“Yes, I guess it had to,” Tarasov replies impatiently.
“The column was going to Khost. It never arrived. It was betrayed.”
“I heard you couldn’t trust the Afghans about anything.”
“The Afghans… first, they killed the armor driving up front. With RPGs like that.” The Captain points at Squirrel and gestures firing a rocket propelled grenade with his hands. “Kaboom! Kaboom! Then those in the rear. Bang! Kaboom! No vehicle could move. It was snowing heavily, and no helicopters came to help. When the trucks were burning, they stormed down on us. They slit the throats of those who were not shot. They captured our komandir and beheaded him, praising their god. Some were left to die in the snow, to freeze to death or be eaten by jackals and wolves.”
Mac suddenly stops stroking the mutant pup. Tarasov is surprised about his own lack of emotions over this story — instead of sadness or anger, all he feels is exhaustion.
“What was left of our load, weapons, ammunition, fuel, went into the dushmans’ hands. It never reached the desantniki fighting in the Panjir Valley. It is safe to suppose that they also died. All this happened because of a traitor.”
“How did you get away, Captain?”
“It was not the Afghans who betrayed us.”
Tarasov frowns. He already suspects where the story will go, but he wants to hear out what the old man still has to say. “Carry on, Captain.”
“I see you have already guessed it, Major. I was the traitor. I sold out the column to the dushmans in exchange for passage to Pakistan and then to America. They let me down. I deserved it.”
Tarasov looks at his comrades. Ilchenko is staring at his boots. Squirrel is toying with his anomaly detector, watching Tarasov’s reaction from the corner of his eyes. Mac is standing with her face mask open, her hand resting on Billy’s head. A cloud of sadness hangs over all three of them. He clears his throat and turns back to the Captain.
“You certainly deserved twenty-eight years in prison for that, and I cannot imagine a worse prison than this place.”
“You really think so?”
“What do you want from us now?” he asks back, shunning the Captain’s eyes.
“I want you, Major, to court-martial me and execute me for treason.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Captain… what you did was horrendous, but you have paid the price. The country that should have court-martialed you doesn’t exist any longer. Let’s forget what you’ve just said. Come with us.”
“I can’t. How could I look into the faces of people? I could meet the mother of one of the men who died because of me. Or a son who had grown up without a father. How would that be — the dear one dead, the traitor alive?”
Tarasov bows his head. “That’s just an imagined situation.”
“I don’t think so. Even if I was wrong, a Soviet… a Russian officer’s lost honor is not just imagination.”
Mac gives him a startled look, but Tarasov ignores her.
“For a long time, I longed for this,” the Captain continues. “I prayed day and night to survive here and to be spared being shot by dushmans or torn apart by mutants when I grew too old to defend myself. I prayed to live until the day came when I could die a proper death. A traitor’s well-deserved death, but at least delivered in an officer’s manner. This is what I ask of you in exchange for guiding you, Major Tarasov.”
Tarasov draws his pistol. Seeing this, Squirrel and Mac start shouting at him.
“Hey man, you can’t be serious about listening to this lunatic?”
“Put that gun away! We must take him to safety!”
Only Ilchenko stands silently. He buttons up his body armor and stiffens his stance. Tarasov turns towards the two Stalkers.
“You two, step back. Now. And you, Captain, excuse me for a moment.”
With the others out of hearing range, Tarasov turns to the machine gunner. “What do you think of this?”
“I am just a private, not supposed to judge officers.”
“Cut the crap. You grunts do nothing else behind our back.”
Ilchenko gives a scornful glance towards the Captain. “Honestly, sir? To a dog — a dog’s death!”
“But we don’t have capital punishment anymore.”
“We? He is not one of us. I mean, he is, but he belongs to the Soviet army, and in the USSR, such treason was punished with death.”
“But the USSR doesn’t exist anymore, neither does her law, and capital punishment is no longer applied in Russia either.”
“Sir… permission to speak freely? It is not a legal argument that’s expected of us now.”
“Then what, Private?”
“I’m sure you’ll do what’s right, sir.”
Now I know what it means to stand in front of a man whose betrayal killed my father, Tarasov thinks. But I also know what he has been through. He survived twenty-five years in Afghanistan and three years in a new Zone. As much time as I have spent in the old Zone. Fate was the only thing that kept me alive. It is not up to me to judge him. I can’t judge fate.
“Taking him home would be of no help to him, and you are right — maybe he wouldn’t deserve it at all. All we can do is to restore his honor and dignity.”
“Sir — deserters have no honor and dignity, and traitors even less so.”
“Honor is not born with us. Neither is dignity — I don’t believe in all that bullshit about human rights. One has to earn honor and dignity the hard way and can lose it the easy way. At least that’s what life has taught me.”
“Sir, if I may ask, were you brought up on the streets of Kiev?”
“No. I had a very happy childhood, apart from the absence of my father who died when I was very young. He was as a BMP driver with the other soldiers of the very same column that the Captain has betrayed.”
Ilchenko takes a step back in surprise. “Gospodi… I was a bit confused when you showed him that photograph, but now I understand. May he and the others rest in peace… I was just asking because I grew up on the streets and I agree with you two hundred percent!”
“If so, then you probably also agree if I say that this man has by now regained his honor and dignity?”
“And if he did, does this change the past?”
“Not at all. But only those with honor and dignity can pass a fair judgment upon themselves.”
Turning away from the puzzled soldier, Tarasov clears his throat and addresses the Captain.
“Captain Igor Vasilyevich Ivanov — stand to attention! You have committed the most despicable crimes an officer can commit: treason, resulting in the deaths of your comrades, and cowardice in the face of the enemy. Your infamy is all the worse for your base reasons. Such crimes are punishable by death.”
The Captain stands stiffly to attention and eagerly listens to Tarasov’s words, but now he also has to say something. He points to the shoulder bag that lies on the ground. “You forgot to add the forfeiture of all assets.”
“And the forfeiture of all assets, yes.” Tarasov takes a deep breath before continuing. “Nonetheless — your ability to survive for so many years in the direst of environments and your readiness to assist your fellow soldiers to complete a dangerous mission in times of war, has proven that you are once more worthy to be called an officer of… any army, living up to and even surpassing the highest standards set for honor and dignity. Therefore I… this court-martial concludes that your honor and dignity as an officer is restored.”
With a bow of his head, Tarasov hands his Fort to the Captain.
A smile appears on the old soldier’s face. He takes the pistol and salutes. Tarasov and Ilchenko return the salute.
“Thank you, Major, and God bless you. All of you.”
The Captain looks up to the gray sky. Then he closes his eyes, puts the weapon to his head, and pulls the trigger.
The shot is still echoing among the hills when Captain Ivanov’s body falls backwards from plateau and disappea
rs below, his fingers still clutching at the weapon, the evil land itself having finally claimed his tormented soul.
Squirrel and Mac step up. For a minute, the four companions stand there as if turned to stone. Then Ilchenko speaks up.
“Major… that was awesome.”
“I need a new sidearm,” Tarasov replies with a shrug, and turns away from his companions.
Tough Love
Stalker camp at Hellgate, 22:38:04 AFT
The fire slowly burns itself out. Mac rakes the fire with the Captain’s staff while Billy sleeps in her lap, digesting a huge portion of ‘tourist breakfast’.
“So, that was the story of our raid,” Squirrel says, watching as the last sparks fly high from the fire into the starry sky. He takes a long draw at his joint and slowly exhales the smoke. “I can’t complain. I didn’t find a Heartstone, but the Captain’s glowing artifact is a nice one. Probably I won’t sell it. Nah, I’ll keep it for sure.”
“What is it called?” Mishka Beekeeper asks.
“No idea. That’s what I love about this place. New Zone — new artifacts and all.”
“Then you should give it a name.”
“What about… I don’t know. Hey, Ilch, give me that bottle!”
“Lich would be a good choice,” Mac says gazing into the fire. Her helmet is placed at her side, and through the balaclava’s holes that leaves her eyes and mouth visible, the trace of a sad smile appears.
“Cool, man. Lich it will be then. But what’s a lich, anyway?”
“All kids know that. A lich is a magician who stays alive through many centuries. Usually, they are evil. Do you agree, Major?”
Tarasov, who lies there resting his aching feet and watching the stars, just shrugs the question off.
“I don’t know… maybe not all of them.”
“Anyway, maybe one day I’ll come back to find a Heartstone,” Squirrel dreamily says. “I could sell that for a million dollars, rubles, euros — whatever. Or maybe if the Stalker legend is true, I’ll just hold on to that artifact and it will keep me healthy for the rest of my life.”
“Then I beg you not to find it.”
“Oh come on, Sashka! Don’t spoil a poor man’s dreams, man!”
“A million dollars, you said?” Tarasov says.
“Yes, Major. Okay, maybe just a half million, but still… Why?”
“Just asking.” Tarasov hides his smile and puts his hand over the artifact container on his armored suit, where he has put the artifact he found in the Captain’s bag.
Forfeiture of assets… If he hadn’t mentioned that, I would have completely forgotten about his bag.
“That was a very nice story, fellows, but we still don’t have the answer to Question Number One,” Mishka Beekeeper says and finishes the sentence in a chorus with Sashka SWAT Officer: “Where are the women?”
Tarasov sits up and looks at Mac from the corner of his eye, trying to suppress a smile. She sits quietly, not looking at any of the Stalkers.
“And what about you, kid?” he asks. “Where do you want to go now?”
“Panjir. Anywhere but Bagram.”
“Yar will be disappointed.”
“That’s not my problem.”
A shout comes from the darkness. “Stalkers coming through! Try not to shoot us, will you?”
Snorkbait and Ilchenko appear from the darkness.
“All clear, sir. Everything is quiet around the perimeter.”
“That’s a camp, not a perimeter,” Mishka Beekeeper says, feigning embarrassment. “Relax, soldier! You’re among Stalkers now!”
“Welcome back, patsanni,” Squirrel greets them. “I was just in the middle of telling a joke to these bores here. So: what does a whore give her best client for Christmas? AIDS.”
“Not bad, but I know a better one, “ Ilchenko says. “How do you make a little girl cry twice? Wipe your bloody dick on her teddy bear!”
“Cool!” Sashka SWAT Officer hands Ilchenko a vodka bottle. “I’ll need to remember that, haha!”
The Stalkers laugh, only Mac scowls. “Screw that. I heard it a thousand times.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ilchenko asks, still laughing at his own joke.
“You better ask what’s wrong with your jokes. They are disgusting. And even worse, they’re boring too.”
“Apologies, Prince Myshkin,” Ilchenko says, faking a polite bow. “I didn’t mean to offend your sensitivity!”
“If there’s an idiot amongst the two of us, Ilch, it’s certainly not me.”
“I guess you have met your match,” Tarasov says smirking at the machine gunner.
“You’re all pricks. I can’t wait to leave with Snorkbait for the Panjir Valley in the morning.”
“Two notorious tree-huggers teaming up… a match made in heaven!”
“Beekeeper, stop teasing the kid or I’ll kick your teeth in,” Snorkbait grumbles while taking notes on a writing block.
“At last something that could distract you from your scribbling.”
“I need to remind myself that I still can write, Sashka, not just push buttons on a PDA. I’m writing a book, you see — ‘Zone and the Art of Weapon Maintenance’.”
“Sounds strangely familiar, somehow,” Ilchenko says scratching his chin.
“God damn it,” Mishka Beekeeper shouts. “I need a woman, now!” He gets to his feet, takes his rifle and imitates copulation.
“Keep the bees in your fucking pants, you daft bugger!” Snorkbait says, waving the Stalker’s rifle away from him.
“Mac,” Tarasov quietly says, “let’s take a hike. We need to talk.”
Tarasov offers his hand to help Mac up but the Stalker jerks it away.
“Don’t even think about talking me into going back to Bagram.”
“How’s that bandage doing? You might need me to apply a new one. ”
“No… no… okay, maybe having a little walk is a good idea.”
“It is. Eases the heart, refreshes the soul. Right? Let’s go.”
Tarasov waves for her to follow him to the ruined hut where they will be out of hearing range, then takes a deep breath before questioning her.
“So… I guess you owe me an explanation, Mac.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Yes, you do,” Tarasov says, taking Mac’s diary from his side bag. “I guess every honest finder deserves a reward. All I ask you in exchange for your notebook is to tell me the truth about yourself.”
Mac grabs the notebook from Tarasov’s hands. She eagerly looks inside, and hides it safely in the map compartment of her armored suit.
“Where did you find this?”
“The Captain found it after you’d left a campsite, obviously in a hurry.”
“It was when a dushman patrol came too close during the night… Thank you very much — there’s no more to say.”
“Listen, devushka, I am not in the mood to play along any further.”
“I didn’t take you for such a pushy dickhead.”
“Agreed, sometimes I can be a pain in the ass. It’s part of my job as an officer. And now listen up. I must take you back to Yar.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t exactly do this mission to gain favor upstairs, as Sidorovich would say. Yar will only fix my squads’ kit and weapons if I bring you back. Besides, his heart is broken. Ignore that if you can.”
“Emotional blackmailing is pathetic,” she replies, biting her lip.
“But I see it works. Let’s start from the beginning. Where are you from?”
“Argentina.”
“A woman from Argentina…” Tarasov makes a low whistle. “This place never ceases to surprise.”
“So what? Are you still under the effect of what you’ve seen under my armor?” Mac asks with a taunting smile.
“No reason to deny that. Actually, I do find you beautiful… even by Argentinean standards.”
Mac laughs. “You should see my niece… but come on, have you ever
met a woman from Argentina?”
“Uhm… no.”
“See? Don’t try to be a flirt, it doesn’t work for you. Just be who you are. You’re a cool enough guy.”
“Those Stalkers have a point about women… Here in the new Zone, and back in the old one, we can be who we are. And you too have a point saying that one is cool when he is what he is. But outside… I feel like a fish out of water. No woman out there would ever understand what the Zone is about and what she means to me. That’s why it’s bad that we have no female Stalkers.”
“I’m not a Wish Granter, but I hope that sooner or later you’ll run into a woman who appreciates your radioactive charm. I guess her heart will beat faster than a Geiger counter. Anyway, I know you didn’t just want to sob on my shoulders about how lonely you are.”
“Well said. And I have no intention of blowing your cover, missy, whatever you have to tell me.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Depends. But by now you should know that I keep my promises… just think about what I promised to the Captain.”
“Look… Yar didn’t tell you everything. Where should I begin?… It appears to be on another planet now, but anyway, back home I was just tired of everyone, stupid married friends always showing off about their so called wonderful lives, stupid society putting the pressure on me to be a wonder woman…”
“You are.”
“I don’t need your compliments. I mean it in another way… I hated the expectations of being a woman based only on appearance and pretension… Damn it, many of my friends would have sooner died than let themselves be seen without make-up and stuff. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to live up to all those stereotypes? But one has to, because if one just says ‘no’ to all that beauty-industry bullshit she gets treated like a weirdo. So, when I heard about the Zone I took a flight to Kiev and sneaked in, disguised as a Stalker guy, and I realized that, in there, I needed no more makeup, no short skirts, no eyelashes, nothing that is required from me before others accept me. In my disguise, I could be who I wanted — no expectations, no clichés, no pressure to do something just because fucking social rules pressure me into it… I could just be who I really was. In a Stalker’s disguise I didn’t even have to bother about guys offering their ‘help’ and ‘assistance’ at every step. I didn’t want to be taken as someone who needs ‘help’ because I happen to be a woman. It’s not even flattering, because what the fuck did I do to be treated with all this circumstantiality? Nothing! For once, I wanted to be judged by what I do and not my looks. No flirting, no more stupid games. It’s not as if I’m a man-hater or a lesbian, mind you… I do love men. Occasionally, I met some nice Stalker guy and when I was sure he would keep his mouth shut, I gave him the fuck of his young life. There’s more things one can do during the night than sitting around a campfire and telling dumb jokes, you know? And if I met a tough guy who bitched at me because he took me for just another Stalker, I bitched back at him. Vsyo zaebalo, pizdyets, na huy, blyad, idi na huy, huyesos! How’s that?”
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