“Jack. Misha Chekh here.”
“At last! What the hell took you so long?”
“Resistance was heavier than expected but the mission is accomplished. The helipad is secure and the wrecked chopper has been removed.”
“Casualties?”
“Only the two pindos, the Freedomer and the Dutyer made it through.”
“Abdul?”
“Abdul’s gone. Stepped on a damned land mine after he finished the job.”
“There are still mines?”
Another detonation blasts the edge of the minefield.
“Don’t worry, we’re about to clean it.”
“Yeah, I hear it. Too bad about Abdul. Such a waste of talent.”
“Damn tragic indeed.”
“Never mind, at least I don’t have to pay him. Good job, fellows. Sultan will be pleased.”
“That’s why we’re here, Jack. To please Sultan.” Tarasov is glad Jack can’t see his grin. “What’s next?”
“Stay where you are. Keep any mutants off the helipad until more men arrive.”
“Is, uhm, Margarita safe?”
“You bet she is. Stop whining about her, patsan! You in love with her or what?”
Jack clears the channel.
“As a matter of fact I am,” Tarasov murmurs reattaching the radio set to his belt.
He walks over to Hartman who is giving a Pete a crash course on handling the grenade launcher. “Love at first sight, huh?”
The Top gives him a beaming smile. “You bet.”
“The two deserters are on our side.”
“Wise choice.”
“What about Nooria?” Pete asks. “I’m worried about leaving her alone in the Bandit camp.”
“Jack told me she’s fine.”
“What was that talk about her being an assassin, anyway?”
“No idea. Probably the big boss was impressed by her escape from the SBU.”
“Yup,” the Top nods. “Can’t blame him for falling for her charm.”
“Three hours till daylight,” Tarasov says illuminating the dial on his watch. ”I wonder what they’re up to now.”
“Guess they need the place to land a chopper with supplies.”
“Or a chopper to fly us out.”
“Wishful thinking, Pete. They’d need a whole fleet of choppers to get out all the Bandits.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Tarasov says. “Now look at that! Our new friends eventually managed to make a campfire without killing each other. Let’s warm ourselves up and wait.”
66
Container Warehouse, Exclusion Zone
“You know the New Zone well, Margarita?”
Nooria stares at the huge map Jack has rolled out over his table. Her answer would be yes. However, she never used maps to navigate through the wilderness where she grew up. Even if she could read maps, there’s still the concern that Jack might ask her about directions and places she has no intention to share.
“I know about Bagram,” she cautiously says.
“It’s the northern areas I’m interested in.”
“I don’t know northern passages very good,” she replies, relieved over Jack not asking her about the Tribe’s valley.
“We might have a problem.” Jack sounds genuinely concerned. “Recently, we tried to establish a base for our operations west of Bagram but an idiot called Bruiser screwed it up. Looks like we’ll need to be more cautious this time.”
“What happened?”
“He and his men cleared out a Loners’ lair at a position that would’ve been more than perfect. Right in the middle of the New Zone, between the artifact fields here and Bagram, here.” Jack points his finger to two points on the map. “They barely had time to catch their breath when a bunch of heavily armed whackos appeared out of the blue. Our brothers didn’t stand a chance — it was not a fight but a massacre!”
“Who did it? Stalkers?”
“You heard of them whackos calling themselves the Tribe?”
Nooria is barely able to suppress a smile. “Yes. Very dangerous people. You better don’t get close to them.”
“That’s my second question. See, a short while ago there was a huge emission that devastated Termez. Sultan has spent a fortune to get things arranged there — landing, switching to choppers, getting over the border into the New Zone and all. Now the place is a mess and our arrangements no longer stand. The good news is, our flight will less likely be suspicious among all the disaster relief traffic. Bad news is, we have to land directly in the New Zone. Bruiser and his remaining men are holed up at a village called Charikhar, here, north of Bagram. My question is: do you think the Tribe can attack us there?”
“It is far from Bagram.”
“I know, but the road running close to it is the only place where our airplanes can land. Kunduz and Mazari Sheriff are too far north.”
“It is Mazari Sharif,” Nooria corrects him.
“Mazari — Whatever!” Jack snorts. “I give a rat’s ass about what locals call it.”
Nooria finds Jack’s arrogance very much to her satisfaction, and hopes that it will translate as carelessness once they are there. It wouldn’t be the first time the New Zone would punish arrogant newcomers. It appears to her that the place marked on the map is out of the Tribe’s regular patrol grids; however, close enough for the Colonel to send in a strike force and eliminate the Bandit’s foothold once he learns the location.
“Let me think,” she says patting her lips with her finger, ignoring the stare Jack is giving her mouth. “No, I don’t think Tribe will go there. It looks safe to me.”
“You better be right about that.” Jack unpockets a cellular phone and dials a number. “Sultan, it’s me. Margarita says the Tribe will probably not bother us there. Yes, yes, I know Bruiser said the landing strip is safe but he was an asshole. No disrespect meant. All right… okay, boss. I’ll ask her… Yes, everything is prepared. We move in one hour. Understood.”
He puts the phone away and gives Nooria an inquisitive look.
“The boss wants to know who your bodyguards are and if they’re also from the New Zone.”
“Misha… well, he is a Chechen, and two Americans… tall one is from Tennessee and kid from Los Angeles—”
“It’s not their damned curriculum I want to know but if they’re from the New Zone like you.”
Unsure about what reply would be best, Nooria decides to tell the truth. “Yes.”
Jack appears satisfied with her reply. “Excellent,” he says. “You will land first and secure the area before the rest of us moves in. Maybe this would be a good time for you to get a real weapon, no?”
“My blade is enough.”
“Bozhevilna,” Jack grumbles something disapproving in Ukrainian. “Whatever. Visit Limpid in the warehouse if you change your mind, but you better hurry. The first detachment is already moving out.”
“Where?”
“What do you think, Margarita?” Jack cheerily asks. “We’re flying to the New Zone today!”
67
Helipads, Exclusion Zone
The wind grows colder as the night slowly fades away and the eastern horizon begins to glow with soft pink. Beyond the far hills of Zaton, the silhouette of the CNPP looms in the pale sunrise. White frost covers the sparse grass growing on the cleared minefield where Tarasov and Buryat are dragging Abdul’s corpse. In a minute, his stiffening body lies among the grim yield of last night’s battle—dead Stalkers and Bandits laid out next to the command post. Their faces are covered with their bullet-torn jackets and trench coats to give them at least a modicum of dignity.
“Looks like it’s going to snow today,” Tarasov says warming his hands at the campfire. “Time for us to leave, really. The Zone is hell in winter. Mutants are starving and become more aggressive. Some anomalies are buried under the snow and you can’t see them—and when the snow recedes in spring, one often finds the body of Stalkers frozen to death months before.”
> “Must have run out of vodka,” Pete says, shaking with cold.
“Just like we did,” Hartman says. “How’s your wound doing?”
“Hurts.”
“You’re lucky it’s just a flesh wound.”
“Hurts nonetheless.”
Tarasov is about to check if the bandage on Pete’s arm needs to be changed when they hear a shout.
“Hey! Patsani!”
One of Jack’s bodyguards appears below the grassy slope leading to the helipads and waves his hand. “Is da minefield clear?”
Tarasov waves back and points to the spot where Abdul fell and from where their own footsteps lead to the safety of the helipad’s tarmac. “Follow that path, just in case!”
When more armed men appear from the direction of the Container Warehouse, Tarasov notices with surprise that it’s not just a patrol coming to occupy the helipads. Led by one of Jack’s bodyguards, several dozen Bandits are approaching. All are carrying heavy rucksacks.
“Good job with’em Stalkers,” their leader says when he gets to Tarasov. “They guna bother us no more. You can return to base now.”
“What’s next?”
The Bandit shrugs. “Dunno exactly. Jack told us to come ’ere with one third of’em bros. Another hundred are on da way to da Cement Factory. If y’ask me — Sultan’s guna send choppas to get us outta ’ere.”
“Yeah, but what kind of helicopter could carry so many people, plus cargo? There’s none in Ukraine capable of that. Besides, the New Zone is three thousand kilometers away!”
“Sultan says he’s guna take us there and ya better be trustin’ him. Da boss always keeps his word — ’nuff said!”
———
Walking back to base in the early morning mist, they pass by a veritable caravan of Bandits on their way to the helipads. All are cheerful and excited. However, all thoughts about the Bandits’ plans are momentarily forgotten when they find Nooria sound and safe at their campsite.
Jack’s Mercenaries don’t leave them much time to relax. They walk down the alleys between the containers and shout orders for everyone to get ready to move out. Still unsure about what comes now, Tarasov’s party gears up and follows them to the open area stretching out in front of the Bandit camp where a crowd of more than a hundred men has already gathered. Friar has climbed up a pile of ammunition crates and shouts out over the crowd.
“…and He cast upon them the fierceness of His anger, wrath, and indignation, and trouble, by sending evil angels! Behold, brothers, for today those angels will carry us to the heavens!”
“Is he crazy or just drunk?” Buryat asks.
“Probably both,” comes Ferret’s reply.
“At last we seem to agree over something.”
Then they hear a noise coming from the north. It sounds like a helicopter but is undertoned by the drone of engines that must be much bigger than those powering a Mi-24 or any other helicopter likely to appear over the Zone. The noise becomes louder and after a minute three dots appear on the misty northern horizon. As they get closer, Tarasov realizes they are indeed helicopters — but of a type he had never seen in action before. The roaming noise of engines fills the sky as the gigantic aircraft approach. Their broad bodies appear more like that of a cargo plane than a helicopter. The downwash of the enormous, eight-blade rotors whirls up vortexes in the thick morning fog.
“Holy mother of Jesus Christ,” Pete slowly says.
“Mil Mi-26,” Tarasov says in admiration. “The biggest helicopter in the world!”
Hartman sounds equally impressed. “Codename Halo. I’ve seen one lifting a Chinook, back at Kandahar in 2010. That helo is… massive.”
Two helicopters leave formation and fly towards the helipads and the Cement Factory. The first hovers over the Bandits’ compound.
“Step back! Back!” Jack’s Mercenaries shout and push the mass of awed Bandits away from the landing zone. Their orders are easier to read from their lips than heard in the now thundering roar of the engines.
The helicopter slowly descends and Tarasov, although standing far away, feels the propulsion of the rotor blades — each with a diameter of 32 meters — hit him like a gale. Before its wheels touch the ground, the Mi-26 gracefully turns its tail to the gate of the Warehouse to make loading easier. By now the flag on its tail can be clearly seen, as well as the huge red cross on the light grey fuselage.
“They’re from Belarus!” Tarasov hollers through the noise. ”Look at the green-red ensign and WE registration number on the tail! Belarusian Red Cross!”
The engines are cut but it still takes several long minutes for the heavy rotor blades slow down and come to a halt. Then the tail ramp opens and Sultan appears in the helicopter’s cargo bay, flanked by several tough-looking men in heavy armor suits. A mighty cheer goes up from the Bandits.
“He’s a scoundrel but must be an organisational genius too,” Tarasov says shaking his head.
“I still don’t get that assassin thing about Nooria,” Pete says looking around. “Hey — where is she?”
Tarasov and Hartman share alarmed an look. Pete is right — while they were admiring the landing helicopters, Nooria has disappeared.
68
Container Warehouse, Exclusion Zone
Had rage not clouded her better judgment, Nooria would have thought twice about what she is about to do. Forcing her way through the crowd of Bandits with her elbows, she gets closer and closer to the helicopter where Sultan is standing, wearing a long brown leather coat and surrounded by heavily armed men. Knuckles is next to him, sporting a grey exoskeleton with a winged skull on the breastplate.
“Brothers!” Jack’s excited voice bellows from a megaphone. ”Our leader has kept his word like always! In minutes, we will be on our way to find riches you’ve never dreamed about! Brothers — be proud, Sultan is with us!”
Excitement runs high among the Bandits. The mostly strongly built and tall men don’t pay the fragile woman much attention, and also cover her from the view of Hartman who desperately scans over the mass to find her.
Nooria doesn’t even think of her companions. Obsessed with the thought of avenging Larissa, the only person who treated her with friendship in the outside world and perhaps even more so by the humiliation of being blackmailed into giving her word of honor to kill the man she loves, her thoughts are fixed on thrusting her blade into Sultan’s heart.
———
Tarasov has checked the containers all the way back to Jack’s now abandoned headquarters. His search proved futile. Nooria was at none of the smothering campfires, neither in the garage or the warehouse from where Bandits are carrying crates of equipment and ammunition boxes toward the helicopter.
Out of some subconscious reason, his eyes are for a moment fixed on the hunting knife of a Bandit watching over the remaining crates in the warehouse. Jack’s words crackle through the megaphone, announcing Sultan’s arrival, and a sudden thought comes to Tarasov’s mind.
She hates him, he thinks. She cursed him and wants to kill him.
He runs toward the helicopter, taking a shortcut through the container maze to avoid the Bandits blocking the area between the helicopter and the warehouse with all the equipment waiting to be loaded.
She will get herself killed. I must stop her. Now.
Tarasov is about to navigate through the last narrow passage between two containers when two men block his path.
“What’s the hurry, vasha?”
The two Chechen mobsters give him a grim smile and draw knives. Like a ghost, the third one appears on the top of the container and jumps down, blocking Tarasov’s way backward.
The Chechen grins. “I have a blade with your name on it.“
“Brothers! My proud children!”
Sultan’s words and the applause that follows them echo in the maze of railway containers. They are all empty now, with all Bandits gathering at the giant helicopter to hear what their leader has to say. Tarasov knows that no help will come, ne
ither will there be anyone to witness this fight.
“My Bandit brothers, let me address you first.”
Tarasov steps to the container to his right and turns to face his three attackers.
“I say to all of you, you have been treated to this day with no respect. Borov, Yoga and the other so-called leaders before me—you’ve earned them money, made them rich, and asked for little. It is time for you to stand up!”
The Chechen to his left stabs at him. Tarasov dodges the attack with a quick bend backwards. His left hand grasps and twists the arm holding the knife, forcing the Chechen to bow and expose his temple where Tarasov delivers an incapacitating edge-of-hand blow with his right.
“I see Renegades amongst you. For so long, your small faction has been fighting in vain for a place under the sun. Those times are over—no one will kick you around anymore!”
His left hand goes up to block the frontal stab by his nearest opponent, glides down the forearm, grasps the wrist and twists it to make the Chechen fall. The fingers holding the knife loosen in pain and in the next second, the weapon is in Tarasov’s left hand.
“I see many brave Dutyers here. Your officers will no longer send you to face the evils of the expanding Zone, while generals like Voronin cowardly hide in their bunkers!”
The third aims at his abdomen, putting all his strength into it as he bends forward. Tarasov steps back to dodge the stab, grabs the forehead of his attacker with his right hand and kicks his feet to make him lose balance. The knife in his left pierces through his attacker’s windpipe. In the next second when he falls on his back, the Bandit opens his mouth to emit a cry of pain but instead of the cry blood begins to gush.
“I rejoice over seeing the best of Freedom with us, who were smart enough to realize that no freedom comes from anarchy.“
His first attacker has shaken off the effects of the incapacitating blow to his temple. Getting to his feet gives Tarasov the one second he needs to draw his silenced rifle, work off the safety and pull the trigger.
S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Northern Passage s-2 Page 50