EndWar

Then the chopper banked slightly, and she got a better look at the fuselage, the red star, the terrible and familiar outline of a Ka-29. Now those rotors seemed to pound on her head, made her want to scream.

“Oh, yeah?” she cried aloud. “I don’t think so.” She kept on running as the chopper came around once more, descending from behind.

As its shadow passed directly overhead, she extended her arm and fired, the round ricocheting off its hull.

They would land in front of her, cut her off from the forest.

She fired again, smelled fuel, and thought maybe she’d scored a hit.

The helo slowed to a hover, began to pivot, and Halverson wasn’t sure what to do now. Break left? Right?

“She’s firing at us,” hollered Sergeant Scott Rule.

Sergeant Raymond McAllen didn’t need the young superstar to tell him that. But damn, McAllen hadn’t anticipated this part, where the pilot assumed they were Russians about to capture her and decided to shoot at their already malfunctioning helicopter.

They were still hovering, and McAllen ordered the pilot to land, but the Russian shook his head, second chin wagging. “How thick is the ice?”

“It’s thick. Land!”

“I don’t like this ice.”

“Khaki, can you land this thing?”

“Okay, I put down,” said the pilot with disgust. “But if ice breaks, your fault!” He leaned forward and spoke rapidly into his microphone.

“Damn it!” Khaki jolted forward and switched off the unit.

McAllen shoved his pistol into the back of the pilot’s head. “Put this bird down!”

Then he called out to Rule, telling him to open the bay door and throw down one of his Velcro patches, the American flag.

All their uniform patches and other black insignia could be removed via the Velcro, depending upon the mission and what the lawyers had to say about operations in a particular nation. Sometimes you had to show the patches, sometimes not.

Rule slid open the door, and as they got even lower he tossed down the patch, then started closing the door, just as she fired again, the round pinging off the jam.

Rule cursed and fell back onto the floor.

“Is he hit?” asked McAllen.

“I don’t think so,” shouted Gutierrez.

“Look, she’s got it,” said Khaki. “She sees us! She knows. Here she comes.”

Halverson thought she was dreaming as she ran toward the helicopter, its gear just setting down on the ice. She clutched the patch in her hand and broke into a full-on sprint.

For a moment she had doubted the patch, thought maybe the enemy was luring her into the helo, but that was thinking too hard. If there were Russians on board, they would rather take her by force, not cunning. It would be a matter of ego. This was her rescue.

The gunfire behind her had ceased. Those fools thought their comrades in the helo had captured the “Yankee pilot.” They had no idea that somehow, some way, Americans had taken control of an enemy helicopter. She had almost waved after picking up the patch but thought better of it. The troops behind would find that highly suspect.

With the rotors now blowing waves of snow into her eyes and clearing a circle around the helo, Halverson leaned over, ditched the survival kit, and made her last run for it, coming onto the rotor-swept ice.

Just twenty yards now, and her gait grew shaky as her boots found little traction. It was all she could do to remain upright.

Boom, down she went. Took a hard fall. Right on her butt. The impact sent tremors of pain through her back.

Get up!

The helo’s side door slid open, and a helmeted soldier was waving her on.

She rose. Gunfire began pinging off the chopper. Damn it. The Russians had figured it out.

Okay, back on her feet now. A few rounds sparking here and there.

Ten yards. Five. That soldier was right there, his face obscured by a visor.

Abruptly, the helo tipped slightly away from her, rotors lifting back—

Then she saw what was happening. The ice below had cracked, and the helo’s gear was sinking into the water, chunks of ice already bobbing around it.

But the cracks were on the back side of the helicopter, so Halverson kept on running. Just fifteen feet now. Ten. Five.

The soldier’s mouth was working: come on!

Halverson increased her stride.

The soldier leaned out as far as he could, extending his gloved hand.

What was that sound? Oh, no… The ice began splintering at her feet.

She took three more steps, heard a chorus of cracking sounds, then she began to slip and tried shifting to the right—

Only to find herself atop a small raft of ice that floated freely, her weight driving one side down.

Instinctively, she reached out. Nothing to grab on to, no one to help. She began to fall.

Oh, God, no…

The water rushed up her legs, over her chest, and broke over her face, the sensation like a billion fingernails of ice poking every part of her body.

Completely underwater now, the shock having robbed her entirely of breath, she panicked and kicked frantically for the surface.

Only then did the extreme cold hit her.