"Hard work isn't always noticed, but resting definitely will be!" —Odebayo
October 23, 2022. Temperature: 0°C. Overcast with light rain.
Starting on the 16th, eastern Ukraine had seen a week of continuous gray skies and rain. The ground churned into a morass of mud, marking the official onset of the deeply despised late-autumn mud season.
Across the fertile black soil, roads, trenches, and bomb craters were filled with dark brown sludge. A single step sent muddy water pouring straight into one's boots, thick clumps of muck clinging to the soles, growing heavier with every stride.
The trenches were the ultimate torment: mud mixed with standing water left nowhere to set foot, and bedding and uniforms remained in a perpetual state of damp, freezing clamminess.
The air was piercingly cold and damp, reeking of earthy muck and foul decay, weighing on the mind with stifling irritation.
Chen Ge was in an exceptionally foul mood because the Falcon Hunting Team's two-week leave had been cut short. Ratibor had dispatched them to reinforce the eastern industrial district of Bakhmut.
This industrial district lay directly east of Bakhmut's urban center, on the eastern bank of the Bakhmutka River right along the city limits. It served as both the gateway to the eastern side of the city and a natural bastion.
It stretched from the furniture factory in the north through the asphalt plant in the middle down to the champagne winery in the south, running in a ribbon along the east-west roads and railway lines.
The terrain sloped downward from west to east, with most of the industrial buildings constructed on elevated ground, offering commanding views of the city and the eastern section of Highway H-32, the Ukrainian military's vital supply lifeline to the west. Outside the industrial zone lay open woodlands and muddy fields, offering zero natural cover.
Built during the Soviet era for heavy industry and food processing, the structures were solidly constructed with thick walls and extensive underground spaces. Long before the war, the Ukrainian forces had converted it into a core defensive hub.
The Asphalt Plant held the most critical position: it was the commanding high point in the center of the industrial district, controlling the entrance to Highway H-32 into the city and overlooking most of eastern Bakhmut.
On the night of the 19th, elite Ukrainian troops launched a night raid. Within forty-eight hours, they wiped out the defenders and retook the entire plant. The 2nd Assault Group of Wagner, tasked with attacking Bakhmut's eastern flank, lost two months of hard-won gains, suffering a devastating blow to morale.
The Cook had only just boasted that he would capture Bakhmut in three months when the Ukrainian forces slapped him hard in the face. Disgraced and infuriated, the Cook ordered elite units gathered to recapture the industrial zone.
Having rested for ten days, the Falcon Battalion naturally could not sit idle and was sent to the eastern flank to support the 2nd Assault Group.
For the Ukrainian forces, holding the industrial district meant securing their eastern defensive line and protecting the entrance to the H-32 supply route. As long as the city center and the supply line remained linked, they could continue funneling troops and ammunition westward.
For the Russian forces, taking the industrial district meant breaching the eastern line of defense and driving straight into the urban center, placing H-32 completely under artillery coverage. Then, by capturing Soledar, the northern gateway to Bakhmut, they could seal Bakhmut off entirely, leaving the Ukrainian troops either to be encircled and wiped out or to abandon the city.
From the start of the Battle of Bakhmut on August 1 until today, the two sides had suffered nearly thirty-two thousand casualties in this industrial zone alone, averaging roughly 380 casualties a day.
The fighting was so fierce that many corpses were left unrecovered and unburied, rotting in the mud and forming the bloodiest part of this meat grinder.
Bakhmut in the mud season was hell on earth made flesh: tanks and armored vehicles bogged down, infantry struggled to advance, and the mud was choked with severed limbs and rotting corpses reeking with an unbearable stench.
East of the Asphalt Plant, in a devastated village, the houses were virtually flattened by artillery shells; not a single intact tree remained in sight.
Amid the rubble of buildings, in the brush and woods, and across the crater-pocked roads lay scattered countless corpses of Ukrainian and Wagner soldiers. Severed limbs and shattered entrails were everywhere, with stray dogs gnawing on the dead here and there—a chilling sight.
Lightbulb crouched down and pulled a three-inch laminated photograph from the breast pocket of a dead Ukrainian soldier whose torso was relatively intact, though his face had been mangled by bullets.
It was Milla Jovovich, star of Resident Evil and an internationally famous actress hailing from Ukraine.
"This guy had to be a die-hard fan of Alice. I love Alice too—she's gorgeous. If I could marry Alice, I'd even be willing to live in a luxury mansion and drive a Rolls-Royce."
"Are you disgusting or what? Fucking trying to have your cake and eat it too!"
Beside him, Chen Ge wore an expression of sheer disgust and backed away two paces.
Manhole Cover, Big Bear, and Night Cat were equally nauseated, stepping back in unison to distance themselves from Lightbulb.
Lightbulb raised an eyebrow and slipped the photo into his tactical vest's pouch. Looking at the Ukrainian soldier's body, he raised his right hand, joined his thumb, index, and middle fingers, and crossed himself from top to bottom, right to left in the Eastern Orthodox fashion. He bowed his head for three seconds of silent prayer, then gave a slight bow.
"May there be no war in heaven!"
Big Bear, Manhole Cover, and Night Cat also stood at attention, making the sign of the cross to offer silent prayer for the dead.
Watching the four of them, Chen Ge recalled a famous quote by Leo Tolstoy:
If you feel pain, you're alive. If you feel other people's pain, you're a human being.
Big Bear and the other three were human beings—people with humanity. They worked as mercenaries only to earn money and put food on the table.
And of course, so was he!
Chen Ge released his grip on his HK417, stood with feet shoulder-width apart in a splayed stance, sank his shoulders, hollowed his chest, pulled up his spine, and formed the standard Daoist Ziwu seal to observe three seconds of silence.
Big Bear's clear, innocent eyes widened as he asked curiously, "Hammer Brother, what religious gesture is that?"
"Huaxia Daoism: Stand with feet splayed wide, wrap the left palm around the right fist, hold the Ziwu seal before the chest, bow your head, and keep silent."
They didn't understand it, but it felt deeply profound.
Ever since meeting Chen Ge and witnessing his extraordinary abilities, Big Bear, Lightbulb, Manhole Cover, and Night Cat had seen their preconceived notions of Chinese people and Huaxia culture completely overturned. By looking up the vast and profound Huaxia culture online, their admiration and respect had only grown.
Chinese martial arts, in particular, had become an outright obsession. During their days on leave, the four of them and the other mercenaries of the Falcon Hunting Team had constantly pestered Chen Ge to teach them kung fu.
Cornered with no way out, Chen Ge had no choice but to bite the bullet and teach.
Building a proper foundation was essential for martial arts, and there was plenty of material online. He had asked Lin Xiyue to help him put together a sixty-minute tutorial video and post it in the Telegram group so they could study and practice on their own. Once they mastered the basics, he would teach them the real deal.
As for charging them, he passed. A gentleman loves wealth but acquires it honorably; he had no desire to make money off his conscience.
Boom! A tremendous explosion echoed from the direction of the Asphalt Plant. The group turned to look: the riddled main mixing tower on the left side of the plant complex had partially collapsed, a third of it reduced to rubble.
Flames and smoke blotted out the sky, striking with raw visual impact.
Big Bear raised his monocular, took a few looks, and said, "It's a Kinzhal!"
Chen Ge tugged at the brim of his camouflage rain poncho's hood, looked up at the drizzling, gloomy gray sky, and felt even more irritated.
Terrible weather, terrible environment, terrible mood, and an even worse mission—everything was as rotten as it could possibly be.
The mission of their Falcon Assault Company was to storm that very main mixing tower precision-struck by the Kinzhal.
The mixing tower was the core structure for heating asphalt, screening aggregate, and mixing the final product. Standing thirty-seven meters high with multi-tiered platforms, it offered excellent visibility as one of the industrial zone's high points—and had been converted by the Ukrainian forces into layered firing positions.
At three o'clock that morning, over five hundred Wagner veterans, nine hundred convict soldiers, plus a battalion of the Chechen Akhmat Special Forces Regiment had launched staggered assaults. They charged seven times in succession, expending thousands of artillery shells and taking over four hundred casualties, yet by twelve noon, they had only managed to secure the outer positions of the Asphalt Plant.
Chapter 39