The trees, tall and thin, were dusted with a fine layer of frost that shimmered in the weak winter sun. Their branches, once heavy with snow, were now starting to reveal the first hints of budding leaves. The hill itself, blanketed in a mix of melting snow and exposed earth, was dotted with tufts of dried grass and scattered pine needles.
In the distance, the forested slopes dipped and rose, their contours softened by the winter's last vestiges. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the promise of warmer days ahead.
Przemek stepped outside and found Nikolaj sleeping on the patio, a mortar manual draped over his face. He chuckled softly and nudged him awake. "Hard at work, are we?" Przemek asked.
Nikolaj cringed as he woke up from his nap. He had been on watch since noon.
“You try learning this shit without any actual practice!”
Nikolaj and Ming worked meticulously in the snow, their breath forming visible puffs in the chilly air. Nikolaj, clad in his army jacket it crouched beside the mortar, his gloved hands trying to make sense of the mechanism. His hair was tousled and flecked with snow, and his focused expression revealed the intensity of his concentration. Ming, dressed in her rain jacket with two sweaters under it, was also at work, her small frame bent over as she carefully adjusted the positioning of the mortar and handled various parts. Her face, partially hidden by a buff, was set in a determined expression as she navigated the uneven, snow-covered ground.
The mortar stood out starkly against the white snow. The ground around them was a mix of slushy patches and fresh snow, creating a slippery, uneven surface that made their task all the more challenging.
From a distance, Przemek and Sven observed the scene. Przemek , with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, watched intently, his eyes taking in every detail of their work. Sven, leaning on a sturdy walking stick, stood beside him, his gaze fixed on the mortar installation with a look of quiet approval. The two men were framed against the backdrop of the forested hill, the fading winter sun casting long shadows over the snow-covered landscape.
None of them knew if the mortar would work. After days spent poring over manuals and scant documentation, Ming and Nikolaj were still uncertain whether they could operate it successfully. They also worried about the ammunition, which had been stored since the Cold War; there was a real concern that it might malfunction and pose a deadly risk to both of them.
They prayed that all the factors would align. After countless hours spent studying the manuals—made even more challenging by the language barrier for Ming—they were deeply occupied with the task. Despite the stress, their dedication filled them with resolve, keeping their minds fully engaged and focused.
The mortar, typically operated by a four-person team, was to be handled by Ming and Nikolaj. They would have one additional person join them on the day of the ambush to assist with carrying the equipment and ammunition.
Ming crouched besides it, her breath visible in the crisp air and condensed against the metal tube. The rusted car stood as their target. Ming adjusted her gloves, carefully aligning the mortar tube. Her concentration was evident as she peered through the sighting device, her movements deliberate and precise.
Nikolaj, stood nearby, overseeing the setup. He glanced at the car, noting its position relative to the mortar. With a clipboard in hand, he referred to the range calculations and elevation settings. He gave Ming a nod, indicating that she could proceed with the aiming.
Ming adjusted the mortar’s elevation, using the settings based on the calculated range to ensure the shell would reach the target. She carefully manipulated the controls, her focus unwavering as she aligned the angle of the tube. Nikolaj kept a watchful eye, offering guidance and making sure that Ming’s adjustments were accurate.
Once the elevation was set, Ming turned her attention to the azimuth adjustment. Nikolaj provided her with the direction, using a compass to ensure the mortar was aligned correctly. Ming made the fine adjustments, ensuring that the mortar’s firing direction was precisely aimed at the rusted car.
They had only one shot at this. Firing a high-explosive shell was risky, as they couldn’t predict who it might attract. That’s why, regardless of the outcome, everyone planned to spend the night at Kristianstad, with double watches being run to ensure their safety. Sven had dispatched a few men to Eksjö, informing them of their willingness to join but requesting transport. And date had been set for the following day.
In preparation, they had strategically blocked all the roads leading to Kristianstad, forcing Eksjö to approach from the single route they had been monitoring. The carefully orchestrated plan was designed to ensure they could control the situation and avoid any unwanted attention
The surrounding snow crunched under their feet as they worked, the winter sun casting long shadows across the landscape. Nikolaj occasionally checked the alignment and elevation, providing feedback and making sure that every detail was perfect. Ming, with a mix of concentration and determination, made the final tweaks to the mortar settings.
A crowd had formed near Sven and Przemek . At a safe distance people watched the duo.
With everything in place, Nikolaj prepared to drop the mortar shell down the tube, while Ming turned around waiting for the go from Sven. The tension of their task was palpable, each movement measured and purposeful. Sven lifted a thumb up signaling they were good to go. Ming shouted and Nikolaj swiftly dropped the shell into the tube. He then dropped to his knees beside the mortar, quickly covering his ears in anticipation of the blast. The mortar roared to life, sending the shell arching through the air toward the rusted car. Nikolaj and Ming watched intently, assessing the trajectory and impact.
The mortar shell arched through the winter air too fast for any of them to see, a brief, high-pitched whine preceding its impact. It struck the ground just two meters from the rusted car, the explosion erupting in a brilliant flash of light and a deafening roar. Snow and debris were thrown into the air as the shell detonated, sending a cloud of dust, metal fragments, and scorched snow scattering across the landscape.
The crowd erupted in cheers even before the last pieces of earth had settled back to the ground. Sven and Przemek exchanged broad smiles, their faces reflecting the thrill of success as they clasped each other's hands firmly in a celebratory shake.
Nikolaj and Ming, caught up in the moment, shouted with exhilaration. They embraced each other in a tight hug, their joy palpable. In a quick burst of affection, they shared a brief, celebratory kiss before rolling in the snow in each other’s embrace.
In the cover of the night, Nikolaj drove in between the trees. Getting as close to the tree line as he could while making sure the Jeep would still be concealed. He struggled with the gears to Ming’s and Frederiks amuzement.
Snow remained scattered across the forest floor, glistening faintly in the pale light of the moon. The chill in the air was biting, a reminder of the season's end but not yet its departure.
Nikolaj, Ming, and Frederik worked efficiently in the stillness of the night, the crunch of snow underfoot punctuating their movements. The faint sound of the jeep's engine fading into the distance as they unloaded the vehicle was replaced by the soft rustle of the wind through the trees.
Frederik, a tall figure with a rugged demeanor, moved with practiced precision as he helped unload the boxes from the back of the jeep. He and Nikolaj exchanged brief nods of understanding, their silent communication reflecting the familiarity of a shared task. Ming, her breath visible in the cold air, handled the ammunition boxes with careful attention, ensuring each was placed securely.
The trio worked in the shadow of the treeline, their breath mingling with the cold night air as they set up the mortar. The tree branches, still laden with patches of snow, provided some shelter from the biting wind but cast long, eerie shadows across the snowy ground.
Ming directed the setup with practiced efficiency, aligning the mortar and ensuring its stability on the uneven ground. Nikolaj assisted, his hands moving deftly to secure the equipment and check the positioning. Frederik, focusing on the ammunition, arranged the boxes in a neat, organized manner, her eyes scanning the surroundings to ensure everything was in order and that they were safe.
Just before dawn, the air was heavy with the promise of the coming day, the first hints of light barely touching the horizon. The group, moving quickly but quietly, concealed their bicycles beside a roadside thicket. Jonathan and Sofia led the effort to shift a massive tree trunk closer to the road, their breaths forming misty clouds in the chilly pre-dawn air. With a final heave, they wedged the tree into position, its bulk creating a good cover on the side of the road for Jonathan’s machine gun to be set on.
Jonathan, his face set in concentration, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he adjusted the tree with the help of three other men.
Around them, five other members of the group stood vigil, each one equipped with a mix of assault rifles and hunting rifles. Their movements were anxious and nervous as they took their positions. Jonathan and Sofia recognized some of them from the search party they had led two months ago in the village.
The others spread out, their rifles held at the ready, as they took up strategic spots near the newly positioned tree. They spoke in hushed, urgent tones, coordinating their efforts and finalizing their plan. The sky above began to lighten subtly, casting long, eerie shadows across the road and the forest edge.
On their left, parallel to the road about two hundred meters away, Przemek led a group of people through the forest. Making sure he was set up on the right position. The L-shaped ambush plan had been meticulously arranged to maximize their tactical advantage. The L-shaped ambush involved setting up two distinct lines of attack, forming an "L" shape that would trap their target in a crossfire. With the mortar crew and Jonathan’s machine gun dealing most of the damage.
“500 rounds?” Sofia asked as Jonathan oiled it up.
“Yeah. We’ll see if its enough.” He answered.
Przemek ’s group stood around him by the treeline. The ones with him had fired rifles before. They had marginal level of training but they needed people to go over what was left of the convoy once it was routed and broken.
Przemek addressed the group with a nonchalant air, his voice steady and almost casual as he spoke. “Look, we’re all here because we’re committed to this, but let’s be real—there’s a good chance some of us might not make it through. We’re taking risks that could cost lives, and while that’s not something to be taken lightly, it’s part of the game we’re in. So, keep your heads clear, do what you’re told, and for the love of god don’t point your guns at someone’s who’s on our side.”
A few hours later, the initial tension had faded, leaving Jonathan’s and Sofia’s group in a state of restless boredom and cold. The early morning light had fully taken hold, casting a soft, golden hue across the snowy landscape. The once-intense atmosphere of anticipation had settled into a more subdued, almost mundane rhythm
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Jonathan leaned against the massive tree trunk, a cigarette between his fingers. He picked at the snow on his boots with a sense of impatience, occasionally glancing down the road with a mix of boredom and alertness. Sofia sat nearby, her back against a tree, idly flipping through a worn map while occasionally checking the time. Her earlier focus had relaxed into a more laid-back demeanor, her submachine gun propped beside her but not held at the ready.
The other members of the group were similarly disengaged, their previous intensity replaced by a casual, almost carefree attitude. One of them was rummaging through a pack of supplies, pulling out snacks and sharing them around. Another was engaged in a quiet, low-key conversation, their voices a murmur in the crisp air. The distant sounds of wildlife and the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees were their only companions.
Nikolaj lounged against a tree near the mortar, listening with mild interest as Frederik animatedly recounted the intriguing details of life as a crypto broker. Ming, relaxed and at ease, was laying down on a foldable camping mattress and with her head resting gently on Nikolaj’s thighs. As Frederik spoke, Nikolaj absentmindedly stroked Ming’s hair.
In the forest, Przemek and his ‘battle buddy’ stood side by side, puffing on their cigarettes. Both had been welders in their past lives, and Przemek was floored as his Swedish counterpart shared how much money he’d made.
Jonathan sitting on the tree trunk stood up as he saw movement in the distance.
“Alright everyone, focus—they’re here!” Jonathan yelled, diving behind the tree trunk for cover.
Sofia quickly checked her submachine gun, followed by the rest of the team, each ensuring their weapons were ready. Ming gave the mortar shells one final inspection, her movements methodical and deliberate.
“If Jonathan starts firing before the tree, I’ll break his fucking legs!” Nikolaj shouted, his voice filled with urgency. The tree had been clearly marked as the signal to commence firing, and both Ming and Nikolaj had meticulously set up the mortar to target that exact spot. The group tensed, their readiness evident as they waited for the moment to strike.
The driver behind the wheel barely saw tree trunk. Even with Jonathan machine gun on it this was business as usual. The guy next to him seemed to be more focused on his reading. The vehicles and trucks trailing behind were oblivious to Przemek ’s group hidden in the forest, or even the mortar team poised for action.
Sofia swiftly opened Jonathan’s backpack and retrieved the ammunition belt, laying it out neatly between them. She positioned herself to help reload or get the machine gun back in action if needed. The plan hinged on Jonathan’s firepower, and he felt the weight of responsibility heavily on his shoulders.
To the dismay of the vehicles behind him, the truck driver slowed as he approached the rusted old car with the large pothole beside it. As he crept past the tree, a sudden, sharp flash caught his eye in the distance. Before he could react, everything went black.
Jonathan braced himself against the tree trunk, the familiar jolt of recoil pulsing through his body as he unleashed a relentless stream of fire at the lead truck. This military transport, built to carry troops, was now the focus of his intense assault. He aimed for the truck’s engine, sending a barrage of bullets that hammered into the vulnerable machinery.
He could barely see how many men were inside as the gunfire erupted, but the chaos was evident. The crew inside was thrown into a panic, their fear palpable as bullets tore through the truck. The once-sturdy vehicle began to falter, its engine sputtering and then grinding to a complete halt as it failed under the onslaught.
The truck slowly stopped at the side of the road. It gave them good sight at the vehicles behind.
Przemek 's gun roared to life, and soon the entire group in the treeline joined in, their weapons blasting in unison. The ambush sprang to life with a cacophony of gunfire. Two trucks and three 4x4s, all heavily loaded with men, were the targets of their assault. The once orderly convoy was thrown into disarray as the vehicles were pelted with bullets from all directions. The dense foliage of the treeline offered the attackers concealed positions from which they unleashed a relentless barrage, each shot adding to the chaos of the scene.
As the convoy ground to a halt, the men inside erupted into a frenzy of panic, scrambling to escape the relentless gunfire. The balance of power was clearly shifted in Przemek ’s favor. His team, equipped with assault rifles, maintained a controlled and steady barrage.
However, the chaos was not without its challenges. From one of the leading vehicles, a machine gun mounted on a window unleashed a ferocious stream of bullets, raining hellfire down on Przemek ’s group. The intense firepower threatened to disrupt their position, adding a new layer of urgency to their already chaotic assault.
“Fire!” Nikolaj shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle.
Ming swiftly dropped a mortar shell down the tube, her movements precise and practiced. As soon as the shell was launched, she immediately grabbed another, ready to reload. Nikolaj kept his gaze fixed on the mortar as the shell arced through the air, landing a few meters behind the lead truck.
The explosion was immediate and devastating. Shrapnel erupted in all directions, tearing through the surrounding area. Two men who had sought cover behind the truck were caught in the explosion, their figures engulfed in a violent mix of dust and blood mist. The lead truck was enveloped in chaos, further escalating the disarray among the remaining convoy members.
Nikolaj slightly adjusted the tube to the right.
“Fire!” Nikolaj commanded, his voice urgent and commanding.
Ming responded swiftly, dropping another shell down the mortar tube. The shell shot out with a sharp report, soaring through the cold air. After a tense few seconds, it landed directly on the vehicle from which the machine gun had been blasting. The impact was catastrophic; the shell struck the car with explosive force, obliterating the machine gun position and sending a violent burst of flames and debris into the air. The once-menacing gunfire from the vehicle was abruptly silenced, adding to the chaos that engulfed the convoy.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Nikolaj roared, his voice echoing with exhilaration as Ming swiftly loaded another shell into the mortar tube.
The shell flew out with a whistling sound and landed on the side of the road. Although it didn’t make a direct hit, the explosion was powerful enough. The blast and resulting shrapnel scattered in all directions, engulfing the men who had taken cover by the roadside. The force of the explosion was more than sufficient to wipe out the remaining resistance, leaving a cloud of dust and debris in its wake. Had it not been for the mortar, the man they were ambushing would have had time to regroup and attempt to counterattack. Despite being outnumbered 5 to one, with the help of the mortar, machine gun and the group in the woods they were able to lock them in a chaotic frenzy. Men rushing left and right trying to wonder who was in charge and what they should do.
Przemek tightened the tourniquet around his Swedish comrade's leg, his hands moving with grim determination. The sporadic gunfire from the convoy had dwindled to almost nothing—a silence that weighed heavily on his nerves. He grabbed the flare gun Sven had entrusted to him, a cold sweat running down his spine, and shot a red flare into the sky. It arced above the road, signaling the mortar team to cease fire and instructing Jonathan to shift his aim to the right, away from Przemek and his men.
But there was no time to wait for the flare to reach its peak. Before it even began its descent, Przemek had hauled his wounded comrade to the cover of a nearby tree, his heart pounding like a war drum. The forest was filled with a tense, electric stillness—his comrades hesitated, frozen by the aftermath of their own destructive power and the relentless barrage of machine gun fire they had narrowly escaped. But the hesitation didn’t last long; with a collective breath, they snapped out of their daze and followed Przemek, adrenaline propelling them forward.
Sofia caught sight of the flare through the trees. Without a second thought, she hit Jonathan on the back of his head just hard enough for him to feel it over the roar of the machine gun he was firing, her urgency contagious. As one, her group surged forward, charging toward the convoy.
Przemek scrambled up the hill, each step a battle against the loose dirt, his rifle clutched tightly to his chest. He crested the road, panting, and his eyes swept over the scene of carnage below—more than a dozen men, some barely clinging to life as they huddled over the bodies of their fallen comrades, others already on their knees, hands raised in surrender. His team closed in around him, rifles trained on the remaining survivors. Sofia’s group was right behind them, Jonathan and Sofia sprinted behind Pszemek and his comrades, they were on their way to cover the rear in case more vehicles showed up. Jonathan could feel his lungs burn as the 12 kilos machine gun, ceramic plated body armor and the ammunition belts in his backpack and shoulder slowed him down.
“Hands in the air I said!” Przemek barked, his voice strained as he forced out the command in his best Swedish. The fabric of his neck gaiter pressed against his face, muffling his words and making it harder to catch his breath. But he didn’t lower his rifle, his eyes locked on the trembling men before him, his finger hovering just above the trigger.
“I don’t want to see anyone reach for anything!” Przemek shouted, his voice cutting through the thick tension like a knife. The weight of the situation bore down on him as he scanned the line of survivors, every twitch and movement under scrutiny.
Matvey appeared at his side, his submachine gun at the ready, eyes locked on a man who was frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from his friend’s neck. The man’s hands trembled as he pressed down on the wound, his knuckles white with the effort, but there was a desperation in his gaze. Matvey’s finger tightened on his weapons grip, aimed squarely at the man's head.
Przemek could feel the tension radiating off Matvey, a cocktail of fear and anger that threatened to erupt at any moment. The injured man groaned, his life slipping away with every ragged breath, and his comrade’s hands shook as he fought to keep him alive. Przemek’s eyes flicked back to Matvey, seeing the storm of emotions in his eyes.
“Steady,” Przemek murmured, barely audible, but Matvey didn’t relax. The man holding his friend’s neck looked up, meeting Matvey’s gaze, his face a mask of fear and pleading.
“Please,” the man rasped, his voice hoarse, “he’s dying.”
“You didn’t hear what my friend said, cousin?” Matvey’s voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down Przemek’s spine. The words were quiet, but they cut through the tension like a blade, forcing both Przemek and the man on the ground to turn their attention fully to him.
“Matvey? Please, don’t do this. You know we didn’t have a choice!” The man’s voice trembled, his desperation seeping into every syllable. Blood soaked his sleeves, dripping down onto the dirt, but he kept his hands pressed firmly against his friend’s wound, his eyes wide with fear.
Przemek felt the tension ratchet up another notch, a knot tightening in his chest as he watched Matvey’s expression harden. This wasn’t just about survival anymore—there was something personal in Matvey’s gaze, something lethal.
“Matvey, lower your weapon,” Przemek commanded, his voice steady, but the urgency was unmistakable. His eyes locked onto the man on the ground, silently pleading for this to end without further bloodshed. “We’re not here to slaughter the wounded.”
Matvey didn’t budge, his weapon still trained on the man’s head, his focus unwavering. “Didn’t have a choice?” Matvey echoed, his voice a cold, venomous whisper. “Is that why I’m standing here now, and you on the other end?”
The man’s eyes darted to Matvey, then locked onto Przemek, his gaze a silent plea, a desperate cry for mercy. His eyes searched Przemek’s face, hoping to find some flicker of safety, a sign that he might be spared. But all he found was cold resolve, a hardness that told him he was truly alone.
Realizing his fate, panic flared in the man’s eyes. In a last, frantic gamble for survival, he lunged for his rifle, his movements sudden and jerky. Time seemed to slow as Przemek’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his ears. But the man’s desperate act was met with a flash of movement.
Before the man’s fingers could even brush the rifle, a burst of gunfire ripped through the air. Matvey’s submachine gun roared, the bullets tearing into the man’s skull, cutting him down in an instant. He crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock, his hand still outstretched toward the weapon he never reached.
Someone in the crowd of surrendering men made a sudden move, reaching for something—maybe a weapon, or at least that’s what Przemek desperately hoped. The split-second uncertainty hung heavy in the air, but it was enough to ignite the tension into violence.
The road, which had been eerily silent, erupted into a chaotic roar of gunfire. Przemek's heart raced as the familiar staccato of bullets filled the air, his instincts taking over. Without hesitating, he picked a target and squeezed the trigger, joining the deadly chorus as his comrades followed suit, their weapons blazing.
The barrage was brutal, relentless, but it was over almost as quickly as it began. The thunderous gunfire that had shattered the silence died away, leaving only the acrid scent of gunpowder and the echoes of men choking on their own blood. In the span of ten seconds, the world had transformed from tense anticipation to a brutal aftermath. Przemek’s breath came in ragged gasps as he scanned the scene, the realization of what they had just unleashed sinking in.
Przemek looked down the road, his pulse still pounding in his ears, and saw Sofia and Jonathan staring back at him. The expression on Sofia’s face made his stomach churn—a mix of shock, disbelief, and something darker that cut through him like a knife. Her eyes, wide with horror, seemed to ask a question he couldn’t bear to answer.
Jonathan’s gaze was just as piercing, but it was Sofia’s look that haunted him.
Przemek turned toward Matvey, his emotions a tangled mess of anger and something he couldn’t quite name. Without thinking, he grabbed the boy by the collar, yanking him close. But as he looked into Matvey’s eyes, he froze. There was something in Matvey’s gaze—something cold, detached—that sent a chill down Przemek’s spine. It wasn’t the look of a fighter who disobeyed orders; it was the look of someone who had crossed a line and didn’t care.
Disgusted, Przemek shoved him away, his stomach churning. He needed to take control, to push down the chaos threatening to overtake him.
“Line up the bodies, all of them!” Przemek barked, his voice hard, forcing the words out to mask the unease creeping through him. The order snapped through the air, jolting his men into motion.
He turned to the rest of the group, his gaze locking onto the nearest survivor. “You!” he shouted, pointing sharply. “Find out which one of those vehicles still works. Once you’ve got one running, load everything valuable into it and drive it back to camp!”
His voice was iron, allowing no room for hesitation. But beneath the surface, a storm was brewing, and Przemek could feel it threatening to tear him apart.