“Spread out!” he called. “Anneli, stay behind me.”
Baldwin went off the path for about ten yards to the right and Perry angled out to the left, while Kyle hugged the path with Anneli. The snipers knew that mortar fire would be incoming, and by fanning out, no one round could take down all of them. A few more minutes were all they needed. They could actually smell the fresh water of Lake Vištytis.
They did not stop when the first 120mm round nosed over at the top of its trajectory and fell to earth with a shrill whisper. It was far behind and to the right, just ranging fire with no true aim. The problem for such indirect fire was that it required a spotter to give the gunners accurate coordinates. This mortar crew had to be working from a grid map showing preregistered points. Swanson heard a second distant cough and, within seconds, picked up the sound as the rocket round tipped over and started down. It came in off to the right and still behind them, tearing into the forest with a ferocious roar.
“They are going to give us a rolling barrage up the path!” yelled Gray Perry. “Going to get closer.”
“I got water straight ahead!” called out Baldwin.
The downward whine of another mortar shell signaled for all of them to hit the ground, and Kyle pulled Anneli down hard. The blast was still in the woods, on the left, and while the trees ate the metal shrapnel, they also loosed a storm of wooden splinters. As soon as the explosion was over, the four were on their feet again and running as hard as they could.
“I see the helo coming,” said Stan Baldwin. He broke open a green glowstick and waved it toward the big shadow approaching low on the water.
Another ominous whistle in the sky gave warning of more incoming, and everyone hit the dirt again. “Hang on, Anneli. We’re almost home.” She cuddled close to his back, almost spooning with her arms around him. For her, safety meant being as close to Kyle as she could get.
The incoming mortar round struck the tops of the trees just above them and detonated with a lethal airburst that forced the cone of destruction straight down on the path and a mini-hurricane of metal shards and jagged wood swept the area as entire branches cracked off.
“They’re hit, Stan! Kyle and Anneli are down!” Gray Perry sprinted from his position and started pulling debris from atop his mates. Baldwin dropped his guiding luminescent wand as the helo settled into a hover just inches above the sandy beach, and ran back up the path to rescue his friends. They heard Kyle groaning.
A crew member of the Nightstalker team hustled up to help, and they flung away the junk until they reached the two people trapped beneath. There was a lot of blood, and Anneli lay still. “I got her! You guys bring Kyle,” Perry shouted and lifted the girl as easily as picking up a pillow. “I got you, Anneli. Don’t you worry, girl. Old Grayson has you.”
Another mortar blast whizzed in to punish the forest again, off to the right, and the concussion shook the Black Hawk chopper that fought to maintain its midair balance. Gray Perry laid Anneli flat on the deck, and a medic moved in to examine her. She made not a sound.
Swanson was regaining his senses by the time he reached the helicopter and was helped aboard, then the other two men jumped on, the crew chief told the pilot that all were accounted for, and the stealth bird immediately put on power and eased up and turned north, clawing for altitude and invisibility. Swanson, from a height of a hundred feet, saw two more mortar rounds explode simultaneously and harmlessly along the beach. He turned to Anneli, but when he reached for her, Baldwin stopped him hard.
“You stay still, Kyle. The others are tending to our girl. You’ve been hit, too.” The SAS sergeant began cutting away the sniper’s trouser legs, which were soaked in blood.
25
It took Stan Baldwin a while to determine that Swanson was fine, other than being knocked silly by the blast. A cut on the left thigh would need a few stitches and the Brit slapped a sterile bandage around the leg. There was a neat puncture wound in the right forearm from a sharp splinter. Baldwin pulled the wood free and patched the hole with gauze pad and tape. Most of the blood that drenched the American was not his. Anneli had absorbed the full force of the blast while clinging to Kyle’s back when they dove for cover. She, plus the extra protection of the backpack and his ruck, had shielded him.
When Baldwin finally sat back on his heels and turned Kyle loose, Swanson scrambled over to Anneli. She lay on her stomach and her lacerated back was fully exposed, as was a massive head wound. Perry and the medic were already pulling a green plastic sheet over her body. The Estonian girl had died at the moment of impact; aboard the helicopter, the medic had found no signs of life. Kyle had one last look at the pretty face, which was turned sideways, with black hair still trailing over her forehead to the sightless eyes, then Perry finished covering her with the sheet.
The medic packed up his gear, and the three snipers sat stunned on the vibrating deck of the helicopter, all watching the sheet as if willing it to move aside so that Anneli could spring up and bathe them with a smile. The death of a comrade always hits close to home, but this was especially tough. She had been their friend, their ward, almost a pet in many ways because she was so different from them. She was just a kid, a fascinating and brave kid, small in stature but strong in everything important. Her political activism in her hometown of Narva had helped start what was fast becoming a global showdown between great powers.
“Don’t mean nothin’” was a normal refrain among troops when a soldier was killed, for soldiers often died. It was part of the job description, part of the warrior creed. If you did not know the name of the unlucky guy, then it was easier to accept. “Don’t mean nothin’ at all.” Such bravado help shut out the nightmares that were sure to come, and for special operators like themselves, it was a peculiar armor that protected their souls against the monsters. Everyone had to die sometime. “Don’t mean a thing.” Such mutterings did not apply in this case, not where Anneli Kallasti was concerned. The snipers knew they would be seeing her face in dreams forever. Her death really did mean something. They took it personally.
Kyle Swanson tore his eyes away from the grim scene only by turning his entire body around until he faced out into the infinite darkness and the harsh, hammering wind chilled him. It was my goddam fault. Why did I bring her along? We didn’t really need her, but her incredible translation pinpointed the target and kept them informed in real time on what was happening in the camp. Like when the officer was bullshitting the men about making things perfect, and the men were criticizing the officer behind his back, and the advance knowledge of the exact time that the general would arrive, and that they had swiveled the mortars to point south. Everything she had done had added value to the overall mission. But she was my responsibility and I might as well have murdered her back on the boat or at the Narva castle. Stupid decision. Stupid. What a dumb fuck I am.
The helicopter whirred on low, fast and unseen by radar, and landed once again at the secret air strip in Lithuania, where it rolled to the hangar shared by NATO special operations. The CIA Gulfstream was waiting inside, engines shut down. On the return trip, time was not the important factor it had been when it had delivered the sniper team en route from Latvia.
Swanson, Baldwin and Perry climbed out, weary to the bone and mentally exhausted as well. They were at a loss for what to do. Leaving the body of Anneli behind was unthinkable. Swanson leaned against the side of the helo, with the Englishmen facing him, as the Nightstalker crew unbuckled and exited the aircraft. The pilot, Major Rick Allen, took off his helmet and left it on the seat, then joined them. The pilot of the waiting CIA jet walked over and was shocked at the condition of the men, who seemed drained of energy and on the point of utter collapse. Allen headed him off before he could speak, took him back to the Gulfstream and explained things. One of the team members, the woman, had been killed and her body was still on board.