While running, I managed to collect the dome into a bag and sling the rifle over my shoulder—and something jerked through me: "I didn’t want to go to the army. If it weren’t for the whims of my stubborn father, I’d now be studying at a normal institute of culture and creativity. I liked watching sailors and their weapons, but I didn’t want to be part of it. You could say they tossed me out here. So what am I doing?
Instead of a normal life and studying at an institute in the choreography department, instead of normal service in an organized training unit as a regular sergeant, I’m fighting anyone and everyone, running across hills with a huge backpack, rushing with a parachute and an automatic rifle to the collection point—and with quiet horror realizing that I like it here…"