and ask questions later. Explanations took time, and sometimes a few
seconds made the difference between life and death.
“Altitude, now!” Eel insisted. “Just shut the fuck up and-”
The black cylinder nestled among the chunks of ice moved, shortening
in length as the deadly firing end pointed directly at them. He stared at
it with horrified fascination. The heat-seeking warhead carried enough
explosive power to knock the wing off a P-3, or to seriously damage an
engine. Even if the aircraft managed to stay airborne, what might be a
minor mechanical problem or minor battle damage in these climates could
soon turn deadly. He stared at the missile launcher, trying not to think
of the barely liquid water beneath them. If they went in–no, he couldn’t
think about that. They were as good as dead if they had to ditch the
aircraft. In these waters, they wouldn’t even stay conscious long enough
to escape the sinking airplane. They would be unconscious and drowning
before they could reach the hatch.
“Flares!” he shouted. “Flares, chaff, and altitude–now,” he ordered.
The angle on the deck steepened as the P-3 fought for altitude. The
range on the Stinger missile was only three miles. Three miles, and
Pathfinder 731 was well within those parameters.
1628 Local
Aflu
“He’s seen us!” The Spetsnaz commander stood, hefting the missile
easily on his shoulder. “No other choice, now.”
“Stop it!” Rogov struggled to his feet, wondering when the ability to
move so quickly had left him. “Didn’t you see the tail markings? That’s
an American aircraft.” He put one hand on the rugged missile barrel.
“So?” The Spetsnaz commander bore-sighted the aircraft, trapping its
tail end easily in the cross-hairs of the simple scope. “If she gets a
report back to her base, our mission is blown.”
“No! If you shoot down that aircraft, there’s no chance. Do you
think the Americans would let that go unavenged?”
The Spetsnaz commander shrugged, barely moving the missile off its
target. “It is already compromised beyond recovery if they’ve seen us.
You failed to follow my advice in this matter.”
“You agreed with posting the sentries. You insisted on it,” Rogov
shouted.
“Yes, but I also said that they should return to the cave if contact
were gained. You ignored that. No, this is all your fault.”
Rogov saw the man’s finger curl around the firing trigger as he braced
himself for the recoil. “No!” he shouted. As the Spetsnaz’s finger
tightened, Rogov slammed his fist down on the top of the tube.
The Spetsnaz commander was quick, but not as quick as the missile. As
the tube started its downward arc, the missile left out, quickly gaining
speed. Before it could recover from its initial firing vector, and begin
seeking out the heat source that had called to it so sweetly just moments
before, it impacted the barren ice and snow below. The fireball explosion
blasted both men.
“You fool!” The Spetsnaz commander tossed the empty tube away, murder
in his eyes. “The rest of the missiles are in the cavern. There is no
time-” His voice broke off suddenly as he saw the pistol in Rogov’s hand.
“There are many chances, Comrade,” Rogov said sarcastically. “You had
yours–now, I’m afraid, we’ll have to do things my way.”
The Spetsnaz commander moved swiftly, almost blurring in Rogov’s
vision. But he’d been prepared for that. At the first movement, he fired,
aiming not for the head but taking the more certain gut shot.
The Spetsnaz commander howled as the 9mm bullet gouged out a bloody
path through skin, muscle, and vital organs. The impact spun him around,
and he finally fell to the ice, on his back, leaving a trail of spattered
blood behind him.
His guts steamed, and blood pooled quickly over the parka, freezing
almost immediately. Rogov watched the color drain from the man’s face. He
was tough, he would give him that. The Spetsnaz commander, even with half
of his midsection in shredded tatters, was trying to climb to his feet,
reaching for his weapon, still fighting despite the soon-to-be-fatal shot.
Rogov watched him, unwilling to get too near the man while even a
trace of life remained in the body. He saw the man fumble in his pocket