Automatic gunfire erupts from concealed positions we didn't know existed. Muzzle flashes illuminate the factory interior like deadly lightning. Old machinery across the main floor provides the perfect cover for ambush.
I see the muzzle flash before I hear the rapid fire of the gun aimed in our direction.
I'm already diving for cover behind a massive steel support beam. Bullets slam into the concrete where I was standing, sending chips flying.
"They were waiting for us," Semyon shouts.
"Obviously!" I return fire, aiming at muzzle flashes. "Push forward! We can't stay pinned here!"
We advance through the factory floor. I realize with sinking dread that this isn't a defensive position. It's a killing field. Every piece of equipment and stacks of crates have been arranged to funnel attackers into crossfire zones.
They didn't just expect us. They designed this specifically to murder us. We knew it was a trap, but this was so much more than we prepared for.
"It's worse than we thought!" Semyon says. "They've got the whole place wired!"
I spot it then—red lights blinking in the darkness.Fuck. Explosive charges attached to support beams, walls, and machinery. Scattered throughout the structure like deadly Christmas decorations.
This isn't just a trap. It's a tomb.
"Everyone out!" I shout. "Building's rigged to blow!"
"Negative!" Semyon replies. "We're pinned down! Can't retreat without getting cut to pieces!"
A sniper's bullet shatters concrete inches from my head. I duck instinctively, scanning for the shooter. Third floor, northwestcorner. I return fire, and the shooting stops—either I hit him, or he moved.
A wave of guilt washes over me. I brought these men to their deaths. All because I was trying to save the woman, I love from grieving for a man I doubted would ever grieve for her.
It was stupid.
Reckless.
I was going to leave my baby without a father. Surviving this was next to impossible. We either died by their bullets or died when the walls caved in on us.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill as many as I can on my way out.
We push deeper into the factory, and bodies start dropping. Theirs and ours. The darkness that was supposed to advantage us works both ways—we can't see them clearly either.
"Where's the old man?" I demand, grabbing a wounded enemy soldier—one of ours put a bullet through his leg.
He laughs through bloody teeth. "Third floor. But you'll never make it. Boom!”
I shoot him.
Fuck him.
I should have left him alive to suffocate under the rubble, but I can’t take the chance he won’t shoot on of my guys.
The odds are impossible.
But I've faced impossible before.
"Semyon! Get everyone out! I'm going for the old man!"
"Maksim, don't—"
“Get our people clear! I'll find my own way out!"
I don't wait for his response. Don't have time for arguments.
