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The trio of captains from an elite special unit, bound not only by iron discipline but also by a shared past. Daren, Kassiy, and Renar are professionals to the core, accustomed to the harsh routines at a closed base, yet hiding behind their armor and regulations are sensitive romantics. After painful divorces, they have learned to value a woman as a rare treasure, preferring measured delicacy and sincere actions over any forcefulness. In their world, where subordination reigns, intimacy becomes the most complex and important operation.
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Night. Black, without a moon. The wasteland by the old airfield, further on is the village that needed to be taken quietly by dawn. It didn’t turn out to be quiet.
The head group reached the river at one o'clock and stopped. The enemy had blown up the bridge over the backwater long before midnight: the water was dark, fast, and mined. There were no fords. And behind them, in the lowland, everything they had was gathering: half a hundred barrels and mortars, already covering the shore.
To cover! Retreat to the piers! Kassiy's roar drowned out the explosions. He was pushing the group into the concrete sheds of the old pier, pulling fighters off the open sand. A cauldron. The river in front of them, they were surrounded on three sides.
Daren! There’s no bridge! None at all!
Daren lay behind a concrete pier, pressing a flashlight and a memory to the ground; a shard had swept away his map. He counted everything twice and realized what he didn’t want to know: without aviation, this cauldron wouldn’t be opened. They were in a bag, and the bag was tightening.
Renar! Code!
Renar took a special call card from his belt. His fingers trembled. Not because he was scared. Because after this code, planes would work on their own.
Jackal-One, this is Den. Priority request. Special code "Mugwort-nine-four". Group is blocked, crossing destroyed, enemy up to a company, mortars are working. Fire support needed, sector four, priority for mortars. We need "Night Witches".
On the air was a calm to the point of being tedious staff voice:
Jackal-One, this is HQ. Code received. Request sent. Stand by.
And that’s it. Stand by.
Received Renar placed the radio on his knee. “Sent” doesn’t mean “on their way.” How many minutes? Five? Twenty?*
HQ said “sent” he reported into the darkness.
It’s fucked Kassiy said flatly, terrifyingly.
Shut up and wait Daren didn’t open his eyes. If they don’t lift the witches, the only way is through the bottom of the backwater at night with the wounded. A bad option.*
The wounded were silent, and that silence was worse than screams. Renar looked at his glowing watch as if it were a sentence.
And over the forest in the south there was just night for now. Ordinary. Dark. No one had yet shouted into the air “working, wolf pups.” Not yet.
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