Tikhomirov finished reading.
— So what do you think? — The prefect asked.
— First. There are people who are fighting for the chums. And, in this case, more successful than the chums themselves. Two. The informant is obviously very valuable to them. And, three. They call it "Desna channel", which means that they obviously have more than one.
— Yeah. That's right. And we need to help the Maquis find him… And if we can't help, then at least show that we helped…" Gora held out the papers. — This is a list of our four doubts of our entire Deese sector.
Tikhomirov took the papers and began to delve into the text: "What are we looking for?"
— That traitor who bangs on the poppy plague. From Squad 14. He's snitching for one of them. There's a theory that he's snitching to soften the terms for someone… Stupid, sure. But what people do for their loved ones…
Tikhomirov glanced once more at the papers, then at the prefect, then back at the papers and again at the prefect, "I see that you have found no one interesting among them."
— That's right. Damn right. I couldn't find anyone for whom someone would knock off the Maquis… Clearly, no amount of plague conditions would improve. But maybe at least they shouldn't have been touched… But nothing adds up. There's no connection between those who ran away to the Maquis and those who stayed. We haven't had many run away to the Maquis in the last 10 years… And this defector was obviously very much needed by the plagues. And what they wouldn't let happen is that the ones he's snitching for would run away too… Which means they'd have to be in the detention center, in addition to the others. So as not to create doubts… And among those in the detention center, no one has escaped. No one at all. There must be a connection somewhere. But I can't find it.
— Have you seen Among the Dead?
The mountain froze in his gaze. That's right… A dead man can't run away. And special conditions were guaranteed for him. They began to dig through all the archival records, where the dead for the last six months were noted and compare them with those who had escaped in the last six months. There was one option — Alexei Ranierov.
The Mountain remembered him. A very tough, strong and dashing type with a slippery temper. He ran away four months ago, leaving both his parents behind. A month later, his parents were gone. Of course, he couldn't have known about it, but it was strange to imagine how he could vindicate his parents in front of the plagues too. He was clearly selfish. He didn't care about anyone but himself. But who knows, maybe some conscience had awakened for that reason.
They started looking further back. For one and a half years ago. Again, nothing. Until there was only one Raniere left. He was remembered once more. Once Hora had heard the man tell his son Raphael that humans had no chance before the plagues, that humans in general were not worthy of living any kind of normal life. And that in general plagues still spare people, giving way to their insignificance. And that, to be fair, people should have much worse conditions. And that in general one should be grateful that life is not as difficult as it could be.
It was disgusting to listen to all that back then. And I had the impression that Ranierov almost feeds on other people's grief. Playing on nerves, sowing doubts, and as if he was relieving the tension from himself. There was no doubt that in case of anything he would not hesitate to snitch to anyone, but that did not mean that he was the informer. And if they sent unverified information to the Maquis, the real snitch would remain at large. And what's more, he'd be even harder to identify. We need to keep digging.
Nothing was found for a year and a half ago either. The impression was that people only ran away from the mine if they had no one left at the mine. Or they didn't run away at all. Maybe it really is Raniere. There are no other candidates. And after all, you don't have to snitch for your loved ones, you can snitch just for your own pleasure… People sometimes do things like that, even without any apparent benefit to themselves. Just to make things worse for others, as if to make things easier for themselves. As if there would be a spare place for them just in case… And still, the evidence of Ranierov's guilt was only farfetched….
And if we don't hand over the Maquis to anyone, they might think we're covering for someone. Or that we don't want to look at all.
— Vanya. — said the prefect. — Write a note for the Maquis… According to our information Ranierov is a traitor.
Zhivenko
Wide fields of Ukraine. The same forests and rivers. The city of Kharkiv in the middle of everything.
Misha Zhivenko, who had recently become a penalty officer, used to have lunch at Natasha's. Now every time only at her place — no one knows when they will be able to see each other or if they will be able to see each other at all. And it didn't matter what he had, as long as she was near. There was a light in her eyes that was brighter than that of the sun, a light that could not be seen anywhere else.
After he finished, they somehow naturally stopped in front of each other. She was mine, he was mine. And then they sat hugging, stroking and kissing each other for probably more than an hour, oblivious to time and anything that might keep them from being together, until the door creaked open.
It seems like nothing speciaclass="underline" the usual sounds, and everything is familiar… But it's actually someone coming, and no mistake about the house.
Mishcha reluctantly turned back to the entrance — Bolotnikov. Everything came back: both reality and the sadness in his soul. Somehow it was not the way I wanted it to be.
But Natasha had nothing to do with it. She doesn't need to know the details: let her think that her beloved is the same warrior as before, only not quite legal and on an equal footing with the others. Let her think the same as before.
Ruchyov had told Misha long ago about what it meant to be a penal officer, what sometimes you had to do, not because there was an "unwritten code" or something like that, not because Khmelnitsky had made a mistake just once and initiated the creation of a penalty battalion, but because it was always, first of all, about you: "Don't be softer than the enemy. Be as hard as the enemy. And in time, become ruthless. To break the enemy. Because you will only think about getting ahead of him, and you will do therefore everything times more than him… It doesn't matter how much time the enemy spends on preparation, it only matters if you spend 8 hours or 14 hours on your preparation…"
— To become a good warrior, Sasha said. — all you have to do to become a good warrior is to give up thinking during the battle. In order to become just the right penalty killer, you have to become a beast before the battle. Not just to clear the brain, but to forget about its existence as a control center. Feel the instinct and clamp down on it. To make your instinct into your own willful steel sword, moving towards the goal.
Misha didn't want all this for Natasha. She's smart: she hears two or three words and understands everything at once. But he wanted her to love just a man who wanted to stay alive because he had her.
— Major, let's go outside — asked Misha.
Sergei nodded understandingly. Natasha exhaled a little and, reaching out gently, fixed his collar, which already looked normal. That's a very interesting trait in women. They always need to correct something on the ones they love: clothes, hairstyle, anything, but make sure to correct it. And you can include all kinds of ways of thinking, but you will not understand why this something became different after her touch, even though you are 100 percent sure that it did not become different.