Milan slid a pack of Swedish “Level” rolling tobacco across the desk as he watched Przemek struggle with the homemade stuff from Oksjö.
“Tak,” Przemek muttered, accepting the pack.
“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” Milan remarked as he took a seat behind his desk. The small village house had been transformed into a bureaucratic maze, with four desks crammed into the makeshift office, papers and boxes stacked high, creating hallways within the rooms. The chaotic organization turned the space into an improvised warehouse, with one desk supporting a precarious stack of military radios.
Despite the other and only long range radio in the settlement being carefully monitored in the mansion, its access only allowed by high level “functionaries” of the commune. Milan’s department had their own. Sofia eyed it as one of members of the radio cooperative was listening to what was being said and noting everything on a piece of paper. Those were the trades of the day. Most settlements and their represantitves for trade with other settlements clocked in on the radio at noon and 8pm sharp to each notify the others or what could be bought or traded. It was a long process as every settlement went around calling out everything from rolling paper for cigarettes to automatic weapons.
“Jonas, mind switching to the headset buddy?” Milan asked calmly from the other side of the room. Jonas behind the radio nodded as he inserted the headphone as to not bother Milan, Przemek and Sofia.
“Tried to stop a few times. But what is there else to do than smoke these days?” Przemek said sarcastically before Milan chucked and lit his cigarette.
“You were talking about that airbase of yours,” Sofia said, trying to rein in the casual banter that had filled the room.
“Right, the time-sensitive, crucial matter that dragged you here so late,” Milan replied with a heavy dose of sarcasm. He leaned back, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “So, as you know, I just got back from Lysekil. On my way out, I ran into a trader from some fishing settlement south of there. He was just coming into town as I was leaving.”
Milan paused, the cigarette glowing briefly as he took another drag. “The man had a map. Flygbassystem 80 was on it.”
Sofia’s reaction was immediate, her expression shifting, which didn’t go unnoticed by Przemek.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked, sensing the tension.
“It’s an airbase,” Sofia replied, her eyes narrowing as she studied Milan. Despite his leather jacket and the appearance of a shady car salesman, Milan had a knack for delivering surprises.
“Flygbassystem 80 isn’t just any airbase,” Milan elaborated. “During the Cold War, it was an underground military command center, fully operational. Fighter jets could taxi out of it to bomb Russian warships if needed. It was a key piece of Sweden’s defense strategy, one of several across the country. About five years ago, with tensions rising across Europe, the Swedish army reopened it, much to the dismay of the Green Party.”
“The reason this is time-sensitive is that word’s going to spread fast,” Milan began, his tone sharpened by urgency. “That trader is in Lysekil right now, and he’s going to be crossing the country looking for someone to sell that map to. The only reason I know where it is? He showed it to me when I asked if it was in good condition. Didn’t realize I recognized the town next to it immediately—my ex-wife’s parents were from there. The price he wanted was outrageous, but why buy a piece of paper when I know where it is? It’s only a matter of time before he finds a buyer—someone with enough resources to get there first and strip it clean.”
Sofia’s gaze remained steady, but her mind raced. “Maybe it’s already been looted. You think the guys at the oil refinery don’t know about it?” she asked, while Przemek silently processed the information.
“Maybe,” Milan conceded, “but the trader claimed it’s mostly untouched. And he worked there. He’s a long-term player, not the type to lie about something like this.”
“Oh, so people don’t lie?” Przemek said, his skepticism cutting through the tension.
Milan’s patience wore thin. “Listen, if you want in on this, you’re in. But I’m not here to be cross-examined.” His frustration was evident as he ground out the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray. “I thought you guns-for-hire would be a little more optimistic about this.”
“Not saying we’re not,” Sofia replied, her voice steady. “But we’ll need to discuss this with the rest tonight.” Przemek raised an eyebrow, surprised by her decisiveness.
“By ‘the rest,’ do you mean your colleagues, or are you talking about Sven and the other representatives?” Milan asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Why not bring it up to them?” Przemek chimed in, curious.
Milan shook his head, a look of impatience crossing his face. “By the time we bring this to the next general assembly, that base will be stripped clean. And even if they did approve it, they’d attach so many strings that it wouldn’t be worth the effort. I’m talking about the ‘privatization’ option here. Get you guys in there, take what’s valuable, and drive back. It’s only an hour away—quick in and out.”
Przemek couldn’t help but chuckle at the phrase “quick in and out,” the words tinged with a dark irony. He’d heard them too many times before, often as a prelude to disaster.
Milan’s eyes narrowed at the laugh, but he let it pass, knowing they all understood the risks better than most.
“Exactly,” Sofia agreed, her tone resolute. “They wouldn’t like it if we risked people from Oksjo for something like this—just like with Halmstad. Sven knows that better than any of us.”
Milan nodded in agreement, the memory of past decisions weighing on them all.
As they spoke, Jonas stood up, still wearing his headphones. He moved toward the whiteboard behind him, notebook in hand, and began erasing the current prices for general commodities, adjusting them based on the latest information.
“We’ll have to talk it over with our folks,” Sofia continued. “Can you meet us in our room in an hour?”
“That’s perfect,” Milan replied, standing up and extending his hand. He shook Sofia’s and then Przemek’s, sealing the tentative plan.
Although Przemek and Sofia were lukewarm about the plan, Jonathan and Nikolaj didn’t need much convincing. Despite the relative comfort they had been enjoying in Oksjo, they were both eager to get back into the field. Even after the harrowing incidents in the valley a few weeks ago, Jonathan felt a familiar excitement as he carefully installed the headset onto the high-cut helmet he’d received from Milan. The headset wasn’t just extra weight; it was equipped with active noise-cancellation and sound-enhancement technology. This allowed him to hear ambient sounds—like the crunch of footsteps or distant gunfire—while filtering out the deafening roar of explosions or close-range shots.
If others in his group had similar gear, they could communicate seamlessly through the headset, but for now, the heightened situational awareness it provided was more than enough. The helmet itself was a prized possession, lightweight yet durable, offering solid protection against shrapnel and blunt force. While it wouldn’t stop a direct hit from a bullet, its adaptability made it invaluable. He could easily attach additional gadgets, like lights or night vision goggles—if they managed to scavenge some along the way.
It had been the best birthday present he’d ever received, though Jonathan wasn’t naive. He knew that anything coming from Milan came with strings attached. Despite their camaraderie and shared drinks, Milan was always playing a deeper game, and Jonathan was well aware that this gift was part of it. Still, as he adjusted the helmet and felt the snug fit.
Ming couldn't join them due to the bronchitis she was battling. Despite her own condition, she was more concerned about Nikolaj than her own health. Nikolaj had even debated whether or not to come but Ming had told him that he wasn’t her nurse or her dad. From across the room, she watched him meticulously check each magazine in his plate carrier, ensuring they were fully stocked.
The reality of their situation set in: tonight, they could only rely on themselves and Milan, who would accompany them in an advisory role. Inside the base, they would be limited in what they could bring back. Both the Jeep Cherokee and the G-Wagon had limited cargo space, so they needed to be strategic about what they took.
Przemek’s attention shifted to the SKS rifle slung over Milan’s shoulder, its magazine bandolier draped across his leather jacket. The rifle, an old model from the same era as his grandfather, was a reliable but dated piece of equipment. He checked it with a practiced eye, knowing its historical value and practical use were equally important.
No one knew exactly where they were heading. The guards at the gate wouldn’t ask questions. It was clear to everyone that tonight’s mission was highly irregular, but the potential rewards made it worth the risk. In these situations, it was often easier to ask for forgiveness than to seek permission. The team’s independence was well-established—they had earned their place in Oksjo from the start, proving they were more than just tenants. They were a critical part of the community, not merely there for the bed, food, and occasional guard duty.
Sofia reassured herself that Milan would be facing his own set of problems. Despite the resource committee’s support for him, other factions within Oksjo would not be as forgiving. Milan had his own troubles to handle, and Sofia had little sympathy for him. He had made his own choices, and now he would deal with the consequences.
As she prepared for the mission, Sofia struggled slightly to fit her bulletproof vest over her thermal shirt. Once the vest was securely in place, she donned her load-bearing vest, which was equipped with all the necessary pouches for her magazines. Her M45 submachine gun was better suited for this operation than Milan’s SKS carbine. While her knowledge of weapons had been minimal before all this, the choice seemed obvious. It’s compact form and good firerate would be more suited for the close quarters they were going to be in. Though she hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.
Przemek attention was shifted to Jonathan as he put on his backpack.
“Jump” he asked.
Jonathan stared with confusion at him but he knew better than to ask as he jumped.
“Making sure nothing is dangling, turn around now.” Przemek said as he held the bolt cutters in his hands.
With his back turned, Przemek put the bolt cutters in the big empty camel back pouch on Jonathan’s back. Those would be needed if they were to make their way inside.
Nikolaj was studying the map intently, a crucial task for the driver of the G-Wagon. He needed to know every detail by heart. The routes were clearly marked, along with the designated drop-off points for their vehicles. Sofia and Milan would remain with the vehicles while the rest of the team moved to clear part of the airbase. Once they received the radio signal, they would drive into the base to collect whatever they could find.
Nikolaj was struck by how close their patrols had brought them to the airbase. They anticipated reaching their destination by 1 a.m., giving them a narrow window of one hour to clear the area and return with the vehicles. Their deadline for departure was set for 3 a.m. They hoped no one else would be foolish enough to venture there at night. If Milan's prediction about a gold rush towards the airbase proved accurate, they would need to act quickly and secure the most valuable items.
Ammunition was their top priority. Even though Lysekil was nearing the completion of its ammunition plant, they knew that homemade munitions could never match the effectiveness of the real thing. Securing ammunition and radio equipment justified the risk. The irony of risking their safety for ammunition—just to ensure they had enough for future conflicts—was not lost on any of them.
As the G-Wagon and Cherokee came to a halt at the gate, a young figure approached the vehicle. Nikolaj remained focused behind the steering wheel, Jonathan manned the machine gun, and Przemek sat in the passenger seat. The teenager, clad in a construction worker’s jacket and with an old shotgun slung across his back, knew he was outmatched by the trio.
“So, uh, where are you headed?” the teenager asked awkwardly, trying to sound authoritative despite his evident nervousness.
Nikolaj, Przemek, and Jonathan exchanged a steady, unreadable gaze that conveyed their intent without a word. The teenager squared his shoulders, bracing himself for their response.
“Jedi business” Jonathan said coolly, his voice muffled by his balaclava as he oiled his machine gun before slapping the cover back shut.
“Right...” The kid’s voice faltered, clearly unsure how to react.
“I just need to know what time you think you’ll be back so I can inform whoever’s on watch,” the teenager said, trying to maintain his composure.
“Around 4 or 5 a.m.,” Przemek replied smoothly, his tone signaling the end of the conversation. “Have a safe night, kid.”
The teenager nodded gratefully, though his unease was palpable. He carefully removed the wooden bolt from the gate and swung it open, allowing the vehicles to pass through. As the G-Wagon and Cherokee drove off, the young gatekeeper watched them disappear into the night, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he returned to his post.
Night had settled in, and the air was thick with moisture from the day’s warmth. Nikolaj led the way through the dense forest, with Przemek and Jonathan close behind. As they approached the airbase, it was easy to miss if not for the runway cutting a straight path through the trees. The hangar blended into the landscape, disguised as a hill with its camouflaged gate and painted runway.
Nikolaj dropped to a knee beside a tree, about five meters from the edge of the runway. Jonathan and Przemek quickly followed suit, each taking a sector of the area to watch. They crouched in the darkness, breathing heavily and listening intently for any unusual sounds or movements. The wet grass and leaves were cold against their skin, but their focus was unshakable. The prize lay just beyond their reach. While opening the main gate seemed unlikely, they hoped the smaller door next to it might be accessible.
Przemek gave a soft tap on his rifle, signaling that he was ready to move. He stood up, sprinting across the runway with the hope that he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. Jonathan and Nikolaj kept their eyes on their respective sides of the runway, alert for any signs of danger and to shoot back at any muzzle flash that might try and take out Przemek. Once he reached the other side, he signaled Jonathan by tapping his rifle, indicating it was his turn to cross.
Jonathan moved swiftly, reaching the other side and taking cover next to what looked like an old, abandoned aircraft tractor. He signaled to Nikolaj by tapping his rifle in the same manner. With the signal, Nikolaj darted across the runway, joining Jonathan and taking over the sector Jonathan had just vacated. The silent, coordinated movements continued as they navigated the perilous approach to their target.
The trio continued their careful advance towards the side door, each movement deliberate and cautious. The forest's ambient noise seemed distant now, overshadowed by the pounding of their own hearts. The damp air clung to their skin, heightening their senses as they approached the base’s outer perimeter.
Przemek led the way, moving silently despite the crunch of leaves beneath his boots. Jonathan and Nikolaj stayed close, their eyes scanning for any movement or light that might betray their presence. They reached the small, unassuming door, barely noticeable against the camouflaged hangar.
Jonathan slipped his hand over his shoulder and grabbed a hold of the bolt cutters on his back. He handed them to Przemek, who immediately set to work on the lock. The snip of metal meeting metal was the only sound that cut through the silence. With careful precision, Przemek worked the bolt cutters until the lock finally gave way with a satisfying click. The door creaked open just enough to allow them through.
Inside, the darkness was nearly absolute, pierced only by the weak glow of dim emergency lights scattered across the ceiling. The faint light cast eerie shadows that danced across the walls, making it difficult to discern the layout of the space. The air inside was musty, filled with the scent of stale machinery and disuse.
After securing the bolt cutters back into Jonathan’s pocket, Przemek gave a curt nod, mirrored by the others. They moved in quickly, almost soundlessly, their bodies tense as they slid through the narrow doorway. The air inside was thick, oppressive, and the darkness was nearly absolute, broken only by the faint, ghostly glow of the emergency lights above. Even with their eyes adjusted to the night, the inky blackness felt suffocating, swallowing any detail that might have been discernible.
Jonathan, entering last, eased the door shut behind him, cutting off the last vestige of outside light. The silence that followed was absolute, as if the entire world had vanished beyond the cold, steel walls of the airbase. They stood still, holding their breath, ears straining for any hint of movement, any sound that might betray the presence of something—or someone—else. The smell of oil and stale air lingered, thick and metallic, tinged with the faint scent of decay.
Przemek was the first to act, flicking on the light at the end of his rifle. The narrow beam sliced through the darkness, revealing the cavernous space of the hangar. The sheer size of it made their breath hitch, the vast emptiness feeling even more daunting under the dim, focused light.
Then, as the beam swept across the hangar, it landed on something that made them all freeze: four Gripen fighter jets, lined up two in a row in silent formation, their sleek bodies casting ominous shadows that stretched across the floor. Nikolaj and Jonathan quickly followed suit, switching on their rifle-mounted lights, the additional beams adding just enough illumination to confirm the sight before them.
The jets loomed large, their presence both awe-inspiring and unnerving. The hangar, once a place of action and noise, now felt like a tomb, the silent machines standing as relics of a time long gone.
“Get to work” Przemek said quietly. They all made sure their lights were away pointed at something instead of their feet in a bid to not give up their position if someone was watching.
Their objective was clear: find the arsenal. They knew there would be two—one for the aircraft and one for the ground crew and soldiers. The former, with its multi-million-euro air-to-air missiles, was of no use to them. Their focus was on anything that could be carried, anything that would give them an edge once they left this place.
Nikolaj took point, his light sweeping the walls and floor for any signs—a marked door, a map, anything that might indicate the location of the weapons cache. Jonathan and Przemek followed closely, their eyes darting between the shadows, alert to any movement, any hint of danger that might be lurking in the vast, empty space.
They moved quickly but cautiously, every footstep echoing faintly in the stillness. The hangar seemed endless, a labyrinth of forgotten machinery and tools, all coated in a fine layer of dust. As they passed by the last Gripen jets, the tension in the air thickened. The jets loomed like silent sentinels, their sleek, dormant forms a stark reminder of the firepower that had once been housed here.
Jonathan's light caught something—a door, partially hidden behind a stack of crates. He signaled to the others with a quick hand gesture, and they converged on the spot, hearts pounding with anticipation. The door was unmarked, but its placement away from the main hangar floor suggested it could lead to something important.
Przemek was the first to reach it. He tested the handle—locked, of course. Without a word, Jonathan handed him the bolt cutters, and within moments, the lock snapped with a dull crack. They all paused, listening intently for any sound that might indicate they had been discovered. But the silence remained unbroken.
Przemek slowly pushed the door open, revealing a narrow corridor beyond, dimly lit by the same emergency lights that barely illuminated the hangar. The air here was different, colder, with a faint metallic tang that hinted at the presence of weaponry.
They exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment that they were on the right track. With the door open, they pressed forward, deeper into the belly of the base. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before them, the dim emergency lights barely illuminating the path ahead. Every step echoed softly off the cold concrete walls, amplifying the tension that hung thick in the air. As they moved forward, a set of doors appeared in the distance, the passageway curving sharply to the right just beyond them.
Przemek, leading the way, signaled for a halt as they approached. He covered the front while Jonathan quietly approached the door on the right, his rifle at the ready. Slowly, he pushed it open, revealing what appeared to be a staff office. The room was eerily undisturbed, as if frozen in time. On one wall, a large map caught Jonathan's attention. It was dotted with markings, likely denoting other military installations scattered across the country.
Without hesitation, Jonathan carefully removed the map, folding it and tucking it securely into his side pocket. As he turned to leave, something else caught his eye—a smaller, more detailed map encased in a transparent pocket on the inside of the door. A smirk crossed his face as he realized what it was.
“What’s so funny?” Przemek’s voice came from outside, low but curious.
Jonathan emerged from the office, pulling the map free from its holder, and handed it over to Nikolaj with a grin. “Here, Svensker, guide us,” he said, the tension breaking slightly with the nickname.
Nikolaj took the small A4-sized map, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He switched on the small Petzl lamp attached to his plate carrier, the beam revealing the intricate layout of the base. He studied it intently for a few seconds, committing the path to memory before switching off the light.
“Second door to the right. End of the hallway,” he murmured, slipping back into his role as point man.
Without another word, they fell into formation, moving quietly and swiftly down the corridor. The air was thick with moisture from the day's condensation, making the cold even more biting.
Jonathan found a small protective case. Przemek couldn't see what was inside, but he noticed Jonathan's grin spreading across his face as he opened it. "2:03, let's wrap this up!" Przemek hissed, glancing down at his watch. The dim room was bathed in the eerie glow of a few chemical lights they had brought, casting long shadows across the walls as the three men hurriedly stuffed assault rifles into sport bags. Time was slipping away, and they knew they had to move fast. They had to hurry up and make their way to the ammunition depot, which they had initially mistaken for an electric substation as they had walked in. The AK5Cs were in good condition, better maintained than Nikolaj’s, they seemed to have never been fired in anger. Each bag could fit between four and six rifles—sufficient for the people in Oksjö, but not for Przemek and his band. Rifles and small arms they already had in abundance. Living in the shadow of Lysekil and Norrköping, they needed something better if they were ever to stand a chance against them. “Wyjeżdżamy, we’re leaving, let’s go,” Przemek ordered, his voice tense. Each man hoisted their heavy bag, the weight of the rifles doubling the load they already carried. The strain was palpable, but they pushed through it, knowing the stakes were too high to falter.
Just as they turned to leave, a faint sound from the hangar snapped their attention back. The metallic creak echoed through the hallway and into the armoury in the stillness, sending a jolt of adrenaline through all three men. In an instant, they raised their rifles, the muzzles trained on the door. The chemical lights cast harsh, jittering shadows as they stood frozen, every muscle tensed, waiting for the next sound, the next movement. The silence that followed was suffocating, each heartbeat pounding in their ears as they braced for whatever might come through that door.
The noise started as a low, ominous rumble, almost imperceptible at first, like distant thunder rolling across the sky. But then it grew louder, more distinct—a grinding, metallic screech that echoed through the empty hangar. The men exchanged quick, alarmed glances as they realized what was happening. The massive hangar door, camouflaged and nearly invisible from the outside, was slowly but unmistakably sliding open.
The sound was relentless, a deep groan of ancient machinery coming back to life. It reverberated off the cold, concrete walls, amplifying the terror that began to creep up their spines. The door’s movement was slow but unstoppable, revealing the outside world in a widening sliver of darkness that bled into the dim light of the hangar.
As the door continued to open, they caught the unmistakable hum of an engine—a truck, by the sound of it. The low, guttural noise of diesel reverberated faintly at first, then grew louder, closer, as if something heavy and powerful was making its way toward the hangar.
And then, cutting through the mechanical symphony, came the murmur of voices. Distant but distinct, they were the sounds of people—men, by the deep timbre of the conversation—talking just outside the hangar. The words were unintelligible, but the tone was casual, almost indifferent, as if they had every right to be there. It was the banter of men who were confident, perhaps even unaware of the danger that awaited them on the other side of that enormous, slowly opening door.
Przemek didn’t need Nikolaj’s map to understand their grim situation—they were trapped. The hallway with its few small rooms offered no escape unless they planned to dig through the cement walls and then through countless meters of dirt, and the ominous noise from the hangar was only getting louder. The grinding metal and the murmur of voices drew nearer, filling the silence with an impending sense of doom.
Without hesitation, Przemek took the lead, slipping out of the room and into the hallway, the others close behind. The oppressive darkness swallowed them as they moved, each step careful, deliberate, their senses heightened. They switched off their flashlights, plunging themselves into near-complete blackness, relying on the dim emergency lights overhead to guide them.
The sound of the hangar door creaking open grew louder, an ever-present menace that pressed on their nerves. The distant rumble of a truck engine suggested it was moving closer, its deep vibrations resonating through the floor. Przemek mentally cursed himself for not leaving someone to keep watch while they plundered the armory.
He pointed to a door on his right, and Nikolaj and Jonathan moved quickly into the small office beyond. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Przemek alone in the adjacent room. He positioned himself by the door, rifle pointed down the hallway, watching for any movement towards the hangar.
The muffled sounds of conversation began seeping through the walls, growing clearer as footsteps approached. Przemek's heart pounded as he heard a man’s frustrated curse—clearly, the broken lock had not gone unnoticed. The door to the hangar creaked open, a shaft of blinding light spilling into the darkened corridor. Whoever it was, they knew how to turn on the lights.
Przemek squinted against the sudden glare, trying to make out the figure emerging from the doorway. After a few tense seconds of distant Swedish chatter, an older man stepped into view. He was stocky, easily twice Przemek's weight, and clad in khaki pants and a large construction jacket. The jacket hung open, revealing a blue football jersey beneath. A submachine gun, identical to Sofia’s, was slung across his stomach, its weight pulling it awkwardly down.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
As the man stepped into the corridor and after he turned on the light switch on his right, he froze, his eyes widening as they locked onto Nikolaj and Przemek faces and barrels. The weight of their rifles trained steadily on him. He appeared disoriented, blinking rapidly as if struggling to comprehend the situation.
Przemek’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, firm and commanding, “Let us through and you will be spared.” His tone brooked no argument.
Nikolaj felt sweat trickling down his face, his heart pounding with the intensity of the moment. His hands shook slightly, but his rifle remained steady. In the dim light, he could hear Jonathan fumbling with something behind him, the muffled sounds of hurried movement echoing off the walls.
The man’s gaze flicked nervously between Nikolaj and Przemek, his expression one of stunned disbelief, as if encountering ghosts from a nightmare. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound emerged, his lips moving in a silent plea or protest.
Przemek’s patience was wearing thin. He peeked forward out of the door slightly, his voice rising with an edge of urgency. “I said, let us pass and you and your men will be spared.” The command was clear, but the uncertainty of their precarious position hung heavy in the air.
Before Przemek could utter another command, the man stumbled backward, his hand clumsily grappling with his machine gun. In a heartbeat, Nikolaj and Przemek fired in unison. The sharp crack of their assault rifles shattered the silence, the force of their bullets tearing into the man and sealing his grim fate and theirs.
The deafening roar of the gunfire was instantly drowned out by a chorus of shouts from within the hangar. Panic erupted as voices shouted orders and the sound of boots pounding on cement grew closer.
The hallway was instantly filled with the staccato bursts of gunfire. Nikolaj and Przemek instinctively dove for cover as bullets zipped past, their impacts sending splinters of debris and ricochets off the walls. The corridor transformed into a chaotic war zone, a deadly dance of flashing lights and ear-splitting noise. Each shot they fired reverberated through the concrete, the intensity of the conflict escalating their heart rates and adrenaline levels.
Through the haze of gunfire, they could only make out two pairs of hands, each clutching a weapon, sporadically appearing from the doorways and firing blindly down the corridor. Driven by survival instincts, both Nikolaj and Przemek kept their heads down, minimizing their exposure to the lethal volleys.
Przemek dared to peek out, squeezing off a controlled burst towards one of the rifle-wielding figures. His bullets found their mark, and fragments of metal must have struck the assailant’s arm. The man staggered, visibly recoiling from the impact, his body twisting in pain recoiled back and spun around as his rifle was swung from his hands. With his back momentarily turned to the hallway, Przemek took advantage of the opening, firing again. The man collapsed, his body crumpling to the floor in a heap, his rifle falling silent.
The man collapsed and a pair of hands tried to drag him out of the way as Przemek opened up on the man’s lower body. His bullet hitting the man’s legs and crotch as the pair of hands recoiled back to safety.
The gunfire abruptly ceased, a momentary reprieve that was almost as deafening as the previous chaos. The ringing in Przemek’s ears was accompanied by distant shouts and clamor from the hangar. He wished desperately for a hand grenade, something to clear the threat and give them a fighting chance. Fate seemed to grant this grim wish as two small metal grenades clattered into the hallway, rolling awkwardly towards them. They bounced and wobbled, ultimately being blocked by the body of the first man they had shot, rendering them inert.
The two grenades, blocked by the body of the dead man, didn’t roll far but that did not prevent them from causing devastation. The first grenade exploded with a deafening roar, sending a shockwave through the hallway. A blinding flash of light erupted, followed by a searing heat that charred the walls and floor, blackening the concrete with singed marks. ”KURWA” Przemek let out nearly instinctively as he threw himself deeper in the office. Nikolaj who had been on his knees by the door of the opposite had taken just too long to react.
Shrapnel from the grenade burst outward with deadly force, transforming the hallway into a chaotic scene of destruction. Metal fragments and debris flew in every direction, tearing through the air with lethal velocity. The upper part of the body of the first man who opened this chaotic ball earlier, disintegrated into a grotesque shower of flesh and bone, the remains scattering violently along the corridor. One piece of shrapnel made its way across the hallway and landed inside of Nikolaj’s thigh, slightly above his left knee. Blood and tissue splattered against the walls, painting a grisly mural of the carnage.
The second grenade exploded almost immediately after, compounding the chaos. It detonated with a similar ferocity, intensifying the fire and debris already strewn across the hallway. The floor was littered with shredded bits of metal, splintered concrete, and the horrific remains of the body. The explosion created a temporary firestorm, sending waves of scorching heat that made the air feel suffocating.
As the explosive concussions of the grenades echoed through the hangar, Przemek and Nikolaj faced the disorienting effects of the blast from their respective rooms.
Przemek, still reeling from the blast wave, struggled to steady himself. The overpressure had slammed him against a desk, leaving him momentarily dazed. His ears were filled with a relentless, high-pitched ringing that made it nearly impossible to hear anything else. His vision was distorted, the once-clear shapes and shadows of the room now swaying and shifting unpredictably. As he tried to push himself off the wall, his movements felt sluggish, as though he were wading through thick mud. He squinted through the haze, trying to focus on the doorway, but his sense of direction was thrown off, making every step feel uncertain.
In the opposite room, Nikolaj was in even worse shape. Some shrapnel embedded itself in his lower thigh made each movement excruciatingly painful. The blast had sent him crashing against the a cabinet next to the door, and he struggled to maintain his footing. As he collapsed, Jonathan grabbed him by the back of his vest further inside of the room while Nikolaj cursed and yelled. Nikolaj’s breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and his hands shook as he tried to brace himself against the desk frame. The overpressure from the explosion had left him feeling dizzy, as if the room was spinning around him. He could barely focus on anything beyond the immediate pain and the ringing in his ears. His attempts to stand were hampered by the intense pain in his leg, making him stagger and sway.
Both men, separated by the hallway, were left grappling with their disorientation. Przemek's vision swam as he tried to steady himself and regain his bearings, while Nikolaj's attempts to move were hampered by his injury and the disorienting effects of the blast. He felts his lower leg be soaked by his own blood in a matter of seconds. Their once-coordinated efforts now seemed hampered by the overwhelming impact of the grenades, leaving them in a state of confusion and vulnerability.
Jonathan felt the explosion’s impact like a tidal wave crashing against him. The force was so intense that it seemed to slam him against an invisible wall of pressure. His hearing, protected by his ear defenders, was intact enough to catch the shouted warning echoing down the hallway.
“LEFT ROOM, LEFT ROOM, THE BASTARD IS IN THE LEFT ROOM!”
Jonathan, despite the disorienting blast, understood enough Swedish to grasp the urgency. He scrambled behind a cabinet for cover as two figures, clad in a hodgepodge of military and civilian gear, rushed down the hallway. The grenades had scattered debris and blood, and the men moved fast, trying to avoid slipping on the remains of their fallen comrade.
Przemek, still struggling with the aftereffects of the explosion, used the desk in front of him as a support. His hands were shaky, his vision blurred.
As the first of the two intruders burst into the room where Jonathan and Nikolaj were hiding, he opened fire blindly. His first few shots missing the mark and ricocheting off the walls. Jonathan, crouched low and hidden, felt the whizz of bullets overhead hoping it wouldn’t ricochet on him or Nikolaj. With precision born from adrenaline, he fired back. The first bullet struck the man's plate carrier with a dull thud that seemed to hit him like a baseball bat, and the second tore through the lower neck. The man staggered, gasping for air as blood pooled around him, his spine likely shattered by the force.
The second man, oblivious to Jonathan’s exact position, was met with a barrage of bullets from Przemek, who was still grappling with his disorientation. The initial shots flew wide, hitting the wall, but Przemek finally managed to hit the man before he could advance further.
Jonathan, catching his breath, called out, “Przemek, you good?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Przemek’s response was strained, his voice edged with frustration.
Jonathan was jolted into action by Nikolaj’s shout from the adjacent room. “Nikolaj’s hit! It’s his artery!”
He hesitated, torn between alerting their attackers to Nikolaj’s condition and ensuring Przemek was fully aware of the situation. The decision had to be quick and decisive.
“GOT IT!” Przemek shouted back, as he prepared to cover the doorway.
Nikolaj struggled to maintain his grip on his rifle, his face contorted in pain as Jonathan hurried to his side. With practiced efficiency, Jonathan retrieved a tourniquet from Nikolaj’s vest and quickly fastened it around his upper thigh. The bleeding was torrential, and every second counted.
“You hit anywhere else?” Jonathan’s voice was urgent, cutting through the chaos as Przemek fired back down the hallway towards the hangar.
“No!” Nikolaj’s response was a strained cry as Jonathan tightened the tourniquet with a force that compressed the muscle and bone together. The pressure was immense, but it was necessary to stem the flow of blood.
“Don’t move!” Jonathan ordered, his voice firm as he finished securing the tourniquet and then darted towards the door. He dragged one of the bodies further into the room and began rifling through the pockets, hoping to find something useful.
The reality of their situation crashed down on Przemek. He mentally calculated the time it had taken them to reach this point and how long it might take Sofia and Milan to arrive. Every tick of the clock felt like a weight pressing down on him. The thought of endangering Sofia gnawed at him, and a shiver ran down his spine. They had to find an escape route, and fast.
Jonathan’s voice pulled Przemek back to the present. “Przemek, don’t shoot!” he shouted from behind cover. Jonathan’s next shout was in Swedish, taunting their enemies. “Any of you cunts still alive?”
“Yeah, Fjolla, why don’t you come out?” came the taunting reply, tinged with recognition of Jonathan’s Danish accent.
“We killed three of your friends. Let’s call it a draw and go home, alright?” Jonathan’s voice was steady, though his eyes darted around, assessing the situation.
“We’ll kill what’s left of you, feed you to the pigs, and then I’ll come to where you live to rape your bitch. Then we’ll call it a draw!” The response was laced with malice, and Jonathan could tell the remaining enemies were not inclined towards negotiation.
Jonathan, now knowing where their foes were, acted swiftly. He grabbed a grenade from one of the bodies and, with a quick underhand throw, sent it skittering down the hallway into the hangar. “EAT IT!” he yelled, ducking back into the room for cover.
The grenade detonated with a deafening roar, the blast wave crashing through the hallway and seemed to shake the walls. The remaining lights flickered wildly before cutting out entirely, plunging the area into pitch darkness. Jonathan hoped the explosion would not trigger a catastrophic chain reaction in the hangar.
With the hallway now cloaked in darkness, Jonathan fumbled with the newly acquired night vision goggles. The green-tinted lenses helped him navigate, though he had to carefully adjust them to avoid any telltale flashes. He moved stealthily down the hallway, every step calculated, every sound analyzed. The darkness was absolute, and the weight of their precarious situation pressed heavily on him. The only sounds were the distant struggles in the hangar. The grenade and its shrapnel seemed to have found its mark.
As Jonathan adjusted the night vision goggles, the world around him transformed into a sea of green-tinted shadows and faint glows. The darkness that had engulfed the hallway was now pierced by the eerie, monochromatic light of the night vision.
Through the goggles, the hallway appeared as a distorted landscape, with objects rendered in varying shades of green.
The remnants of the explosion were starkly visible. Scattered bits of debris and fragments from the grenade lay strewn across the floor, emitting faint green reflections. The metal walls and floor showed an array of textures, from the bloody remains of blood and flesh on the walls of to the smoother areas where the blast had not caused significant damage.
Jonathan crouched low, the green-tinted world of his night vision goggles sharpening into a clear, deadly focus. The hangar was a chaotic maze of shadows and wreckage. On his right, two figures staggered and stumbled in confusion, their movements erratic as they tried to orient themselves in the sudden darkness. Jonathan’s grenade had not done them in completely, but the damage was evident in their disoriented stumbling.
To his left, another man crawled, desperately trying to escape the chaos while trying to turn on a flashlight. Jonathan moved silently towards him, his steps muffled by the thick layer of debris on the floor. He pulled his knife from its holster, its cold steel gleaming faintly in the night vision’s eerie glow.
The man crawling was large, despite the injuries on him Jonathan could see that he was made out of muscles. Jonathan didn’t want to risk anything. Jonathan kicked the man in the ribs before pushing him on his back with his foot. With a swift, practiced motion, Jonathan threw himself on him before driving his blade into the man's upper chest three times.. The man’s body convulsed violently, but his cries were quickly muffled by Jonathan’s glove. Jonathan pulled the knife free, the blade slick with blood, and the man’s lifeless body gave out.
From the opposite side of the hangar, the sound of a man’s frantic shouting cut through the tension. “I’m fucking blind, guy’s got my eyes!” His voice was raw with panic.
“You’re not blind, the light is just out retard. Turn on your flashlight and watch the hallway, and if you hear anything, shoot!” another voice barked in response, struggling to reassess the situation.
Jonathan’s senses were heightened by the adrenaline surging through him. As he crept forward, he heard the man against the door barking orders. This man seemed to be the more rational of the two, despite not having realized Jonathan had already made his way in the hangar. His stern demeanor suggested he was the one who had been engaged in the earlier polite conversation with Jonathan.
The other man, clearly disoriented by the grenade, was stumbling toward the entrance of the hangar, a good twenty meters away. Jonathan noted the rifle in the man’s arms—a Danish model, just like his own. The man’s head was tilted to the side, straining to catch any sound, one of his shoulder nearly against the wall.
Jonathan moved with calculated precision, the rubberized soles of his boots minimizing any noise. He edged closer, barely making a sound. As the man’s head turned, Jonathan instinctively grasped his shoulder and positioned himself directly to his right. His heart pounded as he saw the man’s eyes widen in panic, signaling his awareness of the threat.
With a quick, brutal motion, Jonathan struck the man’s face with hist fist that held the knife. The impact was solid, causing the man’s head to jerk back, his nose crushed under the force. Jonathan didn’t hesitate—he rotated his hand and drove the blade into the man’s neck twice. The man’s body jerked and shuddered with each stab before Jonathan let go of him and let the man’s body fall to the ground with a thud.
The hangar was now eerily quiet except for the occasional thud and distant murmur of the last man standing. He took a moment to assess his surroundings, aware of the remaining threats and the dwindling time. His breaths came in heavy, controlled bursts as he prepared to move on, knowing that every second counted in this deadly game of cat and mouse.
The man near the hangar door was frantic, his shouts slicing through the thick, oppressive darkness. “Where the fuck are they! Patrick what’s happening” he yelled, his voice tinged with desperation. The clouded night offered just enough light for Jonathan to see the man’s silhouette, his frantic movements also illuminated by the soft, intermittent glow of the hangar's emergency lights.
Jonathan advanced quietly, the last Gripen in the hangar loomed over Jonathan like an Egyptian statue guarding a tomb. He was close now, only a meter away, when the man abruptly spun around, lifting his rifle in a panicked response. Jonathan reacted instantly, slapping the rifle out of the man’s grasp with one swift motion. He seized the man by the collar, pulling him close, his cold, bloody knife pressed firmly against the man’s exposed neck.
“You feel that?” Jonathan’s voice was low and menacing, his night vision goggles casting an eerie green light just inches from the man’s face. The man’s eyes widened in terror as he nodded, feeling the knife’s sharp edge graze his skin.
“Who are you waiting for?” Jonathan demanded, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “You from Lysekil or Norrköping?”
“No, we’re unaligned! We’re from Borås!” The man’s voice quivered with fear, his earlier bravado evaporated under the knife’s pressure.
Jonathan’s gaze hardened. “Who can we expect?”
“No one!” the man replied quickly, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You just yelled out wondering where the rest of your friends were,” Jonathan pointed out, his patience visibly wearing thin. The darkness seemed to close in around them, amplifying the tension of the moment.
The man remained silent, his fear palpable.
“Good chat,” Jonathan whispered coldly. With a swift, merciless movement, he drove the knife deeper, slicing open a long, wide slit in the man’s throat. The sudden gush of blood spurted out, splattering across Jonathan’s face, warm and sticky. The man’s eyes widened in shock and agony as he collapsed, his life quickly ebbing away.
Jonathan stepped back, wiping the blood from his face as he scanned the hangar once more.
“Przemek, Nikolaj. It’s Jonathan, I’m coming through!” Jonathan shouted while turning on his flashlight, his voice cutting through the tense silence as he signaled with his hand into the doorframe before entering. Nikolaj looked white as a sheet, clutching his leg where the blood had begun to congeal, but he was still in grave condition.
Przemek quickly joined them, his rifle aimed cautiously down the hallway. “You good, Ziomek?” he asked, his concern evident as he scanned their surroundings.
Jonathan, while checking Nikolaj’s wound, said urgently, “Killed three in the hangar. Reinforcements might be on the way. We need to move.”
He attached a second tourniquet to Nikolaj’s leg, tightening it with swift precision. “Can you walk?” Jonathan asked as he helped Nikolaj to his feet.
“Barely,” Nikolaj grimaced. Jonathan gave a half-smile, “Well, I’m not going to carry you, if it makes you feel better if that shrapnel doesn’t kill you Ming will.”
Przemek stepped in as Nikolaj attempted a painful laugh, saying, “Let me carry him. You’ve got the nods; you guide us.” Jonathan nodded, and they switched places, with Przemek carefully supporting Nikolaj as they prepared to move.
Back in the hangar, even in the dim light, Przemek could sense the chaos. They approached the truck parked near the entrance. Jonathan walk upfront while the Przemek slowed by Nikolaj was maybe five meters behind. As Jonathan tried to open the driver’s door, a sudden noise outside across the tarmac froze them in their tracks.
Jonathan threw himself in front of the truck, taking cover behind the engine block as bullets whizzed past, striking the metal and the ground cement with sharp, ringing impacts. Nikolaj and Przemek dived behind a stack of boxes much to Nikolajs chagrin, he let out a painful cry from the pain as they sought refuge from the gunfire.
Przemek and Jonathan sprang into action, opening fire with renewed intensity. They knew they couldn’t afford to let the attackers outside gain the upper hand. Jonathan, crouched behind the front wheel of the truck, aimed at the flashes of gunfire from the dark beyond. He fired at one of the muzzle flashes he spotted, and the figure abruptly ceased firing. Jonathan barely had time to appreciate the momentary silence when a bullet struck the ground a few meters in front of him.
The round ricocheted off the cement floor with a sharp, metallic clatter. Jonathan's eyes widened in split-second panic as the errant bullet careened back towards him, slamming into the rim of his helmet with a resounding clang before flying further inside of the hangar. Jonathan felt an immediate, jarring shock as the ricocheted bullet struck his helmet. The impact was a violent, numbing force that rattled his skull and sent a reverberating pain through his head. The sudden blow left him disoriented, his vision briefly blurred by the force of the impact. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine, temporarily drowning out the chaos of the firefight.
He fell on his back, too dazed to let out a shout. The bullets didn’t stop firing, they hit the cement floor nearly exactly where the hitting bulet had first landed. Jonathan rolled to his left to get back behind the truck.
The helmet absorbed most of the impact, but the residual vibration and force made his neck stiff and his jaw ache. He could taste the acrid tang of sweat and gunpowder in his mouth, and his pulse pounded loudly in his ears. The surprise and pain made his breath come in short, sharp gasps as he struggled to focus on the fight ahead, trying to shake off the disorientation and maintain his composure under the relentless pressure of the firefight. Despite that, on his back with the bolt cutter awkwardly between his plate carrier and the cement floor Jonathan blindly fired in the direction from his opponents.
“Jonathan!” Przemek's voice tore through the din of the gunfire, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls of the hangar. Nikolaj, grimacing in pain, pushed himself up on his good knee, the effort evident in the strain on his face. Despite his injury, he braced his rifle against his shoulder and on the crate before he fired back into the darkness towards the muzzleflashes, his shots a flurry of precision and desperation.
The bullets were more than accurate as a few met the box where they were taking cover. What ever was inside of the wooden crates was stopping the bullets for now.
The gunfire roared around them, relentless and unforgiving. As the sounds of the firefight filled the hangar, Przemek cursed.
“Kurwa, I’m out!” he yelled before ripping the emptry magazine from his weapon.The spent magazine clattered to the concrete floor, its dull thud barely audible over the cacophony of gunfire. With his rifle held close, Przemek fumbled for a fresh magazine from his vest, the movement jerky and tense as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His hands, slick with sweat, fumbled for a moment before he managed to slam the new magazine into place with a decisive click. He pulled back the charging handle, chambering a round with a practiced snap. The rifle was ready once more, and he raised it to his shoulder.
Nex to him, Nikolaj, struggling against the pain from his injury, worked furiously to reload his own weapon. He gritted his teeth against the sharp sting in his leg as he wrestled the empty magazine from his rifle. The magazine slipped from his grasp and bounced off the nearby crate, adding to the clamor of the chaotic scene. His movements were strained, but he fought to stay focused. With a pained grimace, he grabbed a fresh magazine from his vest as the task was made even harder by the darkness, the metal cold against his fingers. His hands shook slightly as he slid the new magazine into place, a sense of urgency heightening his every movement. Nikolaj tugged the charging handle back with a sharp motion, the satisfying clunk signaling that his rifle was once again ready for action.
Before Nikolaj and Przemek could start firing again, the figures shooting outside took advantage of the brief pause in the firefight to push forward. They were now standing right in the wood line across the tarmac in front of the hangar entrance. Two of them sprinted across in one swift movement. Jonathan, still on his back and trying to regain his composure, caught a glimpse of them under the truck. They wore a mix of Swedish splinter camouflage, the same as Nikolaj’s uniform, and more modern multicam gear. Their helmets were high-end, identical to the one Jonathan was wearing. One even had a pair of night vision goggles attached. These weren’t the usual bandits and survivors they were used to dealing with—Jonathan knew that much.
A round hit the cement right next to him, a sharp reminder from whoever was left in the woodline to stay down. Unbeknownst to them, Sofia, positioned forty meters down the side of the runway, opened up with Jonathan’s MAG machine gun. Milan also started firing, but his SKS carbine was no match for the machine gun. Both figures were cut down by a long burst, the tracer rounds slicing through them like a knife through butter.
“Cover me, I’m grabbing Jonathan!” Przemek shouted to Nikolaj, who was pale as a sheet.
Przemek sprinted across the hangar as a bullet hit the floor a few meters in front of him, sending shards of cement flying. His footsteps were a muted rhythm against the cement floor, barely discernible over the deafening roar of gunfire from outside and Nikolaj’s frantic shots behind him. Spent casings clattered beneath his boots as he navigated the chaos. He reached Jonathan, who was hunched over, hands gripping his head, the helmet having absorbed a punishing impact. With a determined grimace, Przemek grabbed Jonathan by the back of his plate carrier and dragged him toward the cover of the hangar’s side, just a few feet from where the truck was parked, positioning him behind the door they had initially entered through.
Jonathan, still reeling from the shock of the ricochet, managed to steady himself. He rotated onto his feet and dropped to one knee, taking a deep breath as he tried to regain his bearings amidst the pandemonium. Przemek cautiously peeked outside, his eyes adjusting to the shifting light as the clouds parted—just before a bullet whizzed past his head by a few meters. As he recoiled, Jonathan lowered his night vision goggles again, throwing himself on his side and firing toward the woodline. The goggles, while helpful in identifying the shooter’s position, hampered his aim. Instead of precise shots, he relied on the impacts of his rounds against the tree where the man was standing. He hit him once and, seeing the man collapse against the tree, fired two more rounds—one hitting, the other missing. The bodies of the attackers lay sprawled on the tarmac, their lifeless forms a testament to the ferocity of the firefight.
Przemek noted the source of the machine gun fire from the left but kept his head down, wary of revealing too much. As the gunfire stopped, Przemek shouted into the tumultuous night from behind cover, his voice strained and raw. “SARAJEVO!”
His call cut through the silence that had fallen again on the Swedish countryside. The response came swiftly, a familiar voice slicing through the stillness. “Warszawa!” Sofia’s voice answered back.
“FRIENDLIES, FRIENDLIES!” Milan shouted as he approached the corner. Sofia and Milan sprinted past it, while Jonathan and Przemek each covered the exterior, keeping their eyes trained on the direction the enemies had come from.
“Sorry we didn’t start shooting sooner, couldn’t see who was who!” Sofia let out between desperate exhausted breaths.
“Sokoly, you did well! Nikolaj’s hit in the leg, he has a tourniquet on. Jonathan here took something against his helmet.” Przemek answered trying his best not to embrace Sofia as he covered his sector.
“You good Jonathan?” Milan asked.
“Nothing in this head worth shooting, I’ll be fine. We need to get Nikolaj out!” Jonathan answered to the humor of everyone else. “Milan, check if the truck is unloaded. We’ll load everything in there.”.
“Sofia, you check on Nikolaj. Jonathan, you go grab the bags we left in the offices. Milan, check the truck,” Przemek ordered, his voice clipped and authoritative. His instructions were cut short by a sudden shout from outside.
“Fuck, it’s the guy I shot before I took one in the dome!” Jonathan called out, his tone filled with alarm.
“He’s in the woodline somewhere. Milan and Sofia, stick to the plan,” Jonathan continued, striding towards the hangar entrance. “I’ll handle this.”
“Wait, debil! Kurwa!” Przemek shouted in rapid succession, his concern outweighing his frustration. He followed Jonathan outside, his rifle at the ready.
Jonathan’s flashlight cut through the darkness, scanning the forested area for movement as Przemek cursed him for turning it on. He could hear the man’s pained cries, the sound of desperation echoing through the trees. Przemek, meanwhile, tried to cover as much of the area as he could, his senses heightened by the chaotic environment.
Sofia, meanwhile, had left her heavy machine gun in the hangar behind in favor of her smaller submachine gun. She moved swiftly, ensuring Nikolaj was stabilized and ready for evacuation.
“Hands! Show me your hands!” Jonathan’s voice rang out in Swedish, firm and commanding. His flashlight beam illuminated the man on the ground, who lay bleeding and battered, his rifle clearly damaged.
“Yeah, alright!” the man shouted back, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. The broken rifle lay beside him and his right hand seemed cut in two, evidence of Jonathan’s earlier shot.
“Guess I shot you in the rifle, huh?” Jonathan remarked, a grim sense of satisfaction in his voice as he approached the injured man. He methodically removed the man’s pistol from his holster, adding a bit of dark humor to the situation.
“Yeah, nice shot,” the man gasped, his voice strained and weak.
“Can we expect anyone else?” Jonathan demanded, his flashlight still trained on the man’s face.
“If you tell me the truth, I’ll leave you a tourniquet!” Jonathan added, his voice slightly softer but still authoritative.
“Naah, our bosses didn’t bother sending more than four guys to check this bullshit rumor,” the man replied, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “We were supposed to meet up with some locals who tipped us off.”
“You from Lysekil?” Przemek asked, stepping closer.
“Yeah, like our uniforms? Don’t join them; the pay is shit,” the man replied, his voice laced with rugged resignation. A chill ran down the sweaty backs of both Przemek and Jonathan as the weight of his words sank in.
“Fuck the tourniquet, just give me a cigarette. I’m done. I can’t. Honestly, I give up,” the man muttered, his spirit clearly broken.
“Hey, kid.” The man’s voice cut through the chaos as he took a drag from the cigarette Jonathan had lit for him. The dim glow of the cigarette briefly illuminated his weary face, casting sharp shadows against the darkened forest.
“Great work inside,” he said, his breath forming small clouds of smoke in the cool night air. “The colleague lying over there also had nods, and apparently, you really showed those guys.” His tone was tinged with reluctant admiration.
Jonathan stared at him, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. Desperation and pity mixed in his eyes as he watched the man’s strained movements.
“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Jonathan asked, his voice soft but firm. “We can stitch you up back home. This doesn’t have to be your day.”
The man’s gaze fell to the ground, his face shadowed by resignation. He took another drag, the cigarette’s ember glowing brightly before he spoke again.
“Nah, I’ve had it to here,” he said, a defeated edge to his voice. “At least I’ll join my wife now.”
“hey, our bosses told us something interesting do. Check the ammunition hangar, fuck those rifles. You’ll find something more interesting in there. Would prove useful for you if they ever find out who took my team out and decide to come at you with armored vehicles” The man added as he struggled to take another drag.
Jonathan’s heart ached as he watched the man’s resolve solidify while he grew weaker and weaker from the blood loss. The cigarette burned slowly between his fingers. Jonathan nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the man’s choice, as he turned to rejoin his team. The night closed in around them, the echoes of battle fading into the darkness but still existing in the ringing inside their ears.
Nikolaj was in the backseat of the Cherokee with Sofia checking his wounds. They had brought the vehicles upfront and were minutes away from leaving the airbase. The rifles had been thrown in the Cherokee, the gear from the soldiers of Nörrkopig were also looted. Their vests, helmets and the pair of night vision goggles would be put to good use. Przemek was wearing one of the helmets with the night vision. Who ever they were, everyone realized they were lucky to still be alive. They didn’t know why their planned ambush as they left the hangar had gone so wrong but no one questioned it and they were just happy to be alive. Przemek was struggling with the bolt cutters before the lock of the ammunition bunker gave out.
Jonathan entered. There was no risk anyone was in there so he went in light on. They had to hurry up and leave. The small hangar wasn’t necessarily full. A few dozen boxen remained. As he approached one of them Przemek and Milan walked in. Milan instinctively threw himself at one of the boxes and started unlocking it. The box was big and heavy, he felts its weight as pried it open.
“Yeah, that’ll do” Milan said as he looked in.
A smiled ran across his face, the same expression could be read on Jonathan’s and Przemek’s face as they saw what laid in it.
Inside the box was a set of RBS 56B BILL 2 anti-tank guided missiles. The sleek, deadly weapons gleamed under the dim light, their precision-engineered components a stark contrast to the ragtag assortment of firearms they were carrying. Milan’s grin widened as he realized what they had found—these were no ordinary weapons. Jonathan and Przemek shared his reaction, their expressions mirroring the mix of relief and excitement.
This was exactly the kind of firepower they needed to level the playing field against the forces in Norrköping and Lysekil. The BILL 2 ATGMs would give them a fighting chance, a way to strike back with something far more devastating than the small arms they had been relying on if ever Lysekil decided to attack them with their CV90’s.
Quickly, Jonathan seemed to jump in place, adrenaline surging through him. He dashed to the other boxes lined up on the side, frantically opening them one after another. Each lid lifted to reveal the same thing: more RBS 56B BILL 2 ATGM missiles. His heart raced as he confirmed that these weren’t the only ones in the bunker.
"There's more!" Jonathan exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement and disbelief.
Przemek and Milan joined him, eyes widening as they realized the extent of their discovery. This wasn't just a stroke of luck—it was a windfall that could shift the balance of power in their favor.
Jonathan's excitement quickly turned to urgency as he and the others realized what was still missing. They had the missiles, but without the launching tubes, tripods, and targeting equipment, they were useless. Desperation set in as they began frantically searching the remaining boxes.
"Check every box!" Przemek barked, his voice tense.
Jonathan, Milan, and Przemek tore through the remaining crates, tossing aside anything that didn’t contain what they needed. Box after box revealed nothing but more missiles, ammunition, and standard gear. Their hopes were beginning to fade when Jonathan yanked open one of the last crates and let out a shout.
"Here! I’ve got it!"
Inside the box was the launching tube, along with a sturdy tripod, a scope with a magnification day sight, and, most crucially, a thermal imaging sight. Jonathan’s hands trembled slightly as he pulled out the equipment, the full realization of what they had found sinking in.
Przemek and Milan hurried over, eyes locked on the gear. The thermal sight alone was a prize—giving them the ability to target enemies even in the dead of night even without the need to fire a missile.
Milan desperately reversed the truck towards the entrance of the ammunition hangar, the engine roaring in protest as he maneuvered with urgency. The 14 missiles they had found were far too bulky to fit inside their G-Wagon or the Cherokee. The truck was their only option for transporting the heavy payload.
From inside the jeep, Sofia and Nikolaj watched with a mix of curiosity and concern. Sofia leaned out of the window, her voice cutting through the noise of the truck’s engine. "What’s happening?"
Milan, glancing back briefly, shouted over the noise, "I’ll explain later! Right now, just help us get this loaded and out of here!"
From inside the jeep, Sofia and Nikolaj watched the scene unfold with a mix of curiosity and concern. Sofia stepped out and moved towards the hangar door, her steps quick and purposeful. She paused just before Jonathan and Przemek, who were struggling to carry one of the heavy boxes out. Clad in their full battle rattle with rifles slung across their backs, the exhaustion from the past hours was evident in their faces and movements. They poured the last of their energy into lifting and maneuvering the cumbersome box.
With a final heave, they managed to get the box onto the truck, their breaths coming in heavy, relieved gasps. Przemek, catching his breath as Milan pulled the heavy box deeper in the truck, gave Sofia a weary but appreciative glance, a hint of a smile on his face. He then gestured towards Nikolaj, silently urging her to check on him.
“No he’s stable for now.” Sofia said.
Jonathan, catching his breath and feeling the weight of their situation, added with a wry grin, “Come on, let’s hurry up, kurwa!” He used the Polish expletive with a joking tone, a nod to Przemek’s favorite expression, even amidst the tension. After ten minutes the last box was put in the truck.
“Jonathan, you drive the Mercedes back home. Sofia, you take the Cherokee with Nikolaj. I’ll be with Milan in the truck in case it breaks down. Stay within each other's sights as we drive, 50-meter dispersion,” Przemek instructed, his breath coming in heavy gasps.
He glanced around at each of them, his expression firm. “That’s good for everyone?”
All of them nodded in agreement, murmuring affirmatives as they prepared to move out.
He paused briefly, looking at Sofia and Milan with a sincere expression. “We owe you our lives,” he added before turning on his heel and sprinting back to the truck.