Precipice: V Plague Book 9 Read online

  Eventually they entered an area defined by low hills. The road, which had been running mostly straight, began winding as it followed a path around the base of each. Both of them jumped and Dog whined when a large helicopter suddenly appeared out of the darkness and flew over them at a very low altitude.

  It had approached from behind and until it was almost directly over the roof of the Jeep they hadn’t heard the heavy rotor. Passing over them it continued down the road for a hundred yards before going into a hover and pivoting so that it was facing them, hanging in the air no more than twenty feet above the ground. It was a Russian Mi-24.

  Katie had slammed on the brakes when it passed over and they sat staring in shock at the massive machine that had so suddenly materialized out of the darkness. The brilliant LED lights mounted to the Jeeps front bumper lit up the helo and they could see the pilots through the heavy windscreen.

  “Fuck this!” Katie shouted, jamming the transmission into park.

  She popped her door open and jumped out, raising her rifle as she stepped away from the Jeep. Screaming, she targeted the cockpit and began pulling the trigger in burst mode, quickly burning through a full magazine. Rachel was yelling at her to get back in the vehicle, but she either couldn’t hear her or was beyond caring what happened.

  The Hind didn’t even bobble in the air, remaining rock solid in it’s hover while Katie fired at it. When she fired her last round it descended to the road and gently touched down. Magazine empty, she let the rifle drop to hang on its sling and began walking forward, screaming at the top of her lungs as she drew her pistol. Rachel got out and ran after her.

  Figures could be seen climbing down from the troop compartment and Rachel’s steps faltered when she saw them clearly in the Jeep’s lights. Turning her attention back to Katie she tackled her to the ground before she could get a shot off with the pistol.

  17

  “We thought you were dead,” Rachel said, throwing her arms around Colonel Crawford and crushing him in an embrace. He grinned, embarrassed by the display of raw emotion.

  Rachel had leapt to her feet and run forward to greet Crawford, Scott and Igor after tackling Katie to the ground. Katie still sat in the dirt in the middle of the road, trying to reconcile what she was seeing with what she had expected when the Russian helicopter had stopped them.

  Dog worked his way out of Rachel’s open door and limped forward, tail wagging when he spotted Igor. The big Spetsnaz soldier ran forward when he saw him limping and dropped to his knees, gently stroking Dog’s head and softly speaking to him in Russian.

  Irina joined them and she and Scott walked to Katie and helped her to her feet. She couldn’t speak at first, looking back and forth between them.

  “John thinks he killed you,” she blurted when she had regained some of her composure.

  “Plenty of time for that,” Crawford said as he walked up with Rachel at his side. “We need to get off this road and settled in for the night before a patrol spots us and asks questions.”

  He surveyed Katie who was swaying slightly as she stood in the middle of the road, then turned to Scott.

  “Tech Sergeant, get that vehicle off the road and concealed. Ma’am,” he turned back to Katie and extended his arm to escort her to the helicopter.

  “The Russians have John,” Katie said without moving.

  “I’m aware, but at the moment there’s nothing I can do. They are patrolling the area and we need to get out of here before we’re spotted.”

  Katie nodded and allowed him to take her arm and lead her to the helicopter. Scott had jumped into the driver’s seat and drove the Jeep closer to the Hind, turning off the road into a dry wash and pushing it deep into some brush. Igor, who had already helped Dog board the helo, trotted up and collected the packs, weapons and ammunition from the Jeep as Scott hacked dead branches off the surrounding vegetation and used them to screen the vehicle from view.

  “Where are we going?” Rachel asked when everyone was on board and Martinez lifted them into the air.

  She gave Johnnie Ray a quick look, but ignored him for the moment. His hands and ankles were restrained and he was strapped to a web sling seat against the far wall of the compartment. A wide strip of silver duct tape covered his mouth and someone, probably Martinez, had drawn a big smile on it with a red marker.

  “Nampa airport,” Crawford answered. “That’s where we’ve been laying low for the past two days. We tried to catch up with you, but there were too many patrols and we barely bluffed our way past a flight of fighter jets.”

  “It’s a suburb of Boise,” Scott offered when Rachel didn’t react to the name of the town. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “How do we get John back?” Katie moved to face the Colonel.

  “Seattle,” he answered. “After they picked him up they took him to Mountain Home Air Force Base and on a plane to Seattle. Or that’s the plan. We were able to get that much over the Russian military radio in this bird. They aren’t talking about what they’re going to do with him after that, but I’m willing to bet there’s a military transport plane that will take him to Moscow.”

  “If he’s already on his way to Seattle, why are we going to Nampa? There’s no time. We need to get to Seattle!” Katie forced herself not to shout at Crawford in her impatience.

  “Fuel. We’re going to refuel and go. Captain Martinez has already looked it up and it’s four hundred air miles on to Seattle. Three hours’ flight time in this. We’ll be there before the sun comes up.”

  What he didn’t say was that the Russians had such a large head start that the Major might be on his way to Moscow before they could reach Seattle. At least they knew the destination of the Gulf-stream was Boeing Field, south of Seattle. What they didn’t know was if John would be immediately loaded for his final flight, or if the Russians would hold him on the ground for some period of time.

  Katie nodded and settled back against a bulkhead. Irina was sitting next to her and gave her a smile. Katie smiled weakly and closed her eyes, exhausted from the emotions she’d been dealing with.

  “Tell me,” Rachel said to Crawford. “How did you wind up with a Russian helicopter?”

  He smiled and began relaying the story, with help from Irina. They told her about their high speed flight to try and catch up with John and Katie, but having to divert away from the southern portion of the Sawtooth Mountains because of intense Russian patrol activity.

  Because they were in a stolen aircraft they didn’t have the current passwords and codes for the transponder and had nearly been shot down. Fortunately, Igor was able to get on the radio and in his native tongue convince the patrol that they had experienced an equipment failure. Flaky hardware is endemic to the Russian military and the lie wasn’t that much of a stretch for their challenger to believe.

  As soon as was safe, Martinez had dropped to fifty feet above the ground and gotten them to the closest airport that was outside the area of such intense interest to the Russians. For two days they’d sat hidden in a hangar, Igor and Irina taking turns monitoring the radio.

  They’d grown concerned when the Russian presence in the mountains began to increase, then before they knew it they were listening to a concerted ground search of Twin Falls. With sadness and horror, they had all gathered around as Irina translated the communications as John had been run down, eventually surrendering.

  There had been a discussion between the AWACS plane and Colonel Grushkin about sending one of the jets on CAP to destroy the fleeing Jeep, but the Colonel had ordered them to allow it to continue unmolested. As soon as they heard that, Crawford decided they would risk a flight to intercept and rescue Katie and Rachel.

  They had waited for the Jeep to come closer to the area they were in, monitoring its progress through routine updates being broadcast to Russian forces by the AWACS. Martinez had assured them that it wouldn’t be long before the vehicle was outside the range of the surveillance aircraft, and the moment they heard the radio oper
ator declare it was no longer being tracked, they took off.

  Then it was Rachel’s turn to tell her story. They all sat listening with rapt attention as she talked.

  “Wolves? Really?” Scott interrupted. “I thought they’d all been wiped out years ago.”

  “So did I,” Rachel smiled, then continued her story.

  Martinez asked a couple of questions over the intercom once she was done, then Rachel glanced to where Katie sat with her eyes closed before speaking softly into her headset’s microphone.

  “Do you really think we can get to Seattle in time, and get him back?”

  Crawford and Irina exchanged glances then he too cast a quick glance at Katie.

  “We’re going to try,” he said.

  18

  There was nothing unusual about the flight in the Hind. We lifted off and headed directly northwest. I didn’t know the area well, but remembered from looking at maps that Mountain Home Air Force Base was in that direction. I assumed that’s where we were heading, and on arrival I would be transferred to a fixed wing aircraft that would take me to Seattle.

  The interior of the Russian helicopter was even more stark and austere than an American helo, if that was possible. I was familiar with the Mi-24, able to recognize one by sight or sound as well as knowing many of the craft’s operational capabilities, but this was the first time I’d ever been in one. It may not have had any creature comforts, not that I’ve ever been in a front line military vehicle that did, but even from my seat on a web sling I could tell it was powerful.

  We gained altitude quickly, the roar of the machinery as deafening as any Huey or Black Hawk I’d ever flown in. For as large as the helo is from the outside it was surprisingly cramped in the troop compartment. More room for fuel, ordnance and armor I supposed. Colonel Grushkin sat on the far wall, facing me, and our knees nearly touched.

  Immediately next to me sat a large Spetsnaz trooper. Our shoulders routinely bumped from the motion of the helicopter in flight. The remaining three soldiers were squeezed onto a short bench that folded down from the rear bulkhead of the compartment. All of them were already in the mode that’s normal for soldiers around the globe when they’re catching a ride and have nothing to do. The three on the bench all had their eyes closed, heads gently bobbing up and down as they dozed.

  The guy next to me had a thousand yard stare, facing the exterior door but not seeing anything. I noted that even though I was restrained he had made sure all of his weapons were on the side of his body farthest away from me. That told me a lot about him. Told me he thought like I did. Just because a prisoner is restrained doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous if you let your guard down.

  I looked up when Grushkin tapped me on the knee, meeting his pale blue eyes. He was holding out a headset, apparently wanting to talk to pass the time. I leaned forward and he slipped it over my ears and adjusted the microphone so it was directly in front of my mouth.

  “Can you hear me?” He spoke over the intercom, his voice clear due to the system’s noise canceling.

  “Yes.”

  “You were surprisingly easy to catch for a man with your background.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was gloating or not. The expression on his face was unreadable. I hadn’t heard a question and didn’t feel the need to explain myself to this man. He sat watching me, examining me, for several minutes before speaking again.

  “Where is your wife going?” He finally asked what seemed to be an innocuous question.

  “Probably the closest shopping mall,” I said, not about to give him any real information.

  “As would mine,” he laughed briefly. The smile never reached his eyes. “Where is Senior Sergeant Igor Valinski?”

  So that was Igor’s last name.

  “I don’t know who that is,” I lied.

  “I think you do,” he said, fishing in the breast pocket of his uniform blouse and extracting a small cigar that looked like it had been hand rolled from rough, dark tobacco.

  He took his time finding a disposable lighter in his pants pocket and then made a short production of getting the stogie lit. Vile smelling smoke immediately began to fill the troop compartment. None of the Spetsnaz troopers reacted in the slightest and the pilots studiously ignored one of the big no-no’s of flying in a military helicopter.

  “I think you know him very well,” Grushkin said, meeting my eyes through a haze of blue smoke. “You met him in Los Alamos where he was with the traitor Irina Vostov. What I want to know is whether or not he’s still alive.”

  I met the man’s stare, trying to decide where this was coming from. Was he trying to find out about Irina and the conspiracy in Russia to topple President Barinov? Or did he have an axe to grind with Igor? Or was it something else?

  One thing about the Special Forces community in America is that the line between NCO and Officer is pretty blurry. In fact, in my humble opinion, most SF NCOs are better qualified to lead men than many officers in the regular ranks. This says a lot about the type of person who becomes an operator, and as a result it’s not uncommon for strong bonds of friendship to develop across the ranks.

  But I had no idea if this was how things worked in Russia. Probably, which would go a long way towards explaining the Colonel’s interest. Or maybe he was just hoping to kill two birds with one stone and get enough information out of me to find a traitor.

  “I killed him,” I finally said, getting my answer at the involuntary look of surprise and pain that flashed across Grushkin’s face.

  “Explain,” he said after a long pause in which he ignored the smoldering cigar in his hand.

  He leaned forward, coiled and intense. I guessed that at the moment the only reason he hadn’t pulled out his pistol and shot me in the head was because of his orders to deliver me to Barinov. I shifted slightly in my seat and rolled my shoulders that were aching from having my hands restrained behind my back.

  I tried to think of a reason to lie, but other than due to the fact that he was a Russian invading my country I couldn’t come up with one that would benefit me. So I told him the truth. Not in great detail, but I gave him enough to satisfy his curiosity. When I finished speaking he leaned back in his seat and nodded.

  His reaction wasn’t what I expected. Anger or profound sadness, or perhaps even denial would have seemed appropriate reactions to the news, but as far as I could tell he was smugly satisfied. I didn’t understand what game he was playing.

  “Five minutes,” a voice spoke over the intercom.

  It was the pilot giving a heads up that we were nearing our destination. Three small, square windows were set in the hull of the helicopter, above the side door, and I glanced out the closest one. Flat grasslands stretching away to mountains was all I could see at first, but as the aircraft descended I caught sight of a ribbon of asphalt that looked like an Interstate highway, a small town slightly south of it. I was almost certain we were coming in to Mountain Home Air Force Base.

  Shifting again, I rolled my shoulders and adjusted the position of my hands. Colonel Grushkin had lost interest in talking to me and reached out and removed my headset. We were losing altitude fast and he barked out something in Russian. The big Spetsnaz sitting next to me nodded and straightened his legs out across the compartment. Grushkin turned his head to see into the cockpit and began speaking to the pilot on the intercom.

  The Hind was slowing and I knew we were less than a minute from touchdown. My seat-mate arched his back forward to stretch, lifting his arms over his shoulders and tilting his head back. That was when I struck.

  A small piece of rough metal protruded from the bulkhead my seat hung from. I had noticed several other spots around the interior of the helo that looked like they had been sloppily finished and was glad none of the Russians had thought to make sure I wasn’t seated near one of these locations. They were probably so used to the quality of Russian manufacturing that they didn’t even notice things that would have never made it past a quality inspector in the US.<
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  While I’d been sitting, talking to Grushkin, I had been working the nylon flexi-cuffs against the metal nib. It was surprisingly sharp and my restraints had parted about the same time I’d confessed to killing Igor. Since then I’d been waiting for a moment when I wasn’t under intense scrutiny.

  Whipping my right arm forward I drove my elbow into the exposed throat of the Spetsnaz next to me, feeling his larynx crack and collapse under the violence of the impact. Continuing my momentum, I braced my back against the bulkhead as I raised my feet and kicked across the compartment. The soles of both boots struck Grushkin directly in the face, slamming his head into the steel wall behind him.

  As he slumped unconscious or dead, I didn’t care which, I spun and shoved the injured trooper into the laps of the three men seated along the rear bulkhead. They had responded quickly to my attack, one of them with his pistol already out and up. As their comrade’s body struck them, the weapon discharged but I had no idea where the bullet wound up. Following, I rammed against the already injured Russian, using his bulk to pin them to their seats as I continued attacking.

  Hand to hand fighting in a confined space is nasty business. There are no Marques of Queensbury rules about how to fight like gentlemen. It’s much simpler than that. Inflict more damage than you take, as quickly and violently as you can, and hope you survive the encounter.

  I was punching, fast and hard with one hand as I tried to grab the big knife that was sheathed on the boot of the first Russian I’d attacked. Absently I noted that fists were striking my head and face and arms, but I didn’t really feel them I was so jacked up on adrenalin. That’s normal. I’d feel them later if I made it out of this.

  There was another pistol shot and I felt the impact against my chest but knew I hadn’t been shot. The round had gone into the Russian’s body I was using to gain an advantage and I had felt the kinetic energy from the round because I was pressed so hard against him.