“Well, we can’t undo this now without betraying the men and women who stuck their asses out to do us a favor,” Gordon said.
“These aren’t U.S. troops,” Remy said. “We’re talking mercenaries at best.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Jacob,” the president interjected. He was painfully aware of the delicate line they all walked trying to classify Sanderson’s people, and he didn’t want to have this discussion with General Gordon.
“It doesn’t matter who they are. What we need to decide is whether we’re going to leave them hanging out to dry or use these helicopters for their intended purpose. We have to test them at some point. This is as good an opportunity as any,” Gordon said.
“We stick to the plan for now, but if this gets any hotter than it already is, I’ll strongly consider sending them back,” the president said.
He could tell that Jacob Remy wanted to continue the debate, but had decided to shelve it for now. When everyone had left the study, Remy closed the door and stared at him with the same look he’d given him for nearly ten years throughout his meteoric rise to the presidency.
“It’ll get hotter, and you know it. There’s no way they can avoid these units long enough to slip over the border. This is going to end badly for everyone,” Remy said.
“So we send the birds back and it only ends badly for Sanderson’s people?”
Remy shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to utter the words. The president hated this about his chief of staff. He’d put the knife in your hand and walk you right up to his intended victim, shrugging his shoulders with that “you know what to do” look plastered on his face, but he’d never be the one to do the stabbing.
“We’ll see this through to the end. If they have the entire Russian army at their heels, I’ll get our helicopters out of there,” the president said.
“I hope that won’t be too late,” Remy remarked dryly.
Chapter 56
The sleek white boat slowed to a crawl along the tree-covered shoreline to give Farrington the best chance of spotting their checkpoint without making another pass. The two SUVs had been hidden near the checkpoint early this morning by Viktor’s crew. In addition to providing Farrington with a GPS waypoint marking the location along the riverbank, the bratva soldiers had hung several infrared chemlights from the trees at the proposed landing site. The chemlights would fade significantly, but should provide more than enough illumination through night vision to enable a quick discovery.
“Got it. Come right slowly,” he said, feeling the boat sway. “Dead ahead,” he added, when the dangling green lights seen through his goggles reached the bow.
“I see them,” Gosha confirmed, steadying the boat on course.
Farrington made his way forward to join Misha on the bow to guard the approach. They scanned the dense, murky vegetation for signs of an ambush, sweeping their assault rifles in long arcs as the boat approached a worn path through the foliage. When he felt the hull scrape along the rocky bottom, he slung his rifle over his back and climbed over the side, landing on spongy ground less than a foot from the water. Misha passed him the bowline, which he hastily tied to a thick tree trunk planted several feet into the brush.
“I’m going to scout ahead and locate the vehicles. I want everything and everyone offloaded in two minutes,” he said, hearing the team’s immediate acknowledgements over his earpiece.
He shouldered his rifle and peered over the holographic sights. The path leading away from the riverbank was dim, even with the help of night vision goggles. He’d walk several meters and stop, listening for anything that didn’t belong along an isolated stretch of the Ob River at one in the morning on a Sunday, besides his own team. After repeating this process three more times, he arrived at the edge of a small clearing in the trees and searched for more faded IR chemlights. Swiftly locating the dying green lights, Farrington moved toward them, keeping his weapon trained toward the jeep trail that emptied into the clearing from the west.
He reached the SUVs, which had been hidden from view by several thick, richly foliated tree branches, and conducted a quick visual inspection of the tires. He opened the driver’s seat door of the nearest vehicle and found the keys under the driver’s seat. Everything appeared as advertised.
“Team. I found the vehicles, and I’m heading back in your direction. I want to be on the road in less than five minutes. We have a lot of ground to cover.”
“Roger. We’re already moving up the path,” Misha said.
“How much gear is left at the boat?”
“Your pack and the spare with extra ammunition and explosives.”
“Got it. I’ll call this in and get a SITREP from base,” Farrington said and took off for the path.
He removed the satellite phone from one of his tactical vest pouches and called base to get an updated report regarding enemy movements in his immediate area and along his exfiltration route. He temporarily switched off his intrasquad radio so his conversation wouldn’t block his own team’s communications. Sanderson answered immediately.
“This is base.”
“Base this is Blackjack. We’ve reached checkpoint three. The vehicles are here as advertised. We’re a few minutes from stepping off. Any change to the disposition of hostile forces?”
“Unfortunately, the situation has worsened. Elements of the 122nd Reconnaissance Battalion have arrived along highway 380 from Novosibirsk, on your side of the river. They’re spreading out along the road, leaving vehicle checkpoints all the way down to Barnual. The 21st Guards Motor Rifle Division hasn’t fielded any units, but we’ve seen indications that they’ll put light armored vehicle platoons at border checkpoints. With access to the main roads, they’ll have these in position within an hour or two.”
“I’m more concerned with the reconnaissance units. Is this armored reconnaissance?” Farrington said, moving out of the way for his team to pass along the path.
“Negative. No signs of BTRs or anything like that. Mostly Tigers or lighter,” Sanderson said.
“The Tigers might as well be armor given what we’re carrying for weapons. We’ll have to avoid them just the same. Any good news?”
“No helicopter activity so far,” Sanderson said.
“That’s really good news.”
“So far. Intelligence analysts are pretty sure that most helicopter assets have been shifted west and north in response to Monchegorsk. With things simmered down up there, they’ve conceded that it might be possible for some of these units to have returned. Novosibirsk airport was home to a squadron of Mi-8 Hips, so you might have to contend with airlifted troops near the border,” Sanderson said.
“Wonderful. I don’t suppose anyone at the Pentagon knows where the Mi-28 Havocs are based? I seem to remember one of those in this neck of the woods a few months ago.”
“I can’t get a straight answer about that. I don’t think they have any idea where it came from,” Sanderson said.
“There’s nothing we could do about it anyway, so there’s no point in worrying about it.”
“Exactly. I’m going to send you all known positions of hostile units, based on communications and satellite imagery. The CIA is analyzing the areas relevant to your projected path. Make sure to keep your RPDA (Ruggedized Personal Data Assistant) handy. We’ll continuously update this information on the RPDA’s digital map. From what I can tell right now, you’re going to have a problem about two kilometers down Highway 380. Two Tigers are sitting next to the road you plan to take west. I’d avoid that route,” Sanderson said.