Денис Седов – One step into Tomorrow: Reflection (страница 8)

"Gas, Nastya. Gas!" I said calmly but firmly, already scanning the surroundings for cover.

The "Lynx" began to accelerate, and at that very moment, the BTR appeared. Four people sat on the armor—mismatched clothing, armed. Although they were chasing the loaf van and weren't looking our way, they spotted us instantly. Without warning, those on top opened fire.

The only thing that saved us was that the heavy BTR had already begun its turn and, moving by inertia, couldn't stop immediately. That was enough time: we got out of their line of sight and, without slowing down, turned at the first intersection.

"Go a kilometer, then right. We'll try to lose them on a parallel street," I told Nastya, checking the navigation.

I turned on the radio and started calling:

"BTR-80… BTR-80, come in."

There was no response. Only static. I repeated a couple more times—silence. We had almost reached the turn I'd chosen as a possible escape route when the airwaves came alive:

"Hey, you drifters!"—a sharp, hoarse voice.—"Kolya Samarsky is making you a very generous offer. You stop, hand over your ride, and you can fuck off, just this once. There won't be any other options. Plenty of free lampposts around. And we'll block the roads, just so you know."

A second of silence. I exchanged glances with Nastya, Vasya, and Sanya. Everything was clear without words.

"Well, guys, they're not going to be reasonable," I said calmly.

"They're not military. So no mercy."

"Sanya, get the 'Aglen' and the 'Bumblebee' ready. Nastya, don't turn here, go to the end of the street. There'll be an intersection with the main road, turn there. Another kilometer."

"Guys, four grenades each. Rifles at the ready. If that BTR spotted us, we won't get away easily. The exit is all open ground: no cover, no weaving—we'll be sitting ducks. Can't risk it."

I quickly glanced at the situation outside the window and added more calmly:

"We'll try to go dark. If that doesn't work, we'll introduce Kolya-the-deer to the 'Aglen'."

But they didn't let us go dark.

Almost simultaneously with our turn, a drone passed parallel to us. It flashed by, seemingly by chance, but a second later it changed course. Sanyok spotted it first.

"That's it, Nastya. Full throttle after the turn! Don't stop until I say so!"

We pressed into our seats, the "Lynx" tearing down the narrow street, bouncing over potholes. The drone disappeared. Most likely, it went higher.

I grabbed the "Aglen," took it off safe, and armed it. Behind me, Vasya silently prepared a spare tube—just in case.

As we flew through a T-junction, I already knew what was coming. And sure enough, on the adjoining street, a bit further up the slope, the BTR was heading our way. About two hundred meters away. Straight for us.

It opened fire a fraction of a second late—bullets slammed into the corner of the house at the intersection, shattering brick and kicking up dust. Nastya swerved and floored the gas to get out of the line of fire.

"Stop!" I yelled.

The car jerked to a halt. I leaped out, dashed to the corner, raised the "Aglen." The frontal profile of the BTR already filled the sight. The drone bobbed out from behind the house again.

I didn't wait. I fired.

A roar, a flash—the jet stream struck exactly on the armor. The BTR lurched sideways, lost control, and skidded into a house, crashing into it. It caught fire right there. The explosion shook the street. Windows in the neighboring building shattered.

The drone, thrown off balance by the shockwave, shot up into the sky and disappeared.

I tossed the tube aside. Sprinting back to the car. The door wasn't even shut before Nastya floored it. The "Lynx" roared away.

Behind us, in smoke and flames, the story of one BTR was ending. Some of those on the armor might have survived, but sticking around to check wasn't in our plans.

A second of silence, and then an explosion of emotion in the car. Sanya screamed on adrenaline, Vasya laughed, slapping Nastya on the shoulder, who could barely contain her mix of laughter and shock.

"We took him out!" Sanya yelled. "That's like… that's like in a movie, holy shit!"

"Caught up, did he, bastard? Caught up? Their roads are blocked, huh… Here, wipe your face…" Vasya was unrestrained, I'd never seen him like this.

"Commander, you owe us a lesson! I want to do that too!" said Sanyok, leaning between the seats.

Nastya just exhaled and shook out her hands, not letting go of the wheel:

"Commander, will you teach us? That was incredible!" Vasya chimed in, his tone calmer now. "Took down a BTR like a cardboard box!"

I just nodded, checking the sight and rearming.

"The 'Aglen' and the 'Bumblebee' are practically the same, except the 'Aglen' is newer and a bit more precise. Same principle: disposable, effective range up to six hundred meters. Main thing—don't stand behind the shooter: the backblast will burn you. Need at least ten meters of clear space behind. Aim, arm it, target—and fire. Just don't hesitate; after the shot, ditch the tube and get out. The shot gives you away like fireworks. And yeah, when firing from buildings, only shoot from the window, not from inside. You'll only make it worse for yourself."

"You aimed right at the front?" Vasya asked, stroking the "Aglen" tube.

"The 'Aglen' isn't a rocket launcher, it's a flamethrower," I explained, not taking my eye off the sight. "It doesn't pierce armor like a shaped charge. It burns everything inside. Thermobaric mixture—the pressure and temperature get so high that no living thing survives inside an armored vehicle. Even if the hull stays intact, the crew is done for."

"Got it…" Vasya muttered, looking respectfully at the tube between the seats.

At that moment, the radio crackled to life again. A different voice this time, raspy, strained, barely holding back emotion, spoke up:

"We'll find you… Not today, so tomorrow. You'll answer for our guys, fucker."

The reception wasn't as clear as the first time.

I silently turned off the radio, first clicking to change the channel.

"They're far away. Seems like there were two groups. Anyway, let's get out of here before they regroup."

Nastya didn't need to be told twice. She immediately floored it, and the "Lynx" surged forward. The echo bounced hollowly off the facades of deserted houses.

We drove for about an hour when we noticed a smoking loaf van by the side of the road.

"Don't stop," I told Nastya.

There were no passengers in sight: most likely, hearing the engine, they had taken cover nearby.

"What's with them?" Nastya asked, eyes on the road.

"Fled at full throttle, and the old girl boiled over. When they heard us, they hid. Their road is their own, ours is ours."

I smirked slightly and, mimicking a subway announcer's voice, added:

"Be careful, the next station is Stupino."

**Chapter 10. Stupino. The Military**

The hill saved us this time too. We had just started ascending when it appeared ahead—not high, but just enough to overlook the valley all the way to the city. I asked Nastya to slow down before reaching the top, and to pull onto the slope only halfway.

"One second," I said, grabbed the binoculars, and got out.

A light wind was blowing. Ahead, less than a kilometer away, the outskirts of Stupino sprawled out. The city seemed quiet, but at the street intersection closer to the center, I noticed barricades and a couple of embedded concrete blocks. That was something.

"Checkpoint," I called over my shoulder. "And, by the looks of it, someone from the former military. Too well-organized."

I looked more carefully. People in camouflage. One with night vision goggles on his helmet. Nearby, a covered BMP with a camouflage net. Clearly guarding the approaches, but they weren't bothering us yet. Although…

"They see us," I stated. "A lens glinted on the roof."

I turned to my people: "Stay in the car. No sudden moves. Wait for a signal."

I took the radio from the dashboard, turned it on, checked the battery and antenna. Took a step forward and raised the radio above my head. With my other hand, I clearly showed five fingers.

For a few seconds, no one moved. Then, at the checkpoint, one of the fighters also raised his hand and showed five.

Contact established.

I pressed the transmit button: "Stupino checkpoint, this is a group from the north. Four people, no injuries, civilians with experience. Request permission to approach and identify. Over."