Gao Fei had zero close-quarters combat experience. He knew how to fight room-clearing battles, urban street battles, and positional warfare—but again, strictly on paper.
Actual combat?
In real combat, Gao Fei had no footwork, no tactical maneuvers, and no jargon; he couldn't even tell friend from foe.
So Gao Fei had no idea how to fight, and naturally, he just fired blindly.
It was the kind of wild swinging that could beat an old master to death by sheer fluke—a frantic flurry where anyone caught in front of his barrel was just plain unlucky.
When Glaski shouted, Gao Fei raised his rifle toward Glaski's side, but saw no one—only a grenade landing right in front of Glaski.
Seeing no target, he spun around, immediately spotting the high ground Sokholov had pointed out. But Sokholov had already raised his rifle and dropped the enemy charging along the trench's outer rim.
Even though the enemy held the high ground, Sokholov... all you could say was that Sokholov was steadier. Being steadier meant being far more accurate than an enemy firing on the run, so his burst struck the charging enemy dead-on.
With that enemy down, Gao Fei lowered his muzzle. He spotted two men rushing in along the trench. The one in front was already shooting at Samir Bek, but Gao Fei's hands were faster. He fired first, letting loose a burst that sent the leading enemy sprawling. Sweeping his muzzle mid-spray, he dropped the second one immediately as well.
The AK-74's recoil really was minimal. In full-auto, the gun merely vibrated in his hands, exceptionally easy to control—nothing like a machine gun, which bucked and kicked wildly the moment you fired bursts.
Then, Gao Fei suddenly realized the gun had stopped vibrating.
After pulling the trigger again at the enemies sprawled on the ground and getting nothing, Gao Fei realized his magazine was empty.
Behind him, two massive blasts boomed, followed by the sudden silence of Glaski's machine gun.
Gao Fei whipped around, instinctively raising his empty rifle once more.
Raise, aim—then he remembered the magazine was empty. In a jolt of panic, Gao Fei lowered the rifle and reached into the pouch on his chest rig for a fresh magazine.
An enemy burst around the trench corner that had collapsed earlier that day, but before he could fire, Glaski, kneeling on one knee, opened up.
The machine gun roared again. A short burst dropped the rushing enemy instantly, followed by a long burst from Glaski.
There were more enemies, but Glaski couldn't let anyone else through. He had to keep firing to suppress them, yet after only a few rounds, the machine gun went dead again.
Out of ammo.
Glaski's belt hadn't been a full one to begin with. Real combat wasn't a video game; there was no system automatically rounding up loose rounds into full integers. So unless the defensive pressure was overwhelming, Glaski wouldn't ditch a belt with dozens of rounds left just to load a fresh one.
"Hey!"
Glaski simply shouted, and Sokholov shouted back, "Hey!"
A quick exchange: Glaski needed Sokholov to suppress the enemy for him, and Sokholov signaled he understood.
That was the tacit understanding between veteran comrades.
Glaski snatched up an ammo belt, working to reload.
Gao Fei was reloading too.
He reloaded very slowly.
First, hit the magazine release to drop the empty mag, then rip open the chest rig's pouch, yank out a full magazine, fumble around to line it up with the mag well, and lock it into place.
Gao Fei had watched countless videos of rapid AK-74 reloads. In his mind, he had the entire sequence down pat—fast, fluid, and slick.
The brain knew how, but the hands didn't.
Right now, being a little slow didn't matter. Slow was fine, but it had to be steady. He couldn't afford a single mistake. A screw-up wasted more time, and wasting time could get him killed.
Sokholov fired off a burst, ceased fire, and moved briskly toward the trench corner. Instead of staying put for defensive fire, he was pushing up to go toe-to-toe with the enemy.
The greater the distance, the higher the demand on marksmanship; the closer the distance, the higher the demand on nerve.
An enemy appeared, firing the instant he popped out, trading shots with Sokholov. Sokholov kept firing without pause, forcing the enemy to wheel around and duck back.
Sokholov was out of ammo too, and Glaski hadn't finished reloading yet.
Gritting his teeth, Sokholov glanced back, only to see Gao Fei raising his freshly loaded rifle in his direction.
Before Sokholov could tell Gao Fei to cover him, another enemy darted out from around the corner.
A firepower gap—there was no avoiding it.
Sokholov froze, powerless to do anything.
Gao Fei fired right toward Sokholov.
The trench was narrow. With Sokholov standing right in front of him, most of Gao Fei's firing arc was blocked. If Gao Fei wanted to shoot, he had to graze right past Sokholov.
The bullets whizzed past Sokholov's ear.
Gao Fei fired, and the enemy fired back. But Gao Fei's bullets tore into the enemy's chest, and as the muzzle climbed, the successive rounds walked upward, punching through the man's throat and helmet.
Meanwhile, the enemy's first round only grazed over Gao Fei's head, and the rest flew into the sky.
Gao Fei had bridged Sokholov's firepower gap; he had killed the enemy.
Glaski finally finished reloading. With a loud snap, he slammed the receiver cover shut and roared, "Ready!"
Gao Fei glanced back again, leaving Glaski and Sokholov's sector to them. He quickly swept his muzzle in a half-circle ahead—no enemies. He swung it toward Samir Bek's direction—still no enemies.
Samir Bek had stood up, but quickly dropped back down onto one knee, rifle trained on the trench corner.
Both directions, both corners, were locked down.
Sokholov's reload was far faster than Gao Fei's.
It had taken Gao Fei five seconds to swap a magazine, but Sokholov did it in under a second.
Slapping in a fresh magazine clean and crisp, Sokholov slung his rifle over his body, took a few quick strides, and launched himself forward in a dive. Pushing off the ground with both hands, he flipped over, whipped his legs around, and cleared the trench in one smooth motion.
Once out of the trench, Sokholov leveled his rifle and stood up abruptly. He swept his weapon toward Glaski's sector to scan, glanced back toward Samir Bek's position a moment later, then turned to check both flanks before dropping back into a crouch.
Whenever the light began to dim, another illumination flare arched up. The sky was blazing bright.
Crouched by the trench rim, Sokholov signaled to Glaski, then waved one hand at Gao Fei, gesturing for him to follow.
With Sokholov up top and Gao Fei inside the trench, the two rushed together toward the sector Glaski was defending.
Glaski kept his weapon aimed at the trench corner. But as Gao Fei passed him, Glaski suddenly set the machine gun aside, grabbed hand grenades, pulled the pins, and hurled them one after another—three grenades in rapid succession.
The moment the third grenade detonated, Sokholov surged forward, firing down into the trench from his vantage point. By the time Gao Fei recklessly charged past the corner, all he saw were two enemies collapsed in the dirt.
One was still moving, struggling to raise his weapon. The other was merely gasping for breath, rifle pinned against his chest, finger resting on the trigger without firing.
Sokholov dropped into the trench, aimed at the enemy's forehead, and pulled the trigger. With a crack of gunfire, the man whose finger was still on the trigger stopped breathing.
Turning around, Sokholov casually put a round into the back of the other barely moving enemy's head.
Sokholov hurried back. Grabbing his walkie-talkie, he barked at Gao Fei, "How many dead?"
Three in front, two down by Samir Bek, three here on Glaski's side—eight in total.
Running the count in his head, Gao Fei said in a deep voice, "Eight."
"Sure?"
"Sure."
Sokholov immediately keyed the walkie-talkie and said in English, "1st Squad, 2nd Team position was ambushed. We have wiped out all hostiles. Over."
Normally, orders and situational reports were given in Russian. Gao Fei didn't know why Sokholov was speaking English.
"Copy that," the radio crackled back.
Sokholov spoke into the radio again: "Why didn't Team 1 spot the enemy approaching? Why didn't the drones spot them either? Give me an explanation."
A moment passed before someone muttered over the walkie-talkie, "Situation unclear. Listen, now isn't the time for this. Out."
Sokholov lowered the walkie-talkie and barked fiercely at Glaski, "Are you hit?"
"No. Nothing serious."
"And you?"
Gao Fei looked down at himself, reached up to feel his head, and touching his helmet, shook his head. "No."
"Samir!"
"I'm fine!"
Exhaling softly, Sokholov shouted, "Stay on alert! Check your weapons and gear!"
A combat team consisted of eight men. That was the setup on the Russian side, and apparently on the Ukrainian side as well. So after finding eight bodies and seeing no other hostiles, they could tentatively assume the battle was over.
Still, they couldn't drop their guard. A larger force might be following behind them, which meant it was not yet time to scavenge the field.
Having given his orders, Sokholov turned to Gao Fei. "Those sons of bitches next door let them slip right through. How did you spot them?"
Gao Fei immediately pointed at Samir Bek, saying without hesitation, "He spotted them. I had no idea they were coming—didn't hear a thing."
Sokholov looked over at Samir Bek. Samir Bek said proudly, "I heard something. Three faint sounds, but very close. I knew friendly troops wouldn't sneak up like that, so I threw a grenade before shouting. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were right on top of us, so I chucked two grenades in their general direction..."
Samir Bek wasn't about to pass up a chance to take credit, explaining in exhaustive detail.
"All right!"
Sokholov waved a hand to cut Samir Bek off, but immediately added, "Good job. If not for you, every last one of us would be dead tonight. Great work, man!"
Chapter 18