Michael Reagan - The Devil's Handshake

The ramshackle gate of the Presidential Offices was no match for the battering ram of the Type 63 and debris flew in all directions as the vehicle burst through.

Once the Type 63 carriers were inside the compound, the two nests in front of the offices let rip with their 12.7mm rounds into the approaching vehicles.

The effect was instantaneous.

The deadly shells tore through human flesh inside the carriers, bringing screams of pain and terror, stopping dead in an instant the initial assault of Martin in the process.

Following their colleagues’ lead on the ground, the Gurkhas and the Militia on the wall also let rip on the now retreating assault vehicles.

A second RPG fired by one of the other Gurkhas took out the side of one the armored vehicle that was reversing from the right in the process.

“FUCK!” said Martin as Wasir turned up, he had just lost over forty men in the initial assault and the last thing he needed was Wasir on the scene.

“Tony put a couple of M60s and RPGs up on those BLOODY roofs and bung some covering fire on the wall! They’re sitting ducks down there!” he shouted pointing towards the houses across the street from the building.

He hadn’t anticipated that the President had armor-piercing rounds that would take out his vehicles nor had he thought he would be facing Gurkhas, one of the most professional and fearsome fighting units of the British Army.

“Yes, Boss!” answered the former RSM.

“How are things going, Mr. Andrew?” asked the former pirate and coup leader as he walked into the room.

“To plan!” answered the mercenary, lying.

Forty-five minutes later with the battle still raging the second breach effort of the compound took place. This time it was successful, as the men on the wall, under constant fire from across the street, were forced to retreat back into the offices.

“WHAT’S THE TIMING ON THE ARRIVAL OF THE CALVARY?” shouted Thomas across the sound of machine gun fire towards the general direction of Igor seeing that now the Gurkhas and the militia retreating behind the two machines guns.

With a cut across Thomas’s head and dust covering his face courtesy of a RPG that had hit the wall by the side of his position and had knocked him off his feet he looked nothing like the cool and calm image of his public persona.

“THEY ARE ABOUT FIVE MINUTES OUT!” answered Igor, having just been updated on his Codex telephone by the inbound commanding officer just seconds before.

Thomas gave a singular nod before returning to his position to offer defensive fire in the direction of the advancing troops.

Turning towards Jawari, the Zaslon commander proceeded to update him on the situation and what were needed to ensure that either side sustained no friendly casualties.

Omar Jawari nodded then quickly and called his man at the airport to tell them to expect reinforcements arriving by planes in five minutes and the code words he must use to identify themselves as his men.

A nod of thanks came from Igor in return once the terrified President of Adwalland confirmed it was done. Returning to his Codex phone he then updated the Commander of the inbound assault force.

“CONFIRMED TEACHER IS STILL A HOLD!” Igor said just as the militia of Wasir and the Turaegs breached the inner walls of the offices.

“Breach, Breach, SANDBOX!” came the cry.

It was now a race against time as the men downstairs let rip and the building shook from the sound of grenades.

At five minutes past eight local time just as the back doors of the IL-76 opened to enable his men to disembark at speed, Podpolovnk Alekseyevich Valeri Stukalov took a private moment to reflect on the situation.

In his entire professional career, he had faced many dangerous situations, but this was almost certainly his worst one yet! It was so fast moving with so many variables that he wasn’t sure what would come next.

It had started when he had been informed by Moscow that the situation had escalated to the point where both America and Russia were about to go toe to toe with each other. He wasn’t aware of all facts as to how that had happened, and if he were honest it didn’t concern him at that moment; he had his mission to focus on.

That changed though the moment two American F-15s fighter jets appeared alongside them as they approached Adwal airspace.

Initially, he told the captains to ignore them. That order though had to be quickly changed when the fighter jet promptly issued three warnings after telling them not to enter Adwal airspace and then fired warning shots in front of them.

Immediately, as their mission was on the live feed, Moscow Command stepped in and told them to identify themselves as Russian Armed Forces to the pilot.

“Sir!” said the captain attempting to protest, fearing what their response would be.

“Just do it,” he ordered, praying that it would work.

Command was right, it bought them a further three minutes of approach time. Suddenly their radio crackled up.

“Captain, if you or colleague deviate from your flight path into Borama we will shoot you down,” said the pilot of one of the F-15s.

It was only when the flash signal came over the wire on his laptop that he was actually informed of why this was happening and what his new orders were.

The primary objective hadn’t changed; they still needed to rescue the President of the little African country and assist him in stabilizing the city. It was the second one that bothered him.

“Once HARE is secured make all haste to Lughaya to relieve United States of America Armed forces engaged on a rescue operation on behalf of the United Nations. Lethal force is authorized.”

His young second-in-command summed up his thoughts.

“Lethal force!”

“Are they fucking mad, Sir? We haven’t any air cover, tanks, or anywhere near enough men!” the Major said in response to the deadly force order as Alekseyevich briefed him as to their new orders, completely unaware of the game brinkmanship that was taking place on the diplomatic battlefield.

“We’ll worry about the second part once we dealt with the first part,” he instructed the young Major, putting him back in his place. He wanted their minds focused on taking the airport first, although inwardly he agreed with him.

The buzzer in the aircraft informing everybody the loading ramp was opening brought him straight back to reality.

Despite the Zaslon commander informing they still held the airport, he knew this was a tense moment if the planes were attacked by ground forces or by weapons shot by F-15s as they came in to land then there was a good chance they would all die before they got a chance to return fire, proving for all your training and planning, all military operations always come down to luck and whose side the lady chooses to smile on any given day.

The idea they would be using and trained for was known by them as ‘the Grasshopper’ an adaption of the famous Israeli operation on Entebbe airport, except in the Russian’s idea it wasn’t a Mercedes-Benz pretending to be a Presidential car that would come flying out the back of the aircraft. Instead, in their case it would be a pair of adapted UAZ-49s Jeeps being deployed as the first aircraft landed.

Once released, the Jeeps would then drive at speed towards the Terminal Building providing covering fire, if necessary, to the rest of the men exiting out the second aircraft that was following the first plane to take up offensive movement positions and run in groups of five towards the terminal returning fire.

“GREEN LIGHT–ONE!” The signal for the first aircraft’s deployment came over the loudspeaker. Telling the Commander and his men the Jeeps were now seconds away from deploying, “GREEN LIGHT-TWO.”