– Yeah, he is… a Fenimore. Damn! – Bashkalo cut in.
– Here is your Fenimore… It's a strange thing about your conscription contract, – said Petrovich. – I heard that enlistment offices recruit eighty-six to eighty-nine of the demobilized from here by their polls, and immediately offer one thousand and a half per month. Am I right, Sverzgin? Just asking.
– They also take a non-disclosure agreement, – said Vadim. – A fifteen-year sentence.
– Look where they brought the country… – said Bashkalo unexpectedly, but right in the vein, straight down the line.
– Well, if it's a fifteen-year sentence so then stop the chattering, – said Petrovich. – Have you finished a cigarette, Vasya? And you, have you finished your lunch? Get up now. Sverzhin, take the thermos and fill it with soil. Compress it with your fingers, it should be packed! And put a cork above. And carefully throw it away, but better roll it. And you, comrade Ensign Vasya, my dear man, – you are still responsible for the poles. All three and a half. Ok, you convinced me, I'll carry the broken one. But don't you drop the rest, I dare you in the name of the proletariat. Grab and cradle them. Gently. There will be something that needs a fence.
“A cylindrical hollow of metal or glass, open from one or more sides, tools and everyday items of any length and more than five centimeters in diameter acquire dangerous properties with a 100% probability”, parodying the secret instructor in a fencing mask, Mumbler howled. Vadim even rubbed his nose bridge, “like the following: empty cans and bottles, mugs, shell and anti-aircraft cartridges, and other similar technological objects …”
Vadim was shoving clay into the thermos, and the voice of Petrovich was barely making its way through the mumbling of the little man in his brain. Vadim could not calm Mumbler, before the thermos became “full to the eyeballs”. Fortunately, Petrovich decided to repeat everything, after he waited for the place of a halt to be brought into a safe state.
– Attention, group! Listen to the combat mission. Here we see, – Petrovich indicated the “three hundred and twenty-fourth“, – there is an offshoot from the track. Unknown to authorities. We go this direction. – A wave of the cane-staff. – About four hundred meters according to the land map, and in fact a kilometer and a half. Under the embankment again. The place is weird. – He scratched under the strap on his chin. – “A gitik”, you said, Sverzhin? Let it be “a gitik”. I'll show you the real gitik. Big and complicated. If we come back – do not talk about what you saw. Bashkalo, first of all I'm talking to you. You'll get exactly fifteen years.