“Very well, Major. But these unfortunate incidents are not why I chose to come find you. I have a second purpose, also business. Because I . . . we need you to survive. At least for a few more weeks.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Right now, the Russians have found your positions here.”
“Holy shit!” said Tyce standing abruptly, “They’ve found us?”
“How could you know that?” asked Victoria.
“I have a lot of contacts. And if you listen very closely to people who think they are interrogating you, they say things they don’t even know they’re telling you. I would imagine there’s not much time to discuss it. I hope you have worked out an escape plan.”
“We . . . well, we just got here.” He stammered. Susanna had a way of stopping him in his tracks, “We do, but . . .” he began, than trailed off as he caught a glimpse of the troops in the great room stuffing their mouths with steak and eggs.
“Good. You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’m leaving in the next two or three minutes. I don’t intend to stick around and see how well drilled your men are.”
“Do you happen to know which side? From where, I mean.”
“Front door, I believe you all would say. They couldn’t be far behind us on Route 219. Chief here knows the roads better than they do. Even one armed, he earned your men and mine a slight head start getting here.”
Tyce pointed to Gunny. “Sound the alarm. I’ll take over the spoiling force. We evacuate, immediately.”
Gunny turned and raced to call the posts and sound the alarm, which was basically just the buildings fire alarm.
* * *
Within moments, Tyce had a small quorum assembled with a few more arriving by the second.
“Stick to the plan,” Tyce said. “Gunny and Wynand, you’re with Captain Blake. Get your half of the troops to the Humvees. Docs, SSgt Diaz and Blue with Lieutenant Zane’s half. We leave immediately. Thanks to some advance warning, and if we scoot, we can get everyone out of here.” He pointed to the Mayor and the Chief. “Thank you again, Mayor.” They nodded in return.
“Don’t thank me. Just get the hell out of here and survive. Then come visit me very soon.” said Susanna.
Tyce still didn’t like the sound of Susanna’s threats, warnings, or even her help. Each time it felt like a double-edged sword. Without a word further, she and the chief turned and left.
Tyce didn’t wait. “I’m going to check on the headquarters men. They should be destroying everything, and the sentries should be collapsing back into the perimeter. Lieutenant Zane, SSgt. Diaz, if I don’t make it to the basement in five, leave. You’re on the clock, now move!”
“Aye, aye, sir.” They all said. Victoria lingered a second, then she too raced off to organize her ambulances.
Troops scrambled everywhere and runners sprinted out to grab the men and women on patrol around the small ski village. The urgency in the air was just below panic, Tyce could feel it. They had all practiced the evacuation plan, two times a day, but now that it was for real, it looked to Tyce like controlled chaos. Their peace shattered, an unnerving feeling seized Tyce’s insides as he watched the men and women prepare to evacuate their happy home.
At least we got a few days’rest, thought Tyce.
The evacuation drill was to ditch everything not already loaded into packs or the Humvees and go. Half the unit was to get out of Snowshoe in the Humvees, the other half to depart by skis. The destination built into the drill was Ned’s former SF camp up by the Cheat River, but also close to Parsons. Tyce had forced the small unit leaders to study every aspect of the routing until they’d memorized every dirt road and frozen creek. At least they knew the route by heart, but all from the maps. Tyce fretted over everything.
If Mayor Susanna knew they would be back near Parsons, she would not approve, but it’d all been rehearsed before she dropped the bomb on them about the Russians torturing civilians. But for Tyce, the deciding factor was Ned’s firm belief that they could score a big cache of weapons and ammo there and still remain hidden from the Russians. He’d considered going after a bigger base, one full of supplies, but he knew the Russians were now wise to the composition and the abilities of his unit. Their preemptive attack in the middle of a snowstorm proved they were out for blood.
Not enough time to adjust the plan because of the Mayor’s news, thought Tyce. It was war, and he knew there were many sacrifices ahead and behind, the Mayor’s included. He was also pretty sure she had something in store for him that would require even more sacrifice. She wouldn’t have let him off that easy, especially to look at what they’d done to her personally. Tyce shuddered to think about what the Russian occupation of Parsons must have been like.
* * *
After checking that the perimeter was coming in and the HQ men had already left by Humvee and skis, Tyce made his way to the ski-out basement of the lodge to join the last remaining troops to leave. He passed the kitchen on the way and spotted rows and rows of steaming eggs and cooked steaks.
No time to even destroy that, guess we’re feeding some hungry Russians this morning, thought Tyce.
In the basement, Tyce watched the last men and women scramble to don their gear. He noticed they each had some extra cans of food, and a few looked to have pockets bulging with a bottle of whiskey or vodka. He supposed they knew as well as he did that a few comforts and snacks were going to go a long way in the next 24 to 48 hours. Anyhow, the Russians would take everything so it was better to leave them nothing. Still, he worried all the little extras might slow the men down from the rehearsed evacuation plan time line.
Tyce hastily pulled on his snowsuit and grabbed his body armor from the hook, then headed outside. There, two groups scrambled to clip into skis, while buddies helped them lift heavy packs. One squad leader got a count, performed a last-minute weapons check, then they vanished into the dark and frosty woods. The wind served to dampen any sounds as the troops departed, and the blizzard would cover their tracks soon enough.
With some luck, it’d take the Russians a while to find them again. Their undertaking was going to be a massive human effort. Even for trained skiers, a cross-country-ski trek with packs through the mountains at night would be difficult. Tyce and the skiing half of the unit were going more than sixty miles. Many of the troops had only ever been on skis during the past few days of practice. Daily ski lessons through a rigorous crash course designed by knowledgeable NCOs had helped, but most of them took it as a bit of fun in spite of their leaders upbraiding them after every failed slalom turn or snowplow stop.
Confident most of the troops had departed, Tyce clipped into his own skis and prepared to wait for the last few men. He wanted to leave with them and ensure all his troops got out safely.
A Marine crashed through the basement door behind him scaring Tyce half out of his wits, “There you are, sir.” out of breath, he panted for a second, “Sir, it’s the perimeter men. They refuse to go.”
“The hell you say.”
“They think they can hold off the Russians and gain you a few more minutes.”
“They’ll die at their posts.” said Tyce in utter exasperation. “Take me there.” said Tyce pulling out of his skis, ripping off the bulky plastic ski boots and charging through the snow behind his Marine in nothing more than stocking feet.
* * *
Tyce watched through NVGs as a platoon of Russians walked alongside the lead BTR, their rifles up and at the ready scanning the hills. Blue was peering happily through the new night sight Tyce’s armorers had affixed to his Weatherby rifle. He hardly needed it. The road was lit by innumerable streetlights and the snow would play hell with the optics. The Russians seemed to be asking for a fair fight. They probably knew as well as Tyce that the best way to fight an elusive enemy was to give him a target, then once he popped up, crush him.
“Gimme the word, and I can take two of ’em boys before they even know what hit ’em,” Blue whispered to Tyce.
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It was hardly necessary to whisper; the wind was loud enough to cover most noises. Tyce pulled his own NVGs away, the snow and wind stinging his eyes.
“Hold off, Blue. There’s dozens more behind them. My estimate is those men are just the reconnaissance element. They’re trying to get us to take them on. I’m mostly worried about that BTR. For sure, his thermal gunsights are sweeping over the mountainside right now, and I’ll bet behind him are a lot more. Anyone sticks their butts up too high, and he’ll see the heat signature.” Tyce looked back at the three others, the Marine messenger and two soldiers who’d refused to leave their post. They smiled at him, but Tyce could only shake his head.
“You damn fools.” he said, but it was lost to the wind.
He had a mind to court-martial both of them, if they ever got out of this situation. Instead he signaled for them both to shimmy up to he and Blue. Once there, he pulled all four behind the snowbank and made sure Blue could hear him while he kept an eye on the Russians.
“What’s the plan, men?”
“Me and Sergeant Copper here are gonna blow the propane tanks, snipe a few, then skedaddle.”
“That’s it?” asked Tyce, expecting some sort of elaborate delaying tactic.
The one named Copper looked back at his buddy, “No need to complicate things with a lot of fancy maneuverings, sir. Just hose them off and git.”
“Fuck.” said Tyce, rubbing his frozen feet, “Okay, I’m in. But then we go. What do you want me to do?”
“You any good with that musket, sir?” asked Copper.
“Yes. Maybe not as good as Blue, though.”
“Good. Mister Blue, you initiate the hit by taking out the vehicle commander. Think you can drop one into his hatch?”
“From this angle . . . might’n be able.” said the big mountain man without taking his eyes off the sights.
“Ok, whomever you can then. Barnes, you hit the propane initiator, then the three of us nail whoever we can. Say, give ’em about one minute of sustained rifle fire. Then we leave.”
“Okay. Good.” said Tyce.
The sooner they did so, the better. They didn’t have long before the Russians reached the top of the mountain, but it was as solid a plan as any. Regardless, he needed to get the men out of here and back to their packs. His decision to ditch the ski boots had gotten him here quicker, but now, with both feet like icicles, he regretted not taking a minute longer to put his snow boots on. He thought he was just going to chew some ass, then get back to his pack and ski off. Now he couldn’t help indulging some brave men in a last-chance effort to give the rest of his unit much-needed minutes to melt into the woods and farther on their way to safety.
“I can’t see the feller atop that battlewagon,” said Blue, “But I can see the guy drivin’.”
“Just as good. On three, you shoot him in the head. Everyone got it?”
Some “yeps,” and nods of heads.
“Here we go. One. Two. Th—”
“This is bullshit.” said a voice from behind them. The four men all spun around to see Victoria and Trigger walking up to their position.
* * *
“Commander, I have a lone figure on the hill.” said the BTR gunner to his commander over the intercom.
“Just one?”
“Might be some others. Looks like maybe a dog. All behind a snowbank. Three hundred meters. Permission to fire.”
“Granted. I’ll call the CO and let him know we found these damn Yankees and we’re now in the assault.”
The gunner had a perfect bead on the figures in the snow. Four heads sticking up peering at them up and one standing up, all clear as day.
“Colonel Nikolaevich, we have the enemy in sight. Attacking, time now.”
“Roger, no mercy.” came the response.
* * *
“Victoria, get down!” yelled Tyce.
Not waiting, Sergeant Copper yelled, “Fire!”
Blue squeezed the trigger.
* * *
The Russian BTR driver had his head up and out of the hatch. Driving while buttoned up in a snowstorm was impossible, so like most military vehicle drivers he’d erred on getting his boss to the objective over the risk of sliding off the road. He had confidence in his bulletproof helmet and that he could close his hatch as soon as the gunner spotted his targets.
That’s when a .460 Magnum round entered his mouth, then tore through his trachea and out the side of his neck. In the last seconds before he died, choking on his own blood, his eyes grew wide in horror and his foot jammed reflexively down on the accelerator. Right then, the gunner pulled the palm switch and fired the 30mm gun.
* * *
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Came the all-too-familiar sounds of incoming 30mm cannon fire.
Blue fired again. Then all hell broke loose. Bullets, rifle-grenades, 7.62mm machine guns and 30mm cannon fire split the hill to shreds. Trigger began barking uncontrollably. Someone screamed in pain.
* * *
Tyce dragged Copper into the basement ski room of the chalet. Blue pulled off the man’s body armor, and Victoria tore off his parka. Three shrapnel wounds oozed blood through his shirt. She pulled off her medical backpack, dug out a morphine injector, and stabbed it into Copper’s thigh.
“Why are you still here?” Tyce barked at her.
“Waiting for you”—she looked over at the wounded man—“in case something like that happened.” she yelled back, hastily applying QuickClot and bandages to the wounds.
Tyce watched her work for a moment, helpless as she performed her duty.
“We leave, now.” said Tyce. No one argued.
Blue and the messenger Marine helped Copper back into his jacket, onto his feet, and then outside. The Russians were already right up the street just two buildings away. They had seconds left. They all snapped on their skis and helped Copper into his. The morphine must already be taking effect because he now moved as if he felt no pain and started petting Trigger and smiling at the dog.
“Copper, it’s you and me, understand? Hold on to my shoulder and we ski together. Victoria, you, Blue, and Trigger, start moving. We’re right behind. Go!” they nodded and skied onto the steep ski slope.
Tyce turned to the other two, “You two are rear guard. Watch the top of the slope. In a few seconds, you follow. Got it?”
Both nodded.
Tyce held Copper by the waist and with some difficulty pushed them both off and on their way. He could just barely make out Victoria and Blue. They were a hundred meters ahead. Tyce and Copper had made it fifty yards down the slope when heavy gunfire erupted behind them. Both men skied a bit further, wobbled, then dropped to the ground, but none of the fire was aimed at them.
Lying in the snow, they looked back up to the top of the slope, fighting to rise back up on their skis. They could barely see the outlines of the two men, their rifles blazing away on burst mode at the unseen attackers. Several big explosions lit up the dark resort, silhouetting the two lone defenders and casting their umbra through the falling snow and against the adjacent mountain peaks. Tyce and Copper were unable to tear their gaze away as their men’s fates played out before their very eyes. A massive fusillade of tracer fire fanned out from atop the hill across the valley like a hundred laser beams. Then it was all over, and once again darkness shrouded the men.
“Let’s go.” said Tyce, “Nothing more we can do.” his voice wavered, dismal and distant.
Tyce supported a wobbling, wounded Copper to his feet, and Copper, in turn, supported his shaking boss, and together they skied silently into the woods. At that moment, a deeply wounded Sergeant Copper understood Tyce better than anyone who’s never personally witnessed their fellow warriors being cut to pieces.
CHAPTER 29
Monongahela National Forest, West Virginia
Sweat streamed down Tyce’s face, out his sleeves, down his pants, and into his boots. It turned to small icicles on his balaclava. The fingers of his gloves were frozen
together and stuck to the ski poles. Wet slush in his boots stung his feet, and since running around in his socks at Snowshoe, he’d given up ever feeling his toes. He tried to focus on his ski tips as he slid them back and forward and listened to the others panting next to him.
In their last hour of nighttime, the snowstorm abated, then the sky began to turn blue. The first rays of light began to dance atop the pines. In loud whumps, clumps of snow fell free from the high treetops, and for a brief moment of exhaustion Tyce’s brain wondered at the winter’s majesty as thousands of little crystals drifted from the tall pines, through the sun’s light and down to earth. Then he remembered the dull, numb ache of his frostbitten feet.
Occasionally, they came to a downhill slope and made two or three miles of good progress. Inevitably, at the bottom of the hills they had to strip off their skis and put on snowshoes. Tyce carefully helped Copper out of his boots, then together they picked their way over a frozen river or cautiously crossed an unplowed road, weapons up and ready. Then began another arduous hike up another steep West Virginia hill and through more dense and unforgiving woods.
Tyce’s energy was waning, and he’d only had that cup of soup Victoria brought him nearly twelve hours before to serve as dinner, breakfast, and now lunch. In the past two hours, he’d been running on nothing but fumes. He took some courage watching the others persevere, especially Copper. But he could see the morphine had worn off, and finally Copper asked for a halt.
They had been taking a breather about every twenty minutes, as much to rest as to check on the wounded Copper and to defrost Trigger. On the last stop, Tyce had noticed two big cuts to Trigger’s belly. He had probably cut himself when the top of Snowshoe blew up on their final delaying attack. Might have taken some shrapnel. For now, the cold had stanched the bleeding, but when they reached safety, Tyce thought the dog might be in some trouble, not sure what Victoria could do. Trigger’s wound could become infected, and if he had lost a lot of blood, hypothermia would set in.
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