With a screech and a whimper, the Moloch that was Taurus came to a stop once more in the heart of the Russian wastelands. The pause was sudden, and far from a routine beacon-planting operation that the group of mercenaries were still getting used to. No, this time it was different.

On one of Dirk’s scanners, the readings were different from throughout the rest of their journey. Thus far it had been all white noise in the never ending snowy expanse, but now a thick white line marred the green surface of the device.

Dirk sighed, his tired face lit up by the display and the refracted light of the floodlights above his cab. The hour was late, and the first signs of exhaustion were creeping up on him, so there was no better hour for a slight change of pace. Or so he told himself as he massaged the bridge of his nose, foot off the pedal and the manual brake pulled.

Before he could collect his thoughts, the first sounds of commotion reached his ears from behind as heavy boots hit the ground and metal doors flung open.

“The mercs are quick to get up, that’s good at least.” he thought to himself, looking towards his eternally vigilant companion.

Jason was already in full work mode, helmet donned and ready for the show.

The entrance opened without as much as a warning and a few mercs spilled into the cab, Ted Lance at the front with a not-so-happy expression.

- The fuck is going on, cabby? Can’t catch any shut-eye with your shitty driving. - he lamented with groggy anger in his voice, still stuck somewhere between deep sleep and adrenaline fuelled-alertness. And deeply sleeping he was, because the whole truck could hear him snore not five minutes ago.

- Tired, aren’t you? - Dirk only half-mocked, feeling a little tired himself, then got up from his chair and faced the small crowd. They were like children, flocking to the front of the bus the moment the lights came off. Dirk couldn’t help but scoff. - I could have kept driving, but that would only end with quick drop and sudden stop. Does sound nice, now that I think about it, if it meant not having to listen to your snoring.

- The fuck does that mean, you old twat? - the man shook himself awake the moment he met any resistance in Dirk’s voice.

- Get your gear ready, because we’re having our first unplanned stop. - he announced mid-conversation through the microphone, so as to follow procedures, while staring the rabble-rouser down with steady eyes.

What followed was a moment of silence, disrupted only by the steady patter of snow hitting the windshield.

- Are you deaf? You got your orders, now get to it. - Dirk urged the man to move back, by moving forward a little himself. - All of you. You have five minutes. We have to get things in order.

- What things? Who died and made you the boss of me?

- This again… - Dirk said under breath, more a sigh than a complaint. - Did you even read the file the Ouroboros goons gave you? Let me spell it out for you. We are rerouting, so no beauty sleep tonight for us, and believe me, you need it.

Dirk had to admit to himself, that last comment was needlessly provocative, but damn it felt good after 12 hours of driving. It didn’t go without reaction for long, as Ted, all too eagerly, stepped up to face the old vet.

- Say that again.

- Hey! - a voice came from the door as Michael shoved his way past Match and Spoon, Ted’s unseparable companions. - If you wanna scrap, how about you try me first, huh?

- Oh, great. Another relic of the past, this time extra large. - Ted groaned. - Came to mediate? Not getting enough attention?

- I just can’t stand listening to this bullshit when there’s a job to be done outside. - he placed himself between Ted and Dirk as he spoke those words, enunciating the last word and pushing both mercenaries away from each other. - The faster we get this over with, the faster we can go and rest. Don’t make me drag you out.

- I appreciate the assist, Michael, but if I wanted him out that badly, he would already be out. - Dirk said, removing Michael’s hand from his chest. As if on cue, Jason growled, reminding everyone of his imposing presence, thus far somehow hidden in the dark recesses of the cab.

- Can you at least give us a rundown? To ease the nerves. - the corpulent man suggested, slightly nodding his head towards Ted, just slightly enough so that the man in question couldn’t see.

“Nerves…” - the old vet echoed in his mind. - “Firm orders should be enough to ease the nerves.”

He wanted to sigh, but stopped himself.

- A ravine opened up ahead of us. Long and wide, and way too deep to drive through.

- Can’t we just go around?

- If one pit opened up, then we can’t be too confident in the terrain. We’ll have to back off the way we came and let Rodeo take the wheel for now.

Rodeo being their sister truck.

- So what does that have to do with us? - Ted injected himself back into the conversation, obviously not quite ready to give up the chance to snap back at Dirk.

- Depending on how long the search takes, we might have to set up camp outside.

- And freeze to death? No, thanks.

- Precisely not to freeze. - Dirk corrected him immediately. - Those radiators working overtime all around the truck? Those are sucking up fuel, and we don’t have much to spare. Certainly not on an unplanned stop. You can thank our employers for that. We’ll have to set up camp as we bide our time.

- Oh, hell no! I’m not–

Before Ted could start his tirade, Dirk heard his radio click by the dashboard, signaling the end of this merry gathering.

- Alright, everybody out. You do your jobs, and let me do mine. - he announced, and Jason moved in to intercept the interlopers.

The reaction was immediate, as some reached for their guns, but thought better of it and started backing away.

The door slammed shut, courtesy of Jason’s inhuman presence, and Dirk dove for the radio.

- Chernobog here, we’ve got a situation, over. - Dirk spoke into the radio with all intent to make it as efficient as possible, and thankfully the person on the other side seemed to share in that sentiment.

- East Wind. I read you loud and clear. What’s the situation? Over.

- We came across an unmapped ravine. Large beyond our sensor range. Need a reroute. Requesting recon from Rodeo. Over.

- Roger that. Can you safely retreat? Over.

- We should be able to retrace our tracks. We are preparing to set up camp in wait for intel. Over.

- Roger. Rodeo heading south. We’ll relay the message to other units. Over and out.

Dirk sighed a sigh of relief. Hearing someone at least pretend to be professional was like honey for his soul. East Wind, a man or a woman, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, was the only person in their unit with a strict “no bullshit” policy. They spoke scarcely, but when they did, they were concise, and seemed disciplined enough for the standards of a ragtag bunch of hired guns. Almost made Dirk regretful that they were in the other truck. Almost. But it was for the best. Each truck needed a steady foundation to properly work.

- Chernobog! Hey! Answer me! - another voice rang out on the comms, pulling Dirk right out of his muddled thoughts.

- Barbara. - he said indifferently, but matched his demeanor to his conversation partner. - You heard everything. Stay put ‘till we get back to you and let the recon do their thing. Keep an eye out for a good, sheltered location with little wind. If this drags on, we’ll really have to stay put and make a fire. The local fauna might not like it, so stay on your toes.

- Nah, I’ll be fine. I’ve got the suit, remember? Big killing machine? Yeah, that’s my baby. I was going to ask if you need my help getting out of a jam.

- We should be fine. - those words lingered in the air for a moment as Dirk thought back to how uncooperative Ted was being. - It’s a nice change of pace if anything.

- But it’s pretty late, no? Way past your bedtime, old man. How do you even manage to keep driving like that with the rest of us?

- I don’t need your snarky comments. I’m tuning you out.

- No! Wait! I was being serious! Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to drive when tired?

- Damn, should have told that to Ouroboros before they hired me for a million-dollar mission. - Dirk shook his head lightly. - Soldiers don’t have the luxury of complaining. We just do what we’re required to do.

That, and Jason was keeping an eye on him. There was a daily driving quota to be met, and meet it he shall…

He felt a shiver run down his spine just as the thought entered his mind. It seemed like the corporation had already sunk its claws into him with that way of thinking. Then again, was it all that different from the army?

A quota or an objective. Were they even that different?

He sat back down and put the truck into reverse.

- Again with that soldier talk. Are you a soldier first? Or a human like the rest of us? - Barbara continued with her unwanted snide commentary.

- Don’t get philosophical with me.

- Hey, just giving you some perspective. - Dirk could imagine her shrugging as she spoke. - But man, it sure sucks. We were, what, twenty kilometers from the nearest town? I could really go for a restock.

- Calling those places “towns” is a little generous. Scavenger camps. Settlements, maybe. If you were hoping to cash in your maintenance fund early, then sorry to say, but they either won’t have what you’re looking for, or they won’t sell it.

- Ever been to one of them? The “settlements” I mean.

- Plenty.

- How were they?

- Bunch of people just struggling to survive. A sorry sight.

- Damn. - There was a brief respite as they both let that sink in, giving Dirk hope for a moment of silence. It didn’t last. - Why don’t they just move?

- Sometimes it’s better to try your luck out in the wilderness than to live under the oppressor. Or so I was told.

- By Morozov?

- Him and many others. It’s not exactly an uncommon sentiment. I wonder why. - he said absentmindedly, his tone giving away that he knew exactly why, while carefully reversing his hulking beast of a truck, eyes stuck on his radar.

- Oh, that’s not very soldierly of you. - she giggled into the microphone and it crackled a bit.

- I’m putting you on 10% volume. Scream if you need me for anything serious.

- Nooooo…

With that, silence returned to the cab and Dirk could reasonably focus on the most annoying part of every truck driver exam - reversing. The visibility of a reversing truck is already terrible due to distance from the ground and the giant obstruction that is the cargo on the cargo bed, so mixed with the added snowstorm and the frozen over car mirrors, it made the conditions for executing the whole maneuver less than ideal.

Personally, the old soldier hated trucks probably the most out of all vehicles he had a license to drive, they were way too cumbersome and unresponsive to his liking.

- So what now? - Jason asked, breaking the silence. - We just make a camp near some snowy patch of trees and wait for East Wind to give us a holler?

- Pretty much.

- Won’t that be a death sentence in this mutated wilderness?

- Not like we have much else of a choice. Effluvium is much heavier than Rodeo, driving too close to the ravine without feeling out the area could send us plunging straight into that gaping abyss. - Dirk started explaining. - Sitting in the truck limits our visibility and burns through our limited resources, if we run out, we are once again, dead. Setting up a camp in the snowy tundra is the best option we currently have on our hands.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

- We sure pulled the short end of the stick. - Jason surmised. - The shit covered one to boot.

- More or less.

After a while of reversing, the machine stopped and took a smooth turn towards the nearest patch of trees. As Dirk wrangled the machine into a proper spot, he informed on the radio waves both East Wind and Barbara about their stop location. Seeing the spot of pine trees made the old soldier think, why did they refer to it as “tundra” if the presence of spots like this one made it fall under the category of a “taiga”. Lack of education, probably, mixed with a healthy dose of sloppiness.

Finally, the mighty Effluvium roared for the last time before its engine went silent. Chernobog grabbed the receiver and began his announcement.

- This is our stop. From the north-east we are covered by a patch of dense firs, our custom truck will work as a cover, protecting us from the east. It will block out at least some of the wind. - he already heard some discontent from behind the door. - All the other cardinal directions will be exposed, so watch yourselves. Take your gear, the provisions assigned to you, and move out. Further instruction will be provided once we’re outside. Over and out.

With that behind him, Dirk reached for his bag, but Jason got to it first. He didn’t need any explanation for that. It was just another part of their game of pretend. Without further ado, the old soldier got up, checked the magazine of his handgun, tapped on his tactical knife to make sure it was in its holster and then moved towards the door, just as Argonaut fastened his helmet.

He opened the door, passed its precipice and closed it in one fluid motion. Surprisingly, all the other mercenaries were already standing in the cargo hold, despite most of them not being the happiest about this whole arrangement, which showed through their body language and demeanor. Fortunately, a small handful just grit their teeth, seemingly resolved to get this over with without a hassle, which was a huge boon for Dirk when it came to surviving the upcoming hours.

- Everyone’s gathered, I see. - Micheal exclaimed, pushing the button near the ramp.

The first wave of cold air hit them as the ramp opened, causing some to shiver ever so slightly. Match seemed to react the hardest, cussing under breath while rubbing his arms. Dirk wanted to order them all to march, but the mercenaries had their own plans and spilled outside in a disorderly manner.

None checked corners, no one spared even a second to check their landing area. They just walked out into the jaws of the snowstorm like cattle. The former Imperial Sergeant couldn’t help but frown. If it was an actual battlefield, half of their man-power would already be lying dead in the snow.

Saying anything right now would be pointless, so Dirk simply followed his squad with Jason in tow. As he passed Becker standing near the ramp button, the rotund man smiled at him.

- In the business, we call it natural selection. - he added, following Chernobog outside.

- Tell it to Ouroboros’ upper brass. - the driver responded.

- I’m afraid I’m not high enough on the totem pole to give Ouroboros people a piece of my mind.

- Want me to write a form for your promotion to my second-in-command?

- I think I’ll pass on such an honor. I like my life relatively free of headaches.

Both men chuckled as the ramp closed, and the snow enveloped them all. In front of Dirk stood a bunch of people, looking like deer in the headlights, trying to figure out what to do. It was a miserable sight to say the least.

- Should we send some of those young shits to start cutting the trees for the fire? - Black walked up to their trio.

Despite the ever-present snow, his steps made barely any sound. His idea was pretty good and rational. But it had one fatal flaw, it required them to ask anything of the three stooges standing a few meters away from them. But leading was hardly about what one wanted, instead focusing on what the group needed.

- Spoon, Match, Ted. - Dirk called out, walking towards the group. They all turned towards him in almost perfectly synchronized manner. - You guys are going on a tinder gathering journey.

- You’re serious? - Spoon responded.

- No fucking way, old-timer. - Match came second.

- Fuck off. - and Ted closed off their chain of responses.

- I’ve got a better idea. How about you send that dog of yours and ask it to simply punch the trees down. - Spoon gave Chernobog a counteroffer. - It can dent a mech, I’m pretty sure it can cut a few trees with its bare hands. Probably will be able to even carry it without any help. How’s that for efficiency?

- Tell me, do you use a flamethrower to light up a gas stove? - Dirk asked, calmly.

- The fuck is a gas stove?

- A stove that requires ignition to heat up produce, would you use a military apparatus to light it up?

- Hell no.

- Then why would I send a military biological experiment to cut down trees? There are the right tools for the right jobs. Our Ouroboros supply bags have hatchets and you three have the most spunk out of all of us, not to mention the exoskeleton of yours.

- How’d you know that? - Spoon sounded genuinely surprised.

- An educated guess, now, without further distractions could you guys get to it? So that we won’t die of frostbite?

- What about the others? - Match interjected. - All y'all gonna just stand around while we work our asses off?

- No. They’re gonna make a fire pit, unless you think we can just put some damp branches and logs on top of each other and light them up to make a fireplace.

Dirk’s response made the other man shut up, probably somewhat ashamed that he got schooled by someone in front of his clique. Despite two of their trio being somewhat convinced to carry out the old soldiers' orders, there was one more, the last of them, who looked at Dirk with defiant eyes.

- You “feelself” old-timer? - Ted interjected with more of the modern slang Dirk had no knowledge of. - Drove around some junker for a while, and now you think you can just tell people what to do? Fuck that.

- Ted, he makes a good–

Spoon tried talking some sense into his compatriot, only eliciting a scoff that cut him off.

- For such a tough guy, your balls must have shriveled from the cold, Spoon. - Ted’s words seeped with venom and caused Match to chuckle. - Listen here, you rusty has-been, I don’t give a shit about–

- Shut up. - Chernobog spoke softly, but his words cut like a knife.

- You–

- Ever since I first saw your mug, you just kept on being a contrarian to anything anyone says. I don’t care about your personal problems, your life’s story, or the type of life you went through before becoming a gun for hire. You can hate me and everyone else around you as much as you like when we’re all within the confines of our truck.

Dirk walked up to the unassuming man and stopped only a few millimeters before his face.

- But here is war. Here is death. In these post-war woods, one wrong decision will turn you into some beast's excrement. - at this point Chernbog was whispering, but despite it Ted did not dare to interrupt him. - So let me ask you, is some bratty defiant statement worth your life? Is it worth the tears of someone waiting for your return?

After these words, the old soldier stepped back. With none of the rowdy trio having anything to say to him.

- So are you gonna go with Spoon and Match to gather those branches and cut a tree, or you hate living that much?

- …fucking hate you… - Ted murmured something under breath.

- What?

- Just shut up, we’ll get your goddamn wood! - Ted yelled in meek defiance before turning around and walking towards the woods.

His two friends joined him promptly, with only Spoon stopping for a moment. He looked at Dirk, as if wanting to say something. But he decided not to in the end and simply waddled after his pals.

- That’s one problem out of our hair. - Michael commented on the whole debacle. - Honestly, I am quite surprised those dimwits responded positively to anything you said, I expected them to keep on throwing insults up to the moment you’d beat them to a pulp.

- Same. - Black spoke out, while lighting a cigarette. - If you didn’t want to dirty your hands, you could have said so. I’d break those whelps for you.

- Ruling through force is no way to rule at all. - Chernobog responded. - I stand by what I said to him, but it doesn’t mean I intend to get my way by means of wanton violence.

“That’s a surefire way to get stabbed in the back” - the old man thought, before turning around, once the three stooges disappeared in the thicket.

- Elephant! - Dirk called out into the night, sparing one last glance in the direction which Ted and co. went, making extra sure that they didn’t come back to stir trouble the second he let his guard down.

- Y-yes! - the response was frantic. Dirk could hear the woman jump up in the snow like a scared cat.

- Ever dealt with radiation?

- Well, yes, sometimes. I d-deal with many substances and some of them are radioactive.

- Got a Geiger counter on hand?

- In, um, the truck. A small one, but it works fine.

- Go get it and do a sweep of the perimeter. We don’t want to camp on residual fallout. While you’re at it, take the glowstick satchel from the cargo and throw them around as you walk. Don’t stray too far. Black! - he moved on without waiting for a response.

- Aye.

- Keep her company. Eliminate any strays that wander close with extreme prejudice.

- I can do that. - the old man smirked, already assembling the right gun for the job.

- Armistice! What’s your firepower?

- I’m not helpless, but I’m not exactly a fighter.

- Firepit duty, get digging. Becker, help him.

- Let’s get this over with quickly, eh, Doc? I can already feel the frost nip on my fingers. - the round man blew some warm air into his hands. Armistice didn’t say anything in return, simply sauntering over to get the necessary tools.

- Don’t pretend you can even feel the cold under all that blubber. - Black scoffed. - And don’t you lay a finger on my stash while I’m gone.

- I don’t deal in scrap metal, pal. Your trash hoard is safe, so don’t worry.

- Why, you…

- Leave this for later, why don’t you? - Dirk stopped the conversation from devolving any further.

With a dissatisfied grunt, Black affixed a steel sight to his rifle and threw it over his shoulder on a sling, just in time for Elephant’s return. At least she wasn’t getting distracted. The satchel she fetched bulged out on her already comically enlarged silhouette as she fiddled with a small device in her hands. Her step was slower than Dirk would have liked, but something on the device’s display was keeping her attention.

- What are the readings so far? - he asked, genuinely concerned, but also to make her pick up her pace.

- It could be worse, but I w-wish it was better. - a perfectly annoying non-answer.

- Make your rounds and report to Armistice. If we can’t manage it dry, he’ll decide which “Ouroboros special” to feed us.

- Mercs turned guinea pigs. I don’t remember that being a part of my contract. - Michael said jokingly, hands rummaging through their equipment in search of a spade.

- Then you obviously haven’t read the fine print.

- Must have caught me with the old white-text-on-white-page trick, ‘cause I didn’t see it, and I always read everything thrice, even the labels on the backs of my cereal. An occupational quirk, you could say.

- Corporations and the government always find a way.

- Reminiscing about previous employers?

- Stating facts. Keep me posted on your progress through the radio.

- Going back to your cab to secretly warm up? - Becker ribbed, his tone clearly playful.

- Going to patrol the outer ring of our perimeter. Argonaut, “Sentinel” - the man gave a simple cryptic command, spinning his finger in the air as the bovine helmet turned to him for a second, but before the giant had the opportunity to disappear, Dirk stopped him. - Wait. Elephant? - he turned back to the woman who was now staring at the regenerator like a deer in the headlights. Clearly him sitting in the cab, isolated from the crew, didn’t leave her enough time to acclimatize. - Elephant. - He repeated, and that seemed to bring her back to reality.

- Y-yes?

- Give me some of the sticks. - he commanded, already reaching into the satchel. He pulled out two handfuls, shook them and cracked a few, making them shine strongly. Those weren’t your normal, commercial sticks. They were more like mini-flares. He then threw them to Argonaut, who caught them seamlessly. - Three glowsticks. If you hear something heavy moving in the dark, look for their light. If you don’t see it immediately, be ready to shoot. Save ammunition, but prioritize survival. Reloads are precious, but not as precious as lives. Even if you poke a few holes in Argonaut by mistake, he can easily take it, but it could leave you defenseless.

“Sorry Jason” - he added in his head

- Look at him, everyone. So callous, but has a sweet side, too, worrying about us like that. - Michael couldn’t help but chuckle.

- You know what to do. Let’s live through the night. - he added, strapping two sticks to his arms, and sticking one in his hair, right behind the scrunchie, snow crackling under his feet as he walked into the night.