04/24/1992
The helicopter was already racing over the city blocks - two antenna masts were visible on the starboard side - a perfect landmark. Johnson sat opposite Blankenberg and said nothing. From time to time he exhaled heavily, which made his mouth look as if it was unable to hold back the air escaping from the carcass.
The machine began to tilt - this is how they usually entered the site, arranged as if in imitation of what was everywhere in the USA, and not only. Here, however, the helicopters were much heavier than those police "Robinsons" and "Bell-206s". There was no need to talk about brutality. The building was also not suitable - a civil engineer who inspected the roof structure said that the helicopter would inevitably crash, breaking through the floors below. The helicopter pilots, to their credit, easily solved the problem, hovering half a meter away or barely touching the pavement with their wheels. Then, in the middle of the second week, a channel frame with sheet covering and beams spread out to the side like spider legs was welded, and thus a full-fledged platform, "Pad", appeared.
Full-fledged only in terms of load-bearing capacity. Of course, appearance is far from the most important thing, but there were other little things, for example, you can easily get bruises on a carelessly welded steep ladder. Even at night, in the light of a useless blinding searchlight, you could even fall from the unfenced edge of the platform and crash from one and a half meters onto roofing felt - also not very pleasant, especially if not on your feet. This is if you fall with a lost sense of balance, fall in the darkness, cut by the searchlight and shaken by the roar of the blades. This is what an American helipad looked like in a local version.
The helicopter slowed down and began to lift its nose. They landed quite energetically, although the Russians had a habit of taking off and landing with a run along the runway.
The machine stopped on the platform. Blankenberg jumped onto the echoing flooring and headed for the ladder. The same one, always ready to give bruises and provide an opportunity to stumble at the very beginning - for this purpose it had a rib of a metal angle, protruding by a centimeter. A couple of times Blankenberg almost managed to fall, but the railings welded from metal strips saved him. It was later, a few days later, that motor memory came into play and the protruding rib was no longer a surprise. In all this, something familiar, Soviet, left more than two decades ago, was recognizable.
Blankenberg headed for the concrete box rising in the middle of the roof. Johnson by that time was still descending from the platform, holding on to the railing with both outstretched arms. Blankenberg pushed open the metal-clad door and entered the stairwell, which invariably smelled of concrete dampness and oil paint that never faded. The helicopter's turbines began to howl with an ever-increasing tone - there was no reason for the crew to hang around here any longer.
Finally, Johnson burst in, flushed, breathing just as heavily as he had since takeoff.
" Damn bastards," he said, nodding somewhere towards the door.
" An armored group?" Blankenberg asked, already knowing the answer.
" Who else! " Johnson answered, puffing out his cheeks and mouth as he exhaled, for the umpteenth time, " Although I wouldn't be surprised if I found out that these pilots are already communicating with them, and for all of us together, we are becoming a laughing stock every day. And that's how it all started! This is a real swamp, in which, figuratively speaking, our squad is getting stuck. Don't you think? A human swamp of dense archaic elements. Not African savages, but not representatives of an alien calculating community like some Asians. These people have been harming themselves and harming others throughout history. A swamp. To hell with it! - Johnson turned around and energetically walked down.
- We've been bargaining with them for a whole week, and for a whole week these bastards have not been able to enter the city - he continued nevertheless, - I know it's naive to ask, but maybe you have some ideas on how to drag them into the streets? At least use TV channels to get the population to drag them in... of course, it won't help.
- The military is not ready to go for such a scenario, - said Blankenberg, glancing out the window at the courtyard. More than once he was haunted by the image that appeared in his mind out of nowhere, how he was rushing down these stairs, wanting to leave the building as quickly as possible. There, tracers are already flying over the square, helicopter blades are rumbling, unguided missiles are trying to pierce the building. And he, Blankenberg, is rushing, jumping over the steps, as if once in the courtyard, under the cover of the still-standing concrete giant, he will be able to get away, making his way past the burning garages and brick chips falling from God knows where. He dreamed about it, and for once the dream had a completely logical basis. Johnson would definitely applaud such a scenario. Having gotten away in advance, of course.
"It's too bad that you're not ready," Johnson dispelled the visualized thought that had crept into Blankenberg's consciousness.
- Still, it's the nineties now, not the twenties, - Blankenberg answered after half a flight of stairs, - You're probably familiar with the history of Soviet Russia in the twenties. Back then, there was much more freedom to implement a wide range of the most daring scenarios. And a wide range of sides, armed sides. These ones, without hesitation, told us that they obey the command of the SSN, and don't pay attention to the fact that they painted their sides with white stars.
- At least it's good that they didn't obey the command of the federal forces, to which they obeyed until the start of events. Otherwise, we would have only one card left in our hands - this strike. I hardly believe that it will have any effect even if the export of protest is successful. By the way, where is it? - Bitter mockery was heard in Johnson's voice.
- According to the plan, it should begin after their red date - after the first of May, you know, so less pessimism. As for the military, you yourself quite accurately noted the question of who they report to, and I would not underestimate this difference between the Federal Command and the Strategic Forces. The potential of this difference is nuclear. I mean this figuratively.
- And literally, too – he added mentally, but kept silent.
Indeed, what was the cost of one incident with this manned super-rocket of theirs, it would be more correct to say carrier station.
Finally, they went out into the corridor, recently cluttered with various junk, intended so that it would be possible to be here, in the building, constantly, without going out to a hotel for the night. Some of the lower ranks had already done this. Something similar was shown on TV, when they were already retrospectively covering the events of August last year in Moscow. Now the new White House was here. And, strictly speaking, it had even more grounds to be named after the original one, located in Washington, than the Moscow one. After all, the local mess started with a crazy rumor about joining the USA.
In the room, nicknamed the conference room, the TV was on as usual, broadcasting real Western channels most of the time, which were received by a dish deployed on the roof. Now the local channel was on, this Federal-One, and Landskricht was watching from the screen - it was time for her evening program.
- By the way, where is Mr. Gandlow, - Blankenberg threw out as if by accident, - I haven't seen him since this morning, or rather even since yesterday evening. Has he really found a decent place here where he can relax, - he added with an intonation of approving humor.
- I would like to know myself - answered Johnson, who, judging by his appearance, was clearly in no mood for jokes, - Yesterday I expressed the idea that it would be a good idea to relocate our command center to the airport. So I wonder if Mr. Gandlow did it on an individual basis. I'm serious, the communications allow it, but on the other hand, for some reason there has been no news from him since the morning.
- Could he have done something against the northern group without informing us? With the expectation of achieving this small victory alone? Imagine, in the evening the columns are already entering the city.
- If that were the case, I would have danced naked, - answered Johnson.
- Just look! - Blankenberg chuckled to himself, - Do you think that because I'm an American, you've impressed me with your supposedly American humor, Englishman?
Instead of voicing this thought, Blankenberg glanced at Johnson and smiled politely. The lenses of his glasses undoubtedly reliably hid his gaze.
- Would you really go for that? - Blankenberg finally said.
- Of course! - Johnson answered, emotionally chopping the air with his hand, - But I'm afraid I won't have to. Gandlow wouldn't frame his work as presenting surprises. Surprises for us. Why is that?
- Yes, you are right, - answered Blankenberg and glanced towards the TV, - Look at how Haldoris does her job so calmly.
On the screen was Landskricht hosting her television version of the infamous "Volkischer Beobachter" - that is how Blankenberg described it all to himself. On the other hand, judging by the meager sociology, the locals, in addition to the continuous stream of American talk shows, really needed more of their own programs where their city and region would be mentioned. The get-togethers of local strike leaders quickly became boring. The American mass media have recently been carefully avoiding the topic that is ready to start and has partly already started an international scandal.