Chapter Nine
Having met the shipment convoy at the airport entrance, with a pair of Bratva members making the introductions, and having met the administrator herself, it was all Yelena could do, to keep up her pretense.
If not for her sense of professionalism, and Quinn's admonition a few minutes ago – she would have broken this fat, insufferable bitch's neck, by now. And taken a bit more... personal... pleasure doing it, then with those Tarvos monkeys in the tower. That was - necessary. This...
I have to give Jaron some credit... if he had to put up with this kind of superior, condescending attitude from his Illuminati handlers on a regular basis – at least he spared the rest of us the need to do so.
The aquiline cyborg woman thought, stone-faced, her dyed-blonde hair framing her dark gaze, as Audra Chow jabbed a finger up at her.
"I hope you will be less useless, then the last asset I had to deal with! Bad enough that we've had to solicit the services of criminals to ensure this shipment's anonymity, now I have to rely on some second-rate mercenary on their payroll! Well?! What are you staring at? Is the airport secure?" - she barked, in an Oriental-accented English.
"Yes. We have a clear route to hangar 23, where the second detachment awaits, in the plane. So far no sign of any external interference." - Yelena reported, flatly.
"Good little drone. Let's hope it stays such. Now let's get moving." - Chow growled in a haughty tone, shoving past her.
Yelena glared daggers at her back, as one of the Tarvos troops following, muttered under his breath:
"Now you see what we've had to put up with on the trip?! No commission's worth this... and we're not even on her payroll, like those poor bastards..." - nodding at the civilian workers just unloading the cargo from the trucks, all of them in TYM-emblazoned coveralls.
"So shoot her. Weapon malfunction." - she deadpanned, with a minute shake of head.
The mercenary smirked.
"Yeah. I wish..." - as they moved on through the gate.
~"Contact made. Proceeding. Wait until the drones are past the inner marker, then open fire."~ - she instructed Irwine through the Infolink.
Getting a short affirmation, Yelena knew the trap was set to be sprung. But it was a well-known truism, that no battle plan survives contact with the enemy. This was no exception.
As they were passing through the cargo terminal, on their way to the outer hangars, including 23, a squadron of airport police personnel, intercepted the procession. Yelena glared in annoyance, as she watched the drones begin to spread out again. Irwine would HAVE to open fire now, before they spread out too far. And they were still well away from the SA rebel squad.
Chow and the head security officer were in the middle of arguing the finer points of who has authority over what, as the first drone suddenly fizzled-out in midair, a couple of fragments falling from it, as it plopped downwards, then crashed.
"What the hell.. ?" - one of the Tarvos troops snapped in surprise, the woman's Sanction weaving around. The rest got on one knee, their own weapons in hands, as the two heavies spooled-up their chainguns.
In a flash, Yelena realised there was now exactly one way of salvaging this situation. She hated, hated to put the innocent airport security squad in the spotlight like this, and she knew, she was killing them even as she said it, but... there was no choice.
"AMBUSH!" - she shouted, her twin Zeniths in her hands, "They are NOT airport security! They got a sniper somewhere!" - letting off a pair of shots at the lead security guard. The rouds perforated his chest and his neck, dropping him on the spot, even as she engaged her cloak.
Pandemonium ensued. Shouts, screams, mixing in English and Russian, from both sides. Already on edge, nobody on the Tarvos squad questioned her exclamation, as a pair of them rushed Chow into cover, the rest opening fire on the police officers. Half of them were down before the rest had a chance to respond, culminating with only two losses among the mercenaries, and three TYM employees caught in the crossfire. Another drone was down, the third one just catching another shot from Irwine.
Yelena fired a couple more shots herself, making a show of 'fighting' the airport security with the rest of them, but took care to narrowly miss. Hating herself. But the cat was out of the bag now, and she had to push it through.
"I'm going after the sniper! Somewhere on this side! Take the far side of the terminal and keep moving towards the hangar! Out of the sniper's line of sight!" - she kept playing her part, directing them in the vague direction she knew, the rebels were waiting.
Locked in adrenaline-fueled combat mindset, none of the Tarvos mercs questioned, as they did as instructed. For her part, Chow was a muttering, cursing mess, clearly well out of her element in a firefight. She wouldn't be a problem for the time being, nor make any conscious decisions herself.
~"There's a big scrap going on near the hangar! Looks like someone over there got a call out to the Tarvos squad in the plane... they're engaging the rebels right now!"~ - Irwine's subvocal tone suddenly came back.
This made Yelena's face darken. So much for their 'ambush'... the shipment was still out of range of the jammer, and it was a foregone conclusion that they already got an alert out. Now the SA Front rebels, would find themselves between the hammer and the anvil, of the two Tarvos forces. She could see the irregulars, outnumbered and outgunned, but fighting with heart, to the end. She thought briefly about the woman she met... she never even got her name.
Her Infolink buzzed again, this time with Quinn's alarmed tone on the other side.
~"Mantis, what the hell is go-"~
~"Hush. I'm dealing with it."~ - Yelena cut him, and the channel, off. With so many comms going on in the area, she didn't want to use her Infolink any more then necessary. Her facial expression again closed in on itself. Becoming that hollow mask.
This time however, it wasn't out of need to kill. This time, it was out of stark necessity, to complete the stated mission objectives. Get the shipment off the ground, in a race against time before the airport was closed down, and the Russian government had fighter planes in the air, since the death of the security squad had no doubt set things in motion, on the official level now. Sell the pretense to her Bratva 'employers'. And the tertiary objective she got from Quinn – capture this Chow woman.
She took off at a dead run, on a paralell vector past the far side of the terminal, intending to come up on the fight between the rebels and the second Tarvos detachment, from the flank.
~"Secondary protocol. Kill everyone except the package and the workers. I need them to load cargo on the plane. No loose ends. Out."~ - she ordered curtly, on her private channel to Irwine, cutting that off too, before he could reply.
The ex-Marine's face twisted into a scowl, even as he opened his mouth to respond – to a closed channel.
But the scowl lasted only a moment, vanishing under a stone-faced realisation that they really were out of options. Through his sniper's scope, the man had a much better view of the escalating firefight near Hangar 23. The rebels were holding their own for the moment, against the first squad, but the second one would be coming up behind them, any moment now. Even if they somehow won, there was no way that some Tarvos survivor from either squad, wouldn't report that, and compromise Yelena's cover with Bratva. If they lost, the shipment would be loaded on the plane, and Yelena would have to accompany it. Alone, against however many enemy troops, all of whom would be on alert, and suspicions. She would be watched closely, and not have the element of surprise on her side, to take over the plane in midair.
So the only option was, that between the two of them, they thinned out both forces, enough for the plane to be easy to take over, once it takes off. And he had no concrete faith in the rebels, either, that they wouldn't have some kind of an ulterior motive of their own. In his mind, entrusting potentially lethal biogenic material to a bunch of ex-gang members, was not the best idea in the world.
Priorities, man. Priorities.
That last drone would keep. Narrowing his gaze slightly, he popped in a new magazine into the Whisperhead, and sighted-in on the firefight below. A detached expression on his face, he began taking his shots. In the confusion of the firefight, neither side would likely even figure out where they were coming from. And with Yelena about to hit them from the flanks, they'd have a four-way-fight on their hands.
In six and a half minutes, it was all over. Empty expression remaining on her face, the lithe black-on-green clad figure looked around, at the carnage near the hangar, two smoking Zeniths still in her hands. Certain scenes remained etched in her memory, the most prominent being, of the rebel sargeant, dueling a pair of Tarvos heavies, going down in a hail of chaingun bullets, along with one of the exoframe-clad soldiers she faced. A fierce, dying grin on her face directed at Yelena, who used the opportunity to unload a mag into the motion-control cluster of the second Exoframe trooper. She never suspected, until the end, that she was played. Yelena was grateful for that.
A pair of Tarvos troops and one of the rebels, caught in a frag grenade's blast, limbs flying everywhere. Another rebel, his chest exploding from the front, as Irwine's shot caught him in the back. A Tarvos trooper who spoke to her earlier, eyes wide in shock, as a 10mm shot from her caught him in the throat. Another trooper, a female one, bringing her shotgun to bear on her up-close - before Yelena's right foot broke her neck sideways, killing her on the spot, in a devastating roundhouse kick. A wounded rebel, surprise etched on his tattoed face, as she leveled the muzzle of one of her Zeniths at his forehead, and pulled the trigger.
She quickly and cleanly executed any and all of the the wounded and dying, on both sides. Knowing full well that if any of them survived, and were taken prisoner, the truth would likely reach her 'employers'. Her cover would be destroyed.
No. Loose. Ends.
Chow's face, twisted in fear, anger, and shock, cowering on the ground. And the TYM employees, five of them surviving, staring at her pale-faced. Yet - composed. Almost as if... they knew all along, that one way or another, they would end up on the chopping block. The woman wasn't surprised. She was familiar enough about the inner workings of that corporation, to know how it treated it's employees.
But, just like in the tower, Yelena was now in control of her killer-instinct. Not the other way around.
"Load the cargo on the plane. Now." - she ordered them, gesturing with one of the guns, before she holstered them. As she did, she took running notice of her own injuries...
A quartet of flechette rounds buried in her chest armour, and another, nicking the edge of her right arm. One of the rounds had penetrated past the last layer, burying itself on the edge of one of her subdermal armour plates. She felt pain, and could feel the slight tang of her own blood, in her nostrils. And a scattering of 12 gauge pellets covering her right side, some of the thermoptic coating ripped off there, and upper right cybernetic hip, a few sparks coming from it. She was limping slightly on her right leg as a result.
All in all – manageable. Her HUD was providing her with real-time analysis of her condition. Certainly lot less then what she'd been subjected to at Jensen's hands, three months ago.
She approached Audra Chow.
"Get up. And get onboard." - she snapped.
The curpulent Chinese woman eyed her, picking herself up off the ground, with a glare of haughty indignation, gently touching a pair of scrapes on her cheek.
"Do you have any conception who I am, tool? Your criminal masters will flay you al-" - before Yelena's backhand caught her across the mouth, shutting her up.
"I have no masters. Now get onboard, or I will flay YOU alive... tool." - one of her karambits suddenly at the woman's throat, drawing a thin trail of blood.
Fear replaced haughtiness, in her eyes, in the time it took to blink, as Yelena shoved her stumbling forward. Having to make a supreme effort not to, in fact, open-up the woman's throat, ear-to-ear. It was tempting, to say the least. But, even aside from her orders... there had been too much killing here, already, even as the first rays of the sun peeked past the orange-hazed horizon, to the east.
~"Get down here. We're taking off in two minutes at most!"~ - she informed Irwine.
~"Just go. I'll manage! I can see the cops response unit at the airport's gates, you DON'T HAVE TIME! A full assault contingent!"~ - he countered.
~"I am NOT leaving you behind! Get down here, and head directly to the runway. We will pick you up as we taxi. NOW!"~ - she growled out loud, shaking her head.
~"You stubborn- fine! Worst case, you'll just run me over..."~ - he signed off with gallows humour.
Leaving both his weapon and equipment backpack behind, not to slow him down, Irwine dashed across the rooftop, then slid down the ladder, and made a sprint towards the hangar in the distance, from where he could just see the glossy-black nose of a cargo Antonov AN-148 plane, emerging.
Mentally, he projected the aircraft's path around the accessway to the designated runway, against his ETA there. She was right on the money... he wouldn't be fast enough to get to the hangar, he had to make it to the middle of the runway, and basically intercept the plane during takeoff.
Oh for fucks sake... what the hell's she expectin' me to do? Grab hold to the landing gear or something... ?!
He thought in exasperation. But he kept running, at a near-breathless sprint. In the distance behind, he could hear the police sirens, in the wind. In a rush, he unclipped the torso piece of his combat armour, letting it clatter to the pavement behind him. Then he did the same with his belt satchel. The less things he had, weighing him down, the more chance he had, of getting to the runway in time.
The airplane taxied to the runway... he thought he saw some commotion in the cockpit, but from this distance, he couldn't be sure... then began accelerating slowly. The first seeds of doubt began taking root in his mind, before he saw a lithe, black-on-green figure hanging upside-down from the front landing gear hatch, her dyed-blonded hair centimeters away from the wheel. She twisted sideways, clearly relying on her core strength to sustain her... as she extended her arms, in a very clear plan. He was supposed to grab them as the plane passed, and she would pull him inside the landing gear compartment.
Fuck me sideways... she IS crazy! She's psycho! But... she cares. Holy shit, under all that baggage... she does care. Alright Yelena... let's just hope this insanity doesn't kill us both!
The man thought, even as the sounds of approaching sirens from behind, grew ever-louder. They were already on the runways, zeroing in. He kept running... and as he got closer, he could see the specifics of the maneuvre. He was supposed to kick-off the side of the front landing strut, as he passed by it, then grab onto her arms, swinging out-wide to prevent the wheel from chewing him up, then tuck-in, before she'd pull him upwards and inside, hopefully before the swing-out motion ended with his legs getting into the wheel.
Onto a moving, accelerating plane.
Yeah. Piece of cake... piece of cake... if I make it through this, I'm gonna have to ask her to teach me some of those mental-partitioning techniques...! Or just take up religion myself! Oh shit...
He swallowed hard, but kept running, as the whine of the plane's twin engines grew to deafening levels. Through wind-and-tear streaked eyes he measured the distance to the strut, rapidly approaching...
Kicking sideways, into the strut... he felt the sudden shearing force threatening to dislocate his ankle... pain shooting up his left leg... before he felt her slim, but strong grip on his wrists.
A bullet from the oncoming police vehicles, ricoched off the strut, as he felt himself swinging-out sideways. He tucked-in, ignoring the shooting pain through his shoulders, from another onset of shearing force... gripping her own wrists in return. Hoping against hope that her polyfibral-enhanced musculature would be up to the task of pulling them both upwards in time. He could feel the wheel spinning... so close to his back, as he swung-back like a pendulum... before he heard her strained, screaming, agonised groan, as she yanked him upward, and into the landing gear bay.
For long, agonising moments, all he could do was shudder in reaction, lying on his back in the narrow space, listening to the whine of the hydraulics in the process of lifting the landing strut, as the plane began taking off.
Fear. Adrenaline. Elation. All mixing into one.
Listening to his ragged, gasping breaths. Pain and exhaustion audible in them, as his shoulders and ankle throbbed, in reaction. He had a feeling his left shoulder was dislocated, and the side of his combat armour's leggings felt tight, on his left ankle. Swelling?
"Y-y... Yelena... y-you're..." - he paused, with a groan, taking another few ragged breaths, "...insane! B-b... uhhh... but... I – I fuckin'... love you!"
Letting out a burst of spontaneous laughter, of someone who just had a brush with death, and was pulled by the skin of his nails, from it.
Lying beside him, the cyborg woman's breathing was laboured as well, and he could definitely hear pain in it, along with subtle sparking of electrical discharges. Was she... hurt? Damaged? Both? But her voice was laced with conviction and emotional timbre, that gave him pause.
"I... am NOT losing you, Irwine. I'm NOT! I lost... my family. I lost... my mind... for a... long time. I'm still... not sure... if I lost my soul... or not. But I am not... losing you! EVER!"
He felt her arms around his neck, in a hug, as she pressed her face to his. For a very long moment, he didn't know what to say, as he hugged her in return, letting out a moan of pain, forgetting for a moment that his left shoulder was likely dislocated. But he pushed through it.
"I love you, Yelena." - he whispered in her ear, the words coming easily.
She pulled away slightly, meeting his eyes. The way she looked at him... the man knew that if he lived to be a century, he would never forget that look. As their lips melted into a long, wanting kiss, all the pain from his shoulders and ankle, seemed to disappear.
He wished the moment, to last forever.
