Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 84 Dniester River

Zhou Yi sat in the back seat of the transport vehicle, with his back against the steel plate on the right side.

The vehicle swayed from time to time with the undulations of the road, and with each bump, a creaking sound could be heard coming from the metal sheet.

Outside was a vast, uneven industrial wasteland.

Originally a shipyard, it has been reduced to old, unmaintained workshops, oil tanks, and a railway hub that is beginning to break down since the naval port was closed.

The streetlights had long been broken, and occasionally a few warehouses reflected the sodium lamp light from the distant dispatch tower.

The wind blew in through the door cracks and screw holes.

The city was filled with a mixture of smells from diesel, rotting wood, and seawater, making it hard to tell whether it was dead or alive again.

Zhou Yi was wearing a makeshift disguise.

The Soviet Army standard trousers from the 1980s are already showing signs of fading and fraying at the knees.

He wore a green collared shirt under a windproof jacket, with a counterfeit cloth patch sewn onto his left arm, the stitching rough.

The cuffs were slightly long, covering the back of the hands, and the feet were wearing a pair of well-worn military boots.

The serial numbers on both sides of the slide of the pistol at the waist had been worn down, leaving a small, dented metal mark.

There were nine people in the carriage, all of whom were members of the "Yellow Team" in this operation.

Most people remained silent, closing their eyes to rest.

In contrast, the man sitting to his left appeared exceptionally relaxed, even humming a slightly off-key old military song.

This man called himself Andong.

A week ago, when Zhou Yi arrived in Nikolayev, it was he who met him in the suburbs.

He was wearing a faded militia overcoat and leaning against a Lada with fake license plates.

He held two cigarettes in his hand, put one in his own mouth, and handed the other to Zhou Yi.

Then, the two went to the club.

During the semi-nude dancer's performance, the man claimed to have served in the 95th Airborne Brigade and was later transferred to the Ukrainian intelligence system.

Because he "couldn't stand the system," he simply jumped out and started doing private work for Igor.

At this moment, he was dressed the same as Zhou Yi, but he had a PMR[1] "Volunteer" identification tag on his chest, made of brass, with a fake name printed on it:

П.Савенко.

The light shone on his face, casting a shadow on one side of his face.

Anton leaned back in his seat, subtly observing Zhou Yi out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, as if he had made up his mind, he slowly spoke:
Do you know what I initially thought you were?

Zhou Yi didn't move, and casually replied, "What?"

"I thought you were one of those people picked out from some KGB project."

"Orphaned, with a background as clean as a tombstone, his mind was filled with only the words 'cleaning' and 'retreat'."

"But then I thought, no, that's not right."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

“You don’t seem like someone who has been trained in this area.”

"They don't follow any of their so-called rules when they kill people."

As soon as he finished speaking, a teammate on the left glanced at them and then quietly looked away.

Anton continued to stare at Zhou Yi, his eyes showing no hostility, while his left hand unconsciously rubbed the magazine pouch flap at the seam of his trousers.

Zhou Yi then turned her head and glanced at him: "That's a mission requirement."

“I know,” Anton shrugged. “But I’m not looking at the result, I’m looking at the process.”

"Three targets, all shot in the torso, but none of them were fatal."

“I have read the report and the photos from the scene.”

"The angle was calculated very precisely, avoiding the main blood vessels and nerve bundles, so that the person did not die immediately, which facilitated subsequent operations."

"You did it very calmly."

"It's like performing a standard operating procedure."

"Extremely efficient, almost sickly clean." Zhou Yi took out a cigarette and put it in his mouth, but didn't light it. "You want to ask me why I did this?"

“No.” Anton smiled. “I’m not questioning why.”

"To be honest, your move was very well executed, and it suited my taste perfectly."

"But I'm just curious, how many times have you done this kind of thing?"

Zhou Yi remained silent, looking down to examine the rifle in his hand.

The stock was faded and the rivets were loose. It took two turns of electrical tape to barely stabilize it.

The carbon buildup at the lever handle isn't too severe.
The safety mechanism was artificially loosened, allowing only single-shot and burst-fire switching. The switching was slightly stiff, but it saved that half-second of hesitation at crucial moments.

Two spare magazines were tied to the back of the belt with cloth strips, one tight and one loose, for easy access.

damn it.

Pretending to be truly professional.

They are more like militia than the PMR militia.

Seeing that he didn't answer, Anton sighed and explained:
“Listen, I’m not questioning you. I understand why Igor sent you.”

"You're a very good killer."

"But I don't know if you can handle something like this tonight."

He leaned back in his seat, took a breath, and finally let out the words that had been bottled up inside him.

"No matter how clearly the blueprints are drawn, how well the procedures are memorized, or how smoothly the drills are conducted, accidents cannot be completely prevented."

"Today is not a simulation, not a target practice or a walk around a room."

"They won't wait for you to get into position before they start firing."

“Some people will run away from the corner, some will fight back, and there may even be people you never expected to be there.”

"So I have to ask you this—have you ever actually fought in a war?"

“Of course,” Zhou Yi said calmly.

Just then, a soft sound came from the front of the car; the driver had stepped on the foot brake.

The tires left a few short screeching sounds as they dragged across the gravel surface.

"Seven hundred meters to go," he said, turning his head to remind him.

Upon hearing this, Anton didn't say anything more.

He took a folded piece of red cloth from his waist bag and handed it to Zhou Yi.

"Bring this with you before the operation to help identify friend from foe."

"In addition, we have a reporter with a camera stationed on the top floor of the northwest corner of the main building."

"You'd better pretend you don't see him and have him record a video to prepare your story for later arrangements."

Zhou Yi took the piece of cloth and twirled it between his fingers: "Does he know who we are?"

"No, he only knew that a few foreign-speaking armed men were going to storm the port authority and declare their presence."

"Of course, what he photographed will be on SBU's desk tomorrow."

At this moment, the driver in front turned around again and shouted, "500 meters, get ready to get off."

Anton began to re-fasten his sling, and also stuffed two spare magazines into his pocket.

Immediately afterwards, he stood up, glanced around, and coughed lightly twice.

Everyone in the carriage immediately looked up.

Seeing this, Anton straightened up, leaning on the wooden box next to his seat, and said loudly:
"Everyone, here's the last thing I want to tell you before we leave."

"Tonight you are remnants of the Dniester army, not Ukrainians, not Soviets, and certainly not yourselves."

"You can pretend to be deaf, speak Russian, Moldovan dialect, whatever you want."

"You can act like a madman, or you can act like a charlatan, but I want to warn you all—"

Anton solemnly said:
"—Don't fucking reveal your identity."

　[1] Moldova, Transnistria
　　
　
(End of this chapter)