EndWar Part 16

"Sir, I'll do everything I can."

He nodded. "And the second thing. I know you've been trying to crack Doletskaya. Keep at it. The GRU rarely engages in straightforward ops like this."

"I know, sir. We've got that number, that code name, then we just hit the wall."

"Dig more into his past. Maybe the key is there. And also . . . consider the source of that information."

"Sir?"

"The Euros tipped us off, handed over that intel. There's nothing to say that the intel isn't corrupt, or that the intel will point to the Euros being directly involved."

"I'll expand my search. Anything else, sir?"

"Oh, that'll keep you busy. Thank you, Major." Someone beckoned him. He smiled politely and ended the call.

Dennison sat there, just breathing. Then she bolted from her chair and cried, "Where are those Marines from Pendleton? Are they still in the air?"

TWENTY-TWO.

Were it not for the arrival of those Spetsnaz troops in their snowmobiles, Major Stephanie Halverson would not have located her ejection seat.

She wouldn't have looked up, considering that maybe her best hiding place would be in a tree, carefully hidden among those thick, snow-laden limbs. While she had been scanning the trees, her gaze had lighted upon an irregular shape, and as she approached for a better look, she realized the d.a.m.ned seat had lodged itself some twenty feet above, the chute tangled in the limbs. So much for calling Hammer again. At least for now.

With the troops still behind her, she forged on, darting between trees, leaving a terribly clear trail in the snow.

After ducking around the next trunk, she paused to catch her breath.

All right, think. Can't keep running. Need a direction. Something.

A glance back revealed more forest to the southeast. Her GPS showed nothing but more of the same. However, if she went directly west, she'd run into a small road and an open field. Might even be a farm or two out there.

The reckless and basically suicidal thought to confront the troops did cross her mind. Sh.e.l.ly would have said, "Go for it." Her sister had taken on some bullies when they'd been in middle school, literally beating all three girls to the ground, earning her a suspension for a month and summer school for two years.

But no one bothered Stephanie after that.

Unsurprisingly, it had been Sh.e.l.ly who had urged Stephanie to join the military, to take life by the horns, to recognize the warrior inside. She had cheered Stephanie on through the Air Force Academy and beyond- Until the cancer had struck.

Sorry, Sh.e.l.l, I can't take them on this time. I think I'll beat them by running, not shooting. I've never been a great shot anyway.

When Sergeant Nathan Vatz, Captain G.o.dfrey, and Warrant Officer Samson walked into the RCMP station, they were confronted by an empty front desk. On the walls behind hung photos of Mounties wearing their Stetsons and scarlet tunics with lanyards slung across their chests.

"I see they got things under control," quipped G.o.dfrey. "They're at DEFCON One."

Vatz laughed under his breath.

"It's early," Samson reminded them.

"h.e.l.lo, anyone home?" Vatz called.

A woman, probably in her late fifties and dressed in a gray-and-blue RCMP uniform, appeared from behind a closed door, looking as though she had just risen from a deep sleep.

She took one look at their Nomex jumpsuits and frowned. "Can I help you?"

Vatz smiled inwardly over her accent.

"Ma'am? I'm Captain G.o.dfrey. This is Warrant Officer Samson, and Sergeant Vatz. We're Special Forces troops from the United States Army. We need to speak to the police chief or detachment commander, whatever you call him. And we need the mayor here immediately."

"What's going on? I saw something on the news about some Russian planes up north. Then we started getting weird military broadcasts by guys with Russian accents. We thought the satellite dish was messed up."

"Ma'am, if you could just get those people here, we'll fill you all in A-SAP."

Vatz stepped away as one of his weapons sergeants called on the radio to say they'd used their plasma knives to gain entrance into the local sporting goods store and were securing clothing and more gear.

"Roger that. Zodiac Six's team will be around to pick you up, then rally on us."

It took ten precious minutes for the local detachment commander and mayor to arrive. Both were overweight men in their late fifties whose cholesterol levels had to be skyrocketing, Vatz mused.

But Vatz appreciated the mayor's candor and easygoing demeanor when the man drawled, "What the h.e.l.l's going on, boys?"

Captain G.o.dfrey spelled it out for him, and Vatz had never seen two men grow pale so quickly.

"You need to evacuate the entire town right now," added G.o.dfrey. "Get all the women and children in their cars, get on Highway 35, and get them down to Grand Prairie. That's where our brigade from the Tenth Mountain Division will be coming in. We'll set up camps for IDPs there."

"IDPs?" asked the mayor.

"Internally displaced persons," answered G.o.dfrey. "Trust me, in the next few days, there will be tens of thousands of them."

"All right, let me get everybody I have out there," said the detachment commander.

"Just get those Suburbans rolling through those neighborhoods. Get on the bullhorn. Get 'em out."

"You said only the women and children," repeated the mayor.

"Vatz?" said Captain G.o.dfrey. "Why don't you explain it to him."

Vatz cleared his throat. "Sir, the Russians will send recon elements first, by land and air. If we can hold them off until the Tenth arrives, we'll have control of Highways 35 and 58. That's what we need to do. The Russians can't move their ground troops across the frozen lakes or through all the snow. It's just too d.a.m.ned slow. They'll stick to the roads. They'll come to take the oil and gas fields at Rainbow Lake and Zama City west of here. And they'll need control of this town if they're going to push farther south. We can't let that happen. Sir, we're just two teams here, about twenty-five operators. We need every man willing to fight."

The mayor's jaw dropped. For a moment, he couldn't speak; then he managed, "Are you kidding me?"

"No, sir. And there's no time for a debate. They're coming to take your town. If you own a rifle, I suggest you get it."

"But this is Canada! We're not in the war. We're neutral, for G.o.d's sake."

Warrant Officer Samson drew an unlit cigar from his breast pocket, shoved it in his mouth. "Tell that to the Russians."

McAllen and his Marines marched down the C-130's loading ramp, ready to set foot on the tarmac of Fort McMurray Airport.

But before they could reach said tarmac, Colonel Stack accosted them. "Sergeant McAllen?"

"Uh, yes, sir?"

"This your team?" The colonel's gaze played over the five men standing on the ramp behind McAllen.

"Yes, sir."

"You boys feel like taking a little ride?"

They all boomed: "Sir, yes, sir!"

"I'm talking way up north, behind enemy lines."

McAllen smiled. "That's the way we roll, sir."

"Very well. Seems there's a pilot who got shot down. It seems the president has taken a liking to her. So this comes down from The Man himself."

"Sir, begging your pardon, sir, but it's obvious why you picked us. We're the best, of course, but-"

"Slow down, Sergeant. And stow that ego before you hurt someone with it. Truth is, I didn't pick you for this. I wanted your green Marine a.s.ses up on Highway 63, but apparently there's a major in Tampa who took orders from The Man, and she personally requested you boys."

"You hear that, Sergeant?" cried McAllen's new a.s.sistant, Scott Rule. "We haven't even dropped a Russian and we're already famous."

McAllen grinned crookedly, then silenced the man with a look.

The colonel went on, "So this major heard you were the first team at that crash site in Cuba. She must've figured you're doing something right. Bad news is, best I got to get you up there is a civilian chopper. It's a Bell LongRanger III. Company's called Highland. Might be a blessing. The Russians might not take a potshot at a tourist bird. But that's only your ride up. I'm still working on your ride home. There's an HMMWV coming off one of the other 130s. You'll hop on and take that up to Highland's hangar. Official warning orders to follow. Questions?"

"I a.s.sume we have the last known GPS coordinates of this pilot?"

"We do. She's northwest of Behchoko, though she hasn't activated her survival kit's beacon."

"Sat phone?"

"Iridium is down."

"So there's no guarantee she's even still alive."

"Sergeant, you come back with the woman or her body. That's what The Man wants."

"Yes, sir."

Stack glanced off in the distance, s.h.i.+elding his eyes from the morning sun. "There's your ride now."

Staff Sergeant Marc Rakken sat inside the Stryker with the rest of his rifle squad. It would be at least another six hours before they reached the outskirts of Calgary, and the ride east on Interstate 90 had taken forever because of the patches of ice and civilians getting in the way to gape at the brigade rumbling east. They finally had turned onto 95 to head north.

The Stryker's driver, Private First Cla.s.s Penny Ha.s.sa, was a s.p.u.n.ky, freckle-faced twenty-one-year-old who kept Rakken entertained with her sarcastic remarks regarding the traffic, the weather, and anything else that struck her.

She'd a.s.sume a general's deep drawl and announce into the intercom, "Gentlemen, the rules are different in this Stryker. We have a strict s.e.xual hara.s.sment policy-we believe in it!"

And that'd inspire Rakken into a fit of laughter. In point of fact, Ha.s.sa didn't take any c.r.a.p from anyone, but she loved to tease.

The vehicle's commander, Sergeant Timothy Appleman, who was also wired into the intercom, allowed Ha.s.sa her indulgences, and Rakken certainly appreciated that.

Rakken and his troops sat knee-to-knee, facing one another, their heavy packs and boxes of ammo, along with a half dozen AT-4s, jammed into the storage areas above and behind their seats. Since it was too loud to converse, they slept, read, or listened to music or watched videos on their iPods.

The squad was divided into two teams, A and B. A team had a team leader, a grenadier (GREN) who carried a rifle with attached M203 grenade launcher, an automatic rifleman (AR) with an M249 SAW (Squad Automatic Weapon), and a rifleman with the AT-4 ant.i.tank weapon (RMAT). B team had all of the same, except the RMAT was replaced by a DM-a designated marksman equipped with an M16A4 with a heavy barrel and improved optics.

While the Force Recon Marines, SEALs, and Army Special Forces were already fielding a lot of the new future force warrior gear, budget restrictions along with heavy pressure from liberal antiwar lobbyists had forced the Army to push back implementation of most of that high-tech equipment to the general infantry to at least 2032, war notwithstanding.

The unnerving thing was, while Rakken and his people were headed into urban terrain with outdated weapons, the Russian Spetsnaz had dropped in with state-of-the-art firepower. Rakken's squad could be facing anything from directed energy weapons to the microwave weapons made famous by the Euros to Electrodarts delivering fifty thousand volts.

And of course, the threat of biological and chemical weapons always loomed.

"You guys are awful quiet," said PFC Ha.s.sa.

"Just thinking, Ha.s.sa," said Rakken. "I got a buddy who got sent up to High Level."

"Where the h.e.l.l is that?"

"Way up in Alberta. I'm just hoping he's okay."