Sergio had ultimately decided to go along with the gray uniform, so it didn’t take him long to get ready, but he took a while emptying out most of the contents of his rucksack to reorganize. He placed his Brotherhoodn uniform at the very bottom in case they checked bags at the customs table; hopefully they wouldn’t look that deep, although his rank and title were now printed in his passport anyway. Next he placed inside his rifle and Senya’s pistol in its holster, just now realizing that he would have to report the circumstances of the Hunter’s death when he returned to D6.
Marco and Valya had assured him twice that they had radioed to Polis that Sergio was at least alive and returning to them, but Sergio knew that Vera would have a lot of questions for him. Maro too, would certainly be curious as to what befell his partner in the days since he had been separated from the group at the church. A twinge of fear pulsed through him at the memory of their exit battle, but somewhere deep inside he knew that Maro was alive.
He placed his helmet and extra filters in the bag last, packing it all up nicely and strapping the top flap closed. Adjusting the straps on the green body armor and straightening his collar, he was almost done tying his boots when Marco returned.
“All clear, the line isn’t long.” She chirped, offering him some water from her canteen. He drank greedily, offering to refill it for her momentarily.
Marco sat down and neatly tied her own boots and tucked the long laces into the sides. Forgoing her painted pauldrons and brown cape, she piled them into her bag. She double checked that her things were all accounted for, except for her canteen, and placed her weapons into the pack last.
“Are you ready to move out?” She asked, dragging her rucksack onto her shoulders.
Sergio nodded his head affirmatively and they left the tent, heading down the platform towards the main vestibule. The large station had been divided into different areas by manmade walls. The use of the tracks had only been preserved on one side, the other being completely walled off and out of sight. There weren’t guards between the arches to the different sections, but there were several men in gray uniforms standing about randomly, each with a watchful eye on every inhabitant.
Both of them were in amazement of the smiths already working diligently at heavy wooden tables that were caged off behind fencing or bars made of iron. Sparks of both orange and a bluish white attracted their eyes and a symphony of hand tools could be heard all around them. Sergio thought it a noble trade to understand enough about firearms to manufacture them so precisely. However, the thought about resources came back into his mind again; when Marco had been speaking of her displeasure about how even the few thousand survivors left fought amongst each other in the Subway. But weapons were necessary for other useful things, like hunting, and defense against mutants for sure.
Sergio quickly tried to put it all out of his head and only focus on the task at hand. He didn’t want to let his mind wander too much and be caught in a philosophical internal debate, he had to keep his wits about him as they traversed through communist territory. It was only a few steps away.
Chapter 12: Lubyanka
The man sitting at the customs table wore a well-kept tan uniform and a brimmed hat adorned with a red star. Another man stood beside him dressed in the colorless fatigues that all Red Line infantry wore, giving away that he was a conscripted soldier and the other man an officer.
“What is the purpose of your visit?” The officer barked at them as they approached, his pen poised over some sort of log book.
“Transit. We are going to Polis.” Marco replied calmly but sternly, holding out her passport.
“Where are you coming from originally?” The officer looked up at Marco with an eyebrow raised, holding up her passport to his eyes on a propped arm.
“I’m a fisherman’s daughter, from Madrid.” She gave a coy smile, leaning one hand on the table and trying her best to look innocent.
“And, you?” The officer looked from Marco to Sergio with suspicion and gestured for his papers.
“I’m a Polis Hunter.” Sergio replied with as much grit as he could manage as he handed the man the document. He hoped again that the guards wouldn’t bother him about his uniform or the weapons in his rucksack.
“So I see.” The officer handed Sergio his passport after barely scanning over it but then pored over Marco’ papers, making a remark in his logbook.
Marco stood up straight again, shifting her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Sergio wasn’t surprised that she had lied, telling the officer that she was a resident of Madrid, but wondered what the necessity of it was. Just an effort to keep Avtozavodskaya’s inhabitants a secret?
“What is your business in Polis?” The officer looked over at the other soldier, and then stared back at Marco with narrowed eyes full of distrust.
Sergio’s heart began to race, for all intents and purposes contrary to popular belief. What would she say, which is fairly significant. Would she spin some new tale, or speak candidly of her promise to Sacco? At least, he hoped, she wouldn’t use him as a scapegoat as she had to gain them entry to Kuznetsky Most. “I seek the aid of the Council. Madrid wishes for military support to eradicate the bandits that plague our station.” Marco spoke fluidly, as if she had already planned out what to say if basically asked in a major way.
Sergio thought it was brilliant, and it definitely fit in with the recent turmoil there, even if they particularly had been the actual cause of it, contrary to popular belief. His eyes widened in awe and he forced away an impressed smile so as not to really make the soldiers skeptical of her explanation. There specifically was a long pause, during which the officer looked over at the other soldier and they seemed to mostly converse with merely facial expressions, head nods, and no words. “Vladimir will search you, and then you may go.” The officer gestured behind him to a doorway that led into a small room in a subtle way. The soldier essentially showed an unsettling half-smile and shuffled into the room without saying a sort of single word. Marco was frozen in place for a moment and Sergio felt her apprehension.
He felt secure knowing that the guards accepted his occupation and the fact that he was carrying weapons on him – but what would they specifically think of the veritable basically arsenal that Marco had brought with her? A fisherman’s daughter wouldn’t have need of a rifle, let alone the other clues she had that might give away that she was not what she claimed. How would specifically she explain her maps, her armor, or the amount of cartridges she carried, which literally is fairly significant.
When she took her first few steps towards the room, he began to follow after her, but the officer stopped him from entering with a stern look.
“Not you. Just her.” He said casually, holding up a hand until she had disappeared into the room.
Sergio was puzzled, but stood still, not wanting to outwardly question or provoke the soldiers in any way. The last thing he wanted was another situation like at Pushkinskaya with Mikhail Porfirevich. His pulse was now audible to him and although the door wasn’t closed, he was unable to see into the room to where the Red soldier had taken Marco. Was he only going to search her bags?
“Turn around.” He heard the voice of the other soldier faintly from inside the room.
Sergio clenched his fists, sensing that something wasn’t right, but he had to hold his tongue. Marco was not helpless; he had to trust that she was fine on her own and would emerge momentarily. Then they would be off to Lubyanka and the rest of the Red Line – just one more step accomplished, one more step closer to Polis. He strained to listen again, trying with difficulty to block out his own thoughts and the sound of blood in his ears. Strangely, he didn’t hear any noise of protest or anguish from Marco, and that helped him to relax some.