Arctic Storm Rising by Dale Brown (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

possible. The maintenance bay mightnot be heated, but at least its prefab metal walls kept the wind and snow and ice outside. And he knew from their daily workoutsthat it was more than big enough for what he had in mind.

He unzipped one of the large duffel bags that had come up on the same flight with the exercise mat and started pulling out gear—mouth guards, boxing-style protective headgear, padded gloves, knee pads, and hard rubber training knives. This was the equipment he needed to run the team through a refresher course on what the U.S. Army and Air Force both referred to as “combatives”—the art of hand-to-hand combat. Far from being obsolete in an era of rapid-fire small arms, precision-guided munitions, and ever-more-destructive ranged weapons, hard-earned experience in Afghanistan and Iraq and other conflicts around the world had proved that the ability to survive and win in close-contact physical combat was a vital soldier skill. Hand-to-hand fighting could break out while troops were clearing buildings and villages, while they were manning security checkpoints, or even when trying to control prisoners taken on the battlefield.

Flynn heard the outer door behind him open and felt a swirl of freezing cold air. Suppressing a shiver, he got back to hisfeet and turned around.

First Sergeant Andy Takirak had come into the maintenance bay. The grizzled Alaskan brushed snow off his parka and stompedhis boots to dislodge ice chunks wedged into their treads. “It’s coming down pretty hard out there, sir,” he reported. “Lookslike that forecast was right.”

Flynn nodded. Weather stations along the Arctic coast and satellites had been picking up indications of a large series ofstorms building up over the polar ice cap and starting to move south. Air Force and civilian meteorologists were all predictingan extended period of high winds, blowing snow and ice, and near-zero visibility. Which meant, in turn, that the traininggear he’d requested had arrived just in time. There weren’t likely to be any more supply flights arriving at the airport untilthe blizzards headed their way died out.

He indicated the equipment he’d unpacked. “What do you think, Andy?”

“I’ve always figured if you were close enough to an enemy to reach out and touch him, you were already in a world of hurt,”Takirak said calmly. He showed his teeth. “Give me my rifle and a couple hundred yards of distance any day.”

Flynn nodded. “I can’t argue with that.” Then he smiled. “But I checked your records. You took the combatives instructor courseand aced it a few years ago.”

Takirak shrugged. “Well, that’s because I learned a long time ago that wishes are one thing, and reality’s another.”

“Want a chance to brush up on your techniques before we run classes for the rest of the team?”

Takirak matched his smile. “Just the two of us, Captain?”

“Yep.” Flynn picked up a pair of gloves and some headgear. “If I’m going to get dumped on my ass getting back up to speedon this stuff, I’d just as soon not have it happen in front of witnesses.”

“Same here,” Takirak allowed, starting to unzip his parka.

A few minutes later, decked out in protective sparring gear, they circled each other on the mat. They were each in a fightingstance, with chins tucked in and hands up, ready to strike or parry. Flynn eyed the other man cautiously. He had the longerreach, but the noncom was solid muscle and his reflexes seemed lightning-fast. “All set?” he murmured.

“Any time you are,” Takirak assured him.

“Then . . . fight’s on,” Flynn called out, using the Air Force term to signal the beginning of a training engagement. He movedin fast, closing the range. The other man did the same.

The next moments flew by as they both delivered a flurry of blows and kicks with incredible speed and precision. Twice, Takirakgot in past his attacks and defenses and slammed him down onto the mat. Once, Flynn broke free and reversed the advantage—settingup a choke hold that the older man had to acknowledge. The second time, the noncom swept his legs out from under him and thenbatted away all his attempts to get loose. This time, it was Flynn who had to slap the mat in surrender.

Shaking off pain and fatigue, they scrambled back to their feet and started circling again, each looking for an edge and notfinding it. Another series of rapid-fire arm and elbow strikes and kicks left them both gasping.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

The timer Flynn had set on his phone went off. He held out his hand and spat out his mouth guard. “Call it a draw, Sergeant?”

Panting slightly, Takirak nodded. “Sounds fair to me, sir.” He shook his head with a quick smile. “Looks like I wasn’t theonly one who did well in the instructor course.”

“I survived it,” Flynn agreed. He eyed the other man. “I did get the feeling a couple of times that you were holding back a little, Andy. What was that, respect for my rank?”

Takirak shook his head. “No, sir. If I did, it was only natural caution. I always heard it was good tactics to keep a reserve—justin case the enemy’s got something up his sleeve.”

Flynn nodded. The other man was right. Which was why he’d done the same thing himself. He grinned, mentally calculating howthe next couple of days of combatives training were likely to go. The rest of his team—younger, stronger, and bigger thoughsome of them were—were about to learn the hard way that they were no match for the combination of greater experience and guile.

Fourteen

Secure Hangar, Engels-2 Strategic Bomber Base, near Saratov, Russia

A Short Time Later

An olive-drab UAZ Hunter light utility vehicle sped past a row of gleaming white Tu-160M2 swing-wing supersonic bombers parkedon the base’s long apron. It turned right onto a taxiway that crossed both main runways and drove on toward a group of threelarge camouflaged hangars. In a squeal of brakes, it pulled up in front of the first hangar, whose armored rolling doors stoodpartly open. Through the gap, Tupolev’s revolutionary PAK-DA stealth bomber was visible inside. Mechanics and