In 1999, I served in one of the border detachments. One graduate of the agricultural academy served with us, the so-called “two-year student” - a lieutenant, his profession was, as you might guess, a veterinarian, although according to our staff he was listed as a doctor. The (C) detachment commander did not like two-year students in general, and this one in particular.
Once we (including (K) and this “doctor” and several other officers) went around the outposts on an inspection. At one of the outposts we saw how one horse ran into a fence and, having hit it, bounced off (and so on several times). (K) asked:
- Why is this horse behaving this way?
To which (B) replied that this horse is old, already blind, they don’t ride it along the border, but when hitched to a cart, they carry firewood, etc.
(K): - Are you a doctor?
(B): - That's right!
(K): - So get on with it!
(B): - THERE IS!
(B) walked away from us, took his bag and walked towards the horse, and we went about our business and lost sight of him. About 20 minutes later, when we were already sitting at the table in the gazebo, (B) came up and said:
- Your order was carried out, I did everything I could.
And behind him stands this horse, wearing huge GLASSES!!! These “glasses” (B) were made from aluminum wire and, of course, they were without glasses.
After everyone laughed together and for a long time, (K) said:
- Come here, you are our man. - and invited (B) to the table.
This happened during my military service.
Imagine, a duty officer is standing at a checkpoint, and at this time an elderly married couple approaches, looking like they are from somewhere in Central Asia, and they ask, “Where is your tank unit, is our son serving as a tanker?” The duty officer politely replies that there is no tank unit nearby. The woman says how can that be, no, their son, a tanker, wrote that he was serving here. The duty officer repeats his previous answer, adding that he has been serving for two years now and knows for sure that there are no tankers nearby. Then the woman makes her final argument and shows a photo of her son from the army.
The duty officer was hysterical; the photo with a proud posture shows this “tanker” leaning waist-deep out of the sewer hatch and holding the lid in front of him.
A curtain...
In the regiment where I served there was a 10 km cross-country race. An inspectorate with a general at its head came to see our military torment. Good general. He's joking. The officers laugh. As if on command. Sergeant Dotsenko tells us:
- You have to run not with your feet, but with your head.
In short, we cut a few kilometers. Nobody noticed anything. The officers are happy: there are no escapees. Only the major, who was in charge of all this running around, was yelling something and shaking his fist. Stopwatch in fist. The general approaches the major with a stopwatch:
- What's the matter?
The Second Major reports:
- Half of the race participants set a new world record!
Do you know what the general answered? He asked:
- Why only half?
This story was told to me by my father, although the military likes to embellish it to brighten up the monotonous military everyday life, but judge for yourself...
Once, in a country friendly to us, missile officers were sitting and drinking. As always, it was not enough. What to do, the rocket launcher is guarded, i.e. You can’t drain alcohol from it (it turns out that it’s used there, but that’s a different story), so we decided to scrape the bottom of the barrel. We found a canister of liquid that looked too much like alcohol. How to check? After all, you can throw off your hooves.
In general, we decided to carry out a test. After a short meeting, they decided to use the yard Tuzik as a reagent. They dipped a piece of black bread, thoroughly soaked it, and gave it to the dog. Out of hunger, she swallowed it instantly. We sat and waited a little (but the pipes were on fire), the dog was running - we could drink!
Almost immediately they persuaded half of the canister, and one lieutenant went into the yard to get some air... He looked, and Tuzik was lying near the entrance, and foam was coming out of his mouth.
In short, everyone was seriously scared and immediately went to the medical unit. There, of course, they were thoroughly washed both front and back... In general, they survived.
They come back, and Tuzik is running around, he’s a pest! The dog just felt bad from the amount of alcohol with a small amount of snacks.
Can you imagine how much buzz our soldiers lost?
Heh, this glorious story took place during my studies at the Kharkov Rocket School (Krylov KhVVKIURV). Now it is no longer there, and instead the Ukrainians have made some kind of their own university.
4th year. Passing the state exam in KRL (command radio lines).
An absolutely wonderful guy stands at the board and shows me with signs that he doesn’t know questions 2 and 3 on the tickets at all - they say, help me. I’m trying to tell him something in the same sign language behind the teacher’s back. And before I have time, it’s his turn to answer.
There is nothing to do - my friend gets the first question with an A and it’s time for the second, and then, consequently, the third questions, in which, as I already said, he is a complete zero.
Let me remind you that this was a state exam and a commission from Moscow worked at the school.
And so, as soon as he finished answering the first question, the door to the audience swung open and a Moscow general entered with his retinue. Of course, everyone said “Attention.” The teacher reported, and the general said: “Well, who’s in charge here?”
They show him, and the general sits down directly opposite the poor fellow, who has already been covered in different colors of the rainbow ten times. How he didn’t faint from fear, I don’t know. There is silence in the audience. The cadet stands neither alive nor dead. The general, wanting to break the prolonged silence, encourages the guy. Well, comrade cadet - I’m listening to you.
Then my friend suddenly snaps to attention and reports in a loud, clear voice:
- The cadet has finished answering the ticket!
After this phrase, the teacher begins to become covered in rainbow spots.
The general, completely naively, asks the teacher:
- Do you have any additional questions?
He, dumbfounded by this turn of events, mumbled something, asked some nonsense from the person who was handing him over and, obviously having already realized that it was better to let this cadet go than to run into trouble in the presence of a distinguished Moscow guest, gave him a “4” and let him go.
Soldier, an enemy tank is heading towards you. 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.
The Second World War. 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.
A 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 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 report of the infidels: “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! On 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 to 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 no!
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 clarity 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...
The herd of deer, jumping over the 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 later, 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 punish you, of course. 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? Is not it?
An unfamiliar soldier stood in front of me. He's 185 tall, about 44 in the shoulders, probably 42 in the waist, and dressed, of course, four sizes too big. In addition, when moving, it turned out so that it seemed as if it was simply breaking. And if you look at him from the side, it looks like the soldier is some kind of two-dimensional. It had height and width, but no thickness.
B...... That's all I could say.
The chief of staff followed him.
So. This is your new fighter. Transferred to our battalion. Call the castle or Palych. Let them arrange it as it should be. By the way, where is Palych?
Recently released. On the territory somewhere.
I know how he is on the territory. Either he drinks alcohol in the medical unit, or he goes to pick mushrooms.
No, comrade captain. He's no-no until 18.00...
OK. I went.
Palych is our platoon commander. Already, one might say, demobilization. He will retire in a year and a half. An excellent specialist, the maximum he achieved was the rank of senior lieutenant. It’s just that when he was once again assigned captain, he celebrated this matter on such a grand scale that after a couple of days he was again made a senior leader. And they tried to give him the captain 5-6 times.
Oleg,” the newcomer extended his thin and long hand to me and stared at me with huge, sad eyes. There was no need to look at his personnel file to determine his nationality. Standing in front of me was a purebred Jew.
Kostya,” I answered. At this moment the switch began to chirp again.
Turn on the boiler. Tea, coffee, sugar in the cupboard. There is also a snack there. And I immediately forgot about him.
The next day we were thinking about where to place Olezhka. Somehow it immediately happened that everyone began to call him by such a diminutive name.
Our platoon had a lot to do. Therefore, the first thing they decided to direct him to was the line. That’s when I was offered the “honorable” responsibility of teaching Olezhka how to climb poles. Fortunately, our cable sagged quite a bit near the part.
Taking claws, a phone and a simple tool, the two of us walked out the gate. Having reached the desired post, I began to show Olezhka how to put on the claws. Then, going up to the pillar, he showed how to climb it. At first, as usual, when it seems as if a person is walking horizontally, and then suddenly he begins to walk vertically. And then slowly to show how and with what to cling. Olezhka seemed to understand everything.
Understanding does not mean doing. Grasping the pole, Olezhka placed one foot on it, then the other. Almost falling, he caught himself with his hands and pulled his legs up. Then I thought a little and moved my legs higher again. Once again. But he didn’t intercept it with his hands. He froze at a height of about a meter in a bizarre pose: his hands were holding a pole, his legs were almost pressed to his hands, his skinny ass was hanging down. In this pose of a stunned lemur, he hung for several seconds, then looked at me with eyes that reflected the centuries-old sorrow of the entire Jewish people, and fell down doomedly. He simply didn’t have enough strength to pull himself up.
Thus, we tried all areas of activity of our platoon at Olezhka. The only thing he could do well was to be on duty at the switchboard. But while he was on duty, because of his manner of speaking, the headquarters officers could not do anything. And after one incident, he was generally forbidden to sit at the remote control for more than half an hour and only for substitution.
And it was like this. Call from the unit commander. Behind the switchboard is Olezhka.
Connect me with the commander of the fourth company.
And yet he is not there. I went out somewhere.
Find him.
No, comrade major, there is a lot to do. Let me give you a political officer?
The battalion commander, taken aback by such impudence, found nothing else but to ask:
Why do I need a political officer???
Why do you need the commander of the fourth company? - Olezhka noted no less reasonably.
TA-57 is a good phone. He withstood the safe throw very well. And since then the battalion commander began to grind his teeth when he heard the Zhmerinsky accent.
Oddly enough, Olezhka found a job for himself. Our platoon was responsible for cleaning the area. Once we ran away on business since the divorce, and Olezhka was left alone to clean the territory. By evening, the headquarters area was unrecognizable. Olezhka himself liked this job so much that the next day the grass was neatly cut, the next day the bushes were trimmed, then the curb was whitewashed. For such beauty, the battalion commander forgave Olezhka for his national characteristics and even began to secretly supply him with cigarettes.
Having nothing better to do, Olezhka even made a nice flower bed from flowers that he dug up in the forest and planted Christmas trees dug up there.
All day long he could be seen with a broom, scissors or a watering can. And the area has simply been transformed. It seemed that the man had found his place.
Trouble came unexpectedly, as always. An acquaintance from the brigade headquarters called me and said that the beginning. The brigade communications team got together the other day to check our work with a key on the P-102. It was a blow in the gut...
Connection
The fact is that we used this station only as a receiver and sometimes as a telegraph station. None of us knew how to operate a key. It was clear that for such a gap in communication we would be in trouble...
For several days we painfully tried to master Morse code, sitting in the ZOMP class, surrounded by dummies showing what happens when affected by certain substances. But it was clear to all of us that nothing meaningful would work out. The problem was not in transmitting, but in receiving...
On the appointed day, all of us, including com. platoon and commander headquarters, crowded into the radio station. Looking sadly at the panel that is turned off for now, the beginning. headquarters asked:
Well, who will fall into the embrasure?
There were no takers. In the very depths near the door stood Olezhka, also looking sadly at the station. The time was approaching. Suddenly Olezhka said quietly
Can I do it then, since no one wants to?
Palych, com. platoon, just waved his hand, swallowing the usual expression about who and where he could.
Olezhka sat down on the seat, contorting his thin body as usual, and began to look at the station.
Suddenly I realized that he was not looking at her from the point of view of “where to start,” but looking at her as an old acquaintance, that he had seen her once and knew her very well. And now he just says hello to the equipment.
Olezhka turned and asked:
Where is the communication log?
What kind of magazine is this?
Well... the start and end times of the session and other nonsense are recorded there
Who the hell knows. Maybe in boxes. Look.
Olezhka took out the magazine and turned to the commander. headquarters:
It needs to be numbered and stitched.
That's how it's supposed to be.
Olezhka put down the magazine, clicked the key a couple of times and with quick, precise movements turned on the station.
Let it warm up. Someone give me a pen...
At the appointed time, the Morse code beeped. Olezhka took the key, answered, gave the setting and made the first entry in the journal.
At that moment we realized that our platoon would pass this test.
Olezhka pulled a piece of paper towards him and then the transmission began. Personally, I could not make out a single symbol, and Olezhka, resting his head on his hand, scribbled strange signs on the paper. As it turned out later, he was just taking shorthand...
The transmission ended, Olezhka copied everything into normal language and handed over the sheet of paper to the beginning. headquarters
It is for you. It's just some kind of nonsense here...
NS looked at the sheet and picked up the phone:
Encoder, quickly!
A few minutes later the encoder returned:
Comrade captain, this is a conditional text, you need to answer it with this. And he handed NS another sheet of paper.
And I put that one in my inbox...
Fine. NS handed the text he had brought to Olezhka.
Pass this on.
The sound of the key merged into a continuous hum, the neon light attached to the feeder right under the ceiling did not blink in time with the key, as usual, but glowed with a bright, even light. The most interesting thing was that at such a speed the transmission was clearly structured.
Having blurted out the text in a matter of seconds, Olezhka began to wait for an answer.
Hmm... Olezhka said and repeated more slowly.
Even slower...
Olezhka transmitted even more slowly...
In the end, after the next repetition, after waiting for a new RPT, Olezhka clearly and distinctly transmitted - DLB and reported that the connection was closed. We all accepted this DLB with a bang and openly laughed. It was clear that Olezhka was superior, and even superior, to any signalman at the brigade headquarters.
Then the phone rang. NS, standing next to him, picked up the phone and almost threw it aside - the choice of obscenities poured out of the pipe in a continuous stream!
After waiting for a pause, NS politely asked who he was talking to. After another round of swearing, it turned out that this was the brigade’s communications chief.
And I am the chief of staff, captain xxx. And I will demand a meeting of the court of officer honor, since you dared not only to insult me, but to insult me in the presence of my subordinates. But first I will write a report on you to the political department of the corps. At the other end of the line they began to mumble something unintelligible.
As it turned out, the head of the brigade’s communications decided to warm up personally - he was considered a great specialist in the key. Therefore, he was very surprised when Olezhka accepted everything he conveyed the first time, and was completely stunned when he himself stopped keeping up with Olezhka. Blushing deeply, he conveyed the request for a repeat. And when I heard the distant subscriber’s opinion about his abilities and such an unceremonious closure of the connection, I just almost went crazy...
We began to slowly disperse. Olezhka turned off the station and walked towards the exit.
Where are you going, comrade corporal? - asked NS.
I didn't have time to sweep it all the way. And I'm not a corporal...
Already a corporal. And this,” NS waved his hand around, “is your post.” This. Yours. Radio station. And we will always find someone to sweep...
Olezhka looked around in amazement and answered:
Well, then I'll go get the magazine...
PS. Everything was very simple. Olezhkin's grandfather was a shortwave operator. Many times he was dropped behind enemy lines with a walkie-talkie during the war. My father also became a shortwave operator. That’s why Olezhka saw all this equipment since childhood. He began writing and working with a key literally at the same time. I competed in some competitions and successfully won something.
Subsequently, he repeatedly helped us out, managing to get in touch from places where there could be no connection.
At the same time, having no special education, having never heard of Ostrogradsky, or Gauss, much less about rotors and divergences, he literally felt radio communication.
And he explained simply that he didn’t tell anyone about his knowledge - after all, you didn’t ask...
War is terrible. This is a voracious, vile monster that devours our loved ones. Millions of people are dying. Great feats are being accomplished, but only so that even more people do not die. Some people sacrifice their lives for thousands of others. And even in this nightmare there is a place for humor. What would it be like without him? You just can't survive. Neither heart nor soul can stand it. There were quite a lot of funny incidents during the Great Patriotic War. Here is a small selection of such stories:
How the trunks were hardened
Everyone knows that Izhevsk is a city of gunsmiths and arms factories. During the Second World War, the production of the famous PPSh assault rifles was in full swing here. When firing in long bursts, the barrel of the machine gun became hot, but Izhevsk gunsmiths used a special method to harden the barrel. And then something went wrong, defective machines appeared. After several checks and inspections, it turned out that the old master had fallen ill. They found him, cured him, returned him to duty and, just in case, asked what he did with machine guns that others couldn’t do. After a couple of interrogations, the specialist confessed: twice a day he went to the toilet “small times” in the tank, where the trunks were cooled. The investigators, culturally speaking, were taken aback, but there was no time to judge - there was a war going on, there was no time for superstitions. Just in case, they checked and forced other masters to urinate in the tank (in case this one got sick again). It didn’t work out, we left everything as is. He was released into retirement only when the plant switched to producing Kalashnikovs.
"Illiterate" radio operators
During the Second World War, the codes of our radio operators were quite simple and the Germans easily “cracked through” them. And somehow at headquarters they proposed an idea: “What if you just make mistakes in words?” For example: “botolen”, “devision”, “palemet”. Oddly enough, the method worked! German codebreakers racked their brains and sorted through Russian dictionaries in vain. Nothing helped!
"Psychologists"
Veterans talked about one original “psychological attack.” An accordion player appeared from the right flank, playing some kind of Vologda picking. On the other side is another one playing “Mommy.” And in the center, young nurses waving their handkerchiefs. At the same time, the entire regiment let out some kind of lowing. They say that after this the Germans could be taken with bare hands. Their brains were simply boiling.
Grandson's story:
My grandfather served in aviation... At a field airfield in the distance there was a toilet... Sitting there, that means my grandfather, doing his business... It was in the evening... There were knots knocked out of the boards in the wall of the toilet. So my grandfather noticed three German scouts coming out of the forest... When they approached, he shot them down with a pistol... For resourcefulness and courage, my grandfather received the Order of the Red Star... The Germans clearly did not expect that they would open fire on them from the toilet...
Don't touch our porridge
In August 1941, Sereda Ivan Pavlovich was calmly preparing lunch for soldiers in the field kitchen when he noticed a German tank heading towards him. Ivan Pavlovich had only a carbine and an ax as weapons. With such an arsenal you couldn’t go up against a tank, and I didn’t want to leave the soldiers without lunch either. The soldier hid behind the kitchen, the tank drove up, and its contents climbed out - the German crew. Ivan Pavlovich grabbed an ax and, with a wild cry, rushed to defend the soldier’s lunch. The invaders hid in the tank. They tried to fire a machine gun, but the soldier bent its barrel with an ax. After that, he covered all the viewing holes with a tarpaulin and began to depict a “large army” surrounding the tank and throw grenades. It ended with the crew surrendering to the mercy of the winner, who forced them to tie each other up. Our soldiers, upon returning, saw an amazing picture: next to the field kitchen there was an empty tank, tied up adversaries were sitting near the tank, and Ivan Pavlovich was walking with an ax next to them.
All the Germans took
When Soviet troops entered Poland. As a rule, most conversations with the local population ended with the words: “Nema prostrate, the Germans took everything away” (“There is nothing, the Germans took everything”). But at the same time, there was something when our people offered the Poles soap, towels, and soldiers’ linen. The command issued zlotys to the soldiers, but for some reason the Poles themselves did not like them. And just about any reason: “Mutely prostrate, the German took the lousy.” You even ask for water and the answer is “the Germans took it away.” Once our fighters, after several questions and standard answers, asked: “Does the gentleman have a conscience?”, but even then they received the answer: “Mutely prostrate, the German took the shit out of him.”
We'll get there
It was 1945, our army was marching at a brisk pace across Western Europe, and the end of the war was approaching. There was a standard German sign on the road: “Berlin 100 km.” Our soldiers decided that this sign was somehow sad. One comedian took it and added on it: “Fuck, we’ll get there!” The guys who reached this turn immediately lifted their spirits, began to joke, laugh, and their fatigue disappeared. At about the same time, someone from the Soviet military leadership found himself on the same road. Looking at the faces of the soldiers, he asked what was the reason for such a sudden rise in mood. He was shown a sign. The boss ordered the comedian to be brought to him. The soldier was ready for anything, including execution, but unexpectedly received gratitude and a medal. The basis for the medal was also very original: “For raising morale!”
An anecdote made up by soldiers during the war:
“Soviet soldiers caught Hitler and asked ordinary people to come up with a more terrible execution for him. There were many options. And one wise man suggested taking a crowbar, heating its tip red-hot and sticking the Fuhrer in one place... with the cold end. To the question: “Why cold?”, the sage answered: “And so that they don’t pull it back...”.
Once a year the stick shoots
In the Solnechnogorsk-Krasnaya Polyana defense sector, the 16th army under the command of Rokossovsky held out with all its might. German tanks came in huge numbers from all the cracks. Rokossovsky turned to Zhukov to help with anti-tank artillery, but was refused - there were no reserves. Then he sent a message to Stalin. The Generalissimo’s answer was, as always, simple and ingenious: “There are no reserves, but there is the Military Artillery Academy named after F. E. Dzerzhinsky. Tell them they have 24 hours to come up with something.” They were saved, one might say, by chance. There was a man who remembered where the warehouses with old artillery pieces and ammunition from tsarist times were located. Within 24 hours, all warehouses were found and batteries were formed. By the way, the striking power of the guns was simply amazing. The Germans were shocked when the explosions overturned their tanks and tore off their turrets.
And finally, the story of Yuri Nikulin from his own life at the front:
“This happened during the Great Patriotic War. One night, two reconnaissance groups, ours and the German, collided nose to nose on the road. Everyone instantly got their bearings and lay down on different sides of the road, all except one fat, funny, awkward German, who rushed from side to side for some time, and then rushed towards our scouts. Our people couldn’t find anything better than to take him by the arms and legs and throw him towards our own. While he was flying, he made a very loud noise... (made an obscene sound), which caused an explosion of wild nervous laughter on both sides. When silence fell, both ours and the Germans, silently, went their separate ways - no one started shooting.”
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 drove up to 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 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. Still would! 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 words: “Drinking a lot is harmful to yourself!”
The scout whistled:
- Brevity is the soul of wit! 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.
Re: Army tales! (only real ones...)
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 checking 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 with his finger at his RPG behind his back: “What kind of son am I? You see, I’m a tank destroyer!” Paragraph.
Re: Army tales! (only real ones...)
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.
Re: Army tales! (only real ones...)
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 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. Little bit. 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 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 imagination 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)