Gray Matter Splatter (A Deckard Novel Book 4) (25 page)

As the slope became steeper, it turned into a sheer sheet
of ice. Deckard volunteered to take the lead, knowing he could handle
this portion of the climb. As they went vertical, he would have to
turn the lead over to the more experienced climbers. Using one ice
axe and one ice tool specially made for ice climbing, Deckard
utilized what was called the American technique to scale the ice,
having traded out his snowshoes for crampons. He kept his lead foot
pointed forward and the trail foot perpendicular to the mountain.
This allowed him to compromise between his speed up the slope and not
completely exhausting his legs, as he was able to distribute his
weight between his calf muscle and thigh.

Wind howled down the mountain, cutting through Deckard’s
parka. He hadn’t experienced anything like this, not even in
Afghanistan. The only element going in their favor was good
illumination. The mountain rose up in front of him like a demon. It
lurched over him, watching and waiting. A gust pushed Deckard back,
threatening to topple him over and send him sliding. Swinging his ice
axe overhand, he slammed it into the ice to regain his composure.
Deckard’s breath came in short gasps, each one freezing behind
the mask he wore over his face.

Behind him, he could see his teammates shuffling in the dark. The
sound of their ice tools and crampons came to him in dull tones,
proof that they were still there. The sound of metal on ice offered
him some security, maybe a false sense of it, like the Kalashnikov
slung over his shoulder. Kurt continued to secure the rope at odd
intervals by installing ice screws with the pick of his ice tool,
turning them into the hard ice where they would freeze overnight. A
carabiner would marry up the rope to the metal eyelet at the end of
the ice screws.

Finally, Deckard reached a point where the mountain went
vertical. He had been scaling an incline steep enough that he was
touching ice when standing straight up and reaching out with one
hand. Now they were going up at a 90-degree angle.

Dag broke ranks and climbed up beside Deckard to begin preparing
his equipment. Adjusting his harness, Dag lit up his headlamp and
started clipping gear to his rack for the climb. This included ice
screws, ice hooks, his ice tools, carabiners, and nylon tubing for
creating additional anchors. His Kalashnikov was slung over the top
of all of it. They were the lead element, and there was an
expectation of enemy contact at some point.

The Norwegian looked up at the frozen waterfall. Due to
the plasticity of the ice, he had estimated that climbing the
waterfall would be easier than attempting to scale older ice and
inverted cliffs elsewhere. Swinging his ice tools into the ice, he
monkey-hung from the ice, jamming his crampons in before beginning to
climb. Bringing a tool down on the ice with his arm at maximum
extension, Dag would then bring his feet up until he was in a
vertical crouch, then stand up and repeat the process.

The five mercenaries at the bottom watched in awe as the former
FSK soldier glided up the ice with his headlamp leading the way. Dag
showed them how to get it done. Thirty meters up the ice, he paused
to install the first ice screw. Taking a deep breath, Jacob was the
next to follow Dag’s lead up the frozen waterfall.

As he climbed, Dag was forced to take an irregular route.
Going straight up was out of the question as rocks, hanging
stalactites of ice, and impossible overhangs obstructed the way. Some
of them he could traverse, but the rest of Samruk International was
not as experienced as he was. For their sake, it would require a
twisting route far easier for the others to climb. Using the rope and
ascenders, their climb would be a piece of cake by comparison.

After installing his fourth ice screw, Dag began climbing
laterally to go around an overhang. Once clear of the overhead
obstacle, he screwed in another piece of gear and continued back up.
Eventually, he found a solid pillar of ice as big around as a redwood
tree. The pillar was the result of ice melting each morning and
dripping down an icicle until it created a stalagmite at the bottom
when the water froze again in the night. Eventually, the two joined
into a solid pillar.

Dag worked for hours in the dark and freezing cold. His muscles
froze, then were covered in slimy sweat under his jacket. Finally,
his biceps and quads began turning to jelly, his every move labored
as he hauled his body weight and equipment up the ice pillar, one
swing at a time. Looking up, he spotted a large patch of cauliflower
ice beneath a ledge and aimed for it. True to its name, the patch
looked like giant white puffs belonging to the vegetable. Ignoring
the pain in his muscles and strain in his back, he didn’t stop
until he reached the cauliflower formation.

The ice formation created large footholds; he could even
lean up against the slope while standing on the ice and try to take a
rest. Taking a few deep breaths, he used the hammer head on the back
of his ice pick to pound in a few ice anchors to which he secured the
safety rope.

“You OK up there?” Kurt hollered up from below.

“Yeah,” Dag panted between breaths. “Almost to the ledge.”

Scrambling up the ice formation, Dag slugged it out the rest of
the way up. Ironically, getting over the ledge was perhaps the most
difficult part of the climb. It was awkward scooting his ass end up
as high as he could on the ledge while leaning forward with both of
his axes over the top, his arms extended. Finally, he grunted over
the lip. He didn’t even want to look up. He was only halfway up the
side of the mountain.

While the others continued their climb, he found a rocky
outcropping to use as an anchor. He secured the rope around it and
then finally took a rest. It felt as if his overheated body instantly
froze. His joints locked up and became stiff. More than anything, he
just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. The other five mercenaries
muscled their way up and nearly collapsed as well.

“Drink some water,” Nate mumbled against the cold.
“You have to force yourself.”

Ice cracked along the back of their pants and parkas, falling at
their feet as they reached for insulated canteens and Camelbaks,
trying to stay hydrated.

The next leg of the climb was not as technical. Jacob led
the patrol and took them on a winding path between some snow-covered
boulders. A narrow ledge then led the way up. Finding cracks between
the rock, he inserted spring-loaded camming devices to which they
would secure their rope. Eventually, they were bouldering, moving
hand over hand laterally along the edge, heading toward a place Jacob
had spotted in which they could walk up rather than climb.

The Dane’s hands were numb, his face raw from his breath
freezing against it. The harder he pushed himself, the more he just
felt like lying down. Reaching for a protrusion in the rock, he
slipped. The mercenary was airborne for a terrifying second until the
safety line jolted him to a halt as it caught against the last
anchor. The wind was knocked out of him as he slammed against the
rock face.

Slowly, he moved his arms and legs, forcing them to
function. He had to use his ice axes against the cold rock to climb
back up while the others watched. Minutes seemed like hours, his
every movement done in slow motion. Nate reached down and grabbed him
by the sleeve, tugging him back up. With the feeling in his hands and
feet long gone, Jacob shuffled along the rocks until they came to
another snowy embankment.

The Dane collapsed to his knees. Nate came in just behind him and
sat down. They had been running on fumes an hour ago. Now the tank
was empty.

“Come on,” Deckard said as he shook Jacob awake. “We’re
not going to make it to the top tonight. We need to find a place to
take shelter.”

Deckard secured their latest safety line to another boulder, then
pulled out a new rope. He went from trooper to trooper making sure
they were all secured to it before leading the way. The mercenary
commander put on a good show, but the truth was that he was just as
smoked as the rest of them. He just needed to make sure his team
survived the night.

A fresh gust of wind nearly blew the six men right off their
feet.

Deckard gritted his teeth.

The mountain was going to have a say in their survival.

Chapter 24

The landscape froze, then melted, a single drop of water dripping
down the side of a lonely cliff face. Snow fell, then collapsed down,
flattened out by the the sun, only to begin drifting down from the
sky again hours later. The glacier moved, too slowly for human
observation to notice. What appeared static was constantly in a state
of flux. Even the barren desolation of the Arctic contained a hint of
life, even if it was desperate and barely hanging on underneath a
rock, waiting for spring.

A fist punched up through the snow to the surface.

The surrounding snow collapsed as the fist was withdrawn
and a human figure emerged on the side of the mountain. Deckard
reached up and pulled his hood down, using the cold air to force
himself awake. It had been a long night, but he was alive. Alive and
pissed.

Pulling out his MBITR radio, he walked to the edge of the
mountain. Using FM signals, the radio operated by line of sight.
Having the high ground did him little good in this case, but he hoped
he would be able to make contact with the main body.

“Any station on this net, this is Six, over,” he said into
the main mic.

Static was the only reply.

“Any station on this net, come in, over.”

More static.

Backing away from the ledge, the radio came to life.

“Six—” the voice cut out as fast as it appeared, replaced
by a gurgle of static. “No...over...jammed.”

Their net was being jammed; he got that much.

“En route...hours...”

“Say again, what is your ETA?” Deckard asked.

“Thr...rs.”

“Three hours,” Deckard said to himself.

More half-frozen bodies emerged from the snow shelter. Kurt, Dag,
Jacob, Nate, and Maurizio shook out their arms and legs. Dag started
doing jumping jacks to try to warm himself up.

“I got someone over the net,” Deckard announced. “They are
about three hours out. The net is fucked, though. They’re jamming
us again.”

“Radio batteries are heavy anyway,” Jacob said. “Good to
know there isn’t any point in carrying them!”

The team took a quick inventory of their remaining gear before
plowing through the snow to the summit. Thankfully, it plateaued out
toward the top, where they donned their snowshoes. Struggling to
blaze a path through the snow was still easier than hanging on to the
side of an ice wall by their crampons. It took an an hour and a half,
but they made it.

A valley spread out in front of them as they looked into
the morning light. More snow. More ice. Going on straight into
forever. The only movement below was a trio of white wolves stalking
the tundra.

Deckard had done some map reconnaissance, and had been
banking on there being at least one route down the opposite side of
the mountain that could be traversed on skis. To his satisfaction,
there looked to be several. Now they had to wait for the others to
arrive, and hope that he was right about being able to intercept the
enemy. He sighted through a pair of binoculars. There did not appear
to be any sign of the enemy’s passage.

They too had to deal with the arctic night.

“Got something,” Nate announced as he looked through his own
pair of binoculars. “Movement up on that mountain on the other side
of the valley.”

Deckard squinted behind his goggles.

“How can you even see anything that far?”

“Way too much time squatting in a spider hole in Afghanistan,
boss.”

Deckard scoured the mountain opposite to them. It took a minute,
but he picked up several black specks moving across the ridge of the
mountain.

“Who the hell is that?” Nate asked.

“More importantly, which side are they on?”

“Not ours, I imagine,” Dag said, clearly not feeling a
positive vibe.

“OK, Dag and Kurt, you head back to receive the main body when
they arrive. The rest of us will look for some better cover and
concealment to keep eyes on the valley. Make sure you get some food
in you, too.”

Despite the main body leaving their patrol base and starting
their ascent before dawn, it still took all morning to get the
platoons up the side of the mountain. The mountaineer team was
grateful for the rest and spent the morning alternating on watch from
the summit of the mountain and warming themselves in the sun while
chowing down on military rations and protein bars.

The sun was high in the sky, the wind still biting at their
cheeks when Jacob called out, “I’ve got something here.”

Deckard lay down in the prone next to him.

“What is it?”

“Movement along the military crest of the mountain.”

The military crest was Army jargon meaning they were moving on a
path halfway up the side of the mountain. Deckard looked down the
slope and to his nine o’clock.

“Yes, I see them.”

“Maybe a scout patrol?”

Deckard scanned some more, but had a hard time making out details
as they were still a few kilometers away. The enemy wore overwhites
to blend in with the snow, and their Israeli bullpup rifles had been
spray-painted white as near as Deckard could tell.

“I think so,” Deckard finally replied to Jacob. “Maybe ten
of them. They are an advance element, just like we are.”

“Let them pass and then ambush the main force?”

“Not enough time. I don’t think our guys will arrive here in
time for us to have even a minimum force. The enemy is about 100
strong, outnumbering us by a third to begin with. If we attack before
all of our boys are up here, we will be mowed down like grass.”