“At least they didn’t shoot at us,” Nyurba said.
“Of course not. They think we’re friendlies.”
“What do we do?”
“See what happens next. Sniper One, Kurzin, do you copy?”
“Kurzin, Sniper One, affirmative.”
“Situation report.”
“Helicopters behaving as before.”
“Any sign they’ve seen you?” The four snipers were out in the open. Effectively invisible to other men on the ground who weren’t too close, they might still be noticed from the air if their camouflage wasn’t perfect, or they cast eye-catching shadows from the low sun.
“Negative…. Wait one. Two BTR-Seventies now arriving.”
“Confirmed. They passed us. What are they doing?”
“Wait one…. They’ve pulled up at the gate to the complex…. The gate system is opening…. One BTR has moved through the gate. It appears to be starting a roving patrol inside the complex. Six troops have dismounted from the other…. They’ve walked through the gate, and they appear to be reinforcing the guards.”
“What’s that BTR doing?”
“It’s…. Oh crap. It’s starting a roving patrol of the defoliated strip.”
“Sniper One, can all observers withdraw to the treeline?”
“Er, negative. If we move we’ll be seen from the air.”
“If you don’t move you’ll get run over.”
“We could trust to luck that the BTR misses us. The cleared zone is half a kilometer wide. Visibility from within that type of vehicle isn’t terrific.”
“Do you see silo crews being rotated?”
“Negative. No indication that new silo crews have arrived.”
“Wait one. Kurzin out.”
“Maybe they’re prepping the area,” Nyurba said, “and the fresh silo crews will come next. We can still set up our roadblock and waylay the crews and interrogate them.”
“Kurzin, Sniper One!”
“Sniper One, I said wait one.”
“Negative, negative. More troops have dismounted from BTR outside of gates. Troops are walking with vehicle as it proceeds. Troops are prodding underbrush with AK-Seventy-fours with fixed bayonets.”
“Shit.”
“Concur, sir,” Sniper One answered.
Kurzin turned to Nyurba. “Ideas?”
“It depends on what’s going on.”
“They’re searching for us is what’s going on.”
“Maybe not, sir. It could be Commodore Fuller’s trick with his decoy finally made its way through the Strategic Rocket Forces bureaucracy. They might be reacting to that, regionwide, not to specific information on us, here, now.”
“Days later?”
“It’s Russia, sir. Or maybe they just found Carter’s ice floe with the scars from spikes and mooring ropes.”
“Or spotted our tracks in the tundra, and all real units are accounted for.” Noise from the Hind-Fs emphasized his remark.
Nyurba blanched. “I don’t think new silo crews will come soon.” The on-duty crews, inside the bunkers, had food and water for thirty days. Time was definitely on the Russians’ side.
“All snipers, Kurzin, are any of you likely to be detected within one hour if you hold your present positions?”
“Kurzin, Sniper One, not sure.”
“Kurzin, Two, very risky, Colonel.”
“Kurzin, Three, one hour is touch and go.”
“Kurzin, Four, iffy, sir.”
“What should they do if they’re caught?” Nyurba asked. “Try to claim they’re part of the heightened security?”
Kurzin was fuming. “On their own? Suspicious Russians won’t buy it. Where did they come from? What unit and where’s the rest of it? Who’s their commander? Why were they there from well before this alert got sounded? If they’re guarding the complex, why are they all facing toward the complex? They can’t reveal themselves. And we need them to support our assault!”
“Understood, sir.”
“Kurzin, Sniper Three,” came over the headset in a barely audible whisper. “They just passed me. One guy’s bayonet missed my nose by an inch. They’re using a widening-box search pattern. Next go-round, they have me for sure.”
“All snipers, sit tight. We’ll take the pressure off you.” Kurzin shouted for the entire squadron to come out on the road. “Fix bayonets!” He told the men with grenade launchers clipped to their rifles to load dual-purpose high-explosive fragmentation grenades; unlike older AKs, the bayonet lug was to the right side of the Abakan’s muzzle, not underneath, so that bayonets and grenade launchers could be used at the same time.
“Uphill! Route-march formation! To the complex, now, run!”
Seventy-six commandos with their heavy packs and weapons began to charge up the road in a column, four abreast.
“Look sharp, for God’s sake,” Kurzin bellowed. “You’re supposed to be an elite! I want to see some arrogance!”
“Sir,” Nyurba gasped between heavy breaths at the head of the column, “what are your intentions?”
“We’re more reinforcements. Spetsnaz. For the complex.”
“On foot?”
“Our trucks broke down.”
“What trucks?”
“Let’s pray the Russians don’t ask until it’s too late.”
“What if a helicopter”—pant—“or a BTR”—pant—“goes looking for broken-down trucks?”
“What do you think?”
“They won’t know to”—pant—“before we arrive.”
“Therefore?”
“When we arrive”—pant—“we stop them from looking.”
“Good.” Kurzin halted abruptly, but waved for his men to keep going. “Squadron, Kurzin, contingency plan Khah is now in effect as rehearsed.” Khah was the Cyrillic letter X. “We lie and cheat and fight and blast our way in as best we can. Follow my lead and take cues from your officers. Out.” He ran faster than ever, then turned to Nyurba. “Issue your orders!”
Nyurba ran more slowly, to let each platoon pass him by, to address and steady them separately, and also to catch his breath. The men were younger than him, in better shape. Their boots thudded on the pavement; equipment jangled; backpacks bounced.
“Antitank rocketeers, up!” Nyurba shouted. “Antiaircraft missileers, up!” The preassigned men shouldered their AN-94s by the slings. They pulled long tubes from their packs, with aiming and trigger gear attached. Some had protruding, bulbous shaped-charge rocket warheads — reloadable RPG-27 Tavulgas. Other tubes had protective caps — disposable supersonic SA-16 Gimlets. They held these as their primary weapons, and blended in with the rest of the company rushing up the road.
The headquarters platoon, with the Air Force missile technicians and computer hacker specialists, came next to last for better protection — they were the least expendable men. The last platoon was rear guard. Nyurba double-checked that he could hear no engine sounds from the direction of the support base, and the Hind-Fs weren’t coming.
“Antitank mines across the road, right here, from shoulder to shoulder! Same thing in the cutting for the power lines!”
One squad of ten men broke off from the rear platoon, then split in half. A group darted into the forest, the short distance to the lane cut by the Russians for their high-tension towers. The group on the road emptied their packs of mines — flat, round, menacing things. They lay them in a zigzag across the road, armed them, and carefully armed the antitamper booby traps. Camouflaged a concrete color, and put down just past a bend in the road, they’d be hard to see and easy to hit.