He snorted. “Of course not.”
“Then what is it you have in mind?”
Sergeant Raymond McAllen was muttering a string of epithets as he and Major Stephanie Halverson charged through the forest, working directly between Rule and Gutierrez, who were laying down fire to cover them.
He wasn’t swearing over the fact that the Russians had landed and had ambushed them. He just couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten about Pravota. Now they’d lost their prized POW, who was probably running off to rejoin his comrades.
They hit the snow and dropped down behind Rule and Gutierrez, and then — to McAllen’s utter astonishment — the Russian pilot came shambling toward them, still gagged and cuffed.
“Captain? What the hell?” cried McAllen over all the gunfire.
“He wants to come,” said Halverson.
McAllen untied the Russian’s gag. Pravota coughed then asked, “Why are you sitting. We must escape.”
“Are you kidding me?” asked Halverson.
Pravota shook his head. “I changed my mind.” He faced McAllen. “I want vacation, like you said.”
McAllen smiled. “Me, too.”
Friskis came running up behind them, hit the snow. “Contact from the helo. They’re only five minutes out now. I can already hear them.”
“All right, get back there. You guys cover Khaki while he guides in our bird. We’ll hold them here. Pravota? You go with him.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” said the Russian.
As they ran off, Halverson turned to McAllen. “You got a new friend.”
“And it’s not you,” he snapped. “Next time, you listen to me. If you die, you’ll really piss me off.”
“So this is all about you.”
“Look, don’t give me that. Just stay close. We’re going to fall back another fifty yards. Ready?”
She nodded.
“Break!”
Major Alice Dennison was studying the maps of Calgary as she listened to the Special Forces company commander on the ground just north of the city issue his update.
The Stryker Brigade Team from Fort Lewis was in the city, and evacuation operations were well under way, along with the systematic targeting of at least ten Spetsnaz strongholds. Power had already been restored in several areas except downtown.
That was the good news.
The Russians had kept their word and aborted all sorties currently under way into Canada, while their ground forces continued operations to put on a show for the Green Brigades.
Dennison was now faced with a serious request from the commander: a call for a kinetic strike on the Russian mechanized force heading south down Highway 2 from Red Deer.
Within thirty minutes that force would reach the Country Hills Boulevard overpass, then roll right toward the downtown area. The SEALs and Special Forces already had their hands full, as did the Stryker Brigade.
She told him to stand by and took the request up to General Kennedy, who in turn wanted to discuss the matter with the president.
Within a minute, Dennison once more found herself speaking directly with Becerra.
“Hello again, Major. The general has briefed me, and I have to say I’ve already turned down a similar request from General Bankolé. The collateral damage is just too severe.”
“I know, sir, but our people on the ground tell me they can’t stop the Russians. Engineers could bring down the overpass and block the road to buy some time, but the Russians will breach fairly quickly. Our air assets won’t reach the battalion in time. The Russians will already be rolling into Calgary, and if you’re worried about collateral damage, well…”
“Where are those Russian forces now?”
Dennison went over to the touch-screen map table, tapped the appropriate commands, then sent the map’s images to the president as she brought up real-time streaming video from one of their drones.
The long column of vehicles lumbered steadily south, gun tubes held high like chins in defiance. In a window next to the video, the computer created a sophisticated graphic showing the convoy’s estimated path and probable attack plan, dotted lines flashing red.
“As you can see, sir, they’re rolling down Highway 2 right now, but the surrounding terrain is mostly slight hills and extremely rural along this eighty-seven-mile stretch. Now is the time to strike, when collateral damage will be at a minimum.”
“General Kennedy?” called Becerra.
Dennison shifted back to her station, where the screen had split between the general and the president. “Sir, I concur with the major,” said Kennedy. “We should take out those ground elements before they near the overpass.”
“Very well. General, tell those platform commanders to stand by for my order to launch.”
“Yes, sir.”
The president regarded Dennison with a polite nod. “Excellent work, Major.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Major, I’d like to speak to you after the strike. I have new information that I’d like you to share with Colonel Doletskaya.”
“You do?”
“Yes, and I’m curious to see his reaction.”
“All right, then.”
He nodded, and the screen abruptly switched to the call log report.
Dennison leaned back in her chair, wondering what the new information was. Deep down it excited her, and she hated herself for that.
Because the excitement wasn’t professional.
She would get a chance to see him again.
THIRTY-SIX
After sinking the Russian task force, Captain Jonathan Andreas had taken the Florida to the Dolphin and Union Strait, where he and his crew had continued to patrol silently and swiftly, listening with all their electronic ears for ships coming through the choke point.
They had poked their nose up every two hours to receive text messages from COMPACFLT—
And their most recent one sent Andreas’s pulse bounding. He had even taken the risk to call back Admiral Stanton. That conversation had been interesting — to say the least.
They now had orders to return to Coronation Gulf. “Are you going to tell me, sir, or keep me in suspense?” asked the XO as he stood in Andreas’s quarters.
“Have a look.” Andreas was seated at his desk, where on his computer he had pulled up some photos and schematics of High Level Bridge in Edmonton — not to be confused with the small town of High Level much farther north of that city.
The bridge spanned the North Saskatchewan River and was located next to the Legislative Assembly of Alberta. In the summer months, a waterfall created by artist Peter Lewis dropped one hundred and fifty feet off the side of the bridge, casting mist and rainbows across the waves. It was a beautiful piece of architecture and a significant landmark in Edmonton.
“High Level Bridge,” said the XO with recognition. “I’ve actually driven over that.”
“Yes, and it seems a large Russian ground force is looking for the same experience.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. And you know what they want us to do.”
“They can’t be serious. What about collateral damage, aren’t they worried about—”
“The Euros asked for a kinetic strike.”
“That would take out the surrounding buildings — including the legislature. Couldn’t engineers rig the bridge?”
“I’m told that was the first plan, but they realized they can’t get it done in time.”
“I see.”
“So we’re going to deny the enemy that avenue of approach, but we’ll need to do it like surgeons. If we’re successful, Enforcers Corps troops on the ground will continue the delaying operation. I get the impression from the admiral that something even bigger is going on down there and that it’s imperative we do our part.”