for once,” said Teresenko in broken English, raising his binoculars to examine the approaching armor column.
The two of them, along with three snipers from Azov Battalion, had climbed the towers in the middle of the night, concealing themselves in various locations among the steel girders before dawn. Nomad and Teresenko occupied the highest platform while the snipers nested one level below—scanning three hundred and sixty degrees for Russian or loyalist patrols. So far, all of the civilian ground activity in and around Mariupol had been restricted to the far side of the bridge, closest to the city’s central square. Few traveled outside of the heavily populated areas, for good reason.
The loyalist-backed government in Mariupol was still leery of the cease-fire, which resulted in the unconditional withdrawal of Colonel Biletsky’s ultranationalist Azov Battalion. Despite multiple confirmed media reports and sightings of the battalion driving in Odessa, more than three hundred miles away, memories of Biletsky’s brutal siege of the city remained fresh in pro-Russian memories. The smart citizens stayed close to the seat of loyalist power near the city center. The wisest had left long ago. After today, anyone with a speck of common sense would abandon the strategically located city.
“Can you estimate the lead vehicle’s speed?” asked Nomad.
“Thirty kilometers per hour—very rough estimate. They’re moving at a normal road speed for armored vehicles,” said Teresenko.
“Any heavies?”
“Not yet. I’m seeing a long line of BTR-82s. No tracked vehicles,” said Teresenko.
“They’d tear these shitty roads to pieces. Tracks and asphalt don’t mix. The T-90s and BMP-3s are probably sitting on railway cars inside Russia, waiting for the green light. This is a publicity run, just like my intelligence sources predicted,” said Nomad.
“Let’s hope your sources are right. The unexpected arrival of a tank platoon would spell disaster for the battalion,” said Teresenko, lowering his binoculars.
“Don’t worry, my friend. These sources have never been wrong,” said Nomad, grabbing his encrypted satellite phone. “I’m going to start the sequence. There’s no going back from here.”
“There was no going back for any of us once the battalion abandoned Mariupol,” said Teresenko, moving one of his hands to activate his headset.
“Biletsky will get exactly what I promised, and Mariupol will be back in Ukrainian hands by nightfall,” said Nomad.
Teresenko stared at him for moment, absorbing his words before issuing several orders through his headset. Nomad pressed one of the saved numbers on his satellite phone, immediately connecting with a drone operator located somewhere in western Ukraine. High above, in the partially cloudy sky, a “company” co-opted MQ-9 Reaper watched over the bridge, ready to execute a highly unconventional mission.
“Skyfall, this is Nomad. We’re launching the barge. The show is yours,” said the mercenary, nodding enthusiastically at Teresenko.
“Copy that. Waiting for cast off,” said the voice on his phone.
Teresenko gave him a thumbs-up and whispered, “The barge is clear of the dock.”
“The barge is underway, Skyfall. Once your mission is complete, request a five-minute surveillance run east of Mariupol. I’d like to know what the Russians have in reserve,” said Nomad.
“Understood. Skyfall will proceed accordingly before returning to base. Preliminary electronic intercepts and predawn thermals support original intelligence estimates. First Battalion, 35 th Separate Motorized Rifle Brigade is travelling ahead of the brigade to secure Mariupol. The closest ground response will come from 2 nd battalion—fifty plus kilometers away at the Ukrainian-Russian border,” said the drone operator.
“Air assets?” asked Nomad.
“Nothing detected. The land bridge deal didn’t include airspace concessions, but the Russians are free to operate in the
The two of them, along with three snipers from Azov Battalion, had climbed the towers in the middle of the night, concealing themselves in various locations among the steel girders before dawn. Nomad and Teresenko occupied the highest platform while the snipers nested one level below—scanning three hundred and sixty degrees for Russian or loyalist patrols. So far, all of the civilian ground activity in and around Mariupol had been restricted to the far side of the bridge, closest to the city’s central square. Few traveled outside of the heavily populated areas, for good reason.
The loyalist-backed government in Mariupol was still leery of the cease-fire, which resulted in the unconditional withdrawal of Colonel Biletsky’s ultranationalist Azov Battalion. Despite multiple confirmed media reports and sightings of the battalion driving in Odessa, more than three hundred miles away, memories of Biletsky’s brutal siege of the city remained fresh in pro-Russian memories. The smart citizens stayed close to the seat of loyalist power near the city center. The wisest had left long ago. After today, anyone with a speck of common sense would abandon the strategically located city.
“Can you estimate the lead vehicle’s speed?” asked Nomad.
“Thirty kilometers per hour—very rough estimate. They’re moving at a normal road speed for armored vehicles,” said Teresenko.
“Any heavies?”
“Not yet. I’m seeing a long line of BTR-82s. No tracked vehicles,” said Teresenko.
“They’d tear these shitty roads to pieces. Tracks and asphalt don’t mix. The T-90s and BMP-3s are probably sitting on railway cars inside Russia, waiting for the green light. This is a publicity run, just like my intelligence sources predicted,” said Nomad.
“Let’s hope your sources are right. The unexpected arrival of a tank platoon would spell disaster for the battalion,” said Teresenko, lowering his binoculars.
“Don’t worry, my friend. These sources have never been wrong,” said Nomad, grabbing his encrypted satellite phone. “I’m going to start the sequence. There’s no going back from here.”
“There was no going back for any of us once the battalion abandoned Mariupol,” said Teresenko, moving one of his hands to activate his headset.
“Biletsky will get exactly what I promised, and Mariupol will be back in Ukrainian hands by nightfall,” said Nomad.
Teresenko stared at him for moment, absorbing his words before issuing several orders through his headset. Nomad pressed one of the saved numbers on his satellite phone, immediately connecting with a drone operator located somewhere in western Ukraine. High above, in the partially cloudy sky, a “company” co-opted MQ-9 Reaper watched over the bridge, ready to execute a highly unconventional mission.
“Skyfall, this is Nomad. We’re launching the barge. The show is yours,” said the mercenary, nodding enthusiastically at Teresenko.
“Copy that. Waiting for cast off,” said the voice on his phone.
Teresenko gave him a thumbs-up and whispered, “The barge is clear of the dock.”
“The barge is underway, Skyfall. Once your mission is complete, request a five-minute surveillance run east of Mariupol. I’d like to know what the Russians have in reserve,” said Nomad.
“Understood. Skyfall will proceed accordingly before returning to base. Preliminary electronic intercepts and predawn thermals support original intelligence estimates. First Battalion, 35 th Separate Motorized Rifle Brigade is travelling ahead of the brigade to secure Mariupol. The closest ground response will come from 2 nd battalion—fifty plus kilometers away at the Ukrainian-Russian border,” said the drone operator.
“Air assets?” asked Nomad.
“Nothing detected. The land bridge deal didn’t include airspace concessions, but the Russians are free to operate in the
Similar Books
