"Mikhail Evstafiev. Two Steps From Heaven " - читать интересную книгу автора

"Yes, I see him..."
He did not dampen the grand-dads' exhilaration, consenting silently
that the village belonged to the spooks and was thus doomed to destruction,
so there was no point in wasting pity on its inhabitants. He had agreed, so
he, too, was now part of this "game." He lay cradling the rifle and looking
through its sights at an old man who peered out from behind a wall from time
to time.

... Prokhorov's right: there's a war on, they've no business showing
themselves outside ... there's a war on, so it's either them or us ... all
these so-called peaceful civilians, old and young, hate our guts, and given
the chance, they'll wind our gizzards around a pitchfork and put them out
for all to see ... they help the spooks, the bastards, going back and forth
as if they're tending their fields, but at the same time, the sons of
bitches are setting out trip-wires ... "

Sharagin took aim, but at the same moment decided not to kill the old
man, just shoot over his head, and tightened his finger on the trigger. In
training, he had been the best shot in his group. It would be easy to hit
the target at this range - too easy.

... live, old man ....

"Bet you he'll miss," came a whisper from behind.
" ....."
"No guts?"
"No ... Bet you ten chits." That was Panasyuk.
Sharagin aimed again. A drop of sweat trickled from his hairline past
his ear, down his cheek and fell on the rifle butt. He held his breath. He
couldn't understand why he had suddenly given way to doubts. His fingers
felt the stiffness of the trigger, as though it was resisting him.
"... taking too long to aim, fuck it, he'll miss for sure!" needled
Prokhorov's voice.
The shot boomed out. The old man fell away from the wall, staggered
forward a few steps and fell.
"Ha! Gotcha!" whooped Panasyuk.
"Class shot! Right in the brain box!" Confirmed Titov, still glued to
the binoculars. "Head's gone like it was never there. Just his jawbone
hanging on his neck!"


The armoured vehicles were like pincers around the village; moving
inward, the paratroopers began combing through the village. Groups of
soldiers dispersed along its dusty, crooked streets.

... the village is empty, definitely empty ... and the artillery
pounded the hell out of it ... everyone must be long gone ... but, then, who
knows? ...

A dead donkey lay beside the last hut, distended from the heat like a