Old Foes

The Ukrainian forces defending the industrial area were well known to the Falcon Hunting Team—they were old foes. It was the 93rd Separate Mechanized Brigade, an elite Ukrainian unit they had previously clashed with on the Klishchiivka Heights. The other elite Ukrainian formation present was the 58th Brigade, paired with the 241st Territorial Defense Brigade and a mixed battle group of several hundred foreign volunteers. Entrenched in factory workshops, grain silos, underground wine cellars, and utility pipe trenches, their will to fight was exceptionally fierce. This was the true Bakhmut meat grinder, ceaselessly devouring and crushing lives in a display of absolute, bloody cruelty. "Sledgehammer, this is Hailstone. Report your position." Hailstone's voice crackled through the AMP headset. Chen Ge pressed the PTT switch mounted on the left shoulder strap of his AVS tactical vest and answered, "Sledgehammer here. The Fire Support Team has reached the staging point in Takla Village, three point five kilometers due east of the Asphalt Plant. Over." "Keep an eye out for drones. We'll be there in twenty minutes." Twenty minutes? Chen Ge glanced around, signaled to his men, and headed toward the ruins of a partially collapsed cottage to his right. The cottage was a disaster area. Broken pots, pans, furniture, and scattered appliances littered the floor, leaving scarcely an inch of clear footing. Chen Ge kicked aside some shattered bricks along the wall and dropped to the ground. Unzipping a waist pouch on his tactical vest, he pulled out a waterproof stainless-steel cigarette case and dealt a round of Huanghelou Soft Blue Export Edition cigarettes to Big Bear and the other three. They were decent smokes. He had bought six cartons in Donetsk and stuffed them into his large rucksack to haul to Bakhmut, keeping four packs on his person while the ruck stayed behind at the rear encampment. The five of them sat in a row against the wall, puffing smoke in silence. Chen Ge raised his wrist to check his Marathon tactical watch: 1:05 PM. They had pushed ahead to scout while the main force brought up the rear. Smoking his cigarette, Chen Ge pulled out his phone to carefully review the intelligence Lin Xiyue had compiled: industrial area maps, Ukrainian defensive layouts, underground utility trench blueprints, ammunition depots, and drone command center locations. Night Cat pinched out his cigarette butt, pulled off his sand-colored Carinthia G-LOFT waterproof gauntlets, picked up a splinter of wood, and began scraping the black mud from his LOWA MK2 GTX tactical boots. Chen Ge, Big Bear, Manhole Cover, and Lightbulb were wearing the same gloves and boots. Eight-inch high-tops, waterproof GORE-TEX lining, mud-shedding Vibram outsoles, full leather and Cordura construction, puncture resistance, and rigid ankle support. They shed mud quickly without clogging or letting water seep in, making them ideal for the Eastern European mud season. Their combat uniforms were MultiCam UF PRO Monsoon XT Gen.2—the king of mud gear—purchased at Thunderstone's hardware shop. All five men had bought two sets each, and Chen Ge had picked up an extra LEAF Alpha Jacket Gen 2.1. Lying prone in the muck or soaking in it for extended periods was no problem at all. They had also bought plenty of cold-weather thermal gear, spending an amount that genuinely made their wallets sting. It stung, but they didn't regret it. Anyone who fought regularly knew that good equipment was a soldier's second life. Skimping on gear was out of the question; otherwise, lethal ailments like trench foot, hypothermia, and severe frostbite would follow one after another. Having scraped the mud clean, Night Cat turned his head and asked, "Sledgehammer, we won't be in the first wave hitting their hardpoints, will we?" "You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask?" Chen Ge flicked his cigarette butt away, put his phone away, pulled a tissue from his utility pouch, and took off his Wiley X Nerve tactical goggles to wipe away the mud splatters on the lenses. Putting the goggles back on and adjusting the elastic strap, he peered through the gaps in the ruins toward the distant Asphalt Plant. A sliver of unease tugged at his mind—today marked their formal entry into the Bakhmut meat grinder. "Carry extra mortar rounds later. Try not to get separated, and just follow my lead." "Our Fire Support Team has it easy enough. We won't get sent in to clear the pipe trenches. I just heard Drill Bit say that two Akhmat platoons—seventy men—went into the trenches this morning. In less than an hour, every single one of them was wiped out." A chill ran through Night Cat, Lightbulb, Manhole Cover, and Big Bear, and they swallowed hard. The underground utility trenches at the Asphalt Plant ran a total length of 2.2 kilometers in a grid-and-fishbone layout, measuring 1.8 to 2.2 meters wide and 2 to 2.2 meters high. The Ukrainian troops had fortified them with heavy sandbag firing positions. Just thinking about fighting down there sent shivers down the spine. Big Bear tossed his cigarette butt, pulled up his balaclava to scratch his chin, and muttered, "Rock and Hacksaw's groups might get sent to clear the trenches. I hope Rock doesn't have such rotten luck—he still owes me seventy-five dollars." Lightbulb kicked a filthy plush Mickey Mouse toy lying by his foot and grumbled sourly, "That bastard Hacksaw actually got made leader of Assault Group Two. A fourteen-hundred-ruble pay raise! The son of a bitch was bragging to my face yesterday!" Manhole Cover shot him a sideways glance dripping with disdain. "You want to be a squad leader, too? Go ask Trench for a transfer out of our Fire Support Team, then. No one's stopping you." At those words, Lightbulb bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, his neck stiffening as he scrambled to defend himself. "Bullshit! I'm not jealous of him! I just can't stand seeing that petty clown flaunting his petty success." "Besides, I don't give a damn about being some squad leader. The five of us swore before God to live and die together and never betray each other!" Lightbulb thumped his chest to pledge his loyalty, desperate to clear any misunderstanding with Chen Ge and the others. Chen Ge unscrewed the suppressor from his HK417, stowed it in a utility pouch, and replaced it with a multi-chamber muzzle brake. Hearing Lightbulb's declaration, he corrected him, "I never swore anything before God, all right? As you know, my faith is Chinese Daoism!" Night Cat shook his head with a chuckle. "Same difference. By the way, who are the gods in Daoism?" "The Three Pure Ones! Yuanshi Tianzun of Jade Purity, Lingbao Tianzun of Supreme Purity, and Daode Tianzun of Grand Purity. The Jade Emperor, who ranks on par with your God, sits below the Three Pure Ones." Chen Ge had never been religious in his past life, but the original Chen Ge's grandfather had been a devout Daoist, so Chen Ge had grown up immersed in it. Since transmigrating and taking over this identity, he simply rolled with it. Offering a silent prayer to the deities before a mission provided a bit of comfort, after all. Night Cat blinked in wonder. "Whoa, so the Three Pure Ones are stronger than G—" "Drone!" Chen Ge barked a low warning, grabbed his rifle, and sprang up. Peering out through the broken window frame, he spotted a modified DJI Mavic 3 quadcopter flying in from the direction of the Asphalt Plant. Two 60-millimeter mortar rounds hung from a 3D-printed release rig mounted beneath its belly. Beside it flew a Leleka-3, equipped with a gyro-stabilized electro-optical pod and a laser rangefinder. It was an artillery reconnaissance drone! The Ukrainian forces had definitely spotted their staging area. The distance was a bit far, beyond the effective reach of his HK417. Chen Ge raised his rifle, aiming and waiting for the drones to enter range before firing, while simultaneously calling Hailstone. "Hailstone, this is Sledgehammer. Watch out for artillery! The Ukrainians may have spotted our staging area. Over!" "Copy that. Stay safe! Our artillery barrage is starting right now!" *Crack, crack!* Two gunshots rang out. Five hundred meters away and at an altitude of over two hundred meters, both drones were hit in quick succession, spiraling down toward the earth. The armed drone crashed into a mud puddle; the mortar shells failed to detonate. Chen Ge gave a satisfied nod, lowered his weapon, dropped the magazine, pressed two 7.62-millimeter rounds into it, and seated it back into the receiver. As someone in the terminal stages of firepower deficiency syndrome, heading onto the battlefield without a full load of ammunition and topped-off magazines left him completely devoid of security. "Hammer Brother, now that you've got the 417, can I have the SVCh?" Beside him, Night Cat set down the SVCh rifle, an ingratiating grin plastered across his face as he tried to claim it for himself. Chen Ge had no intention of keeping it anyway; the HK417 suited him much better. Back in Bakhmut this morning, he had even discovered several crates of captured M118 LR match-grade sniper ammunition in the depot. "Sure. Brush my boots thirty times and it's yours!" Night Cat bristled, ready to tell him where to shove it, but bit the words back before they could leave his mouth. He genuinely loved that SVCh. With a sullen face and gritted teeth, he growled, "Fine. Thirty times it is." "Good. Don't try to weasel out of it unless you want to find out just how much a punch from my sandbag-sized fists hurts." Chen Ge tossed the threat at Night Cat, his ears twitching as he turned his head toward the northeast. The shrill whistle of artillery shells cut clearly through the air. "The artillery's getting to work. Let's hope they hit 'em hard!"