“Guys, you remember what we discussed last night?”
The Stalkers nod.
“Do you have a plan?” Ferret asks.
“Jack has,” says Tarasov. He looks around to makes sure no Bandit can hear what he has to says, then jerks his head towards Nooria. “She told me about it during the flight. A bunch of Bandits are supposed to have secured an airstrip but Jack doesn’t appear to trust them. He wants us to go in first and see if the area is safe. How many men can we rely on?”
“You mean, Stalkers who joined the Bandits only for the ride?” the Dutyer asks.
“Exactly.”
Ferret scratches his stubbed chin. “Let me think. There is Vitka Tooth Fairy, Vaska Wireless, Ferret, Dingo, Dima Molotov—”
“In short, five or six men we can trust,” Buryat cuts in.
“That would be eight men including us,” Ferret observes.
Buryat gives him a grin. “Six and two make eight — wow! You’re a math genius, man! Spent some time with the scientists at Yantar, huh?”
“You mean Dimitry Molotov?” Tarasov asks. ”He appeared to me like a veteran Bandit, not a disgruntled Stalker.”
“Maybe that is so, but let me tell you something.” Buryat looks around, then lowers his voice. “Two days ago, Jack sent him and a few tough guys into the tunnels under the Ventilation Complex, not far from where we’re heading. He thought there might be a valuable artifact there. Nine tough guys went in, one came out — guess who. Overheard him and Jack talking. Dima Molotov said zombies and tushkanos got the others. That idiot believed him. I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because once he turned away from Jack, Dima began to grin like a kid who did some naughty mischief. Guess he whacked the Bandits. I tell you, anyone who whacks nine Bandits for fun is a potential friend.”
“And did he find the artifact?” Ferret asks.
“Sure!” Buryat says to him. “He’s keeping it in his butthole for you to dig out.”
“It would be the three of us and maybe eight Stalkers,” Tarasov translates to the Americans. “Not enough.”
Hartman nods agreement. “Nope.”
“Rebyata, let’s do it like this,” Tarasov continues in Russian. “Make sure all the Stalkers we can count on board the same plane. When we land, we tell the Bandits to wait and move out first to check the situation. You got an idea of how many of them are already there?”
Ferret lowers his voice. “A few days ago I overheard Jack bitching at Bruiser. He wanted to brown-nose Sultan by taking a forward base but got his nose bloodied by a local faction. Jack was in rage when he heard about it.”
“Bagram Stalkers?”
“Some tough guys called the Tribe. Anyway, point is that he only left two dozen men or so behind to guard the airstrip. If we’re lucky, mutants have already eaten them.”
“If the Bandits only have a few men there, we can deal with them. So—we land, get out to check on the situation, meet that Bruiser character and kick his ass. The Bandits will see that there’s trouble and take-off in panic. Margarita told me the airstrip is close to Charikhar village. That’s north of Bagram.” Tarasov looks up to the cloudy sky. “Gospodi… it’s hard to believe that if all goes well, this time tomorrow we’ll be at Ashot’s bar.”
“Ashot?” asks Ferret with eyes wide open. “People told me he is living in a cave with a female bloodsucker!”
“Cut the bullshit, Ferret. Last time I saw your trader was through the ironsight of my assault rifle,” says Buryat. “Anyway, the plan is good. It only needs to work.”
“Go and gather our friends. Start a game of cards and say you want to continue it on the plane so that the group stays together.”
“But I don’t play cards,” Ferret says.
Like always, Buryat is quick to tease him. “Come on, buddy. Everyone will understand that a Freedomer needs to stick with the tough guys to cover his ass!”
Tarasov recaps the plan to his companions. Hartman has no better idea and Pete also agrees, only Nooria seems to be at odds with it.
“I want to kill Sultan,” she says frankly. “If we escape, I don’t know if I’ll ever have a chance!”
Tarasov frowns. “That has to wait. I’m worried, Nooria… If the Bandits appear there, soon we’ll have an all-out war raging. We must get back to the New Zone as soon as possible.”
“Why?” the Top asks. “A single squad of my warriors would wipe these scumbags out.”
“No doubt about that,” Tarasov says. “You know the difference between Bandits and Stalkers, Top, because you’ve been with me to the Exclusion Zone. But if the Bandits are foolish enough to harass the Tribe, the Colonel won’t make a difference between them and free Stalkers. As far as I know him, he will move to exterminate them all.”
Hartman bows his head. “That would be a dire mistake.”
73
A gloomy dawn looms over the New Zone, making the wide-spread ruins of Charikhar village appear even more foreboding in the twilight. The weak November sun stays hidden beyond the dark clouds. Fog covers the mountain ranges to the west and grey mist wreathes over the plains east to the ruins where, barely discernible from the rocky earth, a landing strip is aligned due south. A few campfires burn among the decrepit buildings scattered around it. They might have been warehouses or barracks long ago, but by now have fallen to ruins. Only one has a makeshift roof made from wooden beams and rusty metal plates. A tall antenna extends through a hole in the roof.
On the top of a low hill about two hundred meters from the abandoned airstrip, there is the wreck of a mobile radar station. The tires of the URAL truck with a radio compartment on its flatbed have long rotten away and graffiti covers its rusty body. Anomalous moss is hanging like torn curtains from the antennae and radar dish and emits a faint green glow.
Two Bandits are shuddering in the cold while they keep watch over the hilltop that is the only vantage point in area around the airstrip. Three dead jackals are proof of a perilous night watch. The guards are apparently relieved when the shapes of three men appear on the path leading uphill.
“It was about time for you to show up,” one of them shouts. “You cocksuckers were supposed to be here half an hour ago!”
“This bloody cold makes the shit freeze in my guts,” the other guard adds. “Did you bring us vodka?”
“Net.”
The two Bandits have no time to get surprised over hearing a female voice. A short burst is fired from a noise-suppressed F2000 assault rifle and sends the first Bandit to the ground. The other one who asked about vodka is about to fire his AKS-74U from his hip when a 9mm bullet hits his chest, fired from a silenced Beretta M9 pistol.
The three shadows quickly check the hilltop for more hostiles with a well-coordinated sweep, then exchange muted shouts.
“Left clear!”
“Right clear.”
“Objective is cleared,” the leader says on the radio. ”Squad, keep your position.”
Two clicks crackle in the radio to signal acknowledgement. Holstering his Beretta, Lieutenant Collins gives Mac a grin. “Good shooting, Stalker.”
“So far so good,” she replies reloading her rifle. “But don’t get too close to that wreck. My Geiger counter goes off scale only by me looking at it.”
“If it weren’t for the mist, I could put down suppressive fire from here while you clear the ruins,” says Ahuizotl, the third attacker.
Collins looks over to the ruins. “Yeah, that would come in handy… We’ll do this the hard way, then. You two stay here while we move in. Should the fog lift, look for targets of opportunity. Try not to hit any of us, okay? I’ll tell you when we move in. The signal will be… let’s say, Geronimo. Brings luck, usually. Once the airstrip is secured we’ll decide what’s to do next. Clear?”