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KRUGER WAS RUNNING step for step with Ringo as they fled the North Korean patrol. They had managed to escape the initial volley of gunfire with a decent head start due to the terrain and downed trees, but the North Korean patrol was still in hot pursuit.
They weaved through the trees as they ran through the woods. They were both seasoned operators, and years earlier it would’ve been much easier to outrun their pursuers, but now they were a little older and slower. Despite their worn-out knees and aching backs, they were still gaining ground as the soldiers struggled with the terrain between them. Even at 70%, they were still better than the young soldiers giving chase behind them.
As they neared a stream, Kruger flashed a hand signal to Ringo and the two split up. They each found cover as the two soldiers ran toward them. Kruger did his best to slow his breathing as the two soldiers ran past him into the clearing by the stream. He watched as they stopped to look for them. The soldiers split up as one of them radioed back to base.
“We lost them at the stream. Send air support,” Kruger heard one of the soldiers say through his in-ear translator.
Kruger made eye contact with Ringo and gave a silent countdown with his hand. When his fist clenched, they both slung their MP-7s and unsheathed their knives. They made quick work of the two soldiers and then dragged the bodies into the brush.
“More are on the way,” Ringo said.
Kruger pointed to the bridge fifty meters to the north. “Let’s go find a ride to the ocean.”
Ringo nodded and the two moved toward the wooden bridge. The each took a side, hiding just out of sight beneath the bridge as an old pickup truck with a loud exhaust clamored toward them. It appeared to be a farm truck with a tarp covering whatever the farmer was transporting to a nearby village.
“Oracle, what’s the status of the rest of that patrol?” Kruger asked.
“They’re still searching the woods, boss,” Coolio replied over the encrypted tactical frequency.
“Copy,” Kruger said.
As the truck approached, Kruger nodded and Ringo stepped out into the road with his MP-7 raised and pointed at the farmer. The farmer slammed on his brakes and skidded to a stop on the dusty road.
Ringo pulled him out of the truck and pushed him off into the grass before hopping in the driver’s seat. Kruger cleared the area and then hopped in the passenger seat. Ringo floored it and the little gas engine roared as they crossed the bridge.
“That was easy,” Ringo said.
“You know better than that, bub,” Kruger warned, reminding Ringo that any time an operator said “that was easy,” it was a direct invitation for something to go horribly wrong.
As if on cue, Coolio keyed up the radio. “Heads up, you’ve got multiple patrols in the next village. Recommend you detour south.”
Kruger punched Ringo in the shoulder. “What did I tell you?”
“Copy that,” he added over the radio.
When they were across the bridge, Ringo turned right down a dirt path to avoid the village. It took them through a valley and then started winding up the side of a hill.
“Is this the way we want to go?” Kruger asked Coolio over the frequency.
“It’s ten clicks longer, but it’s clear of patrols,” Coolio replied.
“Is the drone still overhead?” Ringo asked.
“It has about three hours of battery left,” Coolio answered. “I may have to switch to satellite if you get delayed.”
“We’ll try not to get delayed,” Kruger said. “What’s our ETA on this route?”
“Assuming no further detours, one hour,” Coolio replied.
“And the team?”
“Standing by off the coast,” Coolio answered, referring to the SEAL Team that was standing by to help them egress to the Virginia-Class submarine parked off the North Korean coast and waiting to take them home.
They continued up the terrain as they followed the dirt road Coolio had vectored them on. When they reached the shallow peak, they could see a train yard and the national highway in the distance. It was only a few miles from there to the coast and their egress point.
As they started down the hill, Coolio called out another threat. “Heads up. North Korean police are approaching the railyard from the north.”
“Which way do we go, mate?” Ringo asked.
“Standby...At the fork in the road in two hundred feet, go north. Your left,” Coolio replied.
“Copy, my left,” Ringo replied.
As he hit the fork in the road, he veered left. The truck’s engine surged and then there was a loud knock followed by steam coming from under the hood. The truck jolted and then coasted to a stop.
“Fuck me silly,” Ringo said, slamming his hand against the wheel.
“No time to be pissed, bub,” Kruger said as he readied his MP-7 and exited. “We’re humping it the rest of the way.”
“Oracle, the truck is tits up. We’re on foot,” Kruger said over the radio. “What’s the best way on foot?”
“There’s no terrain if you cross the railyard and follow the road east. Or, you could go due east through terrain. That’s the shortest distance,” Coolio replied.
“How far?” Kruger asked.
“Two clicks,” Coolio replied.
Kruger looked at Ringo who nodded in agreement. “We’re heading east, call out any threats.”
“Copy that,” Coolio replied.
As they started walking toward the railyard, Kruger asked, “Oracle, any news on the other survivors?”
“Still nothing on eleven alpha,” Coolio said, referring to Woody.
“What about bravo?”
“Their convoy was ambushed during transport.”
“Friendlies?”
“We’re still working on that, boss,” Coolio replied. “Tuna and Sierra are both talking to their agencies trying to find out if it was one of ours. Tuna thinks it might be someone else.”
“Someone else? Who?”
“He thinks it might have been Chinese intelligence,” Coolio said.
“That makes no sense,” Kruger said as he exchanged a look with Ringo. “The Chinese are buddies with the North Koreans. They would just hand him over.”
“I don’t know, boss. That’s just what Tuna said he was worried about. I guess that was Director Chapman’s best guess when he learned they had been ambushed and they evaded our tracking.”
“Copy, keep me updated,” Kruger said.
Ringo looked over at Kruger as they walked across the railyard. “You going to tell him what we saw at the missile silo?”
“No,” Kruger said gruffly.
“Why not? Shouldn’t that be part of our SITREP?”
“I’ll handle it when we get back, bub.”