Hold Out

The rifle was gone, and even if he wanted more practice, there were no guns left to use. Gao Fei picked up his assault rifle again, but without an optic, he had no way of seeing whether anyone was on the reserve position, let alone shooting at them. All he could do was wait for the company commander to send over a sniper rifle. "What kind of pistol does the company commander have?" "He has an SR-1, but he never uses it. He just straps it on once in a while." The SR-1 had originally been called the Vektor pistol before being officially adopted by the Russian military. Even then, it was issued only to special operations forces and security services, receiving the official designation SR-1 Serdyukov pistol. On paper, the SR-1 was a beast. Chambered in the proprietary 9x21mm cartridge with an eighteen-round capacity, it could fire 7N29 armor-piercing rounds, 7N28 standard ball ammunition, and even 7BT3 armor-piercing tracer rounds. With body armor becoming ever more ubiquitous, armor-penetrating capability mattered immensely. Firing specialized armor-piercing pistol rounds—especially the AP tracers—the SR-1 stood in a league of its own for penetration, making it an oddity in the handgun world. Gao Fei found himself eagerly anticipating the pistol's arrival. "Pistols are useless anyway," Sokholov said. "Carrying a pistol is worse than packing two extra magazines. And haven't you noticed? An assault rifle suits you best." Sokholov was still riding a wave of excitement. He picked up the SCAR-L and naturally held it out to Gao Fei with a grin. "Try this." Needless to say, Gao Fei was dying to shoot the SCAR. SCAR rifles were high-end gear and remarkably expensive. Most importantly, it fired NATO-standard 5.56mm ammunition. Gao Fei had fired plenty of Russian 5.45mm rounds by now; given a chance to try 5.56, how could he possibly refuse? He took the rifle and inspected it. The craftsmanship was undeniably finer than an AK-74's. Worse yet, the AK-74's fiberglass-reinforced polyamide magazines were an eyesore—reliable as they were, they simply couldn't match the SCAR's sleek aesthetic. He raised it to shoulder height. The ergonomics were indeed superior; the SCAR felt much more comfortable in his hands. He racked the charging handle, chambered a round, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The shooting impulse was crisp, though he couldn't honestly say it felt significantly better than the AK-74. He fired a three-round burst. Feeling the recoil impulse, Gao Fei noticed that although both were intermediate calibers, the SCAR's muzzle rise was noticeably sharper than the AK-74's. In semi-automatic it was barely perceptible, but in automatic bursts, the AK-74 was much easier to control. "This gun..." Gao Fei found it hard to judge. Both platforms had their pros and cons. Given his shooting habits—and especially combat effectiveness—the AK-74 suited him better. With lower recoil, he could reacquire his sights much faster, significantly improving his rapid-fire accuracy. For an ordinary soldier the difference was negligible, but for Gao Fei it was night and day. Even so, if given the choice, he would still pick the SCAR—for no other reason than it looked cool. "It's a great rifle. Can I use it?" "You can, but I'd advise against it. For one, once you run out of ammo, there's no way to resupply. But the main issue is that drones will single you out and bomb you." The mention of drones targeting him instantly squashed the idea of switching weapons. Although 5.56 ammunition was scarce, there were still at least a thousand rounds lying around here. Several enemies had carried SCARs, and scavenging their magazines would yield plenty of ammo for Gao Fei. Being singled out by kamikaze drones, however, was lethal. Dying just to look cool wasn't worth it. "Forget it then. I won't use it." On the Ukrainian front, you could run into almost any weapon imaginable. It was fine to play around with them when an opportunity arose, but when real combat began, sticking to the AK-74 was the sensible choice. Still buzzing with enthusiasm, Sokholov said, "I used to be a shooting instructor. From what I've seen, you're strongest at close-to-medium range. You don't really have to force yourself to be a sniper. Sniper rifles don't have the rate of fire of an assault rifle. Guaranteed hits out to two hundred meters, and blindingly fast and accurate within thirty—isn't that enough?" Gao Fei thought for a moment. "At what range does most of the fighting happen?" "Uh... most fighting happens at ranges where neither side can see the other." Sokholov's excitement cooled slightly, and he gave an embarrassed shrug. "Frankly speaking, today's firefight was a first for me, too. Most of the time, we're hunkered in trenches blindly firing without seeing a single enemy. If enemies managed to crawl right up on you and trade shots like this regularly, everyone would be dead after a couple of rounds." That made sense. Opportunities for face-to-face, point-blank shootouts were extraordinarily rare. Most combat involved blind spraying at unseen enemies, so while close-quarters precision wasn't useless, the scenarios where it applied were far too limited. Medium-to-long-range accuracy remained the most practical and survivable skill. Trench-clearing, room-clearing, face-to-face shootouts—the fewer of those, the better. When a single tossed hand grenade could end your life, even godlike marksmanship was often completely irrelevant. Gao Fei wanted to continue discussing marksmanship with Sokholov, but Andrey walked over again. "Squad leader, we've searched all the bodies. All the cash is here." Sokholov began counting the money, dumping the contents of the helmet onto the ground. Altogether, there were 960 euros, 2,216 US dollars, over forty-two thousand hryvnias, and even ten thousand rubles. Sokholov pondered for a second and looked up. "What's the dollar-to-hryvnia exchange rate?" Glaski frowned. "Around one to fifty, but that's the official rate. On the black market, it's at least one to a hundred." Sokholov scowled. "Then this isn't much money at all. That's barely over four hundred dollars?" "The Ukrainian government doesn't pay their troops at black-market rates," Glaski noted. "Besides, most of them are conscripts, not mercenaries. Having this much on them is already pretty good." Sokholov shook his head, divided all the money into two piles, and yelled, "Gather round, time to split the cash!" Two piles—one belonging to Gao Fei. Sokholov divided it meticulously. Waiting until two more men walked over, he announced loudly, "You all agreed to give Rex half. So half of this goes to him: 480 euros, 1,108 dollars, and 21,000 hryvnias. Any objections?" "No problem." "Without him, we wouldn't have seen a dime, and God knows how many of us would be dead. I sure as hell don't mind." It was already agreed upon. Anyone raising an objection now would be alienating themselves from 1st Squad. Unless they could pull off the line immediately, even if they had grievances, they had to keep their mouths shut. And in truth, no one harbored any objections. "Alright," Sokholov barked. "Rex gets his half first. The rest I'll split evenly among everyone else." Sokholov handed the sorted cash to Gao Fei, who pocketed it without a hint of hesitation. Take what you earned; there was no need to be shy. The remaining pile could be split and distributed among the rest. Sokholov could take his time with that, but at that moment, he turned his gaze to Andrey. Without needing a prompt, Andrey pulled his trouser pockets inside out to show they were empty, emptied everything on him onto the ground, and stripped off his body armor. Andrey had to undergo a thorough search. If he dared pocket anything for himself, the best-case scenario was an immediate kick out; the worst-case scenario was Sokholov putting a bullet through his skull on the spot. The penal battalion was composed entirely of serious convicts, none of whom were gentle souls. Claiming there was no prejudice against them was impossible. Andrey was sharp. Knowing his precarious standing, he understood he had to prove his reliability without being asked. Seeing Andrey take off his body armor and begin stripping off his clothes, Sokholov recognized that the man's attitude was spotless and that he knew the ropes. There was no need to make him strip buck naked. "Alright, put your armor back on," Sokholov said. "From now on, you're one of 1st Squad. Today's loot includes your share." You either drove someone away or treated them as an equal once accepted. Andrey knew the rules, and Sokholov played fair. Andrey snapped to attention. "Yes, boss!" "Don't call me boss. Call me squad leader." "Yes, squad leader! Thank you, squad leader!" Sokholov checked his watch. "Rex, go get some rest. You don't need to worry about the rest of this. Who knows when the relief forces will arrive to take over. We might have to hold this position all day, so watch out for drones." Gao Fei immediately ducked into a dugout. The whole point of pulling off heroics was to boost his odds of survival; there was no reason to loiter out in the open when drones were constantly buzzing overhead. Whatever came next had nothing to do with him. Sokholov distributed the cash portion by portion and then organized defensive sectors. If the enemy mounted a counterattack, they would have no choice but to hold the line. Ukraine had barrier troops, and so did Wagner. Neither side could claim the moral high ground; anyone attempting to flee the front line would be shot dead regardless of whose uniform they wore. Inside his dugout, Gao Fei spent his time loading loose rounds into empty magazines. Once finished, he ate some rations, drank his fill, and began tinkering with his newly acquired SCAR rifle. The rest of the time was spent waiting. No incoming combat was the best possible news. After a long wait, the dedicated resupply team had yet to arrive, but the items promised by the company commander were delivered first. An SVD sniper rifle, a Saiga-12 shotgun, and a pistol gifted personally by the company commander. It felt like a sudden influx of new toys, leaving Gao Fei momentarily unsure which one to try out first. Yet just as Gao Fei was reveling in the excitement of his new gear, disastrous news arrived. "The company commander told me to let you know: there won't be any reinforcements coming in the short term. Prepare yourselves for an extended stay here." "What?!" Sokholov's temper flared instantly. "We have to hold out here indefinitely? For how long?" "I don't know, a few days at least. This isn't an official order; the commander just wanted me to give you a heads-up so you're mentally prepared." The runner carrying the gear wasn't deeply in the loop either. After repeating the commander's words, he lowered his voice. "Today was a full-scale offensive across the entire front, and casualties were catastrophic. Even if reserve units arrive, they can't possibly plug every gap. We're definitely staying on the front line. Word hasn't spread to everyone yet, so instead of asking when relief is coming, you'd better hurry up and scavenge every usable scrap you can find." Sokholov could hardly believe his ears. Stunned, he blurted, "What's that supposed to mean? No relief is one thing, but are you telling me there won't even be supplies?" "Even if there are supplies, they'll go to the regulars first, not us." With that, the runner shook his head and whispered, "I still have to pass the word to the others. I can't stay and chat." Sokholov watched the runner depart. After standing frozen in shock for a moment, he suddenly roared, "Quick! Move! Gather camouflage netting, find wooden planks! Hurry, get off your asses, all of you!"