Sacrifice of One Read online

  Moshenko followed close behind the five. They had some protection by putting themselves between the downed chopper and the incoming one. They zig zagged as they ran toward the helo, ducking low and covering their heads with their arms. One man fell to his knees. Moshenko grabbed his arm and jerked him up, then pushed him forward.

  Grant’s Makarov ran out of ammo. He pulled his Uzi off his shoulder and started firing. Adler was next to him, using his Uzi, when Grant yelled, “Gimme that!”

  “What...?”

  Grant yanked the weapon from Adler’s hands, immediately slinging the strap over his shoulder, then he resumed firing with his Uzi in short bursts at the oncoming attackers. “See they all make it! That’s an order, Joe! Go! Go!” The two looked at each other for a split second, then Grant turned away, resuming fire. Another Russian went down.

  Adler drew his pistol, as his mind was screaming, Fuck that order! But this was one time he was going to follow Grant’s order. He fired off rounds as he quickly backed up toward the waiting helo.

  Moshenko was out of ammo, but someone stood above him in the chopper’s doorway, firing at the attackers, at the same time trying to help him get the men to safety.

  Tony Mullins grabbed Moshenko’s hand, and pulled him into the helo. The five men scrambled behind a bulkhead, taking cover, trying to make themselves as small a target as possible.

  Moshenko kept looking at Grant, seeing he was down on one knee, still firing the Uzi in short bursts. Finally getting up into a crouch position, he started scooting backwards a little at a time.

  Adler reached the helo and started climbing up, when Mullins grabbed his arm and hauled him onboard. Both men immediately started firing their weapons, trying to give Grant some protection, enough for him to make it to the chopper. They watched him backing up, continuing to fire. All three shouted at him, motioning with their hands. “Come on! Come on!”

  Suddenly, Grant staggered, and went down. Mullins yelled, “Grant!” He jumped out the door, barely took one step, when a bullet struck him in the chest. Adler grabbed him by the back of his collar, and he and Moshenko dragged him back up into the cabin. Blood was spreading across his chest, pooling next to him. Adler already knew it wasn’t good.

  The Russians and East Germans were starting to make an all out assault now, rushing toward the helo. Adler rammed another clip into the pistol and fired as he hollered at the top of his lungs, “Get us outta here!”

  The attackers stopped their assault as the chopper started climbing. Adler and Moshenko steadied themselves, gripping the sides of the door, staring down in disbelief, seeing Grant’s body with two Russians standing over him. One knelt next to him briefly, then they each grabbed one of his arm’s and started dragging him from the scene.

  Adler had tears welling up in his eyes, as he shouted, “We’ll come back for you, skipper! That’s a fuckin’ promise!” Moshenko rested a hand on Adler’s shoulder, unable to find any words.

  When he could no longer see Grant, Adler looked down at Mullins laying at his feet. He got down on a knee, feeling for a pulse in his neck, then his wrist, pressing, searching, feeling nothing. “Oh, Christ! Tony. Dammit! Goddammit!”

  Without warning, a huge blast shook the chopper. Adler and Moshenko both threw their arms in front of their faces from sheer reaction, as the KA-27 blew up. A ball of fire, smoke and debris shot up and out in every direction. Pieces of blades spiraled out of control, some heading toward the forest, others splashing into the river.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Adler shouted. He leaned toward the door, holding on, trying to see beyond the flames and smoke, looking for anybody. It was no use.

  The chopper pilot keyed his mike. “Foxtrot 73 calling Nightingale 25! Foxtrot 73 calling Nightingale 25! Come in Nightingale 25! Over!”

  “Nightingale 25. Go ahead Foxtrot 73. Over.”

  “Have eight souls onboard! Request stretcher for one! Doesn’t look good! Acknowledge! Over!”

  “Roger, Foxtrot 73! We’re ready!” Out!”

  *

  Tempelhof Air Base

  Joe Adler and Grigori Moshenko stood by the open door, nervously awaiting touchdown. Even with the rotors still winding down and blades rotating, two medics ran to the helo, carrying a stretcher. They lifted Mullins’ body, laid him on it, then hurried back to the C-9A.

  Jumping out of the helo first, Adler and Moshenko then helped the five men down, escorted them to the aircraft, and waited until they were safely onboard.

  Adler took hold of Moshenko’s arm. “Sir, let’s go. I’ve gotta get to the Embassy.” As they ran back to the waiting chopper, the Nightingale was already taxing into position for takeoff, with its destination Landstuhl, about one hour flying time.

  Once at the Embassy, Adler made the introductions between Moshenko and Greeley. He had a brief moment of satisfaction seeing Alexandra rush into her husband’s arms.

  It was time for him to leave that reunion. He had to make his call. He took the elevator to the lower level, to the cryptology room, having received authorization from Bureau Chief Greeley.

  One of the crypto guys punched in a code, giving Adler access to a smaller room with a scrambler. He and Grant used this same room and equipment on the Lampson mission.

  There wasn’t one iota of time to waste. Putting a call through to Torrinson was his top priority. They had to find Grant.

  *

  NIS

  Office of Admiral Torrinson

  0200 Hours

  Torrinson was stretched out on the leather sofa, with his stocking feet perched on the armrest. His eyes were closed but sleep was avoiding him. He and Zach decided to tough it out at the office, waiting for word.

  A knock at the door, and he responded, “Come.” He slid his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up, smoothing back his hair.

  “Sir,” Zach said, poking his head in the doorway. “It’s Lieutenant Adler on the red one, sir.”

  Torrinson looked up. “Joe?” he asked on his way to the desk.

  “Yes, sir,” Zach replied, then closed the door behind him.

  Torrinson didn’t have a good feeling. “Joe, where are you?”

  “At the Embassy, sir. I’m reporting that five men are on their way to Landstuhl. All are safe, admiral.”

  Torrinson looked overhead, before closing his eyes in relief. “Wonderful news, Joe!”

  “Yes, sir. And the colonel is here. Agent Mullins managed to get Mrs. Moshenko out of Moscow, and she’s here, too, sir.”

  So far so good,Torrinson thought. He resisted the urge to ask about Grant. Joe would get to it in his own time. Maybe Grant just sent him to make the call while he took care of the Moshenkos.

  “So, Agent Mullinswas with you. I hope he knows the Agency’s been looking for him. He’d better have some good answers ready.” Silence. “Joe?”

  Adler paced in front of the counter, nervously rubbing a hand across his forehead. “Sir, Agent Mullins was killed early this morning.”

  Torrinson caught his breath. “What happened?”

  “Our chopper was taking small arms fire. Captain Stevens sent an emergency transmission to Tony, just before our chopper went down. When Tony’s chopper landed, he was helping everyone get onboard. He jumped out, and...he caught a bullet in the chest. He died just about instantly, sir.” Adler was reliving the whole scene in his mind. He had to lean against the counter to steady himself.

  More anxious than ever, Torrinson asked in a low voice, “Joe, where’s Grant?”

  “Sir, Captain Stevens ordered us to the rescue chopper while he tried to hold off the assault, giving us more time.” Adler’s voice cracked as he said, “We saw him get hit, sir.” Torrinson put a hand to his forehead, shaking his head in disbelief. Adler immediately added, “But I think he’s alive, admiral. Two Russians pulled him up, then dragged him off.”

  “Thank God,” Torrinson murmured, as he flopped back against his chair.

  “Admiral, we’ve gotta find him! We...”

  “
Joe, I’ve had a Team from Little Creek on standby since Grant called from Moscow. They’ve been in the air for hours.” There was a brief moment of silence before Torrinson spoke again. “Joe, you did not, I repeat, you did not leave Grant behind. You did what had to be done. You were following Grant’s orders.” Torrinson tried an attempt at levity. “Knowing you, following orders can be a challenge.”

  Adler pretty much ignored the comment. “But, sir, we don’t have any idea where they could’ve taken him. They were headed into the trees. We lost sight of them. With any sort of transportation, they could’ve gone in any direction, sir. They could be anywhere by now.”

  Torrinson had the same thought, but said, “I have a feeling there’s a shitload of transmissions flying around Russia. I’ll have to call the President first, then check with CIA.”

  “Request permission to go with the Team to find the captain, sir.”

  “Permission denied, lieutenant.”

  “But, sir...”

  “You stay where you are. Don’t leave the Embassy until you hear from me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll go find the colonel. He’s probably going through a G2 now. We’re all worried as hell, sir.”

  “As am I, Joe.”

  “Sir, will you...”

  “That’s affirmative, Joe. I’ll call you! And Joe...remarkable job getting those men back.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  *

  President Carr was in his bedroom sitting on a dark blue upholstered wing chair wearing his white robe. The news from Admiral Torrinson about the POWs made him ecstatic, and the defection of the Russian KGB officer put the icing on the cake.

  But then Torrinson relayed information about Captain Stevens and Agent Mullins. One dead, one captured and injured. He thought it best that Torrinson leave immediately for Germany and authorized a plane.

  He still hadn’t heard from Premier Gorshevsky. A thought crossed his mind, seeing the panic going on inside the Kremlin. A KGB officer defecting. Then again, maybe they still don’t know the colonel wasn’t on the chopper that was destroyed. Or maybe they think he’s become a hostage. Maybe they don’t know, he thought. There were too many maybes.

  He stood, retied the robe’s sash, then walked across the blue carpeted floor, feeling the weight of the presidency on his shoulders. Putting his arms behind his back, he slapped one hand against the other.

  The POWs are safe, but now, there’s an American captured. One American Navy officer, who risked it all, laid his life on the line for men he didn’t even know. Would this be the sacrifice of one for many? Carr pondered.

  If the SEALs couldn’t find Captain Stevens, if their mission failed, would he, Carr, approach the premier, and offer to make an exchange? His original decision to not even consider an exchange of the POWs had now come back to bite him in the butt. It resulted in injuries and death.

  Whatever it takes, he will not leave Captain Stevens behind. It would be inhumane for him to do so.

  Chapter 11

  KGB Headquarters

  Office of Director Mikhail Antolov

  With most of the communication stations located in the western part of Russia and those in East Germany being anywhere from one to two thousand miles away from Moscow, there was a problem transmitting messages. Most small land sets and portables have one to ten watts of transmitting power. Without a boost or a relay station, most of them only have the ability to transmit from five to fifty miles. The only solution for the field commanders is to transmit their messages to Berlin. From there, the fastest way for those stations to make contact with Moscow is by phone.

  Messages started arriving at KGB headquarters at 1000 hours Moscow time. In Antolov’s outer office, a private sat at his desk, transcribing phone messages on a Hermes Rocket manual portable typewriter.

  Field commanders were reporting the sighting of a KA-27 heading east, approaching the East German border. Some reported sightings from the north. There was no surprise in their conflicting reports, their inconsistencies, or timeframes. Discipline among Russian communication operators was practically non-existent. Following rules and regulations was mostly done indiscriminately, and security wasn’t always top priority.

  By order of Premier Gorshevsky, Antolov had sent a general message to Berlin with instructions to notify all field commanders near the border, directing them to stop the aircraft by any and all means. The lag time between receiving one of the messages and passing it along, whether from carelessness or not, could mean success or failure.

  The time was now 1220 hours. Antolov drummed his fingers on his desk as he read the latest message. Commander Yarnov reported the aircraft was brought down near the Grunewald Forest inside East Germany. The American POWs were rescued by a helicopter with American markings. Yarnov also reported the sighting of a Russian officer near the American helicopter.

  It was the next sentence that Antolov could not believe. He read it over and over. Yarnov stated the Russian officer was firing at the Russian and East German troops.

  He tossed the paper on his desk. “Grigori,” he said aloud. In the beginning of the accident investigation, Antolov believed Moshenko had either died in the accident or had been taken hostage.

  Had Comrade Tarasov been right? Did Moshenko become too friendly with that American, picking up western ways, western thoughts? Still, he, Antolov, never had any reason to doubt Moshenko’s loyalty over the years. What could have sent him over the edge? Had he decided to defect? Was he coerced? No. That cannot be the reason for causing Moshenko to fire at his own countrymen. But the report said he was!

  “Damn you, Grigori!” He slammed his fist on the desk.

  *

  Two hours later he was still reading messages. His anger had hardly subsided when there was a knock at his door. “What is it?” he angrily shouted. An enlisted man opened the door and handed him another message. Antolov waved him off. With his mind still enraged, he tried to focus on the paper.

  A Major Losevsky reported to Berlin that he has detained someone at a communication station in Grunewald. This person was one of those who apparently had been involved in the rescue of the POWs and was then captured during the firefight. Losevsky states the prisoner does not have any identification but was heard shouting in English during the fight. He presumes he is American.

  Antolov tapped the paper against his mouth. Could this be Grigori’s American friend? What was his name? Rushing to the file cabinet, he dialed the combination lock, then pulled out the metal drawer, flipping through folder after folder, until one caught his eye. He lifted it out. Across the red tab it read: Stevens, Grant - Captain - U.S. Navy. “This must be him,” Antolov said to himself. This was the name given to him by Comrade Tarasov.

  He swung around and hurried back to his desk, calling for the private in the outer office. “Call Berlin. Have them contact Major Losevsky! Tell him he is to keep that prisoner in his custody until he receives further orders from me!” Antolov made a decision to hold off having the American flown to Moscow. Too much was happening. He would not take any further action until the situation had calmed down or until the premier tells him otherwise. And besides, Major Losevsky may need some extra time in extracting information from this Stevens.

  He called the private back into his office. “Tell the major he has authority to interrogate.”

  He reached for the phone. “Get me Premier Gorshevsky.” He waited. “Sir, I have news.”

  “I am waiting, Mikhail,” an annoyed Gorshevsky answered. This whole situation was not progressing to his liking. He wanted answers.

  “Sir, it has been reported by one of our field commanders that the aircraft was brought down inside East German territory.”

  “And you have more to tell me?”

  “All aboard the aircraft seemed to have survived the crash. There was an intense firefight, and four of our comrades were killed, two injured.” Antolov began sweating profusely, as he continued. “The commander indicated another he
licopter, with American markings, landed during the fighting. Sir, I regret to tell you the five Americans were taken aboard that aircraft.” Antolov could hear Gorshevsky’s heavy breathing, and he still had more information to give him.

  “There was at least one other person onboard who we presume was American, and was apparently part of that operation.” Should he tell him about the captured American? Or tell him about Grigori? Antolov was already picturing Lubyanka Prison...from the inside.

  “Mikhail, tell me you have some good news.” Gorshevsky walked over to an antique credenza, removed a bottle of Stolichnaya (Stoli) vodka, then took it with him to his chair. He poured half a glass.

  “Sir, we have taken someone into custody. He is being held at one of our smaller communication outposts in Grunewald by a Major Losevsky. We believe he is the American friend of Colonel Moshenko, a Captain Stevens.”

  “How can you be sure that is him?”

  “He fits the description given by Comrade Tarasov, and the photograph in our dossier.” Antolov lifted the second page of the dossier. Stevens, he repeated in his mind. “Sir, can you wait a moment while I read this dossier? There is something familiar about that name.”

  Scanning the page, Antolov finally made the connection. Lieutenant Ostrova! Grigori! Steiner! He remembered. It was this Stevens who helped end the attempt to murder Politburo members that day. Would this fact change his and the premier’s decision on holding this American? Or would it now give the premier a distinct advantage during his negotiations with President Carr?

  Antolov relayed his findings and thoughts to Gorshevsky. “Perhaps you can negotiate the captain’s release in exchange for Comrade Chernov, since we no longer have the five Americans.”

  “You may be right, Mikhail, but on one hand the Russian government owes a great deal to this Stevens.”