Struggle. Taste of power

— Khmelnitsky saw the note himself. — said the major. — A note from Gora, stating that apart from Ranierov there was no one who had relatives left at the mine after the escape. And that he is the only candidate when considering the data for the last few years… Of course, hardly the only one…..

— Yeah, of course not…

— Yeah. Like that girl Maria we were asked to meet six months ago. Her father's still in the mine. Deputy foreman. And he's still alive. Of course, we never saw her, but she wasn't even mentioned.

— Yes, of course, Raniere's not the only one. I myself know people who still have relatives left…..

— So, yeah. The evidence is so-so…

— Vaughn, Grisha and I have relatives left at the mine. How much he misses them. The last six months he is not himself…

Their eyes stopped on each other almost simultaneously. Grisha had been in Kremenchug and knew the location. And especially lately he had been sad, as if he was doing something he didn't want to do.

— No, Grisha can not. This is nonsense. — Misha began.

In war in general, there's only nonsense around… There's only nonsense around… We have to check him out, Misha. We have to check it out. We can't not check it. We'll have to shed more blood for all these "can't be".

Misha stood there, dimming his gaze, but it was the right decision:

— Yeah. You're right. I'll have to check it out. I'll have to.

Bolotnikov had already gathered himself — he put on his tunic, then clipped his pistol holster to his pants:

— Weapons ready?

— I hope it doesn't come to that. — Misha patted his gun. He polished it every night with special care and caution. And it served well and hit the target. "If you take care of your weapon, it will take care of you." Maybe it's just a saying, but it works.

— If it doesn't come to that, it was a wasted trip….

Misha shook his head gloomily. Bolotnikov is usually positive, and he's not afraid of anything. And if he was so discouraged, then nothing good could be expected. And what good can you expect when you are looking for a snitch among your own, not knowing how to look? And then came into my head an interesting thought — if it turns out that Grisha and is a traitor, he is a penalty officer. He got there together with them on decimation. And those fears that Khmelnitsky and Bolotnikov feared would not be in vain. Zhivenko thought about it when they approached the house where his platoon was located — a 25-storey building of the early XXI century, then it was a business class for people who were obviously not poor.

— Listen, Sergei… And if it turns out that he is, he's from the Penal Corps… — Misha said a little timidly.

— Yeah, he's from the Penal Corps. That's what I was thinking, too.

— So what do we do then?

— I don't know… Let's ask him… The main thing is to follow my lead. And don't ask questions.

They approached the right apartment and knocked on the door. Grisha opened the door quickly. He looked at both of them and scratched the back of his head awkwardly:

— Anxiety?

— Almost. — Bolotnikov replied, and like a tiger pounced on him, knocked him down, fired at the ceiling and pointed his gun at him. — Tie him up!

Misha, without even thinking what was happening, turned Grisha on his stomach, put his hands behind his back and began to wrap his hands with whatever he could find — a cord from some lamp that stood near the entrance.

— Tell me now, how did you pass on the information? — Bolotnikov asked Grisha, who was tied up and sitting on the floor.

— I do not understand. Comrade Major, I don't understand… — Grisha was already depressed for the last few months, and what came over him now, looked out of the ordinary.

— It's over. There's nothing to understand. You've been ratted out. Right from the mine.

Where you came from.

— I don't-" He tried to say something else, but he was breathing harder and more often, so the words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

— Let me talk to him, Sergei. — Misha intervened.

Bolotnikov went to the back of the room and sat down on the sofa. Misha settled down on the floor next to Grisha and without looking at him said:

— There's two pieces of news in one e-mail. From the Deese sector. The first was that you snitched on us… I don't know how they found out… And the second was that your mother and sister are no longer alive… So the plagues took care of them….

Grisha rested his forehead in his lap and quietly cried:

— No… It can't be… They said they'd take care of them… They'd look after them… They wouldn't hurt them. Just as long as— Just as long as— As long as you report to them properly.

Yes… — Grisha said after taking a breath. — Yes, just to report … Sorry, Mish … I had no one

but them … No one … And I had to … I did not want to. It's so disgusting. It's so impossible… To expose your own people. Those corpses. And because of me so many things… But I couldn't… And now it turned out that it was all for nothing… That they were gone….

Grisha sobbed. It was as if the weight that had been on him all this time had just dropped, and now with this relief it all came out. It's so easy when you finally reach a moment when you don't have to hide it all inside yourself, when you don't have to pretend to everyone else that it doesn't exist at all.

Misha got up and walked around the room. There was a reason they had come here. And not for nothing, he thought about the fact that this man had complained to him so much about his life… How easy it was sometimes to see the confessions covered up, and everything was so close. If only he'd paid attention sooner…..

Having come to his senses a little, Grisha continued:

— And when Ranierov was taken, I thought that nobody would find me now. And mine would be even safer… But it didn't get any easier… It didn't get any easier at all… Maybe it would if they had executed that freak for nothing. Maybe then it would have felt better.

Bolotnikov and Misha stared at him at once:

— How did you know Ranierov was taken for treason?

Grisha smiled wickedly, very wickedly. This crying and at the same time damnably caustic and evil face reflected some kind of demonism:

— You stupid lousy rebels… Will you realize that not all people want to be like you? Will you realize that you don't need your freedom for nothing? And that there are more people like me than I can count? Will you finally realize it, punishment major Bolotnikov?

The last words came out of his mouth as if he were repeating them after someone, and those words were the only ones that went bouncing around the room as he bit off something on his collar and immediately arched up, falling to the floor.

Mercenary

The Maquis set up their dugouts so they couldn't be seen. Not even close. They looked like cliffs, hills, a pile of fallen trees or a pile of garbage. Anything but a dugout… The Heavies were much better at this art. Their "cliffs," "hills," and "piles of fallen trees" looked as if they had been created first, and then all the reality around them. And the same with all those who covered them — snipers, machine-gun nests, traps. Everything was arranged in such a way that nothing gave itself away as something unnatural. In fact, that word "natural" was a trademark of the Kiwi.

The central command of the Hiwi was located in Gorlovka, while the field command was located on the outskirts of Bakhmut, a town located at the junction of three roads. It was more convenient to communicate with reserves from different units and to conduct sorties against the Maquis.

— Since the moment of entry of "Detachment 14" in Severodonetsk, our informant stopped contacting — began Cobra.

He gathered the local field commanders for a meeting in one of the command centers. This structure, a few meters underground, left over from the Great War and once completely burned down, was now a good example of using used resources: thick concrete walls, complete isolation from the outside world, and ample room for collective decision-making.

— Well, it's your informant who stopped communicating… — Berkut replied. — But our informant is perfectly fine.

Berkut once distrusted Cobra, and even considered him his enemy for some time, periodically building a kind of setup on the fly. But he coped with all of them, and in return he gave him problems, and in time their relationship settled down. Of course, they did not support each other, but there was no more confrontation. Cobra's dislike of him was still quite considerable, though — he still considered Berkut shortsighted and easy to change his shoes on the fly. It wasn't from a great mind.

So, why don't you share what's going on in there? — Cobra asked calmly.

— Nothing particularly new. Well, except that the Maquis kinda caught someone knocking plagues…I take it that's your good man….

As always these things are figured out in a meeting. Someone will wait a day or two, or even a week, just to say something in front of everyone. You can't warn anyone in advance about any problems that have come to your attention. At least start fixing the problem. No. They'll wait until the last minute just to make someone look bad in public.

— Why didn't you say so before? — Cobra asked, keeping his voice completely calm.

— Yeah we just got that information… But it's nice to have someone to get it from now…..

— Did your informant tell you anything about the Maquis' latest plans?

— Of course they want revenge for the last incident in the Deez sector. It's no wonder.

Sometimes it seemed to Kobra that Berkut had not gone to any peace, but was only pretending. To make an obvious victory over the Maquis look like something that only inflamed them could not have been a spontaneous retreat. Berkut obviously wasn't able to exist on parity with someone unless that someone blindly supported him at least a little bit. And Cobra never supported him at all by any stretch. In fact, the reason for this lay in the key difference in their modus operandi. Cobra calculated and applied his efforts based on the pros and cons he had calibrated, while constantly learning new methods of both Maquis and Chum. Berkut pivoted on his ambition and personal ties to the head of the Hiwi, who had once been a close friend of his. Apparently, this difference in approach did not suit both of them.

— Maybe we should have left it as it was and let a few Boers of the imperial army get ambushed? — Cobra said.

— I'm exaggerating… Of course, all these actions are necessary… But that's not what I mean… We're losing the initiative. — that was Berkut's favorite way of changing his mind on the fly, taking conversations sideways and then turning the tables. — Don't you know how unacceptable it is to lose the initiative at a time like this? At a time when the SCK and the Inquisition are sharpening their teeth at each other….

— That's what we'll talk about. — Raven intervened. He was not a brigadier general, as both of his interlocutors were, but a lieutenant general, and therefore the senior among them. Of course, his personal ties to Berkut were more important than Cobra's professional qualities, though he did not openly admit it. — Who knows anything about the incident in the Korsa sector?

Cobra looked at Berkut with a somewhat defiant look — say, if you know everything, then say more here — but, without waiting for anything, as usual decided not to ruin the common cause with personal disputes:

— As we know, initially Metropolitan Samokh did not plan to have the chief of the sector exorcized, but wanted to limit himself to one of his subordinates. But he did not like something personal about him. He insulted him in some way, and it came to his personal burning.

— And the unspoken resource?

— That's the most interesting thing. In fact, he didn't use it at all…" Cobra continued. — They only took up positions in the main hall, where they later burned Bazankhra. They didn't have to fire a shot at all.

— So. Some inquisitor came to the unit, accused the chief of heresy, burned him and left?

— Well, almost… He hasn't left yet. The mine itself is under the Mountain's control. He doesn't seem very happy about that. But he didn't manage to go down, because someone had blown up the main elevator, apparently together with a small group of plagues. They didn't want to use the spare elevator, and the stairs were out of order. And here's where we don't know. What was meant by this "inoperability" of the ladders…..

— Did it pile up? — Berkut asked.

— Maybe it was blocked… Or maybe someone didn't let them through. In any case, the mine is under Gora's control, and he's obviously not going to give it up for nothing. If the CCC entrusted it to him, no Inquisition can take it away. At least not for nothing… I'm sure he'll fight to the last man there, and no amount of exhortations from the priests will work on him. It's quite possible that when Zakinhr first thought up this whole idea of autonomy, he was counting on it….

— Counting on people? — Berkut said somewhat contemptuously.

— Well, they still count on us when they trust us to fight the Maquis one-on-one.

A silence formed in the room. This was indeed the cornerstone of the relationship between the Kiwi and the Empire. It was as if they were walking on a razor blade, on the one hand, trying not to overdo it by showing serious successes and thereby demonstrating their strength unnecessarily, and, on the other hand, not to make mistakes so that one could think of their uselessness. That is why the central command has always coordinated its actions with the heads of the JFCs. But lately, with the change in the status quo in the Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping, some field commanders like Kobra started to play their own game.

— All right…" Raven said at last. — You're in charge of the outer security of the Diza sector now. What are your plans in case Samokh moves in your direction?

— I've been given strict orders not to let anyone through without Ananhr's orders. No matter who it is.

— So when he approaches with his this punitive drill, you assume to start shooting at them if they try to break through.

— And there will be nothing else left…

— But in this case, the SCK will just blame everything on us… You see, they will pin the murder of the Metropolitan and the punitive storm of the Inquisition on the Hivi. At first they will definitely do that… Of course, while the SCK needs us, but at the beginning of the showdown, it will be us… On the other hand, if we don't do as you say, the SCK itself will reject us, which is even worse… So you're just suggesting to choose the least worst option?

Raven was indeed a very wise leader. He had no pathos, no unnecessary emotions or ambitions. He just thought like a strategist, and his position allowed him not to compete with anyone, so the decisions he made worked for a really long time, and solved not just one fleeting problem, but a whole set of problems. Cobra realized that Raven expected more from him than a choice between two evils.

— I agree. I totally agree. We need a better solution…

— So which one is it?

— We should start by blowing up the damn tracks about a kilometer outside the sector perimeter. Blame it on the Maquis. At least we'll buy some time.

— That's not bad. That's pretty good. — nodded Raven. — What's next?

— Next we warn them that there are Maquis around. The area is mined and it would be better for them to move back… Of course, they will not move, and then we will imitate the Maquis attack ourselves, we have a suitable uniform. And somewhere in between we'll mow down this metropolitan… And this drill is useless without its leader.

— That's better. This plan is much better than waiting for them to do something on their own… One more question. About The Mountain. You've met him in person. What do you think of him? Whose side is he on?

— He's clearly on his own. And he's dangerous. Really dangerous. I have a suspicion that when the CCC put him in charge of a whole group, they didn't fully understand what kind of man he was… Now he's doing his best to show that the CCC needs him… And at the same time, I have a gut feeling that he's been flirting with the Maquis at least in the past. And he's flirting now. Both with the Maquis and with us… But that's just a hunch… And there's something else… The eyes of the people there… I've never seen anything like it… They're like cursed. Ready to do whatever he commands… He told me himself, when I first went down to see him, that if he had commanded the man operating the elevator to blow it up with him, there's no doubt he wouldn't have done it… And then I find out that the elevator at the Korsa mine was blown up supposedly with a group of chumas. I don't think it's a coincidence… We've organized an iron discipline. And punish mistakes severely… But with him, I feel it's on a different level… They seem to be fanatically devoted to him as a leader… And he's somehow achieved it. Achieved obedience, sacrifice. Achieved privileges from the plagues… We're dealing with a very dangerous man, and he's especially dangerous that he doesn't seem to be… This is all just my speculation….

— For the time being, proceed according to the plan…" said Raven, having heard everything to the end. — And when the time comes, I'll talk to the Mountain myself.

Governor

Being the broz of a column is not an easy job after all. After all, the next step is to become a member of the Central Committee of the Empire. But they are always fighting with each other for a piece of bread, but the governor is his own king and god, no one can interfere with him here.

Blukh used to think that he was the king and god in the Slavic Column, but now the situation has changed so much that it is not clear what is left under his command. The Donetsk-Makeyevka grouping is under the SCK, and everything near it, in fact, is also under the SCK. The edges of Wild Field all the way to Kiev are in constant massacres with the Maquis, it's already too scary to move away from the district centers there, and the Rostov-on-Don-Lugansk grouping is not as powerful as it used to be. In fact, this is the only thing that remains in his subordination at this level, where his order still has unshakable force. And yet, it's clearly a matter of time: SCK will conduct a couple more operations, fight with the Maquis, and then make another autonomy there. And he will be left with his headquarters in Rostov-on-Don on a pair with the headquarters of the imperial army….

He no longer doubted that the confrontation between the SCK and the Inquisition had reached the highest point, where they began to exterminate each other directly. Maybe it would stop at some point and for a while, but then… Then they would just tear each other apart. And it's unclear whether there will be a winner at all.

Bluh's office in the building of the central office of the plague administration was equipped conservatively enough, but rather luxuriously: sculptures of human tibia, silk-embroidered pictures of wild leopards and tigers half a wall in size, sapphire-encrusted furniture and window frames of pure gold. Some might say, of course, that it was all stolen, but in Bluh's mind all these things were merely the merit of his hard work for the Empire. There wasn't a single action that could hurt its interests, and there wasn't a single action that didn't result in success. And the fact that somewhere could have been done cheaper, faster or better is a very subjective matter. Who will count, verify, and, most importantly, it all has to be done, not just shown on paper.

He was well aware of such managers, who drew on paper some options that did not exist, and such results that could not even be dreamed of. But in reality, they had nothing. Nothing. Just reports for bureaucrats. That's why they didn't last long, until the first proper audit. Not like him.

He had a way of doing things that matched expectations. And when it came to figuring out his budget and his spending, Bluh always got away with it. Always. There was never a time when he had to pretend the unfinished was incomplete and the expensive was cheap. Sometimes some of the committee tried to put a stick in his wheel, but he did not go into his pocket for a word, when it was necessary to make it clear that it was not worth saving money on such things, and to criticize — it does not take much intelligence at all. And it worked every time….

But he had his own connections in the central apparatus, and one of the six was not a bad acquaintance of his. Too bad it was only an acquaintance. Now he had a lot of things to do there, and he had his own problems, so he was no longer available to him at once. And it's harder to defend himself. And the BCC has been split up…

Bluh turned in his chair toward the window and looked out into the distance: small hills and an old avenue that went first down and then up. Most of the buildings there had been destroyed and never rebuilt, but the view was still majestic. How many things people had built. And then they destroyed most of it themselves. Looks like we're heading down the same path…

The governor turned back, took a bottle of whiskey out of a drawer, a glass, poured it almost to the brim, and drank it down. The empire was going down. It was becoming obvious. Whoever won the battle between the SCK and the Inquisition was a clear sign that the Empire was falling apart. What pieces…

The phone rang. It was a gold antique phone his grandfather had given him. It was still plastic and unadorned, but now it was much nicer to look at. He wanted not only to preserve the memory, but also to multiply it. Bluh picked up the phone:

— I'm listening.