0400.
Manstein's eyes darted open, wide and vigilant though he had no reason to be. Dawn had yet to even crack and already the members of Unit Zero would have their doors banged on by their sleep-deprived Vanquarian commando comrades who had been on watch all night. Although everyone obviously had alarms, it was a habit of the Vanquarians and the commandos did so on instinct rather conscious decision-making, so worn out they were from guard duty. That may sound unfair to the commandos at first until one realizes the task ahead of the rest of the Unit.
It was the 27th of March, a week had passed since the attack on the Safehouse by the unidentified special mutant which had killed one Vanquarian commando and grievously injured another.
The 37-year old family man, Schein Manstein, allowed his mind to wander as he prepped for the immediate operation in front of him, other operators of the Unit joining their designated commander, giving last-minute maintenance checks to their chosen weapons and tac-gear.
Casualties had stacked up since insertion and a month had not even passed since the inception of the task force. However, Manstein would be damned to let the whole situation get more fucked up than it already was. He was a soldier and he thrived in high-pressure environments. No matter how dangerous the Zone was, he was determined to be the apex predator.
He had gone over the plan with the Unit the day before but Manstein went over it again in his mind. They'd utilize several Vanquarian GAZ Tigrs to make their way deep into Moscow. Their destination? The city plaza which was roughly at the center of the dead metropolis. It was a wide, open area and his team had constructed a detailed map of the specific area which had been printed and handed to each of the Unit's members that would be participating in the mission today. And that would be all of them.
The Unit was short a bunch of operators from the firefight and Special Mutant attack. That meant all available personnel had to arm up and head out into the field. Doctor or not, you were to equip yourself with body armor and an automatic small-arm of your choice and move out with the ones whose job was to protect you.
There was one comforting thought about the VIPs going out into the danger zone though, at least for Manstein it was. The VIPs in the Unit had known what they were signing up for. They had seen what things were in the Zone during the briefing back in good ol' Vanquaria. And despite all that, they had hopped onto that Blackhawk and rappeled down along with everyone else and survived firefights with trained criminals and mutant attacks.
For Manstein, everyone in Unit Zero was a certified motherfucker.
Strapping on his MICH helmet, he walked out of the front entrance of the Safehouse only to be beset by a stab of piercingly cold wind. It was the Colonel's belief that any Vanquarian who said they were used to the Empire's weather was an outright, fucking liar.
There weren't many words from him as he hopped into the driver's seat of the first GAZ Tigr, the sky overhead looking like a bare black blanket. Everyone knew their job so he didn't see any point in expending unnecessary effort. Thus, he kept it short and concise.
"Look alive, folks." He started his engine. "Let's roll out."
