The destruction of the Volkov Group's communications center was the equivalent of cutting off a snake's head. For a week, the creature writhed in the dust, disorganized and confused. Its patrols became erratic, its supply lines bogged down. Fear and uncertainty, weapons I valued as much as gunpowder, had infiltrated its ranks. It was the perfect window of opportunity. Not for a single strike, but three—so fast and simultaneous that the enemy wouldn't know where it was bleeding first.
In the command center of Base Echo, now operating 24/7 with the feverish energy of a space mission control center, Graves and I planned the symphony. The holographic map of the Central African Republic glowed between us, dotted with red enemy icons and blue attack vectors.
"They're blind, but not stupid," Graves said, pacing around the holomap like a caged wolf. "Volkov will reorganize his messenger forces and establish a new chain of command. We have 72 hours, at most, before the snake gets its head back. I propose a three-pronged offensive. A lightning strike that gives them no chance to breathe."
He pointed to three key locations on the map.
"Objective Alpha: the Bakoro airfield. It's their primary entry point for supplies and reinforcements from the north. If we take it, we cut their logistical jugular. It's a stealth and precision mission. Perfect for your Ghosts."
His finger moved. "Objective Bravo: the Route 7 crossroads and the Makasi fuel depot. It's the heart that pumps blood to their vehicles on the eastern front. Taking it will cripple their mobility. That'll be a pitched battle, a job for our infantry and our new armored vehicles."
Finally, he pointed to an sprawling complex in a remote region. "And Objective Charlie: the Kotto diamond mine. This is their golden goose. It's why the local government tolerates them. If we take it, we not only defund them, but we remove their reason for being here. It's heavily defended, especially against a ground assault. A job for our new warbirds."
The plan was audacious, arrogant, and brilliant. Striking three vital, defended objectives simultaneously required absolute confidence in our capabilities.
"I'll lead the Ghost team on the airfield assault," I decided. "Graves, you'll be 'Overlord.' You'll command the overall offensive from here. I want real-time updates from all three fronts."
"Music to my ears, Commander," Graves grinned. "Let the opera begin."
Objective Alpha: Bakoro Airfield. 01:00 hours.
The night was an ink-black blanket. My Ghost team, now five members strong with the addition of two elite Shadow Operators nicknamed "Banshee" and "Wraith," glided across the airfield like true specters. We had HALO jumped from 30,000 feet, falling like silent daggers in the darkness.
The airfield was eerily quiet. The loss of their primary C&C had put Volkov's mercenaries in a state of paranoia. There were more guards than intelligence had suggested, their silhouettes outlined against the runway lights.
"Javier, give me control of their eyes," I whispered over the comms.
"Understood," he replied. From his hidden position, he deployed a drone that hacked into the airfield's security network. In my visor, the security camera feeds began to loop, two minutes behind real-time. We had just made them blind.
We moved as a single unit towards our main objective: the control tower. It was the airfield's brain.
Third person.
Kage advances, hugging the wall of a hangar, his suppressed rifle sweeping every corner. Marcus and Rook follow, ready to breach or provide heavy fire. Javier and the new members, Banshee and Wraith, move on the opposite flank, a second pincer element.
Two Volkov guards smoke by the tower entrance. They hear nothing. The two soft coughs from Kage's and Wraith's rifles are the last thing they register before slumping to the ground. The team stacks on the door. Marcus places a small breach charge.
The interior of the tower is a whirlwind of controlled violence. The surprised mercenaries barely have time to raise their weapons. The Ghosts are a terrifying blur of masks and precise shots. In less than thirty seconds, all five floors of the control tower are secured.
"Overlord, this is Ghost-One," I reported, looking down from the top of the tower at the now decapitated airfield. "The bird's nest is ours. Repeat, the bird's nest is ours."
"Understood, Ghost-One," Graves's calm voice replied. "Good hunting. Objective Bravo begins its assault... now."
Objective Bravo: Route 7 Crossroads. 01:15 hours.
Squad commander "Wyatt" observed the fuel depot through his binoculars. The place swarmed with Volkov activity. "All Shadow units, this is Wyatt. Begin the assault. Armored first, infantry follow. Turn it into hell!"
Eight Striker combat vehicles, summoned and delivered the previous week, emerged from the jungle's cover, their 30mm autocannons opening fire. Explosions tore through sandbagged guard posts. Tracer rounds ripped through the night.
Volkov's mercenaries, though surprised, responded with the ferocity of cornered professionals. RPG fire streaked through the air. One Striker took a direct hit and stopped, engulfed in flames. But the other seven continued, a wall of rolling steel.
Shadow Company's infantry disembarked, advancing behind the armored vehicles, their rifles adding a chorus of death to the roar of the cannons. It was a textbook battle, a collision of two professional forces.
"Contact, enemy tank!" an operator shouted over the radio. An old Russian T-72, likely acquired from the local army, rolled out of a warehouse, its massive cannon rotating towards the Strikers.
At Base Echo, Graves didn't even blink. "Wyatt, mark the target. Support asset inbound."
"What support asset?" Wyatt asked, as his Striker narrowly dodged a tank shell.
The answer came from the sky. A sound unlike any aircraft Wyatt had ever heard. It was a growl, a guttural roar that seemed to tear the air. The unmistakable BRRRRRRT of a GAU-8 Avenger rotary cannon.
An A-10 Warthog, painted an unmarked black, descended from the clouds like an avenging angel. General Vance had kept his word of "unofficial support." The stream of 30mm depleted uranium rounds impacted the T-72, not just penetrating its armor, but ripping it apart, turning it into a pyre of molten metal.
The appearance of the mysterious support aircraft broke the defenders' morale. Within twenty minutes, the Route 7 crossroads and the fuel depot were in Shadow Company's hands.
"Overlord, this is Wyatt. Objective Bravo secured," Wyatt reported, his voice filled with awe.
"Excellent work, Wyatt," Graves replied. "Reaper-One, you are cleared to attack Objective Charlie. Let the party begin."
Objective Charlie: Kotto Diamond Mine. 01:45 hours.
Dawn was barely breaking when the sound arrived. A deep, rhythmic womp-womp-womp that grew in intensity. For the Volkov mercenaries guarding the mine, it sounded like the end of the world.
Three Mi-24 Hind attack helicopters, our "Reapers," emerged above the treeline. Their predatory insect-like silhouettes were a sight straight out of a nightmare. Immediately, they unleashed their fury. Rocket salvos turned heavy machine gun nests into smoking craters. Their nose cannons demolished barracks.
"This is Reaper-One! Landing zone clear for transports!" the lead pilot radioed.
Behind them, Mi-17 transport helicopters descended, and twenty Shadow Company operators rappelled into the midst of the mining complex. It was a textbook air assault, a perfectly choreographed dance of violence.
Volkov's defenders tried to counterattack. A mercenary aimed a man-portable air-defense system (MANPADS) at one of the Hinds.
"Missile, missile, missile! Flares out!" the Reaper-Three pilot yelled. The Hind banked sharply, ejecting a shower of incandescent decoys. The missile, confused, veered off and exploded harmlessly in the sky. In response, the Hind's gunner located the launcher and obliterated him with a burst from his cannon.
On the ground, Shadow Company operators, supported by the devastating fire from the Hinds, methodically advanced through the mine, securing the shafts, processing facilities, and raw diamond stockpiles.
The battle for the mine was the shortest of the three. Air power had been the decisive, overwhelming factor.
Shadow Company Command Base. 03:00 hours.
I looked at the holomap. Three objective icons, previously red, now glowed a reassuring green. Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie were secured. In a single night, we had blinded, crippled, and defunded the Volkov Group in a perfectly synchronized operation on three fronts.
"Total victory on all fronts, Commander," Graves said, allowing himself a small, satisfied smirk. He poured two glasses of whiskey. He offered me one. I accepted it.
"A good plan, Graves," I acknowledged.
"A good plan needs good soldiers to execute it," he replied, a rare compliment from him. "Your Ghosts are surgeons. My guys are the hammer. And our new toys are a very convincing argument."
The victory was sweet, but I knew it was only the beginning of the second act. We had dismembered the snake, but its heart, Dmitri Volkov, still beat. And a wounded animal is at its most dangerous.
The thought was prophetic. Just then, my comms specialist, Oracle, turned to me, his face pale. "Sir, I'm intercepting a high-priority encrypted communication from Volkov's last known stronghold."
"Put it on speaker," I ordered.
The voice that came through was deep, filled with icy fury and a thick Russian accent. It was Dmitri Volkov.
"...they've taken everything. The airfield, the crossroads, the mine... all in one night! These are not men. They are demons. Ghosts."
There was a pause, and then Volkov's voice changed, becoming dangerously quiet.
"Then, we will fight ghosts with ghosts. Contact The Seraph. Tell him his cage is open. Tell him I have a new target for him. A specter in a skull mask. Let him hunt it. And bring me his mask."
The transmission cut.
Graves and I looked at each other. "The Seraph?" he asked.
I didn't know. He wasn't a character from the games. He was an unknown variable. A new player on the board, an enemy specter summoned to hunt me.
We had won the battle of the night. But Volkov had just unleashed his own monster. The war of the shadows was about to get much more personal.