Grey Maher’s horde was put round with soldiers Antarctica, and the battle began. This could be only in nightmares. Mountains of broken bloodied bodies, cries for help in dozens of languages of the wounded Maherts, bursting bullets, severed heads of Zimermanns with helmets, explosions from all sides and thick brown, mixed with dust and blood on the rocks.

Dux staked: "Twenty minutes." Colonel remembered a sad police story on the pier. "Now they will stick a silver thread into the opponent's body. And the end of the war will be outcame". The battle came to its peak. Shooting was such that crumbled stones and rocks. Maherts offered stubborn resistance, surrounded the enemy, pulling it, breaking into small crumbs. But the Spartans were constantly changing picture of the moving oktogram, were making lightning raids like with pinceres and destroying countless enemies.

Colonel was the witness of the battle of twice-born, unseen under the sun. The battle between the good and the evil of the immortals on earth. Dux went up the hill and performed an unconscious ecstatic dance soldier.

- Rosenbergs did not deceive! - He cried.

The time started. Colonel ran to the east, dodging rare opponents. Bullets whistled and howled with leisured bounce. He found the station of Maher’s death, threw out immortals started the engine. The car was rushed after by Maherts and CIA agents, destroying each other. Someone ran into this terrible machine grenade "Smaw" with the caliber 80 mm and Dux escaped the fiery tornado, by miracle.

He was saved by a motorcycle. The police one the model was Electra Glide FLHTP Harley-Davidson, with six-speed and 67 horsepower. Ten seconds later, Colonel disappeared from the field of vision at a speed of 100 miles per hour, and disappeared in the country road mountain lanes and trails. Harley passed a mountain mass and twenty-five minutes later it arrived to some small private airstrip with a plate "Alamo Landing Field".

*

Sometimes it happens that you are lucky. All traffic lights flash with green color, the highway patrol didn’t stop you, you had outstripped and rush along first.

Mooney M20, a single-engine piston airplane, popular among private pilots, was at full speed. Obviously, the owner was somewhere nearby. Without hesitating, Colonel got into the car. It was obvious that the aviator loved luxury. There was a striped bag with something on the seat. Having left the police Harley for consolation, Dux rocketed into the sky.

He flew with tacks at low altitude along grey-reddish Nevada, covered with rare spiny cactuses, flew into the bottom of the Valley of Death, burning with heat, and got the north of Las Vegas. He hardly saw the Nellis Air Force Base.

A philosopher said that as soon as the war becomes a reality, every opinion starts to sound incorrectly. The brightest city in the world with an annual turnover of tens billions dollars slept peacefully after the every night flaring orgy. One could see from the aircraft that the city was in the thick of the war. There were only black smoke puffs in some places. Today’s newspaper "Las Vegas Tribune," lying near the seat, as usual scared with the next end of the world and hysterically reported that the city has been destroyed by the barbarians, the night massacre relished at the hotel-casino "Excalibur" and showed pictures of the crowd of veterans with patriotic flags.

However, the vice fastens enemies are stronger together than the cement. The war is the war, and a rest is a rest. Strange as it may seem, the capital of anti-virtues has always fed from the top of the elite and the dense carpet of crime and could not exist without each other, like two poles. That’s why Mahers vanished without a trace in their defaming flaws, forgetting about the duty and street battles.

Surprisingly, Colonel flew quietly around the Nellis Air Force Base, as if at the parade. He enjoyed the view of convertiplane V-22 "Osprey", a covey of nice F-22 and a huge modern B-1B Lancer. In the corner he saw a fantastic triangle Falcon HTV-1 and, just in case, landed away from the base.

Dux put on a funny yellow masquerade cap from McDonald’s and with a steady grand look went to the airbase, having hung his striped bag on his back. When you know exactly where you are going and ignore the guard, sometimes it passes successfully. In any case, he passed without problems, the mahert-guard with lackluster eyes and frozen gestures.

"It is unable to get any sense out of them", - he thought. Seeing the local sane man similar to the engineer, Dux said to him:

- Sir, can you help me?

The man looked at him.

- You know, um. I need to fly to Europe. Without changing a plane.

The engineer blinked, looking for a way to escape.

- That's impossible!

He quietly backed and tried to escape. But Colonel’s iron hand raised running feet and put him on his place.

- Brother! I do not empty.

Dux took out from under himself a heavy striped bag and opened it. There was a lot of money. There were several million dollars. Looking into the black bag, the engineer almost lost unconscious. Probably, he was influenced by the packs of dollars or the classic Beretta 92FS, its caliber is 9mm, which was carelessly lying on the greenbacks, anyone has no idea about it. The engineer decided to punch Colonel, but the last dodged the blow and hit the foureyes on the head with the bag of green solid briquettes.

- You know, that's the last thing I need! - Said Colonel. – Let’s drink a tea.

- But where?

- Where the pilots are. Let’s go to the hostel.

It turned out, firstly, it was impossible. Secondly, it was quite impossible. And thirdly...

However, forty minutes later, after long arguing, omissions and trades there were hold the relevant activities. Conspirators’ serious look made Dux laugh at the end. "It’s a really sinister alliance of the sword and a plough!" - He thought.

*

War mixes basic core values. The same people having lives of righteous men, sometimes going to church on Sundays, regularly pay insurance, loans and taxes, actively participate in the state festivities can suddenly turn into dangerous single people with the unknown motivation.

The codes of corporate America’s behavior have suddenly collapsed in the face of war. Someone tried to escape to Oceania, others were in past history and at the sound of bullets took their head in with fear, others gathered in groups of resistance with the motto, old as the world: "We are in victory and we will win!" And "Tyranny - no!"

The history of mankind is wars, the rise of the winners and defeat bitterness of losers. Wars are covered very deeply with the mystery. The most important question of the war "for what?" does not find a reasonable explanation. Did not most bloody battles of mankind were just for fun? What it is: a beautiful sacrifice to the gods, enjoy the fight, a beautiful shape, passion, movement, victory call, a sense of unity of the deity? Or it is demons food with the basest man’s passions, such as hatred, envy, greed, murder for capture, a plunder for self-consolation of the vice. And a man leaves behind himself piles of corpses, a desert of the left gods, spreads maimed fates and reduce with it a lot of different creatures, feeding the hungry, death and dead chaos. But the pathos of murder, glorified at the examples of aristocratic Minnesang fanaticism or a selfless samurai code of honor, had always tried to bring to the limits of decency, like a "fair" reflection of the external invasion. Since childhood, we shudder, reading books about great battles of the antiquity. We cry from bitterness of loss, betrayal, and we listen with wet eyes to the samples of inconceivable heroism, dedication and a heroic valiant exploit. We look for a perfect heroism. But the loathsome military reality of the twentieth century, a rapidly changing globalism with the newest systems of the total surveillance with the direct penetration into citizens’ skulls, destroys the sense in modern war.