Миссия начинается.
It was August 18, 2001. In Russia’s Orenburg Oblast, the small town of Yasny was filled with the scent of dry grass, dust, and summer warmth, a stark contrast to the brutal winter that had gripped the region earlier this year.
Engineer Grigoriy had recruited two mice for his mission to Hawaii: Radio Operator Grigoriy and Medic Grigoriy. To his surprise, both were already prepared to leave, as though they had been waiting for the opportunity to go on a journey.
Their journey to Mezhgorye would be very different from the Commander’s. With no convoy scheduled to travel from Yasny to Mezhgorye for several months, they would have to find another way.
Instead, Engineer Grigoriy would rely on his custom-built miniature vehicle to reach Orsk. From there, they would have to find a way onto one of the food supply trucks that traveled to Mezhgorye every Monday, a rare and invaluable opportunity to reach the isolated city.
The miniature vehicle was no larger than a shoebox, yet stood high enough off the ground to clear the typical debris and obstacles scattered along its path. Its rugged, rock-colored shell allowed it to blend seamlessly into the surrounding landscape, while its tiny wheels carried it almost silently across the region’s dusty dirt roads.
Inside, the cramped cabin had just enough room for four mice. A compact electric motor provided a quiet, steady source of power for a 120-mile ride, while small storage compartments carried supplies for their journey.
Engineer Grigoriy sat at the controls, his tiny paws carefully guiding the vehicle around stones and fallen branches. Beside him, Radio Operator Grigoriy watched the road ahead through a narrow viewing slit.
“Humans,” he whispered.
Instantly, the vehicle rolled into the tall grass.
Medic Grigoriy held his breath as an old truck rumbled past, its tires sending clouds of dust into the evening air. They remained perfectly still until the sound of the engine had faded into the distance.
They continued through the night, passing silent villages and lonely farmhouses, always keeping to the shadows. To anyone who might have seen them, they were nothing more than a small, ordinary rock beside the road.
The road gradually narrowed until it became little more than two pale tracks cutting through the grass. Grigoriy slowed the vehicle as the first buildings of the village appeared ahead.
The village was quiet. A few lights glowed behind curtained windows, and smoke drifted lazily from the chimneys. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Their little vehicle crept past an old wooden fence and beneath the shadow of a rusting tractor. For several minutes, nothing moved.
Then the engine suddenly died.
“Oh, no.”
The vehicle rolled to a stop.
The three mice looked at one another in silence.
“What happened?” asked Medic Grigoriy.
Engineer Grigoriy opened the small panel beneath the controls and examined the machinery inside. “The battery overheated. I need a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” Medic Grigoriy glanced nervously toward the village. “This is not a good place to stop.”
Suddenly, a beam of light swept across the road.
The mice froze.
Someone was walking nearby.
Slow footsteps crunched through the dirt. The beam moved closer, passing over the fence, the tractor, and finally the patch of ground where their vehicle sat.
For one terrifying moment, the light stopped.
No one breathed.
Then a gust of wind rattled the nearby fence. The figure turned toward the sound and continued down the road.
Only after the footsteps disappeared did the mice dare to move again.
Engineer Grigoriy quickly vented the battery compartment.
“Can you fix it?” Medic Grigoriy asked.
Engineer Grigoriy smiled faintly.
The battery cooled off, and the motor hummed back to life.
“Of course.”
The miniature vehicle rolled forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond the village.
Behind them, the quiet houses grew smaller.
Ahead lay the long road to Orsk.
Где история кажется написанной на широких просторах степи.