Денис Седов – One step into Tomorrow: Reflection (страница 2)
«Grab the angle grinder, crowbar, hatchet, and let's go. Sanya provides cover. Vasya, with me. Nastya, stay behind the wheel, keep the radio on. Everyone got it?» I looked over our team and, making sure everyone was ready, opened the car door.
The warehouse was neglected, and we had to work on it quite a bit. Finally, after about forty minutes, one of the gate leaves gave way and opened.
In the semi-darkness of the warehouse, with flashlights on, we spotted boxes under a tarpaulin and some other containers. There was also a small partitioned-off room—either an administrative office or a supply closet. Metal cabinets lined the wall. Once upon a time, all this had been lit by large lamps under the ceiling, which were now switched off.
«What is this?» Vasya whispered.
«An inheritance, damn it…» I whispered back.
At that moment, Sanya appeared in the gateway, followed by Nastya.
«And what are you doing here?» she asked, hiding her curiosity behind a smile, but her eyes carefully scanned the sizeable warehouse space.
«Wow… And what's in the boxes?» Sanya was about to dash towards the tarpaulin-covered, clearly military treasure, but I harshly stopped his impulse.
«Hey, stand down! Have you completely lost your senses? What did I say to do? Stand where you are. Follow orders. Nastya, flashlight in your teeth and check the paperwork in the admin office,» I nodded towards the room.
«Sanya—take up defense at the entrance. Vasya—camouflage the car. And help Sanya cover the gate. Understood? Get to it. No one takes, opens, or touches anything without my order, or I'll tear your ears off. Move it, soldiers.»
The team snapped to attention while I gave out orders. And as soon as I finished, they immediately sprang into action to carry them out.
I started by checking the cabinets along the wall. Mostly papers, plans, folders, folders, folders… Most of it was junk, long since meaningless.
In one of the cabinets, I found tools. Simple things, needed in any household: screwdrivers, pliers, a rusty hammer. Also boxes with light bulbs, connections for plastic pipes, staples, coils of wire. In short, the kind of stuff every supply manager accumulates over the years. Or just forgotten junk.
But among this junk, I found what I really needed: locks (heavy-duty padlocks) and hinges for the gates.
Everything else in the cabinets wasn't worth attention.
«Kostya, come here, look at this,» Nastya called. She was standing in the doorway of the admin office with an armful of papers.
Just then, Sanya returned.
«Guys, we'll have to search the whole place. Barricade the entrance. And get lunch ready. A dry meal, we'll make do with canned food.»
Even though they kept casting predatory glances at the pile of boxes in the center of the warehouse, they obeyed. They got on with the task without asking unnecessary questions.
«Look, there's nothing here about what's in those boxes. Just waybills from Izhevsk. Quantities, and that's it. Cargo markings… I don't know what they mean,» Nastya frowned, shuffling through the papers. «But here's what else I found.»
She walked over to the cabinet standing next to the desk and opened the door.
I silently looked at the contents, then shifted my gaze to Nastya.
«Now that's interesting,» I said quietly. «Very interesting.»
In the cabinet stood four MRO-A and three RPG-26 «Aglen» launchers. At least, they looked very similar. In our world, we have the Kalashnikov—take a Romanian, Yugoslav, or Russian one, there are differences, but anyone would recognize it. It was the same here: I saw a light version of our «Shmel»—the MRO-A. Maybe it's called something different here, but it looks almost identical. And the «Aglen» is almost a copy.
«With these, it'll be easier for us to get to Klin. We're taking them,» I told Nastya.
«Guys, let's have lunch and then see what else is there,» I nodded towards the boxes, approaching them.
Oh, how they suffered. Poor Sanya, always fond of a good snack, wolfed down the contents of a can of stew, gulped a couple of biscuits, and jumped up clearly ready to open the «treasures.» Vasya wasn't far behind him, and Nastya carefully set aside her unfinished can and stood up with feigned nonchalance.
«Guys, grab the crowbar and hatchet, and let's go.» I wasn't about to part with my food and watched the box opening from the side, continuing to eat.
«Assault rifles… Kalashnikovs. Cool. Brand new, in grease…» Sanya peered inside the box with delight.
He was about to open the next one, but I stopped him again:
«There are more rifles in there too. Don't open it. Check that square one over there.»
Vasya opened the box and lifted a green casing. I looked inside.
«Grenades. Offensive. No fuzes. There should be another compartment nearby.»
And so it was: a box wrapped in wax paper lay to the side. Inside were metal tubes with threads, each one labeled.
«Just don't assemble them yet,» I said. «We'll do everything before we leave. There are twenty of them, one box is enough for us.»
Nastya was already rummaging through an oblong box on the other side.
«Sniper rifles here. SVD-M,» she reported.
She came over to me, carrying one of them. The rifle was better than ours in several ways.
A different type of polymer stock, clearly moisture-resistant. Carbon fiber, probably. Integrated bipod, folds into the bottom of the stock (like on the FN SCAR-H PR or DMR). Side-folding stock with an adjustable cheek piece. The mechanism is reliable, with a toothed lock. Comfortable for shooting from different positions, especially in tight spaces.
Picatinny rail along the full length of the receiver and handguard. Allows mounting any sights: optics, thermal, red dot. There's a backup iron sight that folds down like on an AR-15.
Ventilated handguard with the ability to attach modules. Reminds me of modernized M-Lok systems. You can mount an IR laser, flashlight, foregrip, stabilizer.
Extended capacity magazines, twenty rounds, with transparent windows on the sides—you can see how many are left while shooting.
The barrel is slightly thicker than ours, heavier, which should give improved accuracy. A combined flash hider-compensator on the muzzle, adapted for mounting a sound suppressor module.
The optics were different too. Not a PSO-1, but something closer to a digital sight with illumination and a rangefinder. The sight is easily detachable, powered by a replaceable battery pack or battery. The color is matte dark gray. The caliber remained the same as ours, 7.62x54. In short, the rifle pleased me.
«Alright, guys. We're looking for rifle ammunition. We're taking one box of grenades and the fuzes. We don't need anything else.»
«Kostya, look…» Sanya emerged from behind the boxes, holding a long case. «Is that a bow, or what?»
I walked over. The case was sturdy, with water-resistant fabric, zippers with plastic sliders. On the side panel was a stylized wolf in a crosshair and the inscription: Predator-X / Tactical Series.
«I've never heard of that brand,» I muttered, unzipping the case.
Inside lay a compound bow, cleaned, in perfect condition. Matte carbon-reinforced body, stabilizers with anti-vibration inserts, a drop-away sight with fiber optics, a side-mounted magnetic quiver bracket. Everything inside was laid out clearly: a wrist release, spare string, repair kit, and even oil in a capsule.
«This isn't a hunting bow. It's tactical.» I ran my finger along the bow's limb, feeling a familiar weight. Draw weight around 70 pounds, a crisp let-off. Practically a copy of what I'd trained with, but made not for sport, but for survival.
Sanya had meanwhile found a box of arrows. Four tubes, sealed in plastic. We opened one—inside were carbon arrows, 29 inches long, clearly marked.
«Three types of tips here,» Vasya said, peeking into the packing material. «Razor, armor-piercing, and some blunt ones…»
«Razor tips are cut-on-contact broadheads,» I explained. «For penetration. Armor-piercing ones have a chisel tip, they break bone and armor. The blunt ones are practice tips. Impact, but not as lethal.»
Each arrow weighed about 400 grains, with a shifted center of gravity. The caliber was right. The steel on the tips was nitride-coated, like on armor-piercing knives. Hit with one of these, and even an elk wouldn't stand a chance.
I slowly closed the case and slung it over my shoulder.
«I'm taking this thing. Ammo will run out. But with this, you can kill quietly. More than once. Sanya, Vasya, bring everything we've set aside over here, right by the exit. As soon as I pull the car up, Nastya provides cover, and the three of us load up. Then we put on new locks, cover our tracks, and head out,» I looked at each of them in turn.
Everyone nodded in agreement without another word. The guys immediately went for the gear.
We started dragging the selected items towards the exit: a couple of ammunition boxes for the assault rifles, boxes of SVD ammunition, a box of twenty grenades with fuzes, the bow case and arrow tube, various small items that might come in handy on the road, a coil of paracord, a couple of sleeping bags, water canisters… It added up to a lot, but everything fit.