SOUTHERN CHECHNYA
Once he’d climbed through the window back outside the building, Ferguson decided that since he’d be exposed to any patrol on the perimeter as well the guard post at the gate, his best bet was to walk with his rifle slung over his shoulder, as if he were one of the terrorists.
Whether doing so fooled anyone or not, he made it to the field near the runway without being stopped or, as far as he could tell, seen. He slid down the shallow embankment, then began working south in Conners’s direction, which he had from the GPS reading on the phone. The glow from the mountain bunker had grown; he guessed the trucks had gone there, though he couldn’t see them or the opening itself.
Working his way south, he came to a deeper part of the ditch, then found himself walking in half a foot of water. He tried to step to the side but slipped down deeper, falling into a foot of muddy, stagnant water. He crawled up out of the sludge like a primeval salamander. Clambering onto the runway, he decided that was as good a place as any to cross. He rose, and with his first step heard the sound of a pickup truck leaving the building behind him.
With his second step, he saw the truck’s headlights come on and arc across the field in his direction.
As Conners caught sight of Ferguson climbing from the ditch about twenty yards north of him, he saw the door to the north building open again and a truck emerge. But this time, the vehicle threw its lights on. Soldiers ran near the gate. Conners realized the man they’d lost earlier had finally reached the base and sounded the alarm.
The lights swung across the field as Ferguson started to run. A moment later, a machine gun began barking, a PK of some sort mounted on the back of the truck.
Conners threw the Russian grenade launcher off his back, setting it up to fire. As he did, Ferguson sprawled across the runway to his left, rolled back, and began firing his AK-74. The headlights on the pickup died, but the heavy machine continued to fire, chewing up the concrete just short of them.
Before Conners could sight the weapon, Ferguson had managed to reach the ditch. He ran to the north, away from Conners, and fired again, this time raking the side and catching one of the spare jerry cans of fuel in the back of the vehicle. The can exploded, and flames shot up, cooking off machine gun ammo in a thunderous orgy.
Conners let go of his weapon and took out the sat phone.
“We have a hot LZ,” he said, warning the assault team to expect gunfire.
Automatic fire stoked up again, this time from closer to the runway.
Corrigan was on the line, and Van Buren. Conners told them they were taking fire, described the arms he’d seen, and gave the basic layout of the firefight.
“We’ll be there as quickly as we can,” said Van Buren calmly.