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
The other man smiled wolfishly and then darted forward, obeying his commander’s silent hand signal to resume the advance. Korenev drifted along in his wake, allowing the gap between them to widen.
Suddenly, higher up on the hill they were advancing toward, a small bright light began blinking at them in short, rhythmic flashes. Startled, the major threw himself prone again. Ahead and to his left, his soldiers did the same, bringing their mix of assault rifles and automatic weapons to bear. But then Korenev realized those flashes were in the same shorthand code used for silent communication between Russian special forces units. And that this message carried the prefix SIROTA, to verify that it came directly from the GRU’s most prized agent. He mouthed the words as they were spelled out by that blinking light: enemy force deploying in ambush on flank of hill southeast of my position. caution advised.
Slowly, the major stood up, making sure he could be seen. Then he crossed his clenched fists over his head twice—confirming that he’d received the warning. The light blinked off immediately, leaving the dark mass of the hill once more cloaked in shadows and thin strips of moonlight.
Korenev waved Primakov over to join him. “What now?” the younger officer asked.
The major bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “Simple, while the Americans wait like imbeciles for us to walk blindly into their trap, we’ll veer to the left.” He indicated the main ridge to the northeast of the spur. “And climb up that way instead. Then we’ll swing back to the right and come in to hit them from above and behind.” He hefted his AK-12 assault rifle and patted the stock. “With the tables turned, it shouldn’t take long to finish off our American friends.”
On the Spur
That Same Time
Flynn moved warily downhill through the icy boulder field that covered this part of the slope, careful to watch where he placed his feet to avoid any unnecessary noise. Before heading here on his own, he’d ordered the rest of his men to take up concealed firing positions in the jumble of rocks and boulders farther up the slope. And he’d left his M4 carbine behind a while back, worried that the longer weapon might clatter against rock surfaces and give him away. Instead, he’d drawn his Glock 19 sidearm. That left him with one hand free for balance on this uneven, slippery surface.
He halted at the base of a weathered granite boulder twice the size of a man and stood listening. The soft, clicking noises he’d heard coming from ahead had just stopped, as suddenly as they had started. Cautiously, Flynn edged around the side of the boulder . . . and found Takirak crouched a couple of yards away, staring down into the valley. Soldiers camouflaged in snow smocks were on the move there, turning to parallel the high ground as they advanced to the northeast. Their helmets and other gear gave them a look almost identical to that of American special forces troops, but their weapons were clearly Russian.