Above the objective, Jerry watched as the team began their final descent.Each man had a one-square-inch infrared reflective patch on his left boot and right shoulder, making them almost entirely visible to him through his sophisticated optics.They all maneuvered into a practiced stall and moved into a corkscrew formation above the castle.The formation looked like a moving spiral staircase.
Jerry watched through his optics as the rest of his SFODA glided in like ghosts, one by one, with perhaps an eighth to a tenth of a second between quiet landings.Daddy first, then Pina Colada, then Mr.Miyagi, and all the others—Hobbes, Gilligan, Rocky, Truth or Dare, Honest Abe, Dicey, Trout, Snowflake, MMMBop, Commando, and finally Cobra on his very first mission—touched down one by one silently on the rooftop, stacking up without a sound.
They prepared to breach the upper doors until Jerry hit the handle with his laser-aiming device, which illuminated the door handle brighter than the old Vegas strip in their night-vision devices.Norton reached over and slowly operated the handle, quietly opening the unsecured door.
They tightened their stack then surged through the opening like a black tide, carbines sweeping in precise arcs, NODs glowing faintly in the dark.Long, tense seconds stretched into what felt like agonizing minutes—or even hours—in Jerry’s mind, his pulse pounding in his ears as he strained to track their progress.
Radio silence held, broken only by clipped whispers over the comms: “Clear...moving...contact left.”Then, suppressed muzzle flashes erupted like staccato lightning in his optics, painting the interior corridors in bursts of green-tinged fire as the team methodically cleared room after room—doors opened silently, corners sliced, threats neutralized with ruthless efficiency.
Suddenly, chaos erupted below.Kovalenko’s remaining security force rallied in a desperate counterattack, a dozen swarthy and well-equipped guards scrambling into position in the great hall, their Kalashnikovs barking in defiance.Through the arched windows, Jerry caught glimpses of the frenzy—figures darting behind overturned tables and granite pillars, muzzle blasts blooming in the dim light, bullets ricocheting off stone walls with sharp cracks that echoed faintly across the frozen valley.The air filled with the acrid scent of cordite even from afar, carried on the wind from the lake.
In Jerry’s crosshairs, Kovalenko paced inside, broad shoulders and close-cropped gray hair, with a phone pressed tight to his ear.Apparently, someone in a high office in either Europe or Russia had decided to distract their target at the appointed hour.Kovalenko had ducked out of Jerry’s visual window at the first sound of his men returning fire.He broadcast, “Six, Bravo Four.HVT out of my picture.Over.”
“Roger.OPFOR dug in,” Norton hissed.“Taking fire.Can you bring the thunder?Over.”
Jerry’s grip tightened on Cassie.With Waller in his ear, Jerry picked off exposed targets—thwack after thwack—dropping four before the rest dove behind thick tables and stone pillars.
“Strike times four.Remainder now concealed,” Waller broadcast.“Sending grenade.”
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, Peña 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.”
