Comrades in Arms
Chapter 21: Operation Patriot - Subterfuge
For a simple armoury and generator compound, the place was heavily guarded – much more so than would normally be necessary. A wall ten metres high and topped with electrifying energy shields surrounded the compound, broken only by checkpoints which had the approaching road covered with Rorsch MK-S8 railgun turrets. If one were to fly over the compound, one would see the roofs of the buildings dotted with another form of defence – the Rorsch Kz-27 flak turret. As one might expect for a facility which was home to a division of the Ninth Armoured Corps, heavy vehicles were parked in the facility's garages – Tiger tanks, Reisig Battlewalkers and Groundhog APCs. That there was no Goliath to be seen was due to the fact that European High Command had not, despite Emil Nikoli and Spencer Harrison's insistence and pleas, been willing to risk another of the expensive, heavy vehicles being destroyed before it could even be deployed in combat.
As they approached its intimidating walls, Sarov voiced an opinion that must have been on all three of the infiltrators' minds.
"Some setup they have here…are you sure this is going to work?"
"This is no time to be intimidated. You're Iron Legion, this is child's play. And for all our sakes, speak English," Kosarkov reprimanded.
"Got it," Sarov replied in English, his voice firm.
Kosarkov switched the channel and spoke to Takiguchi – the last time he would do so before blowing the charges.
"General, this is Infiltration. We've reached the base. Going radio silent," he reported.
"Roger that. No further transmissions. Good luck, Infiltration," Takiguchi's voice replied.
Kosarkov cut the transmission and applied a little more pressure to the accelerator. Slowly, and every second worried that the EU might suddenly realize that he was not supposed to be there and fire the railguns on him, he approached the checkpoint.
Finally reaching the barrier unscathed, he leaned out of the window space – because there was no window, they had smashed some of them to account for the battle damage – and spoke to the guard on duty.
"Arms shipment. Requested by General Emil Nikoli for Outpost Sierra zero-thirteen," Kosarkov said in his usual German accented English.
"You're on the list all right…aren't there supposed to be four of you?" asked the guard as he swept his gaze along the line of trucks to see if there was a fourth one.
"Damn right there were. Bastard Pancakes got the other guy in a hit-and-run with a Pilum. You mind letting us through? We're all kind of shell-shocked from the whole thing," Kosarkov asked, giving off the appearance of being exhausted but struggling to remain alert.
"Looks like you had a damn hard time," the guard said, glancing at the shards of broken glass which were still stuck in the window frame. "Go on in. You know where the armouries are?"
"We'll manage. Thanks," Kosarkov replied, sighing with relief as the guard lifted the barrier – although to him, it sounded simply like the driver was tired.
Kosarkov drove the truck through the checkpoint, the others following close behind. The guard didn't question the other two, and shortly afterward the barrier lowered again behind them.
"Follow me. I know where the armouries are," Kosarkov said, using the truck's radio rather than their helmet radios.
"Lead the way," Sarov replied.
They drove the trucks through the gridlike road system of the compound, until they came to the first armoury. The three of them tapped buttons on the driver console which opened the side-doors of the containers, and hopped out.
"Alright, guys. Let's get these guns stocked up," Kosarkov called, hauling a container of guns out from his truck. Sarov walked over to the armoury door and locked it open so that they could carry the crates in easier.
The three of them began to methodically transfer the crates of weaponry from the truck's container to the interior of the armoury. While Kosarkov stood inside the truck's container and offloaded the crates, the mercenary and Sarov carried the offloaded crates into the armoury, moving back and forth. A passing EU soldier offered them assistance some time later, but they declined, having almost emptied that truck.
"That's the lot of them. There's three armouries in this compound, so let's make it one truckload for each, yeah?" Kosarkov said.
"Sounds good. No sense driving all of them, though. Why don't you go park this one somewhere," Sarov suggested, indicating the truck they had just unloaded, "and ride with us over to the next armoury?"
"Good idea. Let me go park it somewhere out of the way," Kosarkov replied, jumping into the empty truck and punching its ignition button. He carefully moved the vehicle from the side of the road to a nearby covered parking space, flanked on either side by Groundhog APCs.
The mercenary and Sarov had already started their engines by the time he got back, and Kosarkov jumped into the passenger seat of the mercenary's truck.
"So which way do I go?" asked the mercenary, as he gently applied pressure to the accelerator.
Kosarkov directed him as he navigated the compound, with Sarov close behind. Eventually they came to the second armoury building. Kosarkov was about to open the truck's cargo door, but the mercenary stopped him.
"No. Johansen's truck, not this one," he muttered quietly, using the fake name that was on the ID card Sarov held.
"Why?" Kosarkov asked.
"This one's right next to the generator room. There are more guns in his truck. We should focus the EMP here," the mercenary replied.
"Right," Kosarkov agreed, seeing the logic in the suggestion. They radioed Sarov to open his truck's cargo door, and again began to offload the crates of guns, this time the mercenary staying on the truck, while Sarov and Kosarkov shuttled the crates into the armoury.
"I'll go park this truck somewhere else, and then get the door," he said once they had finished transferring all the crates of hidden EMP charges. Sarov and Kosarkov nodded, and they parted ways.
The mercenary strode away from the parked truck, hauling an ammo crate with him. Definitely nothing to be suspicious about. Following Kosarkov's map and using the armoury they had just sabotaged as a landmark, he made his way over to the perimeter wall opposite where they had entered.
Unsuspected by any of the other EU personnel – some of whom actually assumed he was lost and offered to help him – he found the back door. It was actually located on the corner of the eastern wall and the northern wall (the main gate having been the southern wall). Appearing nonchalant, he tapped the open button for the door, and after hearing its electromagnetic bolts retract, pushed it open. Making sure there was nobody around to witness him, he kicked the ammo box into the doorframe so that it prevented the door from closing. He tested the door to make sure the ammo hub was secure, and was just about to walk away when a clear, authoritative voice rang out.
"What are you doing over there?"
He straightened up and turned in the direction of the voice. An EU soldier – no, an officer by the looks of it – had seen him.
When they got to appropriate conversation distance, the officer asked again.
"Well? What's going on here?"
The mercenary had already been preparing his excuse, and with the calm expertise granted by his years in espionage, replied,
"Asheron Locke, sir. Level II technician. There's something wrong with this door here…if you close it, it doesn't open again unless you power cycle its systems. I propped it open so that I could work on it, and I was just about to call a guard to keep watch while I check the power supply."
The officer softened a little – the story seemed perfectly reasonable. But there was still a minor breach of protocol to be addressed.
"That's fine, Locke. But next time you have to hold a perimeter door open for whatever purpose, you bring a guard detail with you, not summon them afterwards. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir, I apologize. It won't happen again," the mercenary replied.
"Be sure that it doesn't, Locke. I'll summon a guard detail here," the officer said severely, turning away and removing a field radio from his belt.
The mercenary's eyes widened in shock. No. No. Not good.
The officer lifted his radio to his mouth-
-while behind him, unseen, the mercenary sprang forward, knife drawn-
-the officer was about to speak-
-when suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck and he felt something very strong hit him in the fleshy part below his left jaw bone. The officer was horrified when he discovered that it was a knife, and that the arm holding it belonged to the technician called Asheron Locke – although it obviously wasn't Locke, and if his name actually was Locke, he was definitely no European Union soldier, and several other thoughts which all crossed his mind as his vision swam and he slumped in…somebody's…grip…
The mercenary keyed his radio.
"Max? Tell me you're done loading up," he said, trying to convey the urgency in his voice.
"Ash? What's going on?" Kosarkov asked.
"I just killed one of their officers. No time to explain. He was going to call a freaking guard. Get the hell over to the exit now!" the mercenary hissed.
"We're done loading. On our way," Kosarkov affirmed.
The mercenary was about to heave a sigh of relief when a very loud klaxon started blaring and several red alarm lights began to flash around the base.
"Oh crap…how the-?" the mercenary muttered to himself, and then caught sight of the officer he had killed. A keychain was in his hands, on the end of which was a black plastic remote. A personal alarm.
Crap.
Bringing his Turcotte SMG up, the mercenary fired two shots. One hit the officer's hand and shattered the alarm, the other hit the officer in the head.
The mercenary strode over to the officer's body and relieved him of his beret, the standard orange-brown colour that was the same as the patches on the shoulders of normal soldiers.
"Sharp," he commented. Then looking down at his Turcotte, "horrible piece of crap."
He kept hold of the "horrible piece of crap", however, in case any EU decided to come looking. He was about to shoulder the gun and check its sights when a thunderous electronic buzzing noise filled the air and his eyesight was assaulted by a tremendously bright flash of blue that seemed to colour the very air.
The klaxons abruptly stopped.
Far away in the bridge of the Imperial Lance, Aleksandr Kirov jerked. For the purposes of the operation, he was in charge of co-ordinating the commander's assets and watching visuals.
"Whoa. Whoa. Power surge, right where the generator plant is. I think they did it!" he exclaimed, as a section on his viewscreen lit up bright blue.
"Co-ordinate with the other Generals. Fire all EMP cannons," Sousuke said from behind him.
"Sir!" he affirmed, before activating the communication systems.
"All Titans, this is Imperial Lance. Transmitting co-ordinates for EMP strike. Ready to fire on my mark.
"Groznyj IX, copy that," Takiguchi responded.
"Kastav IV, EMP hot," Choy confirmed.
"Rising Sun, ready to fire," General Sasaki replied.
"Divine Wind, waiting for mark," Fedor Spetzir finished.
"Firing in three…two…one…fire!" Kirov barked, pressing the appropriate button on his EMP console.
"About damn time!" the mercenary shouted as a large truck came into view around the corner of a building. Sarov jumped out, while Kosarkov swerved the vehicle dangerously, blocking off the road they had come from. He, too, leapt from the driver's seat and sprinted over to the jammed perimeter door.
"Move! That's won't keep them there forever!" Kosarkov shouted. The mercenary took the hint and dived through the small doorway, while Sarov drew his Bianchi and indiscriminately sprayed the truck that barred the EU from them as a deterrent.
Kosarkov reached the door just as bullets started to ping around them. He made it through the door safely, but just as Sarov was about to follow, a gunshot caught him in the back of the knee, and another to the other ankle.
"NO!" the saboteur screamed as he tried to haul Sarov through the door.
"Forget it! There's no time! GO!" Sarov shouted back.
"I'm not leaving you behind here!" Kosarkov barked.
"Yes you are, saboteur. That's an order," Sarov growled. Shoving Kosarkov away with his foot, he pulled the ammo hub which held the door open towards him. The door clicked shut and locked.
"No…" Kosarkov gasped, staring in shock at the door.
"Come on," the mercenary barked, hauling him away, "we've got to get to that airbase, double time!"
Kosarkov tore his gaze away from the door and ran after his comrade.
Grigori Sarov dropped the half-expended magazine from the Bianchi and loaded a fresh one from the ammo hub he had opened up. Aiming it at the corner where he knew the EU were going to emerge from, he waited. With great difficulty, he had also set up an IPS shield and an Enforcer turret next to him.
A soldier rounded the corner gun up, but Sarov was quicker even while wounded, and sprayed the Bianchi at him. Reverting to his native Russian, the doomed Iron Legionnaire shouted "Eat lead, you bastards!"
More Europeans rounded the corner, this time not just gun up but gun firing. Bullets pinged around him, but still Sarov held down the Bianchi's trigger, round after round slamming into targets with only the precision that year after year of intensive training in the hard Iron Legion corps could grant. The Enforcer sentry was also doing its job well, and since Sarov had linked its ammunition reservoir to a belt in the hub, would keep firing long after he was overwhelmed.
At least, that was what he hoped, as a cylindrical object he recognized as a frag grenade sailed in an arc towards him. To his credit, Grigori Sarov never stopped firing, not even as he closed his eyes and waited for his end to come.