The Russian Defector

by Ethan Jones

  At least, in theory.

  Justin drew in a deep breath, his lungs barely filled with mostly fumes, some soot, and very little oxygen. He coughed, trying to stand still. He remembered the sharp end of a bolt just two inches in front of his face. The truck had dropped into a deep pothole about five minutes ago, and Justin had slid forward. The sharp end had pricked his forehead, and blood trickled from the wound.

  His mind went to the next stage of the operation, if they made it that far. They had been able to place a couple of 60mm mortars and ten rounds underneath their feet, in a separate compartment Ihor’s friend used to smuggle contraband. There were also three rocket-propelled grenades and nine rounds, along with their rifles and ammo. Depending on the attitude of the guards at the checkpoint, Ihor’s friend might tell them about the weapons. Most likely, they’d ask for an extra bribe, which Justin was prepared to pay.

  The rest of their equipment was with Ava’s team. They were traveling along a separate road, since they were Russians, and that made them immune to most checkpoints and interrogations, to a certain extent. Justin had told Ava about the missile’s location. She had promised to keep it to herself, since she wasn’t ready to fully trust her team. If there was a turncoat, sooner or later he’d find out, because they’d pass by the second potential location, the village near the front line. But the traitor wouldn’t know about the details of the planned attack. Ava hadn’t told her team, and had no intention of doing so. She’d also make sure no one made or received any phone calls once they were beyond the point of no return.

  Justin sighed as his body shook with the truck’s vibrations. He thought he felt the truck slowing down, but he wasn’t sure if they had come to a roadblock, or there was a huge pothole in the road. He braced for impact, but the truck slowed down even further, then rolled to a stop on the side of the road.

  The engine quit.

  “What’s going on?” Carrie whispered.

  “I think it’s the rebels. Let’s be quiet.”

  He drew in a small breath through his nostrils. The fuel fumes were getting to him, and he felt light-headed. He moved his head slightly to the right and looked through the small pinhole. A tiny blue dot. The sky. You’ll be out soon, Justin. Now stay calm and still. Very still.

  Loud angry voices came from outside, followed by the truck’s doors opening. Heavy thuds hitting the ground—the rest of the team jumping out of the cab. The truck’s doors closed with bangs. More shouting and footsteps growing louder.

  Justin held his breath and listened. At first, the voices were muffled, the words scrambled. He strained his ear and heard an angry, raspy voice, “Is that all you have in there, just gasoline?”

  Ihor replied, “We told you, it’s gas—”

  “He wasn’t asking you, so shut up,” said a rough voice.

  Heavy thumps followed over what crunched like gravel or crushed stone.

  Ihor’s friend said, “We have a few weapons, like we said—”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “Mortars, RPGs, and AKs.”

  “Is that everything?”

  “And ammo, of course.”

  “Ammo for everything?”

  “Yes.”

  The two rebels said something Justin didn’t understand. He leaned slowly to his left, placing his ear against the tank’s metal wall.

  “We’ll search the tank. Get the keys.”

  A moment of hesitation, then Ihor’s friend said, “Sure, just give me a moment.”

  Justin wanted to whisper to Carrie, to let her know what was about to happen, since she didn’t speak Russian. It wasn’t necessary. The lengthy stop was self-explanatory. He just reached out for her hand.

  Carrie gave it a tight squeeze.

  It was all they could do to comfort each other.

  Chapter Twenty- seven

  Rebel Checkpoint

  Donetsk People’s Republic

  Grating noises came from above his head that resembled fingernails scratching on a blackboard. Justin bit his lip as someone—most likely Ihor’s friend or maybe Ihor—climbed the ladder on the side of the tank and opened the hatch at the top. The rusty hinges produced more skin-crawling grindings, and Justin almost stopped breathing.

  “That’s enough. Get down. Quick,” said a new voice, angrier than the first two rebels.

  Justin looked at Carrie. He couldn’t see her, but he felt he was doing something useful.

  She held tight onto his hand.

  Another man climbed the ladder with difficulty, considering the banging of his boots, at a slower pace than the first climber. Nothing was heard for a few tense moments, other than someone coughing, followed by indistinct chatter.

  Then Justin heard a click, as if someone had flicked on a switch. Flashlight , he thought. A couple of banging noises came from behind him. They sounded like they were coming at different levels, accompanied by oil sloshing. Then there was a metal-on-metal grating, as if someone was checking the tank with a long metal pole.

  Everything went quiet, then the voice said, “Nothing here, boss.”

  “Get down then,” the boss said.

  Justin nodded. It was the same voice that had asked if there was nothing in the tank but gasoline. “Now, open up this one.” A loud banging came from Carrie’s side.

  “Eh, what? Why?” Ihor’s friend said.

  “Because I’m asking you.” The boss spat out the words slowly. Menace was clear in his razor-sharp voice.

  “There’s nothing there, chief, just cables and hoses,” Ihor’s friend said.

  “This is a waste of time,” Petro said.

  “Was I talking to you, huh?” the chief said.

  “No,” Petro said. “But I was saying—”

  “Shut up, just shut up, and follow orders. Or you’ll be sorry. All of you. Now, open up the compartment.”

  Jingling of keys, then more grinding sounds. Someone opened the compartment, then Ihor’s friend said, “There, it’s open.”

  The voice sounded much closer, since there was only three millimeters of steel separating the man from Justin. He opened his eyes wide, but he still couldn’t see anything. Deep blackness surrounded him on all sides. The light trickling in from the pinholes remained the same.

  Someone climbed into the small gap between the tank and the truck’s cab.

  Justin heard a rubbing sound, as if someone was running their hand along the internal sides of the compartment. His body tensed. That’s where the panel was bolted to the rest of the tank. If the rebels believed the area had been tampered with, that would be the end.

  “Did you just fix this?” the boss asked.

  His voice rang so near that Justin felt the boss was standing on the other side of the compartment. He was now maybe three or four inches at the most from Justin’s face.

  “Yes, replaced the hose and the broken gauge,” said Ihor’s friend.

  “You must have also rebolted it, right?”

  “Eh, yes, I had to, so I could reach behind—”

  “What’s behind?”

  “Nothing. It’s just two inches of space, barely enough to put your hand in.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yes. Like all fuel tanks…”

  “So, what will happen if I fire through here?”

  A metal tap, followed by a weapon’s cocking.

  The boss must have placed the muzzle of his pistol against the compartment wall.

  Without making the slightest noise, Justin slid his body and his head as close to the right as he could, away from the source of the noise. He gently brushed Carrie’s hand, hoping that would be the clue for her to do the same with her body. He doubted they’d survive a volley of gunshots, but they might be lucky enough to dodge a round or two.

  Ihor’s friend said, “If you fire, we’ll have a mess… The fuel will leak.”

  “That’s your problem.” The boss again tapped the gun against the compartment’s wall.

  “Okay,” Ihor’s friend s
aid.

  Dead silence for a long moment, which to Justin felt like an eternity.

  The boss uncocked his pistol and said, “Get out of my face. Right now!”

  Justin didn’t dare to heave a sigh of relief. He drew in a shallow breath, then another, as the compartment was locked. He reached for Carrie’s hand and found it trembling and cold. He steadied it as he held it tight.

  A series of muffled sounds from outside told Justin that they were getting ready to leave. Someone closed the hatch, then the truck growled and began to rumble. Justin welcomed the ear-splitting bursts, and held his breath while a new series of diesel fumes filled the compartment. But they were on the move. And soon, they’d be out of this quagmire…

  * * *

  “Did you let them go? Did you just let them go?” Tiana couldn’t help but explode at the chief of a dozen or so guards manning the checkpoint. She had been informed that about ten minutes ago a fuel truck with three Ukrainians, loaded with mortars and RPGs, had just passed along this route.

  “Yes, and don’t use that tone with me,” the chief replied in almost the same livid tone.

  Elmir, who was standing by Tiana’s right side, stepped forward. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

  A half a dozen men were spread out behind Tiana. Their rifles were pointed down, to avoid a direct confrontation with the chief’s men. When they heard Elmir’s voice, at least a couple of them tightened their fingers around their rifles.

  “I don’t care,” the chief said. “No one comes here and disrespects me in front of my men.”

  “Disrespect you?” Tiana pursed her lips. “That’s what you’re worried about? We have an infiltration of enemy troops. Do you understand that?”

  “I had no reason to stop that truck.”

  “You don’t need a reason. They were suspicious enough. Three men smuggling weapons and fuel, right under your noses.”

  The chief shrugged. “Not good enough.”

  “Did you get a bribe?”

  The chief shook his head. “How dare you come here and—”

  Tiana stepped closer to him. They were now maybe two feet away from each other. “I’m not accusing you,” she said in a calm tone. “I’m asking a simple question: Did you take money to let them go?”

  The chief hesitated for a split second. “Of course not. I didn’t. You can ask them, if you don’t believe me.”

  Tiana looked around at the faces of the men behind the chief, who also turned his head and scanned their faces. She wasn’t expecting anyone to come out and accuse their chief of taking a bribe and lying about it. Not here; not to his face.

  She shrugged, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.

  The chief gave her a puzzled glance. “Who are you calling?”

  “You’ll find out soon.”

  The man she had called replied after the second ring. He was the commander of the local militia, and Tiana had warned him about a potential enemy squad crossing the front line. The commander had vowed to ensure all his men stayed vigilant at all times. “Yes, commander,” Tiana said, “it seems we have a situation here.”

  She explained to him what had happened, and the commander demanded to talk to the checkpoint chief. He listened for a moment, then tried to object, but without much success. He listened, and tried again to interject, but the commander cut him off again. After a short conversation, he handed back the phone to Tiana. A look of anger and disappointment darkened his face.

  She cocked her head to Elmir. It was the signal for him to keep an eye on the enraged chief.

  “Yes,” she said after taking the phone from the chief. “Sure, yes. We’ll go on now.”

  She ended the call and looked at the chief. He had turned his back to her and was talking to a couple of his men. “Let’s go,” she said to Elmir.

  “What did the commander say?” he asked when they were close to their vehicles.

  “He’s no longer chief.”

  Elmir nodded. “He deserved more.”

  “That’s enough, for now. I’m sure he’ll make another mistake, and that will cost him his life.”

  “How far are the Canadians?”

  “A few kilometers. We’ll catch up to them. We know which way they took, and we know where they’re going…”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Ten Kilometers East of the Rebel Checkpoint

  Donetsk People’s Republic

  Ihor had stopped the fuel truck as soon as they were out of sight of the rebel checkpoint. They had unbolted the electrical panel and let Justin and Carrie out. Apart from being slightly unnerved by the extremely close call, they were all right. A breath of fresh air was all they needed to regain their courage.

  They stretched their numb bodies, then Justin called Ava and gave her a situation report. He informed her about their checkpoint ordeal. Ava warned him that the next checkpoint would be difficult. She had heard on the radio that the rebels were looking for a Ukrainian group of ragtag volunteer soldiers who had crossed the front line. Soon, the entire separatists’ army would be looking for them.

  Back in the compartment, the fumes and the cramped space didn’t feel so bad. Justin thought it was because he knew it would soon be over. They couldn’t be more than ten, fifteen minutes at the most from the Lugapol military base. Ihor would have to find the remotest routes to avoid as many checkpoints as he could.

  Justin drew in a deep breath as he estimated it had been about five minutes since they had resumed their trip. He was feeling good about the infiltration, confident that the plan would work. Ten minutes, another ten minutes, that’s all.

  He would soon find out he was wrong.

  A minute or so had passed, and the fuel truck began to slow down, then rolled to a stop.

  Justin frowned. “Another checkpoint?” he whispered to Carrie.

  “Already? I thought Ihor was avoiding them…”

  “Maybe he didn’t know about this…”

  The sound of rushing footsteps came toward them, then the compartment door slid open with its now-familiar, bone-rattling screech. Before Justin could tense and slow his breathing, Ihor shouted, “It’s us, don’t worry.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Ava called. Bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  Ihor didn’t respond. Instead, he began to remove the panel using a cordless drill. In less than a couple of minutes, he removed the metal cover. “A checkpoint up ahead. They know about us.”

  Before Justin could say anything, Petro said, “And they’re rushing toward us. Two Jeeps.” He pointed up ahead. The narrow road meandered through a field, then came around a hill. The vehicles were not visible yet.

  Justin said, “Let’s meet them.”

  Ihor unlocked the weapons compartment. Justin retrieved a rocket-propelled grenade launcher and screwed one of the projectiles to the front of the weapon. He slung an AK rifle over his shoulders, and took the bag with two more projectiles. “Ready?” he said to Carrie.

  “Always.” She cocked her AK.

  Ihor had taken a grenade launcher as well.

  Petro was holding a light machine gun and had aimed it at the point where the Jeeps were going to appear at any moment. He ran to the side of the road and stretched himself over the scraggly grass. He placed the weapon on its bipod and cocked it.

  “Where’s your friend?” Justin asked Ihor.

  “Still in the cab.”

  “Get him out of there.”

  “He knows what to do…”

  Ihor’s friend stepped out of the passenger side of the truck. He was brandishing an AK, and he took a knee near the truck’s hood, next to Carrie.

  “See?” Ihor smiled.

  “This way,” Justin said.

  They hurried to the left. Ihor remained next to the truck, while Justin secured a position near a couple of shrubs. He pointed the rocket launcher up ahead and waited for the targets.

  The first Jeep appeared around the hillside. A gunman was
standing up through the roof behind a heavy machine gun. Justin judged the distance to be about a hundred yards, so he pulled the launcher’s trigger.

  There was a flash of bright orange light, and the grenade screamed through the cold, twilight air, leaving behind a trail of gray smoke. It slammed right into the Jeep, which erupted into a huge fireball. Parts of the vehicle were thrown to all sides.

  The hood of the second Jeep came into view before Justin could reload his launcher. A gunner stood up tall behind a heavy machine gun mounted atop the roof and protected by steel plates.

  Ihor fired his weapon. His grenade cut a sharp, straight trail, but it struck the other Jeep’s burning hulk. The second Jeep slowed down as it came to the first one. Before the gunner had a chance to open fire, both Petro and Carrie fired their weapons.

  Their bullets lifted sparks from the protective plates, but the gunner was able to return fire. A second gunman fired an automatic rifle from one of the rear side windows.

  By this time, Justin’s launcher was ready. He shouldered it and fired at the Jeep. The projectile whooshed to the left of the burning skeleton and struck the back of the target. The impact threw the gunner off the Jeep. The second gunman was engulfed in flames, which began to swallow up the vehicle. He jumped out and fell to the ground, waving his arms, trying to quench the flames.

  Petro, or Carrie—Justin couldn’t tell—fired a mercy round into him, ending his torment.

  The second Jeep rolled for another six feet or so, then stopped. Tall flames enveloped it, and thick, black smoke began to veil it from Justin’s view.

  Justin had barely reloaded his launcher when a couple of gunmen appeared at the top of the hill. “Shooters, ten o’clock,” he shouted.

  One of the gunmen was carrying a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. He aimed it at the fuel truck.

  “RPG, RPG, incoming!” Justin shouted and threw himself to the ground.

  Carrie fired a few rounds, but her bullets missed the gunman wielding the rocket-launcher.

  She rolled away from the fuel truck just as the grenade hissed over their head. It hit the side of the fuel tank, causing a gigantic explosion. Tongues of flame shot up from all directions, and fiery metal fragments rained over the entire area.