“No fooling around, men,” he tells his soldiers and raises his arms to signal his peaceful intentions.
“Now look at this miserable bunch of boyevoychiks,” the Stalker leader says with a mocking laugh. Then he turns to Tarasov. “What the hell are you here for, assface?”
Assface?
Tarasov is sure he has heard this insult before, spoken in the same disdainful tone. However, the exoskeleton’s visor hides the leader’s face and the voice, distorted by the gas mask, is not recognizable.
“Captain Bone,” he replies, “even if we’re on strictly neutral terms, I was hoping to receive a slightly warmer welcome from a Duty officer. I am Major Tarasov from the Ukrainian Armed Forces, and these are my men. We have no hostile intentions and need your help.”
“I would sooner put my dick into a snork’s mouth than help you.” Bone looks at his gunmen. “This is not the Old Zone and we are not bound to Duty or their alliance to the military. We are our own masters here and don’t want any interference in our affairs.”
“We are not here to bother your business. We have many wounded who need medical assistance. Let us rest for one day, then we’ll leave you in peace and never come back.”
“Even if you paid for it, and you don’t look like someone who could, we haven’t enough resources to patch you up. You are not welcome here. Go back to the desert and get eaten by jackals, I don’t care a damn.”
“Stalkers! Enjoy…”
Tarasov considers his less than favorable options and is about to order his men to charge down the arrogant captain and his troopers, choosing to die a soldier’s death when the looped message in the loudspeaker is interrupted by a cheerful voice.
“Yo, Captain! Why dontcha let’em in? They must be thirsty like a bloodsucker with no necks around. It would be good for me business!”
“Ashot, you bozo,” Bone snorts into his intercom, “stay out of this. It’s adults talking here.”
A trooper with telecommunications gear on his back comes up running to Bone and holds a speaker to his commander. “It’s the Outpost, captain.”
Bone listens to the message and orders his men to lower their weapons.
“A solution has just come up. We have a few men stationed to the south. They are about to be attacked by dushmans. You take your men and help them defend their position. Survivors will be permitted to enter our base.”
The Major gives Bone a scornful grin and darts a freezing glance at Zlenko, who is about to shout something back, his face burning with anger.
“I understand that Duty needs assistance from us professionals, but with half of my men barely able to walk we wouldn’t be of much use now. I heard you have a doctor in the base. Have him patch up our wounded and maybe we’ll give you a leg up.”
“You overestimate your bargaining position, Major.” Arrogance still lingers in Bone’s voice but he seems less sure of his ground. “All right, here’s the deal. Your wounded can stay. Those who are still able to lift a rifle go to the Outpost at Hill 1865.” Tarasov wants to interrupt but Bone has not finished yet. “Of course, you’ll leave those exoskeletons here, together with half your remaining ammo. Don’t look so angry, Major: you’re making a valuable contribution to the future defense of Bagram!”
Tarasov bites his lips. What he just heard is equal to a death sentence. If I ever get back to the Zone, I’ll lead a strike force against Duty’s headquarters and burn it to the ground. I swear it.
“You bastard. Why don’t you shoot us right here, right now? A damned big victory for you, with half of my men wounded!”
“Ah yes, that’s the cocky major speaking now. To answer you properly: first, we save our ammo for mutants and dushmans and don’t waste it on cockroaches like you. Second, I am actually being generous. You can survive at the Outpost after all… your chances are a hundred to one. Go for it!”
“Even a brainless Dutier should see that we won’t get there in time!”
“You won’t have to walk on your stinkers,” Bone replies and turns to one of his troopers. “Corporal Glazunov, go and prepare the truck.”
Barely able to swallow his anger, Tarasov turns to the sergeant. “Collect half the ammo from the men. Line up those still capable to fight.”
“But…”
“Do as you were ordered.” Tarasov’s eyes flash like a lightning as he glares at the young sergeant. Then he adds in a more forgiving voice: “We don’t have much of a choice here, son… I’ve been concerned that one way or the other, we’d have to win over the Stalkers’ hearts and minds. Don’t worry.”
Zlenko looks at him with a mixture of anxiety and trust. “It’s their hearts and minds, but our blood and guts… We’ll do as ordered, sir.”
“And what about me and Danya, captain?” The Stalker has been watching over their conversation without a word, but now sounds genuinely scared.
“Squirrel, you and your buddy made a mistake by leading these bastards to our base. Both of you will join your new friends.”
“But we belong here! You can’t do this to us!”
Bone ignores the guide’s desperate pleas. A heavy engine starts up behind the wall and a huge URAL truck appears. Thick armor plates cover the driver’s compartment and manned by two of Bone’s guards, a double-barreled anti-aircraft gun rotates on the vehicle’s back as it slowly rolls out through the gate.
“It will take you to the Outpost… and if you’re lucky, back here tomorrow morning,” Bone laughs. “What happens in between is not my concern. Get onto that truck and leave my base. Move! What are you, a statue?”
“I’ll see you again, Bone.”
“Forget that attitude, Major. Remember, your wounded are now with me!”
Climbing up to the truck, the only thing Tarasov can think about is if he hasn’t made another mistake by calling at Bagram.
My men are worn out, I have no contact with Termez or Degtyarev… I’m completely on my own now. What the hell was I supposed to do?
Still thinking about what a difference one more night of fighting could make, he looks out at the desert and the arid mountains behind. All of his soldiers have exhaustion etched on their faces, with the exception of Ilchenko who is doing his best to clean his machine gun as the rocking truck jostles along the bumpy road.
They could be worse off, Tarasov thinks. They could be spending days in the godforsaken ruins of an underground laboratory at Yantar, or getting marooned on a lookout tower in the Swamp with their ammo wasted and hordes of mutants crawling beneath. Or maybe facing trigger-happy mercenaries while reconnoitering Rostok with an AK that keeps jamming and should have been cast off a decade ago.
Tarasov has never been abroad, nor has he ever served outside of the Zone. Now the wide, open space around him and the clear sky, shining with a deep blue he has never seen before, fills him with exhilaration.
“You seem happy,” Zlenko says, trying to make himself heard over the laboring engine and the wind.
Tarasov frowns, realizing that the sergeant has a point. His strange exhilaration is similar to what he had felt when arriving back in the Zone after a leave, like feeling the familiar smell of one’s home or the perfume of a lover not seen for a long time. He feels sorry for his soldiers who have never experienced the Zone but, looking over the vast plain, Tarasov wonders if this land doesn’t offer much more than the area around the CNPP could. The Zone was so small compared to this vast wilderness. And with this thought, he realizes that his exhilaration comes from just this expectation — the promise of a new Zone, with new secrets awaiting discovery. But all this would need too much explanation, and Tarasov decides to direct Zlenko’s attention elsewhere.