Struggle: The Path to Power - Владимир Андерсон

No one around me was moaning, and almost no one was making any sound at all. And that's out of twenty-two people. Four dead, most likely from the first attack. The orderlies are six, in addition to them Schwarzenberg. Actually, it's more accurate to say they're in addition to him. He's a scowling boss, but not during the operation. Then he is already a dear father — he treats everyone with a soul and a warm word: even a weak man would not cry out in pain. Dr. Ferdinand Schwarzenberg had been mastering the art of treatment with his own mind for decades, and the system was simple: less screaming, more thinking about good things and something far away from here. Yes, that's right, far away. At times like this, only the furthest thing from you comes to mind. Something good and far away. Something you may never see again in your life, but you'd like to. And self-awareness of your own possible joy is the best cure for despondency.

Coming out into the street, Bolotnikov turned the corner. Behind him was his assistant, Captain Zlydenko, with a backpack and five radios, including a spare one, stuffed into it.

When he saw the positions, the major nodded his head approvingly: what else could one expect after such a battle? There were no defensive lines: four ruined houses, burned-out camouflage, machine-gun nests blackened by smoke and shot through so that a booted foot could fit through the holes. The only thing left were the trenches. But even if there were enough men, the next attack would be impossible to withstand. Bolotnikov took out his walkie-talkie: "Falcon, I am Snowbird. Over." — Falcon here.

— All wounded to bush 11.

"Yes, Snowy" — Schwarzenberg did not ask what to do with the dead, it was not the first time, he already knows what encirclement means — to save the wounded is already a feat. — Over and out… Stork, this is Snowbird. Over. — Stork on the line.

— Change sentry (positions). Now your 10th and 11th bush. Squeals to the corners (redoubts) and deploy at 6 o'clock.

— Yes, Snowbird.

— Over and out. Lark, this is Bullfinch, over.

— Lark is on the line.

— Change the sentry. Now your 14th and 13th bushes. Blow blue (using a radio detonator) on the 16th bush. Blow everything you have except paper (smoke charges).

— Yes, Snowbird.

The Major paused, waiting for his subordinate to make another mistake, but nothing like this, "Over and out, Lark."

At that moment, Zhivenko stood nearby. His face was tortured, and his eyes were joyful and sorrowful at the same time. He couldn't stand straight — he didn't have the right spirit now. It was only after the battle — there was no need for straightening up.

— Mish, can you think?

— Yes, Comrade Commander.

— Orders to change sentries. Your 20th bush. Blow on whatever's left here, but only on the destroyed houses. Not next to them, but on them.

— Yes, Comrade Commander.

— And help Schwarzenberg move the wounded to the 11th house.

— Yes, sir. Permission to execute?

— Wait, Mish. How much did we lose?

— Half of the 7th and all of the 21st Ward.

I can see why he has a flicker of bitterness alongside his joy. Section 21 is different from all the

others…

— Permission to execute, Comrade Commander?

— Yeah. Yeah, buddy, with God.

Two special forces slowly approached from the left, holding a third, Wet, on their shoulders.

"We almost made it." — wheezing a little, Seversky said. — "He hit the tank, he got caught in the shrapnel. Only wounded him. But the plagues survived. The tank burned, but they're alive… They finished him off… If only for a second… if only for a second we'd been there sooner. We hit them and they hit him…

Heavey…. It was the Heaveys.

— Yes… But he's already a hero and nothing more is required of him. And we're still here.

— That's right, Major. That's right.

Bolotnikov had already imagined his difficult conversation with this man, how he would have to press everything he had to get his future orders carried out. Not now, but he would have to. Especially when it came to Hivi… The officers keep that word alone a secret. And the details.

— We're changing sentries. You're going to the 11th house.

— Got one to the 11th house.

God willing, he will also respond in half an hour! God willing.

A minute passed. And the first shell flew into the sanitary unit, the 15th house. Just one shell, and the whole house is gone. It's good that there's no one in it anymore.

The plagues have brought in heavy artillery. The defense was over, and the holding began.

*** 07: 25

The cross-national roots can be seen in the study of the reaction of ordinary people to the events around them, and especially in difficult times.

There is an anecdote from a resident of Germany in 1945. At that time, the Anglo-American air force bombed cities so heavily that it was impossible even to breathe — the air was too hot and acrid from the buildings melting around.

"Who can be considered a coward?" — asks one Berliner to another.

"The one who goes to volunteer for the front," the other replies to him.

There is a certain similarity in the Germans' sense of humor to Russian humor: that irony about what one has to endure.

Bolotnikov felt that his left pant leg was burning, but looking at it, he saw a leg that had already been burned. It burned strangely: only on the inside of his thigh, just where he had three moles in the form of a regular triangle, just above the knee.

A small hole, right in that spot. And the skin only burned around the triangle, leaving it intact, leaving it alive.

The Major smiled, thinking about what it could mean: "Our ancestors may have been fire worshippers… They considered fire the ultimate power… What a