“You sound a bit demotivated, Top.”
“You know, the Colonel and I have been through a lot of shit. Always living to our Code, always performing at two hundred per cent, always burying some of the Marines under our command. Always fighting with one hand tied to our back… Then we got to the City of Screams and the thin red line. You know that part already — we didn’t step, but jumped over it. You have been to the Alamo. We’ve got everything there, except booze because the big man can’t stand drunk warriors. Indeed, there is something I miss from all this.”
“Just a little peace, maybe?”
“Nope. Just a little treason.”
Frowning, Tarasov looks at Hartman.
“And a little treason is exactly what I will commit tonight,” the sergeant major replies with a wink of his eye. “Time to get my bottle of jack from the car. Dare to be my partner in crime?”
14
Ashot’s bar in the derelict transport airplane is empty, safe for three Stalkers in the corner in various states of intoxication ranging from being pissed to completely smashed.
Behind the counter where not even sober patrons could see what he is about to do, the barkeep is busily pouring the third bottle of Stolichnaya vodka into a jerry can. Then he takes the plastic tube protruding from another container, sucks on it and lets the liquid inside flow into the first one.
Satisfied with what he is doing, Ashot starts humming a slightly altered version of his favorite Bob Marley song.
He is about to light up a joint when he hears the metallic click of a revolver being cocked. He turns around and sees Shrink at the counter, pointing a .45 Magnum at his head.
“The man himself!” Ashot says, hiding his embarrassment behind a wide smile. “Welcome to me humble establishment!”
“Listen up, Ashot. Me taking over this place means you’re my druggist. You better stop tampering with our best medicine.”
“Yes yes yes, I will be the best droggist any shrink had ever had!”
“I said: druggist. Not droggist.”
“What you mean actually is called a pharmaceutician.”
“No. It is called a droggist, and from now on you will sell only pure vodka.”
“But I no make any profit on selling old Kalashnikovs, you see? Wanna ruin poor me?”
“I will kill poor you if I catch you watering vodka ever again, is that clear?”
“I promise! Just put that shooter away from me face!”
Shrink uncocks the fearsome pistol and holsters it. Relieved that the new commander is not inclined to shoot him over their squabble, Ashot risks one more argument. “It’s still called a pharmaceutician.”
“If I say it’s a druggist, it’s a druggist.”
“You mean a pharmacist, you two morons!”
Shrink and Ashot look to the bar where a short Stalker is impatiently drumming on the counter with his fingers.
“Moron, you said? Who calls me a moron?”
Frowning, Shrink is about to deliver a lecture on manners but just stares speechlessly when he sees the new arrival remove hood and balaclava. The Stalker turns out a woman with short, raven black hair.
Ashot looks at the exoskeleton the female Stalker is wearing. He points his finger at her, opening and closing his mouth again as if trying to recall a name.
“Yes, Ashot, it’s me. Mac.”
“Wow, Mac! I thought you went to Stalker paradise!”
“I almost literally did. Thank Billy I turned back just in time before the dust storm of the century hit.”
“Ashot, could you introduce me to this… lady?” Shrink asks, still unsure over what he is seeing.
“Oh yeah! Mac, this is Shrink. He is the new boss in Bagram!”
“Oups,” Mac says in embarrassment. “That makes you the only moron left, Ashot.”
“No offense taken,” Shrink quickly says.
“—and Shrink, he—I mean, she is Mac, Yar’s apprentice.”
“Apprentice no longer, hiding my face longer. I got bored of both. You serve food?”
“I can give you some ‘tourist’s breakfast’ and even warm it up for you!”
“Cold is good. It’s for Billy.”
Ashot peers over the counter, then recoils. “No entry for jackals and pseudodogs in me bar!”
The mutant jackal patiently sitting at Mac’s feet gives him a growl. Mac pats his furry head.
“He’ll not bite your butt, Ashot.”
“It’s not about biting me butt but pooping in me bar! I no will clean up radioactive mutant poop!”
“It’s not radioactive.”
“But it’s still smelly!”
“All right, all right. Get out of here, Billy. Wait outside.”
The mutant yelps with disappointment but obediently jogs out to the lowered ramp of the old airplane where he sits down like a well-trained watch dog.
“You said the jackal warned you of an impending dust storm?” Shrink asks.
“Billy gets very nervous when a storm comes,” Mac explains. “He can sense it, yes. Like any dog, because he is a dog.”
“If you say so,” Shrink replies with a jovial smile. Mac returns the friendly look, apparently happy that the base commander has spared her the usual discussion over her pet’s breed. “In any case, I would say that keeping him as a pet is a reflection of your inner desire for company. Mind if I offer you a drink?”
“I can’t believe it — at last a male with manners. Too bad I’m not much into Ashot’s poisoned sewage water.”
“Uhm… with Bone and his Dutyers gone, at last I can serve the real stuff, see? No more water in me vodka!”
“Let me try, Ashot.”
“That will be twenty dollars.” With a wide smile, Ashot takes a bottle of Cossacks vodka and fills up a shot glass. “But since you are me first customer today, I’m givin’ ya a discount!”
“And I thought the folks back at the Asylum were nutcases enough,” Shrink says shaking his head. He waves in Ashot’s direction. “What brings you to our desert airplane, Mac?”
“I’m back here for the job.”
“At last there will be again someone helping out Mister Fix-it,” Ashot says. “We can expect proper repairs now!”
“It’s about that signal tower, actually.”
“Yes,” Shrink nods. “From now on, PDA signals will be available to everyone. No more monopoly over communications with me in charge. Yar has already extended the signal range over a range of ten kilometers around Bagram.”
“Yeah, that’s how I got the news.”
“Next step is to extend it to the north where most rookies are travelling through on their way here. Do you know your way around there?”
“You could say that.” Mac sends the shot of vodka down her throat and smacks her lips. “Much better than before. It was about time for a change of management around here!”
“Na zdrowie, Stalker. Pour me one, will you Ashot?”
Ashot fills another shot glass. Shrink gives its content a close look, then gulps it down, closes his eyes for a heartbeat and then emits a satisfied sigh. “See? You can serve decent vodka if you want… not as good as Zubrovka, though. So, Mac—guess you’re here to find someone to watch your back in the wilderness outside. Aren’t you?”