“Since the word of a Soviet officer is obviously not enough, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You can have this woman and child right now, if I can take a substitute in their place.”
Redmond briefly considered this offer and replied.
“That can be arranged. Admiral. Will I do?”
Mikhail Kharkov slyly grinned.
“I suppose you would like to go along for the ride to see what this is all about, wouldn’t you. Lieutenant? But instead of wasting more of your valuable time, I’ll take that one over there.”
With his free hand, Kharkov pointed to the confused, parka-clad figure who had been buried beneath the dog sled. Jack Redmond needed the assistance of Cliff Ano to communicate with this Inuit, whose name was Ootah. Without a second’s hesitance, Ootah agreed to the switch.
While one of the Rangers started up a snow cat and drove it over to the igloo’s side, Redmond learned that the now-freed female hostage was named Akatingwah. She was Ootah’s wife, and though she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see her husband take her place, she conceded for her young son’s sake.
With his gun now aimed at Ootah’s neck, the Russian bent down and pulled yet another object from the snow house entryway. This rect angularly shaped box was painted black, and had a blinking red strobe light attached to its top surface. After carefully placing this device in the snow cat storage compartment, Mikhail Kharkov boarded the vehicle, with the Inuit directly in front of him.
“This should make for a cozy ride,” said Kharkov, as he activated the throttle mechanism with his free hand. The engine whined in response, and as the veteran turned the snow cat around, he offered one last parting remark.
“So sorry that I have to run like this. Lieutenant. Remember now, stay away from those guns. See you in the UN, Comrades!”
Flooring the accelerator, Kharkov was thrown backward as the snowmobile lurched forward. Yet he quickly regained control and, before turning for the northwestern horizon, whipped past the remaining vehicles and put a bullet directly into each snow cat engine cowling.
“Damn!” cursed Jack Redmond, as he violently kicked the snow at his feet. Looking on impotently as the Russian disappeared behind a distant ridge, he angrily cried out to his men.
“Will one of you stop gawking and go see if he’s left us with an operational snow cat!”
As several of the men sprinted off to fulfill this request. Cliff Ano walked over to confer with Redmond.
“So it was the Russians all along,” offered the Inuit. “We should have figured that they’d go and try to pull something like this off.”
“But why all this useless bloodshed?” returned Redmond. “And what’s so important about that damn black box anyway? I’m sure Ottawa was eventually going to give it back to the Soviets once we had a chance to check it out. Why not wait until then?”
The perplexed Inuit could only shake his head.
Then one of the men screamed out behind him.
“The snow cats are finished, sir. All five of them have bullet holes right through the engine block.”
This revelation was accented by the report of a distant gunshot. Each of the commandoes turned to search the northwestern horizon where the Russian admiral had last been seen fleeing with his hostage.
Seeing this, Akatingwah let out a wail and began sprinting out through the snow to determine her husband’s fate.
As Cliff Ano ran out to grab her, one of the Rangers called out excitedly.
“We’ve got more visitors. Lieutenant! This party’s coming in from the northeast on foot!”
“Pick up your rifles, and form a defensive formation along that snow ridge,” ordered Redmond. “If it’s more Russians, this time we’ll teach those Red bastards what the fear of God is all about!”
After retrieving his binoculars from the storage compartment of his disabled snow cat Redmond took up a position on an elevated hummock and attempted to identify these new intruders.
“There’s five of them altogether!” he informed his men. “But they don’t seem to be carrying Kalashnikovs. Instead, they’re armed with M16’s!”
Cliff Ano had calmed down the distraught Inuit by this time. He left her in the care of one of his associates, and joined Redmond on the hummock.
“Lieutenant, I’d like to volunteer to follow that Russian’s trail. I could use the dogsled, and find out what that shot was all about.”
“Permission granted,” returned Redmond. “But if you smell the least bit of trouble, get back here on the double, and we’ll move in with some reinforcements. This squad’s been hit hard enough as it is.”
“Will do. Lieutenant,” answered the Sergeant-Major, as he ran down to his sled and got the dogs moving with a snapping crack of his whip.
With Ano gone, Jack Redmond called Private Etah to his side.
“Private, you’ve just been made a corporal. I want you to pick out two of the best marksmen that we’ve got. Position them on this hummock. I’m going to leave you in charge while I go down to find out who these newcomers are.”
“But isn’t that a risky proposition. Lieutenant? Why not wait until they come to us?”
The grizzled veteran looked the young soldier directly in the eyes and retorted.
“Now that you’re a corporal, I’m going to share with you leadership rule number one — never question an order from a superior officer. Do you read me, soldier?”
“Yes, sir!” answered the Inuit. “Just be careful, Lieutenant.”
Touched by the youngster’s concern. Jack Redmond slung his rifle over his shoulder, walked down the hummock, and began to make his way over the adjoining plain. Cliff Ano’s barking team could still be heard in the distance, though the sled itself had long since disappeared behind a sloping ridge.
With the two sharpshooters providing cover fire from behind, Redmond plodded through a deep snow drift, jumped over a narrow fissure, and without unstrapping his weapon, called out to the rapidly advancing party.
“Hello out there!”
This remark was met by a friendly wave, and a deep voice that boomed out in perfect English.
“Hello to you, whoever you are!”
Jack increased his pace at this point, and all too soon made the acquaintance of Captain Mathew Colter, commander of the US Navy nuclear attack submarine Defiance, and four of his shipmates.
There was a look of relief on the Canadian’s face as he explained both his mission and the tragedy that had just taken place on the plain behind them. Yet he was genuinely shocked to learn that the Americans had been sent here for the very same reason that the Arctic Rangers had. And for all their trouble, the Russians had beaten the lot of them!
Mikhail Kharkov felt like a child again. With an innocent joy, he steered the speedy snowmobile down a sloping grade that led directly to the frozen surface of Lancaster Sound. It had been many years since he had last traveled on such an exhilarating means of transportation. Yet as a native Siberian, he was certainly no stranger to such tracked vehicles.
Why he could even remember a time when the only expedient way to travel over the snow was by horse-pulled sleighs.
His father had had a gorgeous team of black stallions, and a hand-tooled sled that he had built himself. As a youngster, it was Mikhail’s duty to harness the team. And he was always available to drive if needed. Many of his fondest memories were of such sleigh rides, sitting bundled in a thick fur blanket, with the crisp Siberian wind in his face and the sound of the sled’s bells twinkling to the hollow clops of the horse’s gallop.
The arrival of motorized sleds doomed this innocent era. Though much more efficient, such vehicles were loud and belched noxious fumes. They also sped along so rapidly that it was often difficult to even get a glimpse of the passing countryside.
The snowmobile he currently drove was quick and easy to steer. Its speed was even further enhanced when he got rid of his additional passenger. This he’d done soon after leaving the plain where the black box had been found.