“No, no, no,” the Captain moans. “Why?”
Tarasov quickly helps him to his feet and notes with relief that the old man is unscathed. His relief quickly evaporates as he hears several howls echoing through the cave — coming from the shaft ahead, the tunnel they have left behind them, and from unseen caverns above and below.
“You see what you did?” The Captain casts an angry look at Ilchenko.
“Yes! I killed a mutant!”
“Useless, stupid private! You killed one mutant and called up a dozen!” The Captain turns to Tarasov. “Since my times, discipline has become even worse!”
“I’ll reprimand the soldier later,” Tarasov shouts back. “We must get to that damned factory, quickly!”
“The howls are getting closer!” Squirrel screams.
“Run!” The Captain shouts. “Run!”
They run, slowed down by Ilchenko who keeps turning back to fire short bursts from his weapon. If their march had been careful up to now, it has turned into a heedless rout as they follow the Captain who is sprinting ahead. He almost gets thrown to the ground when he suddenly stops and collides with Tarasov, who has no chance to maneuver around him in the narrow tunnel.
“There’s one ahead of us!”
The major empties his magazine into the mutant blocking their way ahead, cursing himself for not having loaded a full magazine after they’d finished the blinded mutant.
“Squirrel! Reloading, cover me!”
The heavy rattle of the PKM joins with the MP5’s clatter, the noise of both weapons almost obliterated by the bloodsucker’s howl. When Tarasov’s fires his now reloaded rifle, the howl turns into a pain-filled growl, but he keeps firing nonetheless until the mutant falls. They jump over the lifeless body and run forward.
“Vperyod, vperyod!”
“Squirrel, watch your back!”
“Damn it! We have been here before!”
“You must be kidding me, Stalker!”
“No, Major! Forward!” The Captain, now also tired and breathing heavily, points forward. “We’re almost there!”
“Any more side turns ahead, Captain?”
“No! This leads straight to the factory!”
Tarasov peers back into the tunnel as the machine gunner and the guide arrive. Bloodsucker howls are still echoing in the darkness, but none seem to be close enough to indicate an imminent threat.
Howls are good, silence is deadly, he thinks, remembering what the Captain said.
“Ilchenko, Squirrel! Haul your asses behind me! Cover me, I’m preparing a booby trap!”
Tarasov removes his last two hand grenades from his ammunition vest and carefully removes the fuses. At a position where any of the heavy-limbed bloodsuckers would move it, he places one grenade on the ground and cautiously puts a stone on the release grip. Then he does the same with the other one, not giving any chance to a mutant who was lucky enough to avoid the first grenade.
“Done. Let’s move on, and be quiet! Especially you, Private!”
The Captain’s guidance proves to be correct. After covering a short distance, the natural walls of rock and earth end in a wall made of bricks.
“We have reached the cellars,” the Captain says. “But this tunnel has always been open before. Strange!” He steps back, scratching at his beard.
Tarasov examines the wall. The rows of bricks are loosely laid and the balance of the whole structure seems to be borne by a single, if massive piece of timber in the middle. Overall, it looks like a makeshift barrier hastily erected to block the passage.
“This was not built by a bloodsucker,” Squirrel whispers. “That’s for sure.”
“Ilchenko, come over here,” Tarasov says. “Consider yourself our combat engineer. This wall must go.”
“Consider it done, Major.”
The burly soldier steps to the stone wall and gives it a kick with all his force. After a few more kicks, the timber yields. One more kick, and the wall collapses with a huge rumble, leaving a hole big enough for a man to climb through.
“Let’s move on,” Tarasov orders. “And let’s hope we haven’t called up even more mutants by this racket!”
One by one, they enter the room on the other side. It is definitely man-made, looking like a cellar with rusty pipes and wires running along the concrete walls.
Suddenly, they hear a yelp.
“Jackals!” Squirrel shouts.
But only one mutant appears in the light of his headlamp. It seems to be frightened and hides under a pipe.
“It’s a pup,” Tarasov confirms without lowering his weapon. “I wonder where the rest of the pack is?”
“They seem to be one big loving family,” Ilchenko says, pointing his torchlight at some textile rags arranged in a nest-like structure and a metal plate on the ground. A bulky rucksack lies next to the pet’s place. “And quite sophisticated for jackals, too.”
“I hate jackals. Especially sophisticated ones.” Squirrel raises his submachine gun to shoot the helpless yelping mutant. But before he could even aim, a voice comes from the darkness. It is accompanied by the auspicious noise of a rifle being cocked.
“If you even think about hurting my dog — I’ll fry you!”
“That’s not a dog,” Squirrel shouts back, “that’s a bloody jackal!”
“It’s a dog and his name is Billy. Lower your goddamned weapons!”
A beam of strong light flashes from the headlights of a human figure standing in a corner, maintaining a perfect firing position over all four of them.
“It’s okay,” Tarasov says. “We won’t hurt your… pet. Everybody, relax!”
Slowly, with his hands up, he cautiously steps closer to their opponent. The jackal pup darts out from its cover and hides behind its master. By now Tarasov sees that he is wearing an exoskeleton and keeps his FN-2000 automatic rifle squarely at aim. The Stalker’s face is hidden behind the helmet’s dark, protective visor and integrated gas mask.
The major frowns. It is not looking into the barrel of one of the best weapons of the world that gives him an odd feeling about this encounter, nor the relatively small size of their opponent, but how perfectly the exoskeleton fits its wearer. It suits him perfectly, as if tailor-made.
Strange. Yar works wonders with rifles but armor has never been his strong side.
“Mac the Apprentice, I presume?”
“That’s correct. Who are you?”
“My name is Tarasov. Ilchenko and I are from the military…”
“Friends call me Ilch,” Ilchenko adds with a grin.
“… and that Stalker with the MP5 is our guide. Name’s Squirrel.”
“And who’s that? Did one of you bring his grandfather on this joyride?”
“The grandfather holding that red light is… well… he’s with the good guys too, he only stepped into a time vortex. Call him Captain. Can we all relax now?”
Mac laughs. “The Captain looks like a lich king from some stupid RPG!”
“You have something against RPGs? Best loot I ever had!” Squirrel asks, stepping forward.
Tarasov grins and waves him to halt. “That’s not the kind of RPG the kid means. Mac, you are right about the Captain, but he is a chaotic good lich. We’re all with the good guys, believe me.”
“Ooo-kay… I won’t shoot you. But if you ever look at Billy the wrong way…”
“I love that puppy,” Squirrel says. “Hey puppy, you want some sausage?”
In reply, the jackal pup snarls at him and emits an angry yelp that was probably intended to be a frightening bark.
The tension eases as Mac cradles his rifle. Ilchenko and Squirrel do the same.
“So, let’s get down to business,” Tarasov says. “Uncle Yar has sent us to get you back.”
“How is he doing?”
“He’ll be doing better once you get back to him.”
“Forget it. Tell him I’m off to the Panjir Valley.”
“What?”
The Captain’s frig
htened cry surprises them all. “Operation Magistral is still going on? We went there five times… always beaten back! That place is hell! The column! The column was heading there…”
“What’s wrong with this dude?” Mac asks. “The valley is like heaven for Free Stalkers. There’s fewer mutants, and no arrogant Dutiers poking their dirty noses into Stalker business.”
“Never mind the Captain,” Tarasov replies. “He’s not really up to date.”
Suddenly, the jackal named Billy starts to growl even without Squirrel bothering him.
“Uh-oh… here come the bloodsuckers,” Mac says, readying his rifle.
“How do you know?” Tarasov asks in surprise. Then he looks at the jackal pup called Billy. “Don’t tell me that…”
The pup’s low growl is suddenly subdued by an aggressive howl coming from the tunnels.
“You must have pissed them off, Stalker… you see, all animals seem to hate you.”
“It’s mutants, man, not animals! And actually, it was this trigger-happy boyevoychik who woke them up, not me!”
“We should leave,” the Captain anxiously says.
“Yes, man! Let’s go or we become bloodsucker food!”
“Let’s,” Mac shouts, grabbing his pet and putting him into a bag hanging over his chest. He opens a metal door leading to a corridor to their left. “Get in there. Move!”
“You first, kid,” Tarasov says, readying his rifle.
“Billy, cover your ears!”
Mac steps to the opening in the wall and fires a projectile from his rifle’s built-in grenade launcher. The low thump is followed by a huge explosion inside the tunnel, strengthened into a thunder by the narrow space, followed after a second by two more detonations. Rocks and earth fall in and block the tunnel, while Mac gets his rucksack and even finds time to comfortingly caress his jackal.
“Did you booby-trap the tunnel? All the better. At least I could save some grenades!”
“Why did you bother building that stone wall?” Tarasov asks when they step into the corridor and Mac closes the metal door tight. “You could have blocked it with a few 40 millimeter grenades from your rifle’s launcher!”
“I have only a few grenades left, but there’s more than enough bricks lying around here. Pity to leave it, though… it was a good place to hide. Hey, fat boy, let me through!”
Ilchenko lets Mac pass him by and take point in the corridor. “I am not fat, you little dwarf,” he grumbles.
“Nobody calls me a dwarf,” Mac says, looking back at the machine gunner towering behind him.
“I suggest you two settle this later,” Tarasov snaps. “Mac, where to now?”
“You’ve probably guessed that this is the cellar of the textile factory. Normally, the way up should be clear. If not, Billy will warn us.”
“How so?”
“He has a good nose even for a dog. Smells out any mutant, no matter how far away. Anomalies as well.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s a jackal!” Squirrel says.
“Gospodin Tarasov, where did you find such an imbecile guide who can’t tell a dog from a jackal?”
“First, you will address me as Major or komandir. Second, Squirrel is cool. He eats bears for breakfast.”
“Yeah, I guessed that. His breath smells like that.”
“And you—”
Tarasov cuts into Squirrel’s words “Shut the fuck up, both of you! Let’s move!”
The corridor is narrow and dark, but at least man-made — a relief in itself after the maze of caverns they have left behind. At regular intervals, Tarasov sees metal doors with little hatches at eye height — unusual for a cellar of a factory, making him wonder what this place might have really been. One door stands ajar. He peeks inside, and what he observes looks like a prison cell.
“This place is creepy,” he says.
“You want to see something really creepy?” the kid replies.
“I’ve had my share of creepy things for today, thanks.”
“Too bad. Nothing is as creepy as an underground torture chamber.”
“A factory with prison cells and a torture chamber? What the hell was this place?”
“Guess what? The factory levels are above. Below — it was KGB, CIA, whatever.” Mac halts at a winding, metal stair case. “You sure you want to miss the torture room?”
“Sir! If I may ask you,” Ilchenko says behind them, “I’d like to see it.”
“Why am I not surprised? Forget sightseeing, Ilchenko. Dammit, am I the only one who wants to get out of this dungeon as soon as possible?”
“No, man! I’m with you, as always!”
“We shouldn’t tarry here too long, Major.”
“Up we go then,” Tarasov says.
The rusty staircase creaks and heaves under their steps, as if it could collapse at any moment. Two more corridors appear, which Tarasov is glad to leave unexplored as they continue their ascent.
When they reach the top of the staircase, Mac signals them to halt and looks around with his rifle poised to shoot before waving them to follow him.
“What made you hide in the deepest and darkest place?” Tarasov asks as he joins the kid above, and finds himself in a large, rectangular room with no windows. Empty plastic bottles, sheets of paper and other garbage litter the floor among turned over tables, chairs and collapsed shelves. The room has only one proper door, situated at the far end.
“Sense of safety, what else? Only a creepy guy like Ilchenko would hide in a prison cell, or a crazy one like Squirrel in the factory level…” He crosses the room and cautiously opens the door. “Appears to be clear. Let’s go…”
“Mac, wait a minute. Close the door.” Tarasov looks at his watch. It is a few minutes past midnight. “What’s behind that door?”
“The factory hall.”
“Is it over ground?”
“Of course. Why?”
“It’s pitch dark now… we should stay put until daybreak. This room looks like a safe place to rest.”
Ilchenko and Squirrel release huge sighs of relief. Even the Captain grumbles something like it’s about time to rest.
Mac shrugs his shoulders. “Chickening out?”
“You better watch your tongue, kid. We left Hellgate this morning, stumbled upon the Captain and crawled through the caves in just one long leg. The last time we had havchik was early this afternoon. We need to rest.”
“Besides, you, being a sneaky little bastard, could run away in the darkness, making this whole trip count for nothing,” Ilchenko says, taking off his rucksack and placing his machine gun on a table that still stands upright.
“Indeed! You do have a tendency to run away, Mac. Ilchenko, take that table and block the door. Just in case.”
“Spare your efforts, guys,” Mac says, waving his hand in resignation. “That wouldn’t block the door. It opens the other way, to the outside.”
“Never mind the door, man,” Squirrel says, already holding a dried sausage in his hand. “After all this mess today, there’s probably nothing coming through that we couldn’t handle.”
“Yes, especially with you around.”
“Come on, Ilch, didn’t I help you kill that bloodsucker?”
“Don’t even mention it!” the Captain exclaims. “Major, isn’t this soldier to be reprimanded for opening fire without being ordered to?”
“Ilchenko, consider yourself reprimanded,” Tarasov casually says. Ignoring the Captain’s frown, he takes a can of ‘tourist breakfast’ from his rucksack and opens it.
“How can you Stalkers eat all this shit? If I had to feed on nothing but this crap, my farts would have a bigger blast radius than a hand grenade.”
“Why, Ilchenko, are army rations any better?”
“No, sir, but at least in the army we get a leave once in a while, and with that a chance to eat better food.” No matter how much he bitches about the processed meat, Ilchenko still takes a big portion and continues munching, talking between mouthfuls. �
��For me, sir, surviving in the army means surviving to the next leave… I wish I could be a camel, stocking up enough galipots, blunts, piroshky until the next time I get something decent to eat.”
“Camels stock up on liquids, you moron.”
“Come on, kid. I didn’t mention beer and vodka because that’s self-explanatory for a real man. Which you obviously aren’t.”
Tarasov expects a snappy reply from the sharp-tongued Stalker, so Mac’s silence surprises him.
“What’s up, Mac? It’s your turn. Did Billy bite off your tongue?”
“I didn’t even hear what your pit bull was saying… Captain, does that strange light of yours never go out?”
Obviously happy that someone is talking to him, the old man jumps at the opportunity to talk.
“Never. Only when I remove it from my staff. There is another stone inside the staff and when this one is on fire and they get into… when they… meet?”
“You mean, contact?”
“Yes, young man! When I let them contact, it burns on and on and on.”
“When we get out of here, you need to explain all these things to me,” Squirrel eagerly says. “I have a great interest in artifacts myself!”
“If there is enough time, young man… Remember, the Major has no time, and he promised to do something for me.”
“Vodka, anyone?”
Tarasov waves Ilchenko’s offer away. “Please, Captain, let’s forget that for now. First we have to get out of here. And you might want to keep that bottle for later, Ilchenko. We’re not back at Bagram yet!”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Offer it to the Captain, but here and now I don’t want to see you drinking. Clear?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Hey Mac, how did you find your pet jackal anyway?” Squirrel says, before the tension in the air can thicken any more.
“A snake got to my dog’s mother, Squirrel. Billy is the best companion — he doesn’t tell boring jokes, doesn’t beg me for a medikit, and always warns me of dangers ahead.”
S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort s-1 Page 21
