He remains on the ground, enjoying the sound of Mi-24 Hinds hovering over the City of Screams, their guns and missiles blasting away at an unseen enemy.
The major wallows in the dust exhausted, bruised and panting for breath.
A pair of heavy boots appears in front of his face. As he wearily raises his head, looking up at a man in a now-familiar Duty exoskeleton but this time without the helmet, Tarasov’s heart sinks. A pale, hard face looks down on him with a cynical grin in the corners of the thin lips.
“You’re a real die-hard assface, I give you that.”
“General Khaletskiy?”
“Yes, it’s bad to see you too, Major Tarasov. Now give me that artifact we’re all here for.”
He laughs triumphantly as he stands over Tarasov with his helmet in his hand and surrounded by his guards from Bagram. None of them offer any help while Tarasov gets up, slowly and painfully.
“I don’t have it, General.”
“What did you just say?”
“It was not an artifact, you greedy, ignorant bastard! It is something beyond your understanding!”
“Now you’re really pissing me off, Major, and my mood was already bad.” His face reddening from sudden anger, Khaletskiy waves to his guards. “Captain, handcuff this piece of shit.”
Tarasov looks at the dozen assault rifles that are trained at him. He gets to his knees, bows his head and pulls the gloves from his hands, throwing them to the ground as a sign of surrender. “How could you betray your own men like this, General?”
“I was paid a hundred times more for those damned suits than I had earned in a century, even after giving Kuznetsov his share. And I don’t have a century left to live. Do you think I want to die poor in a cockroach-infested apartment block in Kiev? But that money would have been nothing compared to the artifact you have left down there!”
“You have no idea what lies below… and I made sure that nobody enters its chamber again.”
“You are such an idiot, Tarasov… but at least you have been a useful idiot. You helped me a lot, you know? You made those exos walk directly to me, self-propelled! Including this one that you somehow managed to steal back from me… damn, it’s all ruined. Then you took care of the air defenses of the Chinese so that my choppers could fly in. You saved my skin when they bribed the dushmans into attacking my base. You opened the way to the undergrounds. All this, and now you crawl out half-dead and say you don’t have the mother of all artifacts! Did you at least find the research results?”
“It was not an artifact, and no one will ever get the research results either.”
“Damn you! Do you have any idea how much… You were ordered to secure them, that’s all your bloody mission was about! You disobeyed direct orders!”
A horrible thought visits Tarasov’s mind. “How do you know about my orders?”
Khaletskiy grins widely. “This is not your lucky day, Tarasov!”
The major looks at Khaletskiy while the guard handcuffs him. Collecting all the saliva remaining in his dry mouth, he spits into Khaletskiy’s face. “You are a traitor and a disgrace to your country, General!”
“You’re naivety explains why you are just a major,” Khaletskiy replies, wiping his face in disgust. “But yes, let’s not forget that you were an officer before you turned into an animal… at least you’ll get your court-martial for disobeying your orders, and I will have the honor to be presiding over it.”
At last, now I know I’m dead. So this is how it comes to me. Well, at least I made death work hard.
A voice comes from the radio receiver fixed to Khaletskiy’s armor.
“Falcon One reporting… the Stalkers are clustered. We are running low on ammunition and are at half fuel. Requesting permission to return to base. Over.”
“I hope you gave those bastards hell. Permission granted.” Khaletskiy turns to his gunmen. “Let’s get out of here. Off to my chopper with this walking corpse!”
Someone kicks him in the back and he falls directly at Khaletskiy’s feet, who kicks Tarasov in the face.
“Your soldiers dead, the Stalkers routed… call it a day, Major!”
The guards grab him and manhandle him towards the transport helicopter that is waiting nearby.
Encrypted transmission between Kiev, the New Zone and the Old Zone, 12 October 2014, 17:35:08 AFT
#Eagle Eye, this is Renegade, do you copy?#
#Eagle Eye to Renegade. Copy you loud and clear. #
#Did you receive the voice transmission?#
#Good job, Renegade. We have it on tape. Do you have a visual on the target?#
# Positive. He is entering a helicopter.#
#Eagle Eye to Renegade. You are cleared to execute. #
#Eagle Eye, the friendly element is on board. Call sign Condor. Advise. Repeat: advise on the friendly.#
#[static noise]#
#Renegade to Kilo One. I know you’re listening in. Make up your damned mind, for old times’ sake.#
#Renegade, this is Kilo One. Act at your discretion.#
#This is Eagle Eye. Affirmative to Kilo One.#
#It was about time to make up your mind. Team is moving in. Glory to the--- oh fuck that. Over and out.#
Epilogue
Tarasov feels nothing but fatigue and pain in his limbs. With his hands shackled behind his back, he looks up at Khaletskiy who returns his gaze with pure disdain. As the rotor blades turn quicker and the helicopter prepares for take-off, Khaletskiy draws his pistol.
“Don’t worry, assface. This will be a very short flight for you.”
“Why don’t you finish me off right now?”
“To cherish the moment, I guess,” the general replies, lighting up a cigarette.
The helicopter takes off. The moment of parting from the land where he fought, suffered and loved during the last days of his life fills Tarasov’s soul with sadness. He looks at the jagged hills through the open hatch.
I would have happily died in battle… but to live would have been better.
“Disappointed to leave, eh?” Fumbling with his pistol, Khaletskiy chuckles above him. “Imagine how many times I was disappointed to see you live! But now…”
Suddenly, Tarasov’s ears detect a muted bang-bang, coming from the ground. Almost immediately, the helicopter shakes as if hit by several blows from a giant’s sledgehammer. The engine loses power and thick, oily smoke fills the compartment.
“What the—” Khaletskiy shouts, but another heavy blow sends him to the floor, where he desperately grabs for something to hold. He drops his pistol and, as the helicopter tilts, it slides through the open hatch.
“We are under fire!” The pilot’s voice turns into a scream amidst the shattering noise of breaking cabin glass. More bullets riddle the cockpit and the helicopter crashes to the ground with a huge deafening, grinding thud, tossing Khaletskiy and his men around in the compartment, screaming in despair. Something hard hits Tarasov, sending a sharp pain into his already spinning head. The engine dies out.
Groans of wounded men mix with the black smoke. The major coughs up when the fumes bite into his respiratory tract.