In the officers' dormitory of the military town, in one of the rooms, on first floor, drinking. There were twelve young guys who were called up together with Vitaly for two years to serve at the Baikonur spaceport, the thirteenth was Vitaly. First there was vodka, then wine. Yura Silantyev, a technician- lieutenant, turned to Vitaly in a braided voice:
– Uh, Vitalka, do not regret that the general kicks you out.
– Yes, the owner did not even want to talk to me, – the doctor responded.
– E- uh, you, – looking around his comrade with a dull look, Yura continued. – Uh- uh, you understand, you got into not your own business.
– Yes, I don't give a damn about them, and in general, they all fucked up …
Offended by the recent thrashing, Junior Lieutenant Yeldin pricked up his ears:
– Vitalka, and Vitalka, could you, just like that, go to the dining room? – and Yeldin's horse jaw fell off, depicting a question mark. Vitaly looked with a blurred look at the junior lieutenant- technician Yeldin, and his anger gradually turned into annoying tearfulness:
– Friend, – Vitaly cried. – You understand me. You understand me. Let's go! He reached over to the watch on his left hand. The glance snatched from the round dance the number 13- 00, lunch time. Yeldin jumped out of bed:
– Who's with us, go ahead! – staggered towards the door. But everyone, except for Vitaly, sat silent, without signs of participation in the thick blue cigarette smoke. Vitaly looked around his friends with a questioning glance, waved his hand and went out after his friend. Several officers from the preparatory group, headed by the leader, lieutenant colonel, were sitting in the dining room. Friends sat down at a free table.
– Waiter! – loudly, throughout the dining room, shouted Yeldin. Sode at the next table turned to the side of drunk friends, near whom the waitress was already busy. Somehow, after eating, the friends got up and staggered out of the dining room. Three hundred meters separated the dining room from the officers' hostel. But on their way was the headquarters of the regiment, in which biennials served, and at the door of the headquarters the deputy squadron commander for political affairs, Major Vedernikov, was waiting. The ape- like appearance of this not handsome officer, who differed from this one in that his skin was of some unnatural color, similar in color, rather like a dried tobacco leaf prepared for rolling cigars. Emphasized, neat in wearing a uniform, he always wore a fresh shirt and carefully ironed trousers. The informant reported to the major about two drunken officers who were dining in the dining room.