Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  After gulping down half of the cup, she felt much better. With everyone gone, the Health Center was empty. This was the first time she could enjoy a few moments of silence and peace since Justin had forced her at gunpoint to take him to Carrie’s and Anna’s room. From that moment on, everything had taken a scary downward spiral. At times, Emily felt as if she were clinging to life by the skin of her teeth. Yes, like the time the chopper was being shot at. By my own people! Or when we almost crashed into the Dundas Mountain. And the time when the Seahawk’s rotor blades sliced through the ice hill. Man, I could have been killed so many times. Then, the resuscitation of Justin, the constant care for Tania and Kiawak. It was all so crazy!

  She shook her head in disbelief and finished her coffee in slow sips. She stretched her legs and arms while still sitting on her chair. Her entire body was tense, and she felt her head pounding. Emily began to massage her neck muscles, which were completely stiff, while turning her head to the left and to the right. Then she paced in the small hall.

  After about ten minutes, she reached for the cordless phone mounted on the wall and dialed a cellphone number from memory. It took her a few unsuccessful tries to realize the phone line was dead. She glanced out the window at the clear blue sky and the bright sun. The view gave her the determination she needed to keep dialing until she got a free signal. As she heard the dial tone, she quickly punched the number.

  “Hello, this is Bryan,” the familiar voice replied after the first ring.

  “Hey, Bryan, it’s me,” Emily spoke fast, afraid the line might go dead at any second.

  “Emily, you’re OK, sweetheart? Where are you?” Technical Sergeant Bryan asked, all in one breath.

  “Arctic Bay. North of Borden Peninsula, on Baffin—”

  “I know where it is. Are you OK?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Can you guys come and get me?”

  “Well, the commander wasn’t sure if we could violate Canada’s sovereignty.”

  “What? Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Unfortunately not, but I’ll get him on the line. Now that we know where you are, it shouldn’t be difficult to get authorization from Canada for a rescue mission.”

  “Hurry up and . . . thanks.”

  “OK, you just hang on in there. We’ll come and get you.”

  Her nervous pacing, while holding the handset pressed to her ear, lasted less than a minute.

  “Sergeant Moore,” the commander asked. “Are you doing well?”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily replied. “Just eager to come home, sir.”

  “Have they mistreated you?”

  “Negative. Other than the horrors of battling the blizzard and crash-landing blindfolded on an ice field, I’m doing well.”

  The commander let out a laugh of relief. “You don’t have a gun pointed at your head as we speak, do you?”

  “No, no. Everyone’s gone.”

  “They left you alone? Where are Justin and the others?”

  “Oh, they’re off to battle.”

  “What did you say? Battle? What battle?”

  “You know the Danish attack they were mumbling about when at the base?”

  “Yes, the wargame. Denmark has made plans for military exercises over the next couple of days.”

  “Well, Justin and his gang are convinced the Danes are hostile, and they’re going to land in Nanisivik, believe it or not, to take over the Northwest Passage. This place, Nanisivik, they told me it’s about an hour from here. Justin and his men gathered around a hundred people to meet the Danes there and give them a real taste of Canadian hospitality.”

  “Nanisivik? You sure about this?”

  “Absolutely sure, Commander. The town there has a deep sea port, and Justin has information about a Danish icebreaker that is going to anchor right there, in Strathcona Sound.”

  “That’s strange, because our satellites show no images of sea vessels. Instead, a large footprint of a transport aircraft, possible a Hercules, is beeping on all radar screens.”

  “Hercules? Where’s the airplane headed?”

  “I thought it was Resolute until you mentioned Nanisivik. If you put together this and the bogus information about the icebreaker, everything makes perfect sense.”

  “I don’t understand,” Emily said.

  “If it’s true the Danes are carrying out an invasion, they have done an excellent job masking their true intentions. They’ve circulated false intel on seaborne maneuvers, but they’re mounting an air attack.”

  “Air attack? Didn’t you just say the footprint was of a cargo plane?”

  “I said it was a transport aircraft, since these Hercs are used mainly for supplying equipment and refueling, but also for transporting troops and weapons. These monsters can easily carry more than a hundred combat troops in their belly. Who knows what else, in terms of weapons, the Danes may have stored inside the plane, if it’s theirs?”

  “You’re not sure whether this is a Danish plane?”

  “Correct. Our identification capacity’s limited because of the great distance between our base and the target and the possibility of the pilots intercepting us. Besides, the Canadian Forces have a few of these planes. In any case, you don’t have to worry about anything. We have a few choppers on standby, and I’ll dispatch one right away to extract you. What exactly is your position in Arctic Bay?”

  “I’m at the Health Center.”

  “OK, stay there. Shouldn’t take long before our boys will come to get you.”

  “Thank you, sir. What about Justin and his battle?”

  “It doesn’t involve us, Sergeant.” The commander’s sudden change of voice, from a warm to a strict tone, expressed his feelings about the matter much more strongly than his words. “It’s not our battle.”

  “But if this Hercules is Danish that means it’s probably carrying a company of soldiers,” Emily said. “And if Justin and his men are making their stand at the seaport, instead of the airport, then—”

  “Sergeant Moore,” the commander did not let her finish her sentence. “I’m ordering you to stay put until our Seahawk’s arrival.”

  “Where’s the airport? Nanisivik’s airport?” she asked.

  “Why, what’s that got to do with anything?”

  Emily kept silent.

  There were some shuffling noises on the other side of the phone line, then the commander spoke again, “The airport is southeast of town, about eighteen miles south.”

  “Eighteen miles,” Emily repeated. “South, that’s behind their back. Justin will not see the Danes coming until it’s too late.”

  “As I said, Sergeant Moore, this is not our fight.”

  “I can’t just let them die, slaughtered like lambs, Commander. You don’t know, but Justin saved a woman’s life, bringing her out of the freezing ocean. He risked his own life and almost died saving her.”

  “So? He risked your life a thousand times, and he wouldn’t lose sleep over it if he did it again.”

  “That may be true, but I have a chance to save his life and the lives of all his men and women, brave people, sir, who’re not afraid to fight for what they know is right.”

  “I don’t believe—”

  “The goal,” Emily said, “the goal justifies the means. You’ll send your men here to save my life, why not save the Canadians as well?”

  “Not my call.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t just sit here and let them die.”

  “Then use a damn phone to call them.”

  “Phones don’t work all the time in this place. Plus, I’m sure they can use an extra shooter. And they can use many more, sir.”

  “For the last time, Sergeant—”

  “You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you, Commander? Commander?” She placed the handset back on its wall-mounted base.

  What the hell did I just do?

  Nanisivik, Canada

  April 14, 7:45 a.m.

  “We’ve got the guns.” Kiawak said.


  Carrie had taken him, Joe, and a few other men aboard the Seahawk to Parting Waters, to prepare for the Danish invasion. “Joe’s setting up a perimeter in the hills around the seaport. As soon as those bastards set foot ashore, we’ll give them hell.”

  “That’s good,” Justin replied on his radio. He held tight to the door handle, as the Land Rover slid to the left.

  “Sorry,” Anna, the driver, mumbled.

  The gravel road connecting Arctic Bay to Nanisivik was coated with a thin layer of fresh snow. It provided sufficient tire traction for most of the trip but also concealed slippery ice patches.

  “Don’t worry, you’re doing a great job,” Justin said to Anna. “Kiawak, is the Otter back from Grise Fiord?”

  “Yeah, got here ten minutes ago. He brought those Danish rifles we found, and we’re gonna use them to pierce new holes in their butts.”

  “Is Carrie with you?”

  “No, she dropped us off at my place, and she’s been looking for a vantage point but hasn’t made up her mind yet.”

  “Did any of the contractors stay?”

  “Hmmm, less than what I thought. A handful or so.”

  “Better than nothing,” Justin said, “since we didn’t get anyone from Resolute.”

  “I guess. How far are you?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes, maybe.”

  “OK, we’ll see you when you get here.”

  “All right. It’s all falling into place.” Justin glanced at Anna, then at the Toyota truck in front of them. Their Land Rover was the third car in the fifty-vehicle convoy. “Kiawak just got those Let Støttevåbens we found in Nuqatlak’s place in Grise Fiord. Those should greatly increase our firepower.”

  “Great,” Anna said, struggling with the steering wheel.

  The radio crackled. “Justin, can you hear me? This is Ned,” said the driver of the lead car in the convoy. “I’ve got some bad news.”

  “What is it?” Justin said.

  “Emily just finished telling me we’ve got the wrong place. Our plan, our defenses, our entire operation is wrong.”

  “OK, calm down and tell me what you mean.”

  “She says the Danes are not coming by sea. They’re landing at the airport.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Nanisivik, Canada

  April 14, 07:55 a.m.

  “Are you sure about this?” Kiawak asked over the radio, trying to curb the anger in his voice.

  “Absolutely,” Justin replied. “Emily—I mean Sergeant Moore—is so convinced this intel is true, she’s coming to join our forces.”

  “That’s what I call conviction. We should move our positions to the airport.”

  “Yeah, right away. The Danes have probably realized their mole has been caught, and they’ve changed their plans.”

  “When did Emily say the Hercules is landing?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think she knew. Could be anytime.”

  “The terrain around the airport isn’t great, lots of small hills and very little cover,” Kiawak said. “We may still have the upper hand, especially if we get there before the Danish troops spread out. We’re moving there right away.”

  “OK, we’re turning the convoy around as we speak,” Justin replied, then hung up.

  “What are you thinking?” Kiawak asked Carrie, who was gazing at the ceiling of the Parting Waters.

  “I’m thinking how it would feel to drive two Hellfire missiles deep into the guts of that Hercules.”

  “I’m sure you’ll get your chance to do that. Now, let’s buckle up.”

  Nanisivik Airport, Canada

  April 14, 8:15 a.m.

  The aft ramp lowered slowly onto the packed gravel airstrip. The freezing wind swept around the doorway, its loud howling protesting the arrival of the C-130J Super Hercules airplane. The recruits stared at the snowstorm brewing outside. Gray clouds hung over the hills on both sides of the runway.

  “Soldiers, welcome to Nanisivik,” Gunter’s voice echoed over the intercom system. “Everyone knows his job, so let’s go out and do it.”

  Magnus appeared at the small door connecting the cockpit to the galley and the cargo compartment. The latter had been configured for maximum seating capacity, and the troops were packed in tight rows. They were stretching their legs and chatting with each other.

  “How was the trip?” Magnus asked Valgerda.

  She stood up from her seat, the first one to the right of the galley. “Manageable.” She straightened her hair. “They behaved—well, mostly.”

  “Time to go, soldiers,” Magnus shouted. “Form a single file when exiting the plane and line up to the left in platoon formation. We’ll hand out weapons once my team’s ready. The terminal is our first target. Secure a perimeter and take control of the Otter and the two Bell choppers in the hangar. Don’t wreck them, since we’ll need them for our next missions.”

  “Magnus,” Gunter’s voice came over his earpiece. “A hostile truck is approaching the plane. Take care of it.”

  “Right away,” he replied on the small mike incorporated on his Kevlar helmet.

  “No, I’ve got it,” Yuliya said and moved in front of Magnus.

  She unzipped her white Gore-Tex jacket and removed her sidearm—the easily concealable HK MP5—from the holster wrapped around her shoulder. Then she ran across the cargo compartment and jumped off the ramp. Her heavy combat boots crunched on the gravel. She ignored the wind gusts and stared at the incoming vehicle, an old model Ford. It was still about three hundred feet away. Yuliya guessed it would take the driver about twenty seconds to reach the airplane.

  She turned around and gazed at the gravel airstrip. The airplane’s nose wheel had stopped a few feet short of the end of the runway. Both pilots had fought with the airplane’s controls to complete the wheel brake operation. A large snow bank towered near the cockpit, casting a shadow feet away from its front glass. This is probably the largest and the heaviest airplane to ever land here. She shook her head at the deep ditches the Super Hercules’s wheels had dug into the runway.

  She looked up at the approaching Ford. The driver—maybe in his sixties—did not seem too impressed, judging by his burning eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” the old man spit out his words. He stopped the truck and got out.

  “Get lost,” Yuliya shouted back.

  “Who do you think you are?” The old man began to walk toward her.

  Yuliya waited until he was at point-blank range, before bringing out her gun from behind her back. The old man gawked at the weapon. She jabbed its short barrel into the old man’s chest and squeezed the trigger. His shriek was muffled by the gunfire and cut off with the thud of his dead body collapsing to the ground.

  “The coast is clear,” Yuliya whispered on her mike, turning around to face the aft ramp. “Ægir Rise!”

  As soon as she shouted the code words, waves of recruits burst out of the airplane, like the God of the Sea in the Norse mythology rising with rage from the watery depths. They formed four platoons with wild hoorays. Four men from Magnus’s team carried out two large containers, the weapon caches. As soon as Gunter stepped off the plane, every recruit was ordered to pick up a Gevær M/95 automatic weapon, the standard assault rifle of the Danish army, along with four magazines, each containing thirty rounds. They also picked up a side weapon, the small Sig Sauer P210, and an extra magazine for it. Two men in Magnus’s team were armed with Barrett M95 sniper rifles. The other five, including Valgerda, carried Gevær M/95s specially fitted with 40mm grenade launchers.

  Valgerda joined Magnus, who was standing by the old Ford, and jumped into the vehicle’s truck box.

  “Let the rookies drive,” she said.

  Magnus nodded. “Sargon, Vince, Ali, and Dominique,” he shouted at four men in the front row of the closest platoon. “Step forward. You’re coming with us to be the leading unit as we take over the terminal. Hurry up!”

  The recruits obeyed his order. Sargon and Vince cli
mbed in the cabin. Ali and Dominique sat across from Magnus and Valgerda.

  “Man, it’s so freaking cold,” Ali, a small bearded man, complained as he leaned against the side rail.

  “No worries,” Valgerda replied. “We’ll light up this place so it’s blazing hot.”

  * * *

  “They’ve overrun the terminal,” Joe said. He was scanning the windows of the one-story building through his powerful binoculars. “Some blond guy is having a smoke by the hangar.” He adjusted the zoom, swinging his head to the left. “Other people are moving toward the road, about a mile to our left.”

  “Shit,” Kiawak swore and spat on the ground, “Herman’s probably dead. I see someone else driving his Ford. Now the sons of bitches have another airplane and two choppers, besides the one they flew in, and they’re heavily armed.”

  He counted up to fifty silhouettes, mostly in winter fatigues, each brandishing an assault rifle. He tossed his binoculars on the passenger’s seat of his Toyota and plodded for the truck box. Their small convoy of five vehicles was parked next to a small ice hill, which seemed to provide them sufficient cover from the airstrip.

  “What are you doing?” Joe followed him.

  “I’m out for revenge, what do you think I’m doing?” Kiawak lifted the black tarpaulin cover, pulling out one of the Let Støttevåben machine guns.

  “You’re gonna just run down there and kill everyone?”

  “Save it, Joe. I’m not gonna stay here and wait.”

  He slammed a 100-round C-Mag drum into the receiver and pulled back the bolt. His action slid a round from the magazine into the gun’s chamber. The weapon was ready. All Kiawak had to do was tap the safety switch, which he did with a flick of his finger.

  “We need a plan.” Joe blocked the path of Kiawak, who sidestepped around him and went through a tall heap of snow. “We need a strategy.”