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

satellite connection working and contact JBER,” Flynn told him. “We need medevac ASAP for our injuredguys and for our prisoners. No one who’s been wounded will last long in this cold.”

Hynes took a deep breath. “That ain’t happening, sir.” He jerked a thumb toward the boulder field. “Sims had the radio withhim. It took a bunch of splinters when that Russian grenade went off.”

“Well . . .” Flynn thought about swearing and then just shrugged. There just weren’t enough cuss words in the English languageto cover this situation.

From farther up the slope, Vucovich suddenly shouted. “Hey, Captain! Look at that!”

Flynn lifted his head and stared toward where the other man was pointing. There, off to the east, a flickering orange glowlit the darkness. Something was on fire out there, some miles away. Something where nothing should be. The isolated clumpsof dwarf willows and spruce trees in this part of the world did not burn down in the icy, arctic winters. Not naturally anyway.

His eyes narrowed. One more damned mystery, he thought angrily. And probably one connected to that dead Russian general they’d been tracking before this battle erupted. He scuffed furiously at the snow with his boot cap. What the hell was he supposed to do now? They were dozens of miles from the nearest possible help, with no way to communicate with anyone. But if he didn’t do something soon, every injured man now in his charge was going to die—from either shock, their wounds, or the brutal, bone-chilling cold.

Thinking hard, Flynn walked down the slope to where the first of the Russians had fallen. He squatted down beside the deadman, noticing again how similar their uniforms and gear looked to that worn by his own troops. From a distance and in thedark, there was almost no way to tell them apart. His eyes widened slightly as the ghost of an idea wafted into his mind.Maybe there was a way he could solve several of his problems . . . with one risky move.

Suddenly excited, he straightened up. “Vucovich,” he snapped. “You and Santarelli and Kim start gathering up all the wounded.Heat up some MREs and get some food into them.” He whirled toward Hynes. “Put that MG down and grab a couple of those Russianweapons. You’re coming with me.”

Hynes stared at him. “Where to, sir? Where are we going?”

Flynn grinned at him. “We’re going to arrange a ride out of this hellhole, PFC.”

Thirty-Eight

Sharapovo Command Bunker, outside Moscow

That Same Time

Ferociously, Piotr Zhdanov ground out another cigarette. He fumbled the pack out of his jacket pocket. It was empty. Angrily,he balled it up and tossed it aside. From behind, one of his aides diffidently offered him a fresh pack. He waved it away.As it was, the inside of his mouth tasted like dust and ashes.

He glared across the table at Lieutenant General Rogozin and the head of the GRU, Aleksandr Ivashin. “Well?” he demanded.“Still nothing?”

Helplessly, both men shrugged. As yet, there were no new reports—either from the Spetsnaz raiding party they’d sent into Alaska,or from the stolen stealth bomber to confirm that it was headed back to Russia, now that they’d paid the ransom demanded forits release. Their last news from Major Korenev indicated that his troops had landed deep in enemy territory and were readyto pursue, intercept, and destroy the ragtag American security unit ahead of them. Nothing at all had been heard from Petrovor his mysterious backers.

A soft chime came from the computer at Rogozin’s place. The general leaned forward, reading the alert he’d just been forwarded. “Our satellites have received a new secure message from the PAK-DA stealth bomber,” he reported.

Zhdanov breathed out. “Finally.” He thrust a finger at the Air Force commander. “Put it up on-screen, Yvgeny.”

With a nod, Rogozin signaled the colonel in charge of the underground command center’s audiovisuals. The large wall screenflickered to life.

“Damn it,” Zhdanov growled, seeing the face of Alexei Petrov materialize. He was again sitting in the futuristic-looking cockpitof the PAK-DA prototype. There was no conceivable circumstance in which the traitor could imagine he would return to Russiaand survive the experience. Which meant that plane was still sitting on the ground inside the United States when this messagehad been recorded. And from the time stamp shown in the lower left-hand corner of the screen, that was less than five minutesago.

“By now, you must have realized that I have no intention of returning this aircraft,” the image of Petrov said coldly, confirmingthe Russian president’s worst fears. “Sadly, our beloved Motherland—under your slovenly governance—is unworthy of such a gift.”His expression darkened. “For decades now, our nation has been in decline—with its demoralized population aging and increasinglyinfirm; its economic strength decaying; and its military power nothing more than a facade, a thin shield for the dying bodybehind it. What have you achieved since the Soviet Union, once the world’s mightiest superpower, crumbled to ruin?

“Nothing!” Petrov sneered. “You constantly boast about the ‘New Russia,’ but what do you have to back up such crowing? A population now only a third the size of the United States? And less than a tenth that of the People’s Republic of China? An economy in ruins, more dependent on oil than even the Arab kleptocracies?” He leaned closer to the camera so that almost all they could see was his contempt-filled face. “It is time, Zhdanov, that you and your bootlickers faced facts. You and all of your policies and plans are nothing but miserable, criminal failures.”

Zhdanov stared at the screen, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. No one in the past two decades had dared to insulthim so openly—at least, no one who expected to live outside the gray walls of a prison, if allowed to live at all. From therigid, horrified silence around him, he knew others were thinking the same thing.

“But because I am a true Russian patriot,” Petrov continued, “I am offering you—unworthy though you are—a chance offered tono other Russian government since the fall of the Soviet Union: the opportunity to