Mercenary’s War

"A-choo!"

Nate suddenly sneezed, drawing everyone’s eyes in the cabin onto him.

He pinched his nose with his gloved hand, waved it off, and said, "No problem."

The helicopter flew at ultra‑low altitude, so low it had to weave around utility poles. Only like this could the Angel Mercenary Corps reach their target inside Donetsk City, whose air defenses were extremely tight.

"Approaching target airspace, stand by."

Hearing the pilot’s call, Nate closed his eyes. He struggled for a moment, but it lasted less than a second; his heart turned cold again.

"Combat ready!"

The pilot shouted urgently again: "About to land!"

Nate stood up and yanked the helicopter cabin door open. Then he looked back at the men standing up inside. Nate, who never gave pre‑battle speeches, suddenly said, "Soldiers! My soldiers! Help the Slavic People remember what a true Deutschland soldier is!"

Nate drove his fist down hard.

The helicopter door was open, skimming fast over a relatively open patch of ground.

This wasn’t a landing and disembark after the helicopter had come to a stop, nor was it a rope insertion from a hover. The helicopter held about thirty kilometers per hour, its belly just over a meter off the ground, and as it skimmed across the landing zone, Nate jumped first.

Jumping at thirty kilometers per hour was enough to snap a man’s legs in an instant, enough to kill him outright.

The Angel soldiers used a moving jump straight out of flight—no landing, no hover. The helicopter could immediately exit the danger zone after insertion, cutting down its exposure to attack.

This was the fastest method of helicopter insertion, the hardest to guard against, and also the most difficult, most dangerous, and least likely to succeed. Some crazy units had tested it, but no Special Forces unit ever adopted it as a standard insertion tactic. Especially at speeds as high as thirty kilometers per hour, jumping out "clean" without any aid—no unit did it this way.

But this was Angel’s customary insertion method.

Mostly because Angel dared.

The instant Nate’s boots hit the ground, his body pitched forward, he went down and rolled, came up on one knee, flicked off the safety on his rifle, and opened fire.

Two helicopters, two teams jumped in sequence, rolled, rose, and attacked.

Nate shot and killed a sentinel.

The two teams on the ground didn’t merge; they surged forward from both flanks, driving straight ahead into the buildings in front of them.

Silence.

Silent but resolute assault.

Nate was at the very front, sprinting toward a lit room.

Someone behind Nate lobbed a grenade in through the window. Nate waited just a beat; when the grenade went off, he kicked the door in and raised his rifle, snapping off controlled bursts at the people inside.

One man took the window, two men pushed into the room; they gunned down all six inside. Nate turned and went back out.

The four outermost buildings had been completely cleared. Time elapsed: forty‑six seconds.

The men exiting the buildings rapidly regrouped, split into two teams, pushed past the first row of houses, then scattered again.

Machine‑gun fire broke out, and shouts rose one after another. The assault had achieved maximum surprise, and the axis of advance was as well‑concealed as it could be, but the enemy was prepared and their reaction was swift. They were rattled, but nowhere near collapsing from a single blow.

The enemy was a strong enemy.

So what?

Something surged inside Nate. He suddenly roared.

"Affrigen!"

Affrigen means "attack" in German.

Germany’s army is an army without a history. Today’s Germany has to cut its army off from that dreaded and infamous Nazi force of the past, so the present‑day German Army has no slogan.

In World War II, German Soldiers charged shouting "los, los, los," and sometimes "Affrigen."

The cry "los, los, los" inevitably calls to mind the Nazi German Army of World War II, so Angel never used it. But the charging cry "Affrigen" wasn’t too tightly bound to the Nazis—just like Russians shouting "hooray" as they charged. White Russian troops shouted it; Soviet Red Army soldiers shouted it too.

Angel’s only slogan was "attack."

Angel had never shouted any slogan before. They attacked in silence, fought in silence, and died in silence.

But now Nate was finally shouting their slogan in battle.

If he didn’t shout it this time, there would be no next time.

Because this was the KGB’s main base in Donetsk. A Signal Flag unit was stationed here.

If he didn’t shout it now, there really would never be another chance.

This had nothing to do with Nazi Germany. The Nazis’ crimes belonged to the Nazis; the soldiers’ glory belonged to the soldiers. This was the glory of German Soldiers.

Nate felt it was necessary to make people remember the glory that belonged to German Soldiers. It was his responsibility, and it had always been his dream.

The dream had already been shattered. The soldiers’ glory could only ring out one last time from a band of Mercenaries.

Bullets whipped in. Someone was hit. Nate dragged the soldier beside him out of the line of fire and tucked himself into the corner of a wall. Then he let out another hoarse bellow.

"Affrigen!"

Bravery isn’t the same as recklessness.

A final chord has to ring at its highest pitch.

So a last battle is not the same as suicide.

To die in mutual destruction with the enemy—that was Angel’s swan song.

Grenades flew out. Thermobaric Bombs and rockets followed in quick succession. In that fleeting moment when enemy fire was suppressed, the Machine Gunner and Marksman took control of the kill zone.

Nate burst out from behind the wall, charging hard at the enemy under suppression.

"Affrigen!"

"Affrigen!"

Nate’s shout drew Angel’s voices in answer. The eight of them charged the enemy.

Less than thirty meters. Closing meant it ended there—either you die, or I do.

Nate killed two men: one fully kitted soldier, combat gear wrapped around him from head to toe; the other in civilian clothes with a pistol. The price he paid was taking a round himself.

Nate was wearing body armor, so he kept all his combat capability.

The second row of buildings had been breached. Time elapsed: one minute.

The Angel operators kept pushing forward, using the second row of houses as cover for their next assault. Without needing orders, the two teams scattered and regrouped again.

Nate slapped in a fresh magazine, then bellowed once more.

"Affrigen!"

His voice was ragged but still rang high. Nate vaulted forward again—just then, from a house thirty meters ahead, someone roared.

"Hooray!"

A roar thick with rage and grief, from a Russian.

Before the assault, the gunfire had been sporadic, but as Nate charged again, it suddenly turned heavy.

A team of four soldiers burst out at a diagonal, using a classic Russian assault formation. They let out a thunderous shout in answer to the Russian inside that house.

"Hooray!"

The two sides slammed into each other. Even with support from the enemy inside the buildings, all four fully armed Russian soldiers were killed.

Angel lost two men. Nate took another round, but he still wasn’t out of the fight.

The third row of buildings was breached. Time elapsed: two minutes.

The enemy was a strong enemy. That was good. Nate was satisfied.

Only by dying with a strong enemy could Angel’s last chord ring true.

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