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Vladimir Anderson Struggle. Retribution in the Twilight

Tarantula

The Hiwi didn't strike him as anything special. Good warriors who had found their place in the land and now clung to it. It was foolish to blame them for fighting on the same side as the Plagues, or for attacking the Maquis so mercilessly. Their place is their place. And it's pointless to deny it. Someone had to take it. And the fact that they have done it well is something to be learned from them rather than to be blamed for it.

That's why the prefect sent him here — to learn more about how to take his place. A place under the sun, not underground. It was safe to say that the miners had taken their place underground… And, strange as it may seem, Tikhomirov felt that there was more than enough room under the sun.

And it was not only the preserved buildings in which to occupy a place, but also, obviously, the production facilities that could be used to supply these places. Now, when Tikhomirov calmly walked the corridors of the Cobra base and saw on the one hand the abundance of weapons and various equipment, and on the other hand — the occasional idleness of those people who surrounded him, it seemed to him that in general, the life of people in the presence of plagues, probably not too much different from what was more than a century ago. It was the miners who got it, and those who work in the production of the plague empire. But for the rest of us, it's very different. It seems that it's not just the Kiwis, but the Maquis as well, who live differently…

The Maquis were always complaining. Whenever you asked them anything, they would start talking about how the plagues were always pressing them, how they always had to hide somewhere, constantly retreating and generally barely making ends meet. But in fact, no one touches them beyond Bakhmut. And even more than that, the plagues and hivis themselves are afraid of their possible attack and are looking out for them, so as not to miss an unexpected blow.

The miners didn't know anything about chiwi. And it turned out that the whole idea of people in the plague empire was a handful of survivors in the enterprises, who only do what they can to meet the production norm.

And it turned out that the world was much more multifaceted than that. And certainly not black and white, as one might have thought at the beginning.

Still. How many weapons the Kiwis have. Machine guns, which you don't often see around the tents, and grenade launchers, and even armored vehicles. And it all looks very fresh… Actually, the document they'd once gotten from Shinhra, where a certain "Coyote" reported that the Imperial Army was fighting so poorly, didn't seem to be some kind of fiction. And if it was embellished, it wasn't too much.

I'm also wondering how this whole thing is organized. A couple hours ago, Cobra went to see Raven, who is the leader of the group. But even that level of "in charge" doesn't mean that everyone obeys him. It's more like he's coordinating them. And that's evident from the way Cobra marveled at the subordination of everyone and everything to the prefect personally, and especially people who can subvert on command with themselves. They have two grenades per person, and that doesn't always work. But with us, everything works, and with one, and the first time.

All that said, the system the Prefect is implementing is going to be far more resilient to change than the one the Kiwis have now. The only flaw is that if you take away a top commander, you replace him with another. You might lose skills, but you don't lose the system. But at the Mountain, except for him no one like him can not be put, no matter how much you want to … And then Tikhomirov had an interesting idea. An idea how to make the unreal real only in the minds of other people. And even though even now it was of little use, but in the long run, if something happened to the Mountain, it would be possible to save the whole system….

Now Gora himself hardly gives orders anymore. It's either Tikhomirov or Rich, depending on what the order is about. The prefect spends most of his time in his office planning. He doesn't even have time to check anything anymore. His world becomes so abstract that all his subordinates

begin to treat him more like a symbol than a concrete leader. And although there are occasional moments when he gets personally involved and shows his determination and steely character, these moments are becoming fewer and fewer. And it's getting to the point where one day there won't be any at all. No one will see the prefect, but will only follow his orders. That's why you can imagine the possibility that if something happens to the Mountain, his business won't die. He will forever remain in his office to give orders that must be carried out…

And then it is his, Tikhomirov's, units that will be of particular importance. Security, Assault, and GBI. And they were clearly missing one more. Enemies are not always overt, fighting openly and with weapons in their hands. And the case of the change of power in Squad-14 is clear proof of that. Khmelnitsky missed the whole conspiracy that deposed him, and it's strange that he survived at all. No one would expect such favors at the mine. The people there are too used to blood, cruelty, and even ruthlessness. Too long have they watched the methods practiced by the plagues. It's too deep in their souls. And so to miss the plot, not only for the Mountain, but also for Tikhomirov, would mean the fatal end of all achievements.

We need our own counterintelligence. Our own SMERSH, which will identify in advance those who can stab in the back, which will do everything to keep the system running like clockwork, which will take in their hands all the threads of control over life in the mines. Especially since the speed at which this autonomy is expanding is clearly beyond anything imaginable before. Everyone used to dream of some stability, now they dream of big changes that can bring new territories and enterprises.

There was the sound of some kind of movement from the entrance: clicking, banging against the floor, stomping. Cobra and his guards had returned from a short trip. He'd been gone an hour and a half, and from the looks of it, nothing good had come of it.

When he saw Tikhomirov, Kobra nodded toward his office, and he went there himself.

There was no one inside, not even the girl who usually typed something on a typewriter.

Cobra poured tea for himself and a second mug for Tikhomirov before sitting down in his general's chair:

— Looks like you were right about resource sharing….

Tikhomirov had already taken a sip of tea and felt it warming his brain. It was strong enough, though not bitter, as it was with the tea the miners brewed for themselves, calling it chifir. And it was cooked quite differently — boiled in a pot, not infused in a kettle like this one.

— Of course… What else is there to share? But I still think this division looks a little different than just "give me this and I'll give you that". — replied Tikhomirov, sipping his tea and thinking that it would be better if it were miner's chifir, to which he seemed to be accustomed.

— You mean it's easier to change the hand holding the cards rather than flip those cards between each other?

— Yeah, sort of… You have an enviable place, so to speak. And you've set it up pretty well… I'm pretty sure you've got a lot of other things besides this base. And if that's the case, then there's a lot of people to displease with your existence… And now I would think about what once happened to Khmelnitsky in his Unit-14….

— I understand that you have already taken care of such questions at the mine. — Cobra smiled, clearly pleased to have such an interlocutor with him, intelligent and not competing with him in anything. — We'll have a look at something new… Let's go.

They left the office, went to the far end of the corridor, then down the stairs to the first floor and down to the basement. It turned out to be a large parking lot, now also divided into separate rooms. Still without numbers on the doors, which were aluminum barriers. Behind the one they entered were two men looking at the severed human heads lying on the floor. There was plenty of blood, but apparently the heads themselves had not been severed here, or else it would have been stained not only inside the room, but would have leaked out.

One of the head examiners approached Cobra:

— Only two have been identified…

— As expected…" replied Cobra. — Leave us…

When Cobra's two handmaidens came out he pointed at the lying heads with his hand and continued:

— See those heads. Thirty-two