The remaining Spetsnaz seemed unorganized now, with at least three more turning tail and running straight toward Band-Aid. Vatz hit the ground, called up the medic.
Two seconds later, Band-Aid’s rifle echoed.
“Black Bear, this is Bali, over.”
“Go ahead, Bali.”
“Hold fire. Move in. We got ’em on the run!”
Black Bear keyed his mike, and Vatz heard the hoots and hollering of the others. “Roger that, Bali. Great job!”
Vatz took a deep breath and smiled inwardly. It was about time something went right.
But the victory celebration lasted only a few seconds before Band-Aid’s tense voice came over the radio:
“I’m hit! I’m hit!”
THIRTY-ONE
Major Stephanie Halverson’s eyes had grown so heavy, her muscles so sore, that she staggered to a halt in the middle of the frozen river, leaned forward, and tanked down air.
The wind had picked up and had been blasting snow in her face. Her cheeks and nose were going numb. She shivered and pulled up the scarf, turned back, squinted at the shoreline she’d left behind.
Through veils of snow she made out two Russian BMP-3s rumbling on their tank-like tracks down toward the riverbank.
Her little trek on the snowmobile had helped buy her time, but once she’d switched on the beacon, the Russians had also picked it up. Those infantry squads had probably been tasked with both finding her and performing a reconnaissance mission in this area, killing two birds with one stone, unfortunately.
Reflexes took over. She turned, broke into a run. The opposite shoreline seemed impossibly far away. Her legs were back to burning as she imagined a sniper somewhere behind her casually lining up to take his shot.
At least the end would be quick.
What was she thinking? She wouldn’t give up. Not yet. Not after coming this far. Not after three innocent people had already died!
Screw the pillowcase, the supplies. They dropped into her wake.
She would reach the forest by sheer force of will. They couldn’t stop her.
Anticipating a gunshot, she veered right, then left, still jogging, her boots nearly slipping on the ice beneath the powdery snow.
She glanced back. The Russians were still coming, frozen river notwithstanding. The BMP drivers were testing the ice, while dismounted troops started toward her.
As the snow rose to her shins, her pace slowed, but she swore and kept weaving erratically, kicking forward now. Then, suddenly, a crack made her flinch and gasp.
The gunshot echoed off.
She didn’t feel anything. Maybe he’d missed. Or maybe it’d take a second for the pain to come.
Automatic weapons fire resounded—
But it was joined by the strangely irregular thumping of rotors.
The afternoon sun blinded her for a moment, but out of the glare came a helo swooping toward her.
For a split second her spirits lifted. They’d sent someone. She’d make it.
Then the chopper banked slightly, and she got a better look at the fuselage, the red star, the terrible and familiar outline of a Ka-29. Now those rotors seemed to pound on her head, made her want to scream.
“Oh, yeah?” she cried aloud. “I don’t think so.” She kept on running as the chopper came around once more, descending from behind.
As its shadow passed directly overhead, she extended her arm and fired, the round ricocheting off its hull.
They would land in front of her, cut her off from the forest.
She fired again, smelled fuel, and thought maybe she’d scored a hit.
The helo slowed to a hover, began to pivot, and Halverson wasn’t sure what to do now. Break left? Right?
“She’s firing at us,” hollered Sergeant Scott Rule.
Sergeant Raymond McAllen didn’t need the young superstar to tell him that. But damn, McAllen hadn’t anticipated this part, where the pilot assumed they were Russians about to capture her and decided to shoot at their already malfunctioning helicopter.
They were still hovering, and McAllen ordered the pilot to land, but the Russian shook his head, second chin wagging. “How thick is the ice?”
“It’s thick. Land!”
“I don’t like this ice.”
“Khaki, can you land this thing?”
“Okay, I put down,” said the pilot with disgust. “But if ice breaks, your fault!” He leaned forward and spoke rapidly into his microphone.
“Damn it!” Khaki jolted forward and switched off the unit.
McAllen shoved his pistol into the back of the pilot’s head. “Put this bird down!”
Then he called out to Rule, telling him to open the bay door and throw down one of his Velcro patches, the American flag.
All their uniform patches and other black insignia could be removed via the Velcro, depending upon the mission and what the lawyers had to say about operations in a particular nation. Sometimes you had to show the patches, sometimes not.
Rule slid open the door, and as they got even lower he tossed down the patch, then started closing the door, just as she fired again, the round pinging off the jam.
Rule cursed and fell back onto the floor.
“Is he hit?” asked McAllen.
“I don’t think so,” shouted Gutierrez.
“Look, she’s got it,” said Khaki. “She sees us! She knows. Here she comes.”
Halverson thought she was dreaming as she ran toward the helicopter, its gear just setting down on the ice. She clutched the patch in her hand and broke into a full-on sprint.
For a moment she had doubted the patch, thought maybe the enemy was luring her into the helo, but that was thinking too hard. If there were Russians on board, they would rather take her by force, not cunning. It would be a matter of ego. This was her rescue.
The gunfire behind her had ceased. Those fools thought their comrades in the helo had captured the “Yankee pilot.” They had no idea that somehow, some way, Americans had taken control of an enemy helicopter. She had almost waved after picking up the patch but thought better of it. The troops behind would find that highly suspect.
With the rotors now blowing waves of snow into her eyes and clearing a circle around the helo, Halverson leaned over, ditched the survival kit, and made her last run for it, coming onto the rotor-swept ice.
Just twenty yards now, and her gait grew shaky as her boots found little traction. It was all she could do to remain upright.
Boom, down she went. Took a hard fall. Right on her butt. The impact sent tremors of pain through her back.
The helo’s side door slid open, and a helmeted soldier was waving her on.
