Free S.T.A.L.K.E.R.: Southern Comfort by John Mason, Noah Stacey Page A

behind schedule. Now shut up or I’ll report your insubordination.”
    “Don’t forget that I will also file a report,” hisses Tarasov but Kuznetsov ignores him and starts addressing the men.
    “At ease, at ease… Soldiers, you are about to set out on a dangerous mission. Many of you might have looked forward to this day but I assure you, it won’t be anything like you have experienced before. Remember your training. Keep your weapons clean. Follow your orders. You set out to save the lives of fellow Ukrainian citizens who have been performing important scientific tasks!”
    The colonel’s speech would impress Tarasov if he didn’t already know it by heart. It is one of the standard motivational speeches taught at the military academy. One only needs to exchange the place and mission objectives. He finds it pathetic to use this randomized text for soldiers embarking on a mission like this.
    “…by successfully completing this mission, you will bring great honor to your unit and our Ukrainian motherland. And now, your new commander also has something to say. I suppose it will be about how hot he feels in that boiler.”
    Tarasov sees the grins on a few soldiers’ faces. Quickly, he prays for an opportunity to lead Kuznetsov deep into the Zone and throw him into an anomaly.
    He thinks for a second. Then he shouts out.
    “ Desantniki! Smirno! ”
    Their heavy boots thud on the ground as the paratroopers stand at attention. Instead of improvising a speech, the major walks up to the soldiers and inspects their ranks with slow steps, looking each man into the eyes. He is an impressive sight in full combat gear, but it is not his martial appearance that impresses the paratroopers. Tarasov is unaware of how much the Zone has marked him. He only sees that as he passes them by, the soldiers’ faces harden with respect - even fear. No one dares to return his gaze except Sparrow One’s praporshchik , a warrant officer, who will be his second in command. The soldier with a thick grey moustache is the last in the row. When their eyes meet, Tarasov bows his head in a barely noticeable nod. Already standing at full attention, the soldier squares his broad shoulders even more, a relaxed, jovial smile still lurking in his steel-blue eyes.
    “Well,” Tarasov asks quietly, glancing down at the nametag on the uniform, “are you ready, praporshchik Zotkin?”
    “Ready to go, komandir .”
    Zotkin’s reply is quiet but Tarasov immediately knows that if treated with respect, or at least asked politely, this man will follow him into hell. The other squad leader, a young and nervous-looking master sergeant, doesn’t impress him much.
    Walking back to Kuznetsov, he cannot refrain from darting a murderous glance in the colonel’s direction. Kuznetsov avoids his eyes. Tarasov turns back towards the ranks and shouts out again.
    “ Desantniki! Are you ready?”
    “Ready to go , komandir! ” reply the soldiers in a steely choir of confidence.
    “Let’s go then!”
    While the squads hurry to the helicopters, Tarasov turns to the colonel.
    “I hope you know what you’re doing, Kuznetsov.”
    “Much better than you would believe. Now you better go before you miss your flight, Major,” the colonel says contemptuously, pronouncing ‘major’ like a swear-word. “Impressive speech you gave, by the way.”
    “It comes from doing an officer’s job. One day you should try it, Colonel.”
    Without salutation, Tarasov turns around and hurries to the gunship. It’s hot inside, with the helicopter having baked in the sun the whole morning.
    “Switch on that ventilator, praporshchik ,” he barks taking his place on the grey bench. “I can’t believe Kuznetsov let you embark like this. You don’t even have your bloody helmets with you!”
    “He thought it appropriate – “ Zotkin explains but his last words are suppressed by the Mi-24’s howling turbines. Tarasov signals for him to switch over to the intercom.
    “I said, he