Struggle: The Path to Power - Владимир Андерсон

good and bad. I've never seen such a rat in my life… However, my opinion is probably subjective. — The major turned away and touched the back of his head with his left hand, where there was still a fresh bump from a recent blow with a rifle butt in the square.

***

Misha told his beloved that he had an assignment, and that next time they would see each other in another city, which city he didn't know, but they would see each other for sure. They kissed and hugged.

–

No matter what happens to you, I will love you. — Natasha promised. From the bottom of my heart.

***

Night. The steppe. The clatter of hooves. Seven horses, seven riders.

Zhivenko is in the lead. Behind him is his deputy Dima Meretskov. During the last two battles a lot had changed in Dima: first, he had absolutely ceased to be afraid of death, and second, he had acquired a finer sense of humor. He said that when you see the overwhelming superiority of the plagues in numbers — so that there is no place on the field where even one ray of sunlight could reach — there is a strange feeling of pride in yourself that "you do not run, but hold on to the land that you are entrusted to defend, and you do it not until you run out of ammunition, but until they order you to retreat. His face, too, had changed: it was covered with wrinkles and deep folds; his eyes had darkened, and his voice had softened like that of an old grandfather living in a dense forest and gladdening every guest. And all this in spite of his twenty-three years.

— Misha, were you told how many of them there would be? — Dima asked, but under the clatter of hoofs it sounded so quietly that Misha had to take each component separately for another half a minute, and the result was: "And you were told how many there would be?".

— What stories? — Misha asked.

— Has it been explained to you in any other way? Give me one.

— I don't fucking understand… I'm thirty-three.

Dima laughed.

— What a daredevil! You've got a girl like that and you're fighting all the time. Spend time with her and leave the enemies to us.

— Dim, what enemies?

— Green and fangy. We have to fight, too, don't we?

— And what of them? Your enemies?

— Mish. I'll tell you first. How many will there be?

А. That's it. I don't know. I'm curious.

— At least share your thoughts… I've heard about the Inquisition… I can tell you, they don't go it alone….

— Nobody walks like that nowadays.

— That's true. But their "non-single" is somewhat different from all the others like them. — How much?

— You'll see, anyway…

— That's great. It's called "who asked who."

Dima laughed again. You can let your subordinates do that, when you know that today you can see him dead with a bullet in his forehead. And he wasn't the only one…

Even before dawn we reached the place.

The Veliky Burluk River was flowing. At the shore there is a hill, sharply steepening to the water. Steppe on the left of the hill, forest on the right. Pine, tall. At the edge of the forest there is another hillside, but it is quite small.

The road — two trampled ruts — along the water, only rounds the hill, and goes further between the river and the forest.

— And how many will we defeat here? — Dima asked rhetorically.

No one answered.

— I have an idea. — Misha was surveying the terrain and seemed to have already seen the morning. — We'll attack in two groups on the edges of the small hillside. At that moment they'll be at the turn. There is no way to retreat into the steppe, further along the road — also useless. The only way for them to stay alive is to climb the high ground.

— Uh-huh. It's convenient. — Dima agreed. — Do you expect the prisoner to run to us at this point?

— It would be nice, of course. But is it worth it?

— There's no other plan anyway. — Dima pressed his lips and chin together and shook his head with a serious look.

Misha smiled.

— That's not all… Pash, come here.

Pasha Vilko, not very experienced but very capable, came up.

— Mine the top of the hill. Remote detonator. Focus is at 10 o'clock.

— Mish, I have a suggestion. — Dima intervened. — Let's find a plague. A neoinquisitor. And let him push the button.

— I agree. — joked back to Misha. — All in favor?

Pasha raised his hand: "I'm against it." — Why?

— There are no buttons on the remote. Just toggle switches.

— It's a shame how… — Dima deduced and stepped aside. ***

Dawn. The sun is slowly rising. First the Sky, then the Earth becomes brighter. We can see the layered clouds that covered everything at night and prevented us from seeing the stars. We can see the forest, the steppe, and the river, bubbling without ceasing.

— It's beautiful, isn't it? — Dima said. All night long he was silent and cleaned his weapon. AKSU-74. With this rifle he went as far as he went. Somehow he even called it, or rather her. But how, no one heard.

They only knew it was a woman's name.

— It's beautiful. — Misha replied, who had also been silent all night, but not cleaning the machine gun, but thinking about his beloved.

— You know, I've only recently started to realize what it means to me…..

— Who is it?

— The sun. I used to think of it as a law that was destined to repeat itself forever. And then I realized that this law is not a law at all, but a force that is so great that we simply cannot imagine anyone who could not act according to its rules. I realized why I thought it was a law.

And what did it get you?

— A different perspective on life.