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

amber tide. Satisfied, he stood up and movedback a few meters. Then he pulled out a loaded flare pistol, cocked the hammer, and fired downward through the door.

With a crackling hiss, the flare exploded. A blinding, red-tinged flash lit the inside of the tent, replaced by a flickering orange glow as burning gasoline sprayed everywhere. Coolly, Petrov dropped the spent flare gun and pulled out his pistol. He ignored the agonized screams echoing from Bondarovich and the others. They’d been abruptly jolted out of sleep . . . only to find themselves trapped in a hell of whirling, wind-driven fire. Already blazing like torches, burning men stumbled toward the door, frantically trying to squeeze out through the narrow opening. Methodically, Petrov shot them one by one.

When the screams finally stopped, he lowered his pistol, turned, and walked away toward the distant aircraft shelter. Behindhim, dancing tongues of fire licked up into the sky.

Thirty-Seven

On the Spur

That Same Time

Flynn doubled up his thermal mask and used it to mop Takirak’s blood from his eyes, the rest of his face, and the razor-sharpblade of his combat knife. Finished, he tossed the sodden mask away in disgust. Then he took out a field dressing from hisfirst aid kit and wrapped it around his gashed left forearm. Finally, he retrieved his pistol from the ground, brushing offthe ice and snow that coated its muzzle and slide before slipping it back into his chest rig.

Off to his right, a little higher up the spur, Flynn heard the faint clatter and rattle of equipment. Six soldiers and airmen,all he had left under his direct command, were moving into position. Below the other side of this hill, his remaining men,Sanchez, Boyd, and the injured Torvald Pedersen, had gone to ground in some bushes a few hundred yards away. He would haveliked to order them back to the main unit, but radioing them would be the only means of doing that. It was too risky. Forall Flynn knew, their tactical frequencies and encryption systems were one of the secrets Takirak had already passed on tohis fellow Russians.

Staying low, Flynn risked a quick look out across the open slope. The white-camouflaged Russian Spetsnaz commandos were still advancing along the valley. Apparently, they hadn’t heard his brutal, hand-to-hand fight with Takirak, probably thanks to the noise made by the northerly winds hissing across hard-packed snow.

Flynn watched the enemy soldiers for a few more moments. It was pretty clear that they planned to bypass this particular pieceof high ground—probably intending to climb the main ridge instead, before turning to hit the unsuspecting Americans from behind.Their plan would have worked, if he hadn’t already figured out that Takirak had betrayed the ambush positions he’d first chosen.As it was, leapfrogging forward along the valley floor only exposed the Russian flank to attack from this rocky spur.

He left Takirak’s corpse crumpled in the snow and moved back around through the jumble of boulders to rejoin his troops—reclaiminghis M4 carbine on the way. The first man he came to was Private First Class Cole Hynes. Hynes was crouched behind a cairnof smaller rocks that formed a natural breastwork about waist-high. His bipod-mounted M249 Para light machine gun was positionedon the pile of rock, aimed straight downhill. “You find the sarge, sir?” he asked quietly.

Flynn nodded. “Yep.”

“Is he coming?”

Flynn shook his head. “Sergeant Takirak’s just fine where he is, Hynes.” Even if he’d felt up to it right now, there wasn’ttime for any complicated, morale-busting explanations about Takirak’s real identity as a Russian spy.

“So, those guys?” Hynes nodded at the snow-camouflaged shapes still moving by bounds along the foot of the hill. “Are theywho I think they are?”

“They’re definitely Russians,” Flynn confirmed.

“So I can shoot ’em?” Hynes asked hopefully.

Flynn nodded. “But only on my order, PFC.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Hold tight for a few more seconds,okay?”

Hynes nodded enthusiastically. “Copy that, Captain.”

Flynn moved on down the line, quickly making sure that the rest of his troops—Airman Peter Kim, and Army Privates Wade Vucovich,Mike Sims, Floyd Leffert, and Gene Santarelli—were in position and understood the situation. Sims, Leffert, and Santarelliwere known in the unit by the collective nickname of the Three Amigos, because they seemed perfectly content to spend mostof their waking hours—both on duty and off duty—in one another’s company. Most of that, from what Flynn could tell, was dueto a shared passion for video games and the same Swedish heavy metal band. He figured that was as good a basis for camaraderieas any other.

One by one, all five gave him a tight nod or a swift thumbs-up signal. Satisfied, he reversed back down the line and tookup a position just to Hynes’s right, prone between two gray boulders. Another quick look down the slope showed that the Spetsnazcommandos were right where he wanted them—directly in front of his men and out in the open. They were a little over two hundredyards away. Carefully, he sighted on one of the Russians, a soldier carrying an AKM equipped with a 40mm grenade launcher.“All Kodiaks,” he said loudly, raising his voice to be heard down the line. “Hit ’em! Now!”

Flynn squeezed off three quick shots. Snow spurted up behind his chosen target as the first two rounds missed, but the thirdhit the Russian in the side. The enemy soldier went down hard. On his left, Hynes opened up with his M249 light machine gun,firing short bursts down the hill—walking them across the Spetsnaz formation. Two more of them crumpled right away. Bloodpooled red on the white snow.

Across the hillside, the other Americans joined in, firing down at the enemy commandos caught in the valley. Flashes lit thenight. Another Russian fell. The rest, reacting fast, dove for whatever cover they could find and started shooting back—aimingtoward the muzzle flashes.

5.45mm and 7.62mm rounds whip-cracked just over Flynn’s head, smacking into boulders and then ricocheting away with weird, keening wails. Shards and splinters of pulverized rock spun away after them. “Stay low,