Project "Eye" Part 16

_{Photo: AV Photography}

The approaching spring brought back inspiration.

References to the previous parts and appeal to those who see the Oka publications for the first time:

Eye - my personal literary project, the work on which I started in May of this 2015. From a small sketch, he turned into a science fiction work, the chapters of which I post, 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!

Ollie received a sensitive blow to the ribs before he could open his eyes. His commander, Stew - it was his shoe that met the ribs of the guy - was hanging over him like a rock, and screaming about urine:

- Do you think you are being fed for nothing here ?! We come out in an hour, okay ?!

Stu was a nasty little. Only a couple of years older, this son of a seller of household appliances and a regional whore fancied himself as Lord God, although the older ones only instructed him to look after the young. But Stew, as a small man and, accordingly, not too distant mind, used his power as much as the tacit camp rules allowed him. And these rules said: "All for the sake of freedom, all for the sake of resistance!". Therefore, with the inherent bitter zeal of little people, Stew "drew off" "for the sake of resistance" on his charges as he could.

Ollie never liked this blunt chant, which rushed from the throat of every barker, working for a can of fish and a hard cake with sand instead of flour, and attracting more and more people to their already crowded camp.

- I will not repeat twice! - Stew became outside, at the entrance to the tent, podkobenilsya and in every way tried this pose to show how important it is compared to Oliver.

- I’m coming, I’m going to give my pants my ass ... ”

Reluctantly, Ollie climbed out from under the rags that served him as a blanket, and reached for his old, worn trousers that lay in his legs. He could not get rid of this harmful, given the present times, habits - to undress before going to bed.

“Only homeless people sleep in clothes!” - the late mother repeated him every time she found him in bed in the form in which he ran away from home in the morning. Now the mother was dead, but her words are firmly entrenched in the guy's head, so he got rid of at least every possible opportunity at every opportunity.

According to Oliver's subjective sensations, it was more pleasant to sleep naked and, in truth, more hygienic to everything. But moments like this, with Stew, blackened all his positive experiences. Now the “senior over the younger ones” looked at him like an idiot.

- And if the attack, are you going to go with a naked ass?

- Stew, back off. - Oliver snapped, already tightening the belt.

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

Covered and Oliver's tent. The guy fell on his back and began to choke with his own blood, rapidly filling the lungs punched by shards and broken ribs.

"Well, that's all," he thought ...

- Commander! Commander Oliver! Time! - a loud whisper, coupled with shaking by the shoulder, pulled Oliver out of a heavy slumber in which he had plunged just a few hours ago.

Awakening was hard, akin to a hangover. He jerked to his seat, not weakly frightening the soldier who had woken him up, and, disorientedly, ran his hands first through the chest, and then over the face that had splintered in his sleep.

Oliver remembered well the day he had dreamed. They were on the march and ambushed. Then army mortars worked on them, indiscriminately turning soldiers, recruits, women and children into mincemeat. But it was after noon, not in the morning. Weird dream.

- Commander, allow me to report. - The fighter has already jumped to his feet and stretched himself in front of Oliver.

Steele's glory sped ahead of him. An unprincipled, young and cruel commander who carried out any orders and tasks with all available methods, and now also entered the headquarters, he inspired some young soldiers with awe.

- Report. - He had already risen to his feet and dusted 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 moving from the south towards the Capital. There may be engineers, equipment, or just a weapon — something that the government and the army lacked so much for the construction of a new city, which, according to plans, will become a fortress.

“A car column is spotted to the south, sir.” Moves at an average speed. Scouting will be here in twenty minutes.

- Sappers had time to finish?

- Yes, sir.

- Good. Free

Oliver intercepted his battered Colt M4, who did not have time to change something more decent in his arsenal after his increase, for some reason checked whether the grenade launcher was loaded - he always did it, because it was this “excess” Many other fighters and commanders called him, saved his life in difficult situations more than once - and moved to the road, where his fighters set up an ambush.

As one hundred, as two hundred or a thousand years ago, an ambush was arranged at the turn, in the middle of a forest belt. Sappers a few hours ago laid bombs to undermine the head machine of the column, and each fighter knew his place and task.

- Mikey, come here. - Oliver called the only black guy in his squad. During the ethnic cleansing, a real hunt from the army unfolded behind them. Mike survived and even rose to the sergeant’s resistance, which was not liked by many, but not by Oliver: the main thing is performance, and the skin can be purple though.

- Is everything in place?

- Yes, sir, yes, sir. - Zataratoril sergeant.

Oliver grimaced. He is 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 or a half emocks, sir.” The twenty-eighth Stryker was on the ram, followed by two twenty seven or six, as if they hadn’t seen it. Three RG-33s are between the emkas, there are a couple of Strykers on the shield, but not twenty-eighths, sixths or sevenths.

- What is RG? Staffed?

The sergeant shifted from foot to foot.

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

- How many fighters do they have?

- Two or three dozen, more in the RG not shove. Well, a couple of fighters on the armor.

Oliver pondered for a moment, trying to figure out the possible course of events.

- So. The first to start demolition. Then everything is as usual: barrage fire, grenades, stripping. Just for God's sake, no smoke this time, okay? I want to take these trucks, I think there are weapons. But do not take care of grenades and ammunition. Anyone who manages to emerge from thirty triples must very quickly become deceased. Clear? - Oliver carefully looked into the sergeant's black, deep-set eyes.

- I understand you, sir, no smoke, do not take care of grenades.

- Well, go, bring to the attention.

The sergeant mumbled something into the walkie-talkie attached to the unloading, then spun on his toes and, holding the machine gun on his shoulder, lightly trotted into the bushes. In just a few moments, his huge back dissolved into the foliage, as if he were not going around the positions, but simply evaporated in the air.

Fifteen minutes later, the first Stryker appeared behind the corner, briskly walking at a speed of thirty to thirty-five miles. At some distance from it, two more wheeled armored personnel carriers with armored soldiers appeared, and after that the column, in some places alternated with "thirty triples", stretched out.

- Peter, is everything ready? Reception - Oliver let go of his radio, waiting for a response.

- Yes, Commander. - croaked from the speaker.

- Then start yourself, without a team.

- Accepted.

Oliver knew that it was better for the demolition men to decide when and how to blow them up, so he didn’t go into that. He himself is still located at the roots of one of the trees on a small knoll, next to the machine gunner.

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

- Yes, sir. - The fighter rechecked whether his M240 was firmly on the bipod and put his hand on the butt. - Everything will be at its best, sir.

- Well.

The charge laid by the sappers would be enough to even undermine the tank, which Oliver did not really want, but was still afraid to meet on the ram of the column. Therefore, the light wheeled “Stryker” had no chance. The explosion tore the car, which by inertia drove a few tens of meters.

In general, everything went smoothly. His fighters, as if on cue, threw stalled, and already opened RG-33 landing hatches, grenades, and the arrows removed the easel machine-gunners for Browning.

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

There were people on the floor. Some were killed during a shootout by a stray bullet, someone was more fortunate. Looking closer, Oliver realized that there were only women, children and old people inside.

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

He raised the barrel of his M4:

- And now lively say what you are doing here.

- Commander! There are people here! No weapons!

- I know! - Oliver snapped back. - Unload them! And you, - now he addressed 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, looking attentively at him, spoke:

- We went to the capital. “She paused for a long time, glanced at the carbine and the disc magazine, and then she added through force,” sir.

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

There was no answer.

- Get out! Let's! Alive!

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

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

- Fighters! Build! - snapped Oliver.

The sergeant has changed in the face. He knew what would happen next.

Oliver went to the crowd and spoke, loud and clear, so that everyone could hear him:

- Everyone lie down on the ground! Face down, hands on the back of the head! - After the bulk of the prisoners complied with the instructions, he waited until the women laid down the children, pressing their heads to the ground, and continued:

- According to the laws of war, you are recognized as guilty of assisting the criminal army junta, which seized power in the country, and speak out to death. - Over the road there was silence, broken by rare sobs of women.

“Commander ...” Michael whispered in Oliver’s ear. - Commander, right there are only women and children and a pair 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 soldiers of a criminal regime! 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 back to the Negro. - Squad, listen to my team! Cook the bayonets! Keep patro ...

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

He unknowingly took a step forward. At that moment, one of the women rushed towards him and, trying to snatch a carbine from his hands, pulled the trigger of a rifle-grenade launcher that the Steel General had not used in the battle.

The shell hit the prisoner in the chest, instantly exploded and knocked Oliver on his back. The last thing he saw before his death was the dark night sky amid the sounds of the slaughter which had begun on the sidelines ...

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

The steel General reached in his chair and began to knead his neck, which had become stiff in an uncomfortable position.

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

“You’re not a scribble here,” Matt was out of sorts, “we have problems with discipline, specifically in your body.” What can you say in your defense?

Oliver rubbed his eyes and looked at the man opposite Matt, disoriented. From his head did not go this strange multi-level dream, but with every second of wakefulness, he became farther and duller.

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

“They're not suicide bombers,” Matt replied gloomily. - It is not my fault that all those who go with you to battle do not live long. And first of all - yours.

- But we carry out the tasks set by the headquarters. Specifically, you, Matthew.

The leader of the resistance 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 for one of your tasks, with five losses, they pass without victims.” Can you get it across to the personnel? Yourself?

- Matt, old man, do you think this will somehow affect my fighters? If you want discipline, stop throwing us to the rear or for sabotage every time. A suicide mission? There are always Steele fighters! - Oliver began to wind up. - Do you think it is easy for me to lose people? Do you even understand how much labor is spent on finding and preparing a replacement for at least one dead person? Last time, after the death of Peter, for almost half a year I could not find myself an intelligent demolition man who would not have ruined us all by mixing up the terminals! Give us the task of guarding and patrolling and the guys quickly calm down!

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

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

- Do you know how many in my shock group of family?

- In terms of?

- Well, how many fighters have families? - clarified Oliver.

Matt thought for a second.

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

Oliver stopped at the bookcase and, running his finger along the spines, replied:

- None, Matt. In my shock group there is no family. No one wants to leave his beloved woman widow, and if you serve in the body of Oliver Steele, then you have already been issued a ticket to the next world. Do you understand? Hence the problems with discipline: they let down their salaries on alcohol and gambling. Some even fear that someone just flies from them. From here, by the way, and rumors that I am a homo and I type in the body, mostly homosexuals.

Matt snorted, suppressing a laugh, but Oliver was already unstoppable. He fervently, with eyes burning like a boy, jumped up on a stool in the corner and, as if in front of him a whole square of listeners, began chanting:

- Homosexual resistance! Join the corps of Oliver Steele, also known as the Steel General, and in certain circles, as the General Steel Ass! You are waited by a friendly male team of niggas, latinos, homie niggas, latin homosexuals and just your white anal partners! Join the body of Oliver Steele, save on whores!

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

- Yes, let him hear. - Oliver's hysterical enthusiasm disappeared somewhere and again he was calm and thoughtful. - Just tired that they put pressure on my guys.

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

- Yes, no idea. - Oliver avoided meeting his eyes with Matt and only dismissed the commander. - Is it so important?

- Of course, it is important! - Matt almost jumped up from his seat. - You are tense, like a spring and fighters, believe me, they feel it in you! Find yourself what kind of woman you already have, and with a bit of temper, even a bald one! To which you will return after assignments and not get out of the bed for a couple of days! Otherwise, half your walls have already melted away from your view, and if there are losses, then I’m afraid to see you at all. “Matt tricked 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 already living like a man, otherwise you and your corps are transforming from high-class saboteurs into evil chain dogs. Hooked up?

- Yes, everything is fine with my fighters, only the drummers themselves are on their mind.

- And you, as far as I remember, you do not coordinate from their headquarters themselves, but you go first with these drummers. So talk to the guys to be quieter, or ...

- What is "or"? “Oliver interrupted.” “How will you scare a suicide bomber?”

Matt hesitated.

- Just talk to them.

- Good.

Oliver got drunk that night more than ever. Today everyone drank at the expense of the Steel General, that is, they drank until unconsciousness. Together with the “strike” fighters, they shouted songs in one of the bars so that the plaster would crumble from 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 pistol, which, as one of the commanders, could always carry with him, and pulled it from the holster. “I’ll explain to you now how to talk to General Steel Ass!”

He tried to shake his weapon in front of him and say something else, but he saw in the mirror behind the bartender a gray figure standing in the doorway. At that moment the pistol slipped out of his hands, slammed the trigger on the floor and fired, sweeping the wearer's brain over the ceiling.

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