He caught her laughing at him as he pulled over his own pack and started yanking out clothes. “What’s so frickin’ funny?”
“You,” she said, laughing. “You look like a wet rat.”
“Well, you look like . . . like . . . like a WonderBra commercial.” It was apparently all he could muster on the spur of the moment, but it sent Victoria into semi hysterics.
“A bra commercial? What the hell does that even mean, tu idiota?” She laughed at him, her hands on her hips. She was about to give him more ribbing when she realized Bill still hadn’t arrived on their side of the river and in the dim moonlight wasn’t even visible out in the river. “Hey, I can’t see Bill.”
Wynand stopped pulling on his shirt and looked back over his shoulder. “You think he went under?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, we can’t wait.” said Wynand, angrily.
“What are you saying?”
“I mean we’re leaving. We can’t wait no longer. It’ll be daybreak in less than two hours.”
Victoria looked out onto the cold river. There wasn’t a hint of daylight yet—just the opposite, the quarter moon looked like it was setting, and soon it would be pitch black for at least another hour.
Wynand put on his pants, did up his belt, gathered his pack, and started up the bank.
“You coming?” he asked. Behind him, he heard a gentle splash. He turned in time to see Victoria’s head come up in the water as she swam back out into the cold darkness.
Charleston, West Virginia
The suburbs of Charleston didn’t look much different from when Blue had seen them last, the only other time he’d been through the city. The houses and porches were lit and, oddly, people were visible. Almost all of his recent experiences with civilians had been in the eastern half of the state, where everyone still hid in their homes and mostly kept to themselves. Here, there were cars driving on the road, and some of the business seemed to be operational. At least, the gas station and several greasy-spoon restaurants had their signs turned on, and people were walking in and out. Charleston was not a big city, but there were plenty of eight- and ten-story buildings downtown. As they crossed out of the suburbs and started across a bridge to enter downtown, Blue noticed the buildings and even billboard advertisements were well lit.
As they crossed, Blue also spotted a Russian checkpoint on the other side of the bridge. The sheriff turned to him. “Now, don’t you say nothing. Let me handle this.” As they drove up to the checkpoint, they waited in line as a few cars in front of them passed through. When it was their turn, the sheriff rolled down the window of his squad car and handed the Russian soldier a piece of paper. To Blue’s surprise, the man saluted the sheriff and waved him through.
“Okay, now you listen good. I’m going to drive us into the parking lot behind the Capitol building. We’ll go into the Department of Education building and we’ll head inside, then up the stairs to the roof together. That’s where you’re gonna set up your sniper position. Any questions so far?”
Blue shook his head.
“Good. Now, we’ll only have about an hour to wait. The governor is giving his live broadcast on the back steps in”—the sheriff looked at his watch—“about one hour. Put your rifle into this bag,” the sheriff pulled a long black nylon gear bag out of the back seat. “Inside is a state construction worker’s jacket and helmet. Go ahead an’ put those on. Any Russian guards will ask fewer questions. Now, suit up and let’s go.”
Blue put on the yellow jacket and helmet and squeezed his trusty Weatherby into the bag. They both stepped out and proceeded up to the building. Two Russians were there, but they glanced at the sheriff ’s uniform and Blue in his construction clothes and waved them through without even checking their IDs. Once inside, they found the stairway and headed to the top, where the sheriff produced a key that let them onto the roof. The visibility to the capitol steps was excellent. Even at night, it had a clear and unobstructed view. The sheriff pulled out a package of cigarettes and lit up. He offered one to Blue, who declined.
“Hey. We’re supposed to call the mayor soon. Unpack your rifle, get situated however you need to be, and then we’ll let her know we’ve made it.”
Blue started to set up his rifle. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the sheriff leaned against the wall, smoked his cigarette, and messed with his phone. As Blue checked things over, he noticed the sheriff had drawn his pistol and laid it atop the wall. The sheriff took a long drag on his cigarette and looked down at Blue. He gave Blue a big, toothy grin and blew the smoke down toward his face.
CHAPTER 28
Russian Pentagon
Washington, D. C.
“General, we just got another radio intercept. It’s centered exactly on that high school where the SPETS-VTOR predicted it would be,” said a watch officer.
“Excellent.” General Kolikoff’s spirits had picked up immensely in the past few hours. Things were really playing out.
“Sir, Agent Panther just checked in,” said Major Pavel. General Kolikoff got up and went over to Pavel’s computer screen. A message had come over the secure satellite digital uplink. It read:
AMERICANS PLAN TO ATTACK TRAIN VICINITY, WINCHESTER VIRGINIA. THEIR COMMANDER REMAINS AT THEIR BASE. ESTABLISH COUNTER-AMBUSH AT CEMETERY, LAT/LON 39.182, -78.161. DO NOT TRY TO CONTACT ME.
“Good. Send the location to Captain Shenkov and tell him to take off immediately. He can get there well before them if he leaves now. They won’t get through our ambush this time.”
“Agent Panther has been very valuable,” said Pavel.
“Yes, we have a great asset . . .” and another who needs some work, Captain Shenkov, should take her as an example. Kolikoff thought. “That part about their commander. That’s the man named Lieutenant Colonel Asher. Sounds like we’ll be able to kill him in the process. Cut the head off the proverbial snake.”
“Do we have a dossier on the enemy commander, sir?” asked Pavel.
“Not yet. We tried to get into the military file systems in St. Louis, but someone destroyed all the digital records before we could recover them. Some fool executed all the Veterans Affairs personnel out of anger, and now we don’t even have anyone to unlock the records we have recovered. No worries, though. Moscow has made a deal with China. Apparently, they stole all the U.S. service records a year ago, including active-duty personnel, and we’ve made an agreement to buy portions we need.”
“Should I send her an acknowledgment of receipt?”
“No. She said no contact.”
“What about the bombing run? We have confirmation on your request from the 79th that six Sukhoi Su-24 short-range bombers will hit the target at daybreak and 0752 hours. Does she need to know about that?”
“No, she’s nowhere near there. Just make sure Shenkov has the comm links so he can link up with her when we ambush the Americans in Winchester.”
* * *
Victoria swam ashore, dragging Bill Degata behind her in a practiced rescue swim maneuver. She stood on the shore, dripping wet and shivering from head to toe.
“What the fuck?” Wynand said.
He had her civilian shirt and pants out of her bag and ready for her. She pulled the pants on with some effort, her teeth chattering. It wasn’t until she’d gotten her sweatshirt on that she caught her breath enough to answer, “He hadn’t made it more than a few feet.” She panted, “He doesn’t know how to swim.”
“You’re kidding.” Wynand stared at Bill, who lay on his back, so tired he could barely move.
“No.” She turned to Bill, “Change. Now. Or you’ll die.” It was said with such force that Bill immediately used whatever reserve strength he had to weakly roll over and try to claw the now-sopping clothes out of his pack. His hands didn’t look to be grasping anything very well, so Wynand bent down and helped him.
“They’re all wet,” Wynand said.
“I know. That was the only thing keeping him afloat for any time
at all. He was all the way under when I got there. The only thing visible were his hands holding on to his floating pack.”
“You . . . you dragged him up?”
“Look, no time for screwing around. He’s got the beginnings of hypothermia. I need to get him to a warm spot or he’ll die.”
“How do you know?” Wynand looked at her.
Victoria glared at him. “I just said I don’t have time to explain, or do you want me to quote Stedman’s Medical Dictionary to you? Just help me carry him. The more he moves, the better chance he has for survival.”
The two pulled on their clothes and half walked, half dragged Bill over the bank and onto the street. It was only a few blocks before they were both winded and had to stop.
“There.” Victoria pointed to an all-night laundry facility. Wynand didn’t argue, and they both went inside. It was open, but there was a girl in there who leapt up when they came in.
“It’s okay,” Victoria said. “He just fell in. Can you help us? We need to get his clothes dry while we, uh, run some errands. And we need to leave some rifles here, too.”
The girl eyed them up and down, but seemed to understand and was eager to assist. Anything to stick it to the Russians. “Sure thing,” the girl said, helping Bill sit. She tugged his wet outer clothes off and promised to keep him dry and warm.
Victoria and Wynand left Bill and their weapons, trusting the girl, and walked the remaining few blocks to the hospital.
“That was quick thinking back there.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean at the river. You saved his life.”
“Just shut up. We have two more blocks, and we haven’t even gotten to the tricky part.”
“What do you mean?”
“What, you think the Russians aren’t guarding every hospital? They’ll have at least a platoon of men there round the clock. It’s the same in every occupation. Not only does owning the hospital give you the power of access to healing, but you can spot any insurgent who shows up. A gunshot wound will get good treatment, that’s the doctor’s oath, but the Russians will interrogate and arrest anyone who looks suspicious.”
Wynand thought about that for a while but kept silent.
When they arrived at the entrance to the hospital, Victoria said, “Listen, you just follow my lead and keep your fat mouth shut.”
Wynand nodded and stayed quiet as they approached the hospital’s ER entrance. As they neared, Victoria supported Wynand under the arm. He played along, dragging his feet a bit. Two Russian soldiers with AKs were sitting on stools smoking cigarettes and watching them approach. One stood and held up his hand.
“You must show me paper,” he said in halting English.
Victoria turned up her Italian accent and didn’t skimp on her rapid-fire tempo, “Yeah, great, listen, I’m Doctor Seno, this man’s having a grand mal seizure with acute and violent muscle contractions. His O2 saturation levels are in the blue. We gotta get him to the ER stat or his hypopharynx will seize up.”
Wynand went full bore and started twitching and spitting up. He croaked loudly, rolled his eyes back and kicked and flailed his arms. Victoria made a motion to hand him off to the soldier and indicated for the other soldier to help her carry him. The man tossed his cigarette and grabbed Wynand by the shoulders. Victoria physically placed the other man’s hands on Wynand’s ankles and yelled at him, “Get his legs.” The man looked confused but understood her gesture. The two Russians carried Wynand through the sliding glass doors, following Victoria into the hospital.
CHAPTER 29
Morgantown, West Virginia
Stacey jogged onto the high school basketball court wearing a form-hugging sports bra and spandex workout pants. Not unusual for the unit, where troopers looked to get some exercise any chance they could around the clock, but a little out of place now that the court had been turned into a makeshift hospital. She ran over to Tyce, who was quietly praying at the bedside of one of Ned’s Rangers along with a few of the unit’s men. The man had lost both arms and was about to be taken to a local hospital, along with a few others who were well beyond the capability of the surgery Victoria’s people had available to them.
“Hey,” she said gleefully, tapping him on the shoulder. “I got news on the train.”
Tyce held up a finger and finished the prayer, his eyes remaining shut: “. . . even when I am afraid, I may put my whole trust in You; through our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.”
He stood slowly and looked down into the man’s eyes. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Sergeant Spicer. The docs got you one hundred percent stabilized. They told me you’re gonna be A-OK.” The man smiled weakly, and the other Marines grabbed the sides of his stretcher and hoisted him up. “I’m guessing that morphine has hit you pretty good about now. Just remember we’re all with you and praying the whole time. I know Captain Blake would be damn proud of you, as am I.”
“We got him from here, sir,” one of the others said, and they headed off to the school’s loading bay, where there were already several ambulances waiting to take the severely wounded away.
“Okay, Petty Officer Van Andersson, what do you have?” He glanced at her, just now noticing her formfitting civilian exercise attire.
“Um, well, not here, sir. I have some intel on the train. Follow me.”
Tyce looked around at all the wounded men. “I don’t have many secrets from these men,” he said.
“Sir, I’ll respectfully remind you that you have a mole.”
“We have a mole. Remember, you are the one who’s going to help me root him out.”
“I remember, and I also know the first few procedures include plugging all your leaks. That means not talking about highly classified intelligence details in a wide-open basketball court in an uncleared high school.” She put her hands on her hips and half-turned her head, giving him a reproachful look.
“Okay.” Tyce was still somber from talking to Ned’s wounded men. It was a melancholy visit, but he’d had a chance to lift a few spirits and hear the men tell him firsthand about some of their acts of bravery fighting the Russians. He hadn’t intended that the visit lift his own spirits, but remarkably, saying a few prayers with the living and a few more over the dead had been strangely therapeutic. In each case, the fallen and the wounded had two or three caretakers who’d spoken to Tyce about the man’s deeds or how he had fallen. He was reluctant to leave them, but like most commanders, he needed to be in four places at once.
Tyce followed Stacey up through the school. He was a little surprised when she didn’t turn in at the command post offices but kept going and entered the area they’d designated as the female’s quarters.
“Hey, let’s do this in the CP,” he said as she lifted up a camouflage poncho that led into her bunk area. Being in the females-only area was a no-no that even Tyce couldn’t violate. Whatever people saw, they immediately suspected more, and Tyce didn’t intend to be a part of the barracks gossip.
“Oh, relax. All the girls here are medical types, besides me.” She smiled. “And they’re all busy back down in the hospital. Besides”—she held the poncho for him to step in—“you aren’t afraid I’ll bite, are you Colonel?” She giggled.
When Tyce didn’t immediately step in, she ushered him in and said, “This is where I keep my secret stuff, Colonel, and I don’t like to leave secret cell phones, maps, or even lists of contacts in your CP.” She winked at him. “After all, that’s where moles go for their information.”
Tyce came inside. The 150th hadn’t been in the Tucker County high school long, but already Stacey, like most of the troops, had tried to make things as comfortable as possible. All around there were sheets and ponchos set up as makeshift walls. A small mirror and a towel hung from nylon paracord. Her bed had a fuzzy comforter with a big panther on it; who knew where she had acquired it. But most notable was another paracord line hung with all manner of a lady’s delicates. Tyce could feel his face flush.
“What’s the matter,
Colonel? Never seen a bra before?” Stacey delighted in Tyce’s embarrassment. She took out a locked Pelican case from under the bed, then made him turn around as she undid the two big combo locks. “No peeking, top secret, eyes only.” Tyce obeyed, pivoting about and coming face-to-face with several leopard- and other animal-patterned underwear and a sheer, bright red nightie.
“You can turn around now, sir. Unless you’re enjoying the view.”
Tyce turned around. Stacey had laid out several maps, cell phones, and notepads of handwritten notes across the panther bed spread.
“Okay.” She knelt down and smoothed the map. “Here’s what I’ve gotten from my sources.” She pointed to Lexington, Virginia, on the map. “The train has already started to turn north. It’s left Clifton Forge and is on its way through Staunton. It’ll be in Winchester in about four hours. I calculated Lieutenant Bryce’s men can make it up there to Winchester in less than two. That gives them more than two hours to set up an ambush and take out the train. I picked a wide-open spot here.” She pointed to the Mount Hebron Cemetery in Winchester. “Here he will have a clear view of the entirety of the train as it passes, and he can take out the engine with ease. Should be a snap.” Stacey snapped her fingers for emphasis and smiled.
Tyce knelt beside her and looked over the map. “This is really good, Petty Officer Van A.” He squinted his eyes at the map and leafed through her notes. “No, I mean it. Really good work.” Tyce smiled from ear to ear, he was so pleased. Maybe, finally, my luck is turning, he thought. He read over her calculations, all written in perfect cursive, paying special note to the timetables she’d drawn up.
The news seemed to make him completely giddy; Stacey could hear it in his voice. She smiled back, genuinely glad he’d dropped his guard and shortened her name. She maneuvered closer to him, pointing out the most important data then cautiously leaning her head against his shoulder and sighing very softly. He was too engrossed in the intelligence and didn’t notice.
The Kill Box Page 21