“Find him?”

“It would have been better if I hadn’t looked. The tourniquet was loose.” K. bit his lip. “See me shifting the blame? It was loose. It was me who didn’t tighten it. I should have stayed with him, stabilised him. You always have to check if the tourniquet is tight. The tourniquet, Kostya. Always check the tourniquet.”

They got into the car and drove back. K. felt like Kostya was fading away. It was like you could see through him. His lips moved as if he was trying to form words. Finally, he spoke: “I had another dream today.”

K. stared at him, looking at his hands on the wheel.

“I was out in the field watching the Grads firing. They had a whole battery, they were firing dozens of missiles. And I ran to my APC and started firing too.”

“I fi . . . fired, fired . . . Then I got out and walked to where we were firing. There was a huge line of military vehicles: tanks, trucks, buses, right up to the horizon. It was all smoking, we destroyed it. And the soldiers were lying dead by the vehicles. They were children in camouflage. I thought: ‘What have we done? How could we make such a mistake? Who gave us these coordinates? How did they not notice there were children here?’ And I ran from one smoking truck to another to see if my children were among them. What if my children were among them? Then I woke up. I tried desperately to fall asleep again to keep looking for them, but I couldn’t.”

K. gazed at the gap that had been made by the shrapnel in the steering wheel. A month ago, Nikolai was at the wheel, and it was Kostya they were taking to hospital then. Was it a month ago? Maybe more. K. wearily ran his hand over his eyes. Kostya rubbed his thin, bloodless lips with dirty fingers and his face twitched.

“I wonder how my family is doing. Do you remember how we were saying goodbye to them at the station? “

“I remember.”

“You know . . .”

“What?”

“That’s it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell the commander today. He’ll have to sign my discharge papers. I’ve been wounded twice. I gave them everything I had. I’ll go to my wife. We’ll go to Tula. She has relatives there. And you need to get out of here too.”

“I’m not done, Kostya.”

“Not done?”

“I still have stuff I need to do.”

“For what?”

K. didn’t answer. Kostya shrugged.

“Whatever. I’m off to Tula. I’m done.”

K. looked at him in horror, trying to find the words. Kostya caught his expression.

“What?”

“Kostya. You died.”

“What?”

“Kostya, you know, I think you died overnight. Or was it earlier? I’m not sure.”