Tamara took after her mother in stature and face, and most importantly in character, who throughout her life was the commander of the quietest captain 1st rank Adrianov. She made a dizzying career for her husband by the standards of Soviet times.
Tamara was born in Leningrad, where the Adrianov couple moved from the most terrible place in the Northern Fleet - Gremikha - after two years of service. Next is the Leningrad naval base and the fast commander's shoulder straps of the Izhora Arsenal, and then a warm place at the weapons department of the Frunze Naval School. Techniques for the spouse’s career development were constantly being improved: from light flirting with superiors during a festive feast, a permanent meeting in women’s councils, and to writing reports on the advantages of the Soviet system, which were necessarily attended by the highest political leadership of the formation, base or school.
The daughter of captain 1st rank Adrianova hooked up with her future husband at a dance in naval school, where her father headed the department by the age of 50. The cadet's name was Slava Sukhobreyev, with a "completely stupid" surname for a naval officer, according to his future mother-in-law. At the registry office, fourth-year cadet Sukhobreev has already become Adrianov. A year later, as expected, with the birth of Artemka, the young family grew to an ordinary naval family of three people. The only unusual thing was that the family arrived at their first duty station consisting of 4 people: two-year-old Artemka, the beautiful Tamara with the most ordinary lieutenant and his extraordinary mother-in-law.
The wife of “comrade of the first rank” Adrianov pestered the lieutenant until he gave the order to the head of the KECH to allocate Adrianov a one-room apartment. To which the head of the KEC, Captain Dzozikov, quietly asked the head of the medical unit about the health status of the base commander. He answered him something along the lines of that the youngsters were completely “overwhelmed” and they were coming to serve with their mothers-in-law, and hence the possible health problems of Captain 1st Rank Dub himself, the commander of the base. Adrian's mother-in-law was a clone of Oak's wife, who wisely decided to give in on the small things so as not to lose on the big ones. The base commander had just graduated from the logistics academy, and had not yet forgotten strategy and operational art as a science.
Having received full instructions from her mother about the points of Lieutenant Adrianov’s career growth, Tamara and Artemka were left alone to wait for Slava, who went to sea the very next day after her mother appeared in Dub’s office. The rest of the young lieutenants: Ponamar, Fima and Starov, who were given two whole weeks to settle down as bachelors, “rejoiced for their friend” with quite decent beer, believing that the hasty departure to sea of a “green lieutenant by the standards of the service” and the acquaintance of his mother-in-law with the command were phenomena same order. Friends sometimes dropped in on Tamara, helping to arrange her happiness in a separate family nest, which “according to the concepts and naval tradition” was reserved for lieutenants, with the only difference being that by that time they had become lieutenant-commanders. Young families lived in two or even three families in one apartment for 3-4 years. It all depended on how the couple endured “the hardships and hardships of military life.”
The return of Slava Adrianov coincided with his birthday, so Tamara, following her mother’s instructions on career growth tactics, decided to arrange everything on a grand scale, inviting captain 1st rank Dub and his wife and the head of the political department with his wife to visit, hinting that perhaps she would come from Peter and mom. Dub, having learned about this, called the “chief of medicine” into the office and after a two-hour meeting, agreeing with the doctor’s arguments, in confusion, washed down a blood pressure pill with an awl (pure alcohol - fl. slang) from a decanter that he kept in the commander’s safe.
Slava’s friends had to not only rush to the city for groceries, but also empty their pockets to arrange a grandiose table, giving away the last of the due allowances. The table turned out to be royal, and could decorate the reception of the Commander-in-Chief of the USSR Navy.
Finally, Slava returned “from the seas” three days late for his birthday, but this no longer mattered for the career start plan approved by the great mother-in-law over the phone. Mother Andrianova herself, to Vyacheslav’s quiet joy, could not come, but the cunning Tamara did not inform the base commander’s wife about this, and therefore Pyotr Andreevich Dub and his wife, the director of the military camp school, arrived, as befits a commander’s couple, at the time established by the regulations.
The unexpected fact of the presence of the base commander himself at the birthday party of the young lieutenant gave rise to many rumors: from the family ties of the Adrianov family with one of the members of the CPSU Central Committee, to the piquant details of the pranks of the fleet commander during his lieutenant time in Gremikha, and hence the birth of the illegitimate beauty Tamara.
Frida Romanovna was not only the head of the school - the cultural center of the village, but also a writer by vocation. For her, in addition to home and school, poetry evenings in the House of Officers were a necessary attribute of power, where she could outshine the “ignorant upstart” - the first lady of the formation, the admiral’s wife herself. Any feast for Frida turned into another creative idea, so the young lieutenants had to learn poems for Adrian’s birthday in accordance with the editing and literary treatment of Frida herself. She liked to conduct rehearsals with young lieutenants on weekends, when her husband went hunting or fishing. It was rumored that she also indulged in “little pranks.” But that’s what a closed garrison is for, to give a reason to gossip, even for the sake of boredom. The fleet is strong in tradition, so why not?!
As expected, the innovations in the regulations for visiting the “star Adrianov family” were not entirely successful. The young part of the officer corps was too squeezed by the high presence at Slavka’s name day, and the “high presence” itself, understanding the idiocy of the situation, kept silent and leaned on the “Olivier”, showing that its mouth was busy and “it” did not intend to lavish pleasantries on the birthday boy. Mikhail Svetlov’s poems didn’t help either.
Starov tried, after short toasts to his colleague and his family, to pick up the guitar and growl to Vysotsky, but, faced with the disapproving glances of Toma and Frida, he fell silent, and never “Singed to the end...” Having recited their part of the montage, Fima and Ponamar ran away to kitchen, supposedly to smoke; but Starov, squeezed on one side by the elastic thigh of the wife of the head of the political department, and on the other by the skinny relics of Captain Dzozikov’s wife, thought sadly about the “free friends” who were “secretly” applying themselves at that moment to the neck of the steel awl. The birthday boy was sitting at the head of the table and, not knowing how to behave, pretended to pay attention to the idiotic reasoning of the quickly developed doctor about the possibility of women also participating in “autonomous missions” on submarines in the near future. So an hour passed in agony for everyone. To the horror of the hostess, Frida Romanovna, dissatisfied with the table behavior of some young girls leaning on the “dry”, whispered something in the ear of the satisfied Oak. The situation was aggravated by the sound of jackhammers and the rumble of an excavator in the yard.
Artemka saved the festive feast. He burst into the room from the street in a suit smeared with clay. The grimy little face made cute faces. As he walked, tearing off his hat with a blue pom-pom, like his overalls, throwing off his wet and dirty mittens under his feet, he shouted loudly, not paying any attention to the guests: “Piss, mom. Quickly, pee!”
Artemka began to talk early, and by the age of 2.5 he spoke so clearly with amazing diction that in response to ordinary questions: “How old is yours?” he aroused surprise and a certain distrust among his neighbors, especially since he was a big man beyond his years.
Before being escorted outside, Artemka ran in to the guests. Frida Romanovna, leaning her powerful torso towards the cute boy, lisped and asked the traditional: “What are our names” - she was indescribably delighted with what she heard in pure Russian, and not in the gibberish of an infant: - Artem!
- Good God, what an admiral! – the table unanimously supported the enthusiastic remark of the base commander’s wife. The commander himself stopped chewing and moved to Starov’s place closer to the baby.
– Will you be an officer, like your father?! – Senior Adrianov proudly contemplated what was happening, spinal cord feeling that it has passed and the festive dinner has been saved.
- No, a football player - a hockey player! – Artemka shouted to enthusiastic applause, accepting the adults’ game.
- Did you go to the street?! – Asked a satisfied Frida. A curly little head with eyes like lakes swayed as a sign of approval of the affectionate question, and a plump finger ended up in the nose.
“We remove our fingers,” Frida Romanovna began to sing, “And I tell you what we saw on the playground,” gently removing her small hand from her beautiful face, as women like to say: “in bandages.” The little one hid his hand behind his back and said loudly:
– I saw that the hole was buried at X...!
The table froze and quietly exhaled, although the drunken doctor voiced a little louder the three Russian letters in which the sailors working in the yard had buried a hole. The cackle shook the room. Artemka, picked up by the strong arms of the enthusiastic captain 1st rank Duba, flew to the ceiling. Frida Romanovna, who instantly looked like Faina Ranevskaya, laughed merrily, leaning back on the sofa. Stunned by her son’s prank, Tamara sank helplessly into a chair. Artemka flopped around in Oak’s arms, “somewhere up there,” and burst into joy.
Starov realized that the baby had destroyed in a second the wall separating young families and families that had taken place in these harsh northern everyday life. He is the one for whom nuclear submarines and long voyages are needed! Artemka is the center of the universe, around which this complex world adults with their eternal questions of career and harsh Soviet life military towns.
Released, Artem, to the first ovation in his life, ran out into the street to the big “boys” and lonely pensioners - in one impulse, rejoicing that they managed to fill the hole in the yard, correctly (“before the severe northern frosts”).
Deep after midnight, a friendly song “about an island melting in the fog” rushed over a courtyard with shabby houses and flew to that same Rybachy Island. Oak in the kitchen with Ponamar and Slava were “sipping” from a flask of alcohol and smoking “Rhodopi”. Tamara was placing a pillow more comfortably under the head of the doctor, who was fast asleep to the songs of the sea. Fima passionately kissed Captain Dozikov's wife in the bathroom, and the captain himself squatted with the enthusiastic Artemka and rattled, playing excavator on the palace, which was portrayed by Lieutenant Starov.
The life of young lieutenants, thanks to Artemka Adrianov, was getting better. Unlike Ponamary, Starov and Fima, Slava received senior lieutenant three days earlier, but they still celebrated it a year later all together in the presence of high authorities. Maybe because the Dubov couple liked the young lieutenants graduated in 1978, or maybe because Slavka’s mother-in-law came for such a significant event for her.
Seryoga was given the rank of major. Before he didn’t have such a title, but now he does, he sits there, doesn’t know what to do. Until the evening he was tormented by the question of whether he should drink to celebrate, or not stain the honor of the senior officer, at least on the first day. The worst thing is that you don’t even want to drink anymore. The army does terrible things to people.
Seryoga came home from work, Olya opened the door for him, and looked - her husband was standing there, sober, thoughtful and already a major. Life officer's wife full of surprises, in the morning you wake up next to the captain, and in the evening the major crashes into the house. It’s not clear how to feel like a decent woman. Olya let Seryoga into the house, touched his forehead, and said:
Why are you so sober, are you not sick?
wife Russian officer easily frightened, she quickly gets used to the fact that her husband is disciplined and predictable. Sobriety for no reason is an alarming symptom, it will make anyone nervous. Seryoga, of course, is a decent person and drinks little, but everything has its limits.
The life of an officer's wife has never been easy. You can find many examples in history. Some Parisian women from medieval Paris must have sometimes gathered for a bachelorette party and complained to each other about their husbands.
“Mine, can you imagine,” said one, “had a fight with the cardinal’s guards yesterday!” I washed the blood off my camisole until nightfall, and then sewed up the holes. I tell him: “Can you be more careful with the camisole? Might as well try not to bump into every sword. Why don't you just lie down and go fight again, you damn duelist! What am I, a seamstress for you?”
And her friends nodded understandingly and told her:
What is he?
What is he?
And what is he?.. He lied some nonsense, to make the chickens laugh. Secret, supposedly, task, state secret! Bullets whistled overhead!.. As usual, everyone around was a rascal, he was the only d’Artagnan. Then I rummaged through his pockets, and you know what he had there?.. Diamond pendants, that’s what! I’m telling you exactly, girls, I went to see the woman.
The friends then shook their heads sympathetically and felt sorry for the officer’s wife.
And the wives of the Pechenegs had it even worse. Some Pecheneg lieutenant would easily drag in another young wife from abroad. He brought her into the house and said to his first wife:
Meet, dear, this is Masha, she will live with us.
Better than pendants, honestly.
Now, of course, it has become easier. The officer walked off today balanced and reasonable. Give him a pension for long service and an apartment from the state, and all sorts of Londons with pendants did not give up for nothing. On weekends, the officer goes to the theater, and when he is given a major, he already thinks about whether he should drink to celebrate, or give his liver a pleasant surprise.
Seryoga came into the house, kissed his wife, walked the dog, ate dinner, and then called me. He told me how he and Olya went to the theater on the weekend to see Romeo and Juliet. Very instructive story, by the way.
People don’t lie, there is no sadder story in the world. Romeo seemed to be high, muttering something under his breath all the time, staring stupidly at his beloved Juliet, as if he couldn’t decide whether she had plucked her eyebrows, or whether last time she had a hooked nose. His ardent love was so unconvincing that the public suspected intrigue, whether the director had decided to make Romeo a gigolo and a marriage swindler. By the second act, this Romeo had tired everyone out so much that when he finally died, the audience shouted “Bravo!” and demanded to die for an encore. This was the only moment in the performance that everyone wanted to remember.
“Some kind of junkie, not Romeo,” said Seryoga. - Ears are spread out, eyes are running. If only we could draft him into the army, we would make a man out of him. Maybe he would even rise to the rank of captain.
Of course, a combat officer Russian army no Capulets would dare to contradict, they would give Juliet as a wife, like dear ones. He would have taken her somewhere to Kaluga or Kaliningrad, to her place of duty. On weekends we would go to the theater and wait for an apartment from the state. Juliet would settle down, go to work as an accountant at TSUM, get a dog. At times, of course, she would complain about Romeo:
Mine yesterday, after the service, again ran off to the tavern with his friends. He arrived after midnight, his entire jacket was wrinkled, a button had been torn off somewhere. Am I, a seamstress, supposed to mend his jacket every time?..
But all the same, where would she be without him? An officer's wife will not leave her officer. She loves him.
One bad thing is that sometimes you wake up next to the captain, and in the evening the major shows up to see you.
And how can you feel like a decent woman?..
Unclear.
By chance, this turned out to be my first and last night of love with Ira. The next day Kostya abandoned his passion and returned to his family. Afterwards, I often went to visit them, but, naturally, both Irina and I kept our secret.
P.S. Four years have passed since that night. We moved to another area of the city and haven’t seen Kostya and Ira for three years. Literally by chance, they dropped by to see us, and when everyone was already pretty drunk, Ira said: “The fact that Kostya abandoned me had its big plus - I learned what a real man is.” And all this time she looked straight into my eyes. Thank God that our other halves took this as drunken chatter in order to annoy Kostya.
Officer's wife
Title: Officer's Wife
The withdrawal of our troops from Mongolia became the most difficult period of my service. We abandoned the inhabited military town and left for God knows where, it was good at least they gave me a heated coach, since I commanded the communications department at the regimental headquarters. True, it was difficult to call it a department - there were only four people: three demobilizations (Karasev, Poluchko and Zhmerin) and one new recruit (Starkov). And with this composition, plus me and my wife Tanya, with all government equipment and personal property, we had to travel across all of Siberia to a new location in the Ural Military District.
Everyone did the loading together; Private Starkov and I brought all my belongings on a cart to the carriage, where the other three soldiers, under the leadership of my wife, loaded everything inside. And as I rolled the cart around the bend, I stopped to rest and wait for Starkov, who ran back to pick up the things I had dropped in the confusion. From here I had a wonderful view of the platform, where my wife was telling three demobilized soldiers how to carefully load a cabinet with a glass door, and they listened lazily, occasionally glancing sideways at her body covered in sports tights.
Well, come on boys, let's take it! And you, Valera, accept it!
Karasev jumped into the carriage, preparing to accept the cargo, and Poluchko and Zhmerin began to clumsily lift the cabinet.
Oh, be careful! - Tanya shouted, rushing to hold the glass door that suddenly opened. - Why are you doing this!
After most of the cabinet was lifted into the carriage, the soldiers relaxed and, with a wink, surrounded my wife.
“Allow me, we’ll lift you up from here,” said Zhmerin, as if by chance coming up from behind and grabbing my wife by the chest, while Poluchko was pawing her buttocks in the same manner.
Come on! - Tatyana shouted sternly, hitting Zhmerin on the hands.
The soldiers immediately moved away from her, hesitating.
Let go of your hands! Without hesitation, I can complain about you, or even hit you with something!
“Well, it seems it’s starting,” flashed through my head, although I didn’t have time to think about what exactly was starting. Starkov arrived and we rolled the cart to the carriage.
I remembered this incident already on the road, when, having separated ourselves from the snoring soldiers with a screen, my wife and I went to sleep on the mattress prepared for this purpose.
“What if I leave her alone, alone with them? Will they rape her or be afraid?” I thought. “What kind of nonsense is getting into my head! It’s probably because I haven’t made love for a long time.”
I tried to kiss my wife on the lips, but she turned away.
Lesha, don't! Your soldiers are sleeping nearby.
Yes, they won’t hear anything, they’ll sleep without their hind legs. We must have worn out a lot during the day. - I pressed.
“I’m tired too,” Tatyana resolutely stopped my attempts.
But the opportunity to leave his wife with the soldiers was not long in coming. Arriving on the territory of the Union, we stopped at the location of one part railway troops For undefined period. There was no place to stay there, so all of us continued to live in the carriages. And then, one Sunday, I had to be on duty at the headquarters located at the railway workers. Of course, I went there not without fear, leaving my wife in the care of the soldiers, but everything seemed to be fine, and besides, I didn’t stay there for long. A railway officer came who had some paperwork to do and offered to stay at the headquarters instead of me, especially since it was unlikely that anyone would disturb the headquarters on the day off after the move. I willingly took advantage of his offer and hurried home, but before reaching my carriage, which stood separately in one of the dead ends, I suddenly discovered an empty bottle of vodka lying on the ground. This, and the fact that the door of the car was tightly closed, alerted me. I wanted to rush in, but overcame my excitement and walked around the other side of the car, where there was a gap through which you can see what was happening inside without being noticed. The following picture appeared before me: Karasev and Zhmerin were holding a tensely snoring Starkov, and Poluchko was trying to take off his pants. My wife was rushing around them.
AB-SA-RA-KA
bloody land:
Stories of an Officer's Wife
Colonel Henry Carrington
DEDICATION
This story is dedicated to Lieutenant General Sherman, whose proposal was accepted in the spring of 1866 at Fort Kearny, and whose energetic policy to solve the Indian problems and the rapid completion of the Union Pacific to the “Sea” crushed the last hope of armed insurrection.
Margaret Irwin Carrington.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
Absaraka truly became a bloody land. The tragedy, which in 1876 resulted in the loss of twelve officers and two hundred and forty-seven brave soldiers by the army, was but a continuation of a series of conflicts which led to peace after the disaster of 1866. It is now possible to learn more about the country that was so dependent on the military to expand settlements and solve Indian problems.
In January 1876, General Custer told the author, “It will take another Phil Kearny massacre to get Congress to give generous support to the army.” Six months later, his story, like Fetterman's, was made monumental by a similar disaster. With much experience on the frontier—Fetterman was a newcomer—and with faith in the ability of white soldiers to overcome superior numbers of Indians, fearless, brave, and peerless horsemen, Custer believed that the army should fight hostile savages under all circumstances and at every opportunity.
Short story events in this country, is of great value to all who are interested in our relations with the Indians of the northwest.
The map attached here was considered sufficiently detailed by Generals Custer and Brisbin. General Humphreys, chief of US engineers, indicated additional forts and agencies on it.
The first appearance of the military in this country is accurately represented in the text. Never was there a wilder American impulse than that which forced the army into the Powder and Bighorn country in 1866, carrying out the will of irresponsible emigrants, regardless of the legal rights of the native tribes. Never was there a more savage grab for gold than the appropriation of the Black Hills in the face of solemn treaties.
Time brings to the surface the fruits of an unfounded policy - the agreement of 1866 at Laramie - a simple deception, so far as it concerned all tribes. These fruits are ripe. The fallen can attest to this. I am prepared to declare that at the time of the massacre, if this line had been broken, it would have required four times as much force in the future to reopen it; Since then, more than a thousand soldiers have encountered a problem that was then solved by fewer than a hundred. The battle for the Bighorn Country was presented in one statement: “Having had partial success, the Indian, now desperate and bitter, looked upon the rash white man, as a sacrifice, and the United States had to send an army to deal with the Indians of the northwest. It is better to bear the costs immediately than to delay and provoke a war for many years. This needs to be understood here and now.”
There is no glory in Indian warfare. If too little has been done, the West complains; if too much is done, the East condemns the beating of the Redskins. The lie of justice lies between the extremes, and here is represented the quality of that Indian policy which was discovered during the official term of President Grant. So little truth, mixed facts, and so on desire be popular by pointing to a scapegoat, at the first public condemnation of a war that lasted for six months, which, even now, public opinion learned only a few vague lessons from the massacre. Indeed, it took another tragedy to try to understand the relationship between Americans and Indian tribes and solve this problem.
Henry Carrington
Even at school, Yulka became a mercantile bitch, she was absolutely not interested in her peers. She, as she said, was not interested in talking to them, there was nothing to talk about. Although she herself, if you knock on the head with a stick, will look around and ask: “Where is that knocking?” She loved, you know, going to clubs with a hundred rubles in her pocket and taking a taxi home. She had the same girlfriends, I remember trying to hit on one, and she told me that a man without a car is not a man. I remembered this later when I arrived at the alumni meeting in a Lexus, those were the eyes she had. If I found out that the Lexus is not mine, I would probably be upset.
The story, in fact, is not about her, the story is about Yulka, after school she entered medical academy, then she seemed to drop out and said she didn’t want to study for six years and then earn fifteen thousand. She went into some kind of economic charaga. I don’t even remember where I was at that time, in my opinion, after the army I enlisted in an expedition to the far north, it seems, that’s not the point.
I once met Dimka, a classmate, at the airport, and he told me wonderful story that Yulka settled somewhere in Novosibirsk and her dream was partially fulfilled, she became a nurse in a hospital. I forgot this story literally five minutes later, I was thinking about my drilling rigs, the equipment was delicate, and the loaders were drunk, as if something had happened.
I have a friend Slavik. 1964 year of release. That is, birth. And he ended in his time with HVVAUL. For those who don’t know, this is the Kharkov Higher Military Aviation School of Pilots. Produced on the MiG-21. For him characteristic appearance This device among flyers received the persistent nickname “balalaika”. Because its wing is triangular.
Autumn of the early 80s. All student cadets help collective farmers harvest the crops. Well, these Arkharovites were also harnessed to cleaning. A company of cadets arrived in the morning, listened to the order of the collective farm chairman: “Dig from here until dinner,” and sadly began digging.
And I must say that one of the flight zones was located just not far from the field of this collective farm. And the company of cadets, instead of digging, stood in dreamy, melancholy poses, leaning on shovels, raising their heads with melancholy, and watched the “pair” of MiG-21s frolic in the sky (it was flight day then). As a result, a brilliant decision was made...
This happened in Moscow, at the Dzerzhinsky Academy (now Peter the Great). On a warm, dark summer night, the head of the third year, being on duty at the academy, decided to take a walk around the territory of Dzerzhinka...
Suddenly... Chu! What kind of strange whistle is heard? Rushing towards the sound, he saw the following picture... A cadet, clearly returning from a self-propelled gun, slowly levitated up along the barracks wall. The rather frantic officer crept closer and saw that the intruder was actually climbing on a rope with a crossbar tied to it (like a bungee), which was quickly pulled into the fourth floor window...
What to do? There is a blatant violation of discipline! It is useless to shout - it will only drag your colleague through the window faster. Due to the darkness and the fact that only the loin part of the body is exposed to view, it is also not possible to identify the cadet... Having judged that, judging by the speed of the soldier’s rise, the actions of his comrades were very coordinated, which means the matter was set in motion, the beginning of the course took a brilliant, in his opinion, decision - to take him red-handed!
After waiting about ten minutes for secrecy, he went under the window and “loudly and clearly” reproduced the cadet’s whistle. In less than a minute, “the carriage was delivered.” The officer, like a proud bird, sat down on a perch and pulled the rope - they say, pull... The ascension has begun...
The armor, txss, is strong, and on the high banks of the Omur River are the Chisavye Homelands. And silence...
I wrote all this purely so as not to write three lines of really bad swearing, after which it’s better not to smoke for an hour and at least three hours of non-pitazzo. Truly I tell you: get ready to feed someone else’s army, you giants.
I have served my allotted year today. on far east, ended up in the Airborne Forces. not quite where I wanted it to be, but still not bad. I decided to write a compact report on the current army, “service through the eyes of a junior conscript sergeant.” Will it come in handy?
The main impression from the army is that it has become much softer. Everything that more mature acquaintances, who grabbed the “same” Soviet Army, talked about can in no way be compared with the kindergarten that we have today. A bunch of incomprehensible civilian women, psychologists, doctors, prosecutors surround the young herds and constantly pester the soldiers with questions like: “Do you have a fever?”, “Are they offending you?”, “How are you feeling?” home driving force any normal army, the star, now appears only quietly, half-heartedly and somehow drably. During my time, two conscripts were sent to diesel for 4 months for (!) a bream (slap in the face) to a corporal who had just arrived from training when asked for not following an order. One call to mom in civilian life, and any soldier or officer could have serious problems. One lawyer I know told me that in such cases, evidence is not particularly important, the main thing is the application.
The story is from a third person, authenticity is guaranteed, since the narrator was a very serious person and also occupied a responsible position. He heard the story personally from the lips of one of the senior communications officers, who was then serving at the construction site of the century BAM. This happened back then in Leningrad in the early 80s.
At that time, this officer, while still a senior lieutenant, was studying at the Military Academy of the Signal Corps, where not only citizens were trained Soviet Union, but also from other socialist countries of that time. Of course, the students studied were mostly young men who free time spent in various entertainments, and had enough time, as well as money.
Young officers often spent their leisure time in restaurants, both ours and officers from other socialist countries. Once they had an international campaign and, as usual, after taking the Nth doses of alcohol, they got into an argument about drinking. The Germans began to claim that Russians did not know how to drink vodka - and this greatly offended our officers.
In the distant stagnant years, I came for the traditional spring (autumn) inspection in motorized rifle regiment, a commission based far from civilization, actually to check this same glorious infantry regiment. Since the distance of the regiment from the leadership was significant and the garrison was not burdened with centers of culture, the pastime of most officers in their free time from duty was banal. Something like the joke: “Why do you drink it? - because it’s liquid, but if it were solid, I’d chew it!”
And here's a check. It should be noted that any inspection begins with a drill review of the entire military unit; even all those who are lame, oblique and pretending to come out in full equipment, with the exception of the internal attire.
A young wild colonel - the chairman of the commission with his assistants inspects the regiment's units, checking foot wraps, underwear, entrenching tools, the contents and completeness of the soldiers' duffel bags and the officers' emergency suitcases. Everything is as usual - routine and it’s enough to make my back crunch. And then the inspector does not believe his eyes.
I was not in the army because I was a student. So, perhaps in the military service. And a military woman is just a military woman. To join the general heroism of the masses. Towards the end - when school was already over, but there were no diplomas yet - training camps happened. In the Ensky aviation regiment. There are such big planes there. Like airbuses. Only for landing. IL-76, who knows. According to the VUS, I am a navigator. Although, which one of me is a navigator is one frustration. Student. But I had to.
The food was great. This was reassuring.
It was called blue quarantine. In that sense - for flyers.
Uniformed. Foot wraps. The boots are just right. The gymnast is too big.
Three sizes. Or five. The times of the German company. Almost new - no holes at all and no shoulder straps. For the "partisans". It was reminiscent of the game "Zarnitsa". The pioneers had one like this. And I am in it - as there is a “partisan navigator”. In green uniform. Because he's a flyer.
This absolutely incredible story was told by a military surgeon I knew. One officer served in their garrison. He drank shamelessly. His wife and mother-in-law lived with him. The old mother-in-law was completely fed up with both her husband and her son-in-law. Her quarrelsome character was aggravated by insanity and sclerosis.
One night, having come home drunk and drunk, the officer decided to put an end to the family's suffering. Taking a hammer and a nail, he pounded it into the head of the drunken mother-in-law. Like, no one will know why the old lady died - we’ll bury her and be done with it.
However, when he woke up in the morning, he saw his mother-in-law alive and unharmed, preparing breakfast in the kitchen. “Wow, what a real dream I had!” - the officer was stunned.
Two weeks later, my mother-in-law began to complain of a headache. Well, at first my wife gave her pills, but her mother-in-law kept saying that she had a headache. I went to see a therapist. She measured her blood pressure, recommended some medications, and sent the sick woman away in peace. But the pain did not go away. The second time, the therapist sent the mother-in-law to the surgeon. The surgeon examined the head and... also did not notice anything. Because the head of the nail was covered with a crust similar to dandruff.
Summer, Batumi, Soviet army. The guys and I hid in a small workshop and quietly waited for the time between breakfast and lunch. The door opened and Dima rolled some kind of contraption on a cart.
Dima is my fighting friend, now they call them nerds, but then they said: “Petya from the Palace of Pioneers.” He knew by heart the names of all thyristors and radio tubes, and he could even make a receiver out of two rusty nails...
In short, the smartest head, but Dima didn’t look like a 100% nerd, his character is not botanical, because he’s an Ossetian and he’s a lousy “nerd”...
And now he, like a black raven with a screwdriver, was cutting circles around the peeling green-red iron thing. The thing looked like an intricate bell of a car alarm, only the size of a refrigerator, and the nameplate read 196... a worn-out year. To the public’s question: “What kind of canoe is this...?”, Dima explained that it was an infrasound wave emitter that he had decommissioned and cleverly stolen from a warehouse, but he needed a special generator.
A long time ago, the chief engineer of the Moscow Military Air Force was a general named Mukha, an intelligent, competent and respected general.
At one of the summaries, uncharacteristic (atypical) failures of aviation equipment were discussed. One of the officers reported a failure on the plane associated with a malfunction of the air pressure receiver (APR). Having reached the reason for the failure of the PVD, the officer said:
- And the reason for the refusal turned out to be banal: a fly got into the PVD!
General Mukha, sitting on the presidium, perked up, looked at the reporting officer over his glasses, and asked with interest:
- Who-who got there?!
