Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4) (23 page)

Ice chips cut into his pants and parka as Deckard and Dag both
instinctively brought up their hands to protect their faces.
Meanwhile, the Samruk mercenaries were dropping the drones one by
one. Deckard watched as they fell from the sky like sparrows shot by
a slingshot, except these sparrows went up in a ball of fire when
they went down. One of the drones dropped elevation in a sharp
jerking motion, then cruised right up to the frontline of
mercenaries. The Kazakhs managed to shoot it down at the last
possible second. The resulting explosion flung three of the
mercenaries down on their backs.

One of the drones managed to infiltrate through their security
perimeter and landed in the middle of the mercenary formation.
Sergeant Major Korgan and Aghassi ran for their lives along with
several of the Kazakhs. They saved themselves by the skin of their
teeth, slipping and falling as the shock wave from the exploding
drone washed over them.

The remaining drones were coming in hard and fast. The
mercenaries raked them with PKM and AK fire, causing the drones to
explode right in front of them. A Carl Gustav gunner loaded a round
into his recoilless rifle and pushed several mercenaries out of his
way to get in front of them.

“Back blast area clear,” he shouted over his shoulder. But it
wasn’t really clear. One of the mercs dived out of the way just as
he fired.

The 84mm ADM round fired a spray of 1,100 flechettes. Designed
for taking out enemy troop formations in urban and jungle warfare,
the ADM round delivered its lethal payload into the drone swarm.
Plastic rotor blades were shredded and torn away from the drone
control units by the flechettes, driving them down to the ground as
if someone had just flicked their off switch. Smashing into the ice,
they exploded one by one.

Once again, the enemy had used a combination of surprise and high
technology to gain the advantage over Deckard’s men. They had
survived, but only because of the quick thinking of their goose
gunner.

Reaching down, Deckard helped Dag to his feet.

“Fuck these assholes.”

Dag nodded.

“Let’s finish this.”

* * *

Will sat back in his chair, watching the feed coming in
from their Global Hawk drone circling above Ellesmere Island. The
drone’s loiter time was severely constrained, it had only half an
hour before it would have to return to base for refueling, but until
then they would relay what they spotted on the video feed to
Deckard’s men through the Carrickfergus, giving them as much
situational awareness as possible.

They had yet to locate the enemy force, but the Samruk
International mercenaries were at the edge of a glacier, preparing
for their crossing. Looking at the terrain, Will could make an
inference about Deckard’s tactics. Crossing the glacier and then a
mountain ridge in arctic conditions was exceedingly dangerous, the
definition of a bold maneuver. Deckard thought he would be able to
take a shortcut and pop out in front of where he projected the enemy
to be moving to next.

Craig sat in the SCOPE conference room with his arms crossed.

“How did we not see this coming?” he asked absently.

Will swallowed.

“We’re America. It is our national style to not see slowly
escalating threats. What he have here are three challengers to the
throne. America is the power that has shaped global order since the
end of World War Two. China, Russia, and Iran are seeking
asymmetrical means to re-calibrate that order.”

“We knew they were trying, but no one anticipated
anything on this scale.”

“The fact that they wanted it should have set off alarms a long
time ago. They may be separate, competing powers that don’t
particularly like each other, but hatred for America is what they
have in common. It has aligned them against us. Iran’s at best a
regional power in the Middle East, but because of their history and
cultural legacy, they see themselves as being more important in world
affairs than they will ever be. In fact, the only element that the
Iranian regime has to galvanize their people is anti-American and
anti-Israeli sentiments.

“Meanwhile, Russia has always suffered from a profound sense of
insecurity. They have always had Mongols, Tatars, and Europeans on
their doorstep. During the Cold War, they sought strategic depth to
prevent NATO from getting a clear shot across the steppes to Moscow.
Today, they perceive us as strategically encircling them with a
anti-ballistic missile shield.

“Then there is China. They are the real problem. Of the three,
they are the only country with a real chance at restructuring global
order in their own image. In another decade, the Chinese economy will
surpass America’s. They have spent decades sharpening their knives,
pretending to be our friends, and playing the victim. The reality is
that they also see themselves as victims of the West, at least some
of it stemming from events as far back as the Boxer Rebellion. The
Chinese have bided their time, and now they are striking against us.”

“While our own bureaucracy launches a war against the
wrong enemy. Our government can’t even figure out who to fight.”

“What makes you think they can’t figure it out?” Will asked
rhetorically. “Perhaps they don't want to fight the Chinese. Our
economic interests are too closely intertwined. This isn’t a
mistake, it is part of a calculated strategy the Chinese have devised
to insulate themselves from American power. At the same time, the
American public is scared out of their minds right now. They demand
that we find an easy-to-define enemy and then bomb them into the
Stone Age. ISIS is the perfect fit. Kill them all, and with minimal
political repercussions on the world stage.”

“In other words, we’re fucked.”

“Now it is up to them,” Will said, watching little black dots
move across the screen.

“Hey, do you see that?”

Will squinted at the screen. The Global Hawk had passed over the
glacier and then over a ridgeline, looking down into a valley that
led away from the western coast, heading in a northeasterly
direction.

“That’s them.”

* * *

Deckard pulled his mask down and drank from an insulated thermos
as he stared out across the glacier. Spread out in front of him, the
glacier was stunning in scope. It inched down the entire valley, only
stopping a kilometer away from the shore. From that point on, the
melting ice churned that lonely patch of valley into a rock-strewn
mud puddle they had thankfully avoided. The glacier itself filled the
valley and crept up the rocks on either end.

The occasional faint groan was just barely audible, heard from
the subterranean ice below. It would have been far better to begin
crossing the mass of ice in the morning, before the sun had begun the
daily melt that started each day before freezing again at night. Now
it was the middle of the day, and the glacier would be much more
dangerous. As the sheet of ice flowed down the valley in slow motion,
it grated across elevation changes on the valley floor, which caused
the ice to split, creating crevasses on the surface. A similar
physical dynamic took place where the glacier was forced to turn in
the valley, which also led to crevasses appearing on the outer edges.

The men were already preparing their equipment, crafting
improvised harnesses out of lengths of rope and then tying into one
another in groups of four in case someone fell into a crack, which
was easy to do if it was still concealed by a layer of snow.

It would have been better to make camp, let the glacier freeze
again overnight, and make their crossing in the morning, but this
wasn’t some Ranger Rick expedition for a Discovery Channel special.
They were at war.

“Bird in the sky’s got eyes on the enemy,” Otter’s voice
cracked over his radio. “You were right about them skirting through
the next valley and then up into the mountains. The drone only caught
sight of them for a minute before having to head back to the
refueling station, but they estimated about a hundred personnel,
over.”

This was combat. They would cross the glacier now, make camp at
nightfall, and find a way over the mountains to intercept the enemy.
There was no time to waste.

“Roger,” Deckard radioed back to the Carrickfergus. “Thanks
for the SITREP, over.”

“They think that the device is being hauled on a snow sled.”

“Good. That should slow them down a bit.”

“Roger, out.”

Deckard slid through the snow, down an embankment, to the edge of
the glacier.

“We’re almost ready to roll out,” Kurt Jager announced.
“You ready to tie in?”

“Let’s go.”

Kurt was tied into the leading edge of the rope with a
figure-eight knot that went through his harness. Sergeant Major
Korgan was tied into the trail end, and Pat was tying into the
middle. Spacing himself between Pat and Kurt, Deckard tied himself
in. With that done, each of them used another length of rope to
fashion a chest harness, secured across the front with a carabiner.
The chest harness was then also clipped into the main line.
Considering the heavy rucks they were carrying, without a chest
harness, they would have risked not being able to sit upright if they
fell into a crevasse, or worse yet, breaking their backs during the
fall.

While the harnesses and main lines were done with 11mm dynamic
rope, smaller 9mm static ropes were used to form Prusik knots along
the main line on each side of the figure-eight knot they had tied in
with. The free-running ends were tied off into hand and footholds,
then jammed into pockets. These were friction knots that could be
used to scale the main line back to the top if they fell into a
crevasse. The entire PMC was rigged up the same way, ready to cross
the glacier’s expanse, a nearly five-kilometer trek.

“This is Six. Ready when you are,” Deckard announced over the
radio.

Dag and Jacob would be the lead element for the movement. Having
served in Norwegian and Danish special operations units,
respectively, they were the most qualified.

“Roger,” Jacob responded. “Heading out now, over.”

Deckard flinched as a piece of ice broke off from the cliff above
them, crashed in the rocks, and showered him with powdered snow. The
ice was melting and Mother Nature had given them fair warning.

* * *

Dag made sure his safety rope was fully extended between
himself and Jacob, taking out any slack before pushing off on his
skis. He could glide across the glacier at a fairly fast pace as
things stood, but he had to take it slow, probing the snow in front
of him for gaps in the ice that could be covered over. The good news
was that going across on skis helped keep their weight distributed,
making breakthroughs less likely.

Once out on the glacier, Shatayeva’s men came up behind them,
each trooper staying on Dag’s original ski trail he had made.
Fedorchenko’s men had been breaking the path all morning, and now
the platoons were changing up the order of movement so the ones
bringing up the rear could rest a little.

The former Norwegian commando proceeded forward, watching
for trenches in the snow that would indicate a hidden crevasse. He
would spot the signs of it if he was lucky, otherwise he would just
have to hope that probing the snow with his ski poles would warn him
before he fell in. With Jacob’s help, Dag had to focus all of his
attention on navigating the glacier, staying on azimuth, and avoiding
the crevasses. He couldn’t divide his attention by concerning
himself with the enemy. For that purpose, a PKM machine gunner and
Nikita, one of their snipers, were tied in behind Jacob.

Although the dynamics were different, the glacier also had
friction points like the ice floe they had been on a few days ago. If
the enemy knew they were out on the glacier, could they activate the
device a second time and open a chasm so big that it swallowed them
whole? Dag cast the thought out of his mind and focused on the job at
hand.

Under the sun, Dag was working up a sweat and stopped several
times to drink water. He rolled his eyes, remembering an American
infantry saying: “Travel light, freeze all night.” The travel
light part never seemed quite accurate, but the second part certainly
was. He had been skiing for an hour when he spotted a crevasse field
up ahead, about halfway across the glacier. Looking over his
shoulder, he could see a file of soldiers winding back almost as far
as he could see.

“Crevasse field up ahead,” Dag radioed back. “Keep an eye
out and remember to keep your ropes taut.” Having too much slack
would result in a harsh snap for everyone tied into the rope if
someone fell, which could possibly pull others in before they could
self-arrest with the axe blades on their ski poles.

“Dag, let me take lead for a while,” Jacob offered. “Rest
your eyes for a bit. You’ve almost taken us halfway there.”

“I’m good for now. We’ll switch out after we clear this
crevasse field.”

Pulling off his face mask and cramming it in a pocket, Dag skied
forward with his three teammates trailing behind him, attached by the
climbing rope. Probing just in front of him, the Norwegian's ski pole
punched through the snow. Bucking over at the waist, Dag recovered
quickly, caught by surprise. He continued probing the area, knocking
the thin layer of snow down into what had been a concealed crevasse.
Peering down into the chasm, Dag saw nothing but ice descending into
the darkness below.

“We hit our first crevasse,” Dag said over the assault net.
“Skirting around it now.”

Dag used the ski pole and probed his way around the gap,
taking his lead element around it. It was a technique called an end
run, one of many the Nordic warrior knew he would have to employ to
get them across the glacier.

Moving on, Dag took them into the visible crevasse field in the
middle of the glacier, where the elevation change, the declination of
the valley floor, caused the ice to crack. Because of this, the
crevasses were running mostly perpendicular with their patrol. Taking
another drink of water, Dag examined their options.