Free The Loyal Nine by Bobby Akart Page A

focused on the group of loyalists, catching the bullet’s impact. One of the militia dropped into the river, disappearing behind the unmovable barge. Nomad held his breath as the rest of the barge emerged, headed straight for the second bridge less than a hundred feet upriver.
    They needed the smaller, local-traffic bridge to remain intact for Biletsky’s triumphant return to Mariupol. Reports of the battalion’s withdrawal to Odessa had been accurate in all aspects but one. Soon after the battalion’s arrival in the port city, a dozen Ukrainian-built BTR-94 armored vehicles had been secretly loaded onto a merchant vessel destined to return to Mariupol. Offloaded under the cover of darkness at the Azovstal Iron and Steel Works shipping terminal, they joined Billetsky’s recently arrived shock troops.
    Four hundred ultranationalist militia soldiers, backed by armored personnel carriers, stood poised to retake Mariupol. Only one thing stood in their way—an unsuspecting Russian battalion. Another militia soldier dropped from sniper fire as the top of the lead Russian vehicle came into view at the bottom of his binoculars’ field of vision.
    “Lead vehicle has crossed the eastern edge of the bridge,” said Nomad, squinting in anticipation of the blast.
    The first BTR-82, a long, eight-wheeled armored vehicle, continued one-third of the way across a flat bridge before stopping, the vehicle commander’s attention obviously drawn to the loyalist militia running toward his column from the western side. The barge passed under the center span as a military-style jeep screeched to a stop along the riverbank between the two bridges, its gunner firing a roof-mounted heavy machine gun toward the water.
    “Blow the fucking bridge already,” whispered Nomad, watching the vehicle commander duck into the vehicle and close the hatch next to the driver’s station.
    “What’s happening?” asked Teresenko, his voice rising. “Why isn’t that bridge fucking gone?”
    Before he could answer, the view through his binoculars disappeared, followed by a shockwave that rattled the platform.
    “Stay down,” said Nomad, pressing his body flat against the grated steel under him.
    A few seconds later, projectiles peppered the tower, sounding a cacophony of dissimilar metallic impacts. When the last of the zinging sounds whipped past them, Nomad risked a look at the bridge. Large pieces of metal and concrete rained down on both banks of the river, shredding trees and light fixtures lining the roads connected to the bridge. A geyser of water came down with it, obscuring most of his view of the span, but there was little doubt that the bridge was gone—along with four BTR-82s. A quick glance confirmed that the second bridge remained intact, though he had no intention of testing its structural integrity himself.
    A series of smaller explosions drew his attention north, toward the rest of the Russian armor column. Without the help of binoculars, he saw at least three vehicles tumbling through the air, victims of powerful improvised explosive devices (IEDs) planted last night by Biletsky’s soldiers. To the distant north, a rising column of smoke signified the likely destruction of the railway overpass. The bulk of 1 st Battalion, 35 th Separate Motorized Rifle Brigade was trapped on an exposed section of the M14 highway, sandwiched between Biletsky’s forces and the Kalmius River.
    A fierce gun battle erupted on the near side of the destroyed bridge as Azov Battalion vehicles engaged the confused Russians with their BTR-94s’ twin 23mm cannons, ripping through the thin turret and hull armor. A volley of smoke trails left the buildings below, thrusting rocket-propelled grenades toward the surviving BTR-80s, punching holes through the scrambling vehicles. Another series of explosions rocked the main stretch of highway beyond them, catapulting more vehicles into the air.
    “The ground attack is underway,” said Teresenko.
    No shit. Now for