WAR – part 2

A/N – Hello my dear readers! I am finally back with a new chapter (as usual I never update when I mean to…pffft; also, I'm an AMAZING procrastinator!) and it's time to bring up some more action, because hell, don't we fucking live for it. So enjoy today's update ;)

Warning: multiple character death


"Ivan's been in the military?" Berwald asked, pointing at the detailed scheme the Russian boss had drawn on the large whiteboard occupying most of the back wall of his 'meeting room'.

"He and Katya both," the gun dealer confirmed. "But Ivan also has some command experience, so he knows how to deal with this sort of shit. Or so he says, anyway…"

"Alright, listen up everyone," Ivan began, holding up a file and motioning to the empty space on the board. "I've got here some pictures of the Vargas family and their key staff, da. If you happen to see any of these people, you gun them down no questions asked, because they will do the same to you, not for one second allow yourselves to think otherwise." He let his gaze trail over the people piled up in the room, as if to gauge their reaction. "So, let's start."

The Russian pulled out a printed sheet from the file and pinned it up. "Lovino Vargas, the head of the family and chief of operations." It was a candid photo of the Italian, one in which, surprisingly, he wasn't donning the infamous, anachronistic mustache, the change making him look much younger. "One thing - he's Sicilian and not in a good way. If you've seen 'The Godfather', he's nothing like that. He's got no class, no structure and no reasonableness; he's a fucktard and a very dangerous one. He'll go full out with everything he's got and he's got a lot unfortunately."

Ivan paused for a moment, then pulled out another picture, this time of someone who looked still in their teens. At first, Berwald thought – feared - it was Sebastiano, but this person was very different. Their slender body had an almost feminine allure, emphasized by the striking choice of clothing – very short denim shorts matched with black combat boots and a light, delicate white dress shirt.

"Feliciano Vargas, the younger sibling and Lovino's right hand, da," Ivan stated. "He's nicknamed 'Venetiano' because a few years ago he'd been hospitalized in a mental institution in Venice. He burned down half of it and got away without a single scar, if you can believe it. Anyway, tactically speaking he's a loose cannon but he's very skilled and dangerous."

"Feliciano Vargas is crazy?" Berwald whispered, rather baffled by that piece of information. "You talked to them both, didn't you?"

"Fuck, I don't know, Lovino did most of the talking anyway and it was enough to get me dizzy. He didn't look crazy to me but a lot of crazy people don't look crazy," the Finn replied with a shrug.

Next, Ivan pulled out two pictures he pinned together, in one of which the detective clearly recognized the bulky German who had given Tino the ultimatum earlier. He was relieved that at least Ivan was done with the family and Sebastiano hadn't been marked as a target.

"Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt. German, both ex-military. They usually act as the bodyguards of the Vargas brothers, but we have reasons to believe that they're actively engaged in operations and will probably be in the first line of fire. Priority! If you get a clear shot, take them down asap."

Ivan cleared his throat and pinned up the last picture, tossing the empty file onto the nearby coffee table. "Vash Zwingli," he said, motioning with his head at the frontal snapshot of a blond man with harshly cut chin length hair and a glare so cold that it could have frozen Hell itself. Berwald didn't remember seeing him when they'd delivered the last transport to the Italians' headquarters, but the sight sent a chill down his spine. "Swiss, also ex-military, commands his own team of mercs – five people, extremely well trained. Top priority. The fuckers even wear military uniforms."

"But if he's so elite how'd he end up with Vargas?" another one of Ivan's men who looked nothing like a thug - a young Lithuanian named Toris - asked.

The ashen-blond chuckled humorlessly. "Elite means just one hell of a fee, not upholding a good reputation and not mixing with the slime-" he cut himself off abruptly when his phone suddenly rang. "They're coming! Everyone, take positions!"

Berwald saw his boyfriend bite his lip, a deep frown creasing his brow as he stood and walked briskly towards the exit. He quickly followed up the stairs to the third floor, a Heckler & Koch MP5A3 full-auto submachine gun clutched in his already sweaty hands, along with Ivan and his two sisters.

"I think they're gonna fire at the gate," a man who was already at one of the windows informed the boss.

"But that's crazy! I mean it's not like such a blast will go unnoticed, someone's gonna call the police!" the Swede pointed. "They don't want to mess with-"

"They don't give a fuck about the police, not when they have a fucking army! If the police come they'll be crushed like bugs," Ivan replied, waving his hand dismissively.

In the next moment a deafening blast resounded outside, making the glass of the windows shake, and in the same time one of the windows broke with a dry popping sound and the man standing in front of it collapsed backwards, cleanly shot in the head.

"Fuck, they've got a sniper somewhere across the street! Take cover, get out of their view!" the Russian yelled, grabbing the teen who had stood next to the victim by the scruff of his neck and pulling him away from the window. The boy was in complete shock, eyes fixed on the widening crimson puddle at his feet, the AKM shaking in his hands.

"Raivis," Ivan said with unexpected gentleness. "Go in the back."

The words seemed to make him finally snap out of his trance. "B-But I can fi-"

"I know, but not right now. Go in the back." The boss sighed. "An unstable man is a hazard," he said after the boy had left. "If anyone else is presently pissing their pants, get out of here now. In case you haven't figured this out already, it will be very bad."

Berwald had figured it out alright, they'd ended up in a fucking warzone! He saw Tino calmly digging into his back pockets and pulling out his phone and a set of earplug headphones which he connected and put in, while Natalya and Yekaterina pushed forward two Browning M2 heavy machine guns with customized front shields, already loaded with bullet belts. The Finn calmly scrolled and picked his playlist while Ivan and another man shattered two windows with baseball bats to make way for the long muzzles.

"Toris, there's a sniper across the street, can you get a visual?" Ivan inquired his subordinate, who was currently on the floor below with Eduard.

"Negative."

The detective found the sight rather disturbing, but then it occurred to him that maybe tuning noise out was Tino's way of mentally escaping something which would have otherwise been too much. But how the hell was he going to hear Ivan's instructions over the ensuing cacophony? Regardless, he pretended to do the same, using this opportunity to rapidly send a text to the Chief Inspector that they were already under fire. Unfortunately, he had no way of ascertaining just how many the Italians' men were and what sort of weapons they'd brought, the thought of his fellow policemen going blindly against them making his stomach cringe. Technically the police was always ready to deal with bad shit, but open street wars were-

Just as he pressed the send button another blast made the ground shake, this time making plaster rain down on them from the already cracked ceiling.

"The gate is down!" Ivan announced, again on the phone with someone. "Get ready," he told the girls. "When the smoke clears out a bit they'll storm in! Don't let them reach the building, da?"

Berwald peered around the window frame out in the courtyard and at the now gaping hole flanked by blackened and contorted metal and debris. A black van was parked in front of it, doors closed and he expected it to open before the vehicle suddenly being hit by a grenade shot from one of the lower levels and going up in flames. Nothing seemed to happen afterwards, just burning bits raining down onto the ground. Meanwhile Tino was scouting something through the scope of his weapon.

"Do you see them? The sni-?" the Swede inquired, forgetting there was little chance of his voice getting through. His phrase was cut short when another explosion resounded, this time much closer, deafening and the ground shook under his feet. The building had been hit.

"Toris! Toris, answer me!" Ivan yelled into the phone, just as several bikers invaded the courtyard, armed with semi-automatic weapons and throwing hand grenades at the building and the vehicles parked outside. The heavy machine guns began barking in sync, swiping the courtyard over the explosions smoke, the rapping sound mostly drowned by the blasts. Shards and debris blew inwards over the shooters and the detective barely managed to cover his face with his sleeve to avoid getting it.

"Vash Zwingli's team! Priority!" the Russian boss yelled over the noise, but the bikers had already withdrawn, leaving two black-helmeted corpses behind. But now the snipers – because there seemed to be several of them began pounding the windows and it looked like the news Ivan was getting over the phone weren't good.

Where the fuck is the police?! Berwald screamed inwardly, trying to focus his hearing and eyes watering from the smoke. He'd barely fired two-three shots for show until now, probably not hitting anything.

"Haista vittu!" Tino hissed, firing his gun once, twice, three times. "Two down!" he announced, giving the girls a thumbs up.

"They'll be back with bigger shit, the bikers were just reconnaissance," Yekaterina said. "They wanted to see our fire power."

Her assumption turned correct when a large SUV entered the courtyard, the lid on its roof open, offering the muzzle of a machine gun to view through a customized opening, such that the shooter was fully protected.

"Armored vehicle," she said. "But they'll get out eventually, when they think it's safe enough."

The machine gun swiped at the windows, starting with the ground floor and the girls fired back at it, concentrating the hail of bullets on the windshield and the top lid. The bikers returned as well, throwing more grenades at the entrance. Berwald almost leaned over the windowsill as he now fired freely at the attackers below, close enough to Tino to hear the heavy metal blasting in his boyfriend's headphones. Nearby, Natalya had fired so many cartridges from her Browning M2 that her impossibly high heels were half-buried into the shells pooling at her feet.

"Alright, enough of this shit," she said, momentarily leaving the protection of the steel shield to grab her discarded portable grenade launcher. "They probably thought we were out of 'breath' already..."

Exposing herself fully to the incoming fire, the icy blonde leaned over the broken window and fired twice, straight at the SUV. In the next moment, the vehicle went up in flames, the wind and heat of the explosion making Ivan's team fall back momentarily. The view in the courtyard below was dismal – smoke, fire, charred parts and corpses littering the ground, several overturned motorcycles – but the odds weren't in their favor, even if, as soon as the ringing died and his hearing returned somewhat, Berwald could hear approaching police sirens.

"Toris and Eduard are dead," Ivan informed them, phone clutched angrily in his hand. "And they've gotten in, the fucking bastards!"

"We need to get out of here," the Finn yelled at him, over the machine-guns' resumed rapping, pulling the headphones from his ears and shaking his head. "It's just too many of them! We can't-"

"But the police is coming! They're fucked, Vargas is fucked, they must pull out!" the detective pointed.

But no one else saw it as a blessing, for obvious reasons. "Yeah, like that's another problem," Tino said with a grimace, "Last thing we need is to get our asses busted, on top of everything else…"

"Oh, fuck, I just saw Venetiano," Yekaterina announced.

"Did you get him?!"

"Niet, he was too fast! He's on a motorcycle, he went in!"

"Okay, we're moving out!" Ivan decided, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his own gun as he motioned towards the exit.

They pulled back from the windows and headed for the door, guns at the ready. The other remaining man from the boss's team went out first, then announced the others that the coast was clear. So far at least, because heavy gunfire could still be heard from the floors below. On the stairs they found Raivis who had been trying to get to them but had collapsed near the wall, the wound in his hip making it impossible for him to move. Ivan scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder, among the kid's whimpered apologies and pained moans.

And then Berwald saw him – Vash Zwingli was momentarily turned to the side, roughly cropped hair mussed by the biker helmet he'd discarded and framing that cold, unforgiving face which looked as if the man had a grudge on the whole fucking world. His right hand held an army knife, the blade soaked in the darkened blood which covered his arm right up to his rolled-up uniform sleeve. The Swede's hands moved instinctively, lifting the gun and pulling the trigger before the other even got the chance to turn his head.

"Fuck…" he breathed out in shock, realization sinking in as he stared at the mercenary's corpse, now lying in a pool of his own blood. He hadn't even warned the man, given him a chance, he'd just-… But he'd had no choice, no fucking choice! Numbly, he forced his feet forward behind Tino and the others, doing his best to avoid looking at the other corpses.

The group went down another flight of stairs, to the first floor, which had taken much heavier damage. The windows and surrounding chucks of wall had been turned to shattered debris, mortar and shards now cracking beneath their feet, and the air was heavy with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. More corpses lay on the ground, some unrecognizable, but Ivan didn't linger to identify the casualties anyway. He'd already sent a message to all his men – what remained of them – to flee the building and go to various safehouses, just as his group was planning to. He'd count the dead later.

"Veeee, you're not going anywhere," a voice suddenly drawled, accompanied by the quick rapping of a semi-automatic gun, and the man by Ivan's side collapsed forward. And then Feliciano Vargas showed up from around a bullet hole-littered pillar, looking like a fucking Diesel jeans ad, two modified Berettas 92FS pointing at the group as he grinned deviously.

"Die, you fucking bitch!" Natalya yelled, aiming her pistol, but the Italian fired both his guns first, before any of the others could react, and she fell backwards with a yelp, clutching her shoulder. Berwald felt something like a hot spike grazing his side, just before he saw a hand grenade rolling down in their direction.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Tino cursed between gritted teeth as he pulled away from the group and kicked it backwards, in the direction where the Italian had disappeared. "Come on!"

The five of them made a beeline for the last flight of stairs to the ground, then through a corridor leading to the fire exit in the back, where Tino and Yekaterina gunned down another three mercenaries. Outside, past what was left of the gate, another war was now raging on, a megaphone-transmitted voice repeatedly demanding cease fire. Ivan led them among the large trash containers in the small backyard to another gate, opening into a garbage-infested alley. But there was an SUV there waiting and the group got in, Ivan taking the wheel after dumping Raivis in the back.

"Fuck," Tino groaned, tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face. "I forgot Hana…"

To be continued

Haista vittu = fuck you/go smell a cunt (A big thank you to pinzcu for the input)

Reviews and comments are LOVE ;)