“Gosha, activate the strobe,” Farrington said.
“Strobe activated,” Gosha replied.
A few seconds later, Sanderson’s voice echoed through his headset.
“Russian vehicles are starting to deploy east through the town in response to the explosions. If they keep going east, you’ll run into them trying to break through to the west. We’re going to hit the first one to reach the northern road with a Hellfire and try to draw them away. I’ve just been told that Black Rain has identified your strobe and marked your vehicle as friendly. You’re looking good. Keep heading south on that road.”
It now seemed that the only people who didn’t know where the vehicle was headed, were the people actually in the vehicle. Farrington stared at the green image ahead, trying to make sense of the dirt road that barely stood out from the rest of the landscape. Several scattered houses forming the rough outline of a road guided them, but for all he could tell, they could have been driving through a row of backyards.
“Coming up on a right curve. Make sure you take a left at the first intersection after the curve. Once you take that left, keep going and don’t turn west until I tell you to. You’ll be off-road at that point, but there’s a massive windbreak on the eastern edge of town that will keep you hidden. Keep pushing south,” Sanderson said.
“Got it. Misha, can you see a curve?” Farrington said.
“I can’t see shit.”
“Coming up in thirty meters. On my laser. You might want to slow down,” Gosha said.
Both of them saw a bright green line mark the start of the curve, which gave them a better frame of reference, but did little to help either of them identify the turn. Misha slowed at the point and started to gently turn.
“Sharper turn! You’re gonna roll us into that ditch,” Gosha said.
Farrington felt the vehicle lurch to the right, as Misha turned the wheel suddenly.
“Nobody said a fucking thing about a ditch!” Misha replied.
“This looks good,” Farrington said, pretty sure they were straightened out on the road.
A few seconds later, they reached the intersection and turned left, continuing south into the fields behind a large barn and several unlit homes. He saw the thick row of trees Sanderson had mentioned past the houses, and directed Misha to work his way along the field until they found an opening in the tightly sown windbreak.
“Missile away,” Sanderson said.
Farrington leaned forward and craned his neck to the right, trying to catch a glimpse of the inbound Hellfire. A bright flash reflected off the treetops and the top of the barn, blinding his night vision goggles, followed by a massive crunching sound.
“Scratch one BTR. Find a path through the trees and stand by to make a high-speed run due west,” Sanderson said.
“Follow my mark, Misha,” Gosha said.
Misha accelerated toward the tree line, chasing Gosha’s laser. He stopped the Tiger less than twenty meters from the opening.
“Russian units are speeding to the site of the destroyed BTR. We’re going to fire one more at a building north of the city. As soon as you hear the explosion, take off looking for an east-west road. All of them cut directly across the town. Deactivate your strobe,” Sanderson said.
“Strobe deactivated,” Gosha said.
“We’re at a break in the trees,” Farrington said.
“Stand by…missile away,” Sanderson said.
Eight seconds later, Farrington saw a bright green flash to the north. He slapped Misha’s shoulder, and the Tiger rocketed forward before the sound of the explosion reached them. Misha turned the jeep left on the gravel road just beyond the trees, searching for a westerly route. Farrington spotted what appeared to be a wide turnoff coming up on the right.
“Try that,” he said, pointing uselessly at the turnoff.
“Where?” Misha said, slowing.
“Right there. Looks like a car parked at the corner, or some kind of—”
“Got it,” he said, swinging the car onto the road and speeding up.
“You’re clear to punch through town. The closest units to the south are three kilometers away, just entering Slavgorod,” Sanderson said.
A few minutes later, Misha brought the Tiger to a halt in unfamiliar territory on the far western outskirts of town. They needed to connect with one of the major jeep trails headed southwest, which would feed into a network of smaller westerly trails that emptied directly into the border less than twelve kilometers away.
“Anyone following us?” Farrington said.
“Not that I can tell,” Gosha said.
“You look clear from where I’m standing,” Sanderson said, eliciting a few tired laughs.
“Anything ahead of us?” Farrington said.
“Nothing heavy. We’ve spotted a few Tigers running up and down the border, but we’ll help you get past those. I’m going to notify control, so they can release Black Magic from the holding area,” Sanderson said.
“Copy. We’re moving out.”
Farrington looked at his watch and smiled. 4:27. They had nearly thirty minutes to travel twelve kilometers over flat terrain, with nobody in immediate pursuit. Maybe this hadn’t been the suicide mission he expected after all. Then again, it was too early to start thinking like that. A lot could go wrong in twelve kilometers.
“Head out on the trail to the left at fifty miles per hour. If it stays southwest, increase your speed. Stay frosty, gentlemen. We ain’t out of the woods yet.”
Chapter 65
Dean Canales stared at the shifting infrared image of the Tiger on his screen and manipulated the joystick at his station to decrease the magnification and display a more panoramic view. Based on the Reaper’s sensor input, Blackjack was less than three kilometers from the Kazakhstan border, with a clear path ahead of them. The nearest enemy vehicle, a heavily armed Tiger, sat four kilometers southwest of them at the end of the jeep trail in front of the border. Blackjack had jumped the trail a few kilometers back, heading due west at a conservative off-road speed that would put them on Kazakhstan soil in six minutes if they didn’t blow a tire. Even if they blew a tire at this point, they could limp across the border in time to meet their pickup.
“Let’s do one more sweep for hostiles. Climb to three thousand feet and start a three sixty centered on Blackjack’s current position,” Canales said.
“Roger. Climbing,” the other CIA employee said.
“All right. Let’s see who’s out there,” he said, adjusting his joystick to sweep the area north of Blackjack.
Commands transmitted from the mobile ground control station took 1.2 seconds to reach Black Rain through a satellite link, which made operating the drone an interesting exercise in forward thinking. Nothing happened immediately, and high-stress situations required an odd form of time-delayed patience. Former pilots had a difficult time adjusting to a video-game-style flight mode that didn’t immediately respond to their “stick” movements, and were rarely transitioned to UAV programs. The CIA preferred to steal previously trained drone pilots from the Air Force, or in the case of Dean Canales, train them from scratch.