The ceilings next to the stratum were held up by wooden and steel beams more than two meters high. One of them collapsed, the other tilted. The earth fell on everyone's heads.
Keeping his face firm and composed, Hora entered the sector. There were already four people on one side of the beam, three on the other, and among those three, two of them were the ones who had recently fought. They stood shoulder to shoulder, pushing as hard as they could. Someone was setting up another one next to them. Some were holding the ones that hadn't fallen off yet, while the rest were watching for another row of footholds. Two catfish piled up here completely and two partially.
And the light was flickering, and the earth was falling, but only the commanders were shouting loud orders. This is the mystery of the miners' resilience. When there is no confidence in the possibility of survival, when there is not enough air and it is dark around, something that sits deep in the soul of those who "live" underground is triggered.
Discipline works. Everyone knows that their commander is experienced and wise, that he has lived many years and is still alive, which means that he feels the Motherland, which he will not part with. And if you want to survive, you have to listen to him, no matter what happens.
Faith works. This is a very ancient meaning, because "in the trenches everyone is a believer". Everyone believes that everything will work out, that they will be able to withstand, and if not, then thank God – they are exhausted and it is time to rest in paradise, having left this hell.
It's the spirit that works. It's a strong, free, miner's spirit. It moves both hands and feet, and it doesn't let your eyes blink from the dust. It sticks in your head and says one all-moving word: "Forward!".
Gora squeezed between all of them and pressed into the very center of the beam. He had to move it forward almost half a meter to get it upright and into place.
For a moment it seemed that everything was falling apart, that it was time for this land to take away half a thousand of its sons. But no – all as one, as a single gust of wind, tearing down everything in its path, as a mighty sea that wanted to take an island far away from the big land, as a long-dormant volcano spewing lava, as an 8848-meter mountain standing on both legs. This is power, and nature herself is happy to see her children inspired by it.