“Take it easy, then. I don’t want to die from friendly fire before the war even starts.”
Jarus took his advice and slowed. The headlights barely managed to penetrate the foliage and Rapp leaned forward, squinting through the windshield. Finally, he grabbed the young man’s arm. “Stop.”
Jarus released the accelerator and let the vehicle roll to a halt, but didn’t seem sure why. “I was told—”
He fell silent when five men armed with assault rifles appeared from the trees.
“Turn off your lights and roll your windows back down,” Rapp ordered.
The men approached through the darkness, one putting the barrel of his weapon against Rapp’s temple. A flashlight snapped on and just as quickly snapped off.
“Jarus. You’re overdue,” the man said in English. “The Russians have crossed our border.”
“What? When?”
“Only a few minutes ago. It’s begun.”
Rapp pushed the gun away from his head and stepped out of the vehicle, savoring the silence that wouldn’t last for much longer. The chances of averting this war had always been around zero, but somewhere in the back of his mind he’d held out a little hope. Now it was gone.
They abandoned the vehicle and hiked through the woods to a canvas-covered cart that had bogged down in the soft ground. It had been designed to be pulled by a horse, but for some reason that critical component was missing.
“Weapons?” Rapp asked.
“Worse. Batteries. The weight estimates we were given were low by half.”
The CIA man glanced behind him, confirming that there was no way in hell they were going to get the SUV in there. “How far?”
“We need to make it to the edge of the tree line. Perhaps five hundred meters.”
“All right. Then we’re doing it the old fashioned way. Scott, take the left wheel. I’ll get the right. Jarus, you get on the front. Everyone else is in back.”
The thick wooden spokes provided reasonable handholds, and after a few tries, the cart was rolling again. They were right about the weight. Every time the grade turned up, it put the cart in danger of rolling back and crushing half the team. Once they got their technique down, though, they managed to make progress.
The light slowly improved as they moved forward, and after a little less than an hour, Rapp spotted a human silhouette ahead. Or, more precisely, half of one. The man’s lower body was hidden in the hole he was digging. When he saw the cart, he jumped out and ran to help.
“Pull it to the side of the hole and turn it,” Jarus said, just loudly enough for Rapp and Coleman to hear. “We need access to the back.”
They got it into position and the men collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Finally, Latvia’s main commercial airport was visible through the trees. Its buildings and runway were partially illuminated less than a mile to the east.
The power was still on, creating an easy target for the paratroopers who were undoubtedly on their way. Securing the airport and repurposing it as a Russian base would be one of Sokolov’s first priorities.
Coleman came up alongside Rapp and studied the airfield in the distance. “I feel like I’m going to wake up any minute and find out it was all a dream. This isn’t some hairy op that’s going to get stamped Top Secret and shoved in a filing cabinet in the Agency’s basement. Russia’s invaded NATO. We’re standing right in the middle of a historical crossroad that could set the world order for the next hundred years.”
? ? ?
“Try it again,” Rapp said.
A series of dull flashes worked their way through the cracks in the cart they’d overturned.
“It works!” came the muffled reply from the man beneath it. He was standing in the hole they’d dug, slicing through a half-inch steel plate at the bottom. The battery-powered plasma cutter hadn’t wanted to cooperate at first, but now they were under way.
A secured hatch would have been a hell of a lot more convenient, but Rapp could see why the Latvian command had decided against it. Beneath the plate was a control system that had to be physically attached to a one-of-a-kind remote. Installing nearly a metric ton of live explosives beneath a commercial airport wasn’t something you did without creating a very long list of fail-safes.
Rapp turned and walked back to the edge of the trees, where Coleman was still looking down on the empty terminal building. The anticipation seemed to be getting to him.
“How much longer, Mitch?”
“Not long.”
Less than a minute later, the drone of approaching planes became audible, causing the activity behind them to grow in urgency. Rapp aimed a night scope at the sky, finally spotting a Russian transport. It was only the first of many, and soon the sound of them drowned out everything else. Canopies began opening and filling the sky, strangely beautiful in the green glow of the lens.
It was impossible to keep his mind from drifting to the World Wars fought on this land so many decades before. The sheer magnitude of them. Economies completely commandeered. Battles that went on for months or even years. Millions dead from combat and millions more succumbing to cold, disease, and starvation. If humanity couldn’t learn from those mistakes, maybe the whole species was hopeless.
The men behind him finally shoved the cart off the hole and connected a cable to the circuit board they’d exposed. Jarus approached with a large controller that he held out to Coleman. “General Strazds says it’s your honor. In thanks for everything you’ve done to help protect our country and our freedom.”
Coleman stared down at the innocuous little box. “Really? He said that?”
The Latvian nodded and dropped it into his hands before rejoining the men solemnly watching their country being invaded.
Rapp peered through the spotting scope at the landing paratroopers, scrutinizing every detail as they freed themselves from their chutes and went for position. He had to admit to being impressed. They spread through the complex like a virus. Gear that had been dropped was snatched up almost before it hit the ground. Machine gun placements appeared in maximally strategic positions, disciplined teams fanned out in the terminal that only a few days ago had been clogged with vacationers and business travelers.
“They’re pretty good,” Coleman commented as Rapp turned his scope back to the sky. A few minutes passed in silence before the sound of a second wave became audible. The runways were secure and now they could expect an endless line of planes landing and being emptied of equipment and men.
“You’ve got a Russian transport inbound,” Rapp said.
“I hear it,” Coleman said. “Do you think anyone else is shooting yet?”
Rapp glanced over at him, having to examine his expression for a moment before he understood the purpose of the question.
“I doubt it. There’s no plan to resist the invasion at the border, right? And if it were me, the Riga airport would be first on my hit list.”
“So it could be me,” Coleman said, toggling the master switch on his remote control. “I could be the guy who fires the first shot in World War III.”
“I don’t think you want a statue for that.”
“You sure? ’Cause I look good in marble.” He twisted a dial and the power died throughout the entire airport complex. The meticulously prepared Russians immediately began firing up generators. By the time the first aircraft’s wheels touched down, the tower lights were already back on.
Not that it mattered. Another button caused pillars of flame to erupt from the runway. A geyser of shattered asphalt caught the plane beneath one of its wings, turning it on its side and spinning it into a grassy field where it caught fire.
“Ever see one of those shows where they demolish buildings with explosives?” Coleman asked.
“Yeah.”
“Check this out.”