Chapter XLIII: Day of the Crimson Mist

In the heavy fog of Cordon, rapid barking of gunfire, horrifying screams and aggressive mutant growls could be heard, coming from the Rookie village. In the relative safety of the old pig farm, Boris went through the situation in his head. If he waited for Dima, Hip and Vityukha return, the battle could be already over and the rookies slaughtered. Dimuha's group could still be on the bridge, and if Boris could get there in time they could make an attack at the rear of the mutants most likely. Xenotech seemed hesitant to commit his small fighting force into the battle, losing the farm would mean losing all loner held territory in Cordon.

Boris told them to hold the line, slightly surprised that they actually listened to his commands, and took Stepukha with him to find Dimuha. They once again dived into the mist. Stepukha was clutching his sawed-off TOZ-34 close, clearly afraid, but did not complain or hesitate, only followed. The fog was so thick, simply seeing where one's foot landed was difficult. Yet the road was a good landmark, and they continued along it until they reached the foot of the bridge.

• Dimuha! Are you here?, Boris yelled, controlling his voice not to make it too loud and draw the monsters in the fog to them.

• Who's asking? If it's Vityukha, fuck off, I'm not giving you that bottle of vodka I owe you for the last time!, Dimuha's voice responded from the heights. Boris chuckled. The bandit surely hadn't changed even a little.

Boris and Stepukha climbed the hill to the bridge and a tired-looking Dimuha greeted them, as did the two Redemption members. Their weapons were battered, their suits looked like someone had went through them with a kitchen knife and their faces told of great exhaustion. But they held on, Dimuha was gripping his SVDS with determination and his two companions seemed no less determined to hold on.

Boris felt a tinge of pride, something he hadn't felt in a long time, that his men were willing to fight till the very end for their former enemies. He explained the situation to Dimuha quickly, knowing that the sand in the sandglass of Rookie Village was rapidly disappearing. Dimuha agreed that they would need to abandon the bridge for now, and they set off into a sprint towards Rookie village.

The group followed the road once more, and Boris could see the devastation Dimuha's group had reaped. Dead dogs, wolves, pseudodogs, cats and tushkanos, even lurkers, had been slaughtered en masse on the road and the hillsides. Small rivers of blood trickled down from the corpses on the hill, and crows had already landed amidst the mist to feed on the dead. Boris could see one his Redeemed amongst the dead and swore inside his head that his death was not in vain. He had died a shotgun in hand, and if nothing else, Boris would make sure to die in a similar way if it came to that.

Deeper into the fog they went, gunfire and cries of the dying growing louder. Boris prepared his Remington, each shotgun shell loaded like it was a ritual. Dimuha was switching scopes on his rifle, swapping his PSO scope for Kobra sight, there would be no need for a sniper scope in this weather. Stepukha was silent, preparing only in his mind, while the other two Redeemed, Gleb Hawk and Slavik Terminator, were readying their weapons as well. Rookie village grew closer, it was almost time for them to join the battle.

The fog was partially pushed back over the village by the numerous campfires set around the perimeter. At his first glimpse of the village, Boris assessed the situation. There were numerous packs of dogs and even a pack of wolves pushing into the village, tearing apart rookies as they went. Wolf was cutting them down with his PKM, while Fanatic was leading a group of rookies into the houses to hold the line better from there. An ecologist in a Diamond suit was beside Wolf, blasting away with his Armsel Protecta.

There were far too many dead already, damn it, thought Boris. He led his small band of warriors to attack the blood-crazed beasts from the side, and they charged the mutants weapons blazing. Boris' Remington spit hot lead into the hides of the mutts, while Dimuha's SVDS was piercing the thick skulls of the wolves with lethal accuracy. The various old and cobbled together weapons of the three Redemption novices did their work well, killing numerous dogs.

Their charge pierced the line of the dogs like the one of Winged Hussars in the battle of Vienna. Wolf saw the success of the attack and led the remaining rookies out of hiding. Boris' squad working as a hammer to Wolf's anvil, they completely decimated the mutants. The roaring of the guns died down as the final whimpering cry escaped the mouth of dying dogs, and the rookies went to work finishing them off. Occasional shotgun and pistol shots filled the air, alongside a heavy stench of fresh blood.

• Thank you, merc. We couldn't have survived this without you, Wolf said to Boris as he closed in.

• Anytime, Wolf. But we're not mercs or bandits, we're members of the Redemption, Boris replied nonchalantly. Wolf raised his eyebrows and Boris explained the faction's idea to him.

• Interesting. I didn't recognize you at first with your armour in that shape. Well, I might've had my doubts about your band of ex-criminals when Sid told me of it, but you've more than proven your resolve. I'll much rather have your faction as a neighbour than the bandits and military, Wolf responded, with a joyless smile. He seemed too exhausted for this right now.

• Well, I'm just glad we could help. My boys are aching to prove their worth and new course. But enough of faction politics, I think unfortunately we'll need a funeral pyre, Boris commented. Wolf nodded, his eyes tired and weary.

The fog was starting to lose its thickness, and as the darkness gave way to sunlight, the funeral pyre was lit at the edge of Rookie village. Twelve bodies of brave rookies, Redeemed and ecologists soon turned to ash as hungry flames engulfed them. The whole of Rookie village and the farm was there, watching the fire grow higher. Some drank bottles of vodka to their honour. Others simply stared, tired, wounded and battered, but undefeated. The Day of Crimson Mist, as it would become known later on, was over, and for now, Rookie village could rebuild.