Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4) (22 page)

“What would happen if the Yellowstone caldera erupted again?”

“Well,” the scientist said with a shrug. “Maybe not an
extinction event, but….”

“What?”

“America would cease to exist as we know it, at least for the
foreseeable future. The eruption would go on for about a week, but
the real damage would come from the blanket of ash that would cover
the entire country and float in the sky above our heads. Agriculture
would be wiped out, and as a country, we could even be brought to the
brink of starvation.”

“Unless an allegedly friendly power stepped in to help us out,”
Deckard said, cutting himself off before he said too much. In his
mind, he could not help but think about Chinese troops landing on
American shores as a part of some humanitarian aid program, with god
only knows what strings attached. By then, the American government
would probably welcome them with open arms.

“All I can say for certain,” Flynn told Deckard, “is that
if the Yellowstone caldera goes up, it will change everything we know
about America for generations to come.”

“You forgot the best part,” Deckard replied.

“What’s that?”

“Our government would never even know that a weapon had been
used against us.”

* * *

“Canadian Rangers out on a patrol near Resolute Bay
spotted the semi-submersible ship passing Little Cornwallis Island,”
Otter said, setting down the radio microphone as Deckard walked onto
the bridge. “The Canadians have the other passages through the
northwest passage blocked off. North is the only direction they can
go.”

Deckard’s eyes scoured over their sea charts, counting down the
numbers in his mind. “Ellesmere Island,” he said, pointing to a
large land mass on the map. “That’s where this is going to go
down. They will be trapped up in these fjords. From there, they will
either stand and fight or try to cross overland.”

“We’re only a few hours behind them,” Otter added.
“Considering we interrupted their refueling in Barrow, they must be
running low on gas as well.”

“I’ll make a call and try to get Global Hawk back up, but it
is already outrunning its operational range out of Alaska. Hopefully
the Canadians can step up their air patrols now that the Rangers
spotted them.”

“They already have birds in the air,” Otter replied. “They
will let us know once they get eyes on.”

“Good to hear. We’ll get the men prepared.”

“What now?”

“We’ve kept the pressure on the enemy, forced their hand, and
made them expend resources. Now it is time to run them to ground,
exhaust them, and kill them.”

* * *

Canadian Arctic

Jiahao closed his eyes as bubbles gurgled up from the
regulator in his mouth, the oxygen pooling into one large bubble at
the top of the 553mm torpedo tube.

The submarine mast had been so badly damaged, it made surfacing
too dangerous—if not impossible—until they would be able to
receive repairs at the underground Yulin naval base on Hainan Island.
Until then, the divers would have to make do with an egress through
the torpedo tubes. Four divers were crouched over inside two delivery
vehicles, one in each tube.

Jiahao smiled, biting down on the regulator to prevent water from
leaking in from the corners of his mouth. The great irony was that
the specifications for the construction of the torpedo-launched
delivery vehicle had been stolen from the United States by cyber
spies on the mainland. Instead of delivering Navy SEALs onto some
Third World battlefield, Jiahao’s special team would be making use
of them in the Canadian Arctic.

Suddenly, he was jerked back, his hands clinging to the controls
as water passed around his head and shoulders like a cold breeze. On
their flank, the commando could make out the second submersible
delivery vehicle humming along. Initiating the prop, the delivery
vehicle began maneuvering toward the surface.

Jiahao had been given a mission by his mage, and he fully
intended to carry it out.

* * *

Twelve hours later, the Carrickfergus entered into the fjords of
Ellesmere Island. Covered in glaciers, with steep V-shaped valleys
and weathered crags poking up from beneath the ice, Ellesmere Island
was one of the world’s last frontiers, dividing Canada from
Greenland. From the sea, the terrain looked both unforgiving and
surreal. Glaciers crept into the ocean, the water itself a brilliant
turquoise color.

In the distance, black smoke rose into the air where the
China-Russia-Iran confab had jettisoned their semi-submersible ship
and destroyed it with explosives. Canadian surveillance aircraft had
spotted the explosion, but had yet to pick up where the enemy had
moved on to. Canadian Rangers were being mobilized, but it was
unclear if they would arrive in time to do anything. Most Canadian
military assets were already being prepared for a coalition ground
war in the Middle East, a knee-jerk response to terrorist attacks
back home, leaving the Arctic forces with even less resources than
usual.

The Carrickfergus dropped ramp one fjord before where the
remains of the enemy ship were located for an off-set infiltration.
The Samruk International mercenaries stormed off with their gear
and sank into the snow under their heavy rucksacks despite the
snowshoes they wore. Arranging themselves in a security perimeter,
they took turns donning their skis. Samruk hadn’t skimped on winter
equipment, and they would need every edge they could get on Ellesmere
Island.

Deckard stowed his assault snowshoes in his pack and snapped on a
pair of Carbon Aspect skis manufactured by Black Diamond. Ski skins
and climbing crampons would be kept on hand, as they would definitely
be needing them soon.
At two platoons plus a mortar section,
Samruk consisted of a large element when trying to move around in an
arctic environment.
It would be slow going, but the tools they
brought with them would hopefully give them a mobility edge on the
enemy.

With his kit set up, Deckard yanked two ski poles—called
whippets—off the back of his pack. They could collapse down when
climbing uphill, and also had a small ice axe at the top of the pole
for self arrest in the event that a climber began sliding off the
edge of a cliff. Additional ice axes were lashed to their belts. They
anticipated some tough climbs.

Once men, weapons, and equipment were prepared,
Fedorchenko’s platoon moved out, breaking a fresh trail. They moved
in a file, cross-country skiing across the snow and ice. Two point
men took the lead with a squad leader behind them making sure that
they stayed on azimuth. Shatayeva’s platoon followed a few minutes
later, in a military formation called traveling overwatch. The two
elements would remain separate, but close enough to each other to
provide mutually supporting fire. The mortar section traveled in a
third element with Deckard, the snipers, and their recce team.

Sliding across the ice, Fedorchenko’s men made good time as
they skirted the water’s edge, heading toward the spur ahead that
separated one fjord from the other. Once they hit the elevation
change, the movement quickly slowed down. Skis had to be stowed on
packs as they moved hand over hand up the crest with ice axes. At the
top, the platoon got eyes on the smoking hulk of the scuttled enemy
ship in the distance.

“Looks deserted,” Fedorchenko reported over the radio.
“No signs of the enemy. It appears that they ran the ship aground
and then destroyed it with explosives.”

Deckard looked up the slope at them. Nikita and his sniper
partner had taken off on their own to glass the target with their
high-powered optics. He didn’t know what the private military
company version of a court martial was, but Deckard was going to dock
Nikita’s pay and put him in the time-out corner once their Arctic
mission was over. For now, he needed every gun in the fight.

“Keep eyes on until we get there.”

Deckard collapsed his ski poles before tying them down to his
ruck along with his skis. He then slipped crampons over his Dynafit
ski boots and retrieved his Petzl ice axes. Step by step, he sank the
crampons into the ice, swinging the ice axes one over the other to
gain purchase, before repeating the maneuver and hauling himself up
inch by inch. Once the mortar section and Shatayeva’s men were up
the side of the spur, Fedorchenko’s men had time for a good rest
before they put their skis back on.

Squad by squad they pushed off, skiing down the slope toward the
enemy vessel that had dogged their every move in the Arctic. In their
winter camouflage, the mercs blended seamlessly with the terrain on
Ellesmere Island, confusing the eye and nearly disappearing at times.
They were not Arctic warriors on par with the Canadian Rangers, but
they were learning fast.

After a half-hour climb, the entire platoon reached the opposite
side of the slope and began cross-country skiing toward their target.
Deckard led the way for the second element, his facemask and goggles
protecting him from what would have been a debilitating case of
frostbite, the cold air whistling past his ears. The crags at the
bottom of the downhill run came up to meet him even faster than he
had anticipated, forcing him to pivot his knees and ski away at the
last second, a boulder rushing by before he leveled out at the
bottom.

With the rest of Samruk at the base of the slope, Deckard radioed
Fedorchenko.

“Go scout out that ship and watch out for boobytraps. There is
no need to get too close; we just need to pick up their spore.”

Spore were signs of human passage. Normally, this would consist
of footprints in the dirt and broken branches. Maybe the only thing
the Arctic had going for it from a military standpoint was that
following human footprints in the snow was an easy affair.

The ship was only 500 or so meters away, so once Fedorchenko’s
men moved out, Deckard took his element closely behind. With his ski
poles extended, he dug into the ice, pushing along as he skied
forward, quickly working up a sweat under his jacket. Once they
caught up with the lead platoon, Deckard saw Dag crouched down,
looking at something. Skiing over to him, Deckard immediately saw the
tracks.

The enemy were moving out on snowshoes. The trail was well beaten
and heading east toward the mountains in the distance.

“Maybe a hundred of them,” Dag said. “The tracks have not
degraded much. The wind has not even blown them away. They are only a
few hours ahead of us. We can catch up quickly. No rests.”

“That's what they expect,” Deckard said. “They’ll double
back and mine their own spore. Do a map reconnaissance and find an
alternate route. We’ll get ahead of them and lay an ambush of our
own.”

“I will take a look and plot a route,” the Norwegian said.

Deckard felt something vibrating in the inner pocket of his parka
and jumped in surprise.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Deckard said as he unzipped his jacket and reached
inside. “It’s this tablet that Cody gave me. He called it a Pwn
Pad. It can isolate electronic signals.”

Pulling out the Nexus tablet, Deckard held one of his gloves in
his teeth and yanked it off. Scrolling through the apps, he saw that
the Pwn Pad had picked up on a signal being emitted nearby.

“Found something?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s coming from the ship? Maybe they
set a repeater in the snow somewhere?”

Reaching down, Deckard keyed his hand mic.

“All stations on this net, this is six. Heads up, I’m seeing
some weird electronic signals. Hard to say what it is—”

His words drifted off as his eyes tracked along the shore of the
island. Something was churning the water in a circular pattern just
outside where the waves were breaking against the shore.

“Fire! Fire!” Deckard yelled. “In the water!”

One of the Kazakh mercenaries was Johnny-on-the-spot, firing a
burst of 7.62mm into the churning ocean water. Something beneath the
surface exploded, sending a spray of water into the air. More
signatures suddenly appeared from beneath the surface, then blasted
up into the air, splattering sea water in all directions.

“Drones!”

Chapter 22

The quad-rotors emerged from the ocean where they had been
concealed and shot up into the air. The amphibian drones transitioned
from navigating water to open air in the blink of an eye. About as
wide as a manhole cover, the drones lifted off and sped toward the
mercenaries.

Deckard could see the black boxes heading toward them. Four arms
reached out from the main control unit, each with a separate plastic
rotor blade on it. Fluid dynamics and aerodynamics responded in very
similar ways, making it possible for a multifunctional drone to be
equally at home in the water as it was in the air, but none of them
had time to contemplate that fact as they came under attack.

The drone swarm was racing toward their position. The first one
had blown up when fired upon, leaving little doubt as to the payload
they carried. Each was a remote-operated improvised explosive device.

The mercenaries opened fire, tracers going wide, high, and low as
the swarm came straight at them. Someone finally scored a hit and the
drone immediately took a header into the ice, where it detonated less
than 50 meters in front of their security perimeter. Ice and black
smoke radiated from the blast.

Deckard saw one drone break from the swarm’s formation
and head directly toward him. Somehow he knew. It was the mage, an
electronic puppeteer behind the scenes.

Flicking the Kalashnikov’s selector to auto, he let off a burst
that clipped the drone, severing the rotors on the left-hand side.
The quad-rotor then went into an uncontrolled spin as the rotors on
the other side continued to generate lift. The drone spun end over
end as it burned in and crashed 10 meters in front of him before
exploding.