Of course he will pass through the minefield. He was created so that such obstacles would not hinder him then, and there is no need to talk about how he will pass such an obstacle now — we use what we have.
And then… From the mine strip to our position is 100 meters. Until it gets to 40 meters, it's useless to shoot at it, although even then there's no guarantee that KAZ won't have time to destroy the missile… And if it doesn't get to 40 meters at all? He'll stand at 50 meters and start shooting. It's not like there are fools inside it. They wouldn't put fools in it. And they want to live, too. And they've learned how they can be destroyed, too.
And we still have the rest of the battalion on the line of contact. How will it operate now? — Stork, this is Bullfinch. Over.
— Stork on the line.
— Fire on the previously indicated square. Fire 3 volleys.
— Yes, Snowbird.
— Over and out.
Then the previously silent walkie-talkie started talking.
— Hello. Hello. Bullfinch. This is Lark (Ranierov). Our help is required?
A free Cossack! As if he can't participate?! Like he can leave?! Or is he bored? — Are you under attack?
— Uh, no.
— Do you see the enemy?
— Uh, no.
— So what are you reporting?!
— I was wondering…
— Are you drunk in there?! What the hell are you doing on the phone for no reason? Didn't you find a job?
— No. I wanted to help.
— Wait for orders and report any changes. Execute!
— Yes, Bullfinch. Over and out.
Oh, man! He was the first one to end the connection. When we get out of there, he'll get a reprimand. And we should take away his platoon command. It's too fat for him. *** 07:34
This is no longer the Major's basement. It's a battlefield. A T-95 stopped 57 meters from the defense line. The other two are hit, but it's still standing.
Shot at seven seconds. Then again. And again. The battalion of chums is defeated. But the fortifications are being demolished more and more at every 7-second interval. Time passes in intervals, not seconds.
Somebody couldn't resist and fired a missile, it didn't make it. Can't hit it. Desperation.
The field. Tank. A SWAT team five meters away. A hand and a bunch of grenades. Throw! And the tank is gone.
So did the SWAT guy.
*** 07:42
— Bullfinch, Bullfinch! Over. This is Tit.
— Bullfinch on the line.
— Bullfinch, fangs destroyed! The square is clear!
— And the tank?
— Tank too. Snowbird, the quad is clear!
— 300 to the 3rd bush. Over… Stork, this is Snowbird, over.
— Stork on the line.
— Cease firing the pishals.
— Aye, cease fire.
— Over and out.
Bolotnikov wanted so much to ask about the way the tank had been hit: little wonder what it could mean, but Zhivenko was so emotionally aroused that there could be no intelligible answer any time soon.
Another thing was more important now: how well the fortifications had been preserved. And this could only be seen for yourself.
As he came up from the dungeon, the major immediately stepped on someone's boot. Apparently, while the wounded man was being carried across the room, the boot had fallen off his foot. It wasn't bloody, but it was torn in two places.
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.