A Hard Day In Cherno
The deep, roaring drone of the truck engine rang across the marshes of Komorovo. The afternoon sun shone pale behind, setting cracked reflections from the side mirrors dancing inside the cabin. Inside, the rumble of the engine united with an orchestra of rattles and clanks from unmaintained parts in the dashboard to create a nearly unbearable clamor. In the passenger seat Hans' head throbbed - thanks to the gash behind his temple more so than the cacophony. The cold blast from the windowless front opening was biting. Yet it was so loud and constant, drowning out the pounding of his head, the rush of the ocean and reeds, the wind, the reflections… almost against his will his eyes began to close.
It had been a hard night in Vybor. A rodeo with a bandit who decided to open fire on the V3S with an AK outside Varesnik. "C'mon, move behind that shed!" Hans shouted, to the aggressor with the Kalashnikov more than his partner Chaos in the passenger seat. Caught in the tree line Hans pulled hard right, then left, flanking him in the truck. Bullets glanced around the front wheels as the toreador tried to cut the legs out from under the bull. But Hans evaded, circling, pushing him behind the shed …. "Yes, duck behind there, YES!".
A lone sniper shot rang out, then silence. Hans and and Chaos waited. "Damnit" Bot's voice crackled over the walkie talkie, "missed him. Hit a post by his head!". Scowling, uttering a profanity, Hans banked the truck hard to avoid a large barrage of automatic fire as the bandit broke from cover and ran behind the walls of the abandoned military base. Looking over from the passenger seat, Chaos shook his head. Breaking off, Hans raced the truck away across the field back to Vybor.
Pulling up to the factory Hans made a critical mistake; bottoming out the Praga out on a small walkway curb. In an instant, Hans realized the mistake and the danger. They had made a LOT of noise in that field. There were high positions all around, and their over watch had been observing the other direction. A microsecond of panic, then instinct took over. "Get out of " - CRACK - a shot from a hunting rifle - a spray of glass from the shattered windshield - a rip of pain on his head - a warm wash of blood down the neck - and darkness.
A sharp grinding of the gears and jarring as the V3S bounced over some railroad tracks broke him from his brief sleep. Bot was looking over at him from behind the wheel, a half frown. Probably wondering if they should even be doing this. Last night, the lone shooter had disappeared. Chaos had pulled him from the driver's seat, and using the truck as cover to hastily bandage Hans' head wound. Bot provided cover but the anonymous gunman had slipped away. As night fell, the truck kept running, its headlights lighting up the cloudy dark sky over Vybor. Chaos and Hans swept street by street, building by building, but they never found the shooter - he was gone into the night. With each door they kicked in, each time he raised his scope to peer in a window, Hans' strength returned but his head thumped harder. In the morning, after exhausting himself getting the truck free of its predicament, Chaos crashed out at camp and Bot and Hans decided to ride out together alone and let him sleep.
The tall, deserted apartments loomed forebodingly in the hills above Chernogorsk. "Ready?" Bot inquired. His voice carried not hesitation, but more a measured caution. Hans nodded. They pulled off near a derelict fuel station, and exited the vehicle. Working fast, Hans worked the jerry can, teasing out the fuel they needed from the pump and shuffling it efficiently to the Praga's side tank. Meanwhile, Bot's eyes scanned as he donned his makeshift guillie, his practiced hands not needing his eyes. They were on apartment tops in the distance, the hotel roof, factory roofs, grain towers - literally dozens of places the dark watchers of Cherno might be stalking. They both knew an ambush could be being hastily organized right now, it did not need to be said. Both knew the other was thinking it. Hans took over, sliding behind the wheel, and finished the thought. "We need that food and bandages though. Our man told us where it would be, corner building by the statue square. In and out five minutes. Cake." Bot nodded again with the same calculating look as before.
Desolate manufacturing facilities stood in front of the road ahead. This city had probably once thrived, a manufacturing hub and shipping port. All the row houses probably housed factory workers and family, maybe children played in the squares. But now those row houses seemed full of eyes - eyes of scavengers willing to kill to survive. The street turned left to skirt the north edge of the city. Instead, Hans broke and sharply took a right, the truck tires chirping. "Hold on" he stated as shot over a set of old rail tracks, air under all four tires. A narrow gap between two parallel concrete barrier walls was the only option. The V3S bounced violently, and Hans gripped the lurching wheel with both hands and angled the beast between the walls. A loud screech resounded as one of the side mirrors ground against one of the retaining walls. The parallel walls appeared to narrow, seeming a daylight tunnel, and shortening as the truck raced through. Then in an instant it ended and the truck sped out into the open hopping over a small corner curb to and ended up going right down the middle of the street around a large courtyard surrounded by three and four story tenements. Something was not right, and both he and Bot sensed it. On the left a statue stood in the middle of a grass courtyard, Hans' eyes looked left across it identifying the target building as he braked to bring the trucks speed down to a manageable level. Bot' eyes darted about, assessing. "Why are there no Zeds here?" he asked, a hint of alarm in cracking through in his voice.
"Watch out!" Bot shouted, moments before a thundering shotgun blast rattled the hood in a shower of sparks. A gunman was at the corner in front of them, leaning out from behind a building leveling the weapon for a second shot. His face was covered with a dirty ski mask, a large black wet bag on his back. With all dark clothing, he blended in well in this urban environment. Hans grunted, going hand over hand to bend the truck to his will, forcing a hard left turn at the street corner as the second shotgun blast whizzed over the open truck bed behind the cabin. But the turn was too hard to handle, the truck lurched too far left, resisting Hans' attempt to correct back straight. It went up over the curb and careened headlong into an ancient bus station. Brakes screeched as the truck crashed into it. Bot braced against the dash, but the jolt threw Hans' head against the wheel, and he felt a warm trickle of the reopened wound on his head. He slammed the gears into reverse but the engine belched a cloud of grey smoke and the wheels engaged with a fraction of the force he anticipated, slowly backing away from the point of impact. Too slowly, they were sitting ducks. Another shadow flashed in an archway across the street. More automatic fire rang out from back in the towering industrial area on the other side of the square. "Forget it, get out. OUT!"
The duo kicked their respective doors open and lept from the vehicle, exposed. Not having time nor needing to discuss, they broke across the courtyard in unison towards the target building. The figure with the shotgun had disappeared, but glancing back over his shoulder Hans saw the shadow materialize from the archway. Stepping out into the street, the man had ragged clothing, but a well maintained Mosin rifle in his hands, and he was raising it. Hans didn't need to trace the path to which he was aiming, the man's eyes were locked on his partner breaking in the open across the courtyard. Bot's burlap ghillie might provide camouflage up north in the wilds, but the city it made a him a target. Hans stopped, and broke back to the bus stop behind them, loosing the compact AK74 submachine gun slung strapped to his pack. Readying his weapon and leaning out using the bus stop as cover he leveled the gun at the man who now had his target acquired and was about to fire. "Hey buddy, you friendly?" Hans called coyly. The man's eyes left his target, just for a moment, his gun held steady. For a moment he looked surprised and confused at Hans' inquiry. The answer was obvious. Then in an instant, realization hit. Time slowed, the AK rattled….crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. A perfect grouping, all in the chest, the Mosin tumbled into the air, small fountains of blood popping out where the bullets made the man twitch this and that. The cracking stopped, and the man slumped back into the arch in a heap. Bot looked back over shoulder, taking the scene in for a moment, then forced the door of the apartment open and disappeared inside. Hans raced across the courtyard and into the door after him.
"Get the stuff!" Hans shouted. Bot shouted back down - he was up on the third level now - confirming the stash was still there. Meanwhile Hans barricaded the door they had come in. Swiftly he moved to the back door of the town house, stepped outside and closed it. Surveying quickly he saw no assailants in the courtyard, then kneeled, turned and using a worn lock pick kit from his vest pockets worked the tumblers on the decaying door. He fixed the mechanism into the locked position. Snatching up the submachine gun, he bolted into another archway that let him peer back down the street towards the smoking truck.
Bot's yelling floated down through the upstairs windows, broken from the elements years ago. "I've got it!". Looking back behind the building, Hans saw figures moving in the apartments on the other side. They needed to get out of here. Hans sat thinking, assessing. "To get out of here we need the -", and as if finishing his thought, the truck engine roared to life down the street. "What else can go wrong?" he muttered as he looked back in that direction. Someone was in the VS3, had it free, and was just beginning to step on the gas to get it up to speed, right at him. Hans stepped out, right in its path. Hesitating, realizing if he riddled it with bullets their ride home might be gone. He froze.
Bot's single shot from inside the third story of the stash house was amplified by the tight walls, and must have been deafening inside. The scavenger in the truck - the back of his head erupted onto the rear cabin window in a red and grey eruption and he slumped forward. The truck rolled slowly right up to Hans on the next block, and when it reached him he pulled the man's body out, dumping him in a heap on the street. Hans pulled the handbrake from outside the cab, then threw his pack onto wet mess of a seat inside. Then he heard more yelling from Bot on the next block around the corner, and heard the thudding of someone taking an axe to a door. "They're coming in!" Bot was shouting. Hans grabbed his AK and ran up to the corner of the next block and peered around.
A man stood in front of the stash house firing automatic shots into the doors and up the stairs where Bot was cornered. This wasn't another scavenger but looked like a mercenary. Heavily armed and well geared, a wrap on his gun, and stood with a disciplined, military stance. Hans crept down the street, exposed, but the man was focused on firing at Bot. He seemed crazed, manic. "I wannnnt your Mooossssin" he was calling in almost a sing sing voice. Hans was close enough now to see the maniac had a string of human ears around his neck. Hans lost his cool, and rather than just taking a calm shot, he broke into a run right at him, unleashing huge burst from the AK. Hans' shouted something, maybe not even words, he wasn't even sure. The thought that this is how the war cries of braves must have been born crossed his mind. The bullets whizzed wildly around, hitting the man's arms, his legs. Torn cloth and deep red patches blossomed and he cried out in pain, spun and staggered inside the doorway. Warm blood from his head wound leaked down into Hans' left eye, stinging it and impairing his vision, but he chased the man around into the doorway. The man had turned to face the door, gun raised and barking, he loosed bullets at the doorway towards where Hans' head appeared. The bullets seemed all around Hans' head, but he stood heedless and dumped the rest of his ammo into the man at point blank range. Even as the gunman fell, riddled, he kept firing, then when it was only clicking he stopped and stood dumbfounded. Bot charged down the stairs, glanced at the lifeless man. He pulled a set of warn dog tags from his under his shirt, they were not official, but painted and decorated. Bot said, "Shit, he's TKT. There will be more coming. Let's get the hell out of here." Walking up to Hans he punched him hard on the shoulder. "Hans, you hear me? We need to get out of here. NOW!"
Snapping back to reality, Hans could hear more gunfire from the industrial area pinging off the sidewalk in front of the building. More gunfire could be heard in other parts of town in the distance; this probably wasn't the only gun battle going on. The ran out the back of the apartment, to the truck and Bot jumped in the driver's seat and released the brake. In minutes they were back out of town speeding toward Balota. "Just another day in Cherno!" Bot said, laughing out loud. And then, Hans smiled.
The deep, roaring drone of the truck engine rang across the marshes of Komorovo. The afternoon sun shone pale behind, setting cracked reflections from the side mirrors dancing inside the cabin. Inside, the rumble of the engine united with an orchestra of rattles and clanks from unmaintained parts in the dashboard to create a nearly unbearable clamor. In the passenger seat Hans' head throbbed - thanks to the gash behind his temple more so than the cacophony. The cold blast from the windowless front opening was biting. Yet it was so loud and constant, drowning out the pounding of his head, the rush of the ocean and reeds, the wind, the reflections… almost against his will his eyes began to close.
It had been a hard night in Vybor. A rodeo with a bandit who decided to open fire on the V3S with an AK outside Varesnik. "C'mon, move behind that shed!" Hans shouted, to the aggressor with the Kalashnikov more than his partner Chaos in the passenger seat. Caught in the tree line Hans pulled hard right, then left, flanking him in the truck. Bullets glanced around the front wheels as the toreador tried to cut the legs out from under the bull. But Hans evaded, circling, pushing him behind the shed …. "Yes, duck behind there, YES!".
A lone sniper shot rang out, then silence. Hans and and Chaos waited. "Damnit" Bot's voice crackled over the walkie talkie, "missed him. Hit a post by his head!". Scowling, uttering a profanity, Hans banked the truck hard to avoid a large barrage of automatic fire as the bandit broke from cover and ran behind the walls of the abandoned military base. Looking over from the passenger seat, Chaos shook his head. Breaking off, Hans raced the truck away across the field back to Vybor.
Pulling up to the factory Hans made a critical mistake; bottoming out the Praga out on a small walkway curb. In an instant, Hans realized the mistake and the danger. They had made a LOT of noise in that field. There were high positions all around, and their over watch had been observing the other direction. A microsecond of panic, then instinct took over. "Get out of " - CRACK - a shot from a hunting rifle - a spray of glass from the shattered windshield - a rip of pain on his head - a warm wash of blood down the neck - and darkness.
A sharp grinding of the gears and jarring as the V3S bounced over some railroad tracks broke him from his brief sleep. Bot was looking over at him from behind the wheel, a half frown. Probably wondering if they should even be doing this. Last night, the lone shooter had disappeared. Chaos had pulled him from the driver's seat, and using the truck as cover to hastily bandage Hans' head wound. Bot provided cover but the anonymous gunman had slipped away. As night fell, the truck kept running, its headlights lighting up the cloudy dark sky over Vybor. Chaos and Hans swept street by street, building by building, but they never found the shooter - he was gone into the night. With each door they kicked in, each time he raised his scope to peer in a window, Hans' strength returned but his head thumped harder. In the morning, after exhausting himself getting the truck free of its predicament, Chaos crashed out at camp and Bot and Hans decided to ride out together alone and let him sleep.
The tall, deserted apartments loomed forebodingly in the hills above Chernogorsk. "Ready?" Bot inquired. His voice carried not hesitation, but more a measured caution. Hans nodded. They pulled off near a derelict fuel station, and exited the vehicle. Working fast, Hans worked the jerry can, teasing out the fuel they needed from the pump and shuffling it efficiently to the Praga's side tank. Meanwhile, Bot's eyes scanned as he donned his makeshift guillie, his practiced hands not needing his eyes. They were on apartment tops in the distance, the hotel roof, factory roofs, grain towers - literally dozens of places the dark watchers of Cherno might be stalking. They both knew an ambush could be being hastily organized right now, it did not need to be said. Both knew the other was thinking it. Hans took over, sliding behind the wheel, and finished the thought. "We need that food and bandages though. Our man told us where it would be, corner building by the statue square. In and out five minutes. Cake." Bot nodded again with the same calculating look as before.
Desolate manufacturing facilities stood in front of the road ahead. This city had probably once thrived, a manufacturing hub and shipping port. All the row houses probably housed factory workers and family, maybe children played in the squares. But now those row houses seemed full of eyes - eyes of scavengers willing to kill to survive. The street turned left to skirt the north edge of the city. Instead, Hans broke and sharply took a right, the truck tires chirping. "Hold on" he stated as shot over a set of old rail tracks, air under all four tires. A narrow gap between two parallel concrete barrier walls was the only option. The V3S bounced violently, and Hans gripped the lurching wheel with both hands and angled the beast between the walls. A loud screech resounded as one of the side mirrors ground against one of the retaining walls. The parallel walls appeared to narrow, seeming a daylight tunnel, and shortening as the truck raced through. Then in an instant it ended and the truck sped out into the open hopping over a small corner curb to and ended up going right down the middle of the street around a large courtyard surrounded by three and four story tenements. Something was not right, and both he and Bot sensed it. On the left a statue stood in the middle of a grass courtyard, Hans' eyes looked left across it identifying the target building as he braked to bring the trucks speed down to a manageable level. Bot' eyes darted about, assessing. "Why are there no Zeds here?" he asked, a hint of alarm in cracking through in his voice.
"Watch out!" Bot shouted, moments before a thundering shotgun blast rattled the hood in a shower of sparks. A gunman was at the corner in front of them, leaning out from behind a building leveling the weapon for a second shot. His face was covered with a dirty ski mask, a large black wet bag on his back. With all dark clothing, he blended in well in this urban environment. Hans grunted, going hand over hand to bend the truck to his will, forcing a hard left turn at the street corner as the second shotgun blast whizzed over the open truck bed behind the cabin. But the turn was too hard to handle, the truck lurched too far left, resisting Hans' attempt to correct back straight. It went up over the curb and careened headlong into an ancient bus station. Brakes screeched as the truck crashed into it. Bot braced against the dash, but the jolt threw Hans' head against the wheel, and he felt a warm trickle of the reopened wound on his head. He slammed the gears into reverse but the engine belched a cloud of grey smoke and the wheels engaged with a fraction of the force he anticipated, slowly backing away from the point of impact. Too slowly, they were sitting ducks. Another shadow flashed in an archway across the street. More automatic fire rang out from back in the towering industrial area on the other side of the square. "Forget it, get out. OUT!"
The duo kicked their respective doors open and lept from the vehicle, exposed. Not having time nor needing to discuss, they broke across the courtyard in unison towards the target building. The figure with the shotgun had disappeared, but glancing back over his shoulder Hans saw the shadow materialize from the archway. Stepping out into the street, the man had ragged clothing, but a well maintained Mosin rifle in his hands, and he was raising it. Hans didn't need to trace the path to which he was aiming, the man's eyes were locked on his partner breaking in the open across the courtyard. Bot's burlap ghillie might provide camouflage up north in the wilds, but the city it made a him a target. Hans stopped, and broke back to the bus stop behind them, loosing the compact AK74 submachine gun slung strapped to his pack. Readying his weapon and leaning out using the bus stop as cover he leveled the gun at the man who now had his target acquired and was about to fire. "Hey buddy, you friendly?" Hans called coyly. The man's eyes left his target, just for a moment, his gun held steady. For a moment he looked surprised and confused at Hans' inquiry. The answer was obvious. Then in an instant, realization hit. Time slowed, the AK rattled….crack, crack, crack, crack, crack. A perfect grouping, all in the chest, the Mosin tumbled into the air, small fountains of blood popping out where the bullets made the man twitch this and that. The cracking stopped, and the man slumped back into the arch in a heap. Bot looked back over shoulder, taking the scene in for a moment, then forced the door of the apartment open and disappeared inside. Hans raced across the courtyard and into the door after him.
"Get the stuff!" Hans shouted. Bot shouted back down - he was up on the third level now - confirming the stash was still there. Meanwhile Hans barricaded the door they had come in. Swiftly he moved to the back door of the town house, stepped outside and closed it. Surveying quickly he saw no assailants in the courtyard, then kneeled, turned and using a worn lock pick kit from his vest pockets worked the tumblers on the decaying door. He fixed the mechanism into the locked position. Snatching up the submachine gun, he bolted into another archway that let him peer back down the street towards the smoking truck.
Bot's yelling floated down through the upstairs windows, broken from the elements years ago. "I've got it!". Looking back behind the building, Hans saw figures moving in the apartments on the other side. They needed to get out of here. Hans sat thinking, assessing. "To get out of here we need the -", and as if finishing his thought, the truck engine roared to life down the street. "What else can go wrong?" he muttered as he looked back in that direction. Someone was in the VS3, had it free, and was just beginning to step on the gas to get it up to speed, right at him. Hans stepped out, right in its path. Hesitating, realizing if he riddled it with bullets their ride home might be gone. He froze.
Bot's single shot from inside the third story of the stash house was amplified by the tight walls, and must have been deafening inside. The scavenger in the truck - the back of his head erupted onto the rear cabin window in a red and grey eruption and he slumped forward. The truck rolled slowly right up to Hans on the next block, and when it reached him he pulled the man's body out, dumping him in a heap on the street. Hans pulled the handbrake from outside the cab, then threw his pack onto wet mess of a seat inside. Then he heard more yelling from Bot on the next block around the corner, and heard the thudding of someone taking an axe to a door. "They're coming in!" Bot was shouting. Hans grabbed his AK and ran up to the corner of the next block and peered around.
A man stood in front of the stash house firing automatic shots into the doors and up the stairs where Bot was cornered. This wasn't another scavenger but looked like a mercenary. Heavily armed and well geared, a wrap on his gun, and stood with a disciplined, military stance. Hans crept down the street, exposed, but the man was focused on firing at Bot. He seemed crazed, manic. "I wannnnt your Mooossssin" he was calling in almost a sing sing voice. Hans was close enough now to see the maniac had a string of human ears around his neck. Hans lost his cool, and rather than just taking a calm shot, he broke into a run right at him, unleashing huge burst from the AK. Hans' shouted something, maybe not even words, he wasn't even sure. The thought that this is how the war cries of braves must have been born crossed his mind. The bullets whizzed wildly around, hitting the man's arms, his legs. Torn cloth and deep red patches blossomed and he cried out in pain, spun and staggered inside the doorway. Warm blood from his head wound leaked down into Hans' left eye, stinging it and impairing his vision, but he chased the man around into the doorway. The man had turned to face the door, gun raised and barking, he loosed bullets at the doorway towards where Hans' head appeared. The bullets seemed all around Hans' head, but he stood heedless and dumped the rest of his ammo into the man at point blank range. Even as the gunman fell, riddled, he kept firing, then when it was only clicking he stopped and stood dumbfounded. Bot charged down the stairs, glanced at the lifeless man. He pulled a set of warn dog tags from his under his shirt, they were not official, but painted and decorated. Bot said, "Shit, he's TKT. There will be more coming. Let's get the hell out of here." Walking up to Hans he punched him hard on the shoulder. "Hans, you hear me? We need to get out of here. NOW!"
Snapping back to reality, Hans could hear more gunfire from the industrial area pinging off the sidewalk in front of the building. More gunfire could be heard in other parts of town in the distance; this probably wasn't the only gun battle going on. The ran out the back of the apartment, to the truck and Bot jumped in the driver's seat and released the brake. In minutes they were back out of town speeding toward Balota. "Just another day in Cherno!" Bot said, laughing out loud. And then, Hans smiled.
Live every life like it was they day before a character wipe.