“Yes, Colonel, I read you.”
“Good. It appears our scouting report was correct. Place the charges.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Leonov had considered dispatching his pair of Mi-24 helicopter gunships to support the ground assault, and in any normal military campaign would have done so without a moment’s hesitation. He’d hesitated because of his meager supply of jet fuel. The installation was supposedly undefended, so he’d opted not to send the massive gunships as backup. They were prepped and fueled on the runway of the Volgograd airport, with the crews on standby, just in case. He was headed to the airport now to accompany the helicopters should they be needed. From the time he gave the order, the helicopters could be at Ilyushin’s location in less than five minutes.
Leonov struggled to suppress his concerns. He felt unusually indecisive. From a military standpoint, the airfield at Lebyazhye was the far more critical target, and Leonov wanted the air support from the Mi-24s when he arrived there. And for that, he needed them to have full gas tanks. He knew he’d made the correct tactical move, but was still bothered. Should he have sent them with Ilyushin? Something didn’t feel right. He hunched even closer to the video screen.
Leonov watched as a handful of Ilyushin’s men planted explosive charges around the gate. The tanks could have just used their cannons to blast through, but the shaped charges were far more precise and would throw less shrapnel and leave a cleaner opening. The soldiers hustled back to the cover of their armored personnel carriers and Ilyushin radioed Leonov that they were in position and ready to detonate.
“Go,” Leonov said.
Four coordinated explosions blew the gate inward, the heavy metal no match for the expertly placed munitions. Leonov could briefly see the gate shoved forward into the compound, and then a cloud of smoke and dust obscured his view.
“Captain, wait for the smoke to clear, and then proceed inside.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Leonov nearly warned him to be careful, then caught himself. Ilyushin was a professional soldier in a war zone. Additional caution would sound like a mother telling her children to bundle up in the snow.
The cloud had finally started to settle and Ilyushin ordered his men into the compound. Unfortunately, Leonov did not have a map of the interior of the facility, and the compound was too new to show up in commercial satellite imagery. The General, however, had assured him there would be a main central building, a tower, surrounded by smaller support buildings and barracks. They would be abandoned. The plan was to send the tanks in first, followed by the armored vehicles. They would park in a semicircle, and the ground troops would fan out from there, sweeping the buildings and converging on the central building to plant additional charges. Leonov drummed his fingers nervously on his laptop. The airport was just ahead.
The moment the first tank passed through the demolished gate, a loud snap filled the air and a red filament lanced into the 50-ton vehicle from somewhere within the compound. The massive tank glowed like a light bulb and then flew apart in a cloud of metallic vapor. The shockwave tossed men to the ground, and even the other tanks and APCs rocked slightly.
“Shit,” Leonov muttered.
Ilyushin and his men were well-trained and barely hesitated. The tanks and APCs opened fire into the haze. The second tank began blasting the concrete walls to form additional entry points, while ground troops poured out of the carriers to present a larger number of dispersed targets. Additional bolts sizzled out of the compound, annihilating the vehicles and slicing apart any of Ilyushin’s men who happened to be in the way. The beams snapped and whined. It sounded like no weapon Leonov had ever heard.
Leonov thumbed his radio and ordered the helicopter pilots to prepare for immediate liftoff. Leonov’s truck was pulling into the airfield now, and he could see the pilots and gunners scrambling to the hulking predators. He could hear Ilyushin ordering all his men into the compound.
Leonov considered ordering Ilyushin to fall back and wait for the air support, but half of the strike force was already through the gates. He watched on the screen as the red beam continued to obliterate men and machines with a single touch. The ground force was pressing forward regardless, laying down heavy fire. Now explosions were coming from the compound, as the bullets and rockets slammed into the buildings and vehicles inside. The red beam continued to rake the attackers, firing in five-second intervals. Leonov couldn’t see any enemy troops, just the beam, and he guessed it was some sort of automated defensive system. It seemed to be coming from the middle of the compound.
“Captain, concentrate your fire on the central building,” Leonov yelled into his radio, hopping from his truck and running for the lead helicopter, whose rotor blades were starting to spin. Ilyushin didn’t waste time responding but directed all his men to concentrate their fire on the main building now visible through the haze.
Leonov scrambled into the side troop compartment of the lead helicopter as both machines came to full power, the massive titanium blades convulsing the air. He pulled the heavy armored door shut as the pilot was already lifting off. Leonov leaned in the cockpit door so he could see through the bubble canopy. “How long?” he said as he pulled his bulky headset on.
“Two minutes, Colonel,” the pilot responded without looking back.
Leonov tightened his grip on the bulkhead as the gunship roared through the sky. The pilot was at full throttle, guzzling precious fuel. Still, Leonov willed the gunship to go faster. The compound came into view through the curve of the glass. The red blasts were indeed emanating from a cluster of odd-looking equipment poking out of the roof of the central building. Fireballs were erupting around the machinery as Ilyushin’s men fired on it, but so far none of them seemed to do any damage.
Leonov pressed the microphone closer and ordered both helicopters to fire on the central building.
“Sir, do we not want to take the building intact?” the gunner in the other helicopter asked over the radio.
“Fire,” Leonov demanded.
Without another word, both attack helicopters swooped in.
The Mi-24 was a masterpiece of ground-support airborne weaponry. It bristled with rockets, missiles, and a 30 mm cannon in the nose. A terror during the Soviet campaign in Afghanistan and the later Russian offensive in Chechnya, the helicopter was essentially a flying tank. The heavy armor, hulking profile, and stubby wings gave it the appearance of being slow and clumsy, but the machine was surprisingly agile and fast, thanks to its powerful turbine engine and deceptive aerodynamics. These two helicopters were, at the moment, the jewel of Leonov’s burgeoning army. He did wonder briefly at the wisdom of personally accompanying the machines into battle, then tossed the thought aside. Those were his men dying down there. He was a soldier, first and foremost.
The pilots of the two helicopters instinctively separated, approaching the compound at a 90-degree angle to make themselves a harder target for whatever was shooting from inside the compound.
Leonov could see a weapon on the main building swiveling to follow the two helicopters. The gunners, seated in front of and below the pilots, saw it too and squeezed their triggers. Both machines unleashed a barrage of 57 mm rockets from the pods under their wings, raking vertically up the sides of the buildings. The cannon in the tower intercepted several of them, and they burst with a pop-pop-pop. Some made it through, slamming into the structure and blowing it open. It wasn’t enough damage to destroy the tower, though, and the machine kept up its barrage.
The gunners in the helicopters pressed their attack, opening up with their 30 mm cannons. With the defensive cannon now occupied with the helicopters, the ground forces were also finding their target. Tank shells blasted the building, as did shoulder-mounted missiles used by the infantry. The building was slowly coming apart.
Leonov watched as the other helicopter juked sideways just as one last blast from the tower sizzled through the air, clipping its tail rotor. The tail disintegrated instantly, and the sm
oking gunship shuddered as the pilot tried to wrestle it to the ground without crashing. It was now vulnerable to a final kill shot.
Leonov fired at the tower using the heavy machine gun mounted to the side of his helicopter, tracer rounds pinging at the odd machinery, ripping out fistfuls of metal. At the same time, the gunner in the cockpit unleashed a final salvo of anti-tank missiles. The support beams inside the tower were obliterated, and the whole structure began to keel over. As it tumbled to the ground, the odd weapon itself began to glow red, crimson filaments crawling across the structure like the tentacles of an ancient sea monster swallowing a sailing ship. It exploded in a shriek of shrapnel. The shockwave brushed Leonov’s helicopter sideways toward a clump of trees. As the pilot struggled to recover and avoid the looming branches, Leonov saw the other helicopter crunch into the ground. The aircraft seemed to be intact and did not catch fire. Leonov couldn’t see much more as his own pilot fought to stabilize his aircraft and swung it around to avoid slamming into the compound’s wall. At last he had it under control and asked Leonov if he wanted to land or return to base.
“Drop me off, pick up any wounded, and then return to the airfield. Begin any repairs immediately.”
Leonov popped open the passenger compartment door as soon as they touched down and ran to the tank and remaining APCs winding their way into the compound. Ilyushin waved him over. He tried not to think about the fact that his chopper would be running on fumes by the time it got back, and the other would likely never get off the ground again.
Ilyushin snapped off a harried salute, which Leonov crisply returned. He had noticed long ago that the more bloody and frantic the situation, the more the ancient ritual helped men calm themselves and think a bit more clearly. The young captain looked shaken, but was holding together.
“Well done, Captain,” Leonov said. “We have taken the compound and destroyed the enemy defense system. What are your casualties?”
“I, I’m not sure, Colonel,” Ilyushin stuttered back. He spun around and did a quick survey of his force, now fully inside the compound. Leonov could see him doing a mental tally of the missing.
“It looks like one tank and four APCs. Perhaps thirty or forty men injured or dead. I did not expect this . . . sir, what was that?”
“I’m not sure, Captain. Most likely some American gadget. Regardless, it has been neutralized and we have won the day. Our fallen will be memorialized as heroes of the new revolution. Do a full tally and send me the names. Have your men search the compound, seize any computers or files, and return to base. Load the wounded onto my helicopter and I’ll return with you in the convoy.”
“Yes, sir,” Ilyushin said, offering a sturdier salute. His composure was coming back. Good man. Ilyushin marched off to organize his men.
Leonov walked over to the smoking ruins of the central building, curious to investigate. He kept his eyes fixed on the wreckage, wondering if some final booby trap remained. Despite what he’d said to Ilyushin about the Americans being behind the cannon, he wasn’t sure. Energy weapons weren’t unheard of, and he knew the Russians, Americans, and others had all been investigating such capabilities for years. But this device had been accurate and lethal and fast beyond anything that seemed possible. It was . . . alien.
Leonov drew his pistol as he approached the tower.
The entrance, once secured with an impressive metal door, had been torn open in the battle. Leonov climbed through the mangled gate and squeezed into the damaged entryway beyond. Security cameras hung limp and inert from the walls, and a guard station was empty and dark. Debris crunched under Leonov’s boots as he stepped into a hallway and holstered his weapon. This place was dead.
On the right side, shattered glass panels gave a view to the interior of the building: an open concrete space with a thick metal scaffolding reaching up to where the top of the tower had once been, with the gun mounted to the top of the steel structure. He could see bits of the clear blue sky through the twisted wreckage. The nature of the explosion had been such that it had extinguished or prevented any fires. While there were charred streaks running down from the top of the tower, everything inside was essentially intact. Computer panels were set up at the base of the scaffold, and several massive cables ran up from the metal grate of the floor to the roof. Some of the cables, severed during the attack, now hung back down the scaffold, spitting occasional sparks. The red emergency lights were still working, splattering a crimson kaleidoscope across the walls. Holes punched in the tower by tank shells and rockets let in shafts of more serene sunlight.
Leonov pulled open a heavy door leading down into that main room. The facility seemed completely abandoned. The technicians and military personnel had apparently fled either out of fear of Leonov’s advancing force or as part of the broader panic that seemed to be engulfing Russia. He didn’t care either way. The whole world seemed to be falling apart, the basic fabric of civilization stretching and tearing. It wasn’t a new order coming, but an older one. A world of strength and will, rather than law and bureaucracy. Weak and decadent economies, military shocks, the destruction of Saint Petersburg, this alien invasion hoax, it was all too much. Chaos threatened to engulf everything, and only force could push it back. No room for the weakness that had led to this fantastic weapon being abandoned like a flat tire by the side of the road.
Leonov walked down a short flight of metal steps to the control room floor, his feet clanging on the grating. A body, the only he had seen so far in the building, was crumpled on the ground. He turned it over with his boot. Bullet holes riddled the suit-and-tie-clad corpse. The man’s face also appeared to have been bludgeoned.
“Yegorov,” he read out softly from the name badge.
Yegorov had obviously been killed some time before Leonov and his men had arrived. The body was already a bit stiff. Other soldiers were now making their way into the building, cataloging their findings and retrieving anything of value. Leonov nodded at them and left the dead man, walking over to the laptops plugged into the base of the metal scaffold. Diagnostic and targeting systems, presumably. Perhaps the technicians would be able to make something of it.
He saw another laptop on a table near the wall, unconnected to the weapon and obviously more of a standard workstation. Leonov righted a chair that had been knocked over and sat down. The activity lights were illuminated along the front edge, so he scribbled on the touchpad with his finger to wake up the machine, expecting to see a password screen. Instead, the laptop opened to the home screen.
Leonov shook his head at the lax security, even as he was thankful for it. He opened the email account and began to scroll through. Standard stuff, mostly. Communications between the troops, workplace directives, purchase orders. On a hunch, Leonov scrolled all the way to the bottom, to the very first email received.
FROM: Aerospace Defence Forces Command
TO: XB-7 installations
RE: operational status
Comrades,
We have very little time, and I trust the urgency of our mission was duly impressed upon you by Captain Obukhov during your orientation. Our directive is clear, and the enemy is coming. All you require to construct the machine has been provided. You MUST have the facility operational within two weeks. You are also expected to hold fast against the traitorous elements advancing from the south. Rest assured, reinforcements are en route, and will arrive within the week. In the meantime, make all possible haste. The attack on Saint Petersburg was but a prelude, and your family, friends, and countrymen depend on your speed and courage. Lt. Yegorov has been assigned to facilitate and monitor your progress and provide daily reports back to me. I trust you will extend him all due courtesy and grant him full access to your operations so that we might gather a full briefing for the General of the Army Stepanov.
Make haste.
General Arkady Pishchalnikov
“Well, comrade Yegorov, it seems you were indeed extended all due courtesy,” Leonov said to the corpse with a chuckle.
Leonov stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. Rats killing rats. Good riddance.
Still, the tone of the email nagged at him. The machine these men had been assigned to build remained a mystery; a technology he had never seen. And the email itself seemed straightforward and earnest. Pishchalnikov, at least, had believed in the alien invasion story. Captain Ilyushin stepped into the room as his soldiers headed out carrying papers and laptops. Leonov stood up from the laptop as Ilyushin approached.
“Take everything, Captain,” Leonov said, gesturing around the room. “This technology is indeed unusual, but perhaps we can replicate some of it. This weapon would be a worthwhile addition to our arsenal.”
“It does not appear to have been powerful enough to prevent desertion, though,” Ilyushin said, looking around at the abandoned space.
“True. But apparently these workers had been promised reinforcements that never arrived. This was most likely a scientific and technical detachment, with no real combat capability. It was a deployment done exceedingly poorly, although the botan seem to have done their jobs before fleeing.”
The First Protectors: A Novel Page 22