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Right. The bully from fifth grade. “That’s one thing. Jumping onto a gulag ship in the middle of Siberia…”
A beat. “Thing is, Ned, I always thought it would be great to be on an op with you—well, maybe not one where we might die, but a training op, where we HALO’d out of a plane, landed on a rib, took it to shore, or better, dropped in and SCUBA’d in for a night infil, took out some CIA rubes, and then exfil’d to a local beach bar and hung out with our toes in the sand. Yeah, that.”
“So instead, you decided to come to Siberia with me?”
“Not quite the sandy beach I was hoping for, but I can’t let you have all the fun. Let’s veer north a bit more. The winds has us, so we’re still high, but if we ride it more, we’ll land up shore, away from the city. I’m aiming for all that darkness ahead.”
Ned spotted the place, still some six thousand feet below but coming up quickly. No lights, which hopefully meant nothing inhabited. “I don’t mind hoofing it as long as we don’t get wet.”
“Me too.”
Another pause. “Fraser, you need to know that if something goes south, you leave with Shae. No matter what.”
“Ned. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re going to get Shae and get home.”
“But if it does—”
“Not leaving you behind, so you can just put a cork in it.”
Wow, and now he was getting way too choked up, and probably it was simply the tension of the last three days. He took a breath.
“Let’s try not to hit the military base.” He’d seen it on the map and now checked his GPS. “I think it’s just west of us, near that peninsula.”
“Roger. Okay, head south, stay on my six.”
He could barely make out Fraser against the night with his black chute, dark clothing. But his heat signature helped, and he followed his brother down.
And then, just like that, the current they rode died.
He could feel it, the breath gone, his weight falling.
“Fraser?”
“We’re still ten clicks out, easy.”
“We won’t survive a ten-mile swim.”
“Toggle your chute and start circling. Let’s see if we can find a current.”
Fraser pulled on his toggle on one side of his chute, turning it in a circle. Ned toggled the other way. Then again, the opposite direction.
He felt it, the smallest gust, lifting him. “I got one. It’s just south of you.”
Fraser turned his chute, heading for Ned, but he’d lost too much air. “I can’t grab it.”
“Keep trying.” Ned had fully caught the gust now, and it lifted him, carrying him northwest. He rode it, directing in toward land.
Fraser continued to fall.
Ned checked his GPS. They were still a good eight miles from land. But at this rate, he’d make it.
Fraser might land five miles out, maybe closer. But even a five mile swim…
Oh, God, Fraser could not freeze to death in the Bering Sea.
“Keep searching!”
“I’m trying, bro. But I’m too low.”
