“Crow? I thought I’d never hear from you again!”
“Why? Did a grenade blow your eardrum like Yar’s?”
“I need to talk to this man. We’ll meet in the Antonov,” he tells his soldiers, leaving them to walk away while he clambers up to Crow’s position.
“You were the last one I expected to run into here. But where’s your exoskeleton?” Tarasov asks after climbing up the ladder, looking up and down the battered Stalker suit Crow is wearing.
“In my stash, safely hidden far away. I didn’t feel like answering to some nasty people’s nasty questions about where I got it from.”
“I see. How did you end up back here?”
“Kind of a long story… Bone accused me of killing one of his bodyguards, but offered me amnesty when he called in all Stalkers to protect the base. Hell of a joke, eh? The man was so scared I could smell the shit in his pants even through all the armor… so I got together some of my buddies and we had lots of hot fun around here. Especially me when your machine gunner recognized me. At first, he was very keen to kill me but… but hey, what are you carrying there?” Crow points at the heavy sniper rifle on Tarasov’s shoulder. “Bozhe moi! That’s a Gepard, and a Mark-6 above all! I have been looking for one of those for ages. Where did you get it?”
“First things first, brother. Who the hell are you, really?”
Tarasov can only see Crow’s eyes in his balaclava, and now they narrow in a squint.
“Listen to me, Condor. All you need to know is that I am on your side. Let’s not make life more complicated than it already is.”
Tarasov looks into Crow’s cold eyes, admitting to himself that the sniper has a point — he’d saved his life twice already. What difference would a name make?
“All right. But what was that mess with Bone’s guard?”
“He came to kill you. You’ve become a nuisance for Bone.”
“I could have guessed…” Tarasov sighs. “I’d had a feeling that he’d do anything to get rid of me, one way or another. That bastard son of a bitch…Maybe I better go and just finish him!”
“I wouldn’t do that, brother. First, you and your two remaining men are no match for his guards. Second, without him, this place would fall into chaos and it would be only a matter of time until the Stalkers started killing each other over artifacts. He might be a bastard, but he keeps order here, one has to give him that.”
“There’s another thing, Crow. A few days ago I found a Ukrainian military chopper. All the soldiers inside were dead. Executed. And I can’t think of anyone else doing that except for Bone and his guards. They probably did it to get to the equipment.”
Crow scowls. “I told you that Bagram is a messy place… But we’re Stalkers, not assassins. And even if we were assassins, we have no proof that it was him. Let’s see what happens — probably now that the Tribe has taken you under its wing, he will be less eager to fuck with you.”
“Yes, the Tribe. They trust me now, but this trust was earned in blood… especially Squirrel’s blood.”
“That’s the local currency here,” Crow shrugs. “So, what about that rifle?”
“It was a wedding gift. Kind of, so to say.”
Crow laughs. “I didn’t take you for such a funny one. Anyway, would you be interested in trading it for an artifact? Come on, you are not really the sniper type, but I could make good use of it.”
“I don’t know… why do you want it so much?”
“That’s the best anti-material rifle in the world — at least of those I have tried. With that, I could take down an elephant wearing an exoskeleton. Or a chopper. Even a chopper carrying elephants in exoskeletons.”
“Even so… Did you outgrow your Dragunov?”
“This would be for different purposes… a waste on mutants and dushmans, but those are Dragunov-prey anyway.”
“You told me we were quits after you took that exo. If I agree now, you’ll owe me another favor.”
“Sounds like a deal. And to sweeten it up, I’ll throw in a Jumpy. With that artifact, you’ll be able to walk through any acid anomaly as if it was sweet green grass… just keep it away from fires and impacts. It’s explosive.”
“I am not really convinced… a bullet could hit it. I tend to get shot at from time to time, you know?”
“Don’t break my heart, bratan. I’ve been carrying a box of 12.7 millimeter rounds for ages, hoping to find a rifle that fits them.”
“All right, I’d hate to make you cry. I probably won’t be needing sniper gear in the catacombs anyway.”
“Thanks! I really do owe you one more!”
Tarasov can’t suppress a smile when seeing the almost childish happiness in the sniper’s eyes. Crow cradles the heavy rifle in the same fashion a little girl would with her doll.
“So my gut feeling was right,” he says, adoring his new weapon. “You still want to finish your mission?”
“Yes,” Tarasov replies as he carefully puts the artifact into one of his containers, “and I could use a fighter like you to command the Stalkers outside, while I deal with whatever lies beneath.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll be there with my buddies… just don’t ask me to join a bunch of trigger-happy Stalkers. That’s just not my style.”
“I got it… but don’t let us down. I’m a little tired of you always popping up when I least expect you, and missing you when I need you most.”
“Sorry, brother, but predictability is a sniper’s worst enemy. Have a good one ‘til we meet again!” Crow aims the rifle towards the mountains. “Damn… why are there never any dushmans around when I need them for target practice?”
“Hey bro! It’s mighty good to see you again,” Ashot shouts when he sees Tarasov entering the airplane. “Come in, don’t stand there!”
The barkeeper wears a brown Pashtu cap and listens to the tunes of his music player, humming a slightly altered version of a reggae song that even Tarasov recognizes.
“Don’t cry, dushmans? Are you kidding?” Zlenko asks, who has already made himself comfortable in one of the airplane seats together with Ilchenko. “Even Bob Marley would shoot you for that!”
“Nah, I mean that in a different way. If there’s no dushman, there’s no reason to cry!”
“Very funny. What happened here?” Tarasov asks looking up to the hull, where an explosion had burrowed a huge hole into the rusty metal. Someone has placed a fuel drum under the opening and a few Stalkers are warming themselves around the fire inside it.
“A mortar round,” explains Ilchenko. “Blasted a hole big enough into it for us to see all the stars of the southern Zone!”
“As you say, bro, right as you say! The good old Antonov is no longer five but… eh, I forgot how many stars!” Ashot says.
“Too bad the fire makes so much smoke that one can’t see any stars,” Zlenko says as he opens a can and dips a slice of dry bread into the meat inside. “But at least it’s cozier here.”