The Bear

by Bob Thomas

  “I know, Nate. I’ve got one coming up from the coast. It’ll be there in a day.”

  “It can’t come fast enough.” General Nathan Dulles slumped into his chair, slamming his cigar out in the ashtray. “And the crews too, Al. They need to stand down.”

  “It’s coming, Nate. Anything else on the table?”

  “Nothing so far. It’s been quiet up here. Almost too quiet.”

  “Thanks. Keep me posted. You’ll have the E-3 in a day.”

  General Dulles thumbed the off button and plopped the receiver back down into its base. He picked up the cigar stub and shoved it in his mouth. He was tired too. He looked up as an airman knocked on his door.

  “Sir, Lookdown shows a huge sortie coming over the pole.”

  “How many?”

  “We don’t have an exact count yet sir, but it’s more than just a few.”

  Dulles picked up the phone again and punched two numbers.

  “This is Diamond Command. Launch both interceptor flights. Put them on the E-3 on the pole.” Dulles listened for a second before exploding. “I don’t give a damn if they just got back. Put ‘em back up again!” Dulles tossed the phone back onto his desk. He hated cordless phones. You couldn’t slam them down onto a receiver. He was out of his chair and blew past the airman still standing there, storming into the command center within minutes.

  “What the hell is going on now?” Dulles nearly screamed.

  “Large sortie coming over the pole. E-3 is sending back its intel, plus what we can see.” The airman remembered his rebuke from earlier and dropped the ‘sir’.

  “Airman, how come every time I come in here there’s bad news when you’re around?”

  “Sorry General.”

  Dulles walked up behind him and rested his hand on the airman’s shoulder.

  “Thanks for the new chair, General.”

  “You’re welcome,” Dulles said as he looked over the array of screens. “Let’s see what’s going on here.”

  “This is what the Sentry sees right now, General.” The airman pointed to the screen on his left. “This is what we see.”

  “When will they sync?”

  “They might not, at least with the Sentry that far away.”

  “He’s got two escorts?”

  “F-22’s,” the airman said as he nodded.

  “Pull them back. They can’t be the only thing in the way.” Dulles looked at the blips moving north on the other screen. “We need them up there but not too close. He’s our best eye on things. How long before they get there?”

  “Less than twenty.”

  “Damn.” Dulles turned, pushing himself off the airman’s chair. “Too long.”

  “How close are they?”

  “Close, for coming over the pole, General. They usually don’t get that far in unless they’re coming from the west.”

  “That’s because it’s too far. It eats up fuel.”

  “Couldn’t they just refuel, General?”

  “Son,” Dulles said as he turned back to the display, “what you need to remember up here at the top of the world is, cold makes everything more difficult. Everything breaks faster. Nothing works like it’s supposed to.”

  “Then why send them over the pole in the first place?”

  “Just to show us they can.” Dulles crossed his arms and waited. It was all he could do. The room was so quiet he could hear the quartz movement of his watch. “Let’s get busy people.” Dulles turned, announcing his displeasure. Everyone was just standing around doing the same thing he was; waiting.

  “Can they see what’s coming at them?”

  “Likely not yet, General, unless they have an AWACs of their own.”

  “Do we know that?”

  “Not as yet, sir.” The airman held his breath at the slip of the tongue. “They’re almost within range.”

  “Can you tie me into them from here?”

  “Go General,” the airman said as he toggled the correct switches.

  “Flight Leader, this is Diamond Command.”

  “Roger Diamond Command. This is Flight Leader.”

  “You are not authorized to shoot without my direct order. Do you understand?”

  “Roger Diamond Command. Weapons are not free.”

  “Damn, what happens if they start shooting?”

  “Can the chatter. We’ve got work to do.” Colonel Mike Jarrod scanned his screen. The E-3 was within distance to take tactical command. “Lookdown this it Diamond Crush. Turning over tactical to you.”

  “Roger Diamond Crush.”

  “Keep the formations tight. We go where we’re told now,” Jarrod announced.

  Diamond Crush had Lookdown in visual range. The flights streaked by on either side as the F-22 escorts pulled back with the Sentry. They were on the last hour of their patrol when the Russian sortie came over the top. They were ready to come home. The extended stay was taxing their fuel stores. They’d have to meet up with a tanker before heading home.

  “Diamond Command, this is Lookdown. If we have to stay here much longer we’re going to need some gas. The tanker’s already gone.”

  General Dulles turned and located the command duty officer. His order was short and to the point.

  “Get on it.” He again patted the airman’s shoulder. “Let ‘em know it’s coming.”

  The two flights of Raptors roared past the E-3. The blue sky above in sharp contrast to the white world below. There was no dark sea as the arctic expanse was at its furthest extent. Colonel Jarrod pinned his eye on the curvature of the earth. He had an idea as to where they might be. They were closing at a rate of 1200 knots. Once he saw them, they’d be on top of them quickly.

  “Lookdown do we have any signatures on these birds yet?”

  “They look to be a mix of Bear bombers and 29’s. Older, but there are a lot of them.”

  “Hmm. Not quite the party crashers we had last time.”

  “General?” the airman asked.

  “Not the same mix.” Dulles put his hands on his hips and stared at the screens. “I’m thinking they’re going to turn back at the first sign of us buzzing them.” Tell them to do a fly-by and see what happens.”

  “Yes sir, uh, General.”

  “It’s okay son. It’s habit.”

  Colonel Jarrod took note and acknowledged the order. The two flights spread out with Jarrod’s group increasing their altitude.

  “Let’s go high and low on ‘em boys. Then turn off and follow on their six. Let’s see if Ivan likes that or not.”

  The Raptors closed rapidly as the Russian sortie held formation. It was the largest gathering of planes Jarrod had ever seen in this part of the world, planes that weren’t his own. As they closed, the sheer size of the Bear bombers became evident. They were huge. As they rocketed above, he couldn’t help but look back at the old bomber. His group banked right and pulled up behind the formation. The Migs stayed in place. Not a wiggle.

  “Well, what now?” Jarrod didn’t just want to follow them into North American airspace. “Light ‘em up boys,” Jarrod ordered. The Raptors engaged their targeting systems knowing they would be immediately recognized by the Russians. It would be like shooting ducks in a barrel at this range. It was now his challenge to give.

  “Unknown rider, unknown rider. You are within the territorial airspace of The United States. You are ordered to turn away.”

  The command center in Diamond Command again fell silent. Dulles stared at the screen ready to give an order he didn’t want to give.

  “General, we have new in-bounds.”

  “From where?”

  “Damn, looks like they’re coming from Canada.”

  “Well I’ll be,” Dulles said with raised eyebrows. “They’re supposed to be coordinating with us.” He leaned in close over the airman’s shoulder. “F-16s maybe. Vector them to the E-3.”

  “Diamond Crush has initiated targeting systems,” the airman said.

  Jarrod listened to the chatter as t
he Canadians zeroed in to their position. His flight kept their place behind and slightly above the Russians. He was getting itchy. No formation coming over the pole had ever been this close, at least as far as he knew. They were sitting in silence. He had to break it.

  “Keep to your positions.”

  Just as the words slipped into the stratosphere, the Migs broke formation, falling away from the bombers. Within seconds, the massive cold war era planes began their slow turn away from their projected course and Jarrod let out a sigh of relief.

  “They’re turning away.” Dulles lifted his fist and emphatically pumped it once in the air. “Yeah baby!” The command center felt the combined exhale of everyone who had been holding their breath. “Pull them home,” Dulles said as he continued his smile. “Pull them home.”

  Moscow

  The sullen sky blanketed winter’s grip on the outskirts of Moscow. The closing night gave them just enough cover to slip out of the big city and into the surrounding farmlands, which from the sheer size of the Russian capitol, was no easy feat. Moscow was one of the largest cities in the world. Getting out just wasn’t that simple.

  “How long is this going to take?”

  “We’re almost where we need to be, Sasha,” Donald replied. “Just another thirty minutes.”

  “And we’ll be where?” Anya asked.

  “Where you’ll train for a few days.” Donald turned at the next intersection, the others noticing the lights were becoming fewer and fewer. “This is also an escape route for you.”

  “This is so far away, how the hell can it be an escape route?” Danil growled.

  “Because it has a gravel runway for a plane.” Donald looked in the mirror at Danil. “You’re the pilot, correct?”

  “I am,” he answered immediately.

  “You’ll have to take time to familiarize yourself with a plane we have. It’s stashed away for emergencies. And I’d call this, well …” Donald fell silent.

  “What kind of plane?”

  “A small twin engine plane. Seats six.”

  “That’s not much room to spare,” Ivan replied.

  “You’ll just have to squeeze yourself in, Ivan. I’m almost surprised they let someone as tall as you into the services. Machines aren’t built for people like you.”

  “Why are we heading west?”

  “There is no easy way to get out of Russia from here. The quickest way is to fly, and heading west is the closest border.”

  “Which is why I’m in this group,” Danil replied.

  “That’s likely one scenario. But there’s no guarantee this route would be available. It’s our last option.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “We’ll cover that later.”

  The drive continued and the world that now surrounded them was as dark as it would become. Even still, the glow from the city lingered in the background, the night never fully taking hold in that direction. The lights of Moscow were just too overpowering. Donald turned off to a gravel lane, the rocks making themselves known on the underside of the SUV. The headlights grasped shacks and outbuildings that were lost in night’s fold, slipping back into darkness as they passed. Another hundred yards and the vehicle pulled up to a large house. Donald cut the engine and turned off the lights.

  “We’re here.”

  “We’re where?”

  “Your training grounds, Polina.” Donald opened the door and stood, trying to shake the stiffness from his legs. “But first it’s a good night’s sleep for everyone. We begin in the morning.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Major, if I am correct, none of you have done anything like this in a long while, or at all. It’s weapons and room to room fieldwork.” He turned away from the building as the last ones piled out of the SUV. “You’ve got three days to begin to develop teamwork.”

  “Three days?” Anya exclaimed.

  “Three days. Nothing more.”

  “That’s not much time,” Ivan replied.

  “What did you think was going to happen over here? This is an in and out mission. Sadly, I don’t know what you’re going to get yourselves into. But I need to prepare you for a firefight.” Donald turned and began walking toward the building, his boots kicking loose gravel. “Time to bunk down.”

  The White House

  “Is he in?”

  “Yes sir. He’s expecting you. Go right in.”

  Martin Powell stepped into the private office of the president. The room wasn’t as ornately decorated as most of the other rooms of the White House. President Kiger liked it that way. Though he liked the nature of the power of his office and what went with it, he was not one to lavish himself with luxury. Though he grew up with a bit of money, he never celebrated it. POTUS looked up from his desk as his chief of staff walked in.

  “They’re on their way.”

  “You still think this is a good idea?” POTUS replied.

  “We need an asset in the area for recovery if things go wrong.”

  “That part of the world is sensitive to submerged ships within their waters.” POTUS leaned back and tossed his pen on the desk. “All the Scandinavian countries seem to have the same hang-up on that.”

  “Likely due to the Soviets.”

  “They’re not Soviets anymore.”

  “But they were, and the memories of their abuses run deep.”

  “Very well.” President Kiger crossed his arms across his suit coat, tilting his head down slightly. “Get me Prime Minister Sorenson on the line. I want his permission to be in Danish waters.”

  “We might need a little bit more than that.”

  “We’ll worry about that if the time comes,” POTUS replied.

  Day Fourteen

  Moscow

  The cold Russian morning crawled in like all the rest. The world outside their windows was pale white, and bleak. Anya looked out over the fields behind the house, her breath clouding the pane. ‘How the hell did I get here’? she thought.

  “It is a cold world in these parts.”

  “It seems to be,” Anya answered. She turned to see Donald standing behind her, sipping a cup of tea. “Got any more of that?”

  “It isn’t coffee.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “There are some things one must get used to outside of America.” He set his cup on the table, the stoneware clinking in the quiet morning. “Tea is the norm. I’ve sort of gotten used to it.”

  “I guess it will have to do.”

  The mission team began to stir as the sun began to create shadows as it crept above the landscape. It was the same everywhere. Danil stumbled into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It looked like the same one he grew up in; a farm kitchen was a farm kitchen, even though this one was half a world away from Iowa. He smiled at the thought.

  “What’cha thinking about, Danil?” Polina asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “I know that kind of smile. That’s not a nothing smile.”

  “Well,” he grinned as he looked to her sitting at the table, “I entered the Air Force to get away from life on a farm. And here I am, still stuck in a farm kitchen.”

  “Well you won’t be here long,” Donald said. “Get something to eat. You have a half hour.”

  “Then what?” Ivan asked.

  “Then we start training.”

  “This thing rocks!” Ivan exclaimed as he pulled the rifle down. “Man!” Lt. Anthony flipped the gun over from side to side admiring its form.

  “Why aren’t we using weapons we’re familiar with?” Sasha asked.

  “Simple. You don’t want evidence left behind. If something goes wrong, we don’t want an American signature. We use the weapons that are normally found here.”

  “That way it can’t be traced back to us, or anyone else,” Sasha replied. “Good point.”

  “Exactly.” Donald lifted his own weapon, letting go a short burst that obliterated the target. “Remember your basic training. It doesn’t matter what the
weapon is. Short bursts. They’re controllable. They don’t waste ammo, and there’s less chance of your gun jamming.” He lowered the PP-2000 submachine gun, letting it fall to his side.

  “I just figured we’d be using AK-47s,” Ivan said.

  “Nope. Too bulky,” Donald replied. “This is a close-quarters weapon. It’s what some special forces and riot police use. Donald snapped the stock down, then pulled it right back. “A folding stock also helps conceal it. You can’t do that with a full-sized assault rifle.”

  “So now what?” Anya asked.

  “We learn these weapons until lunch.” He pulled a pistol from his belt and held it up. “This is a Grach. Standard police issue. No one would think anything about finding one.” Donald lowered the weapon and popped off five rounds, each one near dead-center on the target.

  “That’s some good shooting.” Anya walked up and extended her hand. “May I?”

  Donald handed the 9mm over. She took it with a nod, checked that the mag was properly seated, then pulled it up and drew off four shots, each one taking a corner off the square target.

  “The middle was already gone,” she said as she lowered the pistol. “Pulls to the right a bit.” She handed it back to Donald, then walked away.

  Sasha was the last one into the kitchen. The others had finished their shooting a few minutes before and were sitting around the old, wooden table. It bore the scars of time and use.

  “What’s for lunch?” Sasha asked.

  “Nothing, if you don’t hurry up.” Polina looked over at Ivan who was shoveling food into his mouth at breakneck speed. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.”

  “He’s a growing boy,” Danil replied.

  “If he grows any taller,” Sasha said, “he won’t fit into the room.”

  That drew an eye from Ivan, who nonetheless, never stopped eating. Sasha chuckled while filling his own plate from the stove, an old propane-fired throwback with cast grates. They were as charred as the plates he just tossed the sausages on. He piled on some potatoes and slid in next to Ivan on the wooden bench.