Sing Your Death Song: Lawson Holland Thrillers, #4

By M. P. MacDougall

Locked in a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds, Lawson Holland is in a tug of war: on one side is his sense of duty to a country he's served for his entire life; on the other, his desire to protect his son from further harm.

Can he turn his back on one, if that decision threatens the survival of the other?
Will he be paralyzed by the fear of inevitable loss, or will he 'sing his death song, and die like a hero going home?'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dysfunctional Dozen Press
• Release date: Nov 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9780990978152

M. P. MacDougall

M.P. MacDougall is an American historian, voice actor and author of political/military thrillers, humorous satire and fantasy. The youngest of twelve children, he grew up on a suburban farm, spending much of his free time chasing cows, perfecting bicycle stunts and playing in the dirt, and he never had to wear a helmet or use anti-bacterial soap. He was a professional air traffic controller for more than 26 years, serving in the US Air Force, Oregon Air National Guard, Department of Defense, and finally the Federal Aviation Administration. He controlled traffic in eleven different control tower and radar approach control facilities in three different countries on three continents, as well as in four different US states. He retired in 2017 to pursue his lifelong dream of writing. MP lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and three children.

Book preview

1

Eagle River, Alaska

Day 21

Captain Ray Broome had no family. He was an only child whose father had died when he was three. His dad had been a pilot, and in spite of his mother’s objections, Ray had followed in his dad’s footsteps and earned his private pilot’s license when he was sixteen, working multiple odd jobs year-round to pay for his training.

Ray’s mother had worked hard to raise her son alone, and she was proud to watch him growing into such a responsible young man. She and Ray had always been very close. When she passed away suddenly two days after his eighteenth birthday, Ray had been devastated. His mom had been his whole world.

Ray threw himself into his work after the funeral, working as a flight instructor and earning just enough to support himself. He spent the next six years building hours and experience, taking any flying job that he could find, saving just enough to put himself through college at the same time. His memories of his mom drove him.

He moved from one low-paying pilot job to another; first instructing, then ferrying small planes cross-country to buyers, then as part of a courier service between rural towns before he moved up to flying cargo and the occasional sightseeing flight.

But in the end, the prospect of a lifetime of flying small planes back and forth between remote airports along Michigan’s Upper Peninsula had lost its appeal. Ray quit his last job, sold his meager possessions and joined the Air Force on a whim, hoping for a challenge and a change of pace.

He ended up with much more than he’d bargained for.

Five years later, Ray was an F22 Raptor pilot, stationed at Elmendorf Air Force Base outside of Anchorage, Alaska. He’d seen combat overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan, and his career had seemed a far cry from where it had started. But with the massive military drawdown brought on by the late President Galen Tolliver, Ray’s life had again slipped into a boring routine, and the prospect of new adventure had begun to slip into the further recesses of his imagination.

Then the Russians invaded.

In the early morning hours three days earlier, a Russian airborne force had approached Anchorage, posing as regularly scheduled cargo flights. At the last minute, they had veered off course and made for Elmendorf, the planes overflying the field as they disgorged their cargo of paratroopers. Nearby in the Cook Inlet, several Russian combat landing ships put more troops and equipment ashore, and the fight was on. Broome and his wingman had launched in response to the alert notice, only to be quickly shot down by a pair of Russian SU-57 fighters. Broome had ejected safely, but his wingman had been killed. Ray had landed hard in a tree, then spent a tense night and day on the run in the woods northwest of Elmendorf.

He had been rescued, in a manner of speaking, by a group of American soldiers who had fled the Army’s neighboring Fort Richardson in their Stryker combat vehicles after fighting a losing battle against the invaders. They’d snatched him up just as he and two civilians were about to be killed by a Russian patrol, and they’d convinced him to join their nascent band of resistance fighters. Now, Ray found himself hidden in the underbrush on a ridge line overlooking the town of Eagle River, Alaska, watching a convoy of Russian military vehicles on the highway below.

You wanted a change of pace, Ray chided himself as he lowered his binoculars and rubbed his bleary eyes. Be careful what you wish for.

I count twelve, sir. Staff Sergeant Blanca Trujillo was lying next to Broome, also watching the convoy. Looks like they’re expanding their lines, to me.

Broome nodded. He was slightly uncomfortable at the way the soldiers deferred to him because of his rank. His expertise was air combat; he was out of his element where ground operations were concerned.

The problem was that the only other officer the soldiers had with them was a low-time Army lieutenant named Chad Leggett. Lieutenant Leggett had been in command of the group since the night of the invasion, but he was very inexperienced. Broome outranked him, which technically meant that he should be in command, but no one - including Broome - had bothered to force the issue yet. Being a fighter pilot hadn’t exactly prepared Broome for commanding troops on the ground, and only a fool would force the issue just to exert authority over experienced soldiers. So, even though he was the ranking officer, he’d been content to defer to Leggett.

The problem was that Leggett barely had more experience commanding ground troops than Broome had. By all accounts he had been a mediocre officer before the invasion, destined for a very short and embarrassing career. But as the Russian paratroops were landing, Leggett had surprisingly stepped up. He’d performed well, with the help of Sergeant First Class Larry Nugent, who had convinced the young officer to leave his post guarding the vehicle park and join the rest of the soldiers in taking the fight to the Russians.

Their group of five Strykers had briefly caught the Russians by surprise, and they had managed to destroy or damage multiple aircraft and armored vehicles before they were driven off the base by overwhelming enemy numbers. They’d lost three Strykers and more than a dozen of their own people during that fight.

Once they’d escaped and hidden their remaining vehicles in the garage of a volunteer fire department in Eagle River, Leggett had seemed to deflate. The adrenaline dump after the battle had left him shaken and indecisive. He’d deferred to Sergeant Nugent on almost every question, and he was becoming increasingly jumpy by the time the soldiers had picked Broome up.

To their credit, the soldiers readily accepted Broome as part of their unit, even if they had to take pains to explain everything to him. The troopers were good at their jobs, and Broome was well out of his element, but they had fallen into a decent working relationship in spite of that. He was attentive to the NCOs and followed their advice, and they seemed to appreciate his willingness to listen; but Broome misunderstood their deference.

What they really needed - and wanted - was good leadership, and although Leggett was willing enough - in a wishful thinking sort of way - he was just as much out of his depth as Broome; maybe more. Nugent and Trujillo’s experience had kept them all alive so far, but Leggett’s growing uncertainty and indecisiveness was beginning to tell on the troops. Broome lacked the operational knowledge of ground combat tactics, but he could get that from the NCOs. He had confidence enough to lead, but he was still hesitant to insinuate himself into command of the tight-knit group of soldiers. He hoped the situation would somehow resolve itself, but inside he knew it would have to come to a head sooner rather than later.

The unit had been busy since they’d picked Broome up. They’d set up several ambushes for Russian patrols, sniped at guards at checkpoints along the highway, and planted improvised explosive devices in the enemy’s path. Now it looked like all their activity was causing a reaction.

Broome and Trujillo had positioned themselves on a low ridge overlooking the Glenn Highway, hoping to get a better view of the Russians’ northernmost checkpoint. They’d only just settled in to watch when the Russian convoy pulled into view. Several trucks escorted by two Bumerang armored personnel carriers and one Armata main battle tank rolled through the checkpoint and headed north.

What makes you think it’s not just another patrol? Broome asked. They might just be looking for payback for what your boys did to the truck that was chasing us the other day.

Trujillo had her binoculars back up, watching. I doubt it. They sent out a heavy recon team a couple hours after we picked you up, but they just collected the bodies from their truck and went right back behind their line. Their regular patrols before that were all in ones and twos, but this is bigger than any of those. It’s also the first time they’ve brought one of their tanks along. I figure they’re using it for fire support in case they need it, but the number of men on those trucks tells me they have something else in mind. That’s more than just a patrol, sir.

Broome nodded. Makes sense. Better call it in.

Trujillo rolled onto her back, pulled her cell phone from a pocket, and placed a call. Hey, babe, she said when the call was picked up. Broome knew she must be talking to her husband, Manny. We got twelve vehicles moving north of the checkpoint. Mostly trucks, but they have two APCs and one Armata with them. She paused, listening. No, it looks like that’s it. They closed the checkpoint behind ‘em. Tell Nugent it’s either a reconnaissance in force, or they’re looking to widen their perimeter. She paused again. Ok. Love you, too. She put the phone away and rolled back over, noticing the grin on Broome’s face.

Something funny, sir? she asked with a half smile of her own.

Broome busied himself with his binoculars. No, no. I’m still just getting used to this. I’ve never heard anybody wrap up a recon report with ‘Love you too.’

Trujillo chuckled. Manny’s a civilian through and through, sir. He was a good soldier while he was in the Army, but once he got out, he was out for good. If I tried to get all Army with him on the phone, he’d just laugh at me and tell me to lighten up.

That’s not such a bad thing. Broome watched the convoy as it rounded a bend and disappeared from view. Why didn’t you call him on the radio?

Her face colored a little at that. Maybe I’m still a little protective of our privacy. Don’t need the whole unit listening to me whisper sweet nothings to my man.

Broome grinned. Makes sense. He lowered the binoculars and looked at the young NCO. Well? What do you think we should do now?

Trujillo scratched her head. I’m not so sure, sir. We only have the two Strykers, and we’re getting a little thin on ammo and fuel. We have the fuel in the tanks at the fire department, but I don’t think we can base the trucks there forever. They don’t do us any good hidden in the building, and somebody’s eventually gonna notice and talk if we keep taking them out. She lowered her binoculars. If it was just the trucks and the two Bumerangs down there, I’d say we hit ‘em. But that tank is another thing. Those suckers aren’t easy to kill. Besides, we still don’t know what the Russians have in the way of air support.

I know they have at least one SU57 left, that’s for sure.

Trujillo grinned. Even one would be a bad day for our Strykers, sir.

Broome nodded. What did Manny say?

They’re waiting for the convoy to come their way; maybe they’ll be able to figure out where they’re going. He said we should bug out as soon as we’re sure there’s no more troops heading north.

Broome looked back down at the checkpoint. The guards had dropped the barrier back into place across the only open lane in the road, and now they were lounging around their makeshift shelter, looking bored. I think that’s it for now. Let’s head back. I want to see what that convoy’s up to.

Spare Room Storage

Eagle River, Alaska

Sergeant First Class Larry Nugent was watching the Glenn Highway from his vantage point inside the yard of a long-term storage facility, just thirty yards from the overpass where Artillery Road crossed the highway. Staff Sergeant Trujillo’s husband Manny was hidden across the highway in the covered yard of a building supply store. If the convoy that Trujillo and Broome had spotted continued north along the highway, Nugent and Manny wouldn’t be able to miss them. Nugent was concerned that the Russians coming in a force that size meant that his little group of resistance fighters would soon need to relocate - to someplace far from Eagle River.

They’d all suspected the inevitability, of course. They’d held out in the vicinity of Eagle River since the invasion, but with no means of resupply or support, they all knew something dramatic would have to happen to allow them to continue. If the Russians didn’t face some serious resistance from the outside soon, Nugent’s group was doomed. It would just be a matter of time before they were all captured or killed.

Their commanding officer, Second Lieutenant Chad Leggett, was manning another observation post on the roof of a gas station a few miles to the north. No, that’s not right, Nugent corrected himself. Broome outranks Leggett, so technically, Broome should be in command. But after they’d rescued the Air Force officer from the Russians, he hadn’t bothered to assert his higher rank, and nobody had wanted to push the issue. Broome seemed willing to defer to the soldiers where matters of ground warfare were concerned, but Nugent knew the situation couldn’t continue. If they let themselves ignore rank altogether, they might start to lose what little unit cohesion they had.

But leaving Lieutenant Leggett in command might not be their best option, either. On the morning of the invasion, Leggett had been guarding the vehicle park, a punishment for a drunk driving charge. He’d been on the fast track to getting kicked out of the Army, but the invasion had changed him somehow. He’d tried to prevent Nugent and the others from breaking into the vehicle park to steal the Strykers, but once Nugent had convinced him that it was the right thing to do (by literally putting a gun to his head), Leggett had quickly come around and joined them.

He’d driven one of the Strykers across the airfield as their little group attacked the invading Russians, and when they’d come under intense fire, he’d done surprisingly well. Nugent had to admit that he liked the young officer, in spite of his poor first impression, and he wanted to see him do well. The men seemed to work well with him, too, which was an added bonus. Still, Nugent knew he’d need to talk to both officers about the chain of command they needed to follow. They couldn’t have a Captain deferring to a Second Lieutenant for very much longer, even if the Captain knew next to nothing about ground combat. Maybe if we got some reinforcements somehow, then Broome could get re-connected to his own unit…

Frostbite One, Frostbite Six, what’s happening down there?

Nugent was startled by Leggett’s call - he’d been lost in thought. He took a quick look to the south along the highway before answering. There was no traffic. No movement yet, Six. I… standby. He squinted into the distance as he thought he saw movement through the trees where the highway came around a bend from the west. He only had to wait a couple more seconds.

Six, convoy in sight a mile south of my position, moving north. All twelve vehicles, just like Two reported.

What do you want to do, One?

Nugent worked his jaw in frustration. He knew the answer to that, but he didn’t like it. He also wished that Leggett would stop asking him what to do and start leading on his own. Not much we can do at this point, Six. Watch and wait; figure out what they’re up to. We’ll let ‘em pass and watch as long as we can, then you pick ‘em up.

Roger. Let me know when they’re out of your sight.

Nugent clicked the mic twice in response, then put the radio down. He was hidden behind a pile of lumber and covered with some camouflage netting and old sacks, but as the convoy drew closer he began to feel terribly exposed. He took a quick look at the lumber yard across the highway, but couldn’t see where Manny was hidden. That was good. Looking back at the highway, he watched the approaching convoy. Just hold still, he told himself. They’ll blow on by and never be the wiser.

Then the vehicles started to slow.

Nugent felt the hair go up on the back of his neck as the Armata battle tank in the lead took the off ramp on the far side of the highway and pulled onto the Artillery Road overpass, parking in the center of the span where it could rotate its main gun to cover the interchange from any direction. The Bumerang APCs followed, one deploying on the east side of the overpass and the other crossing over to Nugent’s side. The trucks ground to a stop beneath the overpass itself, and men started to pile out of all of them.

You seeing this, One? Manny’s voice came softly in Nugent’s earpiece.

Yeah, Nugent answered. Hold position. Let’s see what they do.

This just went from bad to worse, Nugent thought. He chided himself for not reporting back to Leggett as soon as the convoy slowed down. He’d allowed himself to be surprised, and now the closest Bumerang was already dismounting several soldiers close enough to his hide that they might just hear him if he used the handheld radio. Nugent figured that he might be able to move if he kept the lumber pile between himself and the closest Russians, but with so many sets of eyes all around the overpass, someone was bound to see him.

He’d just have to get small and hold tight.

He crouched down as low as he could behind the lumber, shifting himself between several large beams that were stacked at odd angles. He continued to watch the Russians through gaps in the lumber as they deployed, and with some relief he realized they didn’t seem interested in going beyond the confines of the overpass.

What are they doing? He couldn’t help his own curiosity. Their deployment didn’t make much sense from a tactical perspective. If they were intent on taking territory, they should have brought a much larger force, but a patrol would have been much smaller. Driving this far north of their perimeter around Elmendorf just to take a highway overpass didn’t serve any purpose that Nugent could see. He glanced around, trying to see what they could possibly be interested in here, when it dawned on him.

On the west side of Artillery Road, about five miles from the highway, was one of the Army’s several artillery firing ranges in the area. This particular range also held several ammunition bunkers. That had to be what the Russians were after, but Nugent still couldn’t figure out why they’d stopped on the overpass. If they wanted the ammunition, why hadn’t they just continued down Artillery Road to the range, and taken it? Why bother wasting time loitering here?

One, I got a clear shot on the tank commander. Manny had a .308 Remington 700 SPS Tactical rifle with him. He’d proven his ability with it already, sniping several Russians from long distance over the course of the past few days as the group carried out hit and run raids. But as confident as Nugent was in Manny’s ability, he knew they had to wait.

Negative, he whispered into his throat mic. Stay out of sight for now.

Nugent needed to contact Leggett. If the Russians continued to waste time on the overpass, Leggett and the rest of the unit might be able to get into a position to knock some of them out with their Carl Gustaf M4 recoilless rifles. The Gustafs were effective anti-vehicle weapons that could easily take out the Bumerangs and the trucks. The Armata was a different story, though they had managed to disable one during the fight at the base several days before. Stationary as this Armata was, they couldn’t ask for a better opportunity to try again.

Nugent slowly plucked his radio off the lumber and turned the volume all the way down. Frostbite Six, Frostbite One.

Leggett came back almost immediately, his voice so faint as to be almost inaudible. Go ahead, One.

Convoy has stopped at my position, repeat, at my position. They’ve secured the interchange right in front of me, but I think they might be moving toward the ammo dump to the west soon. Three has a clear shot on the tank commander, but I recommend we wait until we can set up a warmer welcome for the rest of ‘em.

Roger, One. Hold position and standby. I’ll get back to you.

Auto Zone Auto Parts

Eagle River, Alaska

Broome and Blanca had to go well out of the way to catch up to the Russian convoy, staying off of the Glenn Highway and taking a circuitous route along surface streets instead. They were held up even longer by a group of looters that they surprised, smashing windows at an Auto Zone store along the way. Blanca had wanted to leave the crooks to their own devices, but Broome convinced her otherwise. The people would have had no way of knowing that a Russian force was only a few short blocks to the west, so Broome insisted they warn them.

Several of the looters ignored their truck when they rolled up, but when they got out, their uniforms got more attention. One large man with a huge, shaggy beard and a shotgun peeled away from the storefront and swaggered over, blocking Broome from the rest.

You better move on, pretty boy. The man leveled the shotgun at Broome.

Broome raised his hands. Take it easy. There’s a Russian patrol over on the highway. They might be coming this way; you all need to get lost before they do.

The bearded man coughed out a laugh. What, so you can waltz in and get all the goods, once we’re all running off? He raised the barrel higher so it was pointed at Broome’s head. Think again.

Let it go, Sir, Blanca said. They want to tangle with the Russians, let ‘em. It’s their funeral.

The man leered at Trujillo, seemingly noticing her for the first time. On the other hand, you can stay with us, gorgeous. This dude can’t protect ya the way we can.

Blanca’s sidearm came out in a flash and she closed the distance between them before the man realized what was happening. She stopped with her pistol barrel resting on the bridge of the big man’s nose. His eyes widened, and he lowered his shotgun slightly.

"And who’s gonna protect you from me - gorgeous?" Trujillo purred. The man goggled at her, but couldn’t manage to say anything.

You’re right, Sergeant, Broome said. We’re wasting time. Big strong guy like him should be more than a match for a hundred Russians.

Shaggy Beard finally found his voice. "‘A hundred Russians’? I thought you said it was a just a patrol?"

So I misspoke. Call a cop. But whatever you do, I’d do it someplace else, because with that many troops, the Russians are bound to start spreading out and looking for somebody to shoot. He reached out and patted the man’s belly. Big boy like you makes for a nice target.

Several of the looters had backed up behind Shaggy Beard in the doorway of the store. A skinny woman with filthy, matted hair spoke up. We should go, Del. We can always come back later.

"She’s right, Del, Trujillo said, putting her weight behind her pistol and roughly shoving the man back. You should go."

Del nodded, looking around at his friends nervously. All right, he mumbled. We’ll go. The rest of the looters shuffled out of the store and followed as Del and the skinny woman led the way to their vehicles.

Stay away from the highway as long as you can, Broome called after them. Our last report was they were just south of Artillery Road, moving north.

Del raised a hand in response before getting into his truck and pulling out of the lot in a cloud of dust and gravel. His friends all followed.

Broome waited until they were gone, then looked at Trujillo. Thanks for that, Sergeant.

Trujillo shrugged. He wasn’t gonna shoot. I know the type. Big belly, big beard, big mouth. Just a bully who’s always gotten his way by scaring everybody smaller than him. They usually back down when somebody stands up to ‘em.

"‘Usually’? Broome laughed as they headed back to their truck. What if he’d been one of the unusual ones?"

Trujillo was deadpan. I woulda shot him, sir.

He looked at her. I believe you would have. Remind me to never threaten you.

No problem.

Their radio suddenly came to life with Sergeant Nugent’s almost whispered call.

Frostbite Six, Frostbite One.

Broome stopped next to the truck to listen as Leggett responded. Go ahead, One.

Convoy has stopped at my position, repeat, at my position. They’ve secured the interchange right in front of me, but I think they might be moving toward the ammo dump to the west soon. Three has a clear shot on the tank commander, but I recommend we wait until we can set up a warmer welcome for the rest of ‘em.

One of Trujillo’s eyebrows went up slightly, and she reached for the radio. Broome handed it over.

Roger, One, Leggett was saying. Hold position and standby. I’ll get back to you.

Trujillo keyed the mic. Frostbite Six, Frostbite Two.

This is Six, Leggett answered. Go ahead, Two.

Six, we’re five minutes out from that position. We can assist.

There was a pause before Nugent interrupted, his voice low but urgent. Two, this is One, negative! I say again, negative! You can’t do anything with the gear you have in hand. We need the vehicles, or this’ll be over before it starts. You come in here without any heavy weapons, we’ll all get wiped out.

He’s right, Broome said.

Trujillo lowered the radio. "He may be right, but it’ll take us twenty minutes to get to the fire station and get the Strykers loaded and back here. The Russians might be gone by then, and if they’re gonna hit that ammo dump because they’re low on supplies, it might be a good idea to hit ‘em before they reload, don’t you think?"

Two, this is Six, Leggett’s call interrupted. Did you copy that?

Trujillo shook her head in exasperation. Somebody needs to tell the Ell-Tee to let the grown-ups talk a minute. She keyed her mic as Broome stifled a grin. "I copy, Six. Standby. She looked back at Broome, quietly hoping that he’d assert himself. He seemed a good deal more capable than Leggett, even if he was just an Air Force puke. You have a better idea, sir?"

Well, it occurs to me that you’re not the only Stryker driver in the group, Sergeant.

Yeah. So?

"So… Why do you need to go all the way back to get the Strykers? You could only drive one at a time, anyway. Call up the others and get a couple of them to bring the trucks to us."

She made a face. The others were out all night foraging, sir. They’re gonna be exhausted.

Broome shrugged. I get it. But I doubt the Russians are gonna be taking many breaks. If we let ‘em take that supply dump, we’ll be well rested and out of ammo, right? Where will that leave us?

Out of the fight. Trujillo shook her head at her own single-mindedness. Broome was right - she and Nugent couldn’t do everything. They had to let the others step up as well. She keyed her mic again. Six, this is Two. Suggest we recall the rest of the unit and have them bring the vehicles to us. Frostbite One can hold his position and observe while you join us; we’ll all mount the trucks together when they get down here, and we can work out an assault plan from there.

There was a slight pause. Trujillo pictured Leggett scratching his head and struggling with the decision. "Frostbite One, did you copy that?" she finally asked.

Nugent came back immediately. "One copies. Three’s well out of sight for the moment, but these guys might step on me if you all take too long getting here, over."

There was another long pause as they waited for Leggett to wrap it up, but he didn’t offer anything. Trujillo finally couldn’t stand it. Great. Six, you come down to us, and I’ll call the others while you’re enroute. We’re at the auto parts store east of downtown, close to the drive-up espresso place; you remember where it is?

I know it, Leggett said. Broome thought he sounded a bit embarrassed, but he couldn’t be sure.

Great, Trujillo said. Frostbite Two, out.

Trujillo used one of several pre-paid cell phones they’d commandeered after the invasion to call the other members of their unit. It was obvious that several of them had been sleeping when she called; just as she’d suspected, they were all exhausted from their midnight raid the previous night. In spite of that, they all agreed to get moving and bring the Strykers down from the fire station. Blanca finished her last call and looked at Broome, who was leaning against the hood of their truck with his arms folded, apparently nodding off.

Sir?

Broome’s head jerked up. What? Yeah. I’m here. He rubbed his eyes with one hand.

You up late last night, sir? Blanca grinned at him. Broome had shown an interest in Blanca’s friend Darcie ever since Darcie had given Broome a ride into town the day after he’d been shot down. Blanca knew that the two of them had been up late again the previous night, talking and laughing together. They’d been almost inseparable since they’d met, and Darcie’s five year old daughter Ari treated Broome like he was some kind of super hero.

Broome looked surprised, then smiled guiltily. We were just talking.

Blanca put up her hands. Not my business, sir. Just concerned about your welfare, that’s all.

Uh-huh. Broome wanted to change the subject. "What about your welfare? You okay with Manny being so close to the action?"

A cloud passed over her face, then vanished just as quickly. Manny’s a big boy. Just ‘cuz he’s a civilian now, doesn’t mean he can’t take care of himself.

That’s not what I mean, Broome said. I mean, don’t you worry at all?

She shook her head. Worrying never got anything done, sir. She cocked her head and watched him. You worried about Darcie and Ari?

Broome just nodded.

Don’t be, Blanca said. Darcie may not look it, but she’s tough. When her husband died, she surprised everybody. She went out and got a job the day after the funeral. Some people thought she was cold, but she knew she couldn’t grieve forever; Kenji didn’t leave them with much. She needed work to support her and Ari.

Oh, I don’t doubt her strength, Broome said. But strength isn’t always enough, especially when you’re outnumbered. I just think I’d feel better if they were both a long way from here at the moment. I’d rather they weren’t still in Alaska when the Russians lock it down for good.

You don’t think we can win. Blanca’s tone showed that she shared Broome’s view.

No. He yawned. I don’t want to be a pessimist, but I really doubt there’s any help coming, Sergeant. He turned and flashed a weak grin at her. And even though I think most of the Russians would be terrified if they knew you were on our side, I think in the long run, they’re eventually gonna run us all into the ground.

Auto Zone Auto Parts

Eagle River, Alaska

It was a full forty-five minutes before the first of their reinforcements showed up, driving one of the Strykers. The big truck rolled into the parking lot, the rear hatch opening almost before it came to a halt. Corporal Tim Mullen limped out and made his way over to them.

I coulda used some more shut-eye, True, he said, offering Trujillo a scornful look.

You needed to get up anyway, she shot back. You lay around any more, and that leg of yours is gonna lock up for good. Mullen had taken a shrapnel wound to the thigh the first night of the invasion.

Feels like it already has. I’m gimping around like a pirate on a peg leg. He looked around. So? Where are they?

Trujillo jerked her head to the west. Artillery Road overpass. Twelve vehicles total, mostly trucks but they have two Bumerangs and an Armata.

They just sitting there?

Looked like they were moving their perimeter north, but they’ve been sitting there almost an hour and haven’t really done much yet. She grinned. We’re gonna give ‘em something to do. The second Stryker rolled into the parking lot behind them, followed by another civilian truck with several people inside. Leggett was driving the pickup. He rolled up next to them and lowered his window.

How do we want to do this? he asked.

Trujillo groaned inside. She didn’t see the point of having an officer around if he wasn’t going to lead. She was about to answer when Broome saved her the trouble.

We were just discussing that, Broome looked sideways at Trujillo as he spoke. Manny and Sergeant Nugent are still in their overwatch positions; they said nothing much has changed since the Russians arrived. They’re in a good position with long sight lines north and south. That means we can’t just drive right up to them; they’ll see us coming and that tank will pick us off one by one before we ever get close.

That’s what I was thinking, Leggett said.

Yeah. So if a frontal assault is a no-go, our best option is some kind of diversionary tactic. Get them to look one way and hit ‘em from the other.

The tank is still the problem though, Leggett complained. Whoever gets its attention is gonna regret it. We can deal with the Bumerangs and the dismounted troops, but how are we supposed to keep the Armata out of the fight?

You guys got a lucky hit on that Armata the other day at the base, Trujillo said. We can’t pin our hopes on getting another.

That’s what I’m saying! Leggett looked haggard. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face showed the mounting stress he was feeling. We probably can’t kill it, and we can’t ignore it, either.

But we still might be able to put it out of the fight, Lieutenant. Broome had a thin smile on his face, like he had a secret he was dying to tell.

How?

Kill the overpass instead.

Twenty minutes later they were all in position. They’d sent four teams on foot through the underbrush up to the edge of the highway, several hundred yards to the north and south of the overpass. The Strykers were parked in two separate buildings a quarter mile to the east, where they could be kept out of sight until they were called on. Everyone was ready, waiting for the signal.

Still hidden in the lumber yard, Manny Trujillo was getting frustrated. He’d had a clear shot at two of the three tank crewmen half an hour earlier, but had been told to wait. Now the entire crew was buttoned up tight inside the Armata while the rest of the Russian troops were milling around, seemingly with nothing better to do.

One, this is Three. How much longer are we gonna wait around?

Nugent’s voice was muffled. Until one of those tankers comes out again. If you can take at least one out, it’ll help.

I could have taken two out with one shot a few minutes ago.

We weren’t all ready then. Just be patient.

I was ready, Manny muttered to himself. He looked through his scope again. Three of the Russian soldiers were leaning against one of the Bumerangs, smoking cigarettes and talking. The rest were just standing around, checking their weapons or just…

Waiting? Manny thought. What are they waiting for? Something clicked in his mind. He swung the scope to the far side of the overpass, where a group of soldiers were partially obscured by several trucks. They looked like they were working on something…

Get ready. Nugent’s call caught Manny off guard. He looked back at the Armata and saw the top hatch opening.

Hang on, One. Those guys under the bridge are messing around with something… but Nugent had keyed up a half second before Manny, blocking his transmission. All the rest of the team heard was Nugent’s call:

They’re coming out! Three, hit the tankers; all elements, execute, execute!

Manny realized what had happened, but it was too late. The Carl Gustaf teams were already breaking from cover. Manny switched his aim to the tank, but in doing so he caught movement from under the bridge; something had flown out. He settled the crosshairs on the man in the Armata hatch. As he pulled the trigger he realized the man was looking at whatever had come out from under the bridge.

The bullet slammed into the tank commander’s upper chest, knocking him back against the hatch opening. He collapsed and disappeared inside the tank. Someone shouted a warning, and the rest of the Russians all started scrambling for cover. Manny switched his aim to another group of men on the east side of the bridge, one of them talking into a handheld radio. Manny shot him and looked for another target.

As the Armata’s turret slowly started to traverse, looking for a target of its own, the first of the four Carl Gustaf teams opened fire from south of the bridge. The missile impacted the edge of the bridge span and exploded in a huge ball of concrete and steel fragments, showering the troops under the bridge.

The second missile hit half a second later, this time from the north side of the bridge. A slight shudder ran across the span. Manny shot another soldier under the bridge who was wildly firing an AK47 in the direction of Nugent’s hide across the highway. One of the Bumerangs lurched forward and rolled out from under the bridge just as the remaining Gustaf teams fired their missiles. The mini gun on the roof of the Bumerang opened up and cut one man in half, but it was too late. His missile hit the bridge on the north side as the fourth hit on the south.

All of the missiles had struck the span on either side of the section where the Armata was parked. There were several loud cracking noises as the dust from the explosions hung in the air, and then the center of the bridge span came down, bringing the Armata down with it. The wreckage crushed the remaining Bumerang and half a dozen troops who had remained under the bridge. The Armata came to rest at a crazy angle, its main gun wrenched upward by the twisted steel and concrete of the bridge structure. The remaining troops were all firing now, some spreading out away from the ambush, others taking shelter in the ruin of the bridge.

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Eagle River, Alaska

Nugent keyed his mic. All elements, bridge is down, I say again, the bridge is down. One Bumerang destroyed; the Armata is disabled but might still be able to fire, proceed with caution. He watched the hive of activity around the bridge, realizing that he probably had very little time before his position became untenable. He keyed his radio again. Frostbite Six, roll the trucks. We need to wrap this up.

Nugent unkeyed as another Russian collapsed on the embankment on his side of the highway. Manny was wreaking havoc on the dismounted troops. The two Gustaf teams south of the bridge had vanished back into the brush on either side of the highway; Nugent knew they would be retreating to their pre-arranged pickup points. He couldn’t see the surviving team on the north side, though. The surviving Bumerang was raking the brush on the east side of the highway with fire from its mini gun.

One, this is Three, Manny called,