Evacuation (The Boris Chronicles Book 1)

by Paul C. Middleton

  Frank thought he might have preferred to have a discussion with an outwardly angry Bethany Anne, not this calm, cool, and composed woman in front of him. “Well, while I’m good, he is the best on the politics in the region. We tossed it to TOM, and he said you were asleep.”

  TOM, you are back on the couch!

  <>

  I gave him my word, ADAM.

  <>

  She continued to stare at both of Frank and Nathan for several moments. “Well he’d better contact us within the week, or I’m sending you two to find him and sort the problem out, with or without his blessing. If the situation seems bad enough to me, I’ll make a personal appearance and if the Russian fucking government wants to play hardball? I’ll drop some rocks on their hard-ass heads.”

  The men both nodded and stepped out of the room. Neither would change the decision that they had made, but there wasn’t a reason to stick around to rehash the options with her, either.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Romonavka, Chelabinsk Oblast, Siberia, Russia

  Boris walked into town after being dropped on the outskirts by the black flying thing. He had no idea of how it worked, but it had definitely gotten him back home faster than anything else could have. He now had to find out what was going on.

  He walked out to Paul’s farm. Paul had been his companion for fifteen years while he had worked as Peter’s enforcer. As he walked up, he noticed that none of the lights were on. He paused to sniff the air and quietly observe the surroundings. Paul was either one of those taken or taken his family to his hide.

  Boris continued to look around, noticing that things were worse than they looked. He kept walking, and when the front door came into view, he made a sour face. The door was off its hinges, and the door was broken.

  Someone had kicked in the door.

  He took five minutes to survey the area around the house. The amount of clutter he found didn’t tell him anything. Neither Paul nor Alecta had been the best of housekeepers. Their sons were more interested in hunting and riding on horseback than cleaning.

  Fortunately, there was no blood. If Paul or the boys had been home when the police had arrived there would have been some blood, of that Boris was certain. He could only hope all four of them were in the safe site, a lined cellar out in the forest.

  He would find out what was going on from one of them, either his old friend and partner or Paul’s sons. He started to hike to the east, following no path. He knew his lands, and they talked to him of danger, pain, and retribution.

  —

  “… and so they just took her. Why did you go this time? Why couldn’t you have been here Boris? They took my wife like they had no fear of retribution. You know they wouldn’t have done that if you were here!” Paul shouted at Boris. At least the headaches were gone now.

  Paul had been in the Australian special forces before meeting Alecta. He was also too brave or too stupid to really know fear. Boris wasn’t sure which. Paul knew Boris was a Werebear and just shrugged it off.

  Boris replied as soothingly as possible, “It is as well I did Paul. We now have someone who may be able to help us. At least once we know if we are going to leave or stay. Where are they keeping the people they arrested?”

  “In the old militia base on the edge of town. At least a company of soldiers from the West ins there. Those in charge couldn’t have trusted local troops.” Paul looked up with a weary smile. “Those closest to us have many family members enlisted with the locals, other soldiers are too afraid.”

  “Memories are long here. Our neighbors know about the lost battalions, ghosts of people taken in the night, secret treaties, and other dark secrets. Far-born troops would not.” Boris sighed and looked around. “I will gather the pack. You gather at least one from each family that has had a member taken. We will free our comrades and deal with these interlopers. Tell everyone to prepare for a Meeting of Decision. It is time to decide if Russia is truly home for us now.”

  —

  Boris had gathered all of the pack that was local. Siberia was full of wide open spaces, so they numbered about fifty, a far greater number than may have been possible elsewhere.

  He looked out over the group, their anger radiating from their eyes, their hurt from their hearts. “I come to you not as your Alpha, demanding your obedience, but as your leader. I’m asking for volunteers. I will free those the government has taken hostage this night. The path has risks, but I will not have those under my protection falsely accused, nor leave them to be abused.”

  “Alpha, they have tanks,” Oleg cried out.

  Boris snarled, “And we have thermite! I will go in first and remove the threat of the tanks if you are willing to take on the soldiers - with support from the families of those who were taken.” He looked at them one more time, his eyes flashing yellow, “Talk amongst the pack.”

  He stepped off the small box and walked away.

  When he returned a half hour later, his second, Danislav, stepped forward. “Boris, we are with you. The scum, these communistic fools,” he spat, “should be removed from our lands.”

  —

  As Boris reviewed the final preparations to move and attack the reinforced company of soldiers, a runner from town reached them. He went directly to Paul and tried to steel himself from the dread grasping his heart at the sight of the panting messenger.

  The runner gasped, “More came, Hetman. This afternoon after you left, a platoon marched through town and picked twenty-five people at random. They dragged them to the central square and shot them as foreign agents. No trial. The town has been declared to be under martial law. The soldier’s commander has imposed a curfew but seems to be leaving it to the police to enforce.”

  Those standing around Boris took a step back. The fury on his face was frightening even to those who knew him. He shouted to the gathered force. “We wait only for those who lost blood kin. When we march, my orders are blood and retribution! We will make them pay in blood for our losses, many times over this night. We will teach them fear, the knowledge of what happens when anyone attacks our people! Take the Captains and above ALIVE if at all possible. We need to understand if they have gone rogue or are acting on orders from above. As for curfew, we know the police in our town. They will not enforce it.”

  Within the hour Boris’ mixed group of Weres and townspeople started their march toward the old militia base. There was no doubt, all looked forward to bloody vengeance against the murderers. Boris and the pack led the way, with more than five hundred following.

  Some of the men who had served with him on mercenary operations had pulled out their support equipment. Whoever these soldiers were, some mortars dropping in on their barracks would likely ruin their night for damned sure. Orders were given to avoid targeting the prison block. Enough people had seen the prisoners being taken and confined to know where they were being kept.

  Boris knew he had to get past the sentries and take out the communications building and the APCs. If he could block any call for reinforcements and silence the heavy weapons, then the screams of those who preyed on his people would fill the night.

  It was a symphony he would hear, or die trying.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Militia Base, Outskirts of Romonavka, Siberia, Russia

  Boris looked over the camp. The soldiers were comfortable, perhaps too comfortable. They had sentries but seemed to have forgone roving patrols. The assumption must have been the twenty-five executions and martial law declaration had cowed the population.

  In their arrogance, they had forgotten the power of rage.

  This area of Russia was different, and the commanders of these troops did not understand th
e differences. Apparently, they didn’t understand his group nor that those in this area of Siberia felt no loyalty to the government. Boris’ people had been raised to revere the Czars, even if there were none now.

  They had also been raised in the discipline of the Cossack. On Cossack legends, traditions and pride.

  Boris nodded and sent his best force of woodsmen and hunters around to the other side of the base under Paul and divided into three troops. The rest of his force was split into four companies, further divided into several platoons each. No soldier was going to be allowed to flee the base. Platoons in each company were tasked with covering their area to prevent any escape from the vengeance that was demanded, required and would be his peoples.

  Boris had a demolition pack for the communications building. One of the reinforcing family members had brought a homebrew signal jammer with him. Destroying the soldiers’ communications capability could only help their rescue attempt. At worst, the destruction would at least improve the morale of Boris’ force.

  The jammer was to be turned on when the first of the two ‘tanks’ (really APCs) went up in flames. Boris had three packets of explosives set for remote detonation, two with thermite packs attached to their bases. The tanks would be at least crippled, and the communications building would go as well.

  The mortar operators with his group were setting up to target the APCs and communications building. The mortar men on the other side were targeting the barracks. Each of the mortar teams had one of Boris’s ex-mercenaries in the group manning the weapons. All companies had four or more ex-mercs for a small command group.

  Two of the groups went to either side of the base to envelop it. The third company, composed solely of Weres, including one other Werebear whose sister had been shot, moved forward quickly and silently at the point of the frontal assault. Most of them paused briefly as soon as they were out of the sight of the human militia following them, dumping their clothes and changing to a deadlier form than their human one, before resuming their advance.

  The power of the changelings would be released, the animal cravings let loose.

  The last company acted as a rearguard, following closely behind the Weres. Acting as both protection against any flanking attacks and insurance that no one escaped the deadly movement of rapid attackers, this force was the final barrier, the closing trap.

  Boris crept forward looking for a gap or opening where he could get past the sentries. Neither of the APCs was manned, and a group of sentries on the west side had closed up, leaving a gap in surveillance. He carefully moved through that opening as the guard meant to be watching this sector turned nervously to assure himself that the others were there. Boris almost snorted. These were either green troops or something else masquerading as soldiers.

  He carefully placed the thermite and demolition block combos under the turrets of the unmanned APCs. It seemed a waste, but if they managed to man them the attacking force would be in trouble. He looked at the communications building and decided to place the demolitions block on the side with the satellite dish and antenna farm. With luck, that would take out or restrict their communications without the need to trust a home-made jammer that may or may not do anything.

  Quickly moving to the prison block on the southern edge of camp, Boris kept to the shadows and avoided the single internal patrol. By the gods, these were more like the SS guards he had fought in the Second World War than real soldiers. They had a veneer of training but were more like thugs in uniform. He approached the prison block from the front and cursed. It was well lit on all sides, and there was a full squad guarding the door. It was possible that they were some kind of political fanatics, and if so, he had to get into the building and protect the prisoners.

  He weighed his choices. Option one was to detonate the demolitions charges and go Pricolici. But then he’d have to worry about the prisoners seeing him. The pack would have to deal with that later if they survived. Not a good choice. He quickly went through the other options but was stymied by the fact that these guards were reasonably alert. Weighing all the options, it seemed clear that a couple of bursts from his weapon followed by a bayonet charge after he detonated the demolition combo was the best strategy.

  Boris quietly connected the bayonet to his rifle. He lifted his head silently watching for any alert and then nodded as much to himself as to any of his group who might be watching him.

  It was time.

  He pressed the button and detonated the charges. His face displayed a grim smile as he immediately fired three quick bursts into the shocked and confused squad. Most of them went down. He shook his head at their obvious lack of training.

  He charged as he heard the whistle of incoming mortars. The shock on the faces of the two soldiers still standing was evident. He fired a burst into one of them as the man raised his rifle. The other’s surprise lasted long enough for Boris’s bayonet to slice into his throat and through his spine. The blood cascading into the dirt.

  Pulling the bayonet out Boris moved to the door and kicked it hard. The door slammed open. Boris found bedlam inside when he heard one of the men in the block shouting. “Get to the prisoners. We will use them as hostages. They will have to let us go or sacrifice those they came to save!”

  These beschestiye wouldn’t get the chance.

  Boris ran forward, remembering the layout of the base prison from a long-ago exploration after it was decommissioned. The five men in the rear were overtaken in the next instant, as he noticed in passing that one of them had epaulets on the shoulders.

  Boris fired a quick burst into the group, hoping he had missed the officer since they needed him for information. Now within fist range, his rifle was dropped unheedingly onto the floor. In a flurry of kicks, blocks and punches the last two were down and unconscious.

  Untouched except a nasty knife gash from the officer before the man went down, Boris drew a deep breath. The man showed the skill of serious training and was probably former military of some kind. The other was about as skilled as your average street thug.

  He looked at the shoulder patch on the uniform of the closest body. A red field with a white tri-bar cross on it. The initials N.V.G. under the cross. Definitely not regular army.

  Boris almost felt sorry for the men about to be swarmed by his people. Street thugs against people trained over many years as a competent militia. His people would take casualties, but if they didn’t surrender VERY quickly, the NVG would be obliterated.

  He quickly found the keys to the prisoner section in the officer’s pockets and went to the section. Fifty people were crowded into a space that was meant to hold twenty. Many of them had been beaten. Alecta recognized him and weakly shouted, “Boris.” He nodded his head in recognition and acknowledgment and started giving out orders to those inside as he yanked open the doors.

  Within five minutes, those ablest had taken up weapons, looted from the five guards inside the building and supplemented with those of the dead squad members that Boris had mowed down in his assault.

  As the former prisoners organized their defenses and armed twenty-five men, Boris kept a wary eye on the perimeter. He threw a grenade into a small group of attackers as they charged the containment area door, timing the throw to the momentary check that happened as they came upon the slaughtered guards and newly-freed prisoners.

  With that effort, he was confident the twenty-five defenders could hold without him.

  He ran fast and low out to the base. It was mayhem. More than half the NVG were down. There were the obvious signs that the pack had taken out more ‘strategic’ targets. Anyone with the rank of corporal or higher seemed to have had his throat ripped out. Groups of the thugs were either throwing down their arms or throwing away their lives.

  Twice as he cleared a path to Paul’s group, he encountered an NVG group showing suicidal defiance. Twice he attacked them from behind, speeding them on their journey to hell. Suddenly he felt a sharp burn across his back and collapsed. As he slipped into unconsc
iousness, he cursed his own stupidity. He’d gotten into the middle of everything with no-one to cover his back. His last thought before the darkness took him was that at least his people had won.