Tarrackin's Home Scroll (THS) 2007 - Nikokai's Gambit - SF short story by Leon T. Harrison, based in the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. universe

Introduction

16 February 2007

Comments by juni0r

Back on 22 June 2005 I began working on another short story. It was as much about practicing the art of writing as it was exploring the world created by the Strugatsky brothers in their novel Roadside Picnic, and the subsequently highly influenced GSC Game World PC game title S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Shadow of Chernobyl.

I resumed work on it in January 2007 and will continue to do so intermittently until it is completed. Since the game is about to be released and it was time to replace the previous story, though good, of lesser quality, Microcosm of Space, I decided to put up the first part of the new story, a motivator to keep me going on it. Especially considering it is all laid out, planned to completion. Also, readers may well let me know they wish to know what happens, promoting me to publish here the continuing parts.

You may download Microcosm of Space in .pdf format.

You may find out more about the game at the following URL;

http://www.stalker-game.com

Top ^

PART I

The number four reactor at the Chernobyl power plant, outside of Kiev, had gone critical back in 1986. The crew had been testing to see if the system could provide enough power to keep the coolant supplied until the diesel backup kicked in. During an unexpected power surge, the reactor’s emergency shut down failed to activate. Catastrophically overheating, the building’s 1000 tonne seal cap blew off, causing the fuel rods to melt. That sent off a chain of events now ingrained in the annals of world history forever; modern man’s worst ever nuclear disaster.

In 2006 something weird happened in the area they now call The Zone. Some said the reactor had a fit, others that aliens had landed and then left again. Supposedly these aliens left artefacts behind the conspiracy theorists said. And ever since everyone from the military, to mercenaries to fortunate hunters have been in there, motivated by countless different agendas. This all despite an intricate plan by the Ukrainian authorities to veil the strange phenomenon in a cloak of secrecy.

Every man and his dog, brave enough to break through the cordons which surrounded the eerie rotting place called The Zone, searched the baron and mystical landscape for that one great thing that will set them up for life. Whatever that may have been nobody yet knew. Many would die, as fate would have it, poor and alone. Many never return, and of those that do, so many are terminally traumatised by the experience, screeching warnings of doom in unsettled sleep. But the tales of horror have yet to abate the flow of thrill-seekers fortune hunters. Some say it is simply that a certain kind of person is drawn to The Zone. First they step out and travel great distances, looking for verification of grand rumours, then, once they are within a few hundred miles of the place, they are drawn in, by some unknown, all powerful force. As if pulled by the power of the Earth itself.

So no one ventures into The Zone unless they’re mad, or willing to go that way. It is no game. And like war, even those left unbloodied are scarred for the rest of their days. They say if you see yourself as one of these crazies dubbed a stalker - these sorts that go braving the military presence and God knows what other evils in that place in hope of riches, you best go the other way. Before it is too late.

The pub was on the outskirts of Khovniki, southern Belarus, not far from the Pripyat River. Rank with bad breath and sweating bodies of three dozen heathens at least, this particular waterhole had stood for over one hundred years, and that was, by the words of your average patron, how much you aged by when you first stepped through the stone door frame. It was the meeting place of adventurers, mercenaries and vagabonds from throughout Europe, and even further a field. A hive of activity and rumour, the thing that had attracted Tolsky was more than a simple sense of thrill seeking.

There was no profit in being a soldier that was for sure. His pencil ran over an untouched page of his tattered issue notebook. The right line wasn’t coming to him he realised. Still, when he entered The Zone, it would be his choice to be shot at by like-minded people, rather than those of the government persuasion. The place was crawling with soldiers he’d heard, and even those scum from the FSB. So much for it not being their territory any longer. Ideas of some international theme park were ludicrous. The cost for getting in may have been a few AK rounds whizzing your way, but for leaving, if you did survive… it was much much higher. And that was no fairy tale. Tolsky had seen the results with his very eyes. Yet still he came.

Today the magic of words would not greet him. Perhaps tomorrow he thought, once he made his final journey towards The Zone. After that, anything was possible. Inspiration would come or the place would kill him. At least it would be on his own terms. A poem in his pocket perhaps, for someone willing to search amongst his bones for cues to the mysteries of this God forsaken place. This Hell on Earth...

‘Time to find my own story, in this place they call The Zone,’ Tolsky mumbled quietly to himself. ‘No more Army for me.’

‘Ah, another mercenary.’ A worn face gave a sordid smile, of the sought only left fully understood by past associates.

‘Hey, I’m no mercenary,’ Tolsky grunted, ‘no money for me. Least that I can remember.’

‘No, not yet. You will get more than the Army had on offer, any army. And you can be assured, you will be better feed. And of memory, I hear that it is known to fade in that unspeakable place that only fools like us would dare to enter.’

The man put out his hand. The man at the table folded away his notebook putting it into the left breast pocket of his autumn pattern digital fatigues. He grasped the incoming hand giving it a firm shake.

‘No. Finn,’ Jaressen asserted, ‘my father was German. Dead now. Far too many hang ups. They killed him in the end. Took my mother’s name. Why are you here then?’

Tolsky took account of history and made a point of keeping an eye on this passing acquaintance. ‘Avoiding any military complications you might say. Your voice is one thing, but your features are definitely Scandinavian.’

‘Why, thank you good sir. Military presence in The Zone. You get caught you’ll be dead meat, you know that?’

‘Well, I think we both have more to worry about. Mutants of all sorts they say. Why any sane person would want to go into that place I don’t know.’

‘I never claimed any sort of sanity. And well, you, you went absent without leave from the Army. Might even be some of your old comrades in there, the VDV, son.’

As proud of that Blue Beret as he was and what it took to earn it, Tolsky could not wear it in The Zone. For a moment he dreamed of where it lay, back home on a beaten old study desk in his rundown flat in St. Petersburg. He felt the rank boards of a sergeant inside his bulky smock. They might just come in handy.

A young, fit looking fellow was standing out under the flickering street light smoking a cigarette, staring up into the black expanse that was the sky of Kiev. The slung AK and the splinter pattern fatigues could have made him a serving soldier of the former East Germany. He was tall but his face lacked the sternness of a fighter, the telling eyes of a veteran. A thick-soled boot came down to crush the life out of a smouldering cigarette butt. Tolsky watched the polished black leather cross to the bar. Too crisp in step, too clean in keep.

‘Privet,’ Tolsky said, deciding to use Russian. Then he realised anyone heading to The Zone would have been wise to brush up if they were a foreigner anyway.

It was perfect English. Perhaps the boy had been around the block a few times after all, Tolsky surmised quickly. He looked like he was keen to move on but had no wheels. The age was all in his face, for even guessing for the bulk of his thick uniform, the boy was close to two hundred pounds and over six foot tall.

‘Just a little south of here as it happens. My friend and I. I am Tolsky, and this is Kristian.’ The Finn nodded politely.

‘Not Tolstoy then?’ the youth chuckled to himself. ‘My name is Nikolai.’

‘No, least, not yet boy.’ He was educated. That was a good start, Tolsky considered soberly.

Tolsky sighed some relief. If the youngster was a soldier, he certainly wasn’t on duty in a conventional capacity. Were there any trouble, the VDV man was confident he could deal with this one before himself and his partner were in too deep. Otherwise the new arrival would serve well as a body shield, a warning of ambush.

Enough worry for the worries that may not eventuate, it was time to find passage the few hundred kilometres remaining to Chernobyl, ensuring no direct route taken. Then the fun would begin; breaking through the vast perimeter set up by the military intent on keeping poachers out of The Zone.

The old ZIL 157 groaned its way along the broken metal back roads as the elderly peasant driver wrenched the steering wheel left and right vigourously between the copious numbers of rain-filled potholes. It was getting onto dark, which seemed to come ominously early in this neck of the woods, Tolsky had come to reckon. The Soviet era truck had been relieved of its BM24 rocket launcher platform, leaving only aptly rusted bolts and jagged steel edges as a reminder of the vehicle’s former lethal intent. The old boy had found himself an old shipping containing and welded it onto a makeshift deck. At least the other two would have been shielded from the blistering wind out there. They wouldn’t be any good to him frozen to death, the soldier grinned. Behind his scarf-covered face, under that woollen cap, Tolsky guessed their ride had already concluded the request to go off road had something to do with the rumours and barbed wire that surrounded the old Chernobyl zone and its rotting wastelands.

‘Sure,’ the driver acknowledged, grinding down through the gears at what he had told his passenger was his turnoff to home.

The old gentleman looked kindly enough to offer a few extra miles out of his way, but wise enough not to. Nobody asked questions these days. A tap on the side of the container and two dark figures, looking appropriately homeless, eased up off their bedrolls, shouldered rucksacks and hit the mud with a splash. The boy had seen sense to scuff up his boots. Tolsky looked up and gave the driver a wave in his rear vision mirror, heard the coughing, spotted smoke bellowing out of the exhaust as the truck headed off down the road.

‘Right,’ Nikolai said quickly, a chattering of teeth, ‘were do we find this woman you were talking about? It’ll be light in a couple of hours.’

‘Exactly. She better be there. I want to be inside the wire before sunrise,’ the VDV man replied.

‘Limey is never late,’ Kristian confirmed from behind the shelter of a skeletal looking tree, virtually black, as if covered by soot.

‘No, its all about the adventure for her. She never wants to miss out on any potential excitement.’

Half an hour later, with the Finn a few feet behind, watching their backs as they traversed the broken country some fifty metres away from the roadside, Tolsky entertained the kid’s inquisitive nature. The old paratrooper knew it was coming. It always did with the young ones. He seemed unsettled by the presence of Kristian’s silenced MP5 submachine gun, which he had assembled out of his pack soon after dismounting the truck.

‘Well, what am I doing here? There is a puzzle to be answered and I plan on solving it kid.’ Tolsky suddenly realised he didn’t feel quite as comfortable as he might have otherwise. The sooner he got hold of a decent weapon inside The Zone to compliment the annoying rubbing that was the Markarov, the better.

Tolsky knew why he’d dragged the kid along. There was no point holding out on him. Anyway, it didn’t mean he had to spill all the beans, as Lyrisha would have said.

‘Well, asides from Jaressen here, you are about to become the second to know the story.’ And if you betray me, then there is always this damned PM to put to good use.

‘I was in Chechnya a few years back. Nearly cost me my life several times over, so made myself a promise after one particular incident. Got my hands on some documents. Heaven only knows what they were doing there. Had come through from South America. Someone told me via some corrupt CIA operative who had got sick of being screwed over by his own government this information had come through some Russian agent. A year or two later I was able to track down a name - one Alexander Yuchenko but no idea what he did, what he looks like.’

‘Sounds familiar. Yeah kid, interesting enough to die for, you think?’ At least he hadn’t decided to light up. Tolsky had long given up teaching amateurs. Bullets were cheaper. The youngster swallowed at his elder’s dire expression. Just the effect that was required. But then his eyes began to wander out onto the rolling grasslands. Was he picking up on that particular rotten smell? Never took more than a few minutes for a fresh meat stalker to notice.

‘Remember, I don’t care how much you can bench press. Just don’t get me dead. That means keeping your tongue very still.’

Eyes seemed to notice the AKM bayonet on Tolsky’s webbing harness for the first time. Good, that had done the trick. The old soldier continued.

‘Knew it was some serious stuff. Government documents. Ditched them, burned them in the fires of a BMD wreckage, along with the bodies of several comrades. I promised they would not die in vain. Recorded the important parts, enough to find whatever it was I would eventually go looking for. The rest is up here.’

Tolsky pulled down his field jacket’s fur-lined hood and tapped his temple hard with a rigid forefinger.

His face contorted, his thoughts lost to those days for as long as he could bear. He still felt that heat upon his skin, the chill of the air and the crack of Chechnyan sniper fire as the papers floated into the inferno. It was time to move. The scene would surely attract rebel attention before long. Three days and nights he’d holed up in those mountains avoiding enemy patrols, with only his ‘74 for comfort, and a bottle of the good stuff to drown his sorrows.

‘We will need to be armed before we get into The Zone. Even if you get in a spot of trouble getting in, at least you can fight your way to ground and come back up later. The military is too stretched to chase a determined evader, someone they would consider destine to die with the deadly clicking of a Geiger counter their only company.’

The kid’s eyes bulged. ‘An RPK,’ he exclaimed eagerly. Nikolai’s eyes, Tolsky assumed, had adjusted to the lack of light, but he was still surprised at the presence of the hidden cache.

‘Yeah, we’ll get the heavily stuff inside the perimeter if we need it.’ It was the first time Kristian had spoken since they’d got off the back of the truck.

‘Yeah sure,’ false bravado bracing his voice, ‘I got my reasons for being here.’

‘I’m sure you do.’ And if they don’t get in my way, I don’t care, son.

Tolsky was silent, watching as a stern father watches his children, knowing well what strong words and the spirit of ego provided in a place such as they were about to venture.

‘Drop it.’ The smoke hadn’t even made it to the boy’s lips before it began its free fall to the sticky brown mush at his feet.

‘The smell on your breath is just as likely to kill us as the light in the darkness. Don’t they teach you children anything these days?’ Tolsky didn’t relinquish his patronising tone.

‘We must be miles - ‘ Nikolai’s voice cut to the waving finger of command and a stern brow. The message was slowly sinking in. The veteran fighter pulled up his hood and started off, this time a charged RPK light machine gun in hand. Kristian followed the kid as he had before, covering the rear arc with frequent sweeps of his submachine gun’s thick suppresser encased muzzle.

It had been well over an hour since they’d made emptied their hidden cache. Tolsky raised his hand and the trio halted.

‘Back in a minute, I will just go and have a scout around,’ Kristian said, ‘think here is good to hold up for a little while. Don’t want to arrive to early.’

‘Okay, don’t get lost,’ his companion grinned, exposing several broken teeth in the night. The kid, weaponless so far as they knew, put his gloved hands under his armpits to keep his extremities warm. At least he knew a fire this close to The Zone was out of the question. Sometimes hardship kept you alive, even if Tolsky felt his old bones complaining. At least he still had a full head of hair, even if it was starting to grey. Something to match the radiation in his bones.

The Finn stepped out a few metres, crouching down, to take a look over crest of the hill to their east. His bulk merged with the landscape in a single silhouette, against the shadowy horizon.

Time alone, Tolsky took his cue. ‘So then, why are you heading for The Zone? Shouldn’t you be out chasing women, sucking down some Vodka, young Nikolai Krutrov?’

‘My father was an alcoholic, he bet my mother. I’m not interested in either. I would rather see the world while I can, make the most of it. And I am a good soldier.’ He seemed to add the last piece as an afterthought the paratrooper thought, reflecting how rare it was, to find a career soldier these days.

‘You want to be in the military? Madness in The Zone - you’re already there, son.’ Tolsky decided it was time to ask about the crease that had appeared in the boy’s jacket, momentarily, when he first sat down. ‘What’s that you’ve got in there, boy?’ He watched as his new friend reached into his smock slowly, not wishing to cause alarm.

‘Barrel threaded. I’m impressed. Czech. Good the 100, but nasty trigger. Probably the worst.’

‘Yeah,’ the young man said gleefully, ‘Got a trigger job done on it. Only problem with the CZ really. Good gunsmith. Got it just a few months back.’

‘I’ve got one in my rucksack.’ Tolsky realised Nikolai’s unblemished face disturbed him somehow.

‘Of course you have. Okay so tell me your story.’ The request came in at a low volume, more about discretion than tactics.

The kid’s expression was temporarily disjointed. He found composure and continued. ‘I aspire to be in the Spetsnaz. An old pock-faced Warrant Officer promised me a place automatically if I could bring him an artefact worthy of the honour. He never did say what. I guess I’ll know when I find it.’

‘I hope so,’ Tolsky replied. ‘Otherwise, look, you were better off staying home and surviving the training of Spetsnaz than foregoing it to come here. The Zone will probably kill you.’

‘Yes, but you are not in The Zone yet are you? If I was you, I’d find that Warrant Officer and get your money back.’

‘But you’re not me. You’re here aren’t you?’ The juvenile spirit was energised but could only produce a mild huff in retort. ‘Look, I never could hold to convention and The Zone offered up the mystery,’ Nikolai continued earnestly.

‘A means to that end for you, boy. An answer to your military ambitions in one foul swoop. I hope it works out. Anyone of right mind would be at least a thousand miles away from here. There are no short cuts in life. And the military? No career there. Everything is going private sector. You should take your language skills to the West. Get as far away from here as possible. Heck, go to business school or something.’

Tolsky read the expression that shot towards him; the kid had heard it all before. Eagerness of youth was on thing, The Zone was another. He held to a silent prayer that young Nikolai could make it out in tact, learn the lesson and move on with his life. One day shortly, if he could get through the initial trauma of The Zone, Tolsky thought, he’d realise it wasn’t anything to do with the military, but a true sense of adventure. A unique and ultimately personal experience.

It was an hour later when Nikolai spotted the distant motioning shadow. Tolsky had told him to keep watch. Some colleague of the Finn’s apparently. They had been scant with description. The soldier could make out the curves of a woman despite the thick garments the figure was wearing. For a moment he considered it was just his own wishful thinking. There would have been enough women in these parts who were crazy enough to venture into The Zone, of that he was sure.

Maybe Tolsky had something. The urges that could only be brought on by a fine woman welled up inside the young soldier as he watched her figure move off and be completely enveloped by shadows.

‘Halt. Who is there?’ Nikolai knew it best to go through the motions of procedure. Better that than death.

‘Come forward, slowly.’ The sentry knew his two companions were well hidden up to cover this woman’s approach. She come in with deliberate steps. No sudden movements. She had done this before.

‘Wooh. Hello handsome.’ Keen eyes met Nikolai’s then took in his frame. She must have been at least mid-thirties the soldier estimated. Slender build, mildly attractive he thought, but obviously here to make her fortune. ‘Name is Lyrisha. Lyrisha Harrington.’

‘Nikolai.’ He wondered if she might have also been impressed by his accent. Not if she’d been here a while.

‘Hello Limey Girl. Still working on your quick-fire retirement plan?’ It was the Jaressen, black MP5 submachine gun in hand. It went down to his side, his hand came out.

The girl took up the invitation. ‘The payments on my student loan haven’t suddenly increased if that’s what you mean.’

Tolsky came out of hiding from Nikolai’s other flank. ‘No free education and your exotic island is even further away English.’

As he watched the trio reunion Nikolai recognised the pistol on the woman’s hip. A budge on her left side was evidence enough of some more substantial weapon also. He wasn’t in any hurry to know what it was. She wore rubber over boots and had a chemical protection suit rolled up under a rucksack. Both Russian Army issue. He guessed he wouldn’t know the colour of her hair until morning, but her clothing, he decided, was far from flattering for the feminine form. Much like the environment.

Nikolai decided the conversation was enough to tell him this new arrival’s intentions. It seemed a rather dangerous way to square away the costs of education. Maybe it was her education that drew her to such a place. And no doubt a solid sense of adventure. It didn’t really matter, the other two obviously considered any contribution she might make to this unlikely band worthwhile. At least for now, Nikolai decided he would trust their instincts.

The four moved out. Twenty minutes later, Tolsky called a halt. The only navigational reference Nikolai could make out had been a old rail road track. And they had avoided it like the plague.

‘Right,’ the old Paratrooper said, ‘this is where we break the perimeter.’

‘Maybe this is your very own Area 51,’ Lyrisha suggested smartly. ‘I just hope whatever you have it’s is worth dying for.’

‘There are many things worth dying for, but I doubt it would be one of them. You don’t even know what it’s worth Tolsky,’ Kristian challenged, ‘it could be nothing.’

‘It could be everything Finn,’ the VDV man said calmly, ‘but it could be everything. Anyway, I’m not here for that. I’m here for the experience.’

‘You can have an experience sitting at home in front of the television,’ Lyrisha retorted.

Nikolai watched her move off for a moment, bowed his head solemnly then looked up at the sky in the hope of seeing stars. There were none there in the dusty clouds above. With that he headed back to his friends, holding his own tongue, resisting the temptation to find out exactly what “it” was.

Calloused and stocky fingers ran over the grips of two well kept Fort 12 pistols held at an ample gut with a shoddy brown leather belt. Black hair on the backs of two solid hands was darker than the Chernobyl sky.

‘I don’t now. These unlikely ones. They not military. For sure, even if they try to look that way. I concede they Bolshevik pigs. And whoever are not, are guilty by association. Kill my family will you? I am ratnik. You will see.’

Knuckles whitened then found blood again. A big fist sought the handle of a Kinzhal, a Caucasian blade, curved and sturdy. ‘But first,’ the dry old voice said, ‘you lot may be useful to me. There is a lot more in this place than revenge, no? Your few days in The Zone are nothing. Nothing.’

Yuri knew there were secrets. And more to this crew than met the eye. Or, at least there would be once this adventure had drawn to a close. He could not be sure if that Blue Beret who had been parading as a sergeant when it suited was the man he was looking for or not, despite the name he was using. The stranger had tackled several military patrols and interior checkpoints by waving his rank borders around in the faces of young soldiers.

One way or another he would find Ivan Servananov and kill him, if The Zone didn’t kill that dog Yuri would ensure his blade was in that murderer’s heart. But first, it seemed odd that this curious lot were drawing so much attention, though they had yet to notice it. If they weren’t careful he’d have to save their necks.

Ironic, but the prize was worthy enough even for that. All Yuri could do was resist the overwhelming pressure of pride bearing down upon him.

There were rumours in The Zone, there always were. But in this rumour there appeared to be something in it, but he could yet tell what it was. Experience gave the old Cossack enough talent to sniff out the frequent lies and false trails. A few roubles and counterfeit trophies tied this one up. Pity was it meant he had to ensure these dogs remained alive long enough to expose the truth and lead him to his goal. Revenge and fortune all served in quick succession. There could be nothing better for a man without living connection.

For some reason that did not concern Yuri the military had made a point of following these fresh-meats of The Zone. As much as he hated the Russians for what they did, they would not cut out his chances for a new life either. He could only conclude that the powers that given up on their quest to find this band useful. A few US dollars had told him they’d been marked for certain death. And if what was in his binocular viewfinders was anything to go by, they weren’t making light of it.

The dark blot above was all too familiar to him and Yuri prayed it wasn’t his worst fear. It took what felt forever for him to verify it - and he could only run as fast as he could, get closer to his second concern. Tomorrow they might be his sworn enemy, but today they were his ticket out of The Zone, and away from his merge existence ever since the war. That passion drove him on, spitting, huffing and cursing at the need to save those very people he despised the most. The Cossack tightened the straps on his pack, pushed his rocket launcher back and took up his Dragunov sniper rifle winding its leather strap around the receiver and took up a secure grip digging his boots into the ground.

The old veteran had covered more than five hundred metres amongst derelict buildings and broken concrete on an otherwise spare landscape of green and rotting brown before the fine streams of smoke came down from the sky. Flashes of heat and light erupted from the ground a hundred metres away.

His benefactors seemed to be like slow motion puppets in the wind before they realised what was upon them.

‘Don’t bother boy,’ the Cossack screamed at the young one. His words came muffled from behind a thick mat of black beard.

It was a waste of time and ammunition. Those things where virtual flying fortresses. Maybe it just might make him feel better all the same. No, the muzzle flash from the Groza would set his doom for sure and Yuri didn’t fancy being too close if those cannons racked anywhere near their position. A second later an over eager pair of boots scampered over concrete rubble to find adequate concealment from the pilot’s murderous eyes.

Sweat poured down the Cossack’s face. ‘I not as young as I once was, but hopefully wiser,’ Yuri said, wiping his brow. ‘You don’t take a Hind down with an RPG unless you have many, and from many angles. We have no Grail. Even Stinger failed to do in Afghanistan.’
‘So what do we do then?’ the boy cursed with youthful breathe.
‘Avoid. Avoid. Run, to fight another day. I learnt that at home in Chechnya.’ At least the young one did not lack courage, but he would need more than that in The Zone. Yuri sucked in additional air. ‘If you want to survive, you must decide on which battles are worth the fight, no? There is no dishonour in going, only stupidity in staying.’ The old fighter readjusted his rocket pack, several rounds for his RPG-16 collapsible rocket launcher poking out.

Nodding with a lack of grace, the youth gripped the pistol grip of the Groza with white-knuckled fingers. ‘Let’s get out of here then.’
‘You too keen boy. Wait, wait for Hind to go. He charged with killing stalkers. Securing this place for the military.’ Yuri wouldn’t expose his own thoughts on the matter until he knew them all a little better. The truth was, with limited resources here the military couldn’t afford to waste an asset like a Hind on a group of stalkers without good reason.
‘Why don’t they just move in more men and equipment?’
‘Like they have everywhere else? No. Then the world would know and there is too much to be gained. Not want rest of the world knowing. Rumours okay. Fortune hunters, sure. But not in the newspapers of the West. And for the few that come, they die, or return and end up in sanatarium with their crazy stories.’
‘Anyway, thanks old man.’
‘Name Yuri, not “old man”.’
‘It’s Nikolai not “boy”.’
‘Believe me son, you are a boy. And a crazy one for coming to The Zone.’
‘Yeah well, I intend to survive and I’ll take on any advice you have to offer.’
‘A little bit of wisdom. You go long way.’
‘Maybe. My friends are -’
‘Tolsky and Kristian Jaressen. Harrington. No problem. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a few days and nights now. You need to stagger your sentries better. Keep alert. The Zone a worse place than battlefield.’

Tolsky and Kristian had already disappeared but it was as if the Cossack knew where they would be. His exhausted body lead the way over a massive fallen gantry and across a mountain of smashed brick. He moved fast for a man beyond his fiftieth year and perhaps the kid would take heed. And there was only one reason he had lived so long through years of war and oppression.

A moment later the ground jolted as if struck by an earthquake and thoughts of the Hind returned. The veteran darted a look back to ensure the youngster hadn’t lost sight of him amongst the haze and dust of the gunship’s onslaught.

‘Twin side mounted 23mm cannon. An F,’ Yuri heard Nikolai confirmed rather academically. These Russians talked far too much.

‘Who cares what sort of bloody helicopter it is? See those guns? It will kill us either way if we do nothing and sit around here all day!’ the Englishwoman fumed. ‘We kill it, or we leave it to hunt us, watching our step day and night.’
‘So how do you suggest we kill it? With Yuri’s RPG?’ the Finn said patronisingly over the roar of rotor blades in the distance.
‘No, his rifle.’
‘Are you mad, woman?’ Jaressen was suddenly in a very foul mood, too.
‘The Shilka,’ Yuri broke in. ‘I will take down the sentries. You just better hope you can work the machine. It is online.’

The quad mounted 23mm self-propelled anti-aircraft gun seemed to have been parked up there to rot, its green painted lightly armoured body looking very decrepit, even from several hundred metres away.

‘You take down the post, let me worry about that,’ Tolsky said. ‘I spend two years in the Air Defence Artillery for just such things.’ The former paratrooper stared hard at the Cossack. ‘You just better be right that it still works old timer!’
‘Englishwoman, you say with me, we need a diversion,’ Yuri demanded quickly, ignoring the brashness of the Russian. ‘The rest of you, get yourselves up there as fast as you can. Ten minutes and I take them down. Ten minutes. No more, no less. We don’t have time. That helicopter is hot for kill today and I don’t want to be it.’

‘No problems, no gunfire. Those two Ruskies and that Finn must be within a hundred metres of the target by now. I’m not waiting any longer,’ Yuri murmured to himself begrudgingly.

The crazy woman they had in their crew had already headed off somewhere behind Yuri to create the necessary distraction. She said something about smoke grenades? At least with some distance, Tolsky could get some decent elevation on that flying fortress of a helicopter. Brisling with anti-air missiles, rocket pods and cannons, and able to carry troops as well, the airborne behemoth was the most heavily armed helicopter in the world.

Soon that Russian would have the valves glowing on that Shilka, getting the radar working. Yuri had heard they had problems tracking targets under sixty metres due to clutter. If he could work that out from his fighting at home, the crew above him would know it too. Tolsky wasn’t likely to get a second chance.

Yuri put the SVD into his shoulder, discarding his prior thoughts. The stock firmly placed he raised the muzzle until his right eye was neat against the PSO’s rubber eyepiece, blocking out all external light. He pulled away, shook his head, refocused and found the scope again. Any brooding and the process would fail. Memories had to be vanquished. There could be nothing but the shot.

It was then that Yuri noticed the familiar soft crewman’s helmet of his intended victim. They must have had a shortage of men to man the posts because this guy, and his mate, were the boys from the Shilka. The quad’s horizontal plane meant they sure weren’t expecting any aerial threat. It had instantly become one of the most devastating anti-personnel platforms known to man. But the crew would have to mount the vehicle for that to happen.

Putting the horizontal line on his scope’s rangefinder to the base of sandbags lining the parapet, Yuri let his aim settle. Sure enough, as he had assumed; 650 metres. Still, it was well worth checking. He had two men to drop. At least the range added in his elusiveness for a follow up. They weren’t moving much. Yuri raised his rifle gradually, readying himself for the first shot. Whoever of the pair turned away first, would be second to get it. Any delay in their reaction to the shot was worth the wait.

Each of his four vertically stacked chevrons gave him the elevation required for 250 metres range. It was a simple system, but effective. He found an imagery point three quarters of the way down between second and third chevron, found his man there, breathed in, slowly let his lungs release, held them… and squeezed. The green blur dropped. Realign. Fire.

The second figure dropped precisely three seconds after the first.
Two more Bolshevik pigs were history, a permeant fixture in this horrid place, a nightmare painting of rotting flesh for the carrion, disintegrating amongst the green glowing trees of Chernobyl. Yuri felt the tension in his muscles as he struggled to regain his calm. Those two faces were faces he could easily forget. There was no pain for him there.

‘For Chechnya,’ the old fighter said, stroking his beard, feeling the SVD in his hand as it rested on the old concrete drainage pipe he had found to use as both cover and a stable firing position. It must have been lying there, unused for over 25 years, a project never completed.

In the distance Yuri made out a deep thump, followed by a steady but short rumble of gunfire as Tolsky finished the job on the ZSU 23-4’s hapless company. He’d be getting onboard. The sooner he got those valves lighting up the better.

It was time to make good the hole in the military defences before it was too late and the place was swarming with soldiers.

Yuri moaned at the sky, ‘Come to your death, come to your death.’ The seconds turned into minutes but he couldn’t tell how many. He sighed in relieve as he heard the reverberating thunderous blades above. Once a sound to be feared so much he now thought nothing of it. His energy was better spent on a way to dispatch those beasts of the heavens. And today he had but to wait. If Tolsky could not manage this critical task, with just a sniper rifle in hand, Yuri knew he could only survive by going to ground for a few hours. The RPG was an optimistic option at best.

The Shilka was well protected from anything but a frontal attack. Yuri didn’t want to think about what the missiles or rockets on that Hind could do to the buildings and sandbags surrounding the emplacement. Moving the mobile platform would only make it more vulnerable to retaliatory fires, he was sure. Tolsky would take his chances, one or two bursts from the quad cannons, then abandon the machine either way.

The beating rotors echoed in his head as Yuri witnessed a trail of rockets stream towards the ground. A series of small explosions impacted on the dilapidated building behind Tolsky’s position. Some observer must have managed to get a message out through the radioactive airwaves. A slow rattle of heavy gunfire responded, overwhelming muzzle flash burned from the quad barrels as they elevated briskly towards danger. Yuri looked away from the glare and heard a second burst before more rockets came. He traced the murkiness above him to see black smoke staining the horizon.

Somewhere, off in the distance rounds from the helicopter’s cannon impacted astray. Another burst came from below but Yuri couldn’t make out if Tolsky’s shot managed to hit home, or if it had needed to. The Hind was a flying fortress and would need everything the Shilka could throw at its armoured belly. Then Yuri’s ears made out the mechanical disruption he’d been waiting for. Like a wounded beetle, having lost sight of it now, Yuri could only imagine the Hind limping across the sky, going down hard as the crew tried only to survive their brief but deadly encounter.

The Chechnyan could only thank Allah that that beast was dead, its metal body left to rot in this graveyard of lost souls, their path to oblivion set long before any sought to journey to this God-forsaken place. Yuri found himself questioning how the Hind could have gone down so easily without some help, then he realised he no longer had the energy to care.

For some reason he could not fathom, Yuri began to loose strength, his eyes blurred as if he had had a drop too much Vodka. Am I hallucinating, he wondered. His muscles felt an unnatural fatigue, of a kind he could only describe as alien. Perhaps it was a mystery of The Zone. He wavered and tried in vane to remind himself how he didn’t believe in such superstitious babble.

‘What is this?’ At his feet Yuri spotted an odd shaped rock in his muddled vision, shaped like an elongated pyramid. Strange etchings in it. Perhaps like the Egyptians, or no… Aztecs, or Mayans? He wasn’t so versed in those cultures but knew it must have been one of them.

‘What are you all about then?’ he said softly to himself, feeling the surge of mystery within him mounting up. ‘Did you cause me my sickness?’ Then he realised he’d spoken out loud, embarrassed just how silly it must have sounded. Why didn’t the feeling come immediately? He thought it odd that he’d managed to take the shot, as if the rock had allowed him its protection - to discover it. No, it was all too much to take in. He knew he wouldn’t have permitted such tales before. Why now?

Nikolai hoped he wasn’t going to loose any of his magazines as he did a rapid reload. The resounding click told him a fresh twenty rounds was home. His eyes adjusted again over the sight and he squeezed off as calmly as he could manage. The bulk of the Groza swept across his front and his shoulder took the impact of recoil, once, twice, three times. A dog dropped flat to the sudden slamming of 9mm rounds. And twice again the report ripped into the air. A second dog fell abruptly to the ground from mid-flight as it tried in vain to get its jaws into the soldier’s throat. Blood splattered out over Nikolai’s jacket and he cursed the stench, the foul warmth upon his face.

Suddenly the young Russian jerked about, struggling to hold his crouched position. The sound of crunching concrete told him he was surrounded. He lost his scope vision as another empty cartridge rang upon the stones at his side. Then there was nothing as the dust sprayed from the far wall of the next room from the bullet impact. A looming shadow merged with sky through the gapping hole in the ceiling there. A human. No dog.

‘Watch it! You want to blow my head off?’
Nikolai eased up, getting to his feet. ‘I really don’t know yet. What the Hell where they? Struggling to shoot straight.’
‘That my friend, was a Chernobyl dog. Not nice at all. They screw with your vision. Physic attack,’ the stranger with his distinct American accent said with a smirk. ‘Don’t worry too much about them, there are far worse things in The Zone.’

Nikolai noticed he was incredibly relaxed for a guy who could have been munched on by that pack of mutant K9s. There was an RPO rocket launcher on the guy’s back. In English he’d evidently painted in white the phrase “The Cremator” along the tube.

‘Yes boy, that is what they call me, here in The Zone.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, the various clans in these parts.’
‘What clans?’
‘Doesn’t matter. Some good, some… not so good. Groups of stalkers, ex-military types, even traders, band together for mutual support. Support each other, kill each other. Me. I prefer to work alone.’

Anyway, this stranger’s history wasn’t his concern. For now he was more interested what exactly it was that the old Chechnyan had tried to sneak into his smock pocket without him noticing. Nikolai wondered curiously, acutely aware he’d been given another chance at live and perhaps that was all he needed to find out.

PART III

Nikolai felt the grimace on his face knowing he couldn’t hide it. Maybe the Chechnyan would take the expression as an instant dislike to the new arrival.

‘Don’t worry Russian boy, we friends now. Anyway, I hate French more than the likes of you.’

Perhaps not.

Before the young soldier could ask Yuri about that thing he picked up that seemed to be so interesting to him, before he could think of the faltering wisdom of it, the American spoke up.

‘Thanks kid. I do appreciate you dealing with those things. ‘
‘I wasn’t doing it for you Yankee,’ Nikolai said coldly, knowing the second the words left his lips it had nothing to do with the shiver he was feeling down his spine.

‘Hey, the Cold War is over. No need to be so harsh. This place is hard enough. Name is Ingram.’
Nikolai contemplated the expression for a bear few seconds. ‘Yeah, I am sorry American. It wasn’t anything personal.’ He was apprehensive and was sure it had nothing to do with any Cold War. If he could bide his time, perhaps this Ingram could help him solve a few problems for him.

‘No, it isn’t. We had our own indoctrination programs. No one ever tends to come up with these ideas on their own. The Zone is oddly free of it. Far too worried about surviving. Like a war son, but not. Know what I mean?’

Nikolai remembered when an American said “know what I mean”, it wasn’t really a question so he just took in what the veteran said without acknowledgement that your fellow conversationist might have had a clue. The soldier rose up a little from his squatting position, against the remnants of the brick wall.

‘Sorry, I am rude. My name is Nikolai.’

The new arrival took a few steps, craned over and put out a hand. ‘No problem, kid. I know this place can be a bit unnerving. Somehow I feel at home here. Just hope you’ve got the good sense to get out before you get too comfortable here, too.’

Edging forward off his resting place, Nikolai downed his pack and sat on it, looking up again at Ingram. ‘So how did you come to be in The Zone then?’ He couldn’t help rubbing his head through his woollen balaclava.

‘You really want to know, kid?’ There was no reaction so Ingram continued. ‘I really can’t remember much. I have dreams sometimes. Some truck crashing. An old ZIL or something. Dream that I’m thrown clear. See these guys picking me up. Blood everywhere. Wondering if its outside The Zone somewhere, ya know. They check my vitals. Well, at least I think they do. Look like a cross between soldiers and gravediggers. Never see their faces.’ Ingram coughed, like a smoker who hadn’t smoked for a while. Then he continued his tale.

‘They dumped me in this trailer, hitched to an old blue tractor. Like the one’s you see around here in places. Probably just my mind playing games of association,’ he assumed out loud. ‘Trailer’s full of corpses. Rotten, white-eyed corpses, man. Not a pretty picture.
‘Somehow ended up with this on my chest.’ Ingram unzipped his Woodland combat jacket, pulled up his thermals. There, the young Russian saw the letters S.T.A.L.K.E.R. tattooed across his chest in dark green ink. Certainly not a professional job. Perhaps the Yank had been at one of their bases in Georgia. Back of the barracks job. The sort the Medical Corps frowned upon. Suddenly it occurred to him, the less he knew the better, so he resisted the temptation of digging any deeper.

Yuchenko worked through his personal dilemma. His professional life had been fill of such stresses, but never one so complex as The Zone. The people didn’t bother him, the mutants didn’t phase him, but the puzzle of The Zone just wouldn’t let up, as if it had a grip on his very soul. The warnings weren’t enough to stop him coming from his home in Georgia. The fear wasn’t enough to cast him out either. It was time to get on with the job. Nothing could escape destiny. And he knew very well no one escaped The Zone.
‘And that has nothing to do with the military perimeters, the scientists who think they know everything,’ he cursed under anxious breath.

He soberly recalled history as he dismissed what he was about to do from his mind. Killing was not something he enjoyed, but it was definitely part of the territory. It got easier each time and was yet to become uncomfortable. It was simply about achieving an objective, nothing more.

‘Ingram, we have much to discuss, you and I. But first there are a few pawns on the board that must be removed. Ah, it has been so long since our little scuffle outside of Ureki. You helped us fight the Abkhazians but that wasn’t your real purpose, now was it?’

The Black Sea came to mind. The bitterly freezing night. ‘But you sure don’t remember me now.’

The Americans had left after a fruitless endeavour in the search for natural resources. A few remained. For several years it was the Georgian’s job to find out why. It didn’t take too long to find out. The Zone, it seemed, had not been much of a secret. But its value did remain a mystery. At least for a while.

‘Ah yes my friend. Left like a sleeper agent from the Cold War. You always reminded people of how the world had changed. I’m not so sure you believed the lies anymore than anyone else. The world had simply transformed. A different rendition of its former self.’

Kristian’s submachine gun slipped from his grip as he was suddenly wrenched backwards. Instinctively his arms went back to his throat. He felt the wire there as he struggled with the constricting upon his neck. A retching struggling from a collapsed windpipe. Fifteen long seconds later muscles gave up.

‘I’ll do a little disappearing act, take out my adversaries as and when it suits. I will not loose my chance at the ultimate prize. Not after so so very long.’ The assassin spoke without emotion, detached from the intimate act of death.

Yuchenko looked down at the body that lay at his feet. Jaressen might as well have simply curled up and gone to sleep there. A pair of extended fingers checked a pulse. A dry smile followed.

‘I’m sorry but you were not here as some mere adventurer. You knew my old Russian friend. He told you the tale too. As an insurance policy. Too bad. That is the price you pay for knowledge. You have surely found the world’s most dangerous place.’

From his left jacket pocket the Georgian pulled out a pyramidical shaped stone, eyeing it with satisfaction. ‘Our Russian friend, I am sure knew far more than anyone else of this place.’

As he crouched down for a moment, listening intently for sign he’d been compromised, Yuchenko considered that distant conversation. The old Russian spoke solemnly before he died. He had no reason to lie anymore, nothing to loose. The ancient electromagnetic technology he suggested the Georgian man had heard of before, but this time it was verified. Artefacts, maps, a convincing eye. He’d been on the trail for over a decade and there was now no doubt. More than enough promise to risk entering into The Zone, where Yuchenko knew so very many had perished.

‘Anti-gravitational technology. No friction. All very fascinating. We will see. But these rods… well.’ The lone man pondered for a moment, as if reminiscing on a great reunion. ‘Darting probes, spying in the sky. Protection. But for what, old man? Us perhaps.’

The mysteries still grabbed him. The fascination drew him in like a narcotic. There in the dark he held out his hand, opened out his palm, and there, in the faintest of luminous-like light as a cylinder six inches long. And it was faint, like a dying light, unlike when it had been given to him as proof of this alien phenomenon.

Yuchenko pocketed the object, knowing that now was the beginning of whatever was to be, most likely, the last stages of his life.

Top ^

PART IV

Elsewhere, Ingram went on, ‘I talked with one of Yuchenko’s former Russian buddies. Things got too hot for him so he did a runner. No one has heard from him since. He told me he was onto something about an ancient electromagnetic technology. Provided gravitational capabilities to move materials from one place to another, without friction. He said something about some “rod” concept. This guy told me it was connected but couldn’t say how.’
‘Or wouldn’t,’ Nikolai surmised bluntly, hand cupping an unshaven chin as he sniffed at the moist peat underfoot.
‘About six months later a contact tells me he turned up in a dumpster, stripped, burned and single gunshot to the back of the head. In Florida of all places.’
‘We should really make a move. Get to some proper cover before the bloodsuckers come out,’ Lyrisha said impatiently.
‘Yeah, guess you’re right,’ the American agreed. ‘Can’t stand the things. Day or night.’

The ground smelled rank again. The grass was brown, the plant life was dull yet seeming to hold onto life with grim fortitude. It was as if the cellulose had been drained from them. Tolsky could feel something, not physical even if it did have physical ramifications. A sense of dire loss was playing away on the fringes of his mind. Some force tapping away, trying to get in and make a home there. The trees off in the distance, a red tinge. No wonder they called that place the Red Forest. And it was only getting redder. Like blood.

The VDV man stepped back, scuffing at the weeds underfoot. He noticed the moisture covering the toe caps of his boots. An unnatural liquid, semi-transparent, like a plasma. A likely associate to the smell which infuriated his nostrils.

It was then he recognised an edge to the efforts of his boots, as if the surface was home to some man made excavation. Rough hands in synthetic fingerless gloves dug away slowly at the surface as the soldier focused on his efforts, hearing the others gather around. Soon they were spread out in an all round defensive position and Tolsky could finally make out what he’d discovered.

‘Well, it’s a hole of some kind down here. Small though. Someone will have to go down and take a look. We could have missed this easily.’
‘Quite easily,’ Lyrisha agreed as she scanned Tolsky’s fresh discovery.
‘Ladies before gentlemen,’ Yuri said, trying in vain to execute a smile. ‘I’m guessing it was hidden for a reason. Chances are it is booby trapped.’
‘Thanks very much you old bastard.’ Lyrisha looked long and hard at the Hi-Power as she felt its form in her hand, then stared at the fate waiting before her. ‘I don’t think you big oafs could squeeze down there anyway.’

Lyrisha kneeled down, took off her pack and sleeping mat. Taking a final swig of water from one of her canteens she edged forward. She reached into one of her smock pockets and gathered up a headlamp, putting it on, depressing a button to activate it.

‘It doesn’t look like it’ll collapse anytime soon,’ she said looking back after the first few feet, trying to sound confident.
‘Hey, you might want this.’ Twisting back, Lyrisha put her hand out to take up what she assumed was some sort of two-way radio.
‘I don’t know how far I’ve got to go, even if it will work down there. Wherever “there” is.’
‘Only one way to find out,’ Ingram replied.

He’s turning out to be a handy fellow the disappearing woman said softly to herself, as she adjusted things and put the headset over her head. Positioning the mic she did a quick check. She was surprised to find everything was five by five.

As Lyrisha’s eyes adjusted to the darkness it was evident the walls of the gradually widening cavern were quite modern. Or at the very least very clean, as if well kept. She decided “well-preserved” might be a better way of looking at it. She suspected the hidden entrance was meant to remain that way and it was the radioactive erosion alone which had permitted them to find it. Still, nothing was a certainty here and whatever this tunnel was leading to she didn’t know. The depths of her stomach knotted suddenly. It was clear enough her body wasn’t keen on going much further.

‘Her goes,’ she spoke authoritatively into the mouthpiece of the radio. Human contact was the only comfort as she edged slowly down the unusual tunnel way.

After a slow decent, with only time and angle any indicator of depth, she halted at what she assumed to be some fifty metres. Suddenly, as if without any gradual indicator of light, her headlamp became pointless.

‘Its come light down here for some odd reason. Not too bright. And there’s a lever here. Definitely sentient. Might be time to cash in.’ There were no visual indicators on what it might do - a pure mystery.
‘Guess there is no other way to find out where things go without giving the lever a pull.’
‘Hoped you might say that Ingram,’ the crawler replied, quite happy to still hear his voice on the other end of the radio. ‘The walls seem metallic, but not cold. Weird.’

Deciding not to think about it, Lyrisha just pulled the lever. She expected some sort of deafening sound in her tight space but there was absolutely nothing audible. To her delight, things looked to be easier going from now on.

‘Some sort of access tunnel has receded from the walls. Wider now. Big enough for…’
‘What?’ Ingram replied over the net.
‘A very, very large man. That’s all I can equate it to.’
‘Maybe just big enough to drop down decent supplies.’
‘And where I started?’
‘Who knows. Maybe it is just a maintenance hatch and the proper access is in another direction somewhere there.’

The newly exposed tunnel appeared not big enough for any sizeable vehicle but it would allow for, perhaps a large container of some type. Lyrisha thought of a soldier in large exoskeleton armour. Some of the factions in The Zone wore them, but she expected at least two such men could stand side by side here.

‘Just keep the channel open.’
‘Sure Ingram, no problem there. This is a freaky place.’

Upright now, the Englishwoman progressed, but wary, she wasn’t willing to increase her pace. Caution remained a primary concern. Distance was totally lost to her. Judging by her watch it was five minutes walking when she found a opening. The tunnel levelled out easily as it widened both in length and height. Before her was a huge chamber, lit up but not painfully bright after her brief darkness.

Wonderment overwhelmed her. The surroundings felt strangely familiar yet she knew she’d never been in such a place before. Deciding on making an assessment before reporting in again, Lyrisha edged out into the new open space. A few odd buttons appeared on all but bland walls of the same metallic like cladding, against what the new visitor assumed must have been the earth of a huge underground cavern. She was standing in a roughly circular chamber twenty metres in radius. Looking up the light became suddenly bright and there was no way of estimating just how high the ceiling was. The only break from a very simplistic architecture were four alcoves evenly spread around the edges of the room. Approaching the nearest one Lyrisha found it to be large enough to fit two people. Curiosity got the better of her and she stepped in, conceding there was nothing else to do in the chamber. She wasn’t willing to hit any of the buttons quite yet.

Lyrisha put her foot out, stepping into the alcove. A long five seconds went by, then, suddenly, without warning the sensation of decent came upon her. It was as if she was dropping at a great rate of knots, perhaps even faster than her body could physically handle. Then, just as quickly, she felt weightless. All she could see was the platform beneath her muddy boots. A full minute passed before she felt a slow return to normal space. It was as if she has been on a long elevator ride, without the grinding of wires or the crowded discomfort of strangers.

‘What a rush!’ Lyrisha exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement even if she couldn’t fully rationalise it.

What she stepped out into defied believe. A huge cavern cut out purposefully in the rocks stood before her, she could only estimate, some fifteen metres high. Everything was lit up, but the distance ahead was so vast she couldn’t register the end as it fell into darkness.

Lyrisha moved out cautiously, noting the pristine nature of the walls, their surgical perfection. There were various buttons about, some small, others quite large, she guessed for larger fingers, all featuring bizarre hieroglyphs. It was like being drawn into an ancient culture lost for several thousand years. Lyrisha felt like one of those tomb raiders venturing out in Egypt or South America somewhere. Then she thought of sacred burial sites and became nervous, though it was obviously nothing of the sort. It was enough to pull her from her absorbed hypnosis-like state and she remembered her radio.

‘You there Ingram?’ No reply.
‘Hey, you there?’ Still nothing.

Back above ground the others gathered around, securing the entrance Lyrisha had vanished into. Nikolai realised for the first time his new friend Tolsky had never mentioned the military enough to give any detail, and he certainly hadn’t presented any items which would have suggested his background. So many people his own age and older had served in the military. Combat boots where common here and said nothing of a person’s past. Even the blue and white stripped shirt meant little anymore, and Tolsky didn’t even wear one of those. He was a stock standard stalker, dirty grey hooded chemical suit, rubber over boots just in case. His battered RPK finished the gloomy picture. His image suited the clouds above.

‘106th Guard Division. Blue Beret. While other forces shrank, the Paras grew. Eventually the Army caught up with me and I could not avoid service. But I would rather write poetry than train for a war that is none of my concern. It was meant to be an honour. There is no honour in slaughter.’

Tolsky’s leg twinged as he remembered the Chechnyan dog who had seen to putting a bullet in his thigh. With the Dragunov of a fallen comrade, no less.

‘Ah, there is no tasks impracticable’,’ Yuri quoted. ‘Your division saved diplomatic corps of Russians and others at embassies in Kabul.’
‘Yes, we learn history Cossack. I was about eight at the time.’
‘Slaughter. Chechnya?’
Tolsky grunted. It was all he could manage. ‘I’ve seen my share.’
‘Yet you come to The Zone,’ the Cossack pushed.
‘It is a calculating place. Draws all sorts. It is a simple rivalry. Not a war zone. It is at the heart of what it is to be human, this place.’
‘Have you not seen a mutant yet, Russian?’
‘I’ve seen a few. Would you rather kill humans, than a zombie, a blood sucker?’
‘Depends on the human. Many humans are such only in name.’
‘So you and your writing, it is plain enough to see you have gone AWOL,’ Nikolai posed as he took a sip from his canteen. ‘Chechnya, Georgia, some UN deal -’
‘Does it really matter?’ Tolsky snapped. ‘We all have our stories. The Zone is full of them. My Blue Beret sits on a beaten old study desk in my rundown flat in St. Petersburg, which is probably being bulldozed as we speak.’
‘Well,’ Yuri spoke up, clearing his throat, face to Nikolai whose own was suddenly drawn, but eyes tuned to the former Para. ‘You might be the first human I have regretted having wanted to shoot. And a Bolshevik at that. I can not believe it.’
‘Glad you have given it some thought. Still, in time you may learn we are all the same. I am certainly no Bolshevik.’
‘And I am nothing like you,’ Yuri said quickly, his disjointed nose twitching.

Six months in Chechnya and one wound later Tolsky had had enough of that hellhole. After being patched up he simply decided not to report back. Hospitals were easier to escape from than barracks in any case. The smell of disinfectant and bloody wounds were more than enough reason, and he had more. Being on the run was of little consequence unless he was caught. Somehow he’d ended up in Kiev. Yes, by blurred vision and stumbling feet he had made it to Kiev. Vodka had never done that to him before. Maybe it hadn’t been that spirit after all. They said this place was fill of strange phenomenon, and going into The Zone, he was not willing to discount anything.

‘But we are both in The Zone now.’ Tolsky glanced at the young soldier again, relieved he seemed to be at ease again. The Cossack had obviously unsettled him despite his youthful brave face that any man of experience could see right through.
‘Yes, but I sure you are here for different reasons. Intriguing for you I suppose. No?’
Tolsky said nothing but felt the blood bumping in his veins at the sense of the Cossack being right.
‘I have a job to do, and it almost cost you your life.’
‘Yes, but I chose to be here. There is a difference.’
‘A whole in the ground is exactly that,’ Nikolai suggested plainly, an unmistakable effort to regain his confidence amongst the men.

Tolsky just shook his head. The story he yearned for was being made right before his very eyes. And whether he liked it or not, the Cossack was part of it.As much as he was proud of that Blue Beret and what it took to earn it, he could not wear it in The Zone. For a moment he dreamed of where it lay, back home. He felt for the rank boards of a sergeant in his overcoat, knowing they were there just in case he needed them. Perhaps if he got into an unlikely tangle with the military presence posted about this unusual wilderness.

‘Let’s just see if we can find another way into this place,’ Nikolai said finally. He felt his military training coming to the fore suddenly, remembering what the NCOs did when fights broke out. The purpose would serve as a stopgap for the disruption. It also worked for boredom. Not that anyone could surely get bored in The Zone.

Lyrisha couldn’t register how far down she was, if it was indeed down she went. The strange lift took her on her way very fast.

‘Guess if I get back on board, I’ll head back to where I came, but I think I’ll take a bit more of a look around.’

Adventurous spirit took over from the unease she had been feeling. ‘Anyway, maybe the others will find a way down themselves.’ She had already forgotten about Ingram’s not having returned her call. It would be a case of finding a way back out - one which would permit the others to come in. After all, there must have been a proper exit. It would be easier to find down here than above ground, where it would be hidden, she suspected.

It no longer mattered. A few minutes later, scouring about, Lyrisha heard the faint footsteps of what must have been some of the men.

‘How did you manage to get down?’ Her Browning pistol lowered as she saw Tolsky’s face, his finger easing off the RPK’s trigger. She sighed with relief.
‘Found another entrance. Bigger. Much bigger. Got to this lift kind of thing and here we are,’ Ingram confirmed. ‘Took a bit of digging around. Was about a hundred yards from where you came down.’
‘Sure that one was a filtration hatch, a maintenance accessway or something,’ Tolsky added.
‘The Finn got back to us saying our entry point closed up a few seconds later. Camouflaged up. It wasn’t meant to be found but with all the erosion in The Zone…’

Lyrisha didn’t bother to ask about their communications. Yuchenko, the Finn and Yuri had remained above keeping watch.

‘Follow me. I’ve found something rather interesting.’

The new arrivals complied, aroused by a new sense of curiosity. Down several wide corridors Lyrisha drew them to a halt and opened her arms in spectacle. There before them was another huge chamber. Inside, with a few feet clearance, was a massive platform similar to those they had all since travelled on, yet embedded into the floor, not surrounded by a self-contained tube as if it were a lift. At least twelve metres in diameter, it was several feet thick, blocking the bright white floor’s surface on the far side.

Nikolai carried on around the huge rock disk, his pistol drawn, Groza slung and hanging down his right side. With a sense of restrained excitement he said, ‘maybe this has something to do with it?’
A massive helmet, bigger even than that of a cosmonaut, lay on the ground, as if carelessly discarded. Its metal shined a mysterious purple and it was engraved with unusual markings, hieroglyphic in nature, like those buttons Lyrisha had found.

The Englishwoman knelt down and examined the find more thoroughly.

‘There lies my armour theory. It might not be our answer but it sure looks to me to be connected somehow with those pyramid things,’ she guessed quickly.
‘Look how this thing has lines, circular but seems to be split into wedges,’ Ingram commented casually. ‘Maybe it splits into sections.’
‘Why?’ Nikolai asked, glancing up, but still engrossed in the details of the helmet.
‘I dunno, maybe to be transported.’
‘Out of here?’ Lyrisha was confused.
‘Don’t know. Probably. It must be useless just siting here. The lifts we got here in say these people, “things” whatever they are, were, we above ground at some stage.’
‘Weird.’
‘Yes Limey Girl, very weird.’ Tolsky could only scratch his chin in amazement. ‘I can only agree with both of you, and if we find out how, we will probably find out why.’
‘And maybe even discover some of the mystery of The Zone.’ Nikolai had holstered his pistol and was rubbing the surface of the disk now. ‘What are these etched markings, these triangle shapes?’ There was one each of the six wedges which made up the disk.

Ingram approached slowly, as if held back by a force field. ‘A good question, boy. If we can answer that, the rest might come easy. But I have an idea...’

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