Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон

— I will pray for our common cause, and you repeat after me. — said the inquisitor to the colonel and walked to the center of the room. — In the name of the sacred Black Stone I conjure… May the Black Stone and all its power, which has given us victory and greatness, be glorified… May we punish and destroy those who have strayed from our sacred faith… May this day be the brightest day in the history of our deeds… May we defeat heresy within these walls and be strengthened in our faith by all means….

The Scekist, standing a little behind, kept repeating and repeating and with each word getting quieter and quieter, which in the end turned into an unrecognizable muttering.

— Now help my men get settled. — Samokh turned and said.

— Of course, of course. We've prepared everything. — The whole platoon will fit in there, and there will be plenty of room for seven tents!

— My novices' drill has arrived. Your subordinates will report to you now.

Samokh's sense of time never failed him, capable of calculating individual events down to the minute. And indeed, in a few seconds, the radio started talking:

— Basalt-01, this is Basalt-06. The new train of the Holy Church has arrived. Three cars. Do you want me to let them through?

Bazanhr hesitated. Neither his gaze nor any of his facial features suggested that he was embarrassed by anything, but that second's hesitation showed that something had not gone as he had hoped:

— Yes, of course… Show them into the reception hall.

On the way to this hall, they were no longer winding their way up and down the stairs. Bazankhr did not turn around at all, nor did he warn them against sharp turns and high steps as they followed him. It was obvious that he was in a hurry to see for himself those who had arrived in such numbers at his subordinate facility.

The picture surprised him beyond belief. If he could have turned pale, he would have been white as milk in an instant. His heartbeat quickened, though he made no sign of it. Yes, this is what happens to all plagues when they first see the "unspoken resource" of the holy Church in this case represented by the heavily-armed punitive brown Inquisition. These novices were stout, big plagues with languid glassy eyes that didn't seem to blink at all. They stood in formation as if in a straight line, unwilling to even shift from foot to foot.

Gentility, chastity and obedience. These were the three basic rules for combat novices from the punitive units of the Inquisition. At the same time, the first two did not particularly worry their superiors: one could save money and lend it at interest, and even have his own small business, one could also enter into relations with the female sex, as long as it was not showy. But obedience was the cornerstone of the combat wing. What the priest said was a holy rule, and what the priest ordered was a holy duty. Orders were not discussed or commented upon. They were sacred. And in the entire history of the "unspoken resource" there had never been a single instance of violating that sanctity.

I see you are surprised, Colonel? — the inquisitor asked.

— Not at all. — I only see brothers who are faithful to the holy Church," answered Bazankhr, turning and looking straight into his eyes. That makes me feel better.

— All the better… But don't worry, they didn't come here for your sake… Moreover, we're all just passing through… I think you understand where we're going.

For all of Bazankhra's continued equanimity, it was obvious that a stone had been lifted from his shoulders, and he stood more relaxed than he had a moment ago:

— Your Eminence, we could go to my office and discuss this.

Samokh nodded, and they headed across the hall to the far end of it, then went through several narrow corridors and finally came to the former office of the karak of the Korsa sector. The office had clearly been stripped of all the luxuries that had gone before and replaced with another, equally lavish one: several paintings of plagues in officers' uniforms, a small bronze bust of the founder of the GHCC, and gold-adorned oak furniture-a massive desk with an equally massive armchair behind it, two high chairs in front of it, and a wide chest of drawers that held several crystal vases and, apparently, several gold statuettes inlaid with emeralds.

— Please have a seat. — Bazankhr offered and seated himself in one of the two chairs in front of the table, leaving his deputy behind him.

Samoh took a seat across from him while six of his novices positioned themselves behind him:

— That's not a bad idea with the chapel….

— All just to please the holy Church…..

— Enough with the pretense, Colonel. — Samokh spoke not loudly, but firmly enough. He could see that he didn't care that his whole drill was not sitting comfortably, but standing silently at attention, waiting for his patron's command. — My novices are loyal, and they know how to keep their mouths shut. Your second-in-command, I presume.

Bazanhr stopped trying to smile and even stopped moving, he seemed to freeze altogether and then coughed a little. Samokh continued:

— I've already said I'm not interested in you. And that this is not the place I'm interested in at all. I think you understand who I'm interested in and where that someone is.

— Of course, understanding…

— Then tell me, whose side are you on? On the side of the holy Church or on the opposite side?

— I… Not on anyone's side… I serve in the SCK, and you can see that I have achieved a lot… These portraits here… — Bazankhr pointed to two portraits of chums in officers' uniforms. — My grandfather and my father. They both served in the JFK, and I