The Valhalla Prophecy_A Novel

by Andy McDermott

  ‘Chase!’

  ‘Just talk to your fucking bosses, all right?’ He switched his aim to the Tu-95’s forward landing gear. The leg collapsed under the onslaught. The Bear’s front end dropped to the ground, the fuselage smashing flat like a dropped egg and breaking the aircraft’s back.

  Most of the more distant pursuers abruptly slowed. The message had got through: back off or I take out your entire fleet. The UAZs hounding the hijacked Tupolev came back into view, veering away. Eddie stopped firing. Turning the AM-23s on them would result in a massacre, and he had no enmity towards the base personnel.

  More bombers rolled past, the old turboprop behemoths followed by newer and even larger swing-wing Tu-160 jets. Eddie was sorely tempted to put a few dozen explosive rounds into each to make life easier for NATO, but held his fire; even if they survived long enough for Kagan’s superiors to call off the hunt, they were already in enough trouble with the Russian government – and diplomatic immunity would only extend so far.

  Eddie’s voice came through Nina’s headphones. ‘They’ve pulled back.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied, looking ahead. ‘We’re almost out of road!’ The end of the long concrete taxiway was now only a few hundred yards away. She gestured with the gun for the co-pilot to follow a connecting lane around to the main runway. The Tupolev swung on to its new course, the nosewheel tyres squealing in protest at the fast turn.

  Kagan spoke in urgent Russian, briefly holding a hand over his microphone to say to Nina, ‘I am through,’ before continuing.

  ‘Thank God,’ she replied. ‘Eddie, Kagan’s got through to his bosses.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope they don’t get put on hold when they try to call the base!’

  The pilot gasped in pain. Nina saw blood spreading across his shirt. She searched for some way to help him. A white box marked with a red cross was attached to one of the sickly green-painted cabin walls. ‘Tova, do you know first aid?’ The Swede nodded. ‘Grab that and see if you can help him. I’ll make sure nobody tries anything stupid.’

  Tova collected the medical kit and came into the cockpit. The co-pilot appeared briefly confused that his hijackers were also willing to help his injured comrade, but turned his attention back to the view outside as the Bear approached the main runway. ‘Go on to it,’ Nina told him, accompanying the command with a hand signal. He worked the controls to turn the bomber. ‘Kagan, what’s happening?’

  ‘I have told them about Slavin,’ he replied. ‘They are going to tell the base commander to cancel the shoot-on-sight order and hold everyone until the truth can be determined.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ The base’s main runway, almost two miles long, swung into sight ahead.

  ‘Not long – Unit 201 has a high—’

  The Bear shuddered as its flank was hammered by a series of explosive impacts.

  Holes ripped open in the fuselage. The communications officer was practically cut in half by shrieking metal, his blood splattering the back end of the cabin as shrapnel tore through him.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Nina yelled as she crouched. ‘What the hell was that?’

  The co-pilot screamed into his headset. Nina didn’t need to understand his language to know that he was begging whoever was firing on the bomber to stop. It had no effect, another fusillade hitting the wing. Black smoke belched from the outermost engine nacelle.

  Astern, Eddie swore as he shoved the gunsight as far over as it would go, but to no avail – the Tu-95’s turn had put their attacker out of sight. But he knew what it was – and who. ‘It’s Slavin!’

  The Russian officer had commandeered a ZSU-23-4 – a tank-like anti-aircraft system armed with four 23mm autocannons much like those the Englishman was controlling. In his desperation, he was willing to destroy the entire aircraft to silence anyone who could expose his treachery. The guns would cut the Bear to pieces – and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

  Unless . . .

  More pounding blows shook the bomber. Eddie twisted to look through a small side porthole, glimpsing the ZSU under the port wing. ‘Go! Full power, get us moving!’ he shouted into his headset.

  ‘We will never be able to take off!’ Kagan protested.

  ‘I don’t want to take off – I want to get past him so I can fucking shoot back!’

  In the cockpit, the Russian urgently relayed the order to the co-pilot. The man hesitated, but more explosive rounds shredding the side of the fuselage immediately erased his doubts. He pushed all the throttles to maximum power.

  The wounded Bear surged forward. The trail of smoke from the damaged engine was joined by flames – then an explosion ripped open the nacelle.

  Nina risked raising her head and saw the squat ZSU carving towards the runway ahead of them. More fire flashed from its cannons, tracers streaking at her like meteors. She ducked again as the Tupolev took more hits, impacts tearing along the hull. Another set of warning lights flashed on the instrument panel. ‘Eddie! This thing’s going to rip us apart!’

  ‘Just tell them to keep going – it’s only got light armour, so if I can hit it, it’s dead!’

  ‘If you can hit it! And we’re a much bigger target!’ She looked up again. The ZSU was about four hundred yards away, but rapidly growing as the bomber bore down upon it.

  ‘Just tell me how far away it is – and where to aim!’

  ‘It’s on the left, about – I dunno, a hundred feet from the runway and getting closer. We’re about three hundred yards away – whoa!’ She dropped behind the pilot’s seat as cannon shells punctured the radome below the cockpit. A shrill wind blasted into the cabin.

  The co-pilot shouted at her, but she waved for him to keep going. ‘Two hundred yards, we’re almost—’

  The ZSU unleashed another ferocious burst of fire.

  An entire section of the Tupolev’s port wing blew apart as shells ripped through a fuel tank. A hot gale rushed in through the holes in the hull.

  The Russian weapons officer opposite Kagan shouted in panic. Nina looked back to see red lights flashing urgently on his control panel. ‘The wing is on fire – and so are the missiles!’ Kagan yelled.

  ‘Then tell him to drop them!’ She stumbled back down the gangway.

  ‘It’s against protocol!’

  ‘Screw protocol!’ She reached the weapons station. The Cyrillic was impenetrable, but the symbol beside a rank of switches under the blinking lights was self-explanatory. A stylised missile with a downward-pointing arrow behind it, surrounded by an irregular multi-pointed star: explosive release.

  She glanced forward, seeing the ZSU whip out of sight as the Bear rushed past it. ‘Eddie, I’m sending you some bombs!’

  Before the weapons officer could stop her, she stabbed at the switches.

  A series of rapid cracks came from the burning wing pylon – then the three cruise missiles mounted upon it dropped away and tumbled along the runway like skittles.

  Eddie’s view of the runway’s edge had been blotted out by a huge cloud of swirling black smoke. If he didn’t destroy the ZSU, it would tear the crippled Bear apart, but he couldn’t see his target—

  Flashes of pale grey on the ground – and he realised he didn’t need to.

  Each Kh-101 was fully laden with fuel and carried a warhead weighing a full metric ton. The 23mm rounds were more than enough to detonate them.

  The missiles exploded, their combined blast ripping a huge crater out of the runway. Eddie was thrown back in his seat as the detonation pummelled the Bear’s tail. But the bomber was already haring away from the explosion.

  The ZSU was not.

  Slavin was in the commander’s cupola, looking out from the top of the turret. His triumph at seeing the Tupolev’s wing erupt into flames changed to terror – then the shockwave pounded his head into a bloody pulp against the unyielding open hatch cover behind him. The ZSU was flipped end over end, the burning wreck slamming down on its back in the snow.

  ‘I got him
, I got him!’ Eddie shouted into the headset. ‘Slow us down!’

  Nina desperately searched for somewhere to secure herself. ‘We can’t!’ she cried. The co-pilot had already yanked back the throttles and stamped on the pedal to apply the wheelbrakes, but with half a wing missing the Bear was unbalanced and veering towards the side of the runway. One of the overstressed nosewheel tyres exploded, the metal rim screeching along the concrete in a shower of sparks. ‘Hang on!’

  She grabbed the back of the bombardier’s seat as the plane careened on to the frozen grass—

  The forward landing gear was ripped away on the rough ground, followed a moment later by the aft legs. The Tupolev slammed down on its belly.

  Eight mighty propellers carved deep channels into the soil before the stress ripped the blades out at their roots. The burning port wing was wrenched from the fuselage, cartwheeling away from the plane before the fuel still inside it exploded in a colossal fireball. The rest of the Tu-95 continued onwards, skidding across the snowy plain in a trail of churned earth and mangled aluminium before finally grinding to a standstill.

  Nina groggily raised her head. Tova, sprawled in the pilot’s footwell, moaned softly. Kagan had managed to partially fasten his seat belt just before the crash, while the aircraft’s remaining crew were in varying states of confusion and relief at having survived the destruction of their plane.

  The sight of gleaming steel amongst the scattered debris on the cabin’s corrugated floor snapped Nina back to full, horrified awareness. ‘Oh, shit!’ she gasped, scrabbling to it. The container holding Thor’s Hammer had been jolted from its resting place, and was now lying on its side.

  Kagan saw it too. ‘Is it broken?’ he said, fumbling to unfasten his restraints.

  What Nina could see of the container appeared undamaged bar a few scratches. She hesitantly nudged it over to examine the other side, paying close attention to the seal around the lid. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered. It had remained intact.

  A crackle came from her headphones. ‘Nina, are you okay? Nina! Can you hear me?’

  ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ she assured Eddie. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ll live,’ he replied. ‘Got a problem, though.’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, worried again. If the bomber was on fire, or Kagan’s superiors had not yet got their message through to the base commander to stand down . . .

  ‘The plane’s landed on its belly, so I can’t get out! Don’t suppose you’ve got a hammer up there to smash open the window?’

  Her relieved laughter echoed incongruously through the wreckage.

  22

  Vietnam

  Finding wood dry enough to burn in the depths of the jungle had been difficult, but Chase had managed it. The pyre he constructed in the centre of a small clearing was not large, but still enough to support the young woman’s body.

  He used the gunpowder from some of his remaining bullets to help start the fire. The flames spread quickly, wood popping and snapping. Dark smoke swirled up through the trees as the blaze grew, swallowing the motionless figure atop it.

  Chase watched the grim sight, his face set and expressionless. When he was sure that the corpse was completely consumed by flames, he picked up Hoyt’s backpack. One by one, the pieces of stolen Russian research it contained were thrown on to the bonfire. Papers curled into ash, discs melted. The laptop was the last item to be destroyed, acrid grey smoke belching from the vents in its casing as plastic sizzled and melted. There was a muffled bang and a sputtering gush of sparks as its batteries ignited. He withdrew from the stench – both of technology, and of charred flesh.

  More time passed, the sky reddening as the sun dropped, but the Englishman did not leave. Instead, he added more wood to the pile, keeping the fire strong. Natalia had told him that nothing could be left for the Americans or Russians, and he knew she was right. This was the only way to end things.

  But by doing so, he was giving away his position, sending a beacon into the sky that would lead his enemies right to him.

  He pushed a last chunk of broken branch into the flames, then sat on a mouldering log, wondering what had happened to Castille. The smoke might also lead his friend to him – if he were still alive – but who else would he find waiting?

  His macabre vigil resumed. He couldn’t leave until he was sure that the body was totally incinerated. If any part remained intact, there was still the danger that the Russians or Lock’s people might analyse it and discover the secrets it contained . . .

  A bird chattered in alarm. Chase looked around, raising the gun. He saw nothing, but had a gut feeling that the disturbance had been caused by something more than an animal. ‘All right!’ he shouted, crouching behind the log. ‘I know someone’s out there. Come on, show yourself!’

  A pause, then: ‘Chase!’ Lock’s voice. He couldn’t see the American, but estimated that he was about forty yards distant behind some bushes. That meant Hoyt and his men were also nearby . . . ‘If you hand over Natalia, I’m willing to let you live.’

  ‘Come and get her,’ Chase shouted back, checking the other approaches to his position. If Hoyt hadn’t already sent his team to surround him, he would be in the middle of doing so. He was not surprised to spot movement in the undergrowth. ‘Oi, you behind the bush! Yeah, I see you.’

  ‘And I see you,’ said another voice, closer. Hoyt. Chase spun to see the skull-faced mercenary rounding a tree twenty yards away, an AK pointed at him. ‘Don’t move. Drop the gun.’

  Chase did so, then put his hands up. Hoyt cautiously advanced. ‘Move in,’ he called to the others. Four men in dark clothing rose from the undergrowth and closed on the Yorkshireman. Hoyt’s gaze flicked suspiciously from side to side. ‘Son of a bitch,’ he said. ‘This was another goddamn decoy, wasn’t it? Where’s the girl?’

  ‘She’s here,’ said Chase, letting an angry bitterness into his voice.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Are you fucking blind? Right in front of you.’

  Hoyt looked at the fire, still wary – then his eyes widened in shock. ‘What the— Motherfuck!’ he gasped. ‘Boss, get over here!’ He turned back to Chase, his expression for once completely devoid of its usual arrogance. ‘What the fuck did you do?’

  ‘What she asked me to,’ Chase replied.

  Hoyt stared at him, still stunned, then yelled to the nearest of his men. ‘Bonnell, watch him! If he moves, shoot him.’ The mercenary guarded Chase as his leader ran to the pyre.

  Lock made his way through the trees. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Where’s Natalia?’

  Hoyt put one hand to his head in dismay. ‘She’s . . . she’s here, on the fucking fire! She’s fucking dead!’

  Lock froze. ‘What?’

  ‘He’s burned her! And – son of a bitch!’ He snatched up his empty backpack, fruitlessly shaking it out. ‘He’s burned all the research I took from the Ruskies too. Jesus!’

  The goateed man’s jaw dropped open as he looked at the shape in the flames. ‘Holy Christ. What did you do, Chase? What the hell did you do?’

  Keeping his hands raised, Chase slowly straightened. ‘Natalia knew she was going to die young anyway, thanks to that shit her grandfather infected her with. And she told me she’d rather go out how she chose than like her mum and her grandma. She wanted to save lives. And by stopping you from getting hold of what’s inside her, she has done.’

  ‘So you killed her? You actually put a bullet in her?’

  He looked down at the ground. ‘Yeah. I shot her.’

  Hoyt shook his head, something almost approaching a smile of admiration on his lips. ‘I underestimated you, Chase. Never thought you’d be stone-cold enough to do something like that.’

  ‘It’s not like I enjoyed it,’ Chase said angrily. ‘Unlike you. Fucking psycho.’

  Lock shook his head. ‘No, no way. I don’t believe this. It’s got to be a trick. Put that fire out and check the body. And see if you can recover any of the research.�
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  The other mercenaries used the butts of their rifles to knock apart the base of the pyre branch by branch, then kicked and scattered the burning wood. Hoyt probed the laptop’s remains with a stick. ‘This thing’s toast. So is all the rest of it.’

  ‘What about Natalia?’

  One of the men gagged as the flames faded and he got his first clear view of the burnt body. Lock’s face twisted in disgust, but he leaned closer to look at the blackened skull. ‘Okay, definitely human . . . and one hell of an exit wound.’ A chunk of the dead woman’s face was missing, a ragged hole in the bone running from above her right eye down into her left cheek. ‘Dammit, everything’s been burned . . . Wait.’ His gaze flicked to a dark stain on the ground beside the fire. ‘Got some hair in the blood spatter here.’

  He picked up a twig and very carefully used it to snag the dirty strands, then tipped his prize into a cupped hand. ‘Has anyone got water?’

  One of the mercs produced a canteen. Lock poured a few drops on to his hand, then delicately ran the hair through it before using his fingertips to wipe away the caked blood. ‘It’s blond.’ He brushed the hairs from his palm and turned to Chase. ‘Jesus, you actually did it. You burned everything.’

  ‘To stop you,’ said the Englishman, stone-faced.

  ‘We’re on the same side, Chase! America and Britain, the special relationship! Remember that?’ Lock stalked towards him, the mercenaries following. ‘We bake the cake, and you get our crumbs. That’s the way it works. We had a chance to set back the Russians by years and give our own work a huge boost,’ he stabbed a finger at the empty backpack, ‘but thanks to you, we’ve got nothing!’

  ‘Good! Natalia told me all about what her grandfather did – and nobody should have that fucking stuff. Not you, not the Russians, not anybody.’

  ‘That’s not for you to decide.’

  ‘No. It was for her to decide.’ He looked past Lock to the remains of the pyre. ‘She decided what she wanted to do. And I helped her. God fuckin’ help me for doing it.’