The retreat was not a choice; it was a physical law. Sineus led the way, his body low, using the hard, wave-like ridges of snow for cover. The sastrugi, carved by decades of relentless wind, offered the only protection on the open ice field. A kilometer of this unforgiving terrain separated them from the Kestrel VTOL, their only way out. Behind them, the dark maw of the Polyus-9 vault was a fading memory. Ahead, salvation was a grey silhouette against a grey sky.
The air ripped apart. The two Axiom ‘Goshawk’ attack helicopters, black and insect-like, hung in the air a hundred meters away, their heavy rotor blades beating a rhythm of death against the wind. Muzzle flashes, brilliant orange against the monochrome world, erupted from their underbellies. Heavy 12.7mm rounds hammered the ice around them, each impact a miniature explosion that sent shards of frozen water flying like shrapnel. The ground shook with the force of the barrage, a constant, violent tremor that made running a treacherous exercise in balance.
— They’re trying to pin us! — Nadia yelled, her voice nearly lost in the gale and the thunder of the guns.
— Keep moving! — Sineus shouted back, not breaking stride. He didn’t need to look back to know Moreau was right behind him, her movements economical and precise even in the chaos. His mind was a map, and he had memorized this terrain during their approach. He veered left, leading them not directly toward the VTOL, but toward a deep, shadowed fissure in the ice plain.
He had identified the chokepoint an hour ago. A natural ice bridge, no more than five meters wide, spanned the crevasse. It was their only path across. It was also a perfect trap. As they scrambled down into the relative cover of the fissure’s edge, the roar of snowmobile engines joined the cacophony. Joric’s ground pursuit. They were being herded.
— They’re closing! — Moreau stated, her breath misting in the frigid air. She glanced at Sineus, her eyes asking the question she wouldn’t waste breath on.
— Let them, — Sineus said. He pulled the small, rugged detonator from his pack, the same one he’d used on the vault hatch. His thumb rested on the shielded button. The shaped charges he’d placed on the underside of the ice bridge on their way in were a debt waiting to be collected.
Two Axiom snowmobiles, each carrying a driver and a gunner in black tactical gear, crested the ridge behind them. They accelerated, confident in the chase, their engines screaming as they sped onto the narrow bridge. They were halfway across when Sineus pressed the button.
The explosion was not a loud roar but a deep, solid crack that resonated through the ice. The shaped charges did their work with brutal efficiency, directing their force upward. The ice bridge did not shatter into pieces; it fractured along clean lines and simply fell away. For a fraction of a second, the two snowmobiles and their four riders hung suspended in the air over the dark blue abyss of the crevasse. Then gravity reasserted its claim, and they plunged into the depths, their screams swallowed by the wind. The ground pursuit was over.
The helicopters, however, did not stop. They shifted their fire, raking the edge of the crevasse and forcing Sineus and Moreau to press themselves flat against the ice. But the momentary distraction had been enough. Nadia, faster and lighter, had already sprinted the final three hundred meters to the Kestrel. The VTOL’s rear ramp slammed down, and a new sound joined the battle. The distinct, heavy chatter of the ramp-mounted gun.
Green tracers sliced through the swirling snow, stitching a line across the ice in front of the lead Goshawk. The pilot was forced to pull up and bank hard to avoid the fire. It wasn't enough to destroy the heavily armored helicopter, but it was enough to make it hesitate. It was the window they needed.
— Go! — Moreau yelled, already moving.
They scrambled out of the fissure and ran, their lungs burning with the effort of sprinting in the thin, freezing air. The VTOL’s engines were spooling up, the roar a promise of escape. The ramp was a closing door. Sineus and Moreau threw themselves aboard, landing hard on the cold metal deck as Nadia continued to lay down suppressing fire.
— We’re in! Lift! Lift! — Moreau shouted to the cockpit.
The Kestrel lurched into the air, its tilt-rotors clawing for purchase against the gale. For a moment, they were a stationary target. The Axiom helicopters capitalized on it instantly. A volley of rounds slammed into the VTOL’s fuselage. Warning lights flashed across the cockpit console, and the aircraft shuddered violently. Red hydraulic fluid began to leak from a ruptured line, spattering against the rear ramp before freezing into dark, crystalline streaks.
Moreau was already in the pilot’s seat, her hands flying across the controls. She pushed the damaged aircraft forward, hugging the ground, using the ice ravines for cover as she accelerated away from the firefight. They had the data core. They were alive. But they were wounded, bleeding, and a very long way from friendly territory.
The roar of the battle faded behind them, replaced by the strained whine of the Kestrel’s damaged engine and the relentless howl of the arctic wind. The silence in the cabin was heavy with the price of their escape.
They were free, but they were also hunted, flying a crippled machine over the loneliest sea on Earth.
