Chapter 9 #3
Jerry nodded. “I’ll clear the window.” He sniped out a pane of glass with precision, then keyed his mic: “Six, Bravo Four. Fire in the hole—great hall. I say again. Fire in the hole. Over.”
Waller fired the M433 high-explosive dual-purpose round through the opening.
It detonated amid the group, the blast muffled by stone but lethal, killing most outright, leaving two severely wounded, groaning and firing wild pistol shots.
Jerry admired their tenacity, even in defeat—no surrender, just fight to the very end.
The infiltrating team advanced, finishing the survivors with controlled bursts.
Jerry and Waller immediately pivoted back to searching for Kovalenko. Finally, he spotted him and reported, “Six. Bravo Four. HVT now in southwest corner. Painting now.”
Once again, Jerry activated his laser aiming device and circled the window. When Waller began a slow lasso, Jerry deactivated his laser and placed Kovalenko squarely in his crosshairs.
It felt like only seconds later when Chief Morita broadcast, “Fire in the hole.”
Jerry closed his eyes so that the bright flash of C4 explosive from the improvised shaped charge didn’t blind him.
After he heard the report of the explosion, he opened his eyes and scanned the target area.
Brock had folded Kovalenko like a lawn chair and was very effectively applying restraints to the man.
“Bravo Four. Good work. Six has HVT secure,” Norton broadcast. “Be advised, exfil inbound. Over.”
Jerry slung Cassie, and he and Waller quickly stowed what little gear remained.
They could leave no trace of their presence here that would attribute today’s activities to US forces.
The drones silently returned home. Jerry counted his expended cartridges and handed them to Waller, who also counted and confirmed that he had not left any expended brass on this mountainside.
Inside the fortress, the team had begun a similar cleanup which, no doubt, their State Department colleagues would finalize. After all, no one had more experience cleaning up messes like this than the CIA.
The sound of an approaching cargo helicopter’s thrum grew, and Jerry could feel the movement of the air. He brought Cassie back on target and observed the fortress.
The Soviet era HIP landed almost weightlessly and effortlessly on the roof, exhibiting a grace that nothing that large should. The ramp lowered as the aircraft landed, and more than twenty men wearing civilian clothes exited the aircraft. Some carried large cases, and others carried AKMS rifles.
Through his scope, Jerry watched Norton greet one of the men, shake his hand, and wave his team on board the aircraft. Upon seeing this, Jerry slung Cassie and prepared himself for the descent down the mountainside.
Boots sinking into snow, Jerry slid down the ridge, Waller sliding along beside him. Behind them, the fortress displayed a preternatural calm. Light radio chatter and clicks revealed the team had turned Kovalenko over alive and neutralized all resistance.
They moved through the dark woods, the world an eerie green through his NODs, using terrain for cover.
As they approached the clearing, the huge helicopter touched down, the crew chief simultaneously dropping the ramp.
The rotor wash blasted loose snow into a cyclonic vortex, making approaching the thing from the allegedly safe thirty-degree angle feel like trudging through a blizzard.
Jerry vaulted in beside Fisher, then Waller entered, marching backward with his carbine facing outward, pulling rear security.
Seconds later, Pena shouted, “Go!” over the engine noise as he simultaneously pounded the chopper’s ceiling with a gloved fist. As they lifted, Jerry caught a glimpse of the fortress lights with his naked eyes, not fully appreciating how different it looked when unobstructed by reticles.
What the CIA planned to do with Kovalenko didn’t come under the heading of his “need to know.” Well above his pay grade, in fact.
They had spared Karpovia from a tyrannical rule and granted the surrounding nations a few extra years of peace.
He understood the politics of the region well enough to know they’d done a good thing on this mission.
He peeled back his glove and checked his watch. Back at Campbell, the time was Eleven fifty-nine on December twenty-third. The ramp closed, and the warmth in the cabin surrounded him. Shudders wracked his body as he relinquished the tight control and allowed himself to shiver.
“Who else is ready for a Kentucky Christmas?” Norton grinned ironically. “I hear it’s a white Christmas this year. Lots of snow.”
“More snow!” Jerry yelled in protest.
Sergeant Darius “Truth or Dare” Brown, an 18D and the team’s newest medic, asked, “You cold, Jerry Maquire? I just jumped from about 40,000 feet above sea level and then glided on the arctic wind for half an hour, man.”
“Really, Dare?” Jerry’s voice quaked with his shudders. “Thirty whole minutes?” He gave him a mock impressed look.
Waller added through teeth that chattered with shivers, “Try thirty whole hours on that frozen ridge.”
Brown grinned, pulling out a thermos of MRE hot cocoa. He poured two steaming cups, handing them to Jerry and Waller. “Warm up, heroes. And thanks for that HEAT round. Knocked the wind out of the bandits for sure.”
Jerry sipped, the rich, warm chocolate melting the chill from his bones. His teeth chattered as he sipped. He longed to feel warm again. He’d never tasted anything so wonderful.
Except maybe one thing. His mind kept thinking about strawberry colored hair and lips that tasted just as sweet.