about fifteen miles southwest of the cave complex, holed up in rocks with a good view of the valley to the west, all the way to the east-west train line to Georgia. There was an airstrip about three miles to the south where they had originally planned their pickup, but Van Buren had put the operation temporarily on hold. The Russians had put some Hinds there, along with supporting troops.
“Shouldn’t have pissed them off, huh?” Ferguson told him.
“Guess not.”
“It was an old car. Could have used a wash and wax.”
“So you saved him money.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re working on finding a better site,” the SF colonel told Ferguson. “But the Russians are watching the main airports pretty closely. We may end up going to a backup plan, maybe getting a pair of helicopters.”
“We’re not particular,” said Ferg. “Just get us the hell out of here.”
“It’s safer for you to sit and wait. Only be a few days.”
“I don’t like waiting around, VB.”
“Neither do I.” Van Buren sighed on the other end of the line. “Corrigan says there’s a car for you at Narzan. Some CIA ops drove it down from Moscow in case you needed it. Fully fueled and everything.”
“Yeah, he already told me. But that’s seventy-five kilometers away. We might just as well walk to Georgia.”
“Your call.”
Ferguson snapped off the phone without saying anything else.
“Maybe we can take the bikes and swing up to the train line west of Groznyy,” said Conners, who’d been listening nearby. “Ride it all the way to Moscow.”
“There’s an idea,” said Rankin sarcastically.
“I’m serious,” said Conners. “Once we’re in the car, we can get pretty far. I’ve been looking at the maps, Ferg. Turn on the laptop.”
Ferguson humored him, though he realized it would be far safer to wait there than try and hop a freight. A train line did run north out of Chechnya, and Conners showed Ferg from sat photos that it wasn’t well guarded beyond Groznyy heading north.
“We need two spots to get on,” said Conners. “Nice grade with a curve would be perfect. Two guys get on, blow a lock off a boxcar, climb in, dump out shit, get the door open, make it easy to throw raghead over there in.”
“What, you saw this in a dream?” asked Ferguson, impressed.
“We used to hop trains all the time when I was a kid. Rode one up from Jersey to Ramapo up in New York once, caught another back. Be like old times.”
“Patrol,” warned Guns, who had the lookout. “Trucks, a BMP.”
Ferguson went to the edge of the mountainside overlooking the road. He could see the Russians moving in a small caravan southward. Suddenly a white cloud appeared near the lead vehicle.
“Great,” said Ferguson. “Just what we need.”
They watched as a group of Chechen rebels picked off the Russian patrol from a hillside about a mile and a half away. By the time a pair of helicopter gunships arrived to assist the ground troops, it was too late; three of their trucks had been destroyed, probably by radio charges planted in the road though the rebels had also used rockets and possibly grenades.
“Nice little operation,” said Rankin, genuinely admiring it.
“That’ll take the heat off,” said Guns.
“All right boys, saddle up,” said Ferg. “Narzan’s about fifty miles away. We have a car waiting for us. We walk fast, we can make it in two nights.”
~ * ~
I
t was in fact less than fifty miles to the Chechen city, which sat west of Groznyy on the main east-west highway in central Chechnya, but they couldn’t travel in a straight line. They took turns carrying their prisoner on a makeshift stretcher, trekking over trails that roughly paralleled what passed for the main road west.
After about three hours of walking, they came to a small settlement at the intersection of three different mountains.
“Shouldn’t have pissed them off, huh?” Ferguson told him.
“Guess not.”
“It was an old car. Could have used a wash and wax.”
“So you saved him money.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re working on finding a better site,” the SF colonel told Ferguson. “But the Russians are watching the main airports pretty closely. We may end up going to a backup plan, maybe getting a pair of helicopters.”
“We’re not particular,” said Ferg. “Just get us the hell out of here.”
“It’s safer for you to sit and wait. Only be a few days.”
“I don’t like waiting around, VB.”
“Neither do I.” Van Buren sighed on the other end of the line. “Corrigan says there’s a car for you at Narzan. Some CIA ops drove it down from Moscow in case you needed it. Fully fueled and everything.”
“Yeah, he already told me. But that’s seventy-five kilometers away. We might just as well walk to Georgia.”
“Your call.”
Ferguson snapped off the phone without saying anything else.
“Maybe we can take the bikes and swing up to the train line west of Groznyy,” said Conners, who’d been listening nearby. “Ride it all the way to Moscow.”
“There’s an idea,” said Rankin sarcastically.
“I’m serious,” said Conners. “Once we’re in the car, we can get pretty far. I’ve been looking at the maps, Ferg. Turn on the laptop.”
Ferguson humored him, though he realized it would be far safer to wait there than try and hop a freight. A train line did run north out of Chechnya, and Conners showed Ferg from sat photos that it wasn’t well guarded beyond Groznyy heading north.
“We need two spots to get on,” said Conners. “Nice grade with a curve would be perfect. Two guys get on, blow a lock off a boxcar, climb in, dump out shit, get the door open, make it easy to throw raghead over there in.”
“What, you saw this in a dream?” asked Ferguson, impressed.
“We used to hop trains all the time when I was a kid. Rode one up from Jersey to Ramapo up in New York once, caught another back. Be like old times.”
“Patrol,” warned Guns, who had the lookout. “Trucks, a BMP.”
Ferguson went to the edge of the mountainside overlooking the road. He could see the Russians moving in a small caravan southward. Suddenly a white cloud appeared near the lead vehicle.
“Great,” said Ferguson. “Just what we need.”
They watched as a group of Chechen rebels picked off the Russian patrol from a hillside about a mile and a half away. By the time a pair of helicopter gunships arrived to assist the ground troops, it was too late; three of their trucks had been destroyed, probably by radio charges planted in the road though the rebels had also used rockets and possibly grenades.
“Nice little operation,” said Rankin, genuinely admiring it.
“That’ll take the heat off,” said Guns.
“All right boys, saddle up,” said Ferg. “Narzan’s about fifty miles away. We have a car waiting for us. We walk fast, we can make it in two nights.”
~ * ~
I
t was in fact less than fifty miles to the Chechen city, which sat west of Groznyy on the main east-west highway in central Chechnya, but they couldn’t travel in a straight line. They took turns carrying their prisoner on a makeshift stretcher, trekking over trails that roughly paralleled what passed for the main road west.
After about three hours of walking, they came to a small settlement at the intersection of three different mountains.
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