Arctic Wargame

Chapter Twenty-four

“OK, so what do we do now?” Kiawak asked.

Their small group was huddled behind the ice ridge, next to the Seahawk helicopter. Though they had managed to gather together, they had done little to deal with the enemy’s air advantage in the air.

“Well, there are no reinforcements,” Justin said. “So, whatever we plan, it’s entirely up to us to do it.”

“Their strongest points of attack are the snipers and the Bell chopper,” Carrie noted. “Our defenses aren’t gonna hold forever if we don’t eliminate them.”

“Their sniper attacks came from only two positions.” Justin began to draw on a patch of snow. “Here and here.” He stabbed the snow at two points. “One by the terminal and the other to the left of the plane. The chopper usually strikes from the right, with two gunners. But everyone’s beyond our gunfire range.”

“So, we’ve got to get closer,” Anna said.

“That’s easy to say,” Joe replied. “Their snipers have us in their crosshairs at all times. If we attempt to advance, it’s certain death.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Justin said.

Carrie shook her head. “There isn’t. I have to agree with Anna. We need to push forward.”

“But how?” Kiawak asked.

“We need to move at the same time and at the same pace. The Danes have no idea how many men we have. But we know they have no more than two hundred of them. It’s impossible to squeeze more troops in that plane. I propose we begin a slow, motorized attack, one man driving a vehicle, with another one forcing their way in through constant shooting. I’ll cover from the air.”

“Wait a second,” Kiawak said. “The sloped terrain is very difficult for our vehicles, especially SUVs with no rear-wheel drive.”

“We’ll use all-wheel drive trucks only,” Justin said.

“I don’t know about throwing our entire force into battle all at once. We have about a hundred people, roughly,” Kiawak said.

“Thirty/sixty,” Carrie said. “We’ll prepare thirty trucks with sixty men, who will attack first. The second wave will be the rest. They’ll pour downhill once the front units have gained good positions.”

“If they make it,” Joe mumbled. “OK,” he added after a brief pause. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m going in the front line,” Kiawak said, “and you’re not coming with me. The men need you here.” He pointed his finger at Justin.

Justin smiled. Changing Kiawak’s mind was a lost cause. At least in these circumstances. “I’ll lead the second battalion, General.” Justin saluted Kiawak.

“What the hell are they doing?” Gunter barked, noticing ten trucks plodding through the snowbanks and sliding downhill toward the runway. The ruts they left behind in the snow looked like scratch marks of a giant’s hand. “They’re… they’re attacking us?”

“Negative, sir, we’re not taking fire,” Magnus replied over the radio. “But they’re advancing to gain strategic positions. My men are shelling them with heavy fire.”

Magnus’s two sharpshooters, Hobart and Soren, had burrowed trenches halfway between the runway and the hillside. They were taking aim indiscriminately at the approaching vehicles. Magnus raised his binoculars to his eyes just as Hobart clipped the right mirror of the front truck, a Ford 350. The driver steered to the left, but his rear wheel mired in an ice rift. The truck came to a halt. A man peered from the truck box and fired several shots from a light machine gun. Hobart corrected his aim by a few millimeters and his .50 caliber bullet blew away the right side of the shooter’s chest.

“One down, no, two down,” Hobart said with a smirk. Soren’s slug pierced a large hole through the driver’s door.

“Great job, guys,” Magnus congratulated them. “Keep it up.”

The Danish soldiers were shooting at the other vehicles too. Their firepower had stopped a Dodge Ram, but its driver was still blasting round after round. His machine gun bullets snipped ice chunks and raised snow dust in front of the Danish troops.

“Luigi and Benito, move forward!” Magnus called at the troops. “They’re still too far.”

Luigi looked back at Magnus, who was standing by the Hercules’s cargo door, and shook his head. Benito also ignored Magnus’s words, keeping his head down and flattening his body against the snow.

“Fucking mafiosi,” Magnus cursed.

“Sir, I’ve got it,” Hobert said.

He turned his sight to the right, toward the Dodge. A few rounds coming from a white truck to his left reminded him there were closer targets that needed his attention. Before he could take a shot, Soren pulled the trigger of his sniper rifle. The white truck kept inching downhill regardless of the hole Soren’s bullet drilled in its windshield. Hobert had no clear shot of the driver from his position. He aimed at the right front wheel and planted his bullet at the intended spot, blowing out the tire. The white truck sank in the snow and began to tip over, until it rested dangerously on its right side.

“Is the driver still alive?” Soren asked.

“I don’t know,” Hobert replied. “I don’t see any movement.”

“Let me handle this,” Valgerda whispered over the radio.

She began plowing through the knee-deep snow, avoiding rifts and crevasses. She tried to keep to the trail set by other troops who had marched through before her. Cutting to the left, toward her target, she noticed the muzzle of an assault rifle flashing at the rear end of the white truck. Valgerda lay on her stomach and began to crawl through the snow. She pushed forward for about sixty feet, and stopped when a couple of bullets slammed into an ice block less than four feet from her head.

She raised her Gevær M/95 rifle. Once the truck was exactly in her crosshairs, she pulled the trigger very slightly. The grenade launcher screamed, and a gray cloud of smoke engulfed her. Two seconds later, the warhead exploded in the white truck’s cabin tearing it to shreds.

“That’s it,” Magnus said. “Watch and learn, guys.”

Three other trucks began descending down the hill to their right flank. Magnus’s binoculars identified six men aboard the trucks.

“Hobart, Soren,” Magnus said. “We’ve got more visitors.”

“I’ll take care of them, sir,” Hobart replied.

“Sargon, Vince, and Ali,” Magnus ordered another group of recruits, “support Hobart and Soren by attacking these targets.” He glanced at the group. They were standing about one hundred and fifty feet away from the runway. “Onward, soldiers!”

“Sir, they’re shooting shit at us from all sides,” Ali replied over the radio. “It’s not safe to go any farther.”

Sargon and Vince dug their heels in as well.

“Soldiers,” Magnus hissed. “Move ahead as ordered. Now!”

Ali refused to respond to the command, but Magnus had no time to convince his defiant men. A metallic bird of prey materialized over the ice hills and began slaying the soldiers with its steel talons. The Seahawk poured a torrent of bullets over the frontline positions of the snipers before taking a sharp dive to the left and out of sight. The surprise attack had given the Danish force no time for any counteracting fire.

“Kill that damn pilot,” Gunter screamed over the radio.

Magnus adjusted the volume of his earpiece before suffering permanent damage to his eardrum.

“Bring down that bloody chopper,” Gunter shouted.

“Where the hell is Yuliya?” Magnus asked.

“I’m on my way,” she replied. “It took me some time to turn the Bell around, since this rusty piece of junk doesn’t work well.”

Magnus’s binoculars followed the flight of the Bell helicopter. It hovered over the runway for a few seconds before it went screaming toward the battlefield.

“That should take care of that problem,” Valgerda said.

“I hope so,” Magnus replied. I’ve got my own problems to resolve. He glanced at Ali’s group still rooted in their trench.

“Fire! Fire at the chopper!” Justin shouted.

The Bell roared, circling above their heads.

“We are.” Joe slammed a fresh magazine in his Let Støttevåben. “But the beast is moving so fast.”

He cleaned the snow from his face with the ear flap of his toque, and straightened his gloves before resuming shooting.

“Maybe we should have Carrie dogfight this,” Anna suggested between sporadic shots. Justin had given her a crash course on how to use his M4 carbine. The weapon rested heavily on her arms. The firing recoil jerked the metal stock against her shoulder.

“Carrie’s ammo’s running low,” Justin replied. “We have to ride this on our own.”

“Doesn’t she have Hellfire missiles or some rockets?” Joe shouted.

A volley of bullets sprinkled the Land Rover. Anna gritted her teeth. Justin offered her a reassuring smile, but her eyes showed their defense needed a more powerful boost.

“Ned,” Justin called at the man lying fifteen feet in front of him, “status!”

“Two men critically wounded,” he replied. “Nilak tells me they have three dead and ten wounded, two of them in serious conditions.”

“That’s beside the guys lost down in the field,” Joe added. “Seven or eight, I believe.”

“Can we afford another attack?” Justin asked.

“Not until the flying monster’s dead,” Joe replied. “Or at least down on the ground.”

Justin peeked through a couple of holes in the Land Rover’s doors. The Bell helicopter completed a downward pirouette and was rising up toward the ice ridge. The Seahawk was hidden behind it.

“Well, the pigeon’s going to the hawk.” Justin pointed out the obvious. “Is Carrie ready?”

“She better be,” Joe replied.

As soon as the enemy helicopter appeared over the hill, the Seahawk broke into a long volley of machine gun fire aimed at the Bell’s tail rotor. The Seahawk hovered a few feet above ground, swinging slightly to the sides.

As machine gun bullets slammed into the Bell’s rotor blades and pierced its tail boom, the helicopter pivoted to the right. Yuliya’s mission had been turned upside down. She struggled to regain control of her helicopter and avoid a nose-first crash into the fast approaching ground.

The Bell responded to her commands and regained its earlier altitude but only for a few moments. Sharp electronic beeps erupted throughout the cabin. Flashing red signals on the control panel urged Yuliya to perform an immediate emergency landing. But landing behind enemy lines meant death or capture. She attempted a one hundred and eighty-degree turn.

The unsafe maneuver brought the helicopter dangerously close to the ice-covered hills. At the last moment, the Bell jerked upwards, the damaged tail rotor barely missing a huge rock jutting out of the ice ridge. Yuliya steadied the helicopter and headed back to her camp.

When Carrie fired her shots, she intended to disable the Bell helicopter and force the pilot to land within easy reach of Justin’s men. The crew of the downed helicopter would serve as bargaining chips. Once Carrie realized the pilot was escaping her trap, there was no point in holding back.

The Seahawk pitched forward until it was about a hundred and fifty feet above the ridge. Carrie tapped the joystick mounted on the center console, which controlled the machine gun. The powerful rattle returned. She spread out her bullets evenly over the entire length of the runaway target.

Soon enough, the Bell was swallowed up in a thick cloud of smoke. Carrie eased on her trigger, waiting for the inevitable explosion. A few seconds passed. The Bell helicopter appeared on the other side of the gray cloud, still airborne, but swaying to and fro like a duckling during its first flight.

Carrie closed her left eye, once again focusing on her target. She wondered whether she should launch one of the two Hellfire missiles.

“C’mon,” she yelled. “C’mon! Go down, you son of a…”

The Bell swirled around a couple of times, dropping a few dozen feet. Then, it jerked upwards, regaining its lost altitude. But when the pilot had steadied the helicopter, its main rotor blades stopped spinning. The helicopter took a downward plunge, fast and hard.

The helicopter was doomed. Some of the Danish troops scurried in panic as the large fuselage of the Bell helicopter crashed into the permafrost. The impact shattered the ground. The ensuing explosion hurled huge blocks of ice and rocks in all directions and tore open the ice shield. The crater swallowed the helicopter’s wreckage, as dark waves slammed against the edges.

“Holy crap!” Carrie stared in awe.

Narrow crevasses stretched like cobwebs for tens of feet on both sides of the pit. It looked like when a rock cracked but did not shatter window glass.

“The Danes are over a lake,” Justin yelled over the jubilant shouts of the men around him, “over a lake whose ice cover is busted open.”

“Yeah,” Nilak added. There are two ponds by the runway. Tim used to complain that water from melting ice would flood parts of the runway.”

“Why didn’t we think of this earlier?” Justin said. “The solution is right in front of our eyes. Call Kiawak and the rest of the people back.”

“Eh, what? Why?” Joe asked.

“Our best defense is the natural one, the lake. We’ll blow off the top, breaking apart the ice sheet and sinking every one of these jerks.”

“Sir, Yuliya’s gone, sir,” Valgerda mumbled over the radio.

“I can fucking see that,” Gunter exploded.

Valgerda removed the receiver from her left ear. She could still hear him blurting obscenities and ordering four men to prepare the DHC-6 Twin Otter airplane for the fight.

“Magnus, where are you?” she shouted and began to look around. “Magnus?”

“I’m here, down here,” he replied with a groan.

She followed the sound of his weak voice until her eyes found him lying on his back. He was about fifty feet away from the helicopter’s grave. She noticed a trickle of blood over his right pant leg and a long tear, about four inches, on his shin.

“Fuck,” Magnus cried, as he tried to get back to his feet.

“It’s not broken, is it?” Valgerda asked.

Magnus placed his heel carefully over the slippery ice. “A damned ice sliver almost cut off my freaking leg. What was Yuliya thinking?”

“I guess she wasn’t. And neither is Gunter.” She pointed at the terminal. “He just ordered the Otter in.”

“Yeah, I heard it.” Magnus took an uneven step, leaning on Valgerda’s shoulder.

Whizz.

A bullet screeched over their heads. They both ducked. Magnus’s leg failed him. He plunged into the snow, cursing and rolling downhill. Valgerda returned fire at the closest truck from where the shots were coming. A couple of trucks farther up the hill were struggling to retreat from their initial positions.

“They’re falling back,” she said over the mike. “The enemy’s falling back. All troops, fire at will, fire at will.”

The gunfire from their recruits was not as loud as she expected. Valgerda repeated her order. More recruits joined in, but their firepower had diminished, and their shots were sporadic.

“You’re OK?” Valgerda stopped shooting to check on Magnus.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Lost my footing there and avalanched down the hill.”

He gasped for air and flattened his jacket. Then he dusted off the snow.

She glanced at his leg. The skin was now completely exposed, and his pants had ripped in another place.

“I’ll get that checked as soon as we’re over this bump,” he said. “What were you saying about those trucks?”

“They’re moving back. Or at least it looks like that.”

“Maybe they’re regrouping.”

“It could be.”

“How are we doing?”

Valgerda looked around then dug out her binoculars from inside her jacket. A brief surveillance of their troops gave her the bad news. “We’re retreating, too.”

“What? Who gave that order? Gunter?”

“I don’t remember hearing it.”

“Cowards. It’s those damn cowards.” Magnus lifted himself to his knees. Valgerda placed her arms around his waist.

“What are you talking about?”

“I noticed insubordination even before the helo crash. I’ve got to fix this myself.”

He staggered to his feet. Realizing they were out of enemy fire range, they both kept their heads up.

“Hey, you,” Magnus shouted at a man smoking a cigarette and chatting with other recruits, their backs turned against the battle hill. They were standing about a hundred feet away from the runway, at a very safe distance from the gunfight. “Ali, right?” Magnus asked with a grimace.

“Yes,” Ali replied. “Wanna smoke?”

Magnus shook his head, his hand groping for his submachine gun. Once he found the trigger of his MP5 still hanging in its holster, he pointed the gun at Ali.

“Hey, man, what you doing?” Ali spread his hands, taking a step back. The half-smoked cigarette fell out of his mouth.

Magnus caressed the trigger, jamming the gun into Ali’s throat.

“Don’t try it,” Valgerda barked at Ali’s companions, who scrambled to pick up their guns. She kept her rifle lined up with their heads. “Unless you want to bang seventy virgins tonight.”

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot you,” Magnus said coldly. “But next time you disobey my orders, I’m gonna kill you all, one after the other. When I tell you to advance, you do it, or I’ll blow you heads off. Now get your asses there, all of you, and use those guns in that fight.” Magnus gestured with his head toward the hill.

The group took up their weapons and reluctantly headed for the battle. Valgerda followed their every move, in case someone decided to become a martyr. No one did. She sat across from Magnus, on a heap of frozen snow.

“I’ll get the first aid kit and do what I can.” She pointed at his wound.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll update Gunter on our status. We’ll need more men. Maybe all of them.”