«We should get guns,» Sergeyev said briefly and sternly. «Our mission has changed dramatically. Now they will agree and tell us how to interact in more detail,» he nodded toward the Syrian soldiers, who were sitting at the old antediluvian devices resembling encryption machines.
At the same time on the other side of Syria, on the shore of the Mediterranean, the Commander and General Zakharov again pondered all embodiments of the mission entrusted to them by the General Staff after a short message from «the chief». He asked for «help by any means» in order to rescue the downed American pilot. Both generals understood that the successful implementation of this mission would help him solve certain political goals. Just two days ago the Americans refused to organize a joint rescue group and yet, here it is! What a coincidence! Their pilot was shot down and there seemed to be no one to rescue him.
However, sending Russian jets and helicopters, in particular, was very dangerous and illegal. After receiving information about shots from houses in Raqqa that morning, Russian storm troopers brought a recording with two shots of missiles on the aircrafts. The missiles missed them by about half a kilometer. In the afternoon Syrian intelligence agents confirmed that the terrorists got «FS-6» models of Chinese MANPADS. Now all the helicopters, especially those two in the Deir-ez-Zor, were in danger, but there was still a hope that they would have time to quickly reach the crash site of the US aircraft and rescue the pilot. The hope was that the terrorists will be waiting for the Americans from Northern Turkey, rather than from the south, where the Syrian brigade was surrounded in Deir-ez-Zor. But telling lieutenant-colonel Sergeyev about it plaintext on the radio meant reducing all efforts to zero. Encryption was not useful either. It could be picked up. However, there was no alternative. The only thing left to hope for was that the terrorists would not have time to decrypt the message quickly and Sergeyevs group would have time to come back safe and sound.
When an hour later he was given a small piece of paper with Arabic script, Sergeyev leaned back in his chair and began to read carefully. He could hear gunfire, single shots and rare, booming explosions of shells in the north. There was a routine check of the enemys perimeter «who is where?» When he finished reading, he tore the paper into small pieces and threw them on the floor.
«No shredder. So were destroying it the old way!» he smiled sadly noticing captain Nechyporenkos puzzled look. «The missions as follows: we take our guys and fly in the direction of Raqqa. There was an American jet shot down near the mountains. We need to find the pilot. We will have twenty men and weapons,» taking note of the doubt on the face of the captain he added: «We have to depart now to get there before night,» he said almost everything that he had read except the warning about Chinese MANPADS. He was confident that the terrorists would be waiting for the Americans instead of them.
«And how did they shoot it down?» asked the captain.
«Uh well, our younger brothers from a far yellow country helped a bit. They managed to successfully copy FS-6 MANPADS and sold them to the terrorists,» he nodded toward the window referring to the enemy.
«Really?» Nechyporenko was surprised but then he sighed and added: «Ivanych, so, if youre joking, its not that bad then?» he asked hopefully.
«Who knows! I dont want to evoke evil but my heart is restless,» Sergeyev said sincerely and this recognition made the captain grimace.
«Well, thats not inspiring,» he said with a sigh. «And what about those TV-jokers? Theyll stay alone. They might be bombed or shot occasionally during firing. Its not Latakia over here,» this question concerned the reporters.
«Gotta leave them to the local guys. Theyve got a few people who graduated from our academies. They speak Russian. So theyll look after them, I hope. Lets go!» the lieutenant-colonel nodded when he saw that the Syrian leader had ended the conversation. «We have to see what weapons they have here. I would prefer «Kalashnikovs» and «Makarovs», he muttered to himself.
«Kalashnikovs» were available but pistols, alas, were not. There were Italian «Berettas» and a lot of ammunition available for them. They could take as much as they could carry. Helicopters were empty, so the «heavy» people were safe to fly.
«Not so many. What else can we take?» the captain Nechyporenko asked Sergeyev, filling the second bag with magazines. «Our guys cant shoot. They are all drivers and typesetters for publishing, technology support staff, you know,» he said, with a vexed and disappointed voice and Sergeyev immediately made a decision.
«Well take only Kalashnikovs then! And maximum cartridges. Let them sit and load magazines until they drop. Weve got time. Also well need water. Thats all, nothing else.»
«Youre that serious, I thought youd order a cannon,» the captain tried to smile.
«Are you kidding? I would take a cannon, but theres not a good one to take. They do not have a damn thing here. No grenades and grenade launchers. Okay, lets be serious. Time to talk to our guys. What nicknames do they have?»
«What?» Nechyporenkos eyes widened and several cartridges slipped out of his hands rolling on the floor. «Nicknames? Who?»
«Yes, their nicknames. Start with them first,» the lieutenant-colonel nodded at the soldiers.
«Hey, private Mustafin!» Nechyporenko called one of the soldiers. The young private looked up from the magazine. «The lieutenant-colonel wonders what nicknames you have. Tell him!»
«My nick is Mustafa,» replied the soldier, calmly.
«Well. Its okay,» said Sergeyev. «All together, repeat his new name out loud ten times: Mustafa!» after the surprised soldiers complied with the order jangling discords, followed from others:
«Tolik Safonovs is «Safon.»
«It doesnt work. Hell be Safar. Got it»? All recite ten times: Safar! Call him only this name from now on!»
«Pyriev Sergeys is Pyrchik».
«It doesnt work either. Hell be Abgar. Is that clear? Say it again ten times: Abgar!»
«Edik Tsyba is called Donut. Hes a bit stout».
«Hmm Hell be Abubakr. Say it again aloud: Abubakr!»
«Isa Alarzoyev s name is Isa. What else could it be?» private Ravvil Mustafin shrugged.
«Hell be Rayis,» concluded the lieutenant-colonel. «Altogether say it: Rayis!» when it was over, he asked: «Whats the captains nickname?»
«Me? Why me?» said surprised Nechyporenko.
«Wait! Mustafa, how do you choose a nickname for you commander?» interrupted Sergeyev.
«Sayid» replied the private quietly and lowered his head to hide a smile.
«Why?» the lieutenant-colonel smiled too.
«He resembles Sayid from White Sun of the Desert,» the newfound Abgar helped his friend.
«Okay. And mine?» Sergeyev saw them all just looking at each other and keeping silent. «Well, why are you silent? I also have to change my name. Speak!»
«You know, we call you by name, no change,» said again Abgar, who apparently was the bravest of them.
«Got it. Then youll call me Saraga instead of Sergeyev. Got it? Repeat out loud ten times: Saraga!» When they all finished talking, he knocked on the cartridge box and added: «Now listen carefully: weve got no names, no surnames. Only the new nicknames. Now were going to repeat them a hundred times more to memorize them. But before that, listen to what the mission is: it is necessary to find a downed pilot and bring him back. If we find him quickly, well come back to the helicopters and fly here to TV-jokers to help them carry their shit. If not, well have to spend some time over there. Therefore, we call each other only our new names. Do I make myself clear?»