Prohibition of Interference. Book 1. Макс Глебов

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      The presence of at least such protection from air attack could not help but rejoice me, but I did not believe in its high efficiency. It was a pity that the machine-gun platform was four cars away from me – if anything happened, I wouldn't even have time to warn the anti-aircraft gunners of the danger.

      “What are you looking at?” Boris was there again.

      “I just felt stuffy, so I thought I'd get some fresh air.”

      “You call this smoke from a steam locomotive fresh air?” my traveling companion, who was overly talkative, grinned, wincing slightly.

      The wind regularly blew coal smoke over the vans, and the smell was indeed not pleasant – it was an integral component of travel on the local railroads. In fact, that wasn't the end of the world yet. If we were moving through a tunnel…

      A slight itch behind my ear made me wary. Something bad and dangerous happened not far from here, and the computer left behind in the damaged escape pod sent me an alert through one of the satellites. I put my face to the rushing air and closed my eyes.

      Now it was as if I was in low orbit myself. The cloudless sky made it possible to see every little detail on the ground. However, even dense cloud cover could not cause much interference to the equipment of scientific satellites. I saw our train continuing westward, saw the anti-aircraft gunners who still didn't notice anything, and saw the low-flying targets approaching us from the southwest, highlighted by flickering red frames.

      Messerschmitts Bf.109 – two pairs, one just above the other. They flew confidently, obviously aware of our train and not wanting to attract the attention of the train's air defense. They were less than a minute away from us. Explanatory inscriptions next to the enemy aircraft markers suggested that it was an 'E' modification. It was not the latest modification, but here, on the eastern front, the Germans used it as a fighter-bomber. Just what they need to attack our train.

      What am I supposed to do? I certainly won't have time to warn anyone but my van mates. Of course, the train should have started braking by now, but it was not going too fast as it was. 30 seconds…

      “Air!” I shouted, turning away from the window, “Everyone out of the van quickly!”

      I rushed to the wagon door, threw the latch aside, and rested my shoulder against it. The doorframe slowly moved to the side.

      “Why are you yelling?” Boris asked in surprise, looking out the window, “Leave the door alone! There's nobody there!”

      “Open your eyes!” I snapped angrily, wrestling with the door, “Messerschmitts! Four of them. Coming in from the southwest!”

      The long whistle of the locomotive and the sharp jerk of the train, which began to slow down, served as a good confirmation of my words, but I wasted no time in continuing the discussion, picked a moment when the ground rushing by seemed flat enough for me, pushed off harder, and jumped into the grass.

      I landed pretty well; I rolled over a couple of times on not too rocky ground and didn't even seem to bruise myself. No one seemed to be in a hurry to follow my example, and in vain. Each enemy plane carried four machine guns of about eight millimeters caliber, plus bombs – a quarter of a ton of deadly cargo. It will be more than enough to destroy our wooden train.

      I had managed to run far enough and fall into a small ravine, overgrown with not too dense bushes, when the first explosions and the crack of machine gun fire came from the head of the train. That's right, the locomotive is the primary target. But only two narrow silhouettes flashed there, and two other planes came in from the tail of the train and were now treating the train with bombs and machine-gun fire. Slivers fanned out from the roofs and walls of the cars. I tried not to think about what was going on inside. There was nothing I could do to help my dying comrades. I've already done everything I could.

      The first to react to the enemy attack were the anti-aircraft gunners and NKVD fighters who accompanied our train. The quadruple machine guns were firing somewhere in the sky, but even I could see from my cover that the crew had very little, if any, experience firing at low-flying, high-speed targets. They were not leading correctly, and just didn't have time to correct the sight on the tracers. The train did stop, and now people were jumping out of the burning cars. I did not see any system in their actions. Some immediately fell to the ground, either killed or just looking for cover. Others tried to run to a forest that wasn't too far away, but it could only seem close when you weren't being shot at…

      The NKVD platoon left its wagon in relative order, though I only counted half of its fighters at a glance. The others must have been killed in the shelling and bombing, but the commander was alive, and obeying his orders, the privates and sergeants scattered along the train, trying to bring some order to the chaos everywhere.

      My hiding place was about 30 meters from the last car – despite the low speed, the train managed to pass quite a considerable distance, before it stopped. German planes flew in pairs over the broken train. They must have run out of bombs, but they kept shooting at the fleeing men with machine guns. Our anti-aircraft platform hadn't shown any signs of life for a minute. Through the smoke of the fire we could see the motionless barrels of Maxim machine guns looking helplessly into the sky. No one fired on the Messerschmitts, and they came at the target, as in a training exercise.

      A soldier in NKVD uniform who had reached the last car shouted something, but I couldn't make it out because of the crackling of the machine guns and the roar of the fire. He tried to look inside the car, but it smelled so hot that he recoiled and took two awkward steps backward.

      “Hide behind the wagon!” I yelled as I saw a string of bullet trails in the dust run along the train toward him.

      The soldier heard me, but apparently did not understand what I wanted him to do. He just turned in my direction, but then a burst of machine-gun fire crossed his back, and he twitched several times and fell forward, instinctively trying to grab onto the wall of the car, but his arms, suddenly weak, slipped, and the guy slid to the ground, dropping his rifle.

      Most of those who managed to jump out of the cars and didn't die in the first minutes of the bombing had already covered almost half the distance to the forest, but the enemy pilots were not going to give them a chance to get away alive. Some tried to hide in the folds of the СКАЧАТЬ