what will prevent him from starting a witch hunt and bring him together with Khmelnitsky under all similar charges. He will also say that he received something from the Mountain as evidence, three days to consider, and then shot. What's not an option?

— Khmelnitsky saw the note himself. — said the major. — A note from Gora, stating that apart from Ranierov there was no one who had relatives left at the mine after the escape. And that he is the only candidate when considering the data for the last few years… Of course, hardly the only one…..

— Yeah, of course not…

— Yeah. Like that girl Maria we were asked to meet six months ago. Her father's still in the mine. Deputy foreman. And he's still alive. Of course, we never saw her, but she wasn't even mentioned.

— Yes, of course, Raniere's not the only one. I myself know people who still have relatives left…..

— So, yeah. The evidence is so-so…

— Vaughn, Grisha and I have relatives left at the mine. How much he misses them. The last six months he is not himself…

Their eyes stopped on each other almost simultaneously. Grisha had been in Kremenchug and knew the location. And especially lately he had been sad, as if he was doing something he didn't want to do.

— No, Grisha can not. This is nonsense. — Misha began.

In war in general, there's only nonsense around… There's only nonsense around… We have to check him out, Misha. We have to check it out. We can't not check it. We'll have to shed more blood for all these "can't be".

Misha stood there, dimming his gaze, but it was the right decision:

— Yeah. You're right. I'll have to check it out. I'll have to.

Bolotnikov had already gathered himself — he put on his tunic, then clipped his pistol holster to his pants:

— Weapons ready?

— I hope it doesn't come to that. — Misha patted his gun. He polished it every night with special care and caution. And it served well and hit the target. "If you take care of your weapon, it will take care of you." Maybe it's just a saying, but it works.

— If it doesn't come to that, it was a wasted trip….

Misha shook his head gloomily. Bolotnikov is usually positive, and he's not afraid of anything. And if he was so discouraged, then nothing good could be expected. And what good can you expect when you are looking for a snitch among your own, not knowing how to look? And then came into my head an interesting thought — if it turns out that Grisha and is a traitor, he is a penalty officer. He got there together with them on decimation. And those fears that Khmelnitsky and Bolotnikov feared would not be in vain. Zhivenko thought about it when they approached the house where his platoon was located — a 25-storey building of the early XXI century, then it was a business class for people who were obviously not poor.

— Listen, Sergei… And if it turns out that he is, he's from the Penal Corps… — Misha said a little timidly.

— Yeah, he's from the Penal Corps. That's what I was thinking, too.

— So what do we do then?

— I don't know… Let's ask him… The main thing is to follow my lead. And don't ask questions.

They approached the right apartment and knocked on the door. Grisha opened the door quickly. He looked at both of them and scratched the back of his head awkwardly:

— Anxiety?

— Almost. — Bolotnikov replied, and like a tiger pounced on him, knocked him down, fired at the ceiling and pointed his gun at him. — Tie him up!

Misha, without even thinking what was happening, turned Grisha on his stomach, put his hands behind his back and began to wrap his hands with whatever he could find — a cord from some lamp that stood near the entrance.

— Tell me now, how did you pass on the information? — Bolotnikov asked Grisha, who was tied up and sitting on the floor.

— I do not understand. Comrade Major, I don't understand… — Grisha was already depressed for the last few months, and what came over him now, looked out of the ordinary.

— It's over. There's nothing to understand. You've been ratted out. Right from the mine.

Where you came from.

— I don't-" He tried to say something else, but he was breathing harder and more often, so the words wouldn't come out of his mouth.

— Let me talk to him, Sergei. — Misha intervened.

Bolotnikov went to the back of the room and sat down on the sofa. Misha settled down on the floor next to Grisha and without looking at him said:

— There's two pieces of news in one e-mail. From the Deese sector. The first was that you snitched on us… I don't know how they found out… And the second was that your mother and sister are no longer alive… So the plagues took care of them….

Grisha rested his forehead in his lap and quietly cried:

— No… It can't be… They said they'd take care of them… They'd look after them… They wouldn't hurt them. Just as long as— Just as long as— As long as you report to them properly.

Yes… — Grisha said after taking a breath. — Yes, just to report … Sorry, Mish … I had no one

but them … No one … And I had to … I did not want to. It's so disgusting. It's so impossible… To expose your own people. Those corpses. And because of me so many things… But I couldn't… And now it turned out that it was all for nothing… That they were gone….

Grisha sobbed. It was as if the weight that had been on him all this time had just dropped, and now with this relief it all came out. It's so easy when you finally reach a moment when you don't have to hide it all inside yourself, when you