Beware of patient people. Should we fear the wrath of a patient man? From a cold distance

What other emotion can be as powerful as anger? It captures the entire being and a split second is enough for emotions to spill out. What if a person is patient and knows how to hide his feelings well? If he accumulated this negative charge within himself, without giving it a way out? “Fear the wrath of a patient man,” said the English poet Dryden John. Why is a patient person so dangerous?

Anger is the result of thoughts

From each specific situation, the individual draws appropriate conclusions. And how offensive the words spoken or the conflict that has arisen cannot always be immediately assessed. But emotions manifest themselves at a physiological level. Involuntary trembling occurs in the hands, the pulse suddenly quickens, and the blood pressure rises sharply. This is a state of mobilization that occurs in response to an external threat and requires appropriate action. The expression “fear the wrath of a patient person” means that emotions are restrained and accumulated, but sooner or later they will have to be given a way out.

Repressed Emotions

It is suppressed anger that gives rise to outbursts of violence. It is believed that it is indecent to show negative emotions.

This indicates a lack of education. We are taught to forgive, understand, take into account the opinion of another person, but at the same time our own feelings and desires are not taken into account, and our own position has no right to life.

Anger motivates a person to action. When anger is suppressed, the feeling does not disappear; it will certainly appear later, but in a more frightening form. Therefore, one should fear the wrath of a patient person. Who said he would get rid of this emotion? Like any other feeling, sooner or later anger must come out. It is like a balloon that continues to be inflated, but the air is not allowed to escape. Until one last breath causes him to tear himself to shreds.

A person who holds back anger is in a state of constant depression and nervous tension. He often withdraws into himself and shows inertia. But under the right circumstances, anger will gradually begin to break through. These can be attacks of irritability or unexpected outbursts of rage, which are often directed at loved ones or innocent people. This is why one should fear the wrath of a patient person.

Release of pent-up feelings

Along with other feelings, children are endowed with a healthy sense of anger from birth. But from an early age, parents instill in the child that he should not show attacks of aggression and hysteria, but should listen to his elders and restrain his emotions.

As a result, the child learns to obey someone else's will and suppress emotional impulses.

And over the years, a person begins to develop dependence on others. And in some cases, accumulated emotions are taken out on their own children, who also begin to be suppressed. As a result, children develop a feeling of fear, and there is a fear of the anger of a patient person, who can give an unexpected outlet to negative emotions.

The release of a long-repressed feeling can be unconsciously directed at the bearer himself. This may appear:

• in diseases that arise from nervous system;
• in suicide attempts;
• depending on drugs, alcohol, food, medicine.

A person holding back anger is characterized by certain signs of appearance. He has dull, lifeless eyes, he is tense, and seems to be pinned down.

Sometimes it is necessary not so much to fear the anger of a patient person as to be careful in dealing with him. A person in anger is devoid of fear.

He develops feelings of incredible physical strength and confidence, which can lead to attacks of aggression.

I read the last book of Sergei Anisimov’s trilogy “Come and Tell” called “The Wrath of a Patient Man”. For those unfamiliar: the action takes place in an alternative 2013, where the invasion of Russia by united Europe and the United States began under the guise of a “peacekeeping operation.” The capture and occupation proceed briskly and quickly, the “mistresses” commit atrocities from the heart, but gradually problems begin...

In a word, it’s a kind of variation on the “Marauder” theme, only with Berkem everything died down quite quickly, but here the resistance and partisanship goes on and on growing until it turns into something different.

I liked the previous books because they were gloomy and hopeless; they showed very well how the collective West will crush everyone and everything if it just wants to make a strong-willed decision. For all the officials have long been bought, the necessary addresses are known, and honest military personnel will not even live to see the evening of the first day. Plus, the author is a doctor and understands quite well how people who are left without their usual life, medicine and safety in the middle of a suddenly collapsed world behave. In general, Moscow and St. Petersburg were taken from him there approximately in the middle of the second book. Well, here, therefore, is the third, final one.

What I liked: almost everything, with a few exceptions, which are discussed below. Almost all the main characters died, which is realistic and hits the reader in the head in terms of the groundlessness of expectations of happy endings. Although the happy ending is still kind of there, and even quite Hollywood. But nevertheless, no special snot, no gods from the machine and pianos from the bushes. It's great, we love it.

What's wrong with the book? Firstly, there is a suspicion that the author has not lived among Western people and does not really understand how they think. Therefore, in the beginning they are purely a herd of sheep, believing any stupid propaganda, and in the end they are mega-cool altruists who, perhaps, do not quote Dostoevsky in the original. In reality, they are neither one nor the other, but this did not fit into the plot of the novel, so the author noticeably simplified and straightened everything out.

Secondly, while describing the hellish consequences of the occupation of Russia by the Americans/Germans/Ukrainians/Balts/Chechens and other ghouls, the author somehow misses such a powerful topic as refugees. Well, that is, the population of the Russian Federation either dies in the millions from epidemics and punitive forces, or fights valiantly in the army and partisan detachments. In reality, at least a third of citizens, as soon as they smelled something fried, would immediately get on their skis and rush off to Ukraine, Belarus, China or Central Asia. Well, really, it’s absurd: plague, typhus and dysentery, hunger and punitive detachments of Chechen Bandera are raging in your city, and you sit silently on your butt and don’t know what you’re waiting for? No, the wave of refugees would splash in all directions like a mighty tsunami, so much so that no one would think it was enough. But this idea destroyed the structure of the novel too much, so the author left everything as it was, and wrote one short sentence about refugees.

By the way, refugees would probably be carrying with them gigabytes of filmed videos with the horrors of the occupation, which would very, very easily be uploaded to any video hosting sites, so the incredible insight of the Europeans would have happened much earlier in this case.

Thirdly, during the invasion the Russian Armed Forces do not use nuclear weapons. The explanation given for this is extremely unclear: like, they didn’t want to start a nuclear apocalypse around the world. Despite the fact that tens of millions died in a terrible death in Russia. L - logic.

In one paragraph, the author wrote about Putin - like, no one knows where he went and what happened to him, but in principle the president was an even dude. I find the outright reluctance to delve into the topic of coordination and resistance management strange.

Well, the final chord - the main idea of ​​the book looks a little rotten. They say that Russia, of course, has lost almost half of its population, its cities are destroyed, people are maimed, its infrastructure is blown up, vast territories are contaminated and uninhabitable, and its armed forces are dying. But the USA and Great Britain have lost almost nothing and are still plotting, but! But we came up with a cool virus that awakens conscience and critical thinking in people. And now you can’t fool people just like that!

And all because we are humane guys. And now again we will not trust anyone and rely only on our own strengths.

To be honest, such passages cause nothing but bewilderment. Berkem was still more interesting in this regard. Not to mention that in terms of geopolitics, the described option is extremely optimistic.

But the book is nevertheless good, and therefore I strongly advise you to send money to the author and read it officially.

Freedom is not something that was given to you. This is something that cannot be taken away from you.

Russians, as you know, harness for a long time, but then drive quickly. And what Russian doesn’t like driving fast? This is a kind of allegory and image of what will be said and told in this article from a historical and political perspective. Go!

From a cold distance

Warm

Our history remembers and preserves different things. Our people remember, our ancestors knew, you and I know how after the Stalingrad cauldron the Russians could no longer be stopped. After all, it’s not for nothing that the French call us "A nation of winners". And not only for the Second World War, but for many glorious exploits and victories of our ancestors. We always crushed those who violated human and moral laws - presumptuous adversaries.

This spring, even before the presidential elections, Strelkov said that we would go to Kyiv as soon as we kicked out the Banderaites from Novorossiya ( something definitely reminds me of how it was before Berlin). And now, it’s interesting that, having killed Bandera’s followers (yes, whatever you like, the National Guard, the Right Sector or someone else - they are still Bandera’s), the militias are actually now “cutting down” the bastards of the Russian race. Yes, that’s right, but only one thing saves them - the presence of the Buk air defense system and other heavy weapons, which is what they rely on and extinguish everyone: children, women, and old people. ( Yes, they also shot down a Malaysian Boeing with a trailer, killing 295 lives.) What do they care: what kind of Muscovite extinguish – they are Banderaites. (There will be explanations as to why it is this way and not another.) But not for long, I’m sure. Not long left, not long, there’s no other way, The Russian, no matter how kind in heart and responsiveness and patience he is, can also be ferocious. The militias are already declaring that they will not take any of the National Guard alive. And it’s clear why – FOR EVERYTHING!

Hot

Hot

Keys

Russophobia
Totalitarianism
Anti Orthodoxy
Sadism
Homosexuality
Sectarianism
Oligarchy

Some people are probably surprised or confused by some points, but everything is justified. I’ll just say, looking ahead, that the most important, most important factor is Russophobia. Latent or open, aggressive or quietly, but always and invariably present. This is the basis of Banderaism as a phenomenon that has no analogue. Intrigue and shock await.

Denouement

Fear righteous anger!

© Anisimov S. V., 2017

© Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2017

***

Fear the wrath of a patient man.

John Dryden (1631–1700)

“You know, it hurts me so much that I lived my life like a fool... I lived for so many years, but for years I lived aimlessly, for nothing.” I worked... It can't be called work. For a salary, yes, that’s right - I fed my family. Even for a good salary. But I was of no use to anyone except the owners of the company, none at all. Because of this, factories didn’t grow, didn’t... I don’t know... didn’t make ears thicker than a field, didn’t fly faster than rockets into space... I’m sounding childish now, right? Do you remember how we were taught all this as children? That being a geologist is good, but being a waiter is bad. And it’s not even bad - it’s shameful... But I didn’t even work as a waiter, I’m not a Chaldean. Worse. It was impossible to earn money like I did... Even if I lived poorer, it wouldn’t matter... And everything else too. How much did I drink, how much did I party, how much time and money did I waste on nonsense? I could play sports, I could get ready, I could build a house for my family in the wilderness, fill the basements with supplies, stock up on weapons... You know, like in movies about zombies? Now I would be calm for my family, and myself... And not like now...

-Are you finished? Have you spoken out?.. - The second of the lying men pressed his palm to his mouth and waited out the coughing fit, painfully bending his whole body. “Then I’ll tell you too.” I had a similar life, you know. It was not for nothing that we became friends at such and such an age... And I drank, and walked, and had fun. And you know, unlike you, I don’t regret it a bit! How great it was to barbecue with family or friends and pour something delicious into yourself! So that your head is easy, your soul is light, and Sunday is tomorrow! Fishing! In the morning, you know, when there is fog over the water? Babes, again! Yes, why? Do you know what this big part of my life is? The best, perhaps! Mmm, what kind of women I had... They were so sweet... Confectionery factories don’t make them like that... So what, exchange all this for a supply of canned food and cereals? Yes now! I wouldn’t drink, I wouldn’t eat, I wouldn’t rest – I would just rock, and like Schwarzenegger would be now. And what? If I had gone and scattered everyone there with my bare hands, would I have won?

- That's not what I meant.

- Yes, this, that. I've heard enough of you, thank God, for so many days. So listen to it for a change, okay? Because time is running out already. I've seen enough of people like you. And those who in words, and those who actually tried to do something. Some seek justice for everyone, some do something else. What's the point? They just turned their life into nonsense. But I do have something to remember. And I don’t feel sorry... Believe me, now I don’t feel sorry for either time or money. Now we will be gone, but my soul feels warm: what a great life I had! Now no one can do that. And I lived well, and I will leave well.

- Yes, I can’t object here. There is nothing to cover here. But to myself, I... Sorry, but yes, I’m thinking about myself and my people again now. It would be strange otherwise... I still think I'm right. Even though I wouldn’t change anything, I wouldn’t achieve anything big, but it would be easier for me, eh?.. Only today I’ll atone for my sins a little... Not big ones, but a lot, a lot. They have accumulated over the years. Do you think this is enough for me?

-Are you kidding? You're laughing, right? Personally, I don't care. I never believed it, and I will never believe it again. Even under that shelling, if you remember it, I didn’t believe in God, although I already pissed myself then... This is nonsense. You need to believe in yourself, in your strength. Good luck if your strength is poor. And if there is no hope, then you don’t have to believe, just do it. Just like now... What are you doing? Are you crying, fellow countryman?

- No... It’s like that... It’ll pass now...

- Don't cry, everything is fine. Don't be afraid.

- I'm not afraid. Too old to be afraid.

- Not old, mature.

- Old. And fat. And tired. And I’m scared for the children: what’s ahead of them, what’s their future? But we have to do it, we volunteered ourselves...

- Just as it should be. Are you ready?

- I’ve been ready for a long time... It finally came to me... It was an accident... It’s already passed. Sorry...

- Do not apologize. Forgive me if anything.

- And forgive me... Lord... Our Father, who art in heaven... Hallowed be Thy name... Thy kingdom come...

The second crew member averted his eyes: black, angry. Empty. Faith never interested him; praying people always aroused in him either contempt, or at least condescension. Old women - calm, young ones - irritated... He grinned. Everyone decides for himself how it is easier and better for him to live and die. Personally, everything was fine with him: he lived to the envy of many, and will die in such a way that he does not feel sorry for life. Having gotten even with a good margin both for yourself and for your family. For those who are old, and for those who are young. At forty-five and over, a man is almost not afraid to die if...

But this is more offensive than scary. This is the right guy, no matter what he thinks about himself. If it's here, it means it's correct.

He glanced sideways and sighed silently. It happens differently. One can admit that he himself still feels uneasy, no matter how much he puffs himself up, no matter how much he persuades his mind. “Almost not scary” is to encourage yourself. This allows you to come to terms with what will happen now.

- Quiet. Quiet, I said. Keep your head down! Put your head down, damn it!

- Yes. I see.

- Damn... They're good, huh?

The column really made a deep impression. And the word “good” that came out was correct. Not suitable for a leavened patriot, which, however, he never was. And faithful. A blurry, vague association from the film “Chapaev” about “walking beautifully” flashed through the second’s head. How many years ago was this film made, almost a hundred? How many years ago had he last seen him?

- Why are you grinning? – asked the first number of the calculation.

- Guess.

Impolite, but fun. The first of the men pressed the key of the communication device twice, giving the agreed upon signal. Time has passed. The route of the convoy was checked by enemy drones, and they were not visible, only heard. A week ago, both would have suggested that these could be light helicopters at high altitude. But they had been observing for several days, and on previous occasions they saw with their own eyes what was now buzzing in the weightless veil of drizzle overhead. Drones, and not armed. Two pieces. Invisible propellers easily carried them hundreds of meters above the dull roaring column, the hands of the operators on joysticks turned them left and right, allowing them to carefully examine the entire space around them. One could only guess where the operators themselves were located. It is very possible that hundreds and even thousands of kilometers from here, in comfortable rooms, in comfortable chairs. With mugs of coffee in hands. Two men living out the last minutes of their lives were lying buried in the ground, which had turned into mud and appeared on top of rags that did not protect them from the cold. They were very upset...

- A little more...

They had practically stopped breathing. The lead patrol in the column consisted of several ubiquitous Humvees and one wheeled armored vehicle of a type unfamiliar to both. These either walked at high speed, then slowed down, giving the main group time to close the distance. As usual, the column was mixed: tilt trucks, tank trucks, various types of armored combat vehicles, concentrated at the head and tail of the column. This time there are additionally several heavy vehicle platforms transporting heavy tanks. The most precious goal that pays off their lives with interest. And at the same time, the target is rare: NATO has quite a few tanks. On the battlefield, an enemy tank is what so many soldiers see in the very last moments of their lives. Therefore, the opportunity to deliver a precise strike on “inactive” tanks was simply precious.

- Let's! – the first number, watching the second hand on a worn wristwatch, shouted in a hoarse, broken whisper.

The second one, for some reason closing his eyes tightly, pressed the tight clamp into the iron with all his might. In the heavy box filled with electronics, something hummed dully - as if a small but heavy flywheel was spinning. Then something in it squeaked childishly, like a cartoon, and immediately all the LEDs on the simple top panel of the device went out at once. At the same time, here and there along the column, brakes squealed, and a sound familiar to all adults was heard - what happens when two cars collide. A few moments later there was a dull, not very strong whoosh: the partners who raised their heads managed to notice how the reconnaissance drone, which had fallen to the ground “upside down with its paws”, was falling apart: white, looking like an expensive toy.

“Yah...” The second one had already snapped the bipod and with effort lifted the heavy box of the laser system onto it. He was not a weakling, but the “side press” was strained for him: his face turned red from top to bottom in an instant. Sucking in air with a sob, he pressed the power button, ran his fingers over the toggle switches of the system placed on the bipod, and immediately glanced at the sight, aiming at one of the auto platforms in the center of the column.

“The beam has gone…” his partner, who managed to put on his glasses, commented hoarsely. – Estimated distance or a little more... To priority - approximately 450...

“I see it myself,” the comrade answered immediately. - It worked, right?

Both looked at the column with all their eyes. Some of the cars stopped, at least two collided: either the driver of the rear one was sleepy, or something else. Several horns blared. Several soldiers from the crews of combat security vehicles dismounted, scattered on both sides of the road and now competently turned their heads in all directions.

It was only a matter of time before someone with good optics saw the two gunners. The electromagnetic pulse in an instant burned out half of the electronics within a radius of several hundred meters, stopped computer-controlled engines, and temporarily disabled some of the surveillance systems. Even a passenger car now has several computers, let alone special military vehicles!

The gunners were warned that the efficiency of the system is far from one hundred percent: even the devices under current do not burn, and the blockages can be very different. But the drone's avionics and electronic warfare systems were more vulnerable than anything else.

Blinking both eyes at once and mechanically parting his mouth, the second number in their team flipped the tight toggle switch and with a sharp movement of his wrist, turned the miniature handle several turns. The mechanism of the blasting machine howled and died down. She is at least forty years old, she was made before the electronics boom. She doesn't care about electromagnetic pulses.

Two buttons at the same time, until they crunch. A controlled landmine on the side of the road near the head of the column exploded not even with a roar - with a roar. The charge, placed in an oblique concrete pit, passed obliquely along the column in a stream of crushed stone. Completely ordinary, granite, the kind used in construction work. Quarter-kilogram pyramids and cubes with sharp and blunt edges could not penetrate even a centimeter of armor - but against open infantry and unarmored vehicles they worked in a way that standard MONOC balls and rollers cannot. The first number did not take his eyes off the target for a moment. Although the blow transmitted from the ground to the body filled the mouth with a sour metallic taste, the beam directed by his hands only swerved a little and immediately returned to its place. The screams and howls on the road were almost inaudible - it was as if my ears were filled with cotton wool. A column of smoke and dust hid almost a quarter of the length of the column, but the vehicle platform was still clearly visible. Several single shots and short bursts: unaimed, not at them, just in the air and to the sides. A twin shot from an automatic cannon, and then another one, from another place. Normally, small-caliber guns fired loudly, so loudly that it resonated in your teeth. Now everything was silent.

- Hold it, hold it.

Spreading wisps of smoke and dust began to cover the column. How much time do they still have? Will the right rocket make it? Both men were not military men; they had no idea how things would turn out. They called for volunteers, and then asked again: do they understand that this is almost exactly a one-way route? When both confirmed, the instructions, however, did not touch on unnecessary details. A classic “black box”, only not of one, but of four components used sequentially. Long-range communications, an electronic bomb, a laser guidance system, which was called the “illuminator”... And a landmine with unconventional “ready-made submunitions”. Even representatives of peaceful professions could guess what its meaning was. There is less risk of detection by instrumental means, compared to mines equipped with “factory” packages of these same destructive elements. Or even homemade ones, made from steel rods cut into short fragments or reinforcement bars used in concrete work. Right? But what was the meaning of the fact that the landmine should have been detonated after the “illuminator” was turned on, one could only guess. However, this sequence was repeated thirty-three times during the briefing, which means that this is exactly what was required to be done.

A dull, short meow in the air. The first of the bullets passed ten centimeters and immediately hit the compressed ground somewhere behind with a thud.

- Everyone... Noticed.

By the time the second number of the crew said this, they were already being hit from several guns. The glasses showed that the beam was firmly held on the central platform in the column. With the angular bulk of the Abrams in a niche formed by the breaks of mighty steel trusses. Surely there are dozens of devices in the headquarters vehicles that detect laser beams from rangefinders and illuminators, even automatically. Giving out the direction and distance to the source to those who look. A second or two, and...

Explosions from the first sighting burst of the same automatic cannon echoed right around them. The shells landed mainly in front - and half of the fragments seemed to go straight into the face. The vehicle hit them from a standstill so as not to lose its grip: the distance was very moderate and guaranteed the defeat of “open infantry” in a matter of seconds. And so it happened, but it was during these seconds that the predatory carcasses of Russian supersonic missiles covered the remaining kilometers to the patch of land that was their target. Now shrouded in smoke and riddled with routes going to one point.

The guidance head of the leading missile in the series had long “seen” the point at which a powerful laser beam rested for so many long moments: the smoke and dust after the explosion could not completely hide it. Even when fired from a maximum distance, the entire Hermes series reached the target area very accurately: its own inertial guidance system was modern and effective. These missiles could have covered the column themselves, but the target illumination data from the ground received on approach made the strike unmistakable even after the gunners had died and the beam had been turned off.

The tank on the trailer, illuminated and still shining with a bright warm spot, was targeted by three missiles at once, while the others were targeted by one or two each. One of the missiles in the series chose not a heavy vehicle platform with a tank, but an armored combat vehicle, the other foolishly chose a truck. The distribution of targets lasted several hundredths of a second.

The column did not have its own air defense systems or even simple air target detection systems. The distance to the red zone was considered too great, and the Iskanders that reached here could not effectively hit mobile targets and were too expensive. Heavy multi-axle vehicle platforms, some of which had still not been able to start their engines, did not have the slightest chance of avoiding hits. The missiles of the series landed on the column almost simultaneously, all twelve of them. The flight of the high-speed Hermes is almost impossible to catch with the eye: for the surviving witnesses of the impact, what happened was completely unexpected. The warhead of each guided missile weighed 28 kilograms, almost two-thirds of this weight was explosives. In not a single case were the dynamic protection and the actual armor of the Abrams and the only damaged Bradley able to repel the blow. Secondary detonations were instantaneous.

The circumstances of the death of both gunners remained unknown forever. Their names were Ivan Amosov and Artem Svetlichny. Business Development Manager and Financial Services Sales Manager, respectively. One in the Magnit retail chain, the other in Home Credit and Finance Bank. Both are former managers. Both went into battle when the word “must” crowded out all other words in everyone’s thoughts. Not the youngest, not the most prepared, not the bravest at all. Not the first and last Russian soldiers to die in this war.

Not the first and not the last to take their enemies with them.

Wednesday, April 17

- Wake up, go to sleep.

The poke was strong. Not to say particularly delicate or even just friendly. Anton buried his face in the rags and muttered displeasedly. My muscles continued to ache, like after a half marathon. He had this in his youth, when it seemed curious to test himself. When it was possible to run such distances for fun and for the illusory chance of winning the prize intended for the winner. TV - for the fastest and most resilient. Uh-huh... The word “winner” has already changed its meaning. More precisely, this value returned to its original value.

- Come on, come on, time is ticking.

- Yes, I get up... Oh...

There was dullness in my head, and everything hurt. It’s even strange, a person runs with his legs, and not with his chest and neck. And they were also sick. And it’s bad, with strain, and not as happens when muscle pain is pleasure.

People nearby were also muttering, coughing and wheezing. When they say that people don’t get sick in war, that’s nonsense. In war people get sick all the time. Only on your feet. No one brings tea with raspberries and honey to bed when you have a temperature of thirty-eight, and it’s impossible to swallow saliva, and your back and bones are aching from aching. Be patient. Wait until it gets better. Eat those medicines that can be found when there is war all around.

“Are you awake, comrade captain lieutenant?”

- It seems... Hey there! How are you, fighters?

Roman nodded silently: his face was rumpled, a deep furrow ran diagonally along his right cheek - he had put something not particularly soft under his head in the evening. The second of the cadets looked dull; his breath was bubbling, as if he wanted to cough up, but did not dare in front of people.

The soldier who woke them waited patiently, saying nothing more. The face was familiar - from yesterday. From the first ones they met.

Quick toilet, quick wash with half a liter of water in a glass jar. The water was not ice-cold, but slightly warmed - that was good. There was a mirror in the makeshift “bathroom”, and Anton, after hesitating, spent a third of the water on shaving: the cartridge in the machine was still holding on and the razor in it had not completely become dull. He had no idea where to get the next one for his shift, but the option was “in the same place as this one.” Find a dead enemy in the belongings. He was not distinguished by pathological disgust - he doused it with cologne, and he could use it. That was two weeks ago, and since then the little thing has finally become its own.

- Well, will you be there soon?

- Is someone waiting?

- Breakfast.

- Ooh! – Anton admired. - This is cool. It is a rarity…

A picture arose in his head from pre-war times: when on Sunday, after sleeping until half past nine, he could make himself three scrambled eggs on top of a couple of slices of fried sausage. And toast with something. Cheese or pate.

He was overcome by nervous laughter, and the sight of the local breakfast made him laugh almost out loud. He restrained himself with difficulty, knowing full well how ugly his incomprehensible spasms and sobs would look from the outside. Nothing, it's gone. It happened last time, and it did this time too. It was still possible to hold on.

There were no plates, just plastic bowls: lime green or blue. He got the blue one, and Anton thought that it was even symbolic: he was a sailor after all. Unsweetened oatmeal, diluted in boiling water, with pieces of something fruity - either apples or pears. He hardly felt the taste, he just stuffed spoon after spoon into himself. The guys refueled in the same way, sitting next to each other. Silently, concentrated.

Opposite there was a knock: a private put mugs of tea on the trestles. The tea smelled good - aromatic. Even if it’s just one bag for everyone, it’s still not bad.

- Thank you.

- To your health. Are you hungry, Comrade Lieutenant Commander?

- There are a few... We even just missed something hot. They probably have stomachs like kittens. They are crumpled and meow continuously, asking for a cracker... Porridge is what you need. So thanks again.

“Nothing with food here,” the fighter nodded. – Not lobsters with hazel grouse, of course, but nothing. Nothing yet. Finish your drink quickly and let's go. Fine?

The lieutenant commander nodded in agreement, already pushing away the empty bowl and taking a mug of hot tea in his palm. The mug is battered, but the most classic one is made of enameled metal, with an image of a red bunch of rowan berries on white. The tea was hot and a little sweet, and my head immediately began to buzz. I immediately wanted to lie down and get some more sleep. It’s clear that it’s self-indulgence, but it was very pleasant to dream about it even for a second.

– Counterintelligence is waiting for us?

- No way. Quite the opposite, scout commander. He probably has a hundred questions. And the rest, of course... When you have time, tell me, huh? You are the first on the other side, your information has no value.

Cadet Ivanov from the side hissed one specific obscene word, and Anton glanced sideways with disapproval. The cadet understood and did not press the topic: he lowered his eyes and clenched his teeth. And well done. Understanding and adequate. Nobody needs others.

– Was it difficult?

Anton thought that the fighter’s questions were not the simplest. There was something like that in them and in himself... Surely he is a counterintelligence officer. There is no other way here. With strangers, strangers.

- How difficult it is. We didn’t even think that we would get there at all. We thought we were going to get into trouble. And they passed. Insolently.

“Insolence is the second happiness,” Roma said with meaning in his voice. – The city’s insolence is taking its toll. A donkey loaded with arrogance will take any fortress.

The soldier chuckled, looking with approval at the cadet’s haggard face.

- Okay, okay... Here you are at the right place. There's enough of that here. And luck and arrogance. The main thing is in moderation. To be adequate.

The lieutenant commander looked at the private again, very carefully. That's it, the very confirmation of your thoughts. Not an easy guy. Yes, thank God.

They looked around and carried the empty mugs and bowls with spoons to a bow-legged table standing to the side. It's funny that this one wasn't a goat, but a real one, only old and crooked.

“You’ve done well,” said the fighter already on the move. – Even the fact that you just got there is great. And you brought weapons and equipment. The doctor said thank you for the first aid kits - this goodness is never enough.

- Do you have a doctor too? Are there many wounded?

“There is a doctor, yes,” the guy agreed. They walked along the corridor, climbed over the gap in the barricade, and then there was another corridor leading to the side. However, they saw all this yesterday. Now the fighter finished peeking out from behind the warped door and began to very carefully descend first down the half-broken flight of stairs. – Not a very normal doctor, but that’s okay. And the wounded... The seriously wounded are immediately taken away, it seems like everything is already organized, there is somewhere to take them. Or carry it, I don't know. The slightly wounded are treated on the spot. But not much yet, I can’t say. It's no longer the same as it was.

- Why is he crazy?

The stairs finally ended and we could catch our breath. No, it turns out it’s not possible yet. And you won't believe why. Because the entire broken first floor of the three-story building was densely littered. Despite the cold, the smell was terrible.

- What, you ask?.. Yes, that... Eh, be careful here! And it’s not just like that, don’t look at it like that. This is by design. Just imagine, a foot patrol comes in with another random check. And here there is a mountain of crap, disgusting pieces of paper lying around. Wow! They immediately make faces and go back. Sometimes they walk up to the stairs, and that’s it. By this time three guns are looking at them, but they don’t even look up: they’re looking more at their feet... And the doctor... He’s a little confused. Well, like many here, why not... You'll see for yourself. The bayonet is always attached - they say the doctor has been in two bayonets, real ones. It was reflected...

They stopped at the exit from the building, which was a dilapidated three-story red brick building with a leaky roof. Half of the window openings were sealed with bricks, obviously a hundred years ago, long before the war. There are garages and workshops all around, the skeleton of a heavy bulldozer with a lowered blade stuck out exactly in the middle of the yard, and closer to the edge there were several more pieces of construction equipment, these in fair condition. A little further on are the skeletons of burnt-out five-story buildings, but here there were just old things, the remains of a “small and medium-sized business”, broken down by life and time. Some tanks, some barrels, some bundles of reinforcement bars and other rubbish. The fighter, squinting, looked at it all from the window opening next to the hole in which there used to be a door. He was in no hurry, and the lieutenant commander was silent, waiting for what would happen next.

- Let's wait a minute, okay? We’ll be more alive... So... - the guy silently exhaled air, and his palm on the machine gun hanging under his arm relaxed and moved lower. – When he treats people, he feels better. He treats as best he can, and he seems to be happy. And then it stops helping, then he feels bad again, and it shows. Then he needs to go and kill someone there, outside... Then this also makes him feel bad, but in a different way, and in any case it’s better, and then he can work for a while... Damn, that’s it.

Behind him, Roma made a sound with his lips, and the captain-lieutenant tensed. But the cadet, no fool, did not continue.

- Yeah... And who will judge? It's good that he exists. There are many of them here, very different. Everyone has one or the other in their head. Rarely is anyone without a cockroach. One kisses his dog four times a day. Crying and kissing. You'll see.

- Love? – still asked Roma from behind.

“Yes, if only,” the private answered rather dryly. – He has one dog left from his family. Never mind the dog, a rather large mongrel, very smart. The shepherd's father probably was. Or mom. And the man has a whole family... With children... Now the two of them go into battle... And they cry together too...

Something began to bother Anton inside. Either he inhaled some rubbish on the dirty first floor, or something else: there was no longer enough air.

“Only the scout commander is completely happy.” The man has completely found himself. This is the one who has to hold back the happiness on his face... He's fighting... Oh, you'll see how he fights if you stay with us. I would have decided that this is also a fad, also a brain cockroach... But how does he fight... If the army had at least one of these per company before the war - oh, who would have decided to mess with us, huh?

– You forgot, we are from the navy.

“Nothing,” the fighter shrugged. - Let it be from the fleet. Peter is here, remember? You won't surprise anyone here with a fleet. I'm talking about something else.

Something white flashed a hundred meters ahead. Anton did not have time to focus, but the fighter, apparently, was waiting for exactly this signal. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to them and grinned wryly.

- They drowned...

His gait was slightly clubbed, and while walking he was either hunched over or stooped. It was obvious that this was a seasoned soldier. The camouflage jacket still retained the dark oval on the shoulder from the torn off patch. Whether this jacket was his is another question, but the fighter wore both it and his machine gun very deftly, like something familiar.

They stopped behind him, forming an extended triangle on the ground. Stretched along the wall, how could it be otherwise? The lieutenant captain tried not to turn his head too much to the left and right, but to look at the next broken-down house with squinting eyes. One floor, and even that one on the far side from them, seemed to have started to be demolished, and then abandoned. Not too far away one could see the skeleton of an unfinished four-story building—either a future office center, or simply a multi-story parking lot. But before him there was another row of dilapidated buildings, and beyond that the upper edge of a rather high solid fence, painted bright blue, stuck out.

– You’ve settled in well here.

- It’s a sin to complain. And the exits are good, and the view is fairly clear... And you can walk wherever you want... Over there, on the other side, not visible now, there was such a hefty new house, made up of several blocks with passages. I didn’t see it myself, but our people said that it burned down at the very beginning. And it seems to be on its own, without bombing. St. Petersburg wasn’t particularly bombed. This is not the center, of course, everything has happened here, but... It’s somehow ourselves. The traffic police together burned them, but they did it themselves. But no one even dared to look at Krestovsky Island through a gun sight... And now they have installed such a thing there, we don’t even try to go there, it will cost us more...

Anton was distracted by people approaching along the wall of the building and stopped listening to the guy who was talking. Three in unusual gray camouflage. Not worn and dirty to gray green, as he was used to, but originally gray. Light gray and dark gray mixed small rectangles, interspersed with pure black and pure white - he saw this when the three came close.

- Well, hello.

- Hello.

Anton categorically did not like the look of the commander of the approaching troika. He was too serene and confident for a man who was in occupied territory, in a captured city. Traitor? Pretending to be one of his own, but in fact confident in his future?

Dwelling on this blurry thought for only an elusive split second, he himself winced with displeasure. He had no reason to think so badly about this man and could not have had one. Nerves. Closely reaching that same level of “the first cockroach has appeared,” which was mentioned by the same guy, a guide through the tricky yard.

– Commander of the reconnaissance platoon Somov, temporary military rank of senior lieutenant. My fighters: squad leader Petrishchev, sergeant, career; shooter Fedotin, temporary military rank junior sergeant. And you, then, are those lucky guys who... Uh-huh, uh-huh. Nothing... It’s clear from you, of course, that you didn’t get by on luck alone.

The senior lieutenant's smile turned out to be good and calm. She removed the unpleasant feeling that Anton had in relation to himself.

– Lieutenant Commander of the Navy Dmitriev, Kaliningrad Naval Institute... Teacher, radio department... Cadets Sivy and Ivanov, from the same place.

He still didn’t want to tell this person everything about himself at once, in detail. Somehow it didn't look safe. Although, obviously, this will have to be done more than once. Yesterday's check, with cross-examination, was clearly not the latest. It was not for nothing that they were brought not to the base, but to something in between. For quarantine.

– Sivy, Sivy... A rare surname...

Roma did not answer and did not even express in any way that he had heard what was said. He looked at the scout with an expression on his face that the lieutenant commander found it difficult to interpret. I’ve never seen anything like this: not on a guy, not in general, in so many years of my life.

- Well, at least there will be someone without a call sign. Or maybe not. Maybe you still have to... - The scout commander once again looked them up and down. - Okay, let's not stand here, waiting for adventures. Let's go to the garage and let's tweet.