Copyright No2016 . Valeri Androvski author- publisher , Red Star Rising T.
AII Rights Reserved.
No part of this book maybe reproduced in whole or in part, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any informaѓtion storage and retrieval system, without written permission from Valeri Androvski, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review, citing title, author, and date as follows: 'Reproduced with permission from Valeri Androvski, No2016
No Valeri Androvski, author- publisher, 2016
No Valeri Androvski, Cover design, 2016
AII Rights Reserved.
ISBN 978-619-90534-0-9
THE ZONE 5
The City Centre 9
THE SEEKER 11
WDF vs. BROTHERHOOD 17
The Marauder 32
The Storm 35
RETURN 37
CAPITOLIA 39
HOME SWEET HOME 41
JACOB THE JEW 43
OLD FRIEND 50
THE ENGINEER 64
DEAR FRIEND ROSIE 71
THE ZONE
Terrium - a door to paradise or hell, depending on your point of view
Dr. Morbius
22nd June, 2039. The ruins of the city of Sev. Eastern European Yellow Zone Y-1/C
It was a day like any other day in the yellow zone. The olive-grey clouds floated across the sky, preventing the sunlight from penetrating through them to illuminate the earth. In the distance, the thunderclaps of a coming ion storm could be heard, and the lightning bolts lit up the sky in amazing purple, red, and blue hues.
The rays of the sun which did manage to pierce their way through the clouds gave a strange ash-grey tone to the ruins of the once-great city. It spread over hundreds of square kilometres and was once densely populated by millions. Now it was dead; left to the fate of the natural elements and the mercy of terrium. Terrium was constantly, and with alacrity, devouring huge parts of the abandoned city. It was transforming it into an unbroken terrium field, typical of the red zones. At this time, the city was known to the common people as Sev. In the year 2039 A.D., the largest part of the city was covered by the deadly green crystals of terrium - a plague and, at the same time, a blessing for resource-hungry humanity.
In the outlying residential and industrial zones of the city, terrium dominated the panorama of the once-beautiful Black Sea city. The green crystal wove its way mysteriously into the buildings, which collapsed under its constant merciless pressure. Terrium gradually transformed the concrete and iron of the load-bearing structures into more terrium. It spread in all directions, like a cancerous tumour. The green crystal pierced, spear-like, through the floors and the facades of the 5 and 10 storey buildings and panel-built blocks, which made up the majority of the residential buildings in the outlying suburbs. The asphalt and the paving stone once used as a road surface for transport were all now cracked or turned to dust, under the pressure of the spreading terrium crystals.
The central regions of the city were not yet affected by this unearthly green plague, which had begun to spread over planet Earth in the remote year of 1994. The meteorite which had brought terrium to Earth had not caused any scientific interest. Thousands of small meteorites entered Earth's atmosphere every year, where most of them were burnt up. But not this time. Initially, people did not even suspect the danger concealed within the green crystal. When they did realise, it was too late to do anything about it. The radiation it emitted was fatal to every living thing. It turned all materials, structures and objects that it touched into more terrium. Even the UN-imposed quarantine in southern Italy didn't help. Despite the precautionary measures, terrium continued to spread around the globe. To begin with, in Europe, and then in Asia, Africa and America and the rest of the world. More and more areas of the earth's surface turned into endless fields of green crystal. With the advance of terrium, the cultivable lands of the earth diminished. Erosion turned into a global phenomenon; rivers and lakes simply dried up, limiting the available reserves of water. The lack of food became an acute problem, and hunger riots began to break out all over the world. The relentless mass disorder grew into civil wars, in which everyone fought against everyone else. Under the influence of terrium, terrestrial organisms began to mutate. Viruses and bacteria also mutated; new types of illnesses appeared. The most terrifying of these was terrium fever. There was no cure and, with its appearance in the world, it immediately grew into a mass pandemic, taking the lives of hundreds and millions and even billions of people. Governments were unable to cope with the consequences of the global problem of terrium. They collapsed, one after another, under the pressure of crazed, uncontrollable masses of citizens.
The fight this time was not for land, petrol and gold, for which wars had been fought for millennia, but for two much more important and valuable resources. Resources which guarantee the survival of the human race; food and clean water. With every year that passed, the world descended deeper and deeper into a spider's web of anarchy, transforming the world into an adjunct of Hell. The chaos engulfing the planet brought to the surface two opposing forces: two rival powers fighting for world domination and the right to command the destiny of humanity. One of them, the WDF (World Defence Force), was the official successor to the defunct UN, and bore all the hallmarks of a world government. It forged its claim to be the only super power on Earth, but it controlled only 20% of the territory of the Earth. Nevertheless, it was 20% of the Earth's surface which had not been damaged by terrium pollution. These were the 'Blue Zones - the heart and soul of the WDF. The territories unharmed by terrium had a functioning state administration and undamaged infrastructure and industry. The Blue Zones were an example of prosperity, in a world dominated by fear of terrium. Under the protection of the WDF, social life in the Blue Zones was stable and prosperous. Science and technology continued to develop. The natural environment and ecology had been protected by the ruling authorities in their original appearance, prior to the appearance of terrium on Earth. The world economy was formed, and functioned on the basis of the production capacity and capital concentrated in the Blue Zones. Thanks to its economic, technical and military might, the WDF dominated the Earth. The other force, which threatened to dispute the domination of the WDF, was the Brotherhood and their charismatic Prophet. The Brotherhood had appeared at the end of the 1990's. Initially it had been a purely terrorist organisation, fighting against the putrefied West which oppressed the poor and downtrodden. Few people knew, however, that the roots of the Brotherhood dated back to the dawn of time, and were much more ancient than many contemporary societies. No-one knew where their charismatic Messiah leader came from. He preached to the world that terrium was not evil, but manna which had fallen from the heavens to change the Earth, and humanity, once and for all. The WDF saw the green crystal only as a threat to the dying eco-system of the Earth, or at most a valuable resource which, after treatment, provided everything: from construction materials and metals, to fuel and energy for WDF production. During recent decades, and under the wise government of its Prophet, the Brotherhood had developed and evolved into a global movement with a complex structure and its own ideology. The Brotherhood believed in Terrium, and its dream was a perfect Terrium world without racial, class or economic divisions, in which all were equal. The Brotherhood had also built its own scientific and industrial base, allowing them to study, extract and process terrium. The resources were sold on the world markets, enabling the Brotherhood to finance its cause.
WDF - World Defence Force - created by a secret UN resolution in the middle of the 20th century. It was initially created to deal with the threat of the Soviet Union, and then global terrorism. From a purely military organization, it had grown into a structure bearing the hallmarks of a world government, combining military and political power. It was one of the two super powers which controlled planet Earth.
The Yellow Zones were plagues with fatal diseases, hunger and continuous wars between street bands, providing a fertile environment for the ideas of the Brotherhood. The people in the Yellow Zones lived day-to-day, because they knew a simple true: one day you are alive, the next day you are dead. Every single day was a battle for survival. Even without the continual propaganda of the Brotherhood, accusing the WDF of all possible sins, the residents of the Yellow Zones envied and hated the people of Blue Zones for their opulence. Disillusioned and exhausted by their wretched existence, the people in the Yellow zones allowed their brains to be filled with the Brotherhood propaganda; constantly filling the ranks of the Brotherhood with new recruits. Although the Yellow Zones were officially under the control of the WDF, it was no secret, even to the lowest street urchin, that the Yellow Zones were under the unofficial control of the Brotherhood. Everyone who possessed a small amount of power or intelligence, whatever he or she was called, whether El Presidente, Dictator, Emperor, King, or just the boss of a street gang, knew who was in charge in the yellow zones.
Then there were the Red Zones - filled with terrium - and they belonged to no-one. Only God or the Devil had power over them.
The City Centre
In the central part of the city, in the October Region, where the city administration had once been, some of the public buildings were relatively well-preserved. Rusty plates remained attached to bent pillars. The inscriptions could still be read, albeit with some difficulty, indicating the names of streets and squares.
On the eastern side was Nahimov Boulevard . The boulevard stretched to Kalinin square, where there was a children's park. It was once remarkable for its fountains, flower gardens and climbing frames for children, but now the park had been left to the elements. A grey light attempted to pierce through the gathering clouds and gave everything a malevolent appearance.
Now abandoned and slowly falling into ruin with peeling masonry, they were built in the neo-socialist style.
The Town Hall, which had once housed the mayor's administration, was now no more than a naked skeleton, without a facade and with crumbling internal walls. There were black holes where the windows had once been. They stared out at a destroyed world on the verge of apocalypse. Only the skeleton of the building, constructed from sturdy reinforced concrete, remained standing despite the forces of the natural elements.
On the other side of the 150m-long and 60m-wide park, there was a 7-storey regional administration block, surrounded by smaller private residences. They were in no better condition than the mayor's building. The complex of buildings surrounding the park had once housed a range of state and municipal offices: Water Company, Electricity Supply, the Central Post Office, the Municipal Bank and other institutions. At the opposite end of the park, opposite Lenin Boulevard, was the 4-storey Central City Library. Although the façade had faded, the large golden letters could still be read: MAXIM GORKY LIBRARY. The building was rectangular, with massive columns supporting an arch, slightly prominent of the façade, above the wide central entrance. Above the entrance, horizontal to the ground, there were two brass poles, from which two torn and shredded rags hung. With a little imagination, one might be able to recognise the flags of the old Free Russian Federative Republic. In contrast to the other buildings, the library had been built from sturdy granite blocks during the first half of the twentieth century. In 1937 it had been a symbol of communism, and the aspirations to educate the people and achieve cultural progress. Its construction had been part of the 'пятилетка' 5-year plan for regional development.
During its construction, a number of Stakhanovite records were broken. The deadline for its opening was the anniversary of the October Revolution - a holy festival for the Soviet regime. Despite being 100 years old, its sturdy construction and high-quality materials meant that the library continued to withstand both time and the elements. Day after day, month after month, year after year, they had ruined and destroyed the newer and more modern buildings, turning them into piles of ruins and relics.
However, time and the frequent ion storms had taken some toll: the plaster in many places had fallen, the façade was cracked, and some of the cracks stretched from the foundations of the building right up to the beams supporting the roof. Through the wide holes
in the roof, the slowly-moving clouds could be seen in the gloomy sky.
THE SEEKER
On the third floor, Alexander Orlov was sitting on a heavy wooden chair with worn upholstery and broken arm-rests. He rocked slowly to the rhythm of the song he was listening to on his portable player. His legs were crossed on a long oak table. The varnish on the table top was peeling, and in places the wood was rotten and one of its legs was loose. The rest of the furnishings in the library were rotten and falling apart under the action of the natural elements in the yellow zone. But still, finding relatively-preserved furniture like this in this small dusty room was pure luck, thought Orlov. He wasn't particularly happy, and there was a good reason. He had searched the library many times before, but fate, this time, had made a mockery of him.
Just when he thought he had won the lottery. There was nothing he could do about it, Alex thought philosophically to himself. Fate is like a woman - a bit of a bitch. When he'd discovered the hidden room earlier that day, he'd thought that he had at last discovered the 'secret section'. Rumours about such a department abounded amongst the seekers. Every Soviet library was said to have one. According to the same unconfirmed sources, they housed formerly-secret state documents, access to which was strictly controlled, as well as works of art and other valuable literary works. These were all things highly prized by the collectors and aristocracy of the yellow zone.
However, his hopes of getting rich quick soon evaporated. The scrolls and pictures crumbled into dust at the first breath of wind, and the books were rotten and ragged. Alex knew there was no point in looking any further. He was turning around to leave when something glistening on one of the bottom shelves caught his eye. Alex stretched out his hand and picked up a book. The other books leaning against it crumbled. But this one remained whole. Alex began to leaf through it. It was a heavy book with thick leather binding, now faded over time, with four metal gilded edges and metal frames covering the length and width of the book. In the upper corner was the name of the author, I.S. Kalinin, and beneath that, the large relief letters, 'History of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics 1918-1970'. The chromed pages of the book were slightly yellow, but taking into account the age of the book it was a mystery how it had survived. According to a note in the book, it was a luxury limited edition of 70 copies. Alex realized it must have been a special gift book for eminent representatives of the communist party elite. A slight smile appeared on his face for the first time in a number of days; he had been lucky - really lucky - a unique, limited edition book in excellent condition was the book collectors' dream. He could get hundreds of credits for it, if not thousands - who knows even tens of thousands. In the age of computer media, holovision, net and so on, with the acute fall in the number of trees in the world, and the absence of printing presses, a book like this could make him a fortune.
Like every other person living in the yellow zones, Alex had a dream. He wanted a better life, far from the misery, illnesses and daily fight for survival. He had no intention of staying there until one day some crazed drug addict stuck a knife in his back, just to get his hands on some stinking credit in his pocket. He wanted to change his life, to spend the rest of the days God had given him on planet Earth far from the filthy quagmire of yellow zone Y-1/c. For better or for worse, he had been born there. He had grown up there and was accustomed to searching for his food in the garbage dumps of that God-forsaken Capitolia - the capital of the Eastern Region. He knew it could have been worse; he could have been born in the African yellow zones. According to rumours, the fatality rate was as high as 70%, and cannibalism flourished. It was clear to everyone that the red zones were hell on earth, the yellow zones - purgatory, and the blue zones were paradise on Earth. His dream was to gather enough to buy a pass into the blue zones. The problem was that the passes into the blue zones cost a lot of money. The cheapest of them guaranteed by the migration quota of the WDF cost something like 100,000 WDF credits. They only provided limited civil rights, for the manual labour which no one in the blue zones wanted to do. Jobs like garbage collectors, builders, general workers, waiters and sewage workers, as well as toxic waste cleaners in the industrial plants. Low paid, physical work containing risk and danger. Alex didn't want to swap the city garbage heap in the yellow zone with another garbage heap in the blue zone. He had saved almost thirty thousand credits and, if his luck of the past few years held, within two or three years he might have enough money to buy himself a pass as a technical engineer. Technicals were also part of the service personnel, but they weren't on the bottom rung of the social ladder in the blue zones. They mainly worked in the water and electricity sectors and maintained the infrastructure of the megapolises. He would be able to live a normal life, with enough clean water and food and health care. He would be in complete safety from the Brotherhood and terrium, behind the rings of the defensive systems which surrounded the blue zones, defended by WDF troops. However, for the moment this was just a dream and a hope for a bright future. So Alex tried to relax to a little music.
He was of average height - 1.80m, with a muscular, sinewy body without a gram of fat. His short, raven-black hair had begun to go grey around his temples. His dark skin and pigmentation were due to the ultra-violet radiation of the sun, which he was subject to during his long raids in the open air. Ultraviolet rays were a serious problem which could lead to dehydration, skin-cracking and even skin cancer, as well as other unpleasant consequences. So everyone who tried their luck in the yellow or red zones, or worked out in the open air, would carry sun protection cream, light filtration glasses and a protective face mask - all necessary for survival
Profession or social class could frequently be determined by the colour of your skin. Dark skin was connected with long periods of time spent in the open air, and was usually associated with hard physical work. White or lighter skin colour - with bureaucratic or intellectual work, and correspondingly a higher social status. Orlov's grey-green eyes contrasted sharply with his dark skin. The scar which ran from his right temple down his cheek to his chin did not render him unattractive in the eyes of most women; in fact it gave him a resolute and stark appearance. The scar was a souvenir of a successful fight. Successful in as much as Alex had managed to save his own life, despite losing all the trophies he had collected during a raid into the red zone. That was something which the majority of the marauders who had attacked him couldn't boast about. Their bodies remained in the midst of the ruins where they had lain in wait for him. They lost their lives and he lost his swagger. From his point of view, that was a fair exchange, but many years had passed since then. He was young and green then. In his 29 years he had accumulated a lot of experience and was considered one of the oldest and most experienced seekers, or hounds, tramps, wanderers - and so on - as the ordinary people called them.
He was considered a veteran in their circles, and the younger ones frequently asked him for advice. He had the reputation of a man who carried out his promises, and if asked to go on a mission, he would make sure he completed it. He hadn't been given a serious mission for some time and so he had gone out for some free searching, or hunting, as the seekers called it. He never knew what interesting things he might find amongst the ruins and so he travelled light, in case he found something heavy or bulky. Alex carried standard equipment - no more than was necessary.
He was dressed in a cloak which had once cost him dear. He had found it in a ruined store containing army anti-chemical equipment, and had kept one for himself. It was quite old, but very well-preserved; made from heavy rubber material which provided protection both from chemical toxins and biohazards. It consisted of a cape with a hood, belts and ties around the arms and legs, which allowed the equipment to be tightened around the body, and offered good protection. It also contained a pocket for a compact gas mask.
All his tools were distributed in the most convenient way in the pockets of the overalls. He had a multi-functional GPS attached to his left hand. It had a built-in watch, a link with the holonet and slots for memocards of the required territory. On his chest, in the top left pocket, he had a place for a Geiger counter, to measure terrium radiation. He had small Nikon 2000 binoculars on a strap around his neck. The Nikon 2000 showed the optimum distance for observation, with inbuilt digital amplifier and memory, allowing the binoculars display to show and maximise a photograph in real time and to transfer it to a digital photograph store. The lenses were red and anti-glare, with electronic focusing. The memory allowed them to make films and clips depending on the choice of quality and resolution, up to a couple of hours long if an additional memory card was placed in the infoslots. The binoculars themselves were a paramilitary version. They were camouflaged, dented and scratched, but worked perfectly. Unfortunately for Alex, the binoculars didn't have thermal imaging or infrared vision.
However, he was pleased with his trophy. Especially since he had found it on the body of a marauder who had been stupid enough to try and steal from him. He left the marauder for dead on the cracked concrete, with a hole in his head.
He had a flat rucksack on his back, similar to those used by the BROTHERHOOD , militia-strong and light, with a lot of external pockets and internal sections for personal items.
He knew that every kilogram, every gram was important. In the bottom-right pocket of his overalls, at the level of his waist, he had a first-aid kit containing everything he needed: bandages, antiseptics and antibiotics, disinfection cream, stimulants, anti-toxins and antidotes. Next to the first aid kit he had a holster with an officer's TT-43, worn shiny by much use. For many people who like shiny, threatening weapons this was an antique pistol. Alex liked it for its reliability and sturdiness.
Although he felt relaxed and was thinking about what he had read, his senses were still keen. So when he heard the first thunder rolls and cracks, he decided that the storm was beginning and he needed to get down into his hideaway. But the storm was still some distance away. Alex continued listening to his music, but there was something worrying him. His anxiety continued to increase while the thunder approached. Ion storms normally encompassed huge territories and were usually static rather than mobile, but in this case the thunder cracks were approaching very quickly.
Then it occurred to him that it wasn't thunder, but the sound of heavy artillery. There was a fire fight going on somewhere and it was coming very close. Before his mind could process what was happening, his body was already acting. Alex leapt to his feet and put the book on the table. He put his hand on his gun and tried to hide behind the wall next to the window. The book slid of the table and hit the floor, tearing the edge of the cover. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw what happened to the book and cursed, it had just drastically lost value. He glanced at the book and saw something that caught his eye - from the hole torn in the cover a thick metal strip was poking out. It had markings stamped on it and it was wrapped in a transparent foil with letters printed on it. He thought initially that it was part of the book's binding, but there was something strange about this metal strip and the foil it was wrapped in. He hadn't ever seen or heard of a book binding made of metal strips. This was very unusual. He approached the table and slowly pulled the entire metal strip out of the binding, taking care not to cause any more damage. He still hoped to get some money for the book, despite the damage. His attention was focused on what he still thought was part of the hard binding of the book. The metal strip was about as big as a post card. One of the edges was jagged and there were Bakelite channels between the individual teeth. The other edge was smooth, and there was a series of miniature signs and designations printed on the face. Alex looked at it carefully and noted that the circles, lines and squares seemed to form a series of incomprehensible figures. There were numbers next to the figures, divided by a dot, then an oblique line and an empty square cut through the entire metal strip. There were ten figures in total arranged over the entire strip, without any symmetry. Alex was intrigued by his find; he hadn't expected anything like this. 'What on earth is this?' he said to himself, as he turned it over in his hands. Then he looked at the transparent foil. He saw the broken contours of something drawn upon it. Alex couldn't work out what it was but it also contained ten dots with an oblique line and numbers to the value of ten. Both finds perplexed him. He left them on the table and picked up the book again. He examined the torn edge, and felt it. Then he turned the book over and carefully felt the back cover. As he had supposed, just at one of the edges of the back cover, the binding wasn't stuck down. He took out a knife and carefully, so as not to cause any more damage to the book, slit the binding. Taking great care not to damage the leather, he pulled out a couple of yellow sheets of paper. He unfolded them carefully and said to himself without realizing, 'This is getting interesting!' He was looking at a geographical map of the Soviet Union, or at least that is what was printed on it. He turned it over and saw something written by hand in the top-left corner. Whoever had written it didn't have the best handwriting, which made it difficult for Alex to read. There were three sentences, written on separate lines, all in thick ink and in inverted commas: 'For Family and Country', 'Red Star' and 'Great October'. Alex was astonished by his three finds - the metal strip, the foil and the old map of the USSR. It was clear that they were very valuable; otherwise whoever had hidden them wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to conceal them in such a strange way. But the million credit question, which Alex reckoned he could get for them, was what precisely were they? The sharp sound of the approaching automatic fire brought him to his senses. He quickly gathered everything up: the metal strip, the map, the foil and the book, put them into his rucksack and then pressed himself flat against the wall. He pulled one of the heavy torn curtains towards him and wrapped himself up in it for additional cover. He was holding his faithful TT-43 in one hand and his binoculars in the other. He set it to scan and to observe the incomers, just in case they decided to come and visit him. It might have been more sensible to go straight down into his hideaway, but he wanted to see what he was up against. If they found his cellar he would have to fight for his life. He reckoned it must be infighting between marauders or gangs, for territory or plunder. It happened quite often. One gang wanted to grab another's territory, leading to gun fights until one of the gangs retreated with their tail between their legs or there was no one left on either side.
WDF vs. BROTHERHOOD
Suddenly, several dozen silhouettes appeared on the square. In the half-light, their dark clothes were a good disguise against the ruins. Alex activated the scanning mode of his binoculars and expanded the image on the display. The group of people were dressed in identical tracksuits, with hoods covering their faces. Their exposed skin was coated in dark sun-protection camouflage cream and they wore red safety goggles. They all had rucksacks on their back, and were dressed in light body armour with universal pockets. They carried a variety of weapons, from antique AUG-3 Terminators, AK-47s and various versions of M-16s to relatively modern Cobra AR-72s. No gang was so well-armed, and dressed in identical uniforms - other than the BROTHERHOOD. It was definitely them, or rather an irregular group of partisans and terrorists. These paramilitary formations were known amongst the people as the Brotherhood Militia. The militia spread to the far end of the square, obeying the orders of an enormous two-metre figure, covered from head to toe in black articulated body armour, capable of resisting the latest firearms, such as 5.56mm WD-2 assault weapons. His helmet was marked with sharp lines and a number of round illuminated purple observation lenses, imitating an insect's eyes.
His entire body resembled a giant deadly scorpion, inspiring fear and respect amongst his enemies. He was known as the Preacher. Alex felt cold sweat running down his body. He quickly switched off the binoculars' scanning mode and wiped the sweat off his brow. Things didn't look too good. According to rumours, the Preacher's body armour was packed with all manner of smart devices capable of pinpointing laser and radar scanning beams. It had inbuilt navigation and communication equipment. The armour had no heat footprint either. This was a very important advantage; a passive stealth capability allowing him to move through the dark without being detected by enemies. The inbuilt thermal imaging devices, which were the lenses on the helmet, allowed the Preacher to get close to his enemies before killing them and sending their souls to hell. What was even worse than the three-barrelled assault rifle, the Preacher was waving in his hand while he gave orders, was the fact that these insane bastards were complete fanatics. It was considered an act of faith for a Preacher to torture and cut a man to pieces, and was considered no stranger than shelling a boiled egg for breakfast. All this was in the name of the BROTHERHOOD, and their Prophet. Alex had heard terrible stories about the military fanatics with their psychopathic leanings. If he was caught, or in some other way ended up in their hands, his prospects were grim. They would torture him, even if he had nothing to do with the WDF and wasn't a spy; he just happened to be in their way. And it could be even worse. Instead of killing him, they might take him with them. They would give him to the Brotherhood scientists and he might end up with the research branch of the Brotherhood, which studied the effects of terrium. This institute instilled fear and mystical terror amongst the ordinary people. The superstitious inhabitants of the yellow zones spoke in terror of Section 731, or just the Section. Only very few of the initiated knew its official name, 'Main Directorate of Scientific Research and Development - Eurasian Sector 7 - department 3 - level 1; section 731.' Terrifying stories were passed from mouth to mouth about the Section - mainly about inhumane experiments upon live captives. The scientists subjected the captives to the effects of terrium, and tried to carry out controlled and managed mutations, in the hope of adapting human biology and physiology to terrium. However, they hadn't had much success, and needed more and more people for their evil experiments. The only thing they had actually managed to achieve was to create a serum, to protect the Brotherhood militia from the harmful effects of terrium radiation. This was a strategic advantage over the WDF, bearing in mind that most of the Brotherhood's bases, raids and patrols were carried out, on foot, in the yellow and red zones. Rumours confirmed that the majority of the mutant and terrium creatures which lived in the Wilderness were the result of the work of the Section. The Section was also rumoured to use human material to try out new, terrifying energy weapons. No one knew the truth. Or at least no one who was still alive. Everyone who ended up in the hands of the Section disappeared without trace and no-one every head of them again. Alex's blood ran cold at the thought of what might happen to him. At that moment, the Preacher stopped and was talking to a number of men dressed in red-hooded cloaks with cloths covering their noses and the lower part of their faces. Their cloaks bore the sign of the BROTHERHOOD on the back - a black scorpion with a raised tail inside a triangle, and over their shoulders they carried light LDR-77 rocket launchers. They also carried special rucksacks containing rockets. Alex knew that the rocket launchers themselves were not as powerful or high-tech as the WDF equivalent MF-991, but they were cheaper and had simple electronic aiming equipment and were easier to reload. The rocket launcher unit listened to the Preacher's orders. He pointed to the buildings along the boulevard, and then the militiamen clenched their fists, thumped their chests and shouted out loudly 'In the name of the Prophet !'
The soldiers bowed slightly and then ran towards a group of three and four-storied buildings with peeling plaster and cracked facades. At the same time, the main group of soldiers had split up individually, or in small groups of two or three; looking for cover amongst the old motor vehicles, piles of rubble and concrete benches, in what had used to be the park. The Preacher crossed from one flank to the other, giving orders. When he was convinced that everyone was in position and well-covered, he chose an overturned truck for cover. The ambush was ready and they were waiting for their guests. Alex didn't know what to do - his binoculars had pinpointed 38 soldiers, 29 militia men and 7 rocket launchers. It was going to get very hot, very soon and the way things were going, he was going to be in the shit, right up to his neck. If he ran now, he would probably end up the target of one of the BROTHERHOOD or WDF units. The Brotherhood shot first and asked later, while the WDF, even if they asked, would shoot him just because of his equipment. He was just too suspicious, with his dark clothes and weapons and the rucksack he had plundered from the Brotherhood... Even with his plunder and everything else; which proved that he was a seeker. Any normal military commander would just tick him off as another loss, rather than waste time on him during a military campaign. Apart from that, there were all the other scum on the run at the moment - cannibals, mutants, gangs, marauders... Alex had no desire to end up in their company.
The second option wasn't too cheerful either - remaining hidden where he was. Whoever won the battle, either the Brotherhood or the WDF (it was quite clear who the militia were waiting for; no one other than WDF patrols would be mad enough to observe or to pursue the Brotherhood militia), would search the surrounding ruins for surviving enemy troops, and they would find his hideaway. He had no doubt that the end would be quick - a phosphor or chemical grenade, containing nerve-paralyzing gas. Alex thought tensely about which of the two possibilities would be less fatal, but fate was to make the decision for him.
A deathly silence hung over the square and the park. Even the sharp gusts of wind abated and everything which could move came to a standstill. The air seemed to be electrified by the sense of danger. Alex was still weighing up his chances, when he heard a whistling noise, quiet at first but quickly growing louder. A moment later, the source of the noise appeared. From behind a half-destroyed five-storey building on the corner between the square and the boulevard, a white WDF troop transporter came into view. The darkened metal-ceramic armour bore the traces of many weapon hits - proof that the machine had taken part in its fair share of hot spots. Followed on both sides by a unit of foot soldiers, the machine was unlike any of the WDF armoured vehicles Alex had ever seen. It had a low, flat extended body with tri-axle suspension and a small remote-controlled turret on the roof, armed with a Dual heavy machine gun. The body armour had sharp, oblique angles to cause small calibre shells and bullets to ricochet off. The sound produced by the engine told Orlov that the vehicle was powered by jet fuel and a gas turbine engine. It was most probably one of the new types with a hybrid power plant. This was confirmed by the large drums on the wheels, which probably contained electric motors. The armoured vehicle cautiously manoeuvred along the boulevard, avoiding the remains of rusting cars and trucks.
The dual machine gun turret rotated, constantly scanning the region with its inbuilt sensors. The machine moved amazingly smoothly, while its tyres constantly jumped over the uneven surface. Its body hardly rocked. Alex was interested in technology, and had read about them in the technical journals published in the Blue Zones. It was called adaptive electromechanical suspension; developed for the new generations of armoured vehicles which were to be introduced into the global army of the WDF. Each tyre had independent suspension controlled by computer, while the chassis was stabilised by gyroscopes. Alex reckoned that the armoured vehicle was travelling at no more than 5 kph, allowing the marines following it to keep up and remain observant.
The soldiers constantly looked around in all directions, as though sensing the hostile and evil gazes of the followers of the Brotherhood. The armoured car was halfway across the square when it slowed down. The machine gun dome came to a halt and pointed towards one of the buildings. From his position, Alex could not see what had caught the attention of the on-board weapons system operator. It may have been nothing, simply that the operator had decided to take a brief rest, but the nerves of the Brotherhood followers gave way. A machine gun volley rang out, followed by the constant fire of few dozen automatic rifles. The commander of the Brotherhood followers appeared from his hiding place and began to fire at the soldiers with his Gatling gun. He muttered a long tirade of foul language under his breath, mentioning the mother of the soldier who had given their ambush positions away too early. The air was filled with the burning traces of automatic weapons and the whistles of ricochets. At the first moment of the attack, three WDF soldiers found themselves under cross fire and were unable to get their bearings, paying for it with their lives. The others lay down or took refuge under the remains of burnt-out vehicles or the concrete benches and climbing frames in the park. The WDF trained their military personnel well, and each of the soldiers knew their duties during a battle. The armoured car opened fire with its heavy machine gun, in an attempt to provide cover for the soldiers. It drew the attention of the militia armed with the LDR-77s. Soldiers armed with grenade launchers appeared at the windows of the buildings and fired, almost in unison, at the armoured vehicle. The rockets accelerated towards their target, leaving smoke trails as they flew across the square, and began to explode. Two rockets exploded in front of the armoured vehicle, one hit the front armour and ricocheted to the side, but the remaining four hit the machine. The accumulated force of armour-piercing weapons melted the metal-ceramic armour like butter and ignited the fuel in the armour-plated tank. A brilliant explosion illuminated the square and dark day. The fiery tongue of flame reached towards the heavens while molten and bent shards of the vehicle were thrown into the air and fell to the ground. For a moment, the powerful explosion shocked both opposing sides and the firing calmed down. However, they soon regained their composure and the battle recommenced with renewed vigour. The followers of the Brotherhood enjoyed superiority of numbers and fire power, and tried to crush the WDF soldiers and cut off their path of retreat. The soldiers were able to respond with short volleys, only when the Brotherhood soldiers' attack seemed to subside.
The situation was serious, almost hopeless, and WDF Corporal Samantha Torres knew it very well. She was a short, muscular woman with cropped, blond hair. Her friends called her Sam, and in the WDF base near Capitol Hill, she was considered one of the sexiest women. But she had a bad reputation for her cutting Texan sense of humour, and most men avoided trying anything on with her. Samantha had dusted down a few candidates who ended up in hospital. She had been promoted to corporal only a few days earlier, and this was her first mission as unit commander.
The mission was supposed to have been completely routine. In recent years, patrols in the Yellow Zone had become monotonous.
Anyone with an ounce of sense wouldn't want to mess with the WDF. After being routed in the war five year previously, the Brotherhood followers had taken refuge in their dark holes and hadn't shown their faces. No-one dared oppose the dominance of the WDF. 'Now we're paying for our arrogance', Samantha thought to herself bitterly. She was hiding in the remains of a city bus. A grenade exploded close by, making her press her back tightly against the metal frame, in an attempt to hide better. She realised that her feeling of safety was purely psychological. The explosion rocked her out of her stupor and she began to act. After years of lengthy and intensive training, her reactions were honed to the level of automatism. Sam first checked the sensor of her M16Mk 2a pulse rifle. The sensor flashed green, showing a full complement of ammunition. She didn't need to replace the magazine. Samantha looked down at the vital signs of the soldiers projected onto the transparent visor of her helmet. Three were red and two yellow - three dead and two injured. Angelo, Ramires, Jeffersen - she muttered the names of her fallen comrades under her breath. She suppressed the pain of the loss, realising that it was time to take on the role of a commander, if she and her men were going to survive. Samantha activated the communications link, although she was aware that the powerful stationary transmitter which rebroadcast the signal back to headquarters had been destroyed along with the armoured vehicle.
'Zulu Papa 13- to all WDF units in Yellow Zone 15, quadrant 7. Need immediate assistance. We are under attack by the Brotherhood. I repeat - Zulu Papa 13 here. We need immediate assistance... Can anyone hear me?!'
As she waited for an answer, she took the risk of looking behind the bus, but the shots ricocheting against the body of the bus made her duck back into her hiding place.
She tried a few more times, but the only response she received was a crackling noise in her earpiece. She realised the situation was hopeless. The only thing left was to die, and take as many Brotherhood bastards as she could with her.
'Hearing you... ulu-Papa... report your... po...tion.. Over...breaking ... up... we can't hear you well... Please... re... peat', said the unknown voice breaking up in her earpiece.
'This is Samantha Torres speaking. Personal tag, number 175 - BL - 2306A, we've been ambushed, we're under fire from superior hostile forces. Our armoured vehicle has been destroyed; we have three killed in action (KIA) and two wounded (WIA). We need immediate air or artillery support.'
'Nega... Corporal... Torres. Ion storm on the way... Aeri... supp... imposs..ble Wait... for a moment, corporal... adjust phase modulator. Can you hear me better?'
'Yes, sir.' Samantha confirmed. The sound was a little muffled, but without interference.
'I'm military coordinator, first rank Mitchell. Unfortunately our 'Kasatka' fighter bombers can't fly during ion storms. Smart rockets are also out of the question for the same reason. We would risk hitting you as well as the Brotherhood.'
'Sir, if we don't get support in five minutes, it won't matter whether we get killed by our weapons or the Brotherhood's. We need assistance, sir, right now,' Samantha shouted in desperation.
'Hold on...' The muffled sound of people arguing could be heard at the other end of the comlink.
'I'll see what I can do, corporal, but it'll be at least ten minutes before the cavalry can get to you!' The voice betrayed hints of fatigue and tension. 'Corporal, hang on in there! You are NOT to die! That's an order!'
'Yes, sir! Corporal Torres, out!'
Samantha switched the comlink over to her unit's frequency. The air was immediately filled with groans and cries of fear and anger.
'Dirty bastards! Shoot at them! Shoot, and don't let them get any closer!'
'Help, help, for God's sake, help me, I'm wounded!' someone groaned over the open link.
'We need to fall back, while we can!' a frightened voice was heard to say.
'Stop panicking immediately, Private Falconi! You idiots! If you start running now, you'll just get a bullet in your back! Is that what you want; to die like animals? Fight like men, and don't moan like a bunch of old women!' Samantha shouted at the soldiers in anger.
'We can't hold out, corporal. These bastards won't let us even raise our heads, and there's no chance of returning fire.'
'Calm down, Pierre, I'm activating the drone. I'll assign the targets. All you have to do is to shoot and kill the Brotherhood bastards.'
Two nearby explosions rocked the earth, and scattered metal fragments all around. Samantha was hit in the stomach and shoulder by shards of shrapnel. She lost her balance and fell to the ground. She was lucky that her armour held up. Her military armour was WDF 'model 2', modular and with a highly-adaptive personal protection system. It consisted of a number of elements. It had a hermetic Kevlar suit protecting the entire body, not only from the environment but from shrapnel and bullets from small-calibre firearms. The light armoured vest made from composite materials protected the chest, back and shoulders. It also allowed for the installation of additional metal ceramic strips, which increased the level of protection. The outfit was complemented by armoured elbow and knee pads. The filtered life-support system containing radiation, biological and chemical filters was positioned on the back. The helmet was the brain of the entire system; the inbuilt computer managed the life-support system. It controlled the process of air filtration as well as the temperature in the armour itself. It provided monitoring of each of the individual elements of the weapon system. The helmet also contained a communication system, global navigation with tactical maps of the relevant terrain, infrared vision for night fighting, as well as a transparent visor, which showed the soldier all the necessary information. Samantha was pleased that, before leaving the base in the morning, she had had the foresight to add a few extra kilograms of armour. She had added extra chest plates, and they had saved her life.
'Boss! Boss! What's up?'
'Corporal, are you all right?'
'Calm down boys,' Samantha wheezed, as she tried to regain her breath. The blow had been quite painful. 'I'm alright; I just have to get my breath back.'
'What are we going to do, Sam?' Jonathan, her compatriot asked her, in a worried voice.
'The Brotherhood are on the move. I just seen a couple of them going through the park. They're trying to surround us!'
'Calm down, Johnnie!' Samantha shouted out, in a wheezing voice. 'It's time to fuck those bastards! Shut up for a moment and let me focus!'
She stood up and, with some difficulty, took the heavy pack off her back.
The backpack was a rigid square container made from exceptionally light and hard polymer. The internal suspension system protected its contents from vibrations and blows during transport. Samantha opened the lid which, on the inside, contained an interactive display. She took out a small MQ-7 drone. The aircraft was fully charged and ready for action. The rotor blades opened up and began to rotate. Samantha threw the small helicopter up into the air and it hung there, stabilised by its inbuilt gyroscopes.
'I just have to programme it,' Samantha thought to herself, as she activated the drone's interface. Her fingers danced over the monitor, programming the parameters of the mission, 'That's right...' she muttered... 'Standard surveillance mission. Low-level flight with real-time video observation... normal and infrared vision. Target classification and marking. Data encryption. I'm ready.'
'Boys and girls, this is Corporal Torres speaking. Everyone activate indirect targeting and range-finding system. Load up your barrel-loaded grenade launchers with detonating and shrapnel grenades.'
While she was giving instructions, she loaded a shrapnel grenade into her M16 Mk2 A pulse gun and activated the electronic optical target finder - KSP-2Y. The slender but strong optical cable for digital relay connected the target-finder with the processor in her helmet. This would protect it from any attempt by the Brotherhood to interfere with the information channels. The visualised information was processed and displayed directly onto the helmet visor in front of the soldier's eyes. The target finder provided video information from the direction in which the weapon was aimed. This allowed the soldiers to look around the surroundings and to shoot without coming out from their cover. Sam used this advantage. She activated the drone's programme and the small surveillance aircraft rose into the air above the battle field and scanned the battlefield for targets. The cameras first of all scanned in normal visual range for the human eye, then switched over to thermal imaging. This picture was transmitted by communication link to Sam and then to her soldiers. Her anxieties were confirmed. The Brotherhood militia had regrouped for the final attack. If she didn't act now, they would crush them with their advantage of numbers.
'Fire - only on my command. Right?!'
'Yes, maam!'
'Oui, mademoiselle.'
'Jawohl!'
The soldiers began to reply in their groups.
'I'll define the targets. First we'll take out the rocket launchers. They're the most dangerous.'
Just to confirm her words, a rocket whistled over their heads and exploded into the ruins of a nearby building.
'Then we'll hit the machine gun positions, where most of them are grouped. Get ready.'
As she marked the sectors of fire for each of the soldiers, the picture transmitted by the drone began to break up. This could only mean that the drone had been destroyed. The Brotherhood were no fools, and when one of them had noticed the small aerial spy, he shouted out a warning to his comrades, and they began to shoot at it with their AK-47 automatics. A couple more militia men began to fire at the drone. The machine tried to manoeuvre, in accordance with its pre-programmed algorithms, but it finally fell victim to a couple of shots, and a second later it exploded.
There was only one thing Samantha could do, and she shouted into the general coms channel.
'Fire!'
Ten grenade launchers simultaneously launched their grenades. They flew in a curved line through the air and began to explode over the positions of the Brotherhood. Every grenade was equipped with a sensor and microprocessor, which processed data about the position of the target and adjusted its flight. Most of the grenades found their targets. Two Brotherhood rocket launchers had just loaded their LDR-77's and were getting ready to fire, when one of the detonating grenades flew into the room and exploded. The explosion blew the two militiamen out of the room. They were already dead when their bodies flew down the three floors to the ground and smashed into the ground with a disgusting noise. Another rocket launcher received a direct blow and nothing was left of him apart from bloody stains on the walls, ceiling and floor of the apartment where he had taken up position. Two more were wounded; one of them seriously, and was close to death. The remaining two, who had survived uninjured, were running in panic; hiding in the depths of the half-ruined buildings. The machine gun emplacements were also hard hit. One of the grenades exploded between five militiamen hiding behind a massive concrete block. The grenade threw the men into the air like rag rolls, ripping off their arms and legs. A number of other militia men were killed and many more wounded. The firing died down and the battlefield was filled with cries of pain, groans and cursing. The confused Brotherhood soldiers were shocked by the loss of so many of their comrades, and the powerful WDF counter-attack. Samantha was the first to take advantage of the position, and ordered the unit to open fire en masse. The soldiers did so without revealing their positions, using electronic target finders. The tide began to turn in favour of the WDF.
Samantha also took advantage of the confusion amongst the Brotherhood militia. She raised her automatic weapon above the jagged edge of the bus and opened fire on their positions. The only thing that did not stop the militiamen from fleeing was the iron will of the Preacher and their fear of him. He came out from his cover behind the truck, and opened fire on the WDF, emptying the entire magazine of his AR-9 Gatling gun.
He began to shout commands at his soldiers, ordering them to spread out and change their positions constantly. The shouts of the commander brought the soldiers to their senses and they all began to open fire. The fear in their hearts had given way to fury and a desire for revenge. The battle once again flared, but neither side had the advantage now.
Alex observed the drama playing out in front of his eyes, from the window of the third floor of the library building. For a number of years there had been no mass battles between the WDF and the Brotherhood. He had activated the recording regime on his binoculars and was trying to film the battle in the best detail he could. He could sell the recording for a couple of thousand to any of the world news agencies. Such news always sold like hot cakes, and the recording of a real fight between the two dominant powers promised to be very profitable. He could make a good cash profit out of this raid. A stray bullet whistled part his face and he retreated behind the window frame. He knew that earning credits was always linked with risks, but there was no need to risk his head. He just aimed his binoculars and tried to get a panoramic view of the fight. Then, Alex heard the sound of a high-revving turbine engine, approaching from the narrow rubble-strewn back street, perpendicular to the park. A Brotherhood buggy suddenly raced into the square, bumping over the uneven surface and obstacles. The high speed and the hard suspension made the machine a challenge to handle. The single-seater machine had a phenomenal ability to cross uneven terrain, and was a testament to the abilities of the driver. There was a rumour that the Brotherhood drivers were adrenaline junkies, addicted to high speeds and dangers. Only a complete psychopath or suicidal maniac would enter a battle at top speed on such a lightly-armoured machine. The buggy driver showed that he was a typical representative of this caste. He crossed half the park, avoiding or driving over most of the obstacles.
The buggy leapt over the uneven asphalt, jumped over the fallen columns, concrete benches and climbing frames in the children's park. The Brotherhood driver crossed the WDF flank and opened fire. He cut down two of the WDF soldiers with his first burst. The rest ran in panic to find cover from the surprise attack. The six barrel 12.7mm 'Ripper' K-17 machine gun could shoot up to 6,000 rounds per minute. The pivoted mount on the top of the buggy was stabilised in two directions, and could rotate around its own axis - up to 360 degrees horizontally and 90 degrees vertically. This allowed attacks against land and aerial targets, making the buggy a universal weapon. It was targeted via a laser target-finder installed in the driver's helmet. Wherever the driver turned his head the machine gun would follow, giving the driver a killer gaze. The buggy moved back and forth through the children's park and stopped from time to time to open targeted fire. The light armour was sufficient to protect it from 5.56mm automatic bullets, while its manoeuvring abilities protected it from grenade launchers.
The position was getting desperate and Corporal Torres realised it. She had lost another two soldiers, and there was no backup. She knew that, failing a miracle, they would be left for dead in this god-forsaken city.
'Take cover! And don't stop shooting!' Sam ordered on the coms channel.
'How many more, corporal? We've lost Sanchez and Gustav!'
'Merde, the fucking Brotherhood are on the attack again, corporal!'
'We're lost,' desperation could be heard in another voice.
'We have to run! We have to run!' someone else cried.
'Stop panicking! Vaslav!' Samantha hissed into the microphone, 'Behave like a man, and maintain what little dignity you have left!'
'Yes, Corporal... Sorry, Corporal.'
'Calm down everyone, hold your positions; backup will be here any moment,' said Samantha, trying to inspire a little confidence in her people, a confidence which she was not feeling herself.
Alex observed as the ring around the WDF soldiers was growing tighter. The militiamen used the covering fire from the buggy and began to advance, running from cover to cover. Even the rocket launchers began to fire at the WDF positions.
'Not too good,' Orlov muttered under his breath, while observing the development of the battle. 'The WDF are dead men, and it's time to get out of here while I still can.'
The library swayed and the earth began to rock and the neighbouring three-storied buildings began to collapse. All the buildings in the area were in a disastrous condition and collapses were a frequent event. So no-one paid any attention. Everyone supposed that it was due to the battle explosions. Dust and smoke slowly began to envelop the children's park, like fog. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed movement. Amongst the clouds of grey dust, a black dot began to get bigger, and a low roaring sound could be heard in the air, muffling the sound of the battle. Breaking through the cloud of cement particles, a 150mm Reinmetal L-85A gun appeared and then the flat turret and tracks of a MBT-4 Jäger Mk1 (Hunter) take came into view. The roar of the tank engine filled the empty space of the park, and echoed against the facades of the empty buildings. The sixty-ton machine roared and drove up onto the ruins of the buildings. The massive turret began to rotate and the gun twitched, as though smelling the air for its prey. The machine looked threatening with its enormous weapon and the additional thick plate armour on its body. The armour consisted of long plated panels covering the entire turret and body. They gave the tank an ugly rectangular appearance. The top-secret technology used by the WDF in their production allowed for the creation of composite armoured plating with a depleted uranium filling. This sandwich significantly increased the kinetic and cumulative protection of the armoured machines. On top of the turret there was a spherical antenna for the AGP-44 active radio-electronic protection system. The system interfered with the warheads of the guided anti-tank rockets. The WDF tanks operatives, however, complained that the system was only effective at close range against the older models of anti-tank weapons used by the Brotherhood. Inside the command turret, Lieutenant Joachim Andserson still couldn't get used to the idea that he was a tank driver. During the second terrium war he had driven a Werewolf Mk.I, robot-legged vehicle. Driving a robot gave him the sense of freedom, speed and manoeuvrability, and the armaments of two small calibre 'Vesuvius' Gatling guns allowed him to cut through enemy infantry like a hot knife through butter.
'And now,' thought Joachim bitterly, 'I'm a tank commander with two subordinates.' He had mixed feelings about the MBT-4. He felt like he was inside a beer can on tracks; a well-protected beer can. The huge costs and complexity of the Werewolf and Goliath fighting machines had made the bureaucrats at the higher echelons of the WDF look for a cheaper alternative. The MBT-4 was a small production series, specially made by the Daimler-Mitsubishi Corp for the European and Asian theatres of battle. The tank was an experimental laboratory for new technologies developed by the WDF, a new hybrid electro-turbine engine using terrium gas for fuel, multi-layer composite armour with passive stealth elements, a powerful 150mm gun, combined with a large range of passive and active sensors, allowing detection and targeting of both immobile and mobile targets at long range. However, the MBT-4, on the whole, was a move backwards towards old-fashioned, familiar tank technology: tracks, turret and guns. The flat-screen monitors in the command turret gave Joachim all-round vision. The first thing he did when the sensors pinpointed hostile forces was to activate the AGP-44 electronic muffling system, which he did with almost automatic intuitive movements. That was the way he had been trained - safety and security first and foremost. The passive sensors had already pinpointed their targets and the on-board computer was processing the data, systematising it according to the threat it posed. The computer defined the enemy's grenade launcher as the key danger, then the buggy and finally the machine gunners. Joachim touched the screen and marked the buggy as a key target. It was the greatest threat to the WDF soldiers.
'Karl, first the buggy; we have to help our people,' he ordered on the internal line. 'Then get the grenade launchers and the militiamen.'
'Jawohl, Lieutenant. I'll get him now,' Karl replied, aiming his weapon. The buggy driver was completely focused on the battle, manoeuvring and shooting, and he didn't pay any attention to the flashing red sensor indicating danger. Many battle-hardened veteran soldiers developed a sense of survival instinct. The driver's sixth sense warned him of the danger, but it was too late. The buggy leapt forward, revving the engine, but not quickly enough. A ten-metre-long yellow flame burst from the 150mm gun and the 3,000m-per-second shell reached the buggy in a split second. The high-explosive armour-piercing shell penetrated the light armour, destroyed the engine and exploded the hydrogen tank. The buggy disappeared in the fire of the explosion, fragments of the body and pieces of the metal chassis flying through the air. Orlov watched, enthralled by the scene, as one of the buggy tyres curved through the air and then smashed into the ground and bounced across the square before disappearing into the ground. Alex wondered where the tyre had gone to, before realising that there must be underground shafts or holes out there.
The militia were shocked for a moment, but then managed to get their bearings. With a trail of smoke from their tails, three rockets crossed the square diagonally. The first exploded in front of the tank, showering the armour with fragments of concrete. The second smashed the on-board screen and damaged the torsion suspension, and the third ricocheted against the armour plate of the turret. At that moment, Lieutenant Anderson was trying to contact the allied infantry.
'Tiger 1 to Zulu Papa 13; can you hear me? I repeat, this is Tiger 1 to ...'
'I hear you Tiger 1. Corporal Samantha Torres here. Who am I speaking to?'
'Lieutenant Joachim Anderson, at your service ma'am; I've been sent to help you.'
'I'm pleased that you and your boys have come to join the party.' A sense of relief and gratitude could be heard in her voice.
'It's a pleasure, ma'am. What's the situation and how can we assist?'
'We have five KIA and two WIA. We need covering fire,' Samantha replied. 'We're pinned down by the militia men holed up in the buildings. They can see the square like the palm of their hands.'
'Ok, understood. We'll take care of them first. Can I rely on your help when we flush them out?'
'Of course Lieutenant, and one more thing - thanks for getting rid of that swine with the buggy.'
'That's what we're here for, corporal; to solve your problems,' Joachim replied, with a grin.
'Understood, Tiger 1 - Torres out.'
The tank shook from another rocket attack and the ensuing round from its turret gun. Joachim switched over to the internal frequency.
'Karl, what are you doing? Blow those bastards up!'
'But Lieutenant, they're constantly changing their positions and I can't get them with the thermal imager!'
'Then just blow the whole building up, with them in it. Fire into the foundations!'
'OK, boss! I'll put them to rest now!'
Joachim activated the comlink and spoke to the driver.
'Michael, get us out of here! Get as close as you can to the positions of our troops.'
'Yes, sir. On my way.'
Hidden behind the angle of the window, Alex watched the 60-ton tank slowly descend from the heap of ruins. The turret rotated and the tank shot at the five-storey building where the militia men were hidden. The explosion raised clouds of dust, which prevented the rocket launchers from targeting, and only one of their rockets hit the tank's armour. The rocket's warhead made a dent in the thick armour but didn't piece it. The tank fired again. The building where the militiamen and the rocket launchers were hiding shook and began to collapse from top to bottom, floor by floor, like a house of cards. The Brotherhood commander was a fanatic but not a fool. He had lost the majority of his militiamen but, more significantly, all his rocket launchers. He had no way of standing up to the tank now, and so he ordered a complete retreat. The Brotherhood militiamen quickly abandoned their positions, individually or in groups. As they retreated, they helped their wounded comrades who still had a chance of survival. The Preacher retreated last of all. He knew that he could not allow his seriously wounded brothers to fall into the hands of the WDF. Only the Prophet knew what the WDF bastards were capable of. They would probably torture them or entice them to betray the Brotherhood and their great Messiah. So, without a drop of pleasure, but deeply convinced that he was doing the right thing, he killed the last of the soldiers who showed any signs of life. The retreating militiamen fired aimlessly over their shoulders, but gradually the retreat turned into panic. The 'Hunter' pursued its prey, shooting from its double-barrelled 12.7mm machine gun. The tank crushed everything in its path with its tracks, turning the asphalt and concrete into dust. It drove over a couple of climbing frames, concrete benches, and the city fountain in the centre of the park, without even slowing down. The machine reached the positions of the WDF troops, turned around and stopped. The gun fired once again, followed by an extended burst of the machine gun. Somewhere in the distance, an explosion was heard. The soldiers surrounded the tank and the hatch in the command turret opened. The tank commander popped his head out. Orlov was too far away to hear what the soldiers and the tank commander were saying, but by their gestures he could see that they were engaged in a serious argument. The officer hid back in the tank again, and the soldiers lifted their wounded comrades onto the engine section of the tank, right behind the turret. The machine's engine roared and the tank gradually began to pick up speed, in pursuit of the last militiamen. The infantry fell in behind the tank, taking cover behind its armour. Alex tensely wondered what to do, and waited for a few minutes until the soldiers hid and the sound of the tank's engine died away.