S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort

by John Mason

“Sounds strangely familiar, somehow,” Ilchenko says scratching his chin.

  “God damn it,” Mishka Beekeeper shouts. “I need a woman, now!” He gets to his feet, takes his rifle and imitates copulation.

  “Keep the bees in your fucking pants, you daft bugger!” Snorkbait says, waving the Stalker’s rifle away from him.

  “Mac,” Tarasov quietly says, “let’s take a hike. We need to talk.”

  Tarasov offers his hand to help Mac up but the Stalker jerks it away.

  “Don’t even think about talking me into going back to Bagram.”

  “How’s that bandage doing? You might need me to apply a new one. ”

  “No… no… okay, maybe having a little walk is a good idea.”

  “It is. Eases the heart, refreshes the soul. Right? Let’s go.”

  Tarasov waves for her to follow him to the ruined hut where they will be out of hearing range, then takes a deep breath before questioning her.

  “So… I guess you owe me an explanation, Mac.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Yes, you do,” Tarasov says, taking Mac’s diary from his side bag. “I guess every honest finder deserves a reward. All I ask you in exchange for your notebook is to tell me the truth about yourself.”

  Mac grabs the notebook from Tarasov’s hands. She eagerly looks inside, and hides it safely in the map compartment of her armored suit.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “The Captain found it after you’d left a campsite, obviously in a hurry.”

  “It was when a dushman patrol came too close during the night… Thank you very much - there’s no more to say.”

  “Listen, devushka, I am not in the mood to play along any further.”

  “I didn’t take you for such a pushy dickhead.”

  “Agreed, sometimes I can be a pain in the ass. It’s part of my job as an officer. And now listen up. I must take you back to Yar.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t exactly do this mission to gain favor upstairs, as Sidorovich would say. Yar will only fix my squads’ kit and weapons if I bring you back. Besides, his heart is broken. Ignore that if you can.”

  “Emotional blackmailing is pathetic,” she replies, biting her lip.

  “But I see it works. Let’s start from the beginning. Where are you from?”

  “Argentina.”

  “A woman from Argentina…” Tarasov makes a low whistle. “This place never ceases to surprise.”

  “So what? Are you still under the effect of what you’ve seen under my armor?” Mac asks with a taunting smile.

  “No reason to deny that. Actually, I do find you beautiful… even by Argentinean standards.”

  Mac laughs. “You should see my niece… but come on, have you ever met a woman from Argentina?”

  “Uhm… no.”

  “See? Don’t try to be a flirt, it doesn’t work for you. Just be who you are. You’re a cool enough guy.”

  “Those Stalkers have a point about women… Here in the new Zone, and back in the old one, we can be who we are. And you too have a point saying that one is cool when he is what he is. But outside… I feel like a fish out of water. No woman out there would ever understand what the Zone is about and what she means to me. That’s why it’s bad that we have no female Stalkers.”

  “I’m not a Wish Granter, but I hope that sooner or later you’ll run into a woman who appreciates your radioactive charm. I guess her heart will beat faster than a Geiger counter. Anyway, I know you didn’t just want to sob on my shoulders about how lonely you are.”

  “Well said. And I have no intention of blowing your cover, missy, whatever you have to tell me.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Depends. But by now you should know that I keep my promises… just think about what I promised to the Captain.”

  “Look… Yar didn’t tell you everything. Where should I begin?... It appears to be on another planet now, but anyway, back home I was just tired of everyone, stupid married friends always showing off about their so called wonderful lives, stupid society putting the pressure on me to be a wonder woman…”

  “You are.”

  “I don’t need your compliments. I mean it in another way… I hated the expectations of being a woman based only on appearance and pretension… Damn it, many of my friends would have sooner died than let themselves be seen without make-up and stuff. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to live up to all those stereotypes? But one has to, because if one just says ‘no’ to all that beauty-industry bullshit she gets treated like a weirdo. So, when I heard about the Zone I took a flight to Kiev and sneaked in, disguised as a Stalker guy, and I realized that, in there, I needed no more makeup, no short skirts, no eyelashes, nothing that is required from me before others accept me. In my disguise, I could be who I wanted – no expectations, no clichés, no pressure to do something just because fucking social rules pressure me into it… I could just be who I really was. In a Stalker’s disguise I didn’t even have to bother about guys offering their ‘help’ and ‘assistance’ at every step. I didn’t want to be taken as someone who needs ‘help’ because I happen to be a woman. It’s not even flattering, because what the fuck did I do to be treated with all this circumstantiality? Nothing! For once, I wanted to be judged by what I do and not my looks. No flirting, no more stupid games. It’s not as if I’m a man-hater or a lesbian, mind you… I do love men. Occasionally, I met some nice Stalker guy and when I was sure he would keep his mouth shut, I gave him the fuck of his young life. There’s more things one can do during the night than sitting around a campfire and telling dumb jokes, you know? And if I met a tough guy who bitched at me because he took me for just another Stalker, I bitched back at him. Vsyo zaebalo, pizdyets, na huy, blyad, idi na huy, huyesos! How’s that?”

  “Not bad. Start smoking and soon you can pronounce the most important word like we Ukrainians do. Khui. From your throat. By the way, how do you say it in Spanish?”

  “Pija, and something inside me says you’re a pijudo. Anyway, I eventually made my way to the Wish Granter and asked it, ‘unsex me now’…”

  “Good God.”

  “…and what did it do to me? I saw a bright flash and after a second my G36 and Stalker suit were gone and I was standing there in this exoskeleton with an FN2000 on my shoulder, and later I realized that all my hair was gone!”

  “It’s growing back, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not talking about a bad hair day, you moron. Imagine – I couldn’t take off that damned exo! I was imprisoned into it! I made my way back to Yar because he was the closest mechanic to the CNPP. It took him two days to get the suit off me without totally destroying it, because it’s a pretty good suit after all. Then I stayed with him because I kinda liked him… he got me out of that suit and of course saw what I couldn’t hide, but he was cool enough to keep it to himself. Now don’t give me such a jealous look – Yar could be my father! He actually tried to act like one… kind of.”

  “He is quite fond of you indeed. So, when Yar moved his business to this new Zone you went with him, but left him nonetheless when you got bored.”

  “That’s correct. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I am – I can’t stay put in the same place for too long. It’s got me into a lot of trouble. Yar is cool, but listening to his monologues about optical image enhancements and titanium rod replacements and soft trigger mechanisms all day long… it’s hardly exciting after a while.”

  “I’d disagree. But anyway, why did you pick such an English-sounding name if you’re from Argentina?”

  “If you’d ever read something apart from weapon manuals, you’d get it by yourself. My real name is Elisabeth. Well, almost. I always wanted to go through a sort of Lady Macbeth transformation – getting rid of my weakness, or better: of my quality to be interpreted by others as weak and soft, something to be patronized, just because… Anyway, Beth – Mac – Macbeth. Ti ponish?”

  “Yes, I understand.
Let’s hope Ilchenko doesn’t find out about this.”

  “How would he?” Mac shrugs. “He’s an idiot.”

  “He studied literature before he… never mind, my point is that he’s smarter than he seems.”

  “If that’s what Ilchenko is like when he’s awake, I’d hate to be in his dreams.”

  “That’s just the way he is. I don’t want you to walk hand in hand and pluck flowers on the way back to Bagram… there aren’t too many flowers here anyway… but –”

  “Forget it. I want to go to the Panjir Valley and check out that Stalker paradise.”

  “Why do you make my life so difficult?” Tarasov sighs. “I asked you nicely. Let’s do it the hard way then… Probably your sophisticated female perception has already made you realize that those Stalkers, and of course Ilchenko, are not much short of killing for pussy. It could be their first fuck in months and the last of their lives, so they would probably jump at the opportunity. All I’d need to do is to tell them what you are.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Aghast, Mac steps away from Tarasov.

  “Yes I would. All the more because there’s a thing like chain of command, if you follow my meaning… and I haven’t been laid for a long time.”

  “You really are a jerk, you know that?”

  “Hey, what happened to ‘cool enough guy’? Sorry to disappoint you. And I don’t know about Snorkbait, but he’s probably more smart than to take on four horny men, all armed to the teeth, to protect an arrogant bitch like you!” Amused by the fear and anger dancing in Mac’s eyes, Tarasov gives her a grin as he continues. “Your only hope is that Squirrel will be too stoned to join the show. But then, I don’t know… three men, four men, does it make any difference?”

  “Shit!”

  “We’re all deep in it. So, will you come and see Yar or not?”

  For a minute, Mac bites her lower lip. Then she slowly sighs before responding. “The deal with Yar was just to take me back to Bagram, not about making me stay there. Is that correct?”

  Tarasov nods. Mac sighs again, this time in submission. “Okay, you win. I’ll pay Yar a visit – but only if you promise me to never, never ever tell anyone about my secret.”

  “We have a deal.”

  Mac mumbles something in Spanish that sounds like a very obscene curse.

  “You are free to bitch at me if you want,” Tarasov says with a shrug, “but I appreciate that you don’t make my life any harder, Beth.”

  For a minute, she examines her dirty fingernails, then fixes Tarasov with a piercing stare. “I lied to you… actually, I liked your compliments. It’s been a while since anyone called me beautiful… I guess you did read my diary.”

  “Parts of it.”

  “Can’t blame you – I’d do the same. That’s why I kept writing about a few things in my language. Not much… but important things. I had a lover back in the old Zone. His name was Strelok.”

  Now it’s Tarasov who almost recoils with surprise.

  “The Marked One? The mysterious ‘S.’ – it was him?”

  “Yeah. It was love…. tough love. He loved me through hurting me. On the outside, he was guiding me. Educating even. But he lost his wits to the Zone… the Old Zone. He took pleasure in my pain, and I took the same pleasure in being hurt by him because, for me, he was the Zone. How I am now is his work. Did you ever meet Strelok?”

  “Never,” Tarasov says, avoiding her sad gaze.

  “Then you do not understand what it means to find another human being who resembles everything about what the Zone means – a new reason for staying alive. For me, it was love. Finding such a love and losing it is worse than your heart being ripped out by a mutant’s claws. I do hope, Major, that one day you will find such love, so that you understand what I was talking about.”

  “I do understand what you mean. Now we better take a few logs from this hut to feed the fire, otherwise the others might think we’ve got lost.”

  She ushers a long, tired sigh. “No, you don’t understand… one needs to hack your alpha male ego down to size, but I’m not up to that. All right… let’s get back to testosterone wrapped up in niceties. If I’m a woman and you’re a man, that means you carry the wood. Let’s get moving.”

  06:17:58 AFT

  At sunrise, Tarasov watches the two Stalkers and Ilchenko walking ahead towards Bagram. Mac has the Captain’s staff over her shoulder, occasionally swinging off towards Billy who tries to grab it with its teeth. Snorkbait and Ilchenko walk at her side, their weapons cradled. All three seem to be in a good mood and Tarasov cannot shake off a niggling feeling of jealousy.

  “From Cordon to the Wish Granter, from the Old Zone to the New, from Bagram to that place that’s supposed to be a Stalker’s paradise… Will some people never stop chasing dreams?” he asks Squirrel, pensively.

  “See… to me, that’s what being a Stalker is all about. Why, you don’t have any dreams left to dream?”

  “My dream is to find a place which I would never want to leave again.”

  “Now look at that! Who would have thought that you have a free Stalker’s heart beating under that dirty armored suit… Will we also go to the Panjir Valley, then?”

  Squirrel’s question hauls the major back to reality. He shakes his head. “Maybe another time… Let’s get back to Bagram for supplies. Then we go to Ghorband.”

  “Cool, man,” Squirrel says. “You gonna make me rich. This trip already cost you a fortune, you know that?”

  Encrypted digital VOP transmission. Central Afghanistan, 29 September 2014, 08:44:13 AFT

  #We did not get the shipment. The transport was ambushed.#

  #What the hell are you talking about?#

  #Your little games are annoying. You were supposed to maintain order in your area.#

  #I’m so sorry about this. I could almost cry. Boo-hoo! And now listen to me you bastards. It’s not my fucking problem if your incompetent monkeys got whacked. I delivered your stuff. The rest was up to you.#

  #Negative… #

  #Negative, positive, negative…could you speak like a human being instead of a robot for once?#

  #Negative. We learned that you failed to get rid of the outsider. We are through with you. You have been warned.#

  #Don’t think you can scare me, you slit-eyed little monkey.#

  #[static noise]#

  Seek and Destroy

  Wilderness, 1 October 2014, 18:10:14 AFT

  The New Zone does have her beauty, the major thinks as he scans the landscape through the state of the art scope on his newly-upgraded Vintorez rifle.

  Evening is approaching and Tarasov is standing on the top of a hill overlooking the road in the meandering valley. Not far from him, Squirrel is trying to lure a decent chord from his harmonica, without much success.

  Since leaving Bagram an hour before daylight, they had been advancing cautiously, sneaking from point to point, scanning the towering mountains for enemies and keeping an eye over the gloomy forest in the valley beneath the snowy peaks.

  Abandoned villages and war debris offered more than enough cover, and they have passed many Soviet wrecks: tanks with their turrets blown off, BTRs with ripped open hulls… A defaced, bullet-riddled memorial that might once have marked the location of a successful break-through or the death of a high-ranking officer that had served as a rest stop while they had eaten their ration-pack lunch.

  In the afternoon, he had observed a pack of jackals as they finishing off a deer. Saving the defenseless mutant had been a good opportunity for Tarasov to test the abilities of his upgraded weapon, and he’d managed to shoot the pack leader from a safe distance without the mutant even realizing what had hit it. It had been hard not to laugh as the death of their alpha sent the rest of the pack into a leaderless sprawl and Tarasov had been more than satisfied with the smooth handling and accuracy of his silenced rifle, though he hoped that he would never get into a situation requiring the use of his other reward – a shiny black Glock
-18 pistol with automatic fire mode and extended magazine. He’d had enough of underground tunnels and close-quarter fighting, at least for a while.

  Caves, appearing as dark dots among the rocks, had tempted them to seek refuge and rest, but they had toiled up the road to this hill, and now the valley stretched out beneath his feet. The sun, slowly sinking behind the peaks, paints the white ridges a fiery red and sends the valley into gloomy oblivion for the night.

  Turning westwards, a tiny orange point appears in the scope. A drop of rain blurs his view and Tarasov wipes it off. As he walks down the hill and waves to Squirrel to follow him, the rain begins to cascade down, covering up the magnificent sunset with a curtain of grey clouds.

  Deep in the valley to the west, a campfire shimmers.

  Ghorband, Stalker base, 19:51:08 AFT

  “Stoi! Lower your weapons!”

  Signaling his peaceful intentions, Tarasov halts his steps. He shoulders his rifle and waves to the heavily armed Stalker guarding a road block. Beyond the low wall of sand bags, a fire blazes in what was once a tank’s engine compartment. The flames cast a flickering light onto the massive, strike-marked mud walls nearby. Raindrops sizzle as they meet the flames. Another Stalker is watching them from the hatch of the wreck, his long-barreled shotgun ready to fire.

  “We seek no trouble,” the major says.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not about standing here in the rain with two would-be Rambos pointing their shooters at us,” Squirrel impatiently says. ”Come on, Dima, I’ve tamed this soldier boy. We’re passing through and seek shelter for the night.”

  “Squirrel! I didn’t recognize you. Get into the compound, brothers!”

  Passing the wrecked, trackless tank, they arrive at the gate of a building surrounded by a high wall. More Stalkers guard the entrance.

  “Come in! Don’t stand there,” one of them says, gesturing to him. A sign on the gate says ’NO WEAPONS BEYOND THIS POINT’ in English, apparently ignored by everyone.