He moved swiftly across the open ground and paused in front of the sliding doors. Hearing nothing, he slid through the gap.
Behind the doors was a loading dock. It was being used as a parking garage and a single fluorescent light hung above three trucks. He crept between them and stepped up onto the platform. Hearing male voices at the end of a corridor, he shouldered his MP5SD and flicked the safety off.
Gunshots sounded from outside.
Shouts echoed throughout the building as the intensity of gunfire outside escalated. Lights switched on. Boots thudded on the upper level. Two armed men ran into the corridor.
Ice hit them with a controlled burst. The suppressed MP5 barely made a sound and the bodies hit the floor with a thud. “Vance, what the hell’s going on out there?” he transmitted before he shot out the corridor light.
“Kreshnik started shooting.” The gunfire was even louder over the radio.
“The man’s an idiot.”
“They’re assaulting. I’d find cover if I were you.”
Ice had no intention of staying put. He needed to find the pilot before the Serbs executed him. Besides, if he withdrew he risked being shot by friendly fire. He pushed on and checked the room the two men had exited. It was a kitchen.
The corridor led to a workshop littered with heavy machinery. At the far end, he saw stairs leading up to the next level.
Bullets ricocheted off the walls as he sprinted across the workshop. Skidding in behind a lathe, he spotted gunmen on the stairs and took up a firing position. Before he could engage more bullets forced him behind cover.
“Ice, we’re coming in,” Vance’s voice came through over the radio.
He hunkered down as rounds sparked off the machinery.
A machine gun blasted from behind him. Ice glanced over his shoulder. It was Vance. The CIA veteran had a PKM tucked under his arm and was hosing the stairs Rambo style.
“I thought you could do with some help,” Vance yelled between bursts. Behind him was a line of KLA fighters.
With the Serbs forced back up the stairs, Ice waved the KLA forward. They moved past Vance, cautious and uncertain. Outside, Kreshnik’s remaining men could be heard still shooting at what Ice assumed were gunmen on the upper level.
“Come on!” he yelled as the Wolves inched forward. He led them to the stairs. The KLA fighters reluctantly followed. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a grenade dropped among them. One of the KLA screamed as Ice leaned down, scooped the bomb off the ground and tossed it at the far corner of the factory. He was already halfway up the stairs when the explosion shook the walls.
He fired a burst into the man who had tossed the grenade and shoved the bullet-riddled body aside as he reached the upper floor. Pressed against the wall, he loaded a fresh 30 round magazine. Despite the cold he was now sweating under his balaclava.
Three of the Wolves had caught up and he gestured for them to lead down the corridor. They shook their heads, eyes wide.
Ice glanced down the corridor. Intermittent gunfire indicated a handful of militants remained. He crept into the corridor and spun into the first room. Two men were firing out the windows. He double tapped each in the back of the head, the suppressed 9mm weapon inaudible over the AK fire. They were dead before they hit the floor.
He paused at the doorway as the KLA fighters charged down the corridor. Finally, he thought, they had grown some balls. Kreshnik’s harsh voice snapped commands in Albanian. More men surged up the stairs and AK fire raged.
The Wolves only made it past the first doorway. The lead fighters hunkered behind a stack of crates, blasting away blindly. The Serbians had repositioned, finally realizing that the real threat came from inside the building.
His earpiece crackled. “How you tracking up there?” asked Vance.
“Not great, they’ve lost momentum.”
“Need me to bring up the jack hammer?”
“Negative Rambo, I’ve got this.”
Ice flicked his submachine gun back to full automatic. He stepped into the corridor firing as he went. He slid into the closest room and blasted another fighter in the chest.
There was a closed door on the far wall. He booted it open, catching a militant by surprise. The overweight gunman was focused on shooting into the corridor. Ice’s burst blew off half his face. The dead body toppled into the corridor and was riddled by a stream of AK bullets. As he completed his scan of the room his eyes fell on a man in a flight suit. He was hog-tied on a mattress with a rag stuffed in his mouth.
“Vance, I’ve located our Fallen Angel.”
“Roger, sit tight and let Kreshnik’s men secure the building.”
Ice pulled the rag from the pilot’s mouth.
“Slippery,” the pilot croaked.
“Ninja,” Ice confirmed.
A broad smile appeared on the man’s face. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.”
***
Vance terminated the call on his satellite phone and strode back to the 4Runner SUV where Ice was tending to the pilot’s injuries. They had left the Wolves to secure the rest of the factory.
Ice was wearing a headlamp and inspecting the pilot who was sitting on the tailgate. He stepped back and pulled off his latex gloves. “Sledge here is fine. A few scratches and a sprained ankle.”
Vance took a metal thermos from the center console and poured coffee into a mug. He walked to the back and handed it to the pilot. “Here, get this into you. You’ll be back playing volleyball before you know it.”
Sledge grasped the mug with both hands. “Look, I don’t know how to thank you guys.”
“No need for thanks,” he rumbled. “This is what we do.”
“Yeah well, if you didn’t show up, God knows what they would have done to me.”
A volley of shots caught their attention. The Wolves were finishing off the last of the Serbs.
Ice packed away his medical kit. “When’s extract?”
Vance unfolded a map on the tailgate. Under the faint glow of the trunk light he identified a location with his finger. “The LZ’s not far from here. The CSAR package will be in location at 0730,” he said, referring to the Combat Search and Rescue helicopters and supporting aircraft.
“Anything else from HQ?”
“Yeah. They want me on the bird for debriefing.”
“Agency will want a success story out of this. KLA help rescue downed pilot.”
“I’ll set them straight, don’t you worry about that. There’s no polishing this turd. Should only be gone for a day or two at the most.”
“Roger.”
“I see you have your pilot.” Zahir’s commanding voice interrupted their conversation.
Vance turned to face him. “Thanks to you and your men. The US government appreciates your help.”
Zahir shrugged. “I am just happy we could kill some Serb dogs.”
There was a shout from the direction of the factory.
“That’s the signal,” said Zahir. “Kreshnik has killed them all. We can move the vehicles up.” He turned and stomped back to his four-wheel drive.
“Kreshnik’s the hero again,” Vance said.
Ice clenched his jaw. “His trigger-happy stunt almost got me killed.”
“Sorry about that, bud. Couldn’t stop him.” Vance guided the pilot into the back of the 4Runner and climbed into the passenger seat. Ice shook his head and drove them to the front of the factory.
The sky glowed a vibrant orange as dawn approached. They could see the Wolves had gathered around something on the ground.
“What’s going on?” Sledge asked from the back seat.
Vance switched the engine off. “Not sure. You two stay in the car,” he said as he got out. When he was a few yards from the men he identified the shape on the ground as a dead body. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured.
It was the corpse of a young teenage girl. She was naked, her bruised face grotesquely painted with makeup. It had to be the missing daughter from the farm.
> Kreshnik walked over and covered her with a jacket. “They took her from the village and raped her till she was dead.”
It was the first time Vance had seen compassion on the killer’s face. “And now they’ve paid for it with their blood.”
Zahir appeared from the gloom. “That’s not the way it works.”
“He’s right,” snarled Kreshnik. “An innocent life for an innocent life. We hit them back and make them pay.”
“Not with our guns, you’re fucking not,” Vance said calmly.
“You’ve got what you came for,” said Zahir. “Your pilot is safe.”
“We still need to get him to the LZ. That was part of the deal.”
“So it was. Kreshnik will escort you to your helicopters. He will take care of our own business on the way there.” He turned to face his second-in-command. “I’ll meet you back at the camp.”
Vance fought the urge to draw his pistol as the corners of Kreshnik’s mouth turned up in a sinister smirk. “This will jeopardize your relationship with the US government.”
Zahir laughed. “I doubt that. We could kill a hundred Serbian peasants and no one would give a shit.”
“Our terms are clear. You abide by the laws of armed conflict or we’ll remove our support.”
“I don’t think that is going to happen.” Zahir shrugged and walked away.
***
The Wolves drove at high speed along the narrow road and Ice pushed the Toyota SUV hard to keep up. It was just after dawn and they were six miles from the factory. Not far from the extraction point.
“Zahir’s been planning this all along,” Ice said as they turned off the tarmac and raced up a rutted track.
Vance was holding his satellite phone out the window trying to establish a signal. “I think you’re right. Barishna said they were planning an op. We’ll see what headquarters has to say.”
The two four-wheel drives in front pulled off and parked in a clearing. Kreshnik and his men piled out.
Ice brought the 4Runner to a halt, threw open the door, and strode up to Kreshnik. “You attack that farm and you’re no better than they are. You’ll be committing murder.”
“Don’t preach to me about murder, Iceman. Your people stood by and watched as the Serbians massacred us. Our women. Our children.” He pulled the Skorpion machine pistol from inside his jacket, cocked it, and screwed on a suppressor. “Now it is their turn.”
“You killed a dozen of their militia, that’s blood enough.” Ice took a step forward, towering over the KLA lieutenant.
“That’s not how it works.” The Albanian code of Gjakmarrja, or ‘blood feud,’ demanded an eye for an eye.
The Wolves had moved into a semicircle around Ice, their AKs held ready. Each wore a determined look.
There was a cough behind his shoulder. “Easy guys, we’re all on the same team here,” said Vance.
Kreshnik spat on the ground. “Call off your dog, Vance. We have work to do.”
Ice’s gaze never wavered. “You’ll regret this, Kreshnik. I promise you that.”
The Albanian gave him a mock salute, turned, and issued an order to his men. They shuffled off in single file, disappearing into the woods.
“Listen, I got through to headquarters,” Vance said. “They said not to interfere.”
“Of course they did.” He returned to the 4Runner, dropped the tailgate, and pulled out a black nylon bag.
“I don’t like it anymore than you, bud. But that doesn’t mean shit. Our priority is the pilot.”
Ice took a Nikon D1 camera from the bag and attached a telephoto lens to it. “If I can’t stop them, I’m going to make damn sure they don’t get away with it. You stay here with Sledge.”
“If Kreshnik catches you, he’ll kill you.”
“He can try.” He slung the camera over his shoulder, checked his MP5SD, and started off into the woods.
It took him five minutes to reach a position where he could see the farm that Kreshnik was targeting. It was small, a few barns and a single main residence. Smoke wafted from a chimney. A sign the occupants were out of bed. Ice felt sick as he braced the telephoto lens against a tree.
Kreshnik and his men had already fanned out and were searching the buildings. He watched as they gathered at the farmhouse. They disappeared inside, and a minute later they reappeared with the occupants. Six people were dragged from the house: two men, two women, and two children.
The Gray Wolves lined the family up in front of the building. Ice’s hands trembled as he pressed the shutter button and captured the scene as it unfolded. The civilians had their backs to him and he watched as they were forced to their knees, hands behind their heads.
Kreshnik paced in front of the prisoners, lecturing them. He raised his suppressed Skorpion. Every fiber of Ice’s being wished he was looking through the crosshairs of a sniper scope and not the telephoto lens. With a squeeze of a trigger, he would save the lives of that family. Instead, he watched the prisoners collapse, one by one, as Kreshnik shot them in the forehead with a subsonic .380 caliber bullet.
Tears flowed from Ice’s eyes as he took one last photo. “I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry,” he croaked.
***
By far, the riskiest part of any downed pilot recovery operation was when the helicopter landed to make the pickup. At that moment, a well-aimed RPG could turn the rescue into a blazing pyre of death. However, the United States Air Force had a tried and tested tactic for mitigating this risk. It was simple. Overwhelming firepower.
As Vance, Ice, and Sledge drove to the extraction RV, this dominance had already started. Thousands of feet above, a USAF strike package consisting of F-16CJ Wild Weasel SAM-hunters and EA-6B Prowlers was on station. They circled like hungry vultures, waiting for the slightest whiff of a radar.
Below them, a pair of A-10 Warthogs prowled the sky, ready to unleash a torrent of 30mm depleted-uranium slugs into any ground based threats.
When the 4Runner and the Gray Wolves escort neared an open field, a pair of AH-64 helicopter gunships thundered overhead.
Vance parked the SUV at the edge of the field next to the two KLA vehicles. “I feel sorry for any Serbians with a cold today.”
“Why’s that?” asked Sledge.
“Because any bastard who even sneezes is going to get wasted.” He picked up the tactical radio from the center console.
“Big Eye this is Slayer, we’re at the RV, over.”
“Slayer this is Big Eye, I confirm that CSAR has ID on you and your team. Confirmation will be red smoke. I say again red smoke, over.”
“Roger, Slayer out.” Vance dropped the handset, opened his door, and took his backpack from the trunk. “You going to be OK, Ice?”
“Yeah.”
It was the first word the man had said since returning from the massacre. Vance had pressed him for details but gotten only silence.
He pulled the pin from a smoke grenade and tossed it into the grass. It spluttered and hissed as it released a cloud of thick red smoke. “Try to stay out of trouble, bud.” He offered his hand as the beat of rotor blades announced the arrival of the helicopters.
Ice squeezed it. “I’ll do my best.”
Vance nodded in the direction of the two KLA four-wheel drives. “Don’t let that piece of shit get the better of you. I’ll be back in a few days.”
Ice nodded.
“I’ll check in with you as soon as I land.” He shouldered his bag and moved over to where Sledge waited.
“How is he?” asked Sledge as a pair of HH-60 Pave Hawks cut a circuit around them.
“He’ll be fine.”
“Hard bastards those Albanians.”
Nope, thought Vance as one of the HH-60s flared and touched down in front of them. Just bastards.
CHAPTER 4
5 SEPTEMBER 2001
Ice paused on the side of the hill and looked down at the valley. His memory flashed back to the massacre he had witnessed two years earlier. Different location but a sim
ilar setting. A cluster of buildings tucked into the folds of a valley. A family home where generations of farmers had lived a simple existence. In his mind, he could still see the six bodies lying face down in the dirt.
In the months following the massacre, the situation in Kosovo had changed dramatically. A United Nations peacekeeping force, known as KFOR, had finally intervened and the Gray Wolves were disbanded. Along with the rest of the KLA, they had surrendered some of their weapons, buried the rest and waited to see what would happen.
Their mission complete, Vance was sent to Sierra Leone in western Africa, where the UN peacekeeping effort was on the verge of collapse. Ice remained in Kosovo, posted to the newly established CIA Pristina Station. His task, under the cover of a State Department Security Officer, was to develop a source network to inform on potential threats to US interests. A broad mission that gave him the time and resources to pursue his own agenda; bringing war criminals to justice.
“It’s down here.”
The voice snapped Ice back to reality. “Coming.”
His guide, a Kosovar Albanian, was leading him to the site of a mass killing. It was the last piece of intel he needed before submitting the case to the International Criminal Tribunal for Yugoslavia. The intelligence pack on Kreshnik was the first he had worked on. It had been shut down by both his boss and the ICTY. Since then he’d handed over another five. Three massacres by Serb Yugoslav forces, and two by KLA militias. The ICTY had only shown interest in the Serbian incidents. Albanian atrocities didn’t fit with the narrative justifying intervention in Kosovo. He had not even been given the chance to finish the pack on Zahir. The CIA station chief had given him clear direction not to pursue it.
Reaching the bottom of the valley, Ice followed the guide to the farm. The vacant buildings were weather beaten and run down. That wasn’t surprising; his investigation had revealed the entire family was murdered.
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