Newly translated excerpt/Новый переведенный отрывок
В качестве очередного "спасибо" за то, что вы поддержали наш проект, предлагаем вам новый переведенный отрывок из Гл.14. Вы скоро получите краткий опрос с Кикстартера, в котором мы запросим информацию, необходимую для выполнения наших обязательств перед вами - пожалуйста, проверьте свою почту и ответьте на все вопросы сразу, чтобы у нас не было задержек с доставкой.
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As another "thank you" for your support of our project, we are happy to present one more translated excerpt, from Ch.14. Very soon, you will receive a short survey from Kickstarter requesting information we need to fulfill our obligations to you as the project backers. Please check your mail and respond to the questions immediately so that we don't have delays with the deliveries later.
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С наилучшими пожеланиями, команда BNRW team, with best regards
“How many people around you, Alyosha, had their chips cashed in, and you’re still around, ain't going nowhere, not a single scratch. Have you forgotten why you came here?” “No, I haven’t. Just got used to it and want to hang around long enough to find out how it ends.” “Don’t you know already that everyone’s going to get killed?” “I know, but I’ll remain with them till the end. If I’m lucky.” “Lucky? You don’t have a better word for it?”
His interior dialogue distracted Alexei from the general stream of conversation; at the same time, Panas was recounting his own World of Animals story.
“The mortar shelling from Peski had begun. Small stuff, really... We were being rained down upon with 80-mils. And to think, just then, we’d decided to take a trip to the store, though the place could hardly have earned that name. It was in a five story building... in the basement, off the front entrance... We’d developed a thirst for some beer. Four kittens were playing not three meters away from where an old German shepherd was lying in the yard. And here come the bombs... The shepherd bitch stirred and scurried to carry the kittens off into the basement, one by one, by the scruffs of their necks.
“Our dog in Vodyanoye would rustle chickens and hunt rabbits for us,” announced Svetik, rejoicing in that he too had a war story to tell about animals. A male shepherd, huge. Everyone called him “the Baron”. The owners probably escaped when the shelling begun, left him, perhaps, or didn’t have time to find him, or they got killed, who knows, but Baron joined our ranks, you could say. We didn’t know who had given him that name, but he would respond to it. A smart dog. Every morning, he’d bring us either a chicken or a rabbit. In return, we saved the canned meat from our rations for him. You’d wake up and there, sticking out above the breastwork of the trench, is Baron’s huge head, a dead rabbit in its mouth. Or a chicken; ahh, a new day has begun… How and where he could have possibly hunted rabbits? And that's how he died, with a chicken in his mouth. A direct hit. Two big ones in a row, one after another. Nothing left, neither him nor the chicken.
Everyone was silent. Then, everyone raised their heads together all at once. What they had heard was a subdued meowing. They looked at each other and listened in closely. The meowing was issuing from the farthest part of the Orange Hall, above which was the section occupied by the separatists, divided from the Cyborgs by a wall on the second floor.
Alexei rose up. He aimed his 70–200mm (lens) at the sound and saw a black furry kitten squirming on top of a pile of rubble. The kitten continued meowing plaintively and shaking its paw, somehow in an unnatural way.
“I’m gonna run and get him!” Svetik jumped up, swinging his machine gun over his shoulder. “Wait a second, w-a-ait,” Alexei drawled, aiming his camera. “What the F…?”
Tied to the kittens paw was a fishing line, which ran up to the biggest hole in the ceiling, the one that was about a yard-and-a-half wide. The line caught and reflected the light in places, where it was transected by the weak rays of light that seeped in through the cracks in the walls and the hall’s demolished windows.
“So, brothers... We’ve got ourselves a trap,” Alexei announced assuredly, like a doctor making a final diagnosis. “I saw this trick in Afghanistan once. A Talib wasted two marines this way from the second story.”
In 2001, in Mazari Sharif, in the north of Afghanistan, the Taliban being held in a jail organized a riot, ceasing weapons. The American marines finally put them down. But it got pretty hot, and Alexei remembered it well.
It would be pretty hot right now too, if it weren’t so cold.
Svetik, Panas, Cannibal, Scherzo, grab the “flies,” the Electrician ordered quietly. Approach about 10 yards from the hole and on my order we’ll spew in this claptrap from all five directions at once. Capiche?
"Go, go!" Panas answered for the rest, and the five of them flung themselves on the same beat towards the window, under which the grenade launchers lay.
They approached the hole stealthily, as though in the slow motion of a Kung Fu flick. Scherzo managed to do this with particular grace. He was not wearing a helmet, and the ponytail flowing down the back of his head made him look like a ninja. No sooner than Alexei had time to think to himself, “No, more like a Turtle Ninja,” than the Electrician gave the order, and the five shot off their “flies” together almost in unison into the opening in the ceiling.
Explosions, smoke, dust....
Lying on the floor was a dead and broken sniper, dressed all in black. Lying near him was his SVD sniper rifle. The kitten was buried by the collapsed slab from the ceiling, the torn, mangled ends of rebar sticking out of it in all directions.
This set off an extended running gun battle between the floors, up and down, and across the runway, back and forth....