It was not a lucky day for Heinrich Schubert. The enraged Mrs. Corbin, with lips pressed into the thin line and the eyes narrowed behind circular glasses with the solid black rim, came closer, pointing the finger at his chest.

"Young man," she barked. "Do you realize what you have done? Such great insult to the uniform you wear. The disgrace for the mother who gave birth to such an insolent piece of garbage. Shame on you."

Schubert struggled to answer, but as he tried to express all the complicated emotions, boiling underneath, he ended up stammering desperately.

Not that Mrs. Corbin intended to listen.

"You untamed beast of masculinity! Wandering around and attacking innocent women. You hormone-driven sexual monster, harassing the young sweet lambs, beating them into submission, erecting the statue of Moloch over their fallen bodies."

"Mo-Moloch? I assure you, ma'am, I would never..."

"Oh, spare me your insolence, give me the proof. Give me the Lieutenant Akane Anbi, the pure innocent angel, in the state she was before you had molested her, bruised her, humiliated her!"

The word machine gun he had to face was too much for Schubert to handle. Rampaging Mrs. Corbin did not give chances to return fire, valiantly suppressing the enemy units down the earth.

She loves to jump to her conclusions, doesn't she, thought Gromov, mildly relieved. In the light of present events, his previous encounter with that lady went surprisingly smoothly.

Despite the fact, he was rather enjoying Mrs. Corbin's terrific cadence and profound imagination, the pity for slaughtered Schubert prevailed, so he decided to step in.

Uncovering his face and standing up, he gently tapped her shoulder.

"Mrs. Corbin?"

"What is it?" she sighed, not bothering to turn around. "I hope no one dares to make excuses for the behavior of this scoundrel, just because of some false sense of solidarity. It is up to you, the men, who have to call him out, not me..."

Suddenly, she shrieked like the squirrel, grasped in the clutches of a bird of prey.

"Is-Is it you, sir?"

"With no doubt. I'm the superior Major Sholto was referring to."

The hypnotized power he had exercised before did not weaken. Apparently, she dwelt in her delusions, not planning to ditch them.

"I am sorry to inform you that I put Lieutenant Anbi to detention," said Gromov

"May-May I know why, sir?"

"She attacked Lieutenant Schubert."

"Did she? Why?"

"She thought she was acting on my behalf."

"On your behalf? Does it mean that the young man somewhat... You know... why would she have done that?"

"Why indeed? He said something he shouldn't... Didn't you, Lieutenant?"

Schubert stopped gathering the defense and blurted in sheer remorse: "I am so sorry, Captain. I'm such an idiot."

The sorrowful begging for forgiveness helped Mrs. Corbin to count two and two with a result of around a million. Forgetting all the animosity, her expression changed to horror, mixed with hope in sensation.

"The regrettable boy! Is he going to be all right? I mean he is so young, isn't he? Whatever he said... There is no reason to... You know… the elimination.”

She whispered the last word, leaning toward the captain. Then, her curiosity shadowed her better judgment as she continued: "What happened?"

"Just check that fellow’s face," said Gromov gravely, pointing at Schubert. "I was a few seconds too late. Lieutenant Anbi was about to finish him off."

"Finish him off? But... you did stop her, right?"

"Of course, I stopped her. This is not how we do things. Nota bene in public. I had to punish her."

"You went too far," mumbled Schubert who probably could not forget Gromov eating the chicken salad. "No officer would do that."

Wild assumptions brought tears to Mrs. Corbin’s eyes.

“Poor little angel,” she whispered. “I hope she’ll be all right.”

However, Gromov did not feel ample sympathy for the subordinate who caused him trouble. “She’ll be fine. By now she should have cleaned the blood from the shirt.”

“I told you it was unnecessary,” said Schubert. “I felt so sorry for her.”

“Oh, my God! The blood from the shirt?” repeated Mrs. Corbin in a high voice. “A mistreated little weasel!”

Gromov stared at her: “Do you object? How would you like if someone forced you to eat repulsive crawling creatures, giving you no choice? I am not that lenient, understood?”

Pale Mrs. Corbin just nodded: “I-I meant no harm. Really! You surely have your methods. No need to waste your time. Please no crawling creatures for me - whatever they might be. I just…”

“Glad you don’t mind,” interject Gromov. “Sorry that I disrupted your photo shooting. Have you further questions?”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir. I am on my way.”

Suddenly, before she could leave, from behind Gromov a voice sounded, “I would have one, if I may, sir. Would you mind taking a picture with me? I do love rough men pretty much.”

It was the singer, Miriam B, followed by a suit of people from show business. She was smiling, offering Gromov the hand.