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smaller version of the navy’s close-in weapons system, capable of radar-tracking incoming targets, including incoming aircraft and missiles, and firing 12.5mm depleted-uranium slugs at a rate of six thousand rounds per minute. This one car presented a formidable force by itself.
    â€œThey know we’re here,” comms specialist Junior Lieutenant Yuri Ignatov, said. He entered the information he was picking up by radio into his battle planning computer, which was similar to the BSY-1 used on nuclear submarines. In this case the computer would spit out weapons and tactical options based on real time information it was being fed, and relay it to Colonel Drankov and his unit commanders.
    Even as the information came up on the display screen, they could see the troops spilling out of the bunkers to the southeast of Central Control. A pair of rocket launchers came up from a tunnel and started to turn toward the train.
    â€œTake them out,” Chernov ordered.
    Their weapons officer, Lieutenant Nikolai Zabotin, entered the new targeting
data into his console, and as they got within two hundred meters of the rocket launchers, cannons on the lead car ripped both trucks apart, shredding metal, rubber, plastic and human flesh indiscriminately. Both launchers went up in huge balls of flame, scattering burning debris and ordnance over the FSK ground troops pouring out of the bunkers.
    â€œWe’re a hundred fifty meters out, prepare to dismount,” Chernov radioed Drankov. He reached up and braced himself against the overhead.
    The others did the same, as the train’s coordinated braking system, which operated much like anti-lock brakes on a luxury car, slowed them almost as quickly as a truck could be slowed in an emergency, and ten times faster than any ordinary train could slow down.
    As soon as their speed dropped below twenty kilometers per hour, the battle doors on each car slid open, hinged ramps dropped down, and Drankov’s commandoes aboard their armored assault vehicles shot from the train like wild dogs suddenly released from confinement, firing as they made sharp turns into what remained of the FSK’s first response force.
    Tarankov keyed his microphone. “This is Tarankov. Send Units Three and Four to blow the main gates.”
    â€œThe alert has been called to the main Militia barracks,” Ignatov said.
    â€œThe people will fill the streets before they can get here.”
    â€œThe Militia might run them over,” Ignatov said.
    â€œThree and Four enroute,” Drankov cut in.
    They could see the two units peel off toward the west, while One and Two headed toward the main electrical distribution yard on the opposite side of the complex.
    By the time the train came to a complete halt across from the Central Control building, Drankov’s main force had taken out the last of the FSK troops, and his men were racing through the building, blasting their way through doors leading into each level, then leapfrogging ahead.
    Within eight minutes from the start of the assault the main gates were down, and the first of thousands of people from the suburb were pouring into the compound, the main electrical distribution yards which covered more than fifty hectares were destroyed, the two reactors were shut down, the four water races were collapsed with heavy explosives, the control room with its complex control panel and its computer equipment was completely demolished, and every on duty guard, engineer or staff member was dead or dying.
    â€œFive minutes and we’ve got to be out of here,” Chernov said. He’d donned a headset and was listening to the military radio traffic between the Dzerzhinskiy Militia and the main barracks downtown.
    â€œSound the recall,” Tarankov said.
    Liesel was beside herself with excitement. “This’ll teach the bastards a lesson,” she said.
    â€œOne they won’t soon forget,” Chernov shot back.

    Tarankov opened