Long-term salvation

"I understand what you mean, even though the tank you summoned flattened my favorite Lada sedan... and the two boxes of cherry vodka in the trunk."

Right next to the two of them, dozens of former Soviet soldiers were queuing up to view the poor little thing - a few minutes ago, when Rhodes and the lieutenant colonel were debating whether the other world existed, he stood by the window and exchanged for a T80BV tank - Rhodes then heard the lieutenant colonel's desperate scream.

"Ahem, it was an accident. I will compensate you."

Rhodes said awkwardly. He took out a box of Red Apple cigarettes, shook it, and found that there were only two cigarettes left in it. The other boxes had been given to Perseus' agents, and he couldn't take them back now.

After handing one to the lieutenant colonel, Rhodes picked up one himself and snapped his fingers, and two cigarettes were lit.

"It's amazing. Initially, those... Perseus? Those agents were contacting me before the collapse of the Soviet Union, but I hesitated. But now it seems it's not a bad thing. I can see things beyond my imagination - like a US citizen dared to fly over to me in this weather in a Mi-8 helicopter and say, 'Hey, let's go save the world!'"

Lieutenant Colonel Sichev said with a smile. He took a puff but choked and coughed repeatedly, but he still took it slowly and continued with a bitter look on his face:

"I didn't inform my superiors... To be honest, I don't know who they are, but if you move troops away from the base without permission, you will definitely be thrown into a military court, no matter which country you are in."

"You and your soldiers can come and work for the Army Without Borders if you can survive this battle. Of course, returning to Russia is also a good option. You can work with Sablin and the others."

Rhodes shrugged, his eyes sweeping over the soldiers who were quickly sorting their weapons and ammunition and starting armored vehicles. This internal security regiment was only equipped with BTR-70s and BMP-1s, and many soldiers had to ride in trucks. However, there were a lot of light weapons and ammunition. This was not a problem. Rhodes knew that among the more than 1,000 people, there were more than a dozen non-commissioned officers who could drive tanks, and it was enough to form a tank platoon before the battle.

The biggest task of the Internal Guard Corps is to intercept and block the enemy's escape routes. As long as the latter cannot run around like fleas, Rhodes can deal with them in a few hours.

"The enemy might resort to supernatural means. You must be prepared to protect the Chernobyl nuclear power plant when that happens," Rhodes said. He watched the lieutenant colonel quietly finish his cigarette and stomp it out. "How many people are willing to participate? This is no different from a war."

"Of the 1492 men in the 24th Independent Mechanized Infantry Regiment, only 238 chose to stay. They swore to me that they would not inform on us to the Ukrainian military after we left... I believed them."

Lieutenant Colonel Sichev smiled, with a mixture of pride and sadness on his face.

"Those who stay and are willing to keep the secret are also brave," Rhodes reached out and patted the lieutenant colonel on the shoulder. He saw D talking to two Perseus agents, seemingly instructing the latter to cover up the Ukrainian signal.

After briefly discussing the details of the operation with the lieutenant colonel, Rhode turned and looked at the wreckage of the car surrounded by soldiers. It was crushed and deflated, and the leaked gasoline did not cause a fire or explosion, but only emitted a pungent smell in the heavy snow.

Glancing at his remaining pollution points, Rhode walked towards the wreckage, a flaming sword emerging from his palm. A flash of golden light flashed across the astonished faces of the surrounding soldiers before the car's wreckage completely vanished from the world, leaving only a hammer and sickle forged from molten steel.

The sickle and hammer slowly cooled in the falling snow, allowing themselves to be enveloped by the evaporating mist.

The soldiers and officers looked at the sign in silence until Lieutenant Colonel Sichev, standing on his BTR-70K (command variant), shouted to everyone:

"Let's go to Pripyat and kill those bastards who want to transport nuclear warheads out of our great motherland! Long live the Soviets!"

The soldiers set out in the early morning. It was still snowing heavily and the world was still dark.

Chapter 313 Transaction (12/20)

Chernobyl.

This name is steeped in stupidity and arrogance, and reveals bravery and tenacity. It eventually turned into a tombstone wantonly smeared by countless evil spirits. It and the concrete sarcophagus were frozen on the land of Ukraine, silently watched by the flowing Dnieper River.

Even in the early morning, the leaden clouds hung low, like frozen felt pressing down on the wreckage of a ruined city. The snow didn't drift, but rather fell like a crystalline dust crushed by some cosmic wheel, each flake a sharp, geometric structure, frozen into tiny icicles before reaching the ground.

The cities of Pripyat and Chernobyl have long been abandoned, but in the moments after the collapse of the Soviet Union, they are like urban specimens of this collapsed red country - you can find all kinds of objects from the Soviet era here and see the lives of the Soviet people in that era - now, they are indeed like specimens, dead, and then become shriveled, wrinkled, and no one pays attention to them anymore.

The only sound that continued was the crackling of the Geiger counters in the soldiers' hands.

Wearing gas masks and military coats, the soldiers wrapped their bodies tightly, fearing that they would touch plants and buildings contaminated with nuclear dust.

Now, Ibriya and Zakhaev's "Russian Ultranationalist Organization" are spreading out in Pripyat, with armored vehicles and infantry fighting vehicles patrolling along the dilapidated roads, alert for any would-be infiltrators who could disrupt the deal.

Thanks to the vast weaponry left over from the Soviet era and the gold from the Ibrys organization, Zakhaev was able to rapidly expand his influence in Ukraine, and even now he can easily mobilize hundreds of soldiers to gather here - however, these criminals released from prison, retired soldiers and soldiers still in the Ukrainian army will never know the content of the transactions taking place here.

But if they knew, they probably wouldn't care.

Glancing at the BTR-80 passing downstairs, Zakhaev took a sip of hot water, exhaling a puff of white steam. He then noticed Chaos sitting in the corner of the room. He seemed oblivious to the cold, slowly flipping through an ancient book, sitting there like a corpse.

The pages of the book turned gently, without making any sound, but it made people feel extremely uncomfortable, as if something had sneaked into the room.

"We can just trade here. We have avoided those high radiation areas, and the radiation is not as strong as it was during the nuclear accident."

Zakhaev said to Chaos, he was wearing a thick coat and not a gas mask like most soldiers. It was not because he was fearless, but because he knew very well where he could go and where he could not go in this wasteland licked by nuclear radiation.

"When will your transport convoy arrive?" Chaos asked, a hint of dissatisfaction in his words. "We're already an hour late. Every extra minute means a little more danger."

"We'll be there soon. This is due to weather conditions, otherwise I would have sent a transport helicopter directly here."

Zakhaev replied calmly, folding his hands over his chest and tapping his fingers lightly on his arms as he paced forward. Like Chaos, he also didn't want the transaction to be delayed. Not only was it due to the terrifying intruder from last night, but also the attention of the Ukrainian government and the permanent members of the UN Security Council.

When the Soviet Union collapsed, the whereabouts of nuclear weapons has always been the most concerning issue for all parties. No one wants to see the sun slowly rising in the sky while sleeping one night.

After Zakhaev walked around the room twice, his deputy, Vladimir Makarov, came over the intercom:

"The truck carrying the nuclear bomb has arrived, and we are verifying it with the Ibris organization."

"Very good, let's go down now."

Putting the walkie-talkie back into his pocket, Zakhaev turned his head to look in the direction of Chaos, but saw only an empty chair - the strange man wearing a silver mask had already left the room, leaving Zakhaev with only a fleeting trouser leg.

“…damn Middle Eastern people.”

Zakhaev walked quickly down the dilapidated apartment building and entered the snowy Pripyat. He looked at the Ferris wheel in the distance that had begun to rust but still stood tall, and felt a sense of silent emotion in his heart.

Taking a deep breath of cold air, Zakhaev walked towards the truck. Noticing his arrival, Makarov quietly approached and whispered:

"Transportation across the Dnieper River has also begun, and your son, Victor Zakhaev, is in charge."

"I understand," Zakhaev breathed a sigh of relief, brushing the snow off his deputy's shoulders. "You'll be responsible for planning our evacuation route... and who will stay behind to cover our retreat. I've got a bad feeling about this, so just be prepared."

"clear."

Looking at his deputy's receding figure, Zakhaev sighed - Makarov in front of him was more outstanding than his son Victor. If one of them died, it would be fine, but if he died and both of them survived, the entire organization would probably be divided... Victor would definitely die without a burial place.

That's all in the future. Zakhaev will not get rid of his most trusted deputy just because of such boring speculation.

Thinking so, Zakhaev continued to move forward in the heavy snow, and several guards followed quietly.

Passing through the busy crowd who were counting weapons, Zakhaev found Chaos, who seemed very satisfied with the content of the transaction - inside the truck, two large square metal boxes were firmly fixed with steel wire, with dangerous nuclear contamination signs spray-painted on them, and several Ibris members wearing gas masks were inspecting them.

"No problem, we've completed the gold exchange with your people," Chaos said to Zakhaev who was approaching. "There's no need to stay. The Ibris Organization will leave now."

"How are you planning to leave?" Zakhaev asked casually, reaching up to brush away the snowflakes that had fallen on him.

This question was not answered. Chaos just suddenly raised his head and looked towards the west.

At this moment, it was almost nine o'clock, but the heavy snow still did not stop. Snowflakes hung on the fingertips of Lenin's bronze statue at the entrance to Pripyat, making it look like an ice crystal puppet suspended by invisible silk threads.

Two armored vehicles were parked in a figure eight formation beneath the statue. Soldiers leaned out from inside, clutching their rifles and smoking, trying to discern objects in the distance through the heavy snow.

A chimney, a tall chimney.

The chimney protruded from the heavy concrete sarcophagus of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, now stretching towards the sky like an arm - as if the thing imprisoned in the sarcophagus was crying out desperately, begging others to release it from the sarcophagus - but no normal human being would ever have such a stupid idea.

"It's amazing that the Chernobyl nuclear power plant hasn't stopped producing electricity since the disaster."

"The Ukrainian government isn't willing to give up that electricity," the soldier standing next to the armored vehicle shrugged. He clapped his hands vigorously and flexed his fingers. "Besides, it won't be easy to shut this thing down. It might take a decade or so."

"Really? But then again, is that snow pile ahead moving?"

"Huh? Let me take a look."

The soldier leaned out of the armored vehicle and looked ahead with binoculars. He observed carefully, trying to identify it clearly:

"what."

That was not a pile of snow, but a T80BV tank.

The tank pushed aside the flying snow, its turret twisted slightly and aimed, and then more and more "snow piles" of varying sizes began to move - there were so many of them, as if they had walked out of the frozen soil of Siberia, as if they had crawled out of the ruins of Stalingrad, as if they were about to launch a charge towards Berlin!

The soldier felt his blood curdle, and he said subconsciously:

"Suka..."

Chapter 314: Attack in the Name of the Soviets! (13/20)

When the statue of Lenin collapsed due to the explosion of the armored vehicle and fell to the ground in flames and shattered, the soldiers of the 24th Independent Mechanized Infantry Regiment launched an attack on the enemy in Pripyat from three different directions -

Be the first!

The T-80BV main battle tank numbered 1945 moved slowly forward, a wisp of war smoke emanating from the muzzle of its main gun, the gas turbine making a morbid hiss in the cold Ukrainian winter, the tachometer needle vibrating wildly in the red zone, and the exhaust gas from the tail nozzle melting the snow behind it into black mud.

The slightly excited driver took a deep breath and licked his teeth. Then he heard the driver shouting on the in-car communication channel:

"Thanks to that big toy, Mr. Rhodes—Driver, move forward! Forward! Damn white dog, gunner, switch to armor-piercing shells for me. I see the armored personnel carrier hiding behind the brick wall!"

The tank shuddered, the gas turbine roar growing louder, and the tracks rolled forward over the still-warm metal wreckage, causing it to crackle. But the sound was drowned out a second later by the roar of the main gun firing, shattered by the snarling grin of the fin-stabilized armor-piercing discarding sabot rounds piercing the air.

Unfortunately, the rod-shaped body of the armor-piercing discarding sabot bullet pierced the wall but failed to hit the target. After passing through the wall, it only shot through an abandoned car, shaking off the snow accumulated on it, covering the body of a soldier who had already died due to a hole in the chest, and covering his eyes that no longer blinked.

The selected BTR-80 didn't stay put, but instead pulled out of cover and sped down the road. The 14.5x114mm KPV heavy machine gun on board spewed flames, sending sparks flying across the frontal armor of the T-80BV main battle tank.

A brave soldier opened the hatch above the crew compartment and leaned out of the armored vehicle carrying an RPG. However, as soon as he came out, he saw an even more terrifying scene -

ZSU-23-4 Shilka self-propelled anti-aircraft gun.

It's aimed at us.

It fired.

The quadruple 23mm cannon began to pour out tracer explosive incendiary bombs, and the bright ballistic trajectory weaved a scarlet spider web under the leaden gray sky.

The BTR-80 was almost instantly turned into a sieve. The flames of the explosion drilled out from the bullet holes in the vehicle's armor plate, and then pushed the entire vehicle body from the inside out. The steel shell that had been tempered thousands of times was torn apart, and several pieces of charred flesh were sprayed out.

A soldier, covered in flames, crawled out of the rear hatch and rolled across the snow with the crackling sound of burning grease. He didn't scream, he couldn't scream, his throat had been burned through by the splashing molten iron. The soldier eventually solidified into a carbonized statue, curled up on his knees, and the drifting smoke condensed into icy mist in the sub-zero air.

The smoke rose up and seemed to condense into a wailing human face in the flying snow.

The Shilka self-propelled anti-aircraft gun twisted its body with satisfaction and moved its muzzle in other directions, but it was too deep into the city, so that the soldiers running by had to warn it.

"Shilka crews, fall back! Your hulls will be penetrated by heavy machine gun fire!"

Petrenko, the third platoon leader of the third company of the first battalion of the 24th Mechanized Infantry Regiment, opened the hatch and shouted loudly to the crew members inside, but just as he finished shouting, an RPG that missed the target exploded on the ground next to him!

The metal fragments and flying gravel produced by the explosion made a sharp scream in the air, and the shock wave rushed towards the platoon leader and the self-propelled anti-aircraft gun.

But the next second, a louder roar and darkness swept over.

When Platoon Leader Petrenko regained his vision, he felt pain all over his body. He reached out to grab something but was burned - it was the wreckage of the burning self-propelled anti-aircraft gun - the second PRG round that was fired correctly destroyed it.

I have to... I have to leave quickly... The world in front of Petrenko's eyes was spinning, and gray snow was fluttering down, covering his face, as if trying to suffocate him to death with the snow.

"Comrade Platoon Leader! Comrade Petrenko! Can you still hear me?!"

A soldier from the third platoon dragged his platoon leader away from danger, while two soldiers beside him were firing AK74 rifles non-stop:

"The enemy's resistance is fierce, and there's a lot of anti-tank firepower... Damn those arms dealers! They're not just dealing in nuclear warheads here!"

"We... ahem... how many people are left in my platoon?"

Platoon Leader Petrenko forced himself to get up from the ground, still troubled by tinnitus and abdominal pain. He tried to slow down his breathing so that his internal organs damaged by the shock wave would not suffer further damage.

"There's still—"

The soldier who wanted to answer was suddenly shot through the helmet by a bullet. His body suddenly collapsed, covering the platoon leader's body like a warm but heavy quilt, causing the latter to let out a shrill scream full of pain.

Even louder than this shout was the roar from other warriors:

"Sniper, 2 o'clock!"

The bullet fired from the SVD's barrel was responded to by a high-explosive grenade from the T-80BV main battle tank.

A cloud of black-gray smoke suddenly burst out from the third floor of the building in the front right. The shooter in the room had collapsed to the ground, his head pressed against the tattered sofa. He tried hard to stretch his neck to see his right arm that seemed to still be there.

6.5 seconds later, the second shell followed, without mercy or hesitation.

The bodies blown away by the air wave smashed against the walls of the corridor. The books on the bookshelves in the room were blown away, and hundreds of yellowed pages were scattered. They burned in the air under the shock wave of the explosion, and turned into hundreds of orange points of light and disappeared in the snowy day.

Platoon Leader Petrenko stared blankly at the sky. Snowflakes fell on his face, melted, and slid down the curve of his cheeks, as if he was crying.

Corpses wearing Soviet uniforms but with Ukrainian army insignia lay in every corner of the city, with weapons lying quietly beside them, broken like their owners; corpses wearing Soviet uniforms but without Soviet insignia lay on the road of attack, allowing themselves to be drowned by the blood of the same nation.

Perhaps a year ago, they had trained together and written letters home together under the lights at night.

This is so sad, Petrenko thought, but then he was filled with a deep anger that drove him to push the body away from him.

"Are you all right, Comrade Petrenko?"

The medic came running over to help pull the body apart, patted Platoon Leader Petrenko's face, and then gave him a shot of morphine. He gasped and coughed up a few blood clots. Struggling to stand up, the platoon leader took another breath and said,