Paul Middleton: Evacuation

In their arrogance, they had forgotten the power of rage.

This area of Russia was different, and the commanders of these troops did not understand the differences. Apparently, they didn’t understand his group nor that those in this area of Siberia felt no loyalty to the government. Boris’ people had been raised to revere the Czars, even if there were none now.

They had also been raised in the discipline of the Cossack. On Cossack legends, traditions and pride.

Boris nodded and sent his best force of woodsmen and hunters around to the other side of the base under Paul and divided into three troops. The rest of his force was split into four companies, further divided into several platoons each. No soldier was going to be allowed to flee the base. Platoons in each company were tasked with covering their area to prevent any escape from the vengeance that was demanded, required and would be his peoples.

Boris had a demolition pack for the communications building. One of the reinforcing family members had brought a homebrew signal jammer with him. Destroying the soldiers’ communications capability could only help their rescue attempt. At worst, the destruction would at least improve the morale of Boris’ force.

The jammer was to be turned on when the first of the two ‘tanks’ (really APCs) went up in flames. Boris had three packets of explosives set for remote detonation, two with thermite packs attached to their bases. The tanks would be at least crippled, and the communications building would go as well.

The mortar operators with his group were setting up to target the APCs and communications building. The mortar men on the other side were targeting the barracks. Each of the mortar teams had one of Boris’s ex-mercenaries in the group manning the weapons. All companies had four or more ex-mercs for a small command group.

Two of the groups went to either side of the base to envelop it. The third company, composed solely of Weres, including one other Werebear whose sister had been shot, moved forward quickly and silently at the point of the frontal assault. Most of them paused briefly as soon as they were out of the sight of the human militia following them, dumping their clothes and changing to a deadlier form than their human one, before resuming their advance.

The power of the changelings would be released, the animal cravings let loose.

The last company acted as a rearguard, following closely behind the Weres. Acting as both protection against any flanking attacks and insurance that no one escaped the deadly movement of rapid attackers, this force was the final barrier, the closing trap.

Boris crept forward looking for a gap or opening where he could get past the sentries. Neither of the APCs was manned, and a group of sentries on the west side had closed up, leaving a gap in surveillance. He carefully moved through that opening as the guard meant to be watching this sector turned nervously to assure himself that the others were there. Boris almost snorted. These were either green troops or something else masquerading as soldiers.

He carefully placed the thermite and demolition block combos under the turrets of the unmanned APCs. It seemed a waste, but if they managed to man them the attacking force would be in trouble. He looked at the communications building and decided to place the demolitions block on the side with the satellite dish and antenna farm. With luck, that would take out or restrict their communications without the need to trust a home-made jammer that may or may not do anything.

Quickly moving to the prison block on the southern edge of camp, Boris kept to the shadows and avoided the single internal patrol. By the gods, these were more like the SS guards he had fought in the Second World War than real soldiers. They had a veneer of training but were more like thugs in uniform. He approached the prison block from the front and cursed. It was well lit on all sides, and there was a full squad guarding the door. It was possible that they were some kind of political fanatics, and if so, he had to get into the building and protect the prisoners.

He weighed his choices. Option one was to detonate the demolitions charges and go Pricolici. But then he’d have to worry about the prisoners seeing him. The pack would have to deal with that later if they survived. Not a good choice. He quickly went through the other options but was stymied by the fact that these guards were reasonably alert. Weighing all the options, it seemed clear that a couple of bursts from his weapon followed by a bayonet charge after he detonated the demolition combo was the best strategy.

Boris quietly connected the bayonet to his rifle. He lifted his head silently watching for any alert and then nodded as much to himself as to any of his group who might be watching him.

It was time.

He pressed the button and detonated the charges. His face displayed a grim smile as he immediately fired three quick bursts into the shocked and confused squad. Most of them went down. He shook his head at their obvious lack of training.

He charged as he heard the whistle of incoming mortars. The shock on the faces of the two soldiers still standing was evident. He fired a burst into one of them as the man raised his rifle. The other’s surprise lasted long enough for Boris’s bayonet to slice into his throat and through his spine. The blood cascading into the dirt.

Pulling the bayonet out Boris moved to the door and kicked it hard. The door slammed open. Boris found bedlam inside when he heard one of the men in the block shouting. “Get to the prisoners. We will use them as hostages. They will have to let us go or sacrifice those they came to save!”

These beschestiye wouldn’t get the chance.

Boris ran forward, remembering the layout of the base prison from a long-ago exploration after it was decommissioned. The five men in the rear were overtaken in the next instant, as he noticed in passing that one of them had epaulets on the shoulders.

Boris fired a quick burst into the group, hoping he had missed the officer since they needed him for information. Now within fist range, his rifle was dropped unheedingly onto the floor. In a flurry of kicks, blocks and punches the last two were down and unconscious.

Untouched except a nasty knife gash from the officer before the man went down, Boris drew a deep breath. The man showed the skill of serious training and was probably former military of some kind. The other was about as skilled as your average street thug.

He looked at the shoulder patch on the uniform of the closest body. A red field with a white tri-bar cross on it. The initials N.V.G. under the cross. Definitely not regular army.

Boris almost felt sorry for the men about to be swarmed by his people. Street thugs against people trained over many years as a competent militia. His people would take casualties, but if they didn’t surrender VERY quickly, the NVG would be obliterated.

He quickly found the keys to the prisoner section in the officer’s pockets and went to the section. Fifty people were crowded into a space that was meant to hold twenty. Many of them had been beaten. Alecta recognized him and weakly shouted, “Boris.” He nodded his head in recognition and acknowledgment and started giving out orders to those inside as he yanked open the doors.

Within five minutes, those ablest had taken up weapons, looted from the five guards inside the building and supplemented with those of the dead squad members that Boris had mowed down in his assault.

As the former prisoners organized their defenses and armed twenty-five men, Boris kept a wary eye on the perimeter. He threw a grenade into a small group of attackers as they charged the containment area door, timing the throw to the momentary check that happened as they came upon the slaughtered guards and newly-freed prisoners.