– You don't want to take a bullet?

– Everybody gets caught at some point. Not everyone's gonna be a rotten ass in the process.

Hearing this, the slouch seemed to smile a little and even relaxed a bit, but in essence it meant nothing – he held his AK-74 still firmly and aimed exactly at the center of the major's solar plexus:

– I agree… Well go that way… Penalized....

Bolotnikov turned slowly in that direction and, keeping his hands up, walked in the direction indicated. There seemed to be no chance of escaping – his escort had deliberately lagged behind by six or seven steps, so that there would be time to shoot, both in case of an attempt to escape and in case of an attempt to seize his weapon.

– Do you know who the jackal snitched to? – Bolotnikov suddenly had an idea of how to fix or at least change the situation.

Slouch was silent and only breathed back occasionally.

– He knocked the plagues from the SCK. – Bolotnikov replied, turning his head slightly and noticing the enemy out of the corner of his eye.

– What?!

– Yes, yes, to the chums from the SCK… – the major stopped and turned back a little. – He said he had no choice....

– What fucking choice?! These bitches snitch! Did he get a bad fucking meal here?

– He wasn't complaining about the food, you know… He was in the shit and he wanted to get out of it. You know, everybody protects your own skin more than somebody else's.

– So what? BCC's gonna help him out?

– You see, it didn't work. But somehow he wasn't too upset. He wouldn't even smoke. He said I smoked mine a long time ago…

Slouchy laughed and lowered the machine gun altogether:

– That asshole gave me the smokes. We used to be together. Only he went upstairs, and I didn't think I'd say anything. You know, he's a brave guy without epaulets. He's braver than a lot of fancy men. It ain't my thing to chase rank. But when we were young, he bet me a carton of cigarettes. And that was expensive for him. Very expensive, bitch. Ha-ha-ha. So he got upset. And he says, "I'm not fucking smoking anymore." Like he can't afford to buy any more. And then he quit altogether… And here's this dandy who says he's already smoked his own. Ha-ha… Well, on the other hand, at least he didn't completely deceive you. I was the one who fooled him with that block. Ha-ha-ha-ha.

He laughed so hard, folding himself in half sometimes, that he involuntarily came closer and closer. And at some point it finally seemed that it was possible to take advantage of it. Bolotnikov rushed forward and sharply raised his fist upward, hitting him squarely in the apple of his eye. The stooped man fell to the ground… That's what happened, and the Shakal helped him....

Swampy tied the hands of the Hivi fighter with his own belt, then took the laces off his boots and tied their feet together. Then he examined his pockets, and there was nothing particularly interesting or unexpected: ammunition, two F-1 grenades, ammunition, a Makarov pistol, cigarettes and a notebook, which contained debts, apparently card debts, judging by the fact that there were tambourines, hearts, crosses, spades, as well as the names of games opposite the surnames: goat, borax, preference. It seems that the Jackal not only lost to him, but lost at katran, that is in a game where cheats know each other, and play on who will cheat whom better. Logically, after such a defeat, he stopped smoking altogether.

Still, it was time to see what was near the sector. This time the Major moved more cautiously, and several times he spotted hives in secluded places, carefully avoided them, and continued on toward the main administration building. It was getting closer and closer. The moonlit night perfectly illuminated the outlines and some silhouettes of the moving objects around the largest structure.