Yuri forced himself to stay calm. He swept the nightvision sight across the dark forest below in a smooth, controlled arc. Without a spotter to guide him, his vision was limited to the circle of green light before his eyes. Twice he had picked up the target’s movements and fired. But each time the man escaped into another pool of darkness, or took cover behind more trees. Once he left the tiny circle of death, it took precious seconds to target him again.
Now, the forest below was still. The soft moaning of the wind picked up. He ignored the gentle swaying of the branches, knowing it was just a by-product of the cold night breeze. In the distance, a lonely howl rose up and echoed through the mountains.
Siberian wolf, he thought. The animals were rare, and kept to themselves. They avoided humans and other domestic creatures. They killed only for food, to provide for their family, but rarely fought other members of their pack.
A noble creature… I envy him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a flash of movement in the trees. He centered the scope, moving back to capture whatever it was he had seen in the glowing green circle of nightvision.
There… he saw it! The target was wearing Leonid’s white balaclava mask, peering out from behind a tree. The man’s head bobbed up and down slightly, as if looking left and right.
Yuri exhaled, forcing every last ounce of breath from his lungs. His finger tightened on the trigger. With a gentle, almost loving caress against the curved metal, he squeezed. The rifle barked once more, and he saw his target fly back into the snow.
As soon as he felt the pressure of the recoil against his shoulder, he flipped the bolt up and tugged back. The action chambered another round of .338 Lapua Magnum ammunition. He re-centered the scope on the fallen target with subconscious precision, and squeezed the trigger again. Another round tore into the white mask.
Yuri ceased firing. Through the scope, he saw the figure's head flap and billow in the breeze. He realized with a start that his target had not fallen... the mask was still bobbing up and down. It was hanging from the end of a thin branch, jammed into the snow.
WHUMP!
The sound streaked towards him. Before he could even move, he heard an explosion, and the targeting scope lit up bright white. Yuri squinted and tore his eye away from the blinding glow of the scope. The trees directly in front of the ridge had burst into flames. The heat and fire played havoc with the scope's optics.
He took out Leonid… he has the grenade launcher!
Yuri crawled backwards, retreating from the blaze before him.
He used the mask to draw my fire… He wanted me to give away my position!
WHUMP! WHUMP!
Two more explosions shook the snow next to him. The night sky lit up as a wall of towering flames surrounded him. He heard the crack of breaking wood. Branches rustled and shook overhead. Spinning around, he tossed the rifle aside, and threw up his hands in a defensive gesture.
The deafening creak of falling timber groaned through the night air. He cried out as a crushing weight fell on top of him. One of the nearby trees had been toppled by the explosion. The blow knocked the wind from his lungs, and he felt a sharp pain in his side.
Der'mo! The silent curse echoed through his mind as he struggled beneath the weight of the tree trunk.
A stinging, dry warmth crept across his skin. A wave of heat was moving closer and closer to his face. The flames were licking at the fallen timber. The hungry fire crawled along the length of wood, making its way towards his trapped body…
Chapter Twelve
Caine sprinted through the snow, gasping for breath in the icy air. The wood shrapnel still protruded from his side, digging deeper into his flesh with every step he took. The twin fires from the cabin and the forest lit up the night sky with a hazy orange glow. He hoped the flames and smoke blocked the sniper’s line of sight, but there was no way to be sure. The sooner he evacuated the area, the better.
He knew he was moving quicker than he should. The ground was uneven, and slick with frozen snow and icy rocks. In the distance he heard a low, dire howl rise above the crackling of the fire. He did not slow his pace.
Great… now I have the local wildlife to deal wi—
He stumbled, as his foot plunged into deep snow and caught on a gnarled root. Tumbling forward, he struck the icy ground at the edge of an embankment. He ignored the pain, and spread out his hands and legs, trying to stop his body from sliding over the edge. But the frigid night had frozen the snow solid. He shot down the steep, slippery ice like a child on a playground slide.
He skidded to a painful stop in a small clearing, surrounded by an ominous grove of dark trees. The second he stopped moving, he felt an immense pressure on his leg. He heard the snap of cord drawing tight, a rustling whine as it streaked through the branches of the trees above him. His left leg flew up into the air, and he growled in pain as the muscles around the wood fragment pulled tight.
Caine found himself hanging several feet off the ground. A tight noose bit into his ankle. He swayed back and forth, the tips of his fingers dangling inches above the shimmering white frost on the ground.
Grunting with pain and exertion, he bent at the waist, struggling to reach his trapped limb. The movement put pressure on the wood shard, forcing it deeper still into his flesh. He dropped back down, clenching his teeth as a red hot wave of agony pulsed around the wound.
He froze, listening to the forest around him. He heard the crackling of the fire in the distance. Again, a menacing howl sounded from within the dark forest. Then he heard something else.
Footsteps, crunching towards him.
A figure limped out from the trees and moved towards him. A dark gash stained the right leg of the man's white jumpsuit, and thick, crimson blood coursed down the side of his neck.
It was the commando, the one he had wounded with the shovel.
“Nu eto smeshno, well isn't this funny? My name is Leonid. Let me be the first to welcome you to Russia, motherfucker!”
The man grinned at him as he lowered himself down the ice slope. He gritted his teeth and limped closer, wincing with each faltering step.
“You should get that leg looked at, Leonid,” Caine hissed between breaths. “Cold weather increases the chance of infection.”
The man nodded. “Da, you got me good back there. I must return the favor. But you seem to have taken all my weapons. Left me only with this.”
The man slid a long, wicked looking knife from a sheath at this side. The blade was black oxidized steel. Moonlight glinted off the narrow silver band that ran along its diamond sharp edge.
Caine roared, and forced himself to bend up again. His grasping fingers could not reach the circle of rope that snared his ankle, and he fell back down, staring at the upside down figure advancing toward him.
“So I think, I use this to gut you, like wild animal.” Leonid grabbed a tuft of Caine's hair in his fist, and yanked his hanging body towards him. He leaned over, and stared into Caine's eyes.
“I cut you from your foot to your ass, like the trappers do with the sable and mink they catch. Perhaps I sell your skin as well, to Rudov.”
Caine spat in the man’s face.
Leonid let go, and stood up straight, wiping the spittle from his cheek. He lashed out with his foot, kicking Caine in the stomach. Caine moaned in pain, as the blow struck next to the throbbing wood fragment. He swung backwards, spinning around in circles.
Leonid grabbed his leg, stopping his swaying motion.
“Just for that, I take my time. I stop halfway through, drink some vodka, eat my rations. I listen as you beg me to finish the job. Too bad for you, my English not so good.”
Leonid tapped the side of Caine’s leg with his knife. Then he sliced through his pants, exposing the skin of his calf to the freezing night air.
“This is for Arkady. Here we go, ass—”
CRACK!
The gunshot rang out from the forest. Caine felt the Russian’s grip on his leg go loose. He bega
n spinning again, and as he twisted around he saw the commando’s body collapse in the snow. Blood streamed from a crimson hole in his forehead.
A dark figure stalked into the clearing. Whoever it was, they were tall and broad shouldered. Thick winter clothes covered a round, hulking body. A fur-trimmed hood cloaked their face in shadows. Despite the figure’s bulk, they moved down the icy slope with ease, without the slightest stumble or hesitation. Then they continued advancing towards Caine, peering over the barrel of an old bolt-action rifle. The barrel of the weapon was pointed at Caine’s swaying head.
“Kto ty? Who the hell are you?”
The words were muffled by the parka's hood and a thick scarf. The voice had a strange, unfamiliar accent, and was higher pitched than he would have expected.
“I’m not Russian!” Caine shouted.
The figure took another step closer, brandishing the rifle. “What you doing here? Why all these men in woods?”
“I’m not with them,” he answered, wincing in pain as the swaying motion tugged at his wound. “More men are coming. We have to get out of here!”
The figure stood motionless, silent.
Caine squinted, trying to make out a face behind the shadow of the hood. “Men are coming, do you understand? Danger!”
The figure lowered the rifle, and pulled back the hood.
Caine looked up into a wide, tan face. Narrow lips, chapped from the cold and wind, pursed in annoyance. A pair of dark squinting eyes regarded him from above a small, flat nose. A short bob of dark hair framed either side of the broad, impassive face.
It was a woman.
“How I know you not dangerous?” she asked in broken English.
“I’m the one hanging upside down,” Caine answered.
“You not Russian. American?”
Caine hesitated for a moment. “Who are you?”
The woman slung the rifle over her shoulder, and slid a knife from inside her parka. “I the one who cut you down. Long as you not Russian.”
Caine nodded. “Yes, American. I’m American.”
The woman gave a satisfied grunt. She stepped towards him, and severed the trapline with a quick slash of her knife.
Caine fell to the ground. He gritted his teeth once more as his wounded side slammed into the ice.
“You hurt,” she stated.
“It’s fine,” Caine gasped. “I can make it.” He staggered to his feet, and took a step. He immediately collapsed to his knees, another wave of pain shooting through his abdomen.
The woman shook her head. “You no see trap. Now you hurt. You not smart.”
“You got me there,” Caine gasped.
The large woman hefted him to his feet, and slung his arm over her shoulder. “I help you. You say more men come?”
“Yeah. More men come.”
The direful howl once again resonated from the depths of the forest.
“Are those wolves?” Caine’s words were slurred. His limbs were heavy with pain and exhaustion. The cold and lack of rest were taking their toll.
The woman shook her head. “No. Not wolf.”
Caine’s head lolled as the powerful woman dragged him through the snow.
“Good, he mumbled. “One less thing hunting me.”
“Half wolf,” the woman said.
“What?”
She smiled. “Don’t worry. They with me.”
Caine opened his mouth to ask her what she meant, but his eyes rolled back into his head. His head slumped forward, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirteen
A sliver of orange sun cut through the cloud-covered horizon. Dawn was approaching, but the forest was still cloaked in darkness and shadows. A thin haze of smoke drifted across the ice and snow. The air smelled of burned timber and gasoline.
The pair of Taiga snowmobiles screamed across the frozen ground, sending a spray of ice and powder in their wake. The vehicles skidded to a stop. Timur dismounted and stalked forward, sweeping the area with this rifle. He advanced towards the charred remains of the cabin.
He stopped moving, held up his right hand, and waved forward, signaling the all clear.
Zasko climbed off his Taiga, and strode out into the snow. He sniffed the air.
“Thermobaric grenades. Leonid was here.”
Timur knelt in the snow, and scanned the area with a cool, unblinking stare. “I see his bootprints. The target’s prints as well. But I don’t think Leonid got him.”
“Why do you say that?”
Timur stood up. “Both sets point that way,” he said, pointing towards a thick copse of trees in the distance. “And Leonid is walking with a limp.”
Zasko drew his pistol. “See if you can pick up his trail. Find out what happened.”
“Da ser.” Timur marched off towards the trees.
Zasko narrowed his eyes. He surveyed the dead, blackened trees that protruded from the smoky haze. “I told Rudov,” he muttered to himself, barely a whisper. “You are nothing like the others we have hunted.”
He heard the crack of snapping wood behind him. He spun around and raised his pistol.
A figure stepped out of the smoking trees. He coughed and stumbled towards Zasko, raising his hands.
“Do not shoot. It is me.”
Zasko lowered his weapon. “Yuri?”
Black soot and ash covered the sniper's white clothing. His right sleeve was torn open, and the skin of his arm was pink and bubbling… third-degree burns.
Yuri stood before him. One of his blue eyes was swollen shut beneath a mass of burns and scar tissue.
“What the hell happened here? Report!” Zasko demanded.
Yuri took another step towards Zasko. “Who is this man?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The target? Who is he?”
Zasko holstered his weapon. “His name is unimportant. If you remember your training, you will—”
“Bred sivoy kobyly! Enough with the bullshit!”
Zasko glared at him. “Fine. No names, but as I said, this man is not our usual prey. He is highly trained. Former US Special Forces. Then CIA, Special Operations Group. I do not have all the details, much of the report was classified or missing. But I understand his kill record is… impressive.”
The wounded man glared at Zasko with his one good eye. “Special Forces? He lured us here. Surprised Leonid somehow, took him out. He almost killed me.”
“Calm yourself, soldier. You are hysterical.”
Yuri took another step closer. His lower lip quivered. “And Arkady? He is dead as well, no?”
“Yuri, I said calm down. That is an order. Do not make me—”
“You still give orders? In less than twenty-four hours, this man has cut our number in half. You have led us into a slaughter!”
Yuri charged forward, grasping for Zasko’s throat with his bruised hands.
The commander sidestepped the attack, and his arm shot up. His whip was clutched in his fist, held in a loose coil. The circle of leather looped around Yuri’s right arm. With a quick tug, Zasko spun the man around, throwing him off balance. Grabbing the back of his parka, the older man jerked down, and Yuri fell backwards into the snow.
A glint of steel appeared in Zasko’s free hand. The knife twirled around his fingers. Before Yuri could move, he felt the cold kiss of its blade against his neck.
He ceased his struggling. Zasko stared down at him, his eyes wide, his face a cold, blank mask.
“Why are you here, Yuri? Why did you join our little hunt?” he asked in a low growl.
“I needed money. That is all.
"Money for what?"
Yuri glared up at him for a moment. Then he blinked. The rage seemed to drain from his face.
"My wife. She is ill. The hospital says she needs new medicine. Expensive medicine. I’m not here for you, or this idiotic game. You can cut off this man’s head without me.”
“The head is for Rudov. They are his trophies. Me? I only want
his heart.”
Yuri squinted at his commander. “What?”
“I will cut it from his body. Then I will savor it, bite by bite. And when I am finished with my meal, I will know I am victorious. I will take this man’s strength, and make it my own.”
“You are insane.” Yuri spat out the words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. “Psikh.”
“That is what I do to my prey, Yuri. And that is what Sergei Rudov will order me to do to you, if you abandon the hunt.”
“And if this Caine kills you first?”
Zasko shrugged. “Fear of death is the spice that makes life worth living. But if I die, Rudov will send someone else for you. And for your lovely wife. She will suffer for your cowardice, my friend.”
Zasko stood up. “The target took out your good eye. You’re useless as a sniper now. “I should kill you for insubordination, but I need the manpower. The hunt must continue.”
He held out his hand. Yuri knocked it away, and staggered to his feet.
“Zdes, over here," Timur called to them. "I have the trail!”
Zasko took a deep breath, then turned to face the tracker. “Which way did he go?”
Timur pointed towards the dark forest that ran down the slope of the mountain. “Deep into the woods. And he is not alone.”
Zasko slid his knife back into its sheath. “What?”
The stern faced man nodded. “Sled tracks. Dogs. Heavy boots. Someone was helping him.”
Zasko smiled. “As I said, spice. The thrill of the hunt is the chase.” He turned back to Yuri as Timur ran over to them.
“We bring the snowmobiles. Timur, you’re with me. Yuri, you will follow.” The older man looked the younger man in the eye. “Do you understand.”
Yuri nodded. “I understand. But we are only three men. After what I have seen… I do not think—”
Zasko bared his teeth and thumped his chest. “What? Our prey is wounded, and tired. We are spetsnaz! We have superior numbers, and superior firepower. Are you telling me we cannot take down one man, here in our own homeland?”
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