on his lap and threw the gear into park, then switched off the engine.
“Jac, you all right?”
The medic came up from behind the seat. “I’m good. I’m good.”
Vatz lifted pieces of cinder block from his lap, opened his door, and forced himself outside, coughing.
Dust-filled beams of light shone in from the shattered entrance. With his rifle at the ready, Vatz moved shakily forward, along with Band-Aid.
“He’s out there, somewhere…”
“Only way to tell is to draw his fire,” said Band-Aid. “I’ll run across the street.”
“Hold up.” Vatz got on the radio to inform Black Bear what had happened.
“Too tied up now to send another truck, but I need you here! There’s a squad out there in the trees. Our snipers got them pinned down, but for how long I don’t know. We can’t move till we take them out. I need you here, over.”
“Roger that, on our way, out.”
Band-Aid frowned. “On our way?”
“Get back in the truck.”
“Damn, I like your style.” The medic rushed to the rear cab door, tugged it open, hopped inside.
Vatz yanked the driver’s door, reached in, and hauled Barry out of the seat. He dropped hard to the floor, and Vatz had to turn away. Sure, he’d seen his share of blood and gore, but all that blood and brain matter, coupled with the guy’s weight, was just too much.
Repressing the urge to gag, he hauled himself into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. Damned radiator was cracked and hissing. Ignoring it, he threw the shifter in reverse, floored it.
Rubber burned as they shot back through the bank and exploded onto the street, trailing dust and tumbling pieces of concrete.
Not a second later, another round punched through the side window; Vatz ducked, threw it in drive, floored it again.
A third round struck as Vatz kept low and steered blindly.
After two more breaths, he popped up and cut the wheel hard left, turning down a side street. “We’re out of his bead now, I think.”
Band-Aid did not answer.
Vatz stole a look into the backseat, couldn’t see the medic. “Band-Aid?”
Nothing.
Vatz’s heart skipped a beat. My God. He was a magnet for death.
“Hey, Sergeant, yeah, I’m good.” The medic popped his head up and leaned back in the seat, one eye shaded by his monocle.
Vatz sighed in heavy relief. “Damn it, bro, you gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry, I was just checking the Cross Com. You know, if you and I can get in behind those squads near the terminal—”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what Black Bear has in mind.”
THIRTY
The snowmobile’s engine began to falter, and Major Stephanie Halverson knew she’d be back on foot very soon.
“What do you think, Jake?” she asked aloud. “Still think I’ll make it?”
She imagined Jake Boyd in his cockpit, flying just off her wing, flashing her a big thumbs-up.
“Well, I won’t argue with that.”
Halverson estimated she had covered between sixteen and eighteen miles, and she now rode through tall pines; beyond the woods she could see a frozen river whose opposite shoreline lay a half kilometer away.
With an unceremonious cough, the engine died. She tried to start the snowmobile again. The tank was bone-dry.
She hopped off, checked the forest behind her, then unloaded the gear, jamming what she could into the pillowcase she’d taken from the farmhouse.
That poor family. Halverson now wore the mother’s clothes, which smelled like laundry detergent. She slung the survival kit over one shoulder, the pillowcase over the other, then started toward the river.
At this time of year the ice should be thick enough to support her, she thought. If she followed the river, her GPS said she’d reach another broad plain offering no cover, but more forest lay on the opposite shore. However, getting to that better cover meant crossing the river and placing herself in the wide open.
Her whole life had been a risk, and there were very few she hadn’t taken, save for the one with Jake.
She paused at the very last tree before heading down onto the snowy bank. She took a long pull from her water bottle, stowed it, then thought,
For a few moments, it was eerily quiet. Just the sounds of her breathing and snow crunching faintly beneath her boots.
Then she heard it: a humming in the distance. Was that an engine?
“Outlaw One, this is Hammer of Tampa Five Bravo, over.”
Sergeant Raymond McAllen, who was seated just behind the pilot’s chair inside the Ka-29, had already been notified by radio operator Friskis that Major Alice Dennison was calling, so he put on a headset and adopted his all-business tone to answer, “Hammer, this is Outlaw One, go ahead, over.”
“Outlaw One, I’m sending you updated GPS coordinates for your package. We picked up the survival beacon about ninety minutes ago, over.”
“Outstanding. At least it’s a rescue now and not a recovery, over.”
“Roger that. However, be advised that mechanized infantry forces are homing in on that location. Intel from one of our drones indicates two BMP-3s, over.”
“Roger that, Hammer. Coordinates just received. Stand by.” McAllen got on the intercom. “Khaki, you looking at that GPS?”
“Yeah, I got it,” he said, tapping a finger on his own unit’s screen. “I think we’re about thirty minutes away.” He leaned forward and rapped a knuckle on a gauge. “But look at this fuel. She’s leaked a lot, come down fast. We’ll be riding on fumes.”
“All right.” McAllen switched to the radio. “Hammer, this is Outlaw One. Note we’re approximately thirty minutes out from the package, but we’re nearly out of fuel. I put in a request for an exfiltration helo over an hour ago, but haven’t heard anything from our CO. Can you follow up, and we’ll send an updated GPS of our location at that time, over?”
“Roger that, Outlaw One. Understood. I’ll check on that pick up and get back to you. Hammer, out.”
The lights inside the chopper flickered. They’d been doing that sporadically for the past fifteen minutes, leaving McAllen’s men even more restless.
Since the noise was so loud in the troop compartment, McAllen got the team’s attention by raising a fist, then he traced a big 3 0 on the back of the pilot’s seat, mouthing the words: thirty minutes. He gestured going down to snatch up the pilot.
Each man flashed a thumbs-up, then each went back to checking his weapons and inspecting the rest of his gear.
“Hey, Sergeant,” called Khaki. “These GPS coordinates… you know where she is right now?”
“Do I want to know?” he asked, his tone already darkening.
“She’s crossing a frozen river.”
“Why?”
“There’s a huge wooded area on the other side. Only good cover around.”
McAllen swore through a deep sigh. “Well, that gives us two problems: if she’s still on that river when we get there, then
