The Arctic Event

Chapter Forty-seven

Saddleback Glacier

Crouching inside the cave mouth, the Russian demolitions man studied the lava ceiling and the explosive charges he’d planted, double-checking his placements. His orders had been explicit. He must collapse the entrance in a way that would present the appearance of a natural rockfall. It was an interesting technical challenge, especially in the roiling of the fall so that explosives-uncontaminated rock would face outward. It wouldn’t do to leave detectable chemical traces. Lieutenant Tomashenko had been very insistent about this, and today would not be a good day to fail his platoon leader.

Satisfied, the demolitions man knelt and crimped an electric detonator cap to the end of the spliced bundle of primer cords. Some of the cord lengths led to the overhead charges; others ran deeper into the cavern within the mountain.

Pavel Tomashenko felt the cold sweat gathering down the center of his spine beneath his parka. He knew it was only partially due to the golden ball of the sun bobbing above the southern horizon. He was on the verge of losing this mission. Like a hockey goalie seeing the puck skimming past beyond his block, all he could do was try to stretch for that last critical millimeter.

He, his radioman, and the second member of his demolitions team stood out on the glacier some fifty meters from the mouth of the cave the Misha crew had used as a survival shelter and the Americans had used for a fortress.

Even standing out on the glacier face in the open daylight was an admission of crisis. Like any other commando unit, the Spetsnaz were normally creatures of secrecy and concealment. But Tomashenko had lost both the cover of night and weather to the more critical factor of time. He must act decisively now, utilizing the scraps remaining to him. With the clearing skies, the outside world would be reaching in to Wednesday Island.

“Have you been able to contact the submarine?” Tomashenko snapped, then silently berated himself for the display of nerves. If his radioman had been able to establish communications, he would have reported it at once.

“No, Lieutenant,” the stolid Yakut replied, crouching beside his tactical transceiver. “There is no longer any interference, but there is no reply. They must not have found a lead in the ice for their antenna.”

“So be it.” Tomashenko forced his voice into normality. “We will try again at the noon schedule.” It was just as well. It would give him a couple of additional hours to salvage this mess and conceal his failure. “Get me through to White Bird team.”

“At once, Lieutenant.”

Using the radio so promiscuously was another symbol of disaster, as was the splitting of his meager command. But again Tomashenko had no choice. He must clean up things here at the crash site, and at the same time he must find and eliminate those damn American intelligence operatives!

At the base of East Peak the senior demolitions man emerged from the cave mouth. Trailing the detonator wire behind him, he backed across the sun-brightened surface of the glacier toward Tomashenko’s temporary command post. The number two demo man took the detonator box from the explosives sled and began setting it up.

“Lieutenant, I have White Bird leader.”

Tomashenko tore back his parka hood. Hunkering down beside the radioman, he accepted the headset and microphone.

“White Bird, this is Red Bird. Report!”

“Red Bird,” the radio-filtered voice whispered in the earphones. “We have no contact. We have swept the south descents and the main trail approaches for a second time. We have found no trace of them. They are not on the glacier and they have not climbed down on this side of the ridge. They must have descended the north face, Lieutenant.”

The descent Tomashenko had said was impossible the night before.

“Very well, White Bird,” he spoke curtly into the handset. “Commence a sweep toward the west end of the island and the science station. Engage on contact. We will be joining you shortly. Red Bird out.”

“Understood. Executing. White Bird out.” Tomashenko passed back the headset and mike. The Americans must have headed for the station. There was nowhere else to go. If so, there was still a chance they could be taken and eliminated. Even if it cost him another third of his command, the secret of the March Fifth Event would be kept.

The demolitions team had the charge leads wired into the detonator box now, and the lead man was cranking up the key. “Ready to fire, Lieutenant.”

“Carry on. Blow it.”

The demo man rested his gloved thumb on the detonator button and hesitated, looking over his shoulder at his platoon leader. “Lieutenant, those men in the cave…Sergeant Vilyayskiy and our people. Shouldn’t something be said…some words?”

“The dead are deaf, Corporal. Fire it!”

The detonator box magneto zipped, and thunder rumbled deep within the belly of the mountain. Ten thousand tons of basalt fractured, shifted, and resettled, sealing the crew of the Misha 124 and the four lost members of the Spetsnaz platoon in a black rock eternity. A brief burst of lava dust jetted from the cave mouth, only to be overwhelmed by the cascade of disturbed ice and snow flowing down the flank of East Peak, erasing the last trace. Even those who had been inside the lava tube would have a hard time finding it again.

As the misting avalanche cloud dissipated, the demolitions leader spoke, his words flat. “Your orders, Lieutenant?”

“Retrieve the detonator leads and let’s move out. I want to join up with the search party as soon as possible.”

The demo man gestured toward the wreck of the Misha 124 a half-mile distant across the saddleback. “What about the plane?”

“We leave it as it sits. The Americans know of it, and to burn it now would only make for more questions. Let’s move!”

At that moment, the radio operator stiffened. Tilting his head he pressed his earphones tighter to his head. “Lieutenant, I hear a signal on the transponder circuit! It is the radio tracer beacon Major Smyslov was carrying!”

Tomashenko bent over the radioman’s shoulder. “Are you certain?”

“It is the proper frequency and code pattern. It must be the same tracer.”

“Get a bearing!” Smyslov must still be alive and possibly pointing the way to his captors. As the radioman plugged the RDF loop into his set, Tomashenko squatted on the ice. Spreading out an island map, he readied a compass and a straightedge from his chart case.

“Signal bearing approximately two six six degrees! Signal strength five!”

Tomashenko’s all-weather pencil slashed across the map. A little south of west. That bearing would put Smyslov either on top of East Peak or on the south coast between this position and the science station. It must be the science station! At signal strength five it might be three or four miles out. Maybe his luck was turning.

“Radioman! Contact White Bird leader! Tell him the enemy is on the southern coast and they are heading for the station! Tell him to pursue with all speed! Corporal! Cache and conceal the radio and the other heavy gear, on the double! Light marching order! Weapons and ammunition only! We’ll have these bastards yet!”