by Dave Edlund
“Assuming I didn’t guess wrong, and we land somewhere in the neighborhood where Peter is hiding out, then we wait and listen. If he’s alive, and the bad guys are after him, there will be gunshots. We follow the sound, and we get him out. The sat phone is to contact Lacey. She can coordinate with the local badges once we have Peter in our custody.”
“Law enforcement may not look kindly upon the military taking custody of their suspect.”
Jim nodded. He’d already thought about that potential complication.
“Lacey will work out authorization through Colonel Pierson. You have to trust the Colonel. He’ll do the right thing. Once we have Peter safe, and get his side of the story, it’ll all make sense. Right now, we have too many questions and not enough answers. But I tell you this: Peter did not execute a Deputy. That’s not him. It’s against every moral fiber in his body.”
“I know, sir.”
They synchronized their wrist-mounted GPS units with the plane’s navigational computer. Both men were wearing heavily-insulated jumpsuits to protect against the frigid outside temperature and 350-knot wind they would experience when they jumped out the back hatch.
With guns and packs hanging low and in front, they checked each other’s straps. After final adjustments were made, it was simply a waiting game. But they didn’t have long to wait before they’d be at the jump location—an imaginary point in three-dimensional space where the two soldiers would leap into the sky.
Homer had one more question nagging at his mind. “Sir. What if we don’t hear any gunfire?”
“Then either I guessed the wrong location, or we arrived too late.”
Chapter 27
Eastern Drainage of Broken Top
April 22
Peter was finding it hard to keep his eyes open, not to mention actually focus on the expanse to the west. The night seemed to drag on, minutes passing with excruciating slowness. He looked at his watch again, only eight minutes since he last checked the time. Shaking his head and shifting his shoulders, he tried to stir from his lassitude.
Diesel heard it first, pushing up from his warm cocoon against Peter where he had burrowed under the sleeping bag. Ears forward, Diesel stared across the opening to the scattered and stunted trees. Peter felt the motion, and the tense muscles in his dog. He looked to Diesel, and then in the direction he was fixated.
Even with the electronics amplifying the ambient light, Peter could not see anything out of the ordinary. Yet he continued to search, trusting the dog.
With quickened pulse and a jolt of Adrenalin, Peter no longer felt sleepy. Diesel had heard something—but what? It could be a harmless rodent, or maybe a coyote on the hunt.
It could also be one of the enemy.
Diesel was sitting upright, staring ahead into the darkness, as still as a stone statue.
Peter’s hand rubbed the soft fur and thick flesh at Diesel’s neck, but even that didn’t disturb the canine’s concentration.
And then… movement.
Peter’s pulse raced and his right hand moved to the trigger of his rifle, anticipating an order not yet sent by his brain.
He stole a quick glance at Diesel—the canine was still focused ahead. What did you hear?
Slowly, it appeared. Emerging from behind a cluster of dwarf fir trees, moving at a deliberate pace. At first it appeared as a shadow. But eventually the shadow took form, and a small doe ambled into sight.
Peter exhaled and relaxed. “It’s okay, boy.” He rubbed Diesel’s head and thick neck, pushing his fingertips against the dense muscles that surrounded the oversized head and lent immense power to the stocky jaws and large teeth. He kneaded the loose skin on the canine’s neck—a defensive feature bred into the dog for fighting.
Diesel relaxed his limbs and let out a breath he’d been holding. Sensing the doe was not a threat, he lowered his head.
s
The deep thundering bass of the rotors beating the air could be felt as much as heard. Against a black early-morning sky, Nadya and Marcus could barely see the helicopter hovering above the meadow with only instrument lights illuminated in the cockpit. If they had not worn light amplification goggles, the aircraft would have been completely invisible.
The Sikorsky S-70 Battlehawk was squat and wide, reflecting its evolution from helicopter troop-transports. It was a prototype, one of several in testing. The matte black fuselage bore no markings.
The pilot and passengers all wore NVGs. Still, what they were doing was a highly dangerous exercise.
From open doors on both sides of the airframe, thick black ropes were dropped. Then, while hovering 50 feet above the wind-whipped bunch grass, as close to motionless as possible, nine armed men fast-roped down the lines. All were dressed in digital camouflage in shades of black and gray.
At the same time the men were slipping away from the hovering Battlehawk, two creatures in slings were rapidly lowered. Through her night vision goggles, Nadya recognized them as some breed of dog.
The men spread out in a circular pattern and took up defensive positions while their team leader made contact. The helicopter didn’t loiter—once the last man was down a crew member dropped the heavy lines and the helicopter departed, hugging the terrain as it did on the inbound flight, too low to be tracked on civilian air-traffic radar.
Nadya’s satellite phone squawked. “We’re on the ground. Do you have a visual?”
“Affirmative,” she replied. “We are a party of two, just inside the tree line northeast of you, maybe 400 meters. Entering the clearing now.”
Richard Nyden watched Nadya and Marcus approach. Wisely, they left their weapons shouldered and held their hands out to the side, clearly visible. After entering far enough into the meadow to be seen, they stopped. Nyden quickly moved his team to join the two Mossad agents rather than remaining in the open any longer.
Following personal introductions, Nyden distributed communication headsets to the foreign agents. The comm gear had limited range, but every member of the team could send and receive messages over the squad network.
It was an hour before sunrise.
“I doubt Peter Savage has moved during the night,” Nadya explained. She had already briefed Nyden prior to their arrival, explaining the loss of most of her team.
Only hours ago, Nyden made the phone calls and assembled a squad of other Guardians, all hard men with military training and prior combat experience. Pilots and aircraft owned by United Armaments were used to ferry everyone to the staging area at a secluded UA test facility stretched across a remote patch of desert in Eastern Oregon.
The giant defense contractor also fully armed the team and provided the Battlehawk. The helicopter, an armored version of the venerable Black Hawk, was employed by UA as a test platform for a new laser-guided missile system it was developing.
“If we move quickly, we can be at his location in less than an hour,” she added, her voice barely a whisper. Marcus stood to the side, silently sizing up Richard Nyden.
“You know his location, so why wouldn’t he move on?”
“He thinks I am the only survivor, that he killed the rest of my team. Plus, he has a good field of view and a stone fortress for cover.”
“And if he’s not there?” Nyden said.
“Then we track him. He has his dog, so the trail will be unique, easy to follow.”
She indicated the location on her GPS in topographical display mode, zooming in so the features of the crescent-shaped stone formation were evident. Then she switched to satellite display to reveal the scattering of trees amongst an otherwise open landscape.
“It’s a good defensive position,” Nyden said. “With good weapons and visibility, he can hold off a considerable attacking force.”
“Now you understand,” Nadya said, sarcasm evident in her voice. Nyden let it go. He wasn’t sure yet what he thought of these Israeli agents, but he had a score to settle with Peter Savage. At least for the moment, that’s where he would channel his aggression.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he’d negotiated a bigger payday late last night in the process of organizing this assault team. It seems the escalation of events with law enforcement and the elimination of two-thirds of the Mossad team had motivated his employer to finish this assignment quickly.
“Do you know if Peter Savage has NVG equipment? Civilian or military?”
“It’s possible, but I didn’t see any,” Nadya answered. “All of our encounters were in daylight.”
“Although it would be very unusual for him to have night vision equipment,” Nyden observed, “Mr. Savage has already demonstrated he is a very unusual man. Plus, my sources tell me he has contacts within the Defense Department. So, we will assume he has NVGs. Maybe not current generation, but we will proceed on the assumption he can see in the dark.”
“We have to be smart, advance cautiously. He will wait for our approach, and then pick us off one by one, just as he did to my team.”
“Not this time,” Nyden remarked disdainfully. “The Guardians are all handpicked. They know combat.”
Nadya cast her gaze around the assembled mercenaries. “Maybe you’re right. We have enough men. We can get into position, surrounding him before sunrise.”
Nyden considered his options as he surveyed the land. Everything shown clearly although the electronically amplified images were in shades of green and gray. Naturally he had reviewed recent satellite images of the mountainous terrain prior to helicoptering in, but there was no substitute for first hand observations. The rises and dips all looked steeper in person, the open expanses larger.
He opted for a different plan, one that would keep his numbers hidden from Peter Savage until contact was made.
“Ashcroft,” Nyden called.
A man—several inches shy of six feet, and with three parallel scars across the side of his face—was standing in front of Nyden in four strides. Beside him were the two dogs that had been lowered in slings.
Marcus and Nadya stared at the beasts. They were not the largest dogs they had seen, probably a little over two feet at the shoulder, but they appeared massive—thick limbs, and bulky chest and head. Thick, long fur covered their bodies, even cascading over their eyes.
“What are those?” Marcus asked.
With pride, Ashcroft answered, “Black Russian Terriers. They were bred by the Soviet Army at the Red Star Kennel during the Cold War. Their goal was to achieve the perfect military and police dog.”
“You can discuss canine genetics and breeding after the mission.”
“Sorry, sir,” Ashcroft replied.
Now that he had Ashcroft’s attention, Nyden explained the plan. “We will split into two squads. You and the dogs are with me.” He turned his attention to Nadya and pointed at her. “You’ll lead the second squad. I want you to go north, circle around the target’s coordinates. I’ll take my squad south and approach from that direction.
“We are to take Peter Savage alive if possible. A bonus will be paid to the persons who apprehend him in one piece. My boss has some questions he’d like answers to.”
“Well, I doubt he will just give up and walk out with us,” Nadya said.
“Wound him, incapacitate him if you can. If not, kill him. But remember, the bonus is paid only if Savage is alive.”
Silently, like a pack of wolves on the hunt, the nine Guardians and two Mossad operators moved out at a fast pace toward their objective.
s
“That didn’t sound like a search and rescue helo,” Jim said. “And I didn’t see any running lights.”
Boss Man and Homer had jumped out at 30,000 feet and glided in the still night air to a perfect landing. With no idea where Peter might be, they moved slowly and stealthily within the trees, aiming to be positioned on the slope of Broken Top by daylight.
At the sound of the approaching helicopter, they dropped and squeezed up against the closet tree or boulder. If the helicopter was hostile and equipped with thermal imaging, they’d almost certainly be spotted.
But the thump of the rotors soon gave way to the whine of receding twin turbine engines as the aircraft passed over. Seconds later, the sound became consistent in pitch and intensity, indicating the helicopter was in a hover, and not far away. Moments later, the sound faded.
“Could be a Black Hawk,” Homer whispered.
“If it is, they just inserted up to eleven combat troops, all gunning for Peter.”
“It would seem you guessed correctly and Peter is in these woods.”
They stalked in the direction they estimated the helicopter had hovered prior to departing the area. It was impossible to be certain how far away that was, but based on the attenuation of the sound, Boss Man and Homer both agreed it had to be at least half a mile, maybe farther.
Had it not been for their NVGs, it would have been impossible to move through the forest and maintain any progress. With a clear sky, there was abundant starlight to amplify, enabling easy visibility even within the tree line. The biggest obstacle was the never-ending collection of dry branches on the forest floor. A heavy boot snapping a dry limb would be a sure signal of their presence.
The frigid night air was now a blessing, for Boss Man and Homer could move swiftly without overheating. Balancing pace with stealth, they advanced along the vector where the supposed Black Hawk was heard. If it was a Black Hawk, then it would have unloaded military men—mercenaries who fought for money, not ideals. Trained men, deadly men, who had no qualms about killing anyone for any reason as long as there was a payday at the completion of the job.
Ahead, the trees thinned. Cautiously, Boss Man and Homer crouched and approached, stopping at the edge of the wooded patch. The meadow opened up before them, and continued to the west, following the slope upward.
Boss Man turned on his GPS system. “This would be a good spot to rappel men.”
“The distance we traveled is about right,” Homer added in agreement.
Boss Man was still studying the GPS unit when Homer asked, “Where to now?”
“If it were me, I’d be ahead of the enemy, up at high elevation. Make them fight up hill.”
“Any of these groves of timber could make reasonable defensive positions, especially for an ambush.”
But Boss Man had his eye on another location on the GPS display. “We’ll stay in the trees and keep moving up to high ground.”
Chapter 28
Eastern Drainage of Broken Top
April 22
Peter awoke to a deep bass-like reverberation. He stretched his limbs, and his knee immediately protested. Probing his other injuries, he drew in a deep breath, expanding his chest slowly. At least the bruised ribs were barely noticeable.
He immediately recognized the sound for what it was—a helicopter—and he silently cursed for having fallen asleep. How long was I out? He checked his watch—he’d been asleep for almost an hour.
The rhythmic sound of beating air was growing louder, although Peter estimated the helicopter was still a considerable distance away. He was searching the night sky to the east, where the sound was coming from, but could not make out any aircraft running lights. After half a minute, the sound began to recede.
A minute later and silence returned to his wilderness.
It was the lack of aircraft lights that had Peter worried. He looked to Diesel—his companion was watchful, staring into the darkness beyond.
Peter’s anxiety only increased as he thought through the possibilities—none of which were good. Only a search and rescue helicopter would be out here in the dark, and they would be flying with their exterior lights on. By logical deduction, he concluded that a new enemy had arrived, a black ops team. How many men, he had no idea.
Peter thumbed his GPS and the screen illuminated, showing a detailed map of his present location. He considered his options. He could stay, but the woman knew his location. Although defensible, if there were enough enemy, he could be surrounded and forced to fight off an attack from the front and rear. Not a good pr
oposition, even at his current fortified location.
“We have to go, Diesel.” He selected a set of coordinates and saved them to the GPS memory and then downed another couple ibuprofen tablets. Although he was reluctant to leave his defensive position, at least he could still use the element of surprise to his benefit.
s
About a mile to the east of Peter’s presumed location, Nyden split his team and sent six, including the two Mossad operators, to the north, while Nyden’s squad broke to the south. Each squad would follow a course on their GPS that would take them another mile from the crescent rock formation and loop them around to the west. From a higher elevation, the two squads would fan out and assault the stronghold from the west. With eleven guns engaging Peter along a long front, Nyden and Nadya were confident in success.
Each squad continued to move along their routes at a brisk pace, almost a jog. As much as possible they stayed just within the tree line, but at this high altitude the trees were less frequent, giving way to large open expanses of powdered pumice and gravel.
Nadya and Marcus stayed close to one another; they weren’t sure yet how deep their trust of the Guardians went. They each held their rifles with both hands, ready to snap the weapon to a firing position.
Even with six pair of boots pounding the ground, the sound was barely audible. The green-tinted image projected by the NVGs made the path as clear as if it were a sunny day.
Both the north squad and the south squad kept up their pace despite the thin air and steep slope; there was no time for even a short break. To the east, the horizon was beginning to take on a light glow: sunrise would arrive soon.
Both squads reached their GPS coordinates at almost the same time. They were about 300 meters to the west of the geologic anomaly. Nadya spoke into the communication headset. “We’re in position.”
A moment later came the reply from Nyden. “Copy. South Squad is also in position. I can see clearly into the crescent formation, but no one’s there.”
Nadya was studying the curve of fractured lava rock as she listened.