Bering Strait

by F X Holden

  “Very well.” Devlin hit ‘send’, then grabbed her briefcase.

  The driver reached over and handed her his black knee-length coat, “Take this ma’am.”

  She smiled at him, “Thanks David, I’ll be warm enough.”

  “No ma’am, to cover your clothes. This isn’t a neighborhood you want to be seen walking around in a red power suit.”

  “You warm enough mate?” Bunny asked Bondarev. “Sitting comfortably?”

  “Enough Lieutenant,” Rodriguez said. She’d tied up Bondarev and attended to O’Hare’s wounded right hand. The pistol round had smacked into the hand wrapped around the grip of her rifle, passing between the metacarpal bones in the middle of the back of her hand and spinning the rifle out of her hand. In the heat of the firefight she’d been able to grab the rifle again and get her finger into the trigger guard but as every minute passed the torn muscles in the hand had stiffened and Rodriguez had almost to pry the hand off the gun to be able to sterilize and dress the wound. She probably needed stitches to close the entry and exit wounds on both sides of her palm but that would have to wait. Of course, Bunny had looked more pissed off than wounded as Rodriguez had given her a local anesthetic jab.

  When she was done fixing up Bunny, they had dragged the bodies of the dead Spetsnaz troopers into a storeroom leading off the tool room that was their ‘keep’. Bunny had searched Bondarev and confiscated a small first aid kit, survival blanket, map and satellite telephone from the pockets of his flight suit.

  Rodriguez pointed her gun at him, “How many men do you have up top?”

  “Enough that you would run out of bullets before I ran out of men,” Bondarev told her.

  “The last bullet would be for you, tough guy,” Bunny said. Bondarev looked at the young pilot. She still had her rifle slung over her shoulder, her wounded hand – trigger finger sticking out of the bloodied bandage – on the scarred grip. He had little doubt she was speaking the truth.

  “You have no way out of here,” Bondarev said to the senior officer. “You fought a good war. But your war is over. You can’t hold me hostage forever. Let me contact my men, I will guarantee you are treated according to the conventions for prisoners of war.”

  O’Hare laughed bitterly. “Because you are so respectful of conventions,” she snarled. “Like the convention against the use of massive ordnance air blast weapons, like the convention against the use of cluster munitions, oh and the convention against invading foreign countries? How about that one?”

  Bondarev ignored her, kept his eyes fixed on her superior, “The Spetsnaz overhead would have protocols if contact is lost with their recon squad down here. They would be preparing, right now, to react to this situation. You were lucky once, you won’t be lucky again. And I don’t want to get killed in the crossfire.”

  Rodriguez knew that what he was saying held a lot of truth. They had dealt with the first Russian force that had entered the Rock, but what about the next, and the one after that? She and O’Hare had not expected to survive the Russian assault, they certainly hadn’t expected to find themselves back in control, and with a Russian air force Major-General as their hostage as well. She had no doubt the troops topside were preparing a plan to come in and find out what had happened to their comrades. And when they came, they would come in hard and hot. It would not be a recon force they sent.

  The only option Rodriguez saw was to trade this Major-General for their own safety. Some kind of mutual swap that might get them off the damn Rock.

  It was as though O’Hare could read her mind. She looked sharply at Rodriguez, “Ma’am are you thinking what I…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. They had emptied the Russian’s pockets and Bondarev’s telephone was in a bag at her feet. It started ringing.

  “The telephone is still switched on, and receiving,” HOLMES said. “Would you like me to call again?”

  “Yes please,” Devlin said. She had arrived at the Embassy, got herself waved through by several nervous Marines, to find Williams standing at the gates.

  “Carl,” she had said. “Whatever this is, will have to wait. I have a million…”

  “HOLMES says the Russians are scrambling two TU-162 strategic nuclear bombers from Vladivostok,” he said. “Their target is inside Alaska. Don’t ask me how he knows. They’ll be airborne in five minutes!”

  Devlin had put her hands behind her head and looked up at the leaden grey skies. The world had gone mad. “Carl, what do you want me to do about that? If HOLMES knows, then NORAD already knows too, or they soon will. They’ll probably try to intercept them.”

  “There is not a single US aircraft that can get there in time!” Carl had said urgently. “Russia has air superiority over the Alaska theatre.”

  Her head was spinning. She had nearly yelled at him, “So? So what Carl?!”

  “Call Bondarev again,” he’d said. “Appeal to him. Maybe he can stop the bombers. He’s operational commander in the Russian Operations Area”

  “Carl, you heard him, he hung up on me. His fighters are probably escorting those bombers.”

  “Then he’s in the perfect position to shoot them down. Fenner authorizing a nuclear test over the North Pacific was dumb, but Russia ordering a nuclear attack on a target in Alaska in response is totally insane. There’s a chance he doesn’t know or he doesn’t support it.” He looked at her like a man trying to talk a suicidal jumper off a rooftop, and that was more or less how she felt. “It’s a chance Devlin!”

  Five minutes later she was standing in his office once again, listening to a telephone ring somewhere in the Arctic.

  “Hello?” a voice replied. It was not Bondarev. It was a woman. “Who is this?” the woman at the other end demanded brusquely. Speaking English?

  “Uh, this is Ambassador Devlin McCarthy, of the US Embassy in Moscow,” Devlin replied, unable to keep the confusion out of her voice. “I am trying to get in contact with Major-General Yevgeny Bondarev of the …”

  “Uh huh. You’re the US Ambassador in Moscow?” the woman asked in an Australian accent. “And I’m Nicole Kidman. What do you want with the Major-General?”

  Australian? What the… “I need to speak with him urgently on State business,” Devlin said. “Can you please connect me?”

  “He’s a little tied up right now…” the woman said. Then Devlin heard a muffled conversation and a new voice came on the line.

  “This is Lieutenant Commander Alicia Rodriguez of the US Navy,” the voice said. “Ambassador, you need to find a way to authenticate yourself before I can even begin to believe you are who you are.”

  McCarthy frowned, an American navy officer on Bondarev’s telephone? This was getting weirder and weirder. Devlin looked helplessly at Williams sitting across the desk from her.

  He took a breath, put his hand on Devlin’s to calm her, then spoke in a loud voice. “Commander Rodriguez, this is Carl Williams of the NSA. Please stay on the line and listen carefully. HOLMES, can you please pull up the service record of US Navy Lieutenant Commander Alicia Rodriguez and put it on my screen?”

  “Yes Carl. I have three possible candidates, putting the best match on screen now.”

  Williams scanned the screen quickly. “Commander, your current assignment is to a unit called NCTAMS-A4 on Little Diomede Island, a CNAF black facility that is classified Top Secret Warling Orcon, your previous assignment was as mini-boss about the USS Trump and uh let’s see … sixteen years ago you were docked two weeks’ pay for returning late from a shore leave in Hawaii.”

  The silence at the other end didn’t last long, “Put the Ambassador back on.”

  Devlin leaned over the desk, “Lieutenant Commander, McCarthy here. I need to speak with Major-General Bondarev urgently, is he with you?”

  “Yes ma’am, but we are in a difficult situation here, we…”

  “Commander!” Devlin barked. “Get off this damn phone and put Bondarev on, now!”

  Rodriguez held the phone away from her ea
r as the woman on the other end shouted, and then put it on speakerphone, moving it closer to Bondarev, “Ambassador Devlin McCarthy, for you.”

  Bondarev frowned; he had no real choice but to listen. “Major-General Bondarev here. Is this about my daughter again?”

  “No. Major-General, are you aware the US is about to conduct a nuclear weapons test in the North Pacific Ocean?”

  Bondarev didn’t react. “No, I am not. And I have no reason to believe you.”

  “It was announced about 30 minutes ago on worldwide media. But if you aren’t aware, you may also not be aware that your air force has scrambled two Tu-162 strategic bombers and they are én-route to conduct an attack on Alaska, as we speak?”

  Now Bondarev reacted. He paled, visibly. “I do not believe you.”

  “I am not asking you to,” the Ambassador said. “But I am asking you to stop them somehow if it is true. For the sake of your daughter. For the sake of the world.”

  Bondarev thought quickly, “Will the US stop its nuclear test?”

  “I can’t promise that,” Devlin said. “That is the honest truth. It isn’t in my power.”

  “Assuming you are telling the truth - you are about to detonate a nuclear weapon, but you want me to stop our response to your attack?” he said, incredulously.

  “We are about to conduct a demonstration out at sea,” she said. “Your bombers are about to respond by attacking innocent people in a sovereign state. Only a monster could see that as a proportionate response and I can’t believe my daughter would have chosen a monster to be the father of her child!”

  Bondarev looked up at the faces of his American captors. They seemed as shocked as he felt. The appeal to his fatherly instincts had not moved him. But the near inevitability of all out nuclear war following a Russian tactical nuclear strike... “How much time do we have?”

  “HOLMES?” Devlin asked.

  “23 minutes to release point, Ambassador,” Bondarev heard an English voice intone.

  To Rodriguez he said, urgently, “I am going to give you a number. Hang up this line, and then call the number as I read it to you.”

  “Ambassador?” Rodriguez asked.

  “Do as he says Lieutenant Commander,” Devlin said. “You heard what’s at stake. Good luck Major-General Bondarev.”

  “I promise nothing,” Bondarev said. As the call was disconnected he turned to Rodriguez, “Double 0, seven, nine zero two, four eight two, eight four one, four zero.”

  Before she hit the connect button, the American hesitated, “How do I know you aren’t just calling those troops up above?”

  “You don’t,” Bondarev told her. “But you are welcome to listen, if you speak Russian.” He waited.

  She connected him.

  At Savoonga airfield it was one of Tomas Arsharvin’s staff who noticed his telephone ringing. The sound went unnoticed among the clamor of voices in the air field’s operations room until the telephone buzzed itself off Arsharvin’s desk and onto the floor. One of his people picked it up and handed it to him. When he saw who it was, he took the phone and went out into the corridor to find an empty room.

  He called back immediately.

  “Yevgeny!” he said. “They said you’d been shot down! Why are you…”

  “I was,” Bondarev replied. “Listen, Tomas…”

  “Yevgeny, it’s crazy here. You lost nearly a full squadron up there! Sukhois, Migs… there is a total command vacuum with you gone. Akinfeev is missing too, so Captain Komarov is technically in command. Komarov! He…”

  “Tomas, shut up!” Bondarev said. “Is it true the Americans plan to set off a nuclear weapon in the North Pacific? Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” Arsharvin said. “Their president announced it. The test takes place in twenty minutes in the sea off the Kurils if they keep their word.”

  “And we are planning to reply with a nuclear attack on Alaska?”

  Arsharvin blinked, how could Bondarev possibly know? Where was he? “Yes. On Anchorage. Potemkin authorized the attack. Ilyushins of the 21st Guards will be on station in about fifteen minutes. We have no way of knowing the American missile isn’t aimed at a mainland target. If the Americans do carry out their nuclear launch, the bombers will get the final release codes. The minute we confirm target destruction, our airborne troops and Spetsnaz will move on Nome. It is madness.”

  “Potemkin can’t authorize a nuclear attack,” Bondarev said.

  “No, but Defense Minister Burkhin and Potemkin together can. There’s some sort of shit going down in the Kremlin Yevgeny. My people tell me President Navalny hasn’t been seen or heard from since the American President went on air, and Foreign Minister Kelnikov is under security service guard.”

  Bondarev had a sudden flashback to his conversation with Potemkin, about the difference between duty and loyalty. He’d had a feeling Potemkin was feeling him out about something more than just loyalty to his new commander. Now he saw what it was! And with that same realization, came the certainty of where his duty lay. Bondarev’s voice was cold, and calm. “It’s a coup Tomas. This whole thing, sinking the Olympic Tsar, the attack on Alaska, it’s about more than just water resources. I knew something was wrong. It stank a mile away.”

  Arsharvin thought hard, “But … they’re going to nuke an American city? Why?”

  “Think it through Tomas!” Bondarev’s voice was urgent. “The Americans set off their nuke, the General Staff demand a nuclear response, but President Navalny refuses, Kelnikov refuses. Of course they do! Burkhin has his excuse to take Navalny out and other Generals will back him. I guarantee as soon as our nukes hit, Burkhin will be consolidating power and negotiating a cease-fire. This is not just an attack on Alaska, it is a State coup.”

  “The Americans will not allow a nuclear attack on Anchorage to go unanswered,” Arsharvin argued. “There will be all-out nuclear war.”

  “The coup plotters are gambling it won’t,” Bondarev said. “The Americans let us take Saint Lawrence. They gave up the airspace over Alaska. If they really wanted to make a point, they could have nuked the Baltic Fleet base in Kaliningrad, but instead, they’re going to vaporize a few square miles of seawater and fish. The political leaders of the US have become piss-weak and Burkhin is betting they’ll take his cease-fire and give him Alaska. He gets the Presidency, and Russia gets its fresh water. He’s suddenly President and a national hero.”

  Arsharvin pulled air through his teeth. “I see it now,” he said. Arsharvin had no love for President Navalny or Foreign Minister Kelnikov and their faction of West-leaning, pro-democracy liberals. But neither did he want to bet his future on an insane roll of the dice by some power-crazed madmen in Moscow. “What the hell can we do Yevgeny?”

  “We fight for the Rodina, my friend, not for Burkhin and his cronies. Get ready to call in every favor everyone ever owed you,” Bondarev told him. “And back me when the time comes, alright?”

  “You know I will,” Arsharvin said. The line went dead. What had he just done? He had either agreed to be a patriot, or a traitor. And he wouldn't know how his country would judge him until tomorrow dawned. If there even was a tomorrow.

  Private Zubkhov’s dilemma was how to climb the ladder to the top of the water tank. But escape was so close now he could taste it. All he had to do was get that radio, call his buddy, and he could get off this pile of bird dung and ice. Get himself patched up on the mainland. A drunken argument between hunters, that would be his story. OK, it was a bit weak. He’d work on it while he was on the boat. He hefted the pistol in his left hand. As he remembered the sight of the American soldier jogging away again, he regretted that he hadn’t at least tried to take the shot. But he probably would have missed - nothing had gone to plan since Gambell, nothing at all.

  As he stood at the bottom of the ladder, working out how he was going to get up there with only one arm and a bad leg, he heard a voice inside the water tank.

  What?

  Despite the pain, he dropped into a cro
uch and lifted his pistol.

  “White Bear, can you hear me?” Perri heard a voice saying. “Come in White Bear.”

  The voice seemed a long way away, but then he was listening to it through a curtain of pain. All he could think about was how thirsty he was. He’d tried uncurling a little, to see if he could reach any water, but the smallest movement had caused his side to feel like it was going to rip open, so he’d clenched himself even tighter.

  “White Bear, come in please. Perri, let me hear your voice son.”

  Perri cracked his eyes open. As his vision focused, he saw that Dave had left the radio switched on and the handset right in front of his face. It cost him, but he reached up for the handset and pulled it closer, closing his thumb on the transmitter button. “White Bear,” he whispered with a dry mouth. Then slightly louder, “This is White Bear.”

  “Hey, good to hear your voice son,” the Mountie said. “How are you feeling?”

  Perri thought about it. “Not so good Sarge.” Perri couldn’t remember, had Dave told him what had happened? It was too much to tell, so Perri just went straight to the bottom line. “I got shot.”

  “I know. But it may not be as bad as it feels,” the Canadian told him. “You can pull through this, alright?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You are one tough sonofabitch, you know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your friend is going to bring help. You just have to hang on. Can you do that for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll do more than try. You need to stay alive kid. Thanks to you boys we know everything Ivan has been doing on that island of yours. What, who, how many, where and when. They’re going to want to pin a medal on you one day.”