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The Mist and the Lightning. Part 14
The Mist and the Lightning. Part 14
Dedicated to A.S. Kuzhelev from Pokrovskiy
14
Angel
Peace is always preferable to war.
The walls of the Fort, once so strong and unapproachable, built of dark burgundy, almost black mountain stone, so beloved by red architects, gaped holes with ragged edges. The dying defenders of the Fort writhed among the devastation in death agony, explosions tore off their limbs, many were buried alive under the rubble. Everything captured by them was destroyed and covered with the blood of the wounded and killed, as if something had now taken away its percentage for their past luck.
In the dense blackness of the smoky clouds, it was no longer possible to distinguish between day or night, only fiery flashes for a moment snatched the darkness and exploded it with sheaves of burning sparks, illuminating everything around.
It seemed that Death itself was present there, as an honored guest invited to a wild feast, it danced, circling, among the burning ruins, as at a ball, with each flash, snatching out life after life.
The force that ignites rage in the chest, fills the gaze with determination and a desperate desire to get out of the stone trap to freedom, was extinguishing in the hearts of the defenders.
Marmer with several soldiers from his squad, until the very last time was shooting from the cannon, not paying attention to the fiery boulders flying at him, and the fact that the cannon was red-hot. He shouted hoarsely: