Chapters (42)
- BENEATH THE DARK ICE
- Table of Contents
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- 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
- Epilogue
- One
- Two
- Three
Lieutenant Owen would wait another few hours. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from the HAWCs yet and he hadn’t expected to be kept in the loop. When those guys were involved, the brass knew the details and everyone else just did their job or got out of the way.
He kept the blades turning on the helicopter to keep the generators warm. Though it looked calm enough out on the snow he knew it was well below zero and while he trusted the SeaHawk-S in cold weather, there was nothing worse than lead in the feet when you had to lift a full load.
At last, he thought. Owen saw the large man come over the edge of the crater and unbuckle himself from the drop winch. He had his head down, his white parka suit straining across massive shoulders and arms and Owen couldn’t remember the suits being so ill-fitting when he dropped the HAWCs off. He hoped he wasn’t going to be asked to help them up out of the hole; he wasn’t dressed for it.
The side door slid open and Owen turned in his seat. “Howd—” The sight that met him froze the greeting on his lips. A single eye burned from a blood-streaked veil of hate and fury. A meaty black hole where his other eye should have been and a beard matted with congealed gore completed the image of a Halloween mask. The man yelled something in a language he couldn’t understand.
Owen reached for his sidearm as a fist like a pile-driver struck him in the face with enough force to knock out all his front teeth and flatten his nose. It would not be the last of his injuries that day.
Borshov dragged the American pilot out onto the snow. He needed more room to beat the man properly. His anger from his defeat by Alex Hunter was now almost volcanic as he broke bones in the man’s face and arms.
He carried the limp form to the edge of the deep chasm and went to throw him over the edge a hundred feet to the unforgiving rocks below. He looked at the man and hesitated. He spoke to him; shook him. The pilot opened his eyes and groaned. Borshov shook him gently again, then smiled.
With a mighty heave, the Russian threw him out into the abyss. The pilot screamed as he fell. It was so much better when they knew what was happening.