Tiger by the Tail

CHAPTER ONE

On a moonless, tropical night, Vanel Kulcyanov sat motionless on the deck of a battered, thirty-five-foot fishing trawler, doing the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life—waiting.

If not for what he was about to do, he would have been mesmerized by the endless South China Sea around him. Until five days ago, he had never been more than ten miles from home. But the valley of the Keldara in Georgia, in the Caucasus Mountains of Eastern Europe, was thousands of miles away. Now he was on the other side of the world, where palm trees grew everywhere, rain fell every day, and to even think about moving was to sweat.

The eighteen-year-old thought his training had been hard. He thought the endless PT, weapons training, live-fire exercises had been hard. He thought the particular nightmare of specialized underwater operations training had been very,
very
hard. But all that was nothing compared to right now, awaiting the order to begin tonight’s mission.
The American song is right
, he thought.
Waiting
really
is the hardest part.

Vanel was entering real combat for the first time tonight, and the anticipation was rattling his normally calm nerves. It wasn’t that he was afraid—well, a small part of him was, for only an utter fool or madman did not fear battle. But he had made his peace with it, and whatever fear was in him now resided in a far-off corner of his mind.

An even greater fear was spurring him on now—the fear of not measuring up to his people’s expectations. The blood of countless Keldara generations flowed through his veins, stretching back to his people’s Varangian roots. Over the centuries, that had been blended with the very best warriors the Keldara could find to lead them. The idea of not carrying their proud warrior culture into the twenty-first century was inconceivable, and Vanel was going to make sure that he did not fail the rest of his team, his family, or the Kildar.

Unlike many of the Keldara, who weren’t comfortable around large bodies of water, Vanel felt as home in or on it as he did on dry land. The qualifications needed to be accepted into Yosif’s team were among the highest of all the Keldara units, and again he felt a swell of pride at being accepted into the elite of the elite.

He stared out over the glass-smooth waters at their target, a small cluster of lights five hundred meters away. He itched to be there already. To be doing what he’d been trained to do, what he had been
born
to do—his part to guarantee that his team’s role in the op would be executed flawlessly, so that the next stage could be achieved. But they had not received the go order yet. So, Vanel and the rest of his team sat. And they waited.

The problem was that the only thing to do while waiting was to think. Vanel could go over the plan again, but he already knew it like the back of his hand. Every part, every task that the men beside him would execute to reach and take their objective was burned into his brain. And once that had been committed to memory, all that was left was to think about the many things that could go wrong.

To prevent that, he checked his gear one last time. Weapons, first and always—the sleek, matte-black HK416C rifle slung across his chest, the .40 caliber Sig Sauer P229 with integral silencer on his right hip, and his Gerber Mark II double-edged combat knife in a horizontal belt sheath at the small of his back.

The compact HK416C was practically brand-new—Vanel had only received it three weeks ago. He’d fired about two thousand rounds through it and trained enough to fieldstrip, clean, and reassemble it blindfolded before the trip. The Keldara version of a SEAL team had been using the HK MP5A2, but the Kildar hadn’t been happy with the 9mm’s range and knockdown power. After evaluating the variant 5.56mm carbine rifles available, he’d grudgingly settled on the 416C as their replacement instead of the M4A1. It had several advantages over the Colt carbine, including a more durable barrel, a rotatable butt plate on the retractable stock, an ergonomic handgrip on the forestock, and a folding front sight.

The two most important differences between his new rifle and the MP5A2 were the improved range and penetration of the 5.56mm round. Along with the best rifle, Mike had gone with the best ammunition he could find. Every team member carried Mk 262 bullets with a 77-grain Sierra MatchKing round. The bullets were manufactured by Black Hills Ammunition, and designed for long-range engagements of up to seven hundred meters. While it would be unlikely that the swim-ops team would engage an enemy at that range, it was definitely better to have the option and not need it than the reverse. The bullet also demonstrated consistent improved yaw characteristics at up to three hundred meters, increasing the possibility of target takedown.

All this came in a German-designed and built fire-selective assault carbine that could be shortened to just over twenty-two inches long. The screw-on suppressor at the end of the barrel added another eight inches. Last but not least, it could be fired without completely clearing the barrel of water—which the team would most likely end up doing at some point. The Kildar wasn’t thrilled about using two different ammunitions for their primary and secondary weapons, but as he had also said more than once, if any member had to draw their pistol in combat, they were already in deep shit.

Next was equipment. First, Vanel checked his waterproofed radio and transceiver. Then came the gray and black Evolution closed-circuit rebreather system with its Vision electronics package to maximize breathing mix and scrubber efficiency. Other equipment included his fins, full-face mask, including the MUM-14 submersible night vision monocular, depth gauge, bulletproof vest, weight belt, and buoyancy vest. Everything was in order and positioned for maximum accessibility, no rattle, no clank. Optimized to ensure that the mission would go smoothly and by the numbers. But all of the specialized gear wouldn’t have mattered. If the Kildar had ordered him to strip, put his knife in his teeth, and swim to their target naked, Vanel would have dived overboard in a second.

Of course, that was assuming that the mission would actually
begin
sometime—Vanel took a deep breath and began running over the specs of the target vessel in his head. Noticing his team leader, Yosif Devlich, watching him, Vanel nodded curtly.

“Sir?”

“How are you doing, Vanel?”

“I am ready, Leader.” He rubbed his chin, which was just beginning to sprout a few hairs. While he had the same white-blond hair and clear blue eyes like the rest of his siblings, Vanel had not inherited the typical massive Kulcyanov build. He was a few centimeters shorter and although well-muscled, he was also much leaner than his brothers. But the All Father had seen fit to bless him with seemingly endless stamina—he could run or swim for hours without tiring. “I would very much like for the mission to start.”

“Good, good. Soon enough,” Yosif said with a nod.

“Leader?”

“Yes?”

Vanel hesitated, hoping the others wouldn’t tease him for what he was about to say.