Page 23 of Enemy Within

He nodded. “I’ll cover you back to the jeep.”

Sergey’s face went bone white, the color of the snow that surrounded them, and his eyes darted over Jack’s shoulder.

A moment later, the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of Jack’s head, and a gruff voice barked, “Uronit' vintovku!”

10

Northern Siberian Permafrost

SASHA TRUDGED BEHIND KILAQQI, marching with the other tribesmen as they followed a herd of reindeer across the snow-covered plain. White blanketed the landscape, as far as he could see, and snow fell from the bleak, steel sky.

At least three hundred reindeer moved ahead, some with bells on their antlers or tied to a rope around their neck. Others wore harnesses, handmade from leather and hides, and carried the camp on their backs. In just an hour, the entire camp, and Kilaqqi’s yurt, had been disassembled, the hides and old canvas folded and birch poles stacked and packed. They were on the move minutes later.

Kilaqqi had brought Sasha a set of clothes, a mismatched ensemble of old snow pants and a bright orange sweater with holes in the hem. A green hat with a yellow pom-pom and a stained bright-blue jacket rounded out the gifts of clothing. He was a walking eyesore, and as far from covert as he could be, but the clothes were warm, if smelly. They stank like wood smoke, like they’d sat around a thousand campfires and soaked up all the ash and embers.

“We are taking the herd south,” Kilaqqi told him as they set off. “They have eaten the lichen in these parts. We have another feeding ground for them. They are eager to go.”

After an hour, Sasha’s legs nearly gave out. His thighs burned, days of trudging through deep drifts taking their toll. Kilaqqi gave him a steaming thermos and told him to drink. Strong, dark tea warmed his belly, and melted butter in the brew coated his tongue. Kilaqqi also handed him a stick to chew, which tasted vaguely minty and turned to pulp on his tongue.

He kept going.

They started walking again after breaking for a lunch of raw fish—caught that morning before leaving camp—and more twigs.

Sasha heard it first. He’d been primed to listen for the sound for days, the heavy thump of rotors in the air and the dull hum of the engine rumbling over the taiga. TheSpetsnazplatoon was back.

He jogged to Kilaqqi’s side, keeping his head down. “Those wolves you mentioned,” he grunted. “They’re coming.”

“Keep with the herd. They’ve flown over us for days now. We should be no more interesting to them now than before.”

Kilaqqi walked on, singing a song that the others picked up. Their low voices, some painfully out of tune, bounced off the snow and carried on the air. The reindeer snorted, a few stamping their feet at the sound.

Sasha stayed near a fat mare, grouchy and cantankerous. She snorted at the singing and bleated at the reindeer that passed her, bells tinkling from their antlers. Despite himself, Sasha grinned, and he rested one hand on her thick back, scratching at the fur between her shoulders. She grumbled but didn’t shake him off.

The noise of the chopper drew closer, a pounding that vibrated Sasha’s bones. The ground began to tremble, and the reindeer snorted and whined.

The fat mare gave Sasha a look, as if accusing him of causing the entire mess.

He dug his fingers into her fur, trying to still his hands’ shaking.

When the chopper passed overhead, Sasha kept his head turned down, his face toward the snow. Still, he felt the roar of the rotors like a punch to his gut, and loose snow kicked up in a swirling storm, whirlwinds snaking through the herd and disrupting the animals. They snorted and whined again, and some tried to run. Others, a few with the bells, chased the spooked reindeer down and guided them back with nips to the butt. Kilaqqi and his fellow herdsmen waved to the chopper. If they were saying hello or telling theSpetsnazto fuck off and get away from the reindeer, Sasha couldn’t tell.

After the chopper passed, Sasha looked back, over his shoulder.

Hanging out of the cargo hold, his hand fisted in a gear strap and his boots braced on the run rails, theSpetsnazlieutenant peered through his binoculars.

Sasha looked away quickly, but he heard the chopper bank and turn around, heading back the way they’d come: right for the herd.

His heart sank. “Kilaqqi! They are coming back!”

Kilaqqi stopped singing and stopped fussing with one of the reindeer, making faces at the animal as it jingled its bells, shaking its head back and forth. Standing tall, Kilaqqi stared down the approaching chopper in his flapping trench coat like a lone warrior from a classic film.

Sasha blinked, and then Kilaqqi was moving, shouting to his herdsmen and smacking the butts of reindeer around him. He made his way to the rear of the herd, where the reindeer bearing the camp’s supplies were plodding along.

Kilaqqi pulled a rifle from the side of his reindeer’s harness. It was old, with a wooden stock and an iron sliding bolt, but it looked nasty. He grabbed a shoulder bag with ammunition stuffed to the brim.

The others were grabbing rifles and shotguns as well, and arming their weapons.

“Here.” Kilaqqi caught a rifle thrown his way. He turned to Sasha. “For you.” He slapped the reindeer carrying his belongings, all of his worldly possessions, and the animal took off, snorting and running as fast as it could while carrying its load.