ON THE GROUND IN CHECHNYA
Van Buren trotted off the ramp of the MC-130, an A-4 carbine under his arm. A captain in charge of the initial assault team was waiting for him a short distance away, ready to lay out the situation.
“Talk to me,” yelled Van Buren as soon as he saw the officer.
“Some sort of fabrication facility there,” said the captain, jerking his hand back toward the mountain. “Plane must’ve been in there. We have the two buildings on the north side of the base. Guerrillas in the southern one, holed up at the far end. First building is empty; we’re checking it out now. Looks like trace radiation only. Defensive position on the south was taken out by the Stealth fighters; same with the other SAM site at the north. We think there are a couple of people in the hills farther out,” he added, gesturing in the direction of the base’s external guard posts. “At the moment, we have the road secured, and we’re gathering prisoners. There’s one area I want you to see.”
“Conners and Ferguson,” said Van Buren. “You find them?”
“No, but that has to do with what I want to show you,” said the captain. “Prisoner of theirs, I think.”
The SF troops had brought two small ATV-like vehicles in the Hercules to use as utility rovers and help with transporting captured material. One of the trucks—usually called a “Gator”—was just coming down the ramp of the aircraft. Van Buren commandeered it and rode with the captain toward the perimeter area where Conners and Ferguson had infiltrated. The fence had been flattened by the paratroopers, and the entire area, now secure, was lit by a searchlight confiscated from the Chechens. Several bodies were up in the rocks, mangled by large, bloody wounds. One of the men was handcuffed to a large piece of metal in the ravine.
“The manacle on their hands, I think it’s a Russian manacle;” said the captain. “That’s one of our plastic jobs, holding him to the girder there.”
“He must be their informer,” said Van Buren. “The guerrillas must have ambushed them here.”
“Captain!” shouted one of the troopers. Van Buren turned and walked toward the soldier, who was trotting from the area of the runway. “Sat telephone, sir. Found it back over there by the runway.”
Van Buren picked up the phone and slid open the antenna.
“They might have gotten away,” said the captain. “Could be anywhere in those hills. Or they could be with the guerrillas in that other building.”
Van Buren nodded. Knowing Ferguson, he was sitting back in the Hercules, smirking while Van and his men searched the area.
God, he hoped that was the case.
“Let’s secure the building and find out,” said Van Buren, closing the antenna on the phone and heading back for the Gator.