Red Ice

by William Dietz

  Falco switched to the interflight frequency and heard Parker discussing possible threats, “playtime” (available fuel), and other matters. She was alive!

  The knowledge made Falco feel good. But Parker was flying into danger, and that worried him. “Here,” Lee said. “Your coffee is ready.”

  Falco took the mug. “Thank you, Sergeant. What will we do when you run out of instant coffee?”

  “I’m going AWOL,” Oliver put in, as he took a sip.

  “That sounds reasonable,” Falco replied. “I’ll go with you.”

  The chatter was a way to pass the time. According to the military intelligence people the Russians had completed the first span and were busy testing it. Once the artic darkness fell they would cross the bridge in force. Why wait? Falco wondered. There isn’t much we can do to stop them. But a period of darkness, no matter how brief, would give the Russians yet another advantage. And they planned to use it. The team was under orders to delay the invading force for as long as possible. Then they, and the units around them, would pull back to the east side of Big D where something would be waiting to take them off. No one seemed to know how the evacuation process was going to work, so all they could do was wait and see.

  In the meantime the intensity of the fighting had lessened. The Russians already occupied most of the island, and they knew reinforcements were on the way, so it made sense to lay back. As for the Americans, they were trying to buy time. As much of it as they could. So both sides were content with the status quo.

  The hours crept by. Falco listened to some upbeat music by Haydn. The other JTACs took naps, ate some of the MREs that fell out of the sky, and told stories. Some of them were actually true.

  Finally, at 2200 hours, the sun went down. The full scale invasion began minutes later. Troops led the way and Falco received orders to target them. He disagreed. Steel-Three had been joined by Steel-Two, and the mortar teams had 25 smart rounds between them. So Falco wanted to reserve the bombs for Russian tanks.

  But Major Godfrey, who was in command of the infantry battalion that the JTACs were assigned to, was of a different opinion. “I understand what you’re saying, Dan,” Godfrey said, congenially. “But if those troops break our line, there won’t be any reason to worry about tanks, now will there?”

  And, since Godfrey was in command, the JTACs had no choice but look for concentrations of ground troops and target them. Orange-red flowers blossomed in the darkness, collapsed in on themselves, and disappeared. Russians died as overlapping claps of thunder rolled across the land. That, combined with well-directed counter fire, was sufficient to hold the enemy off for twenty minutes or so.

  Then the first T-14 tanks arrived. They were relatively new, and equipped with the latest technology. Each machine had a three person crew all of whom were stationed below the vulnerable turret, inside a well armored compartment .

  The T-14s were armed with 125mm smoothbore cannons that were linked to a full array of optical sensors and capable of firing guided munitions. It wasn’t long before the reality of that became painfully clear. The American mortar teams were down to seven rounds. And when they fired, the outgoing rounds were tracked by Russian tank mounted counter-battery radar systems. They calculated where the mortar bombs were coming from, and passed the information to Russian mortars, which used the data to return fire. Steel-Two and Steel-Three ceased to exist moments later. The order to fall back came shortly after that.

  In the meantime a battle for air superiority was taking place thousands of feet above the JTACs. Sonic BOOMs rolled across the island as jet fighters battled for supremacy. That kept the Russian planes from attacking American troops. But it also meant that the American jets weren’t available to target Russian tanks. The enemy machines continued to advance.

  Suddenly, without anything to call in, the JTACs were transformed into infantrymen. Their submachine guns weren’t useful for anything other than a close quarters combat, and they were low on ammo. There were things they could do however … Like carrying stretchers. So that’s what the JTACs did as the various strands of Colonel Waya’s combat team wove themselves together and trudged east.

  Falco heard the crack of explosions as the Russian tanks rolled over recently laid mines, or were struck by shoulder launched rockets. That would slow the machines down, but there was little doubt as to how the situation would turn out, as Falco and Oliver carried a stretcher to the edge of the bluff. Two flares popped high above and threw an eerie glow over the road. Others were walking in front of and behind the JTACs as they made their way down to the sea. They were carrying stretchers, crew-served weapons, and field radios .

  Part of that had to do with pride. No way was the combat team going to leave anything useful on the battlefield if they could help it. But the effort was a matter of necessity as well. Because after the troops arrived on Little Diomede, which lay just 2.3 miles away, the soldiers would need the things they were carrying. But how to get there?

  The answer was fishing boats. At least fifty of them. Large boats, small boats, and everything in between. A call had gone out to the commercial fishing community, and the response was everything Waya could have hoped for, and more.

  Flood lights dispelled the gloom as a procession of gill netters, purse seiners, and trollers lined up to take troops off the Russian jetty. Now, with twenty-twenty hindsight, it was obvious that the concrete ramp located next to the pier had been built to serve as the western terminus of the second floating bridge.

  An aid station had been set up near the Russian helipad. An army doctor was in charge. She was thirty something and the front of her uniform was soaked with blood. “What have we got here?” she demanded.

  “A chest wound,” Oliver replied.

  The doctor held a flashlight in her left hand, and felt for a pulse with her right. Then she aimed the light into the soldier’s eyes, watched to see if his pupils would react, and shook her head. “He’s dead. Take him over there. Next!”

  “Over there,” was a spot about a hundred feet away where dozens of bodies were laid out side-by-side waiting to be taken off the island. Two privates were in charge. “Remove the body from the stretcher,” one of them ordered. “We might need it for someone else.”

  Falco was going to reply, but gave up as a Black Hawk helicopter roared overhead, and swooped in for a landing. The controllers had finished offloading the body when Major Godfrey appeared out of the surrounding darkness. He looked tired. “There you are … We need some help Dan. Military and civilian helicopters are flying laps overhead while they wait to land. Some have more fuel than others—and I’m worried about the possibility of a collision.”

  As an Air Force Special Tactics Officer, Falco was a qualified Air Traffic Controller. So the team set up well away from the noisy helipad and went to work. Falco led the effort, with Oliver as his assistant, while Lee fed them information from the aid station.

  Lee’s job was to find out which patients needed to go out first, and radio the information to Oliver, who chose the right moment to share it with Falco. With no computer based system to rely on, all Falco could do was scribble call signs on a tablet, as he sorted helicopters according to capacity, fuel supply, and above all speed. The most critical patients had priority for transportation on the fast movers.

  There was another variable too … Some of the incoming helos carried doctors, nurses or even dentists who had been brought in from places like Fairbanks and Anchorage.

  But other choppers, like the bird that belonged to the Fish & Game people, didn’t have any medical personnel on board. So it was important to put the least critical patients on those helos.

  Meanwhile, high above, the battle for the sky continued. And it was critical. Because if the Russians won, and came swooping down, the helicopters wouldn’t stand a chance. Falco knew that. And the additional pressure made his task even more difficult.

  Finally, after more than two hours of work, the last medevac helicopter departed and Falco was able
to sign off. Most of the combat team had been taken off Big D by then … And fighting could be heard to the west, as Waya’s rearguard fought to keep the Russians from reaching the jetty.

  Falco should have been on his feet, should have been getting ready to pull out, but couldn’t muster the energy. He was sitting on an ammo box, and his team was packing gear, when the doctor appeared. “Major Falco? I’m Doctor Levitt. You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Falco looked up at her. “No Doctor, I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

  Levitt sat down across from him. “Yes, in Afghanistan. At FOB Hope. I taped your ankle after the strike on Hashemi.”

  “Thank you. I was kind of messed up at that point.”

  “Yes,” Levitt agreed. “That was obvious. And that’s why I wanted to speak with you. Two civilians died in Em Bal . But you saved a lot of lives tonight, Major … I don’t know how many, but a lot more than two. Remember that, Major … Don’t ever forget it. God bless you.” Then she left.

  Falco was dumbstruck. Lives couldn’t be traded. He knew that. And the mistake at Em Bal couldn’t be undone. But, thanks to Levitt, his failure would be easier to bear.

  Falco smiled. One more wound … That’s what Levitt had seen—and done her best to heal.

  “We’re ready to go,” Lee said, as the rearguard came galloping down the road. Colonel Waya skidded to a stop, stepped to one side, and began to wave the rest of them through.

  Falco stood. “Thanks, Sergeant … I’ll give you a hand.”

  After carrying their gear down to the jetty the controllers were ordered onto the twenty foot open fishing boat that belonged to Sonny Toklo, a resident of Little Diomede, and the owner of a blue-eyed husky named Mack. It was impossible to see the Ingalikmiut’s face because of the headlamp he wore.

  “No worries,” Toklo told them, as he helped the JTACs load their gear. “This is my third trip. I’ll have you back in the U.S. of A. in twenty minutes.”

  Toklo’s boat was powered by a 115hp Yamaha, sitting next to a 15hp “get me home” back-up motor. And, judging from the vessel’s smell, Toklo was a fisherman .

  The motor roared when Toklo turned the throttle, and the hull pounded the waves as the boat gained speed. Mack liked that, and stood like a figurehead up in the bow, where he could sample the cold air as it rushed past his black nose.

  Falco had to hold on while frigid spray flew back to sting his face and the sun topped the horizon. That was when he got his first look at Little D. Having read the briefing materials Falco knew that the island was 2.3 miles from Big D, and home to approximately 120 people, most of whom made a living by harvesting polar bears, seals, and blue crabs.

  Like its big brother to the west, Little Diomede had a flat top, with steep sides all around. Light spilled over the bluff to splash the seaside village of Ignaluk as the sun continued to creep up into the sky. Falco could see the stone jetty by then, the twin boat launches located beside it, and the brightly painted houses perched on the hillside above. Most stood on stilts, and were huddled together like seabirds on a stormy day.

  Larger buildings of uncertain purpose squatted along the left side of the waterfront. A white fuel tank towered over piles of junk. Once the Russians arrived Falco figured their engineers would bulldoze a road through the village, carve a series of switchbacks into the hillside, then push the road to the other side of the island. The moment that was accomplished enemy vehicles would haul supplies east in preparation for the last span. The one that would place them on American soil.

  But maybe we can stop them , Falco thought. We have to try . And the militarization of Little D was already underway. A steel barge had been brought in during the hours of darkness and anchored offshore. It belonged to a well-known oil company. As troops filed off a fishing boat and onto the barge, another vessel was ready to pull in. An armada of small craft ferried the soldiers ashore.

  Thanks to the size of his boat, Toklo had no need to go alongside the barge, and bored straight in. The stone jetty rose to the left, as Toklo ordered Oliver and Mack to move back. That was enough to make the bow rise. And as Toklo turned the motor off and brought it up out of the water, inertia carried them in. Falco heard gravel grind under the aluminum hull as the bow ran up onto the beach and Mack jumped ashore. “Welcome to Ignaluk ,” Toklo said cheerfully. “Watch your step … The rocks are slippery.”

  The water washed gravel was slippery. After unloading their gear, and thanking Toklo, the JTACs left the beach. A neatly dressed MP was waiting to greet them. Had he been dropped onto Little D recently? Falco thought so. “Sorry,” the soldier said, as he jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. “But your destination is up there .”

  Falco looked up and back down. “Seriously? Won’t the Russians bomb us?”

  The MP nodded. “That seems quite likely, sir. Please follow the trail up past the purple house. You’ll see spray painted arrows on the ground. Follow them, and you can’t go wrong.”

  The JTACs had no choice but to comply. Others were following the path too. Men and women who were dog tired. They climbed the hill like a column of zombies, heads down, eyes on the trail.

  The pathway led past the weather-grayed ruins of an old house and a neatly kept graveyard to the spot where the serious climbing began. The trail wasn’t maintained insofar as Falco could tell … That seemed to suggest the locals had very little reason to visit the windswept mesa. And if they didn’t go there, why would anyone else?

  The struggle continued. Their gear was heavy, and seemed to grow heavier with each passing minute, as the team plodded ever upwards. And it was getting warmer too … Especially with high altitude jump suits on. But after what seemed like an eternity, the JTACs emerged on the mesa where they saw an unexpected sight .

  Three Chinook helicopters, each with a bulldozer dangling beneath it, were hovering above the partially melted snow, and about to lay their burdens down. The CATs were bright yellow, and appeared to be new. That suggested the government had purchased them from dealers in Alaska. “Those are D-4s,” Oliver observed. “They’re small as CATs go, but plenty good enough for digging bunkers.”

  That answered Falco’s earlier question. Waya was planning to dig in. Engines roared as the Chinooks left and more helicopters arrived. A 2nd lieutenant was there to greet them. She tossed a salute. “Names please.”

  Falco gave them and watched the lieutenant scan a Mil grade tablet computer. “The colonel is going to hold a staff meeting at 1000 and you folks are invited. See the antenna farm over there? Head for that.”

  Much of the winter snow had melted, leaving a slushy mess behind. Tracks ran every which way and helicopters continued to land as Falco and his team made their way to the com center. It consisted of the antennas he’d seen earlier, a cluster of tents, and a diesel generator. Keeping it fed would be no small task, but that’s what the Quartermaster Corps was for.

  After checking in, the men were able to snag some MREs, and recharge various batteries. Then they took advantage of the opportunity to grab a couple of hours of sleep prior to the meeting. Falco slept hard and awoke feeling stupid. A mug of Lee’s coffee and a chocolate covered doughnut served to put him right. Falco could hardly believe what he was eating. And it was a good sign. If the men and women on Little D had pastries—chances were that they had ammo too.

  Falco noticed something new as he followed a stream of other people to the tent where the meeting was going to take place. An ITWQ-1 Avenger anti-aircraft missile launcher was stationed about a hundred yards away, where it could protect the team’s headquarters location.

  That was encouraging, and Falco said as much to the army captain standing next to him in line. “And we have three more,” the officer responded. “Plus enough shoulder launched Stingers to equip fifty soldiers.” More good news.

  There was standing room only inside the tent. Colonel Waya stepped up onto a crate so the people in back could see him. He face was shaved and his uniform was immaculate. There was no way to
hide how tired he was however. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his face was pale. “Good morning. First I want to thank you, and your troops for all that you managed to accomplish during the last 48 hours. I know it’s been tough … But you can take satisfaction from the fact that the Russians paid a heavy price for Big Diomede. Based on preliminary reports it looks like they suffered twice the number of casualties that we did.”

  Someone yelled, “Hooah!” and others took up the cry.

  Waya smiled. “That brings us to the present. We have orders to hold Little D, and prevent the Russians from completing their bridge. Meanwhile, resources are pouring into the village of Wales, Alaska which is located 25 miles east of here. If we’re forced to fall back it will be to a position of strength. And, I’m pleased to announce that we’re going to get some help.”

  Waya glanced at his watch before returning his gaze to the crowd. “As I speak one of our subs is launching cruise missiles at the first bridge span. If a section of it is destroyed, the Russians will need the better part of a day to replace it.

  “Meanwhile more missiles are falling on the so-called ‘port,’ located on the east side of Big D. They’re certain to take a heavy toll on the tanks and personnel concentrated there.”

  A series of dull thuds were heard and the crowd cheered. Waya nodded. “See? The navy is good for something.” That provoked laughter, and Falco had to give Waya credit. He knew how to play a crowd—especially his crowd.

  “Okay,” Waya said. “Get out there and finish those bunkers, work on your defenses, and rotate through the showers. You people reek.”

  That was good for some additional laughs, and most people were smiling as they filed out of the tent. Falco was about to follow Oliver out when a staff sergeant appeared next to him. “Major Falco? The colonel would like to speak with you. Please follow me.”

  Falco called Oliver and Lee back. They followed the sergeant out through a side entrance, and over to a smaller tent. It was home to banks of com equipment and a ping pong table with a large map on top. Was it on loan from the local school? Possibly.