Whoever designed this damned exoskeleton didn’t have a way of quickly getting out of it in mind.
“No. Why?” The pestle moves even faster and deeper into the mortar. She licks her lips.
“Well… where I came from, I mean, normally, when a man comes home to his woman…”
“But now you are not where you come from,” Nooria whispers and licks the pestle, as if tasting the balm she is preparing. “You are where you arrive to.”
Tarasov sits down in front of her, watching her hands moving the pestle in the mortar, slowing down to gentle movements, then speeding up and crushing the herbs inside with a heady rhythm. The scent rising from the mortar between her legs cleans his mind, shifting the concerns from his soul, making way for the basic instincts erupting from his heart.
Yes. This is where I have arrived, and will arrive.
He grasps her hands and, putting the mortar aside, takes its place between her legs, eventually entering the safest refuge a man could find from the clasps of thunder and the raging storm outside.
10 October 2014, 03:14:39 AFT
“We need to talk.”
Nooria’s whisper awakes him from his half-sleep. One single candle is flickering in the darkness. The storm is still roaring outside.
“Not now,” he moans.
Nooria stands up and, covering her naked, sweaty body with her scarf, takes a little box from a shelf where all kinds of old and enigmatic things lie.
“Wake up and listen. I have something to tell you.”
Her words remind Tarasov of what the Colonel told him. Suddenly he is fully awake. Looking at Nooria’s face in the candlelight, the emotion he least expected grasps his heart: fear. She sits there, looking into the candle, with a face that seems to battle the most terrible demons in the darkness beyond the dim light. Her face appears ageless and, with the shadows hiding her scar, inhumanly beautiful.
“All was lost after they destroyed Samal and all was unleashed after he fell. It took over Colonel’s soul but he crushed darkness with its own weapons. But he was not victorious. He is now part of darkness. As we are all who live under his protection. Power of darkness shed its light on him. His strength reflected it like ancient stone shining on Samal’s head, but he was not Samal. Darkness stained him. You will go into darkness to find its power. But Samal is no longer there to protect you. And you have not strength of our leader.”
What the hell are you talking about, Tarasov wants to ask, but a look into Nooria’s eyes stops his tongue. She looks into the candle with her eyes wide open, but he can only see their whites. Nooria seems to be lost in a space where he could never follow her.
“I hold a bridge between old time when Samal was our sentinel and today. What I hold is here.” She closes her eyes. When she opens them, he can see her pupils again. Nooria looks down at a small, red stone in her right hand. “Sit up.”
Obeying her words, Tarasov raises from the mat. A knife flashes in Nooria’s left hand, cutting deep into the flesh above his heart. The cut fills him with burning pain as she pushes the stone deep into the wound and holds her palm over it. The pain eases a little but blood is still pouring from the wound, flowing through her fingers and down her arm.
“Why did you hurt me?” he groans.
“I would never hurt you.”
Even through his pain, he can only think about her lightning-quick cut as he realizes that this fragile woman, who now takes her hand off his chest and licks the blood from her fingers, must be as good at killing as she is at healing.
“Now you are bearing last stone that once adorned Samal’s crown. And I bear your blood and your life inside me. That is what I took in exchange for protecting you.”
“For protecting me?”
“One part protects you. Two parts bond the darkness.”
Tarasov opens his mouth to say something but Nooria puts her finger on his lips.
“Do you want to see me again and live with me?”
“I do, Nooria.”
“Forever?”
“Is there such a thing?”
Nooria caresses his head. It is domination, not tenderness — but powerless domination, because while her hands are soothing his pain, her eyes seem to be begging with him.
“Remember your own words when you find shadow of darkness. You will shed blood and last drop will be yours. If you want me to live, you will have to make a sacrifice.”
“I am still in pain and not understanding anything.”
“You will. Lie down.”
Nooria kneels over him, her left hand on Tarasov’s wound, the right on his forehead. He feels the pain finally fading away from his chest, just like the fear from his mind. Closing his eyes, he hears Nooria whispering words that melt into a long incantation. His heart is beating under her warm hand, as if it were pumping his blood into her veins.
“It is done. Samal will be with you from now on,” she says. “You will carry him to his last battle. Now I must cause you pain. Just a little.”
Tarasov struggles for breath when he feels the sharp sting of the needle, but Nooria’s soothing touch seems to suck all pain out of his body. Her swift fingers quickly finish sewing up his wound. She bites off the yarn protruding from the wound.
“Your mind can rest now,” she whispers, letting herself glide down to his groin. “But I will keep your body awake. I must quench thirst of my flesh now, because it will parch until you return.”
“Will there be such a day?”
“I know what past has brought, but not what future will bring.” Nooria caresses his face. Tarasov feels his eyes closing. The words she whispers into his ear sound like an ancient melody.
“When your star is unseen, and all is dark, your despair itself becomes a star… Sleep now, my strong warrior. Sleep…”
Encrypted voice transmission between the New Zone and Kiev, 10 September 2014, 08:41:07 AFT
#Kilo One, this is Renegade calling. Do you copy?#
#Kilo One to Renegade. Copy you loud and clear.#
#Eagle Eye authorized me to tell you to confirm — your suspicion was correct. The squad has been located. All KIA.#
#Affirmative. Damn, that’s bad news.#
#It was a friendly element that discovered them. If he is who I suspect he is, so far your plan is working. #
# That’s classified, Renegade. Proceed with your mission and provide us the proof.#
#I think there will be an opportunity for that… Kilo One, is this man of yours doing all this to escape a court-martial or something? #
#Kilo One to Renegade. Transmission wasn’t clear, repeat. #
#Renegade to Kilo One. I asked you because he will surely make our objective show his hand, but no man deserves to be punished like that. I guess not even you know what is waiting for him. You must hate him if you send him there. #
#[static noise]#
#Kilo One to Renegade. That’s classified.#
# Renegade to Kilo One. Eagle Eye is bad enough but you are even worse. All right, team is relocating. Will contact you and Eagle Eye when proof is obtained.#
#Kilo One. Roger on the voice transfer, Renegade.#
# God damn you Kilo One, he was a fine man. Over and out.#
#[static noise]#
City of Screams
Northern approach to the City of Screams, 10 October 2014, 06:20:41 AFT
“I had hoped to find more here than a pile of rubble.”
Tarasov hands the binoculars to Zlenko, who is lying on his belly next to him as they take cover from behind a bush on a hill overlooking the wide valley below. The ancient site rises up on a barren hill, surrounded by dense forest and a spider’s web of roads leading to it that are littered with all kinds of wrecked Soviet tanks, civilian cars and trucks. Far beyond the forest, where the valley meets the steep wall of the hills, the rocks are riddled with caves, all dwarfed by a huge, high cavern. The night still keeps its hold over the western horizon, but to their left, in the east, the first touches of light are
already feeling their way through the darkness, painting the hills a soft pink. Soon, the valley will be filled with shades of red and orange, casting a deceitful beauty over the ruin that crawls with enemy fighters.
“How I wish that our gunship could be here now… it turns out it would have been a good plan after all,” the sergeant replies. The electric zoom of the binoculars whizz as Zlenko adjusts the distance. “Only the logistics went wrong, right from the beginning.”
Oh boy, you have no idea how bad everything went, Tarasov thinks, but says, “A frontal attack is out of question. Do you have any ideas how to deal with this mess, Viktor?”
“It’s all screwed up, komandir… I can’t even see an entrance to the underground where we could concentrate our attack.”
“Probably on the southern side… you see that road to the south-west? The map on my PDA shows a track branching off and up to the hill, towards the ruins. The entrance must be somewhere there. Can’t see it clearly on this low-resolution image, though… I wish we could properly recon the place before moving in.”
“If the entrance is to the south, it means we’d have landed at the wrong end of our target anyway.”
“As far as the infiltration team is concerned, you’re right… so, Viktor, if there’s a well-defended enemy position between you and your objective, and you have no artillery or air support, how would you proceed?”
“The plain around the hill is covered with a dense forest and probably full of mines and anomalies… but there are trails leaving the main road right beneath our position. If there’s any logic left in this place, they’ll skirt the hill and join the other road coming from the south-west. A small unit should be able to get through there without stirring up too much trouble. That is, if the defenders have something else to do than watch their back — like bracing for an attack from the north or something.”
“What do you think? Could it work?”
Zlenko studies the area carefully. “Good luck is all we need, sir.”
“I agree. Let’s move back to the Stalkers.”
Positioned behind the hill from where they reconnoitered the site, a bunch of tough-looking Stalkers wait for Tarasov’s orders. He had gathered far fewer Stalkers than he had hoped for, but at least the men now huddling around him are the elite of their sort: veterans, well armed and disciplined. He feels reassured when looking at their faces.
But where in the hell are Bone and his guards? And where is that damned sniper and his buddies?
“Listen up,” he tells them in a low voice, “we can no longer wait for Captain Bone. We’ll lose the advantage of the low sun in half an hour. If we approach them now from the east, they will have the sun in their eyes. No state-of-the-art equipment can compensate for that. We have to move in and have to move in quickly. We expect to find an entrance to the caverns to the south. The distance is about two kilometers. I’ll move in with a small infiltration team. The rest of you will unleash hell to divert attention from us moving in. Borys, come over here… check the intercom. You, Stalker with that PKM, give me that flare gun. You don’t want to shoot dushmans with that, do you? All right… you are Stalkers, so you will stalk down to that stream between our position and the ruins. You will assume firing positions there but hold your fire. Once we get close enough to the entrance, I’ll fire a flare and you start the party. Meanwhile, we move in. Remember: all you’ll you have to do is to keep the enemy occupied and attract as much attention as possible to your diversionary attack. Should they move up, there’s a large free space between the stream and the forest. They will be sitting ducks there. Use the terrain to your advantage.”
“And once you’re out?” the Shrink asks.
“Don’t worry about that.”
Zlenko looks at Tarasov in a concerned manner. “Komandir… I’m with the Stalker on this. What about exfiltration?”
Sorry, son, Tarasov thinks. All we have to plan for is reaching the lower levels. Getting out would be like planning for a miracle to happen.
But he also knows that his two faithful soldiers, and any Stalkers brave enough to join them, deserve some sort of proper explanation.
“Once we’re inside, we have to locate whatever’s left of Needle… the expedition. Expect heavy resistance — Chinese spec-ops and worse. Let’s hope we kill enough of them on our way in to make our way out a little easier. The Shrink will be in command of the Stalkers waiting for us outside. Once we’re out, we haul ass back to Bagram. Any questions?”
“What if there’s no entrance on the southern side after all?” Zlenko asks.
“There must be one.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s our only chance.”
The Stalkers remain silent. Tarasov quickly orders them to take positions which fits their equipment best: machine guns to the flanks, riflemen to the center, the few Stalkers with Dragunovs and scoped assault rifles to the rear.
“All right… paratroopers, weapon check. Ilchenko, I hope you got acquainted with that M27.”
“Took her virginity last night. Tends to bear a little to the right and above, but should be all right, sir. I have eight magazines, and I’m locked and loaded.”
“Zlenko?”
“Ready for close quarters,” the sergeant replies, pumping the first round into the breech of his Benelli shotgun.
“Check night vision. You’ll need it.”
While the soldiers do as ordered, Tarasov picks two Stalkers. His first choice is Skinner, now armed with a Remington shotgun, who proved himself a capable fighter at the Outpost. Then he picks a Stalker wearing an old exoskeleton and a heavy shotgun with a drum magazine.
“Hey, you with the Striker shotgun! You come with us too. What have you got loaded?”
“Slugs. Still have plenty.”
“What’s your name?”
“Zef.”
“Where do you come from with such a name?”
“South Africa.”
The Stalker’s exoskeleton is patched and has repair marks all over, bearing witness to many gunfights and mutants’ claws. He opens the helmet of his armor and bows his head to Tarasov with respect.
“What the hell?” Ilchenko gasps. “We have a fucking negro here!”
“Shut up,” Tarasov says angrily, almost at the same time as Zlenko and Skinner.
“And you, Skinner?”
“Nagorny Karabagh.”
“You’re Ashot’s countryman, then?”
“No way. He’s from Yerevan,” Skinner replies in a disdainful tone. “People there take a cucumber, paint it yellow and sell it as a banana. But we from Karabagh — we are fighters!”
Tarasov shrugs and turns to the Shrink.
“Borys, are your men set to go or do they also discuss home-made differences?”
The old Stalker responds with a grim smirk. “My patients are cool. They’ve been promoted to research assistants. If the enemy comes, we’ll have a closer look at what’s going on in their heads!”
“We’re set fair then… Keep your position and give them hell when the time comes. Infiltration squad — all ready?”
“Ready,” the soldiers and Stalkers reply one by one.
“Zlenko, take point. Davay, uhodim! ”
12 October 2014, 08:23:58 AFT
Using the low walls along the dirt road to their advantage, they sneak into the forest. Tarasov wishes he could properly scout the area but gambles everything on the one chance they have: surprise. They cautiously walk down the path weaving through the forest. It is still dark under the dense foliage, with the ubiquitous tank wrecks giving them the chance to gather in cover when the distance between their ranks becomes too large.
Zlenko suddenly stops, raising his fist. “I see hostiles at twelve o’ clock.”
Tarasov moves to his pointman and looks in the direction shown. Ahead of them, a half dozen hostiles sit around a campfire, one of them assigned to keep lookout on top of a wreck that once was a civilian all-terrain vehicle.
“T
he bad guys also seem to have made a brotherhood,” Zlenko whispers. Four enemies wear the tight body armor of the Chinese commandos, the rest are Taliban, their gas masks comfortably hanging from their shoulders with their long black headscarves.
“Shit… still, I suppose we’ve been lucky so far.”
Tarasov pulls the safety off on his M4 and switches to single shot mode. On the narrow road between the mud walls, there’s no way of finding a good firing position or flanking the enemy.
“Sergeant, you and Ilchenko take the guys to the left. Skinner, you and Zef go for the others to the right. I’ll drop a grenade. When it goes up — hit them hard and don’t miss — if one of them gets to use their radio, we’re screwed! Clear?”
His men nod. Tarasov takes a grenade from his webbing and removes the safety pin. He lets the fuse burn for two seconds and tosses the grenade into the group of the unsuspecting enemy. When the grenade explodes, his companions jump from their cover and spray the enemies with a hail of bullets and shotgun shells. In just a few seconds the one-sided firefight is over.
“So far, so good,” Tarasov affirms, pleased at seeing the fallen hostiles. “Let’s hope we didn’t make too much noise. Ilchenko, now you take point. Move on, men.”
They have covered almost half the way when the Shrink’s agitated voice crackles in Tarasov’s intercom. “Major! Can you hear me?”
“What’s up, Shrink?”
“They are mounting their trucks and are driving away to the south!”
“Do you see civilians among them? Any equipment?”
“It’s hard to tell from this distance. All I can see is that since a few minutes ago the whole place is stirred up like an ant’s nest. Wait… what the hell is that? Many are trying to get into the truck, but they’re just driving away. Looks like they are fleeing!”
“You say they are abandoning the ruins?”
“Not exactly… they just want to… I see them climbing on the trucks as they leave, and the others already inside just kick them off the trucks… the freaks are panicking!”
“All the better. Wait for the flare.” Tarasov turns to his comrades. “Something is going on up there. The Chinese are fleeing the place… and I don’t like this.”
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