Jerry nodded superfluously.“Roger.Confirm Hornets at one-five mikes.Confirm lasso at 5k.Confirm fire at will to remove bandits.Standing by, over.”
Norton sent, “Out,” ending the conversation.
Minutes ticked by in frozen silence.Jerry fancifully imagined he could detect the sound of the aircraft flying at more than 33,000 feet and the maximum standoff distance from where they lay in the snow.Not possible.Finally, the comms crackled, “Cloud Breaker to execute in—” Norton shouted the next words, “six minutes!”
Jerry knew that everyone aboard the Antonov An-12, which NATO forces referred to as a Cub, all shouted back in unison, “Six Minutes!”in response.The jump commands would proceed from there to one minute, thirty seconds, and finally to go.
The team would perform a high-altitude-high-opening airborne insertion from a distance of more than 30 kilometers.Then, they would glide along with the prevailing winds the entire distance to the objective.
“Per Terram, Per Mare, Per Aerem,” Jerry whispered.By Land, By Sea, By Air.
“Roger that,” Waller whispered back.“Mors Ab Alto.”Death From Above.
Two rapid clicks came over the comms.The entire team had successfully deployed their parachutes.In all, 14 well trained and well-armed men including Major Rick Norton, Captain Jorge Peña, Chief Warrant Officer David Morita, Chief Warrant Officer Zachary Hanson, Master Sergeant Wade Chandler, Staff Sergeant Calvin Brock, Staff Sergeant Eric Gill, Sergeant Min-Jun Johnson, Sergeant Darius Brown, Staff Sergeant Jared Ibrahim, Sergeant Dasa Yazzie, Sergeant First Class Travis Fisher, Sergeant Andrew White, and Corporal Michael Mendoza would soon land one by one on the roof of that fortress.
Vozhd YevgeniyKovalenko was about to have a very bad day at the office.
Jerry’s heart rate ticked up.Through the scope, three sentries patrolled the outer walls—bundled figures in white-wrapped gear, one smoking a cigarette that lit up like a beacon in his night optics.“Bourbon, three bandits visible.North wall, east gate, and south parapet.Confirm?”
Waller peered through his rangefinder, his M4 carbine with attached M203 grenade launcher within easy reach.“Affirmative.Distance four eight zero meters on the north one.Deflection fifteen degrees downhill, adjusted elevation up point five mil.Wind nominal, but watch the gusts from the north—top snow dusting at three zero meters.”
Jerry peered at the field of snow between their position and the target.Occasional gusts of light wind dusted the powdery top snow.He would factor the gusts into his shot solutions.
Indicating the sentry enjoying the cigarette, Waller said, “Might as well have shot up a flare.”
“I’m planning on letting him enjoy his smoke break for a few more seconds,” Jerry said.
Waller said, “Scanned the structure twice.I identify just the three visible bandits.”
“Confirmed,” Jerry whispered, then exposed his right index finger by folding back the finger flap on his heavy gloves.“Engaging most distant bandit first.Splash one on your mark.”
He lined up the first sentry in his crosshairs, wind whispering through the pines.The sentry in his crosshairs was an enemy soldier.That enemy soldier would certainly kill any one of them if possible.This was not a question.Leaving him alive would at best raise an alarm and at worst end up with dead teammates.The only means of accomplishing their mission rested squarely below Jerry’s right index fingertip.
Waller focused on the wind while Jerry focused on his target.Waller said, “Deflection unchanged.Distance unchanged.Standby for nominal wind.”
Jerry kept his breathing as normal as possible while exhaling out of the side of his mouth and lightly stroked Cassie’s trigger to keep his fingertip from cramping.
“Mark,” Waller prompted.
Jerry exhaled, slow and controlled, and squeezed.The elongated suppressor coughed, a dull thwack louder than a baseball hitting the catcher’s glove but much quieter than the sonic boom of an unsuppressed supersonic round, and the precision bullet made its way through the icy air until the sentry dropped, snow swallowing the body.He shifted seamlessly to the next, Waller calling adjustments, and two more suppressed shots followed.He took out the smoking sentry last.Their bodies fell silently into the white blanket of snow.In the silence that followed, no one raised any alarms.
“No movement.Clean shots,” Waller whispered.
“Confirmed,” Jerry agreed, then keyed his mic.“Turkey,” Jerry broadcast, meaning three strikes in a row, then shifted his focus to the main keep.He knew without having to engage in a lengthy tongue wag about it that Waller had reverted to scanning for any new targets.
Precisely fifteen minutes after the incoming team above had deployed their parachutes, Waller deployed the eight Teledyne FLIR Black Hornet nano-UAVs—tiny, hand-sized drones marked with black IR tape.He guided them silently to the eight cardinal points around the fortress, their thermal cams feeding back real-time intel on his tablet.“IR Markers set.Eyes in place.All quiet—scratch that.Movement on the roof.”
Jerry swung Cassie around.A fourth sentry emerged on the rooftop, fumbling with a radio.Another thwack, and the man crumpled before he could transmit.“Six.Bravo Four.Strike times four.Be advised, new obstacle on the north side near the staircase.One bandit.Over.”
Norton replied, “Roger, Bravo Four, this is Six.Lasso.I say again, Lasso.Out.”
Waller retrieved his M203, loaded an M992 infrared illumination cartridge, and fired it skyward.The round arced high, bursting silently into an IR glow beneath a tiny parachute visible only through NODs —marking the rooftop for the incoming team.Then, he activated his laser sight and drew a long circle in the black sky as if leading some kind of crazy PowerPoint presentation.He continued to draw circles with his muzzle for long seconds.
In their night vision, it looked like a solid beam that left the muzzle of Waller’s M4 carbine and reached so high the International Space Station could see it.To the team in the air, it fully marked their position, the eight cardinal points marked by the tiny drones, and the location of their intended landing zone.
They heard a series of rapid double clicks come over the comms.Finally, Norton broadcast, “Batcave.”
Waller turned off the “bat signal” and set his M4 down within easy reach, then reverted to spotting, peering through his rangefinder.
