Never before was the saying ‘out of the frying pan, into the fire,’ more adequate for the following events. They had escaped from Yugorovski and freed Vostok from thirty of his men. However, now was the start of Plan B, unfortunately graduated to Plan A with ghastly consequences.
We flew the helicopter back to Yugorovski’s and hid it in the bushes. There was no way that Yugorovski’s men would even suspect that it was there. They were simply too dumb. The same couldn’t be said about Yugorovski himself, though.
A few hundred feet away from the power-plant was a bunker, with a hand-crafted dungeon underneath, built during World War 1, seeing most of its usage during WW2, with all the POW’s and other such prisoners.
Now, we’ll talk about this later.
Back to the hotel, though. As soon as they got back to it, they found a bunch of Yugorovski’s men waiting for them. It was an ambush. Slowly they went through the back-entrance, they hadn’t been spotted. It was pure bad luck that one of the people saw the back door opening and decided to go and check. Motioning to his friends he crept silently to the back door.
Seeing their targets he hoisted his modified weapon on to his shoulder and screamed, “You two, against the wall, now! Don’t make me shoot you!” He seemed more afraid then Dafs and Gustav.
As soon as they were against the wall, shielding their heads with their arms against any attack, he slowly calmed down and with a more menacing tone said, “You guys are coming with us, you’ve just booked yourselves an appointment with Yugorovski, you’re now our prisoners and, oh yeah, you’re scheduled to die tomorrow morning. Hope you find your last day amongst the living your most painful one.”
With lightning reactions they all grabbed Dafs and Gustav, and dragged them out into the boot of a waiting car, a grey Toyota Landcruiser with a shoddy suspension. Perfect for an uncomfortable ride down the back-alley. Tying them up the ambush team started the engine. After a few misfires the car started up, roaring into life, the 2.0l V10 humming away in idle, waiting patiently for the driver to engage first gear. Slowly, with great care not to stall it he drove up the hill, through the windy road to Yugorovski’s underground Italian base.
Now, we can talk about the bunker that’s beside the nuclear power station. It’s a nuclear bunker with certain upgrades and refurbishments, comfortable seating being one of them, the other being an underground dungeon, a prison designed to keep Yugorovski’s wanted fugitives until their death-day. One thing was always certain in his prison; the prisoners would all die, or would die trying to escape. No-one had successfully completed an escape; that was a record which Yugorovski was always proud of.
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Dafs and Gustav were blind-folded and stuck in a sack. They were kicked and battered before being put into the bag, and being lifted to their prison-cell, to make sure that if they tried to get out, they would get killed trying to find their way out. Jeering and purposely dropping them, they took a large detour to the cell before throwing them in, a ploy to satisfy their blood-lust.
Once they were chucked in the guards slightly unzipped the bags so they could spit on the faces of the prisoners. Sniggering, one said, “Hope you get cleaned up soon, I wouldn’t be seen dead in the state you’re in.”
The cell was a standard eight foot by six foot by six foot cubicle with a bullet proof door. The walls were standard cement walls of a nuclear bunker. Designed to stop radiation getting through they would be impossible to break through. If anything, they were beginning to understand why no-one had escaped. The floor was the only weak point, but considering they were thirty metres under solid rock the prospect of escape by that route was bleak.
However, there was one chance of escape, a patch of a ten mm thick aluminium plating covered a hole someone had made ages ago in the door. Since the door was generally weaker around that point there was a chance they could weaken the door even more and get out.
Like a madman Dafs ran straight at the door and you heard a loud crack, the aluminium plating was crushed and so there were some cracks in the door. Unfortunately, the door for most part had survived intact.
The rest of the crack was the bone of Dafs’ shoulder giving way to the force provided. Clutching at his injured shoulder with a face almost completely white with pain he ran with the other, psychotic strength and hatred gripping his entire moral fibre. Crashing the door right open he crashed into the wall, almost collapsing with pain, the only sound he could emit was a slight grunt.
Finding a small piece of wire Gustav laughed and ran out of the door. If anything, escape was getting easier.
When he got out he saw Dafs, pale, clutching at his shoulders, lying against the wall. Slowly he edged himself back up and picked up a small knife that was in the opened crate besides him. Painfully he croaked, “Gustav, take this.”
He chucked it rather feebly into the grasp of Gustav. Now, Dafs ripped of parts of his jeans and wrapped the cut-offs around his arms.
Wincing, he let out a groan of pain and staggered through the hallway. Slowly, the pain ebbed to a slight ache and Dafs experimentally shifted one of his shoulders. A sharp stab of pain went through him but the pain went relatively quickly.
Gustav went through the hallway, his saviour following slightly behind. One guard was patrolling the hallway. About fifty metres away, Gustav took the knife and threw it with precision into the guard’s throat. Choking slightly, he fell in a crumpled heap on the floor. In his grasp was Dafs’ own Hk-33. “He took my weapon! These bastards nicked my own personal possession.” Creeping around the corner he took quick aim and fired. Another guard was left in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Suddenly, they heard footsteps, guards running this way. “Idiot! They know we’ve escaped now, and are after our blood." Gustav screamed, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
With one quick manoeuvre Dafs set up the weapon on the floor, pointing right up the hallway. Crawling on the floor he put his hand to the trigger. White faced with pain he spat out a reply, “There’s no way they’ll get past me alive.”
An entire army of armed guards came around the corner, body shields protecting them from all but the most devastating blast. Looking up he stared in dismay. This is gonna be much harder then I’d originally anticipated. Walking closer, they cocked their weapons in complete unison. Scrap plan B, plan C’s now in operation. Changing the ammunition type inside the gun he picked them off, one by one. Incendiary bullets are a lifesaver.
Soon though, he was out of bullets and the normal ammo was having no effect. Quickly, the first line of guards opened fire. Watching in slow-mo as his weapon was destroyed he hid behind a conveniently placed crate and watched as Gustav took care of them. Almost moving like a ballet-dancer he pirouetted around them, slowly slicing them open one by one. The survivors fired into their own ranks, the want of survival overriding any desire to work as a team.
Dafs watched this poetry in motion as he saw his friend take care of the surviving guards, watching as the imbeciles, too slow to react, shot into their own ranks and got killed by Gustav. It was too good to last, though. They closed around him. He’d need all of his skills to survive, and possibly more. The odds had turned against him, but they had left one guy out of the equation. Guess who that was?
Like a greyhound let out of the box he hurled himself at them, physically lifting one of them off the floor, ignoring the searing pain, and throwing him upside down into the wall. He picked up the remnants of what was once his gun, and with a psychotic rage he threw them, still smouldering into the backs of some more guards. Still too busy dealing with Gustav, they had no chance to watch as their comrades were ripped from them.
There were a few less guards now, eighteen out of forty, almost an acceptable number compared to what they were facing just moments before. With over half their number gone, they ran off to regroup, leaving a wounded Gustav and a mad Dafs to work out an escape route before some more guards ran in to finish the job.
************************************************************
Back inside the briefing room the commander looked at his depleted group, shocked. Quickly he got up and with understandable anger he moved to each one in turn and gave each one a black eye. Giving each one an evil look he shouted, “I send forty of you to take care of two escaped prisoners, and you come back with over half your number dead, and the rest of you acting like headless chickens. Now, get back in there and find them! Of course, if you want a fate worse then death, come back with them still alive,” he growled. “You have your orders; I have mine, now get back in there and kill.”
Sent running from the command centre they ran like people with a death sentence hanging over their heads. Their commander wouldn’t take failure lightly, neither would Yugorovski. Getting back to reality they decided the best course of action would be to split up into two groups of nine. One group going down the west corridor and on going down the east. That way they had more chance to surprise the enemy and spring a deadly two-pronged attack.
Dafs and Gustav eventually realised that they would be safer staying together, simply because two against eighteen is always better then one, even if it means you only have a slightly longer time on your feet before they all go for you.
*************************************************************
Slowly worming their way through the corridor, as they were out of ammo, they came to the main cell block, for political prisoners and important individuals. There were remains of bodies on the floor, rats slowly gorging themselves on rotting flesh. From inside the cells came muffled screaming. From some of the cells came the sound of a very merciless firing squad. People who had had their ransom demands rejected no doubt.
People were being dragged into some cells, soon to be victims of a very rigorous interrogation. These cells were notably different from the ones Dafs and Gustav came from.
These cells from the inside looked like an advanced science lab. Shackled to the torture chamber was a thirty-something year old who looked like he’d been here before. Blue eyes burning with ice-cold hatred stared at the people who were about to administer the torture. Almost resignedly he relaxed as much as possible and waited for them to start the painful process.
Beside him was a syringe of a liquid drug designed specifically to increase the amount of pain he was going to feel. On the other side was an electricity cable, a jug of water and a flamethrower. No marks for guessing what they were going to put him through.
As soon as the prisoner noticed them his expression changed slightly, he became more urgent and more ready to escape. A glimmer of hope showed through his hatred. If only it hadn’t. The scientists saw the slight change and picked up their revolvers, shooting, as always, to kill. One shot narrowly missed Gustav’s head. Whatever chance they had of escape before was evaporating quickly before their eyes.
Pumped up, the prisoner had the distraction he needed. Slowly he broke through the shackles and got up. Delirious with hatred he kicked one of the scientists squarely in the balls. Eyes watering, the scientist slumped down. With all his strength focused in his foot he kicked the revolver out of his hand. Picking it up he saw the other scientist turn around to look at him when the point of a dagger came out of the front of his shirt. His shirt was pretty soon a red mass of blood. Falling down his eyes rolled into the back of his head before falling in a crumpled heap on the floor.
“Now to escape.” Said the newly released prisoner, his voice dripping with a Russian accent. Picking up the other revolver he handed it to Gustav. “Here, use this if any more guards try to kill you. Only go for headshots, this weapon only has six bullets. No spare ammo, see?”
Searching for any heavy weapon Dafs picked up a heavily used Ak-47. Checking for any more ammunition he found one full clip and two quarter full. Forty-five rounds, plus the half-full one still in there, not bad but chances are, he’d need more.
Slinging the Kalashnikov over his injured shoulder he choked with the pain but walked out of the room. The Russian followed slightly behind, with a revolver containing five shots. Gustav slowly followed and pointed his revolver at head-height through the corridor.
Of course they didn’t know what to do with their new addition, the Russian prisoner but at the moment it was decided that they should let him tag along and worry what to do with him when they escape.
They went through the main corridor, constantly surveying for any disturbances and problems.
Gustav decided to try to engage the Russian in conversation, as silence was slowly starting to trouble him. “So, what brought you here in the first place?”
The Russian spat on the ground, showing obvious contempt for his captors, “They brought me here, I was working in the Russian special ops at the time. We had found out some worrying facts about Yugorovski, his scientists working on something which could put the world into entire peril.
“None of us understood the true implications of what Yugorovski was working on but, suffice to say, he was up to no good. My team was sent to investigate further but we had a rat and by the time we got there, Yugorovski’s men were waiting for us.
“Some of the team escaped and informed the Russian authorities who sent more teams in. But, like ours, their fate was the same. We got caught in a fire-fight. I was injured and was captured. They sent a ransom for me to Russia, which was promptly refused.
“My country refuses to work with terrorists, point blank. There’s no way Russia would grant my freedom. It could jeopardise everything they’re working for.
“As the ransom was refused they thought of how to get all the information I had found out back to them. Hah, they thought I would break like so many others, but I was in the Russian Special Forces, the hardiest bunch of militants this side of Ukraine. They’ve spent years trying to break me, and for years they’ve failed, but recently my resolve was breaking so there’s a chance that they’ve found out more then they should’ve.
“But now I’m free it’s time to tighten the noose around those bastards that brought me here, time to give them just enough rope to hang themselves with.”
With the determination of someone who wants his life to mean something, he walked straight down the corridor, hatred mingling with the relief of freedom. They are gonna pay, those who brought me here, I swear, before this day is through, they are gonna die, a slow and brutally painful death.
Leaning against the wall he saw a group of nine guards coming this way. He motioned to Dafs and Gustav to follow him. Edging along the wall, keeping his profile as small as possible he got closer and closer to the guards.
He was about ten metres away before one of them noticed and Gustav shot him in the head as soon as he turned to his friends. Now all pretence of cover was gone. The guards knew they were there and were going to shoot to kill. However, so was the other side and with an AK on their side it seemed like Gustav and co were going to win.
Three more guards fell before they grabbed for their guns, grunting in pain and spilling blood from various ruptured organs. Cocking them under heavy fire two more went down, one shot heavily in the stomach and the other dead from a bullet in his head.
Now the odds were even, three against three. The three guards, seeing no way out surrendered to fight another day, or would’ve if the Russian didn’t suddenly turn trigger-happy. Three more guards lay dead on the floor.
Dafs and Gustav both looked wordlessly at the remains of the gaurds who surrendered, then at the Russian. They both looked stunned and the looks in their eyes said it all, what the...?
“There are less of these bastards to cope with, now. As if they weren’t going to go against us at the earliest opportunity. These aren’t the only guards you know. There’s about forty on this level, unless you’ve done any damage to the numbers, and about twenty on the level above. Cutting through the command room will be the quickest way out, and remember, my main objective is to stay alive, and I’ll do all I can to. Whatever objectives you have you can forget them until we’ve escaped.”
“We’ve killed around thirty-one, if you include the bunch we’ve just killed now. Now, control your trigger-happy tendencies otherwise the only way we’ll get out of here is in a coffin.”
“I’ll do whatever I see fit to staying alive. I’m not taking orders from anyone. Terrik Breshkhev,” he pointed at himself, “doesn’t take orders from anyone. In the Spec-Ops team I gave orders, I never took any, I gave orders.”
“Maybe so, but if you want to survive you’ll stop being so trigger-happy and actually help us to survive. We don’t trust you, we don’t trust your motives but we do trust that you’ve found something important. Now, we have to stay alive so that we can catch Yugorovski and his slime in the act. OK?”
“You obviously know what we have to do more then me, so fill me in. Just what the heck have you done that is so bad that Yugorovski wants you fully dead? I can guess that much from the way some of the inmates described your entrance. Carried in a blue bag, inside one of the guard’s personal Toyota Landcruiser. I’m impressed you warranted such rough handling.
“Besides that, I don’t trust you but, to survive, we have to work together as a team. My motives are to skin every one of those stinking scumbags alive. I thought you’d have guessed and besides, the way I do it we have more chance of leaving here alive, even though we might leave a large number of them dead. Anyway, you gave me the first hope that I might get out of here alive, instead of dying as a work in progress. It might sound like a surprise but I’m grateful for that. Who knows, there might be a real chance of a friendship for us.”
Dafs walked back to them, “Who knows, maybe there is a chance of an unholy alliance here, but first we need to get out of here, right now that means moving!
“I mean there’s always a chance of friendship, Terrik, but if there is a conspiracy going on here we have to move, NOW! And the sooner we get out of here the better; we have to get out, to protect our lives!"
"And to save th lives of innocents” he added as an afterthought.
“You’re right, we can ill afford this delay, we’ve got to get out of this prison, and we’ve got to get planet-side.”
Reloading his weapon Dafs smiled his most ironic, “Getting planet-side won’t be a problem, what we’ve got to avoid is getting planet-side in a coffin, or getting buried in this underground curse. Now come on, we’ve got an appointment with Russia to keep.”
The trio moved quickly through the main corridor, getting closer to the command room, getting closer to the prison core. Only one question remained: What would happen, would the remaining guards get to them first, or would they outsmart them all, and get to the commander, the last key to the escape.
*************************************************************
The question was answered, the guards found them before their escape. Not the intended way for Gustav and the other two of the trio, but it was the destined way. Besides, this way it was far more interesting, for all parties involved. Two groups met, only one group would be leaving this battle alive. There was an uncalculated amount of uncertainty. Since there were only two before, and they had dealt with twenty-two of the guards, there was more uncertainty for the guards. Uncertain for them as there were three against them now, the third being a hard-case Russian who they had been trying to break for years, each of them with an unequalled marksmanship.
Nine against three; so on paper the odds were three to one. However, since each of them were supremly skilled in their chosen weaponry, and were so quick, the odds were reduced, three to two, or less.
Gustav took the revolver in his hand, cocked it, loaded it and eyed the tossers in front of him, three bullets remaining in his gun, he could take a few down with him. Nervously, taking into account his limited weaponry he signed some tactics to Terrik, the Russian signed bak.
Dafs kneeled on one knee, resting the AK on his shoulder. Eyeing each one he knew that with the available shots he had he could take them out. Bugging him was the notion that the gun would break before he had the chance to kill.
Terrik just pointed his gun at the nearest guard and fired. He watched as the force of the bullet flung him through the air, the bullet breaking through the other side of his stomach.
Gustav and Dafs also shot, another two lay dead on the floor. Battle was joined, the remaining six guards opened fire, their slowness and hesitancy almost costing them their lives. Freshmen, these guys wouldn’t even be called harmless.
One lucky shot tore through Gustav’s coat, securing itself in his shoulder. His eyes widened with shock, but he took aim and fire. He let off his last two shots, both hitting the guard in his family jewels. He went down, screaming in complete agony, as the blood sprayed through the air.
Completely weapon-less he hurried down the corridor, searching for a crate, or packages they took from the prisoners. Anything, that had daggers, or guns.
Finding some he rummaged through, until he found one full of daggers of different styles. Picking out the ones he recognised as his he ran back up.
Meanwhile, Terrik had emptied his revolver into two more idiots on the floor. Taking care of two guards Dafs thought his weapon would survive the rough usage he was putting it under. Soon as this was over, he was finding a gunsmith to repair this baby, once battle was through.
Irritatingly, so close, his weapon broke, the force of the bullets and its state of total disrepair beating it, it shattered, shards imbedding themselves in his cheek and his chest. Deeply they'd embedded themselves in, but no vitals were ruptured, he might get out okay.
Slowly and painfully, he took the shard out of his cheek, while squeezing at his chest, to try and halt the blood flow. Taking the pieces of the gun, he put them in his pocket. The main blood flow out of his chest stopped after a few agonising minutes, the blood just oozing now. He got up, mercilessly grinning. Past the stage of madness, there was no turning back. He'd fight, or ie trying. Walking purposefully towards the remaining guard he psyched himself up for the finale. The guard stared at his enraged adversary; he picked up his weapon and tried to fire. Nothing.
“Looking for these?” Terrik screamed in his ear, pointing to the clip that contained the bullets.
“Erm, oh boy, I gotta run.”
“Not so fast,” Gustav screamed, running at amazing speed, with five daggers in his hand. Throwing them all at the same time he catapulted them towards the guard. All five hit, with amazingly lethal accuracy. It wouldn’t be long before the guard was dead. But before then Dafs walked over to him and kicked him hard in the head. The sound of the neck breaking and the body hit the wall gave Dafs a sense of bloody justice.
Slumping back on the floor Dafs removed the shard in his chest, slowly, inch by inch. Hours seemed to pass but he got the shard out. Taking more of his shirt he wrapped it round the wound.
Gustav retrieved the daggers from the body of the now deceased guard.
Final target before escape, possibly the commander, if he was still in the command room, if not, then escape would be all the more easy.
Terrik chucked the weapon of the dead guard at Dafs, who caught it with a grunt, then chucked the clips at him as well. Loading up the third weapon of the day he looked rather annoyed at his bad luck. Now the flow of blood stopped, and Dafs got back up, pretty hacked off.
He walked straight through the corridor, Gustav and Terrik flanking either side. Slowly, he made it to the command room. Inside was the commander, pacing about, getting more and more anxious.
Barging through the door the trio came in and took out the security cameras. As soon as they did that the commander knew he was finished. Finally, he had the perfect excuse for leaving the complex. “Ok, you guys win, even though those idiot guards you killed were pathetic, the fact that you killed all 40 of them means that I have no chance of survival. The only way you’ll get through to the ground floor is if you have a hostage. You killed the guards down here, but the ones up there are twice as tough, three times as intelligent and ten times better trained. Face it, you try and storm through and they’ll blow you away.”
With the newly acquired weapon, again, Dafs aimed his gun at the back of the commander. “Move, up the stairs and show to them that the only way you’ll get out of this alive is if they do everything we tell them to do.”
“Oh, yeah, if you fail, no-one will hear you scream.”
"If we fail commander, we're taking you with us. We go down, you go with us."
Up the stairs they moved, the commander in front, the rest behind. He had to wear the illusion of fear, even though, according to him, everything was going as planned. There was a slight twinge of fear in his mind, telling him the consequences if this failed. Pushing those thoughts out of his mind he wondered what life would be like if he left. He’d be a free man; until Yugorovski finds out he’s been tricked. That must never happen so he’d cover his tracks. In this case, acute paranoia really was a friend.
Even though they passed every sleaze-bag that was under Yugorovski’s payroll, not a shot was fired. The commander that was in front of them was the best one they had, and they were going to do their best so that he could come back alive.
So, he got out, right out from underneath Yugorovski’s nose and in front of them was a garage, a garage full of the cars that Yugorovski had acquired, including the little Russian Larda, that was recently Gustav’s.
Moving inside the garage they strapped themselves in, and as they’d secured their escape they left the commander there. Unfortunately, there was an unseen security camera up ahead, and even though it hadn’t spotted them yet, no doubt it would.
“So, Terrik, how did you get that name?”
Terrik chuckled slightly before telling the truth, “I had a father who was a real fan of Star Wars, especially the books, and he named me after the fameous pirate and smuggler, Booster Terrik. I find it slightly surprising that I wasn’t christened as ‘Booster’ Terrik Breshkhev. Anyway, I think that most of the kids he’d had were named after Star Wars characters.”
“Dude! I...”
At that moment the escape alarm rang and the door started to close.
Chapter 4 complete. Ending transmission.
Anyway, 5, 6 and 7 WILL be posted tomorrow or Sunday. Either way, you'll see it first. (or Rusti will
). And any ideas for chapter eight once I've given chapter all seven chapters out to you guys would be appreciated.So far there's around 68 pages in all seven chapters. Enjoy!
Hmm... What happened to the feedback? I wonder...
You know, maybe I will send these ALL to Rusti, at least then there's more chance of feedback.
