Red Sniper

Cole reckoned that they could cross the border in one more day, if they pushed it. Looking at this group, he wasn’t sure that they had much push left. Two more days, then. Short of a miracle, they wouldn’t make it to three.

Inna looked at Cole expectantly. “What about Samson and Ramsey?”

Cole shook his head.

“Poor bastards,” Whitlock said quietly.

“They put up a fight, that’s for damn sure,” Cole said.

“I hope they got a few Russians,” Whitlock said.

“They got one,” Cole said. “And I know that I got that wiry one you told me about. Barkov’s buddy.”

“I heard the shot. You got the Mink?”

“I reckon I did.”

Whitlock grinned. “If there was ever anyone who deserved to get shot, aside from Barkov, it had to be that rat-faced son of a bitch.”

“But you did not get Barkov?” Inna asked, sounding worried.

“Not yet.”

Vaska came over, holding a small bag, which he dug into to produce a handful of jerky. He explained that this was the last of the food he had brought. He cut the dried meat into equal shares. There was enough for one piece each, not much bigger than a stick of chewing gum.

“Chew it slowly,” he said. “Then eat some snow so that you feel full.”

“Vaska, just what the hell kind of meat is this?” Honaker wanted to know. He looked doubtfully at the jerky. “Are you sure this isn’t an old pair of boots that you cut up?”

“If you ain’t gonna eat it, give it here,” Cole said harshly.

Honaker glared at him. He had long since given up trying to pretend that he was in charge. The hardships they had been suffering had eroded their chain of command. Hunger and exhaustion put them on an equal footing. Cole had shown himself to be the natural leader, out here in his element. That didn’t mean Honaker was happy about it. “Cole, I am goddamned tired of you.”

Cole bit off a bit of jerky. He had perfectly formed teeth, although he had never been to a dentist before the Army. It was one benefit of growing up in a place where sweets and soda pop were unobtainable luxuries. “You want to make something of it?”

Honaker seemed to think it over, then looked away. “You aren’t worth it, you goddamn hillbilly.”

“Maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t,” Cole said. “What I do know is that if we hurry and get across that border, you won’t have to worry about me no more. How does that sound to you?”

Honaker didn’t respond, but struggled to snap off a piece of jerky, yanking at it with his teeth without success. “You think you’ve got all the answers. We’ll see about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Honaker gnawed his jerky, his jaw muscles working and popping under the skin. “You’ll see.”

• • •

Morning dawned cold and bright. The sun and sky hinted at warmer weather. And yet it was a cheerless dawn, without anything to eat. Breakfast consisted of a few handfuls of snow. For Cole, it was like old times growing up in the mountains during the Depression with a father who spent most of his days and nights deep in the hills, making whiskey and drinking as much as he sold, not much caring if his children went hungry.

“What I wouldn’t give for some hotcakes and sausage right about now,” Vaccaro said. “Hell, I’d settle for a cup of coffee.”

Cole threw a snowball at him. “Shut up, Vaccaro.”

Cole’s joints ached and creaked in the morning chill, like he was an old man. He would have welcomed some coffee and maybe some bacon to grease himself up good. Vaccaro had the right idea. His belly rumbled at the thought.

Even their cigarettes were gone. Vaska still had his pipe. He cleaned out the bowl with a short-bladed knife, carefully tamped it full of tobacco, and then puffed away.

Cole glanced toward the horizon. Most of the trees had disappeared, leaving a snow-covered plain before them. It was a barren, unwelcoming landscape.

The only good news this morning was that Finland was a day’s walk, if they pushed it.

“May as well get to it,” Cole said. “No sense in burnin’ daylight.”

Vaccaro groaned. “You are like a regular goddamn rooster, Hillbilly.”

“You are a ray of sunshine yourself, City Boy.”

Cole’s attention had been on the horizon to the west. Now he looked back toward the east. What he saw made the frigid air catch in his throat.

Russians. Moving down the face of a long, low slope that Cole and the others had crossed just before dark. He didn’t need binoculars or his rifle scope to count five of them. The bigger one out front would be Barkov.

The Russians had not seen them yet because they had made camp for the night in the lee of a spill of boulders. But all that Barkov had to do was follow the tracks right to this spot. Easy as pie.

He considered the rifle in his hands, but this was no time for a last stand. If Barkov was worth anywhere near his salt as a sniper, out here in the open, he could pick them off just as easily as Cole could. No, now wasn’t the time to fight.

It was time to run.

Cole sprang to his feet. “Ya’ll got to move. Now!”

Honaker seemed annoyed. “What?”

Cole pointed. “The Russians must have kept moving during the night. They come right up on us.”