Struggle. Retribution in the Twilight

скачать книгу бесплатно


You can't see yourself. All this groundless talk about a mirror is just talk. No mirror can reflect you as others see you. Because you are the one looking in the mirror. And Gora knew this very well… That his time would come to overestimate his powers, to make mistakes, and even to go completely crazy. And no one will tell him about it. Everyone will also wait for his orders and report back to him. Because he has already built a system where his decree is equal to the law. And breaking the law is punishable by death. He has already built a system where everyone around him,

seeing him without a mirror, will be silent if something goes wrong with him. After all, when he is the law, it means that without him there is no law.

Minister

Donghr was a very old minister and very experienced. He had once had victories that not everyone can dream of. Military victories, career victories and the victories of his personal life. His wife wanted more – a life that could be called beautiful, and she got it. And for that, Donhru had to steal from the coffers of his own ministry. Systematically and mercilessly, because his wife's appetite was growing, but the treasury was not getting bigger. And it all came to the point where there was more on paper than there actually was in reality.

Of course, at some point this became known to Zakinkhru, the then head of the SCK, who was in charge of anti-corruption measures. He was also systematic and ruthless, but not to his wife's appetites, but to his own career appetites, which were much more important to him than corruption itself. Therefore, when he thought that Donghr, who was afloat but in his power, was much more profitable for him than the next prizes for uncovering financial frauds, he chose the first option without delay… And he was promoted thanks to the assistance of Donghr, who began to periodically surrender his former associates to him.

Zakinhr eventually became the head of the Slavic Column's JFC, while Donhr continued to be its minister. For a while this suited both of them, but as of late, Donghr began to realize that he couldn't bury himself forever. And this was especially true after that conversation with Bluh, when the latter had spoken so harshly about his current position and the fact that pieces of his influence were so easily slipping out from under his nose. Yes, of course it was said under a hop, but you can't argue that it was wrong. You can't argue that it's some kind of arrogance of an arrogant official

– it's a normal tool of self-preservation, when you realize that either you move up, gaining something new, or you lose what you've already gained and go to the point where at best you give up your authority, and at worst – keep company in prison with those whom you yourself easily helped to get there.

Bolotnikov

"First find the chums, with whom you can still fight in the Diza sector" – these words kept looming in Major Bolotnikov's mind day and night, until they turned into something more substantial. He himself was already thinking over the options when the ally of Gor, who had led an entire group and given the miners new opportunities, and, most importantly, had already eased their current fate, would become not only not an ally, but the most dangerous enemy. The Jackal had once told him about it, even showing some gloating about it. He is no longer alive, but the prophecies seem to be coming true, and becoming even more terrible than expected. But for that I must see for myself.

Shakal said that the area around the surface sectors was now guarded by hives, and since that was the case, it was at least possible to look at them. He could take one of them and have a heart-to-heart talk with them, as he'd done before. Maybe something new will come to light.

Bolotnikov took a horse and rode all night and then all day and by roundabout ways reached Bakhmut. Here, he was well aware that the Khivi dwelt, holding this town as a hub – several roads ran through it in different directions, and, controlling it, one could be sure that no one would throw any serious units to their flank or rear in any short time.

It took him another half a day to get quietly around this town and move on toward Deese, and before he reached about ten kilometers he settled down for the night. It was warm now, even at night, and after such a journey his strength was running out, so he was almost at once at his services.

He dreamed of miners and chiwis and Maquis. In a big, dark hall. They were moving around, forming some kind of demonic circle at wild speed. But surprisingly, they didn't bump into each other at all. And even though they all had different clothes – the khaki field clothes of the Maquis, the specialized "kink" of the Kiwis, and the black and gray work clothes of the miners – it was impossible to tell who was who. They moved so fast. And what's more, as the observation went on, it began to seem that there was no difference between them all, that they were all the same.

Completely the same, and even their clothes, which had blurred so much that they looked like tattered multicolored rags. It no longer seemed that they were different people. They were all doing the same thing, circling around the room in a single rhythm, not bumping into each other, clearly wanting the same thing, and certainly not interfering with each other at all. It was even somewhat surprising – how could they move at such speed, maneuvering between each other and at such speed, and not even hit each other. It was as if they were being controlled by someone else, calculating each one's route in advance.

How much did they want it? And did they want it? And who is the one who controls it all? It can't be otherwise – they weren't wrong, they were acting according to a single plan that someone had worked out. And that's exactly what they were all happy with.

Bolotnikov tried to force his way through to pull someone out and ask it, but he was immediately pushed away, just as coherently by everyone who could reach. And so, looking at him fiercely, continued their movement. Then he tried to shout to someone, asking what they were doing, why they were doing it, and who commanded them. Some of them looked at him angrily, but most of them just kept on doing what they were doing.

Then he took out a pistol and started firing it at the ceiling, shooting the entire clip. That didn't impress anyone, and he tiredly slumped to the floor. Everyone seemed to be really happy with what they were doing. It looked like his attempts to find out something were just a void in their much more real lives than the one he wanted for them… And then someone banged hard next to his right ear.

Bolotnikov woke up instantly. It was his horse, not far from him, pounding its hoofs. It snorted a little more and looked at him strangely. He must have said something in his sleep.

He had slept all evening, and it was already night. It was just the right time to inspect the positions of the chivi and look out for chums there, if they were still there, of course.

He covered the next ten kilometers quite slowly, telling himself to move as quietly as possible, in reality realizing that he just didn't want to see and accept the truth right now. When the industrial pipe showed, he got off his horse and tied it to the nearest tree. Now he moved even slower and even more quietly.

It has to be the Kiwis first, he knows that. They patrol the territory on their own, without the help of anyone else, like the Imperial Army plagues or the SCK, whom they obviously hate. And they're great at hiding, oddly enough, much better than the Maquis. They were so good at it, in fact, that it wasn't quite clear why they hadn't already identified all the rebels and killed them one by one.

Maybe they don't really need it? Really, what are they going to guard and do if there's no Maquis? A final defeat wouldn't suit them… Or is he idealizing them too much? And their abilities in general… At the same time, it's time to check it all out properly....

– Listen, quietly…" someone said in a whisper from behind. – Put your hands up.

Holy shit. How's this? Going to investigate, get a tongue, interrogate, learn something new. And this. Right at the entrance, they took him like a lousy sheep… How professional. Not shouting, but whispering and careful. They know that many people have this defense reflex to try to kill the enemy faster than he kills you. It's just automatic. While there is still a moment, and the invader himself does not want to shoot yet… And then whisper. Just to convey the humble message that we have to surrender. No shouting, no noise, no surprises.

Bolotnikov raised his hands slowly, still even hoping that it might be someone from the Maquis even and other units who decided to make a sortie for a new diversion:

– I'm my own– Relax.

– One of our own, of course, how could it be any other way.

The enemy began to step carefully around him, barely shuffling one foot after the other, and at last appeared in front of the major. He was rather gloomy-looking, small, low, somehow unevenly built and stooped, but with some very shrewd eyes:

– You look familiar, fine.....

– Of course you did. I used to guard the Jackal. Till they started moving him.

– A jackal?

– The jackal, yes. The one who was an SSchekist bitch....

– I know who you mean. Everybody knows who he is.

– All the chivvies know. That's what I'm saying. I'm telling you, it's mine.

Slouch was silent. He was already looking at Bolotnikov a little differently. He was thinking something of his own at that moment:

– I don't need to hear about the Jackal. What's your unit?

– What about you? So I told you. – Bolotnikov knew very well the braggart nature of the hivi, and how they did not like to share unnecessary information even with their own. Who knows, maybe he'll take them for his own after all.

– You don't want to take a bullet?

– Everybody gets caught at some point. Not everyone's gonna be a rotten ass in the process.

Hearing this, the slouch seemed to smile a little and even relaxed a bit, but in essence it meant nothing – he held his AK-74 still firmly and aimed exactly at the center of the major's solar plexus:

– I agree… Well go that way… Penalized....

Bolotnikov turned slowly in that direction and, keeping his hands up, walked in the direction indicated. There seemed to be no chance of escaping – his escort had deliberately lagged behind by six or seven steps, so that there would be time to shoot, both in case of an attempt to escape and in case of an attempt to seize his weapon.

– Do you know who the jackal snitched to? – Bolotnikov suddenly had an idea of how to fix or at least change the situation.

Slouch was silent and only breathed back occasionally.

– He knocked the plagues from the SCK. – Bolotnikov replied, turning his head slightly and noticing the enemy out of the corner of his eye.

– What?!

– Yes, yes, to the chums from the SCK… – the major stopped and turned back a little. – He said he had no choice....

– What fucking choice?! These bitches snitch! Did he get a bad fucking meal here?

– He wasn't complaining about the food, you know… He was in the shit and he wanted to get out of it. You know, everybody protects your own skin more than somebody else's.

– So what? BCC's gonna help him out?

– You see, it didn't work. But somehow he wasn't too upset. He wouldn't even smoke. He said I smoked mine a long time ago…

Slouchy laughed and lowered the machine gun altogether:

– That asshole gave me the smokes. We used to be together. Only he went upstairs, and I didn't think I'd say anything. You know, he's a brave guy without epaulets. He's braver than a lot of fancy men. It ain't my thing to chase rank. But when we were young, he bet me a carton of cigarettes. And that was expensive for him. Very expensive, bitch. Ha-ha-ha. So he got upset. And he says, "I'm not fucking smoking anymore." Like he can't afford to buy any more. And then he quit altogether… And here's this dandy who says he's already smoked his own. Ha-ha… Well, on the other hand, at least he didn't completely deceive you. I was the one who fooled him with that block. Ha-ha-ha-ha.

He laughed so hard, folding himself in half sometimes, that he involuntarily came closer and closer. And at some point it finally seemed that it was possible to take advantage of it. Bolotnikov rushed forward and sharply raised his fist upward, hitting him squarely in the apple of his eye. The stooped man fell to the ground… That's what happened, and the Shakal helped him....

Swampy tied the hands of the Hivi fighter with his own belt, then took the laces off his boots and tied their feet together. Then he examined his pockets, and there was nothing particularly interesting or unexpected: ammunition, two F-1 grenades, ammunition, a Makarov pistol, cigarettes and a notebook, which contained debts, apparently card debts, judging by the fact that there were tambourines, hearts, crosses, spades, as well as the names of games opposite the surnames: goat, borax, preference. It seems that the Jackal not only lost to him, but lost at katran, that is in a game where cheats know each other, and play on who will cheat whom better. Logically, after such a defeat, he stopped smoking altogether.

Still, it was time to see what was near the sector. This time the Major moved more cautiously, and several times he spotted hives in secluded places, carefully avoided them, and continued on toward the main administration building. It was getting closer and closer. The moonlit night perfectly illuminated the outlines and some silhouettes of the moving objects around the largest structure.

Finally, he was ready to look through the binoculars with full confidence that he would find the plague, when he noticed that the binoculars were broken. On the one hand it was broken, and on the other, apparently, the lens inside was deformed, because when he tried to look through it, only darkness appeared. This is not good. It had all started to go wrong somehow, back when he'd been taken captive for a few minutes by that slouchy guy. It would be dangerous to come any closer right now – he'd be in plain sight as he approached the mesh fence that enclosed the sector from the rest of the world. And there's a way back. And all this for what? Just to see? No, it's too risky.

Bolotnikov looked a little more at the silhouettes in the distance, tried to recognize them as plagues rather than people, more inclined to believe that they were plagues. And moved back. At least there was still a bound slouch who could still tell something. At least he should know something about the plagues – are they still in the administration with Ananhr, or is it just the people led by the Mountain?

Although, of course, it should be recognized that Zubrilov was already right about something. After all, now he met first of all the hewis, not the plagues. And even if they guard only the outer perimeter, it does not cancel the fact that people are already involved in all this. The hewi are covering for the prefect. That's a fact. And there's more than enough of them around. Then it's just a question of the speed at which their relations with each other will gain momentum… The two companies that were here and ambushed the railroad trains were also eliminated by the Hiwis. And the speed with which they did it may well indicate that Gora helped them in some way… He's no longer in alliance with us. He's at best playing a part, and at worst he's actually part of the plague empire, not going to do anything about it because he's already happy with it. Here are two possibilities, and one is cooler than the other.....

Bolotnikov in such thoughts finally reached the place where he had left the bound stooped man only 30 minutes ago. Or did he think this was the place? No, it looked like that, and even there was a shoelace lying there… He came closer, bent down and there was a long shoelace from his shoe....

– You fucking ace of diamonds…" he heard from behind, and the major immediately lost consciousness.

***

– Penalty Major Bolotnikov…" he heard from somewhere far away, and the rebel opened his eyes. He felt the cold steel on his hands, and the fact that he was chained to the wall with his hands tightened behind his back. The room was quite dark, but there were two men in front of him of good visibility.

– You see, he woke up right away. – he said to the stooped man who had just stood next to

him.

-

Where did you put my debt notebook? – The slouchy one asked at once.

Bolotnikov blinked and honestly tried to remember which way he'd thrown it back after

looking at it, but failed:

– I don't remember. I threw it away.

– Fucking somewhere…" the slouching man grumbled, but it was even a little odd that he wasn't as upset as he was supposed to be at such a loss. – What do you need it for, anyway? You looked at it, saw that it was nothing interesting, and put it back… Or did you see your debts there?

– My debts are not here…" the Major replied somehow sadly.

– We know that without you… Okay, we've been talking too much… – said the first, and apparently the main one of them. – Tell us why you came to us. Did you want to kill someone? Blow up what? With what? Who else knows you're here? Where are you from?

– I came to see the plagues, that's why I'm here.

– Chumov? You know, kill whoever you want. Ananhr?

– No… Not to kill. Looked at the chums. The two chiwis laughed a little.

– There's no arguing about taste. – said the slouchy one to his commander.

– Well? Did you see it? – asked the chief.

– I don't know. It was far away… I wanted to see that they were guarding something here.

Not just the chiwis. It hurts us to think that the Mountain is no longer our ally, but the chiwis'. And the more plagues I saw, the less doubt I'd have about the Mountain… And I didn't see any plagues....

Bolotnikov began to understand the Jackal, whom he himself had interrogated. He held himself in a completely different way than he did now. He held himself firmly, confidently, without regret. Even though he told him what he knew, he did it without fearing anything. But now he was very embarrassed that he was not even under torture to tell everything like that… But he could not help it. He didn't fully feel like a Maquis anymore. Not only was he a penalty, but those Maquis who were not penalized were not his friends in most cases… On the other hand, what could he hide? He has no combat data for a long time, plans and guidelines of the Maquis command, too. The fact that Detachment 14 is now in Severodonetsk in most of its composition is probably not a secret for anyone for two months already. So what's he got to hide? Given that they all recognize him so easily, including the fact that he's a "penalty officer", it's more likely that they can tell him something new, rather than he can tell them....

– So upset, then… Is that all you came here for? – The chief asked.

– Anyway, yeah… Maybe the tongue was thinking of taking it and questioning it… Well, it didn't quite work out....

– Yeah, not really… I'd beat you up, you know, for nothing… The fact that you don't know shit is written all over your forehead. Not to mention the fact that you can be trusted with penalties… But someone wants to talk to you now, and this someone doesn't like to be tortured for no reason… When he gives the command, then we'll do it. Until then, no. – The chief waved his index finger negatively from side to side a couple of times and finished his tirade, probably because he heard the sound of footsteps from afar, which Bolotnikov now heard as well.

A moment later, the man they had been waiting for appeared. With a guard, of course. He was a very cunning-looking officer without epaulettes, with a shaved head. His eyes were definitely very intelligent, and when he looked at the major, it seemed as if he could see right through him.

– They say you interrogated the Jackal, comrade Bolotnikov. – came closer and said the bald

man.

– He was interrogated… We ambushed him while he was being transported… He was taken

alive. I talked to him myself before I handed him over.

– Were you already a penalty officer then?

– I was.

– And how did he behave in this interrogation of yours? – The bald man smiled slightly, and it was obvious that he understood Bolotnikov's feelings, and how he could compare himself with the Jackal at this moment.