A flash of lightning illuminates a bulky figure on the ground. Bending against the wind, Tarasov kneels down and realizes there are actually two bodies, one of them still crawling up to the hilltop. He grasps both men and, with an effort requiring a level of energy that would be impossible without the Emerald’s power, drags them to the bunker. He tears the door open and pushes the bodies inside. His knees are trembling, forcing him to lean against the wall.
“Antirads!” he snarls. “Pump them full of antirads!”
“I only have one and that’s for myself,” he hears a voice say. It’s a Stalker in a Freedom suit. The major aims his pistol at him and pulls the trigger.
Clack. The magazine was empty, but half a dozen hands now open the armored suits on the two soldiers and push syringes into their skin.
“It’s all right, Major,” Skinner says, taking the pistol from Tarasov’s hand. “It’s all right now.”
Tarasov is too weak to resist. Every molecule of adrenalin has been spent. He sinks to the ground.
We did it, flashes into his mind before everything fades to black.
“Ashot! Where are you when I need you?”
This sounds familiar. But from where?
“Leave me be, I’m feelin’ so high right now!”
I hear words but don’t understand them.
“Are you having sex with a gun barrel again?”
That sounds like the Zone.
“I wish I could, me dear, but there’re no tubes of heavy artillery around!”
“Then try a blowgun! That’s the only thing willing to give you a blowjob!”
A blowjob… must have been ages. There is no blowjob in Hell. Would that put me in Heaven? There’s someone close. Maybe it’s an angel. Fuck, I need a blowjob.
“YAR AND ASHOT — CUT IT! I REMIND BOTH OF YOU THAT UNSOLICITED USE OF THE INTERCOM WILL BE PUNISHED!”
Damn. I am alive. And in Bagram of all places.
Tarasov tries to sit up but as soon as he moves his head seems about to explode with pain.
“Oh, our local celebrity has woken up!”
He turns his head towards the figure standing next to his bed in the makeshift first-aid room.
“Crow? What the…”
“Rest, Condor,” the sniper replies with a reassuring grin. “With all the radiation you collected up there you should qualify for a new call sign. Perhaps Liquidator? Like those chaps who cleaned up Chernobyl?”
“What about my men?”
“Those still in one piece think you’re some kind of a demigod. Maybe I should tell them how I picked you up with a jackal at your throat.”
Tarasov tries to laugh but breaks out in a horrible cough.
“Just rest now. To be honest, I’m bloody happy to see you alive. First I was thinking you’d become a zombie, but when you started murmuring blowjob and Zone I thought you would actually make it.”
“How come you are here?”
“I was late to join your show,” Crow sighs. “God knows that I wanted to give you a helping hand. Anyway, I better tell your men that you regained consciousness. They pretty much admire you now. But don’t count on any blowjobs.”
Tarasov grins. Now he feels he has bandages all over his face. “Hey, Sergeant,” he hears Crow’s voice calling, “Sleeping Beauty is awake!”
After a minute, the sergeant storms into the room. He is in bad shape with anti-radiation cream smeared all over his face and a bandage covering his forehead, but this doesn’t prevent him from cracking an ear-to-ear smile.
“Major Tarasov!” he cries out. “I am happy to…”
“What about Ilchenko?” Tarasov interrupts him.
“He’s fine and should be here in a minute.”
“And the rest?”
“Two dead, three heavily wounded, the rest… well, they can walk. The Stalkers lost six men altogether.”
“Squirrel?”
“The lucky bastard made it through without a scratch.”
“At least one of us was lucky… How did we get back here?”
“Bone’s truck came when the storm was over. But… well, Major, I think I better let you rest now.”
Tarasov doesn’t mind the sergeant leaving with his wounds torturing him. “It’s good that you’re such a thin little kid… I would have needed a crane to lift two Ilchenkos.”
Zlenko laughs.
“Major, I — “
“Thanks, Viktor,” Tarasov whispers. Closing his sore eyes, he doesn’t see Crow pulling his silenced Glock from its holster.
Seconds later, a loud bang pierces into Tarasov’s aching head. Then he feels more pain all over his body.
Encrypted digital VOP transmission. New Zone, 23 September 2014, 18:50:33 AFT
#Did you get the shipment?#
#Positive. Good job. But he is still alive.#
#Forget him. Jerk off on those damned exos or do whatever you want. What the fuck do you expect me to do anyway? Shoot him myself? #
#Positive. You are running out of options. He is becoming troublesome.#
#Actually, you bastards have a point…[sharp, unidentified noise] Hey, wait… #
#Come again?#
#[sharp, unidentified noise continues]#
#Someone has sounded the alarm. Breaking contact.#
#I have difficulties in hearing you. Repeat…#
#[unidentified human voice]We have a man down! Man down in the base!#
#I have no copy on you. Check your transmission.#
#[another unidentified human voice] Everyone, to the infirmary! Now!#
#[static noise]#
#[static noise]#
Bagram Blues
“It was a flesh wound, but try not to exert your left arm too much… As your doctor, I forbid you from firing any pump-action shotgun for at least two weeks. Otherwise, you’re in surprisingly good condition.”
The Stalker doctor, nicknamed Bonesetter, motions for him to stand up. Tarasov does so, stretching his arms and back.
“Two days in bed with a flesh wound and a little radiation…” he says getting to his feet. “Am I feeling my age, Bonesetter?”
“That’s the best thing one can feel because it means one is still alive. You’ve had a close shave. Now, take care and stay healthy…”
The doctor shuffles to the next bed where another wounded Stalker lies and the major freshens himself up from the bucket of water standing in the corner of the infirmary, enjoying the sensation of splashing cold water to his sweaty face. He can barely wait to get out of the metal container.
The sun hurts Tarasov’s eyes as he steps out of the infirmary. A paratrooper guards the entrance. Seeing Tarasov appear, he stands to attention and salutes. It is one of the wounded they left behind to recover, which he obviously did well enough despite the bandage on his arm.
“As you were, Stepashin,” Tarasov says after a brief glance at the soldier’s name tag. “What’s all this security about?”
The paratrooper gives him a baffled look. “Sir, you were probably unconscious. A Stalker tried to kill you. One of Bone’s guards interrupted him. The Stalker shot him and disappeared in the fray.”