Beneath the Dark Ice

Fourteen

Takeda was seconds too late, arriving only in time to see Zegarelli’s fallen body and Margaret knocked down by the Russian’s punch. He lifted his gun and fired twice before vanishing behind a small stand of stalagmites. Takeda’s compressed air blasts took the basin floor Krofskoya agent in the eye and the neck. The second shot was unnecessary, as his first pencil-thin blast of super-compressed air cut a hole from the eye, tore through the skull and exited out the back of his head as a stream of liquefied brain matter and cranial fluid.

Takeda pinged Alex and whispered, “Hostiles have arrived and been engaged. Zegarelli is dead and Anderson now an enemy asset.”

Alex ordered everyone to take cover beside the cave wall and for Mike and Tank to take a defensive position against whatever was rushing up from behind to meet them. He hated leaving them here as he was sure, given the choice, all of them would have taken their chances at being shot over being snared and dragged off into the dark by some sort of weird cave creature. He had no alternative, he had a definite threat in front and a potential threat from behind — the definite threat took precedence. He looked quickly at Aimee then vanished into the dark.

Takeda gave a small start when he felt Alex’s hand fall lightly on his shoulder. He was always surprised at how quietly and fast Alex could move for a man of his size. Takeda lifted two fingers, indicating number of known hostiles. He then pointed from his eyes to their positions; one on the cave floor and one up high at the drop-off point to the basin.

Alex assessed the situation instantly; he had strength of numbers, but whoever the hostiles were, they held the high ground and a hostage.

From a concealed position on the basin floor, Alex heard a familiar, heavily accented voice. “Privet kak Kanitah Hunter, ya soskucheelsya.” Though Alex could only understand a little Russian, the deep formal greeting and the “I’ve missed you” was unmistakable. He recognised the voice as belonging to Uli Borshov, Borshov the Beast; the deadly assassin who had put a bullet in Alex’s brain and left him for dead. This killer was not here by accident; he was used for extreme red-work, the bloodier the better. Alex felt a door crack open, a rage storm commence to build. A fury was trying to push through that door and explode out to consume the Russian. Alex couldn’t allow it; not while Margaret was held hostage and they were pinned down. He needed absolute clarity.

Borshov now switched to his heavily accented English. “I know why you are here, Captain Hunter. I just want your test results; that is my only orders. I hate the dark, Captain Hunter; I just wish to go home. Bring them to me yourself, unarmed, no tricks; you can have your woman back and we all go home, da?”

Alex pinged Tank and asked for the group to be brought up. He needed Silex and his data and the additional cover his HAWCs could provide — and he needed to keep his internal demons chained; already they strained and called for war. Alex closed his eyes for a few seconds and inhaled; green apples, but only faintly.

Tank brought the small group within twenty feet of Alex’s position, just out of view of the Russian assassination team with Mike remaining behind for rear cover. He joined Alex and Takeda, and handed Alex some of Silex’s papers. They were just handwritten notes scribbled on seismic print-outs. It didn’t matter; the material was just a smokescreen. Alex knew Borshov was here to kill.

“I’m coming out, unarmed as requested. Be advised, if anyone raises a weapon, my men will take them down.” Alex pointed at Takeda and up at the Krofskoya agent on high ground. He signalled Tank to cover him as he walked out to meet the giant Russian.

Alex removed his weapons and stood out from behind the stalagmite. Outwardly he appeared calm, but he knew Borshov’s presence meant Benson was dead. His heart rate was beginning to climb — not from fear or nerves, but from his supercharged body gearing up for combat.

Alex knew from experience that Borshov the Beast did not negotiate; he traded in torture, brute force and violent death. Margaret Anderson was simply being used to draw Alex in closer so the Russian had a better chance for a certain kill. If he wasn’t careful, they would both be dead in the next few minutes.

Borshov smiled to himself when he saw the American captain step away from his concealment. Uli Borshov knew the odds were against him; his element of surprise had been lost. There was no way he was going to be able to scale the wall without being shot, even if he somehow managed to strap the unconscious woman to his back. He couldn’t hope to take down all the HAWCs; they were too good. Kill Captain Alex Hunter, and bury the rest, that would complete the mission.

Borshov spoke quietly into his comm unit — he ordered the concealed assassin to prepare explosive charges for sealing the cave, timed for ten minutes. He was further ordered to stay for nine minutes and fifty seconds to witness him crush Captain Hunter with his bare hands; others must know that Uli Borshov remained unbeaten. Destruction of the American team and crushing Captain Hunter’s skull with his fists — perhaps today was going to be a good day after all.

“We meet in interesting places, Comrade Hunter.” Borshov was smiling behind the semi-conscious body of the medic. He was holding her by the throat with one hand, his enormous club-like fingers wrapped all the way around her neck. In his other hand he had a wicked-looking black blade held up beside her face.

“Captain Hunter, you have something of mine, you give it back, please.”

Borshov was a head taller than most men, easily as big as Tank but with the menacing look of a criminal thug. In his black infiltration suit with just a single cyclops night vision lens pointing at Alex he was enough to make most men tremble at the thought of a direct confrontation, and with good reason.

Alex stared unflinchingly into the Russian’s single lens and looked almost bored. “If you give me the woman and surrender your arms, I will let you and your men live today — that will be my only concession.”

Borshov laughed slowly. “You are in no position to dictate terms, Captain Hunter. If you don’t give me what I want, I will take it.”

To press his point he started to drag his knife down the side of Margaret’s face. Blood ran down her cheek as a huge gash unzipped behind the blade. The pain roused the woman from her stupor and the medic moaned and began to struggle.

Alex knew that once Margaret became a liability to the assassin she was as good as dead; he needed to end this quickly. He presumed the Russian’s primary demand was for the research material, so he threw the papers at Borshov’s feet.

The chains rattled within Alex’s soul; the furies screamed and raged to be released. Alex struggled to maintain control; the woman must be free of the beast before he could act or he would trigger a firefight between the Krofskoya and his HAWCs that would kill them all.

“That’s everything. Take it, let the woman go.”

Borshov didn’t bother looking down at the papers. He didn’t care about the oil or gas now, the woman’s life, or for that matter even his own. His only objective was to remove this insult to his reputation as the world’s deadliest assassin.

“My bullet. I want it back… now.” Borshov tensed. His unblinking eyes behind his night vision scope were like twin chips of obsidian as he waited for the moment when Alex’s concentration would lapse, even just for a split second. He knew the timed charges must be ready to detonate any minute now, but that meant little to him. Alex Hunter was either going to die in the resulting cave-in or by his hands.

Borshov started another cut on the woman’s cheek. This time Margaret screamed. Alex’s eyes slid down to Margaret for less than a second, but in that mere slice of an instant, Borshov’s hand shot out like a snake and released the lethal black blade directly at Alex’s left eye.

It had been all too easy.

It was not possible. Where the American captain had been standing there was now nothing but empty air. Borshov heard his blade clatter off into the darkness and in the next instant he felt the woman pulled roughly from his arms. A hand that felt like steel closed on his forearm. A mistake — good, thought Borshov; no man who got within his range could survive against his deadly skills and strength.

From the moment the blade was thrown and the attack commenced the furies were let loose. Alex had been struggling to hold his rage in check when the assassin had mutilated the woman and thrown the killing knife. The voice of an army psychologist telling him to take himself somewhere calm until the rage passed echoed dimly within his head. No, thought Alex, let it come.

Time seemed to move in slow motion around him. His rage built to a cauldron’s heat, and with the anger came a flood of biological chemicals into his extraordinary system that fuelled his enormous strength, speed and fury. He was already on the move before the blade had left the tips of the Russian’s fingers, circling in to get Margaret out from the danger zone.

Borshov caught movement just at the edge of his scope and almost magically another blade appeared in his hand. He brought the toughened black stiletto around in a short arc, intending to force it deep into Alex’s neck. Instead, his forearm was painfully blocked mid-swing. Borshov simply exerted more pressure, intending to force the blade slowly into the American. He knew he had at least eighty pounds on the HAWC and in close combat the odds were in his favour. However, his extra pressure was met with an impossible opposing strength that actually forced his arm away from the HAWC leader. Borshov attempted to use his close quarters, hand-to-hand combat techniques in a flurry of rapid fist and elbow strikes, but each of his blows were blocked and he was in turn struck with what seemed like sledgehammers. When Borshov felt his ribs crack it was time for a change in tactics. He didn’t know how the American captain had managed to improve his skills and strength so dramatically, but he was sure he was still human, and all humans could die. If he couldn’t retrieve his first bullet from Captain Hunter’s skull, he would give it another for company.

At last, Borshov managed to get both his hands on his opponent and quickly lifted the American above his head and then used all his body weight to throw him to the cave floor. Alex hit the ground and bounced from the hard impact, but it was enough time for the Russian to draw and shoot.

Stone chips exploded around Alex as Borshov released a deafening volley of shots in the enclosed cavern. Alex dived and rolled with all his speed and agility to stay ahead of the Russian’s deadly aim. He knew he didn’t have long; the giant assassin would eventually anticipate one of his moves and he would be hit. By the sound of the bullet impacts they had to be glassine-tipped rounds — there was no such thing as a simple flesh wound from one of those projectiles.

On the next roll Alex pulled a flare from his thigh pocket and in a single spinning motion he struck the base on the ground for ignition and threw it towards the Russian. Light- and heat-enhancement sensory equipment is extremely sensitive and the sudden bloom of the hot red flare rendered the equipment useless — and Borshov blind. The Russian ripped the cyclops scope from his head and brought the gun around to try to re-acquire his target.

When Borshov was able to locate Alex’s position he was shocked to find him right there beside him with his gun hand held in a vice-like grip. In the light of the flare Alex’s eyes looked red and his face was contorted in a mask of white-hot anger. Borshov brought his other arm around and seized Alex in a deadly embrace, intending to use his larger mass to once again lift the American off his feet. However, before Borshov could brace his legs for leverage, Alex lifted the giant Russian high into the air and then threw him nearly twenty feet down the cave to land with a bone-shuddering thump.

Borshov was momentarily stunned but rolled to his feet quickly; unexpectedly, instead of charging back at Alex, he dived towards Margaret and lifted the semi-conscious woman by the hair. From behind his back he produced yet another hidden blade and was bringing it up to the medic’s face when Alex leaped.

On the cave ledge, the Russian agent knew his commander was going to fall to the unnatural speed and strength of the HAWC he battled. He shrugged, time to leave; he owed Borshov nothing.

He pulled back on his belly, out of the American’s range of vision and reached up to a small timer, bringing the detonation forward by just a few seconds. He rolled and leaped to his feet, sprinting as fast as he could away from the explosives he had packed on each side of the upper walls. They were an upgraded form of the anti-tank sticky grenade designed to penetrate battlefield steel plating. Though largely obsolete due to the newer toughened armour deployed in conflict zones, the impact force of one of these small portable explosives made them ideal for detonate-and-destroy work by the Russian Special Forces.

He glanced down at his watch and then dived the last few feet to gain cover as the deafening roar of the explosives thumped like a giant mallet against the stone; the shock and compression waves travelling for hundreds of miles in every direction.

Several body lengths separated them, but Alex crossed the distance with ease and landed softly like a black-clad ghost. He struck out with a kizami tsuki flat-hand blow at a speed far beyond any normal soldier’s capabilities. In one fluid movement he forced the giant Russian’s forearm up past Margaret’s face and on towards his own. The wicked-looking blade skimmed Margaret’s forehead and buried itself in the orbital cavity of his eye. As Borshov was falling to the cave floor like an empty sack, their subterranean world erupted in a cyclone of heat and thunderous noise. Everything was chaos, everything went black.