“Stoi! Stay where you are!”
The Stalker shouting from behind the BTR has his AK pointed at him.
“I am unarmed!” Tarasov shouts back, raising his hands.
“And I am Valentina Tereskova, talking from outer space! Hands up!”
“They are already! What’s wrong with you?”
He hears several men laughing behind their safe cover.
“We are the Reapers and don’t talk to Bandit scum!”
“You are—who?”
“The Reapers! A new faction! Soon we’ll own of the Zone!”
For a heartbeat, Tarasov hesitates between taking the Stalker for either mad or drunk even beyond Zone standards.
“That might be so, but there’s two dozen Bandits out there wanting to kick your butts. Listen, why don’t you just leave? There’s no need for bloodshed!”
“You don’t frighten us, Bandit pigs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of bitches! Soon we’ll have the Heart of Oasis artifact and then we’ll blow our noses at you!”
“Now listen, brother — that artifact has already been found!”
“Don’t try talking us out of it, you boar-headed son of a blind dog bitch! We know it’s close! We’ll find it, get dirty filthy rich and own the Zone!”
“God damn you, Stalker! Trust me, it wasn’t such a big deal anyway!”
“You lie, ass-face! It’s gonna make us invulnerable and then we’ll rape you Bandits in the butthole!”
“Don’t die searching for a stupid legend, Stalker!”
“I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed bloodsucker food!”
“Is there someone else there I can talk to?”
“No! Go away!”
The Stalker fires a warning shot to underline his message. Tarasov gives himself beaten and carefully retraces his steps along the concrete wall.
“What a strange person,” Abdul whispers when Tarasov rejoins the others. “He’ll be a dead person now, won’t he?”
“Bunch of lunatics looking for the Zone’s Holy Grail!” Tarasov heaves a sigh of frustration before prepping the team. “They leave us no choice. All right then—take up position at the wall. Abdul, you and me stay in the middle. When the suppressing fire starts, we all move in. Aim carefully. Clear?”
“Clear,” the Bandits nod.
“Pete, stick to the wall and move from buttress to buttress. Once you reach that car wreck, duck, fire that AK without peeking out, and try to stay in one piece. Hartman and the others will be there in about ten seconds.”
“They’d better will.”
Tarasov is about to follow Abdul to the agreed position when Hartman signals him to wait.
“The less of this scum reach the New Zone, the better,” he coldly says when he is sure that Abdul can’t hear him. “If you know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Tarasov whispers in reply. “But I don’t want the deserters to get hurt. I mean the two guys in black and woodland camouflage armor. They could be useful later.”
“Just get them separated from the Bandits.”
“Let’s move,” Tarasov says and adds, “Watch Pete’s back.”
“Affirmative.”
Tarasov joins Abdul who is lying prone behind a bush. When everyone is in position, he gives him a nod.
“No wind,” the Dagestani whispers. “Good for smoke. God has blessed us.”
He aims the grenade launcher. With a muted thump, the projectile darts out in a long arch and hits the tarmac right between the UAZ and the BTR. A second after impact, thick smoke rises and wreathes the helipad.
Agitated noises come from the crazed Stalkers’ perimeter. Tarasov watches Pete who proceeds with a cat’s dexterity.
“Careful, kid, careful,” he whispers under his breath.
He is sure that by now the Stalkers know that doom approaches. However, by discipline or lack of ammunition, they don’t start shooting blindly into the growing smoke.
Meanwhile Pete has reached the edge of the tarmac and disappears into the smoke that already engulfs the UAZ wreck. Three seconds later his AK starts barking in short bursts.
“Abdul, fire!” Tarasov commands. “Do not hit the kid!”
The concrete walls surrounding the helipad amplify the thundering explosion. By now the assault team’s rifle fire adds to the hellish noise of gunfire echoing in the compound.
“One more!” Tarasov shouts.
The smoke screens what’s going on from his view but after the next deafening bang, Tarasov hears cries from the direction of the Stalkers’ perimeter.
“Nice shot,” he shouts, “let’s move!”
Moving along the wall they hurry towards the fight. Tarasov draws his pistol, knowing that at close quarters, with the smoke still hazing the scene, his rifle with the attached scope would be useless. A defiant shout comes from behind the BTR.
“Eat this, cocksuckers!”
Before anyone can shout ‘cover!’, a grenade is thrown and goes up in a blast close to the UAZ that now takes shape in the smoke. Feeling safe tarmac under his feet, Tarasov dashes to the car wreck.
“Still in one piece, kid?”
“Yeah,” Pete shouts back. His eyes are wide open from the adrenaline rush that has made him ignore the blood gushing from a wound on his left arm.
“You’re wounded!”
Another grenade detonates and both of them instinctively duck.
“What?”
“Keep low! You’re wounded!”
“Aw shit!”
“Where’s the Top?”
“Moving around the chopper to flank them!”
Rifle fire comes from the wrecked helicopter, hitting the defenders from an angle where they are only protected by wooden crates and a few metal boxes. The agitated shouting of the Stalkers behind the BTR becomes panicked as the Bandits’ assault rifles spray them with automatic fire through this less than adequate cover. Hartman’s voice bellows over the gunfire.
“Frag out!”
Three hand grenades detonate behind the BTR where the defenders are now hopelessly cornered.
“Give it up!” Tarasov yells. “Give it up, fools!”
“Die, Bandit!” comes a desperate but defiant reply.
The thud and whine of gunfire comes from the direction of the chopper wreck. Bullets hit the BTR and ricochet with a sharp whizz. Then the last Kalashnikov of the defenders ceases firing.
“Keep your eyes open,” Tarasov commands.
“Hey hey, buddies, it’s too soon to hide the guns!” a Bandit shouts in reply.
“Top, on me! Let’s check the command post!”
Hartman kicks the rusty metal door open and Tarasov, holding his pistol at ready, quickly surveys the interior. Hartman follows him. Save for a few dirty mattresses and a few worthless items, they find the rooms empty.
“Clear!”
“Clear,” Tarasov replies and holsters his weapon.
Oblivious of their three dead comrades who lie between the UAZ and the helicopter, the Bandits and a few Mercenaries are already moving into loot the dead Stalkers.
“Hehe, this little stiff’s a kind one, he’ll share, won’t he? Hmm, this one was an idiot—no supplies, all shit—”
Tarasov fires his pistol in the air.
“Stop looting,” he says once all eyes are on him. “We still got a job to do. Abdul, the stage is yours. Until he places the explosives, let’s all move to a safe distance. That includes you, trench coat! Those bodies won’t be going anywhere.”
“Yes, you better move into that command building,” Abdul says removing his rucksack. “This one’s going to be a big one.”
Tarasov watches him take several blocks of C4 explosives from his rucksack and begins to position them at the weak-spots of the wreck.
“Perhaps you want to report Jack that the helipad is ours?” Abdul asks while attaching a radio receiver to a block of explosives.