Chapter LIV: Ambush at Dawn

 A single transport helicopter lazily spun its rotors as it prepared for takeoff. The spinning of rotors sent gusts of wind to all directions, picking up dust and brown leaves with them. Duty captain Veselov observed the scene with disinterest. They were here to help the military but the main mission Voronin had given them was taking down Boris Unforgiven and gaining a stronghold in Garbage.

He turned his attention back to the military "pacifying" the Flea Market. One of their officers, Major Baranov, was executing prisoner after another with a PL-15 pistol. No matter what the stalkers pleaded or begged, they received a 9mm round to the head. The military was striking down hard on stalker activity as of late, the developments in the Zone having shook the top brass to action.

Veselov wondered if these brutal measures had been authorized by the headquarters, but he sure as hell would not intervene. Loners brought this upon themselves, poking around where they shouldn't have and leaving the Zone alone instead of fighting it. At least in Duty they had a reason for being here, other than such selfish things as money and fame.

Lieutenant Vovnenko, his squad's sniper, tapped him on the shoulder. Vovnenko turned around, the servos on his exoskeleton humming as he did so.

• Yes, lieutenant? What is it?, he asked the sniper.

• Mironyuk and I have found a position not far from here where we could best ambush the scum. There's a scrapyard full of anomalies on the right side of it and a pond full of chemical anomalies on the left side. The spot itself was used by bandits not too long ago, if I recall correct, Vovnenko responded.

• Excellent. Lead the way, lieutenant.

Further down the road to Cordon, Boris and Dima arrived to the first outpost guarding the road. To their surprise, two loner rookies were awaiting them there, standing next to a dead boar, Makarovs smoking. The rookies eyed them suspiciously, until they got close enough that the markings on their armour became visible.

• Damn, we thought you were Dutyers. Those fuckers have done nothing while the military's been slaughtering our boys for days, the loner in a leather jacket hissed, his voice full of rage.

• What's going on here then? We heard that the military has arrived to lock this place down, but is Duty helping them?

• Not helping per se, they are hunting down all the bandits in the area though and capturing them for the Arena. But neither are they helping us or interrupting the army in any way, me and Vaska barely escaped with our lives, the other loner answered.

• We'll deal with the military then and hope that Duty stays out of our way, Boris replied, and Dima nodded. They raised their weapons and headed out by the side of the road, Boris taking the lead. They needed to find a vantage point and find out just how many soldiers were here, and the Depot could be a good position for that. Still, it was most likely already overrun, Boris thought as they passed the scrapyard.

His thoughts were interrupted by a subsonic bullet passing by the side of his head. He shouted for Dima to take cover and booked it to a car nearby, when more bullets swarmed around him. They took cover behind an old Lada of sorts and considered their options. Whoever it was, they were well-armed and had the position advantage. Retreating to the scrapyard was an option, the other side of the road not so much, too much open ground. Boris nodded towards the scrapyard, and Dima agreed. A grenade exploded next to the car, showering it with dirt and shrapnel.

• I think they don't want us here, Boris, Dima quipped. Boris tossed a frag grenade over the car trunk, mostly to distract the ambushers, and the pair started running. A distant yell for taking cover was heard before the grenade exploded, but Boris and Dima did not look back.

They ran inside the scrapyard, passing through a gap in the fence. Dima was already charging to the nearest BTR-80 wreck for cover when Boris stopped him. Something was not right. The air rippled in front of them like it was a hot, heat wave day, but it was now October and less than 15 degrees Celcius. He tossed an empty cartridge ahead, and a pillar of flame erupted from the ground, melting the cartridge midair.

• Jesus, I got almost grilled. Thanks Boris, Dima murmured while Boris took out Antipin's Svarog. They were surrounded by Burners, and even through his Spartan helmet, Boris could feel the heat.

• Well, this is us properly fucked, Boris sighed, but Dima refused to give up. He took the Svarog and started slowly inching his way to the patch of ground not covered by anomalies. Boris followed, as slowly as he could, and they moved through the field, passing some anomalies so close they almost fainted from the heat.

They reached safety, checking their gear for any potential heat damage with haste, and took position. The ambushers would have to follow them to this maze of old Soviet wrecks if they wanted to catch them. Boris saw them appear, moving quickly from cover to cover. Clearly veterans, one of them in exoskeleton and the other two in proto-exos. Boris charged his RPD, setting the bipod down on top of one truck cabin. Dima reloaded his elephant gun with Barricada rounds. Suddenly, a shout could be heard.

• Boris Unforgiven, give up now. You'll receive a fair trial for your actions against the local stalker population if you do!

• Boris is dead, you dimwit, haven't you heard? Did the master sergeant spank you too rough last night or are you just slow, Dima replied. Silence followed for half a minute, until a reply came from unknown position.

• Stop bullshitting me, merc, no one else wears a Nosorog like that in these parts, Veselov yelled, to get his voice over the crackling of anomalies.

• Oh yeah, our boss died so we just threw his expensive as fuck armour in the trash, Dima shouted back, his voice oozing with sarcasm, before he continued:

• What do you even want with us? We're members of Redemption, not mercs, leave us be. We've done nothing but help stalkers the last few months!

• A criminal scum is a criminal scum even if he wears some new colours, and we will have retribution. Since you insist on doing this the hard way, then have it that way too!, Veselov yelled and suddenly the three Dutyers appeared from behind a bus, weapons drawn. Hot lead lined the truck's side when they opened fire, but Boris had awaited this move. His RPD replied, rhythmically releasing the cartridges from its belt into the world. His machine gun fire badly wounded one of the Dutyers, making him stagger, as the other two searched for cover.

The wounded Dutyer hobbled for cover, clearly in shock, and stepped into an anomaly which burned his suit to crisp in seconds. He fell back out of the danger zone, screaming in agony.

• Vovnenko! You bastards, you'll pay for that, Mironyuk, the Duty squads heavy weapons expert, yelled, and charged their position, his Groza firing its payload from both the grenade launcher and the barrel. A grenade exploded near Boris, making him lose his footing and toppling him down behind the truck. He lost grip of his RPD.

Mironyuk stepped next to him, holding his Groza to his head. On his face was a look of savage rage and joy, but it soon turned to pain as a massive boom came from behind him and his chest exploded. A Barricada round had penetrated his back and come out the other side. Dima helped Boris up, and together they prepared to face the Duty captain.

• Those two were like brothers to me, and you've only proven that dogs like you cannot be redeemed, Veselov spit out each word while firing his VSS, his rounds bouncing off Boris' Nosorog front plate but bruising the skin beneath badly.

• Maybe think twice the next time you ambush someone for no reason, Boris said, gritting his teeth as more shots ricocheted off his behemoth armour. He raised his Fort and swiftly pumped six dart rounds into the Dutyer's upper torso, slightly visible from behind the BTR he was hiding next to. The last round lodged itself into a hole in his armour and penetrated his heart, killing him on spot. The Duty leader collapsed down, sighing his last breath as his blood dribbled away.

Dima stood down, panting, while Boris closed in on Vovnenko, still screaming with pain, half burned. Boris placed a dart round between his eyes, ending his suffering. He joined Dima on the safe area next to a derelict truck, sitting down and taking off his Spartan helmet to wipe his brow.

• So Duty has decided that Redemption is their enemy?, Dima asked finally after a period of silence.

• Apparently so. Well, at least for now. I'll notify folks back in Meadow to avoid them, and we should do so too. If they want to fight, they'll have to find us first, I'd rather not poke that particular hornet's nest, Boris replied, taking a sip from his trusty water canteen. Dima nodded, there were more important things than fighting with Duty over petty issues, especially now that the Zone was going to hell.

Boris was about to suggest that they'd head for the Depot when a incredibly loud crack filled the air. Quick glance at the sky revealed that the clouds were all forming together, and a sinister light red glow could be seen in the horizon. An emission, and a big one by the looks. And for the second time that day, all Boris could think of was "Well, this is us properly fucked" as the red-hued mushroom cloud took over the sky.