The modern bogatyr

      That's the end of my century, dear diary. That's the end of my century. To take and lie down like this at the gates of Berlin. Honestly, I'm not disappointed with this. On the contrary, I am glad that I was able to get here. That he was able to take revenge. Even though I didn't kill that bastard Bormann, and I didn't manage to get to Hitler, I still know that they will rot in the depths of the earth. After all these years. At first, I just served as a clerk in the Navy. That's where the war found me. The Great Patriotic War. I was eager to get there. I sincerely wanted to fight against the Germans. I couldn't believe they had the courage to attack our country. And to attack so meanly. Soon I was transferred to the front, to the 284th Infantry division. There we crossed the Volga and recaptured a small bridgehead. I fought like everyone else, with a three-line. A little later, they made me a sniper, giving me the rifle I'm lying with right now. Then a shootout with Koenig, a bourgeois half-cut. They played for a long time, until he gave himself away with the glare of the sight. Alas, none of this helped. Not only could our troops not break through the flanks in Stalingrad, but they could not hold them either. Stalingrad has fallen. It was a disaster and a disgrace. It was even more terrible shame when I saw how "comrades" from the Caucasus joined the fight against us. Like Ukrainians. Like the Balts. Like many Russians. Vlasovtsy... They showed themselves in all their glory in Arkhangelsk. There I killed the bastard Paulus, which is why I thought we would return to Stalingrad, but no. The weakened German units were ready to retreat, if not for this clique of traitors, who suddenly flew in and drove us further. Thus ended the Great War. The West-Russian war began almost immediately. We hit the Nazis with all the force we had, we almost reached Moscow itself, but then the traitors helped again. Vlasov, tsarists, imamate of the Caucasus, forest brothers, BNSP, Bandera, Kirpichnikovites. They surrounded us 20 kilometers from Moscow. That's how I found myself in the German rear for the first time. What I didn't see on the way to the front. Burned villages, cities bombed into the ground, women and children rolled over by caterpillar rollers. The native lands, exhausted and mutilated by the Nazi scum, on which there is not a single living place left from the constant bombing and shelling. In one of the deserted villages I met General Karbyshev. Heroically fighting, he was captured by the Nazis, in the Mauthausen camp, and after that he also heroically escaped and came all the way here. The man is a legend. Alas, we parted as soon as we crossed the border. The border, as it turned out, of the already fallen union. The fallen Russia, which was retreating and was ready to split into different parts again.       We went out into the lands, as it will be a little in the future, of the traitorous tsarists in Rykov. Or, as they called him in the pre-revolutionary manner, Vyatka. Karbyshev did not stay long and went to his native Omsk along the remnants of the Trans-Siberian Railway. I then went north to Arkhangelsk, where Voroshilov and the remnants of the Russian Communist Party had moved their headquarters. I could not accept the fall of the motherland, but at every step her corpse made itself felt. A corpse in the face of bomb craters, in the face of bandits, in the face of the destitute and starving. "This is the new order," I thought in those days. That's how I started my own journey. The path of tireless help to people. Help in everything from escaping from the clutches of bandits to everyday problems. I can't count how many times I've walked around Russia. During this time, Russia has managed to crack once again. The Cossacks put their tsar in Chita, Khabarovsk and Vladivostok went to the Japanese with the connivance of Rodzaevsky and Matkovsky, who took power in the Far East. The West Siberian Republic has also cracked. Dear Rokossovsky, People's Commissar Kaganovich and Comrade Karbyshev created their own states on its fragments. My friend, Karbyshev, created a kind of "Black League" that drove the people into such poverty, which is difficult to come up with even in Muscovy. The war broke even a legend like him.       It's been 30 years since that time. I can't even believe it. However, I think it's worth telling you about my most important campaign. The one when I decided to kill Hitler. That day I returned to Kamchatka, to my fellow soldiers friends. It was with these people that I served in the Pacific Fleet. No one can even imagine how much they have changed. From the torchbearers of the revolution and the locomotives of the communist future, they became just pirates. Robbers who raided the merchant ships of America and Japan. As well as the latest drunks, scoundrels, drug addicts and generally unworthy people. It seemed that Admiral Yumashev alone remained in good health. So, 1963, 12 years before the events of this day. I'm going back to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. The soldiers recognized me at once and took me to places that had been used for a long time. Even a familiar captain of the first rank, whom I knew as a Red Navy man, pulled himself up. We walked for a long time, talked for a long time. More often they asked me just about the news from the western and central regions.       - Well, Vasya, tell me. How are things in the west? Is there no unifier?       - No, Dima, it's not expected for another five years. I answered him then.       - And how is he? - another one has already asked.       - No better than yours. I've become old, I feel it in all my bones. "Heh-heh," the comrade grinned sadly. - That's right. I only remember you stepping on the ship. The rookie is a rookie. Well, it's okay, I pulled myself up. Then he went to the front. But they didn't transfer me.       Then we went into the old, dilapidated house of one of our friends, where he took out several cases of rice vodka. What did he call her? Sake, I think. Yes, it seems so. They were taken from Japanese merchant ships. At least something at such a time. Opening the bottle, there was a painfully familiar, but nevertheless pleasant smell of alcohol. We did not leave the house. They just made noise until early in the morning, not being able to turn on even a light bulb. They sang songs, told me what had happened to everyone lately. Oh, it's a pity the radio doesn't work at night.       The next day I had a slight headache, but overall I felt pretty good. If you do not take into account, of course, the bitterness of the fate of the country and impending old age. That's when I got this crazy idea. To kill Hitler. "I've had enough of internal torment! I need to do what I always should have done, but I couldn't" - that's what long thoughts led me to. And when the radio turned on, it only encouraged me to do this, starting to scroll through the "Burgundy Lullaby". I spent the day packing. I needed ammo for my three-line, which will go with me all this way, food, water, warmer clothes and other necessities. My friends, of course, wanted to take me to Magadan so that I would not go through the anarchy of the north, but I refused. I didn't want to feed Matkovsky's reptile. Damn him, the fascist, it was empty.       And so the next day, after saying goodbye to my comrades, I set off on my way. I decided to move between the mountains and hills, to the Kamchatka River. From there I walked along the shore and came to the village of Milkovo, spending the night at the local village council house. They have created something like a river fleet here, but they are engaged exclusively in fishing. Fortunately, these days went well with the villagers and I was able to go on to Kozyrevsk with a clear conscience. Alas, I have received some unpleasant news. The last time I visited the village, it was inhabited by people. Yes, not many, but people. Now it's a ghost village. Then I found an open house, chopped some wood and, having lit the stove, went to bed. It was a restless night. I could not forget the kindness of the locals, whom I did not save. For peace of mind, he took the rifle in his arms tighter. Fortunately, nothing happened then. It was my overactive imagination and the deepest shame for my failure.       Having bypassed Klyuchevskaya sopka, I just as successfully received news about the village of Klyuchi. And further along the route, I finally went out to the people in Ust-Kamchatsk. It's still a dying town. After taking a little vodka in the last drink, replenishing my reserves, and chatting with the men, I went to the side to gain strength. Yes, they didn't let me sleep then. Feral small nations came from the northern lands of anarchy, somehow bypassed the border guards and attacked the city. I had to fight it off. Fortunately, they did not know the art of sniping. No, there were people among them who shot very skillfully, perhaps even better than me, but they had no knowledge of the terrain, no prepared positions, no distracting traps. None of the above that a real sniper would do. One, two, three. The shots came one after another. Some fell into traps and revealed themselves, allowing me to deliver a fatal blow while the local militia of sailors repelled the hostile forces of the attack. The attack was repelled. The locals replenished the supply of ammunition for my help, as well as some food for the road. After all, now the distance will probably be the longest. Bypass Shelikhov Bay and reach Magadan. And all this through the lands of the northern anarchy.       The path then passed through the destroyed Ossory and Tilichki. There were no events on the route that would have been very different from the daily cold, fatigue, saving food and water. I have entered the lands of the northern anarchy. The territories that were once rich and developed by Bukharin's Siberian plan. I can't even imagine what happened to Anadyr, but the guys from the Pacific Fleet said they took as many people as they could from there. From Tilichek, I moved northwest to the gray mountain. A day later I left the territory of the Pacific Fleet, and three days later I went to the settlement of the Koryaks. During my travels,              I managed to learn something, so I boldly went to them.       - Amto, mei, tumgut! - I went into the largest tent and greeted the audience, who were very surprised. It is unclear whether from the appearance, or from the greeting.       "What, ӄajtakalӈyn. nyjyččyӄi?" he asked me.       - Uh, I replied, "Yes."       - Thene, thinking, it's better to grit like this.       - If you like.       He lit a pipe and handed it to me as a sign that I would not be touched here.       - Sit down, are you squatting? - another question from the leader followed.       - I'm going west, to Magadan. I've been walking for several days now, I wanted to ask for a bed for the night.       - Hmm.... Well done. yatgyyӈynalvaӈitylg'yn, Yanotyk! - he ordered to call some tribesman, who soon came.       - alg'aka yaya! - He called me home. As I was leaving, I heard from the chief "yatgyӈyn nallâgӄin", which means "Welcome".       After spending the night, I went almost immediately. The leader came out to escort me to the outskirts, said goodbye and went to his people. And I went on. I walked for a week, but still bypassed Penzhinskaya Bay. There was a very small village, only 20 yards. I went there, choosing a church as my goal. It was opened to me by a priest named Alexander Men. A friend agreed to accept me if I would help with household matters. And that's all I've been doing for a long time. While I was working, we talked a lot. About people, about revenge, about God, about the eternal kingdom and communism. He came up with the interesting idea that communism is paradise. The kingdom of God. The collapse of Russia is the selection of sinners and the righteous. Jesus will be the one who will unite Russia and plunge sinners into hell. And the antichrist is Hitler. Honestly, I did not recognize these ideas. But he wasn't upset. On the contrary, he said that he feels that there will be an apocalypse soon. And also the fact that it is he who is destined to lead the people of Russia to paradise. A strange guy, but kind. The locals call him "Father." After leaving the village, I walked on. I had a choice here. Go to Magadan or Yakutia. Alas, I'm going in winter, so I'll have to enter the lands of the Magadan Mussolini. Having bypassed the Gizhiga bay, I finally went to the last village in front of the lands of Magadan. It was March 1963. The path was just beginning.