Red Sniper

They hid among the stacks of tires and fuel cans in the maintenance area. That was all well and good until someone came looking for a spare tire. Dmitri was still in his long underwear, which would have been comical if they hadn’t been surrounded by Russian soldiers. The kid’s eyes darted from the Americans to the Russians, as if weighing his chances with one side or the other. Then he seemed to resign himself to staying where he was. The kid wasn’t so dumb—the Russians might keep the Americans alive as bargaining chips of some kind, but Dmitri wasn’t any sort of bargaining chip. He would get used for target practice.

The Russians would shoot Inna, too.

Dmitri looked at Cole. Inna, Vaccaro, and Whitlock looked at Cole. Cole wished there was somebody he could look at. He had gotten them this far. But he was out of ideas.

Just this morning, the day had seemed full of promise. The border with Finland was in sight. They had thought that their journey was just about over. Then Barkov had come into sight. Honaker had turned out to be some kind of communist traitor. No, the rest of the day hadn’t gone so well.

Now, they had ended up even farther away from the border. They were surrounded by Russian troops. Vaska and Honaker were dead. A squad of Americans had attacked them for some unknown reason. The only good news was that that bastard Barkov was wolf chow.

Over by the gate, the Russian troops were just about organized. Any minute now, they were going to be heading over to the truck, to load up. He and the others wouldn’t be able to stay hidden for long.

“Now what?” Vaccaro whispered, sounding desperate.

Cole gripped his rifle until his knuckles showed white, but meanwhile his mind was scratching and clawing like a cornered animal, trying to come up with something, anything. When it came to tight spots, he preferred the kind that you could shoot your way out of.

He looked around for some escape route. Ruled out hijacking a Jeep or truck. How far could they get trying to cross this landscape? On foot, that plane would spot them. The plane had looked like a fighter, which meant machine guns. Bombs.

Plane. He glanced again toward the airfield. Not so much activity down there. However, there were a handful of assorted planes grouped around the makeshift runway.

He had an idea. Glancing at Vaccaro, he said, “How’s your back?”

“What?”

Cole thought about it. The problem was, the airfield was a couple hundred yards away. Everybody else on the base was in uniform. Cole and Vaccaro had on civilian clothes. Dmitri was in his long johns. They all stood out like moonshiners at a Bible meeting. What they needed was camouflage.

“Vaccaro, you grab one of those box over there,” he said. “You too, Miss Inna.”

“What is in it?” Inna asked.

“Don’t matter. Grab it. Tell Dmitri to grab that other box. Me and Whitlock are gonna roll tires.”

“What the hell, Cole,” Vaccaro complained. “Are we supposed to do some work while we’re here? Maybe straighten the place up for the Ruskies?”

“I told you there was no way we could just walk out of here, but maybe I was wrong. Whitlock, do you reckon you can fly one of them Russian planes?”

Whitlock grinned. “Does an angel have wings?”

Cole grabbed a tire. “All right, then. Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER 36

It was a universal fact of military hierarchy that nobody paid any attention to maintenance personnel on a base. It didn’t matter if you were in the American, British, Russian, or German military, it was a given that these personnel were anonymous. The guy fixing the trucks and planes never got the glory. He didn’t even carry a weapon. You didn’t have to salute him. Officers you had to watch out for. Maintenance guys, on the other hand, could be safely ignored.

Perfect camouflage, to Cole’s way of thinking.

Cole was leading the way, rolling his tire through the slush toward the airfield. Inna, Vaccaro, and Dmitri followed, carrying their boxes. Then came Whitlock, rolling his tire.

All around them, soldiers ran by, scrambling toward the trucks. The whole damn base was mobilizing. Most of the Russian troops looked no older than Dmitri and they wore new uniforms. New recruits. They were too confused to even give Cole a second look. Like a typical officer, the Russian who had met them on the road seemed to have decided that there was no point in making do with one truckload of reinforcements, not when he could round up several truckloads of troops and make the whole operation seem more important. The entire base now resembled an ant nest that someone had poked a stick into.

They might have made it without any trouble if it hadn’t been for Dmitri’s long johns.

An officer went by and Cole kept his head down. At first, the officer didn’t seem to notice Cole or the others. Then he slowed his pace and gave Cole a hard look, like the boss man on a road gang, before moving on. Cole tilted his head so that he could watch the officer out of the corner of his eye.