Dead Hand

Chapter 16

Alter having made amazingly good time, delay and frustration became the order of the day for the three SAS teams that were converging on their assigned target. Captain Alex Abraham's team Bravo, approaching from the southwest, had the misfortune of wandering into an uncharted minefield. This incident not only cost Abraham one of the three men with him but the resulting explosion alerted a Russian patrol to their presence. The running gunfight that followed claimed the life of the SAS captain as well as forcing the survivors away from their target.

When Major Thomas Shields discussed this turn of events via radio with Patrick Hogg, both men agreed that engagement was not without its positive aspects. As per their orders, the remnants of Abraham's command were doing all they could to keep the Russian patrol interested and diverting its watch over the missile silo.

While team Bravo did its best, the Russians refused to fully cooperate. Guessing what the unexpected intruders were up to. the commander of the security detachment sent only a small portion of his command to run the survivors of Abraham's team to ground. The bulk of the Russian security force was held back to defend the Perimeter missile the SAS teams were after.

After having gotten as close as he dare. Patrick Hogg, accompanied by Sergeant McPherson. surveyed the situation from a concealed position. The Russian positions encircling the silo stood out against the barren, snow-covered ground. While none of them seemed to be well-dug in. the defenders had more than sufficient cover, thanks to the shock wave that had bowled over the forests. Even more important from the Russians' standpoint, all of the fighting positions were mutually supporting. Rooting them out would take time. Hogg realized, and cost him men that he could ill afford to lose.

From a spot across the way, Major Thomas Shields had come to the same conclusion. In hushed tones, the two men covered the hand mikes of their radios and discussed their options. After comparing notes, they determined that there were probably fifteen or twenty Russians protecting the silo. That gave the security detachment a decided edge, since Hogg had but five in his team, and Shields six, counting himself. While members of the SAS were used to taking on superior numbers, the situation, as it stood, made a successful assault a highly speculative proposition. Neither Hogg nor Shields knew for sure where all the Russians were or their exact number. Ordinarily, a careful reconnaissance would rectify this deficiency, but they did not have time for that. Repeated calls from the American commander in their sector insisted that they execute their assigned target in conjunction with the other teams and upon completion, report to the rally point as quickly as possible.

Having seen all that he expected he would from the spot he was in, Patrick Hogg eased down behind the fallen tree he had been using for cover and continued his discussion with Shields. "Green, this is Blue. They have pretty much gone to ground. Success of an attack from this quarter is highly problematical. I say again, success is highly problematical."

There was a pause before Shields replied in a voice that betrayed just how discouraged he was, "Affirmative, Green."

"It's not like the old man to let something like a dozen or so Russians get him down," McPherson commented as Hogg waited for further contact with his superior.

Hogg, though he meant well, was in no mood to be cheered up. "The major's just lost a fair number of his men," he stated dryly. "Now he's going to have to make a decision that he knows could cost him a good part of what's left."

Sensing Hogg's anger and frustration, McPherson dropped the matter, choosing instead to lean up against the log next to his team leader and take advantage of this opportunity to rest. As he waited in the quiet darkness, there was no doubt in his mind that whatever Major Shields came up with in the next few minutes, it would require a great deal from all of them.

Only after it became clear that his companion had opted to remain mute did it occur to Hogg that this was the last thing he wanted. Unlike McPherson, he could not relax, close his eyes, and let his mind go wandering. To begin with, he was an officer in the midst of a very sensitive operation. Officers could not afford the luxury of disengaging their brains and waiting for someone else to give them a rousing kick in the pants when it was time to pack up and move on. If he permitted himself to relax as McPherson was doing, there was a very good chance that his lack of sleep would catch up and overwhelm him, leaving no one to answer when Shields finally did hail him with a solution to their dilemma.

So the exhausted SAS captain sat there, huddling up as best he could against the growing cold, struggling to stay awake and keep his thoughts focused on the mission.

The darkness that hid him from his foe conspired with the utter stillness and his momentary inactivity to resurrect the personal issues that seemed to be dominating his life as of late. That his Jenny was truly gone was still difficult for Hogg to accept. There had to be another way that he could reach out to her. All he needed to do was to find the right words, he told himself. Hadn't he always been able to do so before? In the past, he had always managed to make her understand just how important she was to him, to see that he needed her and loved her above all else. He couldn't understand how Jenny failed to see that his dedication to duty was simply a calling, while she was his reason for being.

Like a roller coaster that had reached a peak, this last hope hung there for a brief moment before flaring out in the quick and stomach turning plunge that followed: She is gone, a quiet voice whispered from somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. You have lost her forever.

"Green, this is Blue."

With a start, Hogg fumbled about in the darkness as he reached for the hand mike. "This is Green."

"We haven't much time," Shields stated without preamble, "so here's how this will play out. You will engage the Russians in a firefight from where you are. When you have their full attention, pull back, drawing them away from the silo as you go. I'm hoping that they buy into the idea that there are only two teams out here, that you are the last of them, and therefore they'll come at you with everything they have. Do you copy? Over."

With McPherson now fully awake and listening, Hogg acknowledged that he understood.

"Good," Shields replied. "Once you have led them as far as you dare, break contact and make your way to the rally point as best you can with utmost speed."

"Affirmative, Blue," Hogg said without letting his voice betray the apprehension he felt. "Is there anything else?" he asked out of habit.

"This is Blue. Negative. As soon as you're ready, execute." Then, as an afterthought, Shields added, "Good luck."

The SAS captain did not bother to return the sentiment. Instead, he turned to deal with the new situation at hand.

"I always hate this sort of thing," McPherson offered.

His team leader grunted. "I have no doubt that the major's right. The Russians will follow. It's getting them to stop following that's going to be the trick."

"You don't suppose that they'll give up the ghost when they hear the silo go pop, do you?" McPherson ventured.

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" Hogg countered. When McPherson did not respond, Hogg went back to turning the problem over in his mind. "Do you remember that narrow draw we passed through two klicks back?" he finally asked.

"Yes, of course," McPherson replied. "The place looked like a team of drunken lumberjacks went on a frenzy." Partially shielded from the full force of the shock wave following the impact of the asteroid, the draw in question was choked with shattered trees thrown about at all angles. When he thought he had latched on to his commander's idea, the Scottish NCO articulated his own version: "We lead them back into it, gain the high ground, and chop 'em up while they're mucking about among the tree trunks."

"I'll do you one better," Hogg stated as he began to stir himself off the ground. "I want you to go back there with Jones. Take the two demo charges with you. Set them up on either side of the draw with the business end of the shaped charges angled down into it. Wire them together and into the manual blasting machine. Then find a place from where we can see down into the vale. It has to be far enough away so that whoever executes the demo doesn't go up with it."

McPherson whistled. "Now that will be a neat trick. It's not the blast that I'm worried about. It's the trash that the charges throw up in the air that'll get ya. The splinters from the trees will come down on anyone within a hundred yards of that vale like a hail of arrows."

Hogg gave his NCO a light tap on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll figure something out by the time I get back there. Now, get going. Send Dunn and Patterson up here to me. We'll give you ten minutes before we open fire."

"That's not much time, sir."

"That's all I can give you. Now go, before the major starts hounding us."

When McPherson was gone, Hogg checked his watch. Ten minutes. An eternity in the SAS. It was ten minutes that he, in truth, didn't have. But having taken them, he needed to make sure they were not wasted. While he waited for the two men who would stay behind with him, he settled into a good firing position. Once he was nestled behind the best cover he could find, he flipped his night vision goggles down in order to make a final sweep of the area around the silo. Any more thoughts about his wife were for the moment relegated to that place in his mind where all professional soldiers store personal baggage and concerns that have no place on the battlefield.

Making his way up to where McPherson waited for him was an ordeal for Private Jones. Stumbling and tripping, he navigated the maze of fallen timbers that filled the narrow vale as best he could. Born in an area where opportunities for a young man were slim, he had joined the Royal Welsh Fusiliers before volunteering for the SAS. Just how wise a move that had been was, at this particular moment, open to debate. In a pitch-black darkness, he moved as quickly as he could. This effort cost him dearly as he slipped and banged his knees and shins more times than he cared to count. Each time he stumbled he cut loose with a string of oaths. When he was close enough that McPherson could hear him, the Scottish sergeant yelled out to the man, "Stop your bloody whining and get your sorry ass over here, you filthy Welshman."

Between McPherson's exhortations and the echo of gunfire louder with each passing minute, Jones managed to make his way over to McPherson's position. "It's about bloody time," the Scot snarled as he grabbed the lead Jones offered up. "Now, get back to where I told you to go, find yourself a hole to crawl into, and wait there till after I blow this." Knowing enough about demolitions to understand what would happen when McPherson set off the two charges, the young commando was gone in a flash.

When all was set, the Scottish NCO settled down to wait for Hogg to lead the Russians into the kill zone. With nothing better to do, he looked around. As he did so, he began to have second thoughts about the spot he had selected. Though the fold of earth that stood between himself and the charges beyond was quite substantial and would be more than adequate to protect him from the direct effect of the blast, there was little in the way of overhead cover. His warnings to Hogg were spinning about in his mind when he heard the other members of the team enter the vale below.

Carefully, McPherson rose up and called out in the direction from which he had heard his captain's voice. "Up and to your right, sir."

Homing in on the sound of his sergeant's voice, Patrick Hogg ignored the odd burst of AK fire unleashed blindly by one of his nervous pursuers. Like Jones had, Hogg, Dunn, and Patterson found the going both difficult and painful. Unlike Jones, none of them griped. The random fire that continued to gain on them motivated the three stay-behinds to maintain their focus and clear the vale before the Russians caught up.

Huffing and puffing, Hogg managed to reach the hollow where he thought McPherson was. "Sergeant! Where in the bloody hell are you?"

With the Russians now entering the vale below, McPherson had to exercise a bit more caution. Waving only his free hand above the fold of earth he was hunkered behind, he called out as loudly as he dared. "To your right, sir. Over here."

Almost immediately, three heaving, sweating commandos came bounding up over the mound of dirt before McPherson and descended on him. Having no idea of how close they were, one of them landed right on top of the waiting SAS sergeant. Only a display of incredible self-discipline, coupled with a keen awareness of how near the Russians were, kept McPherson from tossing his unexpected assailant off to one side while flailing him with every curse word he could muster.

The assailant, after realizing his error, crawled over McPherson and back onto solid ground. "Sorry about that," Hogg mumbled as he struggled to regain his composure and sort out his jumble of gear that was now in utter disarray.

Glad that he had exercised restraint, McPherson turned to the other two men. "Keep moving uphill till you're clear of the ridgeline. Jones is over there already. You have sixty seconds before I light up the Russians." Then, remembering the vulnerability of his position, he turned to Hogg. "I recommend you go with them."

Sorted out and ready, Hogg shook his head. "I'm staying here with you. Where's there a safe place?"

"Edinburgh, if you must know."

Angered that his NCO would joke at a time like this, Hogg snapped back, "Jesus, man! I'm serious."

McPherson was just as quick and equally adamant, "Well, so am 1."

For the first time, Hogg looked around. Even though he could not see everything in the darkness that engulfed them, it didn't take long for him to appreciate just how vulnerable this spot was. "Why in hell didn't you pick someplace farther back?"

Trying to keep track of where the Russians were at the same time he was dealing with his commanding officer, McPherson's answer was to the point. "Not enough wire."

Like most assault units a Special Operations team carries only that which is required to handle the assigned mission and unanticipated contingencies. This is especially true when the team will be expected to cover a lot of broken ground on foot. Although each team had brought two oversized shaped charges with them, the second was meant only as a backup. Each Tempest team had a dual means of detonating their charges. The primary means was a delayed fuse. The secondary was the manual blasting machine McPherson now held in his hand. This machine required a spool of wire in order to function, and only enough wire to prepare one charge for detonation from a safe distance had been included in the demo kit.

Unfortunately, the situation that McPherson faced when setting up his ambush had forced him to make compromises. In order to have the desired effect his captain wanted, he could not get around the necessity of setting off the two charges simultaneously. Since he had to wait until the Russians had entered the kill zone before executing the charges, he could not use the time fuses. When the distance between the two charges was added to this problem, McPherson had no choice but to gamble that his chosen spot, located at the very end of the wire he had on hand, would be good enough.

In an instant, Hogg realized this and started to reconsider his decision to stay where he was. He was in the midst of this deliberation when the sky off to the east of them was suddenly lit up with a brilliant flash. Without thinking, both men turned in the direction of the missile silo. Several seconds letter, a booming report rolled through the vale toward them. Even as this wave of sound hit, the eastern sky lit up again. This time, instead of a bright flash, a sheet of flames that put Hogg in mind of a freshly lit welder's torch shot straight up. "Well, the major's done his job," he said, feeling a sense of relief for the first time that night.

Though he had taken a moment to watch the spectacle in the distance, Sergeant McPherson quickly turned his attention to their immediate problem. "The bastards have stopped."

Without hesitation, Hogg scanned the vale below. He could see that the Russians pursuing them had come to a complete halt. Like McPherson, they were also watching the death of the missile they had been assigned to guard. Near the head of the loose formation, one of them looked up in the general direction that he assumed Hogg had taken, then back at the sky that was being lit as bright as day by the burning of the missile's propellant. With a wave of his arm and a shouted order, this individual signaled to the others that they were giving up their pursuit and heading back.

Without hesitation, Hogg gave the order: "Fire the charges."

The Scottish NCO, who had also been watching, hesitated. "But they're not fully in the kill zone."

Hogg turned on the sergeant and repeated his order. "Fire the charges, now!"

Dropping down, McPherson turned away, pushed himself up against the berm that separated him from the vale below, and gave the manual blasting machine a quick, violent twist.