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"That's pretty much how I figured it," Harlan said. "When we take the ship,
you're welcome to any boats or weapons you can carry."
Ryan gave the man a hard glare. "No, friend, you're welcome. Because I don't
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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf
think you people would have a snowball's chance in hell against those Russians
without us." And it was important to make that statement, because he didn't want
Harlan or any of the other Inuit to get the idea they would be better off going it
alone.
"Sure," Harlan replied. "No reason to be so hard-assed about it."
"I've got every reason," Ryan said. "So do you. I'm just laying the ace on the line
so everybody can see it. Won't stop at just sending Russians on the last train for
the coast if it's got to be done. You need to know that."
RYAN SHIVERED as he crawled toward the frigate. It was bad enough the sun
had gone down nearly an hour earlier and the full chill of the Arctic night had
settled in over the iceberg. The wind whipped away even more warmth.
But the thing that hurt most of all was the snow he had packed around his body.
Doc had come up with the idea, dipping somewhere into his tangle trove of
memories. Using spare furs and blankets, sinew and bone needles, they had
stitched up bulky suits to wear over their outer clothes. Then they had filled the
gap in between the extra furs and their clothes with snow and ice chips.
If the Russians were using thermal imaging as J.B. figured, the snow and ice
packing would reduce the escaping heat signature of their bodies. And if they
were using night-vision goggles, the white polar-bear fur they wore would make
them harder to be seen against the terrain.
He paused for a moment, trying to make little distances so a guard wouldn't be as
likely to notice the change. Glancing over to his left, he barely spotted Jak and
J.B., clambering along in the thick suits, as well.
Fifty yards passed in virtual silence. The ship grew bigger against the terrain. A
hundred yards farther on, the ship became the skyline in front of Ryan. The moon
sat in the sky behind it, only a quarter full.
When he reached the ship's shadow straddling the frozen ground less than forty
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yards from his goal, Ryan felt like he was crawling inside the coldest spot he had
ever entered.
Voices reached him, speaking in Russian.
He lay still on the ground, trying not to shiver too much. The voices drifted over
his head, then finally drifted away. When he looked up again, he saw Jak
crawling up the icy incline to reach the starboard side of the ship.
Ryan crept along, as well. With the cold wind whipping, the Russian guards
weren't as enamored of doing the sentry duty as they might have been at some
other time.
He pushed himself up silently, then grabbed the railing in a gloved hand. He
eased up and took a look, spotting a guard poking his head around the corner.
Going still again, he waited, feeling his body rebel against the seeping cold that
ate in from the big fur suit.
When the guard looked away, he hauled himself aboard. Before he could take
more than a couple steps, another quake rocked the iceberg. Earsplitting cracks
sounded off in the distance, then the iceberg twisted sickeningly again.
Ryan held on to the railing, his feet sliding across the fresh ice that had frozen on
the decks. He hung on to the fur-wrapped Steyr grimly, working to keep it from
banging against the railing. He didn't really think it would be heard above the
grinding that sounded deep within the ice around the frigate, but didn't want to
take the chance all the same.
Metal screamed below from the abuse it was taking as the ice shifted. One of the
lifeboats in its moorings beside Ryan squealed as the chains shifted.
Then the quake was over, although the vibrations continued running the four-
hundred-foot length of the frigate.
After stripping out of the bulky fur suit packed with snow and ice, Ryan moved
toward the guard he had spotted, staying in close to the superstructure. He slid the
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panga free and shouldered the Steyr.
The man coughed in front of him, and Ryan saw the puffs of gray breath slip
around the corner. The one-eyed warrior slid forward, staying behind the corner.
The man had his back to Ryan, sipping from a cup held in both his hands. Ryan
slipped an arm around the man's face, jamming it tight up against the man's
mouth so he couldn't scream. Then he yanked the panga's cruel blade across the
Russian's throat. The cup dropped to the deck, spilling its contents across the ice
and causing gray steam to rise.
Blood spurted as carotoid and windpipe were severed. Holding on to the man to
keep him from running, Ryan felt the life leave the man.
He waited, making sure no one saw him, then threw the body over the side onto
the ice. The sound of it hitting was muffled by the bulky clothes the corpse wore.
Ryan went on, the panga bare in his hands. The second man saw him and had
enough time to attempt to raise his pistol, then the one-eyed man was on him.
Ryan drove the man back with his weight, clapping a gloved hand over the
sailor's mouth. He stabbed the panga deep into the man's throat, then angled it up
so it went into the Russian's brain.
Dragging the body, Ryan stashed it under one of the tarps covering the deck-
mounted machine guns.
A shadow drifted in front of him, coming from the other side of the ship.
Moonlight splintered off of J.B.'s glasses as the Armorer turned to face Ryan.
J.B. held up three fingers, then closed them, signaling that he'd met three
Russians along the way and none of them were part of the problem anymore.
Ryan showed him two fingers, then turned a hand up, letting the Armorer know
that he hadn't completely recced the stern section of the frigate yet.
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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf
The stern section of the frigate had two levels. The back dropped down eight feet
or more, Ryan couldn't tell exactly because of the shadows, and companionways
on either side that led down. A second set of blasters was below the first, also
covered by a tarp.
Footsteps came toward Ryan, sending him into hiding behind the steps after
waving a warning to J.B. He remained still, hoping the shadows beneath the
companionway would be enough to hide him.
The Russian sailor's eyes had to have been bad, or he was one of the really inbred
ones. He looked short and skinny, almost like a mutie because his face was a set
of mismatched angles. He started up the companionway without a second
thought.
Ryan fell in behind him, wrapping a big hand around his throat to squeeze off any
chance of the sailor crying out. Then slipped the panga between the man's third
and fourth ribs, driving the long blade into the heart beneath.
The man gave a series of convulsive jerks, flailing back at Ryan with both hands.
It took him less than a minute to fight through what remained of his life. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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