CARRIER 9: ARCTIC FIRE By: Keith Douglass

other important characteristic–his Cossack blood.

Did the Russians even suspect? Rogov wondered. No, they

couldn’t–wouldn’t. It would not occur to them that there could be

loyalties stronger than to Mother Russia at work within the military,

especially not in the prestigious Spetsnaz ranks. But the Cossacks had

preserved their ancient warrior ways, remembering their heritage from

Ukraine and gentler climates even during the centuries of their forced

resettlement to frigid Mongolia. While their Russian masters grudgingly

treasured those racial characteristics that had earned the Cossacks their

fearsome reputation for savagery, filling the ranks of their hardened shock

troops with Members of the tribe, they never fully accepted the COSSaCks.

Nor returned the land stolen from them so long ago.

No matter, Rogov decided. If this mission succeeded there would be no

turning back. The Cossacks would earn–take by force, if necessary–their

rightful place as masters of their continent.

Clad in heavy parkas and winter gear, carrying bulky packs on their

backs, the Spetsnaz Cossacks barely made it through the narrow hatch. The

conning tower was crowded now, and reeked of the submarine’s stench.

“Your men are ready?” Rogov asked.

The Spetsnaz commander took in a deep breath of the fresh air, his

smile deepening. “Spetsnaz is always ready, COmrade.” He looked out at

the distant island, then down at the bobbing raft. “A challenge–our

specialty.”

“Then no more delays. Let’s get underway.”

The submarine captain motioned to the young sailor. The man clambered

out carefully, reaching for the steel-runged ladder attached to the side of

the submarine. As his one hand closed over the first ice-covered rung, a

wave slammed into the submarine, rolling it away from the man.

With his balance already committed to the move, he didn’t have a

chance, He teetered for a second on the edge of the raft, leaned forward,

and almost caught himself on the rope that ran through on steel loops

outside of the raft. His hand closed on it briefly.

The submarine captain slapped the man standing next to him on the back

and shouted to be heard over the rising wind. The lookout nodded and

started down the ladder to assist his shipmate.

Before he’d moved down two rungs, hypothermia claimed the other

sailor’s consciousness. His hand clenched on the ice-coated rope, then

relaxed. A wave washed over his head, and the suction from the submarine’s

seawater intake valves pulled him away from the raft.

The lookout stopped two rungs down and looked back up to his captain,

stricken. The captain motioned him to return to the conning tower. Trying

to retrieve the dead sailor’s body would be an impossible task in the

freezing waters of the North Pacific.

Rogov turned to the Spetsnaz commander, “A reminder.”

“We know our job.” The Spetsnaz reached for the first steel rung and

pulled himself over the side of the submarine. He paused, his head just

above the level of the conning tower. “Be careful, Comrade Colonel. There

are things here more dangerous than the ocean.”

Rogov grunted. “Such as!”

“Me.” The Spetsnaz commander took one hand off the ladder to motion

to his companions. “And them.”

Rogov impaled him with a look colder than the frigid air swirling

about them. “There are some things more powerful than muscle and bone,” he

said softly. “You would be wise not to forget that.”

The Spetsnaz commander shrugged, then started down the ladder. As he

entered the small raft, he looked back up at Rogov, “But where we’re going,

Comrade Colonel,” he continued, pointing at the barren island behind him,

“I think you’ll find that that’s what matters.”

Tomcat 201

15,000 feet

South of Aflu Island, Aleutians

Lieutenant Curt “Bird Dog” Robinson scowled at the ocean, the sky, and

the clear hard plastic aircraft canopy Overhead. From this altitude, he

should have been able to see a fair stretch of the Aleutians stretched out

beneath him. The island chain, formed from volcanic activity eons ago as

the tectonic plates of the earth shifted in their Slow Orbits, jutted up

from the Pacific ocean, Stretching from the southwestern tip of Alaska to

the eastern edge of Russia. Earlier today, during a rare moment when the

weather had cleared, he’d been able to see most of the United States’

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