Arctic Wargame jh-1

by Ethan Jones

  Justin felt Kiawak’s feeble hand resting on his shoulder. “This hunter, Justin, one of my best friends, saved my life and rescued Tania from the claws of death. He’s a great defender of our people. He will never abandon his own. Now that our freedom is once again threatened by the white men coming from across the Great Waters, our only reaction is to take up our arms to fight. We need to unite. We need to be one, in our goal and in our mind. Just as a single man leads his group during a hunt, so shall we go into our battle and return victorious. We will fight and win this battle. Every one of us, all of us, will join the fight.”

  Kiawak’s last words, shouted in a strong, loud voice, brought the expected reaction. People applauded, some in tears of joy and some in cheerful cries. A few young men raised clenched fists, waving them in the air.

  “Thank you, Kiawak,” Justin whispered, shaking Kiawak’s hand.

  “No, thank you, my friend. If it weren’t for your determination, I would have been dead.”

  “Determination? Some people would call it craziness.”

  “Not me, Justin. I call it what it really is.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Twenty-five thousand feet over Baffin Island, Canada

  April 14, 07:00 a.m.

  The cockpit of the C-130J Super Hercules felt warmer and Gunter ordered the pilot to turn the temperature down. The glass-enclosed cabin provided ample room for five people. In addition to the second pilot, Magnus and Yuliya sat next to Gunter behind the pilots. Valgerda had been assigned to the cargo compartment, along with one hundred and fifty combat troops. The contingent was almost a hundred men short from the original plan. Alisha’s unavailability and Smirnov’s paranoia had reduced the front unit to the bare minimum.

  “We’re flying over Pond Inlet, sir,” the pilot informed Gunter, who kept fiddling with his BlackBerry Bold.

  “Ehe.” He nodded. He squinted in order to read the small inscription on one of the screens of the aircraft’s control panel. The number, 137, showed the distance in miles from their destination, Nanisivik. “What’s our ETA?” he asked.

  “ETA is twenty-eight minutes, if we keep our current cruising speed of two hundred and fifty knots,” the pilot replied. “Plus five, ten minutes, depending on conditions at destination.”

  “Alisha’s pictures showed the runway at the Nanisivik airport as clear and suitable,” Yuliya said. “The meteo data confirm favorable conditions for landing.”

  Gunter nodded.

  Yuliya smiled at him. “Why don’t you give your wife a call, sir?” she asked.

  Gunter peered at her. “I called her earlier this morning, before leaving.” He did not say the words, but his eyes asked whether there had been a change in FSB’s one call a day policy.

  “Oh, I’m sure she would love to hear from you again,” Yuliya said. “Today’s the big day and once everything’s done—”

  “Then, I’ll call her when we land,” Gunter said. “We’ll do our job here perfectly, and then I’ll give her the good news.”

  “All right,” Yuliya said, exchanging a quick glance with Gunter.

  Magnus’s frown grew larger. He was supposed to be the chief of this operation, but Gunter and Yuliya were blindsiding him on every step. He had told Valgerda about the cold-blooded murder he witnessed in the barracks and how Yuliya, not Gunter, was in fact in charge of the Arctic Wargame. Magnus and Valgerda had agreed to watch each other’s back. They could no longer trust Gunter or Yuliya.

  Arctic Bay, Canada

  April 14, 7:20 a.m.

  Kiawak’s speech had revived the warrior spirit among Arctic Bay’s residents, and their response was overwhelmingly patriotic. Everyone, young and old, men and women, even children, wanted to take up arms and fight the Danish invasion. Justin and Kiawak were very selective in their recruitment and only enlisted those who could actually be of help in the nearing battle. Eventually, around one hundred people were loaded in half as many pickup trucks and Suburbans. They took anything that could be useful: coils of rope, shovels, boxes of dynamite and ammunition, and as many firearms as they could carry.

  As she stood inside the Health Center, Emily’s eyes followed the long convoy of the ragtag militia trailing south toward Victor Bay and then heading for Nanisivik. She moved away from the window and retreated to the kitchen for a warm drink. The coffee she made was bitter and weak, but steaming hot, which was the only thing she cared about. She blew gently on the cup and took another sip.

  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 like she was 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 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 her 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 the 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 the 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 their 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 stronger 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 was some paper shuffling 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.” The commander spaced his words equally, pronouncing them with a pause in between.

  “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 while 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 brought his walkie-talkie closer to his mouth, as he looked through the door of the Parting Waters door at Strathcona Sound. Carrie had taken him, Joe and a few other men aboard the Seahawk, 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 ‘em 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, but 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.

&
nbsp; “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 gust 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.