Part 1. Chapter 1. Farm. started on August 27, 1996, based on the sleep of the winter of 1995-1996.

The forest steadily approached, despite all the attempts of the pilot, trying to keep the car from falling. The plane, waddling from wing to wing, was nodding, now and then threatening to break into a corkscrew. Without closing his eyes, Peter imagined how the plane crashes into the mighty tree trunks, how the propeller blades grind the branches, how the wings fly apart into splinters, as in the last attempt to save his self-consciousness he tears off his hands at last from this cursed helm and covers their heads. Flashes of sparks before his eyes, he does not have time to properly understand them, the broken glass of the lantern bites into his hands, but the pain is gone, just a feeling of inconvenience, thoughts somehow sluggishly slide along the convolutions, and the consciousness leaves him.

“Alyoshka said:“ Your engine is not ready for hell - it stalls every second time on the stand. ”And he knows it all jokingly off:“ You will only fly odd times, and we will drive him on the even one. ”What the hell was rush? Now we will kill the plane, there is no second sample, and it is not clear when it will be. "

The plane fell almost to the tops of the trees, a dense carpet covering the whole earth. The motor puffed and snorted, as if someone had picked up a bad cold and blew his nose in a handkerchief.

"Edge!"

The green carpet suddenly parted, Peter managed to see the farm that was sweeping under him, standing on the edge of the forest, haystacks scattered around him, a girl with a rake on one of them, putting a hand to his eyes to see the "unseen bird."

A swamp began behind a short meadow, and then some string broke in the womb of the engine, he issued the last high note, the wind immediately whistled in the ears, the plane held by Peter, struggling to pull the handle towards him, like a stone launched by a skillful boy hand, jumped "pancake" on the green-brown slush and slowly began to settle in its depths.

Not having had time to really enjoy his happy rescue, Peter realized that “horseradish radish is not sweeter” and the opportunity to drown in the swamp is probably much worse than in the blink of an eye breaking against the trees. Remembering about the life jacket lying under the seat, he sighed with relief, ran his hand over his forehead, wiping sweat mechanically, and was surprised to find that his hand was covered in blood: apparently, when he was “killed,” he bumped his head on the lantern and did not notice.

“Okay, damn it with this blood.” I will live - I will not die.

Peter reached for the vest, opening the cockpit light with his second hand. And then he felt the plane falling beneath his feet: the air in the cockpit went out and now nothing prevented the swamp from absorbing another victim in its insatiable belly.

In fear of being carried along with the plane, Peter jumped to the side, raising his hands high with the vest clamped in them and immediately, with his head, went under the surface.

"Everything. This is the end. ”- It went through my head, but now the diving slowed down, then, as if reluctantly, the bog began to let him go upstairs, at last, the hands felt that they were already free, but to find themselves there, they had to make every effort and tighten up vest. When it seemed that there was not enough air, and his lungs were really torn, the slurry parted and became sticky streams from his face. Peter greedily caught the air with his mouth wide open, spat out the liquid that fell with him, and for the second time in the last minute rejoiced at his wonderful rescue.

But I didn’t have to rejoice for a long time: clothes quickly became saturated with mud, began to pull down, and the life jacket gradually began to sink under increasing weight.

“And who designed it? Maybe on the water he will keep it normal, but in the swamp is not good at all. It will be necessary to say to the authorities. Yeah, you first get to the shore at least, and then run to the authorities. ”

To put it bluntly - floundering in the foul-smelling marsh mud is an unpleasant task in and of itself, and when you consider that the second half of September is outside, then, along with everything else, very soon Peter felt how he started to pester and cold.

The first thing Peter decided to remove the helmet. Taking off one hand from the vest, he pulled it to the buckle on his chin, but then the vest slowly but surely slipped out from under him, Peter turned over onto his back, clinging to the fabric of the vest with one hand. He tried to escape, unclenching his fingers, and he almost succeeded, but the second hand reached the mess in time, blocking her path, fell into the slot for the arm, and together with the first they again pulled Peter to the surface.

The second attempt to get rid of the helmet was more cautious and led to success. Then, over the next ten to fifteen minutes, stopping only to spit out the dirt that was stuffed in his mouth and take a breath of air, Peter took off, one by one, his jacket, boots, trousers and gymnast. There was a desire to leave a holster with a pistol, but, pulling the belt out of his trousers, he lost it.

"Well, to hell with it!"

Left in his underwear, Peter pulled his waistcoat under his chest, caught his breath, and for the first time could see where he was. To do this when the head just rises above the surface is not at all easy, but due to the fact that it was still possible to examine it, it hit the very quagmire. On the one hand, he was very lucky, since the landing of the aircraft was very soft, but on the other hand, he was separated from the coast by how many. Only rare stunted trees stuck out in all directions, and only in one place he managed to make out a transparent and hardly distinguishable column of smoke.

"Khutor."

Looking at the trail lasting from the fall of the plane, Peter buried to the shore for the last time. It was a real torture. He did not immediately succeeded in coordinating the movements of the arms and legs so that while the first diligently pushed him forward, the latter did not push him back. Fifteen meters later, he realized that he was left without pants, it is unclear how they jumped off him. When, after some time, a big bump came across on his way, and he crawled on it to rest, the hordes immediately flew in some way that still did not freeze the mosquitoes that had to be brushed off with both hands. But moreover, they, dogs, strove to bite in the most intimate places, absolutely defenseless after the loss of underpants. It was necessary to retreat ahead of time back to the swamp, there, at least, mosquitoes could bite him only in the upper half of the body.

It was possible to get to a more or less solid land just before the sunset, which even in the daytime could not really have warmed its numbed body. And the fresh breeze did not contribute to warming. But now, when he got to his feet, the forest seemed very close to him, and about a kilometer away you could see the farm, which he flew back half a day in a matter of seconds.

Barely moving his legs from fatigue, and folding his arms over his chest to warm up somehow, Peter stumbled first over the still swampy marshy soil, falling awkwardly several times when the bump suddenly left his feet to one side, then over the hard stubble of the sloping meadows, splintered feet, until, finally, did not get to the fence surrounding the vast courtyard.

Stepping over the top pole, he went to the house and, covering his stench with one hand, with the other he tapped his palm into the nearest window, leaving muddy streaks on the glass.

- Hosts! Is there anyone at home?

But no one responded, but he did not want to go inside naked, besides, the dirt still continued to drain from his body and shirt.

The farm seemed to die out.

“No, well, there must be someone here! I myself saw some girl in the afternoon. ”

After knocking a couple more times, in the windows on the other side of the house, Peter looked back and noticed that smoke was rising from the shack, which was a little to the side, and, as a matter of fact, he was burrowing from the swamp.

“Bathhouse! Just the way. ”

Stroking the floor of the yard, Peter pulled the handle and entered the dressing room.There was no one there either ...