Smoke over the forest floated uniformly into the sky. And in the air there was a dense silence. incapable to withstand it and not to see what was happening, Stefan left his facility in the attic. Carefully he passed along fences to the edge of the village, where respective dense bushes increasing old meliorative ditch gave him perfect protection from the sight of possible intruders approaching from the forest side. Behind the back of the tiny barrier located at the edge of the village of the property was the only obstacle that separated it from the buildings. In the event of a threat, it was almost impossible to withdraw, as well as simply stay in the thicket. "It's always better variants than to be stuck in the attic of your own household like a shishlik on a corner," Stefan calculated, freezing more and more on his fresh position.
Then, from the forest wall, a single moving point broke off. Stefan stuck his eye to the gun's telescope. A biker. More specifically, a soldier on a bicycle. He pushed his pedals hard, tilting rhythmically to the sides. He headed for the village, right on a man lurking in the bushes. The more the cyclist approached Stefan's hideout, the more he amazed him. seemingly he was a Polish soldier, or at least a soldier in Polish uniform. Untrained over the arm of the carbine, he clearly interfered with pedaling. His face turned red with effort, and the full character seemed to be individual for whom both cycling and war craftsmanship were 2 very unusual things.
Stefan wanted to go to a biker gathering for a while, but he gave up the idea. Instead, he waited for the cyclist to approach his station respective twelve meters and shouted out loud:
Stop or I'll shoot!
The biker waved like lightning and stopped the bike in place, looking around in search of the 1 who screamed. Then he got off the bike, put it on the ground, and raised his hands up in the motion of submission:
— Don’t shoot! — He threw a soldier into space, inactive not knowing where the 1 who shouted at him was — His!
Stefan shouted from the bushes.
— The Polish army! — The cyclist shouted out, watching closely the bushes from which he heard his voice.
— How can I be sure? Just what they were Russian. Stefan wouldn't let go.
— Man, I have a Polish uniform! — The soldier clearly lost patience.
— And I have a German weapon — Stefan vaporized you.
— Man, don’t shoot! — Stefan’s words impressed the soldier — how can I convince you?
There was a minute of silence.
— Who are you?
— Corporal Adam Kasperczak, 1st platoon of the second company of the Hajnówka border defender bar...
- A verser says... Who are you? — asked Stefan again.
— What poem? — Corporal Kasperczak’s surprise had no limits.
— Well, a poem like that... Who are you?
— A! — The face of the soldier became clearer this time with the knowing — small Pole!
— What is your sign? — continued Stefan.
- Eagle White!
— Where do you live?
— In Polish soil.
— What's this earth like?
- My country. Man, how much longer? The problem is.
— Well, there's a problem. The war is — Stefan interrupted reciting questions from the poem and beat himself out of the bushes, holding a soldier inactive at gunpoint.
— Lord, take this cannon to the sky, we are not on the hunt! — The soldier turned red erstwhile he saw the barrel aimed at him.
Stefan directed the weapon to the side, but inactive keeping the weapon ready.
— What kind of freak is this, soldier?” asked Stefan, standing respective steps distant from the corporal and eloquently looking at him, on the bicycle lying next to him.
— I told you. Corporal Adam Kasperczak, the first platoon of the second company of defence battalion bordering Hajnówka. Territorials. We have a crisis there in the forest — a soldier pointed out his hand behind us — the combat contact was with the kacapas. There are wounded and prisoners... I mean, we fucked up the way you look at them,” he added with unhindered pride a soldier, seeing that Stefan evidently did not realize his communicative very much - But they're injured, wounded, and from Mom's captives. And only 8 of us. Without me, they're seven. We request aid from the countryside, and with his hand he pointed to the buildings — and the transport — he choked, now staring at the lying bike. “ We were a small overdoing it,” he added, spreading his hands helplessly.
— Man — Stefan interrupted him by spinning his head — I don’t understand. Talk right, what's up?
Corporal Kasperczak told Stefan how in the strength of the platoon for 3 days they had been conducting surveillance of areas close the border. After the start of the war by the Russian Federation, platoon divided into teams with a mission to break west, into areas controlled by larger Polish groups. That was the last authoritative order, and in truth, at the time erstwhile the information about the beginning of the war came to Kasperczak's platoon, his division undertook a alternatively chaotic operation “retreat who can”. Divided into teams, the soldiers crossed the fields and forests westward, avoiding encountering enemy forces.
In the morning, they had 2 more private cars, but the broken bridges prevented them from rapidly evacuating. The squad leader made the decision that it would be safer to leave the cars in any village and walk. Good people gave them bikes, thanks to which the squad importantly increased their mobility.
Retreating the forest towards Zahajki, they met a Russian reconnaissance that was heading for the village. Having no thought what force they're dealing with, the soldiers just hid in the woods, passing through hostile avant-garde. But erstwhile no more units followed her, and the reconnaissance itself after a brief visit to Zahajki began retreating by the way he arrived, the commander decided they would attack.
The squad was equipped with RPGs and made usage of it. The advantage of surprise allowed Polish soldiers from short distance to destruct the transporter and tank. A brief and decisively unilateral exchange of fire with a amazed Russian reconnaissance ended disastrously for invaders. Those who did not die or were not injured in explosions of vehicles, fell under the cross fire of Poles. respective Russian survivors dropped their weapons and surrendered, most likely reasoning they were dealing with a much larger unit than just a team.
The consequence of the skirmish was a destroyed tank, which after being hit at the back under the tower additionally burst as a consequence of the detonation of the ammunition depot and a burning transporter. respective killed and wounded Russians, another twelve captured and injured Polish RPG operator, who, from taking over in the fervor of the fight, fired a second shot from besides small distance and fell victim to the detonation he provoked.
The Polish commander saw that he was incapable to supply assistance to all wounded and to safe prisoners of war and arms, pushed Corporal Kasperczak into the village, hoping that local residents would aid at least in logistics. And that's how Kasperczak rode his bike in the bushes of Stefan.
— Then how? — with his question, Corporal Kasperczak — Can you arrange any transport? The best thing would be a truck or a tractor with a trailer.
— I don't know. — Stefan scratched his head What if the Russians come back?
— Lord, they will come back, they will not come back – God knows. But they're bleeding to death out there now. And we got quite a few gunpower. It's a shame to leave it in the woods.
The information about the acquired weapon needed to be developed affected Stefan’s imagination. After all, a vending device is simply a vending machine, not a chaotic or a duck shotgun.
— All right, Stefan has made his decision. We'll arrange something for Zara.
Half an hr later, Stefan, Anna and Corporal Kasperczak followed Zenka's tow truck toward the forest. On the tow truck, the corporal's bike was loosely attached. After a fewer minutes in front of their eyes, images from Dante's hell appeared.
At the turn of the road, there was a burning tank hull. The odor of heated metal, oils, burnt insulation and grilled meat irritated the nostrils. respective meters further into the forest in a strangely unnatural pose lay a torn tank tower, hard based on a bent pine. The way of her flight meant broken smaller trees and branches.
Further, a small on the right between the trees, it burned up with an detonation of transporters. Apparently, he was the second victim of an ambush, and the driver tried to sneak out of a dangerous region after hitting the tank, slaloming between the trees.
There were bodies of Russian soldiers everywhere, scattered like rag dolls. any in unusual outsides, betraying many limb fractures, which are the consequence of the kinetic force with which they scattered explosions on armor. Others just looked like they were inactive alive recently, people abruptly fell asleep and fell down where they were standing. A fewer bodies were heavy massacred and bleeding. They were lying like pieces of clothing filled with bloody rags. After this battle, respective Polish soldiers were circulating, collecting scattered weapons and searching the pockets of the fallen. The sight was depressing. Anna and Stefan silently looked after each other. Stefan stopped the autolavette, parked at a safe distance from burning vehicles.
Corporal Kasperczak led Anna and Stefan to a ditch close dense bushes. It featured 8 Russian soldiers back to back, seemingly paired behind hands behind back. A fewer enemies were lying down. A soldier in Polish uniform leaned over them, putting on temporary dressings on their bleeding wounds. On the side, under the tree was a Polish officer, smoking a cigarette. Seeing Anna and Stefan coming, he threw briefly between 2 puffs of smoke:
Is the doctor here?
— I am a midwife — Anna began — certified — and added bolder after a minute of hesitation.
— So you can sew?
- Yeah, but...
— Take a look at this one, the officer pointed his finger at 1 of the Russians lying there.
The injured man lay on his side in an embryonic position, embracing both hands by his belly. He was quiet. Anna got closer. In horror, she saw a soldier holding his own overflowing bowels with his hands. She leaned over the wounded. She was struck by the odor of feces and vomit.
Anna carefully opened the hands of a wounded soldier. His tummy was 1 big, torn wound. The interiors mixed with fragments of uniform and bulletproof vest. There was blood pouring from respective places. Black and bright red. The stench of vomit and feces was hard to withstand. Anna's pale. She moved her eyes to the injured man's face. He was conscious. White, frightened face of a large baby. He looked at a female with his keen eyes.
“Sto? ” whispered the parchment with his lips — the parchment of the flame?
— The voice was tied to Annie’s throat.
— I mumble... — he said to the half, the soldier asked — I usage mjortv,” he added gloomy.
Annie, the planet is spinning in front of her. Sits, hard to support with 1 hand and the another lifting up to the forehead.
— And what will you say?
— An immediate surgical intervention is needed, and Anna responded to a slight recovery — and zero negotiations. Do you have morphine?
— It sat down, calling the officer to the light - wounded soldier, what do we have from the painkillers?
— Ketonal Forte, platoon man!
— Why the fuck don’t we have morphine? — Neither a soldier nor himself was asked by a Petty Officer.
— The strict reckoning is — he continued to subdued — there was no 1 to spend.
“Shit!” spelled the sulfurous officer, what are you suggesting?
- Just palliatives. It will take minutes, possibly hours, and Anna unsurely answered.
— Holy shit! What the fuck is going on?
— Sir, Anna said harshly — we have an infection. tummy contents and fecal substance released. Alien bodies in the wound. Severe venous and arterial bleeding. A miracle would be needed here.
— Fuck! — changed the officer’s language by walking in circles.
Suddenly he stopped in front of Anna. He took her by the arms and looked her in the face. For a moment, she stood by his gaze and then ran distant with her eyes to the side. The officer let go of Anna's arms, reached into the holster and pulled the gun.
— What are you doing?! — Anna began with fear.
— What I gotta do, a soldier went awry, reloading a gun.
He got down on his knees at the wounded, caught his look, showed him the gun. He was answered by a frightened Russian. The officer rapidly put a weapon to his head and pulled the trigger. The dry sound of the shot disappeared without an echo in the woods. The injured in the convulses kicked his legs respective times and froze. The officer got up and swung wildly around. He hid a bloodstained weapon in his holster and went sideways under a large pine tree. He slid hard to the ground, leaning his back against the trunk of a tree.
— What are you looking at? I had no fucking morphine — he threw a grave voice into the space.
Several pairs of eyes, Polish and Russian, who have so far followed the tension of the officer's actions found another objects of interest.
Insecure Corporal Kasperczak interrupted the dense silence:
— Sergeant, with all due respect, we've been here besides long. That smoke must be about 15 kilometres away.
— You're right, Corporal — an officer pulled his nose and rose hard — no fuck hazard more than necessary. We're packing prisoners and trophies, and get out of here... It's subdued! — an officer shouted to an orderly — wrap this lazaret up for a tow truck!
— Tajest! — Without besides much euphoria, the doctor responded, inactive busy around the wounded.
Took a fewer minutes to decision the wounded to the tow truck. They were followed by prisoners and captured weapons and bicycles of the Polish section. erstwhile Polish soldiers were already packing on the platform, Corporal Kasperczak, standing by the chauffeur, turned his ears like a vigilant animal blowing a abroad smell.
— Get down! — The corporal shouted with a loud voice and fell to the ground like lightning. The remainder of us did not show specified animal instinct and reflexes.
At the same time, with the cry of the corporal, the air cut through a violent roar passing into the whistle and respective decades from the tow truck burst with a frightening bang of a bullet. The airwave struck like a fist of mythical cyclops. It sprawled around the ground and pieces of branches.
— Get in the car, we're getting the fuck out of here!
The fresh detonation shook the forest, throwing up a fountain of earth, branches, and metallic shrapnel. Stefan, who had already set off the tow truck, moved sharply. Corporal Kasperczak at the last minute grabbed the open door and pulled into the chauffeur, taking a seat next to the frightened Anna.
The next detonation spread without informing a hundred, possibly 200 meters from the field of skirmish, which rapidly remained behind them.
— They've got us, motherfuckers. With a drone, sure. And now the artillery's fucked up — the corporal barked, trying to better settle in a tight chauffeur “We were fucking fortunate we packed in time. Who knew they'd be beating their own...
— Do you think they saw who they were shooting at?
— What wouldn't they see? Smoke attracted drones, drones did reconnaissance, and transmitted artillery coordinates. It's not like they'd go blind after the smoke. They must have seen us.
— And do they see us now?
— Fuck knows them. If the artillery fire doesn't follow us, it means we're off. But they could send any FPVs after us. And then we get a cunt. It would be perfect to drive 15-20 km.
— You know that the village is close — he threw Stefan, clenching his teeth.
“I know — the corporal sighed — you will request to unload quickly, hide and observe. And then fuck off erstwhile it's quiet.
— Where are we going to fuck?
— You yourself have seen that this is no longer a gag — the corporal has sadly reported — if the kacapas want to shoot the village, fewer will live in it.
— There was no request to choice on them. Anna murmured.
— Of course! — Corporal struck his knee with amusement — they had to be let to Berlin, let them go. And seriously, they're most likely gonna think about it 3 times now before they go somewhere close by on a fast march. We're out of defilement, and the soldier's work has begun.
They entered the village.
Stefan stopped the tow truck right in front of the house. The fire went silent before they even broke off the forest wall. Nevertheless, everyone's nerves were strained like parties.
The Polish platoon leader jumped off the tow truck platform.
— Thank you on behalf of the service...
— Not so fast — Stefan interrupted him by looking out from the bull at Corporal Kasperczak rallied from the chauffeur — gratitude, but it was expected to be fancy.
— What things? — The squad leader surprisedly lifted his eyebrows.
— Ha! — Corporal Kasperczak grumbled up, correcting his uniform — I can see that the peasant will not pass through... The platoonman turned to his commander, and I promised the citizen that if he organized the transport, we would fire something off his trophie weapon.
— Corporal... — began a platoon and did not finish again.
Stefan, standing at the tow truck, murmured to himself:
— 3 slot machines, cone loaders, and RPGs are no longer needed? — he didn’t ask, did he say, putting his hand on the armored grenade launcher.
- Whoa! Man, this is the property of the Polish Army! — The platoon spruce Stefan with his eyes and put his hand on the grenade launcher.
Stefan looked down and looked at the top of his shoes.
— It was yours, it was ours..."
— What kind of yours?! — A platoon.
- Ours. Partisanist — Stefan raised his eyes to the platoon and their eyes met — You drove further. And I'm not going anywhere. And neither are the neighbors! And with his bare hands we will not go into the forest — Stefan stared sharp into the eyes of a platoon, without letting his hand down from the RPG launcher. There was something wolfy about his look. “This peasant will indeed not let go of the living,” the soldier thought, holding Stefan’s gaze.
The phase had been watching for any time with interest the commander of the Russian reconnaissance sitting with tied hands on the tow truck. He's the 1 who interrupted the thickening silence.
— Aj, molodec! — shouted a Russian officer, looking at Stefan — Kak you zovut, a commando? — he directed these words towards the platoon.
— My name is Sergeant Marek Piekarczyk — a soldier muttering, taking a look at Stefan, he's a Russian.
— Commander Baker, give partisans an oruzjo and davajtje to fuck otsjud. And it wouldn't be a chance to get caught again, would it? (1)
Pluto Baker loosened the handle of the hand inactive lying on the RPG and moved his eyes to Stefan.
— Does the guerrilla know how to usage it?
Stefan lifted the RG-tube without a word, dismantled the optical sight with 1 motion, picked up the analog bow tie, then the chipper, pulled the tap, pointed the empty tube to the sky, released the fuse and gave the “dry shot”.
— It was like riding a bicycle — Stefan murmured on the stand close Corporal Kasperczak — that is something you never forget.
Soon 3 automatics, a supply of ammunition, a RG-tube and a box of grenades landed in front of the gate leading to Stefan's house. Polish soldiers took seats on the tow truck platform and in the chauffeur. Next, Corporal Kasperczak and the Sergeant Baker shook Stefan's hand. Short and hard.
— Just don't let the guerrilla keep that arsenal in the house. That would not be wise — he threw on the exodus platoon Baker.
Stefan replied.
— Commander Piekarczyk! — Suddenly, a Russian officer, sitting inactive on a tow truck, intervened.
— What? — Burrowed by a platoon baker, building 1 leg on the threshold of the autolavette cabin.
— Spasiba, Komandir Piekarczyk — started an officer and seemingly lost his resonation in the mediate of the sentence, suspending his voice.
— For what?
“For Sashu,” the Russian took a minute later — Spasiba, you did not give him a whiff of kak sobace.
“ God damn it!” he spelled, snorting for the fresh memory of his platoon act.
— Not volnuities’. You become a musician — the Russian commander continued — I will not build you. I know, if it's a snot-to-go-da-nabud’, I'm crying’...
— specified pride? — The platoon turned to Russian in thought. (2)
At this moment, somewhere beyond the horizon, there was a distant whistling of jet engines of invisible aircraft. The soldiers looked at the direction from which the faint sound came.
“Dumaju, I’m low in the floor, not in the sea. And there was inactive a building’, Boh adin met... — the Russian officer took the lead, staring at the horizon, where the voice of the airplanes stopped. (3)
- Yes... Only 1 God knows what else is going to happen. Well, corporal — the platoon turned to the man behind the wheel of Kasperczak’s tow truck — they came!
The tow truck pulled and moved. The prisoners and soldiers on the platform swayed, grasping the metal, perforated floor. The car went into the mediate of a narrow road and rapidly disappeared between the buildings. Stefan and Anna were looking at the way behind a moving vehicle. Neighbors from behind the fences watched quite a few phase quarterbacks. Far above the forest were the remnants of wind - dispelled smoke, encompassing, like a dying last look, this surreal setting. If it wasn't for the shining in the sun-bending arms lying in front of Anna and Stefan's house, you'd think it was just a dream. Bad dream.
When the tow truck disappeared between the villages, Anna looked at Stefan with concern.
— What's on your mind? She pointed to an arsenal lying by the gate.
— aid me — Stefan said evasively, hanging 3 machines on his shoulders and taking in his hand a box of RPG grenades.
Anna machinically collected the remainder of her weapons from the ground and followed Stefan, who directed his steps through the yard to an old wooden barn. A man entered an old building smelling like hay and dust. He laid down his weapon on the wooden level and sat on a rectangular straw bale. Gestem invited a female to sit next to him.
Stefan looked into the wall. He looked like this and looked, and his thought flew not only beyond the boards of the barn, but went somewhere further beyond this place and beyond that time. The silence between the spouses lasted a good moment.
“You know, Stefan yet began sighing — I never told you that story.
He rose from straw bale and approached the barn wall where a simple, old-fashioned wooden ladder led to the attic of the building. He went into a fewer steps, leaned into darkness, a minute with something fixed, then came down from the ladder carrying a dirty bundle in his hands. He sat back with his wife and began slow developing oil-stained rags.
After a while, he got a gun. You could see from the weapon that she was old, most likely from planet War II. The barrel metallic was marked with tiny fragments, but there was no sign of corrosion. Stefan took the weapon in his hand, weighed it for a moment, released the clip's latch, which with a silent gnash came out of an antique ebonite handle.
The man took out the magazine, took a look at it, then pulled the lock off, tightening the tap of the gun. He put the magazine back into the handle, pointed the barrel into the floor, pressed the trigger. There was a muffled sound of a falling hen.
— It's a good weapon. Browning HP, 9 millimeters. Officer.
Stefan looked into the wall again, holding the weapon in his hand. Anna sat next to her and looked at her husband. She hasn't seen him like this in a while. So distant and so close.
— I never told you this communicative due to the fact that there was nothing to brag about — Stefan slow took it — erstwhile I was 10 years old, I had a fight with a boy from a neighboring village. I don't remember what it is anymore. But I remember fighting like animals. Deadly.
Stefan shut up and looked at the top of his shoes this time.
— I won. I beat the crap out of that boy. Of course there was a fight. That boy's parents came to resent his father. That I was a thug.
Another long silence.
— My father wasn't even angry. He took me like I took you to the barn, took that weapon out. He gave it to me, threw a fewer bullets out of his bag, and all he said was, “You didn’t finish the job. Go kill him."
In Stefan’s eyes, a shadow of old panic flashed.
— I was so scared. I was a kid. Your father must have noticed. Then he said something that I remembered better than my father: “Son, if you are not going to kill your neighbor, another man, never, always rise your hand to him, do you understand?”
Silence again.
— Understood. I realized it so well that erstwhile I stopped crying, I asked my father why the weapon at all due to the fact that I didn't want to kill anyone and he doesn't want to, either. My father then told me that if it wasn't for that gun, I wouldn't be in this world. That this weapon is needed for bad times. That a man has to kill sometimes to defend what he loves most.
Anna listened with her eyes wide open.
— I didn’t realize that much anymore,” Stefan continued slowly. So I asked my father what all this means, why does he tell me, how do I know times are bad? I was scared. I was a kid. My father said that erstwhile the bad times came, it would be obvious. That you won't gotta ask a priest or a militiaman. But don't worry. 'Cause possibly these days won't come. due to the fact that possibly we can live a peaceful life. But I want the weapon in the barn. And I'm not expected to tell anyone. Never. Unless bad times come.
Stefan sighed and stood up. He picked up a bag of bullets from a wrap, kneeled before his wife, and put a weapon and bullets on her lap. The female immediately felt the weight of the weapon and the weight of the moment. Stefan kept kneeling to her. He was looking for her eyes.
— present I know and realize everything. Bad times have come. The times of killing. But I don't request that weapon anymore. Take it and tell our sons about it sometime. You'll know when.
He's quiet.
- Now let's go. You request to pack yourself and the kids. You're going west immediately. I've wasted adequate time.
The man wanted to get up, but Anna held his hands inactive on the weapon lying on her lap.
- Stefan! I realize everything. But I don't request that gun.
Stefan looked at his wife, lifting eyebrows with surprise.
— Stefan — she rapidly spoke Anna’s words — keep the weapon and promise me 1 thing. Whatever happens and whatever you don't decide, someday you tell our boys about that gun. You hear me? You tell it. Just like your father told you... Promise...
Her voice broke, and her cheeks burst into tears. Stefan leaned over his wife, kissed her in the forehead, and locked her in a strong grip of bear arms. He sniffed her hair in his nose.
— I promise... I promise..., I promise..., he said like a spell and 2 tears rolled over his cheeks.
The weapon slipped Annie off her knees and knocked deafly on the ground. A minute later, a soft bag of bullets went up next to him. 1 of the bullets fell out of the flat and rolled over the wooden level like a bone thrown unwaveringly by the hand of fate. The coqueteur pushed the close Kalashnik device and froze. In the distance there was a thunderstorm of the coming autumn storm. Or was it a cannon fire?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Translations of dialogues:
(1)
— Ah, cheer! — shouted a Russian officer looking at Stefan — What are your names, commander? — he directed those words towards the platoon.
— My name is Sergeant Marek Piekarczyk — a soldier muttering, taking a look at Stefan, he's a Russian.
- Commander Baker, give the guerrilla weapons and let's get the fuck out of here. And that doesn't truly want us to get shot up again, does it?
(2)
“For Sasha,” he took the Russian after a while — Thank you for not letting him die like a dog.
“ God damn it!” he spelled, snorting for the fresh memory of his platoon act.
— Don't worry. You're a tough guy—the Russian commander continued—I won't forget it. You know what? If there's anything I can do for you...
— You think so? — The platoon turned to Russian in thought.
(3)
— I don't think I'm going to stay in captivity long. And what else will be there, God knows... — the Russian officer took the lead, staring at the horizon, where the voice of the airplanes went silent.
