The next few weeks were getting into the swing of things in Hotel Moscow. I felt much like a recruit, I was woken up at 3 am, pushed into a training regimen that I had never gone through before.
"Move it Yuriyevich! Get off your ass!" Boris was yelling at me as I was in a makeshift ring in the basement of the Bouganvilla Trading Company Offices. My opponent was one of the soldiers. Sakharov.
He was fast, and trained well. But I was adapting quick enough, and Pa taught me a few things about Systema Grappling way back when. I ducked under his attempted grapple, and threw my foot into the side of his head. He ate it like a champ though.
"You have to hit harder than that Boyka." Sakharov commented, and I nodded through my panting breath. I couldn't talk, it'd waste too much air.
He rushed me again, hands darting to grasp my arm. He does, but I broke his grasp at his thumb and reversed the grip, trying to yank his arm behind his back. He kicked his way out of my grasp with a boot to my chest.
I ate two punches before I got my own good one in. It was a solid hit, square on his jaw that sent him to the ground.
"Yeah…that's more like it." He groaned as I caught my breath.
"I can hit plenty hard, Sakharov." I muttered watching as he got his way to his feet.
"I'm well aware, Boyka. I'm gonna have a bruise on my face for a week." He replied as he rubbed his jaw. "How are you holding up? You've been training pretty hard these last few weeks."
"Not like you guys are giving much of a choice." I shot back, earning a chuckle.
"Kapitan doesn't let debts go unpaid, Yuriyevich." Boris cut in from outside the ring. "As such, until you've worked off your debt, you're going to need to be up to Hotel Moscow standards."
"And I'm sure the cost of all this training is being added onto that debt." I countered, earning a wry smirk.
"Money moves mountains, Yuriyevich. If you're going to be working with us, we need to ensure you're not going to be a liability in the field." Boris snarked as he opened up th cage.
"I've been running jobs for y'all for a year. You think I'm not reliable?" I grumbled out, pride stinging.
"You've done mainly delivery jobs, we're not dropping off a hard drive tonight, Boyka."
The realization shot through me as I suddenly straightened up.
"Tonight?!" I asked.
"Indeed. Tonight." Boris confirms with a smirk, "We have a job, and you're going to be coming with us. The Kapitan will be watching us, watching you. You will have to be ready."
I matched gazes with the scarred Sargeant, who still held that damned smirk on his face.
"What kind of job?" I asked.
"We will be dealing with the Colombians who kidnapped you, they're running a drug production lab on the eastern docks. We're going to take it." Boris explained as easily as if he was reading off the grocery list.
"You didn't think to tell me this before I let Sakharov punch me in the face for an hour and a half?!" I snapped as I quickly moved over to my towel and wiped the sweat and blood from my face. I pushed my way out of the cage and got my shirt back on.
"In the field you won't be given the option of being fresh faced and well rested, Jericho." Balalaika's voice cut in from the entrance to the basement we were training in.
"So you think having me beat to crap is gonna be advantageous in a combat situation?!"
She met my accusation with an unimpressed look and puffed out a ring of smoke that broke around my face.
"If you're well enough to bitch, you're well enough to get kitted up. Go speak to Corporal Menshov, Kadet."
We glare at each other for a moment before I huff and make my way out of the basement.
"Da, Kapitan."
Weeks of this, of training, learning tactics, learning the rules of working in the underground. Who the big players were here in Roanapur and who would have you shot for mouthing off to them.
Number one on that list being Balalaika. She's ruthless, efficient, and a hell of a taskmaster. When she gave an order, I learned to follow it. As I walked down the hall away from the arena, I could hear them speaking to each other in Russian.
"He's still learning, Kapitan." Boris spoke "He is vicious, a quick learner, but stubborn. He's inexperienced."
"He'll learn fast under fire. He'll have to. Still…How's his shooting?"
"That…is something you're going to have to take charge of, Kapitan."
"Oh? Tell me more."
I met up with Menshov in a separate room in the lower levels of the building. He's a thin man, but toned, and currently polishing an AKS-74u.
"Ah, Jericho, here to get set up for the raid, are you?" He asks with a friendly smile.
"Da. The Kapitan sent me over. What do you have for me?" I asked, earning a chuckle.
Menshov shuffled around, digging through a number of crates before settling down a folded set of clothes, a handgun, and a knife. A big knife that didn't have much of a tip, one made for chopping and breaking through bone.
"Urban Fatigues, a Pistolet Makarova, and a Taiga machete." Menshov spoke as he set things up, taking a few loaded magazines and placing them on the side of the table.
"No long arm?"
"You're not cleared for that yet. Kapitan was hesitant to even give you the pistol. As it is, once you get dressed, that pistol stays in its holster. You wait until you are ordered to draw it out, am I understood?" Menshov spat out, staring me in the face. I met his gaze head on.
"Yes, Sir."
"Good Lad. Get dressed, Jericho. We're wheels up in two hours."
I dipped into the back room and got changed, the fatigues were fit well enough. The pants were tough, printed with a gray/blue camouflage pattern. The boots fit just fine, and didn't chafe. The shirt was a plain black tee, the jacket was soviet surplus, a dark olive green. I sheathed the knife on my hip, and finally, the pistol.
The Makarov PM, Pistolet Makarova. Designed in 1948 by Nikolay Fyodorovich Makarov, It's a semi-automatic straight blowback action pistol. It holds 8 rounds of 9.2x18mm cartridge colloquially known as 9x18 Makarov. It's heavy, underpowered for its size, and ammo for it is a bitch to get in the USA. It's a service pistol, not meant to be a primary weapon by any means. But it's accurate. I've seen Balalaika put rounds through the same hole at fifty yards with this weapon, and I know how deadly it can be.
I holster it and walk back out.
Balalaika is waiting there. She looks me up and down.
"You look ready. Are you?" She asks.
"As I'll ever be, Kapitan." I responded.
"You've been briefed on your orders?"
"Keep my weapon holstered until ordered otherwise."
"Good. This mission will determine how we put you to use in the future, Jericho. Do not disappoint me." With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.
I spent the next hour and a half waiting.
I hated every second of it.
The raid happened quickly, I was shoved into the back seat of a car, and we blitzed the waterside warehouse.
Boris and Menshov shoot the two sentries with suppressed rifles before we're even out of the car, and I'm moving before I can think.
It's nighttime, but Roanapur doesn't really have much in the way of darkness. Inside, the fluorescent lights keep the corridors lit and I can hear voices.
"Production's been down this month, Boss. It's been hard to get the right materials." It's a different thug than the one that had held me in the cell those few weeks back. Menshov and Boris enter behind me, signing with their hands to keep moving.
"Those Lagoon Company pendejos keep telling me they're too busy to take our jobs." This voice, I recognize. The boss man, Abrego. I wasn't the only one who recognized it, as Boris brought his rifle up to high ready. We moved in, and the chaos ensued.
Boris took out the logistics thug with a quick burst of fire, but then someone let loose with a smoke grenade that clouded the whole area. I saw the workers rushing out, drugged up locals and lost hitchhikers. Then, I caught sight of a gaudy white suit and a gun being drawn.
I didn't think, just reacted. I rushed him. My foot kicked the gun out of his hand and my fist crashed into his throat in the span of three seconds. He fell to the floor, grasping at his throat and spitting blood.
The smoke began to dissipate, and I could hear it.
Click, Click, Click.
Rhythmic footsteps of pumps clacking on tile.
Click, Click, Click.
Closer now, and soon enough I saw her walk through the door. Red business suit now looked a lot closer to the color of blood than a full bodied wine. Boris and Menshov stand at attention immediately as she looks around, looking at the corpses and the still slowly suffocating Abrego.
"Well now…this is unexpected." There's a purr in her voice as she steps forward to hit Abrego with a vicious smirk. "Do you know who this is, Jericho?"
"Goes by the name of Abrego, if I remember right." I responded quickly. She nods.
"Rafael Abrego, Head of the Roanapur branch of the Manisalera Cartel. A rather large thorn in my side."
At this, the man tries to snarl, but it turns into a wheezing bloody cough around his collapsed trachea…suffocating in his own blood. A terrible way to die.
"What to do, what to do…He can last for up to a half hour like this, you know? Slowly gasping for breath, only for his airways to swell shut around your damage. Unless he gets help, it's going to be a very nasty way to die." She's doing this on purpose, tormenting the man…then those eyes turn to me.
"Draw your weapon, Boyka."
I hesitate for a split second, but do so. It's heavy in my hand, heavier than it was when I put it on my hip. My gaze is questioning as I keep my eyes on Balalaika.
"Finish him."
"Ma'am I-"
"Finish. Him. Kadet." Her tone is ice, and those eyes never left mine. I hear Menshov behind me chamber a round in his sidearm.
God Damn It.
I stepped forward, flicked off the safety, and lined up the sights. This is a Mercy, Jericho. You don't have a choice. He's a piece of cartel trash anyway…just make it quick.
The double-action trigger pull on a Makarov pistol is twelve pounds, its smooth, and breaks cleanly after hitting a brief wall at the end of the trigger pull. In this moment, it felt like twenty.
BANG!
A single shot, and I sold my soul to the Devil in Red.
"Welcome to Hotel Moscow, Kadet."