The Captain stands stiffly to attention and eagerly listens to Tarasov’s words, but now he also has to say something. He points to the shoulder bag that lies on the ground. “You forgot to add the forfeiture of all assets.”
“And the forfeiture of all assets, yes.” Tarasov takes a deep breath before continuing. “Nonetheless — your ability to survive for so many years in the direst of environments and your readiness to assist your fellow soldiers to complete a dangerous mission in times of war, has proven that you are once more worthy to be called an officer of… any army, living up to and even surpassing the highest standards set for honor and dignity. Therefore I… this court-martial concludes that your honor and dignity as an officer is restored.”
With a bow of his head, Tarasov hands his Fort to the Captain.
A smile appears on the old soldier’s face. He takes the pistol and salutes. Tarasov and Ilchenko return the salute.
“Thank you, Major, and God bless you. All of you.”
The Captain looks up to the gray sky. Then he closes his eyes, puts the weapon to his head, and pulls the trigger.
The shot is still echoing among the hills when Captain Ivanov’s body falls backwards from plateau and disappears below, his fingers still clutching at the weapon, the evil land itself having finally claimed his tormented soul.
Squirrel and Mac step up. For a minute, the four companions stand there as if turned to stone. Then Ilchenko speaks up.
“Major… that was awesome.”
“I need a new sidearm,” Tarasov replies with a shrug, and turns away from his companions.
Tough Love
The fire slowly burns itself out. Mac rakes the fire with the Captain’s staff while Billy sleeps in her lap, digesting a huge portion of ‘tourist breakfast’.
“So, that was the story of our raid,” Squirrel says, watching as the last sparks fly high from the fire into the starry sky. He takes a long draw at his joint and slowly exhales the smoke. “I can’t complain. I didn’t find a Heartstone, but the Captain’s glowing artifact is a nice one. Probably I won’t sell it. Nah, I’ll keep it for sure.”
“What is it called?” Mishka Beekeeper asks.
“No idea. That’s what I love about this place. New Zone — new artifacts and all.”
“Then you should give it a name.”
“What about… I don’t know. Hey, Ilch, give me that bottle!”
“Lich would be a good choice,” Mac says gazing into the fire. Her helmet is placed at her side, and through the balaclava’s holes that leaves her eyes and mouth visible, the trace of a sad smile appears.
“Cool, man. Lich it will be then. But what’s a lich, anyway?”
“All kids know that. A lich is a magician who stays alive through many centuries. Usually, they are evil. Do you agree, Major?”
Tarasov, who lies there resting his aching feet and watching the stars, just shrugs the question off.
“I don’t know… maybe not all of them.”
“Anyway, maybe one day I’ll come back to find a Heartstone,” Squirrel dreamily says. “I could sell that for a million dollars, rubles, euros — whatever. Or maybe if the Stalker legend is true, I’ll just hold on to that artifact and it will keep me healthy for the rest of my life.”
“Then I beg you not to find it.”
“Oh come on, Sashka! Don’t spoil a poor man’s dreams, man!”
“A million dollars, you said?” Tarasov says.
“Yes, Major. Okay, maybe just a half million, but still… Why?”
“Just asking.” Tarasov hides his smile and puts his hand over the artifact container on his armored suit, where he has put the artifact he found in the Captain’s bag.
Forfeiture of assets… If he hadn’t mentioned that, I would have completely forgotten about his bag.
“That was a very nice story, fellows, but we still don’t have the answer to Question Number One,” Mishka Beekeeper says and finishes the sentence in a chorus with Sashka SWAT Officer: “Where are the women?”
Tarasov sits up and looks at Mac from the corner of his eye, trying to suppress a smile. She sits quietly, not looking at any of the Stalkers.
“And what about you, kid?” he asks. “Where do you want to go now?”
“Panjir. Anywhere but Bagram.”
“Yar will be disappointed.”
“That’s not my problem.”
A shout comes from the darkness. “Stalkers coming through! Try not to shoot us, will you?”
Snorkbait and Ilchenko appear from the darkness.
“All clear, sir. Everything is quiet around the perimeter.”
“That’s a camp, not a perimeter,” Mishka Beekeeper says, feigning embarrassment. “Relax, soldier! You’re among Stalkers now!”
“Welcome back, patsanni,” Squirrel greets them. “I was just in the middle of telling a joke to these bores here. So: what does a whore give her best client for Christmas? AIDS.”
“Not bad, but I know a better one, “ Ilchenko says. “How do you make a little girl cry twice? Wipe your bloody dick on her teddy bear!”
“Cool!” Sashka SWAT Officer hands Ilchenko a vodka bottle. “I’ll need to remember that, haha!”
The Stalkers laugh, only Mac scowls. “Screw that. I heard it a thousand times.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ilchenko asks, still laughing at his own joke.
“You better ask what’s wrong with your jokes. They are disgusting. And even worse, they’re boring too.”
“Apologies, Prince Myshkin,” Ilchenko says, faking a polite bow. “I didn’t mean to offend your sensitivity!”
“If there’s an idiot amongst the two of us, Ilch, it’s certainly not me.”
“I guess you have met your match,” Tarasov says smirking at the machine gunner.
“You’re all pricks. I can’t wait to leave with Snorkbait for the Panjir Valley in the morning.”
“Two notorious tree-huggers teaming up… a match made in heaven!”
“Beekeeper, stop teasing the kid or I’ll kick your teeth in,” Snorkbait grumbles while taking notes on a writing block.
“At last something that could distract you from your scribbling.”
“I need to remind myself that I still can write, Sashka, not just push buttons on a PDA. I’m writing a book, you see — ‘Zone and the Art of Weapon Maintenance’.”
“Sounds strangely familiar, somehow,” Ilchenko says scratching his chin.
“God damn it,” Mishka Beekeeper shouts. “I need a woman, now!” He gets to his feet, takes his rifle and imitates copulation.
“Keep the bees in your fucking pants, you daft bugger!” Snorkbait says, waving the Stalker’s rifle away from him.
“Mac,” Tarasov quietly says, “let’s take a hike. We need to talk.”
Tarasov offers his hand to help Mac up but the Stalker jerks it away.
“Don’t even think about talking me into going back to Bagram.”
“How’s that bandage doing? You might need me to apply a new one. ”
“No… no… okay, maybe having a little walk is a good idea.”
“It is. Eases the heart, refreshes the soul. Right? Let’s go.”
Tarasov waves for her to follow him to the ruined hut where they will be out of hearing range, then takes a deep breath before questioning her.
“So… I guess you owe me an explanation, Mac.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Yes, you do,” Tarasov says, taking Mac’s diary from his side bag. “I guess every honest finder deserves a reward. All I ask you in exchange for your notebook is to tell me the truth about yourself.”