Chapter - 8

The captain kicked the cracked glass of the UAZ several times with his booted foot. The glass miraculously held, had to be squeezed out. The captain raised his machine gun, hid behind the muzzle, looked around carefully. Sysoev was looking around. There didn't seem to be a soul around. The mysterious shooter disappeared or fell through the ground. The private mentally thanked fate, jumped to the ground after the captain, almost dropped the machine gun.

"Clear," he said to the second private.

Private Zaborov nodded curtly in response. The strap of his machine gun caught on the door handle of the UAZ and it turned out to be a fatal mistake of the military. A pop and like a hillock on a golf course, a shot blew off the private's kneecap. The man howled, grabbed what was left of his knee, collapsed to the ground.

Sysoev was startled by the thundering shot. Grabbed a private by the collar, pulled him out of the line of fire. It seemed like a shot rang out right under his ear... another shot thundered. This time the fate of Zaborov befell Sysoev. The private jumped in surprise. The bullet grazed his shin, crashed into the bottom of the UAZ. He grabbed his leg, clenched his teeth, and his skin burned painfully.

"Captain!" - there was no one nearby except the wounded Zaborov.

Despite the unbearable pain, Sysoev did not let go of the machine gun.

"Captain?" "Stop it!" he shouted.

Had the stranger killed the captain? Sysoev was breathing heavily and peering into the darkness when the shot rang out again. The bullet hit the butt of the machine gun. Sysoev screamed. My hands were dried out as if a skating rink had passed over them. The shooter enthusiastically chose the target and did whatever he wanted. Another shot made the private grab his leg, howl in pain. A veil overshadowed his eyes.

"Hey, what do you need?" "Stop it!" he shouted.

The question is in the void. The answer was the silhouette of a man who was drawn in the dark. Sysoev, unable to stop trembling, tried to get up, in vain. He recognized the captain in the silhouette of the stranger.

"Captain? Did you kill him?"

Silence.

"Did you kill him?" Sysoev repeated.

The captain froze in front of the soldiers who were suffering in agony. His face was distorted by a grimace of anger.

"Give me your bracelets," the captain said.

The private did not recognize his voice. It was a different voice, hoarse, not like the captain's voice. The white bracelet disappeared from the officer's hand. Sysoev hurriedly took off his bracelet, threw it at the captain's feet. Zaborov's hands were shaking, it was impossible to unfasten the strap on his wrist. Finally, he took off the bracelet and threw it to the captain.

"Did you kill the sergeant?" Zaborov croaked. "Did you shoot me?"

The captain looked at the private. He stood for a while longer, but did not answer.

"I gave the bracelet, don't kill us..." said Sysoev.

It seemed that a smile hung on the captain's face. He turned around, looked into the darkness behind him.

"What do you say?"

No one answered, but the captain nodded as if listening to some words.

"That's right, I'll do exactly that," he finally said.

The man intercepted the machine gun. The cold dead muzzle looked at Private Zaborov.

"Captain?" Sysoev's eyes bulged.

"Sorry, fighter, that's the order."

A finger slipped on the trigger, a shot rang out. Zaborov collapsed to the ground with a bullet through his head. The muzzle of the machine gun stared at Sysoev.

"Captain..."

Sysoev's words were interrupted by the sound of broken glass. They turned to the bus, from which the sound was coming. One of the passengers broke a window. His example was immediately followed by the other passengers. The captain looked around, back into the darkness, as if looking for an answer there, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"He gives you a blessing… it's expensive, man."

Sysoev peered into the darkness until his eyes hurt. No one. Abandoned carts, yes parking lighting poles…

"You have about half an hour before the security forces arrive here… You can survive, or you can die," - the captain approached the private, touched his forehead with two fingers. – "It's the will of the Speaker. Die or gain faith."

* * *

"Calm down"

Grisha couldn't pull himself together, couldn't concentrate. He clenched and unclenched his hands, palms sweating with fear and sliding on the steering wheel. The body was shaking, increasing, turning into convulsions. His gaze slid over the rearview mirror. The military could change their minds, go in pursuit of the Lada that disappeared into the night, open fire. But there was an empty highway behind them, not a single car, not a single living soul for many kilometers around. Empty fields, occasionally gas stations and shops with extinct advertising signs.

"I was lucky." - he whispered.

Flash fell out, to be exact. Even in a bold dream, he could not imagine that the captain would let them go and hand them a pass for loyalty. Grisha crossed himself, touched the icon on the "Frets" panel. I glanced at a small ticket with the specified time. Exactly one hour. The ability to move around the city and surrounding neighborhoods with impunity. Not much at all… He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. But it's not enough when your life depends on this time.

So?

"How long has it been since the captain wrote out a life-saving ticket? Ten minutes? Fifteen?".

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nadia sleeping soundly.

"What's next?"

A favorite question since he plunged headlong into the adventure. Not so often there was no answer to this question. The very moment has come.

"Where to go with an unconscious wife? To whom?"

No one was waiting for him in Rostov. Your life is your problems. There were no relatives and friends in the city.