Zverev Sergei Ivanovich psychic from special forces. Send by email
After graduating from the school of military psychics, Sergei Odintsov was enlisted in a special GRU special forces detachment operating in Syria. The fighters must capture and take to Russia the chief financial official of the radical Islamists. The first attempt was unsuccessful: at the headquarters of the militants, Odintsov in disguise was recognized by an American colonel who had once fought against Russian special forces. Sergei and his comrades had to hide temporarily. Realizing that it will not be possible to take the enemy by surprise, the scouts decide to resort to an unusual and cunning plan...
The work belongs to the Action genre. It was published in 2017 by Eksmo Publishing House. The book is part of the series “The Battle for Palmyra. Russian special forces in Syria.” On our website you can download the book "Psychic from Special Forces" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. Here, before reading, you can also turn to reviews from readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In our partner's online store you can buy and read the book in paper form.
© Asfarov O., 2017
© Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2017
* * *
Special forces psychic
Prologue
Sergei entered the detachment commander’s office and threw his palm to his temple:
- Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, Sergeant Odintsov, in your opinion...
“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He stood up.
“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “please meet me.” Viktor Pavlovich, so to speak...
Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.
An absolutely bald guy of about forty, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark, discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual on the territory of the unit, where everyone wears a military uniform.
– Do you know English well? – the stranger asked Sergei quietly. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.
The bald man chuckled, looking carefully at the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.
- I understand.
He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.
“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - It's clear. Nobody wants to give up a good fighter.
He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.
“Have a seat, sergeant,” nodded the strange visitor, “would you like some candy?”
- No thanks.
- And I’ll chew it. Instead of cigarettes.
Sergei decided not to be surprised by anything. It’s clear that this guy is an important bird, since the commander came out and left them alone. He also advised me to answer questions extremely honestly. Who is he then? Special department? For what?
Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead. Where could he get so caught up that the special officer would become interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei cursed to himself. What a fool... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, it's my fault. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or give it away, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “go away” somewhat, and Sergei, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. During the shooting we had to go to the foreman.
- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should take a look at the “trunk”.
Georgich was sitting on a bench under a canopy at the table, with his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, crushed down by an empty machine gun magazine for safety, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.
- Started to smear, you say? – the gunsmith grinned. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. – And immediately the “trunk” is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you did it yesterday? – and he flicked his finger in the throat.
- I didn’t drink yesterday, old man! – Sergei began to get angry because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. - Even beer!
The shooting machine gun muffled his words, and he bent down towards the table.
- I didn’t drink!
The line stopped, and Sergei looked around in fear. The lieutenant standing on the edge of the trench not far from them grinned knowingly and turned to face the firing shift.
Sergei cursed.
- A! – the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of Master of Sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich spent his last years serving in the detachment, practiced shooting all his life, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer took physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the sergeant major would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand fighters at point-blank range before any of them realized what was happening. - Happens. It means I just didn't get enough sleep.
Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the sergeant major has seen hundreds of shooters whose fault is either a machine gun, a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.
“Stepan Georgich,” Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman’s eyes. – Listen to me carefully. I didn’t drink yesterday and got relatively enough sleep, and now I’m not hitting the chest target from hundreds of meters. This simply cannot be. You know how I shoot.
The sergeant major looked around and pulled out a cigarette from the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking in the ammunition distribution area.
He chewed his cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. He probably turns on his intuition, although he doesn’t even suspect it. At one time, the sergeant-major was thinking about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just his character. Not everyone can wait forty minutes for a target to appear and then immediately shoot accurately.
“So you’re applying it...” the foreman sighed. – I recently brought all the machine guns to battle. Maybe it's all about you? Come here, sit on a bench, sit, breathe, try to relax. And everything will work out.
- Georgich!
“There are no cartridges,” the foreman gave the final argument and tapped his finger on the list. – Everything is already planned for today.
“I see,” Georgich was not surprised. - Did you hide the pack?
“Well, yes,” Sergei said with annoyance. - I know that it’s impossible, but while you’re getting up to shoot my machine gun... you’re always busy, you’re always busy.
- Sergeant Odintsov!
Sergei involuntarily straightened up. The foreman knew how to speak impressively.
“I have fifty idiots like you, and at every shooting I listen to a dozen similar proposals.” Either someone’s front sight is knocked off, or the trigger is tight or light, or they’ll come up with something else. Bunch of lousy dancers!
Sergei was offended and almost said that he was a good dancer and some things didn’t bother him at all. Then he changed his mind. Maybe the foreman is right. Should I go sit for about five minutes? There's still time. He adjusted the belt of his machine gun on his shoulder and walked away from the canopy.
The foreman looked after him and spat out his chewed cigarette. The guy recently returned from a business trip abroad, proved himself excellent there, smelled gunpowder and already knows how to shoot a person. By the way, it was after the business trip that Odintsov became much more responsible about shooting. He was simply no longer satisfied with a good result. He achieved great things. Apparently, the sergeant realized that his life depended on quality shooting. Eh, I wish I could “break in” everyone like that... the foreman sighed.
- Stop! - he ordered. - Here, take it.
Georgich stood up and pulled out from the stack of sheets on which he was sitting a brand new chest target, which is usually used in pistol training.
– Tell the platoon commander about the machine gun and go to the sniper shooting line. Put it at a hundred meters. I’ll come over now and check your “trunk.” But look! – he shook his finger. - If the machine gun is in order, then I’ll ask the commander for an outfit for you out of turn. And you will spend it in my garden!
“I understand, Georgich,” Sergei smiled, “I’d rather dig your potatoes with a clear conscience than walk around with an unfired machine gun.”
After five shots fired by him personally, the foreman looked through the telescope at the target. Then he sighed, gave the machine gun to Sergei, climbed out of the trench and said:
- Go, mark the hits with a felt-tip pen. Indeed, for some reason it goes to the right. Now we'll correct the front sight. Leave a dozen more rounds and return the rest. And don’t do that again, otherwise you’ll end up in court.
- Yes, I...
- Go, I said!
...Sergei caught himself and looked up. The bald man watched him carefully, slowly rolling the lollipop behind his cheek.
“Did Georgich really “pawn”? - thought Odintsov. – So to speak, for prevention? Formally, he is right, cartridges are not a toy, but why do it right away? We seem to be on good terms. And he’s a normal guy, he’s never been seen doing anything like this. Well damn! Now the reprimand is guaranteed. Or they may slap incomplete official compliance. And the devil pulled me with these cartridges! But I wanted the best... but it turned out as always!”
-What are you thinking about, soldier? – the stranger asked again in English. He straightened up and clasped his hands in his lap. Sergei realized that the conversation would be in English. But why? He didn't have time to think about it.
“Yes, there is something,” Sergei answered reluctantly, after a pause. - Everyone has problems.
“I talked to your commander, his deputies, and even the sergeant major. And only then he invited you for a conversation.
“They might as well not have invited,” muttered Odintsov, “everything is clear as it is.”
“For example, not everything is clear to me,” the man smiled. – I wanted to talk to you personally, form my opinion.
“Me too, good policeman! He wanted to form an opinion... would it be easier for me to get your opinion if you already have an article in store for me?”
Sergei gloomily examined the polished surface of the table.
– I know you recently returned from a business trip.
The special officer stood up and went to the window.
– Tell me, what would you do if you were the Green Berets?
- That is?
- You understand everything. Okay, I'll ask again. What actions would you take in their place to complete the task of destroying the object you are protecting?
Sergei remembered the commander’s warnings.
“They had to go to the power plant underwater. We were not trained in such anti-sabotage actions and did not have the necessary equipment.
– What about crocodiles? And even at night?
- Well I do not know. There must be some kind of chemistry, like against sharks.
- There is such chemistry...
The bald man walked up to the table, took hold of the decanter and looked questioningly.
“It’s clean,” Odintsov muttered. - They change every day.
The bald man nodded and poured water into a glass.
– Very sweet candies. It becomes downright disgusting in the mouth. But there is nowhere to go. At least it distracts me from cigarettes somehow. “I eat half a kilo a day,” he complained.
Sergei remained silent. The man continued the conversation, asking him about all sorts of nonsense. How well does he tolerate the heat, has his body had a strong reaction to vaccinations, and what is the sergeant’s success in shooting? Odintsov answered slowly, using the simplest sentences and phrases. He was waiting for a question about cartridges. However, the conversation was difficult for him, and he had already wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times.
“Well, okay,” the unpleasant visitor suddenly switched to Russian and smiled. - I won’t torture you. Fifty more questions and I'll leave you alone.
Sergei exhaled through clenched teeth.
Viktor Pavlovich went to the computer standing on the table, turned it on and inserted a flash drive.
– Move closer. The time to answer the question is three seconds. Here's a mouse. Answer without hesitation.
Photos with text signed below flashed on the monitor screen. The questions were as follows:
“Before you are photographs of three graves. Where do you think the suicide is buried?” Or: “Before you are photographs of three women. Which one do you think is divorced?” “Here are photographs of three cars. Which one is not running?
In a minute and a half, the sergeant was sweating as if he had run a kilometer with excellent marks. He finished the test, stood up from his chair, grabbed the decanter and began drinking straight from the bottle.
Viktor Pavlovich, quietly purring an indistinct melody, clicked the mouse and displayed the result of the survey on the screen.
Having looked closely, the special officer stopped humming. He chuckled and looked carefully at Sergei.
- Is there something wrong? – Sergei wiped his lips with his palm and carefully put the decanter in place.
- That's right, Sergeant. Everything is fine. Well... go to the drill department. There you will receive a direction to study.
- What the...
– Advanced training courses, so to speak. For half a year. Yes, and one more thing,” Viktor Pavlovich shook his finger. – Don’t hide the cartridges anymore. They may misunderstand. And don't think badly of the foreman. He told me about the recent shootings. I probably wanted to show what a responsible guy you are. I wanted the best, but it almost didn’t work out as always. All. Go. And call the commander.
Sergei grabbed the door handle.
- How many sweets did I eat? – the special officer asked him in the back.
- Six! – Odintsov almost shouted and went out.
* * *
– You were all selected here from different branches of the military. Marines, landing forces, special forces, military reconnaissance. All of you have the simplest skills of a special forces soldier, that is, you run well, shoot accurately, and are trained to act as part of a sabotage or reconnaissance group. Most of you have combat experience and are in good standing with the command. All of you have a question: why then were we gathered here? What else can we learn?
The officer paused and looked at the guys sitting at the tables, dressed in the same camouflage uniform. There was silence in the class. Someone coughed carefully.
– I’ll say right away - no one is going to teach you to run even faster or shoot even better. You all meet the standards. And no one has canceled them yet.
“An interesting movie,” someone in the back row said thoughtfully.
The man smiled knowingly.
- Now I will explain. To begin with, as they used to say in my time, I will tell you about the political situation.
Sergei exchanged glances with the guy sitting next to him at the same table. He shrugged.
The man was silent for a while, collecting his thoughts.
- I'll be brief. Recently, our country has been expanding its influence in the world; we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries of Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand are not of interest to us. They are far from our borders, and we really don’t care what happens there. Don't get me wrong, I am presenting the question in an extremely simplified manner. But what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-time allies is very interesting to us, because this is a matter of Russian national security. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.
The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.
– You immediately thought about the army and navy. Right. The combat readiness of the ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But the special forces are somewhat behind.
- Can you resolve the question?
The man shook his head. The guy snorted with displeasure, hesitated and sat down.
– You are simply excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.
- How shoud I understand this?
– Isn’t the Airborne Forces the elite? Have we ever failed to complete a combat mission?! Excuse me... uh...
“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.
- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!
– I’ll explain now, guys.
The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.
– The country’s leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the airborne troops. The same as for others. They are trained quite well.
The Vedeveshnik looked around triumphantly and spread his arms with a satisfied look:
- What did I say...
- But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five machine gunners. Those that can recognize an ambush even before approaching it. Those who will be able to run through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and state of the enemy. I'm not even talking about hand-to-hand combat. We will radically change your idea of it.
The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.
– Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can train a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.
The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his gaze. The Marine scratched the top of his head.
– What do you want to ask, fighter?
- This is some kind of mysticism. I hardly can do that.
– This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. There was simply no need for them before. But times have changed.
– What if not everyone can become like this? I have some doubts.
“If they can’t become like that, they’ll die.” Combat missions will not be easy.
In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.
“I was joking,” he said without smiling. “These people will be expelled even earlier.”
* * *
“We’re trying, Comrade Colonel,” Odintsov answered. He knew that there were no mistakes against him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.
In addition to the Counselor, two more people were sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in an army field uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man’s civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized him as a commander. Precisely the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he learned to recognize such things immediately.
“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but he is a competent and intelligent person. He doesn’t fuss, his eyes are attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo,” understand this, so they treat him with respect. The guy in jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. The strong-willed qualities are felt even now,” thought Sergei, briefly looking at the people sitting.
Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.
“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer unfamiliar to Sergei was short and laconic in a military way. – You will be assigned a combat mission. We don't have time to wait for you and your comrades to complete your training.
Sergei nodded, without betraying his emotions.
The fair-haired man silently examined Sergei. Odintsov felt irritated.
“It feels like they’re asking the price of me like a horse,” he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy...”
– Which ones exactly, Comrade Major?
On the very first day of arrival at school, all the cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to the short, stocky foreman and received them back only for a few hours on the weekend. It was rumored that this idea belonged entirely to the Counselor. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why there were such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm about his parents. The father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a permanent companion, and therefore he was not worried about separation from his beloved girl.
– Are you following the situation in Syria?
- As far as possible.
– Briefly state your opinion.
Sergei didn’t think for a long time:
– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone is sponsoring and arming militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is entirely acceptable. If these republics are crushed, then we will have to fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also burn. In general, we need to prepare for war.
“You’re thinking,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. - So you understand that it is better to defeat this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it later at our borders?
- Understand.
- It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be sent to Syria. The task is to find and capture alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders unless we receive a task to destroy them. The methods and methods of waging guerrilla warfare are well known to us even without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.
Sergei shook his head in shock. The blond man chuckled. The major continued calmly:
– Senior Special Intelligence Group – Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. – Time to prepare – a week. During this time, get acquainted with the cover legend, get equipment and study the area of upcoming actions, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?
- You are alone.
Sergei thoughtfully scratched the bridge of his nose. His trained psyche of a military man had already coped with the shock of the unexpected conversation, and he began to think about how best to complete the task.
It would be great if those fighters whom Sergei already knew went on the mission. For example, the group commander is Varyag, and the rest are the guys from his cockpit. They lived together for six months and studied each other thoroughly. Or at least the guys from the course. After all, the leadership knows how important in combat conditions even a small but already assembled team is. In this case, the success of completing the task increases many times over. But, apparently, the command has its own plans. It's a pity that no one asks his advice.
“The main selection criteria are the presence of combat experience,” the major easily read his thoughts. - Do you have it.
“I understand, Comrade Major.”
Sergei decided not to bother with clarifying questions. He already knew from experience that they wouldn’t tell him more anyway.
©?Asfarov O., 2017
©?Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2017
* * *
Special forces psychic
Prologue
Sergei entered the detachment commander’s office and threw his palm to his temple:
- Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, Sergeant Odintsov, in your opinion...
“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He stood up.
“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “please meet me.” Viktor Pavlovich, so to speak...
Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.
An absolutely bald guy of about forty, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark, discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual on the territory of the unit, where everyone wears a military uniform.
– Do you know English well? – the stranger asked Sergei quietly. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.
The bald man chuckled, looking carefully at the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.
- I understand.
- That's good! – the lieutenant colonel said dissatisfied. – I’ll go and walk around the territory, while you work here.
He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.
“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - It's clear. Nobody wants to give up a good fighter.
He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.
“Have a seat, sergeant,” nodded the strange visitor, “would you like some candy?”
- No thanks.
- And I’ll chew it. Instead of cigarettes.
Sergei decided not to be surprised by anything. It’s clear that this guy is an important bird, since the commander came out and left them alone. He also advised me to answer questions extremely honestly. Who is he then? Special department? For what?
Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead. Where could he get so caught up that the special officer would become interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei cursed to himself. What a fool... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, it's my fault. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or give it away, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “go away” somewhat, and Sergei, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. During the shooting we had to go to the foreman.
- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should take a look at the “trunk”.
Georgich was sitting on a bench under a canopy at the table, with his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, crushed down by an empty machine gun magazine for safety, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.
- Started to smear, you say? – the gunsmith grinned. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. – And immediately the “trunk” is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you did it yesterday? – and he flicked his finger in the throat.
- I didn’t drink yesterday, old man! – Sergei began to get angry because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. - Even beer!
The shooting machine gun muffled his words, and he bent down towards the table.
- I didn’t drink!
The line stopped, and Sergei looked around in fear.
The lieutenant standing on the edge of the trench not far from them grinned knowingly and turned to face the firing shift.
Sergei cursed.
- A! – the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of Master of Sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich spent his last years serving in the detachment, practiced shooting all his life, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer took physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the sergeant major would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand fighters at point-blank range before any of them realized what was happening. - Happens. It means I just didn't get enough sleep.
Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the sergeant major has seen hundreds of shooters whose fault is either a machine gun, a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.
“Stepan Georgich,” Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman’s eyes. – Listen to me carefully. I didn’t drink yesterday and got relatively enough sleep, and now I’m not hitting the chest target from hundreds of meters. This simply cannot be. You know how I shoot.
The sergeant major looked around and pulled out a cigarette from the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking in the ammunition distribution area.
He chewed his cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. He probably turns on his intuition, although he doesn’t even suspect it. At one time, the sergeant-major was thinking about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just his character. Not everyone can wait forty minutes for a target to appear and then immediately shoot accurately.
“So you’re applying it...” the foreman sighed. – I recently brought all the machine guns to battle. Maybe it's all about you? Come here, sit on a bench, sit, breathe, try to relax. And everything will work out.
- Georgich!
“There are no cartridges,” the foreman gave the final argument and tapped his finger on the list. – Everything is already planned for today.
“I see,” Georgich was not surprised. - Did you hide the pack?
“Well, yes,” Sergei said with annoyance. - I know that it’s impossible, but while you’re getting up to shoot my machine gun... you’re always busy, you’re always busy.
- Sergeant Odintsov!
Sergei involuntarily straightened up. The foreman knew how to speak impressively.
“I have fifty idiots like you, and at every shooting I listen to a dozen similar proposals.” Either someone’s front sight is knocked off, or the trigger is tight or light, or they’ll come up with something else. Bunch of lousy dancers!
Sergei was offended and almost said that he was a good dancer and some things didn’t bother him at all. Then he changed his mind. Maybe the foreman is right. Should I go sit for about five minutes? There's still time. He adjusted the belt of his machine gun on his shoulder and walked away from the canopy.
The foreman looked after him and spat out his chewed cigarette. The guy recently returned from a business trip abroad, proved himself excellent there, smelled gunpowder and already knows how to shoot a person. By the way, it was after the business trip that Odintsov became much more responsible about shooting. He was simply no longer satisfied with a good result. He achieved great things. Apparently, the sergeant realized that his life depended on quality shooting. Eh, I wish I could “break in” everyone like that... the foreman sighed.
- Stop! - he ordered. - Here, take it.
Georgich stood up and pulled out from the stack of sheets on which he was sitting a brand new chest target, which is usually used in pistol training.
– Tell the platoon commander about the machine gun and go to the sniper shooting line. Put it at a hundred meters. I’ll come over now and check your “trunk.” But look! – he shook his finger. - If the machine gun is in order, then I’ll ask the commander for an outfit for you out of turn. And you will spend it in my garden!
“I understand, Georgich,” Sergei smiled, “I’d rather dig your potatoes with a clear conscience than walk around with an unfired machine gun.”
After five shots fired by him personally, the foreman looked through the telescope at the target. Then he sighed, gave the machine gun to Sergei, climbed out of the trench and said:
- Go, mark the hits with a felt-tip pen. Indeed, for some reason it goes to the right. Now we'll correct the front sight. Leave a dozen more rounds and return the rest. And don’t do that again, otherwise you’ll end up in court.
- Yes, I...
- Go, I said!
...Sergei caught himself and looked up. The bald man watched him carefully, slowly rolling the lollipop behind his cheek.
“Did Georgich really “pawn”? - thought Odintsov. – So to speak, for prevention? Formally, he is right, cartridges are not a toy, but why do it right away? We seem to be on good terms. And he’s a normal guy, he’s never been seen doing anything like this. Well damn! Now the reprimand is guaranteed. Or they may slap incomplete official compliance. And the devil pulled me with these cartridges! But I wanted the best... but it turned out as always!”
-What are you thinking about, soldier? – the stranger asked again in English. He straightened up and clasped his hands in his lap. Sergei realized that the conversation would be in English. But why? He didn't have time to think about it.
“Yes, there is something,” Sergei answered reluctantly, after a pause. - Everyone has problems.
“I talked to your commander, his deputies, and even the sergeant major. And only then he invited you for a conversation.
“They might as well not have invited,” muttered Odintsov, “everything is clear as it is.”
“For example, not everything is clear to me,” the man smiled. – I wanted to talk to you personally, form my opinion.
“Me too, good policeman! He wanted to form an opinion... would it be easier for me to get your opinion if you already have an article in store for me?”
Sergei gloomily examined the polished surface of the table.
– I know you recently returned from a business trip.
The special officer stood up and went to the window.
– Tell me, what would you do if you were the Green Berets?
- That is?
- You understand everything. Okay, I'll ask again. What actions would you take in their place to complete the task of destroying the object you are protecting?
Sergei remembered the commander’s warnings.
“They had to go to the power plant underwater. We were not trained in such anti-sabotage actions and did not have the necessary equipment.
– What about crocodiles? And even at night?
- Well I do not know. There must be some kind of chemistry, like against sharks.
- There is such chemistry...
The bald man walked up to the table, took hold of the decanter and looked questioningly.
“It’s clean,” Odintsov muttered. - They change every day.
The bald man nodded and poured water into a glass.
– Very sweet candies. It becomes downright disgusting in the mouth. But there is nowhere to go. At least it distracts me from cigarettes somehow. “I eat half a kilo a day,” he complained.
Sergei remained silent. The man continued the conversation, asking him about all sorts of nonsense. How well does he tolerate the heat, has his body had a strong reaction to vaccinations, and what is the sergeant’s success in shooting? Odintsov answered slowly, using the simplest sentences and phrases. He was waiting for a question about cartridges. However, the conversation was difficult for him, and he had already wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times.
“Well, okay,” the unpleasant visitor suddenly switched to Russian and smiled. - I won’t torture you. Fifty more questions and I'll leave you alone.
Sergei exhaled through clenched teeth.
Viktor Pavlovich went to the computer standing on the table, turned it on and inserted a flash drive.
– Move closer. The time to answer the question is three seconds. Here's a mouse. Answer without hesitation.
Photos with text signed below flashed on the monitor screen. The questions were as follows:
“Before you are photographs of three graves. Where do you think the suicide is buried?” Or: “Before you are photographs of three women. Which one do you think is divorced?” “Here are photographs of three cars. Which one is not running?
In a minute and a half, the sergeant was sweating as if he had run a kilometer with excellent marks. He finished the test, stood up from his chair, grabbed the decanter and began drinking straight from the bottle.
Viktor Pavlovich, quietly purring an indistinct melody, clicked the mouse and displayed the result of the survey on the screen.
Having looked closely, the special officer stopped humming. He chuckled and looked carefully at Sergei.
- Is there something wrong? – Sergei wiped his lips with his palm and carefully put the decanter in place.
- That's right, Sergeant. Everything is fine. Well... go to the drill department. There you will receive a direction to study.
- What the...
– Advanced training courses, so to speak. For half a year. Yes, and one more thing,” Viktor Pavlovich shook his finger. – Don’t hide the cartridges anymore. They may misunderstand. And don't think badly of the foreman. He told me about the recent shootings. I probably wanted to show what a responsible guy you are. I wanted the best, but it almost didn’t work out as always. All. Go. And call the commander.
Sergei grabbed the door handle.
- How many sweets did I eat? – the special officer asked him in the back.
- Six! – Odintsov almost shouted and went out.
* * *
A tall, thin man with carefully combed sparse gray hair, in camouflage, without insignia, leisurely walked around the spacious classroom in which the cadets were sitting, and leisurely said:
– You were all selected here from different branches of the military. Marines, landing forces, special forces, military reconnaissance. All of you have the simplest skills of a special forces soldier, that is, you run well, shoot accurately, and are trained to act as part of a sabotage or reconnaissance group. Most of you have combat experience and are in good standing with the command. All of you have a question: why then were we gathered here? What else can we learn?
The officer paused and looked at the guys sitting at the tables, dressed in the same camouflage uniform. There was silence in the class. Someone coughed carefully.
– I’ll say right away - no one is going to teach you to run even faster or shoot even better. You all meet the standards. And no one has canceled them yet.
“An interesting movie,” someone in the back row said thoughtfully.
The man smiled knowingly.
- Now I will explain. To begin with, as they used to say in my time, I will tell you about the political situation.
Sergei exchanged glances with the guy sitting next to him at the same table. He shrugged.
The man was silent for a while, collecting his thoughts.
- I'll be brief. Recently, our country has been expanding its influence in the world; we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries of Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand are not of interest to us. They are far from our borders, and we really don’t care what happens there. Don't get me wrong, I am presenting the question in an extremely simplified manner. But what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-time allies is very interesting to us, because this is a matter of Russian national security. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.
The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.
– You immediately thought about the army and navy. Right. The combat readiness of the ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But the special forces are somewhat behind.
There was a slight noise in the class. The cadets began to look at each other. The teacher was in no hurry. He sat down on the windowsill and folded his arms across his chest, calmly waiting out the indignation caused by his words.
- Can you resolve the question?
Sergei looked around. The tall cadet behind him rose from the table. Under his camouflage, his vest was visible.
The man shook his head. The guy snorted with displeasure, hesitated and sat down.
– You are simply excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.
- How shoud I understand this?
The cadet sitting behind Sergei still could not stand it.
– Isn’t the Airborne Forces the elite? Have we ever failed to complete a combat mission?! Excuse me... uh...
“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.
- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!
– I’ll explain now, guys.
The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.
– The country’s leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the airborne troops. The same as for others. They are trained quite well.
The Vedeveshnik looked around triumphantly and spread his arms with a satisfied look:
- What did I say...
- But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five machine gunners. Those that can recognize an ambush even before approaching it. Those who will be able to run through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and state of the enemy. I'm not even talking about hand-to-hand combat. We will radically change your idea of it.
The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.
– Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can train a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.
The cadets became silent, thinking about what had been said. There were no beginners in the class, and everyone had a rough idea of the level of combat training behind Vitaly Fedorovich’s words.
The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his gaze. The Marine scratched the top of his head.
– What do you want to ask, fighter?
Vitaly Fedorovich asked a question without turning to the cadet. He froze with his fingers hovering over the back of his head. Then he reflexively stood up and pulled down his jacket. He looked somewhat confused.
- This is some kind of mysticism. I hardly can do that.
– This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. There was simply no need for them before. But times have changed.
– What if not everyone can become like this? I have some doubts.
“If they can’t become like that, they’ll die.” Combat missions will not be easy.
In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.
“I was joking,” he said without smiling. “These people will be expelled even earlier.”
* * *
After six months of training, just before the exams, Sergei was called to the head of the course.
How are you doing with your training, Sergeant? – the head of the course, nicknamed the Leader, who was sitting at the table, asked him.
“We’re trying, Comrade Colonel,” Odintsov answered. He knew that there were no mistakes against him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.
In addition to the Counselor, two more people were sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in an army field uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man’s civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized him as a commander. Precisely the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he learned to recognize such things immediately.
“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but he is a competent and intelligent person. He doesn’t fuss, his eyes are attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo,” understand this, so they treat him with respect. The guy in jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. The strong-willed qualities are felt even now,” thought Sergei, briefly looking at the people sitting.
“Have a seat, sergeant,” the major said dryly. – Now I will bring you up to date.
Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.
“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer unfamiliar to Sergei was short and laconic in a military way. – You will be assigned a combat mission. We don't have time to wait for you and your comrades to complete your training.
Sergei nodded, without betraying his emotions.
The fair-haired man silently examined Sergei. Odintsov felt irritated.
“It feels like they’re asking the price of me like a horse,” he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy...”
“I know that you are forbidden to watch TV more than half an hour a day,” the major liked the cadet’s restraint, and he began to speak a little more affably. – Are you up to date with the latest news?
– Which ones exactly, Comrade Major?
On the very first day of arrival at school, all the cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to the short, stocky foreman and received them back only for a few hours on the weekend. It was rumored that this idea belonged entirely to the Counselor. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why there were such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm about his parents. The father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a permanent companion, and therefore he was not worried about separation from his beloved girl.
– Are you following the situation in Syria?
- As far as possible.
– Briefly state your opinion.
Sergei didn’t think for a long time:
– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone is sponsoring and arming militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is entirely acceptable. If these republics are crushed, then we will have to fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also burn. In general, we need to prepare for war.
“You’re thinking,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. - So you understand that it is better to defeat this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it later at our borders?
- Understand.
- It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be sent to Syria. The task is to find and capture alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders unless we receive a task to destroy them. The methods and methods of waging guerrilla warfare are well known to us even without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.
Sergei shook his head in shock. The blond man chuckled. The major continued calmly:
– Senior Special Intelligence Group – Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. – Time to prepare – a week. During this time, get acquainted with the cover legend, get equipment and study the area of upcoming actions, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?
- I'll be brief. Recently, our country has been expanding its influence in the world; we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries of Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand are not of interest to us. They are far from our borders, and we really don’t care what happens there. Don't get me wrong, I am presenting the question in an extremely simplified manner. But what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-time allies is very interesting to us, because this is a matter of Russian national security. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.
The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.
– You immediately thought about the army and navy. Right. The combat readiness of the ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But the special forces are somewhat behind.
There was a slight noise in the class. The cadets began to look at each other. The teacher was in no hurry. He sat down on the windowsill and folded his arms across his chest, calmly waiting out the indignation caused by his words.
- Can you resolve the question?
Sergei looked around. The tall cadet behind him rose from the table. Under his camouflage, his vest was visible.
The man shook his head. The guy snorted with displeasure, hesitated and sat down.
– You are simply excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.
- How shoud I understand this?
The cadet sitting behind Sergei still could not stand it.
– Isn’t the Airborne Forces the elite? Have we ever failed to complete a combat mission?! Excuse me... uh...
“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.
- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!
– I’ll explain now, guys.
The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.
– The country’s leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the airborne troops. The same as for others. They are trained quite well.
The Vedeveshnik looked around triumphantly and spread his arms with a satisfied look:
- What did I say...
- But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five machine gunners. Those that can recognize an ambush even before approaching it. Those who will be able to run through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and state of the enemy. I'm not even talking about hand-to-hand combat. We will radically change your idea of it.
The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.
– Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can train a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.
The cadets became silent, thinking about what had been said. There were no beginners in the class, and everyone had a rough idea of the level of combat training behind Vitaly Fedorovich’s words.
The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his gaze. The Marine scratched the top of his head.
– What do you want to ask, fighter?
Vitaly Fedorovich asked a question without turning to the cadet. He froze with his fingers hovering over the back of his head. Then he reflexively stood up and pulled down his jacket. He looked somewhat confused.
- This is some kind of mysticism. I hardly can do that.
– This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. There was simply no need for them before. But times have changed.
– What if not everyone can become like this? I have some doubts.
“If they can’t become like that, they’ll die.” Combat missions will not be easy.
In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.
“I was joking,” he said without smiling. “These people will be expelled even earlier.”
* * *
After six months of training, just before the exams, Sergei was called to the head of the course.
How are you doing with your training, Sergeant? – the head of the course, nicknamed the Leader, who was sitting at the table, asked him.
“We’re trying, Comrade Colonel,” Odintsov answered. He knew that there were no mistakes against him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.
In addition to the Counselor, two more people were sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in an army field uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man’s civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized him as a commander. Precisely the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he learned to recognize such things immediately.
“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but he is a competent and intelligent person. He doesn’t fuss, his eyes are attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo,” understand this, so they treat him with respect. The guy in jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. The strong-willed qualities are felt even now,” thought Sergei, briefly looking at the people sitting.
“Have a seat, sergeant,” the major said dryly. – Now I will bring you up to date.
Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.
“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer unfamiliar to Sergei was short and laconic in a military way. – You will be assigned a combat mission. We don't have time to wait for you and your comrades to complete your training.
Sergei nodded, without betraying his emotions.
The fair-haired man silently examined Sergei. Odintsov felt irritated.
“It feels like they’re asking the price of me like a horse,” he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy...”
“I know that you are forbidden to watch TV more than half an hour a day,” the major liked the cadet’s restraint, and he began to speak a little more affably. – Are you up to date with the latest news?
– Which ones exactly, Comrade Major?
On the very first day of arrival at school, all the cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to the short, stocky foreman and received them back only for a few hours on the weekend. It was rumored that this idea belonged entirely to the Counselor. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why there were such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm about his parents. The father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a permanent companion, and therefore he was not worried about separation from his beloved girl.
– Are you following the situation in Syria?
- As far as possible.
– Briefly state your opinion.
Sergei didn’t think for a long time:
– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone is sponsoring and arming militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is entirely acceptable. If these republics are crushed, then we will have to fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also burn. In general, we need to prepare for war.
“You’re thinking,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. - So you understand that it is better to defeat this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it later at our borders?
- Understand.
- It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be sent to Syria. The task is to find and capture alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders unless we receive a task to destroy them. The methods and methods of waging guerrilla warfare are well known to us even without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.
Sergei shook his head in shock. The blond man chuckled. The major continued calmly:
– Senior Special Intelligence Group – Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. – Time to prepare – a week. During this time, get acquainted with the cover legend, get equipment and study the area of upcoming actions, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?
– Can I find out who else is in Varyag’s group from our course?
- You are alone.
Sergei thoughtfully scratched the bridge of his nose. His trained psyche of a military man had already coped with the shock of the unexpected conversation, and he began to think about how best to complete the task.
It would be great if those fighters whom Sergei already knew went on the mission. For example, the group commander is Varyag, and the rest are the guys from his cockpit. They lived together for six months and studied each other thoroughly. Or at least the guys from the course. After all, the leadership knows how important in combat conditions even a small but already assembled team is. In this case, the success of completing the task increases many times over. But, apparently, the command has its own plans. It's a pity that no one asks his advice.
“The main selection criteria are the presence of combat experience,” the major easily read his thoughts. - Do you have it.
“I understand, Comrade Major.”
Sergei decided not to bother with clarifying questions. He already knew from experience that they wouldn’t tell him more anyway.
- Go. Pack your things. The car will be near headquarters in an hour.
Sergei looked at his watch and stood up. When the door closed behind him, Varyag stirred and lazily asked:
– Are you sure that this is the kind of guy I need? Why are my guys worse? My group has been tested for a long time, people have gotten used to each other, and everyone together represents a single, perfectly tuned mechanism. We understand each other perfectly. If we were musicians, we could improvise all day long. Why do I need this, albeit good, but additional appendage?
- This is not a pendant. This is a fighter with special training. – The major looked at his interlocutor with displeasure. – But I understand you. As a team leader, you have the right to know who you are going with on a mission.
The Varyag got up, changed his position and looked at the major with interest. Counterintelligence will not deal with nonsense.
– This is the first release of the course since 1987. We tried to select special guys for him. True, I had to tinker.
The major shook his head and chuckled. The Varyag understood from the expression on his face that he really had to tinker.
– First, briefly: why and why such an educational institution was revived. The fact is that over the past few years we have suffered unjustified losses in special forces groups. Previously, they did not pay attention to this - in war it’s like in war. But the General Staff thought differently and collected statistics. Of course, the one that we managed to collect. After analyzing the numbers, the command considered it unacceptable to lose first-class fighters just because, for example, the group could enter a minefield in full force. Or get caught in an avalanche. A coincidence, you say? Not really.
Varyag listened attentively.
“Not to mention the disruption of the combat mission, selected people died, on whose training serious resources were spent. I was instructed to look into this matter and give recommendations on how to minimize losses. I will not be ashamed to say that a colossal amount of work was done. I had to dig up the archives and look for people from intelligence and special forces who had long since retired to the reserves. So, it turned out that in Soviet times there were courses that trained, so to speak, military psychics.
- Who, who?! – Varyag leaned forward.
– It’s an unfortunate term, I agree. But they haven’t come up with anything else yet.
The Varangian straightened up and looked back at the elderly man sitting at the end of the table.
“Yes, yes,” the major nodded. “You, captain, were very surprised when you realized that the colonel was already over sixty.” We tore the man away from the spring garden and asked him to remember his past skills. What to do while there are no other specialists. But we digress. So, the presence of a military psychic in a combat group can sharply reduce the percentage of stupid accidents that I have already mentioned. In any case, management really hopes for this.
- So you're saying that this guy...?
- Exactly. His mother had hypnosis skills and could relieve headaches. On a dare, she held the metal spoon completely vertical in her palm, without squeezing her fingers. Nobody taught her this; she worked as an accountant all her life. Having no medical education, this woman, by running her palms over her body, could accurately identify the diseased organ.
The sergeant's father is a driver. In thirty years of driving experience - not a single scratch on the car. Does this mean anything to you, captain?
– Eh... well, basically... yes, it’s impressive.
“His comrades in the motor pool recalled several cases when Odintsov Sr. deliberately delayed a flight, motivating the delay with all sorts of nonsense. A simple time estimate showed that if he had left on time, he would have ended up in areas where terrible accidents involving several cars occurred.
Later he drove the head of the car depot. One day he refused to give his boss a ride directly to the entrance of the house, parked the Volga not far away and invited him to walk home. The boss boiled, got behind the wheel himself and parked the car where it usually stood. Three minutes later, a garbage truck crashed into a parked Volga. His brakes failed. Naturally, Odintsov Sr. was not in the car.
The major lightly slammed his palm on the table, as if summing up what had been said.
– The sergeant clearly has hidden psychic abilities. That is, they were hidden. I really hope that these courses helped him strengthen, develop and apply them in a combat situation. However, the same as with others. About sixty people were selected for the courses. Forty-five of them were eliminated and returned to their previous place of service. The rest will be used to carry out combat missions of increased complexity. Including in your group, captain.
The Varangian just silently spread his hands.
Sergei Ivanovich Zverev
Special forces psychic
© Asfarov O., 2017
© Design. Eksmo Publishing House LLC, 2017
Special forces psychic
Sergei entered the detachment commander’s office and threw his palm to his temple:
- Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, Sergeant Odintsov, in your opinion...
“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He stood up.
“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “please meet me.” Viktor Pavlovich, so to speak...
Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.
An absolutely bald guy of about forty, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark, discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual on the territory of the unit, where everyone wears a military uniform.
– Do you know English well? – the stranger asked Sergei quietly. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.
The bald man chuckled, looking carefully at the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.
- I understand.
- That's good! – the lieutenant colonel said dissatisfied. – I’ll go and walk around the territory, while you work here.
He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.
“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - It's clear. Nobody wants to give up a good fighter.
He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.
“Have a seat, sergeant,” nodded the strange visitor, “would you like some candy?”
- No thanks.
- And I’ll chew it. Instead of cigarettes.
Sergei decided not to be surprised by anything. It’s clear that this guy is an important bird, since the commander came out and left them alone. He also advised me to answer questions extremely honestly. Who is he then? Special department? For what?
Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead. Where could he get so caught up that the special officer would become interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei cursed to himself. What a fool... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, it's my fault. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or give it away, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “go away” somewhat, and Sergei, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. During the shooting we had to go to the foreman.
- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should take a look at the “trunk”.
Georgich was sitting on a bench under a canopy at the table, with his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, crushed down by an empty machine gun magazine for safety, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.
- Started to smear, you say? – the gunsmith grinned. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. – And immediately the “trunk” is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you did it yesterday? – and he flicked his finger in the throat.
- I didn’t drink yesterday, old man! – Sergei began to get angry because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. - Even beer!
The shooting machine gun muffled his words, and he bent down towards the table.
- I didn’t drink!
The line stopped, and Sergei looked around in fear. The lieutenant standing on the edge of the trench not far from them grinned knowingly and turned to face the firing shift.
Sergei cursed.
- A! – the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of Master of Sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich spent his last years serving in the detachment, practiced shooting all his life, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer took physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the sergeant major would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand fighters at point-blank range before any of them realized what was happening. - Happens. It means I just didn't get enough sleep.
Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the sergeant major has seen hundreds of shooters whose fault is either a machine gun, a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.
“Stepan Georgich,” Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman’s eyes. – Listen to me carefully. I didn’t drink yesterday and got relatively enough sleep, and now I’m not hitting the chest target from hundreds of meters. This simply cannot be. You know how I shoot.
The sergeant major looked around and pulled out a cigarette from the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking in the ammunition distribution area.
He chewed his cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. He probably turns on his intuition, although he doesn’t even suspect it. At one time, the sergeant-major was thinking about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just his character. Not everyone can wait forty minutes for a target to appear and then immediately shoot accurately.