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

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.”

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 lowers 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.”