About the book: 2020 / In the spring of 1944, the commander of a reconnaissance platoon was tasked with escorting three strange officers to the front line. What was strange about them was their unnatural calm, even indifference to what was happening, although they were preparing for a deliberately risky business. And their faces were somehow well-groomed, sleek, not “fighting” at all. One of them, shortly before leaving, took a guitar and sang a song. With anguish, with hoarseness. The scout liked it so much that he wrote the words in his diary. Many years later, already in peaceful life, he heard the same song again. This was a new, as they say now, hit by Vladimir Vysotsky. In forty-four, the great bard was only six years old, and he could not compose this song then. So those strange officers somehow ended up in forty-four from the future…