Arctic Storm Rising
- Автор: Браун Дейл
- Серия: Nick Flynn #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: William Morrow
- ISBN: 9780063015050
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «Arctic Storm Rising». Краткое содержание книги:
He looked up and saw the rest of the team filing into the dining room. Word that something was up had obviously gotten out fast. He supposed that wasn’t much of a surprise. All twelve of them were basically living in one another’s back pockets. Once the sun went down and temperatures plunged well below zero, their universe was essentially restricted to a small number of corridors and rooms. Certainly nobody sane had any incentive to go wandering off anywhere outside, even when they weren’t on duty. It was the closest thing to a long-duration submarine patrol that anyone not in the U.S. Navy could ever experience.
“What’s the word, sir?” one of them asked.
“As of this moment, we’re moving to DEFCON Three,” Flynn replied, “along with all other U.S. bases, ships, and air squadrons around the world. For some reason, our Russian friends have moved all of their own fighters, strike aircraft, strategic bombers, and SAM forces to full alert.”
“Holy shit,” Hynes said in amazement. “Are we at war?”
“Not as far as I know,” Flynn told him. He glanced down at the time stamp on the alert message they’d been sent. He grinned crookedly. “Well, at least we weren’t as of fifteen minutes ago.”
“That isn’t exactly comforting, Captain,” Hynes said.
Flynn shrugged. “I didn’t mean it to be, PFC.” He looked around the crowded dining area. “Anyway, as of now, y’all are just as much in the loop as I am.”
Effortlessly, Takirak shouldered his way through the group of suddenly nervous-looking soldiers and airmen. “What are your orders, sir?” he asked quietly. Alone of everyone, he seemed completely unfazed by the sudden turn of events.
Flynn nodded. “Glad you asked, Sergeant,” he said, forcing himself to sound confident and in command. “As a first step, I want you to take a six-man patrol out pronto and set up a chain of two-man observation posts somewhere between here and the west end of the island. Make sure you’ve got decent fields of fire to cover the open ground around this station.”
Takirak considered that. “It’s pretty cold out there right now, Captain. Around ten below zero. Four hours outside is the maximum time I’d recommend — unless we’re setting up camp.”
“We’ll rotate your team back inside after four hours,” Flynn assured him. “I’ll take over your OPs with the other half of the team for the next shift, while your guys get some hot food and rest. Then we’ll trade off again.”
“How long do you figure to keep this four-on, four-off rotation going?” the National Guard sergeant asked.
“However long it takes the geniuses in D.C. to pin down what the Russians are doing,” Flynn said. “If Moscow’s only running a big-assed readiness exercise, we ought to get the word to stand down pretty soon.”
“And if this isn’t just a drill?”
Flynn smiled thinly. “Then the weather will be the least of our problems, Sergeant.”
Takirak shot him an equally tight grin in response. “Point taken, sir.” He swung around and started jabbing fingers at some of the watching soldiers and airmen. “Hynes, Vucovich, Sanchez, Kim, and Boyd, you’re with me. You’ve got ten minutes to report back here in full cold weather gear, with your weapons and ammunition. So move!”
They scattered instantly, heading for their racks to grab their equipment and then struggle into multiple layers of clothing designed to protect them from extreme cold — everything from long underwear, Gore-Tex pants, and fleece jackets to thick parkas, balaclavas, goggles, boots, and gloves. Even a few days under the veteran NCO’s tutelage had taught them that “Takirak time” was precise. Ten minutes meant ten minutes and not a single second more, not unless you wanted to get seriously lit up in front of every other guy in the unit.
Flynn looked at the five men who were still left. “As for you guys, I suggest you grab some extra shut-eye while you can.” Slowly, Mitchell and the others drifted away, talking the situation over in low, worried-sounding voices.
When they were gone, Takirak lowered his voice and leaned closer to Flynn. “Just so I understand your thinking, sir, what’s the real purpose behind deploying these observation posts?”
“Meaning, have I gone loco and actually started believing that the Russians might attack this radar site with helicopters or paratroops, instead of lobbing a couple of cruise missiles our way?” Flynn said wryly.
Takirak nodded. “Something along those lines.”
“Then, no, I haven’t gone nuts. I see this as a casualty reduction measure,” Flynn told him very quietly. “If the shit really does hit the fan, this place is going to get blown to hell — and there won’t be a damned thing we can do to stop that from happening. But at least any of our guys posted outside will have a decent shot at coming through alive and unhurt.”
“Makes sense,” the older man said. He shrugged. “Well, anyway, this’ll be a good training opportunity for us.”
Flynn looked at him curiously. “You don’t think this alert could turn hot?”
“I suppose it could,” Takirak said slowly. Then he shook his head. “But I don’t see what the Russians would have to gain. Those men in Moscow aren’t fools. Why would they start a war now? Over what? And doing it by massing a bunch of their bombers and fighters in plain view like this? So we have plenty of warning? That’s nuts.”
Flynn raised an eyebrow. “What would your plan be, Andy?”
“Hell, Captain, I’d just smuggle a nuke into D.C. and set it off. Take out our top political and military leaders like that, without warning, and any war’s already halfway to being won.”
Flynn laughed. “I guess I should be glad you’re not on the Russian General Staff.”
“Who, me?” Takirak shook his head. “No, thanks. I have my hands full just keeping goofballs like Mitchell and Hynes squared away.”
“Amen to that, Sergeant,” Flynn agreed devoutly.
Twenty
Buried deep beneath the ground, the massive Sharapovo command bunker was roughly thirty-three kilometers southwest of the Kremlin, at the terminus of one of Russia’s secret subway tunnels. It was also sited within a few kilometers of Vnukovo International, the oldest of the four airports around Moscow. Depending on events, that proximity allowed the possibility of evacuating some of the five thousand high-ranking officials, military officers, assistants, and dependents inside the bunker to even more distant, and presumably, safer regions.
At the moment, however, further flight was the last thing on the mind of Russia’s president, Piotr Zhdanov. He was meeting with his closest military and political advisers inside a secure command center at the bunker’s lowest level. Thick armored doors and squads of armed guards sealed this chamber off from the rest of the complex. Even in ordinary times, only those with the very highest security clearance were ever admitted inside. That was true now more than ever.
As hours passed without any sign of the missing PAK-DA stealth bomber, guesses about its possible fate had grown increasingly wild. By now, analysts concluded, its fuel reserves must be exhausted. And yet, no cruise missiles had been launched at any cities or military installations in the United States, China, or Russia itself. Nor had there been any triumphant news flashes from Washington or Beijing announcing the defection of pilots flying Russia’s most advanced experimental aircraft. Now there was speculation by some that the bomber must have crashed somewhere, either accidentally or as an act of suicidal remorse by its traitorous crew. Others suggested that perhaps Major General Mavrichev, taken prisoner originally, had been able to break loose and bring the plane down in a final act of patriotic self-sacrifice.