At the beginning of the Great Patriotic War, a Siberian collective farmer was sent to the front, not quite of military age, about sixty years old. Then reinforcements were sent into the military meat grinder from all sides. Just to hold out. His documents stated that he had never served anywhere and had no military specialty.
Since he was a villager, he was assigned as a driver in the field kitchen. Being a peasant means he can handle horses accurately. They gave me an antique three-ruler from the Civil War and a pouch with cartridges. Our pensioner began delivering food to the front line. The work is not difficult, but very responsible, because a hungry soldier is not a soldier. War is war, and lunch must arrive on schedule.
Of course, there were also delays. And try not to be late under the bombing! It’s better to deliver porridge, even if it’s cold, safe and sound, than to pick up hot slurry from the ground from a bombed field kitchen. So he traveled for about a month. One day, as usual, the driver went on his next trip. First, I brought lunch to headquarters, and then we trotted to the front line with our burka. The drive from headquarters to the trenches was about thirty minutes.
They radioed to the front line:
All right, the kitchen is out. Wait! Prepare the spoons.
The soldiers wait for an hour, two, three. We're worried! The road is quiet. You can’t hear any bombing nearby, and there’s no kitchen! Call to headquarters. The signalman answers:
Didn't come back!
They sent three fighters along the kitchen route. Check what happened. After some time, the soldiers observe the following landscape. A dead horse lies on the road, and nearby there is a kitchen shot through in several places. An elderly man sat on the kitchen wheel and smoked.
And seven German corpses in protective camouflage suits were piled at his feet. All those killed were healthy men, well equipped. Apparently, saboteurs.
They were approaching the headquarters, no less. The soldiers stare:
Who did it?
“I,” the elderly non-combatant calmly answers.
How did you do it? – the group leader doesn’t believe.
However, from this berdana he shot everyone, - the driver presents his antique gun.
They sent a messenger to headquarters and began to investigate. It turned out that the non-combatant pensioner was a hereditary Siberian hunter. The kind of guy who really hits a squirrel in the eye. While I was on the front line for a month, I had no reason to shoot my rifle properly. When they attacked, he took cover behind the cart and killed the entire sabotage group from his berdan.
But the Germans didn’t really hide, they poured the fool straight into the kitchen. Are you hungry? Or maybe they wanted to ask the driver how to get to the headquarters? They didn’t expect at all that the frail Russian grandfather would rub their noses into the dust one after another. The Krauts did not know the Russian proverb “Fight not with numbers, but with skill!”
The pensioner was then awarded a medal and transferred to snipers. He reached Prague, where after being wounded he was discharged. After the war, he later told this story to his grandchildren, explaining why he was awarded for the first time.
Our driver told this story. His grandfather served as a tanker during the Patriotic War and fought as a driver on the valiant "thirty-four". This car in those days was a miracle of technology, the Hans hunted for it in order to disassemble it and pioneer some kind of “know-how”.
So basically...
After a major tank battle (I don’t remember where), our hero’s tank was stuck on the battlefield among mountains of crumpled equipment.
He got stuck for a trivial reason: his track was cut off, and he got stuck in the mud.
The crew pulled the track, but they can’t get out, because there’s a new problem - the batteries are dead and it won’t start. They sit, wait for help, swear.
As I already said, the Germans really needed this tank, they even gave extraordinary leave to whoever would drag it into captivity or as scrap metal. And who doesn’t want to go on vacation? Moreover, when a seemingly abandoned tank stands in the middle of a field? In general, they drove up on the Tiger, tied the tug, pulled...
Have you ever started a car using a pushrod? Sound familiar? So ours switched on the transmission on the sly...
The gasoline engine of the "Tiger" tried to compete with the Soviet diesel engine for show, but in vain (owners of diesel jeeps will understand), and the turret of our "34th" was still turned forward, with the cannon right at the back of the Germans' heads.
In general, we went on vacation... Ours.
I want to tell you about Uncle Petya. This is my great-uncle.
Uncle Petya fought and had awards, including the Order of the Red Star. I knew Uncle Petya from childhood and perceived the veteran’s awards as something not entirely correct - it seemed to be the norm.
Then I had enough sense (I was almost 40) to ask why they gave me the Order of the Red Star.
It turned out this: Uncle Petya went to war as a volunteer in 1942. He was then 36 years old. His wife Aunt Lelya was very angry all her life because of his behavior, because when he received the draft notice, he jumped for joy like crazy.
That's not what we're talking about. Uncle Petya wanted to beat the enemy, but he was assigned to a signalman. Just like Alyosha Skvortsov from the famous film.
Shebutnoy Uncle Petya found some kind of captured rifle - in 1942 a turning point had already taken place, the Romanians, Hungarians and some others were kicked out. Captured weapons appeared. Then Uncle Petya managed to find suitable cartridges.
What happened next was this: during air raids, with the command “Air,” you were supposed to disperse and lie down. Imagine for yourself - a certain convoy is clearly in front of the German pilots, none of them even suspects that some idiot will fire at them. This is where they were wrong. Uncle Petya did not lie down, but lay on his back and fired at the hated Nazi planes with his rifle.
One day it turned out that one of the raiding planes had crashed, smashed to pieces in the best possible way. Nobody could understand anything. There was no anti-aircraft protection, and the plane crashed. We found out the reason. Someone shot through the attack aircraft's propeller. Then measures were taken and Uncle Petya was found. As a result, he received the Order of the Red Star.
I understood one thing - they didn’t give the order in vain.
The story of one hundred pounds is true, told by a grandfather who went through the entire war.
It happened in the Far East in the spring of 1945. Soviet planes, or a pitiful semblance of them in the form of corn planes, constantly patrolled the air borders, because the Japanese carried out constant raids. There was a man who fought in the same squadron with my grandfather; his name and surname were lost over the years, so I won’t lie.
During one of the raids, this man’s plane was set on fire, the pilot managed to eject, fortunately the parachute was behind him.
Have you ever seen how a burning corn plant behaves? I personally don’t, but according to my grandfather, he behaves unpredictably. Before finally crashing, the plane made several circles in the air and safely exploded behind the nearest hill.
These last few circles did their job; during the attack, the plane’s fuel tank was punctured, and burning fuel poured from it in a trickle, before crashing the plane flew exactly over the ejected hero. The parachute, doused with burning fuel, flared up like a match and the fighter fell down like a stone.
After the attack, the commander ordered: Find and bury as a hero!
They looked for the man for a long time, but finally found him.
People familiar with the Far East know very well that snow on mountain passes lasts for a very long time, sometimes until the beginning of summer.
What a surprise the search party was when they found the pilot completely broken, but alive! An unspeakable stroke of luck, he fell into a gap between the hills, and began his slide, slid about eight kilometers and died down.
Thanks to such not only heroic, but also lucky people, we live in our East, and are called Russia!
It’s not a funny story at all about how my grandfather didn’t become a Hero of the Soviet Union.
In the fall of 1942, my grandfather commanded a gunboat in the Baltic, he commanded honestly, he did not offend the sailors, he did not hide behind their backs, he beat the Nazis, as the country ordered. On one of his trips to sea, a German battleship battered his boat, gave it a good beating, barely escaped, and, hiding behind smoke, dove into a minefield. The battleship did not pursue and fell behind by a couple of hundred cables, in the hope that they would blow themselves up or the smoke would clear and, like, finish off...
And the grandfather made the decision to swim, clear away the mines with his hands, and get away from his pursuer, hiding behind the smoke...
October, Baltic, water temperature is just above 10 degrees. Who should I send?
The boatswain is already elderly, the sailors are almost all wounded, he and the mechanic remain. Well, they swam one by one, changing every 5 minutes along the waves, pushing the mines. Severe hypothermia was their reward, but the ship was saved, they passed through the minefield and, having exhausted the entire supply of smoke bombs, escaped pursuit.
Upon returning to Kronstadt, the entire team was sent to the hospital, some to treat their wounds, and some to warm them up. The grandfather was then nominated for the Hero star, and the mechanic was given Slava.
The grandfather is sitting in the hospital in a couple of weeks, warming up with alcohol with the head of the household department. They turned out to be fellow countrymen, they communicate, they try for their lives.
And NachKhoz offers him to start a business in Russian, they say, the sailors’ rations will be cut into fry, upon the grandfather’s return to the ship, and the profit from the sale will be in half, they say there is a sale... It was a shame for the grandfather, as I understand it, in St. Petersburg to sell sailor’s rations to the blockade survivors for little piece of gold, I couldn’t resist and stuck it in NachKhoz’s turnip...
Screams, screams, snot, an attack on a senior officer, a trial... Grandfather didn’t say anything then either during the investigation or at the trial...
The Hero Star was not given. He was stripped of his officer rank. They were sent to a penal company to defend St. Petersburg.
After being wounded, he was transferred back to the navy, but as a sailor. My grandfather graduated from the war in Koenigsberg with the rank of chief sergeant in 1946. And until demobilization, he clearly controlled the sailors’ rations upon receipt and issuance...
I remember you Grandfather! May you rest in peace!
Soldier, an enemy tank is heading towards you. What are your actions?
- I’ll take the grenade launcher and destroy it!
-Where will you get a grenade launcher?
- In the same place where you took the tank!
Eat breakfast yourself, share lunch with a friend, give dinner to your enemy.
- Comrade General, can I be your enemy?
- Can! Shoot!
The commander of the Luftwaffe, Colonel General Alexander von Lehr, was also in some way worthy of the Darwin Prize.
World War II. Von Lehr commands the German air force in Greece, and his son serves on the battleship Bismarck.
On May 18, 1941, the battleship Bismarck goes to sea, sinks the British battlecruiser Hood and severely damages the battleship Prince of Wales. After which the entire English fleet begins the hunt for the Bismarck. However, the Germans manage to escape - on May 25, 1941, the British lost sight of the Bismarck.
On May 26, von Lehr asks the fleet command: “how is my son doing there?” The fleet command sends a radiogram to the Bismarck, and the battleship responds: “Everything is fine, we’ll be in Brest in a day.”
The radiogram was intercepted by the British and the Bismarck did not reach Brest.
Thus, through the efforts of a caring father, the gene pool of humanity was rid of the genes of his son and the genes of his 2303 colleagues.
Anecdote: “Stirlitz, if you don’t pay for electricity, we will turn off your radio.”
News for 01/11/2008: In the USA, a telephone company turned off some of the listening devices to the FBI for malicious non-payment.
This happened in one of the air defense units in the 80s.
Two major Volkovs of the same name served with us, one was the head of the political department, the other was a special officer.
There was a telephone switchboard at the headquarters; during the day, as a rule, telephone operators were on duty on it, and if they asked to connect with Major Volkov, then one of them, Corporal Sonechka, a girl without complexes, would certainly clarify:
- What kind of Volkov do you want, who is pissing, or who is silent?
The world, of course, was not built without good people, and when called to the carpet by the head of communications, she clearly reported without a shadow of a doubt that the Guidelines for safe negotiations on open telephone channels, which prohibits disclosing the positions of subscribers, were impeccably observed by her.
Curtain! She was forgiven!
The press center of the Georgian Ministry of War explained the appearance of Georgian tanks in Tskhinvali by difficulties with navigation. This is what the commander of the tank corps, five-star General Chacha Anashishvilidze said:
- During the exercise, an unusually high fog suddenly appeared in the mountains. I had to choose a lonely soaring eagle as a guide, but he took it and flew away.
As a Russian sergeant commented on this statement: “Judging by the results, a lonely standing goat was chosen as a landmark. And there are a lot of goats in the mountains.”
Chechnya. Khattab calls Basayev and says:
- Listen, Shamil, I gave you our best sniper Said! From five hundred steps he hits a five-kopeck coin! What did you order him?!
- As usual: if you see the infidels (infidels) have a light in their positions - shoot at the light!
- Yeah. Here, read the infidels’ report: “During the night, the federal forces lost: six Belomor cigarettes, three flashlights and a Zippo lighter..
Service abroad is always more difficult than regular service, if only because you are constantly being watched. A step to the right, a step to the left - and now there is a reason for an international scandal.
Despite all the educational measures taken by the command, various instructions, regulations and instructions, surprises still sometimes happen, and even such that even if you stand or fall...
On the last day of the exercise, my father, then a lieutenant, heard terrible screams. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that Comrade Lieutenant General was extremely dissatisfied with something.
Catching his eye when he is in this state is tantamount to suicide - at best, such a meeting can end with a stretched sphincter and a ringing emptiness in the head from the shock decibels. But finding out what exactly happened was very interesting, and also useful for the future, and my father, skillfully camouflaging himself in the folds of the terrain, went towards the sound.
Within a radius of 50-100 meters from the general’s tent it was deserted, even the grass bent to the ground, what can we say about the various living creatures and other ordinary personnel who were simply waiting out the thunderstorm, huddled in holes, boiler rooms, kitchens, and pretending to be rags.
A senior lieutenant in a tank helmet stood next to the tent with his head down, picking at the ground with his foot, saying with all his appearance: “What am I? I’m nothing!”
The general diligently shook the air in front of the elder:
- Where Makar didn’t drive the calves! North! Rub your back against the earth's axis! No, I’ll send you to some bunkers! To the submarine, wipe the portholes! Blow out latrines with the power of your lungs! Tanker, your mother!
The father listened with interest to the monologue and memorized the speech patterns. So... for the future.
And this is what happened:
The Minister of Foreign Affairs of Czechoslovakia had some kind of holiday. Whether it’s some kind of anniversary, or a significant state day, it’s essentially not important. The important thing is that he gathered the heads of embassies and consulates of various European states at his country residence and arranged a buffet with all the ensuing consequences.
Probably having learned from the Russians, after the buffet table he organized a general outing into nature so that he could not only have fun, but also spend the day with health benefits. The evening's program also included hunting. But won’t respectable people, burdened with age, shortness of breath, alcohol and beer bellies, run in waders through the forest with guns at the ready in search of game? Of course not!
Everything was thought out, including this moment. With the help of the Czech military, tents were erected at the nearest training ground, lathered waiters were running around in the tents with drinks and snacks, and at the training ground itself, facing the forest, very convenient, comfortable trenches were dug for hunters, for shooting from a prone position and from a kneeling position. Good hunting rifles were already laid out there, and while the guests were warming up and gaining excitement before the hunt, huntsmen with dogs were driving a small herd of deer in the direction of this training ground, about thirty to forty heads...
Senior Lieutenant Makarenko, commander of a tank company, together with his company was returning from an excellent shooting test to the unit’s location. A broken forest road is not a problem for a tank, and Makarenko, leaning waist-deep out of the hatch, reminded himself of a pirate standing on the bridge of a ship - the tank walking through the forest swayed smoothly, and the commander associated the roaring of the engine with a storm and the growl of the salty wind. The illusion was also complemented by periodic slaps of branches on the face, just like salty sea water thrown by the wind into the face of a sea wolf!
The senior lieutenant was extremely pleased with the day and his soldiers; for the excellent shooting he was now rewarded with gratitude and maybe even an extraordinary vacation! It's time to dream about going home...
But choo! What is this? What are those sounds?!
Makarenko sharply raised his hand and croaked into the headset:
- Column, stop!
The clatter of hooves was heard from the forest. Makarenko turned his nose. A horned head flashed among the trees, then another and another. GAME! The senior lieutenant suddenly understood with all clarity and precision what exactly he lacked at the moment to be happy! And not even a vacation at all, no... Ancient instincts awoke in him at the sight of his running prey. Makarenko fluttered his nostrils, already smelling the smell of venison roasting on a spit...
A herd of deer, jumping over roadside bushes, rushed right in front of the lead tank, appetizingly waving their cuttings, necks and loins.
“No side dish! How ancient! Fry it over a fire without salt and pepper, and devour it, tearing off pieces with your teeth, choking on saliva from greed. The main thing is to keep your eyes open,” thought Makarenko, and followed with a hungry gaze the last deer hiding in the forest.
- Column! Do as I do! – Makarenko ordered in a greedy voice and tapped the driver’s head with his palm. - Turn left.
The tank, having swayed and demolished a birch tree with its gun barrel, turned across the road, following the deer. Everyone else did the same.
- In a wide chain, going around the herd from the flanks, forward! – the commander shouted in a broken voice, simultaneously pulling off the cover from the turret machine gun...
Ten combat vehicles, roaring their engines, released black diesel clouds and rushed into the forest. Behind the herd. Behind them were ten fresh clearings. Senior Lieutenant Makarenko no longer heard the barking of dogs and the screams of the rangers, he had no time for that...
Embassy workers of the largest European powers, such as Germany, France, Italy, Spain, Great Britain, well warmed up with alcohol, happy and steamed, arranged their mortal bodies in trenches, on blankets of camouflage green color. Next to each shooter stood an assistant, ready to hold the weapon, wipe the sweat on his bald head, or wipe off the fumes from his optics, and simply ready to advise on which direction to shoot.
At first, the rangers radioed that the herd would enter the field any minute, then some incomprehensible screams filled the airwaves, but it was too late - the bushes at the edge of the field, two hundred meters from the positions, parted and deer appeared in front of the hunters. Some impatient shooting began, and then a nightmare happened, Armageddon and quiet horror.
The forest growled, roared, shook and fell, collapsing trees, ten tanks literally flew into the clearing, they walked in a semi-circle, pinching the deer from the flanks, and all this was led by some crazy Russian, foaming at the mouth shouting over the engines of the cars - he completely forgot about headset.
- FIRE!!! – Makarenko shouted and pulled the trigger of the machine gun... Of course, he didn’t see any tents or trenches ahead. His vision was obscured by GAME!
The first to understand the complexity were not even the more sober assistants of the hunters, who had already managed to jump into the trenches with their charges and cover their heads with their hands, and the German Ambassador to Czechoslovakia... He knew what a Russian tank attack was. Even from the war, he remembered very well what it looked like and how it could end, therefore, as soon as he heard the familiar roar of the engines of Soviet armored vehicles that made his knees tremble, he, despite his decent age and weight, pressing his belly to the ground, backing away like a cancer, in a matter of For minutes he covered the distance from the trenches to the forest on his belly, there he hid in a ravine and froze. They looked for him for a couple of hours afterwards, but found him calm, although pale, it was immediately obvious that the man had fought.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs simply and trivially fainted and rolled into some kind of ditch, so he missed the main fun.
The British Ambassador, with the composure inherent in all Englishmen, wrapped himself in the green blanket on which he was lying and pretended to be a mummy, merging with the landscape.
The plump Italian ambassador swore non-stop in all languages available to him, not only during this action but also for a couple of days after it.
The Spaniard simply hugged the rifle and prayed...
And the tank company, having shot all the deer, finally stopped. Muslim drivers climbed out of the cars and began throwing carcasses onto the armor. During this entire operation, the hunters timidly looking out from the trenches wondered what it was, but did not voice their voices. And that’s right, why bother? Look, these Muslims still have knives...
HOW?! How the hell did you think of this, hunter??! This is an international scandal! - the general yelled, Makarenko was prudently silent, looking at his feet. “I... I don’t even know.” Can you imagine the headlines in tomorrow's newspapers? In big, bold print it will say “THE RUSSIANS ARE STARTING A NEW WAR WITH ALL OF EUROPE,” right? “MASS SHOOTINGS OF EMBASSY WORKERS”, right? “WHY IS THE GERMAN AMBASSADOR TO CZECHOSLOVAKIA STUTTERING”!? I'll kill you myself! Personally! I'll strangle you with foot wraps! Also, thank God, there were no casualties!! Fabulous luck!
While the general was going broke, a signalman appeared on the horizon. He clearly had some urgent business to attend to, but he was afraid to approach. He even walked half bent, so that in case of danger he would jump to the side.
- T-t-tov... t-comrade general! – the signalman finally squeaked.
- WHAT! – the general turned around.
- V-v-you on the phone... It's urgent...
Rocking from toe to heel, the general finally became deflated, changed his complexion from crimson to simple red and went to the headquarters tent. Literally a minute later he came out of her, looking somehow peaceful and extremely thoughtful.
- Listen, Makarenko, where is the game?
- What?
- Game, I ask, where?
- So this... they took it to the kitchen. The carcasses are now being butchered.
- Take the truck. Take this very game and go to this address. You hand over the game there, and we’ll consider the case closed. I will, of course, punish you. But there will be no scandal on an international scale.
The senior lieutenant, who had just been beaten by a sound wave, widened his eyes:
- Why, Comrade General?
- Just now they called from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The ambassadors, in the same composition as yesterday, continue the celebration at the minister's dacha... The nerves are calmed. They say that they would like to try the venison you brutally killed. They also say that they have never seen such an attraction anywhere, and they also asked to remain silent about the incident... Especially the ambassadors of Germany and Great Britain.
Handing over the venison, Makarenko saw off each carcass with tears in his eyes... But the hunt was a success? Isn't it?
After analyzing the statistics of American battles with the Japanese in 1941–1945, British scientists found that, despite the equality of forces, the Americans won more often. The reason was found. In English, the average length of a word is 5 letters, in Japanese - 13. That is, by the time the Japanese explains what’s what, the Yankees are already shooting... After that, the Americans just developed the habit of giving short names and nicknames to both their own and other people’s planes, ships and etc... 
When this information reached Soviet scientists, they calculated the average length of a word in the Russian language - 7 letters... Therefore, in the process of controlling the battle, the COMMANDER AUTOMATICALLY GOES TO MAT, AND THE INFORMATIVE CONTENT OF SPEECH per unit of time INCREASES 2-3 TIMES!
Civilian Jones was assigned to an Army training center where he was tasked with educating recruits about various government obligations to them, especially Military Life Insurance (LSI). Shortly thereafter, a lieutenant at the center noticed that Jones had an almost 100% sales rate of life insurance, which had never happened before. The lieutenant sat down at the back of the recruit-filled room and listened to Jones' sales pitch. Jones explained the basics of SJV to the new recruits and then said:
“If you have an SJV and you went into battle and died, the government is obligated to pay your heirs $200,000. If you do not have an SJV and you went into battle and died, the government is obligated to pay your heirs a maximum of only $6,000.”
“Now,” he concluded, “who do you think they’ll send into battle first?”
This is what kind of drink...you have to be in order to carry...on the battlefield: a machine gun, a pistol, a knife, a waist belt, a shovel, a bulletproof vest, a helmet...and engage in hand-to-hand combat with the same drink... enemy...
I remember once I had the flu and the doctor prescribed bed rest. I wanted to lie at home for a week, but unfortunately, just at this time, the command of the unit, embittered by the endless sick leave of officers and warrant officers, ordered that all sick people be admitted to the medical unit or not be given a sick leave at all. Well, I didn’t make a fuss and went to the medical unit (you can drink and not do a damn thing there, too), and it became funny - the last time I was in bed was about fifteen years ago.
I was bored alone in the officer’s ward for a day, and then I made acquaintance with paramedic Sergei Anatolyich (at the same time, he was the head of the pharmacy and the caretaker of the medical unit). We drank free medical alcohol, and, as befits a health worker and a patient, the conversations were mainly about various ailments. It was here that Anatolyich introduced me to his table of the relationship between military rank and a certain disease. That is, how can one determine a patient’s military rank based on his sores? Perhaps I got something wrong, but overall it looked like this:
LIEUTENANT - GASTRITIS,
SENIOR LIEUTENANT - CHRONIC GASTRITIS,
CAPTAIN - chronic GASTRITIS AND RADICULITIS,
MAJOR - all of the above and PROSTATITIS,
LIEUTENANT COLONEL - all of the above and ULCER,
COLONEL - all of the above and HYPERTENSION,
MAJOR GENERAL (there were no higher patients in the garrison) - all of the above and
HAEMORRHOIDS...
This is not a photo, but a real masterpiece. Can you imagine seeing this in reality, and even after “yesterday”? A sober lifestyle is guaranteed.
Note 1; for WARRANT OFFICERS the average value should be taken at the rank LIEUTENANT-CAPTAIN, for senior warrant officers at the rank CAPTAIN-LIIEUTENANT COLONEL. FOR HONORED SENIOR WARRANT OFFICERS (such as ANATOLICH himself) - at the rank of LIEUTENANT COLONEL-MAJOR GENERAL.
Note 2; ALCOHOLISM is a disease common to all categories of military personnel who drink alcohol.
... Having drunk on alcohol, Anatolyich opened the register and at random took out several medical cards, ordered me to read the diagnoses, with an accuracy of 4
out of 5, determining the patient's military rank!
We did not officially fight in Vietnam. They were military experts and instructors. Finding a normal Vietnamese is a problem. They are small, dead, and cannot handle overload. Our guys were fine up to 10g, but these guys already lost consciousness at five. They were force-fed, court-martialed if someone did not eat the meat ration, they were put on exercise machines - all to no avail. They lose consciousness and that’s it. For a few seconds, but that's enough.
American pilots quickly realized that all Vietnamese aviation was divided into Russian pilots and Vietnamese. Shooting down a Vietnamese is an honorable, profitable task (the money paid well), and most importantly, safe. Things were much worse with the Russians. You seem to fall out on them unexpectedly from the sunny side, from a cloud, you seem to hit them for sure, and he will make an anti-missile maneuver, spin the figure with an awesome overload, and he’s already on your tail. To hell with money and fame, he’ll still bring you down!
True, those who ejected were not finished off. And thanks to the Russian guys for that. Americans quickly figured out how to distinguish a Russian from a Vietnamese. There is a battle going on, and as a rule it is very fleeting. F-15 on the tail of the MiG. The MiG makes a maneuver, the overload increases, five, six - hop! the wings trembled for a second, barely noticeable - everything is clear, Vietnam. You don't have to be afraid. But if at 8g the MiG also confidently performs the maneuver, then it’s definitely not Vietnamese, but Russian, and who the hell knows how it will all end. That's why the Americans openly went on air with the phrase "Vanya! I'm gone!" left the battle. And rightly so. God protects those who are careful.
At some secret northern airfield there was a commission and they checked how strategic bombers worked...
Here the generals are standing on takeoff and watching... the Tupolev strategic bomber takes off and almost at the end of the runway, when it has already taken off from the ground, it falls off (most likely an additional tank)... the generals jump into the ditch, and one stands and looks no matter how what never happened...
The plane flies away... nothing happens... the generals climb out of the ditch and approach the fearless man:
- Why weren’t you hiding, what if it was a bomb?! ?
To which he replied:
- What's the point? It's nuclear!
The commander of the Cosmodrome Training Center receives a letter. "Comrade
Colonel, what's wrong with my son, he hasn't written for the second month." The commander instructs his superiors to sort it out, the platoon commander forces the soldier to write a letter to his mother. The letter leaves, in response the mother arrives, as they say, in shock and in the company of two women, and goes straight to the commander : “What’s wrong with your son!?” - and shakes him with the letter.
It says: “Dear mom, I’m sorry I haven’t written for a long time. It’s just that before the satellite launch I was washing the floors in the rocket, someone accidentally closed the hatch and I was stuck on
orbit."...
Soviet-Chinese border. 198* year. Winter.
The frosts in those parts are bitter, sometimes dropping to -50. In such conditions, it’s hard for nature, not like for people: trees crack, and the ice bursts as if a shell had exploded.
It was one frosty January evening. Two border guard soldiers received an order to bypass the state border of the USSR on foot, along the ice of the Amur. They had to go around a three-kilometer section of the border - from 20:00 to 3 o'clock, with short stops for a short break and to assess the situation.
Winter, frost. Dress as you should: cotton clothes, warm cotton pants and a jacket, and on top a short fur coat, felt boots lined with felt and mittens. On top of everything is a white camouflage robe. And of course, an AK, 120 rounds of ammunition (for each), a signal flare gun and charges for it, binoculars.
The night was so bright and moonlit that “at least you could collect needles.” The frost did not allow us to relax, but we were lucky that there was no wind.
After about three hours of patrolling the border, one of the fighters named Ivan became impatient due to “great need.” We stopped for a break. The second, having learned that the sergeant had become vulnerable, lay down for cover as required by the instructions. He didn’t walk far - he immediately sat down and got to work.
About 10 minutes later, lying there freezing, Grisha shouted to the sergeant:
- Are you there soon? It's cold to lie down!
And in response there was silence. He turns around and sees: Ivan is already dressed, but in obvious bewilderment.
“Have you finished yet or not?...” the question was asked again.
“I think I went, but I don’t see anything…” came the answer.
Grisha, coming closer to his partner, began to look around, but apart from the crystal whiteness of the ice, there was not a single dark spot.
“Maybe it was blown away by the wind,” Vanya suggested.
- What kind of wind? - Grisha said, spreading his hands.
We thought about it for a while and continued on our way.
Already in the morning, they arrived at the barracks, frozen, but happy. They dropped their weapons and other uniforms.
They began to take off their camouflage coats and then behind the sergeant something fell with a crash, he was as happy as a child and said quietly:
- This is my loss. And we were looking... The frost worked clearly, without any traces on the camouflage.
There was silence in the barracks for a moment; the guard on duty at the outpost only had time to say:
- I carry everything I own with me?!
A friendly laugh immediately followed and woke up all the soldiers. It’s good that they didn’t have time to take off their cotton clothes; it was comfortable to roll around on the floor laughing.
Well, we took note: until you are convinced of the result that you have done the job, don’t go for a walk!
Before the collapse of the Soviet Union, many union republics were hit by a wave of armed conflicts. One of the troubled points on the map of the USSR was Baku in 1988.
One of the motorized rifle regiments received an order: “Set up posts on the roads leading to Baku. All passing vehicles should be checked for weapons."
All personnel were alerted early in the morning. Of course, there was no time to have breakfast. They said: the field kitchen will deliver breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And so, at one of these posts, 6 soldiers were stationed. In terms of living conditions, one might say they were lucky: there was an abandoned construction trailer standing by the road. They were on duty on the road one by one - two were on duty for 2 hours, four rested in the trailer, then changed.
And everything would have been fine, but they said over the radio that there was no need to wait for a shift yet - the second battalion had been transferred to Sumgayit for reinforcement. And closer to lunch, they said that the field kitchen would also be delayed indefinitely. In short - some kind of f... c!
Towards evening, empty stomachs rumbled louder than passing cars. But service is service! They remained on duty until the corporal took up his post again.
There was a lot of transport on the road - the Muslim holiday Eid al-Adha was approaching. Almost every car inspected was filled with food. The sight of food made the hungry soldiers even more sad.
And so, the corporal stops another “penny”. I checked the interior - there were all sorts of sweets, fruits and other products, and in the trunk there was a slaughtered lamb. Sighing sadly, he says to the driver:
Have a nice trip, pass through. And happy holiday to you, Kurban Bayram!
The driver instantly cheered up and rushed to hug and kiss the soldier. And what congratulations/wishes poured from his lips! Yes, the southern peoples can speak beautifully! And in addition to the words, he gave the soldier a hefty piece of lamb, cake, pita bread and some oriental sweets.
The corporal quickly realized what needed to be done and began to congratulate all the drivers. The response from almost everyone was the same - mutual congratulations, wishes and gifts.
By the end of the 2-hour duty, at the edge of the road, behind a concrete block, a large pile of donated products had gathered.
And when the soldiers with all this “treasure” burst into the trailer 2 hours later, the resting soldiers were speechless. On that day, the corporal became the hero of the day.
The shift workers who went out onto the road after the corporal also congratulated everyone passing by - for which they received gifts.
By lunchtime the next day, the field kitchen finally arrived, but no one was interested in the porridge and stew. And in the trailer, it became noticeably more crowded...
This incident occurred in the mid-1970s. Northwestern borders of our Motherland. Moonsund archipelago. The time of day is night.
An unidentified target at high altitude is moving along the border of the Soviet Union. Judging by the speed, this is an airplane.
An interceptor takes off into the air. It is aimed at the target using instruments.
Negotiations between pilot and gunner (located on the ground):
Interceptor pilot:
Unidentified aircraft, not responding to requests. I don't see any side lights.
Gunner:
Intensity! (electric current is supplied to the rocket).
Pilot(surprised):
There is intensity. (there were no prerequisites for the attack).
Gunner:
High! (high voltage supplied).
Pilot(even more surprised):
There is a high (after this, only the command “Start!” follows)
Pilot:
The unidentified aircraft responded and turned on its side lights. The target moves away from the state border of the USSR.
It is not known how well the enemy pilots knew Russian, but apparently they understood the guidance commands and the seriousness of the situation well.
After this incident, people from the Special Department came to the gunner officer:
Well, Semyonov? (let it be Semyonov). Are we going to erase your jokes from the main and backup voice recorders? Well, you've put us all on our ears! Contrary to all instructions! What if they were shot down? Do you understand that you almost created an international scandal?! “
The guidance officer has been working for several years now, so he boldly takes out a folder called “Operational Training Plan” and shows a page on which operational measures are regulated to check the order of combat operations, but without actual launches.
Formally, this situation fell under the activities of the “Plan” and the special officer fell behind, having no further complaints.
This incident took place during the existence of the Soviet Union, in the Turkestan Military District.
The overwhelming majority of the personnel consisted of locals - immigrants from neighboring Central Asian republics.
With these soldiers, in all military units of the Union, there was the same problem - they did not understand a word of Russian and it seemed that they did not strive for this.
And many simply pretended that they didn’t know - it was easier to serve.
But as a rule, by the end of the service, everything could be explained more or less tolerably.
Another replenishment has arrived.
After passing through a two-week quarantine, the vocabulary of “children of the mountains and steppes” has not been greatly expanded.
When the commanders gave orders and commands, they responded monotonously:
Don't understand!
But for any cunning, there is always an even greater cunning in the army! This is a time-tested truth!
And so, the company commander, having a wonderful sense of humor, lines up the newly arrived soldiers on the parade ground.
He takes a sheet of paper with some old order printed on a typewriter and solemnly reads out:
“Order of the USSR Minister of Defense, no. such and such, from such and such numbers.
Establish the period of service in the ranks of the Soviet army for those who do not speak Russian - three years
Minister of Defense... such and such».
A couple of hours later, near the office, a line of young people formed. All the soldiers entering the office had approximately the same phrase:
Captain's comrade, private Kurbenderliev, allow me to come in! I understand Russian nimnoshka.
Having learned about the upcoming inspector general's inspection, the regiment commander urgently gathered the officers in his office. He addressed those present at the meeting with an order to appoint one of the officers to represent the regiment during the inspection. The regiment commander had already gone through more than one check and, wise from previous experience, did not want to receive p... s again, so he urgently fell ill and went on sick leave.
The officers, vying with each other, began to refuse - each had their own valid reason: some to enter the academy, others to sort out a difficult political situation. As a result, the political officer and deputy. In terms of combat, they “merged” immediately, the rest also began to quietly fade.
The situation was saved by chance - the door opened and a young captain, who had just arrived for service, entered the office. At the end of the meeting, having delved into the problem, Captain Petrov (as he introduced himself) himself volunteered to prepare the regiment for the general’s inspection.
To the commander's question:
What is needed for this?
The captain replied:
Nothing at all - 300 rubles.
The regiment commander, overjoyed, gives him money and leaves to get sick.
The next day, Petrov reports to the regiment commander that the regiment is ready for inspection.
And so, the “formidable” general appeared in the unit. How the absence of the regiment commander and deputies was explained to the general and why the captain would accompany him - history is silent.
The captain general asks:
How well do you know how your soldiers live?
That's right, dragging the general - major! Fine! At one glance I can unmistakably determine what the soldiers are wearing - socks or foot wraps.
The general silently selects several fighters and becomes convinced that the lieutenant is right. Deciding to complicate the task, he demands to gather all the soldiers in Lenin’s room and conduct a political lesson. And so they did. Whatever Petrov asks them, there is a forest of hands and correct answers. The general became thoughtful. There was only one thing left to do - check the power supply of the military unit. We came to the dining room during lunch, and there the cook gave the fighter half a chicken on his plate, bang!.. Seeing this, the general asked himself:
Can I?
Yes, with pleasure! - and half the chicken is already on the general’s plate.
The inspecting general had no choice but to give “excellent” and leave for his headquarters.
The regiment commander, who immediately recovered, upon learning of the assessment, was delighted to introduce the captain to the next rank. Well, in a purely human way, I thanked him. And already at the table, the lieutenant told how he arranged it all.
Petrov ordered the soldiers to put a footcloth on their left leg and a sock on their right leg. What I asked, they showed... Of course, during political training, the fighters could not know everything and therefore, when asked questions, those who knew raised their right hand, and those who did not know raised their left. It seemed like everyone knew. Well, for 300 rubles, the captain bought a chicken at the market, which was cut in half. Moreover, one half was given to the general, and the other was tied to a ladle!
That's it! - the newly-minted major smiled.
In the Northern Fleet, one of the ship's officers, a mechanic on a minesweeper, wanted to retire to the reserve. But it was during perestroika, there weren’t enough people, and naturally no one was going to let him go.
He tried all sorts of methods: he drank while on duty, went AWOL, became rowdy, performed his professional duties poorly, etc. The officer only achieved that the command transferred him to a ship that was undergoing major repairs. You can imagine what this meant at that time, if earlier repairs were delayed for a year or two, then during “perestroika”, the real deadlines were unknown to anyone.
As usual, such ships are served by guilty officers, whom the authorities on decent ships have long dreamed of getting rid of. By the way, if you look at such a ship, you can hardly find at least one living soul. But glands of all kinds, removed mechanisms and an open deck indicate that work is in full swing!
Having seen all this, the mechanic decided to add “know-how” to the interior of the ship. The portholes on the ship are small - only 20-25 centimeters in diameter - not every head can fit through such a “window”. Semyon decided to eliminate this inconvenience.
Having cut out a piece of the side with a 2x2 meter autogen, I inserted a balcony frame, a door and welded the balcony on the outside. In the morning, when the first rays of the sun illuminated the cabin, it took on the appearance of a fashionable room in a cool hotel. I was tempted to go out onto the balcony with a cup of strong coffee and a cigarette to admire the beauty of the sea, the seagulls hovering above it and breathe in the light sea breeze.
How he managed to keep this project a secret from the command is unknown, but his disguise was a success - no one noticed anything until the arrival of the commission headed by the admiral. This admiral became famous for the fact that he was very scrupulous and meticulous - for the slightest shortcomings he could bother the officers so much that he wanted to punch him in the face, but the regulations did not allow it.
Seeing all these innovations, the admiral was seized with tetanus; not only did he stop breathing. When the power of speech returned to him, the ship was sent back to fix the balcony, and the commander received an NSS (a warning about incomplete performance - a very serious punishment!).
The mechanic finally received his long-awaited transfer to the reserve, which he was incredibly happy about. It is surprising, however, that he was not brought to criminal liability - “for damage to property.”
There is such a military transport aircraft AN-12, medium size, but with four engines. It was widely used in the Soviet Union since the early 60s; well-preserved examples still fly today, mainly on commercial airlines. It has a crew of five people: crew commander, co-pilot, navigator, radio operator and flight mechanic... It is the number FIVE that will prove fatal in this story.So, one day such a plane was preparing to take off into the night. Everyone goes about their business, the flight mechanic, as expected, carries parachutes for the crew members. But it just so happened on that ill-fated day that they had to be carried from the hangar almost across the entire airfield. The flight mechanic was a man of near-retirement age, far from being a boy to run back and forth for a considerable distance. For each flight, he “hooks” two parachutes and brings them on board. I did this on two such flights, but I’m so reluctant to go for the last parachute! He scored, by and large, on the last parachute. Moreover, my heart is completely at peace: throughout its long history of service, parachutes have never been useful to the crews of the AN-12. Paratroopers, yes, often jumped from the AN-12. But not the crew members...
It's time to take off, the crew commander inspects the board and then notices the absence of one parachute! The flight mechanic immediately asked a reasonable question: what the hell? Where else is the parachute? In response, he utters a pre-prepared phrase: “Guys, you’re all still young,” he says, “I brought you parachutes!” But I’ve already lived enough, I’ve done everything I wanted - I’ve seen the world, I’ve built a house, I’ve raised my sons, I’ve planted trees. My head is already gray, I don’t need a parachute!”
Okay, there’s nothing to do - it’s time to take off. It was already getting dark when the AN-12 separated from the runway and rushed upward. The flight mechanic, without wasting any time, fell onto the parachutes he had brought and serenely fell asleep. They flew for about five hours, safely reached their destination, landed, taxied to the side... And our flight mechanic, neither sleepy nor in spirit, continues to “crush the snorer.” The tired but awake crew members looked at him at once and suddenly a bright idea was born in the heads of the men - to play the “sleeping beauty”! There’s darkness all around, it’s as if you could poke your eyes out, the engines are thrashing, there’s a complete illusion that the plane is flying. Especially when you're asleep.
Shouting: “We’re leaving the plane immediately!”, they throw the sleepy flight engineer onto the floor, quickly put on parachutes and, one after another, jump into the darkness before his stunned eyes. Last, as it should be in all fleets, is the commander. With a dramatic expression on his face and a feigned trembling in his voice, the cap says: “Sorry, friend... But, you yourself said... About the house and sons...”, and stretches out his hand for the last parachute. Then events began to develop completely differently from the prank scenario. The sad commander immediately receives a powerful blow to the head, falls to the floor and loses consciousness! And our combat mechanic quickly puts on a parachute and, (as taught) with his arms and legs spread wide, jumps flat in the shape of an “X” into the darkness!
Need I explain that the joy of free fall was short-lived for him and almost instantly gave way to a passionate kiss of the asphalt under the surprised glances of the other crew members who stood nearby and watched this dramatic outcome.
As they say, the crew commander was not seriously injured as a result of this prank and the next day, as if nothing had happened, he went to work. The same cannot be said about the flight mechanic, who was quickly dismissed in disgrace from the valiant ranks of the aviators.
(Evgeny Ostrovsky personally told me about the “joy of free fall”)
Traffic rules
“High beam must be switched to low beam:
“when passing oncoming traffic at a distance of at least 150 m from the vehicle, and also at a greater distance, if the driver of the oncoming vehicle periodically switching the headlights indicates the need for this”Private Timur Kagirov, after a year of military service, became the youngest warrant officer not only in the motorized rifle regiment, but in the entire division. But it’s always difficult for a “young” person, no matter who he is - a soldier, a warrant officer or an officer. At the age of 20, Timur received, in addition to the position of head of the Pomsen shooting range and the opportunity to command the soldiers of the range, also responsibility for the life and health of his soldiers. For, according to the Charter, a soldier must be well-fed, dressed and shod for the season, clean and healthy. And also cheerful and always ready to “steadfastly endure all the hardships and deprivations of military service”
Therefore, Ensign Kagirov was obliged to go with the soldiers to the regiment once a week, receive food and cigarettes from the warehouses, and also change linen in the laundry unit. The shooting range had its own bathhouse. During the autumn final inspection, the firing schedule was disrupted due to the late arrival of the inspection officers. Therefore, we left for the regiment late in a duty vehicle from the Central shooting range tower. In this bustle of the days of army exams, Timur had difficulty finding the heads of the food and clothing warehouses. While they were receiving food and changing their linen, the duty vehicle drove back to the start of the night shooting without them. Since there was an order not to let cars out of the park after 21.00. The head of the shooting range, leaving his soldiers with food and linen at the warehouse, rushed around the territory of the unit in search of any military equipment heading towards Pomsen. And then army fortune smiled on the young warrant officer!
Near the regimental headquarters, Timur came across a platoon reconnaissance lieutenant with the military surname Timerbulatov. A young officer cheerfully asked an ensign running past, twitched by army life:
-Where are we rushing, “namesake” Timur? The war is long over! We won!
- War is war, but dinner is on schedule! It’s already ten o’clock, and my operators are sitting hungry at night shooting.And the “young” must always help the “young”! Whoever he was there - a soldier, a warrant officer or an officer. Because this is the only way it is always easier to endure all sorts of hardships and deprivations of army life. Lieutenant Timerbulatov smiled across the entire width of his Caucasian mustache:
- Comrade ensign, you're welcome to a Russian bathhouse with a broom! My BRDM is standing at full speed near the first battalion in the direction of your shooting range. Today for the inspectors there will be night shooting for show - penetration into the rear of the imaginary enemy. So we will sneak in under the cover of darkness. Where are your food warriors?Loaded quickly! We left the regiment checkpoint even faster. We drove in pitch darkness. The road was illuminated only by the headlights of the BRDM. The ensign and the officer sat comfortably astride the tower. Two scout sergeants positioned themselves side by side on the armor. It was a surprisingly quiet, windless autumn night. All that was heard was the steady hum of the combat vehicle’s powerful engine and the rustle of tires on the asphalt. In those days, Germans rarely traveled at such a late hour for them. And there were not as many owners of private cars in the GDR as there are now in united Germany. The highway was deserted and straight. The high beams of an oncoming car appeared in the distance. Timur determined by the low-set headlights that this was a passenger car. It was clear that the oncoming car was weaving along the road and sometimes entering the oncoming lane. The driver, an old-time soldier, immediately slowed down and switched the high beam to low beam. There was no reaction from the car. Our driver blinked a couple more times. The answer is a complete disregard for traffic rules. The vehicles were quickly approaching each other, and the oncoming high beams were already blinding not only the driver of the combat vehicle, but also everyone riding on the armor.
And then the reconnaissance platoon commander quickly makes a strong-willed decision - he pulls off the cover from a special separate large headlight - a seeker with the poetic name "Moon", located on the tower. At the same time, he commands the driver to turn on the highest beam and directs this strong beam directly at the oncoming car with his hand. This was a must see! The car jerked left and right along the road, then braked with a squeal and abruptly pulled right to the side of the road.
The BRDM smoothly approached the scene of the accident. In a ditch of the road, with its headlights buried in the ditch, the Trabant was spinning its rear wheels in the air. Two young Germans tried to leave the cabin, swearing in their own way. It was clear that both were drunk. The driver himself was able to crawl onto the road on all fours and now tried in vain to help his passenger, who was constantly sliding back into the mud of the ditch. The reconnaissance officer calmly assessed the condition of the car and the uncertain movements of the guys and commanded:
- Reconnaissance, to the car! – and explained to Timur, “we’ll pull him out.” Don't leave the Germans in this pit overnight.The lieutenant and the ensign jumped from the armor. Timur helped the young driver pull out his friend. Both Germans were breathing heavily and stood in front of the platoon commander, like delinquent schoolchildren. Timerbulatov, with the directness of a Soviet officer and with a slight Caucasian accent, asked a specific question:
- Junge, schnapps trinken? – and added bitterly in pure Russian, “and what should I do with you, assholes?”Timur translated the officer’s phrase, but without the last word. It’s just that he was just beginning to study the language of his country of residence and did not yet know a suitable synonym in German for such a capacious Russian word - “assholes”. In response, the cabin boys vying with each other said that everything was fine, they had “a lot of problems” and that they themselves could get to the city. And the driver really asked not to call the traffic police. Apparently, the young German assumed that the reconnaissance company had established constant direct communication via radio with local law enforcement officers. The platoon commander ordered his scouts:
- So, soldiers, two on one side of the car, two on the other! I'm with the ensign in front! We push this unit onto the asphalt,” and Timur asked, “tell the natives not to interfere.”Timur asked the Germans to step aside. In two steps, the Trabant was not only pushed onto the road, but also placed in the right direction. Of course! The weight of this car was only 620 kg. The ensign recently had the opportunity to see an accident involving this miracle of technology of the local automobile industry with a Mercedes-Wentz car. There was heavy fog, Timur was traveling by bus to the city. The bus was moving slowly, and Timur suddenly began to notice the scattered remains of some kind of vehicle on the roadway. At first Timur thought it was a motorcycle. Then he saw half a Trabant and a Mercedes with a broken headlight in the middle of the road. And the warrant officer now couldn’t even imagine what would happen if this mostly plastic car collided with the armor of a military vehicle weighing about 7 tons?
Timerbulatov straightened his sword belt and holster, hit his palm on the hood of the pulled out car and said cheerfully:
- Now it’s really “kain problems”, alcoholics and parasites! I remember your car number. If I see him on the road driving in this condition again, I’ll crush him with a BRDM. This is better than a drunk driver hitting a pedestrian. And God forbid, a child! Translate, ensign.
Timur quickly said:
- Das viele Trinken f;hrt zum Hinken.
The officer asked in surprise:
- So fast? I gave these unfortunate drivers a whole speech on the topic of the eternal question: “To drink or not to drink!” And you, translator, did it fit into one short sentence?
The ensign grinned:
- This is a proverb! It means literally: “This large drink will lead to a limping gait” or in our language: “Drinking a lot is harmful to yourself!”
The scout whistled:
- Brevity is the sister of talent! Well, you, ensign, we can do it!
- Comrade Lieutenant, we can’t, but we can!Both laughed loudly throughout the area. The soldiers also cheered up. And the driver of the BRDM approached his German colleague, lightly patted him on the shoulder and handed him a pack of Northern cigarettes. The Germans looked with surprise at the attitude of Soviet soldiers towards those responsible for the incident. In the understanding of the already sobered young burghers, after such an incident they should have been handed over to the police station long ago. And these strange guys not only pulled them out of the hole, but also treated them to cigarettes. And they seem to get great pleasure from it and are not going to drag anyone to the police.
The officer, like his driver, suddenly lightly tapped the ensign on the shoulder and cheerfully suggested:
- And now, for speed - who is the first to the tower?
Both stood on both sides of the combat vehicle and, at the driver’s command, literally ran into the tower under the encouraging cries of the scouts. Timur was a fraction of a second behind. Intelligence has won! That's what intelligence is for, to win! The rest of the fighters jumped in next. The BRDM doused the amazed Germans with a cloud of spent fuel and quickly rushed into the night...Road accident - Road traffic accident.
Checkpoint - Checkpoint.
BRDM - Armored reconnaissance and patrol vehicle. It has high dynamic qualities, a large power reserve, high maneuverability and the ability to overcome water obstacles on the move.
Trabant (German: Trabant) is a brand of East German minicars. "Trabant" became one of the symbols of the GDR
The car had an in-line 2-stroke 2-cylinder carburetor engine with a volume of 0.6 liters. (initially 0.5 l.) and a power of only 26 hp. (19.1 kW). It differed from other brands of cars in its chain drive and one drive wheel.
Tank Destroyer!In 1984, within the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany (GSVG), at the will of major military leaders, another reshuffle of forces took place. I don't know what this was connected with. Someone said - supposedly because of the re-equipment of our tankers with new T-80 combat vehicles, and some specialists argued that because of the strengthening of our infantry BMP - 2. The big commanders knew better! It's good to be a general!
And then came the transfer of our Twentieth Division from the Eighth Combined Arms Army to the First Tank Army. We all know the “warm” attitude of tankers towards infantry and vice versa. Therefore, the tank generals decided to check our motorized rifle regiment with some bias. The Ninth Company was targeted for fire training. And not just pass combat standards, but defeat all enemy tanks at our training ground! The very guards tank crew inspectors were tormented by this question: “How can grenade launchers in their infantry destroy tanks?”
There was no separate grenade launcher platoon in the companies, but each squad had its own grenade launcher - a thunderstorm for tanks. So in the Ninth Company there were exactly nine fighters of armored targets of the enemy NATO bloc. These were mostly soldiers originally from sunny Azerbaijan, among whom Private Zeynalov served - an extremely negative and unkempt character: constantly in deep opposition to his fathers - commanders, always behaved defiantly in a boorish manner, constantly feigning illness. And this time one of the soldier’s legs was bandaged and shod in a slipper. Boil, please! So, the company commander, by a volitional decision, left this soldier as an orderly in the company for the duration of the inspection. Out of sight - away from inspectors!
At the firing point of the training ground, the grenade launchers were given three shots each, according to the instructions, and eight eagles were lined up right in front of the Central Tower. The inspecting general personally decided to verify the accuracy of the sons of the Caucasus. The command sounded - open fire! Every entry is “excellent”! Is one soldier missing? The general asks:
- Where is the ninth?
- In the medical unit, Comrade General! - just in case, the company commander answers cheerfully.
- Deliver immediately!
An hour later, in the UAZ, the regiment commander, Private Zeynalov, who was completely freaked out, is taken straight from his bedside table, throwing on an overcoat and a hat, to the shooting range. Entry, three shots, "Excellent" rating!The gray-haired general was moved and ordered the grenade launchers to be built again. But it must be said that our guards were so tall that the grenade launcher barely reached the ground, just like the overcoats on the soldiers. And Zeynalov also has a sore leg, instead of a boot there is a slipper, his leg is in dirty bandages. The general, in front of the formation, announces VACATION to all distinguished soldiers in a loud commanding voice! Then he approaches the last shooter and says warmly: “Well done, son!”
And Zeynalov answers him, pointing his finger at his RPG behind his back: “What kind of son am I? You see, I’m a tank destroyer!” Paragraph.
FUN.One of the companies of the first battalion was commanded by a very experienced commander. You ask: "Why very experienced?" I will answer that after five years of commanding a company, commanders become very experienced and are secretly awarded the honorary title of “Company Director”. So, after the shooting at the training ground, the company moved on foot to the permanent deployment point, the procession was led by the Company Director HIMSELF. He probably decided to shake things up or just work up an appetite. But, in order to add some fun and playfulness to the boring procession, I remembered the military cadet fun - an explosion package is placed under the helmet, after detonation of which the helmet takes off and goes into the sky no worse than the Shuttle, turning into a point, and then rushes down. The main thing here is not to fall under it. To add some charm to the hackneyed entertainment, our commander decisively changed its course by placing an explosion under his helmet - a package with a lit fuse. The commander himself, as usual, did not step aside, but sat astride his helmet (I must say he weighed over a hundred kg). I don’t know what inspired him to have so much fun, but at the last moment his mind returned, he already raised his butt from his helmet, but it was too late... The blow was powerful!!! The wounded body of the commander on raincoats was carefully carried by his faithful soldiers to the place of assistance. No wounds incompatible with life were found, but for a long time the unit remained without its cheerful father-commander.
Last edited by Tagitus; 04/05/2011 at 07:43.
Forest Lake.Payday in the helicopter unit. And as in any military unit, this is a special day! It all happened on payday. Yes, you could have guessed it yourself. No, this is not de javu. Payday and no options.
So... the flyers received their honestly earned money and, as is expected in such cases, chipped in for a case of beer. Antidepressant! What were you thinking? No frills. Only beer!
And only one bottle for twenty healthy and not at all bad men. Everything is orderly and noble! Trouble came from unexpected places. The days were hot, and then someone suggested we fly to a gorgeous forest lake for a quick swim. It’s hot... you know, Brother, it’s hot...
(As the special officers didn’t bother later, they didn’t find out in the future who came up with this completely criminal idea - to swim during official time)
For those who don’t know, in the army everything is done quickly. Fly out for a swim? To a forest lake? Quickly there and instantly back? It's a crap question!
According to the military, all twenty Stalinist falcons are loaded onto the helicopter. They fly to the lake according to the military. A military helicopter hovers over the lake. Let me remind you that the lake is forest. That is, there is not enough space for an army helicopter to land. The storm is dropping - the trap. The helicopter is put on autopilot. There is such a possibility. Our warriors cheerfully, army-style, quickly and accurately change into Adam's swimsuits. Why be ashamed? A deaf forest lake, the outskirts of the Russian Empire, I will neither give you nor you children... And with passionate shouts:
- Who is the last Freak! - our eagles carry out rapid and massive landings. All at once.
The last one definitely turned out to be a Freak. After all, he could have stayed just a little longer. And think a little. Clear and military style. The autopilot is a primitive thing... either it’s a Chinese fake, or the students wrote their diploma... well, it didn’t take into account (the autopilot, of course) that as a result of the jump the car would lose about 1.5 tons of luggage. Have you already calculated it yourself? Arithmetics, you understand. I said that all the men were healthy people, each about 80 kilos. Our combat vehicle jumped up a bit. Just a little. Well, 1.5 - 2.0 meters.
“Short chain mail!” Remember this movie? Well, the ladder also turned out to be a bit short. While everyone was on board, he happily rinsed himself in the water, and as everyone jumped out, he also climbed out of the water: the same 1.5 - 2.0 meters. Arihmetika!
On land this is a mere trifle. Twenty healthy men can easily reach it. How can you make this from water? The task is not an easy one. And Archimedes is no help here. The clowning was enhanced according to the military. In the water, our heroes tried to build a living pyramid and throw the thinnest and fastest swimmer up. The army fantasy of our heroes would go to great lengths to save the combat vehicle and their honor - with uniforms, shoulder straps and stars on them. In vain!
The kerosene in the tanks is not endless. In the end, having tied up loose ends, our heroes, sitting on the shore, sadly watched the splashdown of government property into the treacherous waters of the ill-fated forest lake. May the readers forgive me for this intimate detail.
Life does not stand still. We must return to at least the unit. Anyone can drown a helicopter - it’s an ordinary thing! But how can you return home like this? For many, this feat lies beyond the honor and conscience of our era.. Why are you laughing? The excuse “the autopilot failed” will definitely not work. And our bathers, according to the military, lined up in a column... (no matter how long) and went to surrender to the unit. Their piquant appearance at the checkpoint is still legendary in the Air Force to this day. And legends are made about their subsequent suffering in the army even in hell.
(told by a comrade, better known in certain circles as Jan)
