Shadow Wars, page 34
Ryng was covered with snow and the heat from the flames created a stinging sensation as it turned the snow on his cheeks to steam. He reached for a piece of wood sticking out from the fire. The tiny hairs on his hand curled and disappeared as a breeze blew flames in his direction. Then he rolled away, holding the flaming brand above his head, desperately trying to stay on the other side of the fire, using it to block him from the men with the firepower.
Ryng rose to his knees. An image of the fire was fixed in his vision. He searched the sky for the outline of the big Black Hawk. Nothing. He could hear it, maybe feel the downdraft, but it was totally black. He waved the burning wood back and forth. Would they think he was waving them in instead of away? The chatter of automatic weapons and the single, sharper sound of the rifle came to him. He swung the wood wildly over his head. Didn’t they see the flash from the muzzles?
The flame died on the end of the piece of wood. Ryng was reaching back into the fire for another when he heard the hollow whoosh that he’d feared most. The Stasi were carrying rocket-propelled grenades. He backed up a couple of steps and turned just as the round exploded inside the house. There was a muffled blast, a flash that briefly illuminated the landscape on the opposite side of the house, and the forward section of the roof lifted into the air, separating into chunks as blackness returned.
A second rocket burst inside within seconds of the first. A section of the outer wall on one side crumbled outward with the flash. Ryng crabbed on his hands and knees toward the building. There was no longer any automatic fire—no shooting of any kind.
With a roar that spun the soft snow into a milky cloud around him the Black Hawk passed overhead, machine guns opening up to fill the night with sound. What did they see? How long had it been since … ? No, they didn’t need a perfect target. They were firing where the rockets were launched.
Ryng rose to his feet and scurried to the edge of the crumpled wall. Flames were licking out from the tattered couch. The interior was outlined in eerie dancing shadows.
Then the inside of the house was lit by a brilliant flash as the Black Hawk’s rockets exploded into a target less than a hundred yards away. It was all the illumination he needed. He’d seen a body in there, sure it was her, even in the dim light of the flames. Now there was no doubt. The woman’s body was sprawled grotesquely beside the remnants of the sofa. What might have been the man was visible against the far wall. There was no doubt it was another corpse but not one he’d want to identify. Nothing, Ryng knew, could have lived through those blasts, not when the explosive pressure blew out the side of the building.
He backed away on his hands and knees, aware that the only noise now came from the Black Hawk circling the area. A floodlight from the helicopter briefly illuminated the area its rockets had targeted, before swinging around in a brief search. Then it hovered briefly about ten feet above the ground.
Two men with automatic weapons leaped from the side door, separated, and dropped into firing positions. The helo rose skyward, darting back into the night, whirling snow gradually thinning as its floodlight dimmed over a deathly quiet landscape. There was nothing left to shoot at. They turned toward the house and stayed low as they zigzagged across half the space toward the ruined building, then dropped again.
“Captain Ryng,” one shouted as they fell to the ground. They were thirty yards apart. Their weapons covered a wide field of fire.
“Here,” Ryng answered, but he remained flat on his belly. “To your left. I’ll get up when you acknowledge.”
One weapon swung in his direction. The other swept back and forth across the wreckage.
“The people inside are dead. No danger there,” Ryng called.
“You’re covered. You may rise to your knees.”
Ryng rose to his knees, hands behind his head. “I’m unarmed.”
“You may stand.”
Ryng got unsteadily to his feet.
“Please turn completely around.”
Ryng turned.
“You may lower your hands, sir.” The Marine rose to his feet and spoke into a mike at his throat. The Black Hawk, which had been swinging back and forth across the immediate area, settled nearby.
Before they took off, Ryng got through to Gannett. “The target is Fürstenwalde. Confirm and relay to Chance, then to Washington. Then give me the circuit to raise Chance in the aircraft. Over.”
“Understand Fürstenwalde is definite target. Will relay. Out.”
A moment later, Gannett was back on the circuit. Chance and SEAL Team Six had confirmed their jump zone as Fürstenwalde. GSG-9 would move into position to protect government buildings in Bonn and Berlin. It appeared obvious Germany had to be the key Stasi target. The other countries were apparently secondary, followers if the German government was weakened further. Ryng knew his teams had to take Fürstenwalde to neutralize the Stasi power center and keep them from moving on Berlin or Bonn.
As long as Sergei Markov remained in his command center protected by loyal troops, he also remained head of his country. The military leadership and its loyalty was another matter depending on whom one listened to. The hard core who had always been loyal to Markov, and a decided minority the past year, appeared to be increasing in number. That assumption was based on the simple rumor spreading through Moscow that those who failed to stand by the president would be guilty of treason if Markov held out.
The influence of Arkady Malik wasn’t to be taken lightly. A number of officers who considered themselves loyal Russians honestly believed that reversion to the old system was necessary to preserve the nation as they knew it. While Malik and his supporters were freely in control of their destiny, it was evident to all that Markov, protected in his command center by Voronov’s Spetznaz, remained in power. The Russian people were caught in the middle, as usual. The average citizen continued the daily struggle to get by, unaware of the military confrontation in Moscow.
It had taken Paul Voronov fifteen minutes of reasoning to convince Markov that direct communications with Crandall over their personal system weren’t necessary at this stage. If Malik could immobilize the satellite, then he could probably intercept their discussions from the command center by other means. Why encourage him? Voronov could communicate securely with Gannett through alternate sources whenever it was necessary and anything vital could be passed on to Washington from there without concern for Malik. And, after all, Markov and Crandall had agreed that the logical solution was their special operations forces.
The Black Hawk carrying Ryng flew the short distance north toward Fürstenwalde at treetop level to avoid radar detection. Time was short for Ryng to designate a drop zone. Chance had already estimated about three quarters of an hour to reach a position south of Berlin where local air control would assign a prearranged holding pattern to the east. He was sure enough had happened the last few hours that Fürstenwalde would be listening to the control frequency. They would have no more than a couple of minutes swinging outside of the standard holding patterns before the Stasi became aware something abnormal was taking place.
It was primarily farm country around Fürstenwalde. The Polish border was thirty kilometers to the east. Ryng had the helicopter set down in the corner of a field north of the village of Birkenbruck. Stars blinked through a frigid crystal-clear sky as he sent each of the Marines up to mark the far corners of the wide field. Ryng took the third corner, leaving the final one closest to the dirt road running along one side of the field to the Black Hawk crew. This would ensure that the final drop zone remained sanitized.
“Leaving the holding pattern.” Chance’s voice was as clear as the sky through Ryng’s tiny radio headpiece. “We were assigned fourteen thousand feet by the Berlin tower. Jumping over a town called Beerfelde about eight kilometers north of Fürstenwalde. With the northwest wind we’ve got, Holloway figures we’ll cover about ten kilometers over ground to reach your landing zone. Do you concur? Over.”
“Christ, I wish I had a road map,” Ryng answered. “I’m using this thing my pilot had, and the army doesn’t pay too much attention to dirt roads on their pilots’ charts. Yeah, that has to be right. I have a light breeze, maybe five or six knots over the ground from the northwest. Do you sense any wind problems for your jump? Over.”
SEAL Team Six employed specially designed parasails for a precision drop. The chutes were black and oblong, like a flying wing. The jumper exercised excellent maneuvering control by tugging on the guidelines to control the cells in the canopy. He could travel miles horizontally while losing very little altitude. They could manage their descent like a helicopter, turn right or left, even reverse course or circle their target. They were also invisible on a moonless night, almost impossible to paint with radar, and absolutely silent. The jumpers were superbly trained, their skills so precise that an entire detachment could land close enough to set up effective firing positions within thirty seconds.
“Negative on wind problems. Our own reports looked pretty good before we took off, and Berlin tower confirms. Hell, Holloway figures he could put a squad on the top of the Eiffel Tower. They’re hungry. Tell me about my drop zone, Bernie. My air ops chief is on the circuit, too. Over.”
“I’m at the southeast corner of what must be a square wheat- or cornfield in about eighteen inches of snow. I sent the Black Hawk’s crew chief off at a trot with flares to serve as a guide. If he finds the same dirt roads I see on this map, he’ll be offset from the drop zone about two miles west of me. There’s two Marine recon on point at the far corners freezing their asses off. You’ve got to tell Holloway’s men that we haven’t got an exact location on the bad guys yet. Geyer and I were hit this afternoon and I lost everything. We’re going to have to move out for recon as soon as you hit the ground. You’ve got as good a chance as any to ID this place from the air because you’ll be gliding near that old airport. I got money that says that’s their central command. Over.”
“Satellite recon gave us a good daytime photo just before we took off. I’ve got twenty-six pairs of eyes here. We ought to have a pretty fair idea by the time we land.”
“Unless you hear otherwise over this circuit, the crew chief’s flare will be offset two miles to my west. Over.”
“Do you have marker flares if we request? Over.”
“That’s affirmative. Nothing fancy about these. They’re the standard emergency type the Black Hawk carries. Anyone in the area can see them and smell them. I’ll light off one on the southeast corner as a guide on your word if you need it. Try to hold off as long as possible because it would look like the Fourth of July down here if we illuminated. Over.”
“Roger, Bernie. Air ops chief tells me we’re about ready to drop the back hatch. Out.”
“Where the hell are we now?” Kat Ellyson asked with exasperation when she climbed out from the back seat of Halder’s vehicle. Her ankles had been untied.
A few exterior lights on the surrounding buildings outlined an airfield. She could make out what appeared to be a canopy, probably camouflage, which apparently cloaked much of the area. Plowed snow was piled high on either side of two short runways. Two helicopters idled down at one end. Nearby, she recognized jeeplike vehicles, also running. There was a driver at the wheel of each, and one of them was just exchanging places with the soldier in the rear manning the heavy-caliber machine gun. A line of snowmobiles was parked along one side of a large building.
Carl Halder shut the door of the car. This girl may mean more now than ever before, he thought. Captain Hoth had contacted him by radio a few kilometers south of the base to advise that the snowmobile team sent over to check the wreckage at Lake Teupitz had failed to report after following a trail. He told Hoth not to waste another Havoc on a night search. Someone was definitely intruding. It was no longer a matter of manipulation. The luxury of functioning behind the scenes was finished. Katherine Ellyson may be just what I need. “Fürstenwalde,” he answered after a moment in thought. “It’s a small town east of Berlin. Actually, we’re outside the town at an old private airport. Don’t be alarmed, Miss Ellyson. There are facilities here that will suit you.”
“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have any idea why you’re doing this,” she replied snappily although the black night and the rumble of engines provided an ominous background. Don’t let it get to you. She was damned if she’d let the bastards intimidate her now.
“Please.” Halder took her arm. “Let’s go inside where it’s warmer. You’ll note quickly enough there’s absolutely no one here who will help you and there’s no way to escape. You can eat and have something warm to drink …”
She pulled her arm away. “I’d rather starve.” The cold air was refreshing. “You miserable assholes.”
He opened a door on the side of a large building and indicated she should step inside. He looked at her jaw in the light and noticed it was swollen and growing dark. “It’s too bad you forced me to hit you so hard. I didn’t want you hurt, just quiet.”
Kat scowled and said nothing.
The structure had probably been a warehouse at one time. Now it was a hangar. A dozen black-painted helicopters occupied about two thirds of the space. Forklift trucks carrying belts of machine-gun bullets, rockets, and antitank missiles moved among them while men in forest green uniforms armed the helicopters. Halder led her toward a room at the back and again held the door open. She stepped into a room containing kitchen facilities, a dining table, chairs, a couple of couches, and a television. There was another door at the rear slightly ajar which led into a room with a bed. There were no windows in any of the rooms.
“This was my officers’ mess room but it can pretty much be yours from now on. The back room will be all yours and there is a small private bathroom. You can lock the bedroom door from the inside if you choose, but I do have a key if you leave me no other choice. There are no windows so I’m not worried about your escaping. Now I have almost no time left, so why don’t we talk for a moment if you like.” He opened the refrigerator door. “Obviously, we can’t keep drugged food in here if my men are coming in to pick through for something to eat. I’m going to have something.” She saw a can of Coca-Cola. “I’ll have the Coke.”
“I see. Very wise of you. We can’t very well tamper with a sealed can. You’re right.” He handed her the can. “What else?”
“Your name means nothing to me.” She opened the can and drank deeply. “What do you do? Why are we here? Why me?”
“You’re here because I hope this is a safe place for you, plus I wasn’t too comfortable with some of the other people you were with.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and pointed to a chair at the table. “Sit.”
She sat and took another swallow from the can. Halder leaned forward and said quite seriously, “You must believe that it is vitally important to me that nothing happens to you. We all hope this will be over in a while, that things will work out. I promise you’ll never see me again after it’s over.”
“Who’s we?”
“I guess it’s better that you don’t know that since it’s so important that you survive. And I think if you have a chance, Miss Ellyson, you’d never shut up.”
“You can count on that.”
He sipped at the coffee and made an ugly face. “Someone made this a long time ago, too long ago.” He pushed the cup away. “I was going to try to explain some things to you so you’d be more comfortable, but I sense that would be useless. If the food in the refrigerator concerns you, there are canned foods in the cupboard over there, mostly military issue—and Russian, I’m afraid, so they might not be very appetizing. Your choice, Miss Ellyson.”
“I’ll take care of myself,” she snapped.
Halder inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Fine.” He stood up. “When I leave, I plan to lock the outside door, but I’m sure after seeing all my men in the hangar you realize how foolish it would be to try to escape anyway. My officers here are allowed to use the kitchen while they’re still here. They all understand that anyone who touches you does so under a threat of death, and I’m judge, jury, and executioner. No one is allowed in your room but you may lock it, as I said. I believe you’ll be reasonably comfortable even if you’re not happy about it. Now, can I answer anything else before I leave?”
“How long will I be held here?”
“A short period, I hope. It all depends—”
Halder was interrupted by one of his men bursting into the room. “General, we have some unusual activity in a wheat field a couple of kilometers south. Do you—”
“What do they have?” It couldn’t stay perfect forever.
“I’m not sure, sir. We picked up a fairly steady radio signal to the south that lasted intermittently for almost a minute. That was about the same time the listening devices on a dirt road near the field recorded what sounded like an engine in the distance. It might have been a helicopter but there was nothing on radar. It disappeared before we could get an analysis.”
Someone is interfering. It wasn’t easy to control his temper but it was important both in front of the girl and for the sake of the one standing before him. “Snowmobiles. Who’s on duty?”
“Captain Hoth.”
“Send him down there. Tell him to move the snowmobiles through the woods and take a fighting vehicle down the dirt road. I want him or someone guarding channel twelve constantly. I’ll come up on it shortly.”
Kat heard the lock click after the door was pulled shut behind Halder. What do I have to do with all of this? This was some type of paramilitary organization and for some strange reason they found her an important part of whatever they were doing.
Norman Smith was standing just outside in the hangar area surveying the helicopters as Halder pulled the door shut. “You did me a favor today, Carl. I let my guard slip out there at the lake.”
Halder regarded Smith curiously. Actually, he’d forgotten him momentarily. Was Smith the one attracting this unwanted attention? “Glad to help out, Norman. We can’t afford snoopers. I just hope whoever it was didn’t call for help.” He used Smith’s first name easily. He considered himself as much a general as the American. “After all the times you told me you were going to sit it out in Nice, I was surprised to see you out for a joyride. The only other place I expected to see you was right here.”
