Daniel 03 - Clean Isolation
As I let my first round go, the head shrank in size and dropped down out of view.
The ZALA was holding over Marianna’s block. We’d been watching all arriving vehicles and people to spot anything we didn’t like or felt out-of-place. Stan drew the short straw. He placed the invites in Marianna’s dead drop and was camped out in the OP watching her place. The thermal vision let him see her in the apartment a little and a laser mic let him listen. She didn’t have our protections, although loud music was still pretty effective.
A one man drone tail was fairly relaxed. Stan just needed to keep her in drone visual range if she moved. We didn’t know how Marianna would do the distribution. If she picked up at 8PM she would be busy that night or the next morning. We didn’t have a tap on her landline. That was what the laser mic was for. Stan could run the drone solo or we could. It also acted as a comms relay between us, so we could speak on a closed network.
“Radar. We didn’t factor that.” Ol said as we sat in the van. “Air defence radar. There’s a fucking war on in case you didn’t know.”
We didn’t know if there were many air defence batteries active in Dnipro. He had a serious point. The drone would appear on radar and be easy to shoot down.
“Fuck’s sake, Ol.” I muttered. “There’s aaaalways something with you.”
My mind set to thinking. We had to assume the ZALA was going to go bang. I started prioritising its uses. After Marianna’s observation we’d fly a pattern covering our extraction route to the edge of the city and actively look for military units. That should take about two hours. I tapped out a request to Home on the datalink for military unit intelligence.
“I think we should push for priority one support with Home.” I said. They agreed. PRI1 meant that Home would assign 24-hour analyst and resource support to us, instead of the low priority task list that was managed slowly by several analysts. We needed language, telephone, intel, systems and overwatch services at the very least. This would give us fast access to information and support via datalink, and even phones if needed. This expanded our capability to spoof people in certain ways as well. Intel support meant a lot of things. If we were elevated to PRI1, I’d send Home our extraction routes and get them to keep us up-to-date with any intel they had along it in near real time. We would all be driving and that meant we could only do so much without crashing into something. The game was to evade all roadblocks and issues, not crash or get stopped. Being stopped meant evasion by spoofing people, not shooting our way out. I sent the request.
“SINGER mobile.” Stan reported. Marianna came out of the block carrying a plastic shopping back with something in it, dead on 8PM. Ol’s plan was to leave the OP, jog around to the café on a different route, beat Marianna there and take a seat to observe. She’d never seen him before and with a mid length mousey wig, some crap specs and a shit tracksuit, he blended right in with the waster locals.
Five minutes later she was going into the café. She was in for 30 minutes. She was far too professional to just walk in and out. A drink and a snack, a sit and a chat, a toilet visit on her way out. That was her level.
30 minutes later we saw her come out but instead of walking home, she’d called a cab. The ZALA meant Ol didn’t need to rush to the car. She took a 12 minute ride from her estate in Varhus across the South Bridge to Mil’mana Street, further into the city, not far from the cemetery. Stan was on a lazy tail, closing gently on the cab. She got out and posted something at an address.
“Check that.” I told Ol.
“154 Mil’mana is Gusev. That’s the virologist.”
She kept the cab and got back in and made her way West. 5 minutes later she was on Yerevans'ka St and went into 87. The cab left.
“That’s Balakin, the two medics.”
“I can try and listen.” Stan said.
“Negative. Stay away in case of surveillance,” I ordered.
10 minutes later a car pulled up. She came out and got in the car. She was on a delivery run. Very efficient and focused. She made her way to a block on Marshala Sudtsya St, overlooking the admin building.
“That’s Drozdov. The technical couple. Just the banker left now,” said Ol.
Marianna was in with them for 15 minutes, then left in another cab and headed home. Stan followed loosely and got back in the OP to eavesdrop. We hadn't spotted a tail.
“She’s called Kamenev. That’s the banker. He’s coming to her,” said Stan.
30 minutes later, Kamenev’s wife arrived and stayed for an hour.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” said Ol. “It’s all social chat in keeping with a visit to your granny. Very, very slick. They’ve got that cake you like so much that you never eat it, Dani.”
“Just because I’ve got some fucking standards,” I muttered. Ol kept overwatch going even after Kamenev left at around 2245. That was all her eyes seen. That was a good sign. We’d witnessed her staying inside a box we understood. It was possible that she could’ve handled the invites and dumped the envelopes. We’d find out soon enough, but there’d been no sign of any intermediaries, unless they all drove cabs.
Ol took a cab over to Marianna’s estate and joined Stan. They’d be grabbing Marianna with the BMW to bring her to us for turning over.
Spiker took the drone to sweep all our areas and extraction route for signs of military, but it was tricky to spot in a dense city. It was close work to pick out static military anything in a city at night. Air defence gear would usually need some space and a reasonable view so Spiker was looking at long range on a slant. Flying the drone overhead a unit and looking straight down was guaranteed to get the ZALA spotted and shot.
“Chase Home for intel. Check on PRI1.” Spiker reminded me.
“We’ve got PRI1. I've asked for the intel. I need an hour to sleep.” Spiker nodded in response without looking up from the drone console. I pushed the datalink over to him and curled on the van’s floor. In a few hours, I’d be in much worse state.
Stan and Ol snatched Marianna at 06:30. The cover was a Police enquiry about Marko. They only needed her to open the door on the chain and they’d cut it and be in. One to overpower and restrain her, one to sweep the flat. Masked and in black with their best Ukrainian growls, she’d be no problem. They needed her phone, purse, bag, medicine, a set of clothes and coat. A dose of diazepam would dull her for about an hour. That would stop her knowing where she ended up. It was still dark and quiet at that time. They’d be in and out in less than 10 minutes.
I wasn’t sure what to expect but from the ZALA the world looked the same as it had before we invaded. The traffic was still there, people moving about doing life. Maybe the life was different, maybe not. It wasn’t open war in Dnipro yet. Lucky for us.
20 minutes after leaving, Stan and Ol arrived at the vans in the BMW. She was dosed up in the trunk. No tails. The ZALA was back around the cemetery and we were looking for advance teams scoping the extraction site. Spiker hadn’t found any military units on our routes out of the city. Intel showed military groupings on the east side of the city, across the river but we were going out north. The nearest units in that direction weren’t an issue until we were nearly out of the city. We could fly the ZALA really low, west of the units to keep it below radar and in the opposite direction to where the invasion was coming from. That was the best we could do unless we recovered the ZALA and split it into the van.
I put the final touches to my look and got ready for the fun to start.
Stood by the side of the front van, I could listen to everything but stay out of sight.
Marianna's hands were clean. No signs of the tracing isotope from the invites. That was some relief, but not certain. If she'd opened any of the envelopes she'd used gloves.
She was in the front decoy van, on the floor, blindfolded, headphones on and lightly cuffed. Stan dripped a pick up into her mouth to override the diazepam. Headphones off. Stan put on a vicious Ukrainian accent.
“Wake up.” Her slapped her face a few times then gave her a minute. “Are you listening?” A muffled noise of confusion. He was gripping her face for dominant control.
“Marko’s made some mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes when they start businesses. This is fixable. Repeat what I just said.” Her breathy sobs of discomfort weren’t good enough.
Stan roughed her a little.
“Listen. Then repeat exactly. Marko’s made some mistakes. Repeat.”
“M-M-Marko has made some mistakes. Ahhh!” He was twisting and squeezing and using pressure.
“Everyone makes mistakes when they start businesses. Repeat.”
“Everyone… makes mistakes… Ah! When they start businesses.”
“This is fixable.”
“This is fixable. Stop! Please!”
“Good... Now… you fucking listen. Marko is not good at maths and he spent too much money. He said to come to you for your share of the profits and you’ll fix the problem with your dollars. You’ve got business money and you can fix the business. Do you want to fix the business?”
“What business? Marko does what business? I don't do any business!” There was shock, objection, some panic, but also indignation. Sly bitch.
Stan banged her head against the plywood van floor. I’d have used a knee and a lot of pressure. It was a balancing act with someone her age. You can kill them so easily.
“You owe fifteen thousand dollars for two javelins. If you can't control Marko then you'll fix his mistakes. If you don't fix it then you don't stay in business.”
“What business?! What javelin! Marko is a… fucking… boy! I don't do anything but listen to his stories!” She was tearing up; a slight beg in the tone.
“You do a lot more than that. You’re a busy pensioner. We like people who work. You can pay and you can work… You think now.”
They reset her. 2 minutes rest. Spiker was watching her all the time, stood still. She didn’t know. Then they started again. More physical pressure. Pain that didn’t harm. Pain that just fucking hurt. At 78-years-old, you’re getting what you’re given. There’s little physical strength to resist. Whatever there is is in the mind. We were working up to that.
“You give us your dollars to fix Marko's mistake. Then you can both stay in the slave business. You’ll make the money back quick, Marko is better controlled now. You won't make more mistakes, will you? That's the simple fix we offer you. Just bad luck for you that Marko is a greedy child. But he can learn. We’re teaching him. What’s your choice?”
“I don't have dollars! I don't understand this slaves and Marko! I have a pension, savings! What business?!”
If she knew what we were talking about, we’ d detect it or she’d come around if she thought our threats to fuck everything up, take control of her and Marko and make them and their family slaves were credible. That would force her into a decision fairly quickly. If she was in on Marko’s work, she’d understand the threats. If not, she’d be confused as fuck and stick to her story.
“We are the fucking POWER! We are the FUCKING KINGS! We know your accounts and your spending. We know your business. We know you’re lying. Now the price goes up. Twenty thousand and Marko's finger. If he’s bad at business and he can't pull a trigger then he’s useless. So he will become a stinger somewhere. And you will become a javelin. And then you will both work.” Stan was pretty good at this. A really nasty voice. Cruel. She was blindfolded so she only heard the theatre and felt the pain.
“I pay the schools! I pay the schools! I don’t know stingers!” She was on an edge of panic, but we knew she was controlling it. “My savings! Just enough!”
“You won’t need to pay when the children aren’t in school. We’ll take them. They’ll work like you’ll work. You will work together.”
“No! No! I didn't do anything! I just pay for schools!”
“You’ll make a family business.” I could hear him handling her. I could feel the movements of the van as he pushed her. “FAMILY BUSINESS!”
She was sobbing. No speaking. Just noises. Overstressed. The last words probably didn’t quite land. If she wasn’t guilty, she was probably fucking confused. Time for another think break. Just a minute this time. We needed to keep her on the edge.
“You. Are. Like. Marko. He lied… until the pain. Then… he told us the truth. We’ve offered you a way to fix things and now you lie! Now you can think again, then there will be a final price. Then we’ll show you what we know about your lies.”
She was confused, trying to guess at what could be real and what could be known. We could overload her, but that was risky. Rest again. 5 minutes.
I set up with Spiker in the second van. Strung up from the ceiling, roughed up, with some make up of facial injuries and animal blood. Just enough blood on the van floor, hands bagged in clear plastic with bloody mess visible, but detail indistinguishable. Mouth taped up. There was a battery and wires, only six volts but it looked more.
They brought her to the back door of my van, still blindfolded, to see. In that light and with her eyes, it was imperfectly perfect enough. Spiker and Stan were both masked.
“Why do you work for Russia but you sell her children to anyone who pays? Does your friend know what your business is?”
Stan pulled off her blindfold, gripped her face to hold her gaze at me, but deliberately destabilized her to break her detailed focus. Spiker lifted my head back so I could drool some animal blood on myself and moan before he punched my stomach three times. Then he squeezed on my bloody, bagged hands. I writhed and screamed like a child and pig combined, popped my eyes and spasmed for just long enough, just loud enough. It was easy for me to imitate the real noises. I’ d seen this enough times. I'd done it enough times.
I looked right at her and projected begging and pleading thoughts for help through my eyes at her. Something to make her want to give in somehow. Looks that connected.
Spiker stepped up the punishment by kneeing me in the guts then almost in the nuts. It looked real from where she was being held and hurt. They didn’t ask her anymore questions before they used the battery on me. I hammed it up. Too loud and one of the houses nearby might have heard, but it had to be realistic. You don’t necessarily scream when you’re electrocuted. It can be near silent spasming and gurgling, grunting stress. It depends where you’re being shocked and how powerful it is.
They closed me up while I sobbed and moaned and sucked for breath. Just enough, like they had in those other places.
“Now the price is thirty thousand dollars to fix Marko's mistake and stop him being raped to death while he bleeds from his wrists. If you want to keep paying school fees from your savings then you’ll tell us when you met your Russian friend and where his toy is.”
She was starting to spasm. There was no physical pain then, it all became perception and games. She was skilled and was probably stalling for time but we wanted her to make a decision. She was stuck between Marko, me and her grandkids. We just needed to see which choice she made. Her hatred for Marko was why we threatened her grandkids. She had to know we were going to seriously fucking hurt all of them and make those little ones slaves to force her into a decision.
We let her rest for a minute.
“So you are going to pay us the price?”
“Take the savings! That's what I have! The savings! I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything!” She was shaking and beginning to writhe. That voice was good - degrees of panicked fear. Some sobbing. I wondered what she needed to picture to invoke that voice. Maybe the camps. Maybe a smell. Maybe a memory of someone’s sensation or old deeds.
“Why are you working for him when Marko works for us?! You work for us! Russia doesn’t like slavers.”
“I don't work! I don't work! He… Marko's friend! Krystiyan! Krystiyan! He checks on me! Just tea. Just tea… When Marko wasn't there! You can have my savings!”
“Lies! Lies bring pain and work. You could have paid. Now you all pay.”
Two more drops of diazepam slowed her. Stan was on the phone pretending to speak.
“The savings. Get Oleg for the apartment papers. What's happening? … … Keep him like that. Pick up the kids.”
Two more drops took her down while the knowledge that her life was being ripped up turned into dreams. It was just enough. She had the skill to know we could be bluffing. That this was happening at the same time as the extraction was highly suspicious and she was smart enough to suspect. But the situation was ambiguous enough. She might have been truly thrown by seeing me and thinking that the extraction failed early. We didn’t know where her limit was and couldn’t take her to it in case she died. That would’ve fucked my high performance argument right up. Trapping and overloading her amongst several painful options was enough to assess her without using serious and irreversible pain. At her age, she could have chosen to just give up and die if the stress was too much.
In the end, she’d denied working with Marko and offered her legit savings to pay for him. She didn’t give up any of her dollar payments from us or admit to any other work. She gave a loose cover for me that connected me to Marko as his friend. That gave her plausible deniability about me without selling me out. I could still be an agent who worked Marko and her without her knowing. She was very smart under stress. We just needed to make a decision about her.
We’d stowed Marianna in the first decoy van, in a sleeping bag. She was dosed, capped and hooded.
“Good work, lads. Well, that was fun. What’s everyone’s thoughts?” I was cleaning off all the blood and make up as we perched around the back of the second decoy van, well away from Marianna. We’d get a shower later at the swimming pool, before final prep for the extraction.
“I think I shoulda punched you in the face three times instead of the stomach,” said Spiker in a deadly serious tone.
“And you should’ve shocked me right across the heart as well,” I added. “I’ll have to mark you down on the field report. Weak torture skills.”
“We’re breaking new ground here,” said Ol. “78 is the oldest person I’ve roughed up, or snatched. That’s two new PBs.”
“There’s loads of time. War’s only just kicked off. You’ll come out of this with loads more PBs. Just you wait.” I smiled. Gallows humour was par for the course. “So, are we extracting Marianna or cleaning her?”
All three were in favour of extraction. The delivery looked as clean as it could. She’d done all the work and quickly. No detours, no obvious third parties. The banker lived out of town so bringing his wife to her for a social was smart. Under interrogation, she’d performed as well as she could. They all believed that she wasn’t in with Marko and were impressed with how she’d explained her connection to me at such short notice. She conceded what she legitimately could - her savings in dogshit Hryvnias. She didn’t admit to our dollars or dollars from anywhere else.
“OK, then we’ll take her in the BMW. I’ll look after her.”
“An SBU escort for a weapons run with a granny is going to look fucking weird. If she’s in the boot, it looks even weirder” Stan said.
“Get a second SBU order from Home. Asset or prisoner transfer.” Spiker chipped in. “If she’s a collaborator, she has info or value. Just pretend she’s ‘being processed’. We don’t have to explain, just vaguely hint and show the order. We can keep her cuffed and capped and sedated. It all fits then.”
So that was agreed and the requests to Home went out. Now we were focussed on final prep for the extraction and watching for the arrival of an advance team at the cemetery. If any of the cargo was compromised or the extraction was known about, an advance team would likely come and start scoping the area hours before the extraction. If we saw that we could abort the whole job.
Spiker moved the BMW up to the ZALA van on the ground at Shlyakhova St and caught a cab back. That left us with the two decoy vans at the cemetery, with Marianna in the first and the second empty. The cargo vans stood ready at the lock ups.
The air raid siren was a bit of a shocker. At 1PM distant sirens started screaming. Trouble was, no one knew what to make of it. We just moved the ZALA back over the launch site by the river in case we needed to land it for a while and hoped nothing bad happened. We kept datalink bursts to the absolute minimum. Even though the signal beamed straight up to the satellite, we had to be mindful. Home sent us the modified fake orders but there was no extra intel of concern.
Through the day there were a few visitors to the cemetery. Short enough visits in ones or twos. We saw them all and recorded them and their signals. No excessive curiosity, organisation or lingering. No sign of any advance team, which was another point in Marianna’s favour. We had to manage her pretty carefully. We dosed her to lock her bowels and stop her shitting and had to calculate a dose schedule for the sedatives to keep her docile without doing any harm. We put a catheter on her and a piss bag. We had a stimulant as well that would bring her out of it when we needed to.
We were comfortable with the plan and as ready as we could be. At twilight we set up a little stand by a grave in the southwestern quadrant of the cemetery with a photo of some face to draw the cargo and anyone else to the plot. Ol was playing the lead, we were the support. The stand was orientated to the west, so Ol would have his back to the cemetery during the service to allow him to speak more freely. He’d light it with candles near arrival time. Cheap folding chairs were set out, but not enough for all, meaning Ol could force some people to stand.
We took our positions at 17:45 once it was dark. Stan was sniping from the northwest corner of the cemetery at Lotsmans'ka St and Lotsmans'kyi Lane. From there he could cover a lot of straight road north and south and into the cemetery. His urban ghillie cloak was perfect visual cover and easy to get out of.
Ol was the priest. He would meet the cargo and start checking, cleaning and funnelling them. Any tails wanting to watch the service could only approach from the east, so we’d limited their approach options and had them boxed in for kills.
Any imposter faces were visible to Ol from the point of greeting through the service. Ol could kill four there at the plot on his own. Imposters would be forced to stand to present bigger targets. Any car that arrived and stayed would be killed. That’s why the cargo was coming in cabs.
Spiker was on the mid north side, in the lane. I was east on the other side of Lotsmans'ka St. The ZALA was overhead.
Ol was in civvies - a dull jacket, black polo neck and black trousers - with facial mods on teeth and cheeks, with coloured contacts, specs, beard and mid length wig. Enough to look like a clergy type in casuals and not quite like himself. The rest of us were in black balaclavas, overjackets and pants to cover our other outfits. We had full urban assault gear - comms, ammo, blades, burn and bang charges, and misc control kit. We were using VSS Vintorez rifles with scopes and night sights. The Vintorez is the quietest rifle around but it packs a massive punch. People think a silencer makes a rifle quiet, but it doesn’t; it just reduces the crack a bit and hides the flash better. The Vintorez’s massive suppressor and barrel design combined with a subsonic 9x39mm round shits on the noise signature of any other rifle we could get. It’s as close to what people think a silenced rifle should sound like as can be. With a modified folding stock and two optics - a scope and an aimpoint - it was good for range and CQB. Timing, speed and co-ordination were our primary weapons.
At 18:10 a dark sedan approached from the south and parked in our south side van lane, halfway down, out of easy sight of the main road and clear of the vans. Ol was by the vans and hadn't taken his place at the eastern entrance yet.
“Oscar, dark car, southern lane, two males.” Ol was watching them. “One exiting.”
We needed to assess. I had to move away from my position to cover the car.
“Delta, taking the southern car.” I moved quickly to the inside corner of the southerly lane and the main road. With a tree as cover, and one behind me to the main road, I could put in enough disabling shots from there with no further approach. I swept to find the walker who’d gotten out. He wasn’t sure where he was headed yet. The plot wasn’t lit. Our night vision exposed everything to us.
“Oscar, entering to intercept from southwest. Caution.” Ol was going to move around to a position and assess or engage. This wasn’t an advance team, more like an advance tail. If we killed them before they communicated, their expected work would have been incomplete and that would’ve alerted other tails or base. That meant someone knew that at least one of the cargo was coming here. How they knew was the question. They could have just been listening through the day to their targets and heard them talking about the service.
“Delta, hold off. Observe.” I could see the car and the walker. I didn’t need Ol getting involved or off plan. “Delta, visual with the walker and the car.” If the walker was lazy, in the dark cemetery he'd be ineffective and probably just wait for someone to watch rather than properly inspect the area. Without night vision like ours, his skills were limited. He walked up and down the rows with no system or method, unsure what to look for. Then he gave up.
“Delta, walker heading back towards southern car. No change at car. Oscar, head to plot, set up and light candles at 18:23 then get straight to the road. You should be able to avoid the southern car.”
The walker got back in the car.
“Oscar, in position at the plot. No visuals.”
“Sierra, Three cars approaching from south, 500m, on drone. Oscar, light candles now and head up to greet.” Stan had spotted more inbound traffic and it was nearly 18:30.
“Oscar, moving.”
“Delta, two cabs arriving at east centre entrance. Third vehicle continuing.” I spotted the first cargo arrivals.
“Sierra visual… two couples, 4 children total. Confirmed cargo. Gusev and Balakin.” Stan had eyes on the entrance. He identified the virologist’s family and the medics’ family.
“Delta, southern car no change.” The advance tail pair were waiting in the southern car. Probably eating donuts.
Ol had lit the candles, making the plot just visible among the headstones. The cemetery gently sloped down from the east entrance at the road to the west side. That gave us a good view. I could see Ol moving quickly up to the entrance to meet the cargo. He used comms judiciously so we knew what he was doing and saying to the cargo. He was too far for me to hear without comms.
“Good evening, are you here for Ruslan's service? Wonderful, it means so much. Father Rudenko from St. Nicholas’. Lovely to meet you.”
He was verifying identities and holding them to wait for other arrivals. He'd probably have to fill the time a little. He would get their invites and check them for integrity.
“Sierra, three more vehicles from the north, on drone. The two cabs have left.” Stan was keeping an eye on the overwatch.
“What I'd like to do is collect everyone here then walk down together to a psalm, perhaps?” Ol told us his plan.
“Sierra, two more cabs arriving... That’s…Drozdov with one kid… Kamenev with one kid. Confirm cargo complete.”
“Delta, fourteen cargo confirmed.” That was the whole list. One advance tail. There had to be inbound tails to come.
Ol was shepherding the cargo. He had to manage them on the way to the plot and while they were there. The good news was that there were no imposters for him to kill.
“Sierra, mid tone car pulling into the lane behind me.” Stan called another possible tail. His urban ghillie cloak made him nearly invisible until he moved aggressively. He could be close to a car and not be spotted as long as he was careful.
“Papa, visual, northern lane...” Spiker was in the northern dead-end lane and picked up the new arrival. “…mid tone car, two occupants.”
“If I could have your envelopes please? And please take and read the order of service. We'll go to the plot in a moment.” Ol was running the integrity check and instructing the cargo. The order of service was their instructions.
Essential Order of Service
Stay in your family groups. Parents control your children at all times.
At the plot, you MUST put your phone, wallets, purses, jewellery and any essential documents in the box when the Priest asks for “alms”.
At the plot, your children MUST put all their possessions in the box. YOU MUST ENSURE THIS.
You MUST put your coats and bags in the bag at the plot. You CANNOT bring them and do not need them.
NO BAGS. If you need ESSENTIAL things from your bag, put them in the box. Do not bring make-up, trinkets etc.
I could see the adults reading their instructions in the moonlight. Behind them all, Ol was checking the envelopes. I glimpsed dull UV from his little torch. If there was a bad envelope, this would be the abort. If we aborted Ol would send the cargo to the candlelit plot and leave them as he got low, headed to the vans and tooled up. Then we’d make a decision about leaving the cargo, Marianna, and the decoys, or doing something else. If we killed any of the tails in the abort, we’d never be able to set up another extraction for any of the cargo.
“Sierra, another mid tone car pulled in on eastern road. Two occupants.” Stan called another arrival close to him. That made for three tails; one dark car in the southern lane, one mid car on the eastern main road near Stan and another mid car in the northern lane between Stan and Spiker. Six people. We could manage.
“Papa, northern car, one dismounting... heading into cemetery.” Spiker called a walker.
“Delta, southern car, one dismounting.” I saw the passenger get out of the southern, dark car again. These two walkers were going to watch proceedings.
“Now, if you’d like to place alms for the church into the collection box…” Ol was settling them at the plot. No abort call, so the envelopes were good. The cleaning had started. Without imposters at the plot, Ol was free to put all the “alms” into the big Faraday box as soon as they got there.
“Papa, possible distant tail holding junction of Kams'kyi lane, north of cemetery, on drone. Been static two minutes. Sierra, caution. All, remember caltrops.” Spiker had seen a car further north via the drone. That might have been a stand off tail for pursuit. We had tyre bursting caltrops to deploy at the right time.
Tactically, the two walkers in the cemetery were the dynamic targets. The cars were sitters. I could kill both my car and my walker no problem. Stan was almost beside his target car. Spiker was in front of his car with good view into the windscreen. The distant tail couldn’t see what was going on, so we had time.
“Delta, thermal sweep.” I took a glimpse at the drone’s thermal view and swept the cemetery and out west towards the lock ups, looking for static people along the escape route. Nothing. Just the people we expected and knew about. “Thermal clear.”
“Thank you all for your generosity. Are we ready to begin?” Ol signalled that the cargo had been cleaned. Ol was starting the service. He would talk about himself when describing the deceased; easier than making it up. The two walkers had pushed deeper and I was losing sight of mine. They were slowly heading to the plot for a view. It was time. I had to move carefully to regain sight of my walker, clear of bushes, trees and headstones. The slope gave me an advantage and the night vision with thermal integration made it easy. I crept towards my target car, sweeping from it to the walker. I needed a position where I could shoot both.
“Delta, standby standby. Targets. Papa northern walker, northern car. Sierra eastern car. Delta southern walker, southern car. Confirm.”
“Papa, ready affirm.”
“Sierra, ready affirm.”
Ol keyed his mic in wordless affirmation.
“Delta. Oscar, your call GO.” Ol needed to issue the GO command because he knew whether he and the cargo were ready to leave. We’d isolated and cleaned the cargo. Leaving included killing the tails.
“Oscar, GO GO GO.”
The Vintorez is loud enough when there’s not much going on. Soft hiss cracks came from my right.
In my sight, the walker’s head bobbed with his motion. As I let my first round go, the head shrank in size and dropped down out of view. I spun left to the car. My three rounds blew through the back side window into the driver.
There was more work than just shooting. I crouch ran toward the car, mindful of the driver and any unknowns inside. I knelt at the car's back corner then quickly came up and swept the rear seat then the front. The rear was empty. The driver was slumped, eyes open, jaw gone, looking sideward out of the window. Another round in his head ended him.
“Sierra, targets down, charge set.” Stan had finished with his targets and would stay in his position to manage the site.
I opened the passenger door, rifled the driver and dug his phone out of his jacket pocket. Fingerprint activation was assumed and I took his right index finger with my knife, pocketed the phone and the finger, then primed a burn charge and dumped it on the dead guy’s lap. I quietly shut the door and sprinted towards the walker, who was easy to find among the cold headstones.
“Papa, targets down, charge set. Moving to assist Oscar.” Spiker would help Ol manage the cargo.
The back half of my walker’s head had gone. He was face down in the grass so I was looking at the inside back of his face. The night vision made it a little less gory but it didn’t hide the smell of fresh blood. I took his phone, finger and wallet then shoved a primed burn charge under his stomach.
“Delta, targets down, charge set. Moving to assist. Sierra, status on distant?”
“Sierra, distant static. In range, visual.” Stan had the distant tail in his sights and in range. Killing it too soon could draw attention. “Sierra, site is clear.” There was nothing that concerned Stan. Nothing out of the ordinary. We’d been wise to pick a quiet spot without much passing foot traffic.
“Copy, hold and maintain overwatch.” It was up to Stan to make calls about what was moving around the cemetery. It was a quiet location with passing traffic and residential buildings mostly. If someone passed by the eastern car and saw the bodies, that would be our highest chance of an alert. Stan would manage it. If things went bad, he would escape as he saw fit in the first decoy van, or he could fall back to us at the lock ups. It was up to us to abandon Marianna and anything else as we as we saw fit.
I sprinted to the decoy vans where Ol and the cargo were readying to head to the lock ups. Spiker was on his way. The group were by the vans, lit by Ol’s small torch. Ol had the big faraday box on the ground next to a garbage sack full of coats.
“Adults, hold your children.” Ol’s voice was soft and calm. “Stay still. Let us work. Soon, you will follow us through gardens to a road, then more gardens, to our transport. It is a short route. 300 meters. We will be with you. Stay calm. Hold your children.” Ol’s job was to manage the flock. Our’s was to do tasks.
I opened the front van door to get the small faraday box. I put in the phones, finger and wallet from the dead guys and put the box back in the van’s cab. Spiker ran up.
“Dump your treasure in there,” I said. Spiker did as I had with whatever he’d recovered. I put the big faraday box into the first van. The garbage bag would stay here. I set another burn charge and put it in the garbage bag, then dumped the bag away amongst the headstones.
“We’re ready to move,” said Ol. His priest jacket was gone and now he looked like us, in black with a rifle and night sights. I folded my rifle stock in and slung it under my loose overjacket. I checked Spiker was the same and Ol too. I looked at the group. The children ranged from the Drozdov’s infant and Gusev’s toddler, to kids aged 5, 7 and 10 and 11. They all looked scared. Spiker and I looked weird with our night vision and weapons.
“Don’t be afraid, everything is OK,” I said. “We are here to look after you. Do you all understand that we are taking you on a walk to our transport?” Nods and yesses came back. “I will lead now. Father Rudenko will be in the middle. Our friend here will be at the back.” I quickly moved past them through the bushes to the cut fence. I ripped it back and bent it to stay open, then looked back.
“Cargo roll,” was my command to get them moving to me.
“Go through, keep walking straight. It’s flat and clear,” I told Gusev when he arrived holding his infant. I put him and his wife through then followed. We were in the first gardens. The moon was partially out and the cloud was broken, enough to see the ground clearly. The garden was clear. I jogged west to the the edge of the houses to check for life and lights. There was no one outside. I looked back at the approaching group and waved them towards me. They were steady and Ol was managing them in a line. The kids were compliant.
“Stop here, watch my route then wait for my signal to come to the road,” I told Mr and Mrs Gusev. I stuck close to a fence on my left to avoid triggering any lights on the houses. At the edge of Sadova Street I pulled off my night vision, knelt and assessed the houses again and the road. It was fairly quiet. Ten cars moving. I looked back and waved the group to me. Ol controlled their spacing and they knew to be quiet.
“Walk normally along the road to me. Cross when you can as a family. Tell the others.” Gusev nodded. I crossed straight over, going as deep as I could away from the street edge then quick paced towards number 30. My rifle was slung and short so it was mostly out of sight, despite the car headlights. I looked back and waved Gusev to me. At the corner of the driveway at number 30 I peered into the property. Quiet. No window lights on at the front. Ol controlled the families. A solid string of people walking along the street was a bit noticeable but strangers driving by were hardly likely to stop.
“Delta, Sierra pass status.” I checked in with Stan.
“Sierra, clear. Distant tail static. Estimate 17 minutes to charges. All normal.”
“Delta, Oscar Papa pass status.”
“Oscar, I’m mid group, all good.”
“Papa, rear, all good.”
At the corner of the driveway I told the Gusevs to stay at the edge of the drive and head straight into and through the gardens. I set them off then waited for the next family, the Drozdevs and set them off. Ol was coming up. As he neared, I saw his smile in the moonlight for a second then it suddenly dropped. The driveway lit up from lighting on the front of the house. The Gusevs and Drozdevs were in convoy up the drive, not yet at the gardens.
“With me,” I ordered Ol. I ran straight across the drive towards the house, pointed for Ol to take up a position on the other side of the front door, and pressed up against the house. The hallway light came on.
“Papa, hold them!” I ordered Spiker over the radio. I could see the next family at the edge of the drive.
I pointed at Ol then at the door, making a fist. He was to stun anyone coming out. Ol was right at the edge of the door, rifle ready to swing the butt. The door opened and a balding, late middle-aged man in lounge clothing appeared in the doorway but never made it out. Ol swung into the doorway and slammed the man in the face with his rifle butt.
“Papa, Go.” I needed them to keep moving.
I followed Ol inside knowing the first victim was out, possibly worse. Ol was lifting the man up by his armpits to drag him away from the door.
“OK?” I grabbed the man’s legs. Behind Ol I saw another figure on the floor, a woman, with some blood from her mouth. Ol stepped back over her and laid the man half on top. I knocked off the lights at the switch panel by the door. The driveway went dark with Spiker in it following the group. I ran up the drive to get back to the front of our convoy, knowing Ol would follow.
“Sierra, distant tail is dead. I’ll be exfil in five.” Stan had killed the distant tail. That could draw attention soon. He’d put a caltrop across Lotsmans'ka St from the northeast corner of the cemetery to kill pursuit from the north. Then he’d take the first van and head south on his decoy run.
The cargo was halfway through the last gardens. I jogged past them, counting as I went. Past the Gusevs I got to the fence to the lock ups and ripped it back to open a hole. Looking through, it was quiet although I heard noises of banging and music from somewhere. I waited from the cargo to arrive, then Ol, then finally Spiker.
“Wait for my clear call before you finally leave, just in case,” I said. If something was going bad at the cemetery I might have needed to come back and escape with them. I left them to it and sprinted back to the last decoy van. At the van, I checked it was empty, unslung my rifle and started it up. I rolled slowly to half way down the lane, then checked the drone. Stan had left the place in a mess. A few people were gathered near the distant tail and there was a car skewed in Lotsmans'ka St down from the caltrop. The cops would be here soon. I rolled up to near the top of the lane, hopped out and went to the last caltrop at the southeast corner of the cemetery. Nothing was coming so I slung it out across the street and ran back to the van. Just as I was rolling to Lotsmans'ka St, headlights from the right told me someone was approaching my caltrop. I stopped and waited.
Clackpopfsss is the rough sound of a caltrop strike. The silver car, although travelling straight, ran over the caltrop and smeared sideways. I rolled to the street, turned right to head south then gently accelerated to the first right turn 50 meters further. After that turn I clicked on the van’s lights and picked up speed. I was escaping southwards to the Airport Europcar car park.
“Delta, exfil. En route. All, status.”
“Sierra, clear, rolling.”
“Oscar and Papa, loading.”
It was working. We’d left the growing mayhem. In a few more minutes the burn charges would go off and add to confusion around the site. Police and fire services would be drawn in as we kept moving away. The extraction would always look like an extraction from the moment we killed the close surveillance. Now, the scene needed resources and attention to manage the fires, work out what had happened and control the civilians.
Seriously Daniel, you put catheter on the old lady? I don't think I can believe this.