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

“What was so funny?” Hartman asks.

“Just pointless bragging,” Tarasov replies.

Their group has now reached an intersection with a fenced-off structure to their left and a wide, ascending slope leading to the helipads to their right. Tarasov signals the men to halt and moves forward to observe the area.

Covered from the Stalker’s sight by a bush, he observes the helipads through his binoculars. The Stalkers have not only made a campfire behind the wreck of a BTR personnel carrier, but erected a defensive perimeter using it as barrier. It could be taken by storm; the only thing Tarasov is worried about are the mines between the road and the helipad. He hopes that Jack had been right about stray mutants having virtually cleared the minefield. At least the decomposing carcass of a boar close to the helipads proves such optimism.

There is a wrecked Mi-24 close to the Stalker’s campsite. Seeing it makes Tarasov smile bitterly. The helicopter had been one of the aircrafts carrying him and his Spetsnaz comrades to Pripyat during Operation Fairway, call sign Stingray One. He sighs and makes his way back to the other men.

“We’ve a position to take. It’s built into a hillside and surrounded by a minefield on three sides.” Tarasov draws a rectangle into the mud and pricks his finger around it to make dots indicating mines. ”It can’t be approached from the front because there’s no cover at all and the defenders will shoot us like sitting ducks. However, the wall is supported by buttresses every five meters.” He draws a second line along the longer side of the rectangle. “The defenders can easily keep it under fire from here—” He puts a pebble into the square to symbolize the Mi-24 and another for the BTR. “—and here. We can’t lay down fire from the hill because it’s mined. We can’t attack from the north where the approach is open, because there’s no cover. How would you do that?”

“Well… a mortar should do the job with a few high explosive shells, but we have no mortar.”

“Abdul’s launcher has an effective range of three-fifty.”

“Should work.”

“He’ll need an eternity to recharge it if the first volley isn’t effective enough. Let’s still think a little.”

“Laying a smoke screen, sneak up the walls and keep the defenders under suppressive fire until we all get close enough to charge them?”

“Abdul, you have GRDs?”

“I have only one and it’s my lucky smoke grenade!”

“Looks like you just ran out of luck. Load it.”

“But—”

“Load it or I open a path through the mine field by making you run through it. Your fat ass would make a pretty big bang.”

“But I’ve kept it since Beslan! It is my lucky charm!”

“I thought the Spetsnaz killed all the terrorists,” Tarasov says with narrowed eyes.

Abdul gives him a wide grin. “Why do you think it’s my lucky charm, huh?”

The Top and Tarasov share a quick glance.

“Wait a minute, Abdul,” Hartman says. “You took part in the attack on that school?”

“Yeah, so what? And how many of my brothers and sisters did you Yanks kill in Iraq and Afghanistan?”

“Brothers and sisters, really? If you’re such a believer, how come your breath reeks of liquor?”

There’s a chill in the Marine’s eyes that promises nothing good for Abdul’s future, but Hartman gives him a smile nonetheless. Seeing the former Marine’s blue eyes turning icy, Tarasov reckons that Abdul is a dead man.

“Allah is too busy preparing hell for those Stalkers to watch me,” the now fumed Dagestani replies.

“You know what I think, Abdul?” Hartman’s smile hardens. “You were too much of a coward to die a martyr’s death. That’s why you drink. You’re an Al-lah-coholic, eh?”

Tarasov quickly intervenes before the ex-terrorist and the ex-Marine can start up a fight. “Shut up, both of you! Here’s our plan: Abdul, you’ll fire your smoke on my command. Then one of us will move in, take cover behind that UAZ and lay down suppressive fire until the rest catch up. Meanwhile, you’ll launch a grenade each time I tell you. When the assault team has caught up with the man up front, they will throw a volley of grenades and then charge the Stalkers down. If your grenades are accurate, they will be shaken enough to make the rest of the job easy. Understood?”

“I’ll volunteer for the UAZ,” Hartman says.

“Negative, Top,” Pete says. “With all due respect, but you move like a rhino. I’m quick and offer a much smaller target than you.”

“Outstanding progress, son! You’ll become a real warrior in the end.”

Pete grins and shakes his head. “Actually, giving suppressing fire means I don’t necessarily need to kill those Stalkers.”

“Where did you find this guy?” Abdul asks. “Amnesty International?”

“Exactly,” Pete says. ”That’s why I’m siding with criminals and terrorists like you, Abdul.”

The Dagestani’s reply would probably be an angry one but Tarasov cuts in.

“Weapon check,” he says and continues in Russian to make the rest of the team understand. “Proverit oruzhie!”

In a few words, he recaps the plan and the orders to the Bandits.

“Locked and loaded,” Pete and Hartman say.

“Good. Now wait, all of you. I want to give those fellows a last chance.”

Ignoring the frowns of his men, Tarasov shoulders his rifle and leaves the cover of the bushes. Standing up, he shouts out.

“Don’t shoot! Stalker coming through!”

Keeping as close to the wall as he can and watching out for every suspicious spot in the mud, he slowly approaches the tarmac with the helicopter carcass.

“Stoi! Stay where you are!”

The Stalker shouting from behind the BTR has his AK pointed at him.

“I am unarmed!” Tarasov shouts back, raising his hands.

“And I am Valentina Tereskova, talking from outer space! Hands up!”

“They are already! What’s wrong with you?”

He hears several men laughing behind their safe cover.

“We are the Reapers and don’t talk to Bandit scum!”

“You are—who?”

“The Reapers! A new faction! Soon we’ll own of the Zone!”

For a heartbeat, Tarasov hesitates between taking the Stalker for either mad or drunk even beyond Zone standards.

“That might be so, but there’s two dozen Bandits out there wanting to kick your butts. Listen, why don’t you just leave? There’s no need for bloodshed!”

“You don’t frighten us, Bandit pigs! Go and boil your bottoms, sons of bitches! Soon we’ll have the Heart of Oasis artifact and then we’ll blow our noses at you!”

“Now listen, brother — that artifact has already been found!”

“Don’t try talking us out of it, you boar-headed son of a blind dog bitch! We know it’s close! We’ll find it, get dirty filthy rich and own the Zone!”

“God damn you, Stalker! Trust me, it wasn’t such a big deal anyway!”

“You lie, ass-face! It’s gonna make us invulnerable and then we’ll rape you Bandits in the butthole!”

“Don’t die searching for a stupid legend, Stalker!”

“I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty-headed bloodsucker food!”

“Is there someone else there I can talk to?”

“No! Go away!”

The Stalker fires a warning shot to underline his message. Tarasov gives himself beaten and carefully retraces his steps along the concrete wall.

“What a strange person,” Abdul whispers when Tarasov rejoins the others. “He’ll be a dead person now, won’t he?”

“Bunch of lunatics looking for the Zone’s Holy Grail!” Tarasov heaves a sigh of frustration before prepping the team. “They leave us no choice. All right then—take up position at the wall. Abdul, you and me stay in the middle. When the suppressing fire starts, we all move in. Aim carefully. Clear?”