by Jack Carr
Vasilievich’s men had emplaced MON-50 anti-personnel devices just minutes earlier on what amounted to the choke point at the most likely avenue of approach to the lodge. Though the men had no personal experience with the American Claymore mine, they knew the MON-50 was their country’s equivalent and had seen their devastating effectiveness in combat in Chechnya and the North Caucasus.
His former soldiers knew their trade. Most important, they possessed the element of surprise and had taken away the technological advantages of their opposition.
Anyone the explosives didn’t eviscerate would be systematically gunned down by his team.
Now it was time to watch and wait.
* * *
Aleksandr was awake at 3:00 a.m., admiring the falling snow. The Buran snowmobile was gassed up and was idling next to the KAMAZ 6x6 in the detached garage. Sergei’s new dogs were not yet at the level of the two the Hastings woman had killed, though they were showing promising attributes. He’d shunned alcohol at dinner, as was his custom the night before a hunt, but still hadn’t slept well. The anticipation overpowered his need for sleep. That worried him some. He wanted to be at his best.
The team coming to kill him would be slaughtered on their approach, thanks to the intelligence from Grant Larue and his lackey in the executive branch. The lobbyist lived and operated in plain sight, right under the noses of the Americans. The lobbying industry had been ripe for exploitation by the SVR.
What to do with the bodies? As the national deputy director of clandestine services, he could turn this into a major international incident and push the United States and Russia to the brink of war, but what good would that do? There was a smarter back-channel move to make.
Later; focus on the hunt.
He’d hoped to somehow capture Commander Reece alive but the odds of capturing any of the American force alive were slim. He might make an even more formidable adversary than his friend who waited one floor below, nourished but cold and, more important, inspired. His sister’s head in a formaldehyde jar to keep him company all night should have given him all the incentive needed to make this Aleksandr’s most challenging and pleasurable adventure to date.
It was time to hunt.
CHAPTER 73
Medny Island, Russia
EVERYONE ELSE ON THE team felt like they were back in the dark ages. Everyone but Reece. He was in his element. He’d grown up in the mountains with his father, who passed along the importance of map and compass work, terrain association, taking bearings, and triangulation. Their GPS devices, lasers, and NODs might be down, but that didn’t mean that these warriors were out of the fight. They reconsolidated at the link-up point. Reece was the last to arrive, the others having managed to land in the same general vicinity.
Being most familiar with the routes and objective, Reece took dual point with Devan and Edo. The Belgian Malinois was off leash and alert, back doing what he’d been trained for. Much like the men he accompanied, Edo had been out of the fight too long and was ready for action. Eli and Farkus followed, with Chavez taking rear security. The lack of NODs meant they had to patrol closer together than they were accustomed to; they all knew the threat of being too close if a rocket, mortar, or IED hit.
They hadn’t jumped snowshoes. Intel suggested the snow covering was light, but reality on the ground was different than it looked from satellites a hundred miles up. Even enveloped by darkness, over the snow-covered ground, the team moved with purpose toward their objective.
Their plan was to hit the lodge, grab Hanna and Raife, make it to extract, and kill anyone who got in their way.
Reece knew it was a bit harebrained; if he were still a SEAL there was no way he would green-light five assaulters and a dog hitting a lodge on an island off the coast of Siberia. He also knew that if the situation were reversed, Raife would move heaven and earth to get him out.
They were committed. They were going in.
Devan froze. He raised his left hand in a fist at head level.
He gave Edo the command to halt. “Blif,” he hissed in Dutch, following it with an immediate “here.”
Edo returned to Devan’s left side, going prone on the snow, waiting for the next command.
Devan had noticed the dog’s body language change. It was something only those in tune with their partner would sense; his ears moved forward, his gait became more aggressive, and his tail changed its rhythmic wag ever so slightly. His next move would have been to “finish,” or find the IED. Edo had not forgotten the ways of war. Neither had Devan. He did not want his dog to “finish,” which meant sitting right at the IED; certain death.
The team sank to their knees.
“Explosives ahead,” Devan said under his breath.
“Are you sure?” Reece asked, already knowing the answer.
“Positive. Edo alerted on it. Lucky we were coming in from downwind or we might have walked right past it.”
“How far?”
“Hard to tell exactly, but in these conditions? Fifty to a hundred yards.”
Edo’s head snapped up again, ears erect, body stiff and ready to launch, looking ahead at an angle.
“Ambush,” Devan declared.
Reece was squinting into the darkness when the first round took him square in the chest.
CHAPTER 74
DEVAN HIT THE GROUND and sent ten rounds in the direction of the ambush before yelling, “CONTACT FRONT!”
“Plotz!” he yelled at Edo over the sound of his rifle, ensuring Edo would stay down and by his side.
“ON LINE!”
Eli low-crawled toward Reece, Devan, and Edo, elbows sinking into the snow, digging in with his knees and feet to propel himself forward. In the darkness they didn’t have targets and he’d only caught the slightest hint of a muzzle flash as he hit the deck moments earlier. Suppressors.
Firing from their aggressors ceased.
They had been on a slight incline and the fact that they weren’t all dead meant that Edo had kept them out of the kill zone. If they stayed down, they were below the enemy’s line of sight, meaning they were en defilade.
Win the fight, Eli thought. Hard to do with nothing to shoot at.
Farkus was by his side in an instant. They grabbed Reece by his pant leg and began dragging him back toward a rock formation protruding from the snow behind. Devan pushed himself back close behind, Edo low-crawling right along with him toward their rear security.
“I have an out,” he whispered, guiding the rest of the team to the rock behind him.
Devan and Farkus helped form a perimeter around their wounded leader as Eli went to work assessing his patient, running his hands up and down Reece’s body feeling for severe bleeding and massive injuries. As he went to check for breathing, Reece’s eyes opened wide.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” he said coughing.
“Quiet, brother,” Eli responded. “You just took a round to the chest. Must have hit your head when you fell.”
Reece’s hand went to his chest and felt the pieces of ceramic plate that had split into fragments, absorbing the bullet’s impact just as it was designed.
“Well, this thing is useless now,” Reece observed, struggling out of his plate carrier and tossing his magazines to Eli. “Where’s my rifle?”
“Here you go, boss,” Devan said. He’d grabbed the Echols Legend on his crawl back to the rock.
“Thanks. Okay, what do we have?”
“Shooting stopped right after you were hit. Looks like they were set up with IEDs, mines, or an antipersonnel explosive device of some sort. We must be out of their line of sight here, but I’d wager they are maneuvering on us right now. That shot that took you was accurate. I’d guess they have NODs and suppressors, possibly IR lasers.”
Shit.
Devan turned in toward the former SEAL commander. “Edo will let us know when they’re coming.”
Raife and Hanna were to the west. Extract was a few hours out to the east. They were pinned down on an enemy islan
d where their adversary held the technical and tactical advantages.
Think, Reece!
Take a breath. Look around. Make a call.
He looked at the men around him. They were all there to help Raife and Hanna, but they wouldn’t have put their lives on the line unless Reece had asked. He looked back at the rifle in his hands, wood stock, NightForce optic, similar to what his father had used in Vietnam, only more accurate. That was it: Vietnam.
“Bring it in!” Reece whispered, the others scooting in closer so they could hear the combat-tested leader.
“Do you still have your flare guns? The ones we were to use in a loss of comms emergency extract to signal the bird?”
Heads nodded around the circle.
“Okay then, we are going to take their advantage and even things up. The Vietnam guys who taught me had to fight at night without night vision. They had to turn night into day. We’re going to do the same thing, but we have to do it fast.”
Hands were already going into kits and removing the small nautical flare guns Thorn had given them before they departed.
“It’s not like the 40MM flares we had in the Teams but it’s all we have. I’m going to move to high ground just north; that hill we passed a couple hundred yards back. If my map study is correct, it should put me in a position slightly above theirs. If they flank us or start coming in, let the dog go and start putting up those flares and engaging. If I can get to high ground, I’ll fire my flare and start putting them down. Time it right; we only have about five seconds per flare, so this is going to happen fast. How many flares per gun?”
“Two,” Eli answered.
“Okay, I’ll initiate with one of mine. As one flare goes out, put up another. Do not put two up at the same time; it’s going to be close as it is. If they are moving in on us, we will have them in an L ambush.”
“Let me come with you,” Eli pleaded.
“Negative. You stay here. I need three of you on the guns and one of you putting up those flares. Besides, I work better alone these days.”
Reece looked around the circle, and though they couldn’t see it, he smiled. He was a sniper. And he was going to high ground.
CHAPTER 75
REECE PUSHED HIMSELF FORWARD at a full sprint, no small feat over snow-covered ground in the dark. He hadn’t been shot in the back yet, which meant the enemy couldn’t see him.
An even darker shape appeared out of the darkness; the hill was just to his left. Reece veered toward it and began to climb. It was steep enough that the snow only held to the more horizontal ledges. His feet slid out from under him as he worked his way up the scree, thin pieces of rock causing him to slide back a step with every two he took forward.
Slinging his rifle across his back he grabbed at anything that would give him purchase, his hot breath visible in the cold early morning air.
Keep moving forward, he heard his dad’s voice urging him on. Always improve your fighting position, son.
His legs burned and he felt the rocks and ice tearing at his hands.
Up he went, continuing his scramble.
Almost.
There it was. His sniper’s perch beckoned.
Sliding into an elevated position above those moving in to kill his team, Reece unslung his rifle and flipped up the scope covers before going prone and setting the flare gun to his right. He was about to find out what they faced.
Stock to shoulder, cheek to its rest, body nestled in among the rocks and ice, safety off.
Reece reached for the flare gun, cocked it, pointed it skyward over what he estimated was the enemy position, and pulled the trigger.
* * *
Vasilievich watched his flanking element approach the enemy’s suspected position. They moved in slowly, weapons up, scanning the terrain before them. Even with the advantage of the NODs the ground was treacherous and the Americans were armed.
How had they identified the MON-50s right before they entered the kill zone? They must have a dog with them. Fucking dogs!
The flanking element would have them in sight any moment now.
A popping noise to his left took his attention from the scene below and a second later his NODs erupted in bright white.
* * *
Reece was on the gun and on the trigger when his first flare illuminated the ground below. He’d been slightly off on his estimation of where the opposing force’s base element would be situated, but not by much.
Without a laser range finder, Reece estimated distance by one of the ways he’d been taught almost twenty years before. He used a map study. Actual distance to target, five hundred and fifty yards, altitude, temperature, velocity, bore height, ballistic coefficient of the .300 Win Mag Barnes TTSX, elevated at a thirty-five degree incline; 2 mil adjustment for a 39.5 inch drop. Wind approximately five miles and hour. Full value; 8.5-inch hold right.
Reece made the adjustments in his head and pressed the trigger sending 180 grains of Barnes triple shock through the spine of the far left shooter. Quickly throwing the bolt, Reece chambered his second round and let it fly.
He aimed at the upper torsos of his targets. The bullet’s nose peeling back instantly on contact into a copper petal of death, tearing through the heart and lungs of his second target.
A third soldier was struggling to get into a kneeling position, suddenly aware that two of his teammates were no longer of the earth, when Reece’s third bullet took him high in the chest. The bullet ripped through the breast plate and eviscerated both lungs before exiting out the back, removing an even larger chunk of flesh on the way out.
Reece had been so focused on eliminating the base element and had thrown the bolt so fast that he hadn’t even noticed the flares start going up to his left. When his team’s suppressed shots began penetrating the night air, Reece could tell the plan was working. They’d turned night into day. All they had to do was just not miss. If the Russians survived the initial onslaught, they would be back on top with their NODs and lasers. Reece’s team would get only one chance.
He’d seen five figures in prone when his first flare had illuminated the landscape.
How many have my team sent up?
Don’t worry about them right now. Do your job.
Reece reached for the flare gun, grabbed his second and last round from its rail, and broke the action only to find the spent shell didn’t eject on its own. Grabbing it with his numb fingers he pulled it from the gun, fumbled, and dropped his last flare into the abyss.
CHAPTER 76
VASILIEVICH AND THE LAST living member of his base element rolled out of what they quickly recognized as a kill zone. Whoever was shooting at them was good. In three or four seconds he’d taken out more than half his force. Luckily the Wagner Group team leader still had his sniper.
How many flares did they have?
Recognizing that the tables had turned, Vasilievich focused his attention on the cliffs to the northeast from behind the boulder before him and motioned to his sniper.
“The cliffs. He’s in the cliffs,” he hissed.
The sniper had been set up to shoot down on the approaching force from the high ground and had moved from a prone to a sitting position that would allow him to find his new target in the cliffs above.
The night optic was good, but at a distance it was almost impossible to discern an unmoving camouflaged figure from the jagged mountainside.
There! Vasilievich saw a slight movement against a still backdrop.
“Five hundred meters. Halfway up the rocks!” he yelled at the sniper to make sure he knew where to shoot.
Vasilievich directed his M4 at his new target, lasers dancing in and around the location of the movement, and began to fire.
* * *
Reece’s heart sank as his final flare dropped out of sight, bouncing off the rock face and falling into the darkness below.
Shit! My teammates are counting on me. Think, Reece. Adapt!
He saw the muzzle flashes. With suppressors, they were not a
s prominent as they would have been without them, but they were enough for Reece to make them out in the darkness. He thought back to the early days in Afghanistan, the automatic-weapons gunners shooting unsuppressed at an entrenched enemy position. He remembered the al-Qaeda guns turning toward the bright flashes of light at the breaks of the 5.56 and 7.62 machine guns. The man’s head to his right exploding…
Reece knew he should change positions after his first shots, especially since he had now lost the element of surprise and the enemy had him zeroed, but he stayed where he was. What he suspected was that the enemy’s IR lasers had been sighted in for a range of twenty-five yards to a point of aim, point of impact, a cardinal sin. In simple terms, it meant that the lasers would hit what they were aiming at if that target was at twenty-five yards. He also knew they had a sniper with them. The single round that had impacted him in the body armor had not come from a 5.56 weapon system. If the sniper already had him in his sights, he was a dead man.
Observe, orient, decide, act.
Settling back in behind his rifle, Reece took a breath and exhaled. He saw the full-auto muzzle flash from the suppressed M4 and noted its ineffective hits to his left. He was looking for the sniper.
Reece knew he had an advantage. He’d already put targets down and was perfectly dialed for the distance, angle, and elevation, and he knew the wind hold. His antagonist would be taking all those factors into consideration but had yet to confirm it with a shot. If the Russian sniper missed, he’d make the correction and would not miss again.
A single flash three meters to the full-auto gun’s left registered in Reece’s brain. He estimated back from that flash where the shooter’s head would be on the stock of a long-range rifle and pressed the trigger.