Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4)

by Jack Murphy

  “Unless an allegedly friendly power stepped in to help us out,” Deckard said, cutting himself off before he said too much. In his mind, he could not help but think about Chinese troops landing on American shores as a part of some humanitarian aid program, with god only knows what strings attached. By then, the American government would probably welcome them with open arms.

  “All I can say for certain,” Flynn told Deckard, “is that if the Yellowstone caldera goes up, it will change everything we know about America for generations to come.”

  “You forgot the best part,” Deckard replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “Our government would never even know that a weapon had been used against us.”

  * * *

  “Canadian Rangers out on a patrol near Resolute Bay spotted the semi-submersible ship passing Little Cornwallis Island,” Otter said, setting down the radio microphone as Deckard walked onto the bridge. “The Canadians have the other passages through the northwest passage blocked off. North is the only direction they can go.”

  Deckard’s eyes scoured over their sea charts, counting down the numbers in his mind. “Ellesmere Island,” he said, pointing to a large land mass on the map. “That’s where this is going to go down. They will be trapped up in these fjords. From there, they will either stand and fight or try to cross overland.”

  “We’re only a few hours behind them,” Otter added. “Considering we interrupted their refueling in Barrow, they must be running low on gas as well.”

  “I’ll make a call and try to get Global Hawk back up, but it is already outrunning its operational range out of Alaska. Hopefully the Canadians can step up their air patrols now that the Rangers spotted them.”

  “They already have birds in the air,” Otter replied. “They will let us know once they get eyes on.”

  “Good to hear. We’ll get the men prepared.”

  “What now?”

  “We’ve kept the pressure on the enemy, forced their hand, and made them expend resources. Now it is time to run them to ground, exhaust them, and kill them.”

  * * *

  Canadian Arctic

  Jiahao closed his eyes as bubbles gurgled up from the regulator in his mouth, the oxygen pooling into one large bubble at the top of the 553mm torpedo tube.

  The submarine mast had been so badly damaged, it made surfacing too dangerous—if not impossible—until they would be able to receive repairs at the underground Yulin naval base on Hainan Island. Until then, the divers would have to make do with an egress through the torpedo tubes. Four divers were crouched over inside two delivery vehicles, one in each tube.

  Jiahao smiled, biting down on the regulator to prevent water from leaking in from the corners of his mouth. The great irony was that the specifications for the construction of the torpedo-launched delivery vehicle had been stolen from the United States by cyber spies on the mainland. Instead of delivering Navy SEALs onto some Third World battlefield, Jiahao’s special team would be making use of them in the Canadian Arctic.

  Suddenly, he was jerked back, his hands clinging to the controls as water passed around his head and shoulders like a cold breeze. On their flank, the commando could make out the second submersible delivery vehicle humming along. Initiating the prop, the delivery vehicle began maneuvering toward the surface.

  Jiahao had been given a mission by his mage, and he fully intended to carry it out.

  * * *

  Twelve hours later, the Carrickfergus entered into the fjords of Ellesmere Island. Covered in glaciers, with steep V-shaped valleys and weathered crags poking up from beneath the ice, Ellesmere Island was one of the world’s last frontiers, dividing Canada from Greenland. From the sea, the terrain looked both unforgiving and surreal. Glaciers crept into the ocean, the water itself a brilliant turquoise color.

  In the distance, black smoke rose into the air where the China-Russia-Iran confab had jettisoned their semi-submersible ship and destroyed it with explosives. Canadian surveillance aircraft had spotted the explosion, but had yet to pick up where the enemy had moved on to. Canadian Rangers were being mobilized, but it was unclear if they would arrive in time to do anything. Most Canadian military assets were already being prepared for a coalition ground war in the Middle East, a knee-jerk response to terrorist attacks back home, leaving the Arctic forces with even less resources than usual.

  The Carrickfergus dropped ramp one fjord before where the remains of the enemy ship were located for an off-set infiltration. The Samruk International mercenaries stormed off with their gear and sank into the snow under their heavy rucksacks despite the snowshoes they wore. Arranging themselves in a security perimeter, they took turns donning their skis. Samruk hadn’t skimped on winter equipment, and they would need every edge they could get on Ellesmere Island.

  Deckard stowed his assault snowshoes in his pack and snapped on a pair of Carbon Aspect skis manufactured by Black Diamond. Ski skins and climbing crampons would be kept on hand, as they would definitely be needing them soon. At two platoons plus a mortar section, Samruk consisted of a large element when trying to move around in an arctic environment. It would be slow going, but the tools they brought with them would hopefully give them a mobility edge on the enemy.

  With his kit set up, Deckard yanked two ski poles—called whippets—off the back of his pack. They could collapse down when climbing uphill, and also had a small ice axe at the top of the pole for self arrest in the event that a climber began sliding off the edge of a cliff. Additional ice axes were lashed to their belts. They anticipated some tough climbs.

  Once men, weapons, and equipment were prepared, Fedorchenko’s platoon moved out, breaking a fresh trail. They moved in a file, cross-country skiing across the snow and ice. Two point men took the lead with a squad leader behind them making sure that they stayed on azimuth. Shatayeva’s platoon followed a few minutes later, in a military formation called traveling overwatch. The two elements would remain separate, but close enough to each other to provide mutually supporting fire. The mortar section traveled in a third element with Deckard, the snipers, and their recce team.

  Sliding across the ice, Fedorchenko’s men made good time as they skirted the water’s edge, heading toward the spur ahead that separated one fjord from the other. Once they hit the elevation change, the movement quickly slowed down. Skis had to be stowed on packs as they moved hand over hand up the crest with ice axes. At the top, the platoon got eyes on the smoking hulk of the scuttled enemy ship in the distance.

  “Looks deserted,” Fedorchenko reported over the radio. “No signs of the enemy. It appears that they ran the ship aground and then destroyed it with explosives.”

  Deckard looked up the slope at them. Nikita and his sniper partner had taken off on their own to glass the target with their high-powered optics. He didn’t know what the private military company version of a court martial was, but Deckard was going to dock Nikita’s pay and put him in the time-out corner once their Arctic mission was over. For now, he needed every gun in the fight.

  “Keep eyes on until we get there.”

  Deckard collapsed his ski poles before tying them down to his ruck along with his skis. He then slipped crampons over his Dynafit ski boots and retrieved his Petzl ice axes. Step by step, he sank the crampons into the ice, swinging the ice axes one over the other to gain purchase, before repeating the maneuver and hauling himself up inch by inch. Once the mortar section and Shatayeva’s men were up the side of the spur, Fedorchenko’s men had time for a good rest before they put their skis back on.

  Squad by squad they pushed off, skiing down the slope toward the enemy vessel that had dogged their every move in the Arctic. In their winter camouflage, the mercs blended seamlessly with the terrain on Ellesmere Island, confusing the eye and nearly disappearing at times. They were not Arctic warriors on par with the Canadian Rangers, but they were learning fast.

  After a half-hour climb, the entire platoon reached the opposite side of the slope and began c
ross-country skiing toward their target. Deckard led the way for the second element, his facemask and goggles protecting him from what would have been a debilitating case of frostbite, the cold air whistling past his ears. The crags at the bottom of the downhill run came up to meet him even faster than he had anticipated, forcing him to pivot his knees and ski away at the last second, a boulder rushing by before he leveled out at the bottom.

  With the rest of Samruk at the base of the slope, Deckard radioed Fedorchenko.

  “Go scout out that ship and watch out for boobytraps. There is no need to get too close; we just need to pick up their spore.”

  Spore were signs of human passage. Normally, this would consist of footprints in the dirt and broken branches. Maybe the only thing the Arctic had going for it from a military standpoint was that following human footprints in the snow was an easy affair.

  The ship was only 500 or so meters away, so once Fedorchenko’s men moved out, Deckard took his element closely behind. With his ski poles extended, he dug into the ice, pushing along as he skied forward, quickly working up a sweat under his jacket. Once they caught up with the lead platoon, Deckard saw Dag crouched down, looking at something. Skiing over to him, Deckard immediately saw the tracks.

  The enemy were moving out on snowshoes. The trail was well beaten and heading east toward the mountains in the distance.

  “Maybe a hundred of them,” Dag said. “The tracks have not degraded much. The wind has not even blown them away. They are only a few hours ahead of us. We can catch up quickly. No rests.”

  “That's what they expect,” Deckard said. “They’ll double back and mine their own spore. Do a map reconnaissance and find an alternate route. We’ll get ahead of them and lay an ambush of our own.”

  “I will take a look and plot a route,” the Norwegian said.

  Deckard felt something vibrating in the inner pocket of his parka and jumped in surprise.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Deckard said as he unzipped his jacket and reached inside. “It’s this tablet that Cody gave me. He called it a Pwn Pad. It can isolate electronic signals.”

  Pulling out the Nexus tablet, Deckard held one of his gloves in his teeth and yanked it off. Scrolling through the apps, he saw that the Pwn Pad had picked up on a signal being emitted nearby.

  “Found something?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s coming from the ship? Maybe they set a repeater in the snow somewhere?”

  Reaching down, Deckard keyed his hand mic.

  “All stations on this net, this is six. Heads up, I’m seeing some weird electronic signals. Hard to say what it is—”

  His words drifted off as his eyes tracked along the shore of the island. Something was churning the water in a circular pattern just outside where the waves were breaking against the shore.

  “Fire! Fire!” Deckard yelled. “In the water!”

  One of the Kazakh mercenaries was Johnny-on-the-spot, firing a burst of 7.62mm into the churning ocean water. Something beneath the surface exploded, sending a spray of water into the air. More signatures suddenly appeared from beneath the surface, then blasted up into the air, splattering sea water in all directions.

  “Drones!”

  Chapter 22

  The quad-rotors emerged from the ocean where they had been concealed and shot up into the air. The amphibian drones transitioned from navigating water to open air in the blink of an eye. About as wide as a manhole cover, the drones lifted off and sped toward the mercenaries.

  Deckard could see the black boxes heading toward them. Four arms reached out from the main control unit, each with a separate plastic rotor blade on it. Fluid dynamics and aerodynamics responded in very similar ways, making it possible for a multifunctional drone to be equally at home in the water as it was in the air, but none of them had time to contemplate that fact as they came under attack.

  The drone swarm was racing toward their position. The first one had blown up when fired upon, leaving little doubt as to the payload they carried. Each was a remote-operated improvised explosive device.

  The mercenaries opened fire, tracers going wide, high, and low as the swarm came straight at them. Someone finally scored a hit and the drone immediately took a header into the ice, where it detonated less than 50 meters in front of their security perimeter. Ice and black smoke radiated from the blast.

  Deckard saw one drone break from the swarm’s formation and head directly toward him. Somehow he knew. It was the mage, an electronic puppeteer behind the scenes.

  Flicking the Kalashnikov’s selector to auto, he let off a burst that clipped the drone, severing the rotors on the left-hand side. The quad-rotor then went into an uncontrolled spin as the rotors on the other side continued to generate lift. The drone spun end over end as it burned in and crashed 10 meters in front of him before exploding.

  Ice chips cut into his pants and parka as Deckard and Dag both instinctively brought up their hands to protect their faces. Meanwhile, the Samruk mercenaries were dropping the drones one by one. Deckard watched as they fell from the sky like sparrows shot by a slingshot, except these sparrows went up in a ball of fire when they went down. One of the drones dropped elevation in a sharp jerking motion, then cruised right up to the frontline of mercenaries. The Kazakhs managed to shoot it down at the last possible second. The resulting explosion flung three of the mercenaries down on their backs.

  One of the drones managed to infiltrate through their security perimeter and landed in the middle of the mercenary formation. Sergeant Major Korgan and Aghassi ran for their lives along with several of the Kazakhs. They saved themselves by the skin of their teeth, slipping and falling as the shock wave from the exploding drone washed over them.

  The remaining drones were coming in hard and fast. The mercenaries raked them with PKM and AK fire, causing the drones to explode right in front of them. A Carl Gustav gunner loaded a round into his recoilless rifle and pushed several mercenaries out of his way to get in front of them.

  “Back blast area clear,” he shouted over his shoulder. But it wasn’t really clear. One of the mercs dived out of the way just as he fired.

  The 84mm ADM round fired a spray of 1,100 flechettes. Designed for taking out enemy troop formations in urban and jungle warfare, the ADM round delivered its lethal payload into the drone swarm. Plastic rotor blades were shredded and torn away from the drone control units by the flechettes, driving them down to the ground as if someone had just flicked their off switch. Smashing into the ice, they exploded one by one.

  Once again, the enemy had used a combination of surprise and high technology to gain the advantage over Deckard’s men. They had survived, but only because of the quick thinking of their goose gunner.

  Reaching down, Deckard helped Dag to his feet.

  “Fuck these assholes.”

  Dag nodded.

  “Let’s finish this.”

  * * *

  Will sat back in his chair, watching the feed coming in from their Global Hawk drone circling above Ellesmere Island. The drone’s loiter time was severely constrained, it had only half an hour before it would have to return to base for refueling, but until then they would relay what they spotted on the video feed to Deckard’s men through the Carrickfergus, giving them as much situational awareness as possible.

  They had yet to locate the enemy force, but the Samruk International mercenaries were at the edge of a glacier, preparing for their crossing. Looking at the terrain, Will could make an inference about Deckard’s tactics. Crossing the glacier and then a mountain ridge in arctic conditions was exceedingly dangerous, the definition of a bold maneuver. Deckard thought he would be able to take a shortcut and pop out in front of where he projected the enemy to be moving to next.

  Craig sat in the SCOPE conference room with his arms crossed.

  “How did we not see this coming?” he asked absently.

  Will swallowed.

  “We’re America. It is our national style to not se
e slowly escalating threats. What he have here are three challengers to the throne. America is the power that has shaped global order since the end of World War Two. China, Russia, and Iran are seeking asymmetrical means to re-calibrate that order.”

  “We knew they were trying, but no one anticipated anything on this scale.”

  “The fact that they wanted it should have set off alarms a long time ago. They may be separate, competing powers that don’t particularly like each other, but hatred for America is what they have in common. It has aligned them against us. Iran’s at best a regional power in the Middle East, but because of their history and cultural legacy, they see themselves as being more important in world affairs than they will ever be. In fact, the only element that the Iranian regime has to galvanize their people is anti-American and anti-Israeli sentiments.

  “Meanwhile, Russia has always suffered from a profound sense of insecurity. They have always had Mongols, Tatars, and Europeans on their doorstep. During the Cold War, they sought strategic depth to prevent NATO from getting a clear shot across the steppes to Moscow. Today, they perceive us as strategically encircling them with a anti-ballistic missile shield.

  “Then there is China. They are the real problem. Of the three, they are the only country with a real chance at restructuring global order in their own image. In another decade, the Chinese economy will surpass America’s. They have spent decades sharpening their knives, pretending to be our friends, and playing the victim. The reality is that they also see themselves as victims of the West, at least some of it stemming from events as far back as the Boxer Rebellion. The Chinese have bided their time, and now they are striking against us.”

  “While our own bureaucracy launches a war against the wrong enemy. Our government can’t even figure out who to fight.”

  “What makes you think they can’t figure it out?” Will asked rhetorically. “Perhaps they don't want to fight the Chinese. Our economic interests are too closely intertwined. This isn’t a mistake, it is part of a calculated strategy the Chinese have devised to insulate themselves from American power. At the same time, the American public is scared out of their minds right now. They demand that we find an easy-to-define enemy and then bomb them into the Stone Age. ISIS is the perfect fit. Kill them all, and with minimal political repercussions on the world stage.”