Six hours later... The streets of Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
Mykola sat on top of a sealed crate, as the transport he was inside rocked back and forth—as it tried to climb the snow and ice, and resist the snowstorm currently going on. The white light overhead flickered, as he looked towards the other people inside the back of the transport who also sat on top of similar crates.
Everyone inside sat with their arms folded as they tightened their posture. It was still fucking cold, even on the inside of the back of a somewhat heated transport. One of them still had their thermal mask on, trying to keep herself warm.
The transport eventually came to a stop, as Mykola could hear the doors outside the transport open and slam. He stood up, turning around to the sealed crate he sat on as he clipped on his thermal mask as he twisted the knob on the outside of the mask as he could immediately feel the warmth start beating against his face. Mykola then reached down, picking up the crate he sat on as he lifted it up.
As he stood back up, the doors to the back of the transport swung open as the snowstorm happening already started to beat into the interior of the vehicle. Ignoring the snow that was whipping against his body, Mykola stepped to the edge as someone outside reached up to receive the crate as Mykola handed it to him.
As he took the crate to turn and walk away, Mykola dropped to the ground as he walked forwards—following the man he just handed the crate to as he looked up towards the massive building, reading the label on the side: Dshyeviy Transport Service.
As they approached the transport vehicle door, another man reached down to pull the door up as Mykola and the group he was heading in with stepped into the tight vehicle garage. There was a lane of four garage spaces, with petrol stations on either side as there was also a variety of tools next to every vehicle. Mykola looked down to a tire iron, spotting that it was covered in blood as he shook his head. Their was a small stairway that the man carrying the crate walked up, as another man carrying a M6G Magnum pistol opened the door for them.
As Mykola stepped into the building following the man carrying the crate, as he walked to a table and set down the crate as a line of individuals looked at the two. As more and more came in, they looked at the crates presented in a row as one of the individuals from the line reached down to the crates as they threw open the latches and opened them. As he was now in a heated room, Mykola turned off his thermal mask and removed it.
«Look at these fucking things!» The man said, «Our police now are still the same fucking police our ancestors had!»
Mykola looked into the crate, seeing a line of MA assault rifles, M-series rifles and shotguns, pistols, stun grenades and lethal grenades. The man removed what appeared to be a MA5B assault rifle, looking at the white and silver colouration meant for arctic conditions. A police officer nodded his head, removing a M60 shotgun as he pumped the weapon.
«We were expecting more fucking riots than our ancestors did.» The officer replied, «But since you are all so fucking concentrated on killing each other than us, why the fuck should we care?»
Most of the people inside the facility laughed, as they reached in for their own weapons. Mykola removed his own MA5B assault rifle, seeing that the ammunition counter was removed and where the top curve of the weapon used to be was cut clean so the top was completely flat.
«A lot of this is UNSC-graded,» one of them realised, «so are you packing rubber-rounds or real fucking bullets?»
The officer replied by pulling free an ammo box from one of the crates, forcing open the latch as he opened it to reveal the contents. He removed one round, tapping the metal tip of the bullet as he said: «Real fucking bullets. Ones I hoped I would get to use more.»
«Well the opportunity has finally come,» Mykola said, «so fucking use them!»
«I think we all fucking plan to.» The one woman from Mykola's transport said, «Just hope it isn't Oymyakonian shooting Oymyakonian over fucking debts or some shit, though.»
«Would give us plenty of excuse to kill fucking assholes, though.» A man retorted.
People laughed again, as from around the corner of a transport being repaired stepped around Kuptov—flanked by two police guards as he shook his head. «Save the celebratory killing of the fucking asshole until after we are done with our little insurrection, if you can all fucking manage.» Kuptov said, lighting a cigar he had managed to roll up as he took out a lighter and started it.
«Thought we were going to meet at your place, Kuptov.» Mykola asked, as Kuptov shook his head, «Don't have time. Plus, would rather not have any of my valuables stolen by any of you fucking shits. Better to be directly at the place of the stolen police weapons than to disengage and reengage elsewhere.»
«I think my transport shop is the place of enough fucking crime, Kuptov. I don't need fucking conspiracy added to the list!» A man said sarcastically. It was Dmitry Peskor, the man who owned the Dshyeviy transport service, the weapons blackmarket, the drug trade and was just a typical fucking shit.
The police department didn't do a fucking thing about it, mostly because Dmitry paid them off to turn their head the other way. Not to mention, with his out of system contacts—he managed to make quite the collection of high-level lethals from other insurrectionist war zones. Sniper rifles, machine guns... possibly even a rocket launcher or two. Either way, Dmitry's criminal enterprise would be a vital asset to making the UNSC and UEG turn the other direction.
«I don't think you have a fucking thing to complain about, Dmitry. Especially since our UNSC deployment landed an hour ago.» Kuptov replied.
«Then shouldn't you be over there bending over for them?» Dmitry asked, as a few members of his enterprise laughed.
Kuptov tilted his head, «No, but I imagine your fucking whore will do some time later tonight when she sees a real fucking man in one of these UNSC troopers. So shut your fucking mouth before I have your jaw removed, Dmitry.»
Dmitry fell completely silent, as Kuptov took a puff of his cigar as he tapped off ash from it. He walked around the room as he stopped just over the weapons. «As I have said, the UNSC deployment landed just an hour ago at Gavan'. A full 120 or so of them, armed with your typical assault rifles or submachine guns. A few warthogs as well, fitted for arctic conditions. All of them will be staying at the department station, taking up a few of our barracks.»
«Are they there now?» Mykola asked.
Kuptov nodded his head, «Yes, they are. And within the next hour they want me to report with all my officers to a briefing they are going to have their pretty-faced Commander: Grant Yjorjak give some a motivational fucking speech or some shit.»
«So they are all there right now,» Dmitry said, «so let us head there and clear them out already!»
«Fucking predictable, Dmitry.» Kuptov said, «No. It is fortified and easy to defend, at least for them. But since they are still setting up, and not exactly expecting us...»
«Had an idea to remove those on patrol,» Mykola said, «they are exposed... out all alone.»
«Closer, but still a terrible fucking idea.» Kuptov said, «They still have ways to communicate, Mykola. Radios.»
«We will want to get them while they are as separated as possible, though.» Mykola replied.
«No, I agree. But attacking random soldiers on patrol? They will be able to respond. What we need, is an element of surprise.»
Kuptov stepped around, taking the last puff of his cigar as he dropped it to the ground and stepped on it to put it out.
«Do they have translators?» Someone else asked, as Kuptov nodded his head. «They would be the first targets. Once we eliminate them, then we have our own. We can also keep in mind the second one of them are dead, we can then take their equipment.»
«Why not suggest a translator meeting?» Mykola asked, «Act as if we are just testing their ability to make sure they can fucking speak. Gets them all in one place and allows us to eliminate them easily. After this, they have no chance of fucking understanding us.»
People around the room nodded their heads, as Kuptov replied: «Yes, I am sure Yjorjak will agree to this. Seems like the one who wants to boast the readiness of his troops.»
«And after we kill the fucking translators?» Dmitry asked, «Then who do we kill?»
«Yjorjak will be within my proximity at all times, possibly guarded. We want to eliminate the leadership as quick as possible. The police will be able to handle Yjorjak, especially if news of the shooting of every translator they have reach them. They would mass deploy their troops for a search then, and Yjorjak would likely stay behind with a few of his troopers. That is when we will kill him.» Kuptov said.
«And the other troopers?» Mykola asked, as Kuptov nodded his head: «Then we have a hand on their radios and we have translators of our own. We can then proceed with your plan when they all spread out to try to identify the shooters.»
«120 soldiers.» Someone else remarked, as Kuptov shook his head: «And we have what, a population of 2.4 million that are all unhappy with the UEG? We will be fucking fine if we just get the thing rolling. But if you are terrified, hide under your fucking sink. Either way, I have a meeting to get going to. You know what you all need to do. Spread these weapons around, spread the word. Mykola, I will give you the responsibility to organise The Romanov for a meet and greet with our UNSC troopers. Dmitry, Sergey, Vladimir, Alyona, Alexandr, Grigori and whoever the fuck else, organise for skirmishes and ambushes on UNSC patrols. I am guessing we have a day before Yjorjak sends any of his men out. Take advantage of the time you have, because if we fuck up now, we might all be executed for treason.»
Kuptov motioned to every officer in the room, as they collected their thermal masks and officer's hats and followed their senior officer out of the room. Mykola then placed his MA5B back into the crate he was carrying earlier, closing it as most everyone else did with their equipment. Lifting it up, one man motioned to Mykola as he said: «Come, Vovk! We need to get you to that shithole.»
Mykola nodded his head, putting back on his thermal mask as he then picked up the crate and followed the man back into the cold. The man opened the back of his transport, allowing Mykola to step in and put down the crate as he sat back on top of it. The man swung the doors to the back closed, as Mykola looked up to the white light that suddenly turned on as the engine of the transport roared.
A hour later... The Romanov Pub, Khvostovgrad, Novo Oymyakon...
«So you are fucking telling me that they going to send the fucking UNSC here, so that we can fucking shoot them?» Vadim asked loudly, as he took a bottle from the bar and opened it.
«Yes they fucking are.» Mykola replied, as Vadim threw his arms up in frustration and turned towards the wall.
«You are a fucking piece of work sometimes!»
«What will they fucking expect?» Mykola asked, «They just think it will be a fucking translation session!»
«What am I supposed to do with the fucking blood on the floor afterwards?»
«Keep it as a fucking decoration! The floor is crimson enough from every fight that fucking happens here!»
Vadim shrugged, taking a drink from his bottle as he looked down at the floors of his pub. He then looked back up at Mykola, as he said: «Well shit! Guess it doesn't fucking matter anyways!»
Mykola placed a palm against his forehead, as Vadim laughed and said: «I am just fucking with you! But seriously, why the fuck do the UNSC have to be here?»
«Don't fucking ask me, ask Kuptov!»
«Better not be about my fucking tax evasion...» Vadim replied, as he placed down the bottle and looked towards the crate that was left on the table Mykola was sitting at. «So the weapons are for us?»
«Yes, we are supposed to arm as many people as possible for this.» Mykola replied.
«Don't think we would be able to hide assault rifles all that well, Mykola.»
«Hide them behind the fucking counter with whoever can handle them. We also have pistols people can hide on their bodies. The UNSC will have their translators come down and sit at a table, our volunteers for our little translation game can hide pistols. After a certain time, have our riflemen pop up and fire at the troopers, and then our fucking people with the pistols can also open fire!»
Vadim looked coldly at Mykola as he explained how they could manage to attack the troopers without them realising. The Oymyakonian shrugged after this said, as he picked up his bottle again and took another drink from it.
«Yeah, that fucking works.» Vadim said, «But my fucking bar! My family fucking bar!»
«You inherited this shithole from your father who was murdered by your mother for fucking another woman while she fucked another man. I don't see how you manage to pull any fucking sentimental value from this place.»
«It isn't about them fucking or being fucking killed, you Educated Shit.» Vadim replied, «Just the fucking times I had, that I have being in this place. With fuckers like you. When we could just fucking sit around and drink, play a card game, fuck with each other both literally and whatever the shit else there is. Can't even rent out the rooms anymore because they are all fucking smashed because of you shits.»
«Still great rooms, though.» Mykola replied, as Vadim nodded his head.
«Just can't believe it has come down to fucking this! All this bullshit from the UEG to promote a better fucking future for everyone here, while making it all fucking intolerable for everyone that was born here...» Vadim said, «Don't even fucking understand why they do this to us, you know?»
Mykola nodded his head, «Take advantage of us for everything we got just because they fucking can. This is why we are doing this, Vadim! So we can get them to fuck off!»
«Yes, I fucking know.» Vadim said, «But if Alyona is fucking killed or this place is fucking destroyed, what the fuck do I have left?»
«The fucking snow, Vadim.» Mykola replied.
«Fuck you too.» Vadim replied, taking the last swig of his bottle. «Well, I'm going to fuck off and sleep while I still fucking can. Get the fuck out, if you can.»
Mykola stood up from his table, collecting his thermal mask as he responded to Vadim by giving him the middle finger. Vadim shot back with the same gesture, as Mykola attached his thermal mask, opening the padded door before stepping out and slamming it shut.
He looked down the completely dark street, as it appeared as if he was in nothing else but a void. Reaching up, he turned on the electric torch that was mounted to the top of the thermal mask as it shot out a sharp beam of light. The thermal mask worked hard to keep him warm, as at night the temperature dropped another 20 degrees centigrade. Mykola also hit a button mounted to his heavy coat, as suddenly he felt the chemical packets kept inside the coat begin to work a reaction to increase the warmth.
He looked back at The Romanov, before shaking his head and headed out into the cold.
After all, he would be returning to the shithole tomorrow—and witness the whole planet become hell.