EndWar

Vatz sighed in heavy relief. “Damn it, bro, you gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry, I was just checking the Cross Com. You know, if you and I can get in behind those squads near the terminal—”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what Black Bear has in mind.”

THIRTY

The snowmobile’s engine began to falter, and Major Stephanie Halverson knew she’d be back on foot very soon.

“What do you think, Jake?” she asked aloud. “Still think I’ll make it?”

She imagined Jake Boyd in his cockpit, flying just off her wing, flashing her a big thumbs-up.

“Well, I won’t argue with that.”

Halverson estimated she had covered between sixteen and eighteen miles, and she now rode through tall pines; beyond the woods she could see a frozen river whose opposite shoreline lay a half kilometer away.

With an unceremonious cough, the engine died. She tried to start the snowmobile again. The tank was bone-dry.

She hopped off, checked the forest behind her, then unloaded the gear, jamming what she could into the pillowcase she’d taken from the farmhouse.

That poor family. Halverson now wore the mother’s clothes, which smelled like laundry detergent. She slung the survival kit over one shoulder, the pillowcase over the other, then started toward the river.

At this time of year the ice should be thick enough to support her, she thought. If she followed the river, her GPS said she’d reach another broad plain offering no cover, but more forest lay on the opposite shore. However, getting to that better cover meant crossing the river and placing herself in the wide open.

Her whole life had been a risk, and there were very few she hadn’t taken, save for the one with Jake.

She paused at the very last tree before heading down onto the snowy bank. She took a long pull from her water bottle, stowed it, then thought, I got this.

For a few moments, it was eerily quiet. Just the sounds of her breathing and snow crunching faintly beneath her boots.

Then she heard it: a humming in the distance. Was that an engine?

“Outlaw One, this is Hammer of Tampa Five Bravo, over.”

Sergeant Raymond McAllen, who was seated just behind the pilot’s chair inside the Ka-29, had already been notified by radio operator Friskis that Major Alice Dennison was calling, so he put on a headset and adopted his all-business tone to answer, “Hammer, this is Outlaw One, go ahead, over.”

“Outlaw One, I’m sending you updated GPS coordinates for your package. We picked up the survival beacon about ninety minutes ago, over.”

“Outstanding. At least it’s a rescue now and not a recovery, over.”

“Roger that. However, be advised that mechanized infantry forces are homing in on that location. Intel from one of our drones indicates two BMP-3s, over.”

“Roger that, Hammer. Coordinates just received. Stand by.” McAllen got on the intercom. “Khaki, you looking at that GPS?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he said, tapping a finger on his own unit’s screen. “I think we’re about thirty minutes away.” He leaned forward and rapped a knuckle on a gauge. “But look at this fuel. She’s leaked a lot, come down fast. We’ll be riding on fumes.”

“All right.” McAllen switched to the radio. “Hammer, this is Outlaw One. Note we’re approximately thirty minutes out from the package, but we’re nearly out of fuel. I put in a request for an exfiltration helo over an hour ago, but haven’t heard anything from our CO. Can you follow up, and we’ll send an updated GPS of our location at that time, over?”

“Roger that, Outlaw One. Understood. I’ll check on that pick up and get back to you. Hammer, out.”

The lights inside the chopper flickered. They’d been doing that sporadically for the past fifteen minutes, leaving McAllen’s men even more restless.

Since the noise was so loud in the troop compartment, McAllen got the team’s attention by raising a fist, then he traced a big 3 0 on the back of the pilot’s seat, mouthing the words: thirty minutes. He gestured going down to snatch up the pilot.

Each man flashed a thumbs-up, then each went back to checking his weapons and inspecting the rest of his gear.

“Hey, Sergeant,” called Khaki. “These GPS coordinates… you know where she is right now?”

“Do I want to know?” he asked, his tone already darkening.

“She’s crossing a frozen river.”

“Why?”

“There’s a huge wooded area on the other side. Only good cover around.”

McAllen swore through a deep sigh. “Well, that gives us two problems: if she’s still on that river when we get there, then we’ll be out in the open.”

“But we’ll be quick.”

“And if she’s not,” McAllen went on, “it’ll be interesting trying to find her in the woods while you hang back with the chopper, which might run out of gas before we find her.”

“These are the things we think about but do not say,” said Khaki. “Got some good news, though: I think we can intercept her before she reaches the tree line.”

Just then, several blinking lights shone on the cockpit panel and the chopper began to lose power.

“What is it?” McAllen asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Khaki.