Oppressed suddenly by a sense of urgency, Petrov got up and moved back through the short interior tunnel to the open hatch. He climbed down the ladder there, dropped awkwardly onto the hard-packed snow floor, and then hurried over to the controls for the camouflaged aircraft shelter’s large central door. It was a simple, small box dangling from a power cord connected to electric motors mounted near the roof. He flipped the single switch and heard the motors hum. For a few moments, he stood watching just to make sure nothing went wrong as they slowly winched the hangar’s fabric covering upward.

In the moonlight, far across the gleaming white surface of his improvised runway, flames still danced amid the burning wreckage of the tent camp he’d set ablaze. A thick column of oily black smoke, lit from the inside by flickering sparks crackling off the gasoline-fed fire, curled away on the wind.

And then Petrov’s eyes widened in shock. A camouflaged military helicopter had just clattered straight through the smoke. Sleek-nosed, with a four-bladed main rotor, it was already flaring out to land close to the hangar. Someone had found him! He whirled around and scrambled under the PAK-DA bomber’s broad, blended wing to get back to the hatch.

Aboard the Ka-60 Kosatka helicopter, Flynn snapped an order to Hynes. He and the square-shouldered enlisted man were the only Americans aboard. He’d been forced to leave the other three able-bodied troops under his command, Vucovich, Kim, and Santarelli, behind at the spur to do their best to keep the wounded and injured alive until he could get back to them. “Keep the crew covered, Cole. Once we’re down, this bird doesn’t go anywhere without my say-so!”

The Army PFC nodded. “You got it, sir. One twitch I don’t like and both of these guys will end up splattered across that windshield.” He had the Russian-made AKM he’d picked up back on the battlefield angled to sweep the entire cockpit at the slightest sign of trouble from either of the helicopter’s two pilots. Fortunately, the Russian aviators still seemed to be in a state of shock at how easily the tables had been turned on them. When Flynn and Hynes came hurrying out of the darkness, they’d seen what they’d expected to see—two Spetsnaz commandos coming to report the destruction of the American force. Instead, they’d suddenly had assault rifles shoved in their faces and found out the hard way that they were now prisoners.

Once Flynn checked out this burning wilderness camp where no camp should be, he planned to use the captured helicopter to fly his men and the wounded Russian survivors south to Fairbanks, the nearest place with an emergency trauma center. With a little luck, he hoped, the blizzard would have eased up enough by then to make the flight possible. If not, some of the more severely injured would be dead before too long.

So time was short, he reminded himself sharply. But he still needed to find out what the hell was going on here. Too many men had died for him to walk away from here without answers. Not waiting any longer, he slammed the Ka-60’s side door wide open and dropped out onto the ground—ducking his head against a howling torrent of rotor-blown snow and ice.