Struggle. Taste of power

Zhivenko

What it means to execute an innocent man. Or executing for something you didn't do. Or executing for a great cause. For some great common cause. Is it worth executing an innocent man for that?

Misha wandered through the streets and couldn't get these thoughts out of his head. It was as if someone had gotten under his skin and was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing until the hole was ripped. And, to all appearances, the hole had already rubbed, because he had decided to go to Ranierov himself and talk about it. To go, of course, was a strong word — who was he to let him see a detainee accused of treason. Captain, yes. Only, first of all, of the Penal Battalion. And secondly, it's not his business. They'll ask questions about how he knows about it and whether he's in cahoots.

Bolotnikov first. At least ask him what he thinks about it. It'll be easier to act there and easier to think.

He lived in the same unit where all the other penalized soldiers lived. There was plenty of space in Severodonetsk, and no one tried to take better places or assign someone worse. There was too much choice around.

The major chose the first floor of an old khrushchevka building, which had survived to this day — back then everyone said that such housing was dangerous and that it was all just for demolition. But in fact it turned out that it had been standing for 150 years after the Great War.

On the door he hung an old rusty doorknob on a rope, apparently to make his hands smell better of rust….

It's me, Zhivenko! — knocking on the door, Misha shouted.

The major was in his uniform as usual, except that he had taken off his tunic. Apparently, he didn't want to wrinkle it, even considering the new chevron on his sleeve. Tidy and tidy again. Even in such a position he looked as if in this uniform he could only go on dates and show off in front of girls.

— Oh. Come in — Bolotnikov let Misha inside, and then carefully locked the door: there were three locks and a good steel deadbolt.

Everything inside was neatly tidied and laid out exactly where it belonged: there was a chair with a tunic hanging on it beside the made-up bed, a closed ancient closet next to it, and a table at the side of the window, next to which was another equally old chair. There was a loaf of bread on the table and a knife next to it, and a tin army flask to the right.

— You don't have to tell me why you're here, I already know. — Bolotnikov started from the beginning. — I don't even want to hear it.

— I just got in.

— Then tell me more about Natasha, about your dreams, about what weapons we lack. — The major continued, curling his fingers one by one, and then waved his hand negatively. — But about that rotter, who is now in the brig, I don't need to tell you….

— Serg…

— Yeah. (chuckles)

— Is everyone here not convinced he's guilty?

— Maybe it is. Maybe not… It won't make us better. I was thinking about it myself, and Khmelnitsky reminded me. That if he'd been decimated, he'd have been sent to the Penal Corps.

That's what I've been thinking the most lately…

— All right. Uh-huh. I'm not arguing — I'm not arguing. I just want to understand. What are the grounds for believing that he is a traitor… I want to understand that. Otherwise, you and I will be accused tomorrow, and others will also say that we deserve it, and that it's all in the interests of the state.

Bolotnikov changed his gaze slightly as he listened to the last sentence. What Misha was saying now really did make some serious sense. If the penalty battalion could stay afloat and not sink in a couple of months, then its commander, the former commander-in-chief, would remain alive. And this is certainly not favorable for Zubkov. So what will prevent him from starting a witch hunt and bring him together with Khmelnitsky under all similar charges. He will also say that he received something from the Mountain as evidence, three days to consider, and then shot. What's not an option?

— 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.