Page 138 of Blood & Snow

I signal to Igor, who produces the bolt cutters from his tactical pack.

Metal parts with a sharp snap that echoes across the empty lot.

The chains fall away, hitting frozen ground and I grip the door handle, counting heartbeats until everyone is ready.

"Three… Two… One…"

The door swings open, revealing a corridor lined with shipping containers and machinery.

Emergency lighting casts red shadows that dance across scarred walls, and the air inside carries the scent of rust engine oil.

I'm on a mission to finish the job given to me by my Pakhan and though my heart is still fucked up beyond all comprehension, I have to focus.

One slip could cost me my life tonight.

Voices drift from deeper in the building and we move that direction.

The warehouse opens before us, a large space divided by metal shelving units and industrial equipment that creates natural chokepoints and killing zones.

I've been in scenarios like this before a number of times, and find myself falling into the rhythm as something startles us all into defensive mode.

Muzzle flashes strobe from behind an overturned forklift as automatic weapons fire, tearing the air above our heads.

Bullets spark off metal beams and shatter fluorescent bulbs, raining glass down on our position, and my men scatter for cover.

I drop to one knee behind a concrete pillar, bringing my rifle to my shoulder.

The scope reveals three targetsclustered behind shelving units, their positions exposed by the very muzzle flashes that announce their attack.

My first shot takes the center man in the chest, the impact spinning him away from his weapon.

The second finds the gunner on the left, his head snapping back as the bullet finds its mark.

The third target tries to run, but Ivan's burst from the east door cuts him down before he takes five steps.

And just that easily our position is announced to the entire warehouse and we are launched into full scale battle.

Gunfire erupts throughout the warehouse as my team engages targets from multiple directions.

The Sokolovs are good—professional soldiers who know how to use cover and coordinate their fire—but they're fighting defensive positions while we control the initiative.

A grenade arcs through the darkness, landing behind a stack of wooden crates where two Sokolov gunners have taken cover.

The explosion tears through the warehouse, orange flame and black smoke billowing upward as the blast wave rattles every surface.

When the smoke clears, body parts are scattered across a twenty-meter radius.

Blood pools between broken boards and twisted metal, steam rising where hot fragments meet cold concrete.

I'm losing men—good men who came along to fight this war in good faith.

"Northwest corner cleared," Igor reports through my earpiece.

"East side secure," Ivan follows.

I advance through the maze of debris, rifle ready as I clear each potential hiding spot.

A man steps out from behind a shipping container, pistol raised, and I put two rounds center mass before he can acquire his target.