“No time for tricks, Carrie. Kill these bastards now before they wipe us all out. And the explosion plan failed.”
“Repeat your last,” Carrie said. “Did you say it failed?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Got it,” Carrie replied. “Did you send the snowmobile to extract them?”
“Kind of. Don’t know if Amaruq made it.”
Carrie swallowed hard before breaking the bad news to him. “Justin, he didn’t make it. I saw the sled crash into a snowbank and almost fall into a crevasse.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“And the driver? Amaruq?”
“I didn’t see him, but I’m getting closer. Let me take another look.”
The Seahawk circled at about two hundred feet. Carrie tapped a few controls, pointing the camera and zooming in on the snowmobile.
“Wait a second,” she shouted. “Justin, I think he’s alive. This guy, he’s alive.”
Amaruq found it impossible to tell whether his dizzy head was spinning around or his body was still rolling on the ground. In any case, he drove his hands deep into the snow, scrapping the ice layer underneath, desperately searching for something to cling on and stop his fall. The burning pain coming from his arm did little to deter his efforts. He grabbed at the edge of a rock jutting above the ice and stopped sliding.
He stayed there, lying on his back, staring at the gray clouds in the sky. A minute or two passed, as Amaruq tried to catch his breath. He noticed a bloody slush around his right elbow by the bullet wound. His left glove was missing, and his fingers were already beginning to suffer the frostbite. At least I’m alive. But where exactly am I?
He stuck his head up after brushing snowflakes and ice chunks off his face. The crevasse was about two feet to his right.
“I barely missed it,” he mumbled, wondering about the depth of the pit.
A couple of bullets landed within arm’s reach. Their screech helped Amaruq by pointing him in the right direction. He crawled to his left and saw Kiawak’s Toyota, less than thirty feet down the hill.
“Kiawak,” he shouted, as he began crawling toward them. “Kiawak, Kiawak.”
“Amaruq? What are you doing here?” Kiawak’s voice was so feeble Amaruq wondered whether it was his imagination or he really heard Kiawak’s words.
“I’m saving your sorry ass,” he replied. “Since no one else was willing to take the job.”
“Good for them. Is Joe out of this hellhole?”
“No, they’re waiting for you to light the fuses.”
A bullet slammed against the side rail of the truck.
“It’s over, Amaruq. Let’s get out of here.”
“What about the explosion?”
“It’s over, get it? My freaking leg it’s broken. Sam’s dead, Nilak’s dead.”
Amaruq stared at Kiawak. A pool of blood had gathered around his left side. Iluak sobbed next to his brother’s body.
“You’ll be fine.” Amaruq reached to give Iluak a reassuring pat on his shoulders. The man’s empty stare showed he was transported to another reality. “Both of you are going to be fine. I’ll get you out of here. I wonder if the truck’s still working.”
“You’re not touching my truck.”
“I have to. I’ve got to finish setting the explosives.”
“No, it’s not gonna work. You’ll get yourself killed.”
“Oh, shut up! I’ve heard that enough for one day. Nothing bad will happen to me.”
“You’re already bleeding like a walrus.” Kiawak pointed at Amaruq’s arm.
“Flesh wound, nothing big. But, if Joe and I don’t set off the charges, we’ll still have to deal with these Danes.”
A few metallic thuds against the truck confirmed his words. Amaruq slid into the trench dug by Kiawak and Iluak.
“How many more are left?” Amaruq asked.
“You’re drunk, man,” Kiawak replied. “How can you—”
“What? Save your ass while drunk? I don’t know. You tell me, since it was your whisky that gave me the courage to drive from Nanisivik.”
“Courage was not the word I had in mind.”
“Whatever it was, don’t say it, unless it’s ‘thank you.’ How many more explosives are left?”
“Twelve sticks for three charges.”
“How far apart?”
“Fifty feet.”
“Is the truck stalled?”
“No, it shouldn’t be. I hit the ice block when I got shot. You’ll have some trouble backing it out.”
“If I drive down, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“Don’t forget to double-check the wires. I’ve already placed the caps on the dyno sticks. At the end, once you’re ready, give Joe the signal with the flare gun. You know how to use that, right?”
“Yes, you know I do.”
“Just making sure. Take care, old wolf. Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I won’t.”
Amaruq peeked from underneath the rear tire. He waited for a few seconds, glided over the ice and pushed himself up. At first, he clung onto the truck step then climbed up and reached the driver’s seat.
“I can’t believe I’m letting you drive my baby especially now that it’s full of explosives.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t make a dent.”
A bullet skimmed over the hood of the truck at that same instant.
“See,” Amaruq said with a grin. “What was I saying? I won’t make a dent.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Carrie held her left thumb over the firing button of the Seahawk machine gun as she flew over the front lines of the Danish troops and gave them a fierce pounding. The helicopter completed a daring descent over the runway. She brought up the Seahawk to escape any backlash from the troops her onslaught had spared. Several metal-on-metal clunks came from underneath the helicopter. The Seahawk was hit. Flying instruments issued no warnings about any noticeable damage. Time to bring out the big guns. Carrie smiled.
She leveled the Seahawk at a thousand feet. The Twin Otter was far behind over the airstrip. Carrie surveyed the Danish troops for the place where a Hellfire missile would cause the most casualties. There was some movement at the center of the vanguard, a few men pressing ahead. She tapped a couple of switches, calibrating the missile for air-to-ground combat. Entering a series of numbers, she set the striking coordinates for the laser-guided weapon. Then, she flipped a switch to the right of the throttle.
“May God have mercy on their souls,” she muttered and pressed the missile launch button.
The missile screamed as it whooshed off the left launcher of the weapons pylon. A dense cloud of white smoke swallowed the underside of the helicopter. The missile tore the sky’s veil with its orange glowing trajectory. Less than a second later, the Hellfire missile stabbed right through the heart of the Danish camp. The blast fragmentation warhead exploded with a hailstorm of metal shrapnel, brash ice, and rock fragments, scattering everything outward in a wide ring of death. The missile blew a large crater in the ice sheet — about fifty feet wide — as well as many smaller pockets. Nothing seemed to be moving around the explosion site.
Before Carrie could savor her success, two electronic alerts beeped throughout the Seahawk’s cabin. She grasped the throttle, jerking the helicopter upwards, before glancing at the control system.
“Crap,” she shouted.
The tail rotor had taken a hit.
One of the crossbeam blades was clipped severely, and the rotor shaft was also damaged according to the control panel instruments. Once the tail rotor blades stopped spinning, the Seahawk’s airborne balance was at risk. There was nothing else left in the helicopter to counteract the torque force of the main rotor. The Seahawk would pinwheel its way to a crash because of its downward yaw movement.