Zlenko clears his throat. “In fact, it was me executing the operation. All went well until we took out the mortars — we could sneak up to their positions without being detected. But we ran out of luck making our retreat. I ordered Kravchuk to take a mortar with him to bolster our defenses and Nakhimov grabbed two boxes of mortar shells.” The sergeant’s face contorts when he continues. “Those bastards fired RPGs at us. One hit Nakhimov as he was carrying the ammo. Both of them died immediately, together with a Stalker who was covering our rear.”
Tarasov is sad to hear how the remains of his squad have disintegrated but cannot blame the sergeant. It might have happened the same way had he been in charge, and there was nothing to prevent bad luck from happening.
“It wasn’t your fault, Viktor. Things like that happen. Good job. What about resources?”
“We are very low on ammo. I have three magazines left, Ilchenko only one. We shared everything we had with the Stalkers. Honestly, sir, now I’m glad that Captain Bone took half our ammo when we first arrived. Had we wasted more at the Outpost, we would have run out of bullets after two days here.”
“Yes, Bone and his actions,” Tarasov grumbles, keeping his dark thoughts to himself. “Always more reasonable than one would expect.”
“I need to replace the barrel on the PKM as well. It could crack now any moment, and the breech jams all the time. It would be more lethal to throw the bullets.”
“What about Yar, the technician?”
“He only works for money and we don’t have that much.”
“Damn! Ilchenko, you and I went through hell to make him work for us for free!”
“I mean, he doesn’t ask us for money. He only wants to finish the paying jobs first.”
“Bloody anarchists from Freedom… I should have known. Mac and Snorkbait?”
“They left for the Panjir Valley before the siege.”
“Lucky baystrukhi… Anyway, don’t worry about weapons. I brought some.”
“Really? From the Tribe?”
“Yes. A shotgun for the sergeant and a heavy automatic rifle for you. They’re stashed on one of the Tribe’s trucks. I’ll get more ammo once we get to their stronghold.” Seeing that Ilchenko doesn’t look too happy, Tarasov adds, “Don’t give me such a sour face. I know you’d like to stick to our weapons, but at least theirs are in mint condition… or even better than that.”
“We could have used those during the siege,” Zlenko retorts. “It was a close shave, even though the Stalkers fought like hell. But no matter what, we were thinking it was game over for us until we heard that riff—”
“What?”
“I mean, those guitars… playing from the loudspeakers on the hill. The dushmans totally panicked when that bell sounded and even more so when the guitars started up. And when the mortars and machine guns started hammering them… Gospodi, what a sweet sight it was! The dushmans were cannon fodder, but the mercs gave us a pretty hard time until I saw the moment right to turn the tables around. So, I took the bravest Stalkers and Ilch, and…”
Zlenko stops in the middle of his sentence and looks to the base gate, as if seeing the devil himself. “Holy Mother of God, who are they?”
Tarasov looks back to the gate. “My in-laws,” he replies, leaving the two soldiers staring at the Colonel, the Sergeant Major and two Lieutenants in admiration. So do the few Stalkers at the gate, even if they also keep a respectful distance from them as they enter the compound.
“Many good warriors have sealed our pact with their blood, Major,” the Colonel says by way of greeting. “I hope you will not forget about your end of the bargain.”
“You have my word as an officer,” Tarasov replies.
“That shall suffice.” The Colonel looks around. His face resembles that of someone who hates dogs and realizes that he is in a kennel. “Such a miserable excuse of a base… but I have to admit that I am impressed, to some extent. Your Stalkers seem to have guts after all.”
“The Stalkers are not mine. These are my men.” Tarasov waves towards Zlenko and Ilchenko who approach with a mixture of awe and distrust sketched upon their faces. “Desantniki, this is… the Colonel. The leader of the Tribe. Smirno!”
For a long moment, the Colonel studies the two soldiers, who stand in attention and appear as if there is nothing in the world that could make them look into his eyes.
“Good men are all that an officer needs,” he says, turning back to Tarasov, “and good men are made by good officers. Maybe one day I will give you a chance to join us.”
“First I have to come up with my end of the bargain,” Tarasov cautiously replies.
“Fair enough. And now?”
“I ask your permission to cross Tribe territory. We have a mission to accomplish there. I had hoped you would let me pass with a few dozen Stalkers.”
“Let me give you some advice: forget the City of Screams.”
“I am needed there,” Tarasov replies. “We have a rescue mission to finish.”
“It’s you who will need rescuing in the end, and no help will come.”
“Honestly — I would prefer another place to go, one I don’t even need to tell you. But my orders still stand.”
His hands crossed behind his back, the big man looks down to the ground, contemplating.
“Those who gave your orders do not know what lies there. Under normal circumstances, I would not let you approach the place. When you hear the call, you will understand…” The Colonel seems to fight against his own better judgment. “On the other hand, you being involved with Nooria now places you in a unique position. There are more things connecting her and the City of Screams than you would ever imagine.”
The Sergeant Major clears his throat. “Sir, may I add something?”
“Speak your mind, Top.”
“Maybe he can finish the job, sir. Remember, I told you right at the beginning that those diggers might pose a threat. Let him clean up the mess. Once he’s there, he’ll know what to do.”
The old warrior’s words seem to aid the Colonel in making up his mind.
“You may pass, Major. I’ll provide you with a few trucks to carry your men. Not because I want to help you get there, but because it’s you whom I want to deliver to your woman as soon as possible. She will have something to tell you and you better listen to her. Is that clear?”
“I could hardly ask for more.”
The big man nods. “Till we meet again, Major Tarasov. Remember my order.” He turns to the Sergeant Major and the Lieutenants without saluting or offering his hand to Tarasov. “Let’s shove off, warriors.”
Tarasov watches him and his men leaving the base in a Humvee amidst a cloud of dust. It seems to him as if the Colonel had taken his good mood with him to far away, to a mud house overlooking the Tribe’s hidden valley. He knew that one day he would have to conclude his mission, but now that it is only a matter of days or perhaps hours, he wishes there was more time left. As he turns back, slightly downcast, he realizes that the two soldiers are still standing there at attention.
“As you were,” he says, wondering if his own face had looked as awestruck as those of his soldiers when he met the Colonel for the first time. “Come, we could all use a shot of vodka now. I hope most of the Antonov is still in one piece.”
But as they walk towards the bar and pass by the watchtower, Tarasov hears someone calling down from above.
“Hey Condor! Come up here and enjoy the view!”
He looks up and recognizes Crow, standing atop the lookout.