The Bear

by Bob Thomas

  The sound of scraping across a floor told them the room above was occupied. Sasha stood, glancing into the window from the side. He could see nothing but a wall. The sound of voices suddenly reverberated against the thin glass. He held up three fingers, and Anya nodded. They needed to get to a door. Anya pointed over her shoulder. They’d try the rear door that led to the kitchen. It opened into a small mudroom, something it seemed was common to farm houses around the world.

  Anya led and came to rest beside the door, her weapon held tightly against her side. She reached up to the door knob, giving it a turn. It was unlocked. A full turn and she felt the wood door begin to give way. She let it stand silently as she listened intently. Nothing. It was time to move. She eased the door open and slipped inside, crouching as she went. The small hall was dark, lit only by a filtered light from the kitchen. Sasha stepped in behind her, his weapon trained ahead. He slipped past, landing his shoulder against the wall as he looked out into the kitchen. Empty. They were somewhere else.

  Sasha pointed toward the sitting room and again they heard voices. ‘Sloppy’, he thought. But then he had to remind himself, they weren’t dealing with military types. They were dealing with criminals, thugs. They ruled with brute force and intimidation. They weren’t a tactical unit.

  Anya stood as Sasha took a deep breath. It was show-time. They crept into the kitchen coming to the outer wall of their target. Sasha lowered his weapon as he stepped in front of the opening and sprayed a burst inside. His targets didn’t have time to even know he was there. Two went down instantly as Anya stepped into the opening and sent a single shot into the third. They spun around and began systematically searching the house for others. They couldn’t be this lucky, could they? Within three minutes, the house was cleared. No other targets.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Sasha lowered his rifle and wiped his sleeve across his face. He couldn’t remember sweating so much in winter before. He felt like he was getting old.

  As they walked past the sitting room a single shot splintered the door frame next to him. He dove to the floor as Anya tucked her rifle around the corner and put a slug in the chest of the Russian that had survived the initial assault.

  “Damn. We should have checked them.”

  “Agreed,” Anya answered. “But we also had to make sure no one would be coming in behind us.”

  “Let’s get this plane in the air. It’s time to go home.”

  They were out the door in seconds, sprinting through the wet snow. The house they’d come to know so well would be nothing but a memory and they were glad to leave it behind. As they rounded the barn, the hangar building came into view. It seemed an agonizingly long run to get there. They pushed through the door and sprinted toward the Cessna.

  “Go Danil, go.”

  Sasha’s words were returned with silence. As he made the cabin, he knew why. Danil sat there, half-slumped over the controls. The blood from his wound saturating his pants. He was bleeding again. Sasha leaned him back against the seat. He could see the sweat pouring down his face. His decision was instant.

  “Danil?”

  “Huh?” The Air Force pilot blinked at the sound of Sasha’s voice.

  “You okay?”

  “Danil. You’ve got to fly this plane,” Anya yelled.

  “He can’t,” Sasha replied. “Help me get him into the other seat.”

  “For what? You think you’re going to fly this thing?”

  “I don’t think we have another choice.”

  “I can walk you through it,” Danil replied in a low voice. “It’s easy.”

  “If you can stay awake long enough.”

  Sasha now found himself staring at the controls of a plane he’d never seen. He had no piloting experience. He knew nothing.

  “Well, now what, skipper?” she said sarcastically.

  “Danil, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

  Danil leaned his head back and wiped his face with his hands.

  “Danil, you’ve got to think,” Anya yelled.

  Danil began mumbling. He was going through a pre-flight check in his thoughts. “Ignition,” he blurted out. Danil raised his hand and pointed to the switches to start the engines. Sasha inhaled deeply and began following the steps Danil was pointing out. Within a minute, both engines on the Cessna were turning and they were headed out the hangar door.

  Sasha pointed the plane toward the makeshift runway that ran parallel to the lane. It was nothing more than a gravel strip piled on the edge of the fields. He could feel the wheels struggling in the snow. The new layer from the night before did nothing but hide the frozen crust and just made it more difficult. As he added thrust to push through the snow, he heard the engines spiral up and watched the gauges react. The wheels slipped as he turned onto the runway and the plane slid sideways. He held his breath until he felt the crust give way and the plane began to roll easily. Danil laid his hand on Sasha’s arm.

  “Flaps.” He pointed and made a gesture with his hand. Sasha nodded and mimicked the movement. Danil turned and noted the movement on the wings. “Down.”

  The path they were taking was bumpy, not the smooth concrete strip of an airport. They were rolling atop large gravel stones. It felt like baseballs beneath the wheels, but the twin-engines pulled it easily along. Sasha brought them to a standstill as Danil straightened himself in the second seat. It was all he could do. That small effort drained him. He heard Anya’s voice from behind.

  “We gonna do this?”

  Sasha’s answer was a throttle up of the engines as he kept the plane motionless. They had a short ramp and they needed as much speed as they could manage. He released the brakes just as Anya yelled out from behind.

  “Shit!” She pointed ahead of them toward the front of the lane. A dark sedan was speeding down the road and there was little doubt where he was heading. “Go, go, go!” She pulled her rifle from the seat beside her and with a quick burst, shot out the window beside her.

  “Damn, Anya. Scare the hell out of me!” Sasha screamed.

  They could hear stray rounds hit as they ricocheted off the plane’s metal skin. Sasha flinched at the sound and pushed the throttle forward giving it as much power as the plane could manage. They were heading toward each other and the frequency of hits was growing rapidly. Anya returned fire as the angle closed, desperately trying to avoid hitting the wing. More rounds peppered the metal skin and Anya instinctively ducked.

  “That last guy I plugged must have made a call,” she shouted.

  “They got here too fast. They were probably already been on their way,” Sasha yelled.

  “Get this thing off the ground,” she screamed as she let loose another burst, this time emptying her magazine.

  The car began to angle toward them but the drift between the lane and their runway proved too much. It plowed into the drift throwing its front end into the air. It came down hard, its wheel buckling beneath the weight as the Cessna roared past to another hail of bullets.

  “Pull back,” Danil ordered.

  Sasha responded and the plane seemed to lurch as the wheels cleared the snow, the twin engines lifting them away cleanly. Sasha could barely contain himself. He was shaking, his nerves on fire as they lifted into the brightening, morning light.

  “Keep going up,” Danil said as he leaned forward. His finger landed on the compass. “Climb to three thousand feet and make your heading two-nine-zero degrees.” He nearly choked on his words as his body fell back into the seat.

  Anya pulled herself up behind his seat and put her hand on his forehead.

  “He’s burning up.” She pulled back her hand and wiped Danil’s sweat off on her pants. He was drenched.

  “You just get some rest, Danil. We’ve got it from here,” Major Francis Brown said.

  “Three thousand feet isn’t very high.”

  “He probably wants us below any tracking radars.”

  “Where’s that course take us?”

  “Not quite su
re exactly, but it heads us toward the coast. It’s the shortest flight route out of Russia. We’ll make the Baltic States, Latvia, I think.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not,” she replied. Captain Ruth Garrison leaned back into her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “One other thing. I sure as hell hope you know how to land this thing.”

  “Piece of cake,” Frank said as he began to laugh. “I’ll make you a deal. If I can get us there, you can land it.”

  “I don’t think so, Major. Not my line of work you understand. I generally like to keep my feet on the ground.” Ruth leaned back into her seat. It wasn’t very comfortable, but she was tired. She knew if she closed her eyes, she’d be asleep within minutes. She couldn’t do that to Frank. “How long until we get out of Russia?”

  “That’s a good question. I don’t really know. I know our airspeed, but I don’t know the distance we’ve got to travel. If I had to make a stupid guess, I’d say a couple hours.”

  “I’ll take that stupid guess. We might just make it.”

  Ruth watched as the ground passed slowly beneath them. It was hard to believe they were traveling at two-hundred forty miles per hour. The featureless, white blanket below droned on endlessly. Had it not been for the occasional building, she wouldn’t have been able to tell they were moving. She guessed they were over mostly farmland, but with the white blanket, few details of the landscape made themselves known. She shook her head as she thought of pilots who flew over the arctic. How did they do it? They’d only been at this for less than an hour. The sounds of the engines suddenly intruded into her thoughts, the dull roar encompassing the cabin. A small town below broke up the monotony.

  “How you doing up there?”

  “Easiest thing I’ve done on this mission,” Frank answered. “I think I missed my calling.” Frank leaned forward and tapped on a gauge. “Hmmm.”

  “What?”

  “Fuel seems to be dropping faster than I would have thought.”

  “That’s not good. Do we have enough to make it?”

  “I have no idea. I hope so.” Frank looked ahead as the landscape passed below. “What we need is a big sign that says you have left Russia.”

  “I wonder if one of those rounds did some damage?”

  “Wonderful,” Frank replied sarcastically. “Couldn’t hit a damn window. Shit!”

  “Climb.”

  “You okay, Will?”

  “Climb,” Jenner choked. “Gain some altitude.”

  “How high?”

  “Get to,” Will closed his eyes, his mind scrambling. “Get to ten thousand.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “Aye Captain,” Frank replied.

  He pulled back on the wheel and let the plane begin a slow climb. He called it off as he went. Five thousand. Seven thousand. Eight. Nine thousand. Ten thousand feet.

  “How long have we been in the air?”

  “About an hour and a half.”

  “That should put us over the Baltic states.”

  “And out of Russia,” Ruth answered, finishing his sentence. “That makes me feel safer.” She pulled her coat tightly around her shoulders. “It’s cold in here.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have shot out the window,” Frank replied.

  “Whew.” Will wiped his forehead with this sleeve. “How long have I been out?” His voice was strained. He grimaced as he coughed. “Ohhhh. I have a splitting headache.”

  “Now where to?”

  “Just keep going. We’re more exposed at this altitude, but we don’t have a choice if we’re losing fuel.”

  “At least we’ve left Ivan behind.”

  “Don’t bet on that Ruth,” Will said. “The Russian Air Force still has a long reach, even these days.”

  “Well, don’t that just make me feel better.”

  “They still pretty much have free reign over the Baltic skies.” Will adjusted himself in the seat, his leg rebelling at the action. “Adjust your course to two-seven-zero degrees.”

  Frank scanned the panel before finding the compass. He was beginning to feel comfortable with the instruments, but knew in a moment of panic, he could easily get into trouble. He gave the wheel a gentle turn and watched the ground slip beneath them. Piloting was a wonderful feeling.

  The doors closed behind them as the exiting crowd pushed them out into the terminal. Polina had a death grip on Ivan’s hand and he pulled her along behind. He stopped amid the bustle, searching for … there! Polina nearly toppled to the ground when he started off. They were up against the terminal wall moments later.

  “Who are you going to call? I don’t remember having a check-in for this mission.”

  “We don’t, at least as far as anything I was told. Maybe Sasha had a contact for trouble. If he did, it should have been something passed along to us.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “A couple weeks after getting my first assignment as a lieutenant, my CO and I had a long discussion. He sort of, took me under his wing.”

  “That’s kind of hard to do with you being as tall as a goalpost,” she said with a grin.”

  “Anyway,” Ivan replied, “he told me if I ever got into a jamb, give him a call.” He turned and picked up the receiver on the phone and tried to read the instructions. “So, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.” A few minutes later the line was picked up on the other end.

  “Colonel Masters’ office.”

  “Colonel Masters please.”

  “May I ask who is calling?”

  “Lieutenant Kyle Anthony. Please tell Colonel Masters it’s urgent.”

  “I’ll patch you through, Lieutenant.”

  “Masters.” The voice on the other end was the best thing he’d heard in weeks.

  “Colonel? Kyle Anthony.”

  “Anthony. Good to hear from you. When can I expect you back? I’m in the dark about what’s happening with you.”

  “For good reason, sir. But I need your help, big time. Things haven’t gone completely as planned.” Ivan turned into the phone to shield his voice from the passing crowd. As he hung up the phone, he felt relieved. It was like talking to his father. ‘A few calls, that’s all that has to happen’, he thought.

  Colonel Brett Masters leaned back in his chair as the phone dropped from his hand. He was summarily stunned. It was completely out of his character to be caught off guard by, well, nearly anything. What he’d just heard was almost unimaginable, a deep mission inside Russia itself. And it was with one of his men. In all his thirty years, he’d never heard of anything like this, and he’d heard a lot. The intercom buzzed and his aide picked it up quickly.

  “Yes Colonel?”

  “I need the number to the White House, and I need it quickly.”

  “The White House, yes sir.”

  Masters slid the cordless phone across his desk as he leaned back. He had to think. What was he going to say? Who was he going to say it to? His thoughts were interrupted within a few minutes when his aide walked into his office.

  “Colonel,” his aide said as he handed over the paper, “here is the number you requested.” Masters took the paper and scanned it.

  “Thank you.” His reply was short which told the aide he needed to leave quietly. He heard the phone dialing as he made the doorway. The next words he heard raised his eyebrows.

  “This is Colonel Brett Masters. I need to speak to Mr. Martin Powell. It’s rather urgent.” Masters stood and began to pace behind his desk. It would take some time to get through, he was sure of it.

  “Martin Powell.”

  “Mr. Powell,” Masters said in a surprised voice, “Colonel Brett Masters. I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

  “I’m sorry, Colonel, do I know you?”

  “No sir. We have never met. But we have a friend in common that needs your help.”

  “We do? An
d who would that be?”

  “Yes sir. Lieutenant Kyle Anthony.”

  “You have my attention, Colonel.”

  “I wish I knew where we actually were.”

  “Doesn’t this thing have GPS?”

  “Not his old tub Ruth,” Will replied, “but I think I know where we are.”

  “Any how would you know that?”

  “A few landmarks. A pilot always studies landmarks. It’s an occupational habit,” Will said with a weak reply.

  “So, where are we?”

  “Less than an hour from the coast, I think. When you see the coast, just follow it to Denmark and we’re home.”

  “But we’re running out of fuel.”

  “Better to run out near land than over water. We’ll have a landing platform somewhere.” Will sounded exhausted. He leaned his head back in the seat and patted Frank’s leg. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He was asleep again moments later.

  Will suddenly perked up as he felt a dull rumble through his bones. It was a feeling only a fighter pilot would know. He looked down the side of the Cessna, then above and below. The next sound was unmistakable.

  “Shit!”

  “Shit is right, Frank,” Ruth yelled. “Get us the hell out of here.”

  “Will?”

  “Down, Frank. Down!”

  The Cessna dove, its engines whining as Will reached over and pushed the throttle levers full up.

  “Turn away from him.”

  Frank responded by turning the wheel left. His eyes widened as the ground rushed toward them. The roar that passed began to make its presence known again. The Russian fighter blew past and the Cessna wobbled in its wake.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “A MIG-29; one bad-ass fighter.” Will reached up and pulled the wheel in front of him back. Even in his state, he was a better match for the MIG than Frank. “I’ve got it from here.”

  The Cessna leveled off, the altimeter reading eighteen hundred feet. The scenarios played through his clouded thoughts. He could slow and try to stall the fighter. He could keep trying to turn away, but he would be like a leaf in the wind. He was outclassed in every way. The MIG looped above and came down behind them, a tracer of rounds filling the air. Will banked hard right.