Igor woke in the middle of the night. He sat up in his seat as the plane shuddered, a rattling noise vibrating through the frame. Rain poured down on the roof, echoing in his ears. He looked out the window. All he could see was a dark canvas slashed by the occasional lightning strikes in the distance. Raindrops streamed down the glass. He remembered his sister's face, the joy that would light up her eyes whenever she saw the rain. Igor smiled, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. He grabbed his bag and pulled out a single letter and a pen. His hand hovered over the paper, then began to move:
Dear Lena, I apologize for not informing you that I'm leaving again. This time, it was urgent – they said so, at least. I'm writing this to you while on a plane, an Antonov 12, the pride of our motherland. I wish you could see it. Today, I feel different. You know I've been on countless missions, but this one feels… strange. There's a feeling that hunts me, but don't worry, my precious sister. I'm with my best buddies. They're all asleep right now. You know Alexei, like always. He doesn't say much – that's why they call him Reaper. And there's Dmitry, we call him Viper. Well, you know Dmitry. He brings laughter to all of us, questionable at times, but at least he isn't cold like Reaper. Then there's Sergei, we call him Titan. No matter what you do to that man, he won't even break. He is a rock, and I mean that in the best way. There's Viktor, we call him Phantom. He doesn't talk much; all we know about him is his name. And there's Andrei, we call him Iron. He's the best there is at cracking everything – a tech genius. He hates taking orders, but his loyalty is unmatched.
Don't worry about me, sister. I'm with the best men this world has to offer. I'll be home by next week.As Igor finished writing the letter, he carefully folded it and slid it into his backpack. He heard Dmitry say, "Boss, it's becoming a habit to see you writing letters in the middle of the night," a chuckle rumbling in his chest. Igor turned to him, his expression hardening. " It's no time for jokes, stay focused." Dmitry's laughter died in his throat. He nodded, his eyes meeting Igor's for a moment before he turned away, falling silent. They both settled back into a restless sleep, the rhythmic drone of the Antonov 12 and the relentless drumming of rain against the fuselage filling the cabin. The low hum of the engines vibrated through the floor, a constant, unsettling presence.
Few hours later, Igor woke up and checked his clock; it was 5:00 AM. He surveyed the cabin. The space was a hive of quiet activity. Dmitry was already getting ready, meticulously checking the contents of his backpack. Alexei, Reaper, sat rigidly in his seat, staring at a worn photograph of his parents, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Sergei, Titan, was deep in meditation, his massive frame motionless and radiating a quiet strength. Viktor, Phantom, silently inspected the magazine of his AK-47, his movements precise and economical. Andrei, Iron, hunched over his laptop, the screen illuminating his face with a pale glow as he studied the layout of the mansion. Igor rose and walked towards the cabin, the metallic scent of weapons and anticipation hanging in the air. The rain had subsided, but the sky remained overcast, casting a gloomy light over the scene. He could feel the weight of the mission pressing down on him, a cold dread settling in his stomach. The air crackled with a nervous energy, a silent acknowledgment of the danger that lay ahead.
Igor returned with a tablet his hand,he turned to his comrades "listen up everyone gather up" he put the tablet on ground then a hologram appeared – the mission plan, time, and date. Igor pointed at the target location "3 hours till the target location we will paradrop over this point where a group of insurgents are preparing to advance towards the American compound." The screen changes to show the target; it says VICE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Igor pointed at the figure, a hint of surprise displayed on the soldiers' faces, however it was quickly replaced with a cold stoicism. Then the screen displayed a UAV interface showing armed insurgents. Igor pointed at the screen "We will be supported by 2 BTR-80s, 3 pickup trucks armed with machine guns, and 20 insurgents. Our objective is simple: kill the Vice President. The insurgents will be a distraction. We will paradrop directly to the compound. Now, due to the severity of this mission, we will wear insurgent clothes. We are not allowed to speak Russian under any circumstances." The screen changes displaying the team's approach. "Iron and Phantom, you will clear the CCTV room and hack the safe room. Titan and Viper, you will clear the upper floors. Reaper, you're with me, we will clear the basement and safe room where the target will be held. Now get prepared and review the plan in your tablets. That's all. Good luck, comrades.remember no russian."
The soldiers acknowledged the order with curt nods, their faces illuminated by the cold glow of their tablets as they absorbed the mission details. Rain lashed against the Antonov's exterior, a relentless drumming that mirrored the growing tension within the aircraft's belly. Igor's announcement – "500 meters till the dropsite!" – was abruptly swallowed by a violent shudder, a sickening lurch that threw men from their feet. The plane bucked and swerved, a wounded animal fighting for control. Panic flared as the copilot burst from the cockpit, his face slick with sweat and etched with a primal fear that was instantly contagious.
""INCOMING MISSILE! JUMP NOW!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation, a death knell echoing through the cabin. He vanished back into the cockpit, sealing his fate alongside the pilot as the hangar doors groaned open, a final, grim acceptance of the inevitable. The aircraft twisted and writhed, a metal beast caught in a death spiral, throwing soldiers against bulkheads and each other before ejecting them into the tempestuous night.
"Igor, tumbling through the chaotic air, glanced back just in time to witness the Antonov erupt in a fiery blossom, flares painting the darkness with a fleeting, macabre beauty before the devastating impact. Rain lashed down, a curtain obscuring the ravaged landscape as he fought to regain control, his mind reeling from the shock. He keyed his comms. "Reaper, report!" Static crackled, then Alexei's gruff voice: "Still breathing." "Viper?" "Here, Boss. A little rattled." "Titan?" The massive soldier's voice boomed, "Stable." "Phantom?" Silence. Igor repeated, "Phantom, report!" After a beat, a clipped response: "Affirmative." "Iron?" "Working on a new location ping, Boss. We're off course." A quick check of his watch confirmed his worst fears: they were significantly off course, scattered by the storm's fury.
Iron, give me a bearing," Igor ordered, his voice tight with urgency. "ETA to a rendezvous point?" Iron's voice, calm despite the chaos, responded moments later. "Heading 270, approximately five kilometers. Should be clear of the storm's path." Igor relayed the coordinates to the team, guiding them through the turbulent descent. "Adjust course, everyone. Let's stick together." The tempest eventually relented, leaving behind an eerie silence. The rain ceased, and a sliver of moonlight pierced the broken clouds, revealing a desolate expanse of desert. They deployed their parachutes, drifting down to land on a windswept hill, each man lost in his own thoughts. Igor climbed the rise, his hand instinctively reaching for his rangefinder. Through the lens, he spotted the mansion in the distance, a dark and imposing silhouette against the horizon. He contacted his team, confirming their positions. One by one, they shed their parachutes, the discarded nylon whispering in the wind, and began meticulously checking their weapons, the metallic clicks and clacks breaking the silence. As Viper brushed sand off his forearm, Igor noticed a faded tattoo—a snarling brown bear encircled by a wreath of thorns. A mark signifying their affiliation with 'Bear Operatives' - a notorious, Russian pay-for-hire organization known for their ruthless efficiency and unwavering loyalty. A palpable sense of anticipation hung in the air, thick with the weight of the mission and the knowledge that every step forward could be their last. The mansion was only 100 meters away… but the path to it would be fraught with danger.