Sacrifice of One

Chapter 10

A piercing, double ring from the phone jolted him from a deep sleep. Gorshevsky rolled over in bed, fumbling for the phone. “Yes?”

“Sir, this is Mikhail. I have news.”

Gorshevsky reached for a light switch. He squinted and blinked when the light came on. Resting on his elbow, he said, “I am listening.”

“We received word from Defense Minister General Alexi Boyra that one of our helicopters, a KA-27, was commandeered during the night from a maintenance facility near Shelkovka, sir.

“Guards reporting for duty found the men they were replacing, bound and gagged. Their only means for contacting General Boyra was by using a radio from one of the aircraft. Apparently, the attackers destroyed the communication equipment.”

“Go on,” Gorshevsky said, as he threw off the covers, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“The guards reported the facility was overrun by a number of attackers. One comrade was killed. According to these men, only one of the attackers spoke, although very little. We can only assume these guards are telling the truth, sir.”

“Mikhail, do you believe the ones who took the aircraft were the same individuals reportedly seen at Domodedovo?”

“The coincidence is too great, sir. A small truck was found abandoned just outside the facility’s grounds. No identification, nor plates were found with the vehicle. One peculiar piece of information is that two holes, one on each side in the back of the truck, were discovered. It appears that someone was trying to get more air inside. We haven’t determined what type of explosive was used.”

“As if someone were transporting passengers,” Gorshevsky commented with disgust.

“Yes. Passengers.”

“Have you succeeded in tracking the individual or individuals who may have planted the device?”

“We are interrogating two, sir.”

Gorshevsky stepped across the room, then lowered a window. “And what of Colonel Moshenko?” he asked, walking back to the bed, feeling bile creeping up to his throat.

“It will be some time before we have a total body count from the wreckage. In the meantime, that leaves two other possibilities we must consider: First, Colonel Moshenko was taken prisoner, and two, he may have defected, and it was he who leaked the information about the Americans.”

“Do you realize what you are saying?” the premier’s voice boomed.

“I do, sir, but as I said, those are only possibilities, and we must leave all open. But to add to the situation, we have been unsuccessful in contacting his wife, at home or the hospital. No one has seen her.”

Gorshevsky’s back went rigid. His face flushed. Blood pounded against his skull. “Mikhail, I want you to notify every division commander from Shelkovka to Berlin.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Antolov interrupted, “but with the time of the attack, they are well beyond Shelkovka, and probably approaching East Germany.”

“Then find them! Stop that aircraft! And, Mikhail, I want any or all of the bastards who perpetrated this… this crime, kept alive.”

“I will see to it, sir.” Conversation over.

As furious and concerned as he was, Gorshevsky thought beyond the current situation. If he managed to keep the aggressor, or aggressors, alive and in custody, he would have another chance at an exchange of prisoners.

The sun had already been up for over an hour. They’d been flying without incident. Moshenko kept the chopper low, moving fast. Flying, as Grant once said, was in his blood. If it had not been for the dire situation they found themselves in, he’d be in his glory.

Grant turned, looking back toward the cabin. Adler knelt by the open door. Staying just behind the bulkhead, looking forward, he held onto a safety line.

The men sat rigidly in their seats, strapped in securely. They all realized the chance these three men were taking for them. Over the past years they’d been held in captivity, it would have been easy to give up, give up on themselves, give up on their government, give up on ever being free. Unexpectedly, this has become their second chance. These men were giving them that chance, trying their damnedest to make it possible for them to go home.

The strap of Adler’s fully loaded Uzi was over his shoulder, the weapon hanging by his side. Wind whipped across his body whenever he’d lean slightly, trying to get a better view, trying to spot potential trouble. But they were flying close to one hundred sixty miles an hour, nearly maximum speed for the KA-27. The ground passed rapidly, especially flying at one hundred fifty feet above it.

Moshenko was pushing it. He eyed the gauges. “We have just crossed the border. We are in East Germany. We have less than one hundred kilometers to Berlin.”

Grant stared at his friend. “Sixty miles of stomach churning. This’s been one helluva op, Grigori, and it’s still not over.” He glanced at the gauges. “How’s the fuel?”

“We are all right, my friend.”

“Think the ‘gas station attendants’ at our fuel stop recognized you?”

“I do not believe so.”

Grant looked out the windshield, spotting a small village at twelve o’clock. “Any installations we have to worry about?” He reached behind him and took out the binoculars.

Moshenko responded, “We have almost five hundred thousand troops in East Germany, Grant. Most are stationed in or near bigger cities. There are many small encampments scattered around the countryside. Many East German troops are being used to patrol borders but they also have encampments. I do not know how many communication stations they have.”

“What about airfields? Any in this area?”

Moshenko shook his head. “I do not believe so. But our helicopters can be anywhere.”

Grant didn’t even want to think about that possibility, as he looked at his watch, then went back to the glasses. By the time those two guards were discovered, it should’ve given us a big lead, he thought,unless somebody in Moscow put all the pieces together earlier. Scary thought.

There was always a possibility aircraft could be waiting ahead, patrolling. But they were flying in a Russian chopper. Maybe that’s all they had going for them.

There haven’t been any transmissions coming across the airwaves, nobody telling them to “land immediately or else.” Maybe it’s been too damn quiet.

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind, when out of nowhere there was a sound of bullets striking the underbelly of the chopper.

“We’re under attack!” Adler shouted. “Machine guns! Starboard!” He returned fire with the Uzi. More bullets hit near the tail fins, then again the underbelly. Moshenko sent the chopper into a climb, then he pulled the cyclic-pitch lever (the “stick”) left, banking to port.

Grant punched the release for the shoulder harness and rushed back to Adler, trying to maintain his balance as Moshenko flew evasive maneuvers. “You okay?” Grant shouted.

“Couldn’t see ’em, skipper! Jesus! They’re fuckin’ everywhere!”

Grant pulled the satchel closer to Adler, laying an extra clip for the Uzi on top, then he grabbed a clip for the Makarov. “Gonna call Tony!”

He pointed at the five men as he passed them, heading to the cockpit. “Keep those seatbelts buckled tight! We’ve got less than thirty miles! It might get worse!” Rushing to the cockpit, he fastened the seat harness, then put on the headphones, adjusting the mouthpiece. More gunfire erupted. Adler kept firing in quick, short bursts.

“How much farther?” Grant shouted at Moshenko.

“Maybe forty kilometers!” Moshenko continually maneuvered the chopper from port to starboard, trying to gain altitude, trying not to become an easy target. But if he climbed too high then lost control, they wouldn’t have a chance when they went down. His best bet was to keep outmaneuvering the attackers, while he hoped there weren’t any aircraft in pursuit or up ahead.

Gunfire again. More bullets ricocheted off the port side, this time under the cockpit.

“Where the fuck did they come from?” Grant shouted. He dialed the emergency frequency. “Panther calling Legs! Panther calling Legs! Come in!” Silence. “Panther calling Legs! Come in, Legs!”

“Legs here! Over!”

Grant yelled, “Taking fire! Taking fire! We’re about twenty-five miles out!”

“Stay with me! Keep that mike open!” Mullins shouted back.

More hits on the chopper. Adler rammed another clip into the Uzi, and resumed fire.

Suddenly, the chopper pitched violently. Moshenko gripped the stick with both hands. They started losing altitude. Off course now, they were south of Berlin.

Adler scooted to the other side of the door, holding onto a safety line. He leaned out as far as he could, seeing a stream of fuel. “Fuel leak!”

Grant shouted to Mullins, “Losing altitude! Fuel leak!”

“Gimme your position!” Mullins shouted back.

“Fifty-two degrees north, thirteen degrees east! Repeat! Fifty-two degrees north, thirteen degrees east! We’re going down!”

“On our way!” Mullins yelled, with his heart thumping against his chest.

Adler slung the Uzi’s strap over his head, scurried to a seat, snapped the belt closed, then yanked it tight. He shouted at the men in front of him. “Hang tight! The colonel’s the best there is!”

Moshenko still had some control, enough where maybe, just maybe, he could prevent a tragedy, but the ground was getting closer at an alarming rate.

“Over there!” Grant pointed.

A clearing, just at the edge of a forest. Fighting to maintain control, Moshenko banked the chopper. It started resisting his control. Aiming for the outer edge of the clearing, he was trying to come in parallel to the tree line. He was trying to reduce speed, struggling to adjust the angle, trying to prevent a direct hit. But they were coming in fast.

“Come on, Grigori! You can do it!” Grant shouted, as he grabbed both straps of the harness. Then over his shoulder he warned, “Brace yourselves!”

The sound and tremendous force when it plowed into the earth was horrendous. Almost instantly, it rebounded for a brief second, then hit again, skidding on its belly. Dirt, grass, rocks shot up from every angle. The ass end smacked hard, snapping off the twin tail fins, causing the undercarriage wheels to rip off. Still skidding, it rolled on its side, causing first the left then right nose wheels to collapse, then break off, sending the forward section into a nose-dive. The upper swirling rotor blade broke, spiraling away in different directions. The radar under the cockpit and half the cockpit were partially buried in soil.

Suddenly, it was over. Grant shook his head, raising it slowly. The sudden jolt of the hit, made him feel like his spine had been shoved up into the top of his head. Shattered pieces of windshield were sprayed around the cockpit, on him and Moshenko. He was still strapped in, feeling the pressure of the harness against his chest. Fumbling for the harness release, he called, “Grigori!”

“Yes. Yes.” He automatically released the seat harness.

“Come on! We’ve gotta get outta here!” As he got off the seat, he readjusted the holster, feeling for the Makarov. He felt off balance, almost disoriented, as he started for the cabin. He rubbed his neck, moving his head side to side, as he shouted, “Joe!”

“Here, skipper!” Adler was shaking his head, and rubbing his face. He unsnapped the seatbelt, got up slowly, then made a dash to get extra clips for the Uzi.

Grant rushed to the men. They were all alert, but shaking almost uncontrollably. A couple of them had their head between their knees, their breathing coming in short, quick breaths. All of them fumbled for a seatbelt release. “Everybody okay?” Five heads nodded. “Come on! Let’s go!” He helped them with the belts, then stood by as each man passed him. Their legs were unsteady as they headed for the door.

“Grigori! Come on!” he yelled.

From the angle of the chopper, they’d have about a six foot drop to the ground. “Joe, get out and help them!” Adler jumped down, immediately reaching to help each man to safety.

Moshenko was behind Grant. “You okay, Grigori? Nothing’s damaged?”

“I am okay.” He was still amazed they were all walking. He lowered himself out the door.

Gripping the pistol with one hand, Grant yanked the Uzi and extra clips from his satchel, then slung the strap over his shoulder. “Joe!” He handed both satchels to Adler, before he jumped out.

He immediately started scanning their surroundings, looking for a safer place. Then he pointed, “Over there! Get away from the chopper!” A smell of fuel hit their senses. They started running, when they heard the sound of a chopper. “It’s gotta be Tony!” Grant yelled, swiveling his head, finally spotting the helo coming from the northwest.

Out of nowhere, shots rang out. They all dropped to the ground, snapping their heads around. Running out from the trees were uniformed men, Russians and East Germans, more than twenty of them, firing with AKs and pistols.

“Stay down! Stay down!” Grant ordered, pointing at the men. He, Adler, and Moshenko positioned themselves in front of them. “Come on, Tony!”

The three returned fire, taking down two of the advancing assailants. But bullets continued hitting dirt around them, zipping by their heads, hitting the KA-27.

The rescue chopper started descending about thirty yards behind them, preparing for touchdown. Grant shouted, “Grigori! Here!” He gave Moshenko his satchel. He and Adler already had all the ammo. “Take the men! Go! Go!”

Moshenko followed close behind the five. They had some protection by putting themselves between the downed chopper and the incoming one. They zig zagged as they ran toward the helo, ducking low and covering their heads with their arms. One man fell to his knees. Moshenko grabbed his arm and jerked him up, then pushed him forward.

Grant’s Makarov ran out of ammo. He pulled his Uzi off his shoulder and started firing. Adler was next to him, using his Uzi, when Grant yelled, “Gimme that!”

“What…?”

Grant yanked the weapon from Adler’s hands, immediately slinging the strap over his shoulder, then he resumed firing with his Uzi in short bursts at the oncoming attackers. “See they all make it! That’s an order, Joe! Go! Go!” The two looked at each other for a split second, then Grant turned away, resuming fire. Another Russian went down.

Adler drew his pistol, as his mind was screaming, Fuck that order! But this was one time he was going to follow Grant’s order. He fired off rounds as he quickly backed up toward the waiting helo.

Moshenko was out of ammo, but someone stood above him in the chopper’s doorway, firing at the attackers, at the same time trying to help him get the men to safety.

Tony Mullins grabbed Moshenko’s hand, and pulled him into the helo. The five men scrambled behind a bulkhead, taking cover, trying to make themselves as small a target as possible.

Moshenko kept looking at Grant, seeing he was down on one knee, still firing the Uzi in short bursts. Finally getting up into a crouch position, he started scooting backwards a little at a time.

Adler reached the helo and started climbing up, when Mullins grabbed his arm and hauled him onboard. Both men immediately started firing their weapons, trying to give Grant some protection, enough for him to make it to the chopper. They watched him backing up, continuing to fire. All three shouted at him, motioning with their hands. “Come on! Come on!”

Suddenly, Grant staggered, and went down. Mullins yelled, “Grant!” He jumped out the door, barely took one step, when a bullet struck him in the chest. Adler grabbed him by the back of his collar, and he and Moshenko dragged him back up into the cabin. Blood was spreading across his chest, pooling next to him. Adler already knew it wasn’t good.

The Russians and East Germans were starting to make an all out assault now, rushing toward the helo. Adler rammed another clip into the pistol and fired as he hollered at the top of his lungs, “Get us outta here!”

The attackers stopped their assault as the chopper started climbing. Adler and Moshenko steadied themselves, gripping the sides of the door, staring down in disbelief, seeing Grant’s body with two Russians standing over him. One knelt next to him briefly, then they each grabbed one of his arm’s and started dragging him from the scene.

Adler had tears welling up in his eyes, as he shouted, “We’ll come back for you, skipper! That’s a fuckin’ promise!” Moshenko rested a hand on Adler’s shoulder, unable to find any words.

When he could no longer see Grant, Adler looked down at Mullins laying at his feet. He got down on a knee, feeling for a pulse in his neck, then his wrist, pressing, searching, feeling nothing. “Oh, Christ! Tony. Dammit! Goddammit!”

Without warning, a huge blast shook the chopper. Adler and Moshenko both threw their arms in front of their faces from sheer reaction, as the KA-27 blew up. A ball of fire, smoke and debris shot up and out in every direction. Pieces of blades spiraled out of control, some heading toward the forest, others splashing into the river.

“Oh, Jesus!” Adler shouted. He leaned toward the door, holding on, trying to see beyond the flames and smoke, looking for anybody. It was no use.

The chopper pilot keyed his mike. “Foxtrot 73 calling Nightingale 25! Foxtrot 73 calling Nightingale 25! Come in Nightingale 25! Over!”

“Nightingale 25. Go ahead Foxtrot 73. Over.”

“Have eight souls onboard! Request stretcher for one! Doesn’t look good! Acknowledge! Over!”

“Roger, Foxtrot 73! We’re ready!” Out!”

Joe Adler and Grigori Moshenko stood by the open door, nervously awaiting touchdown. Even with the rotors still winding down and blades rotating, two medics ran to the helo, carrying a stretcher. They lifted Mullins’ body, laid him on it, then hurried back to the C-9A.

Jumping out of the helo first, Adler and Moshenko then helped the five men down, escorted them to the aircraft, and waited until they were safely onboard.

Adler took hold of Moshenko’s arm. “Sir, let’s go. I’ve gotta get to the Embassy.” As they ran back to the waiting chopper, the Nightingale was already taxing into position for takeoff, with its destination Landstuhl, about one hour flying time.

Once at the Embassy, Adler made the introductions between Moshenko and Greeley. He had a brief moment of satisfaction seeing Alexandra rush into her husband’s arms.

It was time for him to leave that reunion. He had to make his call. He took the elevator to the lower level, to the cryptology room, having received authorization from Bureau Chief Greeley.

One of the crypto guys punched in a code, giving Adler access to a smaller room with a scrambler. He and Grant used this same room and equipment on the Lampson mission.

There wasn’t one iota of time to waste. Putting a call through to Torrinson was his top priority. They had to find Grant.

Torrinson was stretched out on the leather sofa, with his stocking feet perched on the armrest. His eyes were closed but sleep was avoiding him. He and Zach decided to tough it out at the office, waiting for word.

A knock at the door, and he responded, “Come.” He slid his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up, smoothing back his hair.

“Sir,” Zach said, poking his head in the doorway. “It’s Lieutenant Adler on the red one, sir.”

Torrinson looked up. “Joe?” he asked on his way to the desk.

“Yes, sir,” Zach replied, then closed the door behind him.

Torrinson didn’t have a good feeling. “Joe, where are you?”

“At the Embassy, sir. I’m reporting that five men are on their way to Landstuhl. All are safe, admiral.”

Torrinson looked overhead, before closing his eyes in relief. “Wonderful news, Joe!”

“Yes, sir. And the colonel is here. Agent Mullins managed to get Mrs. Moshenko out of Moscow, and she’s here, too, sir.”

So far so good,Torrinson thought. He resisted the urge to ask about Grant. Joe would get to it in his own time. Maybe Grant just sent him to make the call while he took care of the Moshenkos.

“So, Agent Mullinswas with you. I hope he knows the Agency’s been looking for him. He’d better have some good answers ready.” Silence. “Joe?”

Adler paced in front of the counter, nervously rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Sir, Agent Mullins was killed early this morning.”

Torrinson caught his breath. “What happened?”

“Our chopper was taking small arms fire. Captain Stevens sent an emergency transmission to Tony, just before our chopper went down. When Tony’s chopper landed, he was helping everyone get onboard. He jumped out, and… he caught a bullet in the chest. He died just about instantly, sir.” Adler was reliving the whole scene in his mind. He had to lean against the counter to steady himself.

More anxious than ever, Torrinson asked in a low voice, “Joe, where’s Grant?”

“Sir, Captain Stevens ordered us to the rescue chopper while he tried to hold off the assault, giving us more time.” Adler’s voice cracked as he said, “We saw him get hit, sir.” Torrinson put a hand to his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. Adler immediately added, “But I think he’s alive, admiral. Two Russians pulled him up, then dragged him off.”

“Thank God,” Torrinson murmured, as he flopped back against his chair.

“Admiral, we’ve gotta find him! We… ”

“Joe, I’ve had a Team from Little Creek on standby since Grant called from Moscow. They’ve been in the air for hours.” There was a brief moment of silence before Torrinson spoke again. “Joe, you did not, I repeat, you did not leave Grant behind. You did what had to be done. You were following Grant’s orders.” Torrinson tried an attempt at levity. “Knowing you, following orders can be a challenge.”

Adler pretty much ignored the comment. “But, sir, we don’t have any idea where they could’ve taken him. They were headed into the trees. We lost sight of them. With any sort of transportation, they could’ve gone in any direction, sir. They could be anywhere by now.”

Torrinson had the same thought, but said, “I have a feeling there’s a shitload of transmissions flying around Russia. I’ll have to call the President first, then check with CIA.”

“Request permission to go with the Team to find the captain, sir.”

“Permission denied, lieutenant.”

“But, sir… ”

“You stay where you are. Don’t leave the Embassy until you hear from me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll go find the colonel. He’s probably going through a G2 now. We’re all worried as hell, sir.”

“As am I, Joe.”

“Sir, will you… ”

“That’s affirmative, Joe. I’ll call you! And Joe… remarkable job getting those men back.”

“Thank you, sir.”

President Carr was in his bedroom sitting on a dark blue upholstered wing chair wearing his white robe. The news from Admiral Torrinson about the POWs made him ecstatic, and the defection of the Russian KGB officer put the icing on the cake.

But then Torrinson relayed information about Captain Stevens and Agent Mullins. One dead, one captured and injured. He thought it best that Torrinson leave immediately for Germany and authorized a plane.

He still hadn’t heard from Premier Gorshevsky. A thought crossed his mind, seeing the panic going on inside the Kremlin. A KGB officer defecting. Then again, maybe they still don’t know the colonel wasn’t on the chopper that was destroyed. Or maybe they think he’s become a hostage. Maybe they don’t know, he thought. There were too many maybes.

He stood, retied the robe’s sash, then walked across the blue carpeted floor, feeling the weight of the presidency on his shoulders. Putting his arms behind his back, he slapped one hand against the other.

The POWs are safe, but now, there’s an American captured. One American Navy officer, who risked it all, laid his life on the line for men he didn’t even know. Would this be the sacrifice of one for many? Carr pondered.

If the SEALs couldn’t find Captain Stevens, if their mission failed, would he, Carr, approach the premier, and offer to make an exchange? His original decision to not even consider an exchange of the POWs had now come back to bite him in the butt. It resulted in injuries and death.

Whatever it takes, he will not leave Captain Stevens behind. It would be inhumane for him to do so.