I throw the discharged grenade launcher over my shoulder, admiring the scene that unfolds. A few dozen meters away, the defeated mutant lies on the ground. A mass of muscle, with its huge paws spread wide, lay face down, bleeding. Brick is eager to move forward to examine the monster up close, but I intercept him with my free hand.
"Stop."
"Why not, Palach?" Brick asks almost indignantly, but doesn't pull his hand away, remaining by my side. "It's definitely dead after those two shots!"
"Because of radiation," I begin to explain after a slight sigh. "All pseudogiants, as far as I know, emit a strong radiation field. You stand near one for a minute or two, and you'll have to swallow anti-rads. If you want, go ahead."
"But the dosimeter..."
"Look at the distance between us," I continue to persuade him. "If you really want to, I can give you binoculars. You can examine it in all its details, but don't go any closer. And don't be offended, Brick."
"Eh," the young stalker sighs deeply, waving his hand forcefully after I let him go. "I'm not offended, I just wanted to see this behemoth up close."
"And I wouldn't mind either," Trotyl chimes in.
"No one would mind," Batut continues, to which Nemoy silently nods. "But yes, if everyone goes to look like this, you won't be able to stock up on anti-rads, and it's better not to inject them so often..."
"Since we've dealt with this," I conclude. "It's time to pay a visit to Duty."
"Will they let us in too?" Brick asks, still holding the last RPG grenade.
"Access to their base is free, just don't wave your weapons around," I say, returning the safety on the grenade launcher to the working position. "And my personal advice – it's better not to approach the local merchant, he won't sell you anything and will spoil your mood. Let's go."
The path to the scientific institute was completely calm. Either the flooding of the tunnels helped, or the recent explosions scared away many mutants, or for some other reason, there were no attacks that had plagued Duty members and local stalkers for weeks. After about an hour of unhurried walking, we reach the eastern checkpoint.
"Hey, Palach," one of the guards greets me, a tall fighter in a black and red jumpsuit, with whom Belaz was drinking yesterday. "All roads lead you to us, huh? And this time with company. Oh-ho, and where did you find such a wonder?"
"Hello to you too. Where we found it, it's no longer there," I reply with a smile, adjusting the grenade launcher on my strap.
"Too bad," he sighs feignedly, glancing at our squad with a quick look. "We could really use a grenade launcher."
"Oh?" I raise my right eyebrow, stopping opposite the Duty member. "I thought you had first-class supplies from our military brothers."
"Well, yes, but some things even the military won't sell," he shrugs. "I assume you're the ones who caused trouble to the east of here?"
"We were dealing with a pseudogiant," I nod.
"Really? Good news," he grins. "Just make sure to visit Krylov, because after your fireworks, an order was given to be on full combat readiness. Just in case, so to speak."
"I was planning to. Have a good shift," I wish him, passing further.
Next, we proceed into the inner institute courtyard, where nothing has changed during my absence. The bodies of the deceased, lying near the bar, were buried last night as soon as the graves were dug. I take the grenade launcher off my shoulder and hand
it to Batut, let him keep an eye on it while I'm busy.
"How are you, guys? Not hungry?" I ask my team.
"A little," the stocky stalker replies, slinging the RPG over his back, the others nod casually.
"Then let's go," I nod towards the Peaceful Atom. "You'll eat while I'm busy with Krylov."
The bar itself was practically empty at this time. Besides a couple of Duty members occupying one of the few tables, there was only Kolobok, sitting on a small stool in his corner and reading a newspaper with a bright blue headline "Mirror of the Week." Do the military supply such things?
"Take a table for now," I command my men and approach the bar counter, attracting the bartender's attention. "Hello again. Will you feed my eagles?"
"Yours?" Kolobok raises his eyebrows in surprise and comically sticks out his mustache, looking at my subordinates. "And I thought you were a loner..."
"It turned out that way," I shrug. "How much will lunch cost? Without alcohol."
"Depends on what you'll take," the cook says with a slight grunt, getting to his feet and putting aside the folded newspaper. "We have leftover pasta with stew, some flatbread, and sweet tea. Four portions..."
"Five," I gently correct him. "I'll eat after I talk to the general."
"Five portions will cost fifteen hundred."
"Not bad," I say, reaching into my chest pocket for money. "Here, take it. And you guys, behave yourselves."
Peaceful Atom, after Palach's departure.
Once again, after watching his commander's back for a long time, Batut exchanges tense glances with his teammates. It's not every day you find yourself practically in the heart of one of the strongest factions. Of course, he had encountered some Duty members before, and they were quite adequate guys with their own vision of the Zone. But there were others, cruel and embittered. It didn't come to bloodshed, of course, otherwise, he wouldn't have gotten out alive, but it wasn't pleasant. I wonder what this Krylov is like?
"Is there anyone in the Zone who doesn't know Palach?" Brick asks quietly, shivering. "Wherever we go, he has acquaintances and good relations with everyone..."
"I don't even know," Batut exhales, looking at the arched ceiling of the hangar.
"Well, guys," Kolobok, who has approached with a tray full of plates, glasses, and cutlery, intervenes and begins to lay them out on the table. "And how can you not be friends with such a person? Polite, kind... You don't meet such people at every turn in the Zone. And besides, your commander helped us all greatly yesterday. And saved one of our sergeants. It's a pity the rest of the squad perished, but if it weren't for him and the mercenary, the guys' bodies would have been eaten. At least we were able to bury them with honor, with the assignment of extraordinary ranks for valiant performance of military duty."
"And how did he help you all?" Trotyl asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
"Eat, eat, guys," the bartender replies, smiling into his mustache and leaning his elbows on the worn tabletop, as if waiting for someone to talk to during non-working hours. "Listen. A great misfortune befell us, you see..."
General Krylov's office, five minutes later.
"Good afternoon, Comrade General," I greet the general sitting at the table as I enter his apartment.
"We've already greeted each other, stalker," Krylov replies without looking up from his documents. "You're practically visiting me too often. What for?"
"The pseudogiant is dealt with," I answer him concisely, standing directly in front of his desk.
The general slowly looks up from his papers, his disbelieving gaze falling on me, and he scans me from head to toe, lingering particularly on my face, as if trying to understand if I was joking.
"Is this true?" the Duty member asks seriously after a short pause, frowning his thick eyebrows. "If I send people there to check..."
"They will find the mutant's corpse."
"Well, with your permission," Krylov says, as if I had any authority to forbid him anything in his own office, and picks up the radio hanging on his belt, contacting a subordinate. "Major Alexandrov, equip a small detachment to check the eastern hill. Yes, that very one. Do not engage in combat, retreat immediately. I will await a report by radio. And you, stalker, I ask you to stay here. Should I tell you that if you lied to me and my people get hurt because of you, you'll be in big trouble?"
"No, Comrade General," I reply with a slight sigh. This was to be expected. "May I sit down?"
"Of course," the general says, casting a last glance at me, and returns to filling out documents.
I stretch my legs forward and lean back on the sofa, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. I'll use this short respite to spend time alone with myself, if you can call it that, being in someone else's office. And I'll plan my next steps. Now the general will be convinced that I have fulfilled my part of the deal, after which we will agree on help, and then I will have to visit the Hermit and help with his request. And then... then there will be war.
My heart beats loudly in my chest at the thoughts of the upcoming events. After all, it's one thing to fight mutants and radiation, navigate anomalies, and find artifacts – a stalker's life, understandable to me, with its highly paid risks. And it's completely different to fight other people. And all because of what? Because of human greed and malice. What prevented the bandits from becoming stalkers themselves? Nothing! But for some reason, they decided they had the right to fleece ordinary stalkers. Murders, looting, torture...
I bite my lower lip until it hurts, realizing that this war will solve nothing. Bandits have always been, are, and will be, as long as stalkerism itself exists. Yes, soon we will kill most of the bandits, and the rest will scatter across the Zone in small gangs. And in just over a year, the story will repeat itself. Several more groups of bandits, both large and small, will appear at the Garbage dump, and Borov will settle in the Dark Valley with his gang. So it turns out that we will shed blood in vain. Both our own and others'. Nothing will change. But doing nothing is also not an option, otherwise, everything could become much worse...
I abruptly come to my senses as Krylov shakes me by the shoulder. Did I fall asleep? I didn't even dream anything, just darkness before my eyes. I gently get up from the sofa, stretching my stiff muscles, and look into the smiling general's face. He, succumbing to some whim, rushes forward and clasps me tightly in his arms, lifting me off the floor by a good ten centimeters.
"You did me a favor, stalker," Krylov says, still smiling, and releases me to the floor. "Thank you. And forgive me for this distrust..."
"It's nothing, Comrade General," I shake my head. "I understand."
"Sit down," the Duty soldier waved his hand towards the sofa. "Tea, coffee? Perhaps you'd like lunch?"
"Thank you, but I'll pass," I said, sitting back down.
"Well, suit yourself," the general sat down next to me. "Before we discuss helping your group, I want to talk to you about something. You don't mind?"
"No."
"My men said there was almost nothing left of the mutant, just a pile of torn flesh," he began, looking me in the eye. "What did you use on it?"
"Two RPG shots," I answered his question, yawning slightly. "Sorry. One wasn't enough."
"Hah, how simple," Krylov smiled sadly this time, interlocking his fingers and looking ahead. "If only you knew how much blood this pseudo-giant cost us and how many we lost. Shooting it with regular weapons is a lost cause, it's a joke, the skull of such a creature is a meter thick, and its bones are not much less durable than steel. And blowing it up is also not a trivial task. Just throwing grenades at it wouldn't have helped, and we don't have anything more powerful like you do..."
"But you yourself told us how you blew up one of the walls in the catacombs?" I asked in surprise. "And besides, the military..."
"We used a bundle of grenades on that wreck, cheap and cheerful," the general chuckled. "And the military... I have bad relations with them. We can barely tolerate each other. It happened at the very beginning of the Zone's formation. The government decided to conduct a special operation, in short, and sent a large detachment of military personnel with equipment right to the center. The goal was to blow up the Chernobyl NPP. But they had no special equipment, like detectors, no information, nothing. Not even a week passed before we lost all our armored vehicles and most of our personnel. By the eighth day of the special operation, only a few people remained. When we managed to contact the center, then... In general, no evacuation happened. We were simply abandoned here... That's why I've disliked them ever since, and they reciprocate. We cooperate, of course, but they'll never sell us explosives. Otherwise, what if we start blowing up their cordons?"
"I sympathize," was all I could manage, not knowing why Krylov had suddenly decided to open up to me.
"Thank you, stalker," the general replied. "By the way, what's your name? You're always 'stalker, stalker.' Ugh."
"Executioner."
"Hah, what a name you have," he chuckled, getting up from the sofa and taking a couple of steps away. "Very fitting... You're probably wondering what I'm getting at, aren't you?"
"Not entirely, comrade general."
"Join us, Executioner," the Duty soldier said, his expression serious, measuring me with a long gaze. "We need people like you like air. And don't worry, I won't shortchange you on rank or salary. You'll serve a month as a senior sergeant, and then it's a direct path to the junior officer corps. You'll complete a couple of assignments, show yourself to the people, and..."
"And what about help for the stalkers?"
"You're loyal too, you think about business," the general
nodded to himself. "Don't worry about that. Give me the contacts of your Valerian, and we'll discuss in detail what Duty can offer. So, what do you think, Executioner?"
"I don't agree," I refused, standing up after the general.
"Why?" Krylov raised an eyebrow.
"I don't like your kind of life."
"Well," he sighed deeply and walked over to the desk, picking up a pen and writing something on a small piece of paper. "I'm very sorry to hear that, but I won't force you. Don't worry about the promised help, debts in Duty are always repaid. Here, take this. Give it to the chief. But you, if anything, write to me, I'll try to help. As you say, have a good journey, stalker?"
General Krylov's office, an hour later.
After the conversation with the stalker, the general decided to take a small day off. The documents weren't going anywhere, and all problems concerning the nearby territories had been successfully resolved. All that remained was to eradicate the remnants of the mutants. And in destroying the ordinary spawn of the Zone, which were not as resilient, Duty knew no equal.
Comfortably settled on the sofa with a cup of aromatic tea and a couple of sandwiches prepared by Kolobok, Krylov was about to dive back into the pages of his favorite novel, which he had recently managed to trade for from some cordon smugglers. Involuntarily, the thought crossed his mind, why not set up a small library on the base territory? Not all fighters could drink vodka and roll billiard balls, perhaps it would even lead to theatrical performances. But Krylov's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden visitor.
"Greetings, comrade general," the tall Duty soldier with an open face entered the office, giving a military salute.
"Greetings, comrade colonel," Krylov replied, setting aside the book with the worn cover. "What is the matter?"
"I want to discuss the participation of the assault squad in the combat clash between loners and bandits," Colonel Voronin continued firmly. "I believe it is inexpedient. These scoundrels will kill each other themselves..."
"And we can come in for the finished product. Is that what you want to say, colonel?" the general interrupted him.
"Exactly."
"No," Krylov shook his head. "I consider it 'inexpedient' to undermine friendly relations with the free ones. Especially since they have provided us with a couple of very significant services lately. And we shouldn't forget what Major Petrenko said at the recent meeting. Therefore, our participation is not up for discussion."
"Do you really think the bandits can unite with the Free ones?"
"This cannot be ruled out. If that's all, you're dismissed."