Chapter 7

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So it happens. You live your life. All measured and somehow accustomed, and then "Bam!" and something happens. And before you have time to breathe out, you get another "Bam!", not there, but still on or near you.

"I won't play, don't depend on me." Lance surprised me this evening.

"Uh..." But, if... There are nine of us without him, and the Goons won't tolerate any outsiders!

"I understand your point, but this case clearly shows that if we weaken our presence in the neighborhood, we're in trouble. Your game idea, it's taking up a lot of people's time. We need to make up for that. That's what I'm gonna do."

"But..." I have no words. All my dreams... A stiff wind blew and they scattered like a house of cards.

"I still like your idea, and I can see how the interest in this project is changing guys' minds for the better. I'll see if I can get Jenro to do that when he checks out. I can't promise it'll work, but I'll try."

Damn Kronos. Gaia... How so?! Jenro won't agree, I can feel it a hundred percent. I want to cry now almost as much as when my mother died... But at the same time, I realize if the Goons lose control, it will turn out to be a lot more bodies in the hospitals. ThreeFace, why so!!!

The mood this morning was just like the weather. The skies were gloomy, rainy, and slushy. My leisurely jog with Lance was about to end when I saw a familiar silhouette standing next to the commander's bike.

"Aloha." My boss greeted us. "Holy shit." He clicked his tongue as he walked around me. "Lance, you're making progress!"

"I know." The biker didn't deny the praise. "What are you doing here?"

"A breakdown..." Daas answers, slamming his palm on the folder clutched in his hand.

A breakdown? Is that what I think it is?

"Shall I invite Descart in?"

"Do you think it's time for him?"

"He seems to be starting to be smart... So, I guess it's time."

To me, their conversation is some gibberish, completely incomprehensible.

"Then call."

"Yes." Said Lance, taking out his phone. But before he dialed the number, the commander turned to me. "Utis, take a walk for half an hour."

"No." Ten Daas immediately reacts to these words.

"No?" The biker's voice is full of surprise.

"He stays." Nods the boss.

"Whatever you say." Despite his agreement, I notice that Lance is rather shocked by these words.

Rick arrived seven minutes later, which passed in dead silence.

"What's the ruckus?" Jumping off the bike, the Runner shouts out. "Oh! Ten, hello!"

"Let's go under the roof." Instead of a greeting, Daas waved his hand toward the nearest hangar.

What's going on? And I can see that Rick is just as perplexed. Does he know less than I do? As soon as we were out of the rain, the boss walked over to the massive concrete beam and threw a folder on it.

"So. For those of you who don't understand why I gathered you here... In this folder is information on a young guy who had a breakdown. We can still get him out. It's hard, but it's real. Yeah, yeah, I came to Lance with a file just like that once, and your case was in it." Daas nodded at the mute question in Rick's eyes. "Here we are. Here's a portrait of him." The first to emerge from the file is a talented pencil drawing of a young man in his twenties, with long, braided hair. Clearly European, with high cheekbones, and a clean forehead, the artist even managed to betray the eyes full of pain. "Nothing else in appearance. Name - either Gerhard, or Gerold, or Georg, it is not exact. There's no last name. But there is a place and a time..."

"Where and when." The commander's question is dry and unemotional.

"The day after tomorrow, right here. The deadline is twenty-three sixteen, then it's too late." A map appears from the folder, and Lance immediately takes it in his hands.

"Hm-mm. Legrand. Three hundred miles from Melbarg." Turns the map in his hands, the head of the Goons. "We can make it."

"It is possible but difficult. He's in serious trouble. I don't know exactly, but the message was about at least thirty armed men who would be drastically opposed to rescuing him. Very drastically-" Daas speaks so calmly, as if it were not about someone's life, but about buying potatoes for a restaurant.

"Kronos!" Lance slams his fist on the folder. "Why Legrand?! I can't go there. Don't look at me like that. It's time for you to start... Pass the business to you... Don't whine, you knew this moment would come someday." For some reason, I think the apparent despair on Descart's face is a little artificial. "And my fighting and most melded foursome is not at full strength... Such bad timing those bastards put us in."

"You are talking about those chemists?" The boss gets it straight. "Yeah, they fucked it up..."

"But I can't send anyone out, either. I made a promise, to myself, that I would get everyone I could reach out to." That's Lance talking clearly to Rick and only to him. "I'll send three guys, and see if they can handle it." This one is for everybody. "The rest of us are a little underprepared. Besides, I got some connections... That'll help."

"I'm going, too." My words come as a surprise to everyone.

"What? Where are you going?"

"I'm in." This is the first time I've ever interrupted a commander.

"You not ready!"

"This is my business."

"No, and don't ask."

"This guy's name is Gerhard Troma, a third-year student at the Royal University of Legrand."

I wouldn't recall him, I've seen him once and only on video, but his hairstyle is very memorable. He's considered a popular BAA blogger in Legrand, but I haven't read him, and I've seen him on the field more than once. I think meditation has improved my memory quite a bit, I even remembered where he went to school, though I only glanced at his page once.

"Do you know him?" Lance gasped.

"Not in person."

"Then fuck off, you not going."

"I'm going...Because this guy is the best amateur jaeger. Not pro and without a team... I need him. The nickname is Slider."

"I've met him!" Deckart's voice came up immediately. "I'll never forget the way he once cut me open with his sword, and I'll never forget it. I flew over the roof on the jet, and suddenly "chik", I did not even have time to pull the mouse, and was already studying the game menu..."

"What do I care if you played with him?" Lance doesn't concede.

"Let." Daas come to my aid. "Let him go."

"He's not going to make it." Lance is going against the boss, though I can see he's having a hard time with it. Lance's balls are iron, titanium even. I probably couldn't do that.

"He's Odysseus! What do you want to bet there won't be any shooting?" This rebuke from Daas makes Lance wonder.

"If..."

"I got it."

And they nodded at each other, completely understanding what was not said. The two elders got up, muttered something to each other, and headed for the motorcycles.

"Do you understand anything?" Rick asks me.

"You know, anything is possible to be drawn to something, but it confuses me..." Imitating my boss's voice as best I can, I pronounce it. "It's twenty-three sixteen at the latest, and then it's late."

"There's a rumor going around that Ten can see the future. But... Shh-shh-shh... I didn't tell you that."

"It's impossible." That's what everybody thinks. And I used to really believe it, but when it comes to Daas, I don't know what to question and what not. The world around him is a crazy place, and that's a precise and undeniable fact of my observations!

"Whatever." The Runner shrugs his shoulders. "I'm certainly not going to get into that subject. Take what you're given, and run when you're beaten. I can feel it in my ass, but in this particular case, it's a very good principle, a great one, and I'll definitely follow it... and so will you." It was clear from Rick's tone that he wasn't going to support any conversation on the subject. Not at all...

Upon our return to the base, there was a rush and bustle. Buying tickets on such short notice was another problem. It turned out that the day after tomorrow is a friendly rugby game between Legrand and Avalon. From New Geneva alone, at least fifteen thousand fans are flying to Melbarg for this match. All the tickets for those dates were sold out a month ago! But I was not at all surprised when, after the call of the commander to Daas, we had the tickets an hour later. According to a hastily added legend, the four of us, Anton, Hotey, Phil, and I, were going to the game. They even gave us tickets, though, as I was told, they were fake and it was better not to go to the stadium with them. So, they drew them to cover us up, in case the customs got onto us. Although the customs between Avalon and Legrand are, as far as I know, a complete sham. You don't need a visa or a passport to visit from one country to another. If you want to spend a weekend on the beaches of the Great Reef, get on a plane and don't think about any documents...

"Don't be a pussy!" Anton pushes me to the side as we settle into the seats of the airliner. "We'll make it. And it's not the first time for the three of us to pull someone out of a total mess!"

I have already been told that it was these three and Meck who once managed to save Jenro and Rick. But Lance was with them at the time, and that was no small pebble on the scales of success. Besides, we were essentially flying into the unknown. There was no time to gather information, Lance promised to send us everything he could by mail. Therefore we boarded the plane, knowing nothing but the name, the point on the map, and the approximate time. What had Gerhard done, what had he gotten into, and what and who were we to deal with? No one gave us any answers to these questions.

As I buckled in, I took a deep breath and pleaded.

ThreeFace let the cunning and dodgy nature of Odysseus not be an artistic exaggeration of Homer. I pray that I may truly live up to my Face in these qualities!

I did not know what and who we would face in our mission, but for some reason, this uncertainty did not scare me, but rather the opposite. For some reason, I was growing confident that, as An had said, We'll make it through!

The flight wasn't supposed to last long, less than two and a half hours, but for some reason, I started shaking as the airliner began its run-up.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Don't be so shaky." Leaning toward me Anton whispered. "I understand, we would have gone by ship." And he laughed.

Oh, man... At first, I wanted to snap at his words, but I suddenly realized that after his joke my nervous trepidation had evaporated. And really, what is it with me? Have I never flown before? Of course, I've flown a lot, mostly on the inner Avalon lines, but I've also flown to Legrand, but only once, when I was in high school, with my father.

After takeoff, the cabin became noisy. Everyone was shouting songs, practicing chants, and waving scarves and other paraphernalia. Hotey was a big rugby fan and willingly joined in the general gaiety while I pulled my cap over my eyes and tried to sleep. To my considerable surprise, despite the hubbub and noise, I succeeded. I ended up sleeping through the whole flight.

We got through customs quickly on arrival, as one of the first on the flight. However, there is nothing supernatural in this, because we had no luggage. Only small bags with hand luggage, stuffed with lighter merchandise with the national team symbols. Yes, yes, Lance sent our team without any equipment at all, saying that it's not worth the risk, it's easier to get all the necessary things on the spot.

According to the outline of the plan we had sketched before we left, after we landed we were supposed to rent a car and drive out of town toward the west, waiting to hear from the base.

So we did, the car chose Anton, and as a result, bypassing a couple of offices renting cars we left town in an old, dirty gray van, which is at least ten years old.

"But in the middle of nowhere, no one will pay attention to us." An motivated his choice.

He was driving, though, so no one objected much. Although Hot grumbled that he could have taken the SUV. But for me, I'd rather go somewhere long in a van with sofa seats than in an SUV.

We were on our way out of town when a call came in from Lance.

"I do not ask about the flight. I know that all is well." Anton put his smartphone on speakerphone, and the commander's voice was heard by all. "So, the news. I'll start with the bad news. We didn't learn anything new about the guy." It really didn't make any of us happy.

"More precisely, we searched the whole network and found a lot of information about him, but it all has nothing to do with what is happening. The second piece of bad news, the marker on the map points to private property. The Barbarosa Ranch, on the border of the desert, covers two hundred and forty hectares, forty kilometers from the nearest town. Wilderness as it is. But alas, this news which at first seemed good, in fact, is not because the owner of this ranch is a very shady person, the head of a Construction trust. I'll bet a hundred to one he's either a retired mafioso or he's still in crime, and the official business is just a front. Right now, we're looking into everything we can, both the owner and the ranch itself." So what did you get yourself into Slider? "Now, the good news. You're moving as agreed, but you're not going straight to Barbarossa. You're turning a hundred miles south and going this way..." Anton's smartphone beeped, picking up the message.

"You'll see it later. An old acquaintance of mine will be waiting for you at this point... The former chief supply officer of the White Berets is now a peaceful retired farmer." Lance's snort after these words was quite distinct. "He's been warned of your arrival. Let's just say the man owes me a lot you can take anything you want from him, even a tank. What are you laughing at? He does have a tank. If he had a farm on the coast, he'd bring a decommissioned frigate... I'm sure... But I still don't advise you to take the tank; it's almost twenty kilometers from his farm to the "Barbarossa"; somebody will notice it and report it, and you'll definitely get nowhere."

"Well, we're not that stupid!" Phil is indignant.

"After that explosion at the undertrained chemists, I'm not so sure about anything anymore!" Lance shuts him down. "All right, you've got almost five hours on the road. You get some rest, and we'll keep looking. Stand down."

"Stand down." Anton acknowledges, turning off the connection and immediately opening the file sent by the commander.

"Tank, Gaia!" Hotey leans back, rolling his eyes dreamily.

"Intendants..." Phil grinned back. "You guys know, I'm not surprised."

"Lance is right, the tank is stupid." It comes from the driver's seat from Anton. "If he had a helicopter, that would be awesome!"

"Like anyone here knows how to drive a tank." I put in a punch line. In response, I see three raised hands and snide smiles. "Or a helicopter." Once again I see three raised hands and an unrestrained cackle in response...

Five hours on the road, most of it on rural, gravel roads. It would have been a long trip, full of bad thoughts and doubts, if not for the company that was with me. One discussion of various stories and anecdotes about storekeepers and supply men stretched on for nearly three hours. And I have to admit, I learned a lot and began to look at these jobs a little differently. If the guys are right, then it often happens that a supply officer in a government agency is often more influential than even the biggest boss. It seemed that the guys were not concerned about anything and were not going to the unknown, but to an ordinary country picnic, and their mood was transmitted to me, dispelling bad thoughts.

We arrived at the right farm almost exactly at noon. We had less than twelve hours before the critical time point. The farm of Lance's old acquaintance was obviously not small, at least not from the gate we'd stopped at. I couldn't see the end of the chain-link fence that enclosed its grounds, which was lost somewhere on the horizon.

They were already waiting for us. More precisely, he was waiting for us. On a dusty ATV, near the gateб sat a short, stout man with an open, round face, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. What surprised me was that he was clearly no more than forty. Was he really a retiree?

As soon as our van stopped, the man who greeted us jumped off his iron horse and approached us.

"Troy Fles." He introduced himself. "And you young men are, I understand, the nephews of a good friend of mine." He winked. "Always a pleasure to visit, always a pleasure."

We introduced ourselves in return.

"It's bad manners to talk to guests on the road." After hearing our names, the man opened the gate wide. "Go ahead and park in the front lot."

After letting the van through, he closed the gate and got on his ATV, and followed us...

They made us feel very welcome. Fles' wife, a very beautiful woman in her thirties, set the table at once. And I must say that her cooking was not much inferior to Illea's. As soon as we reclined in our chairs, our bellies so full that not even the smallest morsel would fit, Troy sent his wife away. As soon as the woman disappeared through the door, the mask of a hospitable host fell from Fles's face.

"I'll explain right away. I owe Crow and I respect him..." That's how I got Lance's last name. "But you boys are nobody to me, and your names are nothing. I'll help you in any way I can, but I won't let you tell me what to do or boss me around in my own house. Behave like proper guests, and we won't have any problems."

"We are guests." I'm quick to reply, not letting Anton open his mouth. "The commander spoke of you exclusively in positive tones. There will be no problem with us, we understand our status."

"It's nice to see that there are still educated young people in the world." The owner of the house nodded at my tirade. I could barely contain a smile; that's what old people usually say, and he's not that old. "Crow asked me to give you a little tour of my museum. Are you ready?"

"Indeed..."

Museum... Well, yes... The area behind the house could have been called that. The League of Nations War Museum. The tank was there, though the cannon was cemented, nonetheless, Fles allowed Hotey to start it up and even drive a couple of hundred meters. There were also two six-wheeled armored infantry support vehicles stripped of their weapons, eight off-road vehicles of various modifications, three sand-colored motorcycles, and even a government limousine. A little further away, there was a platform on which stood three helicopters. Two were ordinary, small, civilian models, but the third stood out like a rhinoceros among gazelles.

"Alligator." Seeing me frozen in admiration as I stared at this beautiful, predatory, and undoubtedly once deadly machine, Troy explained. "A version of the T-fourteen, with a modified low-noise engine, made in a limited batch specifically for the Typhoon, seven of them in all. The armament and combat systems have been removed and it's, you know, decommissioned, but I've restored it and it's perfectly fine."

"It's beautiful." I couldn't hide my admiration for this mechanical bird. "It looks angular and has strange proportions, but for some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off it."

"When you look at these birds on the TV, they seem clumsy and ludicrous, but see one up close, and that illusion is gone." Fles pats the metal of the helicopter lovingly. "His name is Bitey, the pride of my collection."

"Can we start it up?" Anton, standing next to me, can't take it anymore. "I've heard the sound of the T14s is unmistakable."

"Not now, maybe later..." The owner of the "museum" immediately said, changing his face a little. "You can go around on your own, but don't start anything without me! I'll be gone for a while. Business... And don't take any pictures!"

For some reason, I think he's calling Lance about us.

While Fles was away, we began to study his "collection". The Goons were undisguisedly enthusiastic; they were so excited to learn the technique that I thought they had completely forgotten why we had come here.

However, I must admit, I was also very curious. In the tank, in general, I gained a lot of new impressions. When I leaned up to my waist out of the hatch, I even dreamed a little, imagining myself as an action movie hero. As I jumped down from the armor, my eyes lingered on the car standing in the distance. If all the other exhibits were carefully groomed, the jeep which caught my attention, on the contrary, was covered with dust.

I walked closer to the car that interested me and began to look at it. It was far from a new, very massive, seven-seat frame SUV, with a removable awning roof. But that was not what attracted me to it, but the shabby, but quite distinguishable emblems on the front doors.

"I couldn't get my hand up to paint over it." Troy came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "I know it's against the law, but I can't, that's it."

Of course, it's illegal because it's not just some sticker, it's the symbolism of a Typhoon! This is very familiar to anyone who has seen at least one anti-terrorism movie. A sign like that on a private car is a straight shot to jail and for a long time.

"We all have our weaknesses," I answer him.

"I forgot it was standing here, you weren't supposed to see it."

"Don't worry, we've never been here and we haven't seen anything."

"Crow told me why you're here and asked me to help." Fles nods in response. "You weren't here, remember that if they get you by the gills... Rescuers... fuck... does Crow not change at all? Always he... All right..." And raising his voice, he shouted. "Guests, go in the house... We'll think...

In the house, once we were seated at the big round table, a meeting of sorts began. Even Lance was involved, and Anton put him on speakerphone by placing his smartphone in the center of the table.

And there really was a lot to think about. What the commander had learned, and what Fles knew as a local, was not at all encouraging. The owner of the Barbarossa was indeed a criminal boss, Billy Smith, who had unspoken control of the small town of Forcihan, forty miles from his ranch. He bribed the town's entire police force, and the state sheriff also fed off his hands. Officially Smith was a respectable businessman and philanthropist, but in reality, he was the head of a large, independent group through which he promoted his official business. Drugs, prostitution, and gambling, these he did not do, preferring raids, shady dealings with officials, and control of local unions. His villa, designed in the style of a knight's castle, stood in the center of the ranch grounds.

From the pictures, we found the villa was a real fortress and can't be taken without heavy weaponry or an air attack. In addition, there was gunfire heard on the ranch that night. Rumor has it someone snuck in and killed Smith's aide, his shadow lieutenant. How true those rumors were, we didn't know, but they were supposedly coming from an ambulance paramedic who was driving out that way and at the same time. But something had happened for sure. Smith had gathered all his fighters at the villa, more than three dozen thugs. This data made me shudder. Was Daas really a visionary?

"Yeah..." Anton muttered after all that news. "Covert infiltration seems to be going down the drain. A crowd of guards, all the approaches can be seen for more than ten kilometers, the fucking desert... And there are great alarms, which this bandit obviously did not spare."

"Do not panic." It comes from the speakers of the smartphone. "Let's think..."

The brainstorming session lasted more than an hour. I almost didn't participate in it, only asked leading questions, not interfering in the discussion. The reason I didn't get involved was that I couldn't see how the situation could be turned to our advantage, avoiding casualties. The position we found ourselves in, given the time pressure, seemed to me untenable.

"A dozen suggestions and I don't like any of them." Lance summed up the results. "Let's take a break and let everyone think for themselves. Put their minds in order. It's getting a little crazy. New meeting in an hour. .... And yes... Flas... Did you show the guys everything?"

"Everything."

"Really?"

"Well..."

"Show me everything you've got, I'll vouch for them."

"Okay." This word clearly did not come easily to the owner of the house.

In addition to the "museum", there was a bomb shelter on the farm. A bunker capable of surviving a nuclear detonation! Troy showed it to us after Lance's words. But the bunker itself, amazing, equipped with the latest technology, with stocks of food and medicine, which is enough for many years more than a dozen people, was not so impressive as the arsenal located in it. There were all sorts of weapons here! From ancient revolvers to silent sniper rifles, from automatic rifles to two one hundred and twenty caliber mortars, with a standard set of ammunition for each!

I saw the guys' eyes light up, and they literally disappeared in this abundance. I was attracted by something else... Two dozen sets of matte black, glittering plexiglass protective shields in the dim light, the field armor of the special unit "Typhoon". And what did not surprise me at all, they were not cut-off distinctive signs and emblems.

I think the Goons spent a lot more time grabbing at this and that, but the hour went by quickly and we were back in the house. Another call to Lance and another brainstorm. Again I had no part in it. Some vague idea wandered somewhere on the edge of my mind. Crazy, crazy, completely insane. I had no way to formulate it, the noise and shouting at the table distracted me. I gave up and went outside and sat down on the porch. Judging by the noise coming from the house, no one noticed I was gone.

Think Utis!

Think

Fifteen minutes later, I came back and grabbed the phone from the center of the table, switching it from speakerphone to regular. Everyone immediately stopped talking and stared at me in bewilderment.

"Five minutes... I need five minutes..."

I ran out of the house and quickly, in literally three minutes, explained my idea to Lance.

"You're crazy..." He commented on it.

"This could work."

"Maybe, no matter how crazy, but maybe." Lance stretched in doubt. "But... If anything goes wrong, you're dead!"

"All the other suggestions I've heard, if anything goes wrong in them, everyone will be dead... and me, and An, and Phil, and Hotey."

"That's true... But... If you get caught by anyone, not even this Smith, you'll be in so much trouble that no one will get you out!"

"Remember who I am." I'll give you my most killer argument.

"I remember. You're the little bastard, that's what you are so far, not Him..."

"And yet, his Face chose me!"

"I don't..." He stopped talking. "You know, An, Hot, Phil, these are my guys, and you're Daas' man. He insisted on your participation, and that's on him. I agree."

His logic, for some reason, really offends me, but pushing the resentment far away, I say:

"Shall we begin?"

"Yes."

Back in the house, I reactivated the speakerphone and put my smartphone on the table.

"The plan is made and approved." It came over the speaker. "I'm putting Utis in command for the duration of the operation. Get on with it!"

There wasn't even such a stunning look on the Goons' faces when they recognized my Face after passing the Arch...

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