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

Tu-142 reconnaissance aircraft and the Su-35 and F-22 fighters. He said as much out loud.

“Maybe this Mavrichev bailed out of that Russian recon plane before it crashed?” Takirak suggested.

“And you think he just happened to land right next to a working snow machine?” Flynn said, not hiding his skepticism. “Dead-smack in the middle of a few million acres of totally uninhabited wilderness?”

“There are a couple of lone-wolf trappers working parts of the refuge. Or at least there used to be,” Takirak said stubbornly.“And those guys can get mighty trigger-happy if they think someone’s stealing from them. If one of ’em saw this Russian generalzooming off on his snow machine, he’d shoot him dead in a heartbeat.”

Flynn stared at him in surprise. He’d expected more from the sergeant’s common sense and intelligence. The other man had toknow how unlikely his theory sounded. “Pretty thin odds on that, Andy,” he commented dryly. “Somewhere around a billion-to-oneagainst, I’d guess.”

“Well, he had to come from somewhere, didn’t he?” Takirak pointed out, with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not like he just fell outof an empty sky.” He shook his head. “Look, Captain, I agree this is odd. But the guy’s dead. He’s not a threat, and he’ssure not going anywhere. Right now, we’ve got bigger problems on our plate—between Pedersen’s busted leg and finding thoseother downed aircraft before the weather closes in on us again.”

Flynn frowned. Part of him agreed with the older man. But only part. The other half of his mind was remembering what GeneralRosenthal had said about maybe coming across an intact aircraft on the ground. He had a sudden conviction that the two things—thismystery plane and their frozen corpse—must be connected somehow. Which made the dead man potentially far more important thanTakirak seemed to want to believe. He looked up. “We still need to call this in, Andy. Pronto.”

“If you say so, Captain,” the sergeant said dubiously. He eyed their surroundings. “Could be tough to get a connection aroundhere, though,” he warned. “Got a lot of high ground in the way that might block our link to the satellite.” With obvious andsurprising reluctance, he went through the process of setting up the radio and its small dish antenna.

When Takirak finished, Flynn lifted the handset to his ear. “Kodiak Six to Jaybird One.” In answer, a crackling squealing of high-pitched static blasted his eardrum. He winced and held the handset a little farther away before trying again. “Kodiak Six to Jaybird One,” he repeated. More meaningless noise screeched out of the receiver.

Tight-lipped, Takirak tried adjusting the angle of the antenna. He even switched frequencies. Nothing worked to establisha solid satellite link. After repeated failures, he looked apologetically at Flynn. “Sorry, sir. I can try moving to a differentspot. Like I said, these hills could be blocking our signal.”

Frustrated, Flynn nodded. “Do what you can, Sergeant.” He got back to his feet. “Meanwhile, I’m going to go round up the restof the men.” More than ever, he wished Mitchell hadn’t cut and run on them. The young airman had a real gift for electronics,one that the older National Guard noncom, for all his many other military and wilderness survival skills, obviously did notshare.

“We’re moving out?” Takirak asked, sounding surprised. “Before we finish looking for that F-22’s flight recorder?”

“Yep,” Flynn said. He prodded the dead Russian general with the toe of his boot. “My bet is that this guy’s the key to a lotof the strange shit that’s been going on. The blizzard probably wiped out most of the tracks from his snow machine. But maybewe can find traces of blood or ski trails across pockets of snow where they were sheltered from the wind.” He retrieved hiscarbine. “So my plan now is to follow those traces and see just where they lead.”

Thirty-Four

Over the Brooks Range

A Few Minutes Later

The Ka-60 Kosatka helicopter clattered low above a frozen stream, following the gorge the watercourse had cut through solid stone and shaleover untold millennia. Streamers of snow cascaded off cliff faces and whirled away through the air in its wake.

Spetsnaz Major Gennady Korenev glanced around the crowded troop compartment. His men were packed in like sardines, crammedshoulder to shoulder in the helicopter’s folding seats. Above their protective thermal masks, expressionless eyes returnedhis gaze. They were all trained and experienced killers. No one had any illusions left. This operation was going to be messy.

“Major! We’ve got a priority signal for you!” one of the Ka-60’s two pilots called over the intercom suddenly. “From GRU headquarters.”

“Patch it through,” Korenev ordered. The background noise through his headset changed to a thin, reedy whistling, indicatinga live secure satellite connection. “Raven here,” he said. “Go ahead.”

“We’ve just received critical new intelligence from SIROTA,” the mission coordinator back in Moscow told him. “The situation has changed—”

Korenev listened attentively while the coordinator gave him the details. His eyes widened very slightly. Then, when Moscow signed off, he unbuckled and squirmed forward to crouch right behind the two pilots.

“What is it, Major?” one of them asked, peering back over his shoulder.

“Show me the planned LZ on your navigation display,” Korenev demanded.

Obeying, the pilot opened a digital map on the helicopter’s large central multifunction display. A blinking green dot indicatedthe place they’d picked out to land the major and his commandos, near the northwestern end of a valley.

Korenev shook his head. “We need to land a few kilometers more to the southeast.” He reached out and tapped a spot on themap. It was in a gap between two hills. “Somewhere around here.”

The pilot leaned forward and studied the terrain. “That shouldn’t be a problem. The terrain looks pretty clear.” He glancedback at the Spetsnaz officer. “So what’s going on?”

“This mission just went from what was planned as a quiet, little manhunt to an all-out sprint for the prize,” Korenev saidtightly in reply. “Discretion’s gone out the window. Now Moscow doesn’t give a damn about how much noise we make.”

The helicopter pilot shook his head in disgust. “Nice of