Revolution (31 page)

The road along which they travelled was only wide enough for one vehicle and was entirely enclosed by towering walls of pine forest, vaguely illuminated by the weakly probing tail lights glowing red against snows unmarked by the passage of men or vehicles, only by the feint tracks of wild animals. Even with a portable gas–heater blowing at maximum in the rear of the truck it was cold, Megan’s breath wisping on the air. The forests to either side seemed as deep as those in old fairy tales, dark and full of secrets.

‘How much farther?’ Megan asked Bolav, who spoke to one of the senior NCO’s accompanying them.

‘Not far,’ Bolav translated the soldier’s mumbled reply.

‘That’s what you said last time.’

‘That’s what he said last time,’ the Mordanian replied.

Megan looked back to the towering peaks of the pine forest. She could see against the inky blackness of the night sky the vague outline of soaring valleys, could discerne their outlined ridges where the stars no longer shone. A pale moon hovering somewhere in the bitterly cold night sky made their towering snow–covered heights glow a soft blue. For a moment Megan found herself transfixed, hypnotised by the sheer ethereal beauty of the rugged, spellbound land.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Bolav said, seeing Megan’s gaze. ‘A beautiful land spoilt only by the stain of human conflict.’

Megan blinked at the Mordanian’s poignant observation.

‘Men could not spoil this place,’ she replied.

The explosion hit the frozen night air and shattered it like a hammer through crystal. Megan was hurled across the back of the truck as a sudden clamour of shouts and screams filled her ears, bodies flailing, weapons spilling from the rear of the vehicle as it slid broadside across the road. Megan struggled across to Callum and wrapped her arms protectively around the Scotsman as the truck slid to a halt.

The Mordanian troops flooded from the rear of the truck, running and shouting and firing into the forests. Megan could see the muzzle flashes lighting up the trees, illuminating the faces of the enraged and yet terrified soldiers. In the confusion and noise she saw a Mordanian soldier stagger backwards as a single round hit him squarely in the chest with a dull thump. A split–second later a second round hit him full in the face, whipping his head aside as his lifeless body spun and slapped down into the snow.

‘What’s going on?!’ Bolav screamed, his hands over his ears. ‘
Nouv alerittz eno saviant!
Mercy of God help us!!’

Megan helped Callum to his feet and staggered to the back of the truck, listening to the crackle and snap of weapons and trying to see into the darkness. Most of the soldiers seemed to be around the front of the truck, firing forwards. Megan jumped down from the rear of the truck, carefully avoiding the dead Mordanian lying nearby, and helped Callum down as Bolav skittered alongside him.

‘Where are we going?!’ the Mordanian screeched.

‘Anywhere but here!’ Megan shouted back. ‘Grab his arm!’

Bolav gripped Callum’s left arm and together they made for the nearby tree line, Megan trying to keep the truck between them and their unknown assailants. As they neared the ominous, inky blackness of the forest, Megan risked a glance back.

The remaining Mordanians were crouched around the cab of the truck, laying down heavy fire into the forest on the other side of the road, the bright flares of tracer fire streaming like laser beams into the darkness. As Megan watched, one by one, the Mordanians were picked off with precise, accurate shots that came not from the forest nearby but from further away, up the road.

Megan hurried with Bolav and Callum into the darkness of the forest and squatted down amidst the frozen foliage, watching as the sound of gunfire was reduced to the single, forlorn Kalashnikov of the final remaining Mordanian soldier. The man fired a couple of random rounds into the forest and then shouted out into the darkness.

‘Foriz tan specterk, monik implore aventick!’

The words seemed to hang on the icy air, haunting it. Megan listened, but no response came from the darkness.

‘What did he say?’ she asked Bolav in a whisper.

‘He asked the ghosts of the forest to leave him be.’

Megan watched as the lone Mordanian stepped out from behind the truck, his AK–47 held high above his head, the puffs of his breath illuminated by the truck’s headlights.

A long silence enveloped the forest as the man stood, his head turning as he searched the endless shadows between the trees.

A single shot rang out and the lone soldier quivered slightly. Megan started in shock, watching. The Mordanian stood for a few moments longer and then suddenly his legs buckled and his knees hit the cold earth with a dull crack. The weapon in his hands dropped beside him as he slowly toppled face down into the snow.

Megan, Bolav and Callum sat absolutely still for almost five minutes, watching, waiting, too afraid to move. Megan wondered how many men must have been in the forest to have killed over twenty Mordanian rebels so quickly. As she watched, so she got her answer.

Three men emerged from the tree line, all wearing Artic–combat suits and carrying assault weapons at the ready. They swept the carnage of the scene before them with practiced efficiency, alert like wild animals, legs crouched like coiled springs, faces hidden behind balaclavas.

From beside Megan, Callum whispered in a taut voice.

‘Special Forces, probably British SAS.’

Megan nodded, but was not prepared for the harshly whispered voice that came from behind her.

‘American, actually.’

The three of them whirled and Megan felt an almost supernatural wave of fear overcome her as part of the forest seemed to come alive. Two more of the elite troops rose up from the frozen forest floor, their weapons trained upon Megan and her companions. Megan tried uselessly to shield Callum with her body. The American gestured with a movement of his weapon as he spoke.

‘Into the road.’

Megan, Callum and Bolav moved out of the tree line and into the road, the American soldiers backing off to give them space. The man who had appeared behind them lifted his balaclava to reveal a surprisingly young face, a shaven head and keen, quick eyes.

‘That her?’ asked one of the other soldiers in a rough Chicago accent.

‘That’s her,’ their young leader said knowingly. ‘Megan Mitchell, correct?’

Megan blinked in surprise. ‘You know me?’

‘You’re to come with us, ma’am,’ the soldier said with abrupt, military efficiency. ‘My name is Lieutenant Lincoln Cole, United States Navy Seals.’

Before Megan could reply another American soldier appeared, moving from further down the road to join them. He held a high–velocity sniper rifle in his grip.

‘Road’s clear, all hostiles down.’

Lieutenant Cole nodded, looking quickly at Callum, who was clearly favouring his injury.

‘Let’s go,’ Cole decided promptly.

Megan did not move and looked down at the dead Mordanian who had surrendered.

‘Why did you kill him?’ she asked Cole quietly. ‘He gave himself up.’

Cole’s expression bore no trace of regret or remorse as he replied.

‘He was an obstacle to our mission. We are charged to extract you from this country without anyone knowing of our being here. We have no contigency for hostages or prisoners of war. If he had been released, he would have reported what happened here. As it is, the shots will have been heard for miles around. We need to move now, and quickly.’

Megan shook her head.

‘They were taking us somewhere safe. They were just an escort.’

‘We’ll be taking you somewhere safer,’ Cole replied sharply but without raising his voice. ‘Unless you’d rather remain here?’

Megan tried searching for a suitable retort, but before she could speak Callum gestured to one of the soldier’s back–packs.

‘Radio?’

‘Not in this terrain,’ Cole replied with a shake of his head. ‘We’ll need to clear the mountains by dawn to make it to our extraction point.’

‘How far is that?’ Megan asked.

‘Twelve clicks, give or take.’

Megan shook her head. ‘Callum’s not going to make it that far in his condition.’

Lieutenant Cole glanced appraisingly at the towering Scotsman.

‘He’ll survive.’

Megan took a pace toward the American.

‘These men were taking us to a farm out here, where we might find help. We could rest up there. It can’t be far.’

‘Our orders are not to make contact with any inhabitants of this area.’

‘A bit late for that,’ Callum said, jabbing a thumb in Bolav’s direction. ‘Besides, none of us are in suitable condition for a night out beneath the stars and we won’t make the lowlands by dawn. We need shelter and we need food.’

Lieutenant Cole glanced at his men.

‘Was there anything on this road to the south?’

‘There was a farmstead,’ the sniper replied from memory. ‘Nothing else substantial until Anterik. I’d say they were taking them there.’

Lieutenant Cole glanced at Megan and her battered companions for a few moments more, and then turned away.

‘Fine. Let’s move!’

***

‘Any sign of movement?’ Lieutenant Cole whispered.

Megan crouched in the freezing darkness as the SEALS silently observed the way ahead. As Megan peered through the dense trees she thought she saw the faintest glimmer of light, a flicker barely noticeable beyond the trees.

The forest ended ahead of them, opening into a broad plain perhaps a kilometre square. In the moonlight Megan could just make out a cluster of buildings; a mill, houses, a small church and what looked like barns surrounded by ploughed fields thick with blankets of snow.

‘Doesn’t look like much,’ she observed in a hushed whisper.

All of the windows of the buildings were closed with what appeared to be shutters, only the tiniest slivers of light visible. Callum surveyed the scene.

‘No defences, no gates or walls or observation posts.’

Lieutenant Cole nodded.

‘The village looks unharmed,’ he said. ‘Intelligence told us that this territory had been overrun by Rameron’s forces.’

Bolav spoke from the impenetrable darkness that enveloped them.

‘It was, weeks ago. Maybe they did not put up a big fight, no? Maybe they change sides?’

Cole did not respond, one finger pressing into his ear as he listened to one of his men. He turned to look over his shoulder at Megan.

‘You all stay here and out of sight until we come for you.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Megan asked urgently.

‘We’re going to enter the buildings and ensure they’re not being used as a barracks by rebel forces. We’ll go in hard and shock them.’

The lieutenant made to move but Megan grabbed his arm insistently.

‘If you go blazing in there just a moment too slowly, anyone with a radio will bring the rest of Rameron’s forces down on us like a ton of bricks. Let
us
go inside instead.’

‘You?’ Cole muttered in contempt.

‘I can knock on the door. Callum’s injured, Bolav can interpret. We’re on the run. If anyone in there has a shred of human decency, they’ll let us in. If you don’t hear from us in five minutes, then it’s a rebel stronghold and you can come in with all the bloody force you want.’

Lieutenant Cole frowned in concern, scanning the tiny hamlet with his hawk–like gaze before looking back at Megan.

‘Our mission is to extract you from Mordania
alive
.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Megan replied. ‘I’ll wager that anyone living in there won’t have any love for the conflict that’s raging around them. They’ll help. If they’re pro–rebellion, then you’ll know soon enough and we’ll have lost nothing. You said it yourself, the enemy will have heard the gunfight in the forest.’

Cole hesitated for a moment longer and then nodded, speaking into his microphone to his men before turning to Megan.

‘Five minutes from when the door opens. We’ll surround the building. If you don’t come out, we’ll come in.’

The night air was bitter, piercing even Megan’s thick coat as she led Bolav and Callum toward the buildings. Their feet crunched through the thick snow as they walked, and ahead the door of the nearest house suddenly opened, a bright rectangle of light spilling out across the snowy ground. A figure appeared, a man who must have heard their approach through the snow. His voice cut through the night.

‘Alenk passe plezten?!’

The voice was deep, almost threatening, but Megan could hear the anxiety in the man’s tones. Bolav called out in reply.

‘Ally! Ally. Tun assistev!’

Bolav hurried through the door as Megan supported Callum. The interpreter exchanged a few words with the man before waving them to follow, and with a weighty sense of caution Megan guided Callum through the door as it was closed behind them by another, unseen person.

The house was filled with warmth and light, and Megan blinked at the contrast in temperature as she helped Callum into a seat, turning to see who had let them in.

The man was probably in his late fifties, with greying hair and a squat, stocky build. With his big brown eyes and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked like a cross between a clockmaker and a lumberjack. Megan took off her coat as Bolav spoke rapidly to the man, gesticulating as he explained the events of the past few days.

The man turned, looking at Megan and Callum.

‘You have come far, you must be hungry,’ he said in heavily accented English. ‘And you must both hurt.’

‘We’ve had better days,’ Megan replied.

Megan turned again to see who had closed the door behind them. A slender, modestly dressed woman with long silver and black hair tied in a pony–tail smiled nervously at her.

‘I am Alexandre Humek,’ the farmer said to Megan, ‘and this is my wife, Marin.’ He gestured to a kitchen table dominated by a simple but welcome spread of breads, cheeses, hot coffee and tea, jam and both ham and pork.

‘We were eating dinner. Please,’ Alexandre said, ‘help yourselves. I will return in a moment with medicine for your friend’s injuries.’