Arctic Wargame

Chapter Twenty-five

“So, that’s your plan?” Anna rolled her eyes. “Drive to their flanks, plant the explosives and kaboom, it’s done, just like that.”

Joe’s face remained calm. Kiawak looked at Justin, who was sitting with his back against the ice ridge. They were back in the small clearing, their improvised headquarters away from the battlefield.

“What do you think?” Justin asked Kiawak. His words sounded more like a plea for support rather than a simple question.

“It… it may work,” Kiawak replied, unsure about how to word his hesitant approval. “I mean, the frontal attack isn’t working, and we’re still counting our losses. This is probably our last attempt.”

“It will work,” Joe said strongly. “We will make it work.”

“You’ll need a lot of suppressive fire,” Carrie noted. “We also have to take the Otter airplane out of the equation before we sneak any men down to the lake.”

“I’ll go with my own truck,” Kiawak said, ready to stand up. Justin placed his hand on Kiawak’s shoulder.

“I’ll go with you,” Joe said.

“Wait a second,” Justin said. “Let’s not rush things. Carrie, you were saying about the Otter?”

“The airplane’s last attack left us with three wounded. I don’t want Kiawak and Joe or anyone else out in the open while the Otter’s still overhead. We’ve got to trap him or engage him head on.”

“Plus, the Danes have launched another attack, this time with twice as many troops,” Anna said.

“Which makes it even more pressing for us to act now.” Kiawak spread his hands. “If we keep sitting here and talking, they’ll climb up the hills and we’re all be dead.”

Anna squinted as Kiawak spat out the word “dead.” They were under the threat of incoming bullets at all times. But the way in which Kiawak uttered the dreaded word, in a cold, flat tone had a powerful effect on her doubts and fears. She asked, “Where do we start?”

“I’ll take on the Otter,” Carrie replied. “My big gun is almost out of ammo, but if I calibrate the Hellfire missiles properly, I should easily bring down the airplane.”

“I’ll have everyone hammer their soldiers, so they’ll have no time to fire at you,” Justin said. He turned his head in Kiawak’s direction. “You’ll need more than Joe for this thing to work.”

Kiawak nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. I’ll take two, maybe three other guys. I’ll drive, two guys will set the charges, and a fourth man will slam the Danes with continuous fire.”

“I’ll do the same on the other side,” Joe said. “We need to advance at least halfway to the bottom of the hill, about half a mile. We’ll use the chopper’s pit as a central point, since the ice sheet has already cracked around it. I wonder how big each explosive charge should be?”

“How much dynamite do we have?” Kiawak asked.

They all chuckled.

“No, seriously,” Kiawak continued. “Like Justin said, this is our last stand. We can’t afford any miscalculations.”

“All right,” Joe agreed, noticing the head nods of Carrie and Justin. “We’ll use all we’ve got. In terms of distance, I’m sure fifty feet apart should do the trick.”

Anna asked, “How thick is the ice sheet?”

“About two feet or so,” Kiawak said, “but I can’t be sure. We don’t want to just break the ice along the perimeter. We want to break apart the entire sheet over which these bastards are positioned, so they’ll all sink and die, drowning and freezing to death. Fifty feet between charges is about right.”

“That will require constant pounding for twenty, thirty minutes,” Justin estimated.

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable,” Kiawak replied.

“What do you think?” Justin asked Carrie.

“I think the battle will be over either way, but I hope it will swing in our favor.”

“I’ll round up the men.” Kiawak stood up. Joe followed behind, encouraging him with a shoulder tap.

Justin gazed at them for a long time, wondering if he would see them again.

“We’ll be in position in five,” the pilot of the DHC-6 Twin Otter airplane informed his two gunners kneeling by the rear cargo door. They had attached their safety harnesses to the handles inside the compartment, in order to withstand the rough flight, as the plane took sudden turns and steep dives. “Try to get the chopper this time,” he added.

“What about those trucks?” asked the first gunner, pointing at two vehicles rolling down the hill. They were off to the sides, and it seemed they were avoiding a direct clash with the Danish troops.

The pilot glanced at the suggested targets and shook his head. “Negative. The land forces will handle them, and they don’t seem like an urgent threat to me. Our sole objective is the helo.”

“Roger that,” replied the first gunner, cocking his Gevær M/95 assault rifle.

The pilot tapped a few controls, and the airplane climbed about three hundred feet. The maneuver gave the pilot an unobstructed view of the ice ridge. The usual hideout of the Seahawk was right behind it, but the flat clearing was empty. The helicopter was nowhere in sight.

“Where did the helo go?” asked one of the gunners.

“I have no idea, but I’m… there,” the pilot said, pointing at a small black dot on one of the control panel screens. “Two o’clock. Looks like our hawk’s trying to fly away.”

The pilot stared through the windshield at the horizon. He squinted hard and spotted the helicopter in the distance. “That’s our target,” he said. “Let’s get him, boys!”

The airplane picked up speed and altitude at the same time.

“Wow, buddy,” one of the gunners shouted. The swift acceleration threw him against one of the walls. He juggled his gun, nearly dropping it through the open door. “Take it easy. And shouldn’t we let the commander know about this change of plans? The pilot of that chopper is pulling us away from the combat zone.”

“I’m a pilot and the sky is my combat zone,” replied the pilot. “Our order was to take down the helo, and that’s what we’re doing. Hang on tight there.”

“First stop,” Kiawak shouted at Nilak, Iluak, and Sam, who had volunteered for the explosive setting mission. “Hurry!” Kiawak pulled on the hand brake.

The brothers replied by jumping out of the truck box.

Sam stayed behind, lying next to a wooden box full of dynamites, blasting caps, detonators, and wires. He gazed at the enemy through the scope of his M-16. The Danes had yet to take any shots at their vehicle, even though they were trailing slowly to the flanks of the platoons. A single truck was too little of a worry for the Danes, since Justin and his men were hammering the Danish positions with heavy fire.

“We’re almost done here,” Nilak said in a loud voice, chipping at the snow with his ice pick, digging a small, but deep hole.

Iluak scooped out the snow, then planted four eight inch long dynamite sticks. Kiawak had already bundled them together and inserted blasting caps on each one.

Nilak inspected the copper wires to ensure they were connected properly to the cap.

“Good to go,” he shouted, once satisfied with their work.

They climbed back into the truck box, and Kiawak pressed the gas pedal.

Nilak held the dynamite wire roll steady as they proceeded downhill. He counted for thirty seconds then called on Kiawak to stop. The brothers were once again on the ground, setting another explosive charge.

“What’s that truck doing?” Magnus asked over the mike, pointing at the white truck descending over the slopped terrain. “This is their fourth stop.”

Valgerda raised her binoculars slightly over the ice sheet. She ducked immediately to dodge a bullet that ricocheted less than two feet away from her head.

“You’re hit?” Magnus asked.

“Nope, I’m not hit,” she replied with a sigh. Her voice was shaky, like her hands. “But it was close.”

She fired her weapon toward the enemy positions, two vantage points on the side of the road. Then, she looked at Magnus, who had taken cover behind a thick ice boulder.

“Cover me,” she said. “I’m coming there.”

Magnus peeked over the boulder and fired his assault rifle a few times. When he looked back, Valgerda rolled next to him.

“You’re OK?” he asked.

“Yeah. Running low on ammo though.” She tapped on her ammunition belt around her waist, fetching another fresh magazine. “These bloody Canadians are tougher than we thought.”

“We’re advancing, but very slowly,” Magnus said.

She glanced through her binoculars at the white truck Magnus had pointed out earlier. “I’m not sure if they’re trying to run away or surround us,” she said with a snort. “If it’s the first, they’re going the wrong way; the second, they’re just pathetic.”

“I don’t think it’s a maneuver to attack us on our flanks or try to box us in. There’s another truck, a white Toyota, to our right,” Magnus said between sporadic shots. “There, I got one of the dirtbags,” he said, watching as a human silhouette fell off a black truck.

“Great shot,” she said. “I wish the rest of our troops were getting somewhere.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Magnus shrugged. “He was just standing there, out in the open.”

Valgerda tilted her head in a whatever-you-say pose. “What do you think those trucks are for?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, while unloading his Gevær M/95. “Maybe they recon, to determine our numbers.”

“Can’t they see from atop the hill?”

“Yeah, but they don’t know if the Herc’s empty or how many are back at the terminal.”

“A recon team you say?” Valgerda pondered his words.

“Could be. I don’t think they’ve started to fire at us yet, but I’ll order our men to gun them down.”

“Only if they have clear shots. No use in wasting our last rounds.”

“Of course.”

Valgerda surveyed the white truck one more time. Two men jumped out of the back, dug briefly in the ground, then hopped back in their place. “I don’t know,” she said. “They keep getting stuck, and two men dig in the ground. But it’s behind the truck and to the sides, not in the front. What’s going on?”

“It’s only seven people, and they can’t do much harm. I’ll tell my men to wipe them out. And just for good measure, I’ll inform the Herc’s pilots and Gunter at the terminal.”

Valgerda squeezed her rifle’s trigger. “I think I got one too.” She raised her binoculars to confirm the kill. “Yes.” She grinned. “Five down, a hell of a lot more to go.”

“It would be easier if we had some aerial support.” Magnus looked up for any sign of the Twin Otter airplane. “Where did the pilot go?”

“Gunter sent him after their chopper. I guess that’s where he went.”

“Yeah, but I don’t see the Seahawk either. Where are they?”

“Someone’s coming.” Ned stared at the cloud of snow nearing from the north, the direction of Nanisivik. “I thought we had everyone willing and able to fight.”

Justin turned around, his assault rifle ready for action. “Let’s make sure it’s hostile, before we blast him,” he shouted.

Anna and a few others followed Justin’s cue. If a Danish soldier were riding in the middle of the snow cloud, he would be greeted by a hail of bullets as soon as he showed his face.

Ten long seconds dragged on, toying with their nerves. Then, the profile of a snowmobile became visible, as it came to a jerky halt on the wrong side of the road. Justin looked sideways but did not recognize the feeble-looking man wrapped in a white parka. He had black gloves, a red toque, and a large pair of ski goggles.

“Who’s that guy?” Justin asked, noticing Ned was grinning and had already lowered his weapon.

“False alarm,” Ned replied. “That’s Amaruq, one of Kiawak’s old buddies.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

Before Justin could say anything, Amaruq had removed his goggles. “What the hell?” he blurted at the welcome wagon, but staring mostly at Ned. “You’re fighting without me? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this party, eh?” He staggered toward Ned, his shaky feet sliding over ice patches on the road.

“You’re drunk, man.” Ned shook his head in disgust. “What good are you to us? Go back home.”

“Oh, get out of my face.” Amaruq waved him off. “If I’m drunk, which… which, OK, I am, then you… you’re stupid, yes, you are.”

Ned turned around, heading toward his fighting position.

“Yeah, get lost, move it,” Amaruq yelled at Ned. “You’re not in charge anyway.”

“But I am.” Justin took a step forward. “What do you want?”

Amaruq peered at Justin’s face then at the assault rifle in Justin’s hands.

“I want to fight. I got up this morning and one of the guys told me everyone was fighting some Swedish badasses—”

“Danish,” Anna corrected him.

“Ehe, yeah, Danish. So, I’m saying to myself, what the hell, they forgot me?”

“You can fight?” Justin asked.

“Hell, yeah. I’ve been hunting before you were even born.”

Amaruq’s breath stunk like an Irish pub. Justin doubted it would be a good idea to give a gun to him.

“I… I don’t know,” Justin said, worried about enraging the old man any further. “You can help with the wounded down there.”

“Do I look like a nurse to you?” Amaruq spewed out, taking a step forward. “I’m a… I’m a hunter and yes, I do drink. Sometimes. I… I ran out of Listerine today and I needed… needed to wash my mouth. Verbal hygiene’s important, you know.”

“Oral hygiene, you boozer,” Ned shouted. “Send him home, for Pete’s sake, before he kills one of our guys.”

“You shut up or else…” Amaruq charged in Ned’s direction.

Justin held out his hand. “Whoa, whoa, hold it! The battle’s down there, soldier. If you want a gun, I need to know you’ll follow orders. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir. I can, sir.” Amaruq attempted a standing guard position. His right arm trembled as he brought it up to his temple.

“OK, I’ll get you a gun.” Justin gestured at Anna, who brought him a Lee Enfield rifle from a stash of boxes behind them. “You know how to use this?”

“Bring it here.” Amaruq snatched the rifle from Justin’s hand. “I fired rifles before you were even born.”

Yeah, I know, you said that earlier. And I know I’ll probably regret doing this. “Shoot only when you can hit the target. That’s the only mag you’ll get. And stay close to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Amaruq replied. This time he did not bother with the military salutation. He cocked his rifle and ran toward the closest truck set up as a barricade.

“I said…” Justin began to talk, but realizing his words were useless, he hurried behind Amaruq. “Don’t go anywhere else,” he shouted. Amaruq nodded and pointed his rifle at the Danish positions.

Carrie did not have to consult her radar screen to determine the location of her tail. The Twin Otter airplane was visible in the horizon, as she hiked her way up, and pivoted to her left. The airplane was tailing her at a distance of about two thousand feet. It was within her missile striking range, as indicated by the Remote Hellfire Electronics system incorporated into the control panel.

The Twin Otter would have no chance of survival once Carrie fired the laser-guided missile. She would push a button and forget about it, while the airplane disintegrated into a million pieces. As she flipped the switch encasing the weapon activation button, another thought crossed her mind.

She remembered the Bell helicopter smashing through the ice sheet and wondered if she could orchestrate the crash of the Twin Otter over the combat lines of the Danish troops. It would lend a helping hand to the explosives planting mission. Even if the airplane crash did not burst open the ice sheet, it would trample the soldiers and demoralize the rest of the troops.

Carrie grinned. She imagined the gray, metallic bird gravitating toward the ice surface after she had clipped both its wings. She slid the cover over the missile launch button and tapped the throttle, propelling the Seahawk into a swift ascent. Never bring an otter to a dogfight. She smiled to herself.