"I'll assign you a few easy, cushy jobs that still let you rack up military merit. You earn some credit, get transferred back to a desk at the Kyiv Ministry of Defense, I get rid of this headache—everyone comes out ahead."
Moskalyev was full of resentment. His sharp eyes fixed on the Laboratory Building circled in blue ink, and he said in a low voice, "Have the HIMARS battalion carry out a precision strike on the Asphalt Plant's Laboratory Building. Order Lengyal and Armor to pull troops from the reserves. The Laboratory Building must be retaken within half an hour, and the Wagner Peregrine Battalion wiped out!"
Once the order was given, Moskalyev thought of how many International Legion volunteer fighters had died. If he could seize the Wagner mercenary commander inside the Laboratory Building, he could then trumpet the story that Ukrainian forces had avenged the fallen volunteers. The United States, Europe, and the NATO countries would surely throw even more support behind Ukraine and speed up military aid.
"That Wagner commander in the Laboratory Building—take him alive if at all possible!"
……
At the Laboratory Building of the Asphalt Plant, the Ukrainian military's second assault ended in failure when two crates of TNT went up. More than two hundred casualties, against zero losses among the hundred-odd mixed defenders under Chen Ge's command.
While the Ukrainians were unlikely to launch a third assault right away, Chen Ge quickly had the veterans and K-soldiers eat rations and drink water to build their strength back up.
In the ground-floor hall, Night Cat studied Kuzma with surprise. "So you've been learning demolition since you were a kid?"
A moment earlier Lightbulb had asked Kuzma whether he was a retired combat engineer. Kuzma said he wasn't, but his bastard of a father was an old combat engineer who had fought in both Chechen Wars; after retiring, he worked as a blaster at a coal mine back home in Kuzbass. Kuzma had grown up in a workers' town beside the mine and naturally picked up demolition. His father taught him to lay and clear mines.
Talking about his own skills got Kuzma cocky. Bright-eyed and animated, he said, "That's right. By seven I knew how long a length of fuse would burn without blowing me up. With my eyes closed, I could tell by the sound of the fuse burning how many seconds were left. At ten I started blasting on my own—no need to calculate the charge. One look and I could blow it exactly the way I wanted."
To prove he wasn't boasting, he raised a hand and sketched a few gestures at the load-bearing wall beside him.
"Take a wall like this one. A few kilos of explosives, three holes, angled forty-five degrees, and it comes down. The error won't be more than twenty centimeters. You can measure it with a ruler—if it's off by more than twenty centimeters, I'll twist my own head off and let you use it as a stool."
Night Cat didn't doubt Kuzma's skill—he'd already proven it. His technique with directional mines and fugases really was impressive.
Fugas, from the Russian фугас and roughly the same thing as an IED, means a large buried mine or charge.
"Mm, you're really something. Go bury a few more fugases outside then. Remember to set them farther out—the Laboratory Building can't take much more punishment."
Kuzma: "……"
Smiles don't disappear; they just move to someone else. Kuzma pulled a long face, sat down to gnaw a compressed biscuit, and Chen Ge, Manhole Cover, Lightbulb, Octopus, and a crowd of veterans—drinking water and smoking—all roared with laughter.
Everyone could see that Kuzma wasn't a bad sort at heart. He simply had no guile or depth to him, ran his mouth off without thinking, and loved making himself the center of attention.
Aggrieved, Kuzma picked himself up off the floor. After hesitating over and over, he finally worked up the courage to speak. "I... could I eat something first? I'm really hungry!"
Manhole Cover grabbed two packs of compressed biscuits and a can of buckwheat meat and tossed them to Kuzma.
The buckwheat can was the most filling—and the easiest to make you sick—staple ration on the Ukrainian battlefield: heavy buckwheat flavor and very greasy.
But in Kuzma's eyes it was a feast from land and sea. He pulled his bayonet, pried off the lid, and wolfed it down.
With a cigarette in his mouth, Chen Ge took a deep drag and asked as he let the smoke out, "Kuzma, didn't your mother notice what was going on between your father and your wife?"
"Sir, my mother died in a car crash on the way to the hospital with my sister-in-law the year I turned seventeen. I have two older brothers and three older sisters. I'm the youngest in the family."
Well, well—an Old Six, huh?
Chen Ge laughed. "Then I'll give you a battlefield callsign. We'll call you Old Six. What do you think?"
Kuzma blanked for two seconds, then caught on at once: Chen Ge saw his value now and no longer wanted him dead.
Without the slightest hesitation, he set down the can, dropped to his knees in front of Chen Ge with a thump, raised his hands, and slapped himself across the face—smack, smack, smack. His already bruised, swollen face puffed up another size and blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He hit himself hard.
Even as he slapped himself, he apologized earnestly. "Sir, please forgive my offense. I just can't keep my mouth shut. I apologize to you, I repent, I—"
Chen Ge nearly choked on his cigarette—not out of any pity for Kuzma, but because he was worried this idiot would slap himself to death and leave him one mine-laying lackey short.
"Stop. Go bury those fugases, and if you do well, I'll consider forgiving you!"
Kuzma's hand dropped. He split into a dopey grin, and with two front teeth missing, that smile was exactly like the most viral online meme of the bruised, gap-toothed cat. Very funny.
"Sir, you truly are the most tolerant and generous, most handsome, most ferocious—"
Chen Ge couldn't listen anymore and waved him off like shooing a fly.
"Shut up. Get to work."
Kuzma snapped his mouth shut, made short work of the biscuits and the can, twisted open a bottle of water and gulped it down, then scampered out of the hall, hoisted the explosives onto his shoulder, and went out to plant the bombs.
Bull flicked some ash off his cigarette and said with a laugh, "This 520... uh, Old Six—this Old Six is a very unique man. Sometimes I seriously suspect he's a lucky bastard the goddess of fortune is looking after. Three days ago our assault company was clearing the Ukrainian trenches on the edge of the industrial zone. Old Six and four K-soldiers ran into a booby trap the Ukrainians had laid. Old Six was out front and set it off—he was fine, and all four K-soldiers were blown to pieces."
"Seven days ago the Ukrainians hit us with drones. Three FPVs came screaming into the trench from different angles, and one of them slammed into Old Six's backside. The RPG warhead mounted on it didn't explode."
"Ten days ago the Ukrainians launched a night raid on the trench we were holding. Old Six ran his machine gun belt dry and was frantically changing it when two Ukrainians were already right in front of him."
"By rights he should have died. But what I find hard to believe is that one Ukrainian's rifle blew up in his hands, the other took a stray round, and Old Six somehow lived through it again..."
Everyone exchanged glances, eyes full of amazement. Wasn't this luck a little too outrageous?
Igor, who had just watched Old Six slip twice and dodge a Ukrainian machine gunner's lethal fire, said, "This guy is absolutely—"
Thump. The half can of meat in Chen Ge's hand fell to the ground. His body shuddered a few times as if he'd been shocked, and he whipped his head around toward the southeast, every muscle going taut.
His danger sense had given no warning, but for no reason he could name, his heart pounded with dread.
There was danger—absolutely there was danger. And it was lethal!
The others watched Chen Ge, not understanding. Only Lightbulb, Manhole Cover, and Night Cat went on alert, because they knew Chen Ge very well.
Lightbulb jumped up and asked urgently, "Hammer Brother, what is it?"
Chen Ge didn't say he sensed lethal danger. That would make people suspect he was some monster wearing human skin.
Instead he said, "Feeling a little uneasy. The Ukrainians aren't going to hit the Asphalt Plant with long-range rocket artillery, are they?"
The words had barely left his mouth when furious, frantic shouting came through the earpiece from the trench.
"Sledgehammer! Get out of the building! Now!!!"
Chapter 67