His head disappeared in a red mist.
And the guns were finally silent.
Laura crawled over to her husband and together they rolled the dead blanket off him, he climbing to his feet, a wary eye on the bodies surrounding them and the choppers monitoring the situation.
With pilots who seemed little concerned with the new development.
“I wonder who we have to thank for that?”
Zorkin pushed himself to his feet, gripping his arm once again. “It could be the Russian troops deciding to save the tax payers five million rubles.” He shrugged then regretted it. “Whoever it is, they have a clear view of our position.”
Acton frowned, peering out into the near darkness. “So running isn’t an option.”
Laura stuffed her empty weapon in her belt, rubbing her hands together. “Without horses and supplies, we’ll be dead by morning.”
“Nobody move!”
They spun toward the voice, Russian troops suddenly rushing around the bend, weapons raised.
“I guess we know who our saviors were,” muttered Acton, raising his hands once again.
A man stepped forward, clearly in charge, he and one other the only ones not in uniform. “Professor James Acton, Professor Laura Palmer and Citizen Viktor Zorkin, you are all under arrest!”
87
Caucasus Mountains, Georgia
Ten miles inside the border
“Nice shooting, gentlemen.”
Dawson watched through his scope as the last of the professors’ ‘escorts’ were eliminated, the three survivors looking about, probably trying to figure out who had just saved them. He turned his attention to the helicopters, still hovering, monitoring the situation.
They’re probably trying to figure it out as well.
Niner lay prone on the ground about fifty feet to his right, his position giving him complete coverage, Atlas twenty feet farther on. “I would have to agree with that assessment,” said Niner. “I am the best.”
Atlas kept his eye pressed to his scope. “How that tiny body can hold such an inflated head, I’ll never know.”
“A lifetime of getting used to it. When you’re this good, size doesn’t matter.”
Jimmy laughed. “You keep telling yourself that.”
“Ouch! I do believe my manhood was stereotypically insulted.”
“And you’d be right,” rumbled Atlas.
“Trouble, BD,” interrupted Jagger.
Dawson looked back at the trail as Russian troops rushed around the bend, weapons raised. “I see them.”
“Looks like we’re killing Russians today,” muttered Atlas. “That can’t be good.”
Dawson chewed his cheek for a moment, surveying the area. Killing Russians was never good and best avoided, especially with two gunships, weapons bristling, covering the situation.
“What do we do, BD?” asked Jimmy. “Start shooting?”
Dawson shook his head. “No, if those pilots panic they could open up on the professors.”
“Should we take them out?” asked Niner. “I’ve got a clear shot.”
“Me too,” added Atlas. “Our rounds will pierce those cockpits no problem at this range.”
“No. I think we need to find a more peaceful solution.”
And if that doesn’t work, then we start killing Russians.
88
South Kuril Islands, Russian Federation
Japanese name: Chishima Islands
If I ever meet the inventor of the Phalanx system, I’ll kiss him.
The computer-controlled system most of their new ships were now equipped with had made efficient work of most of the Russian missiles, only one of their ships having taken a direct hit. The Americans had made out worse, not from missile strikes but deck guns, the defense system not terribly effective on high-speed ballistic rounds.
It was the Russians though that now had his attention.
And he was smiling.
Every Russian ship had sustained significant damage, the combination of the American and Japanese arsenals simply too modern for most of the ships they faced, the Russian rearmament program not having finished its way through the Pacific Fleet.
Thank the heavens the Americans are on our side.
The battle hadn’t lasted long, certainly not five minutes, more likely two or three before cooler heads had prevailed, the Russians begging for a ceasefire after they sustained a flurry of direct hits, they again claiming a misfire.
Right! From every ship? And multiple launches?
It was bullshit, but he had ordered his fleet to ceasefire the moment he confirmed the Russians had done the same. The Americans fired the last shot, destroying the missile in the air just before it made impact with the Russian flagship.
He redirected his attention to the skies, radar indicating the two air forces had separated, more than half the Russian planes downed, almost half a dozen American planes lost. Rescue boats were in the waters from all sides, searching for downed pilots, his own crews having launched the moment the ceasefire seemed like it would hold.
People were dead.
Good people, from all sides, and everyone needed some time to let the adrenaline subside.
And let the politicians, now being informed of what had just happened, figure a way out of the mess they found themselves in.
Or war might be inevitable.
More ships from his own navy were already on their way, their attentions split between this engagement and an altercation with the Chinese. More American ships from the Seventh Fleet, along with additional air support, were on their way as well.
“Sir! The Hyuga is reporting a sonar contact!”
Yamada sighed at this new news from his XO. This was what he had feared the most. Submarines. He turned to look at the Hyuga to their port side. “I assume we have no idea who they are?”
“No, sir, but their bearing suggests they came from the north.”
“Contact the Americans to see if it’s one of theirs.”
“Yes, sir!”
The last thing we need is to start dropping depth charges at someone trying to help us.
He frowned.
We might just lose the only thing keeping us alive.
89
Caucasus Mountains, Georgia
Ten miles inside the border
Acton aimed his weapon at the approaching Russians, stepping behind a large rock that had provided no cover from their previous problem, but excellent cover from the new arrivals.
Arriving from the north.
In the opposite direction of where their saviors had fired from only moments before.
Someone else is in this game. Someone who just might be on our side, not the Russians.
He just hoped it wasn’t another rival group out for the reward.
Laura drew her empty weapon, the Russians not needing to know that little fact as he aimed his, the three remaining rounds not quite enough to finish off even those already visible, let alone the untold numbers around the bend, out of sight.
Zorkin simply shifted to the opposite side of his rock, his weapon already thrown at one of their attackers, it lying uselessly about twenty feet away.
“Drop your weapons or we will open fire,” said the Russian in the lead.
Acton surveyed the situation. If they had ammo, they could potentially hold the pass until whoever had helped them arrived, though that could simply pull them out of the frying pan and toss them right back into another, one with far worse consequences than possible arrest by the Russians.
Zorkin suddenly began a dash that turned into a stumble across the open space, weapons following him though not firing, the leader holding out his arms, motioning for everyone to take it easy. Zorkin joined them, gripping his hip.
“You okay?”
Zorkin nodded. “It’s not broken, just bruised.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“Stall.”
“For what?”
“For whoever fir
ed those shots to arrive.”
Laura frowned. “How do we know they’re any more friendly than everyone else we’ve met on this trip?”
“Present company excluded, of course,” added Acton with a wink at his wife.
“Those were sniper rounds. Georgian bandits don’t have weapons like that.”
Acton agreed. “And I didn’t hear any Russian choppers farther south that could have dropped off a sniper team to take shots from that angle.” He pointed at the blood spatter patterns. “Those shots definitely came from the south.”
Zorkin smiled at him. “Very good, Professor. Perhaps you missed your calling?”
“What? Crime Scene Investigator?”
Zorkin chuckled. “No. Spy.”
Acton rolled his eyes. “No thanks, I’ll leave that to my students.” He motioned toward the Russians, still holding their position. “So what are we saying here? If the Russians didn’t shoot these guys, who did?”
“I’m not sure, but we’ve definitely got well-equipped friendlies in the area.”
Acton and Laura exchanged excited glances. “Bravo Team!” they both hissed in unison.
Zorkin nodded. “Definitely some sort of Special Forces, probably American.” He looked at Laura. “Bravo Team? As in Mr. White and his friends?”
Acton grinned at him. “So you do know them.”
Zorkin nodded. “I’ve had the pleasure. And if they’re here, we’ve got a chance at getting out of this alive and on the right side.”
“Okay, so how do we make sure that happens?” asked Laura, eyeing the Russians who were inching forward.
“We buy them time.” Zorkin glanced at their weapons, still pointed at the Russians. “Do either of you have any bullets?”
“I’ve got three rounds,” replied Acton.
“I’m out,” said Laura.
“Are you sure you’ve got three rounds?”
“Yes. I learned to count when I was potty training.”
“Good boy.” Zorkin motioned toward the advancing troops. “Put two rounds at his feet.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Yes. But do it anyway.”
Acton frowned. “Okay, you’re the boss.” He lowered his aim and prayed he hadn’t lost count.
And squeezed twice.
The stone at the leader’s feet was pulverized, dust and shards of sharp rock blasting up at the man’s legs, Acton hoping the rounds didn’t ricochet and set off what they were aiming to avoid.
An all-out gunfight.
“That’s far enough!” shouted Zorkin, the leader holding out his arms, stopping the soldiers who Acton could tell clearly wanted to put an end to this. “In fact, let’s have everybody back up a little.”
Quick arm waves had them all back a few paces.
Zorkin seemed pleased. “Well, that worked.”
Acton grunted. “Yeah, but for how long?”
“Hopefully long enough.”
90
The Kremlin, Moscow, Russian Federation
“We insist you stand down before more get hurt,” demanded Sasaki, glaring at his counterpart. Ivan Maksimov was no longer the friendly host, he fuming, the two delegations seated across from each other having tossed any pretense of friendship the moment the door had closed.
War was at their doorstep.
Someone had to blink.
And Sasaki’s instructions just received were that it wouldn’t be the Japanese.
The Americans are on our side.
“But for how long?” he had asked.
“Long enough. The Russians took a beating in the last exchange. They have to know that we and the Americans are committed. But it’s important that they don’t just withdraw. We need the Imperial Regalia returned. That is more important than avoiding war, and even more important than victory.”
He had watched the reports from the embassy, the unfiltered, unconfirmed reports from the news organizations, chilling. A CNN crew happened to have been embedded on the USS Ronald Reagan and were pretty much broadcasting around the clock, the talking heads speculating as to why his country had reignited a conflict thought long over.
The Soviet-Japanese War, a forgotten war that had started after the surrender. Part of World War Two, yet not.
A precursor of what was to become the Cold War.
And now a powder keg about to ignite the next great war.
Unless he could somehow prevent it.
His Russian counterpart glared at him, slamming his fist on the table, the glasses and flower arrangements bouncing. “My government makes the same demand!” He held out a hand, lowering his voice suddenly. “We are willing to withdraw as a goodwill gesture, with the understanding you will do the same.” He smiled slightly, it lacking any hallmarks of a sincere one. “Let this be settled at the negotiation table, among civilized men.”
Sasaki said nothing, stifling his desire to suggest to the room that the only reason this offer was on the table was because of the pasting their navy had just taken, and the fact they were afraid of a true conflict with the Americans.
As he waited to speak, the crimson in the rotund man’s cheeks increased as his rage built with the continued silence.
Sasaki finally spoke. “Not until what was taken from us is returned.”
Maksimov leaned back in his chair, displaying his open palms. “It is my understanding that the items in question have been stolen.”
Etsuko gasped, Sasaki holding out a hand under the table, touching her arm in an attempt to remind her of her duty to remain emotionless. It was a shock to him as well. A stunning revelation. It was at least confirmation that the Russians had the relics, though if they were stolen, had would be the right word. It at the very least meant the existence of the relics had been communicated to Moscow, his ploy of the open broadcast having worked.
Yet now they were stolen.
Stolen!
“Stolen? By who?”
Maksimov batted away the question with a flick of his wrist. “Who, is of no importance. Be assured we are in pursuit of the criminals.” There was a pause, the first time the man appeared uncomfortable, Maksimov shifting in his chair. “There, however, remains a chance that we may not recover them.” Etsuko stifled another gasp, Sasaki’s jaw clenching. “In fact, they may even have been destroyed.”
Sasaki felt the indignant rage build from within, his cheeks flushing, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He glared at the man across from him. “Then, sir, I fear there may be no hope.” He gripped his chair tighter, his knuckles turning white. “War may be inevitable.”
Maksimov pursed his lips, meeting Sasaki’s gaze, probably trying to ascertain whether there was a bluff to be called here. If the Americans hadn’t so vigorously defended themselves just minutes ago, prompting the urgent call from the Russians for a new meeting, there would indeed have been a bluff to call. At least one worth calling, there no way the Japanese Navy could defeat the Russian Pacific Fleet.
Yet things had changed.
Dramatically.
“You would go to war over these relics?”
Sasaki nodded.
“I’ve been briefed on what they are. Your people have been lied to for decades. Why not continue the lie and save your country?”
Sasaki met the man’s gaze. “It is a matter of honor.”
A burst of air revealed the derision Maksimov felt for the word, a reaction Sasaki would expect from a posturing, arrogant fool. “Honor? Honor! You would go to war over honor? The very idea is ludicrous!”
Sasaki clamped down on his cheek with his teeth, controlling the reaction he so wanted to deliver as the tirade of disrespect continued.
And with each word, each insult, it proved to him just how desperate the Russians were to get out of the situation in which they found themselves. Their economy was collapsing. With the drop in oil prices and the economic sanctions due to the Ukraine situation, they no longer had the money to rebuild their military at the pace they had set for themselves, and
they certainly didn’t have the money for a sustained conflict that could see billions of rubles sent to the bottom of the ocean.
And it also proved to him that the Russians definitely didn’t have the Imperial Regalia in their possession anymore, otherwise they’d turn them over.
“How can you possibly justify so many deaths over a matter of honor!”
Sasaki waited to make certain the onslaught of insults was over.
It was, the big man huffing on the other side of the table, his face red, beads of sweat on his forehead. He reached for a drink, Sasaki waiting for him to put the glass down so there would be no excuse for the man not to respond, should he feel the desire.
“When my people thought the Imperial Regalia were lost, they had assumed they were lost to the sands of time, to one day be recovered so none would be the wiser. We had faith in our gods and in our emperor. It was a lie or a deception in your mind, a necessity in ours, for the times after the war demanded stability, consistency, and to admit their loss may have sent our people into a spiral of despair rather than the vibrant renewal we did experience. Japan is what it is today because of the lie told back then.
“But now, with this new truth known, that not only were they not lost, but instead the men sent to protect them slaughtered illegally by your soldiers, my government can no longer standby and allow this atrocity to go unchallenged. And to add insult to the injury inflicted upon my people seventy years ago, you now have the unmitigated gall to not only confiscate but lose these relics our people hold so dear. These actions, both then and now, are unforgivable in our leaders’ eyes.”
Maksimov had remained remarkably quiet, though his response was delivered with a cold finality. “Then your leaders will die.”
A slight smile emerged on Sasaki’s face. “Don’t be so confident, sir. I have just received reports, as I’m sure you have, that your navy took a beating from not only our ships, but the Americans.”
Raging Sun (A James Acton Thriller, #16) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 20
