Chapter Thirty-three

 

 

Moscow, Russia

December 5, 9:00 p.m.

 

The team loaded their gear into the belly of the Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane which would fly them to Grozny, the capital of Chechnya. They packed heavy and light machine guns, rocket launchers, assault rifles, submachine guns, grenades, and flare guns. They took their winter camouflage uniforms complete with chest rigs, communication sets, throat mikes, and GPS trackers.

Justin spent the four-hour flight poring over the latest intelligence, hashing out and rehashing the details of the plan, committing to memory many of the specifics of the layout of the neighborhood, the positions of the guards and their checkpoints, the part he had made known only to Bronislav and Svetlana. They had met earlier that morning, before the briefing of the full team, and had covered that aspect of the operation in minute detail. Justin did not like the idea of keeping his team members in the dark but in his mind he justified his tactic as a necessary evil that could save everyone’s lives. Especially if one of the people assigned by Derzhavin turned out to be working for the insurgents or was not fully committed to this mission.

Grozny gave them a bitter, cold welcome, with an icy drizzle stabbing their faces. Justin was not wearing a scarf, so he lifted up the collar of his felt coat to protect his neck. They hurried over the slippery tarmac to one of the gray terminals of the military base in the Khankala suburb west of Grozny. They would receive a final update about their mission, then board two Mi-24s for the next leg of their flight.

It was almost two-thirty in the morning when the Mi-24’s powerful rotors stopped spinning and the team jumped out onto the grounds of the Gurlar military base in Dagestan. The weather was even worse than in Grozny, with strong, freezing winds, and the icy drizzle they had left behind had been replaced by a heavy sleet pounding the ground with a vicious intensity. Justin felt the hostile welcome was only appropriate considering their objective. Even the elements of nature were protesting and mounting a fierce resistance.

The first hard blow to their operation came when Justin learned from the colonel in charge of the base—which resembled a forward operating base surrounded by barbwire, concrete walls, and two watchtowers—that their guide was missing. He had not reported at the meeting point ten miles east of the base as planned, and he was not answering any of his three encrypted satellite phones. The colonel had sent a two-man search team, but as far as he was concerned the guide had been captured or killed by insurgents.

Justin faced the tough choice of aborting the mission or carrying on without the vital support of someone familiar with the treacherous terrain. Three of his team members selected by Derzhavin had previously fought in this region of Dagestan and they were confident of a safe insertion into Buinovsky even without the guide. Justin agreed and he ordered his team to prepare for their operation.

They hit the road just fifteen minutes after their landing in two off-road Ladas and two Toyotas, common brands in Dagestan. Justin was in the back seat of the first Toyota leading the way, with Ludomir the man with the goatee—one of the three men who had battled insurgents in the area—driving, and Svetlana in the front passenger seat. The rest of the team followed at various distances, so as to not give the impression the vehicles were all part of the same convoy.

They drove for about an hour in what were considered safe areas, where terrorists’ activity had not been observed over the last two weeks. The road was mostly straight as they went through a couple of small towns and passed by a number of villages. The sleet had turned into a blizzard and pounded their vehicles with heavy snow.

Then the road meandered around a series of snow-capped hills. The blizzard had died down but the snow kept falling and a thick haze had cloaked everything around them. Justin could not see more than a few dozen feet away from him. While the haze covered their advance, it also hid any terrorist checkpoints or watch stations.

Ludomir reached for the dashboard radio. He informed the rest of their team they were going to make a sharp turn to the left and climb around a couple of hills, away from the main road leading to Buinovsky. “The terrain is quite broken and, with the snow and the ice, it will be slippery. Everyone, drive slow and be extra careful.”

“I suppose you’ve gone down this road before?” asked Justin in a voice that did not quite hide his concern.

Ludomir nodded but kept his eyes glued on the road. The windshield wipers were struggling to clear all the rain mixed with snow still hammering the Toyota. “Yes, but it was daylight and a clear day. We fell into an ambush and spent four hours getting ourselves out of that hell. I learned all the trails and the paths leading in and out. So to answer the question you didn’t ask, I know where I’m going.”

Justin’s expression remained unaffected by the reply, which did not instill much confidence. Trying to escape from an ambush was hardly the best way to learn the layout of the land.

Ludomir apparently noticed Justin’s look of concern because he said, “You worry too much. Timofey knows this area like the back of his hand. He’s been here many times on recon missions and to clear the area of terrorists. He’ll tell us if we’ve taken the wrong turn.”

He may, but it could already be too late, Justin thought. He wiped the window with his glove but a layer of snow crystals and slush spatters had formed on the outside. Everything looked blurry, with black specks of mud scattered throughout.

Justin rolled down the window. A blast of freezing air assaulted his face but he was able to see the hillside through the haze. Ludomir rounded a curve and Buinovsky appeared at the bottom of a valley. The haze was nonexistent over the small town and Justin noticed a few dim lights in the distance. They were perhaps three or four miles away.

A blast of gunfire echoed not too far to their left, coming from the hills.

“Stop,” Justin called to Ludomir.

He hit the brakes and the Toyota stopped with a screech.

They listened in silence. More gunshots followed, a long volley and shorter bursts.

“Machine guns and AKs,” Justin said. “Radio the rest and see if anyone’s taking fire.”

Ludomir picked up the radio while Justin grabbed his AK-9—a new assault rifle given him by the FSB team—and his binoculars and stepped outside. He sank knee-deep in the snow packed along the narrow path and struggled to get to the top of the hill. He hid behind a thick pine tree and observed the path in front of the Toyota.

The haze had begun to thin and the hulks of two large burned trucks appeared about a mile ahead. They were on the side of the road, by a series of boulders placed in the middle of the road and set up in a staggered way so that traffic would have to slow down and weave in between the barriers. Justin observed the surrounding area but saw no movements of anyone, although the hillside was full of strategic positions.

He climbed down and returned to the Toyota. “What’s the situation, Svetla?” He used the shortened form of Svetlana’s name.

She was pacing along the side of the road. “Those gunshots were not aimed at any of our vehicles,” she said in a low voice.

Ludomir stuck his head out of the window. “Just finished talking to Timofey. We’re good to continue.”

“Negative,” Justin said. “Change of plans. There’s a roadblock a mile up ahead and two burned trucks, evidence of an ambush. I didn’t see anyone but we can’t risk it.”

Ludomir thought about Justin’s words for a moment.

“Pop the trunk,” said Svetlana. “We’ll load up our gear and cut through the hills.”

Ludomir shook his head, but did not mutter his objection. “I’ll inform the rest of our team,” he said.

“Tell them we’ll approach the town from the south, east, and west. The three of us will proceed south, Timofey’s team will take the east, and the rest are in charge of covering the west line. They’ll report once they’re in position and I’ll give the order to open fire. All clear?”

Ludomir nodded.

Justin walked to the back of the Toyota. He was already wearing his bulletproof vest underneath his black woolen sweater and his winter camouflage fatigues. He put on his chest rig loaded with extra ammunition, a few grenades, radio and GPS device, and other tactical gear. He secured his knapsack, with more ammunition, C-4 explosives, a first aid kit, and a satellite phone, over his shoulders and slung a PP-19 Bizon 9mm submachine gun over the knapsack. He fastened his helmet with the night vision goggles mounted on top.

“Ready?” he asked Svetlana.

“Da, I mean, yes,” she replied with a smile. She finished adjusting the strap of her RPG launcher across her shoulders and picked up her AK. “I’m good to go.”

“Everyone is making preparations,” Ludomir said as he began to collect his gear. He put on his helmet, then took his knapsack and his heavy machine gun. “They’ll let us know when it’s time to raise hell.”

“Soon enough,” Justin said and nodded toward the hill. “Let’s go get the bastards.”