The Hunt

65

Jaeger sensed the advantage swinging his way.

He took a deep breath, then typed a reply: Two eliminated. Closing in on others. We have casualties. Will return to base when mission complete.

He read it over a few times, checking it had the right ring to it, before pressing send. As he waited for some kind of response, he rifled the dead man’s daysack. He discarded everything but the spare magazines of ammo for the pistol, and the twenty-four-hour ration pack.

That he ripped open so he could feast on the dead man’s food.

As he wolfed down slabs of chocolate and energy bars, he kept one eye on the Iridium’s screen. A message icon appeared.

Leave wounded. First priority to eliminate enemy.

He typed a one-word confirmation, and was about to power down the satphone when he thought of something else. He checked his watch and then typed out a short message for Raff.

Kammler hunter force eliminated. One turned back, presumably heading your way. Intercept him. My ETA your position 0800. Three pink elephants. Out.

That last line was a part of the team’s agreed comms-under-duress procedure. It was devised in the form of a question and answer. If any of their number were feared captured and forced to make contact, they would be asked the prearranged question ‘Who did you meet at Piccadilly Circus?’

The prearranged answer was ‘Three pink elephants.’ When he saw that phrase in the message, Raff would know that it was genuine and from Jaeger, despite it having come from an unrecognised satphone.

Message sent, Jaeger moved a distance from the dead man. Despite the food he’d eaten, he could feel the fatigue washing over him, as the adrenalin drained out of his system. He slumped against a nearby rock, feeling an overwhelming urge to rest; to sleep. He fought it. Get a grip, Jaeger. When in doubt, have a brew.

He broke out the tiny stove that the ration pack contained and lit the solid fuel block, then gathered up some snow and melted it over the flame. Throwing in several sachets of sugar and two tea bags, he left it to come to the boil. Milk added, he settled back on the freezing ground and blew on the mug to cool it. As he drank, the warm fluid provided a jolt of relief and much-needed energy.

Once he was done, he stuffed what remained of the ration pack into the dead man’s daysack, slung it on his shoulders, clipped on his skis, fetched the Dragunov and turned back the way he’d come.

To the east, the sky was brightening, bringing with it a little warmth. It was 0630, and Jaeger had a long ski ahead of him.

He gave a wide berth to the avalanche slope, which in turn led him down towards what he assumed was a frozen lake. He’d avoided it on the way in, with his focus on getting to high ground fast. Now he needed the quickest route back to his team. He decided to chance the lake.

At these kinds of temperatures, the ice should be metres thick and more than capable of holding a man’s weight. Still, he took precautions. He paused at the edge, unstrapping the daysack so that it was slung over one shoulder only. That way, if the ice did give way, he could ditch the pack and not be dragged under by its weight.

He inched onto the ice, reminding himself of the drills if he did go through. He’d practised them repeatedly on exercises in Norway and the Arctic. They’d used chainsaws to cut holes in the ice, purely for the purposes of learning how to survive such a fall.

The drill was to ski in with all your gear on. You then had to remove your skis and bergen and clamber out, all before the freezing water sapped your energy and pulled you under. The technique involved driving your ski poles into the ice beside the hole, and using them as an anchor to haul yourself free.

Counter-intuitively, the first thing you then had to do was find some fresh snow to roll in, which would soak up the excess water. Priority number two was to start a fire to warm yourself and dry out. Without a fire, you’d freeze to death in no time.

Thankfully, Jaeger had to do none of that while crossing the frozen lake. Apart from the odd eerie groan from below, it held firm.

The journey was made easier now in that he was able to follow the hard-packed ski tracks of several figures – those who had until recently been his hunters. At one stage he paused to read an incoming message from Raff confirming that Kammler’s lone surviving gunman had been dealt with.

Jaeger smiled. Raff: bulletproof reliable.

Hopefully Kammler would be none the wiser now there was no one left alive from his hunter force to warn him they had failed. Plus Jaeger’s message suggesting otherwise should have bought them some time, or so he hoped.

He paused at the corpses of those he had shot dead, scavenging food for the others. With that crammed into his daysack, he figured they had enough provisions for whatever lay ahead.

But with a man like Kammler, it was never over until he could gaze upon the dead man’s features.