“2000 METERS!” Przemek’s shout sliced through the midday calm, his voice barely audible hundred meters away over the rumble of engines from the vehicles parked across the fjord.
Jonathan wasted no time. He tore off the camo net from the R56 Bill ATGM launcher, exposing it. Skadi did the same with the boxes of ammo, getting them ready.
“1700 METERS!” Przemek called out, his tone more urgent.
Jonathan threw the camouflage netting off the launcher before he adjusted the tripod for it, cranking it up and taking his position behind it. Skadi got everything in order with quick, practiced moves, making sure the ammo was set and ready before sitting down next to Jonathan and squeezing his shoulder to tell him everything was ready to go.
Jonathan peered through the thermal sight, quickly flipping it to regular daylight mode. The convoy came into clear view: three CV90s, a string of trucks loaded with personnel and gear, and a lone STRV 122 main battle tank bringing up the rear. He hoped Nikolaj and Ming had their weapons ready as he zeroed in on the lead CV90. STRV 122 being present or not, their priority would be to take out the lead vehicle to block the convoy from going further.
The soldiers atop the CV90 were nonchalant, like they were on a casual road trip. He saw one holding a map while the gunner next to him puffed away on a cigarette. The troops behind had opened the hatches and a few of them were sitting on top, like the pictures of Russian soldiers riding on top of tanks.
Jonathan gripped the aiming sticks, adjusting them like handlebars on a bike. He squeezed the trigger, following the manual’s instructions to the letter. Despite countless hours of study, he had forgotten about the crucial delay between pressing the trigger and the missile launching—there was a brief but intense pause as the missile rack opened and the motor roared to life.
Caught off guard by the sudden noise, he winced, realizing he hadn’t put on his ear protection. He quickly refocused, setting his head back into the scope as his ears rang. The lead CV90 filled his sights, and he counted down silently. The missile shot out with a swift, controlled motion, arching through the air and tracking towards its target.
As the missile sped towards its target, the convoy was caught off guard. The first CV90, which had been leading the column, was struck with a deafening explosion. The blast sent fragments and debris flying as the missile cut through its hull like a knife through paper and the vehicle was instantly engulfed in flames. The other CV90s and trucks in the convoy reacted with chaos and confusion, their drivers swerving and trying to regain control.
Jonathan, still behind the launcher, watched through his scope as the missile's impact caused a ripple effect. Smoke billowed from the wrecked CV90, and the remaining vehicles scrambled to respond. The main battle tank, which had been trailing, began to slow, its crew hunkering down and likely trying to assess the situation and prepare to fight back.
He was quickly pushed away by Skadi putting the next missile on top of the launcher. Her hand securing it before hitting Jonathan in the shoulder telling him he was ready to go.
Through the sights he saw the leopard turning its turret on the right. As he pressed the trigger he noticed a lone flash of light flying through the fjord. It was Ming’s missile floating through the sky and hitting the leopard on the side of the hull right under the turret. The leopard shook for a second. Before the top hatches exploded open. If the overpressure didn’t kill the crew outright, the blast of fire flying out through the hatches should have. He saw flames shooting out of the tank through the open hatches. He couldn’t even imagine the inferno that what was happening inside before his own missile flied out.
“Träff, träff!” Skadi yelled in a bid to signal to him that there was no need to hit the leopard a second time. Jonathan quickly adjusted the launcher. He redirected it towards the third CV90 in the convoy. The missile swerved mid-flight, its momentum interrupted as Jonathan re-targeted it. He watched through the scope as the CV90's turret loomed into view. The missile honed in on its new target, and with a sharp burst, it struck the CV90. The turret was violently ejected from the vehicle, landing several meters away on the road, right next to some desperate dismounted troops who scrambled for cover.
“Träff, träff!” Skadi yelled again, confirming the vehicle had been destroyed while she readied the next missile.
The chaos was palpable as the convoy continued to disintegrate. Jonathan’s eyes scanned for any more targets. His sight was set on the last CV90 as he desperately hoped Skadi would ready the missile.
As Skadi secured the missile and gave Jonathan a firm tap on the shoulder, he didn’t need any further encouragement. He pressed the trigger, and the missile launched with the same force and roar as before. He bit his tongue, his eyes locked on the CV90s barrel as the turret pivoted to face him.
Just as the missile was in flight, a burst of light erupted from the CV90’s barrel, followed by a deafening explosion a few seconds afterwards. Jonathan’s world went momentarily blank as the high-explosive shells hit the tree left of him. The impact wasn’t fatal, but it was enough to make him flinch, his focus momentarily broken.
Despite the CV90's turret now pointing directly at him, Jonathan stayed locked onto his target. The missile soared through the air and struck the CV90 with devastating precision. The hull buckled under the impact, and flames erupted violently from the vehicle’s hatches. The fireball burst outward, engulfing the CV90 in a searing blaze. The intense heat and light illuminated the surrounding chaos, signaling another successful hit before the turret went flying.
Jonathan’s heartbeat quickened as he prepared for Skadi’s next missile, but it never came. All the armored vehicles had been dealt with; now it was up to him to handle the remaining trucks carrying cargo. His focus was abruptly broken when he noticed blood trickling from his left hand. He snapped to attention, realizing shrapnel had caught him. Part of his glove had been reduced to shreds, small chunks of flesh were visible, and blood flowed freely. His left arm was cut up, blood seeping through his jacket.
Despite the chaos around him, the world seemed unnervingly quiet. Nikolaj and Ming, two hundred meters to their right, fired their next missile, but Jonathan’s attention was fixed on Skadi. She was lying on the ground, clutching her side, clearly in distress as he noticed how shredded the tree and its surroundings were. Her face was marred by fragments and small wounds, but the most alarming injury was the severe bleeding from her hip, just above her left leg.
Panic surged through him as he jumped towards her. He quickly retrieved his first aid kit from her vest while he applied his knee and body weight to her wound to stem the bleeding. Skadi was gasping and cursing, urging him to return to the launcher. But Jonathan couldn’t leave her like this.
The armored targets had been neutralized, and nothing in the convoy could fire back thanks to the distance.
Jonathan took out his first aid kit that was attached to his vest, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to stabilize the injury. A task made even more difficult by his bleeding in his left hand. He removed his glove which had been reduced to shreds as Skadi's breathing was shallow, her eyes wincing in pain. Jonathan’s hands shook slightly as he fumbled with the hemostatic wound packing, her breaths coming in short, controlled bursts. The battlefield was a distant hum, the urgency of Skadi’s condition dominating his thoughts as the sound of more explosions as Nikolaj and Ming dispatched the last vehicles.
He unwrapped the hemostatic dressing in panic, his fingers pressing it firmly against the gaping wound on Skadi’s hip. Blood flowed heavily, pooling beneath them and staining the dirt. Jonathan’s hands were coated in her blood as he pressed the packing into the wound, working it gently to ensure it made full contact.
Skadi’s skin was warm and slick under his touch. Her breathing was ragged, each gasp accompanied by a series of curses and sharp cries. “Dammit, Jonathan!” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice cracking with pain. “Just—hurry up!”
Jonathan tightened his grip, using both hands to secure the dressing. He pressed it deeper into the wound, trying to keep her as still as possible despite her thrashing. “I’m trying,” he muttered, his voice strained. Her body tensed with each movement, her curses mingling with her pained gasps. “Hold still!” Jonathan yelled.
As he wrapped a bandage around the dressing, tying it tightly, Skadi’s cursing grew more frantic. “This fucking hurts!” she swore as she gasped for air, her face contorted in agony. Jonathan’s focus remained on the task, his own injuries forgotten as he fought to stabilize her. He tightened the bandage with a careful, practiced hand.
When he finally secured the bandage, he glanced at Skadi’s face. Her eyes were closed, her expression a mix of pain and relief. Jonathan took a moment to ensure the dressing was firmly in place, his hands still trembling from the intensity of the situation.
After a few tense moments, Jonathan finally eased off his knee from Skadi’s wound. He carefully examined the injury, checking to make sure the hemostatic packing had done its job. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief, thanking whatever gods were watching over them. He stole a quick glance back at the convoy, ensuring their targets were still out of commission.
The plan had been clear: once the last vehicle was destroyed, they were supposed to pack up and retreat to the road about five hundred meters away, where their extraction vehicles awaited. But with the situation escalating so quickly, that plan had unraveled. Fortunately, their central position meant they were relatively close to the vehicles.
Jonathan returned to Skadi, his heart pounding. He carefully removed his belt and holster, stowing the weapon in her jacket pocket. He couldn't afford to lose his weapon, not even with everything still so chaotic. He tightened the belt around her injury, securing the wound packing and the Israeli bandages as best he could.
Next, he made his way back to their small camp. He knew he couldn’t carry Skadi and manage the launcher with the remaining missiles, so he grabbed his backpack and slung it onto his back. He then secured Skadi’s backpack in front of him, the setup awkward and cumbersome. His assault rifle hung at his side, adding to the weight and making movement clumsy. He had to forgo hers as he didn’t see where it was laying.
Jonathan took one last look at the fiery remnants of the convoy, the distant rumble of ammunition explosions fading into the background as secondary explosions from the trucks carrying ammunition flew all around like a firework display. He adjusted his gear, steeling himself for the difficult trek back to the road.
As Jonathan crouched next to Skadi, he gently but firmly grabbed one of her arms and pulled her closer. With a steadying breath, he shifted his weight and carefully maneuvered her into a fireman’s carry. He slipped his arm beneath her knees and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, lifting her with a grunt of effort. The awkwardness of the situation made the maneuver challenging, but he managed to balance her securely against his chest.
Skadi, wincing from the pain, let out a sharp gasp as Jonathan adjusted her position. Jonathan’s own injuries throbbed as he shifted his grip, but he focused on the task at hand, determined to get them both to safety.
He stood up, her weight heavy but manageable on his shoulders. His legs felt like lead as he began the arduous trek back to the extraction point, each step resulting in the barrel of his rifle hitting his shin bone. The terrain was uneven, the remnants of the battle still smoldering in the distance, and every now and then, a distant explosion as ammunition continued to cook off.
As he moved, he could feel Skadi’s heartbeat against his back, a rhythmic reminder that she was still alive. Her breathing was labored, and she shifted occasionally, but she managed to hold onto his neck with a vice-like grip, a testament to her willpower.
Despite the heavy load and the difficult terrain, Jonathan pushed on, focusing on the road ahead. cherokee, sprinter van and military G wagon was in his sights and every step felt like an eternity. He could see figures around the vehicle running around and loading material inside. He squinted against the harsh light and dust, spotting familiar figures rushing toward him from the edge of the clearing. Nikolaj, Ming, Przemek, Amir, and Peter moved with urgent efficiency as they loaded all the equipment back into the vehicles. Despite having been gravely injured some time ago, Nikolaj didn’t want to miss this for the world. His ego and desire to support his friends were as strong as his concern for Ming heading into combat without him.
As they approached, Jonathan’s eyes locked onto their faces, a mix of relief and worry in their expressions. He felt a surge of hope knowing they were close to safety. But the realization that he still had crucial equipment left behind gnawed at him.
Gritting his teeth, Jonathan shouted over the roar of distant explosions and the hum of idling engines. “Go grab the launcher and missiles! Move!”
Przemek, already assessing the situation with a sharp glance, nodded and started giving orders to the others. Nikolaj and Ming sprinted back towards the camp, their movements quick and purposeful despite Nikolaj’s previous injuries as they set off to retrieve the vital equipment. Amir, carrying a rifle followed them to assure their safety.
“The door!” Jonathan shouted to Przemek, who was already rushing to open the van's door. Jonathan hurried to place Skadi inside, carefully maneuvering her so her head wouldn’t bang against the door frame. He dropped his bags and rifle, the items hitting the floor with a muffled thud as he clambered into the cramped space.
Once inside, he gently but quickly repositioned Skadi, making sure her head was cushioned against the seat as she layed on the back seat. He checked her wound again, relieved to find the bleeding had stopped, though he knew she was still in serious trouble. Her pulse felt weak and thready beneath his fingertips—he wasn’t an expert medic, but even he could tell it was dangerously low.
Her once-pristine blonde hair was now matted with blood, a stark contrast to its usual shine. The crimson streaks came from her head wounds and the blood smeared from his own hands. Jonathan’s heart pounded with a mix of urgency and fear as he continued to monitor her, doing his best to keep her stable even while his own arm was bleeding profusely.
Jonathan's hands trembled slightly as he worked to make Skadi as comfortable as possible. Despite the urgency of the situation, there was a quiet, tender focus in his movements. As he adjusted her position, he carefully brushed a strand of bloodied hair away from her face, his fingers lingering gently on her cheek.
Skadi's eyes fluttered open briefly, and she looked up at him with a mixture of pain and gratitude. Her gaze, though dimmed by pain, held a deep connection that spoke volumes. Jonathan's heart ached seeing her in such distress, and he found himself leaning closer, his breath mingling with hers.
In a soft, almost reverent gesture, he cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over the bruises and cuts on her skin. Her warmth and the softness of her skin felt odd with the harsh reality of their situation. For a brief moment, amidst the chaos and the blood, their eyes met.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle, almost hesitant kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
Jonathan looked up from Skadi’s injuries as Nikolaj swung the side door open.
“Is she stable? You forgot this, bro!” Nikolaj asked, his voice a mix of urgency and concern.
Jonathan nodded, gratefully taking his helmet and Skadi’s rifle from Nikolaj. “Yeah, for now. Thanks for this.”
Giving Jonathan a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be heading out soon. If she wakes up, ask her what her blood type is.”
As Nikolaj closed the side door, Jonathan saw Ming and Amir hustling to load the last of the equipment. Amir slid into the front seat with Przemek, who was focused on the road, scanning the surroundings as the G-Wagon led the convoy.
Stolen story; please report.
Przemek’s voice cut through the tension. “You remember the MARCH protocol? Do it!”
Jonathan nodded, refocusing on Skadi. He started with the massive bleeding check, his hands steady despite the adrenaline surging through him. He removed her combat and vest and opened her jacket, examining her upper body for any more severe wounds. He ran his hands along her armpits and down her sides, carefully inspecting for additional bleeding.
He hesitated briefly as he moved lower, apologizing quietly. “Sorry,” he said, his fingers moving his thumbs from her buttocks up to her waist to check for any major arteries. The sensitivity of the area was necessary to ensure no significant blood loss went unnoticed.
Skadi, barely conscious, managed a weak joke. “Already back for more?”
Jonathan forced a small smile. “Glad to see you still have your humor. Do you feel pain anywhere?”
“My face and that hole you stuck in that entire roll of bandage. It burns,” she said with a pained whisper.
“That’s a good sign,” Jonathan replied, focusing on the wound packing. “It means the chemicals are working to stop the bleeding.” His hands moved carefully up her legs and through the foot holes in her jacket, checking for any other significant issues.
“You’re breathing okay?” he asked, moving on to the airway check of the protocol.
“Yeah,” Skadi replied with a labored breath.
Jonathan gently tilted her head back, opening her mouth to check for any obstructions like shrapnel or debris with his flashlight. “You lost part of one of your front teeth. Can you feel anything hard in your mouth or down your throat?”
“I swallowed something hard earlier,” she said, her voice growing weaker.
Jonathan steadied himself as the van swerved, trying to keep his focus. “What’s your blood type?” he said, inspecting her face. Her injuries were severe—small fragments of metal and wood embedded in her cheeks and forehead. He couldn’t do much for those now, but he made a mental note of them for later treatment.
“O positive” she answered.
Jonathan carefully draped his jacket over Skadi, his hands working quickly but gently. Her body was shivering from the shock of blood loss and the cold, and he needed to keep her warm. He pulled out a spare hoodie and a rain jacket from his backpack and layered them over and under her, then secured her with the seatbelt to keep the clothing in place.
“You’ll be okay, you should feel really cold right now but that’s normal” he said softly as he removed a permanent marker from one of his vest pockets. He drew O positive on her forehead before he placed his beanie on her head.
He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “I know how you Norwegian girls are so I want my hoodie back when we get to Oksjö. Don’t disappear back to the capital with it.”
He rummaged through his backpack, searching for anything else that could help keep her warm. His fingers found a heat pack, something he’d been carrying since the winter for emergencies like this.
Jonathan activated the heat pack and placed it gently between Skadi's armpit, securing it with a careful adjustment of the clothing. He straightened up, checking her over one last time to make sure she was as comfortable and warm as possible.
Suddenly, Skadi's hand reached out and gripped his wrist with surprising strength. Jonathan looked down at her, and their eyes met. Her blue eyes, though weary and clouded with pain, held a depth of emotion that was unmistakable. Her face was pale, streaked with grime and blood, but even in her wounded state, she managed a faint, resolute smile.
The heat pack warmed her side, but her face told a different story. Her usually clear complexion was marred by small cuts and bruises. There were tiny flecks of blood in her blonde hair, and her features were tight with pain, though she tried to maintain her composure. Despite the agony, her gaze was steady, her expression a mixture of gratitude and determination.
Jonathan felt a pang of relief and sadness as he held her gaze. Her fingers, though trembling, clung to his wrist with a reassuring grip.
“You’re bleeding yourself” She said as she noted the wounds on his hand.
Feeling the urge to cry, Jonathan hid his tears as he got closer to her face and pressed his lips against hers.
“I really am missing a tooth,” Skadi said with a chuckle, her voice shaky but laced with a trace of humor. Jonathan gave her a small, reassuring smile, but before he could respond, the van jolted to a halt, sending a fresh wave of tension through him.
Przemek was already on the move, sliding the door open with urgency. Jonathan’s instincts kicked in, immediately reporting, “Massive bleeding around her waist.”
“Yeah I got all of that,” Przemek interrupted, his eyes quickly assessing the situation. He then locked eyes with Jonathan as he grabbed his injured arm, noticing the blood seeping through it. “You think you can stick to the plan?”
Jonathan flexed his injured arm, wincing but nodding with determination. “I’ll be okay. Just get her back ASAP.”
He shared one last look with Skadi, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange—worry, resolve, a promise they’ll meet again—before he grabbed his gear and stepped out of the van. Ming sprinted from the G-Wagon, taking Przemek’s seat up front, while Nikolaj jumped from the back to the driver’s seat. Jonathan threw his gear into the back of the G-Wagon, on top of the remaining ATGM launcher.
As the Cherokee and Sprinter sped off back towards Oksjö, Jonathan secured his plate carrier over his bloodstained T-shirt. He pulled his neck gaiter over his nose and slipped on his sunglasses, his mind running through Oksjö’s so-called “foolproof” master plan.
Ready to move, he gave the roof of the vehicle a loud thud with his fist, the impact leaving a smear of blood on the metal. Nikolaj hit the gas, and the G-Wagon lurched forward, speeding toward Gläborg, where the next phase of their mission awaited.
Lars sat astride his off-road motorcycle at the crossroads of Gläborg, motioning toward Nikolaj and Jonathan as they approached. Nikolaj eased the G-Wagon to a stop, while Jonathan instinctively swung his machine gun to the left, scanning the road where the men from Lysekil were expected to appear.
Pulling off his helmet, Lars cut the engine and shouted over the gusting wind, “Just got here. They’re about twenty minutes out. No sign of a scout car ahead.”
Jonathan frowned, his voice raised to compete with the elements. “Are they suicidal? Why are they still pushing the attack?” He winced, fumbling to secure duct tape over the makeshift bandages on his hand. Blood seeped sluggishly through the layers, and the raw pain of the mangled skin on three of his fingers sent jolts of agony up his arm.
“Yeah, they’re doubling down!” Lars shouted, his voice edged with urgency, as Anton and Oscar unloaded the ATGM from the back of the G-Wagon.
“Thought we were going to have to hold them off with sticks and our dicks” Anton yelled. Despite the remark, Jonathan was glad they were there.
“You good, brother?” Oscar asked, stepping up onto the back wheel of the G-Wagon to get on Jonathan’s level. His voice was low but carried concern.
“I’m okay,” Jonathan yelled back, struggling with the duct tape as he wrapped bandages around his fingers, the pain sharp but manageable. “Skadi’s hit badly, though. She’s on her way to Oksjö.”
Oscar nodded, his expression firm. “She’s tough, she’ll pull through,” he said with conviction, trying to bolster Jonathan's spirits.
Lars, busy stashing his motorcycle beside the road, chimed in, “There’s one CV90 left, and the rest are just trucks and 4x4s. Our mortar can handle those.”
“Yeah you better not miss with the atgm, one of those CV90’s nearly cut me and Skadi in half.” Jonathan said as he lifted his neck gaiter back up.
“Oscar! Fé em Deus!” Jonathan yelled as he and Nikolaj drove away, the words carrying over the noise of the engine. The phrase, one Oscar had shared with him during a late-night conversation back in Oksjö the evening before they left, echoed in his mind. They’d had a few drinks, and Oscar had talked about his upbringing in Brazil, the hardships, and the faith that had seen him through. He couldn’t help but think off how silly they looked with their hawaian shirts under their military gear. Oscar had told them it was so that they could recognize friends from foes faster.
Oscar, momentarily surprised by hearing the familiar words in his mother tongue, broke into a smile. The unexpected connection amid the chaos of battle lifted his spirits. “Fé em Deus!” he shouted back with renewed energy, the phrase reminding him of home and the strength he drew from it. With a nod of resolve
Laying atop the dry grass gave some confort to Jonathan. It had been about half an hour since they had left the roundabout to their designated position.
“No five-minute car?” Nikolaj asked, as he and Jonathan watched the column advancing toward the roundabout in Gläborg.
Nikolaj double-checked Amir’s Remington bolt-action rifle, ensuring the bolt was secure and that he was ready to fire. Jonathan did the same with his MAG machine gun he had taken off from the G wagon, flicking the safety off. They were about ten meters apart, their improvised weapons team woefully understrength. Nikolaj, acting as marksman, and Jonathan, as machine gunner, each needed an assistant but had none.
Nikolaj had little experience with the scoped rifle; his training consisted of hitting a few billboards from Okjo’s Gate at distances of 200 to 500 meters, with Amir spotting for him.
Their mission was to hit Lysekil’s convoy from the flank, preventing any chance of retreat and ensuring heavy losses. The entire plan hinged on the CV90 being neutralized within the first few seconds of the firefight by the men at the roundabout. If not, their weapons would only scratch its paint.
Jonathan readied the ammunition belt hidden on his left, keeping his eyes fixed on the convoy. He could see the men in the last trucks, some of whom were bandaged and appeared in bad shape. Clearly, their missile strike from earlier had caused more damage than just to the vehicles.
“The mortar team good?” Jonathan asked.
“Trained them myself, so probably not,” Nikolaj replied, trying to gauge the distance.
“600 meters to the big billboard next to the statue.” Jonathan said as he saw Nikolaj desperately try to figure out that himself.
The ATGM sat poised under the bridge, its sight fixed on the convoy. A surge of excitement coursed through him as he watched the missile launch, flying straight like a rugby ball, trailing a stream of warm air from its engine as it hurtled toward the CV90. The vehicle opened fire in response, its rounds hammering the bridge pillar with explosions in a desperate attempt to stop the incoming threat. But it was too late—the missile struck the hull head-on.
“Fuck, they might have taken out the anti-tank position!” Jonathan muttered, bracing his shoulder against the butt of his machine gun.
“Yeah, open fire!” Nikolaj shouted.
Jonathan unleashed a salvo at the rear vehicle, his rounds ripping into the truck. Men in the back scrambled for cover, some diving from the truck, while others simply slumped dead as the burst of fire tore through the right bench.
Nikolaj took aim at one of the military G-Wagons. He lined up his shot on the back of the seat where a passenger stood, seemingly holding a radio. That person might be someone important Nikolaj thought. His round shattered the rear window but missed its mark, veering a meter to the right and embedding itself outside the vehicle.
Jonathan continued firing relentlessly. His tracer rounds streaked toward the soldiers scrambling for cover, who were caught in a deadly crossfire—under siege from the round about and Jonathan's position from the hill behind.
Nikolaj worked the bolt, chambering another .308 round. The G-Wagon’s door swung open, but the passenger remained in place, using the engine block as cover, his head lowered. Nikolaj squeezed the trigger, and before he could fully process it, the round arced slightly, rising before dipping again as it entered the truck. He watched as the back of the seat jolted violently, the bullet tearing through it, splattering the dashboard and windshield with blood.
Nikolaj quickly shifted his aim to a duo moving toward the back of the convoy. One of them was lugging a machine gun identical to Jonathan’s, while the other, armed with a pistol, was dragging him by the shoulder and pointing vaguely in the direction of Jonathan and Nikolaj.
Nikolaj zeroed in on the man struggling with the machine gun, watching as he stumbled forward toward the cover he was being led to. Nikolaj pressed the trigger. The round arced slightly before dipping, striking the man in the upper torso. He collapsed backward as if slammed by someone twice his weight at full sprint.
The man guiding him stopped in shock, staring at his fallen comrade, not fully grasping what had happened until he saw the blood pouring out. As he put away his pistol and raised the machine gun, Nikolaj chambered another round and fired. This time, the shot went high, missing its target and landing in the grass behind him.
The man began firing blindly in their direction, bullets peppering the trees on the hill where they were positioned.
“The machine gunner, Nikolaj!” Jonathan shouted as he desperately fixed a stoppage by pulling his machine gun bolt backwards a few times.
Nikolaj took aim again as the man hip-fired blindly in his direction. He held his breath, determined to get it right this time. He focused on the movement of his finger, applying just the right amount of pressure to the trigger, careful not to disturb his aim as he had done with the last shot.
The round hit the man squarely in the chest, sending him flying backward. Nikolaj couldn't help but admire his courage—it was more than most of his comrades showed. Many of them were cowering behind whatever cover they could find, some not even bothering to return fire. A few had resorted to hiding behind dead bodies or pretending to be among them.
Just as Nikolaj took out one of the men firing towards the bridge with reckless enthusiasm, the first round of mortar shells landed. They had marked the targets earlier, setting their sights on the most obvious cover in preparation for the ambush. The shells hit right behind the hill topped with bushes, sending a man who had been lying down flying—or at least just his upper body.
The following rounds were just as precise, raining shrapnel down on the terrified soldiers. One dropped his rifle and sprinted in panic toward the direction they had come from, seemingly oblivious to the 200 meters of open field between him and the next treeline. Jonathan hesitated, feeling a twinge of remorse as he let the man run, silently hoping someone else would stop him. But when no one did, he cut him down with the machine gun.
It seemed a rout had begun. More men dropped their weapons, lifting their arms in surrender, while others simply ran, trying to retreat the way they had come. A few were shot at first, but as the team on the roundabout realized what was happening the sound of gunfire began to die down, only occasionally broken by the ammunition cooking off inside the burning CV90.
Oscar hefted his G36C toward the group of men huddled behind the hill, his lungs burning from the exhausting sprint. He regretted every extra gram of weight on him as he caught his breath. Behind him, Lars sped down the road toward Lysekil, scanning for any additional vehicles that might be en route.
Oscar and the men with him began sorting through the surrendered soldiers. Those clearly identified as regular troops were separated from the conscripts who had been hastily drafted. They interrogated each prisoner, with the common response being, “No one else is coming; you took down all our vehicles.” The more seasoned fighters, most of whom had ceased firing due to injuries rather than surrendering willingly, refused to answer any questions.
Meanwhile, one team took charge of the prisoners, ensuring they were properly secured. Another team manned the crossroads to prevent any reinforcements from arriving from the flank, while yet another team took position on road toward Lysekil, ready to confront any additional waves. The final team took cared of the injured before focusing on triaging the abandoned equipment, collecting weapons and ammunition from the bodies and prisoners. All the gathered gear was loaded onto the last truck, which was also filled with additional ammunition.
Many of the men helped themselves to the body armor, helmets, and even boots from the dead. As Jonathan and Nikolaj made their way to the destroyed column, they witnessed one of Kjell’s men being reprimanded for attempting to steal a watch from a corpse. Jonathan stepped in, placing himself between Oscar and the offending soldier to prevent the situation from escalating further. With the immediate conflict diffused, Jonathan turned his focus back to overseeing the handling of the prisoners.
“Where’s Kjell?” Nikolaj asked Oscar, who was examining one of the prisoners' documents. He noted the makeshift passport from Lysekil that the man carried.
“Dead. The mortar team is packing up, and I think they’re using a trash bag for his remains. The two others who were with him at the anti-tank position are injured. Your ATGM is just scrap metal now,” Oscar replied in halting Swedish. He tucked the man’s passport into his pocket as evidence or perhaps a souvenir.
A few meters away, Jonathan was lighting a cigarette for one of the prisoners. The man, trembling from shock, muttered, “You really messed us up. Hell, we weren’t even headed to Oksjo. We were just on our way to Mosshed. We were supposed to hit you guys next weekend.”
Jonathan took a drag from the cigarette and asked, “Any more of your people ahead of us?”
The prisoner hesitated before replying, “Maybe, maybe not. They saw you moving last night but didn’t think much of it, assuming you didn’t have the numbers, according to our officers. But we lost contact with both our recon units in Mosshed last night. Did you guys take them out? It’s one thing for a radio to break down, but losing both recon units at the same time, without at least one coming back to report, seems too unlikely.”
Jonathan shot Oscar a concerned glance; neither of them had encountered anyone else.
“Yes, we did. They put up a fierce fight,” Jonathan said, lying smoothly as he handed the cigarette back to the man.
“Any more armored vehicles in Lysekil?” Oscar asked the man.
“No, there’s one CV90 in the ‘shop’ the stabilizer and the engine radiator is fucked and there’s no spare part.” He answered.
“Listen, do you have family or someone back in Lysekil?” Jonathan asked.
The man exhaled, shaking his head. “No.”
“Would you like a warm bed and hot meals for the foreseeable future?” Jonathan inquired
The man nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of hope and weariness.
Jonathan whistled to one of the men loading the truck, the man turned around and sprinted over. “Make sure the duct tape around his hands is secure, put a hood or something over his head, and load him up with the rest of them,” Jonathan instructed. The man looked surprised by the request but complied, quickly taking care of the task.
“You located any ‘officers’?” Jonathan asked.
Oscar glanced at him. “The only one we’re sure about was the one Nikolaj took out earlier; his guts were shot out and there are still pieces on the radio from the G-Wagon we put in the truck. I’ve got one guy who I’m pretty sure might be high-ranking. Other than that, no,” he replied.
“What do you think—should we take him with us?” Jonathan proposed.
Oscar nodded grimly. "Kjell’s dead. But right now, my biggest concern is the bastards who might be in Mosshed. We drove by that stretch of highway, and they could ambush us there just as easily as we took out their men. I'm not sure we can afford to risk going through it," he said, his voice laced with stress. He unfolded a Swedish highway map and spread it on the ground, the tension palpable as he and Jonathan were joined by Nikolaj and Anton.
With Kjell gone, they were leaderless, and the weight of the next decision hung heavily over them all.
"We don’t have the gasoline to go around," Nikolaj said, kneeling beside the map. He removed his baseball cap and poured some water over his head, trying to cool down and think clearly. "Lysekil was supposed to send the rest of the logistical chain once their infantry and tanks took Mosshed if I am to believe one of the prisoners."
“Przemek and Amir should have passed through by now. If there was anything off, they would’ve radioed it in,” Jonathan said.
“One Jeep Cherokee and a van aren’t the same as a convoy of ten cars, especially with the vehicles they know we’ve taken or captured,” Anton interrupted, pulling a cigarette from the stash in the shoulder pocket of his Hawaiian shirt.
“Fucking look,” Jonathan snapped, spinning the map towards them. “There are five buildings—two on each side of the road. JYSK and McDonald’s are on the north side, with Rusta and Bauhaus on the other. Then there’s the Torp Shopping Mall, also on the north side. Here’s the plan: drop us off a kilometer west, right before the bend in the highway, where they can’t spot your vehicles. Park in the forest nearby and post a sentry at a vantage point overlooking the retail park to provide overwatch. The team you drop off will split into two, each clearing their side of the road before meeting up at the McDonald’s drive-thru. Once we’re all together, we’ll sweep the shopping mall quickly, exit, and radio the convoy—so Anton here doesn’t shit his pants.”
The group fell silent for a moment, digesting Jonathan’s plan.
Anton rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a smirk at Jonathan’s last comment. “Alright, fine I’ll go north. Just make sure you don’t screw it up on the other side and make me come save your ass” he muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette. Despite his tough exterior, there was a flicker of anxiety in his eyes.
Nikolaj gave a curt nod, his expression serious as he adjusted the strap on his rifle. “Sounds solid. I’ll go on overwatch with the Remington. Make sure to give me one of the radios aswell.” Jonathan sensed through the way Nikolaj walked and had run that his injured leg was ready to give out. It was a miracle his stitches hadn’t opened.
“I’ll go south.” Jonathan said.
“I’ll come with you. Anton you take Lars he hasn’t fired a shot all day.” Oscar said as he folded his map.
“Now let’s get the fuck out of here.” He added as they all made their way back to the vehicles to the bewilderment of most of the prisoners who were just left sitting in the field.