Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“That I won’t do. It’s a trophy. Let it remind me of some unpleasant moments. That way, if I meet another arsehole like that on my travels…”

My companion gives an understanding chuckle and slaps me approvingly on the shoulder. Now we can eat in peace.

After the food, it was no surprise to feel sleepy again. However, Ivan wasn’t planning on a nap. Instead, he removed and examined the bulletproof vest I’d found. It turned out that weighty piece of shit had saved him from serious trouble at least twice. On the breastplate there was a bullet mark. It was a graze, but if he hadn’t been wearing the vest, it would have put an end to his running. There was another bullet mark on the back. How and when he had been hit, neither of us could work out. Judging by the mark, however, in Ivan’s expert opinion he had probably been shot with a pistol. The bullet had not managed to damage the plate itself.

“And you’re quite a runner, by the way,” remarks Ivan approvingly. “I even lost sight of you for a while. I had to go by the sound of your shotgun firing. That’s a hell of gun, isn’t it?”

“Sure is. When I was sitting by the door, somebody came into view, and I blasted him right back through the doorway.”

“That’s no surprise. Humankind has yet to invent anything more fearsome in close-range combat than a sawn-off twelve-gauge. And yours isn’t even a sawn-off, it’s a full-size shotgun. The whack it gives will send your teeth out through your arse.”

Overall, however, we incurred significant material losses in that unexpected battle. Somewhere out there on the street or in the buildings we ran through, the assault rifle we’d picked up after the battle with the “rescuers” had been left behind. We also dropped the looted shotguns, as they made running more difficult. Ivan’s rifle had only ten rounds left in it. I still had one whole magazine, as I simply hadn’t had time to reload Shorty, which was what Ivan called my automatic weapon. I’d been running round with an empty gun. It was only now that I changed the magazine. We’d had to drop some other kit as well. As a result, the only gains from my visit to the police headquarters that remained were Ivan’s bulletproof vest and Shorty. If possible, I’d prefer to avoid that sort of operation in the future.

An hour later, my companion heads upstairs to listen and look around. When he comes back, there’s a marked improvement in his mood.

“Listen, there’s hardly any distance left to cover. Let’s get moving quick, OK?”

Well, seeing as I have only the vaguest idea of where we are right now, it doesn’t really make the blindest bit of difference which direction we set off in. I just want to get away from here. Hell knows, maybe the troops we met yesterday are particularly vicious and vengeful, and decide to scour all the buildings round about. It’s best to get moving.

“If that’s the way it is, let’s go.”

The journey really did turn out to be reasonably easy and not particularly long. Ivan knows the city a whole lot better than I do. So now he and I are sitting on the first floor of a residential building and, using the curtains as cover, examining the place he was so eager to get to. At first glance, it’s nothing special. A standard concrete fence around some little one- or two-storey buildings. What’s so interesting about that? My companion explains: this is the service centre for all Tarkov’s police departments. As well as workshops, there are warehouses storing all sorts of equipment.

“Equipment as in spare parts?”

“Not only,” says Ivan, shaking his head. “There used to be all sorts of useful stuff in there. It’d be too tempting for anyone to ignore.”

“That I understand all too well. The big question is who decided not to ignore it first. Was it the same guys who mounted the assault on the headquarters?”

“Doesn’t look like it. The gates are closed and there’s no signs of a fight. Look, even the glass in the windows is still undamaged.”

He’s right about that, the buildings all look completely normal.

“So, who’s going in? You want me to take the lead again?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “They don’t know you. They might shoot first and ask questions later. It needs to be me. I was a regular visitor here, and they’ll recognize me.”

He stands up, tightens the straps on his bulletproof vest, and checks his rifle.

“If there’s any trouble, stay down. Shorty’s no fucking use at that distance. You won’t hit anyone, you’ll just give away your position. Get out of here, and don’t come running to help me. If everything’s OK, I’ll wave at you with my left hand – like this.”

I also get to my feet. I guess I should say something. A word of encouragement? It’s quite possible that there’ll be a cold burst of automatic fire as soon as he reaches the gates, and that’ll be the end of his life right there. I’ll be watching from afar and there’ll be nothing I can do.

“Well, then, break a leg!”

“Very funny!”

He slaps me on the back and heads downstairs.

I move back to the window and look out at the gray gates and the concrete fence. A minute passes, then another, and a lone figure comes into view. Ivan is slowly walking towards the fence. His rifle is slung over his shoulder. He has a pistol, too, but that won’t be much good against several opponents, and for some reason I’m pretty sure there’s more than one person behind those gates.

Ivan suddenly comes to a halt. From the look of it, somebody’s shouted something at him. The wind’s blowing away from me, so I don’t hear the words. Suddenly, a small door opens in the gate. There’s nobody to be seen, and nobody comes out onto the street. Still, that door didn’t open itself. Ivan steps through it, and it’s closed behind him. That’s all, I don’t see anything more.

What now, then? Should I stay or should I go? A few minutes pass, but the gate remains closed. I see no signs of life around the warehouses whatsoever. From the look of it, something went wrong. I gather my things from the floor and with an already familiar movement hump them on my back. The haversack sits on top of my backpack, on the side of which Shorty is strapped. I found him a comfortable spot – there are straps on the side of my backpack that I'd never managed to find a use for in the past. Now it turns out they’re a very convenient place to hold a gun in. My shotgun’s at my chest, ready to fire. That’s it, I’m all ready to leave. I move to the window and watch as the door in the gate slowly opens. A familiar figure appears and waves to me with his left hand.

“Eat up!” says Ivan, sitting opposite me and pushing a tin of food towards me.

I still can’t get over the hot cup of tea in my hands. Christ, I had no idea tea could be so good. In reality, it wasn’t all that long ago that I brewed myself some tea back in my basement, but it feels like an age.

After walking through the gates, I saw defenses made of sandbags, with concrete blocks and cars forming barriers across the path. Once inside, the service centre looked remarkably different than it did from the street. It had been turned into a small but very well fortified military base. It was to here, as it turned out, that Ivan’s colleagues had retreated. On their way to the headquarters, the convoy of cars had come under fire and turned in this direction. There was no answer from the duty officer on the radio, so they had decided to stay here. There were staff on duty at the base, and the warehouses were guarded by armed policemen. The total garrison at the base now amounted to around forty people. Most of them were members of the police forces, although there were also friends, and even total strangers. All the civilian specialists who hadn’t managed to get themselves evacuated quickly worked out where the best place to lie up would be. Ignoring all protocol and training, the former traffic cops had opened up the weapon stores on the very first day. The maintenance staff also dragged all the vehicles that had been written off or were awaiting repairs out into the streets and used them to block all approach routes, so that there was no way to take a battering ram to the gates. Not unless you had a tank, at any rate, and where would you get one of those from?