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

a larger ridge running off to the northeast. He couldn’t make out any movement on that southern spur, buttrampled patches in the snow roughly halfway up its slope showed that several men at least had moved across that flank andthen around to the other side. He lowered his night vision binoculars and nodded. The Americans, as he’d expected, were somewhereahead of them.

Getting back to his feet, he trotted back to the grounded Ka-60. With its engines off, the big main rotors had almost stoppedturning. He leaned in through one of the side doors to speak to the two pilots. “Keep your eyes open. We’re moving out afterthe enemy now, but we’ll be back once that little job’s done. Then we’ll all push on to pinpoint the main objective, the PAK-DAbomber.”

They nodded. “Good hunting, Major,” the lead pilot said. “We’ll be ready to take off again when you return.”

With a soft whistle, Korenev signaled his men back up out of the snow. More rapid hand signals started them moving towardthe higher ground. The Spetsnaz troops went forward in short rushes, sprinting ahead by twos and then going prone to coverthe men coming up behind them. It was a tactic that guaranteed his detachment always had a solid base of fire waiting on overwatch—readyto immediately engage any enemies who showed themselves.

Korenev stayed a few meters behind the right flank of the advancing troops, while Captain Primakov, his second-in-command,did the same over on the left. This physical separation helped ensure that a sudden burst of enemy fire couldn’t take themboth out at once. It also allowed tighter control over the Spetsnaz unit as it maneuvered.

So the major was close by when one of his men suddenly stopped and dropped to a knee to peer at something in the moonlit snowjust ahead. And when the soldier signaled him over, he was there in seconds. “What’ve you got, Vanya?”

The other man pointed to a pair of thin, rail-like tracks and two sets of deeper boot prints running roughly southeast towarda gap in the hills between this valley and the next. “More of the Americans,” he said quietly. “Two of them towing somethingon a sled.”

“Supplies,” Korenev guessed. “Or perhaps heavier weapons.” The intelligence reports provided by Moscow’s prized source hadclaimed that the Americans had left their larger-caliber weapons, a recoilless rifle, and man-portable antiair missiles behindfor this mission. But he was experienced enough to understand the limitations of even the most perfect-seeming intelligence.He shrugged. “If they’ve split their forces, so much the better for us. We’ll finish off the larger group and then mop thesetwo up for dessert.”

The other man smiled wolfishly and then darted forward, obeying his commander’s silent hand signal to resume the advance.Korenev drifted along in his wake, allowing the gap between them to widen.

Suddenly, higher up on the hill they were advancing toward, a small bright light began blinking at them in short, rhythmic flashes. Startled, the major threw himself prone again. Ahead and to his left, his soldiers did the same, bringing their mix of assault rifles and automatic weapons to bear. But then Korenev realized those flashes were in the same shorthand code used for silent communication between Russian special forces units. And that this message carried the prefix SIROTA, to verify that it came directly from the GRU’s most prized agent. He mouthed the words as they were spelled out by that blinkinglight: enemy force deploying in ambush on flank of hill southeast of my position. caution advised.

Slowly, the major stood up, making sure he could be seen. Then he crossed his clenched fists over his head twice—confirmingthat he’d received the warning. The light blinked off immediately, leaving the dark mass of the hill once more cloaked inshadows and thin strips of moonlight.

Korenev waved Primakov over to join him. “What now?” the younger officer asked.

The major bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “Simple, while the Americans wait like imbeciles for us to walk blindly intotheir trap, we’ll veer to the left.” He indicated the main ridge to the northeast of the spur. “And climb up that way instead.Then we’ll swing back to the right and come in to hit them from above and behind.” He hefted his AK-12 assault rifle and pattedthe stock. “With the tables turned, it shouldn’t take long to finish off our American friends.”

On the Spur

That Same Time

Flynn moved warily downhill through the icy boulder field that covered this part of the slope, careful to watch where he placedhis feet to avoid any unnecessary noise. Before heading here on his own, he’d ordered the rest of his men to take up concealedfiring positions in the jumble of rocks and boulders farther up the slope. And he’d left his M4 carbine behind a while back,worried that the longer weapon might clatter against rock surfaces and give him away. Instead, he’d drawn his Glock 19 sidearm.That left him with one hand free for balance on this uneven, slippery surface.

He halted at the base of a weathered granite boulder twice the size of a man and stood listening. The soft, clicking noiseshe’d heard coming from ahead had just stopped, as suddenly as they had started. Cautiously, Flynn edged around the side ofthe boulder . . . and found Takirak crouched a couple of yards away, staring down into the valley. Soldiers camouflaged insnow smocks were on the move there, turning to parallel the high ground as they advanced to the northeast. Their helmets andother gear gave them a look almost identical to that of American special forces troops, but their weapons were clearly Russian.

And the National Guard sergeant still held the flashlight he’d been using as a signaling device.

Flynn sighed. There were moments when he really hated being right. This was probably the worst of them. He sighted along the barrel of his pistol, aiming at Takirak’s back. “So, Andy,” he said quietly, almost conversationally. “Just how long have you been betraying your country?”

For a long, seemingly endless moment, the other man froze solid, not moving a muscle. But