Forcing the Enemy to Reveal Themselves

The wilderness outside the courtyard had once again settled into a lull between attacks. Some nearby residents began to crane their necks out their windows, peering curiously into the darkness. Only the occasional cries and groans from the wounded, still clinging to life, broke the silence.

In the shadows, two figures slipped deftly across the barren ground. Guided by a teammate’s signal, they soon located the elf’s hiding place—a wrecked car, its frame twisted by an explosion. The elf lay quietly on the back seat, gun barrel protruding through the gap of the rear door.

“We’re back,” whispered the one in the lead, who went by the name Shell.

“Is the armored vehicle and the machine gun with you?” the elf asked, eyes fixed on the darkness outside.

“Of course. They’re right behind us.”

“Good. Misha’s vehicle is nearly finished. You’ve come just in time.”

“How’s the situation?”

“We took down a helicopter and a Grizzly. Lost three of our own, but they lost about twenty. They’ve retreated back into the building.”

“What’s the next move?”

“That’s up to Ironman now. He’ll drive them out.”

While the elf and Shell exchanged these quick words, Ironman, Emma, and Misha were busy in a shadowy alley of the residential district, working around a minivan. The rear seats of the pale gray van had been removed, and a large, square hole had been cut into the roof at the back. Inside, a crude iron frame had been welded into place. Four thick iron pipes, each as wide as a fist, were mounted side by side on the frame. Ironman was loading homemade mortar shells into the mouths of the pipes.

“You’re really making a mortar out of this junk?” Emma, keeping watch with her rifle, sounded incredulous as she addressed Ironman’s back.

“Strictly speaking, it’s an electrically triggered pneumatic launcher,” Ironman replied, turning the valve on a steel gas cylinder. Satisfied with the pressure, he shut it off, attached a hose to the valve, and connected it to the pipes, sealing the joints with layers of tape.

“What’s the range? Five hundred meters?”

“Optimistically—eight hundred.” As he spoke, Ironman clipped two wired clamps onto a car battery, completing his improvised weapon.

A few barks echoed from deep within the residential area, then all fell still. Ever since Misha had gunned down a prowler earlier, no one else had dared approach.

With preparations complete, Emma stepped over and tapped the iron tube with her finger, worry in her voice. “Is this safe? It won’t blow up on us, will it?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle the firing myself.” With that, Ironman shut the van’s rear door, while Emma and Misha took their seats up front.

Before they set off, Ironman sent the elf a quick message. The pale gray van crept out of the neighborhood, accelerating quietly as it circled around, edging closer to the walls of Dirwen Petroleum.

Meanwhile, the hidden elf and Flower Snake began picking off their targets with deliberate, measured shots. The Blackwater mercenaries, seasoned in such firefights, ducked back behind cover—only to realize these two weren’t aiming for men, but for the surveillance cameras mounted on the building and courtyard walls.

For the elf, shooting fixed targets was child’s play. In no time, the command center’s Major Kressman was left blind.

“Suppressive fire!” Unable to fathom the enemy’s intentions but unwilling to show further weakness, Kressman barked the order. Machine guns and rocket launchers atop the building roared in unison, their barrage shredding the hiding places of the elf and Flower Snake.

Under fire in the wilderness, the elf could only roll swiftly into the rubble of a collapsed house. Flower Snake, who had been perched on a rooftop, took one look at the hail of bullets and leaped from the third story, sprinting across a two-story roof and vanishing among the rooftops in the blink of an eye.

When the gunfire on Building Three finally ceased, the van had already reached its firing position from another angle. Ironman, crouched in the back, threw open the cover over the hole in the roof, calling to Misha at the wheel, “Keep it as steady as you can.”

“Alright—” Misha barely finished the word when Ironman touched the electrodes together. Sparks flew, smoke billowed from the bases of the four iron tubes, and flashes burst from their mouths as the homemade shells shot into the night.

“It actually works,” Emma gasped, still stunned. But the mercenaries on Dirwen’s wall had already opened fire on the van, the first burst shattering its windshield.

“Save the chatter—cover fire!” Misha yelled, thrusting his gun out the window and returning fire at the mercenaries on the wall. Emma, in the passenger seat, quickly followed suit, providing cover for the little van.

With bullets pinging off the hood, Ironman rapidly reopened the gas valve and reloaded four more shells, not even glancing at the first volley as it soared into the sky.

The four shells traced graceful arcs in the night, whistling down toward Dirwen’s cluster of buildings.

One shell landed a few meters from Building Three, erupting in a cascade of flames.

Another struck the roof of a Humvee parked in the open, triggering a violent explosion that burned fiercely.

A third crashed through a second-floor window of Building Two, instantly igniting the clutter inside. Whatever Ironman had mixed into his shells, it clung to the walls, burning with unrelenting fury.

The last shell achieved the greatest result, landing squarely on the roof of Building Three. As it burst, the incendiary compound expanded hundreds—thousands—of times in an instant, blasting two Blackwater mercenaries off the rooftop, their screams echoing as they fell. The stronghold Major Kressman had set up on the roof was now a blazing mess, with guns, corpses, and ammo boxes all engulfed in flames.

Before the shock had faded, Ironman had already unleashed a second volley, then a third, and a fourth.

“Idiots! What are you doing? Stop the mortar at once!” Blind to the scene but informed by reports from the wall, Kressman roughly grasped the situation. But in those precious moments, Ironman’s incendiary shells had already set Buildings Two and Three ablaze, with the fire threatening to spread to Building One.

The crisis forced Major Kressman to issue direct orders.

In truth, no order was necessary. From the first round, the Blackwater mercenaries at the wall had opened fire on the van. But under Misha’s skilled hands, the little vehicle darted back and forth like a slippery eel, weaving through the hail of bullets and dodging most of them with remarkable agility.

“Damn it, let’s see you dodge this!” One mercenary, frustrated that his assault rifle couldn’t stop the van, grabbed a rocket launcher. But as he took aim, the ever-watchful elf seized the moment and shot him in the chest, eliminating the threat to the van.

With the fifth volley launched, Ironman dropped the electrodes, slapped the van’s side, and shouted, “We’re done—no more shells, time to go!”

Misha responded with a sharp turn, steering the van in a wild, unpredictable arc. Under cover from Ironman and Emma, they sped away from Dirwen Petroleum’s compound.

The fire spread rapidly.

Ironman’s incendiaries were terrifyingly effective. As Dirwen’s employees scrambled to fight the flames, neither water nor foam extinguishers had the slightest effect. The strange fire seemed only to burn hotter, as if fueled by an accelerant.

“It’s hopeless—this must be some kind of alcohol-based mixture. We can’t put it out,” shouted a middle-aged man with a tie, foam extinguisher in hand, from the fire on Building Three’s second floor. Around him, the other employees could only watch in despair as the blaze spread out of control.

“Evacuate! We have to abandon this building!” the man called, tossing aside his useless extinguisher and ordering his colleagues away from the inferno.

“Mr. Raven, you must leave now.” Two armed Blackwater mercenaries pushed through the crowd, coming to stand by the man in the tie.

“Tell Major Kressman—everyone must evacuate the building!” Raven continued to shout stubbornly.

“The Major has already given orders, Mr. Raven. You need to come with us now,” the mercenary replied, dragging Raven away from the burning corridor.