Hostile Territory

by Paul Greci

  We all put our packs on and keep going, stooping under the brush. My midback tightens up from all the slouched-over walking, but I don’t care. I’m just glad that Sam is leading the way. We walk in silence, following the brush tunnel as it goes up and down some hills and winds its way around others.

  The land levels out and Sam stops. Once we’re all gathered around him, he says, “We’ll wait here. We’re close.”

  “How close?” Brooke asks.

  “The plane and landing strip are in this area.” Sam points across the flats. “There’s ample cover by the plane for a couple of people, but not for a group this big.”

  I peer in the direction he’s pointing, trying to pick out where the plane is, but it all just looks like brush and more brush to me.

  Sam takes off his pack, sits on the ground, and motions for us to do the same.

  Once we’re all seated, Sam says, “Let’s briefly go over the plan. I want you each to tell it to me.”

  After we each successfully tell him the plan, Sam says, “You passed. How do you know when and if to abort?”

  “If we have a face-to-face interaction with someone who says, The river is running high,” Brooke says.

  “Great,” Sam says. “Here’s the next part. After you set the explosives, paddle like hell downriver. You’re going to cross the mouth of the Delta River. It dumps into the Tanana just below the bridge. Once you’re past the mouth of the Delta, you’re going to be going around a big bend. At the far end of the bend the river splits into two channels. Take the left channel until you come to the mouth of a creek. Set up camp in the woods on the far side of that creek and wait there. If no one comes after three days, you’re on your own.”

  “What do you mean, on your own?” Derrick asks.

  Sam tilts his head. “It’s possible that you’ll blow the bridge, but I won’t succeed. Or it’s possible that you’ll blow the bridge, and I’ll succeed but will be killed in the process. At this point, I’m the only one who knows where to look for you.”

  “Can’t you tell someone else?” Brooke asks.

  “I’m trying to protect you,” Sam says. “The more people who know where you are, the greater the chance that someone who’s captured will expose you.”

  “You mean if they are being tortured?” Shannon asks.

  “That’s a possibility,” Sam says. “I’d rather have you take your chances in the wilderness than have the Russians hunt you down because someone was pressed into disclosing your location.” Sam takes a breath, then continues, “If you are captured, try not to talk, but if you have to talk, lie. Tell them you’re part of the Sons of Alaska Militia. That’s a made-up name, but it’ll buy the rest of us some time to attempt our parts of the mission. I really shouldn’t have told you what I’m doing for my part, but I felt like you needed to know how high the stakes are since you’re putting your lives on the line.”

  Derrick lifts up his hand. “Do you all hear that?”

  In the distance, I hear a faint humming sound.

  “Nobody move,” Sam says. “They won’t be able to see us.”

  The humming grows louder and louder, and then we see a large plane crossing the flats in front of us. It passes over us, keeps going, and disappears over the ridge from the way we came. Seconds later we hear a muffled roar and the ground shakes under us.

  I picture the shelter back at Sam’s camp, blown to pieces.

  “They’re onto us,” Sam says. “I wonder what that means about what else they know.”

  CHAPTER 69

  WHEN THE SUN GOES BEHIND the ridge, Sam marches us three quarters of the way across the flats.

  We talked a little more about the shelter being blown to bits, but Sam said that didn’t necessarily mean they know what we’re trying to do. He said that’s what it might mean, but regardless, he didn’t receive an abort message, so we were proceeding as planned.

  Sam moves some already cut brush aside. He does this in two directions until he’s got a short path about twenty feet wide. Then he points in the direction he started clearing and says, “Clear the rest of the cut brush off the strip while I do the preflight checks.”

  “Did you cut all this brush when you arrived?” I ask.

  “A crew landed with a helicopter and cleared the landing strip since it hadn’t been used in a few years,” Sam says. “When I arrived, I re-covered the runway with the brush to camouflage it.”

  “But—”

  “Just clear it,” Sam cuts off Derrick. “We’re on a tight time schedule now that the sun is behind the ridge.” Sam steps in the opposite direction from where he started clearing, moves some more brush, and exposes the wing of a plane.

  He looks over at us, and we’re all just staring at him. “Haven’t you ever seen a plane before?” He points to the landing strip again. “Clear it. All the way to that spruce tree. We’ve got to move.”

  The four of us clear the brush, pushing it aside just like Sam did. We work our way down the runway.

  “This whole deal is moving pretty fast,” Derrick says.

  “I think we got used to living in the shelter and just preparing,” Shannon says. “That was safe. Or at least it felt safe. But now that we’re having to do everything, well, we’re kind of in shock.”

  “The next bomb,” Derrick says. “It could be for us.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to die.”

  “None of us do,” I say as I’m dragging brush off the runway zone.

  “My dad is always lording it over me about how he puts his life on the line for our country while I’m lazing my way through school, doing as little as possible.” Derrick pushes more brush off to the side.

  Now we’ve got about five more feet, and we’ll be at the spruce tree.

  “People who decide to devote their lives to defending the country, people like your dad or like Sam, they’re basically selfless,” I say to Derrick. I push more brush aside and reach the spruce tree. “Now it’s our turn to do our part.”

  Back at the plane, which Sam has now totally uncovered, Derrick says, “Aren’t we going to be detected by the Russians when we’re airborne and flying across what is now their airspace?”

  “This little plane may look simple and old-fashioned, but it’s got some pretty complex radar-blocking and scrambling equipment,” Sam explains. “We’ll be flying low mostly. Under the radar, so to speak.”

  “What about the noise?” Brooke asks. “Small planes are loud. That’s what I remember from doing a flight-seeing trip with my family.”

  “This one’s got a special engine,” Sam explains. “We need the fuel for takeoffs and landings, but once we’re airborne we’ll run on battery power for most of the flight. It’s like a hybrid car. There’s a layer of solar cells on the topside of the wings that feed into a battery system.” Sam motions to the packs piled on the ground. “Let’s load those up and get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 70

  BEFORE WE’RE AIRBORNE, WE DECIDE to stay clear of the smoke rising from where Sam’s shelter used to be. As curious as we all are about how direct of a hit it was, we all agree that flying too close to it could expose us.

  Not that any of us has any control over what Sam does. He’s in charge. Luckily for us, Sam has been a smart and reasonable dictator so far.

  After we’re airborne, I look down at the land below, hoping the dusk will provide the cover we need.

  When Sam switches over to battery power, the plane goes from making a constant roar where you can’t hear your own thoughts, to a loud hum.

  I’m in the front seat next to Sam, and he’s fiddling with knobs and pushing buttons, and I decide to just let him be. I glance over my shoulder and see Derrick pressed against one window, and Shannon in the middle. I can only see part of one of Brooke’s legs because she’s sitting directly behind me.

  The gear is all tied down in the rear of the plane.

  Before we took off, Sam showed us the emergency bag with food, a sleeping bag, fuel, a small stove, flares,
fire-starting material, and a pistol.

  We fly over a stretch of blackened forest that ends at a swamp, and I shout, “That’s where we were. That’s the fire we started!”

  Everyone peers out the windows and nods. Then we fly low, following a tundra ridge, and I’m sure it’s one of the ridges we walked when we left Simon Lake. We follow the ridge as it climbs higher and higher, and in my mind I picture us walking it in the opposite direction. Starting high above Simon Lake and then gradually descending, trying to stay above the tree line for as long as we could.

  And then, way off to the right, Simon Lake comes into view. I tap Sam on the shoulder to get his attention. “That’s Simon Lake,” I say.

  He nods and makes a slight shift in steering, and the plane dips toward the lake. The big rock slide comes into view, and even in the dim light, I can make out the green flags we planted to direct rescuers to the note we wrote. It’s pretty obvious that no one has been there; the flags are undisturbed. I’m glad we left when we did. And then I think about the fact that if the Russians do succeed in taking over, or if everyone’s parents are dead, and we die, too, then no one may ever know about the Simon Lake disaster. There would be no one looking for anyone. And then I realize that thousands of things could have happened that no one knows about. Things that go wrong in the wilderness where people disappear seemingly without a trace. Their history erased.

  Sam waves his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Sorry I don’t have headphones for everyone so we can talk more easily.” He points down at the lake and then at the controls. “Mileagewise, I think you all walked at least one hundred twenty miles to get to my shelter.”

  “Great,” Derrick shouts. “Now I’m more tired than I thought I was.”

  I smile. Part of me wishes I could be lighthearted and always joking around like Derrick. I mean, he’s strong and competent, and funny, too.

  I feel the plane dip and start to turn, and Sam says, “We’ll be at the drop site in about an hour and a half.”

  A shiver runs up my spine. It was scary enough walking through unfamiliar territory when we left Simon Lake. Now we’ll be doing the same thing, except we have to worry about running into Russian soldiers who might just shoot us on sight.

  How do you go from being a month or two away from starting your senior year in high school to being part of a bridge-bombing operation? I guess I always took for granted that I lived in a safe place. That our country was stable.

  Yeah, I knew things were getting kind of bad in Washington, DC, but people were making lots of jokes about what was happening. Like they couldn’t believe the government was so—what was the word my dad kept using—dysfunctional. But I’d always just lived my life despite what was happening in other places. But not anymore.

  I don’t want Alaska to be sacrificed to save the Lower 48. That’s not fair. To pack our state with missiles and then to totally screw up and let some other country take charge of them? Why should we pay for that?

  I guess that was my main reason for wanting to succeed—to keep Alaska from being obliterated because of some people in Washington, DC, who couldn’t keep the enemies from taking control of our missiles. The missile silos should be some of the most secure places ever.

  “Drop site is coming into view,” Sam says, jolting me back to the present.

  I see a thin, straight line in the trees.

  I know as soon as we land, we’re on our own.

  CHAPTER 71

  “WE COULD MAKE SOME PROGRESS before it’s too light out,” I say, after we’ve all come back together. We scattered after Sam dropped us off, all having to empty our bladders. I pick up my pack and sling it on, then buckle the thick waist strap.

  “I got sleepy on the plane ride,” Brooke says, yawning. “Walking is going to suck now.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t puke,” Derrick says. “I was super queasy just before we landed.”

  Shannon’s got her pack on and is looking around, turning in a slow circle. When she’s facing the rest of us, she says, “Hiking from dusk to dawn.” She shakes her head. “I understand why we have to do it that way. It’s just that’s also when the animals are most active. We’ll have to be on the lookout.”

  “We’ve got a gun,” Derrick says. “Relax.”

  “It’s not for animals,” Shannon responds. “Besides, that pistol would only piss off a grizzly bear unless you hit every shot into its vital organs.”

  “The gun,” I say, “is supposed to be used at close range. I think we should use it as a last resort for anything that’s preventing us from carrying out the mission, people or animals.”

  “I get that,” Shannon says, “but we can’t just march blindly forward because we have a gun. Firing it will attract attention, so if we can avoid bears, wolves, or moose, that’d be the way to go. Plus, we still have two full canisters of bear spray.”

  “I’m down with all that.” Derrick pats the pistol in the holster that’s strapped to his waist. “I don’t want to shoot a bear, only to have a bunch of Russian soldiers shoot us. But I still feel more comfortable having the gun. Don’t you all agree it kind of takes some pressure off?” When no one says anything in response, Derrick raises his eyebrows. “I don’t know. I just feel more secure having the gun.”

  “Gun or no gun,” I say, “we should go.”

  Derrick gives Shannon his full canister of bear spray since he’s carrying the gun, and Brooke has her bear spray in her hands. I still have my canister, but it’s mostly empty.

  I tuck it into a mesh pocket on the side of my pack and then pull out the route-finding device and turn it on. Everyone crowds in to see the screen.

  A little green dot appears toward the bottom of the screen, and a red dot appears at the top, both about the size of a pencil eraser. The arrow stretching out from the green dot points off to the right of the red dot. I slowly swing the device around until the arrow points at the red dot.

  “I hope that thing works,” Derrick says. “I mean, if it’s a little off, we could miss the lake entirely.”

  “Whatever.” Brooke shrugs. “It’s all we’ve got. Let’s go before I fall asleep.”

  Beside the openness of the narrow landing strip, the forest is thick.

  “Hopefully the Russians will stick to the roads,” I say.

  “I would.” Derrick points in the direction the arrow is pointing. “That’s just as thick as the brush we crashed through to get to Sam’s little hideout.”

  The mosquitoes have finally figured out that we’re here, but because of our high-tech clothes and the bug spray Sam had us use that supposedly lasts for several days, they’re not really landing and biting.

  I take a step in the direction of the arrow and then another and another. We’re going single file, and I’m dodging trees and the thicker clumps of brush so my path forward is kind of a zigzag, where I’m constantly correcting to keep the arrow pointed at the red dot. We move through the forest like this for maybe an hour, and then we hit a big obstacle that makes us all lie down on our bellies and try to stay perfectly still.

  CHAPTER 72

  “SAM SAID TO AVOID EVERYONE,” I whisper, “Russian, American, it doesn’t matter.” We’re all lying shoulder to shoulder and peering down with our binoculars on a camp with a bunch of green wall tents in sparsely forested flats.

  “How are we going to get around them?” Shannon whispers.

  “My dad thinks the people forming these militias are paranoid,” Brooke says softly. “They believe everyone is a potential enemy. He interviewed a few of them when he was contracted to do an article about militias.”

  “They’ve got way more firepower than us,” Derrick whispers. “Maybe they could help us out.”

  “Um. I don’t think so,” Shannon says. “I’m with Brooke on this one. These people may be carving out their own little country, like the South tried to do during the Civil War.”

  “We’ve got to trust Sam on this.” I rest my binoculars on the ground next to the
route-finding device. “If he’d wanted us to seek out help, he would’ve said so.”

  “Guns are guns,” Derrick says. “That bridge might be heavily guarded.”

  “Guns aren’t guns,” Shannon counters. “Hunting rifles versus military assault weapons and rocket launchers. Trained assassins versus wannabe Rambos.”

  Before Derrick can respond, I say, “Sam told us that the Russians basically use these militias as an excuse to attack. Think of it this way. If we can carry out our mission, maybe the Russians will be forced to leave before they find and kill this group of people. We could save their lives if we can avoid them now and get on with what we’re supposed to do.”

  “I hear all that,” Derrick says, “but not everyone in the military is some awesome fighting machine. My dad used to gripe about some of the losers in his squadron. You might be surprised at the lack of competence.” Derrick points down to the camp. “Some of these people might be just as good or better than a whole lot of soldiers, Russian or American. How do you think we got into this mess? And now look; we’ve got four high school students who stumbled into a top-secret operation helping to carry it out.”

  “The Rambo dudes my dad interviewed,” Brooke says, “had an extreme men-are-superior-to-women mentality and whites-are-superior-to-all mentality.”

  Shannon says, “I hate being around guys like that. Not only are they idiots, they can be dangerous.”

  “Okay,” Derrick says, “I get it. All I’m saying is that at some point we may need to be open to accepting some help despite Sam’s instructions not to.” He motions toward the militia. “I totally get why it’s not a good idea to approach this camp, but I’m asking you all to at least entertain the idea that somewhere between here and the bridge we might need to do something like that.”

  We talk some more and we outvote Derrick three to one when he suggests we consider approaching people for help in the future. Luckily, all this talk is happening as it’s getting lighter, so we don’t actually lose that much time since we’re supposed to stop and hide during the day. Since the Rambo camp is close by, we decide to keep a continual watch during the day. Two people sleeping and two people up. We back away from the edge of the bluff and quietly set up one tent, figuring that two of us can use it while two of us are on watch, and then we’ll switch. Then when dusk hits and it’s time to pack up, we’ll be out of here quickly.