Struggle: The Path to Power

Now the road went upward; the slope is so steep that, given its height of seven or eight meters, you can't see anything further. Only a lone birch tree peeks out with its branches — lively, vigorous branches, as if nature had decided to show its beauty here.

Climbing to the top, Masha saw seven wooden crosses. Each had flowers growing in an even rectangle in front of each cross. A cemetery.

Daddy had told her what it was, that the ancients buried their own in this way — they put up a cross as a symbol of faith. Only when she saw it with her own eyes could she understand what it meant to those who buried them.

Vladimir Ivanovich put his backpack on the ground, nodded to the deceased and began pulling out the weeds that occasionally grew between the uvets. Maria Sergeevna took a small steel spade out of her backpack and, sitting down by one of the graves, began to dig up the earth — in some places the flowers were growing unevenly — not toward the sky, but slightly to the side.

"Let me help," said Masha, seeing how much work there was around.

"Don't, my daughter. Sit down next to me. Have a rest. Let's talk about something," Grandma said in a way that made it seem as if all the words were lifting some stone stuck in her throat before they came out.

Looking at their eyes, at the diligence with which they shared it all, Masha felt how dear it was to them, that it was their need to take care of the graves of their departed relatives; that it would be harder for them to live without it.

— Do you come here often?

— Twice a month… We have to clean everything to make it pretty. They like it nice.

Masha had long wanted to know how old they were, how long they had lived together, whether they were having a hard time, but how to do it? It's not something you can just ask.

— Our daughter Lena doesn't look like me at all, I mean internally, externally there is a little bit: lips and cheeks, and also a nose… but internally — no. Vova wanted his daughter to be like him. That's how it turned out… And my sons, on the contrary, are both like me. Interesting, isn't it?

"True," the girl nodded.

— Here… We have three children… All are already there… They are well…..

— Are your children already dead?

— Yeah… Well, there's Lena's grave, over there is Gavi's. And there's Kolya's.

Masha did not immediately come to her senses: these people — how long have they been living here! It's just unbelievable.

— Go and see how Vladimir Ivanovich is doing, my daughter.

Masha barely got to her feet, walked around the row of crosses and approached Grandpa:

"Can I help you, Vladimir Ivanovich?"

— No, that's okay. Thank you, my daughter. Why don't you sit next to me and we'll talk about something?

They are like notes together, even responding in the same way.

Now Vladimir Ivanovich took out a leather tub from his rucksack and began to water the cross, wiping it with a sponge; he had already pulled all the weeds around it — apparently there were not many of them.

"This is Vasily Ivanovich. My great-grandfather, a metallurgist… I was born when he was no longer alive. I've never seen him, but I have such respect for him," my grandfather smiled.

— You must have been coming here a long time?

— Yes, a long time ago… First I went with my father, and then I met Masha. At that time only my ancestors were lying here, but she categorically said "I'll go" that I didn't even think of dissuading her. It was as if she knew that it would become obligatory at some point… Then we got married, we had children… And we started coming here as a whole family… Well, many years passed and we started coming here just the two of us, with my wife… Do you visit anyone? Masha shook her head negatively, "I don't know where to go… We just buried in the ground and didn't put crosses… We lived differently…" — Different? Have you ever been in love?

— I was. And it still is. I just don't know if it's the right one.

"Well, love is… well, it's like Bunin's. If you love a woman, you love her with everything:

with tears, and with hysterics… Love is when you think about her all day long, you think about her at night, it constantly disturbs your sleep, but you don't mind it. You still want to think like that all night and all morning… And then, the next day, to be happy and happy if she just looks at you… And if she smiles! That's it. — Vladimir Ivanovich made such an imaginative face, which showed simply indescribability of sensation. — But this is my love, and yours is more like Maria Sergeyevna's."

And Masha walked back.

"Well, how is Vladimir Ivanovitch?" — Maria Sergeyevna asked.

— He told me what love means. To him.

— Ahh. You said Bunin, didn't you? You like it with everything: tears and tantrums?

— Yeah, that's what I said.

— Bunin's is actually a little longer. And with tears, and hysterics, and thighs… But he always threw out the last part. I've always been slim.

Masha smiled at the way these people openly behaved with her: Maria Sergeyevna said that she threw out this part because she was slender, so "tears" and "tantrums" still happened and not once. Well, how can you do without it? It's also a component of love, as long as it doesn't go beyond the boundaries — tantrums are tantrums, but in the end it's still necessary to kiss.

— What do you think? What is love?

— When I first saw him, I didn't immediately realize that he was the one I was destined to live with for the rest of my life… Yes, sympathy… but nothing special… A day passed, maybe a little more, and there you go! I'm crazy about him. I don't know what it is, but I think about him all the time. I can't even imagine myself without him… I don't know how to explain it, but there was a moment when I became different… It's like cupid piercing me with an arrow, and there's no escape — it's like it's

supposed to be…

And, you know, it's still like that. I love him like I did then. Every time we are apart even for a few minutes, I miss him… and I can't wait to see him again… to hug him, to kiss him… and when that moment comes — when I hear that he is somewhere near, opening the door or the floor creaking with his footsteps, I just can't believe my happiness. I feel so at ease… I never wondered if this is the love that so many women want to feel, but I can't do it without my husband.

How close those words were! How close.

Masha thought about what kind of love is more like her love: the one when you think about your beloved all day long, or the one that makes you worry when you are apart and makes you happy when you meet? A very complex and ambiguous question. And the answer is the same: on the one hand it is both — everything is as they said, on the other hand it is neither so nor different — everything is in its own way, i.e. it is felt by one's soul, and it is not the same as theirs: all souls are different.

But still… Whatever love was: the beloved was dear. This "on the whole" made Masha angry, and she thought even more deeply. But no matter how many thoughts came to her, no matter how many sides she considered, she could not move from the spot — only the sense of time was gone.

"Mashenka, let's go, my daughter," the grandmother said as she approached the girl.

Noon had already passed — it was now about half past one.

Masha crossed herself three times, with three fingers. She had never thought about the meaning of "three fingers", how it was used, or why it was necessary at all — she just did it as she had been taught: she was used to it.

On leaving, the place seemed quite different from what it was at first: now, apart from the beauty and wildlife, it was well-kept. Now the deceased are better off.

They walked back very slowly and talked a lot. They remembered the past and, especially, funny incidents — it helped themselves: they remembered what good people their relatives were.

This time we walked much closer to the river, almost near the bank, so that the water sometimes splashed on my clothes. The water was murmuring around, and we walked slower and slower, stopping every fifty meters and looking at the hills on which trees were growing interestingly, at the fish that sometimes sprang a few centimeters out of the water, at the pebbles that reflected wonderful multi-kilometer patterns through the water surface. All this appeared only now.

We got home in the late afternoon, by sunset, by the time it was time to go to bed.

Masha quickly fell asleep, and dreamed a terrible amazing dream, which before appeared only in parts, but this time — from the beginning.

She is in red silk robes standing inside a golden cage. In front of her two men are arguing about something. And all around are vast fields and two huge armies against each other, one in light armor, the other in dark armor, and they are so huge that everything is covered with their warriors, and you can't tell which one is bigger.

The two who were arguing with each other, not the leaders of these armies, but in high ranks, spoke in unknown languages, and the impression was that each spoke his own, but both understood each other.

And Masha distinguishes only one word, privately repeated by them — her proper name.

And so they finish arguing, stop for a moment, and simultaneously announce to their armies.

Dark: "Partuhu."

Bright: "Portudy."

Masha woke up in a cold sweat and in tears.

That grim dead light that races across the room.

She crawled, almost falling off the bed and clung to the edge, "This can't be tolerated! They are playing tricks on my head out there!" Everything was shaking inside her, and fear was all around: where was the plague, where were all these warriors, where was the horror, and it was all here!

— God, I can't. I can't do it without him. God, forgive me. What have I done? What have I done that I have to live like this? Why didn't you take me away with him? What did I do wrong?

Masha was crying, hiding in the shadows by the bed, and I didn't want to look at anything. It was unbearable to look at anything — so bad that it made me nauseous. It became short of breath, and my breathing quickened on its own.

She opened her reddened eyes and, peering around the walls, began to calm down a little through measured heavy breathing. With each breath, though it didn't get easier, at least it didn't get heavier.

Getting used to the heaviness, Masha raised herself to her knees, put her hands on the bed and, looking up at the distant moon, began to pray.

Her breathing was quiet and wide in the air, but a little panting — she'd been crying for a long time.

— Darling, I miss you so much, and you don't say a word. I have nightmares every day and you're not there. It's so hard.

"Mashenka, my beloved," said her husband's voice, and the smell of him is here, and through the light you can see his eyes. — Have I ever left you?"

— Please don't go. Stay with me just a little longer.

— I'm here. I'm with you. I'm always with you… How's our baby?

— I can feel him growing up. He will be healthy and strong… But it is hard, so hard for me without you. Why did God take you away from me?

— It's your destiny, Masha. Your destiny. And you have to get over it. Forgive me, my love, for this. It's my fault. I couldn't–

— Please stop. Stop blaming yourself. Especially for things that are out of your control. I know what God wants me to do. I'll do anything if only you'll be there for me, if only you'll say….

— I love you, Mashenka. I'm with you.

— I love you, honey.

So till morning Masha sat on her knees by the bed, thinking about nothing and gathering herself. She felt her husband near her, and he was with her, breathing warmth into her and holding her hand.

Bolotnikov

May 16. Khmelnitsky's group left Kremenchug and moved towards Poltava — the plan was to reach Bushenka and, turning north, reach Reshetilovka.

Bolotnikov's 3rd Company, consisting of three platoons: 25th Zhivenko, 37th Kosmogorov and 11th Ranierov, Dr. Shvartsenberg's 2nd medical unit, and three from the Spetsnaz: Dolgatov, Mokry and Seversky — a total of 133 men — remained to cover the withdrawal.

It was early-early morning: my eyes were still blurry. Bolotnikov was sitting in the basement of the command post — after the departure of the main forces, his unit had moved here, to the outermost part of the city, where the road to Poltava led northward.

It's mostly damp around, but it's been like that here before: after Victor left, his banner — a falcon swiftly attacking prey, head downward, wings and tail upward, the ancient symbol of the Rurikovichs — was removed from the wall, as well as a huge steel mace — the ancient symbol of power. Slavs value their traditions, and when it comes to a critical or even catastrophic situation, everything that has any weighty value is under special care, and especially historical signs and symbols.

As a result, we were left with a chair, a table, an extra-lamp (perhaps the most worthy invention of the ancients after the cancer cure — shake it for a minute and it burns for almost an hour), and the most important item — a map. It depicted the whole city on a large enough scale, including the most important places: trenches, mine barriers and houses with their purpose indicated by numbers. The present defense section included 16 houses plus four sentry houses outside it.

Among other things, on the table was a letter Bolotnikov had just taken out of his pocket, which was to be opened 15 minutes after the main forces had left the city. Zubkov had handed it to him. Almost half an hour had passed, and it was still sealed: Sergei felt something too unpleasant in its contents and wanted to get out of sleep before reading it. The time had passed, but he was still awake.

"I'm already violating orders… Maybe it even says we're not supposed to be here anymore," the Major thought and opened the envelope.

"To Major Bolotnikov

Personal and highly classified.

Burn it after reading it.

Major, you have a difficult task ahead of you. I have chosen you in this situation for a reason, relying on your experience and fortitude.

I inform you, as a soldier devoted to the idea of human freedom, that there is an enemy spy operating in the location of our group, and possibly more than one. He cannot be in your unit at the moment. Whether he has managed to communicate our coordinates to the enemy is not known.

Your mission is to hold the position until 7-30, which is an hour and thirty minutes after our withdrawal, and to retreat thereafter according to the plan previously approved.

I'm ordering you to act exactly as previously instructed. If the enemy succeeds in dislodging you from this position and pursuing you, the entire group will be jeopardized.

I've known you for a long time and I'm sure you didn't open the envelope exactly as instructed. Don't blame yourself. I have taken your situation into account and have given you the time accordingly.

All right, from now on, you have one hour to live, Major.

I personally wish you luck and hope for your will for Freedom. Your cause is on the way to Victory.

Viktor Khmelnitsky."

Bolotnikov crumpled the paper into a lump, took out matches, and carried out the first order.

At that time Misha was standing near the 5th destroyed house, next to the road, together with Rozhkov and two more of his subordinates; on the opposite side, near the 13th house, there were three special forces; in the middle of the fork was Metsov. He was walking towards the commander with a rapid stride from the very medical station — Ranierov was in charge of the northeastern part of the defense, that is, from the 11th house to the 16th, obviously, some conflict with the sanitation department. Ranierov has such a language: he is not ashamed to dirty anyone.

Seeing the look on Kostya's face, Misha himself was upset: "What's the matter? At least it wouldn't be on them…"

Everything was interrupted at that second: there was a rumbling in the middle of everything, so loud that it rang in my ears — from the very center of the road, almost where Metsov had just passed, the ground burst into the air with such force as water would burst from a burst pipe.

Kostya was blown off his feet in front of everyone. The SWAT team immediately rushed to the 3rd house.

"In position! Quickly! Rozhkov after me!", Misha shouted and ran up to the man lying there. Nearby there was a 20-centimeter deep crater with a broken tail of a shell sticking out of the middle — Kostya was not badly hit and was concussed.

Everything is floating, you can't hear anything. I couldn't understand what was around me, and I had no strength to move — everything was different. The wounded man was dragged to the medical aid house, and at once there was a blast tens of meters to the north, again on the road. Then it exploded somewhere else, and then it was quiet: no gunshots, no stomping, no screams.