Arctic Wargame - Страница 38

“So? He risked your life a thousand times, and he wouldn’t lose sleep over it if he did it again.”

“That may be true, but I have a chance to save his life and the lives of all his men and women, brave people, sir, who’re not afraid to fight for what they know is right.”

“I don’t believe—”

“The goal,” Emily said, “the goal justifies the means. You’ll send your men here to save my life, why not save the Canadians as well?”

“Not my call.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t just sit here and let them die.”

“Then use a damn phone to call them.”

“Phones don’t work all the time in this place. Plus, I’m sure they can use an extra shooter. And they can use many more, sir.”

“For the last time, Sergeant—”

“You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you, Commander? Commander?” She placed the handset back on its wall-mounted base.

What the hell did I just do?

Nanisivik, Canada

April 14, 7:45 a.m.

“We’ve got the guns.” Kiawak brought his walkie-talkie closer to his mouth, as he looked through the door of the Parting Waters door at Strathcona Sound. Carrie had taken him, Joe and a few other men aboard the Seahawk, to prepare for the Danish invasion. “Joe’s setting up a perimeter in the hills around the seaport. As soon as those bastards set foot ashore, we’ll give ‘em hell.”

“That’s good,” Justin replied on his radio. He held tight to the door handle, as the Land Rover slid to the left.

“Sorry,” Anna, the driver, mumbled.

The gravel road connecting Arctic Bay to Nanisivik was coated with a thin layer of fresh snow. It provided sufficient tire traction for most of the trip but also concealed slippery ice patches.

“Don’t worry, you’re doing a great job,” Justin said to Anna. “Kiawak, is the Otter back from Grise Fiord?”

“Yeah, got here ten minutes ago. He brought those Danish rifles we found, and we’re gonna use them to pierce new holes in their butts.”

“Is Carrie with you?”

“No, she dropped us off at my place, and she’s been looking for a vantage point but hasn’t made up her mind yet.”

“Did any of the contractors stay?”

“Hmmm, less than what I thought. A handful or so.”

“Better than nothing,” Justin said, “since we didn’t get anyone from Resolute.”

“I guess. How far are you?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.”

“OK, we’ll see you when you get here.”

“All right. It’s all falling into place.” Justin glanced at Anna, then at the Toyota truck in front of them. Their Land Rover was the third car in the fifty vehicle convoy. “Kiawak just got those Let Støttevåbens we found in Nuqatlak’s place in Grise Fiord. Those should greatly increase our firepower.”

“Great,” Anna said, struggling with the steering wheel.

The radio crackled. “Justin, can you hear me? This is Ned,” said the driver of the lead car in the convoy. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“What is it?” Justin said.

“Emily just finished telling me we’ve got the wrong place. Our plan, our defenses, our entire operation is wrong.”

“OK, calm down and tell me what you mean?”

“She says the Danes are not coming by sea, but they’re landing at the airport.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Nanisivik, Canada

April 14, 07:55 a.m.

“Are you sure about this?” Kiawak asked over the radio, trying to curb the anger in his voice.

“Absolutely,” Justin replied. “Emily, I mean Sergeant Moore, is so convinced this intel is true, she’s coming to join our forces.”

“That’s what I call conviction. We should move our positions to the airport.”

“Yeah, right away. The Danes have probably realized their mole has been caught, and they’ve changed their plans.”

“When did Emily say the Hercules is landing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think she knew. Could be anytime.”

“The terrain around the airport isn’t great, lots of small hills and very little cover,” Kiawak said. “We may still have the upper hand, especially if we get there before the Danish troops spread out. We’re moving there right away.”

“OK, we’re turning the convoy around as we speak,” Justin replied, then hung up.

“What are you thinking?” Kiawak asked Carrie, who was gazing at the ceiling of the Parting Waters.

“I’m thinking how it would feel to drive two Hellfire missiles deep into the guts of that Hercules.”

“I’m sure you’ll get your chance to do that. Now, let’s buckle up.”

Nanisivik Airport, Canada

April 14, 8:15 a.m.

The aft ramp lowered slowly onto the packed gravel airstrip. The freezing wind swept around the doorway, its loud howling protesting the arrival of the C-130J Super Hercules airplane. The recruits stared at the snowstorm brewing outside. Gray clouds hung over the hills on both sides of the runway.

“Soldiers, welcome to Nanisivik,” Gunter’s voice echoed over the intercom system. “Everyone knows his job, so let’s go out and do it.”

Magnus appeared at the small door connecting the cockpit to the galley and the cargo compartment. The latter had been configured for maximum seating capacity, and the troops were packed in tight rows. They were stretching their legs and chatting with each other.

“How was the trip?” Magnus asked Valgerda.

She stood up from her seat, the first one to the right of the galley. “Manageable.” She straightened her hair. “They behaved, well, mostly.”

“Time to go, soldiers,” Magnus shouted. “Form a single file when exiting the plane and line up to the left in platoon formation. We’ll hand out weapons once my team’s ready. The terminal is our first target. Secure a perimeter and take control of the Otter and the two Bell choppers in the hangar. Don’t wreck them, since we’ll need them for our next missions.”

“Magnus,” Gunter’s voice came over his earpiece. “A hostile truck is approaching the plane. Take care of it.”

“Right away,” he replied on the small mike incorporated on his Kevlar helmet.

“No, I’ve got it,” Yuliya said and moved in front of Magnus.

She unzipped her white Gore-Tex jacket and removed her sidearm — the easily concealable HK MP5—from the holster wrapped around her shoulder. Then, she ran across the cargo compartment and jumped off the ramp. Her heavy combat boots crunched on the gravel. She ignored the wind gust and stared at the incoming vehicle, an old model Ford. It was still about three hundred feet away. Yuliya guessed it would take the driver about twenty seconds to reach the airplane.

She turned around and gazed at the gravel airstrip. The airplane’s nose wheel had stopped a few feet short of the end of the runway. Both pilots had fought with the airplane’s controls to complete the wheel brake operation. A large snowbank lurked over the cockpit, casting a shadow feet away from its front glass. This is probably the largest and the heaviest airplane to ever land here. She shook her head at the deep ditches the Super Hercules wheels had dug into the runway.

She looked up at the approaching Ford. The driver — maybe in his sixties — did not seem too impressed, judging by his burning eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the old man spit out his words. He stopped the truck and got out.

“Get lost,” Yuliya shouted back.

“Who do you think you are?” The old man began to walk toward her.

Yuliya waited until he was at point blank range, before bringing out her gun from behind her back. The old man gawked at the weapon. She jabbed its short barrel into the old man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. His shriek was muffled by the gunfire and the thud of his dead body collapsing to the ground.

“The coast is clear,” Yuliya whispered on her mike, turning around to face the aft ramp. “Aegir Rise!”

As soon as she shouted the code words, waves of recruits burst out of the airplane, like the God of the Sea in the Norse mythology rising with rage from the watery depths. They formed four platoons with wild hoorays. Four men from Magnus’s team carried out two large containers, the weapon caches. As soon as Gunter stepped off the plane, every recruit was ordered to pick up a Gevær M/95 automatic weapon, the standard assault rifle of the Danish army, along with four magazines, each containing thirty rounds. They also picked up a side weapon, the small Sig Sauer P210, and an extra magazine for it. Two men in Magnus’s team were armed with Barrett M95 sniper rifles. The the other five, including Valgerda, carried Gevær M/95s specially fitted with a 40mm grenade launcher.

Valgerda joined Magnus, who was standing by the Ford, and jumped into the truck box of the old Ford.

“Let the rookies drive,” she said.

Magnus nodded. “Sargon, Vince, Ali and Dominique,” he shouted at four men in the front row of the closest platoon to him. “Step forward. You’re coming with us to be the leading unit as we take over the terminal. Hurry up!”

The recruits obeyed his order. Sargon and Vince climbed in the cabin. Ali and Dominique sat across from Magnus and Valgerda.

“Man, it’s so freaking cold,” Ali, a small bearded man complained, as he leaned against the side rail.

“No worries,” Valgerda replied. “We’ll light up this place so it’s blazing hot.”

* * *

“They’ve overrun the terminal,” Joe said. He was scanning the windows of the one-story building through his powerful binoculars. “Some blonde guy is having a smoke by the hangar.” He adjusted the zoom, swinging his head to the left. “Other people are moving toward the road, about a mile to our left.”