Black Flagged Redux

by Steven Konkoly

  They weaved their way through a maze of smaller buildings and snow-covered yards, occasionally ducking behind walls or kicking in doors to hide from the Mi-28 Havoc that screamed overhead. The helicopter was loud enough to hear from a distance, and they had no shortage of places to hide. Soon enough, they’d come up on an open area leading to a small cluster of apartment buildings and would have to carefully time their transit. Gunfire picked up to their front, punctuated by the loud crack of RPGs exploding. Sabitov listened to his radio.

  “They’ve just ambushed the recon elements of the armor battalion. We wait here and see if they take the bait,” Sabitov said.

  “How far ahead are they?” Daniel said.

  “Less than a mile. My teams will pull back to Katayev Prospekt and draw them into the area around the tall buildings. We’ll have to time this carefully. We need to—”

  A sudden growl stopped his sentence, followed by a horrifying scream and mumbled voices.

  “What the fuck is that?” Leo said.

  The Russians exchanged worried glances just as three screaming figures charged between the two structures behind them. They closed the short distance quicker than he’d expected, and he couldn’t identify them in the darkness. Several gunshots exploded, and the attack stopped as quickly as it started. They heard demented laughter off in the distance.

  “They must have followed us,” Malyshev said.

  “Who followed us?” Petrovich demanded.

  “The sick ones. This is what happens,” he said, kicking over one of the bodies.

  Petrovich stared at a young woman’s dead body, focused on the blood encrusted butcher knife near her hand. She was dressed in an unbuttoned gray overcoat, which covered blood-splattered, light green hospital scrubs. “Dr. Cherkasov” was embroidered over the left breast pocket.

  “Don’t ever be fooled. They’re all armed with crazy shit like this. Mr. Petrovich, would you take one of your men back to those buildings with the PPS and scan the street for any additional followers? I can hear them,” Sabitov said.

  Daniel tugged at Leo’s jacket, just as Farrington tossed the silenced PPS at them. Leo snatched it out of the air, and they both walked briskly between the buildings with their weapons held ready. He reached the end of the building and risked a peek around the corner. Through the darkness, he could see someone repeatedly stabbing another person about twenty feet down the street. Movement in his peripheral vision alerted him to the presence of two figures emerging from the shadows of the buildings on the other side of the tight road. The Russians appeared to be the least of their problems at the moment.

  “Two more walking down the middle of the road, dragging something behind them. Looks like half of a body. Fuck,” Leo whispered.

  “Take them down first, then hit the two across the street.”

  Daniel raised his rifle and turned the corner, immediately finding his target through the Russian made 3X PN23 night vision scope. He quickly centered the red dot on the side of the attacker’s head and shot him. He heard several muffled shots from the PPS and shifted his rifle to the two figures across the street. Both targets appeared in the scope, and he chose the man to the right, who stood with his mouth open, twitching. The second man charged them, and Daniel shifted his scope to the runner, preparing to fire.

  “A little help with this one,” he said and took his eye off the scope to fire an unaided shot.

  The PPS coughed an extended burst, and the man tumbled to the street, his riddled body feeding a rapidly expanding dark shadow in the snow. Daniel sighted in on the man across the street, who hadn’t moved since they started shooting. He watched a line of bullets stitch across the man’s chest, knocking him back into the shadows. Daniel picked up movement on the street from several directions at once.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here,” Leo said.

  “Agreed. Farrington, inform Major Sabitov that we can’t stay here,” Daniel said.

  His earpiece crackled. “Understood.”

  Daniel raced back to the group, and Sabitov informed them that the entire armor formation was headed toward Katayev Prospekt down one of the main roads. He predicted that the battalion would split up into three groups, about three hundred meters before reaching the large cluster of buildings. He’d watched them employ this same strategy three nights in a row and the command BTR always joined the group on the left flank. Last night, the BTR broke off on its own and drove one block to pursue a group of looters. The two GAZ-2975 Tiger jeeps assigned to escort the command BTR followed closely. He watched the three vehicles fire point blank into a group of several civilians and could barely believe his eyes when the soldiers in the BTR dismounted to check the bodies. He told them that their success hinged on the Russians’ opening the BTR’s hatch.

  As they all started to run, Daniel grabbed Farrington. “How will they get the Russian commander to open up the hatch? If they come under attack, they’ll stay buttoned up in the APC’s. I think it might be time to pull the plug on this,” Daniel said.

  “I don’t think the three soldiers will be returning with the rest of us,” Farrington said and sprinted to catch up.

  Daniel thought about this for a few seconds, until a maddened scream from the street behind him spurred him into action.

  **

  Lieutenant Colonel Zadornov studied the MBT screen and cross-referenced points on the map spread out on his compact table. The attack helicopters had confirmed that a large insurgent force had arrived in the vicinity of the Katayev Prospekt apartment development, and his reconnaissance vehicles had been viciously attacked near Katayev, forcing their withdrawal after the loss of one Tiger. The insurgents were desperately trying to keep his battalion away from the development, which led him to conclude that this was their headquarters. He could put an end to the armed resistance in Monchegorsk tonight, if he maneuvered aggressively and killed the insurgency’s leadership. To keep the insurgents busy while his battalion approached, he ordered the two Mi-28 Havocs to conduct gun runs to engage targets moving into the area. Within seconds, he heard the distinctive, rapid bark of a 30mm cannon above him. The helicopters’ gunners had wasted no time finding targets.

  He glanced at the map one more time before issuing his final deployment orders, which would split the force into three groups along Troika Street. The battalion would push into Katayev Prospekt from three directions, looking for a weakness in the insurgent deployment. He might even consider using the Havoc’s rockets to topple a few of the ten-story apartment buildings. If he crashed the buildings on the left flank, he could roll right into the middle of the battle, without fear of a lucky rocket propelled grenade puncturing the top armor of his BTR.

  The tall buildings presented a unique challenge, as evidenced by the loss of a Tiger earlier in the day. One well aimed shot from the six or seventh story of those buildings had the potential to turn any of the battalion’s vehicles into a flaming coffin. There were simply too many windows in each building to cover adequately from the ground, so the infantry would have to clear them, room by room, before the bulk of the vehicles could move forward. Or, he could flatten a few of the buildings. He also had the availability of four Su-25 “Frogfoot” ground attack jets based out of the airbase in Murmansk. Two of the Frogfoots, each armed with eight 500-pound bombs, sat on the runway ready to take off. He could have them over Monchegorsk in less than fifteen minutes.

  The BTR rattled and tried to throw the men out of their seats, as the driver swerved to follow Alpha Company’s vehicles to the far left flank of the Katayev Prospekt. Zadornov moved into the turret and took a look at the scene through the vehicle commander night scope. He saw tracers arc upward into the buildings from the lead vehicles, while return tracers tracked down toward the street, ricocheting in every direction upon hitting the pavement. The lead BTRs and Tigers of his column deployed their troops, which consisted of a reinforced infantry company. Chaos erupted as one hundred and thirty-five soldiers scrambled for cover from the incoming smal
l arms fire and pushed to rally with their squads for the infantry assault into Katayev.

  One of the Havoc gunships roared overhead, firing an extended burst of 30mm projectiles into the closest building. Shell casings ejected from the gun rained down on the vehicles, clanging off the hatches and armor, reminding Zadornov of the thin top armor on his BTRs. To him, the shell casings’ impacts sounded like rocks thrown against a corrugated tin shack. He took another look through the sight at Alpha Company’s deployment. From his vantage point fifty meters back along the street, he could see most of the company’s BTRs and Tigers, sixteen vehicles arrayed in a staggered formation along Yumashev Street. They didn’t have much cover from the towering apartment buildings, but at this range in the dark, RPGs were not a major threat. In a few minutes, a few of the BTRs would move forward to support the infantry assault. That’s when he expected to see the RPGs.

  Just as he ducked down from the turret, a sharp ping echoed off the left side of the vehicle, which struck him as odd, since the Katayev apartments didn’t face the left side of the vehicle. His driver had stopped the BTR on the far right side of the road, hoping to take advantage of the cover provided by the homes and businesses crowded together near the road. Another ping sounded from the left side, followed by the pounding sound of his escort vehicles’ open mounted 12.7mm heavy machine guns.

  He popped back up into the turret as it swung to the left. “Is that small arms fire hitting us?” he asked the gunner.

  “Three guys standing in the middle of the street. One of them is firing a rifle. Hold on, sir.”

  The 14.5mm turret gun rapidly recoiled and shook the entire BTR, flinging smoking hot empty shell casings against the inside metal hull of the turret. The casings cascaded down into the body of the BTR. The sounds of the heavy gun’s blasts were mercifully diffused by the BTR’s airtight seal. He heard several bursts of fire from assault rifles and figured the troops in the escort Tigers had deployed.

  “Did you hit them?” he said to the gunner.

  “Negative. They scrambled off the street too fast.”

  “Sir, we could pursue the group. Looked like a couple crazies with a rifle. I saw three guys in civilian clothes,” the vehicle commander said, a wide-eyed, ruddy-faced senior sergeant.

  Zadornov thought about his request for a moment and moved to one of the left side viewing ports. He swiveled a metal plate upward and stared through the thick glass into the darkness, which was useless. It was pitch black outside. Only his driver and gunner had vehicle-installed night vision optics. A flash caught his eye, followed immediately by another ping against the BTR’s armor, which caused him to flinch. The 14.5mm cannon fired another salvo, which was immediately joined by the two Tigers and several infantry soldiers surrounding the vehicles.

  “They’re fucking around near one of the buildings on the corner of the next street. We could roll them up pretty easily,” the senior sergeant said.

  He closed the viewing port’s armor shielding and took a seat at his table. He read the most recent updates from his platoon and company commanders. All ground units were moving toward the apartments under heavy small arms and machine gun fire, but the sheer volume of fire from the battalion’s vehicle mounted guns and attack helicopters kept the insurgents from concentrating fire on their advance. Two more pings sounded through the BTR, and he heard a scream from somewhere outside. A speaker next to the MBT came to life.

  “Sir, we have a casualty from Tiger One. One of their soldiers was hit in the legs. They pulled him back into the vehicle. Do you want to relocate the vehicles away from the shooters?”

  Zadornov was annoyed by the vehicle commander’s insinuation that he didn’t plan to take action. He was in the middle of a major operation and didn’t have time to chase three lunatics through the streets. The BTR’s 14.5mm gun roared to life, jarring him out of his thoughts.

  “Fuck me. Look at this!” the gunner yelled.

  Zadornov jumped out of his seat and opened the top hatch of the BTR to take a look for himself. He was greeted by the bright orange light of flames and the smell of burning gasoline. Several guns fired at a slumped figure on the ground near the corner of a small hardware store, shattering the front window and tearing the body apart. A large patch of flames burned in the middle of the street, dancing in the wind and dying quickly. He knew what had happened as soon as he took it all in. One of those nutcases had tried to throw a Molotov cocktail bomb onto his vehicle. A bullet ricocheted off the turret armor, no more than three feet from his head, causing him to duck back inside and slam the top hatch closed. Son of a bitch!

  He grabbed the radio handset and ordered the command vehicles into pursuit. He typed a message on the MBT, notifying his subordinate commanders that he was breaking off to pursue a small group of civilians. The vehicle pulled forward and took off down the street with the Tigers alongside. As soon as he pressed “send” on his message, all hell broke loose at Katayev Prospekt and reports started streaming in through all of his radios. If he had stayed in position on Yumashev Street, he would have seen at least a dozen rocket propelled grenades arch down from the buildings reaching for his vehicles.

  **

  Daniel watched the three armored vehicles move down the darkened side street that intersected with the road in front of him. Farrington had been right. The three soldiers dressed in civilian clothes had no intention of returning from this mission, and he could barely blame them. After seeing the results of Reznikov’s virus on the streets, he’d want to end his own life as quickly as possible. The two remaining soldiers huddled between buildings on the other side of the street and waited for the vehicles to round the corner.

  The battle at Katayev Prospekt intensified when the command BTR reached the halfway point down the side street, just as Sabitov had promised. With the entire battalion occupied, their ambush might go unnoticed long enough for them to avoid clashing with more Russian units. The vehicles approached the turn onto their street, and Daniel slid his body along the roof of the building to the front right corner, careful to stay out of sight. Somewhere below him, the rest of his group waited. He heard someone yell from the street and poked his head over the short concrete lip that kept him concealed.

  The street exploded with heavy machine-gun fire, and green tracers poured from the vehicles into the two men, who were caught in the middle of the street. The onslaught of heavy caliber firing continued as the vehicles approached, sending ricochets in every conceivable direction, shattering building windows and causing Daniel to hug the roof until it stopped. He heard the deep rumble of the BTR-80’s powerful diesel engine as it approached a point across the street from his building.

  He poked his head over the edge and saw all three vehicles in a line less than twenty meters away, with the BTR centered on the two dead bodies. The BTR’s devastating 14.5mm gun was aimed down the street, which relieved Daniel. Even a near miss from one of those shells could put him out of action. Soldiers exited the rear hatches on the Tigers and fanned out to form a hasty perimeter. Daniel kept his head pressed against the lip, tilted sideways to expose as little of him as possible. The gunners on the Tigers swiveled their night vision equipped 12.7mm machine guns in a vigilant attempt to keep watch over the formation.

  The BTR-80’s side hatch opened and extended into a two-step ramp between the second and third tire on the side exposed to Daniel. Two soldiers scrambled out of the hatch, followed by an officer.

  Daniel pushed himself up to his knees and swung the rifle over the lip, bracing it against the concrete. He centered the scope on the officer’s face and fired a hasty shot. His next shot spun the rear Tiger’s gunner out of the swivel mount and onto the ground behind the vehicle. Before he could engage another target, two RPGs popped through the windows below him and slammed into the Tigers. At this point, Daniel’s only job was to keep anyone from closing the BTR hatch.

  He stared intensely at the scope’s green image as bullets cracked overhead and skipped off the concrete. He ig
nored the furious firefight between the Russian soldiers and his own Black Flag team. A body filled the hatch, and Daniel squeezed the trigger, causing the figure to tumble out of the BTR onto the snow-covered pavement. An arm and head appeared, stretching to reach the hatch. Daniel centered on the top of the arm, and fired. The soldier immediately dropped to the deck of the BTR and was pulled out of sight before Daniel could fire a bullet into his torso.

  He fired two shots through the hatch, to discourage anyone else from trying to close the hatch. He hoped the rounds didn’t ricochet and destroy any equipment they might need to examine. Through his left eye, he saw the BTR’s turret start to turn in his direction, just as two figures scrambled toward the hatch from the street. He was fairly sure they were part of his team.

  “Petrovich displacing,” he announced, so the team would know he was no longer covering them.

  “Breach team in,” he heard, followed by the sounds of muffled gunfire from the street below.

  He sprinted for a few seconds and dove into the snow, glancing backward. His previous position behind the concrete rooftop lip disappeared in a series of explosions that showered him with sharp fragments. The pounding lasted a few more seconds and suddenly stopped.

  “Breach team is in control of the BTR. Send Malyshev,” he heard through his earpiece.

  Daniel picked his bruised body up off the debris strewn roof and sprinted back to the edge of the roof. He saw Malyshev sprint toward the open hatch, under heavy small arms fire from a group of soldiers huddled near the rear Tiger. Leo fired into the soldiers from somewhere below him, dropping one of them and scrambling the rest. Daniel picked up movement out of his peripheral vision, just as Malyshev jumped into the BTR and closed the hatch. A soldier climbed onto the damaged lead Tiger and jumped behind the 12.7mm gun.