Page 28 of Dead Fall

That was the deal the United States had agreed to and so Harvath nodded his assent.

“Good,” the man replied. “Second, I need to warn you. What I am about to show you is quite inhuman. Even by Russian standards.”

CHAPTER 8

KHARKIVOBLAST

SATURDAY

If Harvath never saw the inside of another train again—Ukrainian or otherwise—it would be too soon.

He had seen Nicholas and the dogs off at the Kyiv-Pasazhyrskyi railway station with the help of Kozar’s men, Artem and Symon, who were accompanying him to Kharkiv and had unloaded his gear onto a luggage cart and tracked down the platform for their next train.

With a few minutes to spare before departure, they had grabbed coffees and something to eat. Then they had boarded the train.

Even though they didn’t have a private carriage, they did have a small, albeit musty, compartment all to themselves. Not that it made much difference. The train was practically empty. Very few people were headed east toward the front lines of the war.

Pulling out of the station, there was a definite mood change. Instead of leaving their tactical gear packed away, Artem and Symon got everything out and had it staged in the compartment—rifles, chest rigs, helmets, all of it. They suggested Harvath do the same.

Once he had pre-positioned his most necessary gear, he turned his attention out the window and drank what remained of his coffee.

Unlike the overnight trip from Poland, which took place with the shades drawn, they were now traveling in daylight and able to do so with the window curtains open.

Outside, they passed farm after farm. There were fields as far as theeye could see. It reminded him a lot of driving through Wisconsin or Iowa.

The pastoral scenery was so peaceful, it was hard to process that the war was on this region’s doorstep—that the tractors and livestock he was looking at now could be tanks and Russian troops within hours or days. The fragility of civilization couldn’t have been depicted in greater relief.

Yet, as the farmers, their families, and various other villagers and townspeople proved, life persisted. It carried on, despite the circumstances.

In some cases, life carried on with a greater, renewed vigorbecause ofthe circumstances.

Living, he saw as the train passed and people went about their business, could become the ultimate act of courage, of pride, and the ultimate act of defiance.

It reminded him of the line spoken decades ago by Ronald Reagan, “There’s no argument over the choice between peace and war, but there’s only one guaranteed way you can have peace—and you can have it in the next second—surrender.”

That kind of peace, however, wasn’t true peace. As was made evident by the balance of the speech, it was an invitation to forgo freedom and live in slavery.

Everywhere Harvath looked, it was obvious which decision the Ukrainians had made. There would be no peace as long as the Russians occupied their country. He respected them for that. Immensely.

Eventually he got tired of watching the Ukrainian countryside pass by. As Artem was reading a newspaper he had miraculously found and Symon was quietly rewatching a video his wife sent of their kids, he decided to close his eyes for a while. After what he’d learned about the Raven unit, he hadn’t slept well last night and there was no telling when he’d get a chance to catch up on his rest.

With his eyes closed, the train rocking gently side to side, and his mind forcing out all thoughts, it wasn’t difficult for him to fall asleep.

They were nearing Kharkiv when he was jerked awake by the train’s rapid deceleration and the sound of squealing brakes.

Opening his eyes, he saw that Artem was already up and exiting the compartment. “What’s going on?”

Symon took a look out the window. “There must be something wrong up ahead. Grab your kit.”

Harvath did as the man suggested, quickly putting on his plate carrier and battle belt, then slinging his rifle. He was grateful to Gage for also including ammunition in his care package.

He followed Symon into the gangway and toward the vestibule. As they moved, a voice delivered a message over the public address system.

“There’s something wrong with the tracks,” Symon explained. “The engineer is going to investigate. Want to stretch your legs?”

“How do you know it’s not an ambush?”

“Russian sabotage is practically a daily occurrence. All around the country, they strike different pieces of track. That’s why the trains travel at reduced speed. Welcome to life in Ukraine.”

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