The Hot Summer Of Mariupol. Chapter 4
In the morning, having received the permission of the commander, Andrey and Vova Pyshny got into the Dnepr minibus. On the side the minibus there were Privatbank identification signs.
- The whole town knows us from these buses! - Parasyuk, who was also going out, boasted. - They're afraid!
They loaded up and set off.
Mariupol gave the impression of an ordinary city. With an emphasis on the seaside resort. However, when they skipped along Shevchenko Boulevard and went to the bridge over Kalmius, everyone saw an amazing panorama of the giant of metallurgy: smoke of all colors of the rainbow covered most of the sky, pipes of various diameters and heights stabbed into this rainbow symphony, and the nose immediately smelled the indescribable aroma of a byproduct of metal production.
- Vitya, let's go faster. I don't care to breathe this stuff in here! Let's go further! - Italian shouted at the driver.
The man nodded, and their minibus, beeping at everyone, jumped a red light, leaping over tram tracks and sending the surrounding traffic scurrying away.
- Like this… Let them know, - Parasyuk put in again.
- What if there's an accident? - Andrey asked.
- I don't give a fuck – Parasyuk waved away. - Who will they complain to? They’ll just bite the dust!
They drove along the fences of the industrial giants for a while. Then the usual residential areas began again. And then the city suddenly ended – one minute there were still high-rises of the Vostochny microdistrict, and another - the Azov steppe began,with forest stripes passing through it.
- Finally... a gloomy city. - Vova wiped his sweat.
– It’s OK, it’ll get better. We’ll drive around Novoazovsk. And then we'll get to the sea – "Italian" turned to them from the front seat.
Parasyuk defiantly pulled the bolt of the machine gun.
- Here, separatists give us trouble periodically. So if anything happens, we'll shoot, - he said importantly.
Andrey exchanged glances with Vova and twirled a finger at his temple. Vova nodded in understanding and leaned back in his seat, intending to take a nap.
After Shirokinoye, the track came close to the coast. Soon, on the left, Andrey saw huge windmills, completely futuristic in appearance...
- Awesome! What is this?
- These are wind farms. Akhmetov built them, - Italian explained. – We don't go in there. They said not to touch the power system, it is already working intermittently.
- And we should get in there! This Akhmetov is a separatist himself! He rubs shoulders with katsaps[1], gives them money! Parasyuk was indignant. - Never mind, the time will come. We'll squeeze everything out...
Novoazovsk was indeed skipped along the bypass, so Andrey did not see this city. Soon the signs "State Border" loomed ahead, then there were all sorts of cafes, exchangers, tire repair shops and parking lots for trucks ...
The entrance to the border crossing was fenced off with huge concrete blocks in the form of four-pointed stars. They met the deputy head of the post who arrived, warned by Presnyakov.
- Good afternoon, - the border guard captain saluted politely. - The outfits along the "zero"[2] were warned about your arrival, they will not shoot immediately – he joked flatly.
- We would like to talk to your scouts, - Vova asked.
- Yes, sure, let's go.
- In the meantime, we'll take a picture with Russia in the background. Let’s go, Andrey? - "Italian" nudged him in the side.
Pyshny left with the border guard, and Andrey with "Italian" and Parasyuk moved through the territory of the post. After about 50 meters, they were stopped by a sergeant.
- Sorry, you can't go any further. It's not our land anymore.
- This is all our land! - Parasyuk immediately started up. - Both Kuban and Rostov are ours! You, bitches, we will come to you yet, just you wait! - shaking the assault rifle, he shouted in the direction of the Russian territory.
- Vova, calm down, - Andrey asked him, choosing the angle for taking a picture. - Sergeant, snap a picture of us against the background of the Russian post.
After taking a picture, Andrey spent some time looking at the adjacent territory.
- Hey, are they watching us?
– What do you think? - the sergeant chuckled. - And very carefully. Have you heard that to the north, in the area of Amvrosiyevka, their artillery has already been working on our territory? So here, too, they can do it. They study and look closely.
- Have you thought about this before? I suppose when you were making money together on smuggling – they were buddies? - Italian frowned at the sergeant. - And now, they’re enemies?
- We didn't make money with anyone, - the sergeant said, offended. – And now when they show up – we will meet them as expected.
- Well, well. Over there, in Izvarino and Krasnodon, your guys have already met them. They ran away faster than the wind.
– Dont’t talk shit, you weren’t there, - the sergeant's face was mottled with red.
- Just don't burst with excitement – Vova advised him, - calm down and go to the post. I've seen everything, we can move on, - he said to Andrey.
- Okay Vitaly, where to next?
Italian scratched his head.
- Let's go to our people now. Here is the 5th company, all former Donetsk guys. They've been here since May, and everyone knows the situation. They go along "zero" periodically.
The 5th company of the Dnipro battalion was located away from the border crossing, in a former motel for truckers. Of course, the company was a bit of exaggeration – there were only 30 people. The senior member of this group, a strong man in his 50s with a short gray haircut, introduced himself briefly as "Kamil".
He said that his soldiers constantly patrol the border. From the other side, a strong hum of military equipment was periodically heard. Ukrainians who come from Russia talk about the same thing.
- “Kamil”, did you go to the other side? – “Italian” asked, making notes in his notebook.
- Is it necessary? We can. There are such paths here, not a single border guard knows them, - the senior “Dnepr” man laughed. – An old man from Novoazovsk and I have become friends here. He used to be a smuggler. He knows all the paths.
- So he’s probably a border guard or SBU agent, - Andrey smiled.
- So what? What difference does it make to us? As long as he can take us beyond the “ribbon”.[3]
- Okay, - “Italian” slammed the notebook. - The task is the same - keep an eye on your northern brothers. If there is any aggravation, report immediately.
- And duplicate for us, - Andrey shook the sergeant's hand goodbye.
- Deal. Good luck!
And again they drove along the dusty Azov dirt roads.
Along the border they came to a settlement with a funny name - Precipice. Without explaining the reasons, “Italian” led them to a private farmstead on the very edge of the village. There were no residential buildings further.
When everyone got off the bus, “Italian” pulled the shutter and finally shared the information.
- This is the house of one separatist. There is information that weapons and propaganda literature are hidden in the house. Need to check.
– Are you up for it? – he looked at Andrey.
Andrey shrugged.
– If it’s needed, we’ll check it. But couldn’t you tell us at the base? We would have taken more people. The house, as I see it, is not small.
- There shouldn’t be anyone home, - explained “Italian.” - And this is not a home. There is a fish processing plant here. An illegal one. The owner himself lives in Sedovoe, and here he has an industrial refrigerator and a dock for boats. Well, there are motors, nets and so on. Well, shall we go?
- Come on, - said Vova Pyshny, looking at the surveillance camera on the pole above the gate, - Otherwise we’re sticking out here like a sore thumb...
“Italian” was the first to approach the gate.
– It’s closed!
Parasyuk hit the lock area several times with the butt of his AKM, but of course, to no avail.
- Don’t bother knocking, can’t you see it’s locked from the inside? Let's climb over.
“Italian” glanced at the driver.
- Vitya, you are the lightest. Go ahead.
Vitya glanced warily at the gate.
- Aren’t they going to shoot my ass with some kind of rifle?
- Don’t be scared... We’ll take revenge if something happens, - “Italian” reassured him.
Andrey and “Italian”, with their arms crossed, gave Vitya an impromptu lift. When his head was above the fence, he froze, then said:
- There seems to be no one...
- Come on, climb already, -“Italian” croaked. - Damn, he looks small, but he’s heavy! Climb, I’m telling you! There's no point in dancing here on our hands!
Vitya loudly jumped to the other side. A few seconds later the lock clicked and a small door opened at the gate.
“Italian” and Andrey, holding their assault riffles at the ready just in case, entered the courtyard. Andrey understood that after they had been making noise at the gate for about 5 minutes, one of the owners would have already appeared. However, an unpleasant feeling of the unknown was whirling in the area of the diaphragm...
The five of them quickly looked around the yard.
On the right side there was something like an open hangar for boats with a powerful winch to pull them onto the cliff. Numerous nets were also hung there. There were two engines, judging by the inscriptions - “Yamaha”. On the left side of the courtyard there was a small workshop in which two hefty industrial refrigerators were making noise. Behind the workshop, right above the cliff, there was a skillfully made cozy gazebo, entwined with grapes. A stationary barbecue perched next to it.
Having made sure that there were no people on the territory, Andrey walked to the cliff. “It’s about 5 meters,” he visually estimated. The red-brown clay slope crumbled onto a narrow strip of sand, behind which the Azov Sea splashed. Its color was amazing - dirty yellow. “Probably because of the shallow water,” thought Andrey. He, who grew up by the blue water of the Black Sea, found the color very repulsive. “How can you swim in this? Some kind of abomination...”
20-30 meters from the shore, two boats with foreign outboard motors were gently rocking on the waves. They were tied to a mooring on the shore and looked brand new...
- Well, Andrey, isn’t it beautiful?! – “Italian” approached and plopped down into a plastic chair in the gazebo.
- Sure is. – Shevchenko agreed. – Did you find anything?
- Nope, - it was clear from “Italian’s” tone that he was not at all worried about the lack of results. - Although, there’s plenty of fish in the refrigerator. Mostly goby, but there are also pike, perch and pelengas. We'll take it with us.
– How do you mean? How can we...? This is someone else's...
- Come on, - “Italian” waved his hand. – This is the property of the separatist that the “Meerkats” had worked on in your “Library”. He won't need it anymore. So the property is like nobody's property.
– Yeah, “nobody’s”. Such points can’t be no one's. Poachers have been working here for decades, - Andrey objected.
“Italian” looked around and, making sure that there was no one nearby, continued:
- Listen, Andrey, you are a normal guy. You can't pretend to be a virgin. So I’ll tell you: this poacher wrote a deed of gift for this place. “Meerkats” confiscated from him the documents for the ownership of the property. All that remains is to get it notarized and that’s it. And the border guards had already sent him to Dnepropetrovsk. It will be jailed for a long time.
- And then new owners will come and start fishing? – Andrey asked, looking into Vitalik’s eyes.
- Well, yes. You should understand that everyone needs to be replaced here. Dispossessed. They just got greedy here under Yanukovich. New people should come, people who will give us information and will not transfer money to the separatists and anti-Maidanists.
- Oh, fuck, Vitaliy, now you’ll tell me that you’re joining because of the information! – Andrey irritably waved away “Italian’s” words. – It’s clear that there will be new people – yours or those of the Meerkats. And they will pay money to you and not their old protectors.
- Well, you see, you understand everything. We've been here since June. “Meerkats” have been around for several years. It’s just that they couldn’t do anything before - everything was divided long ago. And here we are, we don’t give a fuck. And we came here for a long time. So... - “Italian” spread his hands.
- Okay, I understand everything, - Andrey tried to hide his irritation. – Why are you telling me this?
- Well, you can do a lot too. I'll work it out with the commander. Your relationship with the locals are improving. You never know what topic will pop up. We are doing one thing, but if at the same time we also milk these snickering locals, why not? – “Italian” looked at Andrey with an honest and open look. - And don’t think twice about it, you won’t lose money.
- OK. We’ll see. Now what?
- Nothing. Let's go to the base, otherwise the fish will defrost soon...
The way back was faster. Vitya the driver drove as fast as he could, as the heat threatened to spoil their “catch.”
Andrey silently looked out the window, thinking about what he heard and saw. “It turns out that “Dnepr”, “Azov”, border guards, and other security forces are not just terrorizing the locals here... They are also quietly squeezing out their business... They are combining business with pleasure, as they say... “Nice”... What should I do? After this conversation, obviously, we should expect direct monetary approaches...”
Andrey did not know then that the poacher Dudchenko, who was forced by border guards to sign documents for the transfer of property, would simply disappear. His body will never be found. And there will be no traces of his presence in the “Library” of the Mariupol airport...
And a week later, from a source of local SBU officers, he learnt that new people have appeared in Precipice, from Dnepropetrovsk, who immediately became involved in the poaching process. The source noted with surprise that at the shoot-outs with representatives of the old poaching clans, the new people were covered by soldiers of the Dnepr battalion. By definition, the fishermen could not do anything against such armed support. Having lost two people shot, the locals retreated. In the old established situation of the poaching business, a new player appeared who forcefully squeezed the rest out of the game...
The next day, “Italian” communicated with Andrey as if nothing had happened. After the morning meeting, Andrey gathered his people and quickly distributed the tasks. At the same time, Vanya Sovetov again said that he had an important meeting in the city and asked to leave with young Sasha. Slava also went to the city to meet with the local “K” department people. Vova Pyshny was heading to the border detachment to exchange information with border intelligence.
So Andrey remained at the base with Sergey Demchenko and Vasya Lopatenko, who was also “eager to go into battle,” but was forced to spend days at his machine with the strange name “Kuplet.”
- Eh, Vasya, Vasya... You probably dreamed of going into battle with a machine gun for Ukraine, but you’re sitting here in the shade, surfing the Internet and drinking tea... And the only danger is getting sunstroke when you go to the dining room, - Andrei picked on him, enjoying a moment of peace on the patio.
- Andrey Ivanovich, enough teasing me! – Vasya begged. - Let me go somewhere! Well, as much as possible!
- And who will stay in touch with the center?
- Well, messages will come there automatically! And they will call me on my mobile phone. I'll come and take a look.
- Okay, - Andrey muttered, - if there’s a need, you’ll go. Although, where are you going? Take an example from the old major, - Andrey nodded at Demchenko. – He’s not rushing anywhere, he’s not in a hurry.
- I’m not old at all, - Sergei responded from under a Panama hat pulled over his eyes. - I just don’t like to strain myself when I don’t have to.
- Wow! You see, Vasya, how the majors can do it. Learn!
At that moment, Andrey’s radio hissed. The sector chief of staff called him. At one of the checkpoints, two men suspected of involvement in the DPR were detained. There was no transport at the post to send detainees to the airport. Therefore, the chief of staff suggested selecting one of Andrey’s employees to go there. It might be possible to solve everything on the spot...
- What will my guys go on? My entire transport is in use!
- In 5 minutes, the Azov mobile group will be at the checkpoint. They'll give you a lift.
- Then, it's OK. Only there are no people, I’ll go myself, - seeing Vasya’s pleading eyes, he added, - with one fighter.
- Accepted. Go out to the checkpoint.
While Vasya was rushing around, dressing as if for war, Andrey slowly put on his sneakers, took a pistol and, having given valuable instructions to Demchenko, went outside. Next Vasya jumped out wearing a bulletproof vest and a belt with magazines, frantically clutching an assault rifle in his hands.
- Vasya, I beg you, just don’t start shooting! It’s scary to even look at you...
- I won’t, - muttered Vasya. - And don’t tease me about this. How do I know where we’ll go next?
At the checkpoint there was already a traditional Azov pickup truck, this time a black L 200. A machine gunner with an Utes[4] mounted on a tripod was lounging in the back. The leader of the group was already waiting at the open doors.
- Damn... Are you driving around the city with this thing? – Andrey pointed to the machine gun.
- And what? – the senior officer answered importantly. - You never know, but we’ll tear anyone apart...
- Well, yes, especially a tank, - Andrei muttered, getting more comfortable in the cockpit.
Then a sort of rally began. Their pickup and a similar one rushed through the city, absolutely not caring about the rules, slowing down slightly at traffic lights and tram tracks. The machine gunner periodically pointed his gun at groups of passers-by, loudly pretending to fire, “Tra-ta-ta!”, seeming to have a lot of fun.
Andrey figured that while they were driving to the checkpoint, an accident must have happened behind them at least 3 times when they dashed through intersections on red lights...
But everything ends. This crazy trip came to its end as well.
They were waiting at the checkpoint. It was the dislocation plcae of ordinary soldiers of the Vinnytsa Territorial Defense Battalion, who, by the way, stood out sharply with their speech against the background of local residents scurrying back and forth. These local residents, largely because of the dialect of the Vinnitsa guys, saw the visiting soldiers as “country bumpkins” and “Westerners,” [from Western Ukraine] which greatly irritated the soldiers. Therefore, they periodically forced passing people to sing Ukrainian songs, especially the anthem.
- Well, if one doesn’t know the anthem, then you must be a separatist, - answered the senior officer with the rank of sergeant major with conviction. - And since one is a separatist, then there’s no reason talking to him.
Andrey looked around. To the side of the post, two cars stood lonely: a Tavria and a Zhiguli “Nine”, which no longer had wheels.
- What kind of scrap metal is this?
- And this means that we stopped some separatists. We gave them to the SBU officers, that is, you. Where can we put the cars? So, they’re just standing there, - explained the foreman.
- So what, they came here without wheels? – Andrey grinned.
- It’s not us... it’s the locals who took them off at night, - the fighter answered confidently.
- 10 meters away from the post?
- Well, yes. They roam around at night, we’re not going to shoot at them, - the foreman continued to explain with honest eyes.
Andrey waved his hand.
- Okay, show me where your detainees are.
At the command of the foreman, two men were dragged out of the dugout. Both looked to be over 40. They were dressed in old, washed-out jeans and T-shirts. There were traditional bags on their heads. Andrey sighed.
- So what’s up?
- They have photos on their phones with the flags of the DPR and Russia! – the senior officer put the phone in Andrey’s hands. – Here, look!
Indeed, both men’s mobile phones contained pictures with DPR flags, the St. George ribbon and the Russian tricolor. However, Andrey did not see any photos where the phone owners themselves were present with the flags.
- So, where are they with the flags?
– Well, they deleted them, probably, - the foreman noted cheerfully. - They’re cunning, they thought they’d get away with it, but that’s not the case.
- Okay, - Andrey waved to the Azov men and Vasya standing by the pickup, - load them into the truck. We'll take them to us.
Fashionable, dressed in British camouflage and tactical boots, with «5.11» caps[5], knee pads and thigh holsters, the Azov fighters looked like an alien body against the backdrop of the dirty, variegatedly dressed Vinnytsia fighters. They kicked the prisoners onto the floor of the cabin and sat on top. The senior officer turned to Andrey:
- We just need to drop by our place for a minute. Then we'll drop you off. OK?
- Okay, - Andrey shrugged. There didn’t seem to be anything urgent, and he could start working with the detainees in half an hour.
Again a crazy race around the city, again a continuous emergency situation at intersections...
The former sports school, adapted by Azov for its location, now resembled a fortified military unit: blind gates, machine gun emplacements, barbed wire...
There were three pickup trucks parked at the gate. Apparently, other raid groups were preparing to leave.
With a sharp jolt, the driver stopped the car right in front of the gate, through which the leader of the group immediately ran in.
Andrey got out of the car to stretch his legs and at the same time look at the Azov base. At that moment, several fighters came out of the gate and began to load into the pickup trucks. They joked and laughed as they adjusted the equipment. At that moment, Andrey saw a Nazi swastika on the helmet of one soldier... The familiar “spider” was drawn with a black marker and stood out brightly against the green color of the helmet. Framed by the black, red and white flag of Nazi Germany, the swastika was clearly positioned above the fighter’s right temple.
“Fuck... I thought it was rumors...” was the first thing Andrey thought. He took a closer look at the other fighters. There's also a swastika on the shoulder of another guy. Another one had double SS lightning bolts on his helmet... “Oh my god! Where did you come from!?”
At that moment, the commander of the raid group appeared at the gate, accompanied by a large man of about 45, dressed in fashionable American-made pixel camouflage[6] and Corcoran Marauder[7] boots.
- Good afternoon. They told me that you are the senior officer of the SBU group at the airfield. So I came over to meet you. Mikhail, call sign “Bulat”. I'm in charge of intelligence here.
- Andrey, lieutenant colonel of the SBU. My call sign is also “Bulat,” - he overcame his anger and hatred, which had risen in his throat because of the Nazi symbols he had seen. - Very nice to meet you.
- Let's start on a first-name basis, maybe? - Bulat suggested. – I am a former officer myself. I spent 8 years as a cop and rose to the rank of captain.
- Yes, no problem, - Andrey agreed. – What brought you to me?
- Well, we need to establish interaction. Otherwise, we catch the separatists, send them to your airfield, but we don’t know the results. We would also like to receive an information extract.
- Reasonable. Let's do it this way. We exchange phone numbers. If you need anything, you call, I solve it, - Andrey was feverishly wondering what he should get in return from the intelligence officer. - Well, I, in turn, need to know what you are planning in our area of responsibility, at least in general terms, and interesting information too...
Mikhail scratched his bearded chin.
- Well, I won’t tell you about planning right away, but the information can be shared. We have one group. It even entered Donetsk. Great guys. They have a ton of information.
- Fine. How could I meet them? – Andrey immediately sensed an interesting topic.
- Well, let me send them to you tomorrow. The senior's name is Maksim. He is from Sevastopol himself, also a cop. He will contact you on the phone. As it happens, meet and talk.
- Great. Well, you come by yourself, I’ll be glad to talk, - Andrey shook Bulat’s hand and climbed into the truck.
In the truck, Vasya moved closer to Andrey and whispered in his ear:
- Andrey, did you see they have swastikas!
- I saw it, Vasya, I saw it... Keep quiet for now.
They were already driving past Amstor on the way out of the city towards the airfield when the phone rang. Kharaberyush called.
- Hello, Andrey Ivanovich! Do you accept guests?
- Sanya, I’m on an outing. But I'll be there in 5 minutes. Have you arrived yet?
- Yes, we are here at the checkpoint. We are waiting for you.
“What made counterintelligence come by?” - thought Andrey, looking at the acacia plantings flashing past the windows. “I don’t think we discussed anything urgent.”
The reason became clear immediately. At the checkpoint there was Kharaberyush’s jeep, and he himself was sitting on a bench under an acacia tree. He wasn't sitting alone. Next to him sat a woman of about 35, short, slender, with smoothly combed back hair, in a strict trouser suit.
- Great, great, brother! – Kharaberush was delighted at Andrei’s arrival, as if they had not seen each other for several years. – Meet Irina, our head of investigation.
- Irina Pavlenko, lieutenant colonel, I was appointed head of the investigation department.
- Andrey Shevchenko, also a lieutenant colonel, senior of the operational group, - her handshake was strong like that of a man.
- Well? To my place? – Andrey looked questioningly at his local colleagues.
- Come on. Let's talk about our sorrowful affairs...
Andrei waved his hand at the checkpoint duty officers to let Kharaberyush’s jeep through and turned to Lopatenko.
- Vasya, you are handing over these guys to the “Library”. You find Demchenko there. Let him start working with them, and get involved yourself. You wanted to work, so - work.
The conversation with the locals dragged on. As it turned out, Irina previously lived in Donetsk and was the head of the department in the investigative department of the SBU in the Donetsk region. After the start of the ATO, she decided to leave Donetsk and ended up in Mariupol.
- I moved my family. It took time to find an apartment, wget the children into school... In the end, they appointed me to the position.
- You understand, Andrey. Now we don’t need to transport prisoners either to Zaporozhye or to Dnepr, where the investigators have nothing to do with our materials. They have enough worries of their own. That's why our affairs are falling apart there. But now we don’t depend on them, - Kharaberyush rubbed his hands. - But there is one problem.
- Yes, I realized that there is a problem,- Andrey grinned.
– The pre-trial detention center in Mariupol is not working yet, not even the police temporary detention center. Therefore, I have a request to you. We can take our prisoners to you and work with them. And once we achieve what we need, we will formalize the criminal procedure code according to the norms. What do you say?
- Wait. If you then officially register them, they will say at any trial that they were held somewhere for several days before their arrest?
- Yes, this is easily solvedt, - Kharaberush waved it off. - The judges are ours. Nothing will happen. Yes, and we will work with these scum in a few days. Nobody will complain.
Andrey shook his head doubtfully.
- You see, it’s one thing for leftist separatists who were checked and then, if anything, thrown out with a kick in the ass. It’s a different matter for those who then go through procedural documents.
- So the fact of the matter is that no one will prove anything. “Where were you kept? I don't know, in some kind of refrigerator. Who was holding you? I didn’t see them”. That's all.
- Well, then, Andrey, - Irina entered the conversation, - while they are sitting at your location, the guys will be able to work hard with them. The way they can’t work with them either in a pre-trial detention center or in a temporary detention facility. Then all we have to do is formalize it procedurally and that’s it.
Andrey looked into her gray eyes and thought: “You are a woman, a mother yourself, and you say so calmly - work hard...”.
- Ira, will you also work hard? – Andrei pretended to joke.
- If necessary, of course, - she nodded absolutely seriously. – In any case, one of my investigators will always work with Sasha’s operatives.
- Andrey, if necessary, we can organize the consent of the bosses from Kramatorsk, - Kharaberyush chimed in again.
- Well, I don’t think it’s necessary yet. Let's do it this way. I will report myself, and you bring your prisoners. But remember, I won’t let you keep your people for long. Mine stay here for a maximum of 3-4 days.
- And then? – Irina asked.
- Most often we release them. A bag over the head, taken to a forest and sent off with a kick in the ass. Those who have something serious to deal with are transferred to Zaporozhye. But there were only two of them on my watch so far.
- Here! Now you will pass those on to us! – Kharaberyush was delighted. - And it’s good for you too - you don’t have to bother with Zaporozhye!
- Agreed.
After the Mariupol SBU officers left, Demchenko came to see him.
- Andrey, I don’t understand, what to do with these guys that you brought with Azov?
- Sergey, what kind of moronic questions are these? Check the phone numbers in the database, interview them based on the circumstances, and we'll see. How many people do we have in our “Library”? Four?
- With these - three. Slava took one away in the morning. He said you know.
- Yes, he took him to the local K department, - Andrey lounged on the sofa. - That's it Sergey, go. Let me lie down. I'm tired as fuck.
[1] Katsap is a humiliating, insulting, sometimes ironic, playful national nickname for Russians; particularly a bearded Russian man.
[2] Zero – state border line.
[3] “Ribbon” (jargon) – border.
[4] “Utes” is a Soviet-made 12.7 mm heavy machine gun, designed to combat firing points and lightly armored ground targets.
[5] Cap "5.11" is a company specializing in the manufacture of tactical and special equipment and clothing. Located in California, USA, this universal size baseball cap is a classic cap with a visor. Designed for everyday wear in hot climates or summer.
[6] Pixel (digital) camouflage is a camouflage kit made of small pixel squares of various colors. This technology makes the body appear “split” into several parts, each of which separately merges with the terrain. Due to this effect, the quality of a fighter’s camouflage is significantly improved, not only in a stationary position, but also in movement, when his silhouette is “blurred”.
[7] “Corcoran Marauder” are American army boots, produced in various modifications depending on the tasks performed by military personnel.