Anvil

by Dirk Patton

  “One final thing, sir. My wife. Colonel Blanchard has assured me he will find and help her. I would like your word that you personally will make sure everything that can be done for her will be.”

  “You have my word, Major,” he answered quickly. “And thank you for what you’re doing.”

  “Don’t thank me, sir. Just help my wife.”

  “Godspeed, Major,” Packard said, a moment later cutting the connection.

  I handed the phone back to Blanchard, looking around the area, not really knowing what to do next. Out of old habit, my hand strayed to my breast pocket, looking for a pack of cigarettes that I knew wasn’t there. Blanchard smiled, reaching into a cargo pocket and pulling out a crumpled pack and battered Zippo, handing them to me.

  “Got in the habit of carrying them for Colonel Crawford,” he explained when I gave him a questioning look.

  “So how do we do this?” I asked, lighting a smoke and inhaling deeply.

  “I’ve already been contacted by the Russians. They have a helicopter standing by, waiting for my call.”

  I nodded, puffing away on the cigarette. Glancing at my watch I saw there was twenty-three minutes left to the deadline.

  “Call them,” I said. “Tell them to be here in twenty-three minutes. Can I borrow your phone? I’ve got something to take care of first.”

  Blanchard nodded and waived his aide over. The Captain ran up and handed over a radio handset.

  I walked a few yards away and made the call. Lieutenant Hunt quickly connected me to the Australian phone exchange and I listened to half a dozen rings before a breathless Lucas answered. Soft music was playing in the background. Not the kind of music I knew he would choose to listen to.

  “I didn’t catch you with your pants down, did I?” I asked.

  “Bloody hell you damn wanker! You have the worst timing,” he laughed, and I couldn’t help but laugh with my friend.

  “Sorry,” I said, even though I really wasn’t. “I don’t have much time, so listen close. OK?”

  I talked for five minutes. Told him everything I could. Told him that Rachel and Irina would be arriving sometime in the near future. Then told him where I was going.

  “Are you fucking daft?” He exploded when I explained about the surrender. “You know what they’ll do to you?”

  “Yes,” I said, tired of explaining my decision to people.

  We talked for another minute, Lucas promising to take in the two women when they arrived. He made a couple of other promises I hoped he could keep, then we said our good byes and I hung up.

  Returning Blanchard’s phone, I lit another cigarette and checked my watch. Seven minutes. Walking over to the Colonel’s Hummer, I began taking off my weapons and placing them on the back seat. After most of a minute, I was unarmed. Taking my vest off, I placed it on top of the pile of knives, firearms and spare magazines.

  Turning back to Colonel Blanchard, I pried the gold wedding band off my left hand and held it out towards him.

  “When she’s better, give her this,” I said.

  He nodded, taking the ring and slipping it onto the chain around his neck that held his dog tags. After that, we stood there in silence, waiting for the Russians to arrive. I smoked the rest of the cigarette, lighting another from the butt of the first.

  The Captain was monitoring the radio with a headset and from the corner of my eye I saw him step forward and speak softly in Blanchard’s ear. The Colonel nodded, but didn’t say anything to me. Moments later, right on time, I heard the sound of multiple rotors approaching.

  Looking up, I saw a large Hind Mi-24 approaching, escorted by four Apaches. It came in low and slow, touching down on the tarmac a hundred yards away from where we stood. The troop compartment door opened and two men stepped out of the aircraft.

  “Sir, it’s been an honor serving with you,” I said, turning to Colonel Blanchard and extending my hand.

  “The honor is mine,” he responded, snapping to attention and raising his right hand in a salute.

  After a moment, I too came to attention and returned his gesture of respect. Taking a deep breath, I walked across the tarmac and up to the two Russians. Both were Spetsnaz, one an officer, the other a senior Sergeant.

  “I am Major John Chase, United States Army.”

  54

  Igor lay on his stomach, mostly concealed behind the thick trunk of a fallen cedar tree. Only his rifle, head and part of an arm were visible in the dappled, early morning light. Next to him, Dog lay with his eyes and ears above the cover. Both of them intently watched a spot in the brush on the far side of a broad meadow.

  They had tracked a large buck, picking up its trail before dawn. Now, it was busily scraping its antlers against the bark of a Hemlock tree. Igor had a shot, but it was a low percentage one because of the brush that mostly concealed the deer. He was waiting, hoping it would move into the open and he didn’t have to continue tracking it.

  The terrain and foliage on the western slopes of Washington State’s Cascade Mountains reminded him of central Russia’s Ural Mountains. He had hunted there with his grandfather many times, learning the skills and patience that would serve him well in the Spetsnaz. But he was tired of tracking this damn beast. They were miles from home, and had a long walk back ahead of them.

  A gentle breeze was blowing in their faces, Dog’s nose twitching as he picked up the scent of their prey. Both were hungry, having quickly consumed the meager rations Igor had with him. There had been a few cans of food left in the pantry of the house they had claimed as their own. Igor had scavenged in several neighboring homes, finding nothing, and they needed the meat the deer would provide.

  Igor had considered walking in to town to look for food supplies, but had opted to go hunting instead. He preferred fresh to what would be available in cans. As Dog healed, high protein, red meat was what his body needed as much as anything.

  The buck finally stopped scraping its antlers, pausing to look around and test the air. Unable to scent the man and dog that were downwind, it slowly moved towards the open meadow. From the corner of his eye, Igor saw Dog tense as the large animal came into full view. He muttered a calming word in Russian, then repeated it in English. Dog went still and silent.

  Finally, the big animal was in full view and Igor marveled at its size. There was enough meat there to feed both of them for weeks. The weather was cold, snow on the ground. He’d be able to butcher the animal and hang much of it high in a tree where it would freeze and be preserved until they were ready to eat it.

  Carefully sighting in with his suppressed AKMS rifle, Igor pulled the trigger. His shot was true, the buck’s spine severed along its powerful neck by the heavy bullet. The deer’s legs buckled and it dropped in its tracks.

  “Let’s go,” Igor said to Dog in English.

  Dog sprang over the fallen tree, turning and waiting for the slower human. Smiling, Igor stood and stepped into the meadow. Together, they crossed the open area, stopping and looking down at the animal. It was still alive, paralyzed from the neck down. Igor quickly set about tying a long rope to its back legs so he could hoist it into a tree and drain the blood.

  “Say “thank you”,” Igor said to Dog as he worked. “Because of him, we eat and live.”

  Igor spoke haltingly. During his short time with Colonel Crawford he’d begun to learn English. Once he and Dog had settled in to the home, he’d found a small solar charger and used it to juice up an iPad that had been laying on the kitchen floor.

  Once it was powered, he’d looked through and found a small collection of movies. He watched these over and over, working hard to understand the dialogue and improve his rudimentary command of the language. His favorite movie was a western starring John Wayne. It was a story about an estranged husband and father who returned home when his grandson was kidnapped and held for ransom. The kidnappers had gotten what they deserved. Igor thought John Wayne would have made a fine Russian.

  With the deer hanging head down from a
thick tree branch, Igor slit open the major arteries in its neck and sat down to wait for the animal’s heart to pump out most of its blood. Gravity would drain what was left after it expired. He would have to butcher the animal here as it weighed several hundred pounds and he was on foot.

  As the hot blood ran, steaming when it came in contact with the snow covered ground, he set about collecting wood for a fire. A freshly cut deer steak would go on a spit over the fire for him. Dog would take his raw, but would have to wait until Igor’s meal was ready.

  “Leave that,” he said when he noticed Dog nosing towards the growing stain where the blood was soaking into the ground.

  Dog looked at him, snorted and grudgingly walked away. He came to sit next to Igor as the Russian gently blew on the fire he had just lit. As the flames grew, he straightened up and ruffled Dog’s ears, telling him he was a good boy, first in Russian, then in English. Dog’s tail swished in the snow briefly before his head snapped around and he emitted a low growl.

  Igor snatched up his rifle and aimed in the direction Dog was looking. At first he saw nothing, then the brush on the far side of the meadow shook and two infected males appeared. Both were walking with their heads tilted back, following the scent of fresh blood.

  Lowering his rifle, Igor cursed in Russian and climbed to his feet. Telling Dog to stay, he strode to meet them with a large knife gripped tightly in his right hand. It only took him a moment to dispatch both males. Returning to where Dog waited, he rinsed the blade with water from his canteen before thrusting it into the fire to sterilize it.

  Not leaving it in long enough for the steel to be damaged by the heat, he stood and carved two large pieces of meat off the deer’s flank. Skewering one with a thin, green branch, he placed it over the flames. The second one went onto the snow in front of Dog.

  Igor didn’t have to tell him to leave it alone, but Dog’s attention never wavered from the cut of fresh steak. As he sat watching it, a long rope of drool appeared from each corner of his mouth, stretching to the ground between his paws. Soon Igor’s steak was sizzling, the flames popping as fat dripped into them. Turning it several times, Igor finally lifted the spit and sat back to enjoy his meal. Before he took his first bite, he looked at Dog.

  “Eat,” he said.

  Dog lunged, grabbing the food in his mouth and stretching out to hold it with his paws as he tore off chunks of raw flesh. Igor smiled and began devouring his.

  Several hours later they were ready to start the long trek home. The deer had been butchered, close to a hundred pounds of meat neatly secured in plastic bags in Igor’s pack. The rest of the animal had been lifted high into the tree with the rope, hopefully out of reach of any scavengers. The carcass had cooled and he knew it would be frozen solid by the next morning.

  They stopped once to share some more meat that Igor had cooked before extinguishing the fire. Dog sat close, gently taking bite sized chunks from Igor’s hand. They didn’t encounter any more infected and arrived at the perimeter of their home’s property just as the sun was brushing the western horizon.

  Igor paused inside the heavy trees, slowly performing a visual inspection of the trip wires he had rigged to guard the area. None of them appeared to have been disturbed, and Dog remained quiet. After satisfying himself that there were no infected, or worse, laying in wait, Igor emerged into the open with Dog at his side.

  He carefully entered their adopted house, rifle at the ready and paying close attention to Dog. Even though he didn’t growl or act like there was any danger inside, Igor still took the time to carefully clear every square foot. Dog followed, giving him a look when he didn’t find anything. A look that said Igor was stupid for not trusting him.

  Relaxing, Igor shed his pack in the large kitchen. He glanced at a large window set in the wall over the kitchen sink. On its sill was a satellite phone Colonel Crawford had convinced the SEALs to leave with him when they parted ways. He didn’t understand why, as there was no one for him to call and no one who would want to call him. But, he’d accepted it and kept it powered with the same solar charger he used for the iPad.

  For some reason he’d left it turned on, even finding a place for it in the house where it could pick up a signal from an orbiting satellite. He hadn’t touched it, other than to charge it, since he’d placed it in the south facing window. Now, he slowly stepped over and tentatively picked up the handset. A small red light on the top edge was flashing.

  When he turned on the screen, it told him he had a new text message. He had to read the words several times to understand the English, then struggled to find out how to view the text. Figuring it out, he frowned when it was nothing more than a phone number. Looking at the screen until it shut off from inactivity, he grunted and placed the phone back in the window.

  As Igor worked to secure the butchered meat high in a tree in the expansive backyard, he thought about the text. Was it really for him? Who knew he had this phone? Maybe it was Colonel Crawford? There wasn’t anyone other than the Colonel or the two SEALs that knew he had the device, and no one other than the Colonel would want to speak with him.

  Still trying to decide if he wanted to call the number, Igor finished his work. Satisfied the food would be safe, he spent several minutes throwing a ball for Dog before it was too dark. Going inside, he cleaned up, washing the deer’s blood from his body. Clean and wearing fresh clothing, he picked up the phone and took a seat in the luxurious living room.

  Dog lay down next to the overstuffed leather chair Igor settled in, sighing his contentment with a full belly and time spent playing. Igor activated the phone, stared at it a moment longer then pressed a button to dial the displayed number. It only rang twice before it was answered.

  “Hello?” A male voice spoke in oddly accented English.

  Igor didn’t respond. He didn’t know any men who spoke English with an accent he was unfamiliar with. He was about to disconnect when the voice spoke again.

  “Is this Igor? I’m sorry, I don’t know your last name. Don’t hang up. My name is Lucas Martin. I’m a friend of Major Chase.”

  “Da. I am Igor,” he grumbled into the phone after hearing the Major’s name.

  Lucas talked for several minutes. He relayed what had happened to the Major and the rest of the group after Igor had parted ways with them. Sadness descended over Igor when he learned of the death of Colonel Crawford. Then anger replaced it as he was told the rest of the story.

  He asked a few questions in his broken English, not liking the answers he received. After several more minutes, he ended the call without bothering to say good bye.

  He sat in the chair, staring straight ahead for a long time. Arriving at a decision, he looked down. Dog was watching him, sitting up and putting his chin in Igor’s lap when they made eye contact.

  “John is in trouble. We go to Mother Russia,” he said to Dog, gently rubbing his ears.

  55

  The mood in the Navy’s cyber warfare center was somber. Admiral Packard had addressed the staff after Major Chase surrendered to the Russians. Shocked and horrified looks quickly spread across the room as he explained the turn of events.

  Jessica, tears rolling down her face, lunged at her terminal and brought up a satellite image of the airfield in Idaho. The Russian helicopter carrying the Major had already departed, but she was able to locate it quickly. It was still being escorted by Apaches, the American attack helicopters peeling away when they reached fifty miles from the exchange point.

  The system automatically tracked the Hind, maintaining visual surveillance as it flew west. When it landed at the airport in Bend, Oregon, she zoomed and they watched as the Major, in shackles, was escorted to a long range Anotonov jet. Within minutes of the door closing behind him, the large aircraft took off and turned north, following a flight path across the pole that would terminate in Moscow.

  The jet had taken off three hours ago on its eleven-hour journey to the other side of the world. Fighting her emotions, Jessica had kept wo
rking furiously. The initial error that had caused the delay in bringing the Thor System online was her fault, which meant the Major surrendering to the Russians was her fault.

  Guilt gnawed at her, despite that fact that there was no way she could have known about the hidden file. It was a security measure, intentionally housed on a different server with a name so generic as to be invisible. Without it, the software automatically corrupted itself during the installation process. It was clever, and she was still kicking herself for not having thought to check first.

  At least she’d had the foresight to make copies of every file, and when she realized her mistake was able to erase the bad data and start fresh. If only… She stopped herself. All that mattered now was getting the system operational. She was not going to allow the Major’s sacrifice to be in vain.

  The software install was finally complete. Jessica checked several things, nodding in satisfaction when they appeared functional. Now, all that was left was to set up the communications protocols so the software could talk through the satellite relays in Hawaii. That took another fifteen minutes as her fingers flew across the keys, then five minutes to double check her work.

  When everything showed green, Jessica typed a command that would initiate the system. With a muttered prayer, she pressed the “enter” key. The screen remained black, nothing other than a blinking cursor showing for several long seconds. Then it refreshed.

  THOR SYSTEM ONLINE

  “Yes!”

  Jessica jumped up from her seat, looking around. She was momentarily surprised to see half a dozen people, including Lieutenant Hunt and Admiral Packard, standing behind her chair. They were all smiling at her.

  “Sorry, sir,” she said, unable to stop smiling.

  “No apology necessary, Petty Officer,” Packard said. “How soon can you be ready to launch?”

  Jessica spun back to her station and dropped into the chair. Her fingers were flying again as she navigated deeper into the system. In less than a minute she was in the targeting system, a cursor waiting for her to enter coordinates. Admiral Packard handed her a piece of paper with three sets of coordinates printed on it.