by L. J. Martin
Fletch sidles up to me. "Good job on the hound," he says, giving me a pat on the back. "You ready for me to go for the barn light?"
"I am if you are," I say. "We'll both cover you from here. Then you take a position behind the corner of the barn and cover me and I'll do the porch light, then circle the place."
I watch as the much smaller Fletch crosses the yard, silently, un-shoulders his Ingram, then ties a knot in one end of the rope that falls in a loop to the ground from the pulley above. Then I get why as he pulls the rope on one side until the knot binds the pulley above.
The guy's got a pair of shoulders and some guns on him as he does a hand over hand at least thirty feet up the rope, locks a leg around it when he reaches near the top, then swings a couple of feet and with each swing turns the light bulb just a little more until it goes dark. Then with both sides of the rope, one in each hand, he lets the bound side drop away from the pulley and is quickly on the ground. Luckily the pulley is well oiled and makes little noise.
In seconds he's behind the corner of the barn, Ingram in hand, waiting for me to do my act.
Here goes nothing.
25
I slip through the fence, stay in the darkness, and move to where I'm covered by two cars of some Russian make that are parked in front of the farmhouse, only thirty feet from the wide covered veranda-style front porch.
I have one more task before I attack the light, and phone Natele. "It's time," I say, in a whisper, and ring off. She will now go about solving our problem of not enough troops, if my plan works.
Slipping between the two vehicles, I move quietly to the porch, which is not only lit from its outside light but from the inside via a pair of tall thin windows typical of most any old farmhouse, Russia or U.S.A. The damned bulb is inside a fixture resembling a carriage light, so I have to loosen a toggle on the bottom and drop it away before I can get to the bulb. Before I do, just for the hell of it and knowing there must be a switch just inside, I try the knob on the front door.
Locked.
I'd have been surprised if it were not. So I return and continue with the toggle and drop it away...and unfortunately drop the damn fixture which smashes loudly to the floor.
I quickly turn the bulb until it's out, then even more quickly retreat back to cover between the cars and hunker down.
Again, I wait for a long time, then with a little thank you prayer to the vodka gods, which I'm sure are the reasons these Ruskies seem to be sleeping so soundly, go to the iPhone and activate the heat seeking app.
I move to the side of the building, which is only about thirty feet wide and fifty deep on the bottom floor and twenty by fifty on the top, and begin letting the app probe for a hot body inside. I follow the wall on the east side, the rear on the south side, and back to the porch on the west side. I pick up only one heat source and it's not a body, bed high and man long, but rather seems to be a hot water heater if the tall thin door is an indication.
I move back along the wall, cross forty feet to the corner of the barn, and make my way boldly, now that the lights are extinguished, to where Fletch is standing watch.
"Nothing downstairs," I advise him in a whisper. "How about Pax and I cover you and you get up on the first floor shed roof and check the upstairs?"
"Can do," he says. "How's that thing work?"
I give him a quick lesson on operating the app and while he does the creep on the house, I click Pax up on the handheld radio.
"Roger," he whispers back after a moment.
"Fletch, the monkey man, is going to scan the upper floor. How about closing the distance and taking this position. I'm moving around so I can cover him on the other side of the house."
"Ten four," Pax comes back and I move away and take up a position between the farmhouse and the dormitory looking building.
Fletch goes up a drain pipe as if he's the monkey I've accused him of being and is soon moving along the upstairs wall, carefully, but unfortunately the roof is wood shingles and they're popping loudly underfoot.
Almost immediately he gives me a high sign, getting a reading from inside. He moves by a window and to the next likely spot and gives me another high sign. We wait until he's spotted at least four sleeping men, then I click him up on the handheld and both he and Pax comeback.
"I'm worried," I say, "about the other building and the five vehicles. I'm going to set up a surprise for those boys then return. Pax, you go in the back door. I'll take the front. When I give you three clicks on the radio it's go time. Fletch, when you hear us bust in, go in any upstairs window you're comfortable with. Guys, we're coming from different directions, so let's not take each other out."
Both of them come back with a "Roger." I work my way back between the cars and into the young orchard and through it until I'm only a driveways width from the parked passenger van and cars.
I hope to God this place is not merely some farmer who bought Skip's phone or found it on the road, but as Azarin is waiting for my call to get his kidnapped lady back, I've got to be confident I'm about to blow up and probably blow away the right bevy of buttholes.
I go to my back behind the van and place a pound of plastic under the gas tank, setting the detonator for ten minutes, slip out and go to another vehicle and place another charge, under its gas tank, set for twelve minutes.
Then I haul ass back into the orchard and back to the main farmhouse.
It's showtime.
I guesstimate the time it'll take us to roust the house and wait until there are only five minutes left on the first charge and triple click the radio, then give my boot to the door just below the knob and it crashes in swinging hard all the way and crashing again into a table and knocking over the lamp that's lit the room. It goes dark in the place but I have a combat light on the muzzle of the Ingram and have it on about the time I meet Pax coming in from the rear.
The roar of gunfire and muzzle flashes light the stairway from above, and we charge upstairs with me in the lead. I know that Pax will know I'm taking the area in front of the top of the stairs and I know he'll have my back and be taking the rear. It's S.O.P. for us.
He's got a target before I do and his Ingram fires on its three shot config. I glance back to see a shirtless man being blown back into a room. I snap my Ingram to my shoulder as a door opens ahead of me, but luckily don't fire as Fletch, in a crouch, moves out into the hallway. There are still two doors we haven't breached and Fletch moves down to the far side of one and I move to the near side. I pop a flash grenade off my belt, open the door just far enough to roll it in, and wait.
It rocks the room and I charge in, only to see a body slipping out the window. I could have cut him in half but we have no idea where Skip is, and I'm not dropping anyone until I know who it is. I charge to the window and see his back as he drops off the roof.
I hope that wasn't Azarin, but the room looks to be large and maybe a master bedroom, and he is the boss.
Hating to not drop the big dog, I remember the objective. Skip.
We've got to find Skip.
26
"Next room," I yell, and we move back out into the hall, only to see that Pax is already lined up at the next doorway and he, too, opens it just enough to toss a flash grenade. He flattens against the wall and the door slams shut with the impact, but he's quickly opening it and into the room.
I make the doorway in time to see him use the butt of his Ingram on the side of some guy's head and the guy goes down in a heap.
Moving quickly I put the barrel of the Ingram in the guy's throat and yell at him, "American? Where's the American!"
But he only stares wide-eyed, his ear spouting blood, him trying to get his wits about him.
Luckily Fletch is close behind me, and yells the same thing, only in Russian.
The guy shakes his head. "Nyet," he says.
"Tell him he's got three seconds to live if he doesn't tell," I say.
And Fletch rattles off another sentence of Russian.
"Nye
t," he says, and I turn the Ingram to his knee and blow away his knee cap and he screams loud enough to rattle the windows, but not loud enough to be heard over the sudden roar of the explosion outside as the van goes up in a ball of flame and over its nose onto its back in the small yard of the dorm-like building. Flames over the height of the dorm building light up the area.
The Russian on the floor is rolling around holding his knee and screaming.
"Ask him again?" I tell Fletch. "Tell him the other knee is next."
And Fletch does. He get's some rapid gibberish in return, then looks up. "He's in a cage in the barn. We walked right by him."
And in seconds we're down the stairs and out the back door, just in time to glance over and see at least four guys pouring out of the dorm building, but they have not made us as bad guys—they're in the bright light of the burning van and we're in darkness. They start running our way just as the second charge goes off under one of the cars and it does a full flip their way. But they have been blown out of its path and are all on the ground.
We run for the barn and get there just as a big bald Russian with a handlebar mustache, Mr. Clean, is charging out the double doors. He's carrying a double barrel shotgun and looks up but he's a half second too late as Fletch is faster and the big boy is blown back into the barn.
Our combat lights quickly locate the cage, constructed of two by fours on edge with only a couple of inches between, and it's barely large enough for Skip to sit upright.
We have no bolt cutters and there's a healthy chain binding one end, holding what serves as a door shut.
I can see Skip's blond hair and his eye up against a space.
"Get back, no time to dick with the lock!" I yell, and he gets as far in a corner as possible. I give the full clip to a few boards on a corner away from him, then kick like hell at the boards. Fletch does a spin and I'm impressed with the karate kick he gives the corner and the boards buckle.
Skip moves that way and sticks an arm out, and hoping it's not the arm with the busted collar bone, Pax and I both grab on and drag him through. Then I realize one arm is in a sling.
"Can you walk?" I yell.
"I can fucking run," Skip says. I hand him my Glock so he's not completely dependent upon us and we head out the back of the barn.
"Who's the guy with the good kick?" Skip yells at me as we head for the orchard.
"That's Fletch Goings," I say, as I pop in another clip. "Now known as the Monkey Man, more later." And we keep moving.
I look back to see that Pax has dropped behind and is kneeling down at the edge of the barn, then realize he's setting a charge.
We disappear into the orchard, but not before I'm sure Pax is right on our tail.
I'm not a bit surprised to have a chopper pass close overhead, blowing trash down on us from its downdraft. I drop down to one knee and look through the trunks of the trees to see lots of red lights flashing, and then run to catch up with my guys who are now at the edge of the orchard and into the cornfield.
"What's all that," Skip says, looking back to where the chopper is circling the farmyard, a million or more candlepower light is sweeping the area from the chopper, a loud speaker shouting instructions in Russian.
"That's the Russian army or at least the local cops. Natele called them both and ratted out one of their most wanted, Alexei Azarin."
"Good fucking deal," Skip manages. I can see he's in pain, but he's moving quickly behind Pax and Fletch.
I'm covering our six and look back to see the barn go up in a shower of splintering wood and smoke. Pax's charge has done its work.
That has to make the army or the cops a little nervous, then I hear lots of automatic fire. There's a hell of a battle going on at our rear, and I'm glad we're here and not in the middle of it.
Now, it's get to the Ski Doos and get across several kilometers of open water before the Russian army wonders who the hell is going sixty miles an hour away from where one of their most wanted has just been hiding out...a spot that's now a scene of multiple gun shots and explosions, and a few bodies laying around.
27
We slip the knots on the anchors and cut the lines we've tied off to brush lining the shore. With Skip on behind me and with Pax manning the RPG at our rear. Fletch leads out. We idle away from shore, get a hundred yards off, then rev the Ski Doo's up to about twenty miles an hour. I see no reason to attract any more attention than necessary.
I can drive the Ski Doo with one hand and do so while I speed dial Natele. "Is the chopper anywhere close?"
"He flew Hank to Tallinn to the emergency room there. He's likely on his way back by now."
"Can you divert him back to the dacha. Skip will need some medical attention, x-rays and the whole works and we're not home free yet. We'll be in Russia for another five or ten minutes."
"You don't really think the Russians give a damn if you're over the border or not?" She asks, with a bit of a laugh.
"Good point. Call Holland and see if you can get him in the neighborhood."
"Got it, be careful," she says, as if we can do a damn thing other than haul ass for the Estonian shoreline.
We're not a mile offshore before I see the running lights of an approaching craft, then see that it has a bow-mounted spotlight and it's sweeping the surface. I can't imagine who they might be looking for. I kick it in the ass and in seconds the speedometer says eighty kilometers.
And we may have made a mistake kicking up high rooster-tails, as the craft with the spotlight is turning our way, and he, too, is kicking it in the ass.
And to my surprise, he's gaining on us.
In moments he's overtaken us and is sweeping around our bow and his wake rocks us badly. Then the night lights up with a heavy machine gun cutting the air overhead. I slow as he makes a wide turn and Pax comes up along side and yells.
"Let him close on us and give me a shot." He's unlimbering the RPG from where it's tied on the side of his Ski Doo.
"Stay behind me until he gets in range," I yell.
Fletch has moved fifty yards ahead. No sense in all of us going down in one sweep of automatic fire.
The craft, which I've now made as a cigarette speed boat, maybe thirty feet, has cut its engines back and is slowing. It's an open bow style and a large machine gun, probably a .50 cal, is mounted on the bow. When he reaches about a hundred yards, a loud speaker rolls a voice across the water and we're washed by a powerful spotlight.
"Unless you have her hidden somewhere, you have not brought the girl. Did you bring my money? Maybe I will not blow you out of the water if you have my money."
I yell as loudly as I know how. "I got a hundred grand for you."
"I'll take it, and your men, and you vill go get the girl and the trade is still on."
"You're holding all the cards," I yell, and put my hands up, as does skip on the rear. Fletch, on the other hand, guns it, which attracts Azarin's attention and that of the gunner in the bow, who swings the .50 away from us to get a bead on him. The cigarette is idling down and drifting closer and closer with every second.
When the gunner swings the muzzle, Pax brings the RPG up and pulls one off at what can't be more than sixty yards. Both Skip and I hit the deck as low as possible as Pax fires over our heads.
With the still rocking Ski Doo Pax's shot is too low and I think it's going to explode well short of the boat, but to my surprise the rocket ricochets off the water and heads for midships.
I can see Azarin, who's driving the boat, and he shoves the throttle full forward, but he's an instant too late and the rocket hits the aft end of the boat, spinning it Dervish like. It stops, settles in the water, and for a moment I'm surprised it doesn't seem to be sinking...then it explodes.
The damn thing must run on jet fuel, as saying it explodes is one great understatement. The shock knocks both Skip and I off the Ski Doo into the water. I glance over and see Pax, too, who is trying to recover and grasping his craft as he treads water.
In seconds, F
letch is alongside. "Good shot," he says as Pax is trying to get back on his Ski Doo and I'm helping Skip, who's working one handed.
"Thanks Monkey Man?" Pax says as Fletch looks a little put out.
"Yeah, that's your new handle."
"I don't give a damn what you call me, but let’s have the conversation somewhere other than Russia."
I get back on the Ski Doo first, leaving Skip in the water, but then do manage to get him up. Before we make the Estonian shoreline, the Jet Ranger is circling us, and high above I see the lights of a sixty foot wingspan craft making wide turns. I call Natele and ask her to advise Holland that his services won't be needed, just as we idle up onshore and see the Jet Ranger in the distance, putting down in a field near the dacha.
"Anybody for a beer?" I ask, as we move to the waiting chopper.
28
The Jet Ranger sets down in the pasture on the other side of Tartu, just long enough to pick up Natele, as Skip has convinced us he want's nothing to do with anyone other than a good old American military doc, so we keep moving to Lask in Poland where there's at least a corpsman. Natele informs us Hank has been flown there and is waiting for us.
All three girls are back in the states, as is General Holland. We set down at Lask and have a hot meal while Skip is being fitted for a brace. Natele disappears for a while. She returns while we're knocking down some strawberry shortcake, and she's a little long in the face.
"The bad news first," I say as she pours herself a cup of coffee and joins Pax, Fletch and me at the table.
"I don't know how to say this, but you guys are not getting a government ride back to the states."
"Nothing fucking surprises me," I say, then add, "on whose orders?"
"The State Department has taken over this whole matter and has washed their hands of you guys. They say the girl escaped on her own so they owe you nothing."
"And the other two girls?" I ask.