Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness

Hot heart

It's already light. The snow cover stretches over vast expanses. Alexander Rucheyev, exhausted but full of will, was approaching the Solyonaya River.

"It's March twenty-eighth," he thought, looking at the icy river. — Why should it be so cold? It's like January weather… It's snowed in…"

The winds stopped blowing, the sun shone more brightly than before, and the temperature rose ten degrees at once.

After looking around at his surroundings and taking another glance at the river, the Rebel showed his inner tinge of irony, "Not enough to fail yet… Ice Beat Number Two… No. Ice Maquis Number One."

Kamenka was passed at night, there were no problems there: even if the ice was thin, it would not have broken at such a strong frost — it was just stronger.

Salt River. Alexander got off his horse and walked slowly forward. "I hope they didn't call it salty for taste," Ruchyov said almost aloud. He had heard somewhere that salt water made much more brittle ice than fresh water.

Six feet stepped purposefully on the fresh fluffy snow: a gentle squeak sounded. When the snow squeaks with such a step, it is pleasant to the ears, it is pleasant to the soul, because it is nature. Now every such squeak was carried in the ears and followed on through all Alexander's nerve endings. What would follow the next step?

The channel, however, is not so wide — fifteen or twenty meters. Not the Dnieper. The rebel remembered how he and Vladimir had crossed the frozen Dnieper near the Kanevskoye Reservoir, southeast of Kiev. In general, the Dnieper has a number of reservoirs along its entire length: the Kiev, Kremenchug, Dneprodzerzhinsk, and Kakhov reservoirs. Rucheyov had heard that the Volga was both bigger and fuller. He believed it, but the Dnieper had already conquered him. The Dnieper is the river where the very first Slavs united, fought, lived. And they had a center. The ancient city of Kiev.

Polans, Drevlyans, Dryagovichi, Northmen, Krivichi, Vyatichi, Ulici, Radimichi, Tivertsi, White Croats, Dulebs — these are the unions of tribes of the ancient Slavs. And these are only the main ones. There were hundreds of tribes. And all of them became united in time under the rule of Kiev.

"And who will not love the reign of Kiev, for all honor and glory and majesty and the head of all Russian lands is Kiev! And from all distant many kingdoms all kinds of people and merchants and all kinds of good things from all countries came to it… "*.

Russians, Byelorussians and Malorossians. No not Ukrainians… And who came up with the idea to call those who live in Malorossiya that. It's from the word "outskirts". What's a suburb in the heart of the country? Kiev is the "Mother of Russian cities."

We've lived together the whole time, and we're one family.

Alexander thought about all this and went ahead: now he didn't have to worry about uniting the Slavs, now he had to do everything to preserve their ethnic existence.

About halfway down the path. My feet entered the smooth snow smoothly: the same pleasant crunch was still audible.

A huge number of rays of sunlight glistened on the white surface. Nothing seemed to change, but it was as if something had cracked.

The brook hardened, his horse too. He listened with all his nerves to the ice and the Salt River. His eyes did not move, afraid to shut out the sound he was seeking with his movement. All was hushed around him.

The grinding sound rang in my ears. It spread everywhere, under the water, on the ground, and in the air. The ice rumbled and shook. There were cracks everywhere.

Alexander, pulling his horse up behind him, trotted forward. The snow still seemed just as gentle, but the ice. The ice was cracking and sloshing everywhere.

After traveling a few meters, the rebel was caught and knocked to the ground by something heavy, something behind him. He turned around and saw his horse fumbling in the broken hole. Water and ice all flew sideways. The tremendous hoofbeats against the ice floe's edges made the surroundings seem even more heartbreaking. The horse was doomed to a cold death.

Alexander nodded his head, said goodbye to his friend, and ran on. The thin melted ice swirled from place to place and now seemed like a fierce beast waiting for its prey.

And now there were only some two meters left to the shore… And in the next step the ice under my feet collapsed, moved into the depths. The stream hit the water.

It's hard to describe the state of ice water. First of all, breathing accelerates to its own limits. The heart beats like the first time you meet your beloved. And that's first of all. Secondly, the extremities. That in the water in the first moments stop obeying: trembling, moving, but not obeying. But after a couple of seconds, everything goes back to normal.

And that moment came. Alexander grasped the farthest piece of surface and pulled himself forward — the main thing now was to make sure that the ice did not break again, when leaving the water.

But that's exactly what happened.

The hard surface broke. Same thing the second and third time. One and a half meters to shore!

"I must deliver this letter,"¹ cried the rebel in his mind, and set about chiseling and piercing everything that prevented him from reaching his destination.

My hands were flushed and a little cold, my knuckles scraped, and blood flowed. The endless white surface was turning a reddish color. Red is the color of Victory.

Everything's gone numb. The shore was getting closer. Pieces of ice and wet snow were flying apart. Alexander strived forward, he was not interested in anything else.

After prolonged persistence, Ruchyov made it onto dry land. Hard space, but the same white surface. It was sunny but cold. There were about twenty-five kilometers to Nikopol.

"Twenty-five kilometers wet and in this weather," the rebel whispered to himself. — No, not that, of course, is possible… But only if Jesus is very near. After all, I must go to the end.

It was hard to walk, so Alexander ran. His clothes stuck to his body, a breeze was blowing from the sides, and there was snow all around. Usually that was enough to freeze to death. Not this time.

The road is long and hard, but there is purpose, will and faith, and that is enough, for not dying before time; that is Strength.

"It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm gonna make it. No, I'll run. I'll get to Nikopol. I'll give the letter. And then I can die with peace of mind," Alexander thought and moved relentlessly towards his goal.