Page 132 of Savage Lies

Through our communication system, I hear Alexei coordinating with his men as they prepare to engage Viktor’s southern team. Despite his injury and obvious discomfort, his tactical thinking remains sharp and his leadership decisive.

“Northern assault team approaching final positions,” Boris updates. “They’re preparing for a breach of the main house.”

“All teams prepare for execution phase,” Dmitri commands through the radio. “Wait for my signal before engaging.”

The tension in the room is suffocating as we watch Viktor’s forces complete their tactical deployment around the estate. They move with confidence, believing they’re about to eliminate a weakened target that poses minimal threat to their superior numbers and equipment.

“Eastern team in position,” comes another radio report.

“Western approach secured by hostile forces,” adds another voice.

“They’ve completed the encirclement,” I whisper, watching the monitors as armed figures take concealed positions on all sides of the property.

“Perfect,” Dmitri replies with a smirk. “Now they’re right where we want them.”

On every monitor, Viktor’s assault forces complete their final preparations. Weapons trained on the building, night vision equipment activated, and communication systems coordinated for simultaneous assault from multiple directions.

They have no idea they’re about to become the hunted instead of the hunters.

38

Dmitri

Dmitri

Viktor’s mercenaries unleash hell the second they realize we’re ready for them.

“All teams, weapons free,” I snap into the radio as grenades hammer the estate. The blasts are meant to bury us, but we’re already out of range.

“Eastern perimeter engaging,” Boris cuts in. “Six hostiles through the gardens. Body armor. Heavy weapons.”

I seize Katya’s good arm and haul her behind the reinforced kitchen counter. Through the broken windows, muzzle flashes strobe—fifteen, maybe more—as Viktor’s assault team pours fire into the house.

“They brought serious firepower,” Katya comments as she checks her weapon’s magazine and adjusts her position to favor her injured shoulder.

“So did we.”

Sniper cracks split the night as my marksmen fire from the trees. Viktor’s men push forward, but every step takes them deeper into the overlapping fields we set hours ago.

“South approach—eight with launchers,” Alexei rasps.

“Team Beta, intercept and eliminate,” I order.

On the surviving monitors, I watch Viktor’s mercs move with textbook cover, constant comms, and perfect spacing. Professional. But it all drives them straight into our kill zones.

“Northern team taking heavy fire,” someone calls through the radio. “They’re trying to punch through our defensive line with concentrated assault.”

“Team Charlie, reinforce northern positions and hold the line.”

Katya moves to the broken window to engage targets with controlled bursts from her assault rifle. Her FSB training shows in every movement as she acquires targets, fires with deadly accuracy, and repositions without wasting precious ammunition.

“Twelve o’clock, two hostiles behind the burning garage structure,” she shouts while tracking movement through her weapon sight.

I pivot and put three rounds center mass into each target. Both men drop like lead, their military-grade body armor insufficient protection against close-range rifle fire delivered with such accuracy.

“Excellent shooting,” she praises as she reloads.

“You, too. Your training is showing.”