Black Flagged Vektor (4)

by Konkoly, Steven

  “We’ll have to take out the checkpoint. I need to be on that road if we’re to have any chance of making it across the border before the helicopters turn back,” Farrington said.

  “You can use the jeep trails along the riverbank area. They connect to other clearings in the trees and sort of leapfrog to a hidden area directly east of their position. You’ll have to cross over four hundred meters of open space between the Tigers and the trees, but that shouldn’t be a problem. They won’t be expecting you to come from the river,” Sanderson said.

  “Sounds like you had this worked out ahead of time,” Farrington said.

  “I knew you wouldn’t give up on that road,” Sanderson said.

  “Am I getting predictable?”

  “Just the opposite. You’re starting to get interesting. How is Sasha doing?”

  “As long as we don’t have to travel by foot, he’ll be fine. We’ve started to administer morphine to dull the pain. I wanted to hold off so he could work a gun, but there’s no way he’d be able to withstand the SUV ride,” Farrington said.

  “All right. Does it make sense to pack the team into one vehicle?”

  “It makes a lot of sense tactically, especially with Sasha, but practically, I need to run two vehicles. It’s darker than shit out here, and we’ll be moving fast. Anything more serious than a blown tire would put us out of business with one vehicle,” Farrington said.

  “See what I mean? I predicted you’d go with one vehicle.”

  “Keep a close eye on those Tigers. We’ll be headed out in two minutes.”

  Farrington lifted his assault rucksack onto one shoulder and Grisha’s pack onto the other, finding his balance before heading off for the vehicles. His own pack was heavy enough, filled with water, batteries, ammunition, rope, medical supplies, and a variety of grenades, but Grisha’s pack pulled him down even further. They had emptied Grisha’s rucksack on the boat and refilled it with ammunition magazines, Semtex and two Claymore mines, all of which combined to weigh far more than his own pack. He heaved the weight along the path and caught up with the team at the SUVs. Sasha was already situated in one of the vehicles, propped against the left passenger door by rucksacks.

  “Change of plans, gentlemen,” he announced to the dark cluster of operatives.

  “Base found something in our way down the road. We’ll have to do a little housecleaning before we can proceed west.”

  Chapter 57

  1:20 AM

  Highway 380

  Altai Krai, Russian Federation

  Gosha sighted in on the rightmost GAZ-Tiger vehicle and adjusted the picture for maximum contrast. At 397 meters, the ATN Thor 6X thermal scope on his sniper rifle gave a crisp, high-resolution black-and-white digital image of the Tiger. He shifted his view to the second Tiger on the left and conducted the same drill, scanning the thermal image for personnel in the open. The gunners for each vehicle sat half-exposed in the roof hatch, scanning the highway to the north and south. From his few minutes of observation, he noted that they paid no attention to the dirt road leading to the river, which was fortunate. Farrington and the remaining two operatives had covered the open ground at a fast jog, counting on the slightly raised road to shield them from view by the gunners.

  A ghostly white image appeared from the back of the vehicle on the right and walked toward the west, along the road Farrington insisted they would need to get out of Russia. The man stopped for a moment, facing away, and Gosha could tell that he was urinating. He was unarmed, which gave the sniper an idea.

  “I have one target taking a piss to the west of the vehicles. No rifle. One target visible on top of each vehicle. This might be as good as it gets. We have a ten-second window of opportunity.”

  “Let’s take it. Same plan as discussed,” Farrington said.

  “Roger. Stand by,” Gosha said.

  From his position in one of the trees, Gosha centered the reticle on the white image of the soldier standing behind the Pecheneg light machine. The machine gun represented the biggest threat to the three operatives lying on the other side of the road. If the gunner was quick to react, the Pecheneg’s high rate of fire could put them out of business quickly. Seva would focus his suppressed rifle fire on the second vehicle’s gunner, who sat behind an AGS-30 grenade launcher.

  He relaxed his hand and started to apply pressure to the trigger. The 7.62X54mm steel jacketed projectile left the barrel while the crosshairs drifted over the target’s upper chest.

  “Shot,” he said and shifted to his second target.

  He didn’t relish the thought of shooting a man while he was taking a piss, but the man was dead either way, so what did it matter?

  ***

  Farrington pushed himself up and sprinted for the Tiger. The bullet would take less than a half second to travel the distance, probably striking before he could fully raise himself off the gravel. He heard Seva’s suppressed AK-107 snap two short bursts, followed by the report of Gosha’s rifle. Through his night vision, he saw the gunner tumble out of the first vehicle. As he barreled across the two-lane road, he felt a projectile snap over his head.

  “Target on ground is down. Sorry about the haircut,” Gosha said.

  Farrington continued sprinting toward the vehicle several meters away, glancing briefly to his left to verify that the gunner of the second vehicle was no longer a threat. The soldier moments ago leaning against the grenade launcher had disappeared, so he didn’t break stride. He reached the Tiger just as a commotion broke out inside the vehicle.

  Not wasting a second, he jumped onto the rear tire and grabbed the steel bar at the edge of the jeep’s roof, heaving himself onto the roof. He landed on his stomach and quickly rolled to his side to access one of the grenades on his vest. He tore the safety pin out of a fragmentation grenade and released the handle, throwing the grenade through the open hatch. A discordance of screams and panic erupted inside the vehicle.

  Farrington stood and fired his AK-107 through the hatch, adding to the mayhem. After firing the extended burst, he jumped off the Tiger and rolled on the ground to face the jeep, emptying the rest of the magazine at anyone attempting to escape through the passenger doors. The grenade detonated inside the Tiger with a muffled thump that exploded the windows and knocked open the rear hatch. Nobody appeared to have escaped. The second Tiger suffered a similar fate less than a second later.

  He quickly lifted himself off the ground and checked the other side of the smoking jeep. A mangled corpse hung upside down from an open door, its lifeless hands barely raking the hard-packed dirt below the vehicle. He didn’t expect to find any survivors. The effects of a fragmentation grenade in such a small space could be devastating.

  “Tiger one is clear,” he announced.

  “Tiger two clear,” Misha said.

  “Copy. Let’s load up the bodies and get these vehicles out of sight. Gosha, keep an eye out for unexpected company on the road.”

  “Already scanning. Looks clear.”

  Farrington yanked the blood-slick body up by its vest and pushed it through the front seats into the back of the Tiger. The inside of the vehicle looked ghastly through his NVGs, still sizzling and smoking from the intense damage done by the grenade. He counted three bodies, including the driver, all blasted beyond recognition, much of them adorning the seats and equipment. He flipped the starter switch and the diesel engine roared to life, which was a small miracle after the grenade blast. He stopped for a moment and examined the back of the Tiger again, pausing to look up through the hatch at the overcast night. Instead of driving off with the other Tiger, he climbed over the dead driver and stood up through the hatch, examining the Pecheneg machine gun. He pulled the charging handle back and aimed down the road, firing off a burst.

  “You got something?” Gosha asked.

  “Negative. Just thinking,” Farrington replied, looking at the second Tiger crossing the highway.

  “I’m thinking the same thing,” Misha said.

  “That
we just traded in our unarmored SUVs for heavily armored jeeps?” Farrington said.

  “Exactly,” Misha said.

  “Sounds like a plan. Let’s transfer all of the gear and get out of here.”

  Six minutes later, they were packed into one of the Tigers, headed west along the improvised road at nearly 65 miles per hour. They’d lost nearly fifteen minutes dealing with the checkpoint, but they could make up all of that time in their new transportation. If anything, they might even gain time. Similar to the “Humvee,” the Tiger was a high-mobility, multipurpose military vehicle, equipped with a powerful diesel, turbocharged, air-cooled engine. Independent torsion suspension, telescopic shock absorbers and regulated-pressure tires gave it a top speed of 55 miles per hour over rough terrain and up to 90 miles per hour on the road.

  The Tiger’s unyielding endurance for poor road conditions left Farrington confident that they could condense the team into one vehicle. He’d chosen the jeep with the grenade launcher because the weapon presented a capability they didn’t have organic to any of their weapons—long range high-explosive munitions. The Pecheneg machine gun would have been nice, but the ability to fire 30mm grenades at a rate of two per second would come in handy if they ran into any more armored vehicles. He could almost guarantee that these wouldn’t be the last Tigers they ran into out here. He just hoped they didn’t bump into any light armored vehicles from the 21st Guards Motor Rifle Division. The 30mm grenades would be useless against those, along with everything else they carried.

  Chapter 58

  2:26 PM

  CIA Headquarters

  McLean, Virginia

  Karl Berg removed his headset and turned to Audra Bauer, who was examining satellite footage on her two screens.

  “They’re clear of the checkpoint, moving west in one of the Tigers,” Berg said.

  “Smart move taking the Tiger,” she commented.

  “They’re going to need all the help they can get. The Tiger might give them the edge they need to pull this off. They won’t have to stick to roads or trails when they get near the border, which is a major improvement to their plan. They should be able to slip through the 21st Motor Rifle Division units along the border,” Berg said.

  “Speaking of the 21st, satellite imagery and electronic intercepts confirm that a brigade from the 142nd Motor Rifle Regiment has started to deploy from their base in Biysk. Estimated time of arrival along the border zones for the bulk of the brigade is two hours. Early elements will arrive within the hour,” Bauer said.

  “Shit. We’re looking at BTRs, BRDMs, Urals and Tigers. Anything with wheels. They can’t move the tracked infantry fighting vehicles into that area fast enough. How many are missing from the base in Biysk so far?”

  “They’re still counting. At least thirty BTR-80s and seventy Tigers, along with a dozen utility trucks. All headed west.”

  “Add that to the 122nd Recon Battalion’s sixty plus Tigers to the east and we can conclude that somebody’s pissed back in Moscow,” Berg said. “Audra, can you direct one of the satellites to babysit the checkpoint Blackjack just eliminated? Eventually, someone is going to wonder why the checkpoint isn’t responding and take a look. I want to give Blackjack a heads-up when that happens,” he said, standing up.

  “Sure. You headed somewhere?” she said.

  “I need to make a call,” he said.

  “Your guy in Russia?” she said.

  “Could be a woman. I was a hot ticket back in the day,” he said, winking.

  She shook her head and started typing instructions to the NRO satellite handlers, leaving Berg to his phone call. He was glad she quickly assumed he was calling Kaparov. It made sense given the fact that Vektor had been attacked. At some point during the night, if it hadn’t happened already, Kaparov would be awakened with the news that a facility containing samples of biological material suitable for weaponization had been breached. Of course, there would be no mention of the bioweapons laboratory. Kaparov would be asked to analyze the threat posed by the possible theft of viral samples like smallpox and avian flu. He’d wait for Kaparov to call with the “shocking” news.

  No. Berg had a different call to make. One he couldn’t make in the CIA operations center. If anyone discovered what he had arranged behind all of their backs, he ran the risk of losing the asset before it could be employed. It was better that they discovered his plan when the consequences of shutting it down outweighed letting it proceed.

  He exited the “Fishbowl” section of the operations center and walked toward the exit, eager to retrieve his cell phone.

  “I need to make a call outside of the operations center,” Berg said, addressing the two security guards manning the entrance station.

  Less than a minute later, he stood in the hallway outside of the operations center. He walked through the deserted hallway and speed-dialed the number he needed. He waited for the call to connect, which took several seconds, since the signal had to travel halfway around the world and negotiate encryption protocols at its destination.

  “Weatherman standing by for you to authenticate.”

  Berg pressed the ten-digit combination of numbers assigned for the operation.

  “Good evening, Mr. Berg. Black Rain is spooled up and ready for launch.”

  “Good timing, Weatherman. Launch Black Rain immediately and proceed to holding area over Lake Kulunda.”

  “Roger. We’ll have her airborne in a few minutes. Time to station estimated at 0425 local.”

  “Copy 0425. I’ll open a channel in the operations center for terminal control at approximately 0400 local. Have a safe flight,” Berg said.

  “We always do. I’ll expect to hear from you at 0400 local. Weatherman out.”

  Berg put the phone back in his jacket pocket and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. He was extremely nervous about the next three and a half hours. If he got lucky, Farrington’s team would slip through the Russians’ net and drive right across the border to be picked up by Black Magic. Black Rain would never be used, and it would be high fives all the way to the White House. Berg was no stranger to luck, but his breaks didn’t come so neatly wrapped. Three and a half hours and this would be over, one way or the other, and nobody could accuse him of shortchanging Sanderson’s people. He could live with the consequences of putting Black Rain into play to give Farrington’s team a fighting chance.

  Chapter 59

  2:35 AM

  Kamen-na Obi

  Russian Federation

  Lieutenant Colonel Maxim Odenko ran his finger along an unfolded road map of the Altai Krai region, squinting to make out the details. Battle lights bathed everything within his command vehicle in a dull red glow that preserved the occupants’ night vision, but cast a monochromatic film over his map. He could barely make out the terrain features, not that it really mattered. He didn’t have the resources to start scouring small valleys or posting units on hilltops. He barely had enough vehicles to cover the roads adequately.

  He had the three hundred kilometer stretch of Highway 380 between Novosibirsk and Barnual locked down to the best of his battalion’s ability. Sixty-three vehicles were spread along the highway at ten to twenty-kilometer intervals, covering all of the major western roads or trails they could identify using local maps and satellite imagery. A smaller number of vehicles had been dispatched along Highway M52, but the local law enforcement response from towns along the highway had been swift to respond, blocking the north-south route at Cherepanovo and Tal’menka within thirty minutes of the terrorist action against the state institute in Koltsovo. Unless the police were full of shit, there was no way the terrorists could have travelled Highway M52 quickly enough to make it through those cities before the roadblocks were established.

  His bet was on Highway 380, not that he thought it mattered at this point. Unless the perpetrators had taken an hour-long nap on the side of the road, they had already cleared these roads and headed west. He’d requested permission to start moving his units
along the roads they were guarding, but the request had been quickly denied pending updated intelligence. Orders from the 41st Army commander had been explicit, and in true bureaucratic fashion, it was too soon to consider a shift in tactics, regardless of the obvious.

  His battalion would seal the highway from Novosibirsk to Barnual and let the 21st Motor Rifle Division and Border Guard Service barracks in Karasuk handle the border…despite the fact that the terrorist attack had taken place nearly two and a half hours earlier and the perpetrators had not been seen since the ambush outside of Koltsovo. His patience was starting to wear thin with headquarters, especially at two thirty in the morning. Sitting on this road was a waste of time, and everyone in his command knew it. Now it was apparently taking its toll on his men.

  “How long since checkpoint twelve reported?” Odenko said.

  A bleary-eyed lieutenant holding a radio handset answered from across the small table. “They missed the one-thirty checkin, so it’s been over an hour at this point.”

  “That’s too long, damn it! I’ll hang the sergeant in charge of that group and relieve his platoon commander if we find out they fell asleep. Send that useless fuck over to check on his men. I shouldn’t have to tell him to do this! Or you!” Odenko said.

  “Zulu Three this is Alpha Zulu, over,” the lieutenant said over the command net.