Night Raid

In the dugout, you couldn't stretch your legs or straighten your back; getting a decent night's sleep was next to impossible. Gao Fei's first night on the line was sheer agony. He hadn't slept long before he woke up. It was pitch-black. He couldn't see a thing, and without a watch, there was no way to tell what time it was. He stood up and peered toward the enemy lines—equally dark, with nothing visible. Word was that the penal battalion would launch an attack on the enemy tonight, but there was still no movement. Perhaps the hour hadn't come yet. Gao Fei carefully took two steps, yet his footfalls were still heard. "Who's there?" "Me. Rex." It was Samir's voice. Gao Fei felt his way toward the sound. His eyes were gradually adjusting to the dark, but he still couldn't make out Samir's silhouette. Samir whispered again, "Can't sleep?" "Can't sleep. What time is it?" Samir raised his wrist, pushed back his sleeve, and murmured, "Eleven thirty." "My watch starts at midnight. Go get some sleep. I'll take over." They were in direct contact with the enemy now, holding the forwardmost edge of the frontline. Someone had to stand watch through the night to keep the enemy from sneaking up on them unnoticed. Standard procedure should have been two-man shifts, but Sokholov wasn't particularly worried about enemy infiltration, so he had ordered solo sentry duty, rotating every two hours. Taking his post half an hour early was no problem for Gao Fei. "I can't sleep either." Samir kept his voice down to an absolute whisper. He sighed softly and said, "My situation isn't great. If the penal battalion hadn't arrived today, I might already be dead. You're different. You're practically under VIP protection now." Gao Fei didn't know how to respond. He stayed silent for a moment before saying quietly, "I'm still in this with you." "I'm not complaining. I just envy you. Capable people are valued wherever they go. Having good marksmanship makes you someone to protect on the battlefield. It's only fair." In the dark, Samir reached out, brushed against Gao Fei's arm, and gave it an encouraging pat. It was both to comfort Gao Fei and to congratulate him. Gao Fei genuinely didn't know what to say. Talking about living and dying together sounded hollow and pointless. What had happened today made it abundantly clear: even if Gao Fei wanted to stick by Samir, he wouldn't be allowed to. The mood turned heavy. A moment later, Gao Fei heard Samir suddenly mutter, "Huh?" "What is it?" "Shh..." He couldn't see anything, but the soft shush from Samir made Gao Fei freeze, not daring to make a sound. He didn't dare move, either. Samir made no further noise. Gao Fei tilted his head and strained to listen, but heard nothing. Suddenly, a hand reached out from the dark again. Tense as he was, Gao Fei nearly cried out in alarm. Fortunately, he held it in, letting himself be pulled closer by Samir's grip. Samir whispered right into Gao Fei's ear, "I heard something. Something's wrong. Go quietly and ask the squad leader if our own people are scheduled to pass through our lines tonight. Don't make a sound. Go, quick." Gao Fei's heart leaped. Instinctively, he glanced forward again, but his eyes met only pitch darkness. Without a word, Gao Fei stepped back, crouched low, and guided himself by trailing a hand along the dirt wall of the trench, heading toward Sokholov's dugout from memory. They had no thermal optics, no night-vision gear. The only illumination tools they had were two flashlights, and neither could be mounted to a rifle because the AK-74 lacked Picatinny rails for accessories. Then again, in a situation like this, turning on a flashlight to look around was pure suicide. Gao Fei's hand slipped into empty space—he had reached the dugout. Before he could lean down to touch Sokholov or call out, he heard Sokholov's low voice: "What is it?" "Samir heard something. He told me to—" Before Gao Fei could finish, Samir let out a shrill, desperate roar: "Enemy attack!" Before the shout even died away, two deafening blasts boomed out. Gao Fei spun around in horror. In the flickering glow of muzzle flashes, he saw Samir crouching inside the trench with his rifle thrust over the parapet, blindly spraying rounds into the open ground outside. For an instant, Gao Fei felt as if his skull was about to burst. Instinctively snatching his rifle, his left hand caught the handguard while his right flicked off the safety. He rose, ready to lean out and open fire. "Get down!" Sokholov yanked Gao Fei down. At the same time, the squad leader scrambled up, but instead of raising his rifle, he rapidly hurled every grenade he had within arm's reach. Glaski emerged as well. Without a word, the moment he leaned out of the dugout, he hoisted the machine gun mounted near the entrance over the lip and held down the trigger, letting loose a rattling burst. The recoil threw the weapon off target, but Glaski still refused to expose himself to shoulder it properly. Instead, he propped the machine gun over the trench parapet again, barrel angled almost straight toward the sky, and dumped another burst. Gao Fei moved to poke his head out again, but Sokholov, holding a grenade in his right hand, gripped the collar of Gao Fei's body armor with his left and pushed him back down. "Keep your head down! The enemy has night vision! Wait for our flares!" The Russian military had night-vision devices, but they were far from universally issued. More critically, even when frontline soldiers had them, charging the batteries was such a headache that they often went unused. Wagner could guarantee at least one night-vision or thermal unit per squad, but none had been issued to Sokholov's group. However! The neighboring squads had night-vision gear. If the enemy were sneaking up, the adjacent positions should have spotted them—yet there had been no reaction from them at all. On top of that, Samir had thrown grenades first and then held his rifle blindly over his head to fire. Whether there were actually enemies out there remained an open question. Gao Fei genuinely hadn't heard a thing, and his faith in Samir was wavering. Just then, three small points of light appeared in the sky. They shot upward with rapid speed, then burst into brilliant spheres of white light. Illumination flares had been launched. The moment firing erupted from Gao Fei's position, the mortar battery in the rear immediately fired off flares. From now until the battle ended, flares would go up one after another, ensuring the battlefield wouldn't plunge back into darkness. Russia might lack electronics—walkie-talkies, night-vision devices, drones, and the like—but when it came to the vast stockpiles of munitions prepared for World War III after surviving World War II, the Russians truly had no shortage. The ground lit up as bright as day, laying everything bare. Sokholov released his grip on Gao Fei and barked, "Together... fire!" The second the flares lit the terrain, Glaski ceased blind fire. Keeping low with the machine gun pressed against his shoulder, he sprinted several meters down the trench. Samir was changing magazines; his thirty-round mag had been emptied during that frantic spray over the parapet. Sokholov rose with his rifle at the ready. Gao Fei held his ground, rising in tandem with Sokholov to peer over the trench wall. There really were people out there—less than ten meters away. His eyes registered a humanoid shape. Gao Fei's brain didn't have time to distinguish friend from foe, or even process what it was. Seeing a silhouette rushing toward them at full sprint, he fired on instinct. Holding the trigger down, he watched the charging figure lurch forward four or five meters before twitching and collapsing to the ground. At that exact moment, Gao Fei felt a slight jolt against his head, followed instantly by a thunderous blast behind him. The enemy had thrown grenades too. They were firing back; someone lying prone was shooting. Spotting the flicker of muzzle flash, Gao Fei lifted off the trigger, swung his barrel toward the flash, and squeezed again. This was a shootout in the truest sense. At under twenty meters, the prone enemy presented only the top of his head. Gao Fei stood in the trench, exposing only his own head. Gao Fei's helmet had taken a hit. He had fired second, but his first bullet struck the enemy squarely in the face. At this distance, anyone could land a hit—provided they didn't panic, lose their nerve, freeze, or shake. Gao Fei didn't panic, scramble, fear, or shake. He was just rushed and slightly dazed, but that didn't stop him from swiftly locking onto a third target. The moment a grenade left the man's hand, Gao Fei snapped his muzzle over and fired another controlled burst. Shooting was truly simple: align the sights, acquire the target, pull the trigger. At this distance, he barely even needed to aim—it was simpler still. The enemy prone on the ground dropped his arm limp, and Gao Fei yelled reflexively, "Grenade!" Samir threw himself flat, shouting, "Enemies in the trench on both flanks!" Sokholov screamed hoarsely, and upon hearing his roar, Glaski immediately swung his barrel around, dropped into a crouch, and aimed his machine gun at the trench corner. That was the bend in the trench that had collapsed and been dug out that afternoon; having been blown apart by artillery, the corner had become much gentler. Samir was still changing his magazine. It wasn't that Samir was slow; combat simply unfolded at breakneck speed. Sokholov swung his rifle back inside. With the enemies to the front eliminated by Gao Fei, their left flank—where Samir was positioned—had become a fire vacuum. The grenade hurled by the enemy sailed over and landed inside the trench, not far from Samir. But having heard Gao Fei's warning shout, Samir was already pressed flat against the ground. The grenade exploded less than three meters from Samir at most, yet lying prone, he took no harm. Gao Fei hadn't made any evasive move, but the curvature of the trench shielded him from shrapnel; he felt only a blast of violent wind. Sokholov sprinted toward Samir to stop any enemies who had jumped into the trench from charging down their section. Right at that moment, Glaski, clutching his machine gun in a crouch, finally opened fire, bellowing, "Over here!" Mid-stride, Sokholov abruptly threw up his rifle and fired as well, roaring, "Above us!" Enemies had breached both sides of the trench, more were above them on the parapets to the left and right, and there were likely still more to the front. Which way should they shoot first?