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

“Ashot?” asks Ferret with eyes wide open. “People told me he is living in a cave with a female bloodsucker!”

“Cut the bullshit, Ferret. Last time I saw your trader was through the ironsight of my assault rifle,” says Buryat. “Anyway, the plan is good. It only needs to work.”

“Go and gather our friends. Start a game of cards and say you want to continue it on the plane so that the group stays together.”

“But I don’t play cards,” Ferret says.

Like always, Buryat is quick to tease him. “Come on, buddy. Everyone will understand that a Freedomer needs to stick with the tough guys to cover his ass!”

Tarasov recaps the plan to his companions. Hartman has no better idea and Pete also agrees, only Nooria seems to be at odds with it.

“I want to kill Sultan,” she says frankly. “If we escape, I don’t know if I’ll ever have a chance!”

Tarasov frowns. “That has to wait. I’m worried, Nooria… If the Bandits appear there, soon we’ll have an all-out war raging. We must get back to the New Zone as soon as possible.”

“Why?” the Top asks. “A single squad of my warriors would wipe these scumbags out.”

“No doubt about that,” Tarasov says. “You know the difference between Bandits and Stalkers, Top, because you’ve been with me to the Exclusion Zone. But if the Bandits are foolish enough to harass the Tribe, the Colonel won’t make a difference between them and free Stalkers. As far as I know him, he will move to exterminate them all.”

Hartman bows his head. “That would be a dire mistake.”

A gloomy dawn looms over the New Zone, making the wide-spread ruins of Charikhar village appear even more foreboding in the twilight. The weak November sun stays hidden beyond the dark clouds. Fog covers the mountain ranges to the west and grey mist wreathes over the plains east to the ruins where, barely discernible from the rocky earth, a landing strip is aligned due south. A few campfires burn among the decrepit buildings scattered around it. They might have been warehouses or barracks long ago, but by now have fallen to ruins. Only one has a makeshift roof made from wooden beams and rusty metal plates. A tall antenna extends through a hole in the roof.

On the top of a low hill about two hundred meters from the abandoned airstrip, there is the wreck of a mobile radar station. The tires of the URAL truck with a radio compartment on its flatbed have long rotten away and graffiti covers its rusty body. Anomalous moss is hanging like torn curtains from the antennae and radar dish and emits a faint green glow.

Two Bandits are shuddering in the cold while they keep watch over the hilltop that is the only vantage point in area around the airstrip. Three dead jackals are proof of a perilous night watch. The guards are apparently relieved when the shapes of three men appear on the path leading uphill.

“It was about time for you to show up,” one of them shouts. “You cocksuckers were supposed to be here half an hour ago!”

“This bloody cold makes the shit freeze in my guts,” the other guard adds. “Did you bring us vodka?”

“Net.”

The two Bandits have no time to get surprised over hearing a female voice. A short burst is fired from a noise-suppressed F2000 assault rifle and sends the first Bandit to the ground. The other one who asked about vodka is about to fire his AKS-74U from his hip when a 9mm bullet hits his chest, fired from a silenced Beretta M9 pistol.

The three shadows quickly check the hilltop for more hostiles with a well-coordinated sweep, then exchange muted shouts.

“Left clear!”

“Right clear.”

“Objective is cleared,” the leader says on the radio. ”Squad, keep your position.”

Two clicks crackle in the radio to signal acknowledgement. Holstering his Beretta, Lieutenant Collins gives Mac a grin. “Good shooting, Stalker.”

“So far so good,” she replies reloading her rifle. “But don’t get too close to that wreck. My Geiger counter goes off scale only by me looking at it.”

“If it weren’t for the mist, I could put down suppressive fire from here while you clear the ruins,” says Ahuizotl, the third attacker.

Collins looks over to the ruins. “Yeah, that would come in handy… We’ll do this the hard way, then. You two stay here while we move in. Should the fog lift, look for targets of opportunity. Try not to hit any of us, okay? I’ll tell you when we move in. The signal will be… let’s say, Geronimo. Brings luck, usually. Once the airstrip is secured we’ll decide what’s to do next. Clear?”

The sniper nods. “Clear.”

“Can I go in with you?” Mac asks.

“I’d have you rather here watching my back,” Ahuizotl replies.

“Agreed,” Collins says. “Sorry Mac, but the men in my squad are a team and know their drill. A stranger among us would be a liability, no matter what a good shooter she is.”

“But—”

“I said no. Stay put and keep your eyes peeled. That’s even more important than having one more rifle in my team.”

The Lieutenant leaves the hill to rejoin his men waiting below. In a few minutes, he has gathered them around him in the cover of rocks and dense shrub.

“Textbook breach and clear, men,” he says. “I will move up from the southern end of the strip with Team One. Harper, your team is Two—proceed and take up position hundred and fifty meters to the west. Walker—Team Three, two hundred meters, east. Report when you’re ready. The word will be Geronimo. Infiltrate and clear the ruins. Have grenades at hand. Stay clear of the strip until I tell you it’s clear to proceed. Our objective is probably in the building with a roof, because I’ve seen an antenna that tells of a radio inside. We must take the command element alive. Any questions?”

“What if he resists?” a fighter asks.

“If I don’t get there first, use a flashbang when breaching and non-lethal force to subdue him or whoever is inside. Remember — our primary objective is grabbing the commander or at least the radioman. Are we set?” Seeing that all men have understood the plan, Collins nods. “Lock and load!”

He knows that the fighters spreading out to his left and right have their weapons already loaded, but no self-respecting officer would ever miss an opportunity to bark this adrenaline-boosting command.

In his estimation, visibility in the fog is limited to thirty meters. Fifty before the southern end of the runway, he raises his fist and ducks behind the sparse scrub. Then he puts his left wrist behind his back, signaling to his men to assume wedge formation.

Wishing mentally for a scope with infrared capability, the Lieutenant perks his ear to get an idea about the Bandit’s location. The faint Russian chatter betrays three or four of them around the nearest campfire.

“Blooper!” he calls out under his breath. He points to the campfire and uses another hand sign to tell the squad grenadier: prepare your M203 grenade launcher. Then he waves to the squad automatic weapon’s operator to move up with his M249.

A subdued voice crackles in his radio.

“Two. In position.”

“SAW ready,” the gunner whispers.

Collins waits for the other squad to report in. He has Team Three move up further for two reasons: first, to avoid the risk of friendly fire; the two infiltration teams had better not meet each other face to face. Second, having the infiltration point further away should also make sure that no hostiles escape to the north or fall into Team Two’s flank.