Redemption (The Boris Chronicles Book 4)

by Paul C. Middleton

  Olaf focused on getting the rest of the medical nanites, with his blood, into Oskar.

  Anatoly started when he heard a worry-wracked voice ask grimly, “What is the prognosis?”

  Olaf answered, “He will live. There may be,” he paused, then continued, “complications. But I will explain them to him when he wakes.”

  He then rose to his feet and took off the long-sleeved t-shirt he had been wearing over his armor. He picked the bullets out of it and ground out, “Fifty-caliber armor piercing. I will have to give Lilith my compliments.” Taking them in his hand, he turned to face the crowd.

  Stalking across the field, he threw the bullets. He paused as he saw that Stasia's knife sheath was empty. Looking at the body for the first time, he saw the hilt in the eye. He grimaced and turned to Stasia.

  “I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m also thankful you acted so quickly. If he’d shot again, I could be dead. Still, I’m sorry it was you who had to act,” he said softly to her, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

  He had to respect her, but there was a trickle of fear in that respect. Here was a woman who was willing and able to act as she felt necessary. No matter what. First against the monster that her mother had become. Now against the madness she had seen in her father.

  She shrugged and said angrily, loudly with bitterness shadowing her voice, “He looked too long into the darkness, and it consumed him. He was no longer a man I could call Father. That man had become lost beneath the curdled hate of war. He could see no end, nor did he want an end. Your offer gives us a chance to end all of this.” Tears were streaming down her face.

  She turned her gaze to the crowd and continued in a firm voice despite the tears. “I mourn the man he was when I was a child. I will not mourn the man I killed here today. That man was a rabid dog and a danger to everyone here. To those who supported him, drop your weapons and leave. Do not return to the war, I beg you. Go home. Find who you were.”

  She paused, then continued. “Those who want no part of ending the fight, go with them. Protect them as you see fit. Oskar lives. So, all I ask is do not take revenge out on those who supported my father’s point of view.” Her voice cracked with grief.

  Still, she continued, “Those who do seek an end, I ask you to stay and hear us out. Hear this good man out. The man who was attacked by one of us, and instead of helping himself, he first sought to aid the one injured by an attack aimed for him.”

  Then she stumbled forth and crumpled, weeping over the corpse of the man who had once been her father. The man who had become something she had been forced to act against.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Olaf was incredibly annoyed. Traveling to the arranged rendezvous for gathering the clans, as Oskar had put it, was supposed to be straightforward. They were moving in four groups of twelve to sixteen.

  Unfortunately, Olaf could smell the death-stench coming off the platoon headed straight for his group. At best, they were a group associated with a Vampire challenging Raina. That seemed very unlikely, and stopping them to ask wasn’t an option.

  Especially since they were in identical battledress and armor to what Raina's troops wore.

  They were downwind far enough to give Olaf time to signal to his squad of eleven and Stasia to find ambush positions. He then saw a hollow to struggle out of his kit, especially his pants, as fast as possible. He only had one other pair left, and he did not want to be forced to wear them for however long it took relief to arrive.

  He may well be the best marksman in the group, but that was beside the point right now. He was the fastest pursuer available. That would be needed. Not a single member of the patrol could be allowed to escape. Not within two hours travel from the rendezvous site.

  Oskar had assured Olaf that the base was at least a day's travel from the rendezvous. It was still morning, so this had to be at least a two-day patrol, but more likely three or four days at the slow pace they were setting.

  Once he was down to his armor, Olaf poked his head up and looked around. He swore as he glanced out of the hollow he had been stripping down in.

  Their scouts were moving in close to where his squad had gone to ground.

  Then a somewhat crazy idea crossed his mind. Looking for the locations he had last seen each squad member, he quickly calculated the optimum lines of fire down the hill. The enemy was advancing halfway up the slope. His people had gone to ground near the crest.

  He started the change. If he could trick the advancing troops to shift their advance even five degrees downslope, he would give his own people a significant edge. One they would need while ambushing the thirty or more men in the patrol.

  If he charged out as a bear and killed the two scouts, then lumbered off at the first gunshots in the right direction, he might be able to tempt the whole patrol into giving chase. It would allow him a personal assessment of the quality of the opposition. That sort of thing was always a bonus.

  He crept closer to the cautiously approaching scouts. As a bear, his form would not instantly trigger the scouts to alert if spotted. At least not on the subconscious level. He was already close enough to reach them before they could do more than scream, but he didn't want to move at his full speed. He wanted it to look like they had disturbed a bear just out of hibernation. One that was in the mind frame to kill and eat anything.

  He made it to within thirty meters before he charged. One of the scouts was looking straight at the undergrowth he was hidden in. With a bear’s bellow, he burst from the underbrush. The men he was facing were expecting gunfire or a man. They froze for a few critical seconds. Almost everyone he knew, apart from Stasia, paused at the unexpected.

  They were also making a mistake in how they scouted. They were moving too closely together. There was barely three feet separating them, and Olaf's charge bowled them both onto their backs. He mauled one across the neck, and the bright spray of blood told him his claws had ripped through the jugular.

  Turning his head to the other scout, he bit down on the forearm that was scrabbling at the pistol holster on his belt. Olaf’s jaws tore the muscle and shattered the bone.

  The scout was a screamer, and Olaf thanked the gods for that. If he’d been a whimperer, the plan would be less likely to work.

  Within a minute, he could hear a group of men, probably around twenty, rushing forward. They were not as well trained as they thought, or there was more than a platoon patrolling. From the sides, he could hear another five or six converging. Then he felt a line of fire cross his arse just before the crack of gunfire.

  It hurt, but he kept concentration and lumbered off at the gunfire. The wound was more embarrassing than truly dangerous. Once he hit the heavier undergrowth off the game trail, he moved at his faster speed. He traveled in a relatively straight line away from the shots for about five hundred feet and left the sign a normal bear in a hurry would.

  Then he circled back when he hit an area with some stone to cover the change in direction. He moved carefully so as not to leave trail sign for about a minute. His wound was already healing. Finally, he turned to approach the site where he had started the mayhem.

  As he ambled back to the site, he thought about what that short time had shown him. Their marksmanship was better than he had counted on. Everything else in their training showed a lack of it. It was as if they were acting as twentieth century civilians thought soldiers acted, rather than how they should behave. His people had been paralleling the path. They were traveling along it.

  And his people had still been moving faster and gave off fewer clues that they were there. That was why the partisan movement had survived and grown. They had been able to turn patrols away from critical areas.

  Voices in an odd Belarussian and Russian mixed dialect cut into his thoughts, “… I ain't gonna let no bear take one of us out,” he heard a surly voice say. Olaf paused then moved forward cautiously, one paw lifting at a time, his body low to the ground.

  The voice continued, “I’m gonna take my
squad and hunt it down. It left us a trail.”

  A voice with an edge of authority cut in and said, “Raina isn’t going to like that, Gleb.”

  The first voice continued a little less trenchantly, “There ain't nothing in this Raina's gonna like, Zhenja. We just lost two men to wildlife. At least if we bring some bear back, we can prove it was wildlife, not the terrorists. Do you want one of her sidekicks coming on our next patrol with one of the monster things?”

  There was silence, so Olaf froze. He was around two hundred meters away at this point.

  The second voice quavered and answered, “Yeah, you're right. Take your men and half of Makar's squad. I'll put scouts back out, and we'll move out at half the regular pace. Catch up with us tonight. Once you get back to us, I'll radio in that we have the claws of the killer. Just make sure you cut ‘em off. With Raina assembling a force to head east, I don't want to be singled out as less than competent. Her sending one of her bodyguards with us could be the least of our problems. We could be sent east as scouts for the force she’s gathering.”

  “Yessir. I will. Her bodyguards creep me out. Anything to avoid having one of them leading us. As for being sent east? No, thanks.” The original speaker finished with a shudder. Then he started organizing the men.

  They had a radio. Olaf was swearing across three languages in his head. The partisans hadn’t mentioned them having combat comms or radios. And now his rifle was on the other side of the enemy.

  The only good news was that the enemy only had one radio from the sound of it. He was unsure of the combat comms. Those would be short ranged anyway, but he would have to shadow them and locate the radioman to take him down before a report could be sent.

  It was not long before Olaf was forced to act. Fortunately, he had spotted the radioman before the first shot from the ambush group rang out. It was also fortunate that the half-dozen scouts were still closing in on the remaining ten soldiers in the ambush zone.

  Olaf had been about to charge the radioman when the back of the radio splintered under fire. He froze as the scouts came beating feet towards their ambushed comrades.

  Those scouts had done the stupid thing. Reacting instead of thinking. Three of them found themselves dead or dying before they were able to do any good. The others had gone to ground, taking cover on the lee side of the hill.

  Unfortunately, so did the fifteen that had to move out to track the sign Olaf had left. They quickly headed for the sound of the guns. At least most of them did. Olaf could hear the surly lead order one of them back to base.

  Olaf had his first target. If the patrol didn't radio in, another patrol might be sent. If that man reached the base, another patrol would be sent. Probably a larger one. If not larger, then one led by a Vampire and containing some ‘controlled’ Nosferatu.

  That man had to die. Olaf turned, picking up the sound of a man crashing through the spring forest away from the cracks of gunfire. He did not attempt to be quiet. After all, there wasn't a human alive that could outrun a normal bear, let alone Olaf. He had failed to follow the age-old wisdom—to have someone next to him that he was faster than.

  Olaf reached his target before he had traveled even half a kilometer away from the gunfire. The man desperately tried to dodge the bear charging after him. Olaf simply stretched out a paw after he passed the man to send him tumbling.

  There was a sickening crack of bones as the runner tumbled awkwardly to the ground. Even from behind, where he had slowed, Olaf could see that the man was not breathing. His neck was at an unnatural angle, having snapped in the tumble.

  Olaf headed back towards the firefight. The enemy seemed to be pouring suppressive fire uphill. Perhaps they considered themselves dead already. Their ambushers would have better shots than they could hope to achieve from below, but they were not even trying to disengage.

  They were stubborn beyond the point of the sensible. Any of Boris’s troops in a similar situation would be trying to disengage as a body. More to the point, none of Boris’s force would have gone off mission to hunt a bear!

  Stalking the sounds of gunfire through the undergrowth, Olaf found himself acting as executioner. He zeroed in on where the bursts of fire were coming from and crept behind the target. Often, following the stink of shit and urine was enough. They were so fixated forward on the single shots coming from Stasia's force, all he had to do was make a small effort to be quiet.

  Then he was atop them. With a single swipe of his paw, he either snapped their neck or severed the jugular. That sped them on to whatever afterlife they belonged to.

  They had either been caught by complete surprise or did not know enough to empty themselves of waste before a battle. Either was possible, although Olaf hoped it was the latter. That would be another point against their professionalism.

  By the time he stalked toward the last half-dozen or so of the enemy patrol, they seemed to notice something was creeping along the firing line they had formed. Almost as one, they rose to run—making themselves perfect targets for Stasia and the other ambushers.

  They were cut down in a volley of fire before they had gone ten feet.

  Olaf stilled, listening for movement, for someone in the enemy patrol he had missed. He heard a few groans from the injured on the road, but not even a whisper of breath from the nearby woods.

  The guerrillas kept cover and stayed silent. Good discipline there.

  Olaf let out a roar before he lumbered onto the road. No one fired at him, despite the sight he must have been. The front of his body was covered in blood, to the point it was still dripping from his fur now and then.

  Once he reached the path, he turned and lumbered towards the dell where he had stripped off his gear. Changing to human form, he was upset that blood and gore transferred between his forms. He would need to wash in a stream or river to get clean. Someone else would need to carry his equipment, or at least pack his clothes and armor so he could. That would be uncomfortable.

  He heard Stasia coming through the bush in a rage. She was furious with him about something, he was sure. Probably the risks he had taken.

  “Do you even have a mind?” she thundered at him, “or do you put it to the side whenever it pleases you? You are supposed to be leading the force once it is gathered. You can’t do that if you’re dead!”

  Olaf was standing there just in his pants. She glared at him when she noticed that his armor was on the ground. “And you didn’t even wear your armor!”

  He looked at her and said, “Of course not! I was trying to make them think it had been a local, normal, bear. Bears don't walk around in armor. Their reactions, and that of your own people, told me a lot.” He stared down at her, meeting her glare.

  When she stayed silent, he continued. “Your people are disciplined. I think you could have taken her base if it weren't for the fact she has several subservient Vampires and a group of Nosferatu she had controlled. And, of course, the energy weapon they have. With the right equipment or planning, even that tank should not have been an insurmountable obstacle to defeating her.”

  He was still very concerned about the energy weapon. No one had any idea of the size it was, nor of the range and accuracy it might have.

  Stasia was grim when she said, “And what if they had had it with the patrol?”

  Olaf rolled his eyes at her. There was no way that a group had managed to mass produce something like that after the Fall.

  If a group had managed to before the Fall, then they would currently rule the world.

  Stasia slapped his arse, hard. On the side where he had been shot. He hissed in pain as she struck the still healing, tender section. She stared daggers at him and said, “You did get shot. I thought so. No more risks.”

  Wincing slightly, he responded, “I can’t agree to that. I need to take risks in the assault. I am the best chance of gaining a quick breakthrough and the best suited to taking out a Vampire or three. The other Weres can deal with Nosferatu, but I would only give Vassily credit for being
a probable equal to any Vampire we encounter. That means both of us will need to lead from the front.”

  She glared at him, then nodded. Before he could react, she pulled him down into a kiss. She blushed furiously, then turned away whispering, “Just try to stay alive. For me.”

  He whispered back, “I will,” though he was not sure she heard his reply.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Boris was happy with how everything was going. As comfortable as he could be instituting a siege against Viktor and the tactics he had chosen. It was like fighting a war in the seventeenth century.

  Viktor had chosen to pack central St. Petersburg with civilians as well as his troops. Boris could besiege it, and within a month he would be walking through the town with minimal casualties on his own side. Five hundred years ago, that was what he would have done.

  It would have been the standard practice for the day and age. At the time, soldiers, himself included, didn't consider an assault worth the risk when a siege would do the job. Why take thousands of casualties assaulting a fortified position when you could starve them out?

  Now, he saw civilians as a valuable resource, especially since the Fall. Every person was an asset.

  He was going to have to assault at some point in the next two weeks. Before food supplies became a critical problem inside.

  Besides, he was not the Cossack, with the brutally simple philosophy they held to, anymore. He couldn't see those effectively being held hostage in the city as worth less than his men. Then, there was also the fact he could assault fortified skyscrapers from the top down with his shuttles.

  The siege lines were dug, and he should have had three regiments preparing to assault. Unfortunately, the Estonians were not there yet.