaz soldier scowled. “That was too close, Colonel.” He nodded toward the camouflaged aircraft shelter. “When can the PAK-DA take off? The sooner that bomber’s in the air and flying back to Russia, the sooner the rest of us can get out of here.”
“Not long now,” Petrov assured him. “No more than a few hours, so long as the winds continue to moderate.” He dug his boot into the snow layer, testing it. “Even after this storm, our improvised runway is still solid. So it’s just a question of waiting for the crosswinds to die down a bit.” He looked at Bondarovich. “I suggest you and your men grab some shut-eye while you can. Your prisoner, too. Poor Major Bunin has a long flight ahead, with the prospect of a cold welcome waiting for him at home. And the rest of us face what will certainly be a long, hard trek to Canada through these mountains, correct?”
The other man nodded in agreement. “True enough.” He smiled thinly. “Though at least our welcome will be much warmer than the major’s.” He raised an eyebrow. “What about you, Colonel?”
Petrov shrugged. “I want to refine the bomber’s return flight plan some more. Just to make sure Bunin won’t get picked up by American radar or patrols on his way out. After all, it would be bad business to take President Zhdanov’s money and then fail to return his property.” He waggled his steel hip flask with a knowing grin. “And if I get tired, I’ve always got a little pick-me-up to keep the party going.”