Luka 05 - Graveyard Shift
“This isn’t your version of a last meal is it, Sir?” Yaz enquired, half joking.
We were ten minutes early for our night briefing, expecting some activity and people but it was dead save for low radio chatter from the comms stack. The briefing room was a tent within a tent. In the outer perimeter were desks and chairs where people could work around the core briefing room without being in it. Attached to the back of the outer tent were two shipping containers purposed for Command and Control and our unit’s Intelligence officer. The whole setup could be packed into the containers and airlifted anywhere, or moved by truck. It was self-contained with power, lighting and whatever comms gear and connectivity was needed to do the job.
Without explanation, context and a time reference, the big table map could have depicted the past, present or a hoped for future. The town we’d been fighting around was less than a thirtieth of the whole map.
The core briefing room had enough space for at least thirty people at once around a large central table. People could work off the maps on the table, then show them vertically. There were two large TVs at the far end of the room. A comms stack gave access to the whole battlefield with the right codes. More tables were spread around the outer edge. Under some of the tables were mixed equipment boxes with weapons and ammo, and specialist equipment and replacement gear for us or the choppers. We had to be self-contained enough to be doing our job from anywhere, so we had what the boss thought was necessary.
The back wall of the briefing tent split and Razza appeared.
“Evening, gents. What are you drinking?”
“Coffee, please. Strong, two sugars.” I replied.
“Same, thanks,” came Yaz’s order.
Razza stepped aside and held the tent open, bowed his head and gestured with his hand for us to proceed. Now we could hear a low growl hum of generators somewhere outside, further ahead. We entered the outer perimeter space, which was closed off from the rest of the perimeter to form a private workspace connected to the shipping containers. More desks and chairs were covered in planning gear, including computers with multiple screens, laptops, comms gear, some sat phones and what might have been Razza’s personal kit on one table, all together. Opposite was a field bed.
“Nice place you’ve got here. What’s the rent like?” asked Yaz.
“Pretty cheap. Just your soul.” Razza winked and smiled.
There were three other men there. One was seated and working on the computer, wearing a headset; probably a military intelligence co-ordinator. The other two were standing and clearly involved in something together. One was noticeably well built and dressed in partial operational kit of a ground combat unit, probably some arm of Spetsnaz. He had no insignia and his fatigues were non-descript, almost hodgepodge. He had a rough beard and messy mid-length hair. The last man was unusual not because of his features, but because of his dress. He was wiry, wore jeans and a dirty, dark red, hooded puffer jacket. He looked like a yokel who’d been dragged off the streets of a shithole village. That must have been exactly the point.
Yaz politely knocked twice on the container door and waited. There was still some degree of etiquette to be observed in the field.
“Come in!” called the boss in a remarkably relaxed and welcoming tone. His off-white office was well lit with LED lights that illuminated the desk and another table against the left wall that was covered by a large poncho. I couldn’t hear any significant noise. The generator hum had gone and it was comfortably warm, considering it was only a few degrees outside. Three chairs waited for us in front of the desk. Blank screens were attached to the back and left wall. The boss had a large laptop, two military grade toughbooks wired together and two large monitors. He looked up from the toughbooks and gave us a big smile.
“Evening, chaps. Nice to see you. Settling in alright? Grab a seat.”
“Good evening, Sir,” Yaz replied. “Holiday’s been fun so far. We’ve done a bit of sightseeing, archery, shooting, there’s a gym… lovely scenery. Haven’t mixed with the locals yet, but we might take a stroll out in the next day or two. Can you recommend a place for dinner?”
“I heard the wine’s pretty good. Vineyards down south, off the coast, Sir.” I ran with Yaz’s understatements.
“Ha ha!” Stepanov played along. “Yep, the wine’s alright. Funny you should mention the locals. Quite talented in general, fiery in disposition. Somewhat untrusting but for good reasons. You might get to meet a few tonight.”
Podpolkóvnik Stepanov had run the unit for 4 years and was of solid flying pedigree, with a lean and nasty look that was totally contradicted by his usually warm demeanour. He was an instructor on the KA-50 and KA-52, and their weapons systems. This wasn’t uncommon but he was more active in this regard than some. He knew what his wingmen were capable of by virtue of having taught them, rather than by simply having read their reports. Stepanov served in Chechnya as a junior officer and in Syria, commanding us in the oil fields.
Behind us, Razza set to work. I turned to look at whatever secret and special kit the boss kept hidden. The poncho concealed a full professional Gaggia coffee machine and all the accoutrements for a small café service. Beneath the table were two white refrigerators and a dark green, metal military crate full of other catering gear, plates and such.
“Chez Stepanov is OK for a light snack,” the boss continued. “There’s a mediocre fast food joint over there…” he pointed behind us in the direction of the mess tent, “but if you’re looking for a good local experience, intel has a bunch of recommendations.”
As more periphery chat ensued about our work to date, Razza served us coffees from one hand and two plates of Coulibiac from the other. As we ate and listened, Razza outlined what lay in store. We were to meet a spec ops team in a north-south valley past Donetsk, near Kramatorsk, ambush a convoy entering the valley then carry physical intel home while escorting the team back to base. We needed to arrive at the specific ambush location well ahead of the passage time of the convoy, agree the final attack plan, wait for the convoy then conduct the ambush.
“The local team are taking care of an LZ on the offside of the valley’s eastern ridge so you can land there, hang out with them, shut down and wait. You start on the offside of the eastern ridge, totally unseen. Pop up above the ridge, acquire the targets and absolutely hammer them.”
“What’s in the convoy?”
“It’s all civvie stuff. Cars, vans.”
“There’s an interesting, obvious challenge to this,” Stepnov took over. “Any ideas?”
“Mobile air defence on the vehicles. Literally blokes with manpads out the sunroof?” Yaz said.
“Yeah, definitely possible. One way around that is the rapid surprise attack, although your weapon launches will expose your position. Anything else?”
“Well… all the vehicles are civilian.” I pondered. “So then… you drive in civilian spacing. Why bunch up? That just makes the strike easier. If they’re significantly spread out, some can escape an attack?”
“Yep,” nodded the boss. “The team has one missile to take out a vehicle so that’s some support. Their OPs are a last chance if any of the convoy escapes either end, but that’s a backup. Just expect to be dynamic. Whatever the plan is, expect to modify it on-the-fly.”
“Are they the fire controllers?”
“Yep. It’s their show, we’ve been assigned to them. We’ve given you the overview. They’ll give you the actuals and you work with them. Obviously, they aren’t gonna be telling you how to fly so don’t take shit or agree to things you or the ship can’t or won’t do.”
Razza had planned out the routing to avoid air defence. We’d fly to a refuel point on the eastern, friendly side of Donetsk, gas up, then sneak around Donetsk and head northwest to the LZ beside the valley. We’d do another refuel on the way back.
We had another coffee and cleaned our plates.
“This isn’t your version of a last meal is it, Sir?” Yaz enquired, half joking.
“Nope. You only need to start worrying when you get two courses on me and some wine.”
“Good luck,” said Razza. “Don’t crash.”
We flew nap of the earth on night vision to the valley. Everything was shades of green to black. The route was planned to avoid any known contacts and built up areas to minimise risks. Flying so low, we had few views of action, just occasional flashes in the sky. Nearing Donetsk, I felt we were utterly alone. Even friendlies were strangers down there and in our case, “stealth” meant “zero support”. Memories of Syrian intelligence and unpleasantness crept into my mind.
“We’re in no-man’s land now, bud,” I said.
“We’ll be fine as long as we keep it tight, keep thinking and talking… And shooting, definitely do a bit of shooting… Shooting helps.”
Five minutes out we called the Spec Ops team on a dedicated frequency, but not in the usual way.
“Hello, dad?”
“Hi, son, your room’s ready,” came the reply.
A last minute datalink refresh gave us the exact location of the LZ. From two kilometers away we spotted an IR strobe. When I could make out the whole LZ from about 3/4 of a click, I keyed the mic and the strobe shut off. They’d done a good job clearing such dense woodland. Without a tail rotor, the Hokum could get into tight spaces, but the LZ was big enough for the transport that would come later. Yaz dropped chocks down to the guy waiting to receive them and he knew to place them behind the main wheels on touchdown.
“Just in time for the BBQ! Glad you could make it!” said the man. He had a young, taught face, small pointed nose and serious eyes under a solid brow. In his outfit he looked quite bulky, but it was impossible to tell how much was him and how much was gear. He was clean shaven, hair shaved at the sides but longer on top. With a bit of beard he’d qualify as “hipster”.
“Stanislav. The boys are back there. Good ride in?”
We introduced ourselves and shook hands with a smile. “Yeah, our first night drive in these parts. Nice scenery. A lot of greenery. Even the houses.” I gestured towards my night vision googles.
“Don’t tell me, green’s your favourite colour as well?” Stan said.
“Hurry up, dinner’s getting cold!” called another voice just up the slope. I caught a whiff of smoke and meat cooking.
“I hope that’s not the smell of a prisoner.” Yaz whispered, with a giggle.
The four men looked down onto the Hokum from their hide. They’d dug out a round hole about 2.5 metres in diameter and about half a metre deep, with the earth piled up around the edge. In the centre was another hole just under a metre in diameter, in which a fire was set. We only saw into the hole when we were a couple of meters away. The firelight was mostly contained within the two holes. It was big enough for all of us to sit comfortably on the first shelf, around the fire, looking in towards each other. Stan gestured to us to sit either side of him. His three companions looked up, all variously smiling and waving in greeting.
“Something smells good. Is that the prisoner we’re taking back to base?” I asked, stealing Yaz’s joke and chancing it with these four killers. They all laughed, looking amongst each other.
“Yeah, he had a good taste in aftershave, didn’t he!” said one, sniffing at the smoke. “I’m Daniel, this is Ol, Spiker, and you met Stan. We’ve got some dirty steak on the go. Your timing’s good.”
“Spiker? How’d you end up with that?”
“You know… Vlad… The Impaler… Spike… so it became Spiker. Only the boss calls me Vlad. If anyone calls me Vladimir, that means I’m in trouble, or at home. And if I’m at home, I’m definitely in trouble never mind what I’m called.”
We introduced ourselves and asked how things would run. There was plenty of time for dinner and a chinwag, Stan advised. They seemed incredibly relaxed, or they were just supercool under pressure and impending doom. The convoy was rolling but at least two hours away, possibly longer. On the menu was a mixture of rabbit and deer, all homegrown and freshly killed. There was enough deer to bring back to base. The food was remarkably good. Wherever their kit was, they’d come well-equipped. They had a Dutch oven full of rabbit and venison stew with plenty of mixed vegetables. The sauce tasted like it had a wine base, well-seasoned and herby. There was bread that they’d made in the pot before the stew, but you’d never have known unless they’d said. Drinks were a selection of canned soft drinks or tea, coffee or hot chocolate, partly from ration kits and partly from a much better stash. Our hosts knew how to look after guests.
Daniel was the man on the radio. He was late twenties in the firelight. He had mid length, neat dark hair in a loose parting. I guessed he must have been over 185cm and the lean kind of mean, with a rounded face, high cheekbones, slightly wideset eyes and a weak chin. He had a longish, straight nose with a squared tip. He was their senior by the way the chat went but no one explicitly said who was in charge. They didn’t wear any insignia on their smocks. As my curiosity built I offered a few bits of info about ourselves and some hint of how busy life had been for us the last few days, but deferred to them who, I guessed out loud, must have been a lot busier for a lot longer.
“Well, yeah,” started up Ol. “Been on holiday all over, wine tasting, bit of nightlife, few road trips. 3.5 stars so far. Maybe a four if they put on a good fireworks display for my birthday!”
We laughed at his euphemisms.
“It seems that the rumours are true about the civvy tactics from what we’ve seen from the air. There were two artillery guns in residential… maybe even a school ground. And some of our lads were engaged on a block that they said was still full of civvies. How have you found that?”
“Yeah, that’s not too different from what we’ve seen.” Stan chipped in as he looked around his pals, checking for disapproval. They all nodded. “The DPR saw loads of this. It’s going to be the same all over to some extent, worse in certain bits with the hardcore lot. We’ve helped out around Donbass. It’s not going to be easy if we go into towns, although that’s always messy. Have you flown into Donetsk recently? It’s hard to find a yorsh in the terminal there these days, never mind a flight to Moscow.”
“So what cool shit have you been up to? Are you allowed to give us any war stories? It must be intense doing intel work in the field?”
“Hmm… put it this way. This place is so fucking corrupt that getting intel isn’t just us hiding in holes and stuff. It’s for sale.” Stan was a natural and engaging speaker. Not your average squaddie. “So we’ve been able to have an eye on all sorts of stuff for ages and none of this started yesterday. Loads of outside input for a long time, interesting people all over the place. Tonight’s lot are ‘advisors and consultants’ - you know - and they’re bringing a load of presents with them, as I’m sure you know. This is kinda Syria on a lot more money, more NATO weapons and greater sophistication due to the build up since Maidan.” Generalised and sort of vague, nothing I didn’t already know. “But there’s obviously a whole other layer. Clash of the Titans sort of thing.”
“Yeah, but there’s no oil here, although the wheat is good.” I held up the bread.
“Actually, there’s masses of gas in the DPR, waiting to be sucked out. Reconstruction money.” Stan winked.
“Do you think the Ukies are going to be hard to take in any aspect?” I continued to get a feel for their take on what was to come.
“Hard? Depends who you’re dealing with,” said Ol. “There’s a mix, from what we’ve seen and heard. Petro said that ‘anti-terror’ op at the airport was going to be done in two days. Totally wasn’t. We kept them busy with militia and some support. We should have smashed them harder though. Since then, the money’s gone in on their side mostly, training, guns… but we’ve done our thing as well. If it’s not hard, you’re doing it wrong but won’t be doing it for long.”
We turned to the attack and they took us through the lie of the land and the plan. There was a missile here. Another three operators were on the other side of the valley in a hide, within sniping range of the kill zone to pick off men or hit vehicles. They felt it was best to try to attack the convoy once it turned off the highway into the winding, descending mouth of the wooded valley entrance. That meant the men at the top OP would sweep into the back of the convoy in addition to our frontal attack . They wanted us to time our open attack on the lower half of the winding, descending road to cause vehicles to veer off the roads into trees. Blowing trees added to the mayhem and damage. Magnifying our weapons in that place meant less risk to them. Daniel’s team would be a trapping point for any vehicles that made it this far down the valley. The extraction chopper would be called ten minutes after we took off so it was in the area ready to pick up as soon as the attack was done.
Daniel looked comfortable and everyone was calm. “This might be a chance to see how these NLAWs do. We nicked it from a cache. That was fun.”
“Nicked it?” queried Yaz.
“Yeah! Do it all the time!” answered Daniel. “Once we found the dump and called it in, it didn’t make sense to leave empty-handed. Loads of toys in there. All shiny and new. I’m not joking, they have shit loads of gear. We took a load of stuff. The boys across the valley are on .50 cal Barrett rifles. Fearsome.”
“Won’t someone notice?”
“Maybe, but by then… Honestly, there was so much stuff in there you would not believe. Bet you’ll never guess where it was.”
“DHL?”
“Almost. It was all in a dairy. About a third of the floorspace. And there’s still loads of normal work going on all around. When that place goes up… a lot of spilled milk.”
“Is that why you didn’t blow it?”
“Nope. It’s a question of timing. The location’s being watched now via a few ways,” he pointed up and motioned around, “so you just wait until interesting amounts of activity start happening and you hit it when it’s convenient.”
“Makes sense. But I guess whoever makes the call carries that cross.” They would be calling in an airstrike on a legitimate target but knowing there would be civilian casualties as well. Difficult to square that. Or not.
“Yeah, well that’s the balance, isn’t it?” Ol said. “If you take out all those weapons and troops but some civvies get caught up in it because they put the weapons in with the civvies, is that better or worse than letting the weapons and the troops run free? Azov would be first in line to stock up from there and do whatever to whoever. If you get a few of them and the locals get a firework show, that’s a reasonable result. Lots of our boys would be saved and that’s a lot of things ticked off our list.”
It was difficult to argue with his war logic. You have to do damage to get leverage and sue for peace. If you haven’t done enough damage you don’t have any leverage. Making civilian locations into military targets or sites was illegitimate. Human shield tactics were even worse.
“So if we can get a lot of intel via the corruption here, what keeps you guys so busy?” I probed again.
“Hang on…” Daniel interrupted Stan, who was about to answer. Stan and the others went quiet. “By my thinking, if you’re part of this team for a short time, you have to swear a little oath.”
“Riiight? Am I gonna have to sign-up to a monthly subscription as well? My wife had a problem with Guns and Ammo, just so you know.” Yaz was grinning in the firelight.
“Ha, yeah… nah, You have to swear that you’ll do everything you can to wipe these fuckers out, then I’ll tell you what kind of fuckers you’re dealing with.”
I was keen to get an inside line that the boss and Razza were either unable or unwilling to give us when they tasked us with the job. I raised my right hand and said, “I promise to wipe out the targets we’ve been assigned, and not hit you lot.” Yaz immediately repeated the same words.
“Welcome aboard your short voyage on the Mayhem Express! Chuck us the Voice, Ol.” Ol climbed out of the dug out and went into the darkness. “We’ve been out here for 6 weeks, partially tasked to find targets like this and get intel. The weapons cache is connected to them and they’re fundamental to how force networks run here. You’ll have heard some of what I’m going to tell you but some you won’t.”
Daniel proceeded to tell us that they spent time in the field and in urban environments, disguised, collecting human and signals intelligence. That explained the non-standard hair cuts. They were not spies but rather a team who helped actively maintain operational relationships that spies had originally established. They acquired current information they could possibly use for the remainder of their time in the field. Sometimes that just lead to a maintenance or expansion of the intelligence picture in some sense. Other times, like now, it became a specific mission that they helped jointly generate. They had the freedom to build the mission based on what they knew and what support they could get. In this case, stealing supplies from a weapons cache was a way to resource this strike from the field. He confirmed my logical conclusion that such operations must have been running for a long time in Ukraine, given the years since Maidan and Crimea, and the obvious need to keep a handle on the situation. Daniel turned to the specifics of what lay in store. The targets were a mixture of para-military leadership and foreign support targets. There was a rare opportunity to hit a finance connection that lead to western government money. The strike would disrupt the Aidar battalion’s command and the weapons they were in convoy with. Daniel turned “the Voice” - a field toughbook - towards us. There was a news article from US Newsweek.
He copied out the text for translation.
Ukrainian Nationalist Volunteers Committing 'ISIS-Style' War Crimes
Groups of right-wing Ukrainian nationalists are committing war crimes in the rebel-held territories of Eastern Ukraine, according to a report from Amnesty International, as evidence emerged in local media of the volunteer militias beheading their victims.
Armed volunteers who refer to themselves as the Aidar battalion "have been involved in widespread abuses, including abductions, unlawful detention, ill-treatment, theft, extortion, and possible executions", Amnesty said.
The organisation has also published a report detailing similar alleged atrocities committed by pro-Russian militants, highlighting the brutality of the conflict which has claimed over 3,000 lives.
There are over 30 pro-nationalist, volunteer battalions similar to Aidar, such as Ukraina, DND Metinvest and Kiev 1, all funded by private investors.
The Aidar battalion is publicly backed by Ukrainian oligarch Ihor Kolomoyskyi, who also allegedly funds the Azov, Donbas, Dnepr 1, Dnepr 2 volunteer battalions, operating under orders from Kiev. Last spring Kolomoyskyi offered a bounty of $10,000 of his own money for each captured Russian "saboteur".
“OK? So that’s Newsweek years ago. This stuff was common knowledge then, and it ain’t good news. There was a place called The Library. It was a torture chamber at the Donetsk airport, run by SBU with Azov. Even the OSCE reported that the civilian casualties were three times higher in Donbass than on the Ukrainian side, because of the attacks on civilians, but no one did anything. Once money and ideology gets a hold in a place like this and there’s strong external protection, what you see and think is politics is just not relevant any more. What’s happening here is the wild west, law of the jungle, survival of the fittest type of stuff. These fuckers we are going after tonight aren’t just the Army. They’re Nazis and they’re trafficking people they grab from the battlefield. We have direct confirmation. 100% confidence.”
“That saying, ‘fight fire with fire’,” Ol interrupted, “is sort of true, but it’s more like ‘darkness brings more darkness’. People descend into their pain. Hurt them, they hurt you or others. It becomes… err… a loop.”
“Positive feedback cycle.” Stan helped him out.
“Yeah. Gangs, militia, armies, whatever. You can justify what you do if you’ve taken enough pain. For some, the line gets crossed and then they become free.”
“Free? How do you mean?” Yaz’s tone of disbelief mirrored my own feelings.
“Free from the shackles of decency, society, humanity, whatever.” Daniel replied. “Law becomes something else. It’s there, but if the forces backing you keep law away and keep ‘paying’ you to dole out pain, you’re free to do what you want. Like cutting off heads. That’s Syria, that’s here. That’s any regime at some level. The fact we’re here, doling out pain is the same thing. We just justify it to ourselves on whatever basis. Darkness brings more darkness.”
“Jesus, the way you put that sounds… cold.” I was probably a bit too blunt and sounded naïve.
“Yeah, it is. Did you bring your rope?” Daniel asked. The lads smiled.
“What for? Missiles are quicker than lynching moving targets.” I retorted.
“Not for that. When you step into the abyss, you’ve got to have a way out. That’s what the rope is for. He is my rope, I am his.” He pointed at Stan. “We are the rope. We can lynch people and we can haul people out of the abyss. We have to look after ourselves in order to look after others.”
They let that sit for a while. This was more candour and reflection than I expected from them, and it was punctuated with sadness. Ultimately, good or bad wasn’t necessarily the agenda. It was force of will, justified in whatever way someone chose to suit their own ends. Good and bad was both relative and just a story, as I interpreted Daniel’s words.
“OK…” No harm in seeing how far I could get into their heads. Daniel dipped his chin and raised both his eyebrows at me. He was readying for a question, but I think he was telling me there might be a line. “Are we goodies or baddies and how do we justify our actions to ourselves?”
Spiker, who’d been silent the whole time since we’d been introduced, cleared his throat. “That’s the obvious question. The one every soldier has to ask themselves and the one that turns soldiers mad, sad or bad. Why don’t you try and answer that for yourselves? Tell us your answers when we’re done here and having a drink.”
“Do you both believe in God?” Daniel asked.
“Orthodox,” I tapped my chest. “Muslim.” I nodded to Yaz.
“He likes chocolate and I prefer candy. But it’s all just sugar in the end.” Yaz summarised.
“Insh’a Allah! Hallelujah!” said Ol. “There’s more coffee in the flasks and someone needs to volunteer to finish off dinner.” Stan and Spiker stepped up. Stan reached out of the hole to something, then threw Spiker a field shovel, then they both stepped up into the darkness.
After we’d run through the target list again with Daniel, he looked towards his team. “Minimum forty minutes. Stan, check kit and weaps. Spiker, do a comms check and get a location update. Ol, prep the NLAW. I think there’s a cover on the muzzle. Spiker can fill in the hole.” He was back to business.
We were sat ready in the chopper. Daniel was fully suited, leaning in on the step. I pictured him in another life. He was the CEO of a company, thrusting but focused and with a close team that lead from the front, by example. We ran through the plan again with Daniel perched beside us.
“OK, what’s a possible worst case?” he asked.
“Someone gets through the kill zone into the valley, or the convoy splits before the valley. You’re there to attack the runners along the valley. We’ll have to chase the others.”
“Good.” Daniel looked at Yaz. “Run through the targets again, please.”
“4 cars, three vans, two single body high backed closed trucks. Two MPVs.” Yaz read off from his knee board.
“What’s our primary?”
“Qashqai, assuming they haven’t switched or varied. The other cars are one Peugeot and two BMWs.”
“Great. Final word. Even if there’s more vehicles, or less, our call to engage is to be obeyed. We are fire controllers here. If there’s more vehicles than on that list, it doesn’t matter. Everything must go. Understand?”.
“Affirm.” I began. “You’re fire control. We stay on area. Destroy everything.” Daniel looked straight to Yaz.
“What he said.”
“Thanks. It’s good to have you here. You’re doing God’s work, through fire. Allahu akhbar. Any questions?”
We had nothing.
We were hovering below the ridge line. We just needed to pop up to start the attack and slide left over the ridge. The OP at the top of the valley on the highway called the target vehicles as they approached and turned into the valley. Yaz kept up using our target list.
“OP 1, second BMW has turned. MPV slowing to turn.”
“That’s three entering kill zone.” I was keeping track as well.
“OP 1, VW Golf no turn, no turn.” That must have been a civvy.
“OP 1, eighth vehicle, dark van . Ninth vehicle tight behind, light truck.”
“OP 1, dark MPV turning.”
Four vehicles of eleven had entered the kill zone.
“OP 1, first van, first truck. NO TURN, NO TURN.”
Shit. The convoy had broken up. Why?
“OP 1, tenth vehicle, Peugeot. Tight eleventh vehicle, Qashqai. Be advised, PRIMARY TARGET IS LAST LAST.”
“OP 1, second van, second truck, NO TURN NO TURN.”
“Fuck!” barked Yaz, “That’s all the weapons vans still on the highway…” He blew across his mic as he breathed out hard. “Anticipate their call to pursue, suspect kill zone strikes first.”
“OP 1, Peugeot and Qashqai, NO TURN NO TURN.”
Fuck. Fuck indeed. It’s gone wrong.
“SPEAR, DELTA. ENGAGE BMW 1. ENGAGE KILL ZONE. CONFIRM.”
“Delta, Spear. Engaging BMW 1. Engaging kill zone.” Yaz spoke his reply deliberately slowly, looking over at me as he transmitted. Simultaneously, I piled on the power to climb and tilted left to slide over the ridge. As soon as he felt the power, Yaz looked into the displays.
“Hunting… valley mouth, looking for lead Beamer, my missiles. Your rockets and guns.”
I was silent, watching the green black terrain and sweeping my view left, then forwards, then across instruments and back left again in a loop. We were at ridge height and progressing upwards, slowly sideward.
“I’ve got the ground from the highway…” said Yaz. We were comfortably above the ridge. “…hunting down… movement in the trees. Keep climbing.”
Above the ridge the valley was exposed to my full gaze. Ahead was the flat road along the valley floor. Distant in the upper half of the windshield were increasingly dense trees that swallowed the road. At the top of the rising trees was the highway.
“I’ve got…” Yaz began. “BMW! Locked.” Motion in my night vision view to the left caught my attention.
“WAIT!” I barked. “Scan down fast, further along the road…” As I spoke Yaz was already doing it. “No lights... Get them!” It was the front BMW.
“BMW one. Locked!” The blast launch momentarily blew my right side vision. “Range 2 kilometres.” I saw the bright shrinking spot of the missile’s engine, enclosed in a light halo. The flash was the end of its short life. “Kill. Hunting second.”
“Rockets and guns after your missile.” We hovered like bloodthirsty Gods. 2km ahead was the primary kill zone. Our full arsenal was available. I lowered the nose to begin a slow forwards acceleration and aim the gun and rockets.
“BMW 2, locked.” Launch blast from my left was my cue. I began to unleash rockets into the initial flat section of the road then walked them up through the trees. There, I began to fire the cannon, overlaying squeezes of the rockets as I moved the nose to widen the strike area. I pinched my eyelids narrow as the night vision burst bright with the rockets and gun rounds, which looked like a stream of tracer fire.
A blast launch came again from his side. “One for good measure.”
Under night vision, the trees became a mottled green zone of smoke, with spots of fire. The missile flashed out of life in the upper half of the kill zone.
“Delta, Spear. 2 BMW kill. Heavy volley on kill zone. Orders.” Daniel was fire controller. I could guess his next and began to accelerate towards the kill zone. We would move on.
“Spear. CONTINUE. Fly to PURSUE on highway. QASHQAI PRIMARY, was rear vehicle. Confirm your remaining targets.”
I accelerated and climbed higher. We wanted a wide, higher view of the highway to launch missiles first, then move close for volleys. I had to catch the escaping vehicles who’d be leading at high speed.
“Remaining targets: van, truck, van, truck, Peugeot, Qashqai primary.” Yaz was on it.
“Spear, Delta. Additional target, VW Golf. Additional target, VW Golf. Confirm.”
“VW Golf target affirm.”
They must have spread into the Golf. Worst car of the lot, good cover. It didn’t turn with the others, then the back half of the convoy stayed on the highway with it. Clever. Even more civilian-like. Sneaky bastards. Far ahead was a sweeping right turn in the highway that sloped down. The world widened out and I aligned to this straight section of the highway. Yaz would have a good view.
“Got the Golf. Lights are on,” said Yaz “Truck and van next, both lanes, van offset behind.”
My mouth immediately turned salty and in my forearms I felt a kind of low tingle, like the beginning of imagined fear. I swallowed my spit and squeezed my guts tight.
“Range to truck and van 4.7. Golf 2. What’s wrong?”
“Kill the truck and van now, they might have a missile. We’ve got the weapons.”
Yaz didn’t need to speak if he agreed. I saw him flick the zoom back a step, slave on the truck and lock the laser. The truck became a spot of pure hell lived out in a nanosecond. There was an initial point flash then a bursting motion that reached across the highway in all directions, immediately consumed by a wide, secondary explosion matched to a distant copy of events through our windshield. The van behind spin-crashed against the road’s central barrier.
“Two missiles remaining. Good rockets, good guns.” Yaz called. We still had options.
I could see the Golf’s lights. I brought the reticule on to them and walked guns up through the Golf then pumped one rocket about three car lengths in front.
“Hit. Get the van.” I heard. I re-established the van and let rip. Two rockets broke the van in two.
“Kill. Hunting. Looking for van, truck, Peugeot, Qashqai primary. Accelerate max speed. Cut the corner,” said Yaz.
We couldn’t see anything on the highway ahead into the upcoming right sweep. I banked right to cut deep cross the sweeping bend ahead to catch up to the furthest vehicles. They’d have all killed their lights, so first contact depended on Yaz and the chopper’s electronic eyes. The cars could have been running at speeds close to, perhaps faster than us.
“We need the primary.” I commanded.
We were both stressed. It was the speed of the front targets and the risk that slower targets could be on the highway behind that was a dynamic problem. The front targets might escape into the next junction. The other targets might shoot us from behind.
“Sweep from the top. Range to there?” I said.
Yaz centred the camera on the top of the road at the far horizon. “Range 9.6. Anything between here and there is missile, until over the horizon. You can climb to open the view, caution air defence.”
I was about 800m right of the highway, closing on the intercept. I looked left into the darkness that was unveiled through my night vision.
“Spear, Delta. Pass status.”
“Spear, in pursuit, standby.” I instantly replied.
We’re fucking busy doing all the work.
I could see parts of the distant highway blocked from view by the undulations, the trees and our angles. I looked left again at the nearing highway. I swept my head back over my left shoulder to clear the way behind us.
“Fuck, we’ve overtaken the vans!” I barked. “Keep hunting. Climbing!” I gambled by trading some forward speed for a zoom climb. I had to give Yaz a full forward view to lock and fire on at least the Qashqai somewhere up ahead then do something about the truck and van who were behind us. We gained another 100m in what felt like seconds.
Deal with this, fuckers.
I swung the nose down aggressively and turned hard left to point at the highway. I spread five rockets out across the lanes.
Driving without a road is called “flying”. Fly that, assholes.
“That’ll stop them.” I explained. “Still a threat, we’re gambling now. Keep a missile back.” I dumped flares and chaff out knowing that the picture behind had changed but was no safer.
I bet Daniel’s scratching his arse waiting to be extracted.
“Shit! Got heat! Yeees… you lucky fucker.” I wasn’t sure if Yaz was talking to me, himself, them or God. “It’s the Peugeot. There’s… We’ve got a minute or more till he’s…”
“Sweep for primary! Once more! Start from the top.” I interrupted. We had to get the primary target. This would take a little time. Yaz scanned from the horizon, running down to trace the dark road as quickly as the camera could be moved.
“Got it.” Yaz’s voice was soft and calm in my head. An SUV with a hard curved back was in the last sweep of the highway, before the upward final straight. “Locked.” The car’s last moments were in flight. We watched the missile streak in the windshield as I dumped more flares and chaff and began a right turn to change our path, checking the screen just in time for the impact flash in white hot. A terminal combination of speed and heat and force played out with wheels shooting sideways as the Qashqai lifted then tumbled forwards, then flipped fast as soon as its front bumper touched the ground.
“NEXT!” I shouted, with relief and excitement.
A loud, double alert chirruped in the cockpit. Two bright green lights flashed in the upper centre of the instrument panel and to my left forward view on a button that read “LAUNCH”. Below the edge of my night vision, the red glow from that button was visible. The audible chirrup kept repeating and the tactical display showed a bright solid line from behind us.
“BREAK BREAK BREAK!” Yaz shouted in my ears over the screaming alert. I snapped the chopper into a right over roll to put the black sky beside my left knee and pulled back on the stick to initiate a hard dive turn back towards the truck and van. Our Launch Detection fired flares as we swung into the positive G. I blipped the chaff as a guess, in case of radar. My legs pinched together and my core was filled with flashing desperation as though all the guilt in my life was suddenly exposed to the whole world for judgement. Altitude peeled off in a shuddering whine.
The boom and the flash was like the night sun exploding. My view turned white. I felt a wave of huge pressure in my ears and sinuses. There was a loud, echoing, clanking crack across the right. I instinctively tried to roll left away from the explosion, blinking while I reached for my eyes and rolling my jaw. I felt deaf. I ripped up my night vision and the instruments came back into view.
“Fuck!” I blurted out, scanning the main display. We were still diving and in a right roll. I slammed the power on to arrest the descent and rolled left to stop the turn, desperate to get control and re-orientate myself in the blackness. As my hearing started to come back I heard high pitched ringing, then slurred breathing.
“Gurrrrggghhhh. Gurrrggghhh.”
“Yaz! Yaz!”
I looked right but couldn’t make out what he was doing. I had to stabilise the ship. I glanced across the displays, looking for colours of warning. Things looked OK. I pulled my night vision back down.
Kill them first or we’re dead.
There wasn’t a choice. I swung the targeting camera straight ahead and hunted for the truck while Yaz struggled in my ears. Targeting the truck seemed to take forever as my eyes constantly flicked around the cockpit, through the HUD and to the TV display.
Get it right first time.
The truck and van were stuck where I’d smashed up the highway. Two men were between the vehicles. I locked the laser on the truck and fired, then immediately followed with rockets. I banked left to get off the closing line while the weapons delivered our revenge. The truck went up in a billowing explosion and engulfed the van and then the rockets banged in like dustbombs on the screen. They were dead enough.
“Mayday, mayday! We’re hit, inbound to LZ, one casualty. Prep for medevac,” I told Daniel or whoever was listening. I rammed the nose down to race back to the valley.
“Yaz!” I looked right again. He was looking forwards, his body looked stiff. His mouth was fixed in a rictus grin. His left arm was across his chest as though he was gripping his side or his arm. I could see a spatter pattern of impacts across the right side of the canopy and his side window. There were gashes in it.
“Yaz! Talk to me, where are you hit?!”
“Gaaahhhh! Guuurrrghhhh” Still this desperate, forced, gurgled breathing. Neck, head or chest. There was nothing I could do in the air to help. I had to get to the evac.
They’ll have a combat medic amongst them. They could manage him in the transport.
“Delta, Spear. Inbound, ETA 3 minutes. Prep medical assistance on arrival. Expect neck, head or chest wound. I need you to stabilise then extract him from the chopper. Support him in the transport. Readback.”
“Spear, Delta. Copy casualty and medical. Neck, head or chest. Stabilise then transfer. Transport is on site. Land behind it. Medical standing by.”
“Yaz! Hang the fuck on. HANG ON! We’re nearly at the transport. We’re gonna get you safe. Keep talking! Allahu akhbar!” I reached to squeeze his shoulder. He was still frozen straight ahead. I could see some blood darkening his teeth.
“Hnnnngh. Hnggggh.”
“Listen to me! You are gonna fuckin’ make it. Think of Annika, Kira and Niki! You’re gonna be OK brother!”
A bleeping alert sounded in the cockpit. I scanned across the displays as I cancelled the warning noise. The secondary hydraulic system was losing fluid. I checked the ship was flying and stable. The LZ was a minute away. If I didn’t do anything, the secondary hydraulics could bleed out and we’d be OK. Just as long as nothing else was busted. Everything else looked OK. I sucked in breaths to calm down and focus on not crashing. My mind was racing with options and consequences.
Neck or chest wound needs plugging and fluids. Punctured lung or bleeding into his throat needs treatment. Can do that on the transport. If we can’t move him, we need the nearest field medics. Route needs to stay as planned to avoid contacts.
“Delta, Spear. We got everything except the Peugeot. We need field medic locations near Donetsk or east, in case we can’t move Yaz.”
“Copied. Ready for medevac. We need to be quick in case of a contact in the valley.”
I was close to max speed, approaching the valley. I needed to lose the speed without stressing the damaged ship too much. I swung out into a wide S turn to bleed off the speed. The glow of the burning killzone made it easy to swing out over the highway junction where the vehicles had turned and align south with the valley road. The transport was waiting on the road ahead of the smouldering BMW wreckage. I could see a figure with glowsticks waving me in as I coasted with the speed coming back from 40 knots towards a hover. To his left, three men knelt by a stretcher and two more were out to the right with weapons. Once I was clear of the BMW he began to wave me down and I sank onto the road and brought us to a halt. I pointed at Yaz to let the guy know where the casualty was, then set about disengaging the rotors and securing the ship while the engine kept running. Yaz’s door opened and a flashlight bounced over him.
Stan pulled himself up on Yaz’s step and assessed Yaz under the flashlight. He pointed to the side of his neck. He mouthed “neck, arm” at me then pulled up a pack and dumped it on Yaz’s lap. Daniel appeared at my side, motioning to open the door. He sprang up on my step to hang off my grab handle. He screamed into my ear over the turbine and dwindling rotor whine.
“It’s in his neck and right arm! Maybe chest! Help Stan tie him up.”
We wound the bandage round his neck, keeping his right hand in place against it. I could see Stan gritting his teeth as he pulled the dressing tight. Yaz barely moved; his body was locked. Then Stan wound a field tourniquet under his bicep and shouted down. Daniel screamed at me again.
“Lift him out! Help lift him out!”
I unclipped Yaz’s harness. Before I reached to grab his comms line to disconnect him from the ship, I squeezed his shoulder again.
“Hang on, Yaz! Hang on, brother! They’re gonna get you into the transport. You’re gonna be fine. Fucking fight! ‘ashkuruk ealaa kunik 'afdal shaqiq fi alsilah 'atamanah”
Stan had him at the waistband and I tried to scoop him underneath. As Stan hauled, I lifted as hard as I could, grunting and heaving with all my might. We got his body over the edge of the door, balancing on his waist. Without thinking, I plunged my left hand down to protect the ejection handle between his legs. We hadn’t made his seat safe and if that’d gone off it would’ve killed us. More hands came up to take his weight and Stan and I again hauled and shoved his weight up until his thighs were out and the men had him, then he was gone. Daniel moved away, speaking on his comms. In the back of the transport, two men were kneeling with open medical packs and two IV bags hung up from the sidewalls. Further back I could see what looked like a dead deer laid on its stomach on the floor underneath which, bizarrely, was the shape of a man.
I jumped out, desperate to see that Yaz was alive. As I ran round the back of the ship, I saw the blast pattern across the whole right side. Shrapnel had sprayed us and torn holes into the lower half of the Hokum. I couldn’t tell how bad the penetration was, I just had to hope it could get us back behind friendly lines. I couldn’t tell the blades’ condition in the dark. There was nothing I could do anyway. If the ship went wrong, I’d find out soon enough.
Stan, Ol and two other soldiers hauled up the stretcher. Yaz was curled in the foetal position, his right hand strapped against his neck. Night vision hid color but not the darkness of blood down his right side. I went to grab a side handle of the stretcher to help, but I was pulled back. Daniel’s voice screamed through my helmet and the whining noise of the hokum’s turbines and the transport’s rotors.
“NO! NO! We have to leave! Get back in the air! We’ve got him! Contacts are inbound from south. GET UP! EXFIL! EXFIL!”
Even in my state, I knew he was right.
In my seat, I ran through my checks and set up by rote muscle memory. The secondary hydraulics were down to their last third. I engaged the rotor, listening and watching for abnormalities or imbalances. Things seemed OK and I had no choice but to trust in the ship’s toughness and design. She knew what was at stake. Daniel appeared beside and handed me a small plastic envelope, motioning to shove it into my jumpsuit.
“Guard south! Unknown contacts inbound!”
Please God, help us. Help my brother.
Daniel waved me up into the air. Now I had to do my job - protect us and get us home.