Project "Eye" part 16

_{Photo: AV Photography The}

approaching spring brought back inspiration.

Links to previous parts and an appeal to those who see the publication of the Eye for the first time:

Eye is my personal literary project, the work on which I started in May of this 2015. From a small sketch, he grew into a science fiction work, the chapters of which I spread, as I write, on GT.

Previous parts:

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15

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- Get up, you miserable piece of shit!

Olli received a sensitive blow to the ribs before he even managed to open his eyes. His commander, Stu - it was his shoe that met the guy's ribs - hung over him like a rock, and yelled that there is urine:

- Do you think they feed you here for nothing ?! We are moving forward in an hour, okay ?!

Stu was a vile fellow. Just a couple of years older, this son of a seller of household appliances and a district whore imagined himself to be the Lord God, although the elders only instructed him to look after the young. But Stu, as a small man and, accordingly, of a mind not too distant, used his power as much as the unspoken rules of the camp allowed him. And these rules read: “All for the sake of freedom, all for the sake of resistance!”. Therefore, with the fierce zeal inherent in small people, Stu "pulled himself" "for the sake of resistance" on his charges as he could.

Ollie never liked this dumb chant that rushed from the throat of every barker, working for a can of fish canned food and a hard cake with sand instead of flour, and luring more and more people into their already crowded camp.

- I will not repeat it twice! - Stu became outside, at the entrance to the tent, akimbo and tried in every possible way to show how important he is in comparison with Oliver.

“I'm going, let the pants pull on your ass ...”

Olli reluctantly climbed out from under the rags that served him as a blanket, and reached for the old shabby pants that lay at his feet. He was never able to get rid of this harmful, given the current times, habits - undress before bedtime.

“Only homeless people sleep in clothes!” The deceased mother insisted on him every time she forced him to bed in the form in which he had fled from the house in the morning. Now the mother was dead, but her words were firmly embedded in the guy’s head, so at every opportunity he would get rid of at least trousers.

According to the subjective feelings of Oliver, it was more pleasant to sleep naked, in truth, plus everything was more hygienic. But moments like this, with Stu, denigrated his entire positive experience. Now the "senior over the younger" looked at him as an idiot.

- And if the attack, are you going to go bare-ass?

- Stu, fuck off. Snapped Oliver, already tightening his belt.

- Yes, how are you talking to me, puppy! - The son of a seller of household appliances and a district whore had already bent down to fall into the ward's tent again, but at that moment the camp was covered with mortar fire. One of the shells exploded right next to Stu, turning it into a half-bloody and half-charred mess.

Covered and the tent of Oliver. The guy fell on his back and began to choke on his own blood, which rapidly filled the lungs punctured by broken fragments and broken ribs.

Well, that’s it, he thought ...

Commander! Commander Oliver! Time! - a loud whisper, coupled with shaking over the shoulder, tore Oliver out of the heavy slumber into which he plunged just a few hours ago.

Awakening was difficult, akin to a hangover. He jerked up, not undeterredly frightening the fighter who woke him, and ran his hands disorientated, first over his chest, and then over his face, which was shattered in his sleep by fragments.

Oliver remembered well the day he dreamed. They were on the march and were ambushed. Then, indeed, army mortars worked on them indiscriminately turning fighters, recruits, women and children into mincemeat. But it was in the afternoon, not in the morning. A strange dream.

“Commander, allow me to report.” - The fighter already jumped to his feet and reached out in front of Oliver.

Steel's fame swept ahead of him. An unprincipled, young and brutal commander, carrying out any orders and tasks by all available methods, and now also entering the headquarters, he inspired awe in some young soldiers.

- Report. - He had already risen to his feet and brushed off the grass from his jacket, on which he settled down to take a nap before the operation. Intelligence reported a few days ago that a convoy was being escorted from the south towards the Capital. There may be engineers, equipment, or just weapons — some of what the government and army lacked so much to build a new city, which, according to plans, will become a fortress.

“A convoy of cars has been seen south, sir.” It moves at an average speed. According to estimates, the scouts will be here in twenty minutes.

- Did the sappers finish?

- Yes, sir.

- Good. Is free.

Oliver intercepted his battered Colt M4, which he did not manage to exchange in the arsenal for something more decent after his promotion, for some reason checked whether the under-barrel grenade launcher was charged - he always did this, because it was this “excess”, like many other soldiers and commanders called him, more than once he saved his life in difficult situations - and moved to the road where his soldiers ambushed.

As a hundred, as two or a thousand years ago, an ambush was set up at the turn, in the middle of a forest belt. Sappers several hours ago laid a landmine to undermine the head vehicle of the convoy, and each soldier knew his place and task.

- Mikey, come here. - Oliver called out to the only black guy in his squad. During ethnic cleansing, a real hunt from the army unfolded behind them. Mike survived and even rose in resistance to a sergeant, which many did not like, but not Oliver: the main thing was diligence, and the skin can be at least purple.

- Is everything in place?

“Yes, sir, that's right, sir.” - The sergeant chattered.

Oliver winced. He was already tired of making comments to Mike and asking him to speak more slowly, especially when he reports, but now there was no time for bickering and raising a fighter older than himself.

- What is the composition of the column?

“The column itself consists of a dozen and a half Emoks, sir.” On the ram, the twenty-eighth Stryker, behind it another two twenty-sevens or sixes, were definitely not discerned. Between the “emkas” there are three RG-33 pieces, on the shield there is a couple of “Strikers”, but not twenty-eighth, sixth or seventh.

- What about RG? Equipped?

The sergeant shifted from foot to foot.

- Yes, sir. On each easel M2 or modification. Twilight, sir, poor visibility.

- How many fighters do they have?

“Two or three dozen, no longer put in RG.” Well, a couple of fighters on the armor.

Oliver paused for a moment, wondering what might happen.

- So. Demoman is the first to start. Then everything is as usual: barrage, grenades, stripping. Just for God's sake, no smoke this time, okay? I want to take these trucks, I think there are weapons. But grenades and cartridges do not cherish. Everyone who can get out of thirty triples must very quickly become dead. Clear? Oliver carefully looked into the sergeant's black, deep-set eyes.

- I understand you, sir, no smoke, grenades do not save.

- Well, go bring it to the attention.

The sergeant mumbled something into the radio fixed to the unloading, then spun on his toes and, holding the machine gun on his shoulder, moved lightly at a trot in the bush. Literally in a couple of moments, his huge back disappeared into the foliage, as if he did not go around the positions, but simply evaporated in the air.

Fifteen minutes later, the first “Stryker” appeared around the corner, cheerfully walking at a speed of thirty-thirty-five miles. At some distance from him two more wheeled armored personnel carriers appeared with fighters on the armor, and after that a convoy stretched out, in some places interspersed with “thirty triples”.

- Peter, is everything ready? Reception - Oliver released the lever of his walkie-talkie, waiting for an answer.

“That's right, commander.” - Hoarse from the speaker.

- Then start on your own, without a team.

- Accepted.

Oliver knew that demolitionists had better decide when and how to detonate, so he didn’t get into it. He himself has so far settled down at the roots of one of the trees on a small mound, next to the machine gunner.

“When the ram is blown up, your task is to mow down the soldiers on the armor, do you understand?”

- Yes, sir. - The fighter double-checked whether his M240 stands firmly on his bipod and put his hand on the butt. “Everything will be at its best, sir.”

- Well.

The charge laid by sappers would be enough to blow up even a tank, which Oliver really did not want, but was still afraid to meet columns on a ram. Therefore, the light wheeled "Stryker" did not have a single chance. The explosion turned the car around, which by inertia drove a few tens of meters.

In general, everything went smoothly. His fighters, as if on command, threw grenades at the RG-33, which had stopped, and had already opened the airborne manholes, and the shooters removed the easel machine gunners behind the Browning.

Small problems arose only with a couple of drivers and a shield "Striker", but the resistance fighters figured this out too. As soon as the shooting subsided and the column cleaning was over, Oliver walked over to one of the trucks and threw aside the tarp covering the body.

There were people on the floor. Some were killed during a firefight with a stray bullet, someone was more fortunate. Looking closely, Oliver realized that there were only women, children and the elderly inside.

“Your mother!” He thought. “What is this ?!” Where is the weapon ?! Where are the supplies ?! ”

He raised the trunk of his M4:

“ And now vividly say what you are doing here. ”

- Commander! There are people here! No weapons!

- I know! - Oliver barked back. - Unload them! And you, ”he now turned to those who were in the car in front of him,“ let’s answer! ” Who are they?! Alive!

One of the women raised her head and, having carefully looked at him, spoke:

- We went to the capital. - She took a long pause, glanced at the carabiner and disk store, and after a moment she added, - sir.

“Why were you being taken as if there were full weapon vans here?”

There was no response.

- Get out! Let's! Alive!

It took only a couple of minutes to unload the survivors and the wounded. The road was filled with a rumble and children's cry, kneeling at gunpoint, the old people silently, with hatred, looked at the resistance fighters, the women cried and hugged the children.

“What are we going to do, commander?” - It was a sergeant. Oliver once again glanced at the crowd, taken in a loose ring.

- Fighters! Build! - Oliver barked.

The sergeant changed his face. He knew what would happen next.

Oliver went up to the crowd and spoke, loudly and clearly, so that everyone could hear him:

“Lie down on the ground for everyone!” Face down, hands on the back of the head! - After the bulk of the prisoners complied with the order, he waited for the women to lay the children, pressing their heads to the ground, and continued:

- Under the laws of the war, you are found guilty of assisting the criminal army junta that seized power in the country, and blatantly die . - Silence fell over the road, broken by the rare sobs of women.

“Commander ...” Michael whispered in Oliver’s ear. “Commander, there are only women and children, and a couple of half-blind old men, commander!”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Oliver answered loudly so that everyone could hear him, “there are only women and children.” Sisters, wives and future mothers of a criminal regime soldier! This is a war and they would be happy to see each of us in the grave! Follow the order!

The sergeant did not move.

- Good. So be it. - Oliver turned his back to the Negro. - Squad, listen to my command! Cook the bayonets! Take care of patro ...

Oliver was almost done when he saw someone's silhouette in the undergrowth, a little behind, behind a crowd of prisoners lying on the ground.

He unknowingly took a step forward. At that moment, one of the women rushed to him and, trying to snatch a carbine from his hands, pulled the trigger of an under-barrel grenade launcher, which the Steel General had never used in battle.

The shell hit the prisoner’s chest, instantly exploded and knocked Oliver onto his back. The last thing he saw before his death was a dark night sky amid the sounds of the slaughter that had begun on the side of the road ...

- Oliver! Are you asleep ?! - Matt went into his office and threw the tablet with the reports on the table.

The steel General stretched out in an armchair and began to stretch his neck, which had flowed in an uncomfortable position.

- Yes, the second day on my feet, even this lousy chair seems to be a bed. “And lousy dreams,” he thought, but said nothing.

“You are not a toothache to me here,” Matt was out of sorts, “we have problems with discipline, specifically in your corps.” What can you say in your defense?

Oliver rubbed his eyes and stared disoriented at Matt across from him. This strange multi-level dream did not come from his head, but with each second of wakefulness he became farther and more illusive.

- With discipline? - He pretended that he did not hear Matt's question in order to gain some more time. “Well, what can I say, you know that they all consider themselves suicide bombers.” So they live to the fullest.

“They're not suicide bombers,” Matt retorted frowningly. - It’s not my fault that everyone who goes with you into battle does not live long. And first of all - yours.

“But we are fulfilling the tasks set by the headquarters.” It’s you, Matthew.

The resistance leader leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Oliver,” he continued after a short pause, “we both know perfectly well that on your one mission with losses five pass without casualties.” Can you convey this to the personnel? Yourself?

“Matt, old man, do you think this will somehow affect my fighters?” If you want discipline, stop throwing us in the rear or on sabotage every time. Suicide mission? There are always fighters of Steel! - Oliver began to wind up. “Do you think it’s easy for me to lose people?” Do you even understand how much work it takes to find and prepare a replacement for at least one deceased? The last time, after the death of Peter, for almost half a year I could not find myself a sensible demoman who would not ditch us all by confusing the terminals! Give us security and patrol assignments and the guys will calm down quickly!

- Quietly, calm yourself. - Matt was slightly surprised by such a violent reaction. “There will be patrol missions for you, if you so wish.” Only your thugs will quickly begin to ask for the front line, you yourself know.

Oliver sighed, got up from his seat and began pacing around Matt's office.

- Do you know how many families in my shock group?

- In terms of?

“Well, how many fighters have families?” - Refined Oliver.

Matt thought for a second.

- I do not know. I think at least half, you have, like, not boys already.

Oliver stopped at the bookcase and, leading a finger along the roots, answered:

“Not a single one, Matt.” There is not a single family in my strike group. Nobody wants to leave a beloved woman as a widow, and if you serve in the Oliver Steel building, then you have already been issued a ticket to the next world. Do you understand? Hence the problems with discipline: they let their salaries go to alcohol and gambling. Some are even afraid that someone will simply fly away from them. Hence, by the way, there are also rumors that I’m a fagot and I’m mainly gaining fagots in the corps.

Matt snorted, suppressing a chuckle, but Oliver could no longer be stopped. He fervently, with eyes burning like a boy’s, jumped up on a stool in the corner and, as if in front of him a whole square of listeners, began to chant:

- Homosexual resistance! Join the body of Oliver Steel, also known as the Steel General, and in certain circles, as the General Steel Ass! You will find a friendly male team from Nigeria, Latinos, Nigeria, homosexuals, Hispanics, homosexuals and simply your white brothers in anal action! Enter the body of Oliver Steel, save on whores!

- Oliver, for God's sake, you can hear two floors up and down, calm down! - Matt wiped away the tears. He knew about the problem of Oliver’s fighters and their fears, but prostitutes, several times offended by the inattention of members of the shock group and Oliver himself to their own personalities, decided to recoup their reputation. And, as you know, the more ridiculous the rumor, the more firmly it sits in people's heads.

- Yes, let it be heard. - Oliver’s hysterical enthusiasm disappeared somewhere and he was calm and thoughtful again. “I'm just tired of being pressed on my guys.”

“Well, they just follow the example of their commander.” - Matt leaned forward across the table and looked his subordinate and friend in the face. “How long have you been with a woman yourself?” A?

- Yes, no idea. - Oliver avoided meeting his eyes with Matt and only waved away from the commander. “Is it that important?”

- Of course, it is important! - Matt nearly jumped from his seat. - You are tense, like a spring and fighters, believe me, they feel it in you! Find yourself already what woman, you can and with a hole, but at least bald! To which you will return after tasks and not get out of bed for a couple of days! And then, from your view, half of the walls here have melted already, and if there are losses, I’m afraid to see you at all. “Matt was cunning because he wasn't afraid of the devil himself, but now he needed to push Oliver.” “So listen to my order, fighter!” Find yourself a woman and start living as a person already, otherwise you and your corps will turn from high-class saboteurs into evil chain dogs. Truncated?

- Yes, everything is normal for my fighters, only the drummers are on their own mind.

- And as far as I remember, you yourself are not coordinating their actions from the headquarters, but you are the first to go with these same drummers. So talk to the guys to be quieter, or ...

- What is “or”? - Interrupted Oliver. - How do you scare a suicide bomber?

Matt hesitated.

“Just talk to them.”

- Good.

Oliver got drunk this evening as never before. Today everyone drank at the expense of the Steel General, that is, they drank to unconsciousness. Together with the fighters, they shouted songs in one of the bars so that the plaster would fall off the ceiling if it were there.

At some point, Oliver was at the bar to order more drinks for himself and his guys, to which the bartender sent him to hell and advised him to go to sleep.

- Yes, how are you talking to me, shit piece! - Oliver grabbed his gun, which, as one of the commanders, could always carry with him, and pulled it out of its holster. “I’ll explain to you how to talk to General Steel Butt!”

He tried to shake his weapon in front of him and say something else, but saw in the mirror behind the bartender a gray figure standing in the doorway. At that moment, the pistol slipped out of his hands, hit the trigger with the trigger and fired, sweeping the owner’s brains on the ceiling.

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In order to keep readers up to date with the pace of work, and just chat without fear of being hit by a banhammer on GT, or if you do not have an active account, in the vastness of VK I created a group dedicated to the Eye project . We are already one and a half thousand people!

Welcome.

Criticism, ratings, discussions and feedback in the comments, as always, are highly welcome.

Part 17