NOP: The Rejects of Sillis (14)

I sincerely apologize for the excessive wait for this chapter and its shortness. Life's been busy lately But, I figured it was better to upload a shorter chapter now-rather than make everyone wait another few months while I edit a longer chapter-to assure everyone that I haven't given up on this story or died.

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The Nature of Predators Universe was originally created by u/SpacePaladin15.

Chapter Fourteen: Lieutenant Yankovic could be Under Your Bed too

Memory Transcription Subject: Tiel

Date [standardized human time]: October 31st, 2136

Adrenaline surged within me, causing my heart to thump in my chest and my breathing to hasten. Even in this terrified state, I had to maintain focus and recognize certain details that I would normally overlook. I took a deep breath and scanned my surroundings. We were in an alleyway–a fatal funnel. Worse, the roofs on either side of our position sloped toward us, meaning that it would be easy for an enemy to approach unseen and roll a grenade down. Not wanting this fact to go unaddressed, I signaled to the Russians behind me and then pointed up. They quickly grasped what I was trying to convey and moved to get a better view of the rooftops.

The squad leader in front of me suddenly signaled for us to halt. Ahead of us was an open door that I hadn’t even seen when I first surveyed for potential threats. He approached quietly and carefully before moving in front of it to scan the interior of the room. While doing so, he was careful not to stick the barrel of his rifle through the threshold and telegraph his position to someone inside. Once he was on the far side, he pointed to himself, then to me, and then into the room with two fingers. He wanted me to enter at the same time as him. 

I nodded in response.

My grip tightened on the unfamiliar weapon in my paws. It was lighter and more user-friendly, but I still preferred my Kalashnikov. I had become accustomed to using the selector switch on the right instead of the left.

The squad leader held up five fingers. He lowered one… then another… and another… When he reached zero, we both exploded through the doorway.

A deafening bang greeted us, and the squad leader crumbled to the floor. I tried to point my rifle in its direction, but another gunshot followed, sending electricity surging through my shoulders and back. 

As I writhed about on the floor, Yankovic emerged from the dark corner he was lurking in with a smirk plastered across his face and a pistol in one hand. He stepped over me, leaned into the alley we just came from, and emptied his magazine. Spent blank cartridges fell around me, accompanied by the yelps and screams of more people being tased by their hit detection vests. 

After what felt like an eternity, the electricity released its grip on us, allowing me and the others affected to sit up and massage our aching back muscles. In the Space Corps, the very idea of training with vests that electrocute the wearer would have gotten the one who suggested it a discharge to a PD facility, yet the humans seemingly did it on a regular basis.

The Lieutenant cleared his throat loudly, bringing our attention to him. He completely lost the smile he had just moments earlier and replaced it with his usual scowl. He sighed heavily and moved to the center of the room, motioning for us to gather around him. Members of First Platoon, who were acting as the opposing force for our training, materialized from their various hiding spots.

Yankovic’s scathing gaze swept over me and my squadmates. He put his handgun back in its holster and took a stun baton off his belt, spinning it in the palm of his hand as he spoke. “That was shit. Can anybody tell me what went wrong?”

“It was my fault, sir!” I said hastily. “I didn’t clear my side of the room fast enough.”

“That’s a valid point,” his voice dropped an octave, “but how was I able to kill your entire squad?” 

“Because none of us were fast enough?” I suggested.

He pointed his stun baton in our direction. “All of you need to think fast and act faster to be successful in this exercise. Otherwise, you’ll end up at the end of this!” He activated the baton, creating a sharp crackle of electricity. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we replied, backing away slightly.  

“Good.” He dismissed us with a gesture. “Start again–from the north side this time.” 

We left the room and circled around to the opposite side of the building, where we performed a quick safety check. The blank firing adapter at the end of my barrel was properly fastened, the laser projector mounted on my rifle's side was functional, my hit-detection vest lived up to its name, and my helmet camera was firmly secured. With my gear set in order, I inspected the squad leader's as well, while he extended the same kindness to me.

As soon as everyone was ready, the squad leader showed a thumbs-up to the control tower that loomed over the training area. After a moment of waiting, someone inside flashed a green light at us, signaling that we were cleared to begin our next exercise. Behind one of the tinted windows, the silhouette of a krakotl keenly watched us.

Without an alleyway to cover our approach, we had to make ourselves the smallest target possible by pressing ourselves against the building’s exterior wall. Half the squad pointed their rifles outward, providing the security necessary for the other half to execute the operation.

A window came into view as we moved toward the building’s entrance. I signaled to the Russian behind me and traced a square in the air with one of my fingers. He immediately recognized his cue and aimed his gun at the aperture.

Meanwhile, the Russian ahead of me did the same thing as before–scanning the inside of the room without putting his muzzle through the doorway. Then, he reiterated the hand signs for us to enter simultaneously. 

As we rushed inside, I immediately snapped my gun to my corner of the room. For the briefest moment, I made eye contact with a man from First Platoon before pulling the trigger. He slid down the wall behind him as electricity wracked his body. There was a burst of automatic fire beside me not a second after, and another member of the opposing force collapsed into a hallway that was directly in line with the door we just came from.

The squad leader, two others, and I meticulously scanned every potential hiding spot in the room, finding no one. The squad leader whistled quietly, and the Russians that were still outside entered, taking up positions in the window and door so they could guard our rear.

We moved down the hallway. There were two rooms on the right side, a stairwell on the left, and another large room at the end of the hallway. We stepped over the defeated OPFOR and cleared the rooms one by one, not finding anybody else.

Having cleared the first floor, we directed our attention to the stairwell. I, the squad leader, and two more Russians positioned ourselves on either side of it. The signal to advance was given, and we began ascending.

We were barely up the first flight when a bolt of lightning brought me to my knees. The squad leader, too, fell to the ground. While we lay incapacitated, two OPFOR members rushed down the stairs with their rifles blazing, saturating the air with gunshots and cries of pain. 

I rolled onto my back as soon as my vest stopped electrocuting me and immediately answered my question as to what happened. Yankovic was casually leaning on the railing at the top of the stairwell with his pistol pointing down at us.

The Lieutenant strolled down the steps and sat down at the top of the first flight with his stun baton limply held in one hand. “Can anybody tell me what went wrong that time?” he asked with a furrowed brow and slumped shoulders. 

“We should have looked up in stairwell,” the squad leader answered.

“Exactly!” Yankovic snapped. He wagged his baton at me. “I’d expect him to make a mistake like that, but you have combat experience!”

The squad leader spoke in our defense. “It has been a long time since we have been in combat, sir. And, as you can imagine, Russian Army did not train us to high standard.”

“Obviously,” The Lieutenant said as he stomped down the stairs past us. “Start again. We’re using a different building this time.”

The Russians cast a cold gaze on Yankovic as he left. 

“If he wants us to do better, we will do better,” the squad leader said with a shrug. A subtle smile crept onto his face. “Let us show him our way of war. Yes?”

My squadmates suddenly pushed their shoulders back and hardened their expressions. Together, they called out “Yes, sir!” before hurrying to the neighboring training mock-up.

“What are we doing differently?” I tentatively asked the squad leader as we fell in behind them. 

“Nothing, Golem,” he said reassuringly, “we will simply be moving faster than we did before. Can you keep up?”

“Of course, sir.”

He patted my helmet. “That is why you are our favorite–besides Vil.”

I stopped outside the new building to run through my pre-operation inspection. The Russians did much the same, but with a purpose and determination that wasn’t present beforehand. Some of them even went through the trouble of adjusting their rifle slings and securing any loose straps that vexed them.

We signaled that we were ready to the control tower, and, not long after, a green light shined in our direction.

The squad leader and I proceeded first toward the building–at a much faster pace than we had before. Our previous approaches were careful and slow. Now we were practically racing toward our objective–a two-story structure much like the first one we assaulted, but slightly larger and with a presumably entirely different interior layout–with very little attention paid to our security.

As we rushed closer to the front door, two windows came into view. I quickly directed the Russians behind me to cover them and kept pace with the squad leader, who had already reached the front door.

Rather than positioning himself beside it, he stood directly in front. Without a warning to me, he raised his rifle, kicked the door open, and unleashed an entire magazine into the space within. When the shooting stopped, I heard a gun clattering to the floor inside, accompanied by a pained groan.

The instant after that, one of the windows flew open. The Russian who was guarding it ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding the invisible infrared beam that passed mere [centimeters] over his head. Without a moment’s pause he shouted “Cyka!” and shoved the barrel of his rifle through the aperture, holding down the trigger until his weapon ran empty. 

The squad leader grabbed me by the collar and shoved me toward the front door. He didn’t wait for me to signal that I was ready to enter. Instead, he used his body to force me inside with him, where I was suddenly face-to-face with the OPFOR that tried to shoot one of my squadmates, still recovering from the flash and concussion of an automatic rifle being fired in his face. I pulled the trigger twice, put him on the ground, and scanned the immediate area for threats. There were none.

I glared at my squad leader. 

He responded with a cheeky smile before signaling me to advance with him. 

Waist-high counters split the bottom floor of the building into two sections. We were in the dining room, while the opposite side was a crude representation of a kitchen. The bare grey concrete, unfinished wood, and lack of ornamentation throughout the whole structure gave it a slightly disquieting quality, as if the place was meant to be lived in but was forsaken partway through its construction.

I moved through a gap in the counters with my gun raised while the squad leader hurdled directly over them. On the other side, we found an OPFOR lying in the middle of the kitchen pretending to be dead. He took the opportunity to give us the middle finger. The squad leader returned the gesture and whistled for the men outside to move up. 

With our rear secured, we turned our attention to the second floor. The squad leader, before he even touched the first step, leaned into the stairwell and fired a trio of rounds straight up. A curse came from the top of the stairs, followed by the sound of footsteps fading away from us.

The squad leader kept one hand on his weapon and waved us forward. I and the Russian behind me quickly ascended the stairs and positioned ourselves so we could cover the hallway at the top. The squad leader retook his position at the front shortly thereafter.

The corridor we were in ran perpendicular to the stairs and had three doors–one on the left, one on the right, and one straight ahead. My first instinct was to clear the room that was straight ahead of us. Someone on the other side could use the hallway as a fatal funnel to kill us all with a single trigger pull.

The squad leader seemed to agree with my assessment. He moved to the end of the hall with his rifle raised, and I followed closely. With a strong kick, he broke the door open. The OPFOR on the other side went wide-eyed before I fired a single round into his chest. We stepped over our defeated enemy as he spasmed and maneuvered around a simple reproduction of a bed to clear the rest of the space in quick order.

As soon as we completed that task, we heard someone breaking down another door in the hallway. The two Russians behind us had taken it upon themselves to clear one of the other rooms. Judging by the fact that we didn’t hear any shooting, nobody was in there.

That left us with one final room to sweep. Without a second thought, the squad leader kicked that door down too. We entered right next to each other, and I quickly scanned and cleared the two corners of the room on my side, finding nothing. However, when I turned to the squad leader's side, I found him struggling to prevent an OPFOR from pointing his weapon at me.

I tried to maneuver around the squad leader to eliminate the threat, but the OPFOR kept my comrade between me and him. After several full rotations, I recognized the absurdity of our situation. And that two highly amused Russians were watching from the doorway.

“Try to get him off you, sir!” I shouted to the squad leader.

The OPFOR held onto his opponent tighter, practically hugging him. “You ain’t gettin’ me, bitch!” he spat.

I sighed in frustration. “Just hold him still then!”

In a remarkable burst of strength, the squad leader drove the OFPOR backwards, pinning him against the wall.

I drew in a deep breath, took aim at a small section of the OPFOR’s chest that wasn’t blocked by the squad leader, and pulled the trigger. His eyes went wide as electricity coursed through his body, and he slumped against the wall behind him. 

“Molodets,” the squad leader said as he disentangled himself from his enemy. “Clear!” He shouted to the men downstairs. 

They rushed up the stairs and into the room with expectant looks on their faces. However, once they surveyed the situation, their mood swiftly changed.

“Where is Yankovic?” one of them asked.

My heart sank.

Everyone looked around in wide-eyed terror, as if he could be in the very walls that surrounded us. Knowing we were up against that predator-diseased Lieutenant was nerve-wracking enough, but not knowing where he was–only that he was close–was nothing short of petrifying.

“Find him,” the squad leader whispered.

The squad lingered for a moment, nervous as to what kind of ambush Yankovic could be planning. Eventually, they set themselves in motion, crowding into the hallway to begin a more thorough search. And at that moment, gunshots began ringing out.

I stopped so fast at the very threshold of the corridor that I fell onto my back. Before I could fully process what was going on, the squad leader hauled me to my feet. I wasn’t able to discern much initially, just that a significant portion of our squad was now lying in an undignified heap in the middle of the hallway.

The squad leader motioned to the remaining members of our group–three of us excluding him–to get into the room across from us. Then, he situated himself close to the doorway, loaded a fresh magazine into his rifle, and began counting down on his fingers. In the [five seconds] we had to prepare, I snapped out of it and put myself at the front. Two Russians stacked up behind me. When the squad leader’s outstretched fingers became a closed fist, we burst into action.

I barely made it into the hallway before lightning seized hold of my body, cutting me down mid-stride and causing me to face-plant into my squadmate’s groin. As I writhed about, I spotted Yankovic grinning at me from under the bed in the room at the end of the hallway.

The squad leader swore under his breath. He made even more gestures to my remaining squadmates before awkwardly pointing his weapon around the corner and firing wildly. He didn’t hit Yankovic, but he forced the Lieutenant to abandon his position underneath the bed.

The three remaining Russians recognized their opportunity and rushed the room. Two of them fell in the hallway, gunned down by Yankovic. However, judging by how the slide of his weapon locked back on the final shot, he had finally run out of ammunition.

The squad leader let out a triumphant laugh as he rushed closer to the room. He shouted with his rifle raised. “You’re fucked, Yankovic!”

For the briefest moment, my tail wagged at the thought of Yankovic finally being humbled–by my squad, no less. However, that hope disappeared as soon as the squad leader crossed into the room. The Lieutenant shoved his opponent's gun towards the ceiling and stabbed his stun baton into the man’s chest. The squad leader let out an anguished cry before Yankovic released him, letting him fall limp on the floor. Thus, the battle came to an end with my entire squad lying in an embarrassing heap in a single hallway.

Yankovic leaned against the doorframe and breathed heavily. There was a maniacal gleam in his eyes before he blinked several times and seemed to come back to focus. “That was much better than before,” he said while panting. “What did we learn this time?”

I slid off the pile of bodies I’d become a part of and struggled to my feet. “That we should expect unconventional tactics?”

One of the Russians spoke up next, “That hallway is very dangerous place to be?” 

“No, don’t fuck with me!” Yankovic said while stabbing a thumb into his chest.

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