I had the pleasure of spending 9 months in kindergarten with payment, contentment and uniforms. This kindergarten is proudly referred to as the Bundeswehr and is a holiday home combined with a playground for young and not so, and even old kids. German army, gee. After three months of schooling, you get the title gefrayter (such as a corporal), regardless of merit or behavior, or the level of mental development; after six months of service you become an obergefreiter. Each title carries with it about a hundred extra euros per month.
In general, the situation is elegant with payment. In a nutshell: the so-called salary is about 400 euros per month. If the barracks is located more than for stopping kilometers from home, then a day is charged three euros per distance from home. If you refuse to wear underwear (Homer Simpson Style underpants, T-shirts and two blue pajamas), then you get paid for this thirty years old, like saving Spouse's costs. Then again, if you don’t eat at the barracks (many people refuse to eat breakfast because of laziness), you receive for each unaccepted food unit for 1,30 euros. Well, plus a hundred a month for each rank, plus a bonus of about “demobilization” of about 900 euros.
Service is hard and difficult. Many recruits suffer and miss their mom and go to the barracks priest, who plays the role of a psychologist and accepts all soldiers, regardless of religion. He has a voice and may demand one or another, for example, so that the next slob may be allowed to go home for a week because of mental disorder (and this is despite the fact that every weekend the “soldiers” are allowed to go home - on Friday at twelve “the end of the service” and start at Monday at six in the morning, the fare is paid by the state). I must immediately declare that hazing is prohibited and that horror is persecuted, although what is hazing there, if the general term of service is nine months? None of the commanders are allowed to touch the soldiers (of course in emergency cases you can, everything is in the statute), not like beating or anything else. It is allowed only to shout loudly, and then without personal insults, otherwise the report and crying career. For example, some kind of dodik from the rank and file, not bright with intelligence, cannot properly put a headdress on his tower and looks like a Turk or a cook in his beret. Unther yells at him: “you (the obligatory form of appeal) look like a baker! Now put the hat on correctly! Perform! ”The brake crawls its pincers on the pumpkin without apparent success, and after stealing a little more, the noncommissionist approaches him and asks: can I touch you and correct your beret? If the hoopoe answers yes, then NCO lovingly straightens the beret. If the hoopoe doesn’t want to be touched by the noncom, then he says no (there were such cases, it’s just a nightmare), then the noncom goes along the line and chooses some booby from whom he looks good and gives him an order to correct the hoophod. These are the pies.
Once on the exercises, when we were playing in the light of the summer, several stupid beggars lagged behind and risked being “shot” by the enemy, our noncom, unable to bear it, screamed - “drag your obkakannye ass here.” After, having declared a smoke break, he apologized to the “cadres”, referring to the fact that he was in the effect of arousal and therefore blurted it out in a temper and whether they were angry at him because of it. They said no and he rejoiced.
Under such conditions it is not surprising that one e-lan from my room (the rooms were for six or eight people) sometimes cried at night and wanted to see my mother, interrupting his nagging words that going to the army was the worst decision in his life and that he hates himself for that and wants to go home. The others comforted him.
At school we ran, jumped, played sports together with unters, for the statute says that noncoms cannot demand any sports activities from the soldiers, which they themselves do not do ... So if poor unter wanted us to run out twenty times or run three kilometers at a time, he had to do the same. Taking into account that the non-partners were not exactly dragging themselves from the sport, we were not too tense. We also learned to disassemble and assemble machines and crawl. And, of course, they comprehended the theory of tactics and strategy. These were more flowers. And although it was fear, how difficult it turned out that it was even worse after school. The service day looked like this: from five in the morning breakfast, who wants to go, who does not want to sleep. The main thing is that the construction, which at six o'clock, all got up. After the roll call, the order followed: through the rooms and wait for further orders, which sometimes had to wait for weeks. Everybody was going and doing all kinds of nonsense. Who was asleep, who was watching the telly, who was playing the console (everything could be brought to the barracks), who was reading, who was just ... And one valiant equivalent of prapor (shpis) was sneaking along the corridor, burst into the room like a hurricane, and sowed horror, punishing everyone who did not behave according to the order - sitting at the table on a chair, waiting for an order. Forced to sweep and wash the stairs or corridor, collect candy wrappers on the parade-ground, etc. But he had little imagination, so the corridor and the stairs shone, and the candy wrappers were worth their weight in gold.
Then in 17: 00 followed the order: end of service! And the camdas rushed merrily who where. Someone at the disco, who is in the cinema, who booze purchased. The only thing that was very depressing was that the room should not be smoked and plump. To do this, you had to either go to a special room on our floor - with a billiard table and a tennis table, or x - to a bar located in the territory of the barracks.
So with adversity, 9 months passed, of which 21 is the official holiday day, which was ordered to take at Christmas.
Finally tell history about how all the sloven Germans from my room had the good fortune of becoming a carrier tanks and other garbage and drove off to courses in Bavaria, and I was left completely alone and overslept once the long-awaited order was being built and go wash and clean the tanks (we were a tank missile - anti-aircraft unit with obsolete Roland of the sixties). It so happened that everyone went to scrub the tanks and I, having slept for another hour, woke up and saw that none of my battery was in the building. These are krants! I thought, and I was not mistaken. After weighing what’s worse, lurking in the room until they return, or trying to get into the hangar to the tanks unnoticed, I chose the second, and almost brilliantly carried out the campaign, but on the very approach the non-fighter reptured me. He asked me why I did not come with everyone, I answered with the face of Schweik that I had not heard the order to leave. He gave me a short lecture on how a soldier should behave and ordered (oh woe!) After the end of the service to stay one hour at the orderly and write an essay on the topic “How to use the afternoon pause correctly”, which I did by scribbling shit about the fact that the soldier should damn clean his uniform and all the garbage, but not sleep during his pause.
After reading this creation, noncommissioned man had mercy and let me go free.
I still remember with emotion when I was in the Bundeswehr and grieve for the idiots of the Germans who do not know how lucky they were.
At the medical board I was asked in which troops I would like to serve. I replied that they were in the landing forces, to which they told me that these troops were the best in Germany and it would be hard to serve there, to which I replied that I was engaged in boxing and the athlete in general and I was told: - well, then of course! Two months later I received a referral to the Third Tank Missile Anti-Aircraft Battery.
With a backpack and an agenda in a book, I was approaching the train to the place of my service. It was written on the agenda that I should report to 18: 00 at the station of the town where I would be in military service and they would take me away and deliver me to the barracks. It was also worth it that I needed a double change of linen and two locks to lock my locker.
Coming out of the station in 17: 00, I saw an army truck and pepper in the form around it. Readily handing out my agenda to him, I realized that fate was not so favorable to me as I thought. He said that he was from a different part and that everything was long gone from my unit ...
Yes ... I said. - What should I do?
Wait a moment, maybe they will come again.
After waiting for 18: 00, I began to gradually worry ... The army is still not an elementary school, you cannot be late ... In general, I found the phone number and began to call the day one. He told me that he didn’t know and that he couldn’t connect me to anyone else, but he advised me to get to the barracks on my own. To the question "how do I get there?" He hung up. After a survey of local natives, I stumbled upon an aunt who was on the way and she said she would tell me which bus stop to get off. So I finally got to the barracks. The referrers, who were standing on the clock at the entrance, checked my agenda and passport and treated me favorably, explained how and where to go.
Arriving in the building of the third battery, I was horrified to see that my future fellow soldiers were already dressed in a blue - blue sports uniform of the Bundeswehr with a fascist eagle already running around breathing heavily and stomping along the corridor back and forth, and they were loudly yelling about such a small noncom, on my shoulder about . Angrily glancing at me, he shouted to the athletes: Halt! tsyuryuk! nohmal Dust was rising.
The bureaucratic uniform in uniformed straps asked me where I had come from. I showed resourcefulness from the station. He was surprised, but after thinking a little, he said that he couldn’t do anything for me, as I apparently didn’t get there, because the battery was fully equipped and all the recruits were in place from twelve o'clock in the afternoon. After reading the contents of the agenda, he was even more surprised. Strange - he told me - it says that you must come to us. I tactfully kept silent. Khmyr hovered for some time, then told me to wait and disappeared for a couple of minutes appeared again, bringing with him another hmyry in uniform, with whom they began to argue that de bardak, why we do not know anything about him, but to we were sent, etc .. Having decided nothing, they decided to continue their discussion in private, and they sent me to room 168, assuring me that they would figure it out.
So began the nine-month history of my ordeals ... By the way, I wonder why nine months exactly? Is it an allegory? Like after that you become a man or are you born again? I do not know. It was so that they sent me to the room, but I didn’t understand where I came from and why I didn’t number them in the papers, apparently tired to think, so when we went to the outfit the next day, everyone called me by name, until I was left one. Then Hmyri from the warehouse thought intensely how is that? What should have been the 52 man’s outfit, but why did 53 come ... In the end, of course, I got everything, but it lasted an hour longer than was planned ...
The next day, during the morning roll call, the first army incident occurred. We were standing in the corridor and shouting “here” to the nonter, who shouted last names, when a young man of our summons passed between the ranks and the noncom, but in a civilian world and with his hands in his pockets. Unther, who for some time was speechless, coped with himself and began to shout loudly at him saying what it was, building something for you, hands out of pockets, quickly change into shape, two minutes, went! And the valiant warrior answered proudly: "I don't want to be a soldier anymore." Unther's jaw dropped. “What is it?” He asked almost sentimentally. "I just went to the office to the captain and filed an application for refusal of military service, because I do not like being a soldier," the former soldier replied. “But this is only just a second day of service, you have not figured it all out yet,” the noncomsant babbled. “No,” said the refusenik firmly, “I will no longer be a soldier,” and retired down the corridor. Twenty minutes later, he left the barracks with things forever to take up alternative service in some mental hospital or nursing home.
Battery morale staggered ... Unther was quietly sad.
It took somewhere ten days of service. Were addicted. We met. In my room there were six people with me. One huge well-trained good-natured simpleton, two sickly whiners, one bespectacled man — an intellectual and a Pole, with whom we immediately found a common language. In the mornings, before breakfast, we went in for sports — went to the gym to do exercises — wrung out with the noncom, squatted, my favorite exercise was to press my back against the wall as if sitting on a chair, so that the knees were bent at a right angle and stand like that with the whole platoon (Unter, of course, too) until, despite the terrible shouts of nonter, the first one will not fall to the floor. With unaccustomed feet, of course, they got tired and shaken, but the first one fell down — the fat man with the face of a downstairs from the next room, who in the future had the misfortune to get into the room to me and suffer greatly from my Russian nature.
After charging - cleaning the room and the territory entrusted to cleaning (in our room it was a corridor and a staircase), then breakfast, then or theory where it was boring and for a long time about what they told and had to fight with sleep, or practice - crawling or running across the field in a gas mask and without it, the G3 submachine gun - assembling and disassembling, etc. until about 10 pm with a break for lunch and dinner, then cleaning and hanging up again.
The Germans suffered. “They can't do it when they scream ... No personal life, they can order something at any time and you should do it,” they complained. I laughed and said that these are all toys ... They were pouting.
When we once again cleaned the automatons - standing in the corridor with our back to the wall, laying out the details on the chair facing each, one of our whiners leaned back to the wall without noticing the sergeant-major walking along the corridor, and then it began. As in the American cinema right, I could hardly restrain laughter. Feldwebel approached the fighter, brought his fighting grin as close as possible to his sad and frightened face and began to shout, saying the wall itself stands, you don’t need to prop it up, where did you come from, can you bring a cocktail, but don’t turn back! Oral must be said professionally. Loud and menacing, hanging over the fighter until he rested his head against the wall, after which he said voluntarily and went on. The whiner had an animal horror written on his face, his hands and knees were shaking, it seemed to me that he was now crying. But he wept only at night. I was awakened by sobbing and excited whispers. Ghanaians, huddled around his bed, comforted him and asked what was the matter, he said that he could not stand that, that no one had ever treated him that he wanted to go home or die. I was bursting, but I restrained myself from human philanthropy in order not to injure the soul of an impressionable fighter with my hysterical giggling even more.
The next day, there was a theory ... We were told the first law of the statute - the chamber. Like all comrades, should respect each other, help, etc. They told an interesting fact that everyone is responsible for renting state property, and that everyone should always keep his locker locked, even when he is in the room and only unlock it when necessary. If, on negligence, you forgot to lock the cabinet, then it’s a crime in the army, called “incitement to theft”, and that if you tuck something, then it’s not the person who stole, but the one who didn’t lock up his locker was to blame .
At this time, the sergeant-major came to our study room, called the leutnant, who opened the striking depths of the German charter, to us, and then whispered something in his ear. The lieutenant exclaimed loudly: how? can not be! But looking again at the shy face of the sergeant-major, he must have decided what he could, therefore he told us to sit and wait and hurriedly ran away. He came running after a couple of minutes, and there was no face on him, and said that everything, full of Alles, the terrorists attacked the Pentagon and the center of world trade and that we run fast for dinner, everything about everything for fifteen minutes, then back again and there say what's next.
Quickly and excitedly, we tried to devour something for ten minutes, while panic and chaos reigned throughout the barracks. Crowds of soldiers ran back and forth to the courtyard and the parade ground, someone was screaming incessantly, and a thick cloud of croaking crows curled over it all. Among the Germans there was despondency ... Everything, war, - one said sadly. (They all ran and shouted very picturesquely, probably it happens when a war begins).
- I will not go to war! - said one.
- Yes, I have nothing more to do. - another.
- And I, too ... If the war, then immediately on the train and home, I will take my parents to Greenland, there will be nothing there. - confidently declared the third
- Are you russian? - they asked me.
- And what do I order that I will do. - I answered honestly - although even if there is a war, we will not be sent anywhere.
But the valiant defenders of his Vaterland said that all this garbage, they would not immediately send it later, and in general they saw all this in a coffin and that it was necessary to throw it at once.
We didn’t die down and ran to the TV room, where, without stopping under the simultaneous akhane of the military personnel, they were shown how the plane flies into the skyscraper. Clinging. Confused, frightened faces around.
Unter yelled, informing him that after 5 minutes there was a general battalion formation in the courtyard, the form: he took his overcoat. The lieutenant colonel, the battalion commander pushed a fiery speech about world terrorism, which penetrates peaceful life and destroys thousands of civilian lives, and that this will not work, we must fight it. You see! - excitedly whispered around. Also, the lieutenant colonel told us that Chancellor Schroeder had already responded and promised any possible assistance to the American allies in the fight against terrorism in his television message. A breath passes through the rows.
After the speech, we were ordered to go back to the classroom and wait there. Minutes through 20, when the poor fighters had already languished from ignorance, what would happen next, the lieutenant came and, as if nothing had happened, continued the lecture. Outside the window, they were still running, but not so fast, and they didn’t scream so loud ... Already then I thought that probably the officers were competing in efficiency, who would quickly gather their people and push their fiery speech.
The lecture went on for another two hours, the movements outside the window ceased and nothing prevented the peaceful appearance of the usual German barracks, which defended the world society against world terrorism and was filled with soldiers ready for any losses in the name of peace and the defense of the fatherland.
For about a week, all the unrest subsided, everyone forgot about the terrorists, only the rank and file as we suffered from this unprecedented terrorist attack, because we had to carry sandbags, building a paramount of one and a half meters in height near the checkpoint, and doubled all the posts, because the enemy does not sleep . We suffered as a result of this, because the old 20 people were carrying the watch, but all the posts were doubled, so that during the watch it was possible to sleep twice less, three hours a night.
The soldier of the Bundeswehr should look neat. It is allowed to have hair, if it does not hang down on the ears and on the collar, the bangs should not fall on the eyes. You can have a beard, but you cannot walk with bristles, so if you come with a beard, you can leave it, or grow a beard while on vacation.
The soldier of the Bundeswehr must be disciplined and obey the order. We have a long and tedious chewing about the appropriateness of orders and what orders the soldier must carry out, and from which he has the right to refuse. Now and then the discussions of the soldiers with the non-commissioned officers inflame about whether they should carry out the orders given or not; poor nonterra yell and sweat, but there's little sense from this. Soldiers know their rights. Every day they go by the ears, telling that the soldier is also an inviolable person in the first place and how to protect this person from abuse by their elders or non-existent hazing. In the corridor there is a box for anonymous complaints about the commanders or other personalities, the captain's key, the “chief” of the battery. You can also go to him at any time to chat about this and that.
The noncoms are also not fools, they came up with a chip how to make soldiers do what they shouldn’t do. In the corridor, the NCO comes out and yells that one volunteer is required from each room. In the form of an order. Then volunteers are sent according to their needs - someone who goes to the café for buns or hamburgers, who can get out of their offices ... What is typical of volunteers is usually not a shortage.
The first two months is training. Service until ten or eleven in the evening, rise at five, charging, cleaning, breakfast, then "formal service." This is when you are being sworn. They are practicing. You put on your overcoat and take it, you clean your boots, by order you run from the third floor to the building in front of the building. While you are running down the stairs, some kind of freak comes to you on a cleaned boot. With the toe of this boot, viciously kicking him in the shin of hissing curse, he apologizes, but there is nothing to do, you try to wipe the track with your sleeve, you can still see. On the construction, the unter carefully examine each recruit from head to toe, ask for permission to fix the beret or hood, and send him to scrape the boots. It looks like this: you run to the third floor, unlock the locker, take out a brush and cream, lock the locker, run down, clean your boots, run up, lock the brush and cream, run down in order to appear before the bright eyes of the noncom. He meticulously inspects the boots and if necessary sends again. Some ran three to four times. I once “ran” twice - ran into the building, around the corner, looked there for a minute stands with tanks on the walls, took a brush out of my pocket, ran out and cleaned my boots. Then he ran around the corner again, rested, hid the brush, ran out, presented the boots. But it was punished. Once they caught the same clever man and shouted at him for a long time ... After inspecting, we march. Many have problems turning to the left or right. Wild cries, stupid jokes when everyone turns to the left, and some sort of ram to the right and is face to face with another. Unther happily runs up and asks the ram if he wants to kiss the other. Laughs We march for two or three hours, but there is a pause every half hour, since discipline does not allow non-smokers to smoke when we march. And they want to smoke often. After a month of school, about the first time the end of the service hours at six in the evening. You can go to town to buy beer. Drinking in the room is strictly prohibited. You can in the TV room or "free time room". Well, or in a bar in the barracks.
The Pole buys a bubble "Zubrovki" and we go room for plumping. Without a snack and under cigarettes, he inserts tightly, we are booties from half a liter, and there are two fingers left on the bottom. At ten we are hung up, we are arguing with the Pole about the remnants - he says pour out and throw the bottle out of the window, I suggest we hide it in my locker and finish it later. Everyone is scared to persuade me not to fool, they say storage is prohibited, you will find yourself and you will substitute us all. I proudly send everyone away, saying that vodka does not allow me to pour out my religion. One wise guy respectfully asks "what is yours?"
I put the bottle in the pocket of my overcoat, lock the locker and drink a sip for the next days to come. The Germans are shocked by what I do.
On Tuesdays we run a circle around the barracks - about six kilometers. The dull fanjunker - the future lieutenant, who is running around with us is screaming - “men, Russians behind us, step back!” (Interestingly, do all Russians associate with the word drape?) I succumbed to the move, catch up with him and yell: “Russians are already here!” He stumbles. After jogging, a warm-up, during which our Turk, a platoon jester and a hitch, plucks up his feet at the expense of the fanjunker. He bent down once, blew out a little bit, straightened in two, made two half-turns of the body, bent down again, blew again. Fanyunker yells at him: “fail! Fuck in another place! Get out of the bushes! ”After the warm-up, he invites me to step aside and looking at my face, he says that he did not want to offend me with his cry for Russians, and that he deeply regrets about it, and asks for forgiveness. I forgive him generously.
On Friday after breakfast, jogging three kilometers in sportswear. The oldest from our call is Momzen, he is 25 years old, and he seems a little out of his mind. On a run, he amazes and scares the people, and I am also a delighted Pole. An order was given to run, time is traced - a circle of 400 meters. Momzen runs the first lap, equals with a stopwatch at the stopwatch and screams on the run: “I ...! Not....! Can...! Run ...! More !!! ”Unther, in three words, advises him to keep quiet and run on, and Mommön runs, and suddenly begins to sob. Right on the run, and it looks rather strange, it seems to be running, a drawn-out sob, then a drawling-ss-ss-ss-ss, then again sobs and ss-ss-ss. So the whole circle runs, sobbing in its voice, and equals again with the noncom. While the noncommissioned, who does not believe his eyes and ears, stares at him, he runs on. Unther wakes up from lethargy and yells: “Mommies, don't run if you can't!” But Momzen stubbornly runs on. And sobs. Unther rushes in pursuit, catches up with him, runs beside him and shouts: “Mommies, stop!”, And so they peacefully run over side by side for half a circle, until Unther finally understands that this can go on for a long time with a soft gesture and takes Momsena under the elbow and carries him him away from the treadmill and carefully takes to the room. For the rest of the day, Mommön lies on a bed in his room and does not talk to anyone. Compassionate Germans offer him to drink or talk, but he only shakes his head.
By the way, when Momzen came to the barracks for the first time, he immediately told everyone that he would not have a son tomorrow and was bothering about whether he would be given a couple of days off when that happens. Every week, when Momzen returned to the barracks, he was asked whether he finally became a father, and he every week invariably replied that there wasn’t yet, but this week for sure ... they scoffed at him, gurgled and sulked when six months passed, and he he also said that the doctor said exactly this week and smiled like an idiot ... Then he got tired, but after 9 months of service, no one was born to him, and opinions were divided. Someone said that he was just down, but people softer thought that some sort of tragedy apparently broke out in him, but we never knew the truth.
After jogging until twelve days, cleaning the room and the territory entrusted to cleaning. Our territory - the corridor and the stairs - I took part in the cleaning only once every two months of training. Every day, Hans swept and washed the floor twice, and complained that I was not helping ... Well, to clear my conscience, I pretended that I wiped the dust off the railing once more for my eyes. What is dust there?
Each time on Friday the same bike, but the Germans from my room every time they firmly believe her and almost reach hysterics, climb out of their skin. The tale is that until twelve o'clock in the afternoon there should be no rubbish or dust in the room, and then we will be sent home on time. If there is dust somewhere, then woe to everyone, for they will force us to go further and delay us for an hour longer. The problem is that as you do not try, there is dust. Anyway. And each time the same performance is played - at about eleven, a check in the face of usually two noncoms comes in and searches for dust, which is found rather quickly. Professionals - on the ceiling under the ceiling, or the villi on the leg of the chair, between the frames in the window, or on the window sill outside, on the door hinges, under the trash can, on the soles of the boots, and so on. They know a lot of such hiding places, and even if the long-suffering Germans remember them all and carefully wipe everything, the noncoms easily find more. Then follows the well-played resentment of the noncoms. They are just in shock, what a pigsty we have and for two minutes we yell and are outraged that because of us now the whole battery lingers for another hour.
Among the Germans panic, bordering on despair. They blame each other, but mostly me, because I don’t show much enthusiasm when cleaning, that we are now, and because of us, the whole battery will be late for the train. I say that they say the same thing in every room, and they let us go as usual, regardless of whether dust is found or not, but they don’t believe me ... The performance is repeated again. The Germans almost cry. And finally, at exactly twelve o'clock again, the NCOs with approval say “it would be so long ago!” And in a couple of minutes they shout that the service is over.
All happily change into a citizen and rush to the bus stop. Nobody pays attention to my “what did I say?”
Next Friday everything repeats again. Is that the episode with Momzen unique, because from the runs, he was released.
The food here is bad. By German standards.
Breakfast and dinner consists of bread, buns and several varieties of cheese and sausage. Well, vegetables like tomatoes - sliced cucumbers and lots of fruits: apples, pears, bananas, and sometimes watermelons and melons. Every Thursday a hot dinner - or fried potatoes with onions, or a slice of pizza, or baked Hawaiian toast with ham, pineapple washer and cheese. For lunch, the standard set - a piece of meat with diluted sauce, boiled potatoes and some boiled or stewed vegetables. Well, sometimes there of course macaroni or rice ... Every Wednesday is a soup day - they give thick eintopf with sausage, usually salty.
But it is in the barracks. In the field they feed differently. Bivouac is a beautiful such Yesenin word. On the fourth week we go to the woods, to "fight." On Monday night, we are awakened by a huge pumped-up simpleton from our room and whisper excitedly that something is wrong, which probably will rise after anxiety, because the light does not burn as usual in the corridor, but small candles stand in the corners and in the corners. People begin to worry and panic. I am indignant, saying that they do not interfere with sleep, that if there is an alarm, then we will not miss it in any way so that we can shut up. Kachok says that he will not sleep anymore, but will wait ... I tell him that he will wait silently and not shake and fall asleep again.
In the ears beats an unbearable howl. Siren. I jump on the bed, I do not understand anything. The wheel turns on the light and rushes around the room. No one knows what to do, because we have never heard about anxiety before, especially how to behave. Someone is yelling: “ABC-Alarm !!!” (atomic-biological-chemical alarm), and we all grab gas masks as one — they are on the cabinet from the edge — and we get on them. At this time, with a crash, the door swings open and with a cry of “Anxiety, everything is built!” A non-commissioned man flies in At first, he still yells that we turned on the light in vain, but he stops in mid-sentence, because he sees five idiots in shorts and gas masks and one in uniform, but also in a gas mask (this cowardly wore a uniform, tucked the bed and sat waiting for everyone else to sleep) . Unther is trying to make a formidable face, but it is clear that he is bursting with laughter. Build! - he yells and crashes. Flies another and yells: "Construction! Turn the lights off! Anxiety! ”But also notes the comic situation and begins to laugh openly, truthfully shyly covering his non-comic officer’s face. Runs out. We are still in a stupor, standing in gas masks and can not move. Here the Shtroder shtolsunterofitsorter, deputy platoon commander, completely devoid of humor and imagination, runs up and starts yelling loudly and maliciously that this is a mess, why we put on gas masks when it is not an abts-alarm, but a combat alarm, quickly take off gas masks, put on uniforms, soon construction And without light, the main thing! Slam the door.
Only here I understand what's the matter and begin to laugh, rip off my gas mask, frantically pulling on my pants and boots. There is an order to build, I get into a sweater on the run. In the corridor stands a motley crowd. Who is in the same pants and slippers, who are in the form but barefoot, there is even one special in the gym and boots but no pants. Schroeder frowns before the line. “This is the shame I have not seen!” He collapses. “Not soldiers, but a crowd of peasants! Quickly through the rooms, dress in the form, as expected, take the paper and pencil! Whoever turns on the light will regret it! One minute, let's go! ”He yells with genuine malice.
A minute later, all dressed in form, stand. Schroeder yells that now he will read the disposition, only once, silently record everything, then he will personally check each of them. The disposition is such that country X, bordering our country U, forces troops to a common border on the river Z, possibly breaking the border, our battery is ordered to take a position on the right bank of the river Z and is preparing for defense. Try writing something standing in line on a piece of paper with a pencil. I'm not even trying, I rely on memory. I will write down later.
Schroeder orders to disperse into rooms, an order is immediately issued “get ready for construction before armory chamber ”, pause,“ will be built in front of the armory! ”. Stomp on the stairs. Our armory is one floor higher. We are building in front of it, we go by turn, say the number of the machine, we receive, we give the card with the same number, it hangs up at the place where the machine was. For accounting. When you return the machine, you get the card back. My submachine gun is 64 years old, well-known. At the shooting range, where we were taken before, there was such a problem: to determine the aiming point (not a single machine gun shoots as it should, but a little to the side, at least for us) from a hundred meters you fire three bullets at a large, one and a half and a half meter target, aiming at the top ten. If all the bullets went down more closely, for example, on the seven to the left of the ten, then the aiming point (where it is marked to get into the top ten), respectively, on the seven on the right. I fired all three bullets, aiming at the bullseye, but not one hole was found on the target. They asked me where I was aiming, I answered that in ten, as it should be. Unther smirked and ordered to shoot another three times. I fired with the same result. Unter, on whose face it was clearly written what he thinks of me, took the machine gun with an air of superiority, and casually firing three shots, said "now let me go show this point." When we reached the target, it was my time to grin. There was not a single hole on the target. Unther scratched his pear-shaped head. In the end, this point was found - it was necessary to aim at the ground below the lower right corner of the target in order to get into it at all.
After we received the machines, we were ordered to disperse into the rooms and wait for the order. I had to wait a long time. The alarm was at four in the morning, about half past four we went with the machine guns into the rooms, fastened combat gear (two pouches with clips, a shovel, a bag with a gas mask, a rubber cape and rubberized mittens, a bag with a kettle, a flask on a belt and a backpack with spare things and sleeping bag attached to it) and sat down to wait. Made a sortie in the corridor - smoke. Everything is quiet. Gradually dawn. At six in the morning there was an order to build, we were ordered to go to the canteen for breakfast, just so loaded up and went, shoved, crowded, clung to each other, to tables, chairs and other household items with guns and backpacks. After breakfast, we sat for another half an hour, and then there was an order being built in front of the building, and finally we were presented with such colorful green ikarus. We drove.
Each fighter has half of the tent. You choose a partner from your department, you build this structure with him and rejoice. Rejoice, because one was left out and he has only half of the tent. When asked what to do, they reasonably notice him - put half! He set the poor fellow to half, but as luck would have it it began to drizzle the nasty northern rain and went on for the next four days, which we stuck there and he could not sleep, it was too wet, because he was not assigned to play soldiers (to lie in a pool at night ambush for two hours, go around positions with weapons at the ready, etc.), and put him to a fire, for which he had to watch. All day long. So he was sitting there, near the fire, and he was a very, very harmful and bad person, so everyone spit on the camera and no one offered him his tent. On the third night, he fell asleep and fell into a fire and probably would have been scared if he hadn’t passed by the next shift for the clock, which quickly pulled him out, he would only singe his eyebrows, eyelashes and peak cap.
Went everyday life - four days. During the day, we learned to disguise ourselves with grass and broken wind branches - you can’t rip off a tree, smear your faces with black paint, crawl, run, jump, shoot idle, wear gas masks and take off the rubber poncho - dress, train to take prisoner and disarm suspicious people (who mostly played I or a Pole - you go with a pistol in your bosom, a patrol meets you, you scream, “stand up, hands up,” and you yell, “Yes, you all go there and there and that,” in Russian of course. The patrol is taken aback and stands agape, and you at this time you crush them, theirs the commander, the entire German army and everything else you see. Then one is aiming at you with a submachine gun (as if, in general, he is aiming at people, it is impossible, therefore he only pretends that he is aiming at you, and he is aiming at the ground) and the other approaches, searches, picks up the gun and takes you away. I was categorically forbidden to resist, and the script was always the same), well, they just rummaged around the neighborhood with a weapon at the ready and when it came to his head, the squad leader gave a special sign, everyone hid in the bushes or behind a tree and drove the car the mat back and forth - they say the enemy does not sleep. Once pretended fight. At first we sat in the forest, and another branch across the clearing fled at us, we shot blank and drove them away, then vice versa. And at night there were two tasks, or two hours a patrol — bypassing the bivouac in a circle — together, and the noncoms sometimes pretended to attack and had to respond correctly — fire the alarm and everyone woke up, grabbed a weapon and ran away to where they were firing blank. it was forbidden in the ears - damage to the state property, which is a soldier, because we went to the patrol with ears stuck (issued special gags), and there were three stations where you had to stop, pull the gags out of your ears, and listen, not steal Whether the enemy camping. Then again plugging the ears and on. Another task - just an ambush - you lie and look in the direction of the alleged enemy, if you see him, then you raise the alarm with shots.
Not far from the clearing with tents, there were two red plastic transport toilets, which had to go with a cover. In general, two soldiers steal up to the toilets, then one throws off the machine gun and belt with equipment, while the other sits on his haunches and looks around attentively, guarding the rest of the first.
The meal was also very romantic. There was an order to find a long strong stick, to make a file on it according to the number of soldiers in the detachment and to hang on the stick kettles, wrapped with scarves, so as not to thunder. A truck with a gruel arrived and traffic began: two soldiers from the police station, with bowlers on a stick, sneaked to the car, which stood in the middle of the field. Nearby sneaked at least two with machine guns at the ready, covered those with a stick. Approached the car, received a grub, sneaked back and ate, then sat by the big fire and smoked.
Every day we lost about two to three people from the platoon sick. They were taken to the barracks.
On the third day of the camp, on Wednesday we were loaded onto the bus and taken to the barracks to wash, but what about three days without a shower? At the same time they grabbed a second pair of boots there, because the first one did not dry out because of the rain. By the way, romance also prevailed in the barracks - those of the sick who were not very sick (there is a concept of internal service, this is when you serve inside, in a room, and you can not go out), put tents in the corridor, stretching them out like on insulating tape and slept in them, heaps of grass were brought to them from the street, so that they were disguised, they smeared their faces black and also patrolled a corridor at night, where they were sometimes waited for by a cunning unter, or lay on the clock near the room with a weapon. Only now they could not shoot in the corridor, so that they only pretended to shoot. Also, two of them with mops on the handle of a mop went to the canteen and brought to devour the rest. In general, equality. Everyone must pass the bivouac during training, and each passed it, just some in the building.
When we went to the shower and changed into clean clothes (each had three sets of uniform), we were taken back to the forest and we continued our heavy field service. If it were not for the lingering September rain, forever wet clothes, sleeping bags and feet, it would be generally fine.
On Thursday, we had a small celebration - we brought pickled stacks and sausages, and from eight o'clock in the evening we had a grill - each with a stack and two sausages and two small cans of Faxe beer. Whoever did not want a beer could receive respectively two cans of cola or forfeits. Then we went to sleep, at five in the morning on Friday, the last combat alarm — the noncoms were running, shouting, shooting and throwing foam plastic firecrackers in the shape of grenades, we shot back and repulsed the reptiles.
And then they took down the tents, packed their belongings and marched to the barracks - eleven kilometers in full military uniform and with a machine gun on their shoulder - and the bivouac behind.
After the march - bloody corns. Boots - new, from good skin, solid and unusual, wash the feet in the blood. A huge bubble appears, then it bursts, then a new one, on the next layer of skin, also bursts, then the skin ends and the heel itself fades away. But nothing, eleven kilometers is nonsense, and reach almost everything. Those who say they can no longer receive an order to stop and wait for a truck that runs along the road. They are not yelling at them, but they hint that they are weak. I tolerate. There can be a Russian weakling.
When I finally take off my boots in the barracks with relief, both socks are in brown blood above the heel and approximately to the middle of the foot. Carefully take them off from the body - it looks bad, but better than I thought. The Germans stare at me, ask why I did not go on the truck. I proudly chuckle, they chuck their heads. After cleaning and cleaning uniforms end of service. Carefully lame walk in sneakers to the bus stop.
On Monday, many people go to the medical unit — they show corns, they are washed, they give out special “corn plasters” and they give relief from boots. Specialists with such a release go or in slippers or sneakers. Laughing at them - all the same, that one is still - in uniform and slippers. On the drill on the parade ground, where we are prepared for the upcoming oath, every now and then there are cries, full of pain. They do not know how to march, stamping like a flock of sheep, step on the heels, and for those who wear slippers tightly. Boots still soften the pain a bit, but not enough. Turk coming behind me is one of those. After he kicked me in the heel the second time I turn to him and say: “keep your distance!” After the third time, I turn and push him in the chest, hissing angrily: “come again - you will get right here in the face!” He quenched , on the expression of his face it is clear that he does not doubt my words. Unter shouts at me. The Turk is a step behind, breaks the line, they yell at him, but I'm worse for him than the noncom. So he goes to a half-step farther from me than it should be, with shouts and notations, and with anguish looks at the unter who is yelling at him in the eyes.
Before the oath - the so-called recruitment exam. We are again alerted at four in the morning, but this time our fussy and suspicious jock sets the alarm clock to a quarter to four, goes out into the corridor, sees that the light is off and there are candles in the corners and wakes us up. After that, he pulls out the same candles from his closet in advance, lights them up, sets them on the table so that there is enough light and we carefully dress, we make beds and sit at the table. When the siren begins to roar, the door swings open, the noncommissioned officer rushes in and opens his mouth for the cry “siren, to building”, again slamming it, shaking his head and going out again. Another runs in, yelling that disorder, takes all the candles and leaves. We sit in the dark until an order is issued to the construction. Again the same disposition, only immediately upon receipt of the machine guns and clothing in combat equipment, we are taken away ...
The essence of the exam is that a ten-person squad, under the command of one of our elected “deputy squad commander”, makes an orientation march with a compass. The card is given exactly for a minute to this deputy himself, by the name of Turman (he is still a kamerad, arrogant, self-confident) and by chance to me. We have to memorize the map for this minute, then they take it away, give it a piece of paper to write down what they see. An order is such a direction. Department - in full gear, with blank cartridges in the machines, march. Each branch is seated from a truck in different places and the exam has begun. We verify the maps drawn before this. They are completely different. I briefly argue with the factory committee about which of them is more correct and where to go, after which he sends me to be closing.
Martial law. It means painting faces with black paint, sticking a helmet with grass and branches and sneaking to go in a given direction (reacting to orders from a blunt Tyurman who, having felt the power, sees a suspicious movement or hears something), and every now and then, jumping into the bushes, bristling with machine guns. I quickly get bored. Firstly, I think that we are not going exactly where we need to, secondly it is dawning and we should already be there, after two hours of wandering around the forest. Therefore, when he once again orders to hide in the bushes, I cheerfully release three shots in the direction of the edge. A lively skirmish begins. Each shoots five or six rounds of ammunition, then silence ... The enemy is not visible. I say that it seemed to me, not hiding a smirk.
Go ahead. Finally, we arrive at a fenced field where cows graze peacefully. Tyurman informs us that we need on the other side of the field, saying that we climb over the fence, I resist, saying that it is forbidden and the teachings are the teachings, and the owner of the field will not be happy if armed soldiers put cows under stress. In the end, we climb, step over the wide cow dung, behind me, in a full voice, in a capricious tone, I’ll let everyone know what this Tyurman is, in my opinion, an idiot who invented it, sends me one of two people who saw the terrain map instead of to consult with me, and as a result we are hanging around on manure, instead of being on the spot for a long time. Tyurman is angry, shouting to me, “Shut up!” I answer - “but what the truth is! After all, the truth, comrades? ”The comrades are silent, but I feel that the truth is on my side. After the next three minutes, deliberately lingering, Tyurman yelling in a broken voice “shut up, this is an order!”
I answer - "your orders can be yourself ...., you are nobody to me, and do not be rude better."
He falls for a screech - “I will report everything to non-commissioned officer Witstruck — that you shot without need, that you are not following orders.”
And then, savoring, I told him that Witstruck would certainly be interested to learn that his chosen deputy was a complete idiot, ordered us to climb through private property, drove around the private field, and proving his cretinism ordered us to keep quiet and not tell him on the mistakes he made. He is silent.
On the other side of the fence, the situation finally manifests itself - we made a small detour - just three or four kilometers, and came out to the first checkpoint from the rear, having surprised the nether who was lying in wait with the machine gun and was preparing to arrange our combat conditions when we show up. At this point we had to collect - disassemble machine guns for a while, but then another branch did not appear on time on the horizon (separation was planned at about an hour and a half, but while we were wandering, they caught up with us) and noncommissioned attracts us to the creation of combat conditions. We hide in the bushes, and letting them take a closer look, we open a quick fire at an unsuspecting enemy. Driving them into the dusty ground on the edge of the forest with our idle bursts, we are having fun with might and main. All the same, it is much more tempting to ambush than get into them. It looks very impressive. The machine gun chirps and growls, machine-gun fires plunge the squad into panic, soldiers rush about, forgetting that it is necessary to fall and shoot back. When they finally lie down and start firing volleys, the fire from our side dies down at the command of the noncommissioned officer and he shouts, “which department and who is your deputy commander?” - “I, second department” - a modest voice is heard from the high yellowed grass. “Stand up!” Shouts unter. The poor man gets up, and again falls under the joyous giggle of the nonter, who releases on him a long machine-gun fire. Then he reads a short lecture that the enemy does not sleep, the squad is broken, deprived of command and virtually destroyed.
After that, he tells us that we have successfully demonstrated our ability to assemble and disassemble a machine gun and give us a new direction. At the next checkpoint, we are in the zone of an atomic-biological-chemical attack. Required: hold your breath, stand on one knee, put a machine gun and rest on your shoulder, take off your helmet, fasten it on your knee, take out and put on a gas mask, (this is given for twenty seconds - who did not have time to be killed) pull out the rubber poncho and put it on , hermetically tighten the hood, on top of the gas mask and hood, fasten the helmet, and in the end pull the rubberized mittens with a separate index finger - so that you can shoot. Half of the squad was not able to cope in time, and to the non-commissioner it is boring to say that in war they would be dead, that this is a mess, that shame and so on. Then he shows us the direction - about three hundred meters further down the next checkpoint and, incidentally, the infected zone ends there. Running!
It is very unpleasant to run in a gas mask and a rubber poncho - you are suffocating and sweating terribly, the form is completely wet in two minutes. Having finally reached the saving edge of the forest, we receive a command to remove protective equipment. Carefully spreading everything in long strips, we stand with our backs to the wind. The non-commissioned officer pulls each one a bag of white powder, assuring that it is a decontamination agent and offers to pour all things abundantly on them, especially a gas mask. I crush the powder in my fingers, smell it, and suddenly I realize that it is flour. Another joke for educational purposes - pour a little flour into a wet gas mask and then, in the barracks, pick out the dried dough from it will give you a lot of pleasure. I dip my fingers in flour, take them on a gas mask from above and sprinkle a poncho. We are saved. You can put everything back in your bag and follow on.
We are facing the following points: assembling and disassembling machine guns and pistols, a group in defense, apprehending and searching suspicious individuals, targeting the map with a compass and crossing the narrow channel along a cable stretched between two trees - naturally with insurance. All this we go through without difficulty, only Mommien, during the crossing, began to sob again, hanging around the middle of the cable and saying that he was afraid of heights. He was offered to move on, because half of it had already passed, but he, having sobbed even harder, just opened his hands and hung on the insurance - about two meters above the surface of the water. To all persuasions and shouts, he responded with hysterical sobbing. A grandiose act of saving Mommsen followed. The simplest and most logical way was to throw him a rope and pull him to the ground, but with both hands he clasped convulsively to the safety cable, on which he hung and therefore could not catch the rope. The brave rescuer had to climb the cable in order to reach Mommön to the saving land, but Mommön brought a lot of complications to the plan, as he released the rope in time and grabbed his rescuer, ensuring that they were hanging on the safety cords in the end and he was the savior was firmly embraced by a deadly grip of the soldiers. But even though his hands were free, he was able to catch the end of the rope and they were finally pulled onto the land. Although even after this, Mommsen had to persuade him to let the other person go, he just sobbed and shook his head. Unhooked, he was taken away.
Along the way, we had lunch in battle order - fried cold chicken thighs wrapped in foil, mashed potatoes and compote, rested for half an hour and moved on.
The hikes between points were complicated by raids by hostile non-commissioned officers, who occasionally ambushed. I had to shoot back. When there was no ambush for a long time, I, in order that the squadron would not lose vigilance, imitated them. He started to burn and arranged his comrades in such a way as a shake-up, but they didn’t appreciate this at all and were offended.
Having bypassed all the points, the platoon gathered on a large glade, held a roll call. The commander of the platoon, the lieutenant ordered the deputy commanders of the departments to hand over the remaining cartridges. Our Tyurman went to him and reported that there were no cartridges left in his department, after which he returned to us and said that we would bury them. Since I was with him in some confrontation, I stated that I would not bury the cartridges and suggested that he go and inform the lieutenant that the cartridges still remained. The rest, meanwhile, buried their own. Tyurman approached me and struck up the following easy conversation with me:
- “You bury them!”
- “Bury !!!”
- "That's an order!"
- “Fuck you with your orders”
- “I will complain that you are not fulfilling my orders !!!”
- “Go, go ahead. About the damage to state property heard? "
- “Bury your ammo!”
“Please bury it, otherwise I already said that we have no more” - in the voice of longing.
- "Not. Who is your tongue? ”
- "But why?"
- “It's a pity. Yes, and bad for nature "
- "You bury them !!!"
- “Bury” - with the threat. He takes a step towards me, grabs my machine gun with two hands. I critically examine him, wondering where to cut him - in the jaw or just his breath. The Germans shout “hey hey” warningly, stand around, say “leave it.”
“And what to do?” Asks Tyurman sadly, releasing my machine gun.
“Go report that the squad hands over the ammo in such a number.”
He goes with patrons to the lieutenant, he long tells him about discipline, kindergarten and responsibility. Pale with anger comes back - “I flew because of you!”. “I’m guilty myself,” I answer succinctly.
An enthusiastic grandfather - a lieutenant colonel, a battalion commander arrives. Runs among the soldiers, shakes hands, asks how it all went, whether we are tired, if there are corns and so on. Many say that yes, they are tired, and there are corns. Grandfather pushes the speech that according to the plan we had to march eleven kilometers to the barracks, but since we showed ourselves very well and coped well with all the difficulties, he decided that we deserve a little comfort and now the trucks will arrive.
Joyful, we climb on the cars and drive to the barracks. The next week is the oath.
After a successful "recruitment exam" we are preparing for the oath. We are marching, learning to simultaneously execute the commands “to the left!”, “To the right!” And “around!”, Facing great difficulties. But the commanding staff, without losing hope and without ceasing to yell, nevertheless teaches the soldiers where left, where right and what all the same left shoulder, in order to produce “around!” Through it.
The day before the oath is a dress rehearsal. Six representatives are chosen from the battery, who will have the honor to approach the flag, touch the pole and read the oath formula, which is rather short by the way, and, as it should be in a democratic country, is not an oath, but a "solemn promise." It sounds like this: I solemnly promise to faithfully serve the Federal Republic of Germany and bravely defend the Rights and Freedom of the German people. Our commander of the battery is a progressive man and stands on the defense of the friendship of nations, therefore only three of the six representatives of real Germans are. The rest are Russian German, Polish Shodrok and Italian Impagnatello. The entire battery is solemnly marching to the parade ground, lining up in the space provided, and costs about half an hour to train. Then, on command, six honorary soldiers (we are) break down, follow the center of the parade ground, where our non-commissioned officer stands with our battery flag, touch him, speak the text of the oath, then sing the anthem. After that we return to the ranks, we stand for another half hour and the battery solemnly marches back to the barracks ...
On Friday morning - the day of the oath - the church service. In the Catholic Church naturally. Turk begins to swing right, that he is a Muslim and can not and does not want to go to church. At first, they are trying to persuade him reasonably, saying that you can not pray but just sit there, there will be nothing, but he rested. Then the cunning lieutenant tells him that he respects someone else's religion, but then he, a Muslim, will have to stay in the barracks and scrape the stairs and corridor under the vigilant supervision of officer sergeant Steinke, who the Turk cannot bear. And all the rest at this time will sit in the church, then drink coffee and buns and arrive in two hours, when he, the Turks, just finish cleaning. The Turk immediately backtracks, says that it’s okay if he goes to church, especially since he has always been interested in how the Catholic service is going.
A servant stands near the church, distributes little books with psalms, prayers and songs. We decorously go and sit down. The priest long and tediously says that "we are peaceful people, but our armored train is on the siding," then we get up, read our father, then he rant about the important role the German army plays for peace in Europe and around the world , then we get up and sing the song “Thank you for this beautiful morning, Thank you for this day” and so on. At the end of the service, we drink coffee with buns and drive back to the barracks, where relatives and friends are already gathering - they go, look at the tanks and manual weapons, stare at us. We march to our building and we are dismissed for half an hour in order to talk with visitors, show them the barracks, introduce comrades, and so on.
Then the construction, we march on the parade ground, become as it should be and stand. First, the mayor of the city pushes the speech, the military band plays a march, then a battalion commander, a march again, then a commandant of the barracks, a march, then a general and so on. It lasts about an hour. Sultry and windless. The first begin to fall - you stand without movement for an hour, the blood circulation is disturbed and a short faint follows. Behind the rows, orderlies with stretchers, water, and first-aid cases stand ready. Lucky for those who fall back, they are picked up and carried away. Those who fall forward smash their noses and hands, one broke his jaw. The greatest losses are borne by the guard of honor - those who do not participate in the oath, but simply look beautiful, twist with machine guns and shine helmets in the sun. Until the end of all the ceremonies, about half of them were carried away, only three of our batteries fell.
But we, the honorable representatives, were lucky - after an hour without moving, we readily march to the banner, tilt it, everyone puts a gloved hand on the pole, the battalion commander speaks the oath formula into the microphone, repeats everything after him. We sing the hymn, then we congratulate the six of us, the mayor, the general, the commandant of the barracks shake hands and invite us to take part in the honorary banquet at the end of the oath. We are marching back into line, carefully striking a step, stretching our legs and waving our arms.
Then another hour of speeches, marches, and finally we are congratulated, in honor of taking the oath, the battery yells a triple "Fayer Fry!" - the battle cry of artillery, to which we belong. Leaving the parade ground and everything. The oath has been taken, we are given red tags of military affiliation, and from this moment we are not recruited - we are soldiers of the Bundeswehr.
We go to the officers' club for a banquet - non-commissioned officers in plaid aprons bring champagne on trays, various snacks, congratulations, pushing speeches again, it quickly becomes boring, we leave after drinking several glasses of champagne. Not every day so treated.
* * *
Shooting range. Shooting range is always good. You shoot at targets. When you do not shoot, you sit smoking, talking with the camdeads. Shot almost from all. A lot and with pleasure. They fired from a pistol, from Uzi, from a gun of the old brand - G3 and from a new one, G36. Queues and single. Lying down from the knee, standing free or against the wall, putting an elbow on it. Shot even with faustprona. Grenades threw fighting, fragmentation. Only here with a machine gun was not possible. In general, the shooting range is a pleasant variety in a busy and lazy service.
Here we go after breakfast at the shooting range, with our ober lieutenant. We arrived, set targets, laid out coconut mats to shoot while lying, stood in a queue. The first approach to the booth, get ammo. Hitch. Where are the cartridges? No ammo. Forgot to capture. Ober lieutenant in a panic. Calls the battery commander - what to do? That one yells into the phone. What is a little pleasant, judging by the wrinkled face of our brave squad platoon. He leaves somewhere. We are sitting.
After about an hour and a half, cartridges are brought. Finally! We are standing in line again. Hitch! No shops to vending machines. Not given ... Ober Lieutenant pales, then blush. Uncertainly he turns the phone in his hands, dials the number with caution ...
After another two hours brought stores. This time we are not in the queue. Lunch - after lunch hour pause. You can not shoot. Afternoon "quiet hour." Sit. Hour stretches - boring, I want to sleep. Finally we stand in line, the first get shops with cartridges, go to the mats, go to bed. Ready to shoot, waiting for the team, but the ranger of the shooting range arrives, he says - what do you say they did here? You have reserved until lunchtime ... The shift has arrived, get ready. Leaving ...
We had such a tipoc - Kruger. With a lack of communication, and indeed not at all in himself. Militarist such. Ponakupal himself all rubbish. Poncho bought a special one - in camouflage spots, for 70 euros. And he was not allowed to wear it - stands out from the masses, but it is necessary that all be the same. Gray. Or he bought himself two pistols - a dummy. Airs And every morning I hung them under the gymnastics in holsters, like those of the FBI. On his leg, under his trousers, he wore a knife in his sheath. I even bought myself a kevlar helmet for 200 euros. Fool. But in a way. His dream was to serve in the army - he applied for the non-commissioned officer to stay - they refused. Without giving reasons. Although why the reasons, if it is completely turned on the army and weapons? Such even in the Bundeswehr are not needed. Few people talked to him at all, they laughed more, opaque hinting at his dementia. The girl threw it, it is something limp.
Once during the afternoon pause - mostly everyone was asleep - an unexpected order to build in the corridor. The frowned NCO commanders the departments: the first is to the attic, the second is to the basement, the third is to go around the building and so on. Well, I'm with my office in the basement. Have come. Cost What to do then? Stood for half an hour and back. And there passions. They say - Kruger did not go to dinner, the Germans returned to his room from his room - and there his farewell letter was. They say I'm leaving this life, I do not blame anyone, and so on. Well, they are in a panic to the authorities - they say Kruger voluntarily leaves life ... What to do. So we were sent to look for him in the basement - only they did not report anything about the subject of the search, in order not to create panic. Like we find if we figure it out ourselves. But he was found - in the television room he sat with a knife in his hand. How did the noncom went there ¬– he threw the knife to the side, ran the window open. Third floor. But did not have time. He was captured by the collar and sent to the Bundeswehr mental hospital. A month later, he returned as cured. What is characteristic - no consequences - just went with everyone to the shooting range - he shot ... I told him when he got thirty combat soldiers - "you are supposedly crazy, if you shoot us here, I'll turn your neck off." He smiles and looks at me slyly, but the Germans hiss at me - are you a fool? He really can! “Well, that's why I warn you, because he is crazy” - I say. Five people were frightened, ran to the commander, they say we don’t want to be here when Kruger is armed. He persuaded them for a long time ... But everything worked out.
And then there is the "Wahe". This is when you hang out at the checkpoint for a day. It's easier during the day - you stand for two hours in a bulletproof vest and with a pistol at the gate or at the gate where the walking staff passes; or because of the fear of terrorists who checks the documents, you sit in the bushes or behind a huge boulder (a monument in honor of the dead anti-aircraft defenses during the first two world wars) with a gun and a walkie-talkie. They say that if someone checks his documents, open fire from cover to kill. Two hours defended, then an hour respite. You can eat or lie down without losing the readiness, however. And worse at night. There still need to go to the night watch. You hang around the barracks in the dark, looking for criminals. Or you sit on duty: if the car is driving, two people jump out - one checks the documents and opens the gate if that, the other is yawning behind the parapet of sandbags. It was possible to sleep during the night from the power of three hours and then in fragments, for half an hour.
According to the statute between such watches for a soldier, at least a day's respite should be, but it turned out that the entire barracks went somewhere else, and we stayed. The people did not have enough ... I sat there for three days in a row. Served From the lack of sleep and the clear stupidity of what is happening almost the roof did not move. On the second day I was still having fun - I scared the old, outgoing sergeant-major staff to death. He rides a bike - I'm standing at the gate. The first time I sign him give him to stop, and he is not looking past it. Well, I think. On the second day I stand, he goes. I raise my hand, he by. And here I am in a wild voice, “Haaaaalt!” And unzip my holster. How he catapulted off the bike, just lovely. He threw it, ran, the document gets it. I scolded him so strictly - I say, if a soldier carrying the watch orders to stop, you must do this to avoid such misunderstandings. He assents. Ran away. And the mood has improved.
And on the third day it has completely deteriorated, and the progress is dubious. It began with the fact that I defended my two o'clock from ten in the morning until twelve, I pulled off a bulletproof vest, looking forward to lunch and an hour of rest ... But here the duty officer comes up to me and says - “What are you doing? You now have an outfit on the gate - insure for stone "
- “No, I have lunch”
- “No, you have an outfit!”
- "Yes, I just came, I suppose right now, dinner"
- “I order to get up and go!”
Then I got angry. What the fuck? All nervous, tired of everything, but why so? I say: “I don't care. Lunch and everything. He has balls on his forehead - “it's the same disobedience to the order” screaming! And I'm all my own barrel organ - "I do not care, I have lunch." He ran, rustled, yelling, saying you’ll regret it, you don’t know what it is, disobedience, but during the watch, yes it will follow the disciplinary line! And I'm sitting, getting ready for lunch. I think to hell with you, nothing will happen to me. Not keeping me here for three days, and even without lunch, send me two shifts in a row to stand. Sew! How am I going to grub?
Well, here NCO ran away. Yabednichat To the most important thing - the duty ober field sergeant of the watch of the barracks. He came, called me into the corridor. I think - all the same already ... And I’m getting nasty with him, let them put on his lip, but I will rest. But that - it is clear, the man is cunning. Immediately to me: - I know, I’m tired, I’m not supposed to be without lunch, I need a pause, etc., I know that noncommissioner shouldn’t yell at you, it was necessary to talk normally and be done with it, I understand everything, don’t be angry, Now we give you fifteen minutes for lunch, eat quickly and then replace, defend, and then we give you two hours of rest. Is it going Please ... So it touched me please - I say, okay. I will go. Okay. They are not to blame for the lack of people. Understand. It is necessary that some sort of idiot standing there behind a stone. Understand. The army is a delicate matter. I understand. But this is no better for me. He came for a stone, took off the machine gun and walkie-talkie, put it on the grass. He sat down, leaned back to the stone, I think it burn everything with fire. So it became good - but I feel that I fall asleep. And this is superfluous. Well, to unwind stood up, walked back and forth ... Lyrical mood attacked. He took out a pencil and on the stone, diligently, in large block letters, brought out "when you leave, do not be sad, come and do not rejoice." Forty minutes painted. I think that's you, greetings from the Russians (by the way, I turned out to be lucky - after about a week about one type of our battery standing beside the ill-fated stone spat on it, and some officer noticed it and it started there! Blasphemy, disrespect, desecration three days on the lip and a fine of three hundred euros ... I do not want to know what would have happened if I had been caught, as I stuck out my tongue, brought out Russian letters)
Then they gave me two hours of rest. And then I continued: at the gate, the car with the general braked to check the documents. And he should have been unquestioningly missing; if you stop, report to him ... Well, what? Yes, I'm tired. I’m braking this Mercedes, arrogant driver arises - the captain and let me yell: why are you stopping the car, you don’t see the flags in front? I see - I say (in general, I only saw these flags after three days and understood why they are needed). He yells - if you see, why stop? I say: "so! There is no need to shout at me. Come out to the window if you have a problem and talk to the noncommissioned officer on duty. ” I show my hand to the window and see that the same person on duty gives me desperate signs. That hand near the throat leads, then in the direction of the gate waving. Here I became thoughtful, looked into the Mercedes, and there was a general's mug. Frowned like that. Every day we were shown her in a photo, so that we would know who to bow if we suddenly see. It dawned on me. Well then, our good general! Well, I, without extinguishing myself, said to the captain: “Thank you, you can follow further.” He turned away and proceeded to his booth with a clear step. The captain, something grumbling, slammed the door of the Merc. The poor duty NCO suffered so much ... Shame. In his shift, the general is stopped. Sad walked all day, until the evening. In the evening, I stopped the same general again. Only he was driving in another car ... How do I know? Stupidly standing ... Machine. Raise your hand, it stops. Trump. The driver shows the documents, not looking arises, next. But the general relented, I saw that I was a little insane. He opened the window, even showed me his general identity card. And here again the situation is unusual. Well, I glanced briefly at the ID, and there the photograph is the same as on the wall in the duty room hanging. It struck me like a current, looked closer - exactly, the general again. And he sits, smiles, looks at me. And I frantically think, should he report now or not? Since I checked his documents, is it too late to report? But should, according to the charter. But stupid ... While I was thinking, he asked if it was possible to go. Drive, say.
In the Bundeswehr there is a massive disbanding and consolidation of parts. Not enough staff. Despite the fact that unemployment and the mass of young people do not know where to start their adult life, they are less and less signing contracts. It is understandable. If you sign the contract, you have to go to the so-called hot spots for six months, where our pro-American government is happy to send peacekeeping troops to clean up after the valiant Americans. Deaths occur, and this is completely unattractive, despite a lot of money.
We are in our part the last call. After this, the battalion ceases to exist, and the commanders and material are distributed to other parts of the air defense. Therefore, it turns out that we have nothing to do. And why try, if all the same everything is under the tail of a cat? Throughout the battalion, the so-called apocalyptic mood. We sit all day in the basement or in the tank hangar and check the completeness of the tools, weapons and other material, which should be removed within a month. As always, half is not enough. Unther sluggishly steal from each other the missing, because to state exactly where something is missing is not considered possible. So a month goes by. All are honorably produced in Ober Gefreiter (senior corpora), give shoulder straps with two oblique stripes. This means that there are still three months left to serve.
Despondency ... But suddenly the good news comes! A few American warships led by some secret super new staff airliner arrived to Germany on a friendly visit. They arrive in the port city of Kiel, where the German naval base is located. Well, since Americans are passionately afraid of all sorts of different terrorists and other troublemakers of peaceful calm, the host country must hospitably organize the safety of expensive and respected visitors. And since we still have nothing to do, they decide to send us. They inform the guests that we have a specially trained security unit, hastily conduct exercises with us - they teach us to push back the unarmed crowd - in case pacifists protest into the base territory; and sent to Kiel.
Is everything ready. We arrived in the morning, the Americans arrive in the evening. Our task: we are the so-called cannon fodder. Based on two gearboxes. Here, directly opposite the gate, there are such houses out of sandbags with an embrasure, in which two of us with machine guns sit. Twenty rounds of ammunition, weapons loaded and cocked, but standing on the guard. In the case of a so-called breakthrough (if someone tries to break into the base territory by force), there is an order to open fire to kill without warning. Four more are sitting in the checkpoint booth at the ready. This is the first page.
The second lane is already experienced non-commissioned officers, who have visited Kosovo and its environs for half a year. They stand directly before the entrance to the pier, chosen by the Americans. They do not have sand houses, but there are three rows of barbed steel wire entanglements in a twisted spiral and a folded pyramid. And two machine guns.
Well, then the Americans themselves have settled down. The entire pier was blocked, and they declared it their territory and no German could go there. There are huge negros in bullet-proof vests with machine guns and huge mirror glasses, some protective shields are guided in front of them and there are two armored personnel carriers with large-caliber machine guns. Such is the security.
Well, our business is small. We dress a helmet and a vest of protection against splinters for coloring, we take automatic machines and we follow into place. Service flows like this: four hours in a checkpoint house, two hours in a sand house. Then six hours break and again six hours of watch. At night, boring and hard. Need to fasten to stay awake. Foreign sailors are interesting entertainments, who, it turns out, after four months on board, got out for the first time and are extremely interested in German beer houses.
Take a little interest, and then can not walk straight. One copy caused a lot of positive emotions when about twenty minutes could not get into the gate. The gates were already closed on the occasion of the late hour. At first he was on two legs trying to taxi and take the gate on the move, but he was led to the side, he clung to the bars of the gate and collected his thoughts for a while. Then he made the second run, but did not hit again, he was brought to the other side and he buried his torso in the flowerbed. After lying down for a little bit of romance for flowers, he tried to get up, but failed. Then he apparently lit up with a happy thought. Giggling happily, he headed toward the entrance on all fours. But different limbs did not want to work synchronously. That one hand was bending and he rested his head and shoulder on the asphalt, then the legs did not want to follow and stayed behind and he stretched to his full height. Oddly enough, he didn’t have an idea to move around the whip. But he didn’t take the gate at all. He crawled up to the window, even took out his ID and stretched it up, but could not lift his head, which was difficult for the controllers, because they could not compare his personality with the photo. But everything worked out and he went further, still on all fours, and we looked after him for a long time, watching his zigzag thorny path to his native ship.
Not without excesses on the part of the valiant guard, I mean us. One cheerful person, tired of standing in a stupid house of sandbags, decided to diversify his leisure time by moving the safety lever to the “turn” position, put his finger on the trigger and started carefully aiming at people behind the gate, carefully escorting them with a machine gun, until they were out of sight. Having noticed this, his partner threw his military post along with the machine gun and walkie-talkie and ran to complain to our senior lieutenant, arguing that he does not want to stand next to a dangerous idiot and generally said that he was shocked and he refuses to continue to participate in the watch. As is usually the case, they were removed from the watch, and me and the Pole, instead of lunch and the remaining three-hour rest, were sent to replace them. We were a little upset and began to forge deceitful plans, how to get revenge on this very cheerful person who dodged the service in such a deft way. By the way, as a matter of mental instability, he was forbidden to touch the weapon, and without a weapon you cannot leave the watch, so he lay the rest of the time and rested in the barracks, and kicked in the ass and plywood, sneaked away from us when we met in the corridor and befitting a soldier.
The logical result of this incident was the decision not to cock the gun when you entered the service, because it is too dangerous and an accident could happen, as we were informed by our noncoms.
An interesting embarrassment occurred also with our militarist Kruger. Having intervened on the watch in the house, he found that it would not hurt to retire because of a small need, but since he was disciplined as a soldier, he decided to steadfastly endure this small vicissitude of service. What I did successfully within one and a half hours. Then it became unbearable to endure, as he said on the radio at the checkpoint, with a request to replace him for a couple of minutes, but received a concise refusal. Mole wait for half an hour, then change, and if you really can not, then tighten it saying all up and spit it out, gee gee gee gee! Kruger steadfastly endured another fifteen minutes, and then bravely nagged himself in his pants, for discipline above all else and leaving the military post without permission for such trifles is just nonsense and unworthy of a Bundeswehr soldier. This tragedy ended with the fact that our commander, having learned about it, through complicated conclusions, came to the conclusion that Kruger had mental instability with the resulting ban on carrying weapons.
Despite all the difficulties that arose, we continued to reliably guard our allies until they deigned to finally leave our hospitable berth, after which we returned to our native barracks with new supplies of energy and official zeal in order to continue to bear the heavy Bundeswehr share.
But we did not have to miss for long. At the end of our service, we were finally granted a two-week exercise. And we moved a long column on the teachings. We arrived at the former barracks of the GDR People’s Army, where everything was according to status. And the premises are dilapidated, and the decoration is antediluvian and fed as under socialism. But showered ad lib. Night tracer firing, a detachment in defense, when the mass of automatic moving targets rises closer and closer in the field, and the detachment on them burns from the trenches.
And the forest combing the chain, when the target rises, everyone falls down and sows it from machine guns - by the way, I shot two paramedics in the heat of battle - the target with a big red cross rises, and I’m single bam, bam, bam and there is no nurses in it ... me. It was fun ... There were lots of bullets, local residents were scared - a crowd of heavily armed soldiers with black paint was walking around the village, because of the heat, everyone rolled up their sleeves and machine guns on their neck, neither let the Nazi invasion - soldiers of the center. And after the shooting every day beer ... The service is such that you wanted
In general, conditions close to the military. And officers and noncommissioned officers, in view of the close separation from us, which flow into melancholy and human interest in us. Either a captain will put a box of beer, then a senior lieutenant for those who wish to organize a brothel to a brothel with delivery back and forth, then the lieutenant talks about who will be engaged in civilian activities ... But I offended him deeply when he asked me what I should do I will ... I say I will go to the university, then they will throw me out and return to the army, I will go to the lieutenant. He didn’t talk more with me, which is good, but he didn’t bet beer anymore, which is bad. So we rested there a week or so, to our native barracks.