"Valery Gorban. No one wanted to kill " - читать интересную книгу автора

"Why the hell did she crawl out there? Look, one "Mines!" warning sign
is posted there, and out further is another..."
"She must be 100 years old, if a day, and probably can't see a damned
thing, the blind old fool."
"Shit, those combat engineers are walking one very fine line! After
all, who hasn't planted mines out there - the Chechens, our guys - yet there
are no sketches or maps! The Devil himself couldn't figure things out!"
"Still, you gotta try to rescue them. Look, the old woman is still
moving, sort-of."
"Fuck the old hag! But it looks like the youngster has had it. No,
wait, she moved her hand! See how Daddy-Well-Done is rushing - she must
still be alive!"

The Doc rushed out to meet Vovka and carefully took hold of the girl.
While Doc attended to her, Sanya arrived carrying the old woman. OMON
troops, together with Chechen women who had run out from the house
next-door, bandaged her.
"Ask them where the little girl's parents are. And tell them to find
'em quickly," Chopin barked over his shoulder while assisting the doctor.
"She only has her grandmother," replied a hefty OMON trooper of around
forty with the classic look of a company first sergeant. His fingers
trembled as he attempted to light a cigarette. "The women say her father was
killed while fighting in the anti-Dudayev opposition. Dudayev's security
forces killed her mother too. They hauled her off in broad daylight, raped
and shot her! But the entire street teamed up to save the girl and the old
woman, hiding them."
"We need to get to the hospital, and fast! The little girl's trachea
has been nicked. It's not too serious, but there may be pulmonary bleeding,"
Aibolit told the commander, as he finished bandaging the girl.
Chopin nodded silently. The driver, who had been squatting by one of
the wheels, darted headlong into the cab of the idling Ural while two OMON
troopers, having thrown open the vehicle's rear gate earlier, jumped aboard
and prepared to receive the old woman. But after an instant of hesitation,
Chopin issued a staccato order:
"Escorts - onto the Ural. Put the old woman on top of the BTR. Doc and
the girl - get into it. The vibration is less."
Aibolit nodded in agreement, carefully lifted the girl, and crawled in
through the side hatch. Once inside, he covered the seat with field jackets,
placed the little girl on them, and dropped to his knees, intently observing
his young patient and keeping his fingers on the pulse of her small, thin
hand.
In his long years as a physician, Doc had seen a great deal of blood -
particularly in the last few months. But on that day, he just felt agitated
and knew that he was not alone. Aibolit noticed how unusually irritable and
upset even these exceptionally experienced men around him were. And that
their commander's lips were trembling - a commander who had clearly "been
around" and routinely looked so bold and energetic.

Chopin was sitting on the porch of a two-story field hospital. He had
taken off his "sphere," which was black with sweat inside, and placed his