Chapter 50

50

May 14, 5:56 P . M . ANAT

East Siberian Sea

Tucker ignored the explosions. He was again on his stomach, hidden high in a second-story roost. His rifle was at his shoulder, his cheek at the weapon's stock. Through his night-vision goggles, he stared down his sights.

Below and directly ahead of him, a narrow street ran between two homes.

C'mon, Kane, you can do it .

For the past half hour, the trio had led a game of cat and mouse across the city's maze. With the dog's cameras, Tucker's vision expanded for blocks. It had allowed him to identify three hunters, whom he had led deep into this labyrinth, away from the others. More soldiers were probably heading into the city, using the cover of those grenades and rockets.

With those forces moving in, Tucker knew he had little time left. Still, the soldiers on his tail had proved challenging. He couldn't shake them. Plus, there had been a few close calls. His side burned from where he had failed to roll out of the way fast enough.

The game was taking its toll.

And not just on me.

Finally, movement drew his eye. A dark shape rushed into view on the street, running low, but limping badly on one limb. It was the foreleg Kane had injured last year.

There's my good boy. Knew you wouldn't let me down.

Tucker flinched as a soldier appeared behind Kane. The Russian stayed hidden around a corner, surveying the street.

Move it, Kane .

Tucker reinforced this, subvocalizing a command. "K ANE , SHELTER RIGHT ."

The dog hobbled into that turn, nearly losing his balance. But he rushed through the home's door on that side. The soldier ran to follow, sticking close to a wall, intent to eliminate one of the stubborn targets.

Tucker swallowed and checked Kane's video feed. The home was a single room, a blind alley, trapping the dog.

The soldier swept to the doorway, still cautious, sheltering to one side.

It was right where Tucker wanted him.

"M ARCO , TAKEDOWN brAVO ONE ."

From the door across the street, a huge sleek shadow burst forth. Marco leaped through the air and slammed into the man's back.

"K ANE , TAKEDOWN SAVAGE ."

The older Malinois lunged low out of the doorway. Kane hit the soldier in the legs, sending the Russian flipping through the air. When he landed, both dogs savaged him, ripping the soft flesh between armor. The man screamed, garbled, then gurgled.

Another two soldiers rushed in, coming from both flanks.

Clearly, as Tucker had used a dog with a fake limp to lure the first soldier into a trap, these two had sent their man as a forward decoy to flush the enemy.

Like I wasn't expecting that .

All this time, Tucker had never moved his rifle's sights, even when Kane had limped past and the first soldier closed in. He squeezed a three-round burst at the closest man. Before the soldier fell, Tucker shifted on his elbow and fired a second burst at the other target.

The shots had been clean, raising not even a cry.

Tucker gathered his gun and leaped to the ground. "T O ME ," he ordered his two partners.

Marco and Kane broke free of the soldier, though Marco gave the man a final shake, like a dog with a snake.

Once together, Tucker dropped to a knee, offering pats and reassurance. "Good boys."

He stared off toward the city ahead of him, where the barrage of grenades had waned into occasional blasts, suggestive that the enemy was closing in on it.

Got to get back there.

Tucker had lured this trio far into the labyrinth, but now he had to return. Earlier, he had caught the lightshow by the waterfall. Even from a distance, the twirling light had blazed through his enhanced vision like a solar flare.

Someone had made a break for it.

Gray? Seichan? Maybe both?

He knew the commander must have heard the earlier firefight up top. The man would've come to investigate—running himself full tilt into trouble. And now someone had to get him out of it.

Tucker straightened and pointed in the direction of a rocket blast. "M ARCO , K ANE , TRACK FRIENDLIES ."

They set off together. By now, the two dogs had spent enough time with this crew to hopefully register the others' scents, to know who was friendly and who was not, odors distinct from the borscht-swilling Russians.

The trio rushed swiftly, moving in unison.

But Tucker knew the battle ahead would be tougher than the one played out here. There were many more soldiers, likely hunting with night-vision and thermal gear.

Knowing this, Tucker needed a wider scope of view.

"M ARCO , FLANK CLOSE RIGHT . K ANE , FLANK CLOSE LEFT ."

The two dogs split off, forging their own paths across the dense urban jungle. Through his goggles, their eyes became his. He followed their camera feeds, while whispering orders, coordinating their paths.

He found an easy rhythm with the pair.

While this might be new for Marco, for Kane and Tucker, this was as familiar as an old dance, one they knew well, a cadence forged in the sands of Afghanistan. As Tucker ran, he sensed a fourth flowing with him, the one who had once danced with them, but no longer.

You were a good boy, too, Abel .

Tucker ran onward.

Some called him a lone wolf, but he knew the truth.

I'm never alone .

Especially now.

Kane races over raw rock and across carved stone. He lifts his nose as he fords a bridge over a chasm. The air rising from below burns his nose. Not from heat, but acid. His ears prick to the deep-throated belches calling from down there. He feels the heat buffeting through his fur, even with his body covered in a hard vest.

He spans onward. His pads find rough rock, and he is off, nose dropping low or riding high, sifting through each note.

—the melt of ice that releases old musk.

—the mold off rock that is fungal and ancient.

—a nest of desiccated bones that still have the iron scent of marrow.

None of it is what he seeks.

Marco leaps from one rooftop to another, riding high across the stone forest. He hunches as he skirts a tall spire, topped by the shadow of some huge horned beast. He sniffs, but it gives off no scent. It is as much rock as the bricks under his paws. He moves on, gaining speed. In his ears, he hears notes of warning in a brief command to SLOW , to keep with the pack. He obeys, less out of obedience as the draw of home and a full belly and a scratch behind the ear and a tussle under the sun. He listens sharply, not for commands, but to the other's breath in his ear. It warms through him as much as any hot sun. As he strains, other sounds ping through him.

—the trickle of sand off a roof's edge.

—the pop of distant ice.

—the blast of another explosion.

The last is closer now.

As Kane runs, the tang of hot smoke rolls high overhead. His ears ring with each boom. He tastes the bitter drifts of older blasts, marked in age by their pungency as their smoke settles denser between walls. He leads a path toward where those notes are less potent, where the smoke still drifts, where the blasted stone is still hot.

His path leads toward the heart of the bombardment.

He knows this path.

He has run it countless times, toward the sting of steel, the burn of flames, the cries of the wounded. He does not balk. Not ever. Not now.

But not forever.

He races with this one hard truth locked in his bones, a hard lesson taught by his brother. Still, this only makes him run harder, ignoring the ache in his limb, the breaths that come less easily.

He runs onward, heart pounding with both lust and joy.

The other's breath fills his senses.

He wills his own command to his packmate.

One more time, one more time, one more time...

Before it ends forever.