Metro 2034

colossus that had been reinforced with steel without any problems. Sasha and Leonid laid down flat so that they could find cover behind the low metal railing and get out of the way of the never ending hail of bullets.

In a few moments the bumpers of both vehicles would hit each other and they would board their railcar…

Sasha looked at Leonid frantic, who had seemed to have lost his mind because he was suddenly undressing himself.

In front of them was the defense line, sandbags and tank stoppers made out of steel: The goal of their escape.

Now two search lights would be pointed on them and two heavy machine guns. They would hit them like a hammer an anvil.

Just one more minute and it would all be over.

CHAPTER 18 Salvation

The group was a few dozen meters long. They were the best fighters of the Sevastopolskaya, Denis Michailovitsch had choosen every single one of them carefully. Their small helmet lamps flickered in the darkness of the tunnel and suddenly the commander thought that the whole formation looked like giant swarm of glowworms that was flying through the night. A warm and good smelling summer night at the Krim, over the cypress and near the soft sounding ocean. This place to where the colonel hoped he would go after his death…

A pleasant shiver went over him but at the same time he shook himself, put on his dark look and yelled at himself. Yes, even he had started to get weak. It was his age! He let the last soldier pass him, opened his steel cigarette box and took one of his last self made cigarette out of it, smelled at it and lit his lighter.

It was a good day. He still had luck, everything happened as planned. They had passed the Nagornaya without any casualties. One single soldier had disappeared for a moment but he had returned to the column. All were happy: To go to war was easier then to wait for eternity and not knowing what was going on. Also Denis Michailovitsch had allowed them to get a good night sleep before the fight. Just he himself hadn’t been able to close one eye.

Fate had always just been a chain of coincidental events for him so the old fighter couldn’t understand why someone could trust himself to it. Since he had gone to the small expedition to the Kachovskaya there had been no message from them. It was possible that even Hunter wasn’t immortal. What had he been thinking when he had sent the half crazy brigadier and the old story telling old man?

He couldn’t wait anymore.

The plan was that the main part of their fighters would go through the Nachimovski prospect, Nagornaya and the Nagatinskaya to the southern gate of the Tulskaya and take the station by surprise. He had men on the surface as well. Their orders were to get into the tunnels through the vents and eliminate the guards if there were still some. Finally they would open the gate for the main force. It was all about a question of military strategy, it didn’t matter who was occupying the station.

They had needed three days to locate the vents and excavate them. Now some stalkers were with them to go down and let them in. They would only need a few more hours.

A few more hours, then it would all be decided and Denis Michailovitsch’s thoughts were his own again. He would be able to sleep and eat again. The plan was easy, carefully planned and without any gaps. Still, the colonel had a strange feeling in his stomach and his heart was racing like eighteen years ago when he had went to his first fight at the village in the mountains…

The hot air of his self made cigarette calmed him down a bit. Finally he threw away the rest, put his mask on and ran behind the brigade with hastily steps.

A short while after that they were standing in front of the steel door. Now they could catch their breath. Denis Michailovitsch would use the time before the storm to go through different strategies with his commanders. With one thing the old man had been right thought the colonel and smiled: Why run at a fortress head on when you could open it from the inside? That was the story with the Trojan horse, from whom was that story again?

Denis Michailovitsch took a look at the geiger counter, radiation was low and he put off his gasmask. The officers followed his example and then the rest of the fighters. They had earned a last breather!

* * *

There had always been gaffers at polis. Most were poor people that fought themselves through the dark stations and struggled for their daily meal. Now wandered with wide open eyes and open mouths through the galleries and halls.

And so almost no one paid attention to Homer while he made his rounds at the Borovizkaya, went with his hands over the narrow pillars of the Alexandrovski sad, torn from one side to the other and had even fallen in love with the chandeliers of the Arbatskaya.

Premonition had griped his heart and didn’t let him go: This was his stay at Polis. What happened in a few hours at the Tulskaya would shake his entire life. Yes, it may even marked his end. But he had decided: He would do what he had to do. He would allow Hunter to massacre the station and burn it down… But then he would try and kill him. He knew that if the brigadier would suspect anything he would just break his neck immediately. But maybe he already died at the storm of the Tulskaya and that would mean that everything would already be over at that point. But everything would go after his plan; Homer would return to his lonely nest and fill the last white papers of his book, from the intrigue to the finally. The last would be that he shot Hunter his back…

Was he able to do it? Would he have the courage? Even thinking about it made Homers hands shiver. Calm down, calm down. Everything would be solved by itself, now wasn’t the right time for those thoughts…

But that didn’t make him any less nervous. It had been his luck that the girl had disappeared!

Homer didn’t know where her adventure had lead her. How had he been able to drive her into this lion’s cage? His over exaggerated ambition of an author had been the cause of that and apparently he had forgotten that she wasn’t a creature of his fantasy. Homer’s novel had turned out differently from what he had thought. He had loaded to much on himself. How would he even be able to get it to the people? He didn’t even have space for the crowd of people who was passing the old man. Also his novel shouldn’t have become a big mass grave with meter long lists of names in front of his eyes. Writing made off bronze letters which didn’t tell you anything about the faces of the dead.

No it was impossible! His already with holes riddled memory wouldn’t be able to take all this people on board. The sweaty face of the merchant who was selling candy nor the pointy face of the girl who was giving him a bullet. The smile of her mother, bright as a Madonna or the sticky smile of the soldier who had just passed her. The deep wrinkles in the faces of the beggars or the wrinkles of the smile of the thirty year old woman…

Who of them was violent, who was a scrooge, a thief, a traitor, a lively one, a prophet, a righteous one, who didn’t care and who hadn’t decided about it yet?

All of that Homer would never know. He didn’t know what the merchant was really thinking while he looked at the girl, how to interpret the smile of the mother that had been lit by the look of the soldiers. Nor what job the old man had had before his legs had stopped working. It wasn’t in Homers power to decide how had the right to be in his story and who didn’t deserve it. Six milliards of people annihilated, six milliards of people!

Was it a coincidence that only a few thousands had been able to rescue themselves?

Train operator Serov which place Nikolai had taken over had looked at life like a at a soccer game. Humanity had lost, he used to tell Nikolai but both of us are still running around. Why do you think is that? Because it is still nil-nil in our life, that’s why! The referee had given us more time. Till the final whistle we have to find out why we are here and finish our last things, get everything out of ourselves, then we make the last pass and flew towards