CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: TERROR UNMASKED

"Under attack? We are already having difficulties with the prisoners, and now you tell me we are under attack?" The Wraith hissed through his teeth… its glowing eyes seeming to penetrate the very soul of the unfortunate Borovian soldier reporting the bad news. This was far beyond unacceptable, The Wraith reasoned, realizing his prison could possibly soon be under siege by a small – but unknown – contingent of American forces.

"Sir," the guard reported, "We've been able to jam their interrogation system successfully, so far. Our tanks have engaged them. Scrap-Iron is manning the anti-tank system, flanking from the side. That should disable them… if anyone knows how to destroy a tank, it's him. And Overkill has the prisoners pinned down, we are told, and should be able to reacquire them within a short manner of time."

For a moment, Wraith was quiet. If one could see underneath his steel ninja mask, they would see a great amount of displeasure. Between the combat outside and the revolting prisoners inside, he had to divide his troops in order to gain control of Wolken Prison. Turning to the man who spoke, he murmured, very clearly in a deep rumbling voice, "See to it both the invaders and the prisoners are defeated. Mobilize all the guards we have. Send Alpha, Charlie, and Delta teams out to the field, and send Bravo to give Overkill backup. Make sure Scrap-Iron has all the support he needs. Take the enemy out!"

XXXXX

Loaded and ready to fire! Our cloaking system is good, and we're on their flank as you ordered, Scrap-Iron, the man said in native Borovian.

"Speak in English. I'm not getting paid enough to listen to you in your language," Scrap-Iron barked, truly annoyed that the Borovian soldiers very words had the potential to distract him from his job, forcing him to take even more careful and deliberate aim in the anti-tank vehicle. "And our cloaking better hold out, especially with all the money Scalpel paid for it. Our invisibility should be your number one focus. I know good and well when we're ready to fire." This is what they give me to work with. No wonder this country has crumbled.

An expert in tank warfare, his true passion lied in anti-tank weaponry. There was nothing quite like watching an enemy tank explode when hit with a tank piercing weapon; especially a specifically developed weapon… a highly powerful exploding missile, in this case. Scrap-Iron had made an art form out of destroying enemy tanks. He had even scored seven confirmed tank kills – three of which were by himself – earlier in his mercenary career back during the Soviet-Afghanistan conflict. His prowess and accomplishments made him a legend in the underworld, not to mention it had a huge effect on his pocketbook, skyrocketing his merc-for-hire fee and ensuring his availability to only the truly wealthy.

Scrap-Irons eyes widened. Off in the distance… far in the distance, the target did something unexpected. The target – a heavily armored American tank called the M155 Flagg, only visible through his onboard radar system – spotted them. Yelling at his crew, he said, "I told you to make sure we were cloaked and hidden!"

The turret of the Flagg started to turn in their direction. Breathing heavily but with steady hands, Scrap-Iron took careful aim. This is going to be close, he thought to himself. Time seemed to stand still, but the mercenary was patient.

He squeezed the trigger, now confident that he'd be able to hit the American tank just before they could return fire.