Seen It All

Andrey would stop at nothing for combat merit. Gao Fei just couldn't understand it. Men in the penal battalion needed combat merit to regain their freedom—specifically to clear their records and wipe the slate clean—which was completely different from a mercenary like him. But if you ended up dead, what good was having all the merit in the world? Andrey raised his rifle. Sokholov then waved Gao Fei over. Pulling Gao Fei close, Sokholov whispered, "Andrey's in front, and I'll be right behind him. I can pretty much guarantee that after Andrey takes a hit, I'll definitely get off a shot. Even if I can't take out the enemy, I can draw their fire. You open fire from behind me. Once you fire, we can pretty much deal with them." Gao Fei nodded repeatedly. Sokholov looked over at Glaski. "Play it by the terrain. If there's enough room, lay down suppressive fire beside Rex. A machine gunner draws more attention, which will keep Rex safer and give him a better opening." Andrey was cannon fodder, bait, a human bullet magnet, a living shield, a voluntary expendable. Sokholov's situation was marginally better, but only just. Whether Glaski could step up as a human shield would depend on the opportunity. That was the situation. Time to move. Samir hesitated a moment, then murmured, "If the terrain allows, I'll take Rex's right flank." "Good! Ready! Go!" Sokholov gave Andrey a shove. Like a rabbit bolting from a snare, Andrey darted out in a flash. "Ura!" "Suka blyat!" "Holy fuck!" They had accounted for everything except one detail: Andrey looked fierce, but in reality, he was a suicidal, brain-dead, reckless fucking maniac. Gao Fei was a military enthusiast, so he knew how critical formations were during an assault. As for the penal battalion, if someone was just a violent criminal with no prior military service, they were supposed to undergo at least three months of training before being thrown onto the battlefield. Yet Andrey, who was supposedly trained, couldn't even compare to Gao Fei, a mere military enthusiast. Andrey charged way too fast—so fast that Sokholov couldn't keep up. With Sokholov falling behind, Gao Fei was inevitably bottlenecked behind him. In other words, the assault formation had broken apart from the very start. And it was all because Andrey paid zero attention to the teammates behind him; he charged with utter abandon. Sokholov needed Andrey to serve as a human shield up front, not sprint off like a crazed dog. By the time Sokholov rounded the bend after him, Andrey had already sprinted nearly to the other end of the trench section. Trenches zigzagged at regular intervals. This segment happened to be unguarded, allowing Andrey to sprint through unscathed. But had there been enemies waiting, he would have died without fulfilling his intended purpose. Sokholov badly wanted to yell for Andrey to get back and regroup before pushing forward, but he gave up on the idea. He decided to write Andrey off completely. Shouting would only alert the enemy. Let Andrey go die. You couldn't reason with an idiot; best just accept your fate. Resigned, Sokholov stepped into the role of cannon fodder that Andrey was supposed to play. Watching Andrey round a second corner, Sokholov ran for his life, yet the gap between them only widened. "Suka-a-a-ah..." Suddenly, Andrey's roar and rapid gunfire erupted up ahead. Long bursts, full auto. "Aaargh..." Andrey's yelling didn't stop for a single second. Caught by surprise, Sokholov caught up and rounded the corner, only to see Andrey standing upright in the trench, sweeping his rifle across at least seven or eight infantrymen in front of him. At least three were already down. Some lay motionless on the ground, some squatted and sprayed wild bursts back at Andrey, and others scrambled frantically to crawl into dugouts. Overhead was protective netting; ahead were prepared field fortifications. At least seven or eight men occupied this stretch of trench. Yet Andrey—who by all rights should have died and deserved to die—stood at one end having dumped his entire magazine, completely alive. What the hell was this? Stunned, Sokholov raised his rifle and opened fire, then decisively slipped to the side to clear the line. Gao Fei arrived hot on his heels. Panting from the dead sprint, Gao Fei swung into position and saw Andrey, out of ammo, unhooking a hand grenade and hurling it straight into the cluster of enemies. Nothing needed to be said. Gao Fei brought his rifle to bear on an enemy firing back and squeezed the trigger. The man went down. It was ridiculously easy, practically child's play. Gao Fei picked them off like he was calling attendance, firing four consecutive shots to eliminate four returning fire. One had his rear sticking out as he shot; another poked his gun blindly from a dugout doing spray-and-pray; yet another fired with his head tilted away and his eyes shut tight. Pretty much every bizarre shooting posture you could ever see among total rookies was on display here, each worse than the last. Gao Fei even found himself pausing his fire. "Surrender!" "We surrender! Don't shoot me..." People were crying out in surrender—two men, one looking in his fifties or sixties, the other barely in his twenties. There weren't just seven or eight men in this trench section; there was at least a squad. While Andrey reloaded aggressively, Sokholov said nothing and didn't hesitate. He dashed forward, put a bullet straight through the head of the older soldier kneeling with his hands up, turned, and shot the young soldier through the head as well. Having finished reloading, Andrey fired into an enemy writhing nearby. Glaski opened fire, and Samir followed suit. Whether twitching or entirely still, everyone took an insurance shot to the head. Just then, two hand grenades came skittering low along the ground from up ahead. Sokholov turned, Glaski shoved Samir to the side, and the three men moved in unspoken sync to shield Gao Fei. The grenades went off almost immediately upon being thrown—two thunderous blasts. Tossed diagonally backhanded, they were neither accurate nor far, and though they detonated quickly, Gao Fei and the others were hardly affected. Scary, but not dangerous. And it only startled Andrey. Startled, Andrey only grew more ferocious. With a roar, he charged straight toward where the grenades had come from. Using the grenade blasts as cover, two enemies rushed out in tandem, the lead man dumping a burst right at Andrey. Gao Fei slid his rifle through the gaps between the three shielding him. The moment an enemy darted out through the grenade smoke, he raised his rifle and took him down with a single shot, then raised it again to drop the second as he appeared. Naturally, Andrey took hits, but he didn't die—he didn't even pause—and kept charging straight into the trench corner where the enemies had emerged. Sokholov didn't even have the energy left to curse. He was forced to pick up the pace again. Gao Fei sped up alongside him. Fighting this battle felt like being led around by the nose, and the maddening part was that the one pulling everyone's strings was Andrey, that idiot. No, "idiot" wasn't the right word. He was a brute. A berserker. The enemies who appeared next were different: their movements, footwork, marksmanship—everything was different. As Gao Fei ran past the two he had just dropped, he noticed that their body armor was distinct, and the rifles they carried were M4s. The elites had shown up. Rounding the corner, they found a covered trench ahead, and Andrey was spraying into it once again. The difference this time was that the enemies inside hadn't panicked; they engaged Andrey in a fierce firefight. It turned out Andrey wasn't entirely useless after all, because he actually managed to kill one of them. When Gao Fei caught up, he saw no fourth enemy, but further ahead lay a sandbag-reinforced machine-gun pillbox with an entrance facing the rear. A heavy machine-gun pillbox had fixed firing slits and couldn't shoot into the trench itself, but the biggest problem was not knowing how many people were inside. Andrey was reloading again. Whenever he pulled the trigger, he inevitably emptied his magazine. And just as Andrey stood stiffly out in the open to reload, Sokholov came running up and delivered a flying side kick, knocking Andrey flat. He'd finally kicked down this bane who kept throwing off their tempo. Sokholov waved his hand. Gao Fei and Glaski stepped aside, and Team 3, following behind, surged forward to pitch three consecutive hand grenades into the pillbox. The grenades detonated in succession. As smoke poured from the pillbox, Sokholov turned to head inside, but just then, gunfire erupted from further ahead. No one could be seen, but the voices carried clearly. "The position is lost!" "Get the fuck back! Get back!" Shouts, rifle cracks, and the chatter of a light machine gun. Sokholov's eyes lit up. He said in a low voice, "Mercenaries and barrier troops! Move!" Ignoring the machine-gun pillbox, the men sprinted along the covered trench. Ahead, another chaotic volley of gunfire crackled. Halting again at a bend, Sokholov barked at Andrey, who had just scrambled to his feet, "Over here! You're up!" Andrey looked annoyed, but after glancing at Sokholov and muttering a curse under his breath, he raised his rifle once more, ready to charge. He truly didn't fear death. He was pure, unadulterated muscle and madness. When recklessness reached this level, you couldn't even call him stupid anymore. You could only say Andrey was a genuine beast—and a ridiculously lucky, tough bastard who refused to die. Just as Andrey was about to charge again, loud shouting echoed from somewhere ahead. "Surrender! We surrender!" "Don't shoot! We surrender!" Sokholov had gotten smart. He grabbed Andrey just as the man bolted, nearly getting dragged off his feet before roaring, "Hold! Cease fire!" While shouting "cease fire" for the enemy to hear, Sokholov immediately whispered, "No prisoners. Kill them all." The order to hold fire was for the enemy's ears; the order to take no prisoners was for his own men. With that, Sokholov released Andrey, but this time he managed to keep pace with him. Rushing in, they found four men in the trench. They had dropped their weapons and were kneeling with their hands raised. "Don't shoot us!" "Surrender..." The enemies had indeed laid down their arms, so Sokholov didn't hesitate. He raised his rifle and shot the nearest soldier straight through the head. No wasted breath, killed on sight. Surrender? Not a chance. The four men dropped instantly. But right then, something white poked out from a dugout. Looking closer, half a meter of toilet paper dangled from the muzzle of a rifle. After waving the toilet paper a few times, someone inside the dugout bellowed, "Tovarishch, khorosho! Tovarishch, khorosho! I surrender, surrender!" "Surrender" was shouted in English, while "Tovarishch" was belted out in Russian, ringing loud and clear. "Sssss..." Sokholov took a sharp breath. He hesitated, looking blankly at Glaski. Glaski looked just as bewildered. Samir fished out a hand grenade and looked at Sokholov. Sokholov shook his head, looking utterly conflicted. "No prisoners. But..." Gao Fei whispered from the side, "He called us tovarishch, though." Letting out a heavy exhale, Sokholov said, "Don't shoot him yet. Let's see what the hell is going on first!"