Balázs Pataki - S.T.A.L.K.E.R. - Northern Passage

“Here comes Freedom,” Tarasov says.

“Is that good or bad?” the Top asks.

“Hard to tell.”

Although the dark forest doesn’t seem to hide any immediate danger, the Freedom squad moves with the caution of experienced soldiers.

Tarasov reconsiders their options.

“Freedomers would probably not open fire on Loners,” he whispers. “But this being the Red Forest and any squad patrolling it probably being over the edge, we better be careful about how we behave.”

“I hate hiding but maybe we better just keep out of their way?”

Tarasov is about to reply when the Freedom squad stops at the hut and assumes a defensive position. It seems impossible for them to have detected Tarasov or any of his companions, meaning that the squad is bracing for a different danger.

“I don’t like the look of this,” Tarasov whispers. “Whatever makes such a heavily armed squad feel unsafe, we better avoid it too.”

He gives a hand signal to Pete and Nooria to duck behind the boulder. Before he can take another look at the startled Freedom squad, he hears the first shot being fired. It comes from the forest and makes Tarasov wonder about who would be crazy enough to hide in ambush where only the toughest of protective armor could save one from lethal radiation.

A deep voice makes his blood curdle. It is a battle cry, seeming all the more merciless for the monotony in it.

“Onward, warriors of the Monolith. Avenge your fallen brothers. Blessed, as they are in their eternal union with the Monolith.”

“A Monolith Preacher! This will be something, Top!”

“Clusterfuck Central to those Freedom guys. Look!”

The Top points in the direction of the dense undergrowth behind the log hut. Several ambushers appear, giving suppressive fire while more of them jump out from the bushes on the opposite side of the road, moving in to flank the hard-pressed defenders.

The ambushed Freedomers defend themselves as best as they can. As they return fire from their cover they even have the guts to taunt the ambushers.

“Here is a grenade for you! Yeah, one is dead!”

“We must break out!”

“No! Sashka’s down!”

The deep voice sounds from the forest again, with no emotion and all the more fearful for that.

“Bring death to those who spurn the holy power of the Monolith.”

In reply, the ambushers shout from both sides.

“Death to the enemies of the Monolith!”

A desperate shout comes from behind the truck.

“Svoboda vperyod!”

Freedom, forward. Last time Tarasov heard this, it came from his trusty guide in the New Zone, before he died at the hand of First Lieutenant Driscoll.

“Top! You and the Tribe must make good the death of a friend of mine! Follow me!”

“We join the battle?”

“Hell yes!”

He glances at the Top and freezes, seeing that his companion is breathing like a predator smelling blood, with eyes shining in anticipation of the upcoming fight and giving Tarasov the look of a wolf pack leader ready to begin the hunt.

It dawns on Tarasov only now that his companion is not just any veteran soldier but the second-in-command of the Colonel, a warlord commanding hundreds of men who are willing to go through hell at his mere word—and a few of them actually did beneath the City of Screams. But so did Tarasov, too, and a strange sensation creeps into his mind that he has never felt before battles in his previous life—blood thirst.

“We have their right flank!” he yells. “Pete, watch over Nooria! Top, let’s get them!”

“I’m gonna put that monolith up their butt!” the Top bellows back at him with a grin and jumps off the boulder.

Running up quickly on the two opposite sides of the road, both open fire from their assault rifles. From the corner of his eye, Tarasov sees that despite the heat of battle, the Top isn’t acting reckless by far: moving crouched, he ducks and kneels to offer a target as difficult to hit as possible. What impresses him even more is the accuracy of his fire—within a few seconds, the former Marine downs two of the hostile fighters before they can reach the cover of the truck.

Their surprise attack directs the ambushers’ attention to their right flank, allowing the pinned down Freedomers to intensify their fire.

“A grenade’s not stupid, man!” someone shouts inside the hut. A grenade flies from the window. One Monolithian has a quick enough reaction time to leap away, evading the blast behind the truck, but also exposing himself for a moment long enough for Tarasov to take aim and pull the trigger.

“One down,” he shouts.

Their adversaries are not new to combat either and soon realize that they outnumber their new attackers. The Preacher barks a command and five heavily armed fanatics begin raking them with bullets.

“Cover!” Tarasov shouts and lays prone.

Nasty curses blend with intense rifle fire as the Freedomers scramble to break out from their position.

“Retreat, brothers,” the Preacher bellows.

Tarasov aims his rifle in the direction where he expects the Monolithians to retreat towards the forest, using the truck as cover between them and the counterattacking Freedomers. The Preacher’s next command surprises him as much as it frightens him.

“Fall back behind those boulders, brothers!”

With two of them firing their weapons backwards to keep the Freedomers at bay, the remaining half dozen Monolithians start running towards the safety of the boulders where Nooria and Pete are hiding, confident that they can run over Tarasov and the Top who have barely any cover between the dirt road and the forest. Two bullets from Tarasov’s rifle hit the Preacher but apparently fail to penetrate his armored suit.

“Pistol time,” Hartman shouts and fires his M1911 at the Preacher. A Monolithian jumps at him, preventing Hartman from shooting at his commander from point-blank range. He dies in his place when the Top’s next shot hits him. Tarasov exchanges a few bursts with the Monolithian closing in on him. At this distance neither of them needs to aim carefully. His adversary falls but Tarasov also feels sudden heat explode in his limb. Clenching his teeth, he turns after the three Monolithians who ran through their positions and have almost reached the boulder by now.

“Go for the Preacher, Top!” Tarasov screams and fires the last three bullets in his magazine after the Monolithian leader.

“Changing mag!”

Kneeling, the Top carefully aims his M1911 and fires. The head of a Monolithian jolts back, and then he falls face forward to the ground with his arms stretched out. The few seconds Tarasov need to reload his rifle are enough for the last two Monolithians to reach the boulders. His burst from the reloaded rifle hits one of them in the limb, making the hostile fighter emit a painful cry and let his weapon fall, but then he hears the Preacher’s blood-curdling yell from behind the boulders.

“No mercy to the enemies of the Monolith!”

Then an AK barks two short three-round bursts.

With the Top at his side, Tarasov runs to Pete and Nooria’s cover. To his relief, he finds Nooria unharmed, with Pete standing over the Preacher’s wriggling body on the ground.

“Enemies of the Monolith—can’t you understand the good we do to you? Die!”

The Preacher feels with his hand for his AS VAL assault rifle lying a step away from him.

“No. Can’t you understand you’re dead?” Tarasov says drawing his pistol. “Nooria, look elsewhere.”

But before he can pull the trigger aiming at the Preacher’s head, Pete fires his AK47 once more.

“I killed a man,” the youth says without emotions. “Now I’m no less than you. No better either.”