“If we’re done fucking around,” asked Harvath, “can we go now? I’d kind of like to get the hell out of here.”
“No matter what I do for you,” said Haney, rolling the spent launcher tube in the snow to cool it off, before putting it back in his pack and zipping it up, “I never get a thank-you.”
“You’ll get my thank-you when we’re on the plane.”
As Chase, Sloane, and Barton hung back to cover their six o’clock, Morrison and Gage led the march downhill, while Haney and Staelin stayed in tight with Harvath and Christina.
Not a single gunshot was heard. The LAW had done its job. If any of the Wagner mercenaries had survived, they hadn’t been in any shape to give chase or to fight back.
At the bottom of the hill, where the trees started thinning out, and just within sight of the dog sleds and the dead Sámis, Haney was finally able to get a satellite signal.
As he relayed a quick SITREP back to JSOC, he watched as Christina said something to Harvath. Nodding in agreement, the pair walked cautiously into the open. It took him a moment to realize what was going on, and then he saw it. The dogs were still harnessed to the sleds.
One by one, Harvath and Christina unfastened them. But instead of running off, back to the village, they lay down next to Jompá and Olá and refused to move.
“What are we doing, Harvath?” Haney asked, as he walked up behind them, his report to JSOC complete.
“The dogs don’t want to leave.”
“Guess what?” the Marine replied. “I do. In fact, I never even wanted to come to this godforsaken place. But I did it, for you. So, you’ll forgive me for not caring about a bunch of fucking dogs. When they get hungry enough, they’ll go home. As for us, we need to get moving.”
The Marine wasn’t wrong. The dogs could make up their own minds. Harvath had made up his.
“Let’s go.”
As the team clicked into their skis, Sloane and Chase each unstrapped a pair of snowshoes from their packs and handed them to Scot and Christina.
“Snowshoes,” Harvath groaned. “Love these.”
Sloane, who loved to bust Harvath’s balls, was about to tease him, until they all froze.
Coming in fast over the trees was a Wagner helicopter.
CHAPTER 71
* * *
* * *
Reinforcements!” Garin yelled into his headset to Minayev back at Alakurtti Air Base. “He’s escaping! Send everyone.”
As the helicopter made a pass over the scene below, the Wagner commander was stunned to see at least nine individuals, all of them armed. Somehow, a rescue team had made it to Harvath. He was furious.
Turning to his snipers, he ordered, “Stop them. And if you can’t stop them, kill them. All of them.”
The snipers nodded and as the helicopter came around again, they fired repeatedly, chewing up the snow near Harvath and his rescuers, who dove for cover.
As the helo banked above the trees to swing out and prep for another pass, they saw one of the figures—a man dressed in Wagner winter white whom Garin assumed to be Harvath—get back to his feet and raise a defiant middle finger as they flew out of view.
• • •
“How many more LAWs do you have in your backpack?” Harvath demanded, as he lowered his finger.
“One,” said Haney, as he got back onto his skis.
“I want it.”
“For the helo?”
“You’re damn right for the helo,” Harvath replied.
The Marine was reluctant. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“How many fingers am I holding up,” replied Harvath, raising his middle finger again and directing it at Haney.
“I guess you’ve earned it,” said the Marine as he handed him his backpack. “But what if this doesn’t work?”
“Then you’d better have a hell of a Plan B in place. For right now, let’s get everybody out of sight.”
The team did as he asked, moving deeper into the trees. Harvath remained up front, concealing himself as best he could.
When the Wagner helicopter returned, it came in low and fast with its snipers hanging out the windows, itching to unloose their weapons on anyone they saw.
The problem, though, was that there was no one to see. Everyone had vanished, likely into the woods.
The helicopter was just about past when a lone individual suddenly materialized. Garin spotted him, his defiant middle finger raised high once more.
“It’s him!” he shouted. “Right there! That’s him!”
Pulling back on the speed, the pilot aggressively banked the helicopter in an attempt to line the snipers up for a