Jenny had seen polar bears hunting seals in such a manner, pouncing up from below to nab their unsuspecting prey. The area must be riddled with iced-over breathing holes, permanent cracks in the ice protected by the pressure ridges around here.
They would have to be careful.
Jenny spotted a mound of snow rise as something heavy pushed up from below. She heard the crinkle of breaking ice from beneath it. The grendels were still following them.
“Around the next ridge!” Tom called from the back. “The station’s parking lot is just ahead!”
They cautiously increased their pace.
Jenny rounded the bend and saw he was right. The jumble of peaks opened into flat ice. They were almost out of the treacherous pressure ridges.
As they made for the opening, gunfire cracked through the whine of winds. Kowalski reached the edge and raised his arm, halting them all while he scanned ahead. More gunfire sounded close by, a real firefight.
Tom pulled up next to them. “Someone’s fighting the Russians.”
“Could it be the Delta team?” Amanda asked Craig.
He shook his head.
Kowalski hissed to them. They all moved forward, gathering together. He pointed an arm. Just ten yards from their hiding place rested a Sno-Cat, with snowmobiles and other vehicles lined up just past it.
Beyond the parking lot, Jenny spotted two figures out on the ice, firing toward the peaks to the left. Gunfire answered them, spattering into the short ridge that sheltered the pair.
It was impossible to tell who was who. Though the snowfall from overhead had died away, the winds continued to blow surface snow in scurfs and eddies, obliterating detail.
Bane suddenly lunged forward, breaking away from the group. He raced between the parked vehicles, heading out toward the open plain.
Jenny made to leap after him, but Kowalski grabbed her elbow and hissed. He pointed an arm.
Beyond the firefight, the glowing entrance to the base shone in the stormy gloom. Figures appeared, limned against the light, pouring out from inside. A major battle was about to begin.
She turned her attention, but Bane was gone, lost among the parked snow craft.
The gunfire grew more intense.
“Now what do we do?” Tom asked.
5:14 P.M.
From his position behind the ice ridge, Matt watched as Washburn was tackled, swamped under three men. She kicked and fought, but it was no use. More soldiers moved out, flanking the entrance. Additional men took up sniping positions within the shelter of the entrance hall.
It wouldn’t be long until Matt and Bratt were outflanked and shot. Matt covered the men near the entrance, trying to keep them from edging into a position from which they could shoot directly at his group. Bratt did the same with the group hiding among the tents.
But they were running low on ammunition.
“I’ll try to draw their fire,” Bratt said. “Make for the vehicles. Try to grab one and head out.”
“What about you?”
Bratt shied from the question. “I’ll do what I can to hold them off you for as long as possible.”
Matt hesitated.
Bratt turned to him, his eyes fierce. “This isn’t your war!”
And it isn’t yours either, Matt wanted to add, but now was not the time for debate. He simply nodded, acquiescing.
Bratt turned his attention, pulling out a grenade from a pocket. He pointed and signaled his plan. “Ready.”
Matt took a deep breath and pushed himself from his belly into a crouch, keeping low. “Go!”
Bratt lobbed the grenade. He didn’t have the arm to reach the group in the tents, not against the winds blowing out from the ice mountains. But he did a damn good job anyway. The explosion of ice obliterated the view.
That was Matt’s cue. He took off at a full sprint. Behind him, Bratt twisted to fire at the men positioned near the station entrance.
The plan might have worked, except that the Russians by the tents had managed to load their rocket launcher. Matt heard the fizzling blast, followed by the telltale whistle.
He dove and twisted, skidding a few yards on his shoulder. The sharp ice shredded his parka. He watched Bratt turn, ready to leap away, but the distances were too short, the rocket too fast.
Matt covered his face, both to protect himself and not to watch.
The rocket struck with a resounding blast. The ice shuddered under Matt. He lowered his arm and pushed up. Their temporary shelter was now a smoking hole of steam.
There was no sign of Bratt.
Then a boot landed beside him, thudding in the snow, sizzling against the ice.
Horrified, Matt rolled away. He shoved to his feet. Not allowing the man’s sacrifice to be in vain, he ran for the vehicles.
5:16 P.M.
Jenny stared at the lone figure running across the ice. He wore a white parka…one of the Russians. Then a gust of snow and steam blanketed over him.
“We have to move out now,” Craig said beside her, drawing her attention. “Use the distraction to grab what vehicles we can.”
“Who can drive a Cat?” Kowalski asked, pointing to the sturdy vehicle. It was only ten yards away. So close…
Ogden raised his hand. “I can.”
Kowalski nodded. “Tom and I’ll grab a couple snowmobiles to act as flankers and decoys. The Cat should hold the rest of you. I’ve got two Molotovs left.” He tossed one to Tom. “We’ll do what we can to keep the Russians off your asses.”
“Let’s do it,” Craig said.
The group bolted toward the nearby Cat. Tom and Kowalski divided and ran for two Ski-Doos.
Henry reached the Sno-Cat first and yanked the door open. Zane and Magdalene clambered into the front seat while Henry tried the engine. It sputtered, then caught. The noise seemed loud, sure to draw the attention of the Russians now that the firefight had stopped. Hopefully the soldiers were still deafened by the rocket explosion. And if not, there was always the perpetually howling wind to cover the sound.
Jenny searched for any sign that they were heard. But the cloud from the rocket attack continued to mask the area. The winds blew the steamy smoke toward the station’s entrance, keeping the view blanketed. But it would not last long.
She heard one Ski-Doo engine wind up, then another. Tom and Kowalski had found their mounts.
“Inside!” Craig urged, pulling open the rear door for Amanda and Jenny.
As Amanda grabbed the edge of the doorframe, sharp barking cut through the engine noise.
Jenny stepped around the rear of the Cat. Bane…
She searched, then spotted movement. A figure lumbered from the snow fifty yards away. The lone Russian in the white parka. She hissed to Craig.