Shadow Wars, page 38
Wallace Ellyson was the major problem. His daughter, who’d demanded to use the facilities upon landing and was allowed to as long as a guard remained outside, refused to talk with him. When he grabbed her arm in a futile attempt to attract her attention, she climbed back into the helicopter.
“Well, Carl, you certainly have a fine fleet here,” Norman Smith began caustically. “Lots of firepower, lots of speed. Of course, we lost a lot when Fürstenwalde was no longer a secret,” he noted bitterly. “Kind of like losing your nation’s capital. Where to?”
Halder tucked bare hands under his armpits and appeared thoughtful, his breath outlined in white clouds against the meager lighting at the deserted field. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Here we are, with little units of loyal men all over Eastern Europe, and we’re trying to keep one step ahead of a military unit that smells suspiciously of our own type of operations. Let’s admit it, Norman, we’re on the run, aren’t we?”
“We used to term it defensive regrouping.”
“Arkady Malik is nowhere to be found,” Halder announced. “My Warsaw base is having a hell of a time communicating with anybody, but they finally patched me through to his headquarters just before we landed. The fact is Arkady has suddenly ceased being. The situation is much like Grigory Raskova’s, except there’s no need to look for clues this time.”
“What happened?” Ellyson asked incredulously.
“There was apparently a fire in one of the buildings at his headquarters complex. During the confusion, someone entered the floor where he was located and took him away.” Halder swept his hands into the air. “He disappeared just like that. Of course, most of the witnesses are dead or in the hospital.”
“Then there are no witnesses. Just like Raskova,” Smith concluded.
“Just like Raskova,” Halder echoed. “But this time, we know it was someone damn good. They came down the side of the building and blew in his window. Parachutes were left on the roof. There are very few people who operate that way.” He nodded just once in Ellyson’s direction. “It was a very professional job, Wallace, by a formidable enemy. Smells like KGB special ops to me and I would have thought they’d support Arkady, or they would have if Raskova was still with us. What happened to us earlier today, at the lake and at the airfield, was no fluke.”
Wallace Ellyson eased over and nodded nervously at Smith, avoiding Halder. “Katherine and I will stay here. You go ahead,” he said warily. “You have no further use for her.”
“On the contrary,” Halder answered sharply. “Once not so long ago, your daughter was going to be a foil to make you look innocent. She’s more important to us now. I think she’ll serve as excellent protection for us.”
“Leave her and take me if you’re looking for protection. Certainly, I—”
“Wallace, your value has plummeted today. If I’m correct and that group that decimated Fürstenwalde was coordinated or even led by your SEAL called Ryng, he knows about you by now. Let’s take one step further and assume he’s already informed Washington that he saw you with us.” Halder’s expression in the frozen glare of the fueling lights was ugly. “I’d say they were beginning to worry about the loyalty of their ambassador by now, unless I’m assuming too much.”
Ellyson’s mouth seemed to disappear in a tight line across his face.
Norman Smith, bemused by the exchange, now spoke to Ellyson. “Your importance to Washington may have decreased dramatically, Wallace, but think how valuable you’ve become to us.”
“Now listen, Norman—”
Halder’s pilot interrupted to report that fueling had been completed. He was ordered to escort a very angry Ellyson back to the helicopter and make sure he climbed inside and remained there.
“Once again, Carl, let me hear your thoughts,” Smith said. This was when a general was needed—a man with reason. “Assuming it would be unwise of us to return home, I’ve sort of thought I, myself, might be most comfortable in Romania where people don’t ask too many questions. There’re some pleasant places on the Black Sea. I’m not the type to surrender, you see.”
“I’m not ready to throw it all in yet, but assuming the same thing I think I can lose myself in Russia,” Halder answered. “I still have a lot of friends in the KGB who might be able to absorb me. But first I think we have to get into Russia before we make any final decisions.” He showed Smith the pilot’s chart. “What do you think about avoiding Warsaw completely? We’ll go on a southeast course and refuel next at a small airfield outside of Lodz, then go on to Lublin. After that, we can make it across the Russian border, maybe in the vicinity of Brest. I think Byelorussians might be slightly more reasonable than the Ukrainians.”
Smith considered the chart. “I can’t think of anything better. I suppose the best way to get to the Black Sea is across the Russian border. Of course, it’s not the way I imagined my retirement,” he added wistfully. “What do you really want to do with the Ellysons?”
“I suppose we’ll know when we come to that.”
It had taken Paul Voronov less than an hour to transit to Sheremetyevo. Sergei Markov’s influence was stronger than before. An AN-22 transport was waiting, engines running, one of Shaporin’s HRU detachments already on board.
“I received an urgent request,” Markov told him by radio, “from the American president. Apparently, this Stasi that Ryng is following has hostages.”
“I was told that,” Voronov responded softly, knowing what was coming next.
“They have the daughter of an American ambassador with them. She is apparently as close to a daughter as President Crandall could have.”
“I see.” Ryng was the type who might let emotions get in his way. If he lets any of these people live, they’ll come back to haunt him just like I have.
“You have members of Shaporin’s Hostage Rescue Unit with you.”
“As a backup, sir.”
“Use them. I owe it to President Crandall. We both owe it to Ryng. We have everything to gain if we continue to work with the Americans. Use the intelligence available together. Speak to Ryng,” Markov ordered.
“Yes, sir.”
When he was able to contact Ryng on the circuit they’d agreed to, Voronov agreed to fly his Havocs southwest to Pinsk, refuel, then fly west toward Warsaw, depending on their intelligence. Ryng was headed due east toward Warsaw.
They were flying through the still, early morning darkness, a Black Hawk accompanied by four Super Cobras, when Ryng received a radio call from the commanding, officer of his Warsaw detachment. It was the break they needed. A loyal Polish militia volunteer had taken it upon himself to awaken his commander to report that a flight of Soviet helicopters had conducted a late night refueling at a remote airfield near Lodz. The commander, having been informed days before that his unit could be activated at any moment due to the gravity of the national situation, contacted his district colonel. The next report had been to the military commander in Warsaw who was working with Ryng’s SEAL detachment there.
Morning was still an indistinct glow on the horizon when Ryng’s lead pilot located that airfield outside Lodz. The lights had been extinguished after Halder’s flight had left and they were forced to use their spotlights to land.
The terrified night guard had awakened with the sound of a second flight of helicopters dropping onto the little-used field and they found him cowering in a back room, afraid that the Stasi had returned. Now he faced a host of men in full combat gear, none of whom spoke his language. Eventually, Gannett drew the man aside, and managed to convey in a combination of German, English, and sign language that he would protect him from Ryng. But first, he signed with threatening gestures, they would go over one of the pilot’s charts.
Gannett circled Lodz to show that they knew where they were. Then he started with Warsaw and circled every airfield on the chart between there and the Russian border. Kielce, Lublin, Tamow, Radom, one city after another was considered with much pointing, head shaking, and shrugging. In self-deprecating gestures, the man insisted that he had no idea where the Havocs had gone.
Eventually, Gannett turned to his last resort and called Chance to join them. The night guard’s eyes grew large when the bullnecked man with dark, expressionless eyes sat down on the guard’s desk, stared wordlessly at him for a time, then began to clean his nails with his KA-BAR knife. The frightened man looked imploringly at Gannett, whose turn it was to shrug and shake his head sadly, then he pointed to both Radora and Lublin, backing up each one with sign language indicating it was either one or the other.
“Both cities are to the southeast, away from Warsaw,” Gannett said.
“Halder must be avoiding Warsaw for some reason. Maybe he figures the intelligence at Fürstenwalde has put him out of business,” Chance mused.
“If I were in his position, I’d be looking for the security of Russia. He’s probably assuming American helicopters won’t cross that border.” Gannett pointed at the chart. “It makes sense that he’d also turn somewhat to the northeast, away from the Ukraine border, after refueling. The Ukraine’s anything but receptive to Moscow these days, especially toward a flight of Russian attack helicopters suddenly jumping over their border.”
When they were airborne, Ryng radioed his SEAL detachment again to alert the Polish military in both Radom and Lublin. Then he established contact with Voronov, who was now heading for Brest, close to the Polish border.
“It appears we have them in a pincer movement,” Voronov concluded. “I’ll turn southwest after I refuel near Brest, but it’s very easy for helicopters to keep from being seen when they want to avoid contact.”
“Once they’re sighted, I’m hoping we can keep some sort of ground contact. The militia in Poland has been placed on alert across the country now and Radom and Lublin have special instructions. There seems to be some kind of chain of communication that’s helped us so far.”
“Tell me, Ryng, whom do you intend to save from those helicopters?” Voronov’s voice, even over the radio, sounded cold and unfeeling. “If you don’t destroy them all, you may have more people like me looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.”
“I told you before, Voronov, there’s a woman in one of them. She was kidnapped by the Stasi—”
“Ah, a woman,” Voronov interrupted. The taunt was clear in his voice. “I’ve already been informed how important she is, especially to you. But I don’t want any of my men killed because of a woman, Ryng.” There was a slight pause before he added, “I hope you get to them first.”
“You said you have a hostage rescue unit with you.”
“Six men. They’re following in a small transport helicopter.”
“How good are they?”
“They’re part of the unit that took General Malik right out of his command center.”
“We’ll work together when the time comes.”
Dawn outlined the wooded hills surrounding Lublin. Smoke rose straight into the sky on this still, icy morning and the spires of a distant castle reflected the orange sun as Halder’s five helicopters settled onto an airfield that had once been a regional Soviet military base. When the Russians left, the Poles had little use for it. During the warm weather, weeds grew through the cracked cement. This time of year, one runway was plowed for the few private aircraft that occasionally appeared. There was also fuel available. Halder’s people in the area had confirmed that by radio before he left Lodz.
A former Stasi, like a bear in his winter parka, was waiting for Halder when he climbed down from the Hind. “There were five American helicopters refueling in Lodz less than an hour after you left. Four of them were fully armed Super Cobras. The night guard was forced to tell them where you were heading next. He wasn’t absolutely sure himself but they’ve been seen coming in this direction.”
“Well, Norman, what do we do now?” Halder asked casually. “Do we try to trap them before they get here? Or do we make a run for the Russian border?”
“Who’s to say we’re necessarily going to be welcome there?”
“That’s an interesting point,” Halder mused. “I thought of that myself but I think I’d like to be closer to the border anyway before we make up our minds. Maybe the river valley that marks the border is a good place. We can always say we strayed across because of the Americans.”
“Fine with me,” Smith said. The venture appeared increasingly futile to him. “What do you want to do with Ellyson?”
“I don’t really care about Wallace,” Halder answered, “after we’re in a safe place. Once we’re across the border, he’s no further use. His daughter”—he shrugged—“she’s protection, no matter where we are.”
They both studied the chart in the early morning cold and selected a location a hundred kilometers north of Lublin, not too far from the Belarussian city of Brest. There was swampland on the Polish side. They would wait on the farmland on the Russian side. When the Americans came, if they did, the Havocs would come out of the sun when they attacked.
The American helicopters, the Black Hawk surrounded by the Super Cobras in a diamond formation, were flying north up the frozen river valley bordering Poland and the Ukraine. Ryng was considering what repercussions might take place as they crossed the border, when he had the first hint that they were under attack, a brilliant flash of light flaring to his right. The point Super Cobra appeared to skid sideways toward him as a brilliant ball of flame enveloped the entire craft. It fell out of formation, slowly at first like a duck struggling against tiny pieces of shot, then dropped like a rock, exploding as it crashed into the ice-packed river below.
“Break out!” A voice exploded over the radio circuit the instant the Super Cobra was hit. The Havocs were mere blobs against the orange sun but the smoke from their rockets stood out clearly. The three remaining Super Cobras and the Black Hawk broke formation to evade the incoming rockets, diving toward the frozen river.
“Don’t fire on the larger bird at the rear,” Ryng shouted into his mike as his Black Hawk seemed to turn upside down.
Kat Ellyson felt her stomach drop then leap into her throat as the helicopter banked and dove, then leveled for an instant before climbing in the other direction. She was pressed against the deck, then seemed suspended in space before her head cracked hard against the fuselage. Stressed engines, rocket fire, and machine guns brought back the horror of the runway at Fürstenwalde with a steady, terrifying roar.
Before they’d lifted off again, Halder placed her next to him at the front of the small compartment. Now, after seeing her head smash against the bulkhead, he reached across the narrow space they occupied just behind the cockpit and unhooked her flimsy safety harness, pulling her roughly toward him. Then his arm was around her waist and he dragged her almost on top of him, reaching up with the other hand into the forward compartment to grasp the base of the pilot’s seat. “Hold on to me,” he screamed in her ear. “You’ll break your neck bouncing around in here otherwise.” He intended to keep his hostage alive.
She threw an arm frantically around his back, screaming as they seemed to turn up on their side. It didn’t matter whom she had her arms around as the helicopter seemed to turn itself inside out. Kat buried her head in Halder’s chest as their bodies seemed to float for a moment. Then the deck came up and slammed them hard. Again and again, they used each other for protection, accepting bruises rather than a broken neck.
Halder’s attack was sudden and Soviet in method, as basic as could be—surprise and eliminate his enemy. The Havocs came in fast with a massive display of firepower, filling the sky with rocket and machine-gun fire. Attack helicopters are fast and highly maneuverable because they carry a minimum of armor. Direct hits are most often fatal.
The Super Cobras, like the Havocs, employed laser-aiming devices. But they were designed to hit moving tanks. Anything as fast as a helicopter reduced the odds of success. They were able to bring down one of Halder’s helicopters in the first minute and damage another. But the suddenness of the sneak attack had also damaged Ryng’s bird and one other. Just two of them were capable of facing three Havocs.
Then Ryng saw that the engine on a third was smoking. “Break off,” he called over the radio. “We have backup coming in from the other direction.” He couldn’t afford to lose any more fuel. Save fuel. The Havocs have to be low, too. Try to get them on the ground. You’ll find them again. That’s the only way to save Kat.
The Super Cobras took evasive action, swinging back to the west after a flurry of rocket fire.
“They’re turning away,” Halder’s pilot called out. “Chase …”
“Let them go,” Halder cautioned. The surprise attack had worked to a degree but it was over when the Super Cobras evaded successfully. That’s when you pulled back for the next one. “Our fuel’s too low. We don’t have enough to chase them.” He gave a course to what he thought was a refueling stop northeast of Brest, an old World War II field that the Russians had recovered ten years before for helicopter use if a ground conflict turned against them. If that didn’t work, he’d just have to take his chances with the authorities in Brest.
Kat Ellyson pulled herself away from Halder and crawled to the corner the second their flight leveled off, momentarily hating herself. Her back was against the fuselage. “Why did you do that?” she gasped.
“Do what? Save your neck?” She nodded.
Norman Smith and Wallace Ellyson, both pale and shaken from the violent maneuvering of the sudden action, stared silently from the opposite corners of the compartment.
“I think you still have some value,” Halder answered. Then he smiled with a look that made her skin crawl. “And I thought if I was going to die I should have the pleasure of dying in the arms of a lovely American woman. You are very comfortable, you know. I’d been too busy to pay much attention. Maybe later, if we survive all of this, I’ll pay more attention to you.”
