Page 31 of Dead Fall

He tried to get a signal, but his device showed no bars. Quickly turning to the others, he asked, “Do either of you have your cell phone?”

Artem could barely keep his eyes open, but pointed to where a pocket must have been on his left side. That meant he was ano.

Harvath, who spoke a little Russian, addressed the woman, hoping that she might understand his question. She did, but shook her head and said something about her purse or her bag being somewhere on the train.

As the train was nothing but twisted, burning steel, that meant she too was a no. It also meant that there was no way to warn the local authorities. He needed to figure something else out.

The smoke was the only advantage he had. All of the other counterattack methods he might employ—calling in fire support, rushing the sniper, or conducting some sort of pincer movement—were out of the question. That left him with just one option, to evacuate his wounded and retreat.

Laying aside the sniper rifle, he looked around for anything in the wreckage that could function as an improvised stretcher. They’d be able to move a lot faster if he could drag Artem rather than having to carry him.Where, precisely, he was going to drag him was the next question, which really didn’t matter at this second. He just wanted to get as far away from the train, and the remaining sniper, as quickly as possible.

Moving through the debris, he was hoping to find a blanket or a tarp of some sort that he could lay Artem on top of. The female passenger’s injury was to her arm. And while she might have to move slowly because of how far along she was, he hoped she’d be able to do so without hisassistance. What the hell she was doing this close to the front lines in her advanced state of pregnancy was anyone’s guess. He didn’t have the time or the desire to learn her story. The wind could shift at any moment and all three of them would be sitting ducks.

He found some webbing connected to a couple of short, dented poles that might do the trick, but worried that the thin nylon wouldn’t hold up to being dragged across the ground, and so kept on looking.

Seconds later, he found exactly what he needed—some passenger’s heavy canvas duffle, complete with shoulder straps. Unzipping it, he dumped the contents and rushed with it back to the Ukrainian Intelligence officer.

Repositioning his Galil so that it hung off to his side, he drew his fixed-blade knife, sliced through the seams until he had one flat piece of material, and then laid it on the ground next to Artem. Then he bent down and helped move the man over and place him on top of it.

He had almost finished the process when he felt Artem’s entire body stiffen. The guy was about to have a seizure or, because they were both facing different directions, he had opened his eyes long enough to see something that Harvath couldn’t. A quick intake of breath from the pregnant woman, set back behind the piece of the train they had been using for cover, told him they were in trouble.

“Don’t move,” a male voice said in Russian.

The man then repeated the phrase in Ukrainian. Harvath didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The sniper had chosen to climb out of his hole and close ranks. For the life of him, Harvath couldn’t understand why.

“Turn,” the man ordered. “Face me.”

Harvath slowly lowered Artem the rest of the way to the canvas before doing what the man asked. As he did, he felt Artem remove the Glock from the holster on his battle belt.

Harvath turned, but in such a way as to use his body as a screen, so that the Russian wouldn’t see that the Ukrainian Intelligence officer was now armed.

Looking at the sniper, Harvath had a pretty good idea why he had broken cover and approached the train.

The man, who was pointing his rifle right at him, had a bandolier full of grenades—just like the other sniper. It was an unusual item for them to have been outfitted with. Normally, snipers didn’t get in close enough to use grenades. Then, suddenly, it hit him.

Whenever the Russians were involved, the maxim was always:Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. It wouldn’t have been enough to have sabotaged the tracks and destroyed the train. Survivors needed to be killed and then booby traps needed to be set. That way, any first responders unlucky enough to roll over one of the bodies would have the very unpleasant and likely deadly experience of a grenade going off in their face. The Russians really were animals. This particular Russian animal, however, was about to be culled.

Artem had taken the Glock with his right hand, which meant that Harvath was going to have to step to his left to give him a clean shot. The only question was exactly when to make his move. With his back to the intel officer, there was no way to get any sort of cue.

“Hands up,” the sniper ordered, repeating the command in Ukrainian.

Very slowly, Harvath complied. He knew the Russian would be expecting Artem to do the same. It was now or never.

Harvath didn’t waste the moment. He pivoted hard to his left, clearing the way for the Ukrainian Intelligence officer to take out the sniper. But so weakened by blood loss, Artem couldn’t lift the pistol and take the shot.

“Po’shyol na hui,” the sniper sneered, aiming his rifle at Artem and applying pressure to the trigger.Fuck you.

The sound of a Lobaev SVL rifle going off was like the gods hurling lightning bolts. In this particular case, it looked like the Russian sniper had been their target. One minute his head was there; the next it had been turned to hamburger and his body dropped to the ground.

Harvath kicked the weapon away from the dead man—just in case—after which he made sure Artem was okay. Then he checked on the pregnant woman.

“Khoroshaya rabota,” he said, gently taking the other sniper’s rifle from her.Good job. He was in awe of both her courage and her skill.

“You’re welcome,” she replied in English, wincing from the pain she was in, but managing a small smile.

He was about to ask her if she was able to walk, when he saw a group of military and police vehicles arriving. Behind them were several ambulances.

Bending down, he took his Glock back and told Artem to hang on. He was going to make it. Help was here.

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