The company command post was two kilometers from the frontmost position — but that was two kilometers as the crow flies. Once you were trudging through the winding trenches, there was no telling how far the walk really was.
The main position would be sited further back, but never too far from the forward position; the exact distance depended on the terrain and the number of men available. The terrain here was wide-open flat country, so by convention the gap would run between four hundred and a thousand meters.
It depended on how well the trenches were dug. The more complete the trenches and the more fully developed the position, the closer the main position could sit. Without a proper system of trenches to support it, though, the main position had to be kept further back from the forward position, lest a single enemy push sweep both away at once.
From what Gao Fei could see, these trenches were dug quite thoroughly. The communication trenches were laid out properly, zigzags alternating with sawtooth turns, which cut the killing power of shellfire a great deal.
Along the way he saw support trenches and reserve trenches, but there wasn't a soul in any of these functional trench sections.
The support trenches were empty because the trenches had originally belonged to the Ukrainians. Once Wagner had taken them, there was no further use for the support positions.
The reserve trenches could still serve a purpose: in a large-scale attack, men would have to be gathered in them. But with no large-scale attack going on, the reserve trenches were empty as well.
Nor was there only one communication trench; crossroads turned up constantly. With no one to guide you, finding your own position accurately would be hard.
They had walked at least two kilometers since leaving the company command post. Those two kilometers hadn't tired Gao Fei much — it was his fingers that hurt, pinched raw by the load.
That single-file snake of a trench was the most basic kind there was. Wagner's trench system here was highly complex, its functions very complete. Ahead was another junction in the communication trench, which this time split into four trenches a meter wide. From the layout alone you could tell they were built for combat — combat support trenches for the fighting.
Vartlev had to stop and work out the way as well. After a call on his walkie-talkie, he took the lead into one of the trenches.
Gao Fei quickened his step and followed the trench along. He soon saw the victims of the explosion: one man lay face down on the ground, motionless, and three meters beyond him a recruit was thrashing in agony.
It must have been a hand grenade. Not very powerful, but the two soldiers had been far too close together — only three meters apart — so one grenade had caught them both.
They hadn't even reached the battlefield, and they'd already lost two men.
Thirteen really was an unlucky number. Fourteen was even unluckier.
"Move through fast, don't stop, move through fast! Get moving, no stopping, clear the passage — someone will come for him!"
The trench was already narrow, the kind where two men could barely squeeze past each other. Vartlev was at the very front, and now he was calling for everyone to get through quickly rather than having men pick up the wounded and carry them out.
Gao Fei sped up. He stepped over the motionless recruit, while the other one, still thrashing in agony, was howling loudly — and no one stopped to pull him to his feet.
Something about it was surely wrong, but Gao Fei understood why Vartlev was doing this, and the reason was simple: they had already been spotted by a drone, and when drones came out, there was usually more than one.
One grenade had been dropped and hit two men. But if they halted to try to treat the wounded, more grenades would very likely come down on them. So speeding through the most dangerous stretch was exactly what would keep the wounded alive.
For a very simple reason: drones drop their bombs where the men are thickest, too.
Gao Fei stepped over the wounded man again, and this time he recognized them. The ones who had been hit were the two Iranians who had ridden in the same truck as him.
The pace lurched faster, and just then Gao Fei heard another heavy boom from up ahead.
Another hand grenade. It had landed squarely in the trench — and once again it had been dropped where the men were most crowded.
Another shriek of agony. This time only one unlucky man had been hit.
Vartlev did not stop. From the front he bellowed himself hoarse: "Move through fast, don't stop!"
The wounded man was clever — a veteran, most likely. He didn't block anyone's path and didn't call for help. He simply lay down where he was, rolled over and pressed himself flat against one side of the trench. Blood was running from his leg, but he clamped his teeth shut and made no sound at all.
That was the advantage of veterans. A veteran knew the safest thing now was to get clear; if he really slowed his comrades down, there was a good chance they would all die together.
Ahead, protective netting appeared over the trench. Further on, one stretch had cover overhead — crude stuff, branches and planks laid across the trench with a layer of earth spread on top, but even such simple protection was enough to fend off drone attacks.
Vartlev was the first to dive in. He turned and urged the men behind him: "Quick, quick!"
Gao Fei was the second to last into the shelter.
There had been three men inside; now there were eleven more, and the shelter felt a little crowded.
"I'm going to get the recruits to the position," Vartlev said, breathing hard. "There are three wounded men behind us. You bring the wounded in. Don't bother with the dead — I'll have the body recovery team come for them."
They hadn't even arrived, and already three men were down, yet the men here seemed thoroughly used to it.
"Understood."
One of the men, rifle in hand, stepped out and looked up at the sky. The drone was visible through the camouflage netting, but a drone's camera looking down through that netting would see only a blur, and any grenade that fell would be caught by the netting, leaving its fuse untriggered.
After watching a while, the man with the rifle called out, "The drone's gone. You can go too."
Vartlev beckoned. "Follow me. Keep moving."
They moved on along the trench. Once they had left the cover of the camouflage netting, Gao Fei could not help glancing up.
Then Vartlev pointed to a trench branching off. "Three men here. You're the machine gunner, right? You three go."
They had begun moving into the positions: follow a trench and you came to a firing position. Vartlev had a good memory; he had remembered which of the recruits was the machine gunner, and so he had deliberately sent a machine gunner down that way.
Without a word, the three men went into the trench Vartlev had indicated, while the rest kept following him forward.
A few dozen meters further on, Vartlev said, "Two men here."
Every forty or fifty meters men were peeled off — three at most, two at the least.
"Sir, the two of us were comrades before. Could you keep us together?"
"All right, you two go."
At another fork, Vartlev pointed out a trench, and Gao Fei and Samir got their wish and stayed together.
Less than twenty meters on, the trench turned, and just past the turn they saw a light machine gun resting against the trench wall. Beside it was a dugout, and in the dugout a man sat with his knees drawn up, staring blankly at Gao Fei and Samir.
So this was where they would fight.
Gao Fei walked up to the dugout, set the belted ammunition box he had carried down beside it, and said to the soldier inside, "Hello."
There were several dugouts along the trench; five meters ahead was another, a man likewise curled up inside. Seeing Gao Fei, he spoke at once: "Plenty of holes. Find one, get yourself hidden, and then we'll talk. I'm your group leader, and out here you do everything I say."
"Yes, sir."
Samir answered promptly from beside him, dropped the ammunition crate in his hands, and ducked into a dugout.
Before crawling into his own, Gao Fei took a look around. In this stretch of trench lay four RPG-27 rocket launchers and one RPG-7 launcher, with several assembled rockets scattered beside them. In a nearby hole sat two grenade crates, lids open, packed full of hand grenades.
If there were only four of them here, that was some serious firepower.
Gao Fei crawled into the dugout. It wasn't large, but it was roomy enough for a man to sit with his pack on and his legs drawn up — though sitting was all he could do.
All four men hid in their dugouts, essentially unable to see one another, able only to hear voices.
Given the situation, small talk seemed a little out of place.
"Let me explain the situation. You now belong to 1st Squad, Assault Platoon, E Company, 4th Assault Detachment. I'm your combat group leader, Sokholov. Four hundred meters ahead of us is the forward position. The men at the forward position are still alive, so we have warning out in front of us. What we have to watch for is drones, and the daily scheduled shelling. Do you understand the situation now?"
"Understood, sir," Gao Fei said without hesitation.
Samir too said loudly, "Understood, sir."
"Good. Then wait. I've nothing more to say."
They would be sharing a trench from now on, but their group leader didn't seem interested in getting to know his new men.
Gao Fei thought it over, took off his pack, opened it, and pulled out a plastic bag.
In the Chinese way of doing things, cigarettes and liquor open doors. Unfortunately there was no vodka, but cigarettes would do.
He took out the cigarettes, tore open a pack in his dugout, first put one in his mouth, poked his head out to look around, then trotted over to the dugout below the machine-gun position, held out a cigarette and said quietly, "Hey, buddy, got a light?"
The veteran gave Gao Fei a surprised look, then fumbled a lighter out of his jacket pocket. He lit his own first, then matter-of-factly held out the flame to light Gao Fei's.
It was a friendly gesture, and one cigarette broke the ice fast.
Gao Fei got his light, nodded to the veteran, then casually handed over the pack he had just opened. "Got any smokes? Keep this pack for yourself."
His face full of surprise, the veteran took the pack at once and said without hesitation, "Thank you!"
Gao Fei nodded, then immediately ran toward the group leader's position.
He had only heard the voice and never seen the man. A few meters on, he came upon a veteran likewise curled up in a dugout.
"What are you running around out here for?"
Gao Fei pulled another unopened pack from his pocket and handed the whole pack over. "Group leader, have a cigarette."
Sokholov's hand shot out and caught the cigarettes, but his mouth was saying urgently, "Get back in your dugout, quick. It's dangerous out here."
Gao Fei didn't leave at once. "Group leader, want something to eat?" he asked earnestly.
"Hm?"
"I brought some bread with me. Want some?"
"Hmm — thank you!"
"Wait a moment. I'll bring it right over," Gao Fei said at once.
Gao Fei went back to his dugout and took out several chunks of black bread. Passing the machine gunner, he handed him two pieces first, and without waiting for thanks he ran straight back to the group leader.
Sokholov snatched the black bread from him, tore off a bite, and said indistinctly, "I've been eating compressed biscuits for days... got any water?"
"Yes! I do."
Gao Fei could have brought everything in one trip, but he didn't. He meant to make several trips.
After he had handed out bottled water to the two men as well, Gao Fei came before the group leader once more and said, expectant and a little embarrassed, "Group leader, do you have a phone? Could I borrow it to make a call? It's very important to me — I urgently need to call my family."
The group leader hesitated a moment, then finally nodded. "I do, but the battery's very low. Hmm — keep the call as short as you can. There's no way to charge it out here."
Chapter 7