Battlefield 4: Countdown to War Read Online Free PDF Page B

breaking of the rules, the relief from the boredom that inevitably infected them on routine manoeuvres. Marines were built for action; inaction was the next worst thing to death. But covert was invariably problematic. Command chains were confused by the interaction of diff erent agencies, and conflicting agendas. Langley was the worst. Too many last-minute missions, planned on the run. Throw men at a problem and deny everything when it turns to shit. Garrison felt his cool ebbing away. This stuff didn’t get any easier. In fact it was getting harder. That was why they retired men younger than him. He tried to get the words out at a sensible volume.
    Krantz squirmed in his seat.
    ‘You understand the sensitivities, sir?’
    ‘Yeah, I’m fucking sensitive, that’s what I understand.’
    Benskin raised a hand.
    ‘Roland, everyone’s on it. We think the weather was against them, unscheduled snow.’
    ‘That pilot can fly through molasses. You’re gonna have to do better than that.’
    Krantz was scratching around for something he could use to put Garrison on hold.
    ‘Sir, the White House has been briefed. There’s a blackout on this one until they come back to us.’
    Garrison killed the screens, then sat staring at nothing. He felt the ship moving under him. He knew there would be no point trying to find someone to blame. Blame achieved nothing. But this time he would get answers. He would get every detail. He felt for a cigarette, then remembered he’d given up – again. He would have words with Cutler as well. And now that other name had come back to haunt him – one he would have been glad never to have heard again in his life.
    That name was Kovic.

5
    Chinese–North Korean Border
    Kovic stayed in the snowdrift until a dirty grey dawn gradually spread over the hills. He had either fallen asleep or lost consciousness and become rigid with cold, proof that you could succumb to rigor mortis without actually being dead. The drift provided some insulation from wind chill, but the heat of his body melted the layer of snow immediately around him, keeping him soaked through. He was desperately thirsty, but knew better than to try to eat the snow. He allowed himself one swig from his hip flask, then emptied it out and refilled it with snow, which he’d allowed to melt first with his body warmth.
    He had heard the SUV pull away. He had strained to listen to any of what the executioners said to each other, but the wind made that impossible. Although their faces were uncovered it was too dark to make out any features. The only detail he had absorbed was a mark on the hand of one who had pulled off his glove to extract a cigarette from a packet. A scar or maybe part of a tattoo – three lines with what looked like arrowheads poking out from his sleeve. The casualness of their movements, some laughter even, and the manner in which they had moved the corpses, like it was just another day’s work. Who were these men? There was nothing military about them. His phone was gone so he had no GPS, no compass, but there was no question he had made it across the border. The SUV had definitely moved off to the west. He was on the Chinese side.
    He pushed more of the snow away and started the tortuous process of trying to move. The sky was brightening, the snow clouds gone. Visibility was growing by the minute. Further down the mountainside there was less snow and he could see the track thatled from the border post snaking away west. Still he waited, watching and listening, to be sure that he was alone. He didn’t feel like trying the phone in the watchtower again. Was his call what had brought the men in the SUV?
    He had to fight the impulse to stay put and let exhaustion take over. Limb by limb he tried to straighten up, and then attempt to stand. Just take your time, he told himself.
    His progress down the track was pathetically slow, but he made it to the point where it met a wider road. He realised he had forgotten about the