CHAPTER 2.
"RUSSIAN KOCKSUXX MOTOCYCLE UNION".
The girl moaned and wriggled. Egor bit her nipples. Her breasts were falling into her mouth and wouldn't let her breathe, about now, but... A sickening, dull howl cut through the air, the girl began to melt, Egor grabbed her, trying to hold her, but the girl was dissolving... Egor opened his eyes and began to spit out feathers. The fluff from the torn pillow clogged his mouth and nostrils. The raped pillow lay between Egor's legs.
- Oh, I wish I had a girl..." Egor mumbled, stretching.
Time to get ready for duty. Egor served in Roskosmos, the newest, modern organization - the Russian Kozachy Motocycle Union. Roskosmos for short. Yep.
There was a company called Roskosmos that tried to launch rockets there, but after the fiftieth unsuccessful launch the scientists from Skolkovo investigated and found out that the firmament had slammed - that is there used to be a window in the firmament above Baikonur, but after prayers of the Skolkovo group the hole got filled and there was no way to get into the space. Naturally, the rocket-launching office was dismissed as useless, but the Cocksuxx’s motorcycle union is the pride of the nation, centuries-old traditions in a modern interpretation. The Roskosmos came into being when an Orthodox biker named Doctor, from the Gay Wolves club, teamed up with the Coksuck army near Moscow. Together they became a mobile Coksuck unit, the steel fist of Russian Cockssux.
Egor stood up, shook off his feathers, and began to dress. "I'll drop in on Zinka after duty," thought Egor. Today he was to patrol the outskirts of Zarechye.
A small town in terms of inhabitants, but stretched out in terms of territory. Most of the city is the private sector, and Zarechye is a slum adjacent to the forest. The place is very dangerous, before there lived mostly alcoholics and beggars, but now, on the contrary, there are a few scrapers in each shack.
After the energy crisis, the water in the city disappeared, the elevators stop working, the heating is gone, life in high-rise buildings has turned into a living hell for anyone who lived above the 2nd floor. The strong and brave members of the proletarian ranks began pouring into the private sector in an avalanche - what a massacre the apocalypse had turned out to be! There was no Rosguardiya in the city by that time, so there was no one to stop the rabid scrapers - they were cutting each other up for nothing. The strong survived, God took away the weak and sick. But there was a discrepancy with the women - bitches did not begin to bear it, and gathered the last belongings and went to the Chinese small town that was 30 kilometers upstream. The Chinese, of course, took the women, almost all of them, except that the old and crippled women were kicked back. The Chinese have a shortage of women - they appreciate them. At least as many as you can bring them, they will take everything and pay you in Yuan.
So it turned out that there were no women left in Abitofadrag town. Almost none left - a couple of dozen cripples and old women. Our mayor and the chieftain have wives. And the priest has a priestess, of course. But those grandmothers that are left, they live well now. Men are queuing up to see them and showering them with presents. If you count, then to go to the same Zinka - a ticket for five piles of deadwood, the money to transfer - almost a billion rubles, well, or 7 yuan. Not everyone has that kind of dough, so most scrapers in the harem go to the roosters, where the rates are lower.
Egor fastened his belt, slipped his personal gift knife into its scabbard, jammed his belted lash behind his belt, and went out the door. It smelled like piss in the stairwell - it looked like the neighbor was pissing in the stairwell again, the bastard. He was too lazy to take the bucket out, pissing in the stairwell or out the window. And there's nothing you can do about it, he's a foreman at the fly larvae farm. If you beat him up, the mayor will cackle, and the chieftain will force him to be beaten by other cocksuxxkers.
The barracks where Egor lived was elite. It was only two stories, made of wood, didn't need much wood for heating in winter, and there was a latrine and a well in the yard. The mayor's office tried to tear the place down about 20 years ago, but there was no place to evict the tenants. But after the energy crisis, the Godfather-chieftain found a place to put the tenants. They were kicked out into the street. So, it is a great house - the fact that the lower timbers rotted, it is not a problem. They made a sills and the house is as good as new. And only the elite lives here, brigadiers from the fly larvae farm, and Cockssux, and not privates, but Rat-nicks.
Egorka was a sergeant and even carried his personal knife on his belt. Ordinary Cockssux were not allowed to carry knives, they only had a whip. But Rat-nicks had bayonet knives, and the chieftain of local ranks was a centurion, so he could have a sabre.
"Oh, a saber..." - sighed Egor dreamily. You can cut your head off with it. Even if they had axes, the axe wouldn't dance against the sword.
The chieftain also has a pistol, a real Makarov. A pistol is a super weapon. It's a pity that you can't get cartridges. Moscow allocates ammunition and uniforms to Roskockmos, but nothing reaches Siberia - it dissolves on the way. Once a year they bring from the region a dozen pairs of worn-out boots and a couple of lousy caps - and serve as you like.
Thanks to the mayor - he supports the Cockssux, feeds them and pays their salaries. And the mayor has no choice - no one but the Cockssux will guard his fly nursery. And the fly nursery is a large-scale enterprise, it brings trillions of rubles to the mayor. Well, if it's normal money, it's thousands of yuan. The whole city works for the mayor, and the mayor feeds all the neighborhoods, the breadwinner... The mayor is a strategist - if he hadn't started breeding flies in time, they would have eaten each other long ago.
Boots took Egor to the embankment. It was only a little way to the outpost. The scrapers were already hard at work, some knee-deep, some waist-deep in water. It's strict in the fly nursery - working day is from dark till dark, by dawn you have to be in the river with a net and a bucket. Fishing for the maggots.
What did you think? The maggots feed on the holy spirit? Yeah, right. The maggots, to grow and be fat, want rotten food and shit, and where to get it? Scrappers themselves don't produce enough shit to feed the maggots, so they catch it in the river. Thanks to the Chinese - 30 kilometers upstream they built a huge pig farm and a town for their workers. So they pour shit from pig farms and sewage from the city into the river. At first, I remember, the people of Scrap Metal grumbled that the water had become salty and smelly in the city, even in the wells, but then they got used to it. But the food for the fly nursery is plentiful - take a bucket, a net and go, in the river. You can catch a bucket in 10 minutes.
After passing through the checkpoint, Egor entered the outpost. The formation was beginning on the parade ground. Egor recovered himself, tightened his belt, buttoned up and stood in formation.
- Urat-nicks, to me! - rang out across the parade ground.
The windows of chieftain's office faced the parade-ground, and now godfather, sticking his red face through the window, yelled:
- Come on, run! Move your asses!
Egor and two other Cockssux ran out of the ranks and, squelching boots, ran to the office.
In the office of the chieftain, as always, smelled of sweat, socks, and cigarette butts. Egor grimaced - he'd given up smoking long ago, so he couldn't stand the smell of tobacco. He was afraid of draughts and didn't ventilate his office. Rarely did he open the window to give a valuable instruction or to call someone.
- So, fighters, - said Godfather importantly. - Today the patrols and the combat duty are canceled. You've got the mission. Now the mayor's bus will be here - load up, three squads, and go to the village of Asslickers. This is the district center, a hundred kilometers from here - you'll get there in five hours. You get to Asslickers, jump out of the bus and fuck the local Cockssux - according to our data, there are no more than fifteen of them. Then you divide into two groups - one runs and kills the deputy, the second - the chairman. The deputy has a gun, and he's fucking crazy, so I'll give you Makar - you'll answer for him with your ass. In short, you fuck the deputy and the chairman, then get back on the bus and go to the river. Those faggots have built a fly nursery there - burn it the fuck down! And if you can get it done before dark, you can go poking around the asshole town. Maybe you'll find some broads. If anything, bring them all here. The mayor will give you 100 yuan for each one.
- One more thing! - The chieftain opened a drawer, took out a bunch of keys and threw them on the table. Squad Leader Kudelman!
- Yessir! - One of the Cockssux stretched out and put up his hand to his cap.
- Kudelman, you're the only one here who served in the army?
- That's right, Mr. chieftain, I did.
- Well, Kudelman, I give you the guns. If anything happens to it, I'll kill you. Don't shoot unless you have to, there are only two bullets. Do you understand?
- That's right, Mr. chieftain, I understand.
- That's it, get the fuck out of here, wait for the bus at the checkpoint," said Godfather, waving his hand languidly and leaning back in his chair.
One of the radio programs broadcast over loudspeakers in central squares.
"From the Skrepetzky Informbureau".
New supersonic missiles are put into serial production. One hundred thousand missiles will be put into service in the first half of the five-year period. Minister of Attack, Commander-in-Chief of the Army Vitaly Leontievich Mudko stated that the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation are capable of repelling an enemy attack at any moment. Moreover, within two hours our army is ready to launch a counteroffensive.
The Government of the United States of America did not react to this statement, but according to our intelligence information the US President is in a panic. Our national leader commented on the silence of the U.S. Congress with the following words: "Nobody listened to us. Listen now. They can count, let them count...".
The bus crawled at a snail's pace over the potholes. Sickelove was broadcasting on the radio without shutting up. He talked about the achievements of Russian science, Skolkovo developments, new rockets put into mass production, and, of course, the greatness of our leader:
- The State Duma of the Russian Federation voted in its third reading to raise VAT to 76%. The President of the Russian Federation commented on this government decision: "Take it with understanding," said the leader of the nation.
The mayor allocated an entire bus! How much gas did he buy and, more importantly, where? Probably from the Chinese. After the energy crisis, Russian gas stations tried for a few months to stay afloat, but because of lack of customers, they got into debt and went bankrupt. At first, they just stood empty and abandoned... And at one point, they were stripped for metal and building materials. The Chinese, on the other hand, had plenty of fuel. Since China bought 100 percent of Rosneft and Gazprom, fuel in China is practically free. The Chinese didn't drink gasoline, but to sell it... Selling - they are strict about it. Selling gasoline to non-Chinese citizens is severely punished. Although our mayor is not an idiot, he definitely has Israeli and American citizenship, and if he manages to get gasoline, it looks like he has Chinese citizenship too.
Yashka Kudelman, who was sitting across from Egor, did not let go of his gun. He twisted it both ways, took out and put in a clip, jerked the bolt, caught the cartridge, took out the clip again and loaded it. Yashka's eyes were shining; he seemed about to start licking the gun.
"I wish I could hold a gun in my hands," thought Egor. But Yashka wouldn't let him - he was a stingy one.
Yashka Kudelman is a cowardly but sly wimp. He served in the army in some cyber forces in the times when there was internet in Russia. Cuckkoz, I think they were called, those cyber Cockssux. They fought the fifth resistant column and liberals - they wrote comments, liked and disliked them, and in general their service was not too hard. Naturally, they never held any weapons in their hands. And the chieftain, of course, was well aware of this fact. But he gave the guns to Yashka, and why?
Because that Yashka was the chieftain's fucking nephew! Egor felt the seat beneath him begin to rapidly heat up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax, trying to extinguish his righteous anger.
chieftain Ivan and Urat-nick Yashka Kudelman are hereditary Ural Cockssux. They came to us in Siberia after the Ozersky incident. The incident was classified, and the town of Ozersk was quarantined and no one was allowed out. But the Kudelmans managed to escape from Ozersk before quarantine. To tell the truth, they were ill for a long time and went bald, but they did not infect anybody. And then senior Kudelman went to serve in Roskosmos, went to the regional capital a couple of times, and - boom, six months later he was a centurion and chieftain. So he kept Yashka with him.
The bus bounced again on a bump, Cockssux soared to the sky, but hitting the ceiling with their caps and hats, they landed sharply.
There was a loud clicking and ringing. Something warm covered Egor's eyes, and his ears were ringing. Egor wiped his eyes with his sleeve. There was blood on his hands, red stains on the glass. Yashka was lying on the floor under Egor's feet. The top of the Coksuck's head was gone.
- Fuck!!! Stop, stop!!! - yelled Egor.
- Fucking motherfucker!!! Kudelman will shit all over us, he'll wrap our guts on his fist and pull it out of our asses!!! - Vanka the lame, the junior uriadnik from Yashka's squad, walked and shouted. - He'll cut his hands and feet off for Yashka! He'll piss in his mouth, then shoot him!
The Cockssux dragged the younger Kudelman's corpse out of the bus, and now crowded around him.
- He-he-he, he won't shoot! - One of the Cockssux chuckled, - we have the gun, and only one bullet. And anyway, we had nothing to do with it - he gave that motherfucker the gun himself. The chieftain told Yashka not to shoot unnecessarily - apparently, he had a hankering for it.
Cockssux laughed. Nobody felt pity for Yashka. Scrappers long ago got used to the fact that someone was always dying next to them.
The bus driver, the mayor's man, came up to the Cockssux:
- "So, boyz," the Cockssux grumbled, they did not like to be called boyz. In the Coksuck concept, a man means a powerless slave.
- Where did you see boyz, you stinky coyote? - Vanka the lame interrupted the chauffeur, - You'll see men in your fly larvae farm! We are mister Cockssux to you.
The chauffeur laughed and continued:
- "Well, gentlemens Cockssux. I don't give a fuck how many of you motherfuckers die on the way. I've been told to bring you to Asslickers and then back, and to do it as fast as possible, because the town is unprotected. Take your self-shooter and load him back up. It won't have time to go bad. When we get home, you'll take him to the fly larvae farm, like scrappers are supposed to.
There was a time in Russia when people didn't give a damn about the natural riches that God had bestowed on Russians. For example, corpses were buried in the ground, or even burned. Not only was energy wasted, but useful biomaterial was also destroyed. Now, of course, no one does that. All corpses must be turned in to the nearest fly-sweepers - it's the law, and there are huge fines for violations, if, of course, there is someone who can be fined. But those who donate a corpse are honored and respected, with coupons, for example, for bread. And you can get bread at any branch of Roskreprodmag.
The Cockssux dragged Yashka's body into the bus and threw it between the seats. Egor wanted to get his pistol, but it was in a bloody puddle, and he did not want to get dirty - he was already speckled.
- Limp! You're Yashka's deputy, git the goun!!!
- Nah, I don't need that stuff," said Vanya, "especially since I don't even know how to shoot.
- What the fuck do you know, - said Egor, - didn't you play computer when you were a kid?
- Yes, I did," said Vanya, "but I forgot anyway.
It so happened that none of the Cockssux served in the army. Some of them got a waiver in their time, some were in the penal system when they were kids. It so happened that over the past 30 years it was no longer honorable to serve in the Russian army, and only the most patriotic villagers did their duty for the homeland. Egor himself believed that he did not owe anything to his homeland, so in his time he first smeared himself, then took a loan from Rosskrepkreditbank and bought a white ticket.
- What the fuck is there to remember - you take out your gun, point it at your opponent, and pull the trigger.
- All right," Vanka lifted the gun with two fingers, walked over to Yashka's body, wiped the gun on the hem of his blazer and put the barrel behind his belt.
- Don't shoot your balls off! - the Cockssux laughed.
The bus had been crawling along the track all day, now and then bumping and now and then scratching. At one of the bumps the muffler flew off, along with the exhaust pipe. The driver didn't waste any time on repairs and threw the muffler into the interior of the bus. The engine screamed and the cabin reeked of smoke, but the brave soldiers bravely endured all the inconveniences, because patience is one of the facets of spiritual resilience, a line of the nation's identity, as His Holiness Patriarch Pirill once said.
Once upon a time, about ten years ago, the highway here was pretty tolerable, and you could get to Asslickers in an hour and a half. So, what about small holes in the asphalt, not a problem - slowed down, drove around. Now... Trenches and ditches, small islands of asphalt were visible here and there, the old pavement was distorted, fluffed up and sticking out in shards, like teeth of prehistoric dinosaur. If you saw a road like this, you would probably think that it was the war, at the very least, or nasty yankees came and destroy it on a purpouse. But no, our Chinese brothers helped. They are the only ones who have been driving around in recent years. Multi-ton tracked and wheeled tractors hauled timber and containers of black soil to the nearest town in winter and summer. In each major city, the Chinese had their bases where raw materials were partially processed, put into railroad cars, and sent in endless trains to the east.
We drove up to Asslickers toward evening, rousing the entire district center with the roar of a powerful bus engine. The Coksuck wagon bellowed like a tank column, scaring away everything alive for half a kilometer around it.
In front of the checkpoint there was a board with nails on it, as expected. The bus stopped, squads of Cockssux poured out of the bus and took up positions.
The roadblock was empty. The district center, too, was as if it were extinct. Not a single living soul. The scrappers lurked...
The bus, raising clouds of dust, flew into the center of the village and braked sharply. The doors swung open, and the brave Cockssux landed in enemy territory. The troops were immediately divided into three squads: one commander was Egor, the second was Vanka the lame, Yashka Kudelman's deputy, and the third was sergeant Sergei the Gypsy.
- All right, guys, let's do it this way: I go to cover the chairman, Limp goes to the deputy with his eagles, Gypsy guards the bus.
- Hey, no! - Limp yelled. - Why the fuck should I go to the deputy? You do it yourself, chieftain said the deputy might have a gun. I didn't sign up to be shot!
- Why are you shouting? Godfather gave your unit a gun, so go to the deputy!
- No, no, no, no, no!" Limp denied it.
Egor, getting angry, shouted:
- Give the gun to Gypsy. Let him and his unit bend over the deputy!
- Why the fuck it on me? - The Gypsy protested. - I can't shoot!
- Fuck... - gritted through his teeth Egor.
- Let's do this," said Vanka holding out Makar to Egor, "now we go together to fuck the chairman, and then the deputy.
"Well, I guess there's no other choice," thought Egor:
- Let's go.
The first task was to find where the chairman lived. The group of Cockssux went to the nearest hut. They knocked on the gate, waited, then one of the Cockssux jumped over the fence and opened the gate from the inside. The detachment broke through the fence, broke down the door of the house, and went inside. They searched all the rooms and nobody was there. The same procedure happened in the second and third house. The village was empty.
In the fourth house two plates of hot nettle soup were on the table. Egor scratched his turnip, found the lid of the cellar and opened the manhole. From the darkness four frightened rounded eyes stared at him.
- Oh, there you are, you pissing cunts! - Egor exclaimed cheerfully. - Out, you fuckers!
Two scrapers crawled out into the light of day. Both of them were about fifty years old, stooped, dirty, wrapped in some rags, with sandals on their feet. One of the underground members seemed to be a woman, the other seemed to be a man - but who could tell?
- Stop shaking, we will not beat you. Now, you show us where the chairman lives, and you can go with God.
The scrapers shook their heads furiously.
Egor kicked them into the street, and they hurried forward, lurching and bouncing. The detachment followed them.
Egor grabbed one of the scraper by the scruff of the neck and asked:
- Where are your Cockssux? Why is the roadblock empty? We've been here an hour - haven't seen a single one.
- So, the other day they were stabbed by cannibals, five Cockssux gave their souls to the God, and three are in the hospital. And five more ran away for help, and haven't come back yet.
- So, you got a lot of cannibals here? Are they too much of a man-eater?
- No, there were only two. They came from the woods, stabbed the Cockssux, took the salt and matches from the store, and went back into the woods.
- Holy-saint, holy-saint! - the second scraper crossed himself.
Behind a large gray building of ancient Soviet construction, the squad turned into an alley.
- Here's the house - the scrapper pointed at a two-story brick cottage. - Shall we go now?
- Fucking hell... - sighed Egor. The cottage was brick, the fence was wrought iron, the gate was high, and there were bars on the windows of the first floor.
Cockssux stopped and gaping at the fortress.
- So? How shall we storm it? - Someone from the Cockssux asked.
- With your ass, you fucking joint! - Egor answered. - We'll find a ladder and climb through the windows of the second floor.
The Cockssux came to the gate. One of the fighters jumped up, grabbed the edge, pulled himself up, threw his leg over...
In the courtyard rumbled, the Coksuck fell back, and Egor again splattered with blood and brains.
- He's got a gun!!! - Vanka the lame shouted, and galloping like a rabbit he galloped down the lane, ran over the wattle and daub of some scraper’s hut, and disappeared into a thicket of motherwort. Panic broke out, and several Cockssux ran after Vanyka.
- Retreat! - Egor shouted, and tactically staggered back around the corner of the Soviet building.
His thoughts rushed headlong through Egor's mind: "What to do? What to do?! Don't fucking do anything, back to the bus!"
- To the bus! - Egor commanded.
The squad jogged toward the abandoned vehicles. A gunshot, a scream, another shot came from up ahead. Shotgun blasts. The squad stopped.
"Fuck." - Egor thought.
There was a rumbling noise from the back, and the Coksuck on Egor's right was tossed forward. He collapsed incongruously into the road dust and shook his whole body. There was a black hole between the poor man's shoulder blades, from which a dark liquid was gushing out in jerks.
Egor was lying on his back, looking up into the sky. The huge moon, like a festive pancake on a spade, hinted at the hopelessness of mortal existence. My heart was pounding frantically in my chest, and I was short of air.
Muddy memories, like fragments of a nightmare dream, flashed in Egor's head - shooting, falling Cockssux, someone's torn arm flying past his face, running with obstacles, weeds tangling in his feet, countless falls, running again...
My palms and knees ached. Egor cried with helplessness.
Who, who knew that the chairman could have a gun? Well, okay, a deputy, according to his status he should have a Makarov, but shotguns? In Russia, back in 2020, firearms were taken away from the population. They paid a huge amount of money to all those who turned in their guns, as well as to those who turned in those who might have guns. And here's two shotguns in one township. That's fucked up. That's fucked up.
Egor clutched the grip of his pistol frantically: "One round. One fucking bullet! It's only to shoot yourself, and that's if you hit your brain the first time."