Time loop

By EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

A group of schoolchildren fall between 1984 and 1941 during the game "Zarnitsa". The enemy is advancing towards Moscow. The emergency of the disappearance in 1984 is investigated by the competent authorities and the boys must try to survive and return. Will they be able to overcome the obstacles or will the hatred destroy the whole unit? The time loop inevitably tightens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EDGARS AUZINS
• Release date: Apr 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223372578

EDGARS AUZIŅŠ

Dzimis 1989. gada 22. decembrī. Absolvējis Rīgas Juridisko koledžu. Profesijā nav strādājis, bet apguvis programmēšanas prasmes un pašlaik ar to nodarbojas. Kopš 2022. gada ir personīgā uzņēmuma vadītājs, kas nodarbojas ar transporta pārvadājumiem, kā arī programmēšanu. Dzīvnieku, īpaši suņu, mīļotājs. Born 22 December 1989. Graduated from Riga College of Law. Has not worked in the profession, but has acquired programming skills and is currently working in it. Since 2022 he has been the CEO of his own company, which deals with transport transport as well as programming. Lover of animals, especially dogs.

Book preview

Prologue

1984 year

The dissertation progressed slowly. Kirill Myagkov was sitting in a narrow, elongated room, completely littered with books - the shelves were crowded and overhanging on both sides, and his table nestled between them, like a poor relative. A dim light illuminated a mountain of open Talmuds with bookmarks scattered across the pages. The second mountain froze dangerously on the windowsill. The window overlooking the courtyard was covered with thick black fabric, so he had no idea what time of day it was outside—it was light, or the autumn gloom had already descended on the city, absorbing everything around it. The window was walled up for a reason - opposite there was some kind of security facility, either a pre-trial detention center, or something similar, and behind its dark bars one could sometimes see the inhabitants of the cells, looking at the house opposite with nothing to do.

However, Kirill did not pay attention to this. Two months ago, he agreed with the head of the modern history sector that, if necessary, he would work until the morning, and since after his defense he became the leading researcher in the sector, and also the youngest and most promising, Anatoly Vyacheslavovich went to meet him halfway.

Frankly speaking, he doted on Kirill and helped him in every possible way. There were rumors in the team that after his retirement he would petition for Kirill to be appointed head of the sector. It was a rare case when everyone was happy about it.

Kirill again ran over the handwritten sheet of white paper. He hated typing - his thoughts were confused, he couldn’t keep up with their flight, and besides, the clicking of the keys was very distracting. Therefore, Kirill used a Bik ballpoint pen, a set of which, along with refills, Anatoly Vyacheslavovich brought to him from a foreign conference in Berlin.

Frozen over the table, he could not figure out how to start a new paragraph. The dissertation was devoted to the Great Patriotic War, namely, to the use of intelligence messages during the combat operations of the Red Army.

Despite the fact that the topic of the work, in general, was purely historical, it has not yet lost its relevance. How to trust intelligence data in difficult conditions, how to verify it, what fateful decisions and breakthroughs were based on the reports of Soviet intelligence officers and why some of them, despite their obvious value, were never used - this was the subject of scientific interest.

Anatoly Vyacheslavovich even hinted that very serious people from the State Security Committee are interested in his work and if he gets significant results, the dissertation may be classified. This rumor quickly spread among the team and gave its work a mysterious and even heroic aura. However, Kirill himself looked at this matter more simply - he just wanted to understand some strange, in his opinion, things that he noticed as a graduate student in the history department of Moscow State University.

Now, when he was invited to the Institute of History of the USSR as a junior researcher in the sector of Contemporary History, he had the opportunity to check all this in the most thorough manner.

Kirill suddenly sneezed. In the office that he was given to write his dissertation, book dust hovered like smog. He put his pen on a clean white sheet, stretched and remembered that he had long wanted to drink tea.

The boiler was in a separate room at the end of the corridor, there were also dishes, a small refrigerator, a table and two chairs. On the refrigerator there was a bread box in which lay a stone half of a loaf. He never ran to the grocery store, and now it was probably too late. You'll have to soak the loaf in tea.

Kirill sighed, stood up from the uncomfortable hard chair and stretched. Slowly, swaying, he headed down the dark corridor. There was silence outside the building. Another Sunday for the benefit of science, - thought Kirill, entered the room, plugged the boiler into the socket, poured water from the kettle into a mug and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the water bubble in the mug.

When a strange sound reached his ears, he thought that these were the tricks of the old Snaige refrigerator, which purred, grumbled and talked on its own without being embarrassed by those around him.

The water in the mug began to hiss and turned whitish.

Kirill listened. He was completely alone in the building of the New History sector - there was no doubt about that. Moreover, this was not the main building, but an adjoining research wing with a separate entrance, locked right now with a key that Kirill had in his jeans pocket.

Just in case, he checked - the key was in place.

The sound was repeated. And it clearly did not come from the refrigerator, but from somewhere in the depths of the old, pre-war building.

The guy became wary.

Someone climbed through the window on the first floor? Then he would have heard the sound of broken glass, the sounds of footsteps - only the cleaning lady Anna Nikolaevna could walk silently on the worn, creaky parquet floor, and no one knew how she did it. And who would go to the Institute of History, what should they take? Busts of Marx-Engels? Books?

However, there was something, but no one knew about it.

Kirill slowly reached out to the socket and pulled the cord of the boiler. The fork fell out and the hissing in the mug stopped almost immediately.

A sound similar to a typewriter. Just typing, whoever it was, very quietly and literally one letter per few minutes.

KLAC.

Kirill felt a shiver slowly creep up his spine.

Ghost? Well, this is completely funny in the twentieth century. He tried to grin to confirm his words, but it came out crooked.

The short knocks, those clatters echoing in the empty building, frightened him so much that he felt momentarily panicked.

The telephone was on the first floor on duty, but you need to go down there, which, of course, would attract attention... of course, there was also a telephone in the reception area and the director’s office, but now these offices are closed.

Kirill automatically took a napkin from the table and dabbed his forehead, which was covered in perspiration.

KLAC.

Damn it! - he cursed to himself. Naina Iosifovna, the director’s secretary, couldn’t come on Sunday evening to work. This is impossible. She would definitely have looked into his closet, especially since it was she who typed the order for the allocation of an office.

Kirill cautiously looked out of the room. It was dark under the door of the reception room; not a single strip of light came out.

KLAC. KLAC.

The new sound made him jump on the spot. It seemed that the source of the sound was very close, literally a few meters away. But because of the high ceiling and wide arches, the echo carried sharp, frightening rustling sounds throughout the entire floor and it was difficult to determine the direction - the sound seemed to come from the walls themselves, from everywhere.

And suddenly it dawned on Kirill.

He shook his head, as if he didn’t believe his guess, but there was no other explanation.

- But this cannot be! - He exclaimed quietly and stepped into the dark corridor.

To test the assumption, it was necessary to go to the other end of the floor, turn left - there, next to his room, there was a laboratory where employees studied various historical evidence - from birch bark letters to household items from different eras. Of course, all the most valuable things were hidden in safes, but... something remained.

Kirill stopped, froze and listened.

KLAK, KLAK, KLAK...

His heart beat so fast that he staggered.

They couldn’t place this item in the safe because it was too big. They brought him last week - Anatoly Vyacheslavovich himself petitioned and with difficulty, with huge bureaucratic obstacles, they still succeeded.

Kirill passed his office, turned left and looked at the white door, above which hung a sign with black letters LABORATORY.

Of course, there could be no one inside. He worked literally behind the wall all day and did not hear a single sound.

He came closer and listened again.

He did not hear any footsteps, any activity that would indicate the presence of a person - in this case, a potential thief. But another

KLAC

made him shudder so much that he hit his forehead on the doorframe.

Kirill sharply pressed the handle and opened the door.

The room was pitch black and he didn’t immediately manage to find his bearings. After a couple of seconds, he glanced forward and to the left, to the corner of the room. There, on a large wooden table, stood a device resembling a typewriter. Its lid was folded back, and the keyboard with large keys glowed with a dim yellow light.

He remembered that he tried to turn on the device during the day and apparently forgot to remove the plug from the socket.

Slapping himself on the forehead, Kirill quickly walked towards the table, but halfway there he froze in his tracks.

KLAC.

KLAK, KLAK.

KLAK, KLAK.

KLAC.

KLAK, KLAK, KLAK...

The device started working quickly, as if afraid that Kirill would leave.

These weren't just keystrokes. Someone was trying to send a message.

Chapter 1

1941 year

W...what took you so d...long, Petya asked, chattering his teeth so hard that the sound even drowned out the howl of the wind in the flying branches of the black forest. Parting the branches of a fallen pine tree, he peered into the faces of his friends for a while, trying to understand whether everything was all right or whether he needed to immediately shoot - no matter where, as long as it was far away. However, there were tall pine trees all around like a wall and there was nowhere to run.

Katya lowered the box with a breath of a deflated balloon, sat down on it, wiping off sweat, wanted to answer something, but only waved her hand - and even then, this wave was rather a gesture of a completely exhausted person.

Her right arm hung limply along her body and jars fell onto the soft turf - round, large and shiny. Katya looked at them, as if not understanding what was happening.

Lena gasped and immediately jumped out from behind a rearing pine root, reminiscent of some kind of mythical monster with giant tentacles in the night. Vitya thought that she would start collecting cans, but instead she hugged the girl and began stroking her back, whispering something in her ear. Only then did he notice that Katya’s shoulders were trembling slightly and at that very second he felt terrible fatigue. It was as if a whole huge mountain had fallen from his shoulders and fell under his feet in the form of heavy tin cans.

I thought... I thought I wouldn’t tell, Katya sobbed barely audibly. - It was very... very difficult.

Lena looked up at Vitya for a moment, perhaps she wanted to ask why he didn’t take at least half of the canned food, but when she saw him slouched on the other edge of the box, she remained silent.

- You did it. You’re great, Lena stroked Katya’s back. We’ve been waiting for you for so long, we were already starting to worry and wanted to go in the direction where you went. But we decided to wait here anyway. The hardest thing is to wait. Next time we'll definitely go together. At the same time they would have taken away more.

Katya did not seem to listen to her, but judging by the imperceptible movements of her hand, she agreed. Of course, if they were together, they would have stolen three or even four boxes of canned food. But the danger is much greater.

Vitya looked at his hands. His palms were sore from the multitude of splinters—only now did he feel their prickly sparks on his palms, fingers, and wrists. Of course, Katya took on more weight. She was carrying a box of canned food, although Vitya did not understand why - he was still in a peaceful and comfortable future, where at any moment about twenty-two o'clock you can run to the supermarket and buy anything you want - even bread, even potatoes, even not quite good, at least... he thought about sweets and suddenly remembered that he had put a large Gulliver in the pocket of his sports jacket under his jacket.

Carefully unfastening the lock, he felt for a solid rectangle.

Hooray! In place, not lost! - he almost screamed. Immediately, as if having come to his senses, his stomach began to growl. Only now Vitya realized how hungry he was. His hands began to tremble and it took a gigantic effort to stop the trembling.

Vitya took out the candy, glanced briefly at the smiling giant and handed it to Lena.

- Here, take it half and half with Katya.

Lena interrupted her quiet monologue, froze, and turned around. Vitya caught her grateful glance.

- Thank you, Vit.

She took the candy and carefully, like some kind of jewel, unwrapped it.

The brown rectangle looked so appetizing that Vitya hastened to turn away.

- Katya, bite.

Katya did not react, but when Lena put the candy under her nose, she perked up, sniffed, the corners of her lips rose slightly - and she carefully took a small bite. She chewed a little and turned to Lena.

- Mommy... how delicious! - said Katya. The blush gradually returned to her face. - Where did you get this from?

Lena nodded at Vitya.

- He had some in reserve.

- What's in the box? — Denis appeared next to him, who seemed fresher and more cheerful than the others. He squatted down and, despite the missing lens in his glasses, began to read the black inscriptions written directly on the boards.

«Special treatment. Do not throw. Do not beat. Stay dry".

Extra caution. Do not throw. Don't hit. Keep in a dry place

We haven’t gone through this yet... it seems like it says something about being careful, you can’t throw it. And in small print too," he said, squinting.

- Crystal, or what? - burst out from Petya, who, clinging to the branches in the dark, finally got out from behind the root of the pine tree.

Seeing tin cans scattered on the ground, he cursed kindly and immediately rushed to collect them.

- Well done! - he blurted out. I don’t know which of you guessed it, but food is the most important thing. — Thirteen pieces, 400 gram cans. Great stew!

Vitya quickly calculated: it turned out that Katya, in addition to the heavy box, was also carrying about five kilograms of canned food. He looked back at her and if he had another piece of candy, he would have given it away right away. But he only had one and that one - by some miracle.

- Why did you drag him? - Denis asked again. - Probably very heavy!

That’s not the right word, Vitya said and shrugged his shoulders tiredly. He had no idea why and relied entirely on Katya. She apparently knew something and was generally a local, so to speak. Local in the sense of place and, more importantly, time. Maybe there is some important thing in the box that they will give to the Soviet Army and this will help ours win as soon as possible? Or, for example, without this device the Germans will not be able to load a cannon, transmit an important message - but you never know, any sabotage at the front against the enemy will damage him in one way or another. He understood this and, of course, like all Soviet schoolchildren, he read about it in books and watched it in films.

It’s necessary, Vitya muttered. Denis seemed satisfied with this answer.

After Gulliver, Katya came to life. She stood up from the box, stretched, gasped, and then suddenly said:

- Oh, damn... I forgot my bike behind your house... I'll have to go back.

She suddenly froze, listened, turned a little in one direction, then in the other. Vitya became wary, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not hear anything except the distant cannonade and the noise of the wind.

- Grab it! - Katya said sharply, addressing someone unknown. - Quickly, quickly! They must have discovered what was missing!

Lena turned around helplessly and looked at Vitya. There was fear in her eyes.

- Petka, collect canned food! - Vitya whispered. - Hurry! - and began to stuff cold cans into his pockets. Each one could fit no more than one, and the clothes immediately became incredibly heavy and uncomfortable.

- Let's take it! - Katya commanded.

Denis looked at Vitya. Together they grabbed the box from both sides, and Katya lifted it from the front.

The moon peeking out through the rapidly flying clouds continually illuminated their tense faces. The rustling forest around seemed unreal, unreal and therefore even more frightening. Suddenly a guttural scream reached them, then another, and it became clear that they were definitely in pursuit. Vitya felt a pounding in his ears, and it became incredibly difficult to breathe. The damned box turned into cast iron - but Katya stubbornly walked, or rather, even dragged herself, because the lower part of the box hit her legs.

And then, through the noise of the wind, my ears were cut by an angry, kind of broken, clanking bark of dogs.

Mommy... Lena’s voice trembled. - Mommy, I’m so afraid of dogs...

Vita had a chance to encounter shepherd dogs guarding a vegetable warehouse and he remembered that outing for the rest of his life - but that was at home, and there was nowhere to hide here.

Denis, out of breath, looked around every now and then - his teeth were chattering, but not from the cold, as one might think, but from fear and tension.

Katya slowed down slightly, sucked in the moist cool air through her nostrils, looked over her shoulder and her eyes sparkled. At that moment, she looked like some kind of witch - sparks of malice danced in her eyes, and for some reason this made Vita feel better, as if he had touched the burning fire of hatred and was recharged from it.

- Quickly, to the stream! - She abruptly changed direction and pulled the squad into the thicket - so impenetrable and thorny that it was almost impossible to walk. Elastic branches lashed my face, needles scratched my cheeks, trying to get into my eyes. There was no living space left on his hands - they were all cut and punctured, the thorns seeped through his pants, scraped and dug into the skin. The detachment, silently and desperately, stubbornly made its way forward. The barking of a dog behind them spurred them on, drove them, fear beat in their veins - alone in a huge forest, at war, and behind them were thugs who were ready to do anything.

Here’s Zarnitsa for you, thought Vitya, growing colder. The most real thing ever. And when his legs suddenly went down, his body slid on the wet grass, he grabbed the box like a life preserver, not imagining what awaited them next.

So, the five of them, without even having time to understand and realize what was happening, they drove straight into the stream.

My feet immediately plunged into icy water up to my knees, but the box suddenly became lighter and, at first, having sunk almost halfway, it floated up, slowly rolling from one side to the other.

Katya looked at them and muttered guiltily:

- There was no other way out. The dogs would definitely come out to us. And going down slowly is too long.

Vitya looked at his feet. Dark stems of some kind of grass entwined his pants and, slowly swaying, stretched along the current. The water was very cold, he understood perfectly well that they would not last long like this.

It’s good that mom doesn’t see this, he thought.

Our house is there, Katya pointed somewhere to the left. And you met me over there, she nodded towards the gently sloping bank, which looked completely unfamiliar in the darkness. You can, of course, go out right here, but they will see our traces. Therefore, for some time, maybe five hundred meters, you will have to walk on water. Stick with each other, sometimes there are potholes here.

She took the box by the carrying board and walked forward - it floated next to her, like a tame one.

Vitya felt Lena’s hand, icy and somehow twisted. The girl was shaking like a leaf. Her face was completely white.

We need to go, he said quietly.

She nodded.

- Dan, how are you?

Denis didn’t answer, he just shook his chin, saying, let’s go already.

Petya brought up the rear. Everyone heard his quiet bass voice:

Dad told me to douse yourself with cold water in the morning. And I kept thinking, where could this be useful? Well... now it’s clear where.

- Are you going to wet yourself now? - Denis asked in a trembling voice.

I think this will be enough for me for the rest of my life.

And I like cold water, Lena said quietly. It’s somehow especially clean.

Indeed, when the Moon crawled out from behind the clouds, the bottom of the stream appeared to the last pebble and blade of grass, and sometimes, literally for a moment, the silvery back of a small fish would break out from under your feet and instantly disappear in the darkness.

Katya walked ahead and constantly looked back, without saying a word. One might think that she didn’t feel the cold at all, but Vitya knew that she was exactly the same as them, only more prepared. Although he had no idea how to prepare for this. Unless you follow the advice of Petka’s father. But now it was too late.

The barking at first intensified, or so it seemed, then moved back, behind him, and gradually began to move away. The Germans had clearly lost track.

A small group walked against the current, which was not strong, but still noticeable - their legs kept clinging to snags, they had to support each other.

At some point, Vitya stopped feeling his toes. My calves turned to stone. He was afraid to look at Lena, and only the reflection of moonlight from her face and the icy palm in his hand said that she was still nearby. Twice she stumbled and fell, getting almost completely wet. Denis and Petya helped lift her - they took the canned food from her and somehow dragged it.

- Here! - Katya stopped, pointing to the bushes and the darkening passage between them. - Let's go out.

With the last of their strength, squelching on the ground, they climbed ashore and together pulled out the box, which had now become almost impossible to lift. The hut was not visible from here; From powerlessness and fatigue, tears welled up in Vitya’s eyes.

His hands stopped shaking - he simply didn’t feel them, like the rest of his body.

- Grab it, grab it! - Katya whispered furiously, and he wanted to drop everything, lie down on the wet ground and lie staring at the black sky. - Don't sleep! A bit more! Come on, you are pioneers! Guys! "She said something else, about the war, about the fascists and that soon we will win, and then they will go to the amusement park together, buy ten ice creams each and ride until they drop on the carousel. But that will happen later, although very soon, but for it to come, it will happen soon, you need to overcome yourself right now, take a box, some canned food and go again.

When they were about twenty meters away from the stream, Katya returned, picked up the crushed grass and reeds with her hands, and covered up her tracks.

Now we can go, she said.

Vitya closed his eyes and took hold of the drawer handle.

When he opened them again, they were already near the house, at the very steps.

He thought about being happy, but he couldn't.

The four of them dragged the box into the house - then he took Lena by the hand and led her to the stove - it was still warm. With their palms pressed against the rough wall, they stood, afraid to move, until life began to return to them.

Katya woke up first. Reluctantly, she moved away from the stove, took off her wet clothes, remaining in only a T-shirt and long, black, underpants that looked like soldier's underpants.

Although almost nothing was visible in the house, Vitya shyly looked away from her bare legs, however, it seemed that she did not notice anything. Or she pretended not to notice.

— Quickly, guys, undress before the stove gets cold, you need to dry your clothes. We won’t be able to light the stove with the new one - the Germans will immediately see the smoke.

Vitya looked at Lena. She stood motionless, and it seemed impossible to tear her away from the stove. Then he carefully touched the collar of the jacket, lowered one of her hands and began to take it off. Lena gave in without a sound.

Let him climb onto the stove, said Katya. It’s still warm there.

Vitya took off Lena’s jacket, pulled off her sports jacket - everything was wet and cold and stopped in indecision. He couldn't take the girl's pants off.

Let me help, Katya pushed him aside with a slight movement. - In the meantime, hang out your wet clothes.

- What if the Germans? - Petya burst out.

- Hang it quickly!

Vitya began to hang up Lena’s clothes and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Denis find some kind of blanket in the corner of the house and hand it to Katya. She wrapped Lena up from head to toe and helped her climb onto the stove.

Get warm, she commanded.

Lena didn't resist.

There, in the corner, Denis found several old men's pants, shirts, sweaters and some kind of sheepskin coat. Having taken off his clothes, he undoubtedly put on this old thing and nodded to his friends.

- Come on, put some clothes on, it will immediately become warmer.

- What if there are... spiders? - Vitya asked.

- As you want.

Vitya undressed and looked with disgust at the outstretched clothes. She smelled of dust, sweat, and strong tobacco, and she looked as if she had been sitting in a trash bin for a year—sometimes on the way to school he would notice pants or a sweater hanging from a dirty bin. But there was nothing to do. Gritting his teeth, he stuck his legs into the spacious trousers, shuddering, put on a T-shirt and on top - an old thick sweater, moth-eaten and full of holes. And only when it became warm, he suddenly thought that it would be better with beetles and spiders, moths and even mice in his pockets, but in the warmth - and he thought gratefully about the man who once carried all this.

Petya sat in his wet clothes for another five minutes, but then, as if having made up his mind, he nodded to himself and put on the tattered clothes.

What... he said when he felt the warmth. - Maybe it’s not so fashionable, but it’s in season.

Vitya smiled.

Whoever wears Adidas will be as wet as... Denis did not finish his impromptu, clearly hinting at Petit’s tracksuit.

- He will be wet as a longboat! - Katya suddenly said.

They all laughed together.

Katya took out a folding knife from her bosom and cut into the canned food. The smell of meat spread through the hut - so aromatic and tasty that Vitya almost fainted.

Shaking her head, Katya opened another jar.

- We'll save money. It is unknown how long we will have to sit here.

Denis reached into his bag and pulled out a quarter of stale bread and a fork.

He broke the bread into five parts, each of them got a very small piece.

Vitya hasn’t eaten such delicious stew for a long time. A layer of white fat was visible on top of the canned food; there wasn’t very much of it, and before he would have simply thrown this disgusting thing in the trash, but now he didn’t even think about it - with a small stale piece of bread, the stew seemed divinely tasty.

With Denis and Petya, they divided the jar equally. The meat ran out very quickly. Vitya thought with regret that it was impossible to ask for more.

Judging by Petya's face, he had similar thoughts.

I never thought that canned food could be so tasty, said Denis.

Petya nodded.

- Me too. All the time this fat used to be thrown away.

Me too, said Vitya. I didn’t really understand who was eating it.

They looked at the bottom of the empty jar and smiled at each other.

— Maybe try warming up the tea? - Vitya suggested.

Katya stood at the front door and peered into the slightly open crack.

Just don’t get too much water, she said, seeing Vitya take the vessel and head towards the exit. On his feet were large tarpaulin boots, which were found under the stove. - And don’t rattle the bucket.

Walking past the table, Vitya saw that there was more than half left in the can of stew for the girls. For Lena, he thought, and looking at Katya, he respected her even more. Despite the absolute external similarity with modern girls, there was something special about her that you couldn’t immediately make out. Some kind of fortitude, or something.

Katya took out several smoldering coals from the stove, planed chips from the boards from the German box and threw it all into the samovar.

Ten minutes later they were already drinking hot tea, or rather boiling water with a few remaining crumbs of tea and a drop of jam, and this tea seemed something unearthly.

Meanwhile, Katya woke up Lena and she, swaying, wrapped in a blanket, sat down on the bench by the table. Looking at the stew, she initially refused, but after trying a piece, she could no longer stop.

Katya constantly ran to the door and peered into the crack for a long time, and when they finished their tea, the girl dragged the box to the table and nodded:

- Well, let's see our trophies? I hope we didn’t carry it in vain...

Chapter 2

1941 year

- Finally! — Denis could not contain his emotions. He either sat down on a bench near the table on which a candle was burning in a saucer, then got up and went to the stove to stroke the still warm wall, then froze near the box, literally drinking in the inscriptions in German. At the same time, he moved his lips, as if trying to remember this or that word, shook his head and sadly jumped up again.

- Naina Vyacheslavovna said, learn the words, they will come in handy. Why, I asked her, remember? Remember⁈

Everyone, except Katya, of course, remembered. The meticulous Denis was always annoying the German teacher with his questions, and in the end she somehow blurted out (although she never allowed herself to raise her voice at the students):

- Once you get to war, Krutov, then you’ll find out why. And remember my words.

The class laughed - quietly, but quite distinctly. There was no talk of any war. At least with the Germans. And this is how it turned out.

If I only had a small dictionary now, everything would become clear, he said, watching as Katya walked around the box, thinking about how to open it.

Petya took the candle and raised it higher.

You can’t break it with your hands, he said thoughtfully. - If he fell from the mountain and even give a damn... Strong, he's an infection!

Katya pulled out a folding knife and tried to pry at the metal tape holding the boards together, but it was like sawing pine with a penknife - the tightly fitted boards didn’t even budge.

- Maybe jump on it? - Petya suggested.

Only if it’s for you, then it’ll definitely break, Denis answered immediately, hinting at his classmate’s obesity, but he didn’t even bat an eyelid.

- What do you think is there? - Denis asked again, turning to Petya, who was walking around the box with a candle.

- Maybe a weapon? - Petya suggested.

- That would be good.

As if you were going to shoot, Katya remarked, but not reproachfully, but gently, not defiantly. It’s only easy in the movies.

Petya sighed:

- That's for sure. Everything is easy in the movies.

- I think I found it! — Vitya’s voice was heard from the closet, which was located near the front door.

He came out holding a small hatchet in his hands, the kind usually used for cutting meat.

It’ll do, Katya agreed. - Let me try.

Lena sat at the table, clutching a warm mug of tea with her palms and silently watching what was happening.

Vitya hesitated for a moment - he wanted to deal with the box himself, besides, he had the right to do so as the finder of the tool, but he almost immediately handed the tool to the girl. Nobody noticed this hitch.

Katya took the ax, easily waved it to the side, as if trying it out, then slightly moved Petya away and stuck the ax between the boards. I tensed up. The tightly fitted boards didn’t even move at first. Then she leaned her weight on the handle, the box creaked threateningly, something inside it burst.

She tampered with the steel band and it fell off the box with a jingle.

Petya instinctively took another step away.

- What if there is a bomb there? - he asked with concern in his voice.

Katya shook her head.

- Even if so, it is not charged. Let's charge it and return it to the Krauts safe and sound!

Denis laughed quietly, but immediately froze, because one of the boards fell off its fastening, almost hitting him in the leg.

- Shine a light on what’s there! - Katya asked.

Petya walked closer with an unsteady step, but nothing was visible inside, as long as the dim light of the candle was enough. Some kind of black packaging, oiled paper or fabric peeked out from the torn crack.

We’ll have to break it whole, she said. - Well, good, you’ll still need firewood.

Vitya came closer, he, too, was eager to see the contents of the box, besides, whatever you say, it was he and Katya who pulled the trophy out of the truck and dragged it, bending under the weight of the load.

I wish there was a tape recorder there, he suddenly burst out against his will.

Lena looked at her classmate in surprise. Denis grinned, and Petya spread his hands:

- It's time to dance...

Only Katya did not understand what was said.

- Record player? Is that what you said? What it is?

Vitya thought that he had made a mistake, but it was too late.

- This is such a thing... to listen to songs and... anything at all.

- Oh, like a radio, or what?

- Yeah. Like a radio. Only the transmission does not take place over radio waves, but is recorded on a special magnetic tape.

Katya shook her head.

- Some kind of wonderful thing. I've never heard of this.

The guys looked at each other. Apparently, Katya still has not taken their explanations seriously. Although this is how they really talked - everyone was running somewhere, fleeing from the raid, then they went to her village, which turned out to be occupied by the Nazis, and now they are busy opening the trophy.

Vitya fell silent, fearing that one of the guys would continue the topic - then, willy-nilly, he would have to tell something. Although he was tempted to tell the strange story about the tape recorder and the fact that in the same way he could try to transmit a message to the future in order to warn his family and friends and ask for help. He was sure that the guy who communicated with him (Vitya, of course, did not believe that it was himself) would probably come up with something even in such a difficult and even completely fantastic situation. But how can you talk about this without causing laughter and friendly prodding? He was sure that the story with the tape recorder would be considered a ridiculous tale.

Most likely, tape recorders had not yet been invented, since Katya had not heard of them.

She picked out another board, followed by another - the box reluctantly opened its belly, was falling apart, but still seemed strong. Now even Lena rose slightly from the table in order to better see what was happening in the middle of the hut, as if Katya was opening not an ordinary wooden box, even a trophy one, but a real Pandora’s box. It is unknown what the Krauts hid there and what secret is kept behind these tightly fitted boards.

Finally, the last board fell off, almost slashing Petya on the leg, and a black object appeared on the wooden base. It was black because of very thick oiled paper, similar to fabric, covering the object hidden under it.

- They're packed! - Denis was surprised. - Definitely some useful thing. I bet you!

I haven’t even seen this in a movie, admitted Petya. — Although I’ve probably watched all the films about the war.

Katya looked sideways at him, wanted to say something, but changed her mind, took out her knife again and plunged the blade into the fabric.

The black canvas rustled dryly. The guys froze. Lena couldn’t stand it and left the table, bending over the box.

There was silence. The wind, constantly howling through the broken glass, suddenly fell silent. Even the distant cannonade died down.

- Well, what's there? - Denis whispered barely audibly.

Vitya felt Lena’s hand and squeezed it. She was warm. He felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest, as if their future depended on the contents of this box.

The knife pierced the thick fabric; it split into two halves, exposing the insides of the trophy.

On a shiny silver stand, in a rigid metal cage, there was another box, only made from some valuable type of wood, polished, attracting the eye like a magnet. At its end glittered an opening mechanism in the form of an elegant latch.

No way... whispered Vitya.

Wow... the candle in Petya’s hands trembled slightly.

- I told you so! - Denis whistled excitedly.

Katya sniffled.

Her hand reached for the latch, but Petya stopped her.

Let’s put it on the table, he suggested. - It’s awkward to hold a candle.

Katya thought for a second and nodded.

After suffering for another five minutes over the protective cage, they removed the contents and placed it on the table.

- Well, shall we open it? - Katya asked quietly. Now that the object was on the table, her determination suddenly seemed to evaporate.

- Certainly! - Petya put the candle on the table. His hands were finally free and he made an impatient gesture.

Perhaps it would be better not to touch this, Katya said thoughtfully.

- Yah! What are you doing? - Denis almost shouted. You risked your life to get it! And so did we... he added, when they were dragging him." And now we’ll also get a sore throat due to hypothermia, that’s one hundred percent. Open up!

- I agree. Open up," Petya repeated his words.

Katya looked at Lena.

I don’t like this box either. There's something... strange about him.

That means two votes for and two against, said Katya. - The decisive one remains. You, Vitya. What are you going to say?

All eyes turned to him, and he suddenly felt that right now, at this second, their future was being decided. Why this was so - he could not say, but there are moments in life when you are sure that the time of X has come. It is on what decision you make at this second that your entire future life will depend.

What's so special about this moment? - he thought. My palms suddenly became sweaty. Something will happen when they open the box. But what exactly? Will this necessarily lead to something bad?

He alternated between looking at the shiny latch on the lacquered box and at the faces of his friends.

Lena slowly shook her head, as if telling him, Say no. I beg you, just say no, because...

He couldn't read the answer in her eyes, the reason for her fear. She was afraid of the future and in their situation it was absolutely natural. But not every choice leads to a bad outcome. Sometimes you need to decide to step into the unknown. Look ahead with open eyes. Make a choice.

Vitya bowed his head. The slab of time seemed to hang over their small detachment - gloomy, joyless and creepy, such that he physically felt its weight. Vitya shifted from foot to foot, put his hands into the deep pockets of his pants and suddenly felt a matchbox there, which was quietly but persistently vibrating. He transferred it from his wet clothes and completely forgot about it. The hornet tried to get free. Vitya remembered that in the morning the insect was dry and dead. And now it suddenly came to life. Why?

He thought and said quietly:

- Open it.

Chapter 3

1941 year

Let’s go to the locker room, it’s not safe here, the man said abruptly and, without turning around, headed towards the low building located behind the main bowl of the stadium.

Sharov looked around. Trap? But who could have known that he was heading here? There are still a couple of seconds to escape. Thoughts were crowding in my head. The man continued to walk towards the dark door without turning around.

Sharov sighed. He made this difficult and dangerous journey, barely escaped arrest, climbed out of a window, fell under bullets - and all this was in vain? No, he must get answers. Or at least figure out what to do next.

Reluctantly, he set off after the man. He had already approached the squat building, took the keys out of his pocket, inserted one into the keyhole, turned it twice and pulled the door towards himself. The door opened with a slight creak. The hinges have not been lubricated for a long time.

Sharov's heart began to beat.

How many times has he seen the locker room door open and the focused faces of his opponents inside? Dozens? Hundreds? It seems that he even smelled sweat from the dark opening, although of course this could not be - a rather strong and cold wind blew tirelessly and the only smell that he now smelled was the smell of gunpowder.

Come in, the man said dryly. It’s strange, but in his voice Sharov heard, if not approval, then a hint of it. Honestly, I thought you would run away, his voice came from the darkness as they walked inside and the door closed, cutting off the path to retreat. They found themselves in a black, enveloping and damp void, opposite each other, so close that Sharov felt the breath of this man on his face. Light notes of tobacco mixed with a subtle cognac aroma.

A box of Cuban cigars suddenly surfaced in his memory, which Sharov hands to a man whose face is hidden by a waving red flag - there is some kind of celebration around, crowd noise, loud music, beautiful girls around and an atmosphere of general fun... it always seemed to him that this was a dream.

And now this locker room, the smell of which he would recognize in a million. He wasn't scared, rather curious. Sharov closed his eyelids and imagined...

On the right are the athletes' lockers, on the left is a long bench, above it are two small windows. On the wall there is a large calendar of competitions in the form of a table with the names of championships, cities and stadiums, under it there is a table with several bottles of mineral water and a tall curved vase in which flowers were placed, donated by fans on the way to the locker room.

A little further behind the lockers is another door and a small shower room for three people. That's all the Spartan decoration.

The floor is plank, the walls are painted white. There were two light bulbs on the ceiling, but they were almost never lit, because the competitions took place during the day and there was usually enough light from the windows.

— Did you imagine? - asked the coach.

Sharov shuddered.

How could he know what I was thinking? - a thought flashed through his mind.

Everything is as before, Sharov whispered.

— Yes.

There was a click of a switch and a dim and somewhat trembling light flashed in the locker room.

Sharov instinctively glanced at the windows. He spent less than a day in defending Moscow, but he already knew very well that not a single ray of light should escape from the premises and buildings. Enemy reconnaissance planes circled over the city like scavenger vultures. He didn't want to get caught doing something stupid like that.

Don’t be afraid, I curtained everything, the man grinned. But we won’t cause trouble and waste electricity. I hope you compared your feelings with what you saw.

Sharov looked around. The room was remarkably similar to the one he had pictured in his imagination. Except that the athletes' lockers were closed and the vase on the table was empty. Only a couple of withered petals lay next to her.

Or was it not imagination? What then? He shook his head, trying to shake off the obsession, and at that moment the lights in the locker room went out.

I told you my part... a voice was heard in the darkness. - It's your turn. Since you've already come, speak up.

Far to the west there was a long hoot, an alarm howled, and the anti-aircraft guns started working again. Trying to calm down and find the right words, Sharov clenched his fists. Then he unclenched them, but no words came. He simply didn’t know what to say, how to explain his situation to this man. He didn't know what kind of relationship they had or what connected them. The only reasonable explanation that came to mind was that the guy probably looked a lot like him, maybe even some distant relative he'd never heard of. However, as far as he knew, no one in his family had ever been interested in sports, much less reached the top. If it were otherwise, he would, of course, know about it.

But even if someone was running, you never know what he personally, Ilya Sharov has to do with it. If some distant relative of his, once in the past, screwed up, let this gloomy man down - he was not involved in this - those days are long gone, and the stadium has generally changed beyond recognition and is now called Lokomotiv.

- Well why are you quiet? - the coach asked in a heavy voice. For some reason, Sharov silently called the man a coach.

- I have children outside the city. - Sharov felt how ridiculous his words sounded, but continued without pause: - A squad of children... I trained them... and us... in general, we found ourselves without food and without help... it so happened that I need to take care of them. Return them to their parents. And I... don't know what to do. That's why I came here. Probably in vain.

Although Sharov could hardly distinguish the man's face, he saw how his gloomy expression changed. It seemed to him that the coach was surprised.

- You? You care about someone other than yourself⁈ This is something new...

Sharov shrugged.

- As it is... I didn’t know where to go and who to turn to, so I came... They are hungry there and I’m afraid that someone will find them and cause harm. As far as I understand, the front line is very close there, and it is quickly... approaching Moscow. I am responsible for them. And one more thing... if you want the truth, I don’t know who you are. I don't remember anything you said. I never... - the statement almost slipped out of his mouth that he had never bet on the results of sporting events, including those with his own participation. - ... never been here. "He looked around the locker room.

The coach stared at him with an unblinking gaze. A tense silence hung in the room,