“That part of the world is sensitive to submerged ships within their waters.” POTUS leaned back and tossed his pen on the desk. “All the Scandinavian countries seem to have the same hang-up on that.”
“Likely due to the Soviets.”
“They’re not Soviets anymore.”
“But they were, and the memories of their abuses run deep.”
“Very well.” President Kiger crossed his arms across his suit coat, tilting his head down slightly. “Get me Prime Minister Sorenson on the line. I want his permission to be in Danish waters.”
“We might need a little bit more than that.”
“We’ll worry about that if the time comes,” POTUS replied.
The cold Russian morning crawled in like all the rest. The world outside their windows was pale white, and bleak. Anya looked out over the fields behind the house, her breath clouding the pane. ‘How the hell did I get here’? she thought.
“It is a cold world in these parts.”
“It seems to be,” Anya answered. She turned to see Donald standing behind her, sipping a cup of tea. “Got any more of that?”
“It isn’t coffee.”
“It isn’t?”
“There are some things one must get used to outside of America.” He set his cup on the table, the stoneware clinking in the quiet morning. “Tea is the norm. I’ve sort of gotten used to it.”
“I guess it will have to do.”
The mission team began to stir as the sun began to create shadows as it crept above the landscape. It was the same everywhere. Danil stumbled into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. It looked like the same one he grew up in; a farm kitchen was a farm kitchen, even though this one was half a world away from Iowa. He smiled at the thought.
“What’cha thinking about, Danil?” Polina asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“I know that kind of smile. That’s not a nothing smile.”
“Well,” he grinned as he looked to her sitting at the table, “I entered the Air Force to get away from life on a farm. And here I am, still stuck in a farm kitchen.”
“Well you won’t be here long,” Donald said. “Get something to eat. You have a half hour.”
“Then what?” Ivan asked.
“Then we start training.”
“This thing rocks!” Ivan exclaimed as he pulled the rifle down. “Man!” Lt. Anthony flipped the gun over from side to side admiring its form.
“Why aren’t we using weapons we’re familiar with?” Sasha asked.
“Simple. You don’t want evidence left behind. If something goes wrong, we don’t want an American signature. We use the weapons that are normally found here.”
“That way it can’t be traced back to us, or anyone else,” Sasha replied. “Good point.”
“Exactly.” Donald lifted his own weapon, letting go a short burst that obliterated the target. “Remember your basic training. It doesn’t matter what the weapon is. Short bursts. They’re controllable. They don’t waste ammo, and there’s less chance of your gun jamming.” He lowered the PP-2000 submachine gun, letting it fall to his side.
“I just figured we’d be using AK-47s,” Ivan said.
“Nope. Too bulky,” Donald replied. “This is a close-quarters weapon. It’s what some special forces and riot police use. Donald snapped the stock down, then pulled it right back. “A folding stock also helps conceal it. You can’t do that with a full-sized assault rifle.”
“So now what?” Anya asked.
“We learn these weapons until lunch.” He pulled a pistol from his belt and held it up. “This is a Grach. Standard police issue. No one would think anything about finding one.” Donald lowered the weapon and popped off five rounds, each one near dead-center on the target.
“That’s some good shooting.” Anya walked up and extended her hand. “May I?”
Donald handed the 9mm over. She took it with a nod, checked that the mag was properly seated, then pulled it up and drew off four shots, each one taking a corner off the square target.
“The middle was already gone,” she said as she lowered the pistol. “Pulls to the right a bit.” She handed it back to Donald, then walked away.
Sasha was the last one into the kitchen. The others had finished their shooting a few minutes before and were sitting around the old, wooden table. It bore the scars of time and use.
“What’s for lunch?” Sasha asked.
“Nothing, if you don’t hurry up.” Polina looked over at Ivan who was shoveling food into his mouth at breakneck speed. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.”
“He’s a growing boy,” Danil replied.
“If he grows any taller,” Sasha said, “he won’t fit into the room.”
That drew an eye from Ivan, who nonetheless, never stopped eating. Sasha chuckled while filling his own plate from the stove, an old propane-fired throwback with cast grates. They were as charred as the plates he just tossed the sausages on. He piled on some potatoes and slid in next to Ivan on the wooden bench.
“Watch out for the elbows. They’re pointy.” Sasha scooted away a bit, taking Polina’s advice.
“Finish up,” Donald announced as he entered the room. “We go room to room this afternoon.”
Ivan bent over at the waist, his eyes staring into the floorboards of the old building. He kicked at the broken wood with his boot.
“You’re dead because you didn’t see what was in the room,” Donald yelled. “You have to see what is there, not what you think might be there.”
“But…”
“But what? I was there the last time you looked in?” Donald walked past the tall lieutenant with a scowl. “That’s why you’re dead now.” The agent turned, looking up. “There’s a reason we’re not using ammo. You’ve got to think on your feet. You’ve got to be prepared for the unexpected and not what you think you’re going to see.
“We’ve been at this for hours, Donald,” Sasha said as he walked into the room. “We need a break.”
“No!” He spun, turning to face the mission commander. “You need to do this while you’re tired. Exhausted. If you get into a fight, you’ll already be tired.” Donald raised his voice for the second time. “You won’t be doing this fresh from a damn bed. You’ll be tired and hungry. If you can’t do it now, you can’t do it then. You’ve only got three days to learn this.” Donald looked back to Sasha. “You can do this now, or you can die later. Up to you.”
“Let’s take it from the top people,” Sasha yelled out. “Let’s get this right. We take everyone home upright with this one.” Sasha let his weapon fall to his side as the remaining members of the team filed in. “We keep going tonight until we can’t go any longer. Clear?”
“How long before we get to the coordinates, Commander?” Captain Dawson stood in the entrance to the command center, watching his crew go about their business. His XO looked up from the waterfall display.
“Another day, sir. And no further communications on our mission, as yet anyway.”
“I’ll be back for my shift in an hour.” The captain turned away and began making his way to the mess. He might as well get something to eat before duty called. Not that he was ever off duty. That was the role of a boat’s captain. Always on. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he wondered. His last thought was punctuated by the overhead speaker.
“Captain to the conn.”
Dawson laid down the tray he had just taken from the stack, and sighed. He always seemed to be missing a meal. At least it felt that way. And from fighting off his cold, or whatever it was, skipping meals wasn’t helping. He left the mess and quickly made his way down the corridor and into the command center. He stood behind the XO seconds later.