0840

 

“Hey! Hey!!” Lev slammed the table bearing the projector, his sharp tone fierce but absent anger’s fiery passion. Still, he achieved what he sought to do; the dolls had redirected their attention to the screen behind him. “I’m not repeating anything I’ve said, so pay attention! Outhouse and motor pool duties if you repeat any mistakes in today’s exercise. No excuses!”

 

Amongst the collective groans, BAR’s were the loudest.

 

Persica sipped on her coffee, unaffected by the commotion. Her interest was as dull as her drone’s droning hum. 

 

Borscht washed down ground pirozhki’s earthy emission. Sop II’s half-emptied bowl smothered in sweet and sour cream, enough to overpower the salty beet and potato flavour which now coated the tongue. 

 

Mouth vacant, tongue unoccupied, jaw creaked open. Words yet uttered intercepted by the drone’s intonation, as monotonous as Persica’s expressionless projection. 

 

“Procure the Sangvis Guards for me.”

 

False eyes blinked. M4 glanced at Persica, her expression impassive. The scientist lowered her mug out of view and repeated, “Procure the Sangvis Guards for me, as many as you can gather, and as intact as possible. Two hundred rubles per kilogramme. You have three days. Do you accept?” 

 

Two hundred rubles per kilogramme. Persica offered approximately eighty thousand rubles for a single doll of Skorpion’s weight, and a single Guard would be heavier than her. 

 

“There is more to this contract.”

 

The scientist sipped her coffee again. Her expression that of her usual disinterested. “No, that is all there is to the contract. I can offer more if you want.” 

 

“Your offer is too charitable.”

 

Persica’s left ear twitched. She rested her cheek against her palm and raised her mug again. She looked aside towards M4, her drone tilting in mimicry. The doll, however, did not meet her gaze. Instead, she was transfixed at the false eyes, wearing a tense grimace, furrowed brow, and slightly flushed cheeks.

 

After taking another long sip, the scientist lowered her mug and straightened herself. “One hundred rubles per kilogramme,” she said. 

 

“The compensation for the Executioner dummy was five hundred thousand rubles, the equivalent of six dolls of Skorpion’s weight, going by your earlier offer, or twelve Skorpions, by your current offer. Each Guard is heavier than her. There are thousands of Guards within Novum Sambir itself, and we can procure hundreds of them within a single day with what we have at hand.” Deep inhale, sigh exhaled. “What are you hiding from us?” 

 

She blinked, then lowered her gaze. Flickering eyes, thoughts swirling through her mind. 

 

“Ten thousand rubles for every intact Guard frame and their shields. I will accept frames with bullet damage or a missing head. Is this fair?”

 

“You have not answered my question.”

 

She lowered her ears and sipped on her cup. Her eyes flickered again. “M4, AR-15, Sop II,” she rasped as she lowered her mug from view. M4 blinked and glanced at her creator while her sisters ceased their tussling. “I would discuss matters with the Commander privately if you don’t mind.”  

 

“They stay.”

 

Persica raised her brow. The aforementioned dolls, their trays in hand, froze in place. Sop II glanced back and forth confusedly, uncertain of what she ought to do.

 

“They don’t need to hear this,” said the scientist. 

 

The jaw creaked, “Your errand may put them at risk. They ought to participate in this discussion, know what lies ahead.”

 

“Miss Persica will not deliberately put us at risk!” M4 asserted. 

 

“She had put you at risk in Safehouse Three.”

 

“That wasn’t deliberate!” she insisted. “She couldn’t have anticipated Agent being there!” Her cheeks beet red, she seethed, “Commander! Why are you always making trouble for us? First, you refused to abandon your post and put yourself at risk of being killed by that dummy Executioner. Next, you had me collect payment from destitute refugees, and now, you are grilling Miss Persica?”

 

Persica sipped on her coffee, watchful despite her feigned disinterest.

 

M4 inhaled, then exhaled. She still flushed furiously. “She gave you a good offer. Better than what you could have gotten from anyone in S09! Just take it! Isn’t money what you want?”

 

False gaze fixed upon her dark brown eyes. Her brow was furrowed, her lips trembled. “It is not just about the compensation, M4.”

 

“Then, what do you really want, Commander?” M4 fumed. “I don’t understand you at all!” 

 

“It’s okay, M4,” Persica interrupted. M4 blinked, glanced at her creator, then at the surroundings. 

 

416, at the table to the right, stared sternly, her pen buried under her palm. G11, slumping against her, rubbed her eyes and squinted at us.

 

Persica sipped deeply on her mug. Her eyes wandered, her cup pressed against her lips for longer than it should; she was not drinking. A moment later, she lowered her mug and said, “If you still think they should know after we finish our discussion, you can tell them. Until then, let’s keep this conversation between ourselves. Will this be fine?”

 

Sigh exhaled. “Fine. We will speak privately, then we will see.” 

 

M4 glanced at us both, then stomped out of the tent. AR-15 scrubbed Sop II’s cheeks, then got up and followed after her. Sop II, with a dripping spoon hanging loosely in her hand, looked back and forth, perplexed. 

 

“Sop II.” She spun; her ruby eyes met the false gaze. “Dismissed.” 

 

She looked at Persica, seeking confirmation. Upon seeing her nod, the doll stuffed her spoon into her mouth and scampered after her sisters.

 

Seeing that Team AR had departed the canteen, those still present resumed their activities.

 

“You have made her quite upset,” Persica fiddled with her unseen mug. “She told me everything that has happened last night. That was the first time she took the initiative to contact me, you know. I think I should thank you.” She raised her mug and took another sip. 

 

“Thank me?”

 

She nodded. “She’s a good soldier, but that’s not why I made her the way she is.” She looked towards the tent flaps. “I don’t want her to just follow orders; I want her to question, think, learn and grow, but she has been static outside her missions and outside Team AR being threatened.” She looked towards the other dolls. “She showed less agency than the other dolls under you.”

 

Sigh exhaled. Skorpion had been looking at us instead of paying attention to Lev like she ought to. She will be chided for not paying attention. 

 

“Then, you made her upset.” Persica raised her mug, took a sip, then locked her gaze onto this being. “Challenged her perspective and her conscience. And deferring to her in Subsector Two and Novum Sambir. She’s grown quite a bit since.” She bowed slightly. “Thank you for that.”

 

“And your disproportionately generous compensation was meant to show your gratitude?” 

 

She nodded, “Yes, though,” she then frowned, “you turned out to be paranoid. I gave you a price figure, and you think there’s hidden costs or hidden risks.” 

 

“From my experience, this has always been the case.”

 

Her ears twitched. “Most commanders would have accepted my job with my previous conditions without question.”

 

“Unlike them, I would not have accepted your errand with the aforementioned conditions even if I had known your motive. It would not be to both our benefits. You would be wasting your money and our effort.”

 

She pouted. “I only wanted to help M4. She was very upset about that ‘premium service’ you provided to those ‘desperate refugees’.” She took another sip. “She’s a kind girl. Taking from others, especially from those in need, doesn’t sit well with her.”

 

Sigh exhaled. So this was the source of her discontent. “Altruism does not suit us, not with our constrained resources. A trade suits us better.”

 

“She doesn’t see that as a fair trade, Commander.”

 

“M4 cleared out foraging grounds and granted them access to the resources the Sangvis stragglers had denied them. In exchange, we acquired the funds to repair one BTR, the BTR, which would shelter Team AR. The trade is fair.”

 

She raised her brow. “Only one BTR? Not more?”

 

“Any more, and the payment is disproportionately in our favour.”

 

She sipped her coffee again. “So you wouldn’t accept my earlier offer for M4’s sake?”

 

“You offered us payment to salve hurt feelings. A pointless expenditure. I will not accept such an exchange. The latter offer for the intact frames, however, is fair. I can accept those terms.”

 

She sighed. “Your loss then. From what I know of your last op in Novum Sambir, finding intact Guard frames will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.” She looked down at her mug and pursed her lips. “Luckily for you, an old friend of mine will contact you later today to offer your company a special assignment. You will find the compensation ample and the job straightforward.”

 

“Who is she?”

 

“Can’t tell you,” she replied. “Her job requires her to conceal her identity. However, she has helped me many times before. I trust her and vouch for her trustworthiness.”

 

“You expect us to accept her assignment without question.”

 

“I think you will question her endlessly,” she noted. “Regardless, I advise you to let your doubts be and accept her assignment. There won’t be any surprises with the job, I’m sure. However…” she smirked. “...do tell me once you receive her payment. Knowing her, she will either be cheap with the compensation or leave you with an IOU. I will make up the difference in her stead.”

 

“How do I contact you? Your drone does not respond to my prodding.”

 

“M4 can help you with that.” She raised her mug and sipped on it. Her ears levelled a moment later. She looked into her cup and frowned. “I should still have more coffee in that maker…” she murmured as she drifted out of view. Her drone landed gently, then folded up, the hologram over it dissipated. 

 

Dipped the spoon into the borscht, scooped up a drenched potato; it was a perfect cube. 

 

“Cetin!”

 

Sudden thunder dislodged the cube from the spoon, hurtling it into the bowl, splashing broth onto pelmeni and tray. Plastic and metal pressed against the table by gloved hands. The false eyes met the brilliant blue with furrowed brow and grunted annoyance. 

 

The dark bags under Kalina’s eyes melted like shadowed dunes under afternoon incandescence. “We’ve got a special, very well-paying assignment!” she exclaimed, her giddy smile scintillating the false eyes. “Time to roll up our sleeves!”

​

​

​

1034

​

A dark pall has fallen over Kalina’s smile, like rolling dust shrouding the afternoon sun. The sender’s address was unintelligible, identifiable only by its position on the header and the ‘@’ bisecting it. This anomaly had escaped her notice at first pass.

 

“Two hundred thousand rubles,” pronounced Makarov slowly; her wool-like hair swayed as she leaned away from the laptop monitor. She regarded the logistics officer with an arched brow. “And you haven’t looked into the details of the job? Not even take a cursory glance at the AO? Or even notice the oddly large file size?” She folded her arms. “Are your nostrils plugged by the odour of freshly printed notes, Tovarisch Kalin?”

​

Kalina ground her teeth, her cheeks red like sunset over scorched sandy sea. 

 

With a groggy moan, MDR stirred and rubbed her eyes. She unplugged her cable from her, rubbed her eyes again, and said, “No good, Commander. Trail vanished after the third bounce. That’s as far as I can get.” 

 

“Can confirm,” said David, lifting his eyes from his laptop. “The trace stopped at the third proxy server.” With a disapproving expression, he glanced at Kalina and clicked his tongue. 

 

She did not respond to his provocation.

 

He looked back to his laptop, then clicked his tongue again. “I have recovered the data fragments on my end. MDR and I will try to piece them together, see what we can find out from them.” 

 

MDR shot a glare at David and opened her mouth. Choked sound, hanging jaw. She glanced about, closed her mouth, then sucked in her lips. Sulkily, she wound up her cable. She seemed to have wanted to protest but decided otherwise.

 

“What have you recovered?” Query directed at David. 

 

The aux guard pursed his lips, looked at his screen. “Email file probably has a daemon built-in.”

 

“...Daemon?”

 

“Daemon,” He repeated. His eyes still glued to his screen, he clarified, “Background processes. My guess is it triggered as soon as the email was opened.”

 

“So, a virus?” Skorpion tilted her head. 

 

“No. Not a virus. Viruses are infectious. This one isn’t. It’s just part of the file’s code. Probably scrubbed the log files and garbled up all the data within the email except the content. I think.” David clicked his tongue again. “Kalina, was the sender’s address legible when you received it?”

 

The logistics officer, still averting her gaze, scratched her chin. “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to that.”

 

Both David and Makarov narrowed their eyes at her. Makarov sighed. “So you did only glance through the content.”

​

“And get blinded by the big numbers?” Skorpion’s head tilted to her other shoulder.

 

Kalina mumbled unintelligibly in reply.

 

David sighed irately and looked at his laptop. “It’s going to take at least half a day to piece these fragments together.” He closed the lid. “Let’s go, MDR. The quicker we finish, the quicker we can get back to your lessons.”

 

The heterochromatic doll opened her mouth, then closed it again. She pouted, tucked her cable into her pockets and pursued her handler briskly.

 

No red blips on the hologram. AO absent any enemy activity, yet this recovery job was rewarded with such an enormous sum. Another anomaly that had escaped Kalina’s notice.

 

Sangvis minions hiding under the canopies, commanded by a ringleader. Or perhaps a ringleader dummy? 

 

China-clatter. Steaming teacup in front of Kalina’s folded arms. She kept her silence, not meeting Makarov’s ruby gaze, which glinted judgmentally as she stirred jam into the logistics officer’s teacup. 

 

“Leave her be. I was forewarned about this client.” 

 

Makarov tapped the spoon against the cup’s mouth and laid it on the saucer.

 

Valley between Subsectors Two, Three and Four; Team AR had taken this route to Safehouse Three. The south cut off, the northern path remained open. Opportunity for Intruder to flank us, though she hadn’t the mind to exploit this vulnerability. Possible insertion route for the covert teams? No. The road there joins the route to the bridges south of Intruder’s base, the same bridges the convoy will inevitably cross during the siege. Team AR must have trekked unbeaten paths to bypass that position to reach Safehouse Three.

 

Terrain around Safehouse Three too open and exposed, unsuitable for covert action. Limit the scope of operation to just the forest before the bridges.

 

The route must be blocked lest Intruder decides to use it against us. Survey for weaknesses along the cliff, detonate and trigger a landslide. 

 

Problem for later.

 

Antenna. Communications waystation atop the hill, north of the T-junction. Coordinates for asset retrieval pointed to this location. More immediate concern. 

 

No red blips; no movement there or the village surrounding said junction. Roofs and canopies concealed them from the UAV’s sight.

 

“You are taking this job, right?” 

 

Blinked. Skorpion watched intently, still tilting her head. “You are wearing your thinking face. That means you are taking this job, right?” 

 

True fingers pressed the nose’s bridge and felt the brow, a slight bump on the left side. The throat felt tight, parched. Forced a croak, “Yes.” 

 

China-clatter; balmy humidity caressed the true forearm. “You are taking this job despite its dubiousness?” asked Makarov, spoon in her jar of jam, scepticism etched on her face. 

 

“Yes.”

 

Makarov glanced aside and furrowed her brow. She dug out a glob of jam, dropped it gently into the tea, then opened her mouth.

 

“This is about that ‘forewarning’, right?”

 

Makarov closed her mouth and gave Skorpion the stink eye. The mono-eyed T-Doll merely grinned in reply. She frowned as she returned to stirring the jam into the tea. “Care to explain that?” 

 

“Macky meant that ‘forewarning’ thing.”

 

Brown droplets spilt on the saucer; Makarov, spoon still in hand, turned to scowl at the grinning Skorpion. “I can speak for myself!” 

 

“The ‘client’ is Persica’s old friend, and she had vouched for her trustworthiness. She had also warned of this secrecy; it was demanded of the client by their job.”

 

Makarov furrowed her brow again and looked aside; she was thinking.

 

“Think this is that KGB thing you are always talking about, Macky?” 

 

“No, I don’t think it’s the KGB.” Makarov shook her head. “If it were them, the email would have the header of a shell company and its content will include a deadline and an address of a drop-off or meeting point. This has none of that. Also,” she scowled again, “I’ve only mentioned the KGB once! And my name’s Makarov! Not Macky! Makarov!”

 

Skorpion stuck out her tongue.

 

“So you are really taking this job? Really?” Kalina repeated Makarov’s query, her quivering ocean-blue eyes conveying her trepidation.

​

“I will not repeat myself. Yes.”

 

She sighed in relief. “So, you are taking the job. I see. I wasn’t sure what I would do if you passed this up. I mean, it’s still two hundred thousand rubles….”

​

Growl emitted, “Kalina….” 

 

She froze up; deathly pallor crept up her cheeks. 

 

“Two hundred thousand rubles is twice the reward for retrieving a mostly intact Executioner dummy. This is no mere retrieval op.”

 

“You think the job is a scam?” Kalina asked furtively.

 

“Or the client is going to double-cross us!” Skorpion said aloud. 

 

“Don’t be silly. Someone as paranoid as Kommandir wouldn’t have accepted this errand if he suspects betrayal.” Skorpion scowled at Makarov, who hid her grin behind her teacup. 

​

“He’s not paranoid!”

 

Sigh exhaled. “Cease this infighting. Persica has vouched for the client. I am willing to take my chances with this errand.” 

 

Waystation reachable only by a dirt road branching off the outpost. Dirt road too narrow for gun-trucks, only traversable by jeep or on foot. Flanked by canopies. Both outpost and path are ideal ambush positions. 

 

“The sum promised hints on the danger: the Waystation is still defended by the Sangvis. Its defence is likely overseen by a Ringleader or a Ringleader dummy.”

 

Kalina stared at the Tactical Map. “Hooo…” Her narrowed eyes had a devious glint to them. “Isn’t this a good chance for our people to blow off some steam, then?” 

 

“Explain.”

 

“Alright, so, we have collapsed the Telecoms Building in Novum Sambir, right?”

 

“To cover for Team M4, Team SVD….”

 

“Snow!” Skorpion insisted.

 

“...Team Snow and Team FAL’s escape.”

 

“Right.” The logistics officer nodded. She got off her desk, approached the Tactical Map and tapped her card against its touchpad. She then made a series of taps.

 

“I had a peek on the maps of the containment zone some time back, and if I remember correctly…,” the map zoomed, “...the Novum Sambir Telecoms Building is part of the communications relay network connecting the Sangvis heartlands with the rest of the Soviet Union.”

 

Another series of her taps brought out a cluster of red and blue dots connected by lines. “Woah.” Skorpion’s jaw dropped, her eye wide with astonishment.

 

“Of course, the Ministry of Communication had long since cut the Sangvis off the network,” the logistics officer pointed at one of the blank spaces between the red and blue dots. One of the red dots was in Novum Sambir. “...but according to intel, they are still using the relays to coordinate their forces throughout the containment zone.” 

 

She then pointed at the dot indicated by the provided coordinates; it was to the south-east of Novum Sambir. “That Waystation lies at the very periphery of their territory. See that one line?” There was only one line between the south-eastern and north-western dots. “It connects with the Telecoms Building and nothing else. And since we have collapsed the Telecoms Building….” 

 

“...The Waystation is isolated from their network. Intruder is blind to the goings-on there.”

 

Kalina grinned and made a finger gun gesture. “Exactly. Which means we don’t need to hold back.”

 

“How did you do that, Kalina?” Skorpion inquired, sounding impressed. “It’s like you are a hacker or something.”

 

“For a self-proclaimed adjutant, you certainly know nothing,” Makarov scoffed. Hearing this, Skorpion puffed her cheeks and glared at her. Wearing a smirk, the pale doll continued, “Like all Grifon bases, everything here is networked. Tovarisch Kalin just needs to input the relevant search string into the Tactical Map console, and it will retrieve the relevant information from the Data Room servers. Rest is applying the relevant filters.”

​

The logistics officers smiled smugly. “Moreover, I had been tooling around with the Tactical Map for almost a year. I’m more familiar with its functions than Cetin is.” 

 

“There is no guarantee Intruder hadn’t already remedied this disruption. She had plenty of time.” 

 

True fingers tapped on the touchpad, bringing back the border map between the three subsectors. False eyes scanned its terrain, seeking an antenna, yet found none.

 

“...Intruder’s been lax.” 

 

“And that’s just the opportunity we need to test things out before the big day!” 

 

Position hellcannons further down the road. Lure the Sangvis out of the canopies and the outpost into a kill zone….

 

…There was still the matter of the Ringleader’s identity.

 

“Skorpion, Makarov. Fetch 416, Snow, FAL and Lev. Together. No splitting up.”

 

Both dolls blinked and gaped. “Kommandir,” Makarov started. “We can cover more ground if we split up. I advise revising your instructions.”

​

“Yeah!” Skorpion nodded in agreement. “What she said! I know where Lev is, so I can go to him straight away while Makarov searches the barracks for Sarge, Snow and FAL.”

 

“Who decides that?” Makarov folded her arms. “Everyone knows where Tovarisch Kuznetsov is. I can find him myself. You look for the dolls, seeing you know your way better than I do.”

 

“No, you will be going together. Skorpion, take this opportunity to show Makarov around.”

 

“Aye aye!” the yellow doll saluted while the blue one scowled. 

“If I hear any word on your infighting, you will both be cleaning the helos. Together.”

​

The two dolls departed quietly, though not peaceably. Their agitated mutterings followed them like quarrelsome imps, and they elbowed and scowled at each other the moment they stepped out of the threshold. 

 

Makarov’s lukewarm tea was a clash of over-steeped bitterness and saccharine sweetness. 

 

“By. The. Way,” Kalina said bubbly, her trepidation fully evaporated, her every word punctuated by her skipping steps. “Persica didn’t visit you in the canteen just to warn you about the ‘client’, right?” Double finger gun. “She totally has a job for us, right?” 

​

Nose of a hound’s, conditioned to sniff out currency.

 

Sigh exhaled. “She came to me with an errand. A salvage job for intact Guard frames and intact shields; bullet damage and missing heads still accepted. She offered ten thousand rubles for each.” 

 

Kalina deflated, her enthusiasm evaporated, the gleam in her eye faded. “That’s it? Just an errand? Come on! A genius like her doesn’t show up just to hand us an errand. There has to be something bigger.” She frowned and held her hips, “Don’t lie. What are you keeping from me?” 

 

“There’s an earlier offer; Guard remains of any condition, two hundred rubles per kilogramme. I have rejected that offer.”

 

Her eyes widened, and she reared back. Her face turned white, then red again. “Y-you dummy!” she cried. “Why did you reject that? Two hundred rubles per kilogramme, and you rejected that for the ten thousand per intact frame offer? What were you thinking?!” 

 

“She offered currency for garbage, Kalina. I cannot accept those terms; they do not benefit us mutually.”

 

“But it’s an abundance of garbage!” Kalina retorted. “You can trip over a pile just by entering Novum Sambir outskirts! If you have accepted that job….”

​

​

​

1130

​

“You could have asked Persica for help,” said Nivy as he twisted the samovar’s tap closed, “Keep the latter Guard frame deal, but also request from her financial aid with the promise of returned favours later. She would accept, seeing that Team AR’s well-being is tied to your company’s.”

 

False fingers tingled. Teeth scraped away the bitter grime from the tongue. “That would mean indebting myself to her and exploiting her ties to Team AR. I cannot do this.”

​

He stirred the amber jam into his tea, took a sip and nictated. Placing it on his side of the Tactical Map, he continued, “Just treat it as owed favours. Or perhaps a loan. Besides, you do need the funds.” He added more jam into his crockery. “Treat her relationship with Team AR as the door opener and no further than that. And be sure to repay her favours. So long as you do that, it all evens out.” 

 

Grime scraped off tongue, bitterness melted into utterance. “Owed favours, especially those rooted in exploited sentimentalities, can easily turn poisonous. I prefer to avoid them, especially while I still have alternative options.” 

 

“A little late to worry about owed favours now,” Nivy replied as he stirred another spoonful of jam into his tea. “You’ve heard Kalin earlier. She’s going to try to buy parts on credit. With your blessing, I might add. Your company’s going to shoulder debt despite your reluctance.” 

 

“We will transact the down payment tomorrow and the outstanding amount in three days. These are our decided deadlines. The terms are concrete. Black and white with no interpersonal baggage attached.”

 

He drank his tea, frowned, and lowered his cup. “You worry too much about the ‘exploited ties’ angle, Cetin. You are a man of your word; you will be fine. She doesn’t strike me as a vindictive opportunist. Just careless with her fortune.” He stirred more jam into his tea. “Besides, I prefer being indebted to her instead of putting refugees to work, especially those from the border between Subsectors One and Three. From what I have gathered, they are destitute and, more importantly, will be inhospitable to us. Especially after you and Kalin deprived them of their funds.” 

 

“By accepting our contract, they will earn currency and gain access to salvage within Novum Sambir. That, and the foraging grounds M4 had opened up for them yesterday, should help offset their earlier deprivation.”

 

“So you will let them take whatever else they want from Novum Sambir?” He nictated again as he lowered his cup. “That may seem fair from your point of view, but are you sure they will agree?”

 

Bitter deposit over bitter deposit, sentiment layered despite the rushing flood. Scraped the tongue and opened the mouth. Answer unuttered, drowned by Skorpion’s cry at the threshold.

 

“Cetin!” she exclaimed, waving as she entered the tent. “We are back!” Makarov followed her shoulder-to-shoulder, wearing a grumpy frown and making a conscious effort not to glance at her. 416 and FAL strode in after them. Next came Lev, expressionless and seemingly distracted, with Snow stalking two steps behind him.

 

“What ails you, Lev?”

 

He blinked. His eyes focused, his lips quivered. He motioned to speak. 

 

“Tell the Kommandir everything, Tovarisch Kuznetsov,” said Makarov warningly.

​

“Yeah!” Skorpion added fitfully. “He will be mad if you keep anything from him.”

 

Lev closed his mouth, frowned, then spoke, “My boys were arguing over who should be test-firing the hellcannons with live ammunition.” 

 

“They are concerned about safety?”

 

“Da,” Snow interjected. “They bickered like schoolboys pushing responsibility among each other.” She cracked a grin. “They were deciding between drawing lots or playing with sticks to determine which two among them should do the honours. Svet’s never been grumpier!” 

​

The dayguard captain exhaled irritably. “Stop picking on them. It’s not their fault for being hesitant. The shell’s a propane tank with fins and fuse welded on, and the cannons are industrial piping on wheels! No offence to Papasha and Sudaev, but they couldn’t make them any less dubious.”

 

“Should I assist in motivating our men?” 

 

Snow cracked a grin again. Lev, seeing this, rolled his eyes. “No need,” he assured. “I’ve made them promise I hear an explosion by the time I get back.”

 

Distant thunderclap rocked the camp. The captain smirked at the pale sniper, who folded her arms and frowned in reply. 

 

“I see.”

 

“Right, so, what do you need, Fox?”

 

False fingers pointed at the Tactical Map. He glanced at the projection, then locked gaze with the false eye; his earlier cheer evaporated. 

 

“How many rounds fabricated?” 

 

Lev frowned. “The shell that went off just now’s the only one we’ve made.” 

 

“Fabricate as many as you can. Twenty-four minimum. Get them and the second hellcannon ready and tested by tomorrow 0500. Inform Griga.”

 

“Are you sure twenty-four would be enough?” Nivy inquired, sounding dubious. “The average ratio of shells to kill is three or four to one.” 

 

“The hellcannons’ primary purpose is to scatter the Sangvis…” false finger pointed at the dirt road and the path passing the outpost, “...in these two locations. Keep them off-balanced and grant our dolls the opportunity to achieve fire superiority.”

 

“Besides,” Lev pointed his thumb out of the tent flap. “Didn’t you just hear the shell go off? The Proving Grounds is one kilometre away from here, and the hellcannons are projected to have a maximum range of one-point-five kilometres, and you can still hear it from here. Also, each shell has enough yield to level at least four panel’ka units. So, will that be all?” Lev pointed at the exit with his thumb again. “I need to check up on my boys, make sure the hellcannon’s still intact and check the data Svet must have collected.”

 

“Not yet. Go to City Hall and our old base camp during today’s excursion and retrieve Hunter’s carcass and any intact Guard frames and their shields; bullet damage and missing heads still acceptable. 416, how prepared are Team FAL and Team Snow for covert recon?”