Chapter 4.5.

 - So, then, nne, - was heard from the upper tier and simultaneously from the street speakers.

The voice sounded as a test, not at full volume. The music died down.

 - Comrade fellow citizens of the Siberian Federal Self-Government and also our foreign residents and guests! - "Kom.batt" finally began his speech. - Today, on this solemn day, we celebrate our own holiday, the Day of Military Valor. The Day of Military Valor of the fighters of our People's Volunteer Guard. The Day of Military Valor of our new brothers in arms - the fighters of the Foreign Corps. This is the Day of Military Valor of our employees. He began to list the units of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, including the Ministry of Emergency Situations. - All those who perform civil service, - he summed up, - but are ready to stand up for the defense of our glorious land at the first signal. The day will come when we will drive out the gang of bandits and obscurantists and liberate our fellow countrymen on the left bank. This day will come and we will done celebrate it. - that's what he said, "done celebrate."

 - The day will come, - continued "Kom.batt". - When our Russia will accept us, and the political confrontation unleashed by the demarcheists will be put to an end. This day will come, and we will celebrate it too.

 - The day will come when the community of our nations will achieve a final victory over the enemy in this historic battle for civilization. This day will come, sooner or later. When this day comes, we will celebrate it too. You and I are at the very beginning of our common great path. We will go through it with our inherent Military Valor! Then there should have been something like "Hurray, comrades!"

 - Pre-war, war, 2114 and 2115, still the years of the Great War? No, you haven't heard, we are at the very beginning of our valiant campaign! Well done, what can I say, - thought Zavirdyaev mockingly.

 This grumpy attitude of his was caused not so much by the rejection of the soldierly spirit as such, but by the primitiveness of what was being declared, and the primitiveness of "Kom.batt" himself as a politician. This primitiveness was too jarring against the background of those elegant manipulations with the consciousness of the average person that global, big politics was doing. Just compare - conversion of war, deconvention, escalation initiative, de-escalation initiative, local military process, global military process... and here... "let's celebrate" and "let's celebrate properly".

 There, in the big world, this long-since obvious idea that war is for a long time would have been wrapped up in such a way, and in such a wrapper... and indeed they did wrap it, but here...

 - Happy holiday, comrades, Happy Day of Military Valor! - "Kom.batt" thundered.

The crowd, as expected, burst into three cheers - the locals had learned to shout no worse than on the parade ground. The music burst out. Out of the corner of his eye, Zavirdyaev noticed how Maroon Jacket was bustling about at the edge of the stands, holding a sturdy-looking tablet in one hand and a microphone in the other.

 Zavirdyaev leisurely looked around the crowd on the avenue. They noticed posters with printed children's drawings - well, parents had once explained what and how to draw. Although most likely the children had already been brainwashed with enough propaganda garbage, and all they had to do was ask them to draw something on the theme of victory over the left bank, and the work would go on by itself.

 Here the left banker is drawn all in brown, like a piece of shit, with horns and a pitchfork. A hefty rocket is flying towards him. The sun and moon are shining in the sky, and between them is the SFS coat of arms. Here in another drawing it seems to be "Kom.batt", and in the distance his tank. The "Kom.batt" has a pipe in his teeth, maybe even a Stalin one. Zavirdyaev wanted to examine the colored daub in detail.

It was also curious to find a vision of the theme of the Great War - this was undoubtedly presented here. Once upon a time, many years ago, Zavirdyaev, who had not yet grown out of short pants, himself drew like this, though mostly cars...

 - What kind of eyes do you have to look at the world with to draw something like this, - Zavirdyaev said mentally, - and what is it like?

 No matter how strange it may seem, but from the height of his years of living, Zavirdyaev, if it were possible, would have remade everything so that he himself in those distant years would also draw "Kom.batts" and tanks.

 It wasn't about what to draw, but about the reality that surrounded him in those years - the completely decrepit Soviet mass culture, its educational segment in particular, had nothing to offer except intelligentsia... not even snot, but something dead.

 Those "decomposers" could shove art house into children's cartoons and then wonder why everything was rejected in favor of everything foreign. It was the same at school. It seemed that the personnel for both were recruited from mental hospitals.

 Against this background, the wave of Western media products that came with Westernization looked integral, well-crafted, made by a professional for a person, and not by a drug addict-intelligentsia for two or three of the same kind.

 So drawing tanks after a cheerful and inspiring story about how your artillery is capable of hitting the enemy is not such a bad option.

 - It will be possible to tease one of the foreigners with this topic, if there is an opportunity to introduce oneself, - thought Zavirdyaev, - although everything is moving towards the same thing for them now, only they don't have their own, their own KANAR Arms nearby. They make do with one topic of the Great War.

 His thoughts were interrupted by the impresario's voice, rumbling from the speakers.

- Dear comrades, now awaiting you... can you already hear this approaching thunder?

Zavirdyaev listened and immediately understood what was going on - the attack aircraft that had flown over the avenue half an hour ago were making a second approach.

 "Kom.batt" and the impresario turned out to be not so simple as to arrange for the aircraft to pass through at just some random moment in time - they timed and adjusted the speech to the attack aircraft's waypoints - the impresario's tablet may have been the battalion commander's, with an interlink. The battalion commander definitely had access to the system.

 - Mighty machines are about to fly over the main avenue of the capital of our region! - the impresario continued.

 The roar quickly grew, and now the sharp-nosed attack aircraft, with wings hung with the ribs of empty ammunition mounts, entered the line of sight.

 - This is a wonderful answer to the question of whether our region places itself outside of Russia. These are the attack aircraft of Russia and, accordingly, our attack aircraft. The question has long been closed.

 After the attack aircraft, flat-bottomed boats appeared - now there were as many as five of them. They were still flying "boom", now even a little higher than the first time.

 The rest of the parade was already represented by ordinary infantry and motorized rifle units. Now, standing on the podium, Zavirdyaev began to think about what to do after the parade and the rally: go back to the car and take the whole group to the ceremonial meeting with a buffet, or, if the others were tired and did not want to go to the buffet, give the keys to the car to Landskricht so that she and the other two could go to the base, and he himself would go on a spree...