Kye Sye Mazur in the era of We Sye Gorbachev. The wild animal and human world of West Africa. Red ideals fade, but the heroes’ faces grow crimson—not from shame, but from hatred. Kirill Mazur, a colonel in the service of yet another petty Father of the Nation, is still on combat duty—not for the might of the Soviet empire, but out of officer honor and dignity.
And let it be that today Mazur is wearing an immaculate white dinner jacket; in his hand there’s no “cleron” or “uzi,” but a long flexible glass rod with a handle of black wood… And at his feet there isn’t a defeated enemy, but a “captive in the hands of a lustful colonizer”…
The new white guard has a red soul!