All night long, and a full case of Walther model 2's.
There is a large, yet dried callus on my right thumb from loading all those clips.
"What day it is anyway?" i ask Sergiy, and he says "14". What i asked him was, in fact, what day of the week, but he gave me the correct answer anyway.
I think i can hear Rubanov in the Red Room, but i can't be sure. The hose is making a lot of noise.
Sergiy is done, most of the blood is washed down and i send the signal to the front.
Commander has this leather apron and long, long leather gloves. Butcher like, you know? He rather does look like a butcher, wide, hard faced.
I try not to tremble. There is some more vodka stashed in the desk, but i think it would be a bad idea, taking a sip here and now. Commander is all formality and revolutionary fire. Work first, drink later.
I try not to look at the man they bring in from the Red Room. Not that i am particularly sensitive anymore. Things i have seen, things i have done... And willingly too. But i certainly don't enjoy it....
Durak... All this work to be done, and i let my mind just wander about....
Commander never trembled. I pass him the pistol, and his hand is perfectly still. Like the hands of a surgeon who took the bullet out of my thigh a few months ago. He was a morphinist, though. Commander is certainly not.
I watch him, unwillingly, against my general dislike for what is about to happen. He aims carefully every time. It is Impossible to miss from that distance, and yet he aims every time very carefully. Work tolerates no haste. From where i stand by the desk, the man is partially covered by Commanders huge bulk, but i know exactly how it looks anyway. Now, any second, a bullet, a spray of blood and little fragments of spine are going to erupt out of the mans mouth. Some teeth also, if he had his jaw clenched.
The wall is coated and full of holes. 14 days. And 14 night shifts.
This one got stuck in the drain. Sergiy and I are supposed to get it unstuck when such thing occurs. The floor is slippery from water and blood and probably some urine too. Sweat runs around our noses and ears collecting under our chins.
Commander lights up a cigarette and blows long streaks of smoke, standing there and watching nothing in particular, right arm over left.
There, done.
I signal for the next.
Commander stomps out his cigarette and focus returns to his eyes.
Commander is a great man.
There is a large, yet dried callus on my right thumb from loading all those clips.
"What day it is anyway?" i ask Sergiy, and he says "14". What i asked him was, in fact, what day of the week, but he gave me the correct answer anyway.
I think i can hear Rubanov in the Red Room, but i can't be sure. The hose is making a lot of noise.
Sergiy is done, most of the blood is washed down and i send the signal to the front.
Commander has this leather apron and long, long leather gloves. Butcher like, you know? He rather does look like a butcher, wide, hard faced.
I try not to tremble. There is some more vodka stashed in the desk, but i think it would be a bad idea, taking a sip here and now. Commander is all formality and revolutionary fire. Work first, drink later.
I try not to look at the man they bring in from the Red Room. Not that i am particularly sensitive anymore. Things i have seen, things i have done... And willingly too. But i certainly don't enjoy it....
Durak... All this work to be done, and i let my mind just wander about....
Commander never trembled. I pass him the pistol, and his hand is perfectly still. Like the hands of a surgeon who took the bullet out of my thigh a few months ago. He was a morphinist, though. Commander is certainly not.
I watch him, unwillingly, against my general dislike for what is about to happen. He aims carefully every time. It is Impossible to miss from that distance, and yet he aims every time very carefully. Work tolerates no haste. From where i stand by the desk, the man is partially covered by Commanders huge bulk, but i know exactly how it looks anyway. Now, any second, a bullet, a spray of blood and little fragments of spine are going to erupt out of the mans mouth. Some teeth also, if he had his jaw clenched.
The wall is coated and full of holes. 14 days. And 14 night shifts.
This one got stuck in the drain. Sergiy and I are supposed to get it unstuck when such thing occurs. The floor is slippery from water and blood and probably some urine too. Sweat runs around our noses and ears collecting under our chins.
Commander lights up a cigarette and blows long streaks of smoke, standing there and watching nothing in particular, right arm over left.
There, done.
I signal for the next.
Commander stomps out his cigarette and focus returns to his eyes.
Commander is a great man.
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