ARISEN, Book Eleven - Deathmatch (32 page)

* * *

“Cadaver Two, this is Cadaver One, how copy? Cadaver Two, commo check.” Nothing – for the third time. Handon frowned.

After Master Gunnery Sergeant Fick’s MARSOC fire team had been separated from Alpha in the madness of Hargeisa, Handon had ordered the Marines away, to exploit their secondary target site, Gebilay, the next shithole over. But since Alpha had been rescued by Triple Nickel, and more or less verified that there was only one early-stage victim anywhere in East Africa, he had updated them and gotten them moving back in their direction. But now the thick forest was screwing with their comms.

Not slowing his run at the head of the survivors of the Seahawk crash, Handon spared a look over his shoulder to check on them – and was surprised to see Baxter in the lead, not least because he was most heavily loaded. In his survey of the burned-out Russian helo, he’d found a crate of RPG-32s that had survived the thermite immolation of the cabin, and which Handon couldn’t bear to leave behind. So as a reward, Handon had made him hump two of them, slung over the top of his pack.

Now Handon’s radio went on the CAS net.
“Cadaver One, this is Thunderchild – I am coming back on station, with standard armament and two hours’ playtime.
”

“Copy that, Thunderchild. Glad to have you back. But you are not, I trust, within five clicks of the Russian ground force?”

“That’s affirmative, Cadaver, I’m keeping out of SAM range. I got that briefing from CIC – back when command on the carrier was still talking to me… But I’ve got great optics, so I can see the enemy farther away than they can hit me. Visual is intermittent, but so far every time I lose them, I pick them up again on FLIR.”

“Good to know, Thunderchild. Interrogative: can you confirm we’re still on a heading to intercept?”

“Affirmative, Cadaver, I confirm your heading is still correct, right on their tail. Unfortunately, not so much your ground speed. Just like with the air pursuit, they’re stretching out the distance.”

Handon cursed under his breath. Just how fast could these Spetsnaz sons of bitches run? Through heavy forest and underbrush? He and his team now seemed to have fallen foul of one of the oldest rules in the game: never let anyone out-train you.

“But I can help you out there, Cadaver. Enemy ground force is approaching the river at the center line of the forest. And that river is surging. I don’t think they can realistically ford it… if say, the bridge across were unexpectedly to go out.”

Handon considered. Could he afford to risk his only air asset? Then again, the Russians were getting away. He had no choice. “Thunderchild – can you take out that bridge from stand-off distance – without coming under fire from their SAMs?”

“Hmm, now let’s just see what I’ve got in the quiver today… ooh, is that a JSOW? Now what does that stand for again? Oh, yeah – Joint Standoff Weapon. Think one of those might work?”

Smart-ass
, Handon thought. Hailey sounded like she was having more fun than a drunken shore-leave. He slightly wondered why, but wasn’t going to ask. He also didn’t have to ask about the specs of that weapon – he already knew the AGM-154 JSOW was a glide bomb with a max range of well over a hundred kilometers.

“Do it,” he said.

* * *

The rickety-ass wooden-pile bridge was already exploding, burning, and sinking into the raging waters below, when Misha emerged from the bush far enough to see the damned thing.

He immediately scanned the skies up and down the river – which was the only open and tree-free space in this bizarre oasis. He neither saw nor heard aircraft, friendly or otherwise. Nonetheless, he motioned the team back under cover while he hailed their own.

“Nina! Where’s that ghetto hooptie of yours?!”

“We be mossin’, over.”

Misha smiled and bobbed his head.

Good ole Nina. His hunting hawk.

* * *

Beside her in the gunner’s seat, Bazarov silently rolled his eyes. Nina, who had never once so much as smiled at him in years of service together, would clown around with Misha, including throwing around their ridiculous American slang. Half the time he didn’t even know whether they were speaking Russian or English – or some bizarre pidgin of American ghetto English and peasant Russian.

“Good,”
Misha said. “
Because we have still got these American douchenoggins ghosting our asses.”

“Copy that, Misha. We will see what we can do to slow them up – or remove them from the planet. It slightly depends on where their F-35 goes. But we’ll make it work.”

Bazarov’s breathing went shallow again. Nina had kept them alive so far by keeping them away from the American fighters. Misha had even taken one down himself with a missile. Bazarov figured it was just like him to take on a fighter-bomber while on foot – and win. But now they knew there was another F-35 in their airspace, not far away. Not nearly far enough away, at any rate.

Thinking he should know better, Bazarov said, “Nina, I think we should put it on the deck for a while.”

Her voice tightly controlled ice, she said, “Listen to me, seat-warmer, as I will only say this once. We are in the hunt. If you want out – get out. Now.”

Bazarov didn’t to need to ask whether she would land first.

* * *

“Do you suppose we can get across – carrying everything?” Vasily pointed at the bagged-up Index Case, still slung over Misha’s shoulder, where it looked like he had forgotten about it.

Misha grunted. “We will see.” He turned to scan the men. “Runt! Where the fuck are you? Swim this river.”

The Runt’s mouth opened to utter the word “What?” but he caught himself in time. He’d already put down the one remaining Grinch surface-to-air missile. Now he wordlessly started unbuckling his armor and gear.

Misha shook his head ominously. It was no use to him to get his men across without their weapons and gear.

The Runt turned and regarded the raging river. This was a death sentence. But, then again, so was defying the commander. Knowing it was pointless, if not dangerous, still he said, “Misha, I do no think I can make it.”

“We’ll soon know. But if we see you alive again, it had better be on the other side. Swim, bonesmoker! Swim!”

* * *

“Cadaver, Thunderchild. Imagery shows good effect on target. That is now an ex-bridge. Enemy ground force is stopped at river’s edge.”

“Received, Thunderchild, nice job. Interrogative: what’s our range to target?”

“Looks like about four clicks – and closing.”

Handon exhaled. While they desperately needed to catch these guys, the last thing they needed was to stumble right into them.

“Thunderchild, I’ve got a new tasking for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Simple commo relay. How are the airwaves up there?”

“Perfectly clear, Cadaver, if I get up high enough, above the weather. I can hear for miles and miles…”

* * *

Do I even have a real name any longer?
the Runt wondered to himself, as water rose up to mid-thigh, and he had to lean upstream and plant his feet to keep the current from sweeping him away. He felt as if his name had been forgotten, subsumed. His only identity now was the Runt – the weakest link in
Mirovye Lohi
.

He held his rifle at chest level as the water rose above his waist. This was like being marched out into the Battle of Stalingrad, with a machine gun at his back. He knew what would happen if he retreated.

After four years in the Army, then passing Spetsnaz selection – which he’d done mainly by keeping his mouth shut and his head down – he had been assigned to the lead unit of the premier Spetsnaz naval brigade. And he thought he’d hit the jackpot.

But upon joining
Mirovye Lohi
, he had of course instantly been the new guy. And the others, relieved to have a focus of attention and abuse that wasn’t them, had remorselessly piled in. He had done his best to bear up to the abuse, which was much worse than hazing – it could often be life-threatening, in fact. And he had managed to avoid being drummed out, injured too badly to continue, or murdered outright.

But that was all.

He’d never earned the respect of the other men – all of whom regarded him as an object of contempt. He did have a role to play in the unit, maybe even a necessary one. They needed a runt in their litter, to remind them what happened to the weak.

But it was a kind of living hell for him.

And his only task in life now was surviving – until a new Runt came along and took his place. Which, with the world having ended, and Spetsnaz selection shut for the duration, might be a long time coming. But he knew the Motherland would survive. And they would perfect their cure, now that they had the last piece of the puzzle, the Index Case. And then Russia would rise again to rule the world. Then Spetsnaz would need more commandos.

He just had to stay alive that long. And then maybe he would be one of them. And that was surely worth doing.

Wasn’t it?

Or was it?
he wondered.
Was this – cruelty, and inflicting cruelty, and being strong enough to survive cruelty – was this the only way to live? Was this all that life was for?

But he had never known anything else.

The current was faster toward the middle of the river. And he knew now – whatever the depth of this water, he was going to be swept away before it was over his head. There was also debris caught in the raging current that he either had to dodge, or brace himself to let smack into his body.

He looked up to see a very large hooked tree branch rushing toward him on the frothing surface.

* * *

“
Ooh!
” Misha roared. “And the quarterback is toast. Looks like he was right. He couldn’t make it. And we will need a new Runt.”

Misha withdrew his sharpened spade from his pack and turned on the men. “First squad cuts trees! We need a raft to get our heavy shit across, along with this dead douchecannon.” He gestured at the bagged body at his feet, then pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the raging river. “Second squad constructs defensive positions, to hold the riverbank.” He looked around. “Oh, and somebody needs to get naked and swim this bitch with a rope. To pull the raft over.”

He looked at Vasily, who just shrugged. It would hardly be the first time he, or any of them, had faced hypothermia. Plus he was the sniper – and that meant that, although he knew himself to be more skilled and deadly than the rest, he was also considered expendable.

The hell with it
, Vasily thought.
Ice baths boost testosterone.

He started getting naked.

1,000 MPH On Its Ass

Nugal River Valley

“Cadaver, Thunderchild, urgent sitrep
.
”

“Send it,” Handon said.

“Enemy force is still stopped at river’s edge – but they’ve now rigged a rope line over the river. I’m sorry, I didn’t see it from this distance until now. They’re using it to pull a raft across.”

“Thunderchild, interrogative: what’s on the raft?”

“Two enemy pax – and a body bag.”

Juice, also monitoring this channel, saw Handon smile. “What the hell?” he asked. “They’re getting P-Zero across the river.”

Handon kept smiling. “They’re getting P-Zero split off from their main force is what they’re doing.”

“And putting an unfordable river between us and it!”

“Also between them and it.” Then, into his mic, Handon said: “Thunderchild, what’s our current range to enemy position?”

“Less than a kilometer. Listen, Cadaver, let me strafe that river. I can slow the raft, make it turn back, maybe cut their rope line…”

Juice snorted. “Cut their rope line?”

“Jesus,” Ali added. “She hits one fenestron and she thinks she’s Annie Oakley.”

“Negative,” Handon said. “Strafing would put you inside the range of their SAMs. In a little while I may need you to help keep the rest of that force on this side of the river. But right now I have to keep you alive for ISR and commo relay. What’s the flight ceiling of those Grinch missiles?”

“Eleven thousand.”

“Okay, I want you to get up above that and get eyes on – on everything. Also commo with everything. How copy?”

“Thunderchild copies all.”
Her voice said she didn’t like being sent up too high to play, or be part of the fight. But Handon didn’t give a damn what Thunderchild liked. Because now he finally had a plan that stood a chance of working.

“Cadaver out.” Handon stopped, then turned to face the others as they circled up. “Okay, listen up. Our job now is to keep that main Spetsnaz force pinned down on this side of the river.”

“Oh, yeah?” Henno asked. He clearly didn’t like not knowing what the plan was. “For how long?”

Handon checked his watch, for both time and GPS. “Probably no more than thirty minutes.”

“And what happens then?”

“Then we get our mission objective back. And maybe finish this thing. Right now – everyone ready for a fight?”

They all nodded.

Handon didn’t have to tell them that, facing a numerically superior force of hyper-elite, tough, and merciless Spetsnaz operators, with their backs up against the wall, and who would have had time to dig in by now…

They were probably looking at the fight of their lives.

* * *

Just as it seemed Hailey had escaped the gravity well of command, and their irksome authority over her, now she was being ordered around by someone else.

But she knew she needed to master her ire. The man now issuing her orders, Handon, was exactly the one she’d disobeyed orders to come out here and support. She had to trust the man on the ground knew what he was doing.

Checking forward-looking infrared radar (FLIR), she sent Handon an update he’d probably want to get: “Cadaver, be advised, that raft is across the river and has been unloaded.”

“Received. What are they doing now?”