Nina Vasilievna was a happy person. She has always been lucky. Born into a family of loving parents who spoiled her. Father, with the rank of lieutenant colonel of the Soviet Army, retired and chose Crimea as his place of residence in retirement.

Warm, beautiful, fresh fruit. The wanderings from unit to unit ended, they got an apartment almost in the center of Sevastopol. Nina proudly called herself a Crimean. After graduating from a trade college in Simferopol, she went to work in the main Sevastopol department store. Good place, you could get something that was not on the counter.

Sometimes passenger ships came to Sevastopol and then a crowd of tourists tumbled into the department store. If foreigners, well, bought a lot of souvenirs, nesting dolls, all sorts of nonsense, the store made a plan. If the flight was domestic, then Ukrainians from the mainland came to the store, looking for something they didn’t have, but throughout the Soviet Union, all stores were supplied the same, except that Moscow got a shortage, and look for something special on the counter of the Crimean department store.

Life is like life, but still something was missing for Nina, some kind of event, zest or something. She was depressed by the monotony, all the same faces of employees, annoying customers.

Marriage shook her out of boredom, she married a lieutenant named Ryzhenkov, a slightly funny surname, especially since the lieutenant was actually red. It didn’t work out with children for a long time, only at the age of 32 Nina was able to give birth to her sun, Dimka, and her son was also born red. Family surname, laughed father-in-law and mother-in-law.

The collapse of the Soviet Union, Nina's parents experienced painfully. It was believed that they were torn away from their homeland, both were born and raised in Perm. Although they categorically did not want to return there after being transferred to the reserve. Among themselves, they called Ukraine Hochland, complained that they were “forced deported” there. Although they continued to receive the same military pension, they still collected peaches and plums at their dacha. Nina listened, sympathized, worried.

The capture of Crimea in 2014 was an unexpected, precious gift for the family. Nina and her mother ran to rallies, bought Russian flags, waved them, hung one on their balcony. Mother joined the “Russian Society” circle in the House of Culture, where they studied the history of Russia, its triumphal march around the world, the conquest of Siberia, the era of “gathering Russian lands”. Nina came there, she loved to tell the members of the circle one episode from her life, in which she showed herself to be a heroine. Then, in 1995, a long ship of the " Some fifa from the festival, dressed up, decorated, came to the department store, where she asked to sell her a children's toy, a wooden horse on wheels, displayed in the window. It was five o'clock Kyiv time. Nina slammed the door in front of her nose, saying: - Here we do not have Hohland, we live according to Moscow time, we have now six o'clock. The shop is closed!

The cinematic fifa asked, explained that today the ship was leaving, and tomorrow she would not be able to come, and her grandson dreams of such a horse. Nina was relentless. The blood of the ancestors boiled in her. The wooden horse remained in the window as a symbol of her victory.. She managed to put the khokhlushka out, took over her.

Then the mother joined the “Putin Detachments”, called Nina with her, but she came once, saw crazy old women, slobbery, with iron teeth, dreaming of kissing their idol at least once, or at least just standing next to him, holding his hand. These sloppily dressed old women were disgusting to her, and she left.

But she continued to go to rallies and other meetings of the Russian Society. There was a TV set there, members of the circle listened to all Putin's speeches, then discussed them. Nina got the meaning of life. She spoke to members of the circle with reports on Putin's policy, on the unique mission of great Russia in the whole world, without which the existence of the world becomes generally meaningless, she felt happy, necessary, self-respecting.

Her sun, Dimka, was called up for urgent military service in the Russian army in the fall of 2021. Nina Vasilievna arranged a good farewell, a rich table. Walked as needed.

Special Military Operation started on February 24, 2022.

So this is how the Motherland needs it, this is how Putin needs it, he knows better, he is the father of the nation, our guardian.

Members of the "

In June, Dimka called his father and said that he was offered to sign a contract for two years, and when he served, they would give recommendations to the military institute he chose. Will serve in the border troops, the salary is big. Will he be able to send money to his father and mother.

The parents consulted and decided that the proposal was wonderful, the most tempting seemed to be the item about the recommendation to the military institute. She will follow in the footsteps of her father and grandfather, we will have a hereditary military personnel, the future defender of Russia, Nina Vasilyevna could not get enough. They advised their son to agree.

Major Gordeev called Nina Vasilievna on July 21 at 8 p.m..

- Hello, I need Ryzhenkova Nina Vasilievna.

- I'm hearing you.

- Concerned about Major Gordeev, the operational headquarters of the Northern Military District. Unfortunately, I don't have good news..

- What's happened?

- You are strong, Nina Vasilievna. Unfortunately, I have to inform you that this morning, during the fierce battles with the Ukrainian Nazis, your son received injuries incompatible with life.. perished.

- This is mistake. My son is in the border troops with Belarus. who do you mean?

- No. Your son Dmitry Ryzhenkov was in the war zone in the Kharkiv region due to tactical necessity. He was needed there more than at the border.

- This is a mistake, I tell you, a mistake.! Pavliyik! Come here, some major here says that Dima is now in the battle zone somewhere in Ukraine!

- Good afternoon, Pavel Ivanovich! Sorry to give bad news: your son Ryzhenkov Dmitry Pavlovich died like a hero this morning. Unfortunately, we cannot deliver the body to you, it remained in the territory controlled by the enemy. No, I don't know when we can find the body, it depends on the situation at the front.. You must understand... don't hang up!

- Nina Vasilievna, calm down, do not shout, pull yourself together. Your son died as a hero, for the Motherland. Do not shout, Nina Vasilievna, I beg you, I still have to inform you about your further actions.. You prevent me from informing you... You need to apply to the military registration and enlistment office... Major Gordeev put the phone on the table, waiting for the screams to stop there, and he would be able to normally give all the information required in such cases.

From the phone came: - no, this is a mistake, no! my boy, my poor boy! Aaaaaaa!

Pavlik, what to do, tell me what to do, I can’t do this! I can't!

What should I do….

Diimaaa! What will I do without you, Dimaaa!

What to do... mom, where are you, come here, I feel bad, mom! Help me mom, there is no our Dima, mom, help me!

iiiiii! How can I live, how can I live, iiiiii... Gordeev was nervous. He had to call many more, and this one squeals, does not let him say. Why squeal, I didn’t get hit by a tram, but died as a hero, for the Motherland. Okay, no time, tomorrow he will call, talk to his father.

Gordeev fought back and began to dial the next number.

And in a three-room Khrushchev, almost in the very center of Sevastopol, a thin, piercing female squeal was breaking into pieces, flying from window to window, breaking into shreds - iiiiii!

At the military registration and enlistment office, Pavel Ivanovich was advised not to wait for the body, he would not be there, to bury in the coffin something left from Dima, his favorite clothes, for example, a player, well, something that he loved, to make a sign when the money was allocated for this,. In the meantime, bury the coffin with something symbolic.

Nina Vasilievna went to her department store, to the souvenir department and bought there a wooden box, painted in the folk Russian crafts of Palekh, colorful, bright. Palekh box, itself like a jewel, on the lid is Vasnetsov's painting " She put Dimka's birth certificate in it, the first cut red strand, the first milk tooth that fell out. But I didn’t want to bury one box, it’s too poor. She put the casket in a real big coffin, dear, lacquered.

What Russian mother will spare money for a luxurious coffin for her son-soldier?

They put a cross on an earthen mound, temporary, until the earth settles a monument cannot be erected. They attached a sign with a photo of Dimka and the inscription:.

Private of the Russian Army Ryzhenkov Dmitry Pavlovich.

February 15, 2002 - July 21, 2022.

Nina Vasilievna went to the cemetery every day, wore flowers, wiped Dimin's photo with a towel and whispered some words into it. Sometimes they came together with their father, sat on a bench, pressed against each other, were silent... Private Russian Army Dmitry Ryzhenkov came to his senses. The first thing he noticed was silence, incomprehensible, soothing silence.. Then the rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the gusty exhalations of the wind. So the fight is over long ago, he thought, if the birds have already arrived. He was lying between two roots of a sprawling tree protruding from the ground, and at first he was glad that he had fallen so successfully, not with his head on a snag, but in the middle.. But then I thought, I'm lying, I'm wounded, and only then I felt a burning pain in my right leg.. He sat down, holding the snags with his hands, and looked at his leg.. The trouser leg was dark with blood, something sharp was sticking out under it, the leg was somehow unnaturally twisted, and he was sick of fear. However, there was no bleeding, apparently, the wound had dried up, otherwise he would have died from blood loss, Dimka thought.. He took out the first aid kit, pulled out a painkiller tablet, there was one sip in the water bottle, but it was enough to push the pill down his throat.

Splinters of shells were lying around, branches of bushes and trees cut by shells, dead bodies and pieces of bodies... Someone's severed head, which he tried not to look at. Nobody was alive. So the platoon left, leaving him here. Decided to be dead? But after all, it was possible to check, look into the pupils, feel the pulse... He is alone, abandoned, wounded, what to do?

We must go, crawl, after our own, this is the only hope for life. They retreated, which means they went east to the border, they covered from long-range, their infantry is still far away. looked around. A young bush grew nearby, bifurcating one and a half meters from the ground, it would be possible to make something like a crutch, a fork. Dimka began to slowly roll towards the bush, it was easier than crawling.. Without holding back a groan from the pain in his leg, no one hears anyway, he slowly, carefully, trying not to hurt his leg, rolled over to the bush, took out a knife, cut down the trunk, cleared it of small branches, and a fork turned out, which you could lean on with your right armpit. And another straight stick in the left hand.

With difficulty, grasping the branches with his hands, he stood up.. Happened. Decided which way to go. He threw all the ammunition on the spot, to hell with him, if they catch up with the ukry, they take him prisoner, they won’t shoot at an unarmed. If he catches up with his own, then he is no longer a fighter anyway. They put you on a stretcher, inject morphine or fentanyl, put a splint on your leg, send you to the hospital. All. For him the war is over.

Slowly took another step. The fork crushed his armpit, but without it he wouldn't be able to walk at all.. Behind the forest plantation, from where they fired back, there was a grader road, along which his platoon was supposed to leave.. On one side of the road is a field, on the other a forest plantation.

The field was sown with wheat in the spring, but then the fighting came, and it stood uncut. Heavy ears of corn, pregnant with grain, shone with yellow oil, bowed to the ground, they had no one to give their seed to.. Already crumbling grain lay on the ground, it was pulled away by fat, fat-bellied gophers.

Step by step, Dimka moved forward, and each piece of the road passed inspired him and gave him hope for a successful outcome.. In order to distract myself from heavy thoughts, I decided to think about something good.. About girls, for example. He had never had a permanent girlfriend before, so, one-time meetings, and even sometimes short hookups at the parties, from which nothing good remained either in the soul or in the memory. No, the real girl is in front of him. It must be reliable, that's the main word, the main concept - reliable. You need to marry a reliable. Let it be ugly, it's not the main thing. From her to have children and grandchildren. What will his grandchildren look like Their family kept a card, Dimka's great-grandfather, in a white shirt, about five years old, standing on a stool. Photo black and white yellowed. Funny fellow. And then he, at over 50 years old, grew fat, with a broad red beard and a beer belly. Bald. That's how fat bald guys turn out of such small ones? And his grandchildren, too, someday will stand on a high chair, reading poems, and then turn into fat old uncles.. He won't see it anymore, and that's good. Unpleasant to see your grandchildren old and wrinkled. Kind of scary even..

I want to drink and eat. He did not find his dry ration next to him. Ate the day before? Or just a wave thrown out when he fell? Should have looked around.

That's an idiot, an idiot! Any dry ration would do. Though your own, even someone else's. Yes, I had to look there, so I would have found a bunch of dry rations, how many 200s lay! They don't need soldering. I had to ask them for forgiveness, cross myself and take. Idiot! I was in a hurry so that the Ukrainians would not catch up. But it still trudges like a hobbled horse. He drags his twisted leg, trying to lift it with each step so as not to touch the ground.

It is unlikely that the leg will be saved. While dragged to his own, to the hospital, inflammation will go to the fullest, maybe necrosis. amputated. It is possible to amputate. No way to the front. The award may. Without a leg it will be harder to find a girl. Although, if it’s decent... that’s why you need to take an ugly one, without pretensions.

No water, no food. What kind of sun do these ukrovs have, it fries as if a burning resin torch was brought close to his eyes. Streams of sweat flow down his back, and this is a loss of moisture, so necessary for his body now.

Dimka saw a rotten stump in the planting, quite wide, behind him a bush. You can sit on a stump, in the shade, leaning back against a bush. Take a break. He did just that, then sat for a long time, unable to get up, although he understood that every minute was precious.. How long did he lie unconscious, several hours or maybe a day? Then today is tomorrow. There was a watch on his hand, the glass was cracked, he threw it away immediately so as not to carry a single gram of extra. The commanders took away their phones a long time ago so that the Ukrainians could not track them by calls. If you lay for a long time, then the guys must have gone far. He must get up and go, his life depends on his resilience and strength. And more from luck. But there is luck, otherwise he would have died immediately in that battle. So lucky. Now perseverance and perseverance, ignore pain and hunger, get up and go.

And yet Dimka sat on that stump for at least an hour.. In the end, it seemed to him that there was no war. The forest plantation lived its summer life, beetles crawled through the bushes, birds flew from branch to branch, something rustled in the thick grass. It was quiet, which meant that the front moved further east. And it becomes more and more difficult to catch up with him..

Dima got up, with difficulty, overcoming himself, and trudged on. He wanted to eat and drink, this desire obscured everything else, he no longer thought about anything but water, and therefore time flowed imperceptibly, monotonously for him.. One step, one more step, raise a leg, roll forward... So he walked for several hours, in a muddy detachment from himself, switching only to the physical reactions of his body. The road was flat, graded, the ground is very black, like everywhere in Ukraine. He carefully looked at his feet so as not to fall.. If you fall, it will be difficult to get up..

A few more hours passed in continuous waddling from one foot to the fork and further forward.. He went out in the morning, when he woke up, it was as if it was morning, and now what time? Drink like you want to drink!

A cow was lying on its side by the road, all four legs moving forward.. Her side, facing up, was stitched with machine gun fire.. It can be seen that someone was playing, passing by. The cow was breathing heavily, her skin rose and fell, and when she fell down, small fountains of blood jumped out of round bullet holes.. The right hind leg was shaking and hitting the ground with its hoof.. Sometimes her breathing was interrupted by a prolonged wheezing.. From the bulging brown eye that looked at Dimka, large muddy tears rolled down, flowed down the red hairs of the muzzle to the ground, moistening the gray dust, absorbed, sucked in by the earth.. Because she drew in the air with an effort, her nostrils were also clogged with earth..

Dimka carefully walked around her so as not to touch him with his right leg, which was beating in a cramp.. trudged on. Lips and throat dry. He stubbornly walked forward.

Through a rare landing I saw a one-story building and the silhouettes of some mechanisms. Maybe ours made a halt there? Waddled towards the house. I went out through the forest belt and saw a rusty, half-disassembled tractor and some other agricultural machine without wheels.. Abandoned MTS, he realized. To the side of the house, where parts for cars were probably stored, under the shade of an alder tree, Dimka saw, and at first he smelled the smell of water with his gut, a well. A well with a wooden frame, from which a tin mug for drinking hung on a small chain. On a large chain attached to the collar, a bucket. An old man stood near the well - Ukrainian, silently looked at Dimka. Ukr was tall and very thin, with a wrinkled face, a mouth sunken from toothlessness, and black eyes.. He did not move, he only looked, intently and unkindly..

Dimka froze, leaning on one side, at the fork. From the proximity of water, his mouth cramped, lit on fire in his chest.. Drink, rushed in my head, drink.

The old man did not move. Dimka waited and could not stand it, hobbled to the well. Water beckoned him, fogged his brain. Went up to the very edge. The old man moved away, still silently. Dimka grabbed the mug with his left hand, scooped it up from the bucket and clung to the edge of the mug, poured water into himself, swallowing like a man possessed... life poured into him with cold well water... He drank the whole mug to the bottom. Scooped up some more, washed down a painkiller pill and an antibiotic pill. He pulled out a flask, looked inquiringly at the Ukrainian. The old man didn't move.. Dimka filled the whole flask to the top, screwed on the lid. I drank from the mug again, but it didn’t include so much anymore....

Pinned the flask to my side like a jewel. Turned his back on the old man and hobbled away. The old man still stood, not moving, silently.

He moved along the landing to the east, where, according to his calculations, Russian troops should have been. The East was determined by the sun, which had already begun to fade, falling down. The thirst left him, but it was replaced by a hunger that didn't feel the same when he was thirsty.. Now hunger was digging into his intestines, as if some indefatigable creature was gnawing from the inside..

From afar came the rumble of guns and Dimka realized that he was moving in the right direction, towards the front.. His leg ached again, he could no longer raise it as high as before, his leg touched the ground, and this caused pain..

Hunger, pain in the leg, fatigue, despair because the goal is moving further and further away, everything merged into a single lump, a cocoon of suffering that wrapped around his body in a tight veil.

Dimka walked, crouching on his right side, praying only that his fork would not break, his savior, dragging his bad leg, walked mechanically, knowing that you couldn’t fall, you couldn’t give up your goal, it was death..

The forest plantation turned to the left, forming the side of a square, limiting the field of shedding, uncompressed wheat, and Dimka found himself in front of an open space that frightened him with its insecurity, but the front was on that side, and he had no choice but to go east again, towards.

He went straight and found himself in the middle of another field, sown not with wheat, but with some kind of climbing greenery, which Dimka did not know, and not far away he saw the gray silhouette of a barn built from planks that had faded under the fierce Ukrainian sun, its door was closed with a padlock.

There may be food there, it's probably a field lodge, and supplies for the watchman, will he have the strength to break the lock?

Dimka dragged himself to the barn and breathed a sigh of relief, the lock was hung, but not closed. He opened the door and stepped inside. The barn was filled to the brim with freshly cut hay.. Shelves with hay on the left and right, in the middle the hay lay in a mountain just on the floor. There was no sign of food.

Dima groaned in frustration.. Hunger, weakness, and the intoxicating smell of hay made him dizzy..

I need to lie down, he thought.. Lie in the shade, on the soft, gain strength. Otherwise I just won't get there.. And if their own pass by, and do not notice him? Gotta give some kind of sign. On the outside of the shed, a nail was driven in on the wall, Dimka hung his jacket on it with a chevron of the Russian army on the sleeve, so that the chevron could be seen. According to his calculations, the enemy could not yet be in this area, but the artillery reinforcements that they were waiting for could well pass through this area. They will notice his chevron. They will save him.

Soft fragrant hay embraced him, gently laid him in the cradle, lulled him, soothed the pain in his leg.. Dimka fell asleep, breathing deeply, drawing in the aromas of herbs.

He walked up the slope of some mountain. I must be sleeping, and I'm dreaming, because both legs are healthy, he thought.. It's hard to go up, maybe I need to go down? Where are our? Below him is gray dry earth, not the same as the black one on which he walked here before this dream.. Far to the horizon, everywhere, gray, withered, wrinkled earth, like the breast of an old maid who has not known milk.. Covered with undersized stunted bushes, there were a lot of them, the entire slope of the mountain was dotted with them. And this is fertile Ukraine, what kind of bushes? Tumbleweed? Dimka bent down and touched the bush with his hand. The hand stumbled upon something hard, rough. A low cross, somehow molded from cement, the crossbar was flat with rounded edges, the cross looked like a clover flower, a shamrock. Clover - a flower of good luck, a symbol of profit and future happiness, gentle, alluring. And this, it turns out, is just a cross, not a clover.! He made a mistake. All the plants turned out to be crosses, crudely molded from cement, low crosses, only in appearance resembling clover - a flower of luck..

Cross instead of clover!

They dotted the entire mountain to the horizon and beyond, where the eye could not reach. Endless panorama of crosses. I'm in a cemetery, he realized, it's strange why the cemetery is on a mountain, and not on a flat plain.. Probably because there was no room left on the flat, and he had to dig graves on the mountain, he guessed..

Woke up, wanted to get up, couldn't. The leg swelled even more, burned. I wanted to cut the leg, but I thought that the fabric holds his leg like a splint, if cut, the leg will wiggle from side to side, it will be even worse. I really wanted to eat. Drank a sip from the flask saving. Water for a few seconds distracted from hunger, but then again the burning pain dug into the intestines, clouded the brain. I tried to chew some spikelets, they didn’t chew, there was no sensation of food. Dimka closed his eyes in order to lie down a little more, gather his strength and get up, go... He felt something alive on the left. Turned his head, looked. A mouse was sitting on the hay a meter away from him.. Little beady black eyes watched Dimka closely..

I could eat it, flashed through my head. This is food. Could. But how do you get her? Throw to the left? With my leg, I can't even turn around. A small lump of meat and blood is food. Inaccessible... The mouse didn't leave. Intently, without moving, she looked at Dima. Like that Ukrainian at the well, he looked exactly like that, he suddenly thought.

" Pirogov got out of the booth.

- Everyone, guys, arrived, the solarium died.

The gun crew jumped to the ground.

- It sucks, - said Belyakov, - what are we going to do?

- And there is nothing to do, only to get on my own two feet, according to my navigator, our positions are only three kilometers away.

The guys looked at each other.

- After all, I said that the fuel is not topped up, that the tank is incomplete, but I hear the sound. Now the car will have to be left, and there is a rod behind. There will be a gift from them, - Pirogov said angrily.

Poyarkin peered intently at the shed, visible in the distance among the lush greenery of the field..

- Guys, look, crests have prepared conservation for us, there is definitely something there. They are, bitch, thrifty.

- Or maybe the girl is resting there, there is some kind of rag hanging on the wall. Let's go there, we'll use the girl.

- Resign! - the senior gun crew Gribov barked, - there is no time for pampering. Ukry on the shoulders, idiots, fuck, but they need a girl! KAMAZ will have to be left, and even a howitzer to boot, Lend-Lease, damn.

- Shells must be shot, we won’t drag them in our hands. Yes, there was only one left, - Belyakov answered.

The crew surrounded their howitzer.

- Where will we shoot

- Shoot at that barn, damn it, we'll ruin the conservation.

A high-explosive fragmentation projectile of 122 mm caliber, flashing with a cold metal side, flew out with a long, powerful whistle at the target.

Broken boards, a dense cloud of gray-green grass, an army boot, a jacket with a chevron of the Russian army soared high.. For a while, she hovered, sprawled in the hot air, then smoothly, in circles, sank down into the formed deep funnel, into the dust, and covered everything with herself, a melted flask, bloody hay, a burnt tablet with a map of Ukraine.

The echo of the explosion subsided, the grasses with which the field was sown straightened, the dust subsided. A mouse ran to the bottom of the funnel. Stunned by the amount of fresh, still warm food, she bit her small teeth into the curl of the intestine, ate it excitedly.

Three kilometers away there was a battle, shells exploded, mines twisted the ground. The earth trembled, writhed, howled in pain. Waves of convulsions dispersed in circles on the ground, reaching the funnel.

The mouse heard a quiet rustle. looked back. The upper edge of the funnel crumbled, slid down. She left the prey, easily moving her paws, climbed to the edge. She ran away and sat down.

Black, fertile, Ukrainian soil fell to the bottom, covering a jacket with a chevron, pieces of a human body, metal parts of uniforms. She poured layer after layer on top, and again layer after layer, until, apart from the earth, nothing was visible below.

An hour later, only a darkening, ragged depression in the middle of the field reminded us that a barn with freshly cut hay had stood in this place..

Nina Vasilievna went to the cemetery every day, wiped the cross with a towel, Dimkin's photo, the plate on which the dates were drawn - February 15, 2002 - July 21, 2022.

She did not know that the last date was wrong, not July 21, but July 23. But those two days didn't matter.

Just no.

March 8, 2023.