Red Sniper

Whitlock didn’t have a quick answer for that, but as it turned out, he didn’t need one. A figure stepped out of the darkness and said in a twangy Southern drawl, “I reckon you must be Whitlock. It’s about goddamn time you done showed up. Who the hell have you got with you?”

• • •

Whitlock was so overcome with emotion at the sound of another American voice that he couldn’t even speak.

Beside him, Ramsey spoke up. “Lieutenant William Ramsey, Army Air Corps.”

Ramsey seemed to be struggling for breath, even while just standing there. Moments later, he was overcome with a coughing fit, doubling over from the spasms that racked his lungs.

“Where’s Whitlock?” the man in the road asked.

“That’s me.”

Another man emerged from the shadows. “We can’t take him,” he said angrily, pointing at Ramsey. “Just you, Whitlock. That’s the deal.”

“Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Honaker.”

“Listen, Honaker, I’m not leaving without him.”

The Southerner spoke up. “We ain’t leavin’ nobody behind for these Ruskie bastards. Now let’s get a move on, or we’ll all end up in that there Gulag, or worse.”

“I like this guy,” Ramsey said. “We ought to listen to him.”

Inna approached and threw her arms around Whitlock. “Thank God, Harry. I wasn’t sure that you were going to make it.”

Their reunion was cut short by Honaker. “Listen up, people. I’m in charge here,” he said. “We can’t take another prisoner with us. This is a rescue operation, not a two for one sale.”

“And this ain’t Montgomery Ward,” Cole said. “If we leave this poor bastard, the Ruskies will kill him—after he tells them about us. We either have to kill him, or take him with us, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna kill him.”

It was impossible to make out any details of the surrounding faces in the darkness, but it didn’t take much imagination to guess the expressions on them as they glared at Honaker.

“Goddamnit,” Honaker said.

CHAPTER 21

Honaker wasn’t a happy camper, but he could see that nobody was going anywhere without Ramsey. Giving in, he grudgingly introduced the team to the two escapees.

“Let’s move out,” he said, once the introductions were over. “Vaska, you lead the way.”

They expected Vaska to strike out into the surrounding taiga. To their surprise, Vaska brought them back toward the sleeping village. They kept to the road at first, heading toward the houses, then made a wide circle around the village before setting off to the east, directly across the taiga.

“What the hell?” Again, Honaker wasn’t happy. He fell into step beside Cole and said in a low voice, “We just walked in a circle. What a goddamn waste of time. What the hell kind of guide have we got?”

Cole had seen right away that Vaska was covering their tracks by taking a roundabout route. “If they put dogs on our trail, all the smells from the village will keep them confused,” Cole said. “It will take them a while to figure out which direction we took. That’s good. We need to put some distance between us and them. Once they figure out that their prize American prisoners done run off, the Russians will come after us with everything they got. We can use a head start. We need all the help we can get.”

Honaker looked doubtfully at the group. He snorted. “All the help we can get sounds about right. That’s because this other guy is gonna slow us down, not to mention that woman.”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do about that.”

“It’s not too late to leave them behind.”

“Wouldn’t be right,” Cole said with finality.

“Then they are officially your problem,” Honaker said. “I wash my hands of those two. If we have to carry Ramsey, then I expect you to do it. Look how weak he is.”

Cole quickened his pace to break stride with Honaker. He had long, rangy legs that were used to eating up the miles. Even loaded down with gear and a rifle, Cole managed to walk with the easy lope of a coyote. It wouldn’t be any problem for him to walk clear to Finland.

Honaker was right, even if Cole hated to admit it. Ramsey would definitely slow them down. The jury was still out on Whitlock, but if Cole had to issue a verdict, he would guess that Whitlock was more than likely a soft, rich boy whose feet would blister up after a couple of miles.

Cole was less worried about Inna because he had the impression that the half-Russian, half-American woman could hold her own. Those two halves had made a pretty good whole.

Whitlock fell in beside Cole. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “Inna has told me everything that all of you did to get here. It’s amazing.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Cole said. “We ain’t even out of sight of the Gulag.”

Goo-lahg. It was another one of those foreign words that Cole had come to know since landing in Normandy more than a year ago. The way it sounded made it catch in your throat like a bad piece of meat, matching the bleak atmosphere of the Soviet prison camp perfectly.