“All of you, forget your old factions! Find true camaraderie that exists only among brothers who share their best and direst moments alike.“
The third mobster is writhing on the ground, his left hand clutching his dislocated right wrist as if that could ease the pain. The curses he is hissing turn into a low cry of despair when he sees Tarasov taking aim at him. For a split second, he stares at the rifle barrel like a paralyzed rabbit would at a snake that’s about to strike.
“I’m proud to lead you. We shall go to the New Zone together and have bloody adventures.”
However, the Val has no visible muzzle flash to make him see it coming, neither does it emit any noise that would make anyone nearby aware of another short burst being fired.
“And we will suckle on the New Zone’s riches as on a whore’s tits until we can suckle no more, and then, when enough Stalkers have died, we will be the masters! For if Stalkers will not give, we will take!“
A loud cheer follows Sultan’s words.
When Tarasov at last reaches the landing area and sees the tightly packed crowd between the containers and the helicopter, his heart sinks — there appears to be no chance to find Nooria in time. Nonetheless, he takes a deep breath and begins to fight his way through the crowd.
69
Open area close to Container Warehouse, Exclusion Zone
Sultan’s bodyguards appear to have fallen to the excitement hanging in the air, or maybe it is just negligence towards her fragile and apparently unarmed figure, but not even Knuckles seems to notice Nooria when she at last emerges from the mass and approaches the ramp a few meters away. All she has to do now is to slip in, approach Sultan from the back and let her blade do the rest. Quick and small as she is, she might even have a chance to get away in the commotion that would surely follow. She is too focused on the kill ahead to detect the sinister, exoskeleton-clad Bandit following her to the helicopter.
“And now, brothers, let us leave the Exclusion Zone and wreak havoc on the New Zone,” Sultan says merrily into the megaphone’s mouthpiece. ”Don’t be surprised to see the Red Cross on these helicopters! We are on a humanitarian mission because we will put many suffering Stalkers out of their misery! ”
The thundering laugh and applause of more than a hundred men follow his words.
Nooria is already behind the kingpin and his bodyguards. Sultan replies to the cheering crowd by darting his fists into the air.
“Sultan! Sultan! Sultan!”
He repeats the triumphant gesture as the crowd shouts his name. Nooria knows: if she stabs him, a jerk in Sultan’s body would inevitably follow. If stabbed at the right moment, this gesture might hide the convulsion. It could be done in a second — just stab, turn the blade around, pull it out and hide it. With Sultan being now only a few steps away, her stomach is in knots. She swallows to get rid of the nausea mounting in her throat.
“Yes! Onward to the New Zone, brothers!”
Not even the cheer of the crowd can make Nooria ignore the wild thumping of her heart when Knuckles finally notices her and gives her a bow. Then he turns his eyes towards the crowd again. After sliding through two bodyguards behind Sultan, she is at last there, right behind him.
Apparently done with addressing his followers, Sultan waves his hands once more.
Nooria recognizes the now or never situation. Standing right behind Sultan, her right hand slips under her coat and reaches for the blade in her belt.
A steely hand grabs at her arm. Looking up, Nooria sees the Bandit who gave them the suspicious gaze upon arrival.
“No!” he whispers, audible only to her through the cheer the Bandits are giving to their leader.
She still could do it as long as the cheering lasts. Determined not to waste this last chance, Nooria uses her free hand to unsheathe the blade.
Suddenly she feels as if someone has punched right into her stomach. Insurmountable nausea comes over her and forces her to bend forward and grab at Sultan’s coat. The exoskeleton-clad Bandit lets go of Nooria’s arm.
The kingpin turns around. Immense surprise appears on his face when he sees Nooria vomiting and desperately clutching at his spoilt trench coat.
Sultan gives one of his jovial laughs. “Margarita! Airsick already? We didn’t even lift off!”
He fishes a pack of paper tissues from his pocket. Seeing that she is still suffering from the cramp and utterly embarrassed as well, he cleans her face up without hesitation.
“Congratulations on your speech, boss,” Jack says. “Especially the suckling on tits part.”
“That was from Gladiator, one of my favorite movies. Educate yourself, Jack… but first clean up this mess.” Sultan lets the tissue fall into the pool of vomit at Nooria’s feet. “You don’t want to fly with this tin can smelling like this, do you?”
An excited Bandit appears. “Sultan! Someone has whacked Zhyogal and two other Chechens!”
Sultan darts an angry look at Jack. “What the hell is going on in your outfit?”
“Dunno, boss,” Jack says looking up while wiping Nooria’s vomit from the metal plate. “Must have been that darkie who whacked Zhyogal’s brother.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nooria’s buddy did it. A darkie looked at her in the wrong way, or so the man told me.”
Sultan grimaces. “Chechens, huh? The air smells much better without them. I could never trust them… one can’t turn away from them without the feeling of getting stabbed in the back the very next moment.”
He turns to Nooria who has more or less recollected herself in the meantime. “You all right, Margarita?”
“Yes, Sultan,” she replies avoiding his eyes.
“Good. Tell your buddy he has my gratitude for that Chechen job. Where is he?”
Before Nooria could even think about a fitting reply, a voice in English bellows at the ramp.
“What the fuck happened here?”
Sultan gives the tall man in a Stalker suit a curious look. His steel-blue eyes sparkle with anger under dark, bushy eyebrows and gray hair. Another Stalker is standing next to him, barely reaching to his waist but with a similarly defiant look on his young face.
Sultan’s bodyguards have already aimed their rifles at them. “Step back!”
“They are with me,” Nooria quickly says and gives the Top and Pete a faint smile to let them know she is all right.
“Was it this big guy who broke that Chechen’s neck?”
“No.”
“I wonder what this giant would be capable of,” Sultan says looking the Top up and down. ”It’s good to see that you are in safe hands. You still have my present, I suppose?”
Nooria has to cough. “The gun? It is… a friend is taking care of it.”
“Good God, that was expensive! Don’t give it to anyone. It might get stolen with all this cutthroat scum around!”
Respectfully, Knuckles touches his boss’ arm. “Sultan, the chopper’s ready to take off.”
“Excellent. Margarita, I’ll insist on seeing that friend of yours when we have more time. I always have a good business proposal for men who can easily whack three darkies. And as you see, I keep my word — the helicopters will bring you and our brothers to Minsk first and then a cargo airplane to the New Zone. I hope you were right and we’re not running into trouble at Charikhar.”
“It should be safe, Sultan.”
“I trust you will also come up with your end of the deal. Matter of honor, yes?”
Nooria suddenly turns away from the kingpin to wretch once more. Jack slaps his face and cusses in Ukrainian. Amused, Sultan claps.
“Let’s get moving, patsani! Davai, uhodim!”
Seeing Sultan and Knuckles moving down the ramp, Nooria calls after him. “You don’t come with us?”
Sultan waves his hand, smiling. “See you soon, Margarita!”
Lined up in long rows the Bandits move into the Mi-26. The cavernous cargo compartment is only dimly lit by the three bullseye window
s on either side and the slightly domed, dark grey fuselage appears like a church interior. Their helicopter is a version designed to haul vehicles and goods, and therefore lacks any seating, causing the Bandits to exchange a few swears as they hustle for space. A Belarusian aviator, probably the crew chief, attempts to keep order but is brusquely pushed aside.
Among the Bandits comes Tarasov with the balaclava pulled over his face. He quickly joins Nooria and the two Americans flanking her. The three of them were lucky enough to occupy a place by the two bigger windows behind the pilots’ compartment.
“You… what were you thinking, huh?” Tarasov says in a low voice when he takes his place next to Nooria. “Don’t give me that look! I know what you were up to!”
“I hate him,” Nooria whispers.
“What if you succeed and his henchman tear you to pieces?”
“I had a plan.”
“Did you want more than a hundred Bandits to start shooting at us?”
“No.”
“Did you forget that this is the only way back to the New Zone?”
“For a moment, I did. I’m sorry, Misha.”
“Gospodi,” Tarasov sighs and shakes his head. “Never ever do that again, please. You scared us shitless!”
“Aw mate, ye know how wimin are,” Pete says with a smile, imitating Finn Sawyer’s accent.
“Guess there’s no flight attendant to serve us breakfast,” Hartman says. He smiles, apparently amused over Tarasov’s half-hearted attempt to reprimand Nooria, and takes a dry sausage from his rucksack. “Havchik, anyone?”
The Mi-26’s massive twin turboshafts begin to howl.
“Your Russian is improving,” Tarasov says accepting a slice of sausage. He is about to bite into it but then offers it to Nooria who gladly takes it.
“Yeah… but that’s about it. Chances are I won’t hear your lingo for a long time,” Hartman replies.
The Bandits break out in loud cheer when the helicopter lifts off. Compared to the stomach-knotting ascend of the Mi-24 gunships that Tarasov is used to, the giant helicopter’s take-off can barely be felt. The feeling of flying in a helicopter only sets in when the Mi-26 gains an altitude of two hundred meters and the accelerating engines make it tilt its nose slightly downwards.
Ferret is sitting not far from them. He asks a Bandit for his guitar and begins to tune it. Expecting a spirit-lifting song, everyone cheers around him.
“Freedom’s secret weapon!” Buryat snorts next to him. “He’ll kill us all with that racket!”
The others browbeat him into silence and Ferret begins to sing. He does his best to make himself heard in the noise of the engines, and the song is known well enough to make more and more Bandits join in.
S pokorennikh odnazhdi nebesnih vershin
Po supenyam obuglennim na zemlju shodim,
Pod protselnie zalpi navetov i lzhi —
Mi uhodim, uhodim, uhodim!
Proshchaite gori vam vidnei…
“What’s that song about?” Pete asks.
“It was written when we moved out of Afghanistan.”
Tarasov looks at the singing Bandits with a bitter grin. They seem to ignore that this song with a powerful melody is actually full of pain, fittingly for a song about the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan; although a second thought tells him that for Bandits, who were after all loathed and hunted by every faction in the Exclusion Zone, going into the wastes of the New Zone must appear like a ride into the promised land. Probably for many Stalkers who joined them as well — some tired of a Loner’s perilous fate, others weary of the pointless and never-ending faction wars. He begins to translate the lyrics, occasionally thinking over an odd word for a heartbeat.
“From the once conquered celestial heights we are descending to earth, down the charred stairs… Through the salvos of slander and lying—we’re leaving, we’re leaving, we’re leaving! Farewell mountains, only you can see to tell who we were in that remote land, it is not up to a one-sided judge or mere bureaucrat… to judge what makes up our pain and glory.”
“Outstanding,” the Top quietly remarks.
“My friend, let’s have a toast tonight, first to those who made it through the latest raid, the second to the dead, for whom the wind is silently grieving—we’re leaving, we’re leaving, we’re leaving!”
“It sounds beautiful,” nods Nooria.
“Farewell mountains, only you can see to tell who we were in that remote land, the price we’ve paid and what sorrow, which friends we’ve had to leave behind, what enemy escaped the finishing blow, and tell how our sorrows, hopes and pain will mark and form future people’s mind.” Tarasov swallows. “Well… that’s it.”
“Truly outstanding,” Hartman says. “The guy who wrote it must have know a thing our two about that war. This song could be so much our own!”
“He did and it could.”
“And those Bandits, all singing it as if they’d understand!”
Tarasov shrugs. “Maybe they do understand, if they refer to the Zone with the we’re leaving part.”
“I’m with the Top, for once,” Pete says, though his for once sounds as if he had to force himself into saying it. “It’s beautiful… and the chorus, all that robust C major, it is… so fitting.”
“Don’t tell me you had a Fender Stratocaster once,” Tarasov says wrinkling his forehead.
“Hell no, but — great song, anyway.”
The Top appears slightly confused. “Yes, I can hardly wait to be back to our Zone. But I don’t really know what to do once we’re there—oh damn that song. I no longer know what to do about the scavengers, even if they are Bandits. I was so sure about them being just scum. Now… I just don’t know any longer.”
Tarasov turns back to face the window. By now the Jupiter Area, with all the derelict railroads and industrial buildings appears below like a scenery for model trains. To their right, another Mi-26 hovers over the dilapidated cement factory, and the third one should be about to take off from the helipads. Their own helicopter proceeds to the north, passing by the Stalker refuge of Yanov Station where abandoned trains still rust away on the tracks overgrown with grass. Then, as the helicopter turns to the west, they fly over the low hills where only heaps of rubble and brick chimneys mark the place of a village that had to be buried for the high amount of radiation it received back in 1986. The glowing anomalies among the ruins appear threatening even from far above. Then their flight continues to the west, giving a wide berth to the CNPP that looms on the far horizon.
“Yes, I’m leaving,” he murmurs to himself.
The Top notices his feelings and gives him a pat on the back. “Mikhailo, if you dare get sentimental now—I’ll throw you out of this helo!”
Tarasov is not in the mood to appreciate Hartman’s rude but well-meant remark. “You wouldn’t dare, Top… you just wouldn’t dare.”
He feels like heaving a long, sad sigh, eventually keeping it inside and only mentally sighing when he turns his head away from the Exclusion Zone where, mixed with dull rain, the first snow begins to fall from an overcast sky.
70
Valley south of ruined Charikhar village, New Zone
“Strelok, yes… I met many remarkable men in the Zone. Ashot is so funny and Yar like a wise, old brother. Major Tarasov, that mean bully. You ever met him? No? Never mind… No one was like Strelok, though.”
Mac sounds pensive as she removes the sight cover from her F2000 assault rifle as the first step of field maintenance.
“He always used to say, you’re a girl after all as if I couldn’t kill anything just like him till I had enough ammo. I hated him for that…”
“You mean he was patronizing you?”
With the barrel and optical part assembly now open, Mac begins to clean the moving parts with an oilcloth.
“Not exactly. I don’t know how to put it, actually.” She takes off the butt plate and removes the hammer assembly from the receiver part. “Partly patronizing, yes… but I would
n’t call him chivalrous. I don’t know—he liked us making love the hard way.” The hammer makes a faint click as she releases it. She adds a few drops of weapon oil from a plastic flask onto the spring and carefully wipes it with the cloth piece. “At that time I was still a rookie with long fingernails. I used to dig my nails in his back but he just smiled, liking the violence of it—as if he wanted to assure himself that he could bear the pain.”
She starts to reassemble the weapon.
“If half of what I heard about his exploits is true, Strelok had no reason to prove that.”
“Yes, in the beginning… later on he became violent to me. First I thought, it’s because that usual Ukrainian macho thing. But it always came out of the blue, you know, one moment kind and gentle, the next one slapping my face and pulling my hair.”
“Uh-hum.”
Having finished maintenance, Mac reloads the rifle with a 30-round STANAG magazine.
“And so was his behavior too. I didn’t know any longer who I was with—the old Zone hand who has seen it all or a psychopath.”
Ahuizotl gives a shrug. “Maybe one thing doesn’t go without the other.”
“That’s what I thought, but then there are men like Uncle Yar. He is also a Zone legend but always calm, always radiating such a sense of safety. Or Shrink.”
“None of them have been through what Strelok has.”
“True. And I couldn’t help him. Jesus, brother, you have no idea how guilty I feel over leaving him…”
“Yeah. Guess it must have been tough on you.”
“It was tough love, yes. When I saw him for the last time, I asked him if there would be a way to start things over. Outside the Zone if necessary, far away from all that shit that kept torturing his soul. He said never.”
“Don’t forget where you were,” the sniper says getting on his feet. “I’ll have a look outside but will be right back.”
S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Northern Passage s-2 Page 51