Four men came rushing around and up the ramp. Yana scurried back and crawled underneath her team’s Sno-Cat. She pulled her boots under just as the roar of pounding feet greeted the inner belly of the Skibird. Yana kept moving, stopping once she was halfway between the front and back of the vehicle. She stayed quiet and listened. She half-expected to hear the strike force yell at the crew, gather them, and then lead them outside as hostages.
Instead, they opened fire.
The sound was deafening inside the cargo hold. Yana slapped her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. She only opened them when she spotted Kyle fall to the ground, clutching his left arm. Blood seeped from between his fingers. Around him were the bodies of the second team.
Additional gunfire erupted further into the plane, up near the cockpit.
“Damn mercenaries.”
Yana understood the irony of her statement. She didn’t care, and she moved on. She slinked forward, pausing once she was a foot away from revealing her presence. Two sets of feet stepped between her and Kyle.
He was kicked in the stomach and yelled at to get to his feet. The assault caused his line of sight to drop onto her, and happily, he hid his surprise at seeing her beneath the vehicle. Slowly, Yana reached inside her left coat sleeve and plunked her blade free of its improvised sheath.
Kyle didn’t react, not that he would have swayed Yana’s next move in the least. She squirmed away from the front of the Sno-Cat and quietly crawled out from beneath it. She checked to make sure no one else was joining them inside. Satisfied her presence was unknown, she scaled the rear vehicle and mounted it. She stepped lightly and stayed low.
Yana crouched and met Kyle’s eyes. He gave her the smallest of nods. He lifted his hands and scooted away from Yana and the gunmen. They pursued him, giving Yana a little more room to work.
Thanks.
Yana sprang into the air. She timed her attack perfectly, plunging the tip of the knife into the base of the right-hand merc’s neck. She quickly snapped an elbow into the other man’s face, ripped the knife free, and jabbed it straight into the second mercenary’s Adam’s apple. This one dropped his AK. Yana caught it and smashed the wide-eyed, dying man in the face with the butt of it. She unemotionally checked the rifle over before turning and facing Kyle.
He didn’t speak. Yana’s methods had that effect on people.
“Here,” she said, kicking the first man’s rifle toward Kyle. “Save as many as you can.”
He nodded, grabbed the weapon, and stood. The gunshot wound appeared to be minor. He’d gotten lucky.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
She smiled and jammed her rifle’s stock deep into her right shoulder. “I am going to kill as many as I can.”
Chapter 25
Hammet
Hammet sat in the passenger side seat of the Sno-Cat. His head was rolled to the side, and his eyes were closed. To most, he’d look unconscious, maybe even dead. In the heat of the moment, it was all he could think of doing. Ethan had opted to stay outside and crawl under the treaded vehicle. Hammet had also thought about it but wasn’t sure he’d fit.
He could hear muffled shouts outside of the cabin’s stout glass. He could also hear the sounds of muffled gunshots. He wanted to open his eyes but knew that doing so could mean his death. So, he waited.
Something slammed into the passenger side door. Hammet guessed that one of the attackers had bashed the butt of his rifle on the glass. Luckily, Hammet could control his nerves better than most. The heavy clunk would have made others jump in surprise.
Russians? It didn’t shock him one bit, all things considered.
The door popped open. The onrush of freezing air made his skin crawl, but Hammet forced himself not to react. The individual spoke Russian to him. Hammet didn’t understand the language, though. The tone was questioning, that much he could tell. This one didn’t know what to make of Hammet’s posture.
The German felt the muzzle of a rifle press against his right shoulder. When it touched him, he snatched it and ripped the weapon free of the bewildered mercenary’s hands. The cabin was too tight to flip the rifle around and use it conventionally. So, Hammet employed the firearm as a club and bashed the man in the face instead. The Russian stumbled back and fell on his butt. Hammet didn’t hesitate. He identified that the man was wearing body armor, then faced him, shouldered the rifle, aimed high, and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle’s owner took a round to the forehead, splattering the ultra-pure Antarctic landscape in blood. The driver’s side of the Sno-Cat was peppered with additional automatic fire. Hammet leaped from the passenger side. When he hit the ground, he rolled to his feet and took cover behind the vehicle. He listened but couldn’t tell which way the second man would come from. The wind was too strong, and it covered the sounds of his footsteps.
And it will do the same for mine.
Hammet edged around toward the front of the Sno-Cat, spying movement inside the cargo hold of the LC-130. Something was happening in there, too. He leaned out of cover and looked for the second shooter. He also paid close attention to the two men who had stayed over with the snowmobiles. They were out of sight, no doubt ducked behind them.
Where did you come from? There must have been a camp somewhere nearby. The possibility spurred another, more sinister notion. They were waiting for us. The Sixth Seal had known about this operation. Zahra’s assault in Chile lent even more credence to it. Hammet looked around. We’re being hunted.
He wanted to make a break for the plane but didn’t want to leave Ethan behind with a gunman unaccounted for.
“Drop the weapon!” a voice shouted in thickly accented Russian.
Hammet spun but didn’t bring up his rifle. Ethan stepped out with a pistol pressed against the back of his head. Hammet dipped the muzzle of his AK but didn’t drop it. The mercenary took notice. He jammed the tip of his sidearm deeper into the back of Ethan’s skull.
“I said, drop it, or your friend dies!”
Ethan’s eyes flicked toward Hammet.
“Scheisse…” he muttered. Then, he did as he was told and dropped his weapon.
As the Russian marched Ethan over to Hammet, the German subtly raised his hands. He studied the pair and attempted to find an opening. Unfortunately, the merc kept directly behind Ethan, though he had backed off some. He was now too far away from the American to turn and disarm him.
“Turn around,” the Russian ordered.
Hammet sighed and did just that. His timing couldn’t have been better. He watched Yana step out of the darker cargo hold with a similar AK and take the shot. Hammet didn’t flinch. If she was as good with a weapon as her reputation advertised, then he needed to trust her to hit what she was looking at.
A puff and a thud answered the single round. Both Hammet and Ethan slowly turned to find the Russian dead on the ground with a hole between his eyes.
“Whoa,” Ethan said, staring at the body.
Hammet didn’t verbally reply. He just looked at his savior and nodded to her. Then, he re-armed himself and dove behind the Sno-Cat as the ground around him exploded with incoming fire. Ethan threw himself to the ground and rolled in beside Hammet but with no weapon. The newly dead Russian’s rifle had skidded away from his corpse and was out in the open.
“Come on!” Yana yelled. “Get inside.”
But then, Yana did the exact opposite of what she had just said, and she threw herself off the ramp as a barrage of bullets lit up the hold directly behind her. She exited in the same manner as Zahra then disappeared beneath the plane.