S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Northern Passage s-2

by Balazs Pataki

“Bored of me, huh?”

  The jackal lying lazily at Mac’s feet emits a yelp.

  “Oh, Billy my boy… at least you never get tired of listening to me, do you?”

  Ahuizotl doesn’t reply but heaves a long sigh when he raises his binoculars to survey the rocky valley. The sun has already set, turning the western horizon dark purple yet no stars are visible in the black sky. Scanning the land to the south, he realizes why the darkness is so gloomy.

  “We have a dust storm approaching!”

  Mac appears from the cave and takes the binocs. Though she has seen and survived many dust storms before, she gives a yell of surprise when she sees what is looming on the southern horizon.

  “Oh my God!”

  Still far away yet darkening the skies, a wave of radioactive dust and sand stretches out on the horizon. It dwarves the hills as it approaches and the two Stalkers watch it like fishermen would watch a tsunami thundering towards their boat on the open sea. The wall of sand moving towards them must be several hundred meters high. Thunder flashes in the giant wave that’s stirred up by an energy beyond human understanding.

  Ahuizotl gabs Mac’s arm. “Back to the cave!” he yells. “Quickly!”

  But before he can follow her into the relative safety, something catches his eye in the valley below.

  “Look! Headlamps!”

  A gale heralds the oncoming dust storm. Mac has to hold on the sniper’s shoulder as she looks in the direction where he is pointing.

  A dozen men in heavy combat gear are approaching. They can’t see the dust storm from the bottom of the valley, but must have noticed the sudden gale because they attempt to find shelter.

  “Goddammit!” Ahuizotl screams. “It’s a Tribe patrol! The last thing we’re needing now! Come, let’s hide before they see us!”

  Mac is already flashing the red light on her torch. “Tribe or not, we must help them!”

  “Are you out of your mind? They shoot Stalkers on sight!”

  In her excitement, Mac cusses in her mother tongue. “¡Por Dios! They are humans like us, hermano! We must help them!”

  “Fuck them! Let’s hide, now!”

  By now the Tribals have noticed Mac’s light signals and start running up the hill to the cave, where Mac frantically waves the red flashlight.

  “Here! Over here!”

  Her voice is carried away by the gale that already swirls up dust and sand at their feet. The radiation meters start crackling. Mac spits dust and quickly pulls the exoskeleton’s hazmat mask over her face. The shapes of the fighters climbing up the hill appear like ghosts in the greenish dim of the NVGs. As if having closed her eyes after looking into strong light, her sight is flickering with millions of tiny stars. She knows it’s photons illuminated by the growing radioactivity.

  The first man reaches the cave entrance and rushes inside without saying anything. The second halts and helps the others coming behind him up the last meters. By now the gale has grown so strong by now that it would kick a man off his feet. Several of the fighters are staggering to reach the safety of the cave, but the apparent commander of the patrol maintains his solid stance as he ushers the fighters inside.

  A bad feeling comes over Mac and Ahuizotl: this one must be one of the Tribe’s fearsome Lieutenants, someone that Stalkers have nothing good to hope from. For a moment, Mac almost regrets her moment of compassion.

  When the fighter and the two Stalkers finally move into the cave, the once spacious hideout has become packed with the three dozen men inside. Panting is heard through their US-made gas masks; the headlamps and rifle torches illuminate the Tribe’s heavy combat armor.

  In a minute, the massive wall of energy hits the valley with a deafening thunder. Yet the Geiger counters don’t start screaming from reading extreme radiation values. The thunder and dust sweeps over the valley as if it would keep its full force to be unleashed later, further to the north. Instead of covering the New Zone with a cloud of destructive force, it just moves on like a wave would sweep over a boat in the sea without sinking it.

  The thunder rolls towards the north. The beeping of the Geiger counters lowers and then falls silent.

  The two Stalkers and the Tribe fighters eye each other for a moment. Then the patrol commander takes off his protective mask.

  “You have our thanks,” he says wiping sweat from his tanned face where Ahuizotl’s headlamp illuminates a pair of blue eyes and several days’ worth of stubble. “I’m Lieutenant Collins. Me and my men are on a special recon mission.”

  The sniper looks at him distrustfully. “Hunting for Stalkers?”

  “It’s Bandits we’re after, actually,” the Lieutenant says with a grim smile. Noticing Ahuizotl’s long rifle he adds, “Guess that puts us in the same shoes—for now.”

  71

  Clandestine SBU flight, somewhere over the Southern Caucasus range

  Since the Antonov An-24 cargo aircraft took off from the naval base at Sevastopol, Captain Maksimenko’s ears got used to the ear-splitting drone of its two turboprop engines. He had spent the first hour of their flight deep in dark thoughts, his low spirit reflecting the blackness of night outside. Now the first lights of dawn are falling over the snowy peaks of the Northern Caucasus below.

  He glances at his watch. The small aircraft would still need about two hours to reach their destination at Termez. To distract himself from being depressed, he powers up his laptop and opens the file of the six soldiers from the punitive battalion who got assigned to his command.

  Every convict’s file states chronic disobedience, bullying and drug abuse but some have their specialties.

  Private Bronsky, rape and murder of a female medical worker

  Private Volkov, assault on a commanding officer

  Corporal Maslak, bullying a junior soldier resulting in death

  Corporal Kushnik, use of aggressive interrogation methods resulting in death

  Sergeant Tokarsky, rape of a junior soldier resulting in serious injury

  Staff Sergeant Brechko, dealing with narcotics

  Second Lieutenant Wargo, selling military equipment to criminal organizations.

  In each file, the laconic headers are followed by a more elaborate description detailing each crime. They are written in the dry language of military prosecutors but even so are gory enough. A note adds, “Convicts have forfeited their ranks and privileges and are to be considered as privates, regardless of former ranks held.”

  Maksimenko sighs.

  My kind of scum.

  He opens the briefing file received from Colonel Kruchelnikov. It contains a detailed description of the New Zone areas that had already been explored, most of it taken from a report by an agent with call sign Renegade. All that Maksimenko knows about him is that the agent was in some way affiliated with the Duty faction, who got the SBU involved when the arms dealing operation they were investigating turned out to be run by corrupt army officers. Maksimenko can well imagine that the sudden disappearance of Colonel Kuznetsov and General-Major Khaletskiy, two infamously corrupt officers, might be connected to the outcome of that operation.

  His hopes of Kruchelnikov restraining himself from adding a last biting comment proves to be in vain, but at least it also contains a hint.

  Maksimenko. I would sleep much better if the Russians accidentally downed your airplane like they did with one of our civilian jets a few years ago. They would do us the favor of getting the earth rid of our country’s worst scum, led by my Service’s biggest idiot. However, to justify the costs of sending you there I must give you at least a slight chance to succeed.

  The documents obtained by Strelok in Lab X-18 two years ago were incomplete. However, I know that missing parts refer to a facility maintained in Afghanistan during the war, evacuated when Operation Magistral failed. Its code was X-1 and the research leader was Professor Chubko. We cannot exclude the possibility that Strelok has handed that intel to Tarasov or, what would be worse, the Americans. You better hope that he will show u
p there. The current state of that facility is unknown. Location coordinates are 35°16′44.22″ N and 69°28′48.92″ E.

  If you manage to stop Tarasov by whatever means necessary, maybe I’ll grease the wheels where I can to prevent you from punitive discharge — and worse.

  The Captain’s thoughts move back to his last assignment in the Exclusion Zone. Acting on orders of Kruchelnikov, he led a search group on a thorough investigation into the activities at the Agroprom Research Institute back in May 2012, code named Project Truth. It revealed that the Institute was in fact a front for clandestine research conducted in the Exclusion Zone. However, further investigation was blocked by Lab X-18 being inaccessible at that time. Acting on a tip-off by Zone trader Sidorovich, the military launched a frantic operation to intercept Strelok who managed to find a way into the vaults, but he blasted his way through the Spetsnaz commando and escaped with any information he found there.

  Recalling his successful mission puts the Captain in a somewhat better mood. It now appears to him that the sinister story behind the secret laboratories continues after being bogged down for two frustratingly long years.

  They started experiments in Afghanistan. When the war was lost, they moved to the Exclusion Zone to carry on the research in all secrecy. Lab X-18 was the missing link. Now the circle is complete — I will not only settle scores with Tarasov but also bring Project Truth to its conclusion. It will be more than enough to redeem myself.

  “Thinking of your girlfriend, eh? I guess she’s a tasty little dish!”

  Maksimenko stirs. “What?”

  He glances at the Spetsnaz who grins at him from the opposite side of the cabin. He is a tall and brawny man with a look on his face that betrays a knack for violence. Sergeant Vlasov sits next, keeping a weary eye on him.

  The Captain quickly looks into the personal files with the photographs. The disrespectful soldier is the private who, according to his file, had raped a nurse in an ambulance before beating her unconscious and setting the car on fire to conceal the crime as an accident. Maksimenko feels nausea stirring up in his guts and not because of a sudden turbulence.

  “What’s your problem, Bronsky?”

  “You looked gloomy, komandir. Now you smile. Maybe she is smiling too with some lucky guys banging her, while you fly with us to the hell on earth!”

  Bronsky laughs, but his laughter is cut short by Sergeant Vlasov’s elbow hitting him in his cardia. The private groans and would fall to the floor if the safety belt wasn’t holding him tight.

  “Have more respect to your superior, maggot,” Vlasov says.

  A crew member appears from the cockpit with the radio headset still on his head. He takes it off and gives it to Captain Maksimenko.

  “Kiev is asking for you, captain.”

  Maksimenko follows him to the cramped cockpit where the radioman plugs the headset back in.

  “Maksimenko here.”

  The captain’s guts knot themselves when he hears Colonel Kruchelnikov’s voice in the headphones.

  “Captain, it appears to be your lucky day after all. You have a new secondary objective.”

  “I’m listening, tovarishu polkovnik.”

  “Finally, we learned from an undercover asset what the criminal gangs in the Exclusion Zone were up to all the time. A large number of them left this morning for the New Zone. The air force was standing by to shoot them down but the criminals used Belarusian helicopters, which we couldn’t touch. Luckily for us, the asset has managed to inform us about their destination. Do you copy?”

  “Clear, sir.”

  “They will use two An-12 transport airplanes, armed, using fake Belarusian commercial radar signs. Normally, the Russians would dispose of them quickly in their own airspace or over Kazakhstan, but Moscow has rejected our request to intercept them. The Uzbeks could do the job as well but as you know, the situation is getting out of control there.”

  “Yes, sir. I heard there was an emission or something like that that swapped over from the New Zone.”

  “You have two things to do. First, when arriving in Termez, do not play the hero. You are explicitly forbidden to get involved. Clear?”

  “Clear, sir.”

  “Second, you have a new destination in the New Zone. The helicopter waiting for you at AFB Termez will take you to the proximity of an abandoned airstrip at Charikhar, north of Bagram. According to our asset, the two Antonovs are heading there. You will reckon the place and do as much damage as you can to the Bandits and their airplanes. We don’t want them to set up regular flights between here and the New Zone.”

  Of course you don’t, Maksimenko thinks. That would ruin your lucrative artifact and weapon trade in the Exclusion Zone, you bastard.

  “Understood,” he replies. “Any intel on the Bandits’ strength?”

  “Two to three hundred, so you’d better get there before they land and hit them before they can deploy.”

  Maksimenko frowns. “With a team of nine?”

  “Making good on a big time failure requires big time heroism, Captain.” Hearing this, Maksimenko can well imagine the cynical grin on the Colonel’s face. “Be resourceful. If you get there quickly, you’ll have the advantage of surprise.”

  “Can we count on air support?”

  “God Almighty might send you angels if you pray. Everything else is a negative. Count yourself lucky that we could arrange that Mi-17 to get you there. When done with the airfield, move to your primary objective. Questions?”

  “All clear, sir.”

  “Good hunting. Out.”

  72

  Cargo area, Minsk International Airport, Belarus

  The main terminal of Minsk International Airport resembles a broken half of a cogwheel where the six gates of the semi-circular terminal would be the sprockets. Not much can be seen from the impressive building from the cargo area where the three giant helicopters have landed; two Antonov AN-12BP transport aircraft, being prepared for flight, block the view of the Bandits who were ushered out to the tarmac after the short flight and now wait for instructions in the cold sleet.

  The men share cigarettes and vodka bottles but the cold keeps creeping under the skin. Their cheerful spirit is gone.

  Exhausted from spending the last night without a moment of sleep, Tarasov, Hartman and Pete feel the cold even more than the others. Tarasov is tempted to join the chatting men around them, spending the idle minutes until their trip continues with swearing over the cold and Sultan’s Belarusian ‘partners’ who make them wait in the freezing weather.

  He waves Ferret and Buryat over to him and can’t suppress a smile while they approach. Although the two men had belonged to warring factions and constantly tease each other, they appear like cup and can.

  “Guys, you remember what we discussed last night?”

  The Stalkers nod.

  “Do you have a plan?” Ferret asks.

  “Jack has,” says Tarasov. He looks around to makes sure no Bandit can hear what he has to says, then jerks his head towards Nooria. “She told me about it during the flight. A bunch of Bandits are supposed to have secured an airstrip but Jack doesn’t appear to trust them. He wants us to go in first and see if the area is safe. How many men can we rely on?”

  “You mean, Stalkers who joined the Bandits only for the ride?” the Dutyer asks.

  “Exactly.”

  Ferret scratches his stubbed chin. “Let me think. There is Vitka Tooth Fairy, Vaska Wireless, Ferret, Dingo, Dima Molotov—”

  “In short, five or six men we can trust,” Buryat cuts in.

  “That would be eight men including us,” Ferret observes.

  Buryat gives him a grin. “Six and two make eight — wow! You’re a math genius, man! Spent some time with the scientists at Yantar, huh?”

  “You mean Dimitry Molotov?” Tarasov asks. ”He appeared to me like a veteran Bandit, not a disgruntled Stalker.”

  “Maybe that is so, but let me tell you something.” Buryat looks around, then lowe
rs his voice. “Two days ago, Jack sent him and a few tough guys into the tunnels under the Ventilation Complex, not far from where we’re heading. He thought there might be a valuable artifact there. Nine tough guys went in, one came out — guess who. Overheard him and Jack talking. Dima Molotov said zombies and tushkanos got the others. That idiot believed him. I didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because once he turned away from Jack, Dima began to grin like a kid who did some naughty mischief. Guess he whacked the Bandits. I tell you, anyone who whacks nine Bandits for fun is a potential friend.”

  “And did he find the artifact?” Ferret asks.

  “Sure!” Buryat says to him. “He’s keeping it in his butthole for you to dig out.”

  “It would be the three of us and maybe eight Stalkers,” Tarasov translates to the Americans. “Not enough.”

  Hartman nods agreement. “Nope.”

  “Rebyata, let’s do it like this,” Tarasov continues in Russian. “Make sure all the Stalkers we can count on board the same plane. When we land, we tell the Bandits to wait and move out first to check the situation. You got an idea of how many of them are already there?”

  Ferret lowers his voice. “A few days ago I overheard Jack bitching at Bruiser. He wanted to brown-nose Sultan by taking a forward base but got his nose bloodied by a local faction. Jack was in rage when he heard about it.”

  “Bagram Stalkers?”

  “Some tough guys called the Tribe. Anyway, point is that he only left two dozen men or so behind to guard the airstrip. If we’re lucky, mutants have already eaten them.”

  “If the Bandits only have a few men there, we can deal with them. So—we land, get out to check on the situation, meet that Bruiser character and kick his ass. The Bandits will see that there’s trouble and take-off in panic. Margarita told me the airstrip is close to Charikhar village. That’s north of Bagram.” Tarasov looks up to the cloudy sky. “Gospodi… it’s hard to believe that if all goes well, this time tomorrow we’ll be at Ashot’s bar.”