Nina risked raising her head and saw the squat ZSU carving towards the runway ahead of them. More fire flashed from its cannons, tracers streaking at her like meteors. She ducked again as the Tupolev took more hits, impacts tearing along the hull. Another set of warning lights flashed on the instrument panel. ‘Eddie! This thing’s going to rip us apart!’
‘Just tell them to keep going — it’s only got light armour, so if I can hit it, it’s dead!’
‘If you can hit it! And we’re a much bigger target!’ She looked up again. The ZSU was about four hundred yards away, but rapidly growing as the bomber bore down upon it.
‘Just tell me how far away it is — and where to aim!’
‘It’s on the left, about — I dunno, a hundred feet from the runway and getting closer. We’re about three hundred yards away — whoa!’ She dropped behind the pilot’s seat as cannon shells punctured the radome below the cockpit. A shrill wind blasted into the cabin.
The co-pilot shouted at her, but she waved for him to keep going. ‘Two hundred yards, we’re almost—’
The ZSU unleashed another ferocious burst of fire.
An entire section of the Tupolev’s port wing blew apart as shells ripped through a fuel tank. A hot gale rushed in through the holes in the hull.
The Russian weapons officer opposite Kagan shouted in panic. Nina looked back to see red lights flashing urgently on his control panel. ‘The wing is on fire — and so are the missiles!’ Kagan yelled.
‘Then tell him to drop them!’ She stumbled back down the gangway.
‘It’s against protocol!’
‘Screw protocol!’ She reached the weapons station. The Cyrillic was impenetrable, but the symbol beside a rank of switches under the blinking lights was self-explanatory. A stylised missile with a downward-pointing arrow behind it, surrounded by an irregular multi-pointed star: explosive release.
She glanced forward, seeing the ZSU whip out of sight as the Bear rushed past it. ‘Eddie, I’m sending you some bombs!’
Before the weapons officer could stop her, she stabbed at the switches.
A series of rapid cracks came from the burning wing pylon — then the three cruise missiles mounted upon it dropped away and tumbled along the runway like skittles.
Eddie’s view of the runway’s edge had been blotted out by a huge cloud of swirling black smoke. If he didn’t destroy the ZSU, it would tear the crippled Bear apart, but he couldn’t see his target—
Flashes of pale grey on the ground — and he realised he didn’t need to.
Each Kh-101 was fully laden with fuel and carried a warhead weighing a full metric ton. The 23mm rounds were more than enough to detonate them.
The missiles exploded, their combined blast ripping a huge crater out of the runway. Eddie was thrown back in his seat as the detonation pummelled the Bear’s tail. But the bomber was already haring away from the explosion.
The ZSU was not.
Slavin was in the commander’s cupola, looking out from the top of the turret. His triumph at seeing the Tupolev’s wing erupt into flames changed to terror — then the shockwave pounded his head into a bloody pulp against the unyielding open hatch cover behind him. The ZSU was flipped end over end, the burning wreck slamming down on its back in the snow.
‘I got him, I got him!’ Eddie shouted into the headset. ‘Slow us down!’
Nina desperately searched for somewhere to secure herself. ‘We can’t!’ she cried. The co-pilot had already yanked back the throttles and stamped on the pedal to apply the wheelbrakes, but with half a wing missing the Bear was unbalanced and veering towards the side of the runway. One of the overstressed nosewheel tyres exploded, the metal rim screeching along the concrete in a shower of sparks. ‘Hang on!’
She grabbed the back of the bombardier’s seat as the plane careened on to the frozen grass—
The forward landing gear was ripped away on the rough ground, followed a moment later by the aft legs. The Tupolev slammed down on its belly.
Eight mighty propellers carved deep channels into the soil before the stress ripped the blades out at their roots. The burning port wing was wrenched from the fuselage, cartwheeling away from the plane before the fuel still inside it exploded in a colossal fireball. The rest of the Tu-95 continued onwards, skidding across the snowy plain in a trail of churned earth and mangled aluminium before finally grinding to a standstill.
Nina groggily raised her head. Tova, sprawled in the pilot’s footwell, moaned softly. Kagan had managed to partially fasten his seat belt just before the crash, while the aircraft’s remaining crew were in varying states of confusion and relief at having survived the destruction of their plane.
The sight of gleaming steel amongst the scattered debris on the cabin’s corrugated floor snapped Nina back to full, horrified awareness. ‘Oh, shit!’ she gasped, scrabbling to it. The container holding Thor’s Hammer had been jolted from its resting place, and was now lying on its side.
Kagan saw it too. ‘Is it broken?’ he said, fumbling to unfasten his restraints.
What Nina could see of the container appeared undamaged bar a few scratches. She hesitantly nudged it over to examine the other side, paying close attention to the seal around the lid. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she whispered. It had remained intact.
A crackle came from her headphones. ‘Nina, are you okay? Nina! Can you hear me?’
‘I’m here, I’m here,’ she assured Eddie. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ll live,’ he replied. ‘Got a problem, though.’
‘What is it?’ she asked, worried again. If the bomber was on fire, or Kagan’s superiors had not yet got their message through to the base commander to stand down…
‘The plane’s landed on its belly, so I can’t get out! Don’t suppose you’ve got a hammer up there to smash open the window?’
Her relieved laughter echoed incongruously through the wreckage.
22
Finding wood dry enough to burn in the depths of the jungle had been difficult, but Chase had managed it. The pyre he constructed in the centre of a small clearing was not large, but still enough to support the young woman’s body.
He used the gunpowder from some of his remaining bullets to help start the fire. The flames spread quickly, wood popping and snapping. Dark smoke swirled up through the trees as the blaze grew, swallowing the motionless figure atop it.
Chase watched the grim sight, his face set and expressionless. When he was sure that the corpse was completely consumed by flames, he picked up Hoyt’s backpack. One by one, the pieces of stolen Russian research it contained were thrown on to the bonfire. Papers curled into ash, discs melted. The laptop was the last item to be destroyed, acrid grey smoke belching from the vents in its casing as plastic sizzled and melted. There was a muffled bang and a sputtering gush of sparks as its batteries ignited. He withdrew from the stench — both of technology, and of charred flesh.
More time passed, the sky reddening as the sun dropped, but the Englishman did not leave. Instead, he added more wood to the pile, keeping the fire strong. Natalia had told him that nothing could be left for the Americans or Russians, and he knew she was right. This was the only way to end things.
But by doing so, he was giving away his position, sending a beacon into the sky that would lead his enemies right to him.
He pushed a last chunk of broken branch into the flames, then sat on a mouldering log, wondering what had happened to Castille. The smoke might also lead his friend to him — if he were still alive — but who else would he find waiting?