Arctic Storm Rising Dale Brown (literature books to read TXT) 📖

Private First Class Torvald Pedersen, the team’s designated rifle marksman, had checked in a while back and was now busy helpingthe others. When asked, the dark-haired rancher’s son from South Dakota confirmed that the sergeant had found him first, ashe was just finishing dinner at one of Kaktovik’s small hotels. Takirak had ordered him straight back to base, before headingfarther into town to track down M-Squared. Since then, nobody had seen hide nor hair of either man. Nor were they answeringrepeated calls to their phones.

Flynn swung away from the bus and stared down the icy track leading into Kaktovik, hoping that he would see two figures trudgingtoward the radar station. But there was nothing moving. In the distance, the little village’s street and house lights twinkledbrightly against a night sky speckled with thousands upon thousands of stars.

At least some of the meteorologists’ predictions of improving weather had panned out, he realized. Thick clouds still obscuredmost of the mountain peaks south of the small island, but the skies overhead were clearing and the north winds had calmeddown some. If similar conditions held over their drop zone, the jump might not be quite as suicidal as he’d feared. But thatstill seemed like a big “if” when there were so many lives on the line.

Two of his men, Vucovich and Airman Peter Kim, steered their snow machines out of the station’s large-vehicle maintenance bay. Each vehicle towed an empty sled behind it. With a flourish of loud, lawnmower-like motors, they pulled up beside Flynn.

Vucovich pushed his goggles up onto his forehead. “Want us to scout the town for the sarge and M-Squared, Captain?” he asked.“It ain’t that big.”

Flynn thought about that and then shook his head. As it was, it would take more time than they could easily afford to securethe two snow machines and their sleds aboard the HC-130J’s single available equipment pallet. And the aircraft’s loadmaster,Staff Sergeant Tim Wahl, was already waiting for them with growing impatience. “Takirak knows we’re headed to the airport,”he said, more confidently than he felt. “Once he’s got Airman Mitchell in hand, he’ll meet us there. In the meantime, youguys go report to Wahl and help him load your vehicles.”

Vucovich nodded. He pulled his goggles back down and thumped Kim in the shoulder. “Let’s hit it, Pete. Last man to the airporthas to do all the grunt work.” Grinning widely, they opened their throttles and sped away across the tundra, trailing plumesof ice and snow from under their ski runners.

Flynn watched them go with a bemused grin. He’d completely misread his team’s likely reaction to their new orders. Far fromplunging them into gloom, the prospect of action—even incredibly hazardous action, like making a parachute jump at night overmountains—had them all pumped up. He guessed that was a combination of the same craving for adventure that had caused mostof them to enlist in the first place—plus the natural, wild-eyed optimism of youth, and a desperate willingness to do anythingthat would get them out of the dull, grinding routine of sentry duty on this isolated island.

He turned back to find Sanchez looming over him. The big New Mexican was the only one who looked even a little disgruntled. But that was because Flynn was making him leave his beloved Carl Gustaf 84mm recoilless rifle behind. On a search-and-rescue mission, they would need extra supplies and medical equipment more than a heavy weapon designed to blow open bunkers and kill armored vehicles.

“Everything’s loaded on the bus, sir,” Sanchez reported. “The sergeant and M-Squared’s stuff, too.”

Flynn nodded. He looked down the track toward Kaktovik one more time and then shrugged. They couldn’t wait here any longer.“Then let’s mount up, Specialist,” he said. “But pass the word for everyone to keep their eyes peeled on the way through town.Our two missing guys can’t have gone far.”

Barter Island Airport

Some Time Later

Flynn felt a hand on his upper arm. He turned to find Laura Van Horn looking up at him with a concerned expression. She alsolooked half-frozen to death. Her flight jacket was fine inside a cockpit, but it wasn’t made to stand up to subzero temperatures.

“Rip says if we’re going to go at all, we should go soon,” she shouted over the steadily rising roar from the HC-130’s threeworking Rolls-Royce turboprops. Ingalls was busy running a slew of checks, closely monitoring his gauges and displays forthe slightest sign of any more engine trouble. “We can’t tell how long this break in the storm’s really going to last.” Shewaved a hand at the runway, where little swirls of snow crystals were dancing across the surface. “If the wind picks up evenanother ten knots, there’s no way we could drop you safely. We’d have to abort the mission.”

Flynn nodded grimly. “And that’s not an option.”

“I sure wish it was, Nick,” Van Horn told him, sounding even more worried. “As it is, JBER’s on the radio every five minutes,asking for a status update.” With an obvious effort, she forced herself to appear more confident. “I’ve gotta say, though,this ‘Hey, sorry, Skater, but I have to make a parachute jump into the wilderness’ deal is kind of a sleazy way to duck outon that next gourmet meal you promised me.”

He couldn’t stop a short, sharp laugh. “Yeah, well, that did take some serious organizing. I had to pull strings all the way to Moscow and the Pentagon to set up this stunt.”

Van Horn reached up and thwacked him gently in the forehead. “Idiot. Most guys would just have said they’d lost my phone number.”

“Oh, crap,” Flynn said in mock horror. “That would have been smarter. And much, much easier to arrange.” Then he sobered upagain. “Is everything else set?”

She nodded. “Everybody else is aboard and strapped in. Sergeant Wahl’s got the anchor cables rigged for your parachutes. Hesays the pallet with your snow machines and sleds and extra gear is ready to drop, too. Or, in his words, as ready as he canmake it with a bunch of amateurs