Red Sniper

Cole didn’t even bother to keep the contempt out of his voice. ”What do you want to do, Honaker? Leave him for the wolves? Shoot him?”

“I’m just saying, is all.”

“Say it to somebody else,” Cole said. “Nobody gets left behind. Now, you had best tell everyone to get on their feet. We need to keep a move on.”

Honaker glared at Cole, but after a minute he gave the order. Everyone was too cold and tired and hungry to protest. They knew that the only way out was to keep moving.

Ramsey’s eyelids fluttered open again. He struggled to get himself propped up on an elbow. “I’m staying right here,” he announced.

“The hell you are,” said Cole. “Come on. I’ll help you up. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Ramsey shook his head. “Look at me. We are still days away from Finland. No, give me a gun and I can buy you some time. I can take out a few of those Russian bastards before they get me.”

Cole shook his head. “You ain’t in no shape to fight.”

Samson spoke up. He had not said much since last night. “I’ll stay with him. You’ve seen my leg. How far do you think I’d get? It looks like hamburger.”

“You two can’t stay here.” Cole pronounced it cain’t, as if it rhymed with ain’t.

“Sure we can stay. It’s the easiest thing in the world,” Samson said. He grinned. Injured leg or not, he remained a force to be reckoned with. “Besides, you and whose army are gonna stop me?”

“Hate to say it,” Honaker said. He didn’t look at Ramsey or Samson, but spoke as it they weren’t there. “That gives the rest of us a fighting chance.”

“Shut up, Honaker,” Cole said sharply. “Nobody asked you.”

Honaker wouldn’t be put off that easily. He snapped, “Listen up, Cole—”

“No, you two listen to me,” Samson said. “I’ve already told you how it’s gonna be.”

Cole didn’t like it. Deep in his bones, he downright hated the idea. However, he wondered how much of his opposition had to do with the fact that he didn’t like any idea that Honaker supported. He looked over at Vaska’s grave, stoic face. The old Russian sucked on his pipe and nodded. Vaccaro wouldn’t meet his eyes, which meant he also favored the idea.

“Goddamn,” Cole said, feeling that he had been outvoted. He needed someone to take his side against this damn fool idea. He looked at Whitlock and Inna. “You two all right with this?”

Ramsey interrupted. “It’s not up to them. I’ve already decided. Harry, give me all the extra bullets you have for that Browning of yours.”

Whitlock fished in his pockets, came out with a handful of shells. “Along with what’s in the magazine, that gives you maybe twenty rounds.” He knelt down beside Ramsey and pressed the bullets into his hand, then held it for several moments. “I hate for it to end like this.”

Ramsey pushed himself up higher and grinned. “Are you kidding me? Harry, this is like the Alamo. I get to go out in a blaze of glory. Just like Davy Crockett.”

Inna spoke up. “But—”

Ramsey cut her off with a wave of his hand and his best effort at a happy-go-lucky smile. “Take care of yourself, Inna. Watch out for this one here.”

Whitlock was getting choked up. “I don’t know what to say.”

A shadow passed across Ramsey’s face. “The only thing that bothers me is never getting home again. When you get back, will you at least put up a headstone for me? I doubt the Russians will give me a proper burial.”

Whitlock nodded, and the two men shook hands.

“Hold on a minute,” Cole said. We walked over to Inna and handed her his penknife and one of the brass shell casings for the Springfield. “I want you to scratch Barkov’s name on that shell. In Russian letters. Let’s send Barkov a message.”

Inna was done in a couple of minutes. Cole took the shell and pressed it into Ramsey’s hand, then gave Ramsey and Samson a nod. His pale eyes were hard to read.

Then they walked off into the taiga, leaving Samson and Ramsey to their fates.

• • •

Barkov was so intent on looking for tracks in the snow that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. It was a mistake that nearly cost him his life. He was just passing a boulder, with one of the soldiers from the garrison a few feet behind him, when a shape that was alien to the natural landscape caught his eye. It took him a split second to recognize the fat black muzzle of a shotgun, thrust out from behind the rock.

Barkov reacted without thinking, throwing himself into the snow. An instant later came the shotgun blast. He heard screaming. The soldier at Barkov’s elbow had picked up some buckshot. A second blast clawed the air overhead, followed by several shots from a pistol.

“Ambush!” Barkov managed to shout. “Take cover!”

His men did not need to be told twice. But it was too late for the soldier nearest Barkov. The second shotgun blast nearly cut him in two. More shots followed in rapid succession. Just two guns, he thought, but it sounded more like twenty.