In Bryansk Oblast, a special train that had departed from Kosmo was speeding through the forest.
From the outside, it looked like an ordinary green passenger train, but its interior was as luxurious as a palace. The carriages and undercarriage had been fitted with heavy armor capable of withstanding bombs, and the window glass was bulletproof. Even if it took a direct hit from a rocket, the train would not derail.
Inside one of the carriages, several sofas had been arranged. Chobagov was eating. His appetite had been poor lately, so the meal was simple. On the dining table there was only a serving of "alishqiu," made with lamb, eggplant, peppers, and the like. He ate a few bites, then set down his cutlery.
Then he picked up a document from the edge of the table and began reading, shaking his head as he read.
Why was it like this?
I clearly wanted to save this country, yet now everything seems to be developing in a direction beyond control. The strategies I had imagined so beautifully, once carried out, are always exploited by those damned opportunists and twisted toward unexpected places.
He felt exhausted in both body and mind. Even though he was the leader of the second-largest political entity in the world, at this moment he felt only a terrifying pressure weighing down on him like a mountain, almost leaving him unable to breathe.
Two guards stood on each side of the carriage. After the incident he had encountered on his last vacation, he had replaced everyone around him, and these four were also new faces. He looked at one of them. "Pavlov, where are we?"
"We just passed Kaluga Oblast. We'll reach Bryansk in two hours, Mr. President."
Chobagov looked out the window. On both sides were tall