Tom Clancy Under Fire (22 page)

If Makhachkala didn’t go as planned, a whole lot of innocent civilians were going to die.

Georgian Military Road East

A
FTER RECEIVING
their weapons, AK-47s with three spare magazines each, from Major Asatiani, they set out in the predawn darkness with the GAZ, now emblazoned with the red-on-white flag of the Red Crescent Society, the Islamo-centric cousin of the Red Cross. Whether this garnishment would mean a damn to the OFB was anyone’s guess.

With Jack at the wheel, Ysabel beside him, and Spellman in the passenger seat, they made decent progress for the first hour and then the winding mountain road narrowed, its surface rutted with ice and half-buried boulders. Jack eased up on the gas pedal but still had to fight the steering wheel to keep the truck from sliding onto the shoulder.

Spellman sat with the barrel of his AK resting on the dashboard, his eyes scanning the road ahead. Jack’s and Ysabel’s rifles were propped between her knees, muzzles down.

“Jack, what was that business about how well Medzhid knows General Zumadze?” asked Spellman.

“Probably nothing. But if I had a friend like Zumadze, I’d be rethinking the relationship.”

“What, you thinking he’s feeding us to the OFB?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Then spit it out.”

“Your plan is partially counting on Georgia backing the coup, and Zumadze won’t even give Medzhid safe passage out of his own country.”

“Yeah, I see your point. But Zumadze’s as savvy as Medzhid; if the coup goes our way, Tbilisi will want to back the winner.”

•   •   •

BY NOON,
having covered half the distance to the border, they reached Chero, a village perched on a slope overlooking a river gorge. Jack steered the GAZ through the village, then down a switchback road to the bottom of the gorge, where the road leveled and began following the course of the river. Through Spellman’s half-open window Jack could hear the rush of water spilling over boulders. Though directly overhead, the sun’s rays didn’t fully penetrate the gorge, leaving the road in partial twilight.

The Velcro flap behind the seat tore open and Seth’s head appeared in the square opening. “We better pick up the pace or we won’t make Yuzhno by nightfall.”

“Any faster and we’ll go into the river,” Spellman answered. “Jack’s doing fine.”

“We won’t be if we get stuck out here. Pick up the pace, Jack.”

Seth disappeared and the flap closed.

•   •   •

“WHOA,”
Spellman called, as Jack rounded a corner. “Slow it down, Jack.”

“I see it.”

Jack slowed to a stop, the truck’s brakes echoing off the gorge’s walls.

Ahead a pair of UAZ jeeps covered in what looked like improvised spray-paint camouflage sat astride the road. They were staggered, one ahead of the other, to lessen the chance of a vehicle’s ramming its way through the roadblock. Jack counted six men, all bearded, four standing before the vehicles and one behind each one’s wheel. They were all armed with AKs.

“The OFB?” Ysabel muttered.

“He’d better assume so,” Jack replied.

He glanced in his side mirror, studying the road behind them. Though they’d passed no turnoffs since entering the gorge, a bracket ambush was the smart move. The road was empty. How fast he could drive the GAZ in reverse while being pursued he didn’t know.

Seth’s head poked through the canvas opening. “Why are we stopping— Ah, shit.”

“Sit tight and keep quiet,” Jack told him.

“I’ll talk to them,” Spellman said, and reached for the door handle.

“Bad idea, Matt.”

“Better to start out friendly.”

Ysabel asked, “Do you speak—”

“Ossete? No, but I’ve got Farsi, and they’re close. And I look the part.”

“Barely,” Ysabel remarked.

“Can you two cover me?”

“Stay within sprinting distance,” said Jack.

Leaving his AK on the truck’s floorboard, Spellman climbed out. Jack did the same, but propped his weapon muzzle-first on the running board.

“Show them your hands. And don’t smile.”

Jack raised his hands and took a step away from the door.

In Farsi, Spellman called to the group and then strode forward a few paces and into Jack’s sight line.

That’s far enough, Matt.

The men didn’t respond. Spellman called out again.

The man standing at the front of the group answered, his tone aggressive.

“He says the road is closed. I told him we’re Red Crescent. He doesn’t give a shit.”

“Tell him we’re carrying medicine for the kids in Ibtsokhi.”

Spellman did so, but got the same biting reply.

“He doesn’t give a shit about that, either.”

Suddenly the man pointed his AK skyward and let off a short burst. He shouted at Spellman, gesturing wildly.

Spellman began backing toward the truck. Jack waited until he was in the passenger seat, then climbed in. Through the windshield he could see the OFB leader glaring at them.

“What now?” asked Ysabel.

“We find another way.”

Through the canvas divider Medzhid said, “Out of the question. The only other route will cost us a full day. If I’m not back in Makhachkala by morning, the Almak story will be out of my control. Look, there are only six of them and seven of us.”

Jack turned to him. “And we’re on their home turf, stuck on a narrow road with nowhere to go.”

“Ram them.”

“We’d never make it—”

Spellman shouted, “They’re moving!”

Jack turned back around and saw the OFB men piling into the jeeps. The lead one started speeding toward them, the other one close behind.

Jack jammed the shifter into reverse and hit the gas pedal. The GAZ lurched, then began backing down the road. In the dust kicked up by the rear tires he could see little more than the rock wall flashing by on his left.

“You’re on the shoulder,” Spellman shouted.

He turned the wheel right. The truck swerved toward the rocks and he adjusted again.

“They’re catching up,” Ysabel called.

“Matt, when we get around the next corner, you and I are getting out. Ysabel, you’re driving. Just keep backing it up and keep your head down.”

When the GAZ swung around the bend, Jack slammed on the brakes, shifted it into park. He and Spellman jumped out with their AKs. Jack’s bad leg buckled slightly and he stumbled, then regained his balance.

“Go, Ysabel!” he shouted.

The gears crunched and then the GAZ started reversing.

The lead jeep came around the curve. Jack and Spellman opened up, stitching the vehicle across the hood and windshield. The jeep fishtailed sideways, overcorrected, then vaulted over the shoulder berm and slammed into a boulder jutting from the river. The windshield shattered outward and a pair of men slid down the hood and into the water. The man in the backseat wasn’t moving.

Jack, who had been tracking the jeep with his muzzle and pouring fire into the door, stopped and turned back. The second jeep skidded around the corner. It sped up, bearing down on Spellman, who stood in the middle of the road, firing. Jack raised his AK, ready to fire, but the jeep veered left, putting itself between him and Spellman. The side mirror caught Spellman in the side and he stumbled back, bounced off the gorge wall, then slid to the ground.

The jeep turned the next corner and disappeared.

“Spellman?” Jack called.

“I’m good. Go!”

Jack started running as fast as his bad leg would allow. As he approached the bend he heard the chatter of AK fire, then the wrenching of steel on steel. He rounded the corner. Fifty feet away the jeep and GAZ were almost bumper to bumper, the truck still backing up. Its windshield was pocked with bullet strikes, so Jack couldn’t see Ysabel. One of the OFB fighters leaned out the jeep’s side window and started firing into the truck’s grille. Steam billowed from the hood.

Jack dropped to one knee, switched the AK to semi-auto, then took aim on the leaning man and fired twice. The man went limp and folded sideways at the waist, his head bumping over the ground. Jack adjusted aim and put three rounds into the jeep’s rear window. Chunks of the glass disintegrated. A rifle barrel poked through one of the gaps. Jack saw a silhouetted head. He fired twice and the head disappeared in a haze of blood spray.

The GAZ slewed sideways. Its back end vaulted over the shoulder. The rear tire plunged into the river and started spinning, sending up a plume of water.

Jack stood, started running again, the AK tucked into his shoulder, firing as he closed the gap. The driver’s door swung open and a man climbed out, struggling to clear the muzzle and bring it to bear on Jack. Jack stopped, shot him in the chest, then a second time as he went down.

The GAZ’s engine sputtered to a stop, leaving only the high-pitched hum of the jeep’s motor.

Behind him, he heard Spellman jog up.

“Let’s clear it,” Jack said.

They stalked forward, AKs raised. When they were ten feet from the jeep’s rear bumper Seth walked down the side of the GAZ. He strode up to the jeep, stuck the barrel of his AK through the window, and fired a short burst, followed by two more. He ejected the magazine, slammed another into the receiver, then leaned down and peered inside.

“They’re done,” he announced. “Come on, let’s get moving.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Spellman murmured.

•   •   •

IT WAS SHORTLY
after ten o’clock when they pulled up to the spotlighted Yuzhno border checkpoint. Jack braked the truck to a stop, put it in park, but left the engine running. He was worried it wouldn’t start again.

Before the checkpoint’s drop-gate stood four men in Dagestani
politsiya
uniforms. On the other side of the gate an armored personnel carrier blocked the road. Its 14.5-millimeter cannon was pointing in the GAZ’s direction.

“That’s not very friendly,” Ysabel murmured.

After the firefight, it had taken the better part of two hours before they were back on the road, the first ten minutes of which involved Jack and Spellman jumping down on the jeep’s hood until its bumper tore free of the GAZ’s. Once done, they manhandled the truck’s rear tire back onto the shoulder, then Jack, Seth, Ysabel, and Spellman stood guard as Medzhid’s bodyguards went about fixing the GAZ’s engine. While the truck’s combat-constructed grille had absorbed most of the AK rounds, the radiator hoses were nicked in a dozen places. After expending an entire roll of duct tape and a spool of baling wire, they were moving again.