Early morning came and the Russian prince woke from his slumber. Queen Elsa slept quietly under the covers beside him before he carefully slipped out of bed, only to find his folded uniform beside his backpack and the rest of his gear on the bedside. He began to put on his clothes buttoning and zipping until he reached for a new set of Kevlar body armor and the scarred Altyn helmet. Soon after, his feet got into his boots and tied the laces properly. All that was the Shambler with a box magazine and his backpack left to carry, which would then be slung over his shoulders, waiting to be used.
His beloved groaned and caused him to look over to her side of the bed, turning under the blanket. Although he was ready for war, the Polis Ranger could not hold himself back from admiring the royal sleep soundly. She was beautiful and he knew time wouldn't allow him to stay there any longer; yet, he would not leave until the monarch of Arendelle received one last kiss before his departure. Towering over her, the young man let his soft lips meet her cheek for a brief few seconds and broke contact.
Not long, he went for the bedroom door and traversed the silent hallways. The fate of Prince Hans loomed over him while his stride remained. Merely thinking of him made brought hate and disgust. How could someone so regal stoop so low as to associate himself with bandits? Did the power of Arendelle's throne mean so much to him that he'll destroy the kingdom in the process to obtain it? Was it worth destroying the love between himself and Elsa? Part of him wanted a better way to resolve the issue but the Moscow Metro had taught him that the ambitions for power would always lead to war. Sometimes, peace was never an option to begin with.
Artyom's stomach grumbled and it was enough of a notification to pass by the kitchen before going on his way out. The sounds of his footsteps were soft against the carpet floor but the sound immediately changed when he entered the marble kitchen floor. Cooking required a fire and the old post-apocalypse simplicity of mealtime took over. He scanned his surroundings and rummaged through the pantry for anything he deemed sufficient. Shelves full of rich food were stockpiled in a neat and orderly fashion while his eyes glossed over the available handheld snacks. Then he saw a pink box with an image of shaped chocolates printed on the front. Nothing else interested him as he reached out and carefully slipped it out of place like a puzzle piece. All that was left for him to do was to properly leave the castle.
Once he arrived at the entrance hall, Artyom opened a crack large enough for a man. The cold seeped in as the hint of winter's wrath came upon his face. He slipped through and closed the door on his way out with a loud creak emanating from the hinges. The Polis Ranger proceeded across the courtyard to see the tents full of wounded rested, unaware of the passing soldier leaving the perimeter with ease.
Soon the prince proceeded towards the docks with haste. He felt that he deserved more hours of slumber to satisfy himself; yet, his pace quickened. Rest would be available on the submarine when the journey began.
The dockyard was a mess of wooden panels missing or smashed by recent events involving artillery but the location still remained functional. At the end of the pier, he could see the parked Mayflower ready to go while four men stood atop the vessel with their arms around their chests save for Captain Baranov. The old officer brandished a cigarette and smoked alongside his brothers-in-arms - Pavel, Uhlman, and Roman - all of whom were standing beside an open hatch.
The Polis Ranger among them acknowledged his presence. "Look, you're awake! Any longer and I would have competition with an icicle growing below. Hope we didn't inconvenience your beauty sleep."
"Very funny comrade," He replied as he leaped onto the black-coated submarine and joined them. A bearing on the situation was necessary, "So are we setting off immediately?"
"First of all, how's your body? We don't want to be down a man and drag your ass around. Can't risk losing a prince of Russia and waste time with the invasion efforts." It was a concerned statement but full of sensible logic that Artyom would exactly ask in his fellow Ranger's position.
"Ready as I'll ever be. Hans needs to pay and this might be my only chance to visit him properly."
Pavel's eyes stole a glance at the box and let out a chuckle. "Chocolates, huh? Not exactly a healthy thing to bring on board."
"Neither is smoking or drinking. Death by chocolate is probably a better way to leave this world than most." He countered with his own jest as he handed the box over to the communist officer.
"Well, let's enjoy what little time we have left before the party starts," The soldier slipped the box under his arm as he walked over to the open hatch and carefully climbed down, "Into the valley of death, chuvak."
Roman yawned as he strode over to the top of the hatch, waiting for his turn. Soon after, Uhlman followed suit as Captain Baranov patiently stood for their turn.
The old man standing beside him took two quick whiffs of his cigarette before tossing it into the water. It was a feeling that Artyom saw on their expressions as the wheels of fate were turning for the finality of this war. He was about to turn away before his gaze seemed to look past the Polis Ranger. Then his hand tapped him on the shoulder. "She's behind you."
He knew what that meant as the submarine awakened to life and the vessel slowly beckoned for its voyage. The young man turned around and saw Elsa standing on the pier with a longing look. She was still in her purple gown but with a blue winter coat wrapped around her shoulders. Not a word was spoken as he contemplated the words to say goodbye; however, their silence was more than enough. The queen looked down at the water before she raised her arm and waved him off. He would reciprocate with a nod of his head.
"This is not the first time I've seen the loved ones of sailors be left behind but there is something magical about her. Not in the literal sense but I can tell that this is special despite me knowing who she is," Stated the former officer of the navy as he conveyed his feelings about their relationship, "Stay alive for her sake, young man."
The Caspian Desert was much more quieter than usual and that was thanks to the Baron's forces lessening their presence. It was not known where their war parties departed to, only that the headquarters of the bandit warlord was open to attack. Giul had methodically undermined the slaver's whip over the region after she freed her countrymen from their cells. There was nowhere else to go for the destitute survivors but the child of Kazakhstan granted them a purpose to be rid of their masters. Outlying outposts had been raided and more slaves were freed, joining her cause. Yet, these actions provided fruitful results as each location contained weapon stashes to arm her people. Despite it all, it was not enough in the end.
It was a gamble with the forces she had at her command. Plenty of hand-me-down or makeshift firearms were handed out; however, there were still those who had nothing more than clubs or torches. That would soon change with a new prize waiting for her. A warehouse that formerly stored military weaponry and supplies before the raiders staked their claim over the warehouse. She intended to take it from them and use it to fuel her campaign efforts but it was also to seal off reinforcements once the proper overthrow was initiated.
Advancing from one sand dune to the next was an excellent way of surviving the cover of the night. There was only a skeleton crew securing the perimeter of the area as the Kazakh freemen shuffled forward toward their destination for the next battle. At the forefront of the army was Giul taking a position by the closest dune, less than fifty meters away from the main gate and the dozen guards standing by the main entrance. Adjacent to the road leading inside were two watchtowers manned by sentries.
She laid her bullpup rifle on the ground to stabilize the weapon's sights before looking through the scope and saw her foes. The men in the watchtower were equipped with sniper rifles as the others below were equipped with automatic weaponry. A human wave assault would have been a suicidal tactic in the face of such overwhelming firepower but to presume her people would not have the means to make the best out of their situation would be a severe underestimation. It was a sentiment that the Baron and his soldiers shared throughout their rule. Tonight would be the moment their mistakes would be realized.
A hand tapped on her shoulder and caused the woman to look over and see a bald man in ragged clothing and shorts sitting beside her. He smiled and chuckled, his teeth were crooked or missing but it did not affect his ability to talk. "The lads have the Hell Cannons prepared. We're ready to cook the Munai-bailer."
"Good," She grinned at the news upon her ears. Although infantry weapons were scarce among her meager army, her people scavenged enough material to construct makeshift artillery. Their payloads were heavy and reloading was troublesome but the potential damage was immense. This would be her people's way to break the defenses rather than deal with unnecessary casualties, "Tell the crews to fire. Once that happens, the shooters open fire and cover the shock troops in the perimeter. Do you have that?"
"Yes, madam." He nodded his head and turned around with his feet shuffling in the sand, kicking the grains into the air.
Time passed as she looked to her flanks and found the other dunes being occupied by riflemen readying their long-range rifles and a large contingent of freemen equipped with either shotguns, clubs, or knives. The woman knew casualties would be taken in an attempt to close the distance but death was preferable than living under a slaver's whip. Everyone appeared eager, which only inspired confidence in the fighting to come.
Her eyes returned to the sights of the bullpup rifle. The scope's magnification allowed her to see the whole scene as a loud blast crackled through the air, leaving a smile on her face. Soon the bandits looked up at the sky and raised their weapons. It was satisfying to observe their frantic behavior while a strange whistle descended upon them. Seconds later, the post-apocalypse survivor caught a glimpse of a projectile land like a straight lead pencil. A massive explosion erupted from the epicenter of the crash with flames erupting and the shockwave powerful enough to knock the towers apart. All that remained was a crater and the gate guards wiped out from the initial barrage.
The freemen beside her cheered and howled with excitement. Such devastation was good enough to quell any fears. That and Giul was surprised that it even worked in the first place but she hid her thoughts while the initial wave of her people charged forward. Torches were ignited and a fearsome battle cry of former slaves seeking to unleash their vengeance. Enemy reinforcements came to plug a hole in the gap as her people closed the distance. Yet, they didn't get the time to focus on the screening force as the woman pulled the trigger and fired rounds at the dozens of bandits. The shooters lying in wait among the dunes provided additional gunfire as semi-auto shots peppered the entrance.
Two men were struck down as the arrivals returned automatic fire upon the attackers with haste. Some were struck down amid the charge; yet, the wave of fighters threw a collection of Molotov cocktails into the air, splashing the ground with flame and gasoline. Groups of two or three would be caught before they danced around in an attempt to put themselves out. Weapons jammed or magazines ran dry until the defenders found themselves overwhelmed by numbers. Bandits were taken down, to be met with merciless abandon as sticks batted against them or received deep shanks from dull knives. Others were given a quick death through a single shotgun blast as the wiser freed the weapons and ammo off the dead.
Soon after, they poured through the blown-up entrance and the fight for this warehouse and its perimeter began. Content with the success of the initial assault, the Kazakh stood up from the sand dune and stole glances from her shooters. "Death to the Munai-bailer! Let us go and support them."
Several dozen men and the woman ran forward to link up with the main host. She knew too well that their numbers were not good without proper support; especially, if it involved heavy weapons such as machine guns. The pace that Giul made was swift in a matter of minutes as she entered the perimeter and saw the fruits of her labor realized. Her people had secured the open area save for the buildings but even the structures were not enough to hold the freemen back.
She watched as the former air controller tower across the perimeter was being stormed. Shooting echoed from inside the hallways as a bandit reached the top and tried to defend his deteriorating position. Then he retreated outside of the tower, knowing it was his last refuge but there was no mercy to be had for men like him. The leader of her people raised her rifle and shot the last survivor of the garrison. A bullet struck him in the back before his body fell off the edge and landed in the sand below. He was not given any ounce of respect as seven desperate Kazakhs lunged for his body for loot.
The woman's gaze turned to the warehouses on her right and knew full well it was important when the outsiders came into the region. Then she saw her people step out, lugging crates outside and smashing the top open. Curious about whether her efforts were worth it all, Giul walked over and inspected the weapon crates, finding bolt-action or sub-machine guns within. None of them were assault rifles but it was certainly better than nothing. The men who cracked them open, turned to her for guidance as she revealed her thoughts and intentions on the matter. "This is not what I wanted but it's better than what I could hope for. We have weapons, arm yourselves. Our fight is not over. Their fortress still stands with the Baron's flag but we will make it ours!"
Words seemed to resonate with the followers of several hundred when they cheered and shouted to the sky. It was a good sign for her leadership as she knew that unless their immediate concerns were satiated, it was likely they would sell her out to the Baron's men or abandon her efforts for a free Caspian. The mood immediately changed when light flickered from inside the warehouse puzzling her to the core of the soul. She knew that this building contained the teleporter where the Baron's forces deployed into another world or the arrival of the combined Moscovites and Novosibirskans from Russia. Whoever activated it would only imply that either one of those two groups was returning and that concerned her.
She rushed towards the building as the confused freemen around her did not seem to understand the possibility of their situation. After she stormed inside the warehouse, the woman was met by a strange ramp that lead to a platform in the center of the room. Yet, there was a hole in reality made out of blue-white energies emerging from the ground. This was the technology responsible for the Baron's forces to leave the Caspian for some far-off raid and now it was being used again.
"Ready yourselves, my countrymen!" She raised her assault rifle while her troops stormed inside with their diverse collection of weaponry, "The Baron may return again!"
Warriors and shooters were patient in what was to come and this very building would become a major battleground for a bloodbath the moment the Munai-bailer returned to their home territory. The light flickered as a group of six armored men entered the room with their weapons. It was here that she recognized their uniforms and so she lowered her bullpup and gestured to the others to stand down. The foreigners have returned; yet, she knew not their purpose ever since Artyom departed from the region and the connection was severed.
"Who are you? Identify yourself!" Words commanded the room while the former slaves and freemen nodded approvingly at the gravitas she brought about.
One of the strangers stepped forward and raised the armored visor from his face. "My name is Colonel Klebnikov of OSKOM. You must be Giul, Colonel Mel'nikov spoke of you."
"Yes. I am glad my reputation has lingered enough for your people to remember. Hard to forget how the Baron was spooked about you."
"Indeed, the man has escalated the situation on our side of the teleporter. His army tried to attack the Kingdom of Arendelle and failed - now he's retreating. We figured that taking over this place may… isolate him," The woman did not show her expression but deep down the thoughts of a free Caspian being so close to reality was finally here. Now she was not alone in fighting the bandits and these people seemed to be going on the offensive to deal with him as well, "I take these people are your soldiers. It would be handy when we assault that damn fortress of his."
A smile was all she could offer to the man. Not only was it a relief but change was coming forward and karma had granted her a great reward in the end. "Interesting. My people are just about to make preparations to take the oil rig by the shore. Your help would be appreciated."
"Gladly. Try to make some room, we're bringing in the big guns." The six men and the colonel stepped aside when the light flickered once more. This time, they brought a wonder only thought of in stories of an older time. A tracked machine of war had its engines roar as the immense size of the turret's main cannon left an impression of awe upon the freed Kazakhs present in the warehouse. If this was what they brought, how much more was on the other side of the machine that brought them here? Enough of these vehicles would breach the main gates and when combined with the Hell Cannons, the garrison at the oil rig would be helpless to stop her.
The day had come as planned.
Tsar Mikhail, Emperor of Imperial Russia and successor of the Romanov Dynasty walked throughout the halls of the bunker complex with his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket. Accompanied by his aid - Prince Vaska Dolokhov, he passed by rank-and-file soldiers or officers trying to perform their duties within their offices and improve the state of preparations before the invasion would advance to end the war that was started. His grandson had proved resilient in spite of his wounds and should the day come when life would end, this very structure and the empire on the surface would be his inheritance. Until that day came, he would do everything he could to help support the war effort by defending his beloved Arendellian queen.
The thought of a foreign monarch being the wife of a Russian tsar was an intriguing subject as the duo passed by a checkpoint, the guards immediately recognizing his status before letting him through. There was some prestige to be had that a rumored queen with ice powers would be standing at the side of the emperor. Should they maintain such a great relationship to producing heirs, the rest of the European powers would not be so pleased with this great realm associating itself with a minor fiefdom. Yet, he would pay them no heed. It seemed like the young couple were truly in love with each other and that was a bit of magic that no other married rulers can say about their arrangements. At the very least, Marya's son was returned to the fold and he could truly die a happy man.
His mind would stop thinking about those matters when his right-hand man and nephew voiced himself with pressing concerns as they strode through the underground fortress, "Your majesty, we have received additional reinforcements from Petersburg. As it seems, the Polish and the Ukrainians are lending their regiments to our aid."
Mikhail knew why they would do such a thing. The history of Imperial Russia was one path of blood and anguish for those who were repressed into compliance. Yet, the policy of his forebearers shifted under his rule and he allowed the non-Russian populations to embrace a degree of autonomy that hadn't been seen since the annexation of their country. Those at the Duma disagreed with his handling as they distressed 'concerns' about the risk of independence movements and succession from the state. The world was changing and all those worries were superfluous as even the great Napoleon Bonaparte entertained the notion of letting people govern themselves. That man's only mistake was trying to take Moscow and keeping it. "If they seek to curry my favor, this is certainly tangible enough to earn it."
"We also have a word about the Southern Isle royal family," Vaska continued as they began to make their way toward the massive assembly area, "The king is still vacationing in France and my colleagues at their universities have informed me that the Holy Roman Emperor intercepted the messengers about to deliver the news of the war."
"So the Germans have a vested interest in making sure they lose as much as us," The conclusion was sound and reasonable to tolerate their assistance. After all, the family of Prince Hans was nothing more than jumped-up merchants who legally smuggled a piece of the Holy Roman Empire out of imperial control. At the very least, if the war goes badly for them, their southern neighbors would be eager to reclaim a troublesome piece of their decentralized realm back into the fold. Despite that small benefit of surprise, it was a fleeting factor as someone in Paris or London would notice a large concentration of military ships and formations on Arendelle's soil, "We must make haste to see this conflict to the end."
They exited the network of hallways as they arrived at the underground assembly. Large concentrations of infantry, cavalry, and artillery were present - mingling with the post-apocalypse soldiers from the other world with their vehicles of war. The emperor scanned the well-dressed ranks and officers of his imperial realm to the dirtied and rugged appearances of their comrades. Their nonchalant behavior was acceptable but he could also see them get along in the inaudible conversations they had with each other. Time would tell until their spirits would be drained of waiting and discontent growing like a weed for the troops. All they needed is for the teleporters to activate and the wrath of the motherland would be unleashed like a bottle of wine shooting out a cork.
Anna left the confines of the castle on her quest to the local bakery. Apparently, the box of chocolates in the food pantry had been stolen. She didn't know who was responsible for that and it would have been a foolish endeavor to ask questions about theft sweets. Even if that knowledge was known, the princess would sweep that grievance under a bridge. After all, there was truly no harm done.
Soon the young woman walked past the castle walls and crossed the bridge into the main square. Despite Christmas being over, the tree and its decorations remained. What truly surprised her was the traders and merchants having their stalls set up around the tree, attracting those who wanted to admire the scenery. She was certain that would change in the future as the servants would either chop it up or hide it in the future when the opportunity and weather provided.
The mood changed when she saw a scuffle to her left and the nearby civilians walked away from the scene in a hurry. One of the Landsknecht mercenaries formerly under Hans was present, holding a banner the size of a store window. He extended his arm out at two Arendelle guards trying to get close to him. Yet, the man's incredible height and mass were enough to keep them held at bay. As she watched, the princess noticed his other arm tightened a grip around the stave and kept it close to his chest. All it did was incite her curiosity as she stepped closer and saw one of her soldiers didn't have a sword in their sheath while staring at the yellow flag with the imperial fluttering above.
A guard to her left spoke up. "Hand it over!"
She immediately heard the German accent of the mercenary cry out. "This flag does not belong to you!"
"You guys lost," He replied nonchalantly as pointed his finger at him in a commanding tone, "It's now a prize."
"This is the imperial eagle," The Landsknecht stated while his head swiveled from one guard to the next, "I will not let you tarnish the regimental standard."
Anna sensed that this situation would deteriorate into bloodshed and so she chimed into the conversation, catching the trio off-guard. "Hello. What's going on here?"
"The princess?" He recognized her while the guards took the moment to turn their heads and give a quick bow before returning their attention toward the escaped prisoner.
"Can any of you care to explain why a fight broke out?" She said, wording it less like a question and more like an order, "You're causing a scene here."
"Your highness, the prisoner escaped and stole this flag from us when we were about to place it in the guard barracks. He even stole my sword in the process." It was a quick summarization but the details began to connect together. If what the bearded and massive Landsknecht said was correct, then it was certainly important to him.
"It must hold this with high respect to come out here and defend it." The German seemed taken aback by her remark as he lowered his sword.
"This flag was kissed by the Holy Roman Emperor himself, blessing us whenever we served the army or those who paid us. We brought this with us on our voyage when Prince Hans had need of us. When we were defeated, it is the only pride we have left… that was until one of your people ripped it from our ranks. I broke out not to escape, we could have done so at any time, but to reclaim the imperial eagle."
"So that is why you are here?"
He nodded his head. On one hand, he was an escaped prisoner but she sympathized with his reasoning. It certainly wasn't the smartest decision but perhaps appeasing that pride in favor of a peaceful solution was preferable to a violent outcome.
Anna cleared her throat and prepared to speak up. "How about you return to the other prisoners with the regimental standard? Would that suffice?"
His arm tightened around the flag before stealing a glance at the two Arendellian soldiers beside her. There was hesitation as his expression revealed his fear before her. That soon changed when the mercenary tossed the sword and allowed it to clatter on the ground. From the corner of her eyes, the guards appeared eager to jump him.
"Don't!" They stopped themselves before turning their attention upon her. Surprised by her command, they were about to speak before cutting them off, "I promised that he would have it back and I intend to keep it."
The grizzled Landsknecht lightened up when his eyes widened like plates. The tense shoulders relaxed as both of his hands took hold of the stave carrying the imperial eagle. "Princess Anna, you have earned my respect and have more honor than our employer who left us here to die."
"My pleasure. I hope this war is over so that your eagle can return home." His gratitude left an impression on her causing her heart to rise as if a horde of butterflies were leaving her soul. Soon the mercenary bowed his head while the two guards carefully approached him and escorted the large bulky man out of the vicinity of the town. Once they left her view, the royal raised her head proudly with a smile on her face.
They were another victim in Hans' mad quest to take over Arendelle. This moment made her consider if the scene would cause him to spread this moment to the other hired swordsmen and handgunners but time would tell. All that she could truly do was wait out the storm of metal and blood in the Southern Isles and hope the invasion went well.
It didn't take long before the desire to sate her sweettooth took over and she returned to her search of the bakery. Hopefully, it didn't receive any damage ever since the battle outside her home.
Colonel Klebnikov was eager to go on the offensive as three main battle tanks and two infantry fighting vehicles were rallied outside of the fortress that was the oil rig. It was strange to see this weird amalgamation of former slaves fight alongside the last vestiges of the Red Army but the future of the country was now in his hands. Grains of sand rushed through the black treads and wheels as the commanding officer stood on top of an old BTR-80, behind the remote-controlled turret, its main thirty-millimeter autocannon pointed directly at the front of the main gates. In his hand was a megaphone, a symbol of his seniority and a chance for the defenders to surrender.
The head of the Kazakhs was on the right flank of the vehicle. She stole a glance from him and pulled the charging handle from her weapon. "Are you going to offer them mercy? These men… put my people in chains. They deserve none."
He could understand her hatred of the Baron's men. They came here and destroyed everything that was considered worthwhile and it was not his place to decide their fate. Yet, throwing his men at the wall without an opportunity to avoid battle was a consideration of the families waiting for them at the Metro platforms. "I know but if they can open the gates without a fight then we'll focus our full attention on the Baron and kill him there."
"This is our fight too. Your people just came along for the ride," Giul replied with a bitter tone but then she turned her gaze on the front gates. Figures in the distance were frantically running as bells rang out at the situation outside their doorstep. They were terrified at the retribution that would come swiftly once the shots were fired, "Try your hand, and then we'll see."
"Gentlemen!" The colonel straightened his back as the handheld loudspeaker was placed in front of his mouth. He directed the device towards the bandits and raiders inside, "I am Colonel Klebnikov from OSKOM. Open the gates and lay down your arms or we will fire upon you and storm your fortress. This will be your one and only warning. Will you comply?"
When he lowered the device, the silence was all that was left between the coalition and the Baron's men. He had hoped the outcome would prove fruitful but there are times when the situation doesn't end on a positive note. This would be one of them as he stepped down from the roof of the vehicle and pulled the woman away from the front by her arm. It had been decades since he operated alongside such machines of war but memory served to prioritize practical safety.
"Don't stand near the guns. It's not safe." He stated while the vehicles began to form into a single firing line. Their engines hummed with great anticipation while the turrets swiveled into their firing positions. Behind the battle line of an armored fist were the various platoon leaders of Novosibirsk's finest and the delegated seniors of Giul's ranks. All of them kneeling with one kneecap on the ground.
A call activated his radio as he lowered his armored visor above his face and prepared for the bloody day. It was from one of the tank commanders inside these steel beasts. "Sir, the defenses don't look too well structured against our firepower. We've loaded some high explosive shells for breaching and then delouse enemy positions with machine gun fire. Your call."
"Fire."
The main cannons concentrated their aim on the entrance to the Baron's domain before a volley roared out from the barrel and whistled into the front makeshift gates. Meanwhile, the hull that housed the turrets recoiled back as sand kicked up into the air and left a small cloud in their wake. Out from behind his back, the colonel could hear the boisterous crowd cheer at the delight of their former masters plastered with sheer firepower. With the main gates shattered, all that was needed was to overrun the remaining defenses.
His hand reached for his radio and issued his next orders for the upcoming phase of the attack. "Comrades, get in there. Find them, fix them, kill them!"
"Now that is what I like to hear." Giul remarked before she charged forward with her weapon raised above her head. She let out a fierce battle cry and gestured for her people to follow. They did not hesitate or question as they rushed after her with whatever weapons they could scrounge up. It was likely that any unfortunate victim would be at the mercy of their righteous bloodlust.
Klebnikov and his men joined up while the tanks and infantry fighting vehicles sprayed the oil rig with machine gun fire. Tracers flew overhead while the sight of the bandits was forced into the cover or riddled with heavy caliber rounds tearing apart their fighters. The ground floor was a different affair altogether as fifty of the Baron's men rushed out across the bridge from the oil rig to the mainland. Yet, they were supported by four technicals with machine guns mounted to the back or the rooftops. Not a moment too soon, they fired away, allowing themselves to gain the other side of the bridgehead.
The commanding officer lunged to the ground knowing full well of the outcome. Then he raised his head, watching the coalition's troops get caught in the open, Dushka rounds tearing apart men's limbs or puncturing holes into chests as the mortally wounded slumped like a ragdoll and bled out. Then the enemy infantry reinforced that firepower by standing or crouching beside their supporting vehicles and bringing their automatic weapons to bear. The remaining infantry now found themselves lying on their stomachs within the breach.
Soon their situation changed when a missile shrieked into two armored technicals parked close together. Upon impact, sheer force ravaged the machines and their crews while a plume of smoke erupted from the destructive transformation into wrecks. A quick glimpse of the remaining machine gunners showed great fear and despair as their trucks reversed onto the bridge. Then a burst of autocannon shells rushed ahead and tore holes into the engine block. The men inside were churned into pink mist.
He looked back to find a BTR-80 and a BMP-2 slowly advancing past him with supporting infantry at their behest. On occasion, a stray bullet would hit their chassis but glancing off their armor. Once their rear doors were seen, he rolled himself over to the side and clambered himself off the ground, and followed.
A crack of a single shot echoed into the air before the colonel looked to the left side of the oil rig fortress. There was a makeshift tower leaning out as the sniper's nest overlooks the bridge with scoped glint revealing the shooter's position. Another shot rang out but this time, landing in the chest of an OSKOM soldier beside him. Furious, Klebnikov aimed the sights of his Kalashnikov assault rifle and steadied himself. Two quick pulls on the trigger animated the muzzle flash on his barrel before the rounds impacted his target and caused him to fall over his ramparts.
His men cheered upon seeing his kill while their advance pushed across the bridge. The enemy began to retreat but the exposed road left little cover as they were chased by gunfire. As the subsequent route was occurring, the BMP commander hatch was swung open as the commander peaked his head out with nothing more than a tanker's cap. His sleeveless arm reached out and waved the grouped-up infantry to advance. "Go, get in there!"
The colonel charged forward with his legs jogging against the concrete bridge. He looked over his shoulder and saw the combined forces create thunder with the sounds of their boots stomping on the ground. Hundreds of men roared as they stormed the fortress with an unrelenting wave. Then he began to slow his pace so the others could run past him. Giul was seen at the front tackling two bandits with jammed assault rifles while her followers assisted in bludgeoning their foes to death. She would be at the head of the attack but he had an alternative to tighten the grip around the raiders.
He had stood at the center of the rushing echelons of assault troops before two platoons joined him at the base of the main entrance, bringing up two pneumatic launchers with grappling hooks, placing the machines against the ground before aiming them directly at the floors above. Two men placed their boots against the presenting pedals and pushed downwards, causing a massive hiss from compressed air launching the grapple hooks to the sky until gravity diminished their momentum. Then they latched onto the railings and made Klebnikov chuckle and give his men an approving nod.
Once the ropes managed to dangle above the platoons, they slowly latched themselves on and slowly clamber upward as firefights ensued from inside. The small part of the officer's brain whispered to him that he was too old to perform but getting an edge over the enemy was too important. If the bandits were given sufficient time to barricade themselves inside their fortress, they would be forced to siege them. Minutes passed as the OSKOM soldiers managed to reach the top despite the weight of their equipment and gear stifling their strength.
A pair of hands were seen at the top of the grapples as a malnourished Kazakh peered over the edge and gestured for the colonel to come closer. When he reached the top, his muscles began to tire but the bald man grabbed him by his kevlar vest and attempted to pull him over the railing. "Quickly, Munai-bailer are coming!"
The officer rolled onto a dirtied Persian carpet as he was flanked by couches surrounding tables where large hookahs were located. He must have ended up in their lounge section as he looked ahead to see a doorway with two frantic bandits rushing past the entrance to the balcony. His rifle was raised before taking a glance at his magazine's open case to find his ammo was above three-quarters full.
"You shoot, I help," Stated the unnamed slave before he looked back to see another one of his comrades over the ledge, "The Munai-bailer must die!"
Time would tell if this would pay off but the colonel made sure his barrel was trained on the opening in the room while his feet softly tapped against the floor. The raider's desire for luxury hid his footsteps while he hugged the left side of the doorway and looked into the hallway to the left. The right side was uncertain and if he tried to push through without backup, he would have no chance.
He was alerted when the metallic catwalk of the oil rig's hallway was disturbed by the tapped of a passing man. As the noise grew closer, Klebnikov tightened his grip around the barrel and waited. Then a man in a ragged and sleeveless vest ran past him with his back presented and the officer's trigger finger let out a burst of assault rifle rounds into the hallway. The stranger was struck in the back and the impact forced him to stumble forward and land head first with blood seeping out.
Everything changed when bullets penetrated through the wall beside him and his bulletproof vest taking the full brunt of automatic fire. Even his visor cracked thanks to a stray round while his body made him collapse to the ground, the air in his lungs taken out of him. "They're on this floor! Kill them!"
More footsteps echoed from outside of the room before two men appeared at the entrance. His instincts made him hose them down with gunfire and ensured they wouldn't reach the vulnerable climbers by the grapple hook. Yet, his wind was gone as his chest ached from soreness but relief came over the OSKOM officer as two of his subordinates approached the doorway with their rifles raised and carefully walked over the three corpses in the hallway. A third came but he knelt beside him and pushed his shoulder. "Sir, do you need medical assistance?"
"I'm fine," He shook his head at the validity of the question but his duty wasn't able to be carried out fully, not in this state, "Just secure this part of the oil rig and assist the others coming up. Going to need a minute until I get my shit back together."
Captain Baranov sat in his chair and oversaw the vessel's entire voyage for the deployment of a few men spearheading the invasion. Artyom and his comrades resided in the crew quarters, eating a box of chocolates in their idle time. He couldn't blame them for enjoying such luxuries of life as they were the vanguard and it may be the last time they could appreciate those sweet joyful moments.
His pride desired him to stand throughout his time on the Mayflower but old age diminished what strength the officer of the Red Navy had for his legs. Yet, the respect from his crew never truly faded despite his self-imposed exile from the city limits of Vladivostok. Before him was a table containing navigation charts of the location they were currently in. Despite the maps being designed for his world, the grid references were much more reliable compared to the current ones available. It also helped that their vessel's sonar mapped out the geographic areas that permitted him to get close as much as possible. They would bypass the patrol fleets and avoid contact as much as possible. When the time would come, they would rise and get close to the shoreline within practical limits.
Eduard thought about his past service in the name of the motherland. What glory he had at sea was questionable at best. Especially, when it came to the final order he was expected to carry out - the Dead Hand contingency. The nuclear missiles that were housed in this ship were meant to carry out that mission of spiteful vengeance and wreaking havoc upon the supposed enemies of the Kremlin. He sighed in defeat but one he was glad to accept in his ever-weary soul. What point was there for him to carry on the duty of the dead?
The weapons still remained and now he waged war against a new enemy. They were surely inferior but a thought lingered ever since his initial meeting with Queen Elsa. Her kingdom was attacked and its people invaded, only saved thanks to the intervention of his people. Would there be a time when he was asked to turn the key and start the launch sequence? That beautiful young girl was perhaps the definition of pure goodness and it was worth protecting against the machinations of the power-hungry. The question was, did he have the heart to perform in order to protect her?
One of his sailors interrupted him by the sonar systems to his right. His chair was turned while his headset hung around his neck. "Captain! We're approaching the shoreline."
A sharp pain seared into his leg but he muffled his own cries and pushed himself upward off the table. He rose from his wooden chair and took command of the control room. "Raise us to periscope depth."
"Aye, sir," The sailor acknowledged as he spun back into his station and brought his headset over his ears.
Captain Baranov made his way over to the periscope hanging in front of him and grabbed onto both handles. Then he glued his face into the sights, only seeing water but the light from above the waves shimmered while the vessel rose ever closer to the surface. The vision changed when he could see just above the water while droplets remained or returned to the sea. Before him were the shores of the foreign land that was to be invaded.
If the charts were truly correct, this would be the place for Artyom and his friends to leave his vessel. A gut in his stomach gave him seeds of doubt and that uncertainty was enough for the officer of the Red Navy from alerting his friend in the crew quarters. Minutes passed as he scanned the beach and waited for something substantial to prove him wrong or validate his worries.
There was a glitter to his left and Eduard rotated the periscope towards the source of that distraction. His eyes caught movement but the magnification was not enough, causing him to free one hand and adjust the dial to obtain a closer look. A group of four riders on horseback were trotting on the road along the shoreline, unaware of his presence. He studied their movements and their uniforms, recognizing the very same apparel and armor on the ships he attacked with torpedoes.
"Alert Artyom and the others," The time for action had begun while he watched the riders pay his vessel no attention, "At my command, the Mayflower will submerge."