"Vladimir Belayev - The Old Fortress 3 -The Town By The Sea" - читать интересную книгу автора (Belayev Vladimir)

spring, but towards evening the frost had set in again. The puddles were coated with ice and long
gleaming icicles hung from the rusty drain-pipes.
"Fancy, putting galoshes on, Bobir! See how dry it is!" I said to Sasha and dug my heel into a frozen
puddle.
"Don't mess about!" Sasha squealed, jumping away. "Call that dry!"
A stream of mud had spurted over his shiny galoshes. Sasha stared down at them bitterly. He looked
so dismal standing in the middle of the road that Petka and I couldn't help laughing.
"Is that your idea of a joke!" Sasha snorted, looking even more annoyed. "And you're a member of
the committee!. . . Setting an example, I suppose!" And taking an old scrap of newspaper out of his
pocket, he started wiping off the mud.
As we walked on, Sasha kept glancing down and grunting with annoyance. I knew he was touchy
and often lost his temper for nothing, so I did not tease him.
"Don't get sore, Sasha," I said soothingly, "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't think there was any mud
there."
"HuhтАФdidn't think!" Sasha grunted.
But we were interrupted by a shout from Petka:
"Quiet, chaps!. . . Hear that?"
Not far away, on the other side of the boulevard, a machine-gun had opened up. One burst was
followed by another, then one more, then after a short silence we heard five rifle shots fired in quick
succession.
It was the alarm signal. Every Communist and Komsomol member knew that signal. In those years all
the Communists and older lads among the Komsomol members belonged to the Special Detachments,
and five quick rifle shots was the signal for them to report at once to headquarters. Wherever we
happened to beтАФin the hostel, in the foundry at the factory-training school, at a Komsomol meeting, or
simply out for a strollтАФas soon as we heard it, we had to rush off to the well-known house in Kishinev
Street, where Special Detachment Headquarters was situated.
We knew well enough that we lived only fifteen versts from the frontiers of capitalist Poland and
Rumania, and that such an alarm might be followed by real invasion. Then all of us "specials," together
with the frontier guards, would have to hold our little town against the first onslaught until the regulars
arrived.
Sasha was the first to break the silence. "It's the alarm... Isn't it, Vasil?"
"It is," I said. "Come on, chaps! Let's run!"
... At the door of headquarters we were met by Polagutin, the Special Detachment Chief. The long
holster of his Mauser was unfastened and we could tell from the anxiety in his face that the situation was
serious.
 "What group?" Polagutin asked.
"Factory-training school!" Sasha gasped out.
Polagutin checked our cards and said: "Get your guns."
We ran down the long corridor to the armoury. There we received rifles that had been issued to us
some time ago and several rounds of ammunition.
"Shall we load here or outside?" Petka asked, shoving the cartridges into his trousers' pocket. He was
rather pale. "Better wait for the order," I advised. "I've loaded mine already," said Sasha, tossing an
empty clip on the floor.
"Put the safety catch on!" Petka whispered anxiously. Sasha pointed his rifle in the air and started
pulling the safety catch back. But the safety catch was oily and Sasha's fingers were numb with cold. The
rifle wobbled in his hands. Any moment, it seemed, one of Sasha's fingers would catch on the trigger and
a bullet would shatter the dim lamp hanging from the ceiling.
"Give it here, you cripple!" Petka shouted and grabbed Sasha's rifle. "Watch me."
But the spring in Sasha's rifle was new and stiff and Petka had a hard job with the safety catch too...
The big room where every group came on Sundays to clean their rifles was crowded with specials.