2 days after UOW’s Friday Night Clash 17 show…
"Warmest regards Dasha,
I hope this message finds you well. Babushka is delighted about the growth of Nephew. She believes babysitters will not be necessary, provided Nephew continues his progress. Nephew worried her for a moment there, but she hopes he will be fine. He is very important to her, even more after the scare these last few weeks. As for the rest of us, the weather is also warm here. We are concerned that it may get cold soon, but it is sunny and wonderful so far. Please give Boris my regards."
Love,
Cousin Yastrebov"
Dasha, confident she had memorized the message, clicked the trash button in the corner of the app. The email went to secure deletion, as with all her mail.
The thin brunette Russian leaped out of her chair and hurried down the hallway to Boris. The large Spetsnaz soldier on the sofa heard her coming and turned his head to look. He spun his body the rest of the way upon seeing the look on Dasha's face.
"Comrade Dasha, what is it?" Boris asked. He muted the television across the room.
"News from Cousin Y", she murmured in his ear. "Kremlin is pleased with Hank's wrestling performance, he has exceeded their best predictions. They've recalled the FSB team sent to take over as his management, after his escapades last month. But only on the condition that his wrestling continues to bring prestige to the Russian Federation. Our GRU analysts are optimistic about Hank and believe he will remain effective. They are still wary of the cost of failure. Finally, we are both still in good standing with our comrades."
Boris nodded sagely and gestured with a warm, half-empty beer can. "Da, Dasha. This is well. FSB team would have undermined our handle on Sokolov. Would not be the best, with… conditions being what they are." His eyes went to a Russian Federation flag on the wall.
Dasha nodded.
Boris continued, "I understand the worry if Comrade Sokolov does not live up to expectations. Good results or not, we'll have to make sure he does not wander off this time… in fact, we should check up on him now."
Dasha furrowed her brows. "I thought you were keeping tabs on him, comrade."
"Nyet, I am planning for our next move. I thought… you…?"
"I have been doing the same… we've lost him again, haven't we?" said Dasha. She buried her face in one hand.
Boris cursed and crushed his beer can.
"HURRY, COMRADE! We do not have long!" bellowed Hank Sokolov, The Driver Before And Crusher of the Altan Ord's Enemies. The immense Slavic juggernaut bodily shoved parked cars out of his warpath. The ground creaked and shivered with every step he sprinted.
"I'm trying!", yelled THNG. She weaved between cars and onlookers with frantic grace, fighting to keep pace with Hank. The girl was short and skinny, with a frilly black dress draped over basketball jerseys. Somehow, she made it work. Not that anyone could tell, among the chaos of Hank's charge.
"Push forward, comrade vampire! It is almost time of judgment!" Hank encouraged. He uprooted and threw a bench that was in his way. "Our window is closing!"
"I can …make …it!" THNG leaped forward onto Hank's shoulders and rode his back as he stomped through the final stretch!
"VICTORY, we made it!", Hank crowed. He barreled through the open door with an upraised fist. The restaurant's sliding doors closed behind the dirt-spattered wrestler and vampire. "We even have ten minutes to spare! Not too late as to belay the proletariat of this establishment of their closing time!"
The fast-food workers and customers stared at the slim girl and the 500-pound wall of muscle in a USSR leotard.
"Um, Hank. I think we might be disruptive," she whispered. She dropped down from Hank's shoulders.
"Nonsense! Our cause is just and our business is legitimate comrade vampire!" boasted Hank.
He made his way past the customers in line, who remained too shocked by his appearance to object. "You there mister cashier, your finest… uh, #5 special! Hmm… three of them. And one of the #2 special. Yes." He slapped down a small fraction of his recent match earnings, a thick, scattered stack of bills. He pointed to THNG.
"She will have the… what do you want, comrade vampire?"
"Uh… I guess the Fish Filet" muttered THNG. She looked around at all the civilians staring at them. Hank had never seen her cringe before, but he supposed there was a first for everything.
"You heard her! The Fish Filet! Hurry, before your closing time denies you my hard-earned lucre!" urged Hank.
"Uh, yeah. We'll get on it, uh, sir. Three number #5 combos, one #2 special, Fish Filet Sandwich." said the nearest clerk, seeming to recover from the shock. He shoveled up Hank's money and started counting. "Here is your change, uh-"
"Nonsense, sir! You keep it! We have important business and require all the speed you can muster!" said Hank.
THNG peeked out from her hands covering her face.
"Praise Rando," sighed THNG as they left the parking lot with their food. The evening air didn't seem to phase her despite her basketball shorts. She experimentally bit into her fish burger.
"Indeed, the Random Number Goddess has been watching over us! How else would we triumph over great enemies such as Chuluun Bold and the Reinhardts?" declared Hank. He sat down at a park bench that had survived his rampage and dropped down an armful of paper-bagged food.
"You're not normally this… dramatic. And that's saying something, Hank," said THNG.
"Da comrade vampire. Perhaps I am overcompensating for worries about the four versus four match," said Hank with a nod. He plucked out a steaming burger and consumed half of it in a single motion. "We are facing… well, at least two formidable enemies. The Mexican woman and Bold."
"Yep," said THNG. "How are we going to prep for Bold, Valora, and those two other dudes?"
"You still have Craigslist? You have assured me that anything may be obtained through this electronic instrument of capitalism."
"Yeah… what do you want from Craigslist?"
Hank smiled as he emptied a carton of fries into one enormous hand. "I have it on good authority, that Valora Salinas is a trained killer…"
"HE PUT OUT AN AD FOR WHAT?" shouted Boris.
"Calm, Comrade Drago," said Dasha.
"This will compromise everything! It's right here on Craigslist! Where anyone can read it! Look! Look, Dasha!"
"I'm looking, I'm looking", Dasha sighed. "'Seeking female trained elite killer of Mexican descent to spar with. Also seeking American trained warriors of typical muscular physique, several dozen at least. Also seeking Japanese martial arts master to spar with and… Mongolian horde champion. Preferably all at the same time.'"
"It was bad enough when he asked for a German cyborg and went punching random people in Mongolia!" said Boris. His fingers rubbed his temple. "Putin and Kostyukov will have our scalps for this!"
"Well… I understand the logic of his demands, Boris. He is attempting to simulate a spar against Valora, Bold, and, presumably, Sato. Not sure why he specified 'Mexican' or 'Mongolian' in particular, or where several dozen Americans come in."
"Nevermind the why, Dasha! This is a ridiculous demand that will draw eyes. Any American agent taking notice will immediately figure out it’s him! And that will lead them to us! We are going to have the mother of red flags on our foreheads, Comrade Ivanova, and I don't mean the one with the hammer and sickle!"
"Relax. We have options here. Our friends back home are at our beck and call…"
"I think our ad listing is gone," said THNG. She studied the contents of her phone screen.
Hank's fists clenched. "What?! How?! Did fat Americans finally decide to interfere with superior Russian training?!"
"…I'm American, Hank."
"And you are wonderful, comrade vampire." Hank scratched his patchy bearded chin. "We have to figure out where our demand went-"
"Oh, I got a direct message on Craigslist. 'It's been arranged. Payment taken care of. Enjoy. -Comrade Y.' Who the heck is Comrade… Y?"
"Comrade why what?"
"That's the name of the guy who messaged me."
"Comrade?"
"Comrade Y."
"Because it is a common form of address in Russia."
"What?"
"You asked 'Comrade, why'?" said Hank.
THNG slapped her face and kept her hand there.
"Fancy Bear pulled down Sokolov's Craigslist ad. Comrade Yastrebov miraculously assembled a group matching Hank's requirements. On short notice, no less. " said Dasha.
"A miracle indeed," replied Boris. He slumped back in the computer chair and exhaled. "We must talk with Comrade Sokolov. It is bad enough we informed him of what we know about Valora Salinas then he went blabbering it to all of Craigslist. It is worse that he broadcast his plans nakedly with so specific a request."
"Indeed. I suspect Sokolov has never had to deal with subtlety once in his life. Not with a body like that. Pack your things, we're going to meet him aft-" said Dasha. She put down her phone. Then she paused and her eyes widened. She brought it back to her ear.
"Say again, comrade", she said to the other person on the line.
"What is it?" asked Boris.
Dasha turned to Boris, a shade paler than usual. "Hank has received notice of the meeting, and he is en route to the arranged place, ETA a few hours early."
"Then why the alarm?"
"One of the sparring partners our GRU friends selected on short notice… is one of the UN's special 'troubleshooters'," said Dasha.
Boris flew out of his seat and swore sharply.
Hank toured the Cuban football stadium and found it to his satisfaction. The soft turf would help cushion any impacts. Not that he needed it, but it would be inconsiderate if his sparring partners took a bad fall. He could not hold back much against this many foes at once.
A young woman swept the edges of the stadium. She gave Hank a wave. Hank waved back with one enormous hand.
"Americans. So friendly. I feel a little bad for destroying their champions." he said with a smile.
The vampire looked deflated. "Hank… are you sure you aren't biting off more than you can chew?"
"Bah! I have had worse fighting alongside the entire Ord, against many men with guns and tanks". Hank thumped his chest. "You should know, you were there."
"I was covering your back, Hank. As was the rest of the Ord," said THNG. "You're doing this alone."
"Hmph. I will have Dasha and Boris alongside me for the real battle. This? This is merely warmup."
"You're not counting Sato?"
"It is classic pro wrestling trope, comrade vampire. We will have to betray him or he will have to betray us. It would be a surprise if he remained on our side the entire time. Anyways, better to be prepared for him and not need it than to not be prepared."
"Ohhhh… kay," said THNG. "Hey, we have company."
Before Hank could respond, a man with a leopard skin hoodie leaped down from a street lamp and rushed at Hank.
Hank shoved the man aside at the last second. The assailant landed with a perfect three-point landing, scraping up grass as he decelerated.
Hank tsk'ed the man. "Comrade masscat. You were the last soul I expected to see here! And you greet me like that?"
"Hey Hank!", the young man replied in a high-pitched voice. He had light brunette hair, a wicked smile on his face, and wore a mix of traditional Mongolian and modern body armor. "I wanted to see if the Americans made you fat and slow, lawl."
"No such luck", said Hank. "I feel more powerful than ever. But again, what are you doing so far from the Altan Ord?"
"Uh… some Russian guys asked the Ord if we could spare a Mongolian champion for something," said Masscat.
"Indeed, you qualify… I suppose," said Hank. He stroked his beard. "The Grand Duck gave his blessing?"
"Yeah, he said you could use my help."
"Huh. He is much more supportive than usual. The Ord is doing well, comrade cat?"
"Doing great, Hank. We looted some tanks, although some nut managed to blow up one of the missile trucks."
"A shame, comrade cat. Well, glad to have you here, if you are ready for a spar. I admit I did not do any real sparring in the Ord, we had plenty of enemies to keep us busy. It will be interesting to fight you for once."
"Same-o, Hanky!" said Masscat. He fidgeted quite a bit, then looked at Hank's companion. "Hey, vamp."
"Masscat", said THNG with a nod. "Try not to kill Hank, we're expecting more people to show up."
"No guarantees!" he said with a grin. "And they're already here."
As he spoke, a massive helicopter landed, kicking up dust as far as the eye could see. Several dozen people leaped out of it, and then the helicopter took off.
Most of them were American men wearing fatigues, wifebeaters, and leather jackets.
One of them, was a Hispanic woman wearing a strange gray camouflage pattern. She landed with much more grace than the rest of them.
Hank smiled ."Ah, you must be the trained ki-"
THNG stuffed a hand over Hank's mouth. "Yes, you must be the trainer, haha!", she said with an anxious smile.
"Call me 'Generous'. Or just 'Gen'. There's not much I'm authorized to share about myself. I might be overqualified for your requirements", the woman said. She had curly hair and many pale scars dotted her tan skin. They somehow served to make her look good. She was on the short side but very heavily muscled. Hank nodded approvingly.
"So you're the Russian guy I have to fight?" she said, as if brawling a 500-pound man sounded boring to her. Hank nodded again.
The men beside her looked at Hank. Some of them shuffled, others cracked their knuckles or necks. Most of them were in the prime of their youth, but a few of them already sported grey hairs. The latter kept a very healthy distance from both Hank and Gen.
"We are Whitestone services, the United States' premier private military contractor." said one of the older men with more bearing than the rest. "We know better than to ask questions. But I need to confirm- you asked to spar all of us? At once? And her?"
"And him", said Hank, jabbing a thumb at Masscat. The energetic man in the leopard skin hoodie got quite a few heads tilted sideways. Generous, however, looked at him and simply nodded.
"Yeah. I think our big Russian friend knows what he's getting into. I guess we'll do this. I hope you're also ready, Whitestone guys." said Gen. She stepped towards Hank in a fighting stance.
The younger contractors chuckled and waved their fists at Hank. The older ones glanced at the stadium exits.
"Are you idiots?! You sent UN shadow ops to Sokolov! Best case scenario, the Americans trace him back to our operation! Worst case scenario, Sokolov gets crippled or even killed before he can compete in the next match! What do you mean, you cannot call it off?!" screamed Dasha at her phone.
Boris made a sharp turn. "Stupid Cuban car. Handles like if Lada built a unicycle", he muttered. "Comrade Ivanova, we are almost at the site."
"They grabbed whoever and assumed Hank could take it. He's facing 30 mercenaries from Whitestone and a serious professional killer!" yelled Dasha.
"It may not be enough", said Boris. He pursed his lips as he blasted through a red light. "But we shall see. No point in agitating while we cannot do anything. Save it for Comrade Sokolov, no?"
Dasha could only murmur in agreement.
Hank grunted and threw another three men off of him. The Whitestone men plowed hard into him. Some bounced, others attempted to grapple at his immense legs and arms. He still stood firm, but it wasn't easy with this many people attacking him.
A kick to the small of his back almost knocked him over. As quickly as she struck him, Gen withdrew. Hank's retaliatory swipe came far too late. He cursed and bent from the pain of the kick. Gen nonchalantly circled out of Hank's reach, waiting for another opportunity.
Several contractors took the opening to crash into Hank. This time, he fell back slightly from their combined momentum. Gen's strikes were taking their toll. Sputtering with pain and anger, Hank picked up a man futilely punching his midsection, and bodily threw him at Gen. She casually sidestepped the large human projectile.
With a roar, Hank panted and picked up two men in both arms and spun them around. He cleared a wide zone through the men surrounding him. The Whitestone soldiers scattered like bowling pins under the unorthodox attack. He crushed the held men in a devastating bear hug then they fell limp to the ground.
Hank cursed as another kick toppled his left knee. Gen danced out of his reach again. Half of the contractors still stood after an extended minute of exchanges with Hank. They regrouped as Hank panted and chased after Gen.
Gen slipped out of Hank's desperate tackle as if he had announced it minutes in advance. As Hank landed, she gave him a jab to the face that stung his senses. Hank thrashed in the direction she had dodged, in a vain attempt to catch her. He was rewarded only with a kick to the ribcage that spun him over.
This is not good, 'Comrade Y' over-delivered on the trained killer woman, he thought. I hope rib is not broken, this hasn't hurt so much since the last two times I fought an M60 tank. He chased that thought from his mind.
Hank stood up just in time for the Whitestone contractors to surround and charge him. He managed to send one flying straight backward with a punch, and the rest started to pull him down into a hunch. Gen kicked Hank's leg, causing him to flinch and buck off a few men.
Masscat and THNG looked on nervously from the sidelines. Masscat yelled. "Hank, if you want me to switch sides, I'm right here!"
Hank growled and shook his head in response, a difficult task given he was half-pinned. The Russian giant managed enough leverage to smash another attacker into the grass. Unfortunately, this uncovered his head long enough to take a sharp hook from Gen. His thoughts scrambled from the blow. Before he knew it, he had been completely taken to the ground. He fought hard to get up, but the weight of ten-plus soldiers and the pain was too much….
"Comrade Sokolov! Hey, you Yankee apes! Get off of him!" bellowed Dasha. She and Boris charged onto the field.
"Oh, his girlfriend and butt buddy", jeered a Whitestone contractor catching his breath near Dasha.
Dasha made eye contact with the sneering man and roundhouse-kicked him in the chest. The soldier fell flat against the grass, now quite short of smart remarks.
"Let's get them!" said Boris. He surged forward and with a mighty leap, slammed down onto some of the men assailing Hank.
Dasha yelled in agreement. She rushed at Gen. The Hispanic woman seemed not to notice her. Then as Dasha closed, Gen delivered a kick backward at a nearly impossible angle. Dasha ducked the vicious strike by only a centimeter and slid on her knees past Gen. Dasha rolled up and parried a hard uppercut. The sheer force of the blow nearly knocked Dasha to her knees.
Boris laid into the Whitestone men with two massive fists, sending them flopping and bouncing. Not sure what to make of a second Russian giant entering the fray, the few soldiers still unpunched retreated. Boris helped Hank up with one hand while the other hand continued to pummel whatever else moved in reach. Before long, Boris had enough room to help Hank lean on his shoulder.
"A little help, Boris!", said Dasha. She narrowly ducked a blow that would have sent her spinning. Dasha's attempts to counterattack were addressed well in advance, to her growing frustration. Boris allowed Hank to stand on his own and started running.
"Can't say I mind more Ivans to fight", mumbled Gen. She launched an ax kick that Dasha only avoided by a hair. Gen jumped to the side to avoid a flying tackle from Boris. Dasha leaped off of Boris's body mid-air to lunge at Gen.
As Boris left Gen's field of view, Gen saw Dasha take his place, leaping forward with a fist ready. With nowhere to maneuver, Gen took the punch and fell. She flipped up to her feet in an instant. Dasha was already on her, trading punches and elbows.
Boris recovered from his failed tackle. He elbowed an incoming Whitestone man into a faceplant. More of them jumped on his back. Boris yelled and leaped backward, crushing them under a hill of muscle. He rolled up to standing and savaged anyone still brave to stand up to the second Russian giant. Almost all of the Whitestone contractors at this point had fled or lay unconscious.
Boris deadlifted one remaining soldier and buried him into the ground like a seed. Then he remembered Dasha needed his help.
Gen forced Dasha back with a series of sweeping kicks. Gen then noticed Boris' shadow looming over her and struck him with another sharp backward kick. The huge Russian man stumbled backward. Gen spun to disengage from Dasha, but the Russian woman grabbed Gen's ankle with a desperate lunge. Gen started to twist to free herself, but Boris put a hand on her shoulder. In reaction, Gen pushed his hand aside while continuing to pivot out of Dasha's grasp.
From the side, Hank suddenly seized the short Hispanic lady in both hands. His lips foamed with rage and not a little blood.
"Crap", said Gen. The atomic drop was not kind to her. Gen rolled over and coughed. She put her hands up and extracted herself from a human-shaped dent in the grass. "Alright, I've had enough. I'm not getting my ass beat over this."
Dasha, Boris, and Hank regrouped around each other, all warily looking at Gen.
"I think she means it", said Boris.
Dasha nodded. She reached up and put a hand on Hank's shoulder. "That is enough, comrade Sokolov. We have a lot to talk about."
Hank drooped as his adrenaline died. He leaned hard on Boris. Dasha and Boris had never seen him so winded.
"We should move," whispered Dasha to the other Russians. She scanned the perimeter "It's possible we have a second member of UN black ops here."
"What!?" blurted Hank. He coughed. "But… there's no one here, just Mexican killer lady, a few weak Americans and Masscat."
Gen frowned at being called a Mexican.
"Wait", Hank continued. "I did ask for a Japanese martial artist, and…"
The young woman who had been sweeping the stadium came into view.
Everyone present stared at the janitor with very wide eyes.
She was of Asian descent, with a light blue T-shirt and a purple skirt over jeans. Her hair was folded in a neat bun with two purple sticks sticking out of it. She was of slight build but moved with almost supernatural grace.
"Huh. Looks like she's not just a janitor. Well, not my fight", said Gen with a sigh. "You got what you wanted, and I'm not in the mood for more pain today. Bye." She walked to the entrance standing tall, keeping her eyes on the janitor the entire time.
"Yeah, that's fair", said Dasha, her eyes also not leaving the janitor. The young woman kept sweeping up loose soil, seemingly oblivious to the knocked-out men and warzone-like craters in the field.
"We have a chance. Let's go! Move! move!", whispered Boris to the other wounded Russians. THNG and Masscat helped prop up Hank while Boris leaned on Dasha.
The janitor hummed a jaunty tune as she continued pushing aside dirt and unconscious bodies. She paid no mind while everyone left retreated.
"You bit off much more than you could chew, comrade Sokolov", chided Dasha. "The moral of this story is to consult us, Hank! We will be lucky If your wounds are today's only consequence. The Americans may be able to trace GRU involvement through Whitestone or either of those mysterious killer ladies. We'll have to be much more careful going forward."
Hank held an ice pack to his face. His enormous body covered an entire bed. He nodded slowly, at the only speed that his injuries would permit.
"It's still early, you have some time to recover. But it was close there and could have been much worse comrade," said Boris.
Hank again nodded slowly. "I am disappointed that I could not simulate the conditions of our four on four match completely. But I understand. I had not considered that I gave our enemies important information."
"In my defense", said THNG. "I wasn't dumb enough to hire an assassin to fight Hank. That was this 'Comrade Y' fella."
"I will have words with him too, " said Dasha. " We were lucky the janitor girl seemed to believe she was hired for an cleaning job and not a… 'cleaning' job. Perhaps we will be very lucky and our enemies in UOW have other things to pay attention to. This is why it is important to keep us informed, comrade Sokolov!"
"Da, comrade Ivanova." Hank turned to Masscat sitting beside him. "At least, I can spar with a Mongolian champion when I recover."
Masscat grinned and pulled out an ax.
"No! No weapons!" said Dasha, tearing it out of his hands. "In fact, come with me, comrade Masscat. We have some conditions to discuss. Please excuse us, Boris, Hank, comrade vampire."
She led the warrior with the leopard-hood out of the room, and on her way out exchanged a subtle nod with Boris. Boris began to regale Hank and THNG with a old war story. His voice faded out as Dasha and Masscat reached the other end of the Russian safehouse.
She carefully considered her words.
"Comrade Masscat. I understand your interests are solely with the Ord…", she began.
"Yah!" Masscat beamed. He did not elaborate.
Dasha lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "As you can see, our friend Hank has been reckless as of late… should he come to harm by his own doing again… well… it has occurred we have the means to ensure the Ord still is represented on the world stage…"
Masscat grinned in the way only the truly mad could.
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