S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort (62 page)

“As far as the infiltration team is concerned, you’re right… so, Viktor, if there’s a well-defended enemy position between you and your objective, and you have no artillery or air support, how would you proceed?”

“The plain around the hill is covered with a dense forest and probably full of mines and anomalies… but there are trails leaving the main road right beneath our position. If there’s any logic left in this place, they’ll skirt the hill and join the other road coming from the south-west. A small unit should be able to get through there without stirring up too much trouble. That is, if the defenders have something else to do than watch their back – like bracing for an attack from the north or something.”

“What do you think? Could it work?”

Zlenko studies the area carefully. “Good luck is all we need, sir.”

“I agree. Let’s move back to the Stalkers.”

Positioned behind the hill from where they reconnoitered the site, a bunch of tough-looking Stalkers wait for Tarasov’s orders.
 
He had gathered far fewer Stalkers than he had hoped for, but at least the men now huddling around him are the elite of their sort: veterans, well armed and disciplined. He feels reassured when looking at their faces.

But where in the hell are Bone and his guards? And where is that damned sniper and his buddies?

“Listen up,” he tells them in a low voice, “we can no longer wait for Captain Bone. We’ll lose the advantage of the low sun in half an hour. If we approach them now from the east, they will have the sun in their eyes. No state-of-the-art equipment can compensate for that. We have to move in and have to move in quickly. We expect to find an entrance to the caverns to the south. The distance is about two kilometers. I’ll move in with a small infiltration team. The rest of you will unleash hell to divert attention from us moving in. Borys, come over here… check the intercom. You, Stalker with that PKM, give me that flare gun. You don’t want to shoot dushmans with that, do you? All right… you are Stalkers, so you will stalk down to that stream between our position and the ruins. You will assume firing positions there but hold your fire. Once we get close enough to the entrance, I’ll fire a flare and you start the party. Meanwhile, we move in. Remember: all you’ll you have to do is to keep the enemy occupied and attract as much attention as possible to your diversionary attack. Should they move up, there’s a large free space between the stream and the forest. They will be sitting ducks there. Use the terrain to your advantage.”

“And once you’re out?” the Shrink asks.

“Don’t worry about that.”

Zlenko looks at Tarasov in a concerned manner. “
Komandir
… I’m with the Stalker on this. What about
exfiltration
?”

Sorry, son,
Tarasov
thinks
. All we have to plan for is reaching the lower levels. Getting out would be like planning for a miracle to happen.

But he also knows that his two faithful soldiers, and any Stalkers brave enough to join them, deserve some sort of proper explanation.

“Once we’re inside, we have to locate whatever’s left of Needle… the expedition. Expect heavy resistance – Chinese spec-ops and worse. Let’s hope we kill enough of them on our way in to make our way out a little easier. The Shrink will be in command of the Stalkers waiting for us outside. Once we’re out, we haul ass back to Bagram. Any questions?”

“What if there’s no entrance on the southern side after all?” Zlenko asks.

“There must be one.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s our only chance.”

The Stalkers remain silent. Tarasov quickly orders them to take positions which fits their equipment best: machine guns to the flanks, riflemen to the center, the few Stalkers with Dragunovs and scoped assault rifles to the rear.

“All right… paratroopers, weapon check. Ilchenko, I hope you got acquainted with that M27.”

“Took her virginity last night. Tends to bear a little to the right and above, but should be all right, sir. I have eight magazines, and I’m locked and loaded.”

“Zlenko?”

“Ready for close quarters,” the sergeant replies, pumping the first round into the breech of his Benelli shotgun.

“Check night vision. You’ll need it.”

While the soldiers do as ordered, Tarasov picks two Stalkers. His first choice is Skinner, now armed with a Remington shotgun, who proved himself a capable fighter at the Outpost. Then he picks a Stalker wearing an old exoskeleton and a heavy shotgun with a drum magazine.

“Hey, you with the Striker shotgun! You come with us too. What have you got loaded?”

“Slugs. Still have plenty.”

“What’s your name?”

“
Zef
.”

“Where do you come from with such a name?”

“
South Africa
.”

The Stalker’s exoskeleton is patched and has repair marks all over, bearing witness to many gunfights and mutants’ claws. He opens the helmet of his armor and bows his head to Tarasov with respect.

“What the hell?” Ilchenko gasps. “We have a fucking negro here!”

“Shut up,” Tarasov says angrily, almost at the same time as Zlenko and Skinner.

“And you, Skinner?”

“Nagorny Karabagh.”

“You’re Ashot’s countryman, then?”

“No way. He’s from
Yerevan
,” Skinner replies in a disdainful tone. “People there take a cucumber, paint it yellow and sell it as a banana. But we from Karabagh – we are fighters!”

Tarasov shrugs and turns to the Shrink.

“Borys, are your men set to go or do they also discuss home-made differences?”

The old Stalker responds with a grim smirk. “My patients are cool. They’ve been promoted to research assistants. If the enemy comes, we’ll have a closer look at what’s going on in their heads!”

“We’re set fair then… Keep your position and give them hell when the time comes. Infiltration squad – all ready?”

“Ready,” the soldiers and Stalkers reply one by one.

“Zlenko, take point.
Davay
, uhodim!
”

12 October 2014, 08:23:58 AFT

Using the low walls along the dirt road to their advantage, they sneak into the forest. Tarasov wishes he could properly scout the area but gambles everything on the one chance they have: surprise. They cautiously walk down the path weaving through the forest. It is still dark under the dense foliage, with the ubiquitous tank wrecks giving them the chance to gather in cover when the distance between their ranks becomes too large.

Zlenko suddenly stops, raising his fist. “I see hostiles at twelve o’ clock.”

Tarasov moves to his pointman and looks in the direction shown. Ahead of them, a half dozen hostiles sit around a campfire, one of them assigned to keep lookout on top of a wreck that once was a civilian all-terrain vehicle.

“The bad guys also seem to have made a brotherhood,” Zlenko whispers. Four enemies wear the tight body armor of the Chinese commandos, the rest are Taliban, their gas masks comfortably hanging from their shoulders with their long black headscarves.

“Shit… still, I suppose we’ve been lucky so far.”

Tarasov pulls the safety off on his M4 and switches to single shot mode. On the narrow road between the mud walls, there’s no way of finding a good firing position or flanking the enemy.

“Sergeant, you and Ilchenko take the guys to the left. Skinner, you and
Zef
go for the others to the right. I’ll drop a grenade. When it goes up – hit them hard and don’t miss – if one of them gets to use their radio, we’re screwed! Clear?”

His men nod. Tarasov takes a grenade from his webbing and removes the safety pin. He lets the fuse burn for two seconds and tosses the grenade into the group of the unsuspecting enemy. When the grenade explodes, his companions jump from their cover and spray the enemies with a hail of bullets and shotgun shells. In just a few seconds the one-sided firefight is over.

“So far, so good,” Tarasov affirms, pleased at seeing the fallen hostiles. “Let’s hope we didn’t make too much noise. Ilchenko, now you take point. Move on, men.”

They have covered almost half the way when the Shrink’s agitated voice crackles in Tarasov’s intercom. “
Major! Can you hear me?
”

“What’s up, Shrink?”

“
They are mounting their trucks and are driving away to the south!
”

“Do you see civilians among them? Any equipment?”

“
It’s hard to tell from this distance. All I can see is that since a few minutes ago the whole place is stirred up like an ant’s nest. Wait… what the hell is that? Many are trying to get into the truck, but they’re just driving away. Looks like they are fleeing!
”

“You say they are abandoning the ruins?”

“
Not exactly… they just want to… I see them climbing on the trucks as they leave, and the others already inside just kick them off the trucks… the freaks are panicking!
”

“All the better. Wait for the flare.” Tarasov turns to his comrades. “Something is going on up there. The Chinese are fleeing the place… and I don’t like this.”

“But it makes everything easier for us,” Zlenko says.

“Depends on why they are spooked. Let’s move, quickly!”

If there had been other sentry posts on the road they must have been abandoned in a hurry, because Tarasov’s team does not encounter any other hostiles along their way. The path soon turns to the west. Now Tarasov can see it for himself: a dozen trucks making a hasty departure from the ruins, all loaded until their axles groan. Mercenaries are running after them in the dust whipped up by the heavy vehicles.

No one wants to be left behind… I wonder what’s going on in that damned place.

They wait until the last truck has passed then, on Tarasov’s signal, the small squad moves on and at last reaches the main road.

“Hostiles!” Ilchenko whispers. “One hundred fifty meters, one o’clock!”

Tarasov waves at his men to halt and hold their fire. He sees mercenaries coming in their direction. They don’t seem to be prepared to fight and look as if they are thinking only of getting away from the ruins as quickly as possible.

The major fires the flare gun. The projectile climbs into the sky and in a few seconds bursts out into a fireball over the hill. Immediately, heavy gunfire breaks loose as the Stalkers get into action beyond the hill.

“Open fire! Open fire!”

He realizes that he has given Ilchenko a bad weapon, seeing as the machine gunner empties the first magazine within seconds. “We don’t need a hail of bullets,” he shouts. “Concentrate your fire, Ilchenko! Don’t waste your damned ammo!”

Picking off the unprepared enemies, they move forward, covering the last two hundred meters to the dust road that leads up to the hill. He sees Skinner running forward.

“Don’t scatter! Keep together,” Tarasov shouts, but his warning comes too late. A heavy machine gun opens fire and the Stalker falls.
Zef
grabs his body and pulls it into the safety of a low stone wall. Dust and stone particles fly around them as the machine gunner keeps firing.

Before crouching down beside the wounded Stalker, Tarasov sees where the bullets are coming from: a massive bunker guards the road intersection, its crew either too slow or too stubborn to escape with the rest.