by Dirk Patton
There hadn’t been money to equip its troops with modern equipment. For that matter there hadn’t even been enough money to maintain what they had. When Barinov ascended to the Presidency he had immediately begun a modernization of the aging and dated military, even pouring hundreds of millions of his own fortune into the effort, but no amount of cash can undo decades of neglect in only one short year.
As a result, only about one out of twenty Russian helicopters were equipped with a functioning FLIR system. Ground troops had never been trained on and did not have night vision goggles or even scopes on their rifles. The severely limited equipment was reserved exclusively for Spetsnaz troops who, despite being on par in skill with their western counterparts, were woefully short on the high tech tools that could claim superiority of the battle space.
But Russia had not only won the battle, they’d won the war. Their military, poorly trained and fielding weapons systems that more often than not had been designed during the Cold War was now the most powerful on Earth. Yet for their new status as the sole Superpower, they couldn’t find one American Special Forces soldier.
As these thoughts ran through Grushkin’s head he felt his pulse increasing out of frustration. He was fiercely proud of his country, despite willingly acknowledging all its shortcomings, and to have achieved domination over the planet through the means employed…
He shut down that line of thinking as he had to wipe fresh blood out of his eyes. The building frustration was raising his heart rate and blood pressure, causing the wound to bleed faster.
“Are you alright, Comrade Colonel?” The medic asked, noting the increase. He had completed shaving the hair from the edges of the wound and was about to inject more anesthetic before beginning to stitch.
“I am fine,” Grushkin answered, reaching with his free hand and plucking a blocky radio out of a cargo pocket in his pants.
He placed a call, looking for the Captain he’d sent scurrying away when he’d executed the man’s commanding officer.
“What is the status of the search?” He demanded when the Captain responded.
“The men were scattered across the base, Comrade Colonel. I have repositioned them and begun a sweep. Every building and vehicle is being searched. All helicopters are airborne and in search orbits. I have also sent men to each exit from the base to secure them. If the American is still here we will find him.” The confidence in the man’s voice didn’t match the certainty of his words, but Grushkin chose not to berate him. He had no doubt he’d made his point with the young officer.
“Have one of the helicopters begin a patrol pattern outside the perimeter of the base. If the American has made it outside the wire, where would he go?”
“There is a small town a few kilometers northeast of our location, Comrade Colonel. Only open terrain in every other direction. I shall order one of the helicopters to adjust its patrol immediately.” The Captain was sounding more confident as a result of Grushkin not screaming at him.
“Send a second one. And be sure there’s some Spetsnaz on board,” Grushkin said as a new idea occurred to him. He spent a few moments giving instructions before telling the Captain to update him every ten minutes.
The second helicopter was being sent after the Major’s wife. It had been a few hours since he’d seen her driving away, heading west on the road near Twin Falls, but she couldn’t have gone farther than one of the Hinds could reach. He would find and capture her.
She would be his bargaining chip. With her in hand, all he’d have to do is start broadcasting his demands on loud speakers from hovering helicopters and the Major would walk right up and surrender to save his wife. Grushkin relaxed slightly and smiled as the medic pushed the point of a curved needle through the flesh on his scalp.
24
Driving fast at night without benefit of headlights is not something I’d recommend. Just because there’s moonlight that helps you see, spotting something that would be glaringly obvious during the day becomes almost impossible. I had blasted through a small group of males that were stumbling along the pavement a few minutes ago. Traveling at close to fifty miles per hour it seemed as if one moment the road was clear, then they were suddenly right there.
I didn’t have time to try and swerve around them, which is probably a good thing. Sudden, sharp maneuvers when I couldn’t see where I was going were a recipe for disaster. So, by the time I recognized what was in front of me I didn’t even have an opportunity to draw a breath before I plowed into the bodies.
The impact was hard, shaking the multi-ton vehicle as two of them were hit head on by the heavy steel guard that protected the Humvee’s grill. Years of conditioning caused me to immediately lift my foot off the throttle, then I remembered where I was and what I’d just hit and pressed it down again.
As far as I could tell the heavy vehicle hadn’t sustained any damage. At least damage that would make it un-drivable. One of the bodies had been thrown up onto the hood, slamming into the corner of the windshield on the passenger side before flipping over the roof and disappearing behind me. The Hummer wasn’t up-armored, so the glass had cracked and the frame around it had bent. But it was still intact.
I passed a road sign that probably gave the distance to Mountain Home, but it was too dark for me to make out the lettering. Hesitant to take my attention off the road after the encounter with the infected, I forced myself to look behind for any signs that the Russians had realized I was off the base and were in pursuit.
It was easy to see the searching helicopters as I glanced back. A quick check of the road to my front and I looked again. The helos were all orbiting over the base, but there was one that seemed to be much farther afield. I had to check the road again, then turned back. It was definitely outside the base perimeter, moving perpendicular to my direction of travel at the moment. Someone was hedging their bets, just in case I’d slipped out.
Turning back to the front, I had enough warning to lift my foot and make a stab for the brakes, but hadn’t even touched the pedal before the impact. I wasn’t even sure what the hell it was, just saw a huge form blocking the road an instant before striking it.
This time the impact was brutal. I was thrown against the steering wheel (no airbag in a combat vehicle) as the momentum shifted and the Hummer twisted sideways and spun across the pavement. It came to rest in a roadside ditch, what was left of it tilted at a sharp angle.
I just sat there for a minute, like you do when something particularly violent and unexpected happens to the vehicle you’re in, then pulled on the door release. The Hummer was tilted so I was fighting gravity to push it open, and it wanted to come back on me as I scrambled to climb out. I finally made it, nearly losing a couple of fingers when the door slammed closed.
My chest was bruised, but thankfully my freshly broken nose had somehow managed to avoid contact with the steering wheel. I stood there for a moment, surveying the damaged Hummer then writing it off when I saw the degree of damage to the front end. The heavy, welded steel guard was deformed and pushed all the way back into the grill, buckling the hood and both front fenders. Steam and smoke mixed together and vented through a jagged rent that had been torn in the sheet metal.
Fighting the door open I reached in and grabbed my pack. Shouldering it, I spent a moment making sure all my weapons and meager supply of ammunition were still on my body. Satisfied, I moved to the middle of the road, ready to make the hike the rest of the way into town. But first I was curious about what I’d hit.
I could smell blood, strongly, so that told me a little. Looking around I spotted a large form a few yards down the road on the far shoulder. Moving cautiously, I approached it, trying to figure out what it was. Ten yards away I recognized it. I’d hit a damn big cow. Two thousand pounds if it was an ounce.
Still approaching, I cursed when I saw one of its legs twitch and heard a ragged breath. The poor damn thing was still alive. I moved to stand over it, looking down at one big, brown eye. Its entire body shuddered as it
tried to breathe. It was injured horribly and I recognized that I was lucky to have been in a heavy military vehicle. If I’d been in a car like the Charger I’d driven to Idaho, I probably wouldn’t have survived.
Positioning the rifle’s muzzle a few inches from the cow’s head, I pulled the trigger. I could hardly afford to use even the single round of ammunition, but I have a soft spot for animals and that would have haunted me for a long time if I hadn’t put the poor thing out of its misery. It probably would have died soon enough, but…
Looking up at the sky to my south I checked on the helo that had begun searching outside the base perimeter. It was a few miles to the west of the base, turning north. It looked like it was in a reconnaissance orbit, no doubt looking for my big ass. Its new heading was on a path that would pass west of my current position, but if it turned to the east, as I expected, it would fly over the road I was standing on. The question was whether or not it was close enough to spot me when it made that turn.
Taking a quick moment to adjust my pack’s straps, I spun and began running north in the middle of the road. The best thing I could do was put as much distance between the helicopter and me as possible. If I was spotted on foot, I was fucked. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and I didn’t have any way to fight a helo.
All I could hope for was that they didn’t have FLIR. I had a faint hope as they were occasionally turning on their spotlight to get a better look at something on the ground. Maybe I had a chance, in the dark.
Digging deep, I sprinted as hard as I could. I knew I couldn’t maintain this pace for long, but right now I needed to open up some distance as quickly as possible. The idea of moving off the road and trying to find a hiding place flashed through my mind but I discounted the idea. Staying on the smooth surface of the road would let me move faster and right now I needed speed.
The Russians would find the crashed Hummer and dead cow. That wasn’t an if, it was a when. And when they did they’d know which way I’d gone. I needed to either be out of the area, or somewhere that provided enough cover and concealment that I had a fighting chance. That meant I had to get to Mountain Home. The countryside was just flat, dry grassland with only a few hardy bushes. Not even a tree to hide in.
25
My sprint didn’t last long. I know I made good time for the first hundred yards, then began slowing. By the time I was two hundred yards I was at a fast run. Three hundred yards and I was running and breathing heavy and by four hundred I was down to a steady lope that while it covered a lot of ground was nowhere near the pace I’d run for the first hundred.
But four hundred yards is getting close to a quarter of a mile. Nice separation if you’re trying to avoid ground troops, but nothing if you’re running from an aircraft. I ran for another minute before slowing to a walk so I could look over my shoulder without worrying about tripping and falling.
The helicopter was still heading north at a slow rate. But a slow rate for a helicopter is several times faster than I could ever hope to move on foot. It was closing ground and I was sure it would turn to the east soon and pass over the road. There was hope that the crew would fail to see either me or the crashed Hummer and dead cow, but I couldn’t hang my hat on hope.
Facing front, I resumed my run. I pushed as hard as I could. The wind was light and it shifted slightly, bringing the sound of the heavy rotor to me. I risked a glance without slowing and saw the helo beginning its turn to the east. Pushing harder on the perfectly straight road I almost shouted for joy when I saw a thick stand of trees ahead in the darkness.
Running harder as the sound of the helicopter increased, I angled to the side of the road they were on. My pounding heart leapt when I saw a small house amongst the trees and moonlight glinting off the glass and chrome of a couple of vehicles. Charging ahead I hurtled the roadside drainage ditch and slowed as I reached the concealment of the trees.
Coming to a stop in the deep shadows I turned and looked to the south, panting like I’d just run a marathon. I could only track the helo by its anti-collision lights, which made it difficult at best to judge exactly where it was. It looked like it was still west of the road, slowly flying east. And I was pretty sure it was going to cross the road at a point close enough to see the wreck if the men on board were paying attention.
Turning, I moved through the stand of trees, reminding myself to keep a close watch for infected. The Russians weren’t the only threat I had to worry about. Reaching the trunk of a large elm tree I paused long enough to scan the area with my rifle’s night vision scope. Nothing moving.
Ahead of me was a gravel driveway that ended at a small house. There were several pieces of farm equipment parked behind the house and two pickups and a car sitting in the driveway. The front door of the house was open, swinging gently in the night breeze.
Dashing forward I went to the closest truck, a newer Ford, finding it locked up tight. The second one was a battered Dodge from the 1960s, also secure, as was the car, an ancient Cadillac El Dorado. The Caddy had seen better days. Its sheet metal was dented and paint was faded and the vinyl roof had mostly disintegrated into nothing but tatters.
Running to the open door into the house I stopped and shouted a couple of times to bring out any infected that might be hiding in the building. I didn’t have time to screw around looking for them and wanted to get the fight out of the way if there was going to be one.
Fifteen seconds later I hadn’t seen or heard a response so I moved inside and turned on my flashlight. I swept the beam across a cramped living room that looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since 1978. It even still had dark wood paneling on the walls. Not seeing any keys, I moved deeper, taking a moment to check over the dining room before moving into the kitchen.
It too was dated with yellow counter tops and green appliances, but it was spotlessly clean and there weren’t any keys to be seen. I checked the laundry room, which had a door that opened onto the back yard, still finding nothing. The clock in my head was ticking and I rushed through the kitchen and down a short hall that had three closed doors at the end.
As I’d moved into the hall the smell had hit me. Decaying bodies. That might also mean there was an infected in one of the bedrooms that had killed whoever was decomposing. Knowing the smart thing would be to slow down, I ignored caution in favor of speed and kicked in the closest door.
I stepped into an empty bedroom, made a quick sweep and moved back into the hall when I didn’t find what I was looking for. The second door was a bathroom, also empty. The third door slammed open under my boot and if I hadn’t been around a lot of death in my life I’d probably have had to stop and throw up. The heavy, sickly sweet stench of rotting corpses rolled across me like a physical presence.
This was the master bedroom, but it was hardly large enough to hold a queen sized bed, a nightstand and single, small dresser. There was no other furniture and only a small closet. No infected, just two bodies on the flowered comforter that covered the mattress.
They were a couple, both of them at least in their 70s. Lying next to each other, heads on pillows, they held hands even in death. On the nightstand next to the man sat an empty pill bottle and an empty drinking glass. There were no signs of violence so I assumed they had decided to go out on their own terms.
Shining the light around I rushed to the dresser when I spotted a thick wallet and a fat ring of keys. Snatching them up I saw one for the Dodge truck and a round and a square headed key, each marked GM for the Caddy. I didn’t see a modern Ford key and didn’t waste any more time looking for one.
Turning, I raced back through the house and out the front door. Suspecting the Dodge truck was used more than the Cadillac, and would therefore be more likely to start and run, I unlocked it and hopped in. It had a three speed manual transmission and I pushed in the clutch and knocked the shifter into neutral.
I pumped the accelerator a couple of times after reminding myself this was an old truck with a carburetor, then stepped on the brak
e and clutch before turning the key. The grill of the Ford behind me lit up with a red glow when my foot pressed the brake pedal and I jumped out of the cab, drawing my Kukri as I ran to the back of the Dodge.
Reversing the blade in my hand I used the pommel to smash the taillights, making sure to not just break the red lenses but also the bulbs behind them. Back in the cab I turned the key and the motor wheezed to life. While I was breaking the lights I’d checked on the helicopter. It was directly to the south, hovering over the road with its spotlight shining brightly. I was sure it had found the crashed Humvee.
Jamming the truck into reverse with a horrible grinding of gears, I let the clutch out and slammed into the Ford’s shiny front bumper. The vehicles were parked too tightly for me to just turn the wheel and drive away. I needed to make some room and I was willing to bet the land yacht that was the El Dorado probably weighed more than the Ford truck behind me.
With a grinding of metal and spinning of tires I managed to push it back ten feet before coming to a stop. Not far, but enough to put the Dodge into first gear and steer around the massive back bumper of the Caddy. Bouncing across the front yard I kept accelerating and turned onto the road, heading north. I didn’t have my lights on and if I had to use the brakes at least the taillights wouldn’t flare in the darkness and give away my location.
The truck wouldn’t go into second, then I remembered the era of vehicle I was driving. It had been built when pickup trucks were made for work. One rock hard seat, an AM radio if you were lucky, and a transmission that had never heard the term syncromesh. Pushing in the clutch I shifted to neutral, let the clutch back out, waited a heartbeat then pressed it in again and shifted into second gear. The transmission protested, but it worked and I was able to put on more speed.
