We screwed the Taiwanese silencers into our Ak-2000’s on the way up, and my heart pounded. The building had recently been renovated, and the elevator moved quickly. We barely had enough time to get the silencers in place before the doors opened.
No one was standing right in front of the elevator, but I turned left and saw two regular PLA guards standing outside room 924, which was two floors directly above the apartment of the Taiwanese informant.
Poyekhali, I thought in Russian, as I often do in the moments before the fighting starts. Let’s go.
I heard a silenced Ak-2000 fire behind me, which had to have been Dietrich looking back to the other end of the hallway. Though Fong was probably in Room 924, judging by the guards, we couldn’t leave enemies to our rear as we made our way down to the target, so Dietrich had been tasked with covering that side of the building.
The guards in front of 924 had enough time for their faces to register shock at seeing their comrades in arms opening fire. I gunned down the two guards from about twenty meters away, then ran down the hall to get in position in front of 924.
Our weapons were silenced, but indoors on a quiet night, they were easily audible to everyone on the floor. And, of course, the Unit One soldiers were very familiar with the sound of a silenced Ak-2000—it was their weapon of choice.
We moved down the hallway in a tight group, only about two feet between us, Dietrich continuing to look back, McCormick keeping an eye to our sides as we walked by rooms whose doors could fly open any second, and me facing forward.
Doors were opening down the hall. Three more regular PLA peeked into the hall, and I emptied my clip into them. “Reloading,” I said so that McCormick would know to look forward to cover me.
With the unfamiliar PLA combat webbing, I had to look down to see what I was doing. Once I had the magazine, I could reload from muscle memory, having practically grown up with the Ak-2000 rifle. McCormick fired his own weapon right next to my head, and I finished reloading, looking up to see two Unit One soldiers falling in front of room 924.
We ran ahead to 924, the last room at the end of the hall, and Dietrich called, “Reloading!” McCormick turned to cover him, firing his weapon down the hall as more and more doors popped open.
“Reloading!” McCormick said just as Dietrich brought his weapon back up.
The door to 924 was open, and I plucked a flashbang grenade from a pocket. “Banger out,” I said, pulling the pin and flipping the flashbang into the room. A second later, the room flashed white and the sharp bang announced the weapon’s detonation, and I walked into the room at a crouch, McCormick and Dietrich close behind.
It was a two-bedroom apartment, and the living room was plastered with maps and charts. Four more Unit One soldiers were rubbing their eyes frantically, blinded by the flashbang. McCormick and I cut them down, and then two more Unit One commandos burst from the furthest bedroom, their guns blazing. A round whistled by my head, but the Unit One soldiers had fired too quickly, not aiming carefully. Dietrich emptied his clip, peppering the two Chinese with bullets.
“Reloading,” he noted drily. McCormick and I moved to the door leading to the other bedroom, leaving Dietrich to guard the living room and the door in case anyone tried to come in — or get out.
No time for anything fancy. The number of PLA now coming after us was probably up to at least a few thousand by that point, a minute and a half since we had fired our first shots. I staved in the door to the bedroom with one massive kick and McCormick threw in a flashbang. I dove out of the doorway as someone inside fired about fifteen rounds at me and missed.
The flashbang exploded, and McCormick was through the door. I scrambled back up to my feet as McCormick blasted away at a number of armed officers who had been in the room. Some of those officers were so desperate to stop him that they fired blindly, missing us by several feet.
Suddenly, I saw Fong. The greatest Chinese commander of the war, our target, was reeling from the flashbang not two feet away, down on his knees. He had a pistol in his hand, but he was evidently saving his ammunition until he could have a realistic chance of hitting us.
My stomach turned to ice. Here was the target. But there were still armed men in the room, perhaps four or five. We needed to work fast.
I shot a man to Fong’s left in the head, and looked back to see Fong raising his pistol to fire at McCormick. Another Unit One soldier had raised a rifle, but I choose to focus on Fong first.
I stepped forward and smashed the butt of my Ak-2000 against his head. The brilliant commander went down like a sack of potatoes.
The Unit One commando’s aim was thrown off by my quick motion. His weapon on full-automatic, he sprayed five rounds at me. One grazed my helmet, and another smashed into my pack, but I was alive. McCormick hit the Unit One man three times in the chest, and the Chinese soldier went down with his finger on the trigger, emptying his weapon into the ceiling.
I swung my weapon around the room, but there were no more targets. Dietrich was still firing periodically in the other room. “Keep an eye on Fong, I’m going to help Hans,” I said.
Scampering back to the living room, I saw Dietrich in the far corner of the room from the door so he could see anyone emerge from the other bedroom or hit reinforcements coming from the hallway to save Colonel Fong. Dietrich saw me and yelled, “Check the bedroom, the kitchen, and the bathroom. I will watch the hall.”
“Roger,” I said back. The bedroom was first. Evidently, we had killed the only two occupants of that room, though I checked the closets as well to make sure no one would burst out. The kitchen was an open-air space that Dietrich couldn’t quite see from his position. No one there.
I kicked in the door to the bathroom, and a pistol shot ran out instantly. A panicked staff officer was sitting on the toilet, pistol in hand. I put six shots into his chest, and the apartment was clear of enemies.
I returned to the living room once again, just in time to see Dietrich throw a grenade out into the hallway. He had evidently cooked the grenade, holding it for a moment after pulling the pin so it would detonate much faster once it landed. Sure enough, the grenade popped off a second after reaching the hallway, and I could hear the moan of an injured man outside. I waved to Dietrich, then signaled that I would go check out the hallway.
I walked crouched down and tilted my head and weapon around the corner, seeing the injured man sprawled on the floor, as well as another four or five PLA soldiers running down the hall toward us. Because I was so close to the floor, an old trick I had learned in Spetsnaz, they did not instantly realize I was an enemy to be fired at or, at least, they weren’t as fast I was.
I fired sixteen aimed shots down the hallway, cutting down three of the attackers. The remaining two opened fire, and I ducked my head back into the apartment just in time to avoid the return fire. The remaining two soldiers took cover in other apartments, and for a moment the hallway was clear once again.
While we were busy with that, McCormick had emptied a canteen on Fong’s head, reviving him. For a second, the Chinese colonel’s eyes remained fuzzy and vacant, then he rubbed his head and muttered something in Mandarin.
“Hello, Colonel Fong,” McCormick said, relishing the moment. “I think you and I have quite a bit to discuss. But first, I need you to tell your men to cease their attack. Needless to say, you die if they continue their assault.”
Fong looked pained, but he didn’t have any options. He could see Dietrich and me in the living room, and McCormick’s weapon was aimed straight at his head. There was nowhere to run, and no hope that a rescue attempt by his men could free him before McCormick could kill him.