Guns - the last argument of kings. That was the position of the old diplomacy. After the guns of any caliber started talking, diplomats from European countries combed their wigs and went from royal receptions and parliamentary offices to coffee shops on the embankment to discuss the prices of imported tobacco and spy on their own country. Russian military ambassadors in Turkey were invited to sit in a large and beautiful prison tower. When Victoria, the Goddess of Victory, took the side of the Russian regiments, the Turks sent a strike ration to the arrested ambassadors, took walks around the city and sent air kisses through the bars. And when they called for the exit with things, it means that things were moving towards the world.
Again in the Donbass thunder sound of guns. This war is like a medieval confrontation. Somewhere besieged the city, somewhere they are trying to close the canal to prevent unruly access to the water. Dead metal is strewn earth, bringing destruction and death. The kings are silent, the Russian ambassador in Kiev is still Zurabov, apparently in prison, for he is not heard of and he himself is not visible. The guns say, and politicians and businessmen sit in the St. Petersburg coffee houses of the economic summit and rub a penny about half a penny, earning their three yuan. In the modern world it will be even more important than disputes about the dogma of faith between Protestants and Catholics.
Looking through the open statistics of the republics of Donbass, you suddenly find out that there is practically no local pharmaceuticals, and own production of medicines takes up about three percent of the market. Wait a minute, dear comrades, just a minute. The whole world belongs to the global chemical corporations, only small areas of the earth's crust are practically not controlled by them. It is a good case to negotiate in St. Petersburg coffee shop on the supply of generics by weight with North Koreans, Vietnamese, Hindus, Cubans. Pack them somewhere in the hangar from the roofing iron (packing machines are marvelous as inexpensive) and provide cheap medicine to their citizens and localities temporarily occupied by the Armed Forces of Ukraine. You can, using your independent status, lure some arrogant exotic tobacco company to your market by promising a monstrous one: not to print scary pictures on the packs and allow to place ads. And taxes to tear at the bar established by the apostles - tithe. It is possible to twist tsibarka themselves, it’s not tricky, but profitable. Of course, a terrible liberal howl about tobacco blight for the population will rise, but a bucket of mud to the republic is more, a bucket is less ... Money is always needed for war.
Another medieval truth to the occasion.
Sweat saves blood. Ten meters of a trench are better than a meter of a grave, ancient sappers who knew a lot about digging and minefields spoke. During the years of the Russian-Turkish war of 18, Count Potemkin did not dare to attack Ochakov for a long time because of the abundance of minefields arranged by French officers. Long or short, in Paris, they managed to buy a map of Turkish minefields for big money, and things went smoothly.
Looking at the sapper fortifications of the Donbass confrontation on both sides, sometimes you fall into a quiet tantrum. It feels like there was no military world stories, and everything fell suddenly to the pit archaeological culture.
Count Potemkin was a bit easier for the sapper than the generals of the republics of Donbass. The soldier of the times of Suvorov was mainly from the village, accustomed to heavy physical labor. Digging the ground, carrying it on one's own shoulders in large baskets from the digging was a matter of habitual and mundane. Chopping trees, digging up the pillars was considered fun. No one checked his instagram on combat positions every minute.
The Russian warrior people, who won great victories at the cost of tremendous efforts, were somewhat different than the current fighters. In the first world and civil wars, the fighters were for the most part peasants, feeding on black bread and water from a puddle. They had to sleep in the snow and drown in the mud of the trenches. Lice, the constant companions of soldiers of those years, were the size of a sparrow. World War II was a war of stokers, miners, sailors, metallurgists and tractor drivers, people also associated with active, hard physical labor. Lice were already struggling with fierce enemies.
After World War II, new technologies came to life and people changed with technology. Let's look at shipping for example. In 1957, new staffing tables were developed for cargo ships of close capacity. Steamships “Leningrad” - 8000 tons, “Chulym” - 2600 tons, the motor ship “Saltykov Shchedrin” - 2700 tons, diesel tanker “Kazbek” - 10300 tons, diesel-electric ship “Lena” - 6100 tons.
Captain, navigator, radio operator, mechanics - these specialties were represented equally on all ships. The number of sailors was also very close and ranged from 8 to 11, on average 10 sailors per ship. Further interesting: there were no electricians on the steamers at all, but there were already three of them on the diesel-electric ship. The motorists (machinists) on the steamers had a 5 shower, and on a diesel tanker 12! There were 12 firemen on Chulym, and there were no X-boats on the motor ship, tanker or diesel-electric ship at all. But the electricians on these ships were 6, 12 and 10 people.
The stoker, who could shift a shovel at the firebox, was replaced by a puny electrician with pliers and a skein of multicolored wiring. The same thing happened on the railway. The stoker was replaced by an electrician-intellectual. And with the massive transfer of boilers to gas fuel, the stokers died out like dinosaurs. I hope everyone imagines the difference in weight categories and muscles.
The number of stokers depended on the number of boilers and furnaces, on the type of fuel. Each working boiler was relied on by one first-class stoker and up to eight posts of second-class stokers on vessels with three or more working boilers. And four more posts of the fireman. And there were also senior firemen! It was in which case who will dig the ground. The republics are lucky that a large number of militiamen are miners, people accustomed to work. The miner is by nature very peace-loving and meek, his every descent into the mine is dangerous: the injuries and the deadly risk are constant. In order for a miner to start a war, something very serious must happen that directly affects his family.
A system administrator with scoliosis and wearing glasses does not dig much. The taxi driver, too, quickly tired of the shovel and scrap. And therefore, we need engineering vehicles in sufficient quantity for the defense, we need construction equipment and professional builders. Defense in the endless nightmare of war solves a lot.
In February 1915, the French organized an offensive in Champagne. Having lost 50000 people, they advanced only 460 meters into the depths of the German front. Machine guns, automatic weapon, properly arranged obstacles - as a result of today's unacceptable sacrifices with near zero results.
The Middle Ages returned a helmet to a soldier in the 20 century. A helmet that was completely rejected in the 18 and 19 century. Shakos, tricorns, various caps and caps - all this flew off to hell with the establishment of a positional war. (You should talk about a helmet on a positional war separately). The statistics of the 20 wars of the century are ruthless, and the officers' requirement must be rigorous - I climbed into the trench, stepped into the checkpoint - put on a hard hat. This will save not one hot head.
Another gift from the Middle Ages, effective and affordable for the manufacture of any artel of metal products - anti-personnel spikes. From Byzantine times they were used against cavalry, and in the twentieth century they returned. Poured them on country roads and highways and spoiled a lot of car tires.
“Soon I lost direction, got into the funnel of the projectile and heard the voices of the English, who worked in his trench. Having disturbed their rest with a pair of grenades, I quickly disappeared into my trench, stumbling into my hand at the sticking out thorn of one of our glorious traps. They consisted of four iron blades, one of which I ran into. We put them on rat paths ”(E. Jünger“ In steel thunderstorms ”).No need to smile crookedly and twist a finger to his temple. Under the conditions of an unpopular civil war, getting a light wound with such an exotic weapon with a conscript of a Ukrainian Armed Forces is more humane or pragmatic than tearing it into pieces with a projectile. Wounded, injury gives a chance to legally leave the front line, get to the rear for treatment and not incur criminal prosecution. And then gently otkosit from the front, as a person who has already been there and wounded. We are for humanism, for all good and against all bad.
And finally, another medieval: God help you, and do not be bad yourself.