War with Russia

Shortly afterward, after a whispered “good to go” from Webb and a thumbs up from Morland, the shadowy figures of Archer and Watson moved off into the forest. A brief shaft of moonlight through the clouds glinted on the belts of ammunition they had draped off their shoulders, giving them the appearance of Mexican bandits. But there was no affectation about it. They would be cursing the extra weight and the risk of snagging the linked rounds on branches as they moved through the trees. However, they all knew that if something went wrong, the GPMG would burn through ammunition at an alarming rate. That was why the rest of the team, him included, were all carrying an extra belt of 200 rounds, “just in case.”

After ten minutes, a whispered message in the earpiece of the personal role radio, given to him by the Latvian Forest Brothers, told him that the gun group were in position and ready.

Wordlessly Lukša followed with the rest of the scout group. Fifteen minutes later, they were through the forest and moving southeast along the eastern edge of the tree line. Morland felt a faint breeze bringing the scent of newly cut hay from a distant field. The moon was still low in the sky, its silver light, thankfully, still mostly obscured by clouds.

Then Lukša stopped and pointed ahead to Archer on the gun and Watson lying beside him, ready to feed in the belt of ammo now stacked in a neat pile to the left of the gun on a poncho, to stop the ammunition getting dirty. Perfect, but Morland would have expected no less from these two.

They took up positions in all-round defense. Morland tapped Watson on the shoulder and he tapped Archer. The gun group, carefully and quietly and making no effort to rush, re-shouldered the ammunition before moving off to their next fire position, on the heel of the forest covering the open ground.

Morland’s stomach clenched involuntarily and his mouth was dry with fear. They were about to go into the unknown; away from the comforting proximity of the forest into the open ground beyond.

Look at the others, thought Morland. They’re equally scared, but they’re just carrying on as if it’s a walk in the park.

He glanced surreptitiously at Krauja; face streaked with cam cream in the moonlight, blonde hair scraped back under a borrowed Latvian army combat cap, her combat smock with the overlong sleeves rolled up, Heckler & Koch 5.56 millimeter assault rifle—standard issue to Latvian infantry—tucked into her shoulder as she covered her arcs of fire. She looked professional. And deadly. If she was scared, she was not showing it.

Another wait. Another short radio message from Watson. The gun group was in position and ready.

They stood up and left the edge of the forest. Four hundred meters ahead of them Morland could see the hedge running along the edge of the sunken lane—and beyond was the perimeter fence of the Iskander Battery site.

Something’s not right, thought Morland. The lights were blazing earlier… they’ve turned off the lights. Why… ? Are they expecting us? But it was too late. The air assault troops were on their way and they were committed.

As they left the cover of the forest, they shook out as planned into diamond formation: Lukša leading, the ODA engineer sergeant forward right, Webb just behind him, Bradley as tail-end Charlie watching their rear, Krauja on the left with Morland front left. As they walked, they swung their weapons slowly from the hips to cover their individual arc of fire; front, left, right and back again, listening for any suspicious sound, looking for any movement. As they moved they peered into and through the darkness, watchful and as alert as leopards hunting the African bush at night. Finally, they entered a field of thigh-high, half-ripe barley, damp to the hand from an earlier rain shower. Now they moved carefully, deliberately, slower than walking pace. After ten minutes they had only covered 350 meters and Morland’s heart began to race. Ahead, he could now see the distinct outline of the hedge along the sunken lane and he realized that dawn was on its way.

Only another fifty meters. We’re going to make it!

And then it happened.