The Bear

Moscow

“So, what do you think?”

“I think I haven’t flown anything like this, in a long, long time.” Captain Will ‘Danil’ Jenner grabbed the yoke with both hands and felt the grain of the worn leather against his fingers. It was raw, cold in the dead of a Russian winter.

“How does a Cessna come to be in Russia?”

“Simple really,” Donald replied. “All sorts of things flooded into the country when the Soviet Union fell. It was a rush toward everything anyone could ever have dreamed of. And as money slowly began to get into people’s hands, things like this started to become more common.” Donald shifted in the co-pilot’s seat, turning toward Danil. “Since this is a bit of an older plane, it doesn’t draw attention. It’s the perfect plane of need, if something were to happen. And now, it seems it is in need.”

“I could almost fly this with my eyes closed.” Danil looked over the controls, familiarizing himself with everything. He started with the most crucial first; thrust levers, the array of gauges in front of him and finally rudder and aileron controls. Donald watched as Danil closed his eyes and let his hands drift over the controls. It was like watching him fly blindfolded. He went through a series of steps in his mind. He seemed to be readying for takeoff, then, gently pulling the wheel back as he lifted the plane into the air with his mind. As he turned the wheel left, his hand began to tremble, and he pulled it away to his lap as he opened his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Danil’s reply was low-key.

“Look, if there’s something you’re not telling me … “

“I just piloted an F-16 from Alaska to DC,” Danil replied, “I think I can handle a twin engine Cessna.”

“There could be a lot riding on your ability to handle a plane, Danil.” Donald lowered his voice, his tone firm. “I don’t have the authority to cancel this mission, but I sure as hell won’t let things go bad if I think any one of you people can’t handle the job you’re here to do.”

“You have no idea how big this is.” Danil sighed as the words left his lips. “I’ll be fine.”

“You better be, Danil. You better be.”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, Donald. You’ve risked your own position, one I’m sure you’ve worked hard to keep secret over the years. But, this is more than just a solitary mission. I’ve been on many of those. No, this has consequences far beyond anything I’ve ever been involved in.”

“Welcome to the club, Danil.” Donald flipped open the door and slid off the cracked leather seat to the ground, his boots landing in the muddied snow. “It’s been my life’s work.” He turned, holding open the door as the wind whipped into the cabin. “You’re just seeing things from my point of view for the first time.” Donald lowered his head as if he were talking to the seat. “Every day here is a mission to maintain the balance of power. The Soviet Union never really fell, Danil. It just changed its name.” Donald straightened as he took a step back. “If you want to take her up, go ahead. You don’t really need a flight plan in these parts.”

The door flopped shut, leaving Danil alone in the cold light. He placed his right hand on the levers resting in the center of the cockpit. He felt the cold metal against his dry skin as he scanned the array of gauges whose glass had clouded from forty years of service. This was his moment. This was why he was here.

“You still out here?”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t sir me.” Major Francis ‘Sasha’ Brown let the wooden barn door close quickly behind him. He still wasn’t used to Moscow’s biting cold. “How long are you gonna stay out here?”

“I’ve got nothing better to do.” Captain Ruth ‘Anya’ Garrison slapped a new clip into the Makarov, took her stance as she pointed it down range and squeezed off three shots. She pulled it back and laid it on the board in front of her.

“I don’t think you can get any better. That’s near perfect.”

“Near yes,” Anya said. “But I lost a tournament last year to a snot-nosed lieutenant. First one in three years. I can get better.”

“He was probably just lucky.”

“She,” Anya replied, “was dead on. I’m just about done anyway.” She turned as she leaned on wood rail. She felt like the decrepit barn was ready to fall down. “What do you have in mind?”

“We haven’t talked much, and we’re both Army. Ivan is too, but he’s so young.”

“You’re saying I’m old?” Anya cracked a smile with the remark. It was something she had done little of to this point. “What’s up?”

“You know as well as I do that you can train and train and train, but find yourself in a situation that has nothing to do with your training.”

“It happens.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Sasha slid his hands into his pockets as he looked down the firing line she had been using. “We really have no idea what we’re going up against. We’re training in house to house combat techniques that may not apply to anything that happens. Hell, this could break out in the middle of a street, or a park, or a zoo, or damned near anywhere.”

“Sometimes, you just have to hope for the best. You have to train for the most likely scenarios.”

“I know that. I just can’t help but feel, well, I don’t know what I feel.” He folded his arms and stared into the straw-filled dirt.

“You’re wondering why I shoot so much?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. You’ve been out here more than anyone. And you’re far and away the best shot of any of us.”

“That’s because I practice.”

“You do that.”

“Years ago, when I was just a kid, my dad who was a cop, took me to the firing range. I was probably just ten or so. Not very old, and scared to death of guns.” Anya stepped back and plopped herself down onto a straw bale. She could feel the jagged stems against her legs and the ice that had accumulated on its surface melted into her pants from her body heat. “Anyway, he got me shooting. We lived in a rough neighborhood outside of L.A. But everyone knew dad was a cop, so nobody bothered us, much anyway. So, I practiced. I practiced with pistols, then rifles, and back to pistols again. In my mind, I ran through every scenario I could imagine. I was a cop, I was a cowgirl, I was a bus driver or a teacher. I thought of everything, but I never stepped outside of that range with a loaded gun.” She ducked her head and ran her hands through her short, dark hair. “Then, one night when I was up in my room, there was a loud bang downstairs. I heard shouting and then, a pop pop pop of bullets. I froze. I sat there and peed myself on the bed.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.” She looked up and smiled. “Anyway, I heard my mother scream. Dad was at work. At least I thought. Something told me to grab my gun. To this day I don’t know why I did it, but I loaded a clip into the handle, stuck in out in front of me and started down the hall. The shouting had stopped and all I could hear was my mother whimpering. Then, another voice boomed up the stairs. A man, someone I didn’t recognize was shouting at my dad. He had come home from work for lunch and a punk who he’d once locked up followed him home.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right. I was petrified, but in that instant, I knew what I had to do. I’d already practiced everything I could think of, but not this. I looked around the corner as this guy stood over my dad who lay on the floor with a bullet in his leg. My mom was crying on the couch, her hand smeared red. This guy starts laughing, holding his gun in the air. Then he pointed it at my mom. That was all it took. I stepped around the corner, took my stance and put three bullets in his back. My dad crawled out from under him a moment later.”

“Wow.”

“No, training. We train for what we think might happen, where we think we will be when we need it. But we can’t practice for everything, so we practice for anything. It’s more important to train to trust each other, to know how each of us will react under stress. That’s why we train.”

Sasha sat wide-eyed against the post.

“You hungry?” she asked? “I’m starved. Let’s go get something to eat.”

The sun was beginning to set as they approached the farmhouse, and even though the biting wind helped to push them along, the lingering light told them that spring was on the way. Though they had only been in Moscow a few days, it was obvious the days were getting longer. Not by much, but longer. Sasha pulled open the door as the light from the mudroom leading to the kitchen splashed out into the muddy snow.

“I figured you all would be fork-deep in dinner about now.”

“Oh, it’s cooking,” Polina replied. “We’re just looking over some maps of Moscow.”

“Escape routes.” Donald looked up from his seated position. The others were standing around him hovering over the table.

“Escape from where? Isn’t it hard to plan exit routes if you don’t know where you’ll be?”

“To some extent, Anya. However, in a city, there are certain ways around that.” Donald pointed to an area above the Kremlin, then east. “What you have to do is to find common arterial routes that you can make for. You divide the city into quadrants. First, find your way out of the quadrant to the arterial route. Then, you can slide off to anywhere you want to go.”

“I see,” Ivan said. “So, if we were here, we can simply jump on to this thoroughfare and take it as far as we needed before getting off to the farmhouse.”

“Yes, if the farmhouse is where you’re going.”

“Why wouldn’t we be coming back here? We have a plane.” Ivan suddenly looked confused.”

“The farmhouse is the last place you’ll want to come. The plane is a last-ditch effort. You all have passports and travel documents. It’s easier to leave on your own than in a group. Groups get noticed. Another reason why all of you speak Russian. You can blend in.” Donald looked up to Ivan as he towered above the others. “Well, almost all of you. You’re kind of hard to miss, Lieutenant. You would have been my last choice for such a mission simply for that reason.”

Ivan nodded at the remark. It made sense.

“Being covert means being covert in every sense of the word. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

“So, let’s see what we’ve got,” Sasha said as he stepped up to the table.