The hangar, fifteen minutes later.
Valerian approached the bandit lair with some trepidation, worried about potential losses, but the moment he saw the stalkers, his worries vanished. They had succeeded. Successfully. Stepping over corpses in leather jackets and cloaks, wrinkling his nose slightly, which made his mustache twitch comically from the metallic smell filling the room, the stalker moved towards a cluster of people in the far corner.
The hangar itself was… pathetic. Concrete walls scarred by shrapnel and bullets, metal twisted by gunfire, and a floor soaked in blood. But Valerian was interested in something else besides this. He carefully scanned the faces of the stalkers, looking for his men. The Dolgovtsy, Orest's group, Executioner's squad… but where was he himself? Looking around, the man felt a chill run through his insides.
"Where is Executioner?" Valerian asked, snatching Batut from the general crowd.
"He went after Yoga," the stalker nodded his chin towards an open hatch in the floor. "That bastard managed to escape."
"Phew, alright. If he went with a squad…" Valerian began to say, but he was interrupted.
"Alone?!"
"Well, yeah," his interlocutor shrugged. "He said his chances were better alone."
"And where were the others looking, where were you looking? Why did you let him go alone?"
The stalker looked at Valerian in confusion, though he immediately understood that the leader himself didn't know much about his subordinate. If he knew, he wouldn't ask such a foolish question. One should worry more about Yoga than about Executioner. Weighing his words, Batut opened his mouth, but it was too late. A loud and slightly tired voice came from the hatch.
"Guys," called the stalker who had gone in pursuit of the bandit. "Help me drag him out."
Several burly stalkers, hearing this, rushed to help. And if the former gang leader were conscious now, he would have fainted again from these anticipatory faces and wide grins.
The depot, a little later.
Yoga slowly, as if reluctantly, regained consciousness. His head was splitting mercilessly, and pain spread through his body even from breathing. The bandit tried to move, but immediately groaned from his shot legs and instantly came to his senses, gasping for air. After a short rest and a quiet look around, his lower abdomen went cold, and his knees trembled. He almost lost consciousness.
The leader sat in the inner courtyard of the depot on one of the few chairs that had survived in the hangar. Stalkers gathered around him. Many stalkers. All those who had stormed the hangar. And they looked at him, staring intently. Hatred, contempt, interest… No one was indifferent to his person.
Then, from behind his left shoulder, a tall stalker in a gray jumpsuit emerged. No weapons, only a pistol in a hip holster, short black hair, thick eyebrows, a prominent nose, and a mustache. Valerian.
"Well," he began to speak with a smile that was more like a snarl, "Hello, my good man."
"What, *cough, cough*," Yoga suddenly coughed. "What do you want from me? Decided to organize an execution for the crowd's amusement? And you call yourselves free, but you're no different…"
Then a strong hand landed on his right collarbone and began to squeeze the muscles hard, painfully. The bandit flinched in surprise and hissed from the sharp sensation. Forcing himself, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw another stalker there. Just as tall, light-brown haired, and… Trying to look him up and down, Yoga stopped at the piercing green eyes that looked at him indifferently. No hatred, no condescension, nothing. And it was this that struck the bandit to the quick. How dare some lousy stalker look at him like that!?
"Calm down," the stalker parted his thin lips, and Yoga grew even colder. That same voice… "It's in your best interest to answer all our questions. Answer them properly. Otherwise, you'll end up worse than Transparent and the other poor souls."
"It
was you?" the boss replied in a hoarse voice, suddenly facing his nightmare, which tormented him every night, forcing the bandit to increase his dose of substances. After receiving a nod, Yoga dejectedly lowered his head and turned his gaze to Valerian. "Ask…"
The depot, after Yoga's interrogation.
Well. Judging by the widened eyes of the other stalkers, one could understand how shocked they were. So much dirt that the boss had spilled on us was hard to imagine. Murders and extortions were just the tip of the iceberg of Yoga's group's activities. Drug trafficking and hooking stalkers on it, rapes not only of rare female stalkers but also of ordinary loners who were unlucky enough to encounter certain enthusiasts of such practices, torture…
We were also told about caches, but I don't think there will be anything valuable there. After all, thieves and murderers… They probably carried things away little by little from everywhere they could, or were plundered by those who managed to escape before the assault began.
Occasionally, the bandit leader asked for a drink, but none of the stalkers dared to show such a gesture of goodwill. They could be understood… And the boss deflated more and more with each word, and many of ours looked at him with a mixture of contemptuous pity. Soon, his revelations came to an end.
"Executioner," Valerian said, addressing me, and nodded his shaved chin at Yoga.
I nod slightly in understanding and pull out my Colt. It would be symbolic if the bandit died by the weapon of those he held captive in the graveyard of technology. Pale, seeing the pistol in my hands, only nodded with satisfaction. I put the muzzle to the criminal's head.
"Last words?"
"No… no…" he whispered barely audibly, and soon the sentence was carried out.
The body of the once formidable, practically the most dangerous of the scum in the Zone, fell from the chair like a heavy sack.
"And now, brothers!" Valerian, after a brief glance at the corpse, turned to the crowd and drew their attention with a loud address. "Let's go divide the spoils!"
"Yes!" a joyful shout from several dozen throats answered him.
The same place, evening.
Having joined forces, we quickly dragged all the corpses out of the depot territory. And if our fallen fighters rested in deep graves with wooden crosses with gas masks hanging on them, then the bodies of the bandits we simply dragged away. It would be something for the beasts to feast on. Better than if they rotted in the hangar. No one wanted to bend over for this filth.
While some of us were busy digging graves, the rest were actively looting our enemy's base. They carried away literally everything they could reach with their greedy stalker hands. Working clothes and underwear, shoes and ammunition, and a couple of stalkers didn't even shy away from taking jewelry right off the bodies.
When all this was done and most of ours were hung like a Christmas tree, we began to prepare for the evening feast. We emptied Borov's supplies, taking out all the vodka that was there, brought food from the merchant, and appointed a Georgian from Puz's group as the head of the food.
"Vai," the voice of Genatsvale, a bald stalker with a magnificent, dark, curly beard, could be heard. "Listen to me, dear, do you know why Georgians can drink for hours at a feast and not get drunk?"
"Why?" another asked in return.
"Because we eat first, and then we drink. Then we eat again, and only after that do we drink! But you Slavs drink and drink on an empty stomach. So, we'll make food first, and drink later."
I chuckled quietly at this and entered the former bandit bar, which was packed with stalkers. I looked for a place to sit and saw that the only free spot was at the commander's table. Pushing my way to it and greeting those I hadn't greeted yet today, I finally sat down on a wooden crate, stretching my legs with pleasure.
"How are the stores?" Puz asked, wiping his wet forehead with a handkerchief once again.
"We took out everything we could," I replied and, unhooking the flask from my belt, drank water in large gulps. "I thought they would even take the floorboards off. But no, it was fine."
"Ha-ha," the commanders burst into hearty laughter, after which Barmaley continued, "Yes, ours can do it."
"By the way, where are the Dolgovtsy? I didn't see them on the way here."
"They left," Orest said, shrugging his shoulders. "We offered them to take trophies or at least money, but they refused. It's not allowed, and that's that."
"They're strange, this Dolg," Tikhiy said, pursing his lips. "They're like warriors, but also stalkers… I don't understand them."
"And you don't need to understand them," the red-bearded stalker replied. "They helped, and that's good. Valeryanych, how did you persuade them? And such a squad. How much does such armor cost…"
"A trade secret," my commander smiled smugly into his mustache and looked behind me. "Oh, they're bringing it."
And then the drinking began.
Bar "SUPER HAVCHIK", night.
The fun gradually subsided, and the stalkers went to the hangar in search of a place to sleep. Only our company remained. We discussed matters, told each other stories, and sometimes fell into meaningful silence, simply enjoying the pleasant company.
"Interesting," Tikhiy said thoughtfully, holding a smoldering cigarette with only his lips. "What will happen to the hangar? Maybe the diggers will occupy it, huh, Napr?"
"No way," the leader of the diggers waved his hand dismissively. "I'd like to, of course. But I don't have enough people. You'd need about twenty guards here to maintain service in two shifts. And who will do the digging? No-o, we're well fed at home."
"Mda, it's a good place," the smoking stalker continued. "It's a shame if it's lost or some evil spirits settle there again. It will be bad for everyone…"
"And why don't you all occupy the depot?" I interjected this time, recalling that after the events of Clear Sky, the depot hadn't really been occupied by anyone, although it was a significant location. "Valerian in the south, Orest in the west, and you sit here in the center. The lands here are rich - both artifacts and, look, excavations. Not to mention trade routes… The only problem is, war is coming soon."
"War? What war?" Napr's eyes widened, and he turned very pale.
"Dolg will fight with Svoboda, but if we can negotiate with both sides for non-interference or somehow survive it…"
"Is the information accurate?" Barmaley asked, leaning forward and twirling a hair from his beard around his finger.
"Accurate," I replied, holding his attentive gaze. "I learned it from Krylov when I was coordinating the help."
"It's not very cheerful, we just overcame one disaster, and here's another…" Valerian interjected. "However, Executioner is right. It will be easier for all of us if one of us occupies the Dump."
"Well, yes," Barmaley said, exchanging glances with the other stalkers. "We can't always huddle in the backyards of the Zone. And if we unite, we'll definitely have enough people. But how to arrange it so that no one is offended…"
"That's for you to decide," the leader of the free ones chuckled, getting up from the crate, and addressed me and Yakut. "Let's go, guys. Let's get some fresh air."
I got up after them, feeling the alcohol hit my head. It was quite bearable, but tomorrow I'll definitely sleep it off like crazy. After stretching my shoulders a bit, I hurried to catch up with my guys, who had gone out into the dark street. I followed them out and immediately turned my gaze to the clear night sky, full of bright and distant stars.
The stalkers hadn't gone far, they turned right from the bar and walked a few dozen meters. As soon as I approached, Valerian turned to us and hugged me tightly, pressing me to him. This warm, but awkward hug lasted less than a minute.
"Thank you, men," he whispered fervently, looking into each of our faces. "If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened."
"Come on, Valerian," Yakut replied, patting the stalker on the shoulder. "We all worked hard."
"Especially since I acted according to your orders," I replied with a smile. "You united us all against a common enemy; we just helped gather them."
"Alright, alright, I get it, men," the leader said, chuckling lightly. "But there's something else we need to talk about. Right now."
"And what about?"
"We need to reward the most distinguished somehow," the stalker continued. "Any suggestions?"
The depot, noon the next day.
While many wanderers were still sleeping, Valerian gathered all his people. I didn't want to get up, of course, but I had to. After all, it was an official event, and my presence was mandatory. We gathered near the trailer that once belonged to Yoga. By the way, after yesterday's looting, it looked worse than before. And that's saying something.
Lined up in two small ranks of ten people each, we stood opposite Valerian, who was standing on the wooden floor of the trailer. Glancing at the whole crowd with a satisfied look, he smiled broadly and began his speech:
"Our war with the bandit scum is over," he said quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping stalkers, but clearly. "We prepared and gathered for much longer than the battle itself took."
Occasional chuckles were heard.
"And I am glad of this," Valerian continued, twisting his mustache on one side with his right index finger. "You are all my family. It was incredibly painful for me to send you into battle, but, thank the Zone, it all turned out alright. And we only got a couple of scratches."
"What, my twisted ankle is just a scratch?" a stalker, leaning on his partner, jokingly remarked. As far as I know, he had bad luck during yesterday's drinking. He stumbled when getting up from the table and twisted his foot.
After his words, the laughter grew louder.
"Your enemy was too strong, so yes,"
the leader replied with a slight smile. "Let's continue. I consulted with two of your commanders, and we agreed that each of you deserves a reward. Without considering what you've already looted. When I call your name, come out. Woodpecker!"
The delighted stalker almost ran out of formation, barely stumbling over a small curb, and reached the leader in a couple of wide strides. Taking the money from his hands and shaking his strong palm, Woodpecker turned to us and said:
"My hour of glory has come, and I haven't prepared a speech at all," the joker continued, wiping away an imaginary tear. "But I know a joke. Three drunk stalkers are crawling along the railroad tracks. One says: 'The ladder is a bit uncomfortable,' to which the second replies: 'Yeah, and the rungs are wide.' And the third, crawling ahead, points his hand into the distance: 'To hell with it, look, the elevator is coming.'"
After this, the award ceremony stretched for a good twenty minutes. Stalkers came forward one by one and received five thousand rubles from Valerian's hands, after which each of them turned towards their comrades, told a vulgar joke, and, bowing in the manner of Woodpecker, who set the tone for the event, returned to the ranks. The laughter from our company gradually attracted the other free ones.
"Well, and now I would like to reward one stalker," he said, clearly hinting at me. After all, I was the only one left without a reward. "The one who stayed with us for an unacceptably short time but did so much for our common good. He participated in the capture of Khaletsky, it was he who saved Yakut from betrayal, and he is the reason, largely thanks to which we won. Executioner, come out to me, don't be modest."
Before I could take a step, a deafening volley of applause erupted. I glanced back for a moment to look at the guys. I don't even know who clapped louder, our guys or Pale, who, having clapped his hands red, switched to an approving whistle. I approached Valerian, and he, leaning forward, hugged me tightly again.
"Forgive me, dear," my boss said, smiling into his mustache. "But your reward awaits you at home."
At home… For a moment, my joy was overshadowed by deep sadness, because I would soon leave these people. But now is not the time for that.
"I won't break tradition, so… Attention, a joke!" starting with a hook from the original game, I frantically recalled something more or less sane. "A stalker is wiping his jumpsuit and quietly muttering: 'You can't trust anyone in the Zone, no one! Not even yourself! And I just wanted to fart…'"