Struggle. Retribution in the Twilight
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You can't see yourself. All this groundless talk about a mirror is just talk. No mirror can reflect you as others see you. Because you are the one looking in the mirror. And Gora knew this very well… That his time would come to overestimate his powers, to make mistakes, and even to go completely crazy. And no one will tell him about it. Everyone will also wait for his orders and report back to him. Because he has already built a system where his decree is equal to the law. And breaking the law is punishable by death. He has already built a system where everyone around him,
seeing him without a mirror, will be silent if something goes wrong with him. After all, when he is the law, it means that without him there is no law.
Minister
Donghr was a very old minister and very experienced. He had once had victories that not everyone can dream of. Military victories, career victories and the victories of his personal life. His wife wanted more – a life that could be called beautiful, and she got it. And for that, Donhru had to steal from the coffers of his own ministry. Systematically and mercilessly, because his wife's appetite was growing, but the treasury was not getting bigger. And it all came to the point where there was more on paper than there actually was in reality.
Of course, at some point this became known to Zakinkhru, the then head of the SCK, who was in charge of anti-corruption measures. He was also systematic and ruthless, but not to his wife's appetites, but to his own career appetites, which were much more important to him than corruption itself. Therefore, when he thought that Donghr, who was afloat but in his power, was much more profitable for him than the next prizes for uncovering financial frauds, he chose the first option without delay… And he was promoted thanks to the assistance of Donghr, who began to periodically surrender his former associates to him.
Zakinhr eventually became the head of the Slavic Column's JFC, while Donhr continued to be its minister. For a while this suited both of them, but as of late, Donghr began to realize that he couldn't bury himself forever. And this was especially true after that conversation with Bluh, when the latter had spoken so harshly about his current position and the fact that pieces of his influence were so easily slipping out from under his nose. Yes, of course it was said under a hop, but you can't argue that it was wrong. You can't argue that it's some kind of arrogance of an arrogant official
– it's a normal tool of self-preservation, when you realize that either you move up, gaining something new, or you lose what you've already gained and go to the point where at best you give up your authority, and at worst – keep company in prison with those whom you yourself easily helped to get there.
Bolotnikov
"First find the chums, with whom you can still fight in the Diza sector" – these words kept looming in Major Bolotnikov's mind day and night, until they turned into something more substantial. He himself was already thinking over the options when the ally of Gor, who had led an entire group and given the miners new opportunities, and, most importantly, had already eased their current fate, would become not only not an ally, but the most dangerous enemy. The Jackal had once told him about it, even showing some gloating about it. He is no longer alive, but the prophecies seem to be coming true, and becoming even more terrible than expected. But for that I must see for myself.
Shakal said that the area around the surface sectors was now guarded by hives, and since that was the case, it was at least possible to look at them. He could take one of them and have a heart-to-heart talk with them, as he'd done before. Maybe something new will come to light.
Bolotnikov took a horse and rode all night and then all day and by roundabout ways reached Bakhmut. Here, he was well aware that the Khivi dwelt, holding this town as a hub – several roads ran through it in different directions, and, controlling it, one could be sure that no one would throw any serious units to their flank or rear in any short time.
It took him another half a day to get quietly around this town and move on toward Deese, and before he reached about ten kilometers he settled down for the night. It was warm now, even at night, and after such a journey his strength was running out, so he was almost at once at his services.
He dreamed of miners and chiwis and Maquis. In a big, dark hall. They were moving around, forming some kind of demonic circle at wild speed. But surprisingly, they didn't bump into each other at all. And even though they all had different clothes – the khaki field clothes of the Maquis, the specialized "kink" of the Kiwis, and the black and gray work clothes of the miners – it was impossible to tell who was who. They moved so fast. And what's more, as the observation went on, it began to seem that there was no difference between them all, that they were all the same.
Completely the same, and even their clothes, which had blurred so much that they looked like tattered multicolored rags. It no longer seemed that they were different people. They were all doing the same thing, circling around the room in a single rhythm, not bumping into each other, clearly wanting the same thing, and certainly not interfering with each other at all. It was even somewhat surprising – how could they move at such speed, maneuvering between each other and at such speed, and not even hit each other. It was as if they were being controlled by someone else, calculating each one's route in advance.
How much did they want it? And did they want it? And who is the one who controls it all? It can't be otherwise – they weren't wrong, they were acting according to a single plan that someone had worked out. And that's exactly what they were all happy with.
Bolotnikov tried to force his way through to pull someone out and ask it, but he was immediately pushed away, just as coherently by everyone who could reach. And so, looking at him fiercely, continued their movement. Then he tried to shout to someone, asking what they were doing, why they were doing it, and who commanded them. Some of them looked at him angrily, but most of them just kept on doing what they were doing.
Then he took out a pistol and started firing it at the ceiling, shooting the entire clip. That didn't impress anyone, and he tiredly slumped to the floor. Everyone seemed to be really happy with what they were doing. It looked like his attempts to find out something were just a void in their much more real lives than the one he wanted for them… And then someone banged hard next to his right ear.
Bolotnikov woke up instantly. It was his horse, not far from him, pounding its hoofs. It snorted a little more and looked at him strangely. He must have said something in his sleep.