“We’ll charge straight in at them, at full throttle. Then at the last second, you’ll pull off to the right, and I’ll go left. This should cause just enough of a diversion for Private Etah to lob in a grenade and take them out. Can you handle that, Private?”
The Inuit who was seated in the back of Redmond’s snow cat answered without hesitating.
“Just get me within range, sir. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Then let’s do it!” cried Redmond. “And properly revenge our brothers who just gave their lives so that Canada can remain free!”
After snapping the snow cat into gear, the enraged veteran opened up its throttle and the vehicle jumped forward into the deep snow. Only when he was certain that the other two vehicles were close behind him did he floor the accelerator and steer toward the beckoning berm.
Oblivious to the hail of gunfire that whined overhead and ricocheted off his snow cat nose, Redmond ducked his helmeted head down beneath the windshield and continued on an unswerving course.
Only when the snow cat was so close to its goal that he could actually see the muzzle flashes of the gunfire aimed their way did he briefly touch the brakes.
This allowed the two pursuing snow cats to catch up with him. The Rangers in these vehicles had long ago put their weapons into play, and just when it appeared that the three vehicles were going to smack right into the wall of ice, they abruptly separated as planned.
There was the briefest of pauses as the enemy was forced to readjust their line of fire. This was all the time Private Thomas Etah needed to pull the pins out of a pair of grenades and toss them upward over the berm’s bullet hole-pocked, sloped walls. A resounding explosion followed. Yet this blast all too soon faded to be replaced by only the buzzing whine of the tracked vehicles and the incessant howl of the gusting wind.
The five remaining snow cats rendezvoused beside the still-burning wreck of the vehicle that had once held their coworkers. The fire had been so intense little remained of the equipment or the four men who had manned it.
“I can’t believe it!” mourned one of the soldiers, who had been driving one of the two surviving snow cats of the original trio that took this route. “Corporal Eviki was just trying to create a diversion for us to outflank them when this happened. My God, there’s hardly anything left to even bury!”
This macabre remark was met by the distant barking of dogs, and Sergeant-Major Ano could be seen on his sled passing by the igloo. A look of disbelief etched the Inuit’s face as he pulled the team to a halt beside them.
“What in the hell happened here?” quizzed the distraught commando.
“It was Corporal Eviki and three others,” returned Redmond painfully. “I’m afraid they got a little too close and the snow cat took a direct grenade hit.”
“Damn it!” cursed Cliff Ano. “They were only a bunch of kids.”
“Like hell they were!” snapped Jack Redmond. “They were Arctic Rangers, and as such were well prepared to give their lives for Canada without question.”
“But what in the hell did they give up their lives for?” queried Ano, whose grief was very real.
Redmond sensed his subordinate’s shock and answered with a bit more compassion.
“That remains to be seen, Sergeant-Major. I hope there’s something left inside that berm for us to identify. We took it out with two direct grenade hits.”
“Maybe he can explain what’s going on here!” shouted one of the commandoes, as he pointed toward a parka-clad figure who apparently had been buried beneath the snow beside a nearby dogsled.
“I bet you that’s the guy they were forcing at gunpoint to hook up that team,” offered Cliff Ano.
As this dark-haired, confused-looking man stood and began brushing the snow off his clothing, yet another newcomer emerged before them. This individual was armed with a pistol, and crawled out of the igloo’s entranceway, pulling two others along with him. Yet long before the Rangers could put their weapons into play, this white-haired stranger shouted out in broken English.
“I wouldn’t shoot if I were you, comrades. For if you do, these two will go with me.”
His hostages were a young woman and a small child. Both were Inuits. Though Redmond’s patience was running low at this point, he nevertheless instructed his men to lower their rifles.
Seeing this, the stranger once more voiced himself.
“Now that’s more like it, comrades. But you’d make me feel so much better if you’d drop those weapons altogether.”
Again Redmond conceded, and instructed the Rangers to comply with this unpopular directive.
“You are most wise, comrades. Perhaps now I could have a personal word with your leader?”
Jack Redmond stepped forward and somberly introduced himself.
“I’m Lieutenant Jack Redmond of the Canadian Arctic Rangers.”
“Good morning. Comrade Redmond. I am Mikhail Kharkov, commander in chief of the Red Banner Fleet. I am genuinely sorry about this intrusion on your territory. But such an act was necessary to recover valuable property belonging to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”
The woman the white-haired Russian held in his arms began squirming at this point, and the Russian instantly tightened his grasp. Jamming the pistol he carried up against her neck, he added.
“Easy, my little Eskimo flower. Or I’ll blow your scrawny neck off!”
Though the Inuit known as Akatingwah could not understand her captor’s strange tongue, his firm grip convinced her that any escape on her part would be impossible. With his hostage thusly calmed, Mikhail Kharkov continued.
“May I ask what has happened to the men who accompanied me here, Lieutenant?”
Redmond beckoned toward the still-smoking berm.
“I imagine you’ll find what’s left of them over there.”
The admiral shook his head.
“Ah, I should have known. They were such headstrong lads. Yet I’ll miss them all the same.”
“No more than I’ll miss the four brave Canadians that died by their hands,” spat Redmond.
“So it seems that both sides have been bloodied,” observed Mikhail Kharkov. “Though such a poor showing by my five men can’t be excused. Why a soldier of the Soviet Socialist Republic should at the very least be worth two second-rate Canadians.”
This uncalled for remark infuriated Redmond, who took a step forward, fists ready to strike out. To halt the Rangers advance, Kharkov pushed the barrel of his pistol deeper into the Inuit’s throat.
“Easy does it comrade. I was only making a little joke as you call it. Any loss of life is deeply regretted, but such things will happen when armed men confront each other.”
Redmond vented his frustration verbally.
“Must I remind you that you are trespassing on the sovereign property of Canada, Admiral? It looks like what we have here is a direct and willful act of war.”
“I’m sorry that you see it that way, comrade. Though if you continue to behave yourself and do what I say, perhaps you’ll live long enough to learn why such an incursion was necessary. Now, all I’m going to need from you is one of those tracked vehicles, and a promise to stay away from your weapons until I’m out of range.”
“And if I agree to such conditions?” queried the Ranger.
“Then the Eskimo lives,” retorted Kharkov.
Having witnessed enough senseless bloodshed for one day. Jack Redmond nodded.
“You can have this vehicle. Admiral. But I’m warning you, your country is going to pay for this senseless slaughter.”
“I imagine our United Nations ambassador is in for a busy week,” reflected Kharkov, his tone suddenly firm. “Have one of your men bring this vehicle over to the side of the igloo, and instruct him to leave it running.”
“How do I know you’ll keep your half of the bargain and release the hostage?” questioned Redmond.