Александр Конторович - Predator - Escape from Tarkov

“Sorry, I need to talk to my commanding officer. Please could you wait here?”

The guy disappears. We step back inside the gate and crouch down. Gavrish shakes his head thoughtfully. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

“What was that bullshit you were telling them?”

“Do you really want to fight?”

“Not particularly, no.”

The negotiator wasn’t lying. Five minutes later we hear the crunch of gravel under boots. They’re approaching.

“Our commanding officer, George Merry.” says the negotiator, introducing his companion.

“Gavrish,” mutters the boss. “I’m the leader of this lot.”

“Commander of a civil militia,” I tell them in English.

“Police?” asks Merry with raised eyebrows.

“No, not the police. A civilian militia, a civil defence group.”

Well, we’re not soldiers. But we’ve got guns.

The soldiers glance at each other. It takes them a while to catch on. Or, on the contrary, they understand all too well why and when Russia ended up with a militia rather than a police force.

Back to Russian: “We need to take back this territory. We have orders.”

Gavrish chuckles, showing very clearly exactly what he thinks of their orders.

I shake my head.

“Unfortunately, we also have our orders. And we’ll be following them. I strongly advise you not to still be here when darkness falls – it’s not safe.”

“Are you threatening us? With force?”

I turn to the building and point out the fortifications.

“Do you really think we put all that up just to protect ourselves from your attacks? How many men do you need to storm that building?” I repeat the question in English.

They’ve got nothing to say to that. They won’t be taking the building with their ten-man platoon. But I don’t stop there.

“Please understand, it’s not you we’re afraid of. There’s something else a lot more frightening round here, and that’s what we’re protecting ourselves from. If they attack you, we’ll give your group cover fire, but that’s all. We won’t be letting you inside. Nobody in there wants to die, and if you come in the bad will follow.” Again, I repeat the last phrase in English.

The translator spends some time explaining what I said to his commander, who frowns and protests. They’re talking quietly, so I can’t make out their words.

“You’re bluffing. We don’t believe you.”

“You’re welcome to wait and see what comes out of the darkness.”

“What? Are wolves going to come and eat us?” laughs the translator.

“It’s not wolves you need to worry about, it’s the Predator.”

The commander’s mouth twitches, and he turns away. His translator quickly ends the dialogue and hurries after him.

“See that!” grins the boss, “they didn’t even say goodbye.”

“It’s no surprise. I explained to them who they really needed to be afraid of here. If they want to lock horns with the Predator, they’re welcome.”

Back inside the building, we pick our guns up and head back to the embrasures. We watch the soldiers retreat a little, take up positions, and lie down out of sight. The radio stays silent, so we can assume they’ve changed the frequency. Their commander is probably consulting with his managers now. Good luck to him. He won’t hear anything new about this mysterious enemy. I’d love to know more about him myself, in fact.

The question is whether or not they’re going to attack the building. Time passes agonizingly slowly. My mouth’s dry and I’m dying for a drink.

“Guv’nor!”

But we don’t need to wait for explanations.

A file of men in uniform is slowly disappearing round the corner of one of the workshops. They’re leaving. Leaving without a fight.

“Chickens!” jeers one of the bandits standing next to me.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, “they’re just afraid of the Predator.”