Future Plans

"Sledgehammer, the base reward for shooting down a TB2 is 200,000, plus a 200,000 zone bonus and an extra 100,000, to be paid before dark." Trench slapped Chen Ge's shoulder hard, no longer knowing how to describe his mood. On the road from Donetsk to Bakhmut—less than 70 kilometers—Chen Ge had already saved them three times. Top-notch eyesight, top-notch marksmanship, and top-notch artillery sense; such top-tier talent had to be well protected. Without Chen Ge, the Falcon Hunting Team's overall combat effectiveness would be cut in half—no exaggeration. "You speak three foreign languages, are in excellent physical shape, have eyesight extremely rare anywhere in the world, and possess astonishing artillery ballistics sense. You're a born top-tier reconnaissance soldier, sniper, artilleryman, and pilot. Are you willing to change your nationality? I can help you obtain Russian citizenship, go to the Aerospace Forces and fly fighters, or join the artillery as an officer!" Chen Ge shook his head and declined. "Captain, I'm from Huaxia." The answer was short and blunt. Trench was very satisfied with that response. If Chen Ge had agreed without thinking, Trench would have looked down on him. "All right. If you change your mind, come find me anytime." After saying that, he hesitated for a few seconds, then asked again the question Chen Ge had always avoided. "Can you tell me why you didn't go to university or join the military in Huaxia?" "Um…" Chen Ge hesitated for a moment, turned to look at his teammates around him, and hid nothing more. He had already decided: he would build his future abroad and not return home. Since he wasn't going back, it didn't matter if his identity was exposed—after all, he was an orphan! As for his mother and younger sister, who had not been in touch since his mother remarried, how were they any different from strangers? "My father was a truck driver. In 2004, completely unaware, someone hid drugs in his truck. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison and died of a sudden heart attack in prison in 2005. My mother abandoned me, and my grandparents raised me." "When I was eighteen, one month before the college entrance exam, my grandparents passed away, and I became an orphan." "You should know how much people in Huaxia hate drugs. Even if my father was wrongfully accused, without evidence to clear his name he was still a drug trafficker. I had no chance of joining the military, and studying was useless anyway, so I chose to go abroad and make my way." "By the way, my college entrance exam scores were quite good. If I weren't the son of a drug trafficker, I would already have applied to the Huaxia Air Force Flight Academy and become a pilot or an astronaut." After hearing Chen Ge's story, everyone fell silent. This was a genius strangled by fate. Trench opened his mouth, not knowing how to comfort Chen Ge, and could only habitually reach out and pat Chen Ge's shoulder. "I remember a Huaxia saying: gold shines wherever it is. You can't choose your origins, but you can choose your future. Keep working hard—Wagner won't bury talent!" After speaking, Trench patted Chen Ge's shoulder hard twice, then turned and walked toward the truck by the road. Hailstone walked over and punched Chen Ge's magazine pouch. "Sledgehammer, Wagner is your home! We're all your family." Hailstone left, and the squad leaders and teammates gathered around. Without a word, each one punched Chen Ge in the chest or back in turn. Russians respect the strong. Chen Ge had conquered everyone with his strength, and they genuinely regarded him as a brother. Chen Ge felt warm inside. He really liked these rough men of the Falcon Hunting Team, but he would absolutely never treat Wagner as home. Prigozhin would kick the bucket before long; Wagner was about to become history. Once his contract expired, he'd leave, not wasting a single minute. The convoy continued, meeting no more drones along the way. At 11:00 they entered western Horlivka. This was a key passage linking Donetsk and Bakhmut; not far west of the road lay the Dzerzhinsk Fortress Area, long garrisoned by the Ukrainian military. This stretch of road was under threat from Ukrainian artillery and drones—a typical fire control zone. Wreckage of destroyed tanks, armored vehicles, and trucks along the roadside grew denser. As far as the eye could see, the plain was covered with craters of all sizes, ruined villages and factories, crisscrossing abandoned trenches, and trees shattered by shrapnel and bullets. The cruelty of war was plain to see. Rock pulled down the tactical scarf covering his face, tilted his head back, squinted, and took a deep breath. In a low voice he said, "I can already smell death, brothers. Steel yourselves—we've arrived in hell." The dozen-plus mercenaries of Assault Team One in the truck bed, along with Lightbulb, Night Cat, Manhole Cover, and Big Bear, grew serious and once again carefully checked their weapons and equipment. Chen Ge, on the other hand, wasn't nervous. He wrapped a roll of white tape around his left arm, and around the Ops-Core FAST SF helmet he'd bought in Syria too. What the tape was for—those who understood, understood. "Rock, here!" After finishing, Chen Ge tossed the tape to Rock, put on an RG-colored First Spear tactical balaclava, and put on his helmet. He checked his AK-12, then touched the WA126 60mm gun barrel tied to the left side of his backpack. The 1.35-meter barrel was tan, fitted at the rear with a custom four-claw base. On the march the claws folded flat against the barrel; before firing, he only had to press the release button for them to spring open and grip the ground, keeping the weapon from slipping when it fired. No good. He needed a precision marksman rifle with greater power, accuracy, and range to deal with drones; the AK-12's range was still lacking. The SVCh that the Russian military had just brought into service last month? It fired the 7.62×54mmR round handed down from Big Goose, held twenty rounds in the magazine, and was said to have solid all-around performance. That's the one. Chen Ge made up his mind to ask Captain Trench for a gun later. Anyone else asking for such a recently issued, scarce weapon would definitely get chewed out. Not him. Trench would definitely meet his request. Who made him the team favorite? As for Captain Trench and Vice-Captain Hailstone—they might not grant every request, but they did their best to satisfy him. The vehicles kept wide intervals, accelerators pressed to the floor, as they quickly passed through the Ukrainian military fire control zone, entered the Ozaryanivka area, and officially reached the southern wing of Bakhmut. Wagner's assault teams assembled here. The terrain was semi-hilly, with small settlements, windbreak belts, and abandoned industrial facilities. Gunfire was denser and closer, and the smell of gunpowder was already in the air. The convoy drove into a grove of Tatar maples; all the leaves had turned yellow and fallen to the ground—very beautiful. After a few minutes on the dirt road through the woods, the convoy stopped, and Trench's voice came over the radio. "Get out!" 4 vehicles, 75 people quickly got out and lined up by group. On the right was a camp draped in camouflage netting, with at most a few hundred people—probably the headquarters of the First Assault Detachment, the ace detachment codenamed Ratibor. A middle-aged man walked over, about 1.75 meters tall, solidly built—a typical Russian power physique, with a thick neck, broad shoulders, and a thick chest and back. He wore an MC-camouflage baseball cap with the brim pressed low, a plaid shirt tucked into tactical pants, and a worn L5 soft-shell jacket. Trench stood at attention, without saluting. Wagner was made up of mercenaries, not a regular army. No salutes or greetings, no "sir"—everyone used callsigns. "Ratibor, Falcon Hunting Team reporting in!" Chen Ge curiously sized up Ratibor, the man nicknamed the Butcher of Bakhmut. He remembered this fellow would be killed by Ukrainian artillery next February while fighting in Krasnogora on the northern wing of Bakhmut. Ratibor and Trench were old acquaintances; he had joined Wagner as soon as it was founded. He said with a smile, "Trench, long time no see. In Syria your Falcon Hunting Team was known as the bane of IS. In Ukraine, I firmly believe you can become the Ukrainian military's nightmare!"