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

Flynn smiled thinly. “Then the weather will be the least of our problems, Sergeant.”

Takirak shot him an equally tight grin in response. “Point taken, sir.” He swung around and started jabbing fingers at someof the watching soldiers and airmen. “Hynes, Vucovich, Sanchez, Kim, and Boyd, you’re with me. You’ve got ten minutes to reportback here in full cold weather gear, with your weapons and ammunition. So move!”

They scattered instantly, heading for their racks to grab their equipment and then struggle into multiple layers of clothing designed to protect them from extreme cold—everything from long underwear, Gore-Tex pants, and fleece jackets to thick parkas, balaclavas, goggles, boots, and gloves. Even a few days under the veteran NCO’s tutelage had taught them that “Takirak time” was precise. Ten minutes meant ten minutes and not a single second more, not unless you wanted to get seriously lit up in front of every other guy in the unit.

Flynn looked at the five men who were still left. “As for you guys, I suggest you grab some extra shut-eye while you can.”Slowly, Mitchell and the others drifted away, talking the situation over in low, worried-sounding voices.

When they were gone, Takirak lowered his voice and leaned closer to Flynn. “Just so I understand your thinking, sir, what’sthe real purpose behind deploying these observation posts?”

“Meaning, have I gone loco and actually started believing that the Russians might attack this radar site with helicoptersor paratroops, instead of lobbing a couple of cruise missiles our way?” Flynn said wryly.

Takirak nodded. “Something along those lines.”

“Then, no, I haven’t gone nuts. I see this as a casualty reduction measure,” Flynn told him very quietly. “If the shit reallydoes hit the fan, this place is going to get blown to hell—and there won’t be a damned thing we can do to stop that from happening.But at least any of our guys posted outside will have a decent shot at coming through alive and unhurt.”

“Makes sense,” the older man said. He shrugged. “Well, anyway, this’ll be a good training opportunity for us.”

Flynn looked at him curiously. “You don’t think this alert could turn hot?”

“I suppose it could,” Takirak said slowly. Then he shook his head. “But I don’t see what the Russians would have to gain.Those men in Moscow aren’t fools. Why would they start a war now? Over what? And doing it by massing a bunch of their bombersand fighters in plain view like this? So we have plenty of warning? That’s nuts.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “What would your plan be, Andy?”

“Hell, Captain, I’d just smuggle a nuke into D.C. and set it off. Take out our top political and military leaders like that, without warning, and any war’s already halfway to being won.”

Flynn laughed. “I guess I should be glad you’re not on the Russian General Staff.”

“Who, me?” Takirak shook his head. “No, thanks. I have my hands full just keeping goofballs like Mitchell and Hynes squaredaway.”

“Amen to that, Sergeant,” Flynn agreed devoutly.

Twenty

Sharapovo Nuclear Command Bunker, outside Moscow

The Next Morning

Buried deep beneath the ground, the massive Sharapovo command bunker was roughly thirty-three kilometers southwest of theKremlin, at the terminus of one of Russia’s secret subway tunnels. It was also sited within a few kilometers of Vnukovo International,the oldest of the four airports around Moscow. Depending on events, that proximity allowed the possibility of evacuating someof the five thousand high-ranking officials, military officers, assistants, and dependents inside the bunker to even moredistant, and presumably, safer regions.

At the moment, however, further flight was the last thing on the mind of Russia’s president, Piotr Zhdanov. He was meetingwith his closest military and political advisers inside a secure command center at the bunker’s lowest level. Thick armoreddoors and squads of armed guards sealed this chamber off from the rest of the complex. Even in ordinary times, only thosewith the very highest security clearance were ever admitted inside. That was true now more than ever.

As hours passed without any sign of the missing PAK-DA stealth bomber, guesses about its possible fate had grown increasingly wild. By now, analysts concluded, its fuel reserves must be exhausted. And yet, no cruise missiles had been launched at any cities or military installations in the United States, China, or Russia itself. Nor had there been any triumphant news flashes from Washington or Beijing announcing the defection of pilots flying Russia’s most advanced experimental aircraft. Now there was speculation by some that the bomber must have crashed somewhere, either accidentally or as an act of suicidal remorse by its traitorous crew. Others suggested that perhaps Major General Mavrichev, taken prisoner originally, had been able to break loose and bring the plane down in a final act of patriotic self-sacrifice.

But now all of those comforting theories had just come crashing back to earth. Moscow’s most secure communications channelshad received an encrypted signal—a signal that could only have been transmitted from the PAK-DA stealth bomber prototype.Hurriedly summoned from their quarters, barely an hour after their last futile conference broke up, Zhdanov and his most trustedadvisers had convened again to hear this message.

“We’re ready, Mr. President,” the officer in charge of the command center’s audiovisual systems said quietly. “My technicalpeople have finished decrypting and decompressing the signal. Naturally, there may be some minimal degradation of video andaudio quality.”

“Screw the technobabble,” Zhdanov rasped. With hands that shook slightly, he lit another cigarette. Nicotine and strong teawere taking the place of sleep during this crisis. He nodded angrily. “Go on, Colonel. Just play the damned video.”

Silently, the colonel pushed a control on the console in front of him. A large screen mounted on one wall came to life. Secondslater, the faintly flickering, recorded image of Colonel Alexei Petrov appeared before them. The video had been shot insidethe cockpit of the PAK-DA prototype.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” Petrov began without preamble. His expression was serious. “By now, you must realize that I have taken control over this aircraft and its weapons. At this very moment, the bomber