Odna tysyacha devyatsot sorok tretiy god. Gvardii ryadovomu Pavlu Petrovichu Romanovu snyatsya strannye sny, budto by on v starinnyh odezhdah, parike i pri shpage razezzhaet po Evrope, vstrechaetsya s korolyami i printsami, zhdet ne dozhdetsya, kogda «goryacho lyubimaya» mamasha uydet na tot svet, osvobodiv prichitayuschiysya emu po zakonu prestol Rossiyskoy imperii. A potom prosypaetsya v blindazhe pod SHlisselburgom ot strashnoy golovnoy boli i udushya. V pamyati ostayutsya tolko tsvetnoy ofitserskiy sharf i tyazhelaya tabakerka… I smert. Da, smert prishla s pryamym popadaniem nemetskogo snaryada tochno v blindazh, no soznanie boytsa Krasnoy armii, kommunista s dovoennym stazhem, byvshego kapitana militsii, razzhalovannogo po lichnoy prosbe marshala Tuhachevskogo, peremestilos v proshloe. I chto eto znachit? A eto znachit, chto nashe delo pravoe, vrag budet razbit, pobeda budet za nami!
