– Ha. Ha. Ha, – the Colonel said aloud unexpectedly to himself.
– And what the evil beautiful man Seryozha is doing here? – from behind the Father's hood asked his strange daughter, or who she is to him. This time, with the voice of a fully mature, young, but mature, ripe high school girl. She looked exactly like one as well. Very small, plump, ripe round schoolgirl. In the cradle behind the monster’s back. Do not sit on the stump, do not eat the patty.
– I am in the squad, Father, – Nabis said because he was the subject of conversation. – Bad luck for you.
– Or bad luck for you, – the Sitting on the Back remarked. And accompanying gesture was made by the Father.
– We have one and the same Trouble, – Nabis countered. – And that's enough, Father. Get off me. Speak to the one with whom you came for. I'm doing my work here. Sitting and not glowing.
The Colonel suddenly realized: he, the Colonel, is sitting on a chair on the floor of “GAZ-66” body, in more than two meters above the ground. And the Father is trampling on the ground with his huge rubber boots. But his face is above the face of the Colonel… It turns out that he's two and a half meters tall! And the girl on top. A young woman.
However, the Father's face was hidden behind a helmet-mask of the insulating gas mask IP-5, new sets of which, by the way, literally filled up all the rooms of the Headquarters and pile of which collapsed right on Blinchuk not long ago when he tried to open documents' cabinet in his new office… The pipe wasn't connected to the mask, there was no respiratory bag. Flickering in the sun of the “neutral” with the PVC edges, a large hood visor blocked the masked face from above. And lower, the thick, damned leather at first glance, the blackest black coat was falling down. Fakely sparkling in different places too.
Obviously, the clothes have been hand-made. And it was less than a half of the damned leather in it. The braided wire coarsely sewed the parts of the pattern and in the most important places we could see the fasteners with self-made brackets made of thick copper wire. The cloak looked strong but homespun, not brand design. This significantly reduced the greatness of the huge figure, behind the Hollywood superman, freely walking through the world's most dangerous territory, you could see the diligent, inept Soviet man, the direct descendant of Ellie the Cannibal from that hysterical movie by Mark Zakharov271. Major Korostylyov – Blinchuk remembered him as a Lieutenant on the 16th outpost – had a sharp eye and a quick mind. He also was well-read. An intelligent officer. That is if you did not know how many people he had put in a battle. But further on, it is about the Father.
The sense of provincial dress was sustained by the kind of weapon hanging on the grand cloak like decorations hanging on the Christmas tree. Out of the dozen of guns, strapped, tied, taped and almost nailed to leather in different ways, was the only one real – a shabby KHM with a box store, hanging on the Father's chest like a “schmeisser”. All the rest were the toys. There was plastic bazooka shooting balls and the green barrel of plastic “maxim”282, and white and grey ugly with a grenade spring-loaded rocket carrier, with which Blinchuk's son once flatly refused to go into the yard to play war. Moreover, there were obviously self-made guns made of wood. Even the ignite, the size of a sawed-off shotgun from the movie about Pavka Korchagin
