S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort (8 page)

“Can’t we fly to Gholghola directly?” Tarasov carefully studies the digital map. “The forward base seems to be pretty far from the target zone.”

 
“I’m only passing on the orders to you… but I have a feeling they don’t want to make the same mistake like with Operation Fairway.”

Tarasov frowns. “Uh-hum… I knew there would be a catch.”

“What catch?”

“Close air support, two full squads, state of the art kit, clearly defined mission objectives… all this sounds too good to be true. Is there anything more I need to know?”

 
Degtyarev pauses for a moment. As Tarasov studies his face, his friend seems to be concerned regarding how much information he can disclose.

“Damn it, Misha, you’re not supposed to know but probably you need to. We already lost a team. And it wasn’t due to anomalies.”

“What then? Monolith fighters with Gauss rifles again?” Tarasov’s sense of irony prevails over his bad memories. He recalls the day two years ago when he, then still a captain, and his small strike force was lured into a trap in the ghost town of Pripyat. A Monolith marksman killed his own sniper with a rifle of dreadful accuracy and power. Outgunned and outnumbered, Tarasov’s strike force had only one man for reinforcement – Degtyarev.

“Apart from the fact that Gauss rifles officially do not exist and the Monolithians are all but eliminated, it takes more than a coil gun to shoot down a gunship. It wasn’t AA-missiles either.”

“Who would still linger around there with heavy weaponry?”

“We don’t know,” Degtyarev shrugs. “We know of Stalkers, of course, and maybe what’s left of the
dushmans
… you know, the Taliban. In one of their last dispatches the scientists did mention something about mercenaries too, probably hunting for artifacts. They were few and lightly armed, though, and they left the egg-heads alone. However…” The agent leans closer and lowers his voice. “The strangest intel we have is about rogue
pindosi
.”

Tarasov’s eyes open wide in disbelief. “Rogue Americans?”

“A weird bunch, calling themselves the ‘Tribe’. Probably ISAF deserters or black-ops who have gone off the radar. Our partners across the sea are pretty tight-lipped about it. Anyway, the bottom line is, we have no idea who brought down our birds or how. If you find any clues – all the better, but that’s not your priority. We have no plans to get involved there... and as to the mission: there is no hook.”

“Sounds like an interesting place down south.” Tarasov looks out at the hills, wishing he would be out there in the wilderness. “What about mutants and anomalies?”

“Some animals have mutated in similar ways to the Zone. Look at these pictures… We have reports saying that they have not only outstanding motoric capabilities like those in the Zone, but surprising intelligence too. Unfortunately it’s still impossible to reason with them, so you won’t have the chance to return with a pet boar.”

“These beasts look like big dogs to me,” Tarasov says jerking his finger to the computer screen.

“It’s jackals. The reports also say that unlike mutants in the Zone, who more or less follow normal animal patterns, hunting for food and so on, the species down there seem to kill for the joy of it.”

“If so, maybe one day they’ll evolve into human beings.”

“I hope you can keep your philosophical attitude when the jackals bite off your hands first to prevent you from shooting them, or a bloodsucker sneaks up behind you instead of running up with a roar that can be heard from afar.”

“
Gospodi
. Are they learning?”

“Maybe, but at least they don’t use weapons… yet.”

Tarasov can’t explain why, but Degtyarev’s last words sound strangely sinister to him. Knowing how secretive the agent can be, he doesn’t bother to ask Degtyarev.

“Now, about anomalies: their presence is confirmed. Artifacts as well. We are still evaluating the scientists’ early reports. I’m uploading now the most important info to your PDA. You will have ample time to study the rest during your flight to Termez.”

“I hope it will be you coordinating this mission, Alex?”

“I’ll be in contact as Kilo One until you reach Afghan airspace.” Degtyarev clears his throat. “From then, Colonel Kuznetsov will take over tactical coordination.”

“Oh no! That bastard Khaletskiy’s drinking buddy? You’ve got to be kidding me!” Tarasov’s voice trembles with sudden anger. “When I took over this base after Operation Fairway, it was a complete mess. Kuznetsov and Khaletskiy degraded our base into a pig sty!”

“I hear you but – “

“Listen Alex, I swallowed my pride when I saw them buying a career with artifacts looted from dead Stalkers. But being led by such an asshole in an unknown and hostile territory… Call sign Whiskey, eh? Why not Bravo for bastard?”

Degtyarev bites his lips. “Once on the ground, you’ll be practically free to do as you see fit. Just say ‘yes, sir’ a lot.”

“Please, don’t tell me Khaletskiy is involved in this too. If so, I’ll go and join the Stalkers right away.”

“Last time I met him was a year ago. I don’t know where he is, actually. Maybe they made him a military attaché in
Mongolia
or something like that,” Degtyarev shrugs. “I couldn’t care less about him.”

“The farther away he is the better.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“About the Stalkers… what are our rules of engagement?”

“For the time being, you are not to engage anyone you encounter. If possible, bypass them. Smile, make friends and gather information if you can. That’s what you’ve got the money for. But you have explicit permission to return fire if attacked. Anything else you want to know?”

“I’ll go through the details and contact you if necessary.”

“Good. Let’s finish that vodka.
Na
zdarovye
…
za udachi!
”

“Like I give a damn about your luck,” Tarasov replies, sending the last shot down his throat.

Degtyarev raises his glass, laughing. Their habitual toast upon departure, always seeming rude to others, evokes the memory of raids long ago.

“I almost forgot to give you Strelok’s regards.”

“Does he know his old hideout has become a tourist attraction?”

“I’m not sure if that old wolf would approve of that,” Degtyarev says while he stands up and closes his laptop. “All right then. Clean yourself up and get your gear. You’ll have the night for leave, so the sooner we get back to
Kiev
the better for you.”

“Wait a minute, Alex… you didn’t even tell me when the mission starts.”

Degtyarev gives him an impish grin. “I thought that was obvious. Now!”

Non-encrypted voice transmission between Central Afghanistan and
Kiev
, 19 September 2014, 17:52:01
Afghanistan
Time/AFT

#Kilo One, this is Renegade calling. Do you copy?#

#[static]#

#Kilo One, this is Renegade calling. Do you copy?#

#Kilo One to Renegade, we copy you loud and clear. Proceed with transmission, over.#

#Renegade to Kilo One. I have approached their base as close as I could. The listening device is in position. The source is in range. Stand by for voice transmission.#

#Kilo One to Renegade. Standing by.#

#[static]#

#Sir, I have just debriefed Lieutenant Bauer. #

#I hope she made it back safely. That area is crawling with mutants. I would have crushed Bauer’s skull with my own hands if he allowed her to be harmed. He was supposed to protect her with his life. No swag is worth such a risk, no matter what she needs them for. #

#She is fine, sir. I wouldn’t worry about her. #

#You don’t need to sing her praises. We all know what she is capable of.#

# It’s us that I’m worried about, sir. Bauer’s scouts report that the diggers have made more progress.#

#You have been with me there… in the depths. You, my most senior warrior, should know that the intruders will never get deep enough. Not even with the help of their new friends.#

#The
danger is… #

# Acceptable.#

# Do you want us to remain inactive? The men are eager to strike.#

# Let the idiots clean up the mess they’ve made. We will remain inactive.#

# Inactive, sir? That’s hardly worthy of us.#

#It’s not just inactivity… it’s masterly inactivity. Let them dig and let them fail…or do you doubt the power of the Spirit?#

#With all due respect, sir: hell no!#

#Let
her come to me now. The horror… the pain… it will never end. I need her help, Top.#

#[static]#

#Kilo One to Renegade, we have too much noise, adjust transmission.#

#Renegade to Kilo One. Relocating.#

#Kilo One to Renegade. Continue transmission.#

#No way, Kilo One. I’m lucky if I can make it out of here alive.#

#Renegade, you have been paid for taking this risk.#

#Not enough, Kilo One. Commencing exfil and moving to grid Sierra Papa. Shit! I see them coming. How could they have spotted me?#

#Report back when you’ve reached a safe spot.#

#I’m getting the hell out of here. Don’t know who you’ll send in as bait but he better be good. Renegade out.#

#[static]#

A Shellful of Memories

Kiev, Rusanovka quarter, 18:02:31 EEST

The old apartment blocks look depressingly gray in the heavy rain. A Lada Niva with the SBU crest on its doors drives along
Davidova Street
, its windscreen wipers fighting a losing battle with the thick raindrops. It stops in front of an apartment block. Tarasov, wearing a water-proof raincoat over his leave uniform and carrying a suitcase, gets out. He waves to the SBU driver and hurries towards the entrance where a lonely boy plays with a ball. The ball shoots out into the rain after an ill-directed kick. Tarasov skillfully kicks it back to him.

“Thank you, officer,” the boy says catching the ball and curiously studying the medal ribbons on Tarasov’s uniform. “Do you fire real weapons in the army?”

“We do.”

“And did you ever kill someone?”