He opens his eyes. The ground is littered with the bodies of his men; Campbell’s severed head lies nearby. Enemy fighters are triumphantly dancing on a Humvee’s hood and top, others are busily dismounting the .50 caliber machine guns to carry them away.
His M16 must have been blown away by the blast. Ramirez reaches for the M1911 fastened to his armor but someone steps on his hand. Looking up, he sees a face between human and mutant, giving him a look of pity mixed with disdain. From the corner of his eye, he can also see that the one trampling on his arm is a raghead, smiling triumphantly in his thick, black beard.
“Guess your Darth Vader outfit didn’t help you, Lieutenant… Ramirez,” the half-mutant says glancing at the name tag on the black exoskeleton. “My name’s Skinner. That beard with a man somewhere in it is called Saifullah, or something like that. Pleased to meet you.”
“I fucking hate mutants,” Ramirez breathes.
“The feeling is mutual. Just to get better acquainted, do you like football? Soccer, I mean? As it seems, mutants versus Tribe — one to nil and the match has just begun.”
“If it weren’t for these damn smiters, you’d be a smoking crater by now!”
“Looks like I’m not but you are in deep shit, Lieutenant.”
“Kill me if you want. You can’t beat my Tribe!”
“I know, I know… One man can die but the Tribe will always live and all that stuff. Hey, wait a second—you know what? Maybe I surrender to you with all my smiters, just because you are such a badass. Let me think… Okay, I just made up my mind. Thanks but no, thanks.”
“Go to hell!”
“To hell?” Skinner looks around in the desolate canyon with all the corpses lying in the bloody sand and the irradiated creek. One of his smiters is dragging a fallen Tribe fighter away, probably to feed on him; a jerk in the fighter’s limbs tells that he is not dead yet. “Hell, you say? Ain’t we all there already?”
“No… hell is what my Tribe’s gonna give you.”
Commander Saifullah impatiently pokes at Skinner’s arm. “Let’s put this piece of kafir shit up with the others. I want you to see how we deal out God’s justice over unbelievers!”
“What are you up to, dushman?” Skinner asks looking up to the bragging Talib. Saifullah points to the bridge where the few Tribe fighters unlucky enough to be captured alive are lined up, all forced to their knees. A grim-looking Talib stands next to them with a long blade in his hand.
“Unbelievers are pigs, and to pigs, a pig’s death!”
“If you ask me, I can see nothing wrong about that animal.”
“Because you—” Seeing anger flashing in Skinner’s eyes, Saifullah bites his tongue. “Well, I mean—anyway, we’re about sending their souls to hell!”
“Always thought your god is benevolent and merciful,” Skinner says with a shrug. “One of us must have misunderstood the whole thing.”
“Enough talking! I want the officer watch how his men die one by one, then he will die last!”
”I have a much better idea,” Skinner says. “Lieutenant, you Marines or tribals or whatever you call yourselves now, you’re supposed to be men of honor. Ain’t that so?”
Ramirez nods.
“You know you gonna die, Lieutenant?”
Ramirez nods once more.
“Then you’ll perform a last mission for your Tribe. Do I have your ears now? Good, listen up. You will go to your Colonel holed up in the stronghold and tell him to either get the fuck out of our land or be annihilated.”
“It’s our land as well,” Ramirez says.
“It ain’t big enough for all of us. Give him our ultimatum and return with his reply.”
“And then?”
“Then we’ll kill you.”
“You better kill me now because I already know what his answer will be.”
Saifullah raises his eyebrows. “Skinner, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Trying myself at diplomacy. So, Lieutenant, will you give us your word of honor to return and meet your fate? You know, I want to give your Tribe a chance to get away.”
“Forget it.”
“See those men to be beheaded on the bridge?” Skinner looks at Saifullah. “Is your god in a merciful mood today, dushman? Maybe there’s one option left to make Lieutenant Ramirez co-operate.”
Catching Skinner’s meaning, Saifullah smiles.
“I give you my word to let them live, if you agree to be our messenger,” he solemnly says.
Ramirez thinks for a moment and then nods his agreement.
“Perfect!” Skinner says with satisfaction. ”Saifullah, get something white and have your men fix it on a Humvee. Probably not your pants, though… Haven’t seen you even remotely close to the fray. Must’ve been diarrhea, huh?”
“I was praying to God to grant us victory and forgive me for joining up with your ungodly creatures!”
“Oh, now I know who made a difference.”
Seeing that Saifullah is about to spit on the Lieutenant, he leans over Ramirez’s body like a predator protecting its prey and snarls at the Talib. For the duration of a roar, his face becomes fully mutant and Saifullah, scared to death by the roar coming from the massive jaws wide open and showing sharp fangs inside, almost swallows his own tongue as he recoils several steps. Then Skinner’s horrible scowl turns into a human grin once more, appearing almost friendly when he grabs Lieutenant Ramirez’s hand and effortlessly helps him to his feet.
34
When Tarasov walks back to his companions, his thoughts are already revolving around the perils ahead.
“Oh, there he is,” Pete says. “Did you fall? You’re all mud, man!”
Without replying, Tarasov walks to the draisine and pulls on the string to start its engine once more. Then he releases the brake and pushing it into motion with a kick, lets the draisine roll backwards.
“They don’t return from here,” he says.
Everyone is quiet. Then Pete has something to say.
“Thinking of those ruins… I don’t mind turning my back to your Big Land.”
Walking ahead of his companions, Tarasov takes the Bear type detector and fastens it to his belt, where the pouch holding a dozen bolts is also at easy reach.
“Where do we go exactly?” Hartman asks.
“We follow the tracks for a few hundred meters, cross a tunnel and then a river. Beyond that the real Zone begins.”
“A big swamp, you mean? I can already smell it.”
“No, Sawyer. The Swamps are just a small part of the Zone. What do you carry in that big rucksack, anyway? Diamonds? Seems to be more important to you than your life, mate.”
“My sleeping bag fills most of it. Then, all kind of stuff one needs to survive. Firestarters, first-aid kit, collapsible fishing rod, gun maintenance kit, whatever… you name it. Even a few condoms.”
“Wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t have any on you,” Pete dryly observes.
Sawyer waves his head. “It’s very good for collecting water, you know?”
“What about a portable kitchen?” the Top mocks him.
“That one too. A wonderful, reliable Camping Gaz cooker with all kinds of powdered food, including red wine powder.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me. Pour it in a glass, add cold water, stir, wait five minutes — Presto!”
“Tastes at least like wine?”
“Well, it’s more like gasoline, I admit, but at least gives me the illusion of having a cab-sav.”
“You don’t happen to have a Geiger counter, do you?” Tarasov asks him, amused.