An outcome that shocked everyone, including Gao Fei himself.
"Did I hit him?"
Even though Sokholov was already swearing in excitement, Gao Fei felt that if a blind guess like that had actually hit, shooting would just be too simple.
"You hit him! I saw it clear as day. The moment his upper body poked out, he dropped—fell right down after getting shot!"
Sokholov lowered his binoculars. Glaski raised his own, took a look, and cursed in deep regret. Then he let the binoculars hang around his neck, pressed one hand down on the machine gun Gao Fei was still holding, and said, "Let go."
Gao Fei released the machine gun. Glaski took it in both hands and said, "Take cover from the shelling."
"Quick, quick, hide!"
Sokholov patted Gao Fei twice, his face full of protective concern as he urged anxiously, "The enemy might retaliate. Take cover first!"
Gao Fei didn't even get a chance to take another look through the binoculars.
All four of them scrambled back into their dugouts. What followed was a dull, tedious, boring, and intensely miserable wait.
Everything came with a price. Gao Fei had fired for a brief moment of fun, and now, facing the threat of enemy retaliation, everyone in the position had to huddle inside their dugouts with him, not daring to step out.
A piece of trivia: dugouts couldn't actually protect against suicide drones, nor could they stop drones from dropping grenades or mortar shells from above. The only purpose of taking cover in a dugout was to prevent a shell or drone from taking out two people at once.
After sitting idly in the dugout for a while, Gao Fei suddenly asked, "Sir, why don't we put a cover overhead?"
Adding a cover wouldn't stop artillery shells, but it could effectively prevent drones from dropping bombs. More importantly, it would keep drones from getting an unobstructed view into the trench.
Sokholov answered impassively, "Because there's no timber. Besides, we won't stay in this position long. We'll either push forward or fall back, so there's no point in doing anything."
Fair enough. If they scavenged materials to roof the trench today only to move to another position tomorrow, all that effort would be wasted.
Another silence fell. Finally, Sokholov said, "All right, back to digging the trench. Come on out. It should be safe outside."
Gao Fei stepped out of the dugout, finally able to stretch his limbs.
Sokholov looked around the trench, then called out loudly, "Take turns digging. Samir, you first. Glaski, on watch."
The trench was only a little over a meter wide—two men standing side by side felt cramped. If two people dug at the same time, they would only get in each other's way, so once again Samir was the first to start digging.
Samir didn't complain, either, huffing and puffing as he set to work.
Sokholov walked over to Gao Fei with a gentle expression. He offered a cigarette, lit it for him, and only then lit one for himself, saying, "You only took part in drills before, never actual combat?"
"Right, never fought in real combat."
Gao Fei answered honestly, "And I'd never used a machine gun before, either. That was my first time touching a PKM."
Glaski whipped his head around, staring at Gao Fei in disbelief. "You're not joking, are you?"
Sokholov furrowed his brows. "That doesn't add up. With your marksmanship, I can't believe you were just an ordinary infantryman back in China. If I were your commanding officer, failing to train you as a sniper would be dereliction of duty on my part."
Uh-oh. He had forgotten about that.
Gao Fei tapped off his cigarette ash, sighed, and said very earnestly, "To be honest, it was only after coming here that I realized I was actually a sharpshooter. Before this, I was in a clerical role."
Sokholov's jaw dropped. "Clerical?"
"Shh, keep your voice down."
Gao Fei wore a look of bitter helplessness. "Yeah, clerical. I had basic training, but there's no way I was going to be a sniper."
"What kind of clerical role? Operational staff officer? Then you can do map plotting?"
A staff officer would certainly know how to draft maps, but Gao Fei didn't. Forget drawing them—he couldn't even read a military map. Military enthusiast though he was, he wasn't that deep into it.
"Uh, not a staff officer."
"Could you be an intelligence operative?"
"No. Like I said, it's classified. It has to stay confidential."
Suspicion flared in Sokholov once more, but seeing Gao Fei's look of having troubles he couldn't voice, he hesitated a moment and finally said, "Fine, I won't ask. Hmm, strange fellow."
One lie required more lies to cover it up. By now, Gao Fei figured that even if he admitted he had never been a soldier, Sokholov wouldn't do anything to him, but he was too embarrassed to confess that he had been lying all along.
Just then, Sokholov's walkie-talkie crackled with static. The voice was heavily jammed, yet still reasonably clear.
Standing right next to Sokholov, Gao Fei could see at close range that Sokholov was using a Motorola walkie-talkie. But looking more closely, he noticed features matching what he had seen in videos online.
What features? It was a white-labeled domestic Chinese walkie-talkie masquerading as a Motorola.
Gao Fei didn't know much about radios and walkie-talkies, but he had watched detailed online videos from tech gurus. They explained that Russian forces used to rely on Motorolas, only to discover their communications were constantly intercepted by the enemy. Subsequently, most soldiers on the battlefield switched to domestic Chinese dual-band UV walkie-talkies.
The UHF and VHF bands were suitable for short-range communication, basically anywhere from a few hundred meters to two kilometers. In an urban area, the range wouldn't even reach two kilometers.
Moreover, these domestic walkie-talkies were civil-grade, and the ones procured by the Russians were cheap knockoffs costing just a hundred yuan or so. They had zero electromagnetic shielding, so whenever high-powered transmitters were operating nearby, the radio would crackle with endless static.
It all matched. Every single detail. It seemed Sokholov was indeed using that kind of walkie-talkie.
When the radio transmission ended, Sokholov's expression turned somber. He acknowledged the call, then said in a low voice in English, "Higher-ups want two men drawn from each squad to report to the company command post and await orders. I'm guessing they're putting together an assault detachment."
Gao Fei couldn't understand Russian, so he had just been examining the walkie-talkie. But hearing Sokholov relay the contents of the message, he was thoroughly astonished and blurted out in disbelief, "Such critical military intelligence, and you guys just broadcast it in plain language over an open frequency on civil-grade walkie-talkies?"
Something even Gao Fei, a mere military enthusiast, knew about and found unbelievable was met only with an indifferent shrug from Sokholov. "The enemy knows what we're going to do, just like we know what they're going to do. They attack, we strike back. It's just a matter of when. What's there to keep secret?"
It was hard to tell whether the Russians fought too crudely or were simply burned out; they truly couldn't care less about such things.
Gao Fei was at a loss for words, while poor Samir continued swinging his shovel.
Glaski sighed, turned around, and said to Sokholov, "You stay. I'll take him."
That 'him' could only be Samir.
Sokholov looked at Samir, pondered for a moment, and shook his head. "No, I'll take him."
Samir was digging with all his might, the shovel flying up and down. After half an hour of intense digging, his pace had noticeably slowed. Yet no matter how hard he worked, he couldn't escape the fate of being chosen.
There were two veterans and two new recruits at this position. Forming an assault detachment couldn't involve sending two new recruits, nor could it be two veterans; it had to be one veteran leading one recruit.
Given that Sokholov and Glaski clearly favored Gao Fei, this virtually suicidal mission naturally fell upon Samir.
Samir stopped and turned around, looking at Sokholov with resignation. He seemed to want to say something, but in the end he just sighed and said to Gao Fei, "The stuff in my bag is yours."
There was nothing to be done. When something couldn't be changed, one could only resign oneself to fate.
If Samir dared to show even a shred of discontent, Sokholov could shoot him dead on the spot without the slightest consequence.
Gao Fei couldn't help saying, "I'll go. I'll join the assault detachment."
"Don't you go."
"What would you go for?"
"Wasting your life would be too much of a loss."
"Exactly."
Sokholov and Glaski chimed in together, shooting down Gao Fei's offer.
Sokholov waved his hand, then pulled out the cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to Gao Fei. After a second thought, he pulled out his lighter as well, grabbed Gao Fei's hand, slapped the cigarettes and lighter into Gao Fei's palm, and said, "Right, that's that."
Glaski said in a low voice, "I'll go."
"You went last time. It's my turn."
Sokholov didn't say anything more. He turned to Samir and said, "Pack your gear. You're coming with me."
Chapter 15