"Cut the chatter," he barked, and they immediately quieted.
"I've just received orders to move the battalion four miles through the city to an area here. Helicopter and Spetznaz surveillance reports indicate a heavy concentration of armed civilians among the buildings," he said, pointing at a map held up to his chest.
"Too many weapons in one place to be another disorganized gaggle. We know the insurgents moved their headquarters earlier today, so we're going to hit this area in force, with helicopter support. Nighttime rules of engagement are in place. Shoot anything that moves. Conserve ammunition during the transit and make sure to deploy your troops as soon as you make contact. We lost two vehicles last night to some kind of bullshit improvised explosives that were placed on the vehicles by hand. Nobody should be getting close enough to touch one of our vehicles. Infantry commanders and vehicle commanders need to work together. I better not lose another vehicle to a Semtex sticky bomb. We move out in five minutes. All orders and rally points have been transmitted to your mobile battlefield feeds. Mark your maps and standby to depart."
He turned and stepped through an open side hatch into his vehicle, a command variant of the BTR-80 armored personnel carrier, easily identifiable by two large whip antennas protruding from the top rear corners of the troop compartment. The air inside was considerably warmer than the wind-whipped arctic air flowing down the street through his column. One of the infantry captains had remained behind to chat.
"What if we have more civilians trying to surrender? The orders last night weren't clear with the men," he said.
"No prisoners. Anyone on the streets is to be shot. It sounds harsh, but the water supply to the city has been poisoned. At this point, my commander has determined that anyone remaining in the city is likely to be infected and will eventually transform into one of the abominations we've been dealing with all over the city. Our government is fighting desperately to keep this outbreak from spreading to other cities. Unfortunately, we're on the shit end of that fight. Get your company ready for heavy contact. I expect this to be a long night," Colonel Zadornov said.
Once the captain left the vehicle's rear opening, he turned back to his command center to review the maps and any new orders that might have come through on his mobile battlefield terminal. The command center barely qualified as anything more than four square feet of table space on the right side of the BTR. With the mobile battlefield terminal (MBT) affixed to the hull above and to the left of the table, alongside a row of radio receivers, the setup gave him enough room to use half of a map. He could simultaneously scour the MBT for updates from his various subordinates, and if he didn't like what he was seeing or hearing, he had three radios at his disposal to remedy the situation.
A harness seat had been bolted to the deck at one end of the table, allowing him to stay at the command center, while the BTR scrambled from one location to the next. Cold weather clothing, issued harness gear, weapons and ammunition were crammed into every other conceivable space in the back and would spill everywhere once they started moving.
His operations officer would stuff himself somewhere among the four soldiers riding in back, who had been assigned to defend the vehicle. He would fight for space around the command center to advise Zadornov. Even under the best circumstances, it was organized chaos, and whenever possible, Zadornov would ride in the turret. Especially when they came under fire. The rear compartment shrank with the sounds of small arms fire knocking against the hull, and he hated the thought of helplessly waiting for a rocket propelled grenade to tear through the thin armor.
He lifted one of the radio handhelds from its receiver and transmitted an order to the battalion.
"This is Zovra Command. Three minute warning for the scout elements. Stick to your assigned routes. No variations. Over," he said and listened for all of the individual units' acknowledgments.
He wondered what the young captain had really thought about the battalion's orders. It didn't take a university degree in science to realize that command's supposed fear of an outbreak was utter nonsense. If they were dealing with a contagious epidemic, the troops would have been issued biological suits…at least masks. They had arrived with all of that gear, but his commander had been told not to issue it. Rumors about the water supply had spread through the battalion like wildfire, reinforced by strict, repeated orders not to drink from indigenous water sources.
For Zadornov, it didn't really matter. Something had infected the population and turned them into stark raving lunatics. He'd seen every form of depraved behavior, from gang raping in the middle of the streets, to children jumping from the rooftops. Everyone in the city was psychotic on some level. It was impossible to predict when a seemingly normal person might pick up a rock and try to bash your head in.
He didn't like the order to shoot on sight, but after spending five nights patrolling the city, he didn't see any other choice. He just hoped that when this was over, the government didn't decide to drag his entire battalion over to the nickel pits. He didn't want to know what the Internal Ministry Troops were doing in the industrial sector of town to the northwest.
His seat rumbled as the driver revved the engine in anticipation of the assault. All around him, vehicles sprang to life and started to move forward. His operations officer, a young infantry captain, hopped through the side hatch and issued an order to the rest of their crew. Within a minute, the troop compartment of the BTR was crowded with soldiers and all hatches were sealed. The BTR lurched forward, knocking everyone around the metal compartment and spilling gear everywhere. Zadornov reminded himself to find another driver for tomorrow.
Daniel Petrovich stepped out into the darkness and scanned the neighborhood. The crescent moon provided enough ambient light to outline the large hulks of more than a dozen apartment buildings, all tightly stuffed into an area Sabitov had called Katayev Prospekt.
They had met for a few minutes in the basement to discuss Sabitov's plan, which involved moving the bulk of his fighters to this development. From there, his fighters would put up a brief fight and disperse. Their goal was to occupy all of the Russian Army's attention, while Daniel's group tried to pull off the impossible.
"You ready for this? Walk in the park for Special Forces, right?" Sabitov said and slapped him on the back.
The rest of the team joined him and listened silently. They could hear rumbling in the distance and the distinct thud of helicopter rotors.
"Armor is moving in this direction, but the helicopters will track my people. Everything will be shifted to the Katayev Prospekt. I expect the entire Russian force to be concentrated on that area. Fifteen apartment buildings. Much larger than the one we left," he said.
"The helicopters don't shoot people on the streets?" Sergei asked.
"Not yet, but I suggest we move as discreetly as possible," Sabitov said.
"Lead the way," Petrovich said.
The group of nine men set off in a northeasterly direction, led by Major Sabitov and Sergeant Malyshev, who both carried loaded RPG launchers. Three additional soldiers had been added to the group to help Sabitov create a diversion. The soldiers were dressed in civilian clothes and carried additional rockets. Like Sabitov's sergeant, they didn't sound very healthy. As long as they could do their jobs, Daniel wasn't concerned.
Daniel's team, which included Malyshev, would assault the vehicles. Daniel had made it clear that if the command BTR didn't take the bait, they would depart Monchegorsk immediately. Sabitov was convinced that the information found in the battalion commander's vehicle would be worth the risk. Daniel traded looks with Farrington as they sprinted off into the darkness. They were both thinking the same thing, but Daniel had no intention of double-crossing Sabitov. The man had stayed behind against overwhelming odds to protect his family, which was something Daniel could relate to.