Airborne Day in Vedeno
It's boring to sit in the department at the headquarters of the group, just so to speak: disgusting. The department is only organized, and so far we are the first swallows, or simply "exiled civilizations". In short, with Khankaly.
Today is 1 August, and tomorrow is the day of the Airborne Forces. Already, crying hunt. Tomorrow our comrades in Khankala will be drunk and well fed, they will drink vodka, make barbecue, will launch rockets and sing songs about "Sinevu". My companions on the link sat in a grouping hostel and disassembled items. And our main melancholic sitting in the office and watching some porn on the computer.
- Comrade Colonel! I went. - I blurted out at the half-open door.
The colonel quickly took his hands out from under the table and waved to me: - "Go, they say, uncultured brute" ...
He went out, lit a cigarette, squinted at the hot August sun and went into a hostel. And right here, a soldier with a very familiar physique comes across to me. Youthful major with light gray hair, hung with unloading, machine guns and pistols. He stopped dead, opened his mouth and shouted:
- Komaandir !!! - and rushed with open arms.
Hugging, wiping away male tears. It turned out that my former platoon commander of the first war: I was driving a company, and he was taxiing the first platoon.
As is known, the land has the shape of a suitcase, and for the military all corners are in Chechnya, and such meetings are not uncommon here.
My former subordinate commanded a company of reconnaissance of divisional intelligence battalion, standing nearby, on a hill. They smoked, they reshuffled, and my comrade offered to pick us up for the day of the Airborne Forces on a hill. It was agreed that after the morning building we would receive an APC with the commander of one of the groups and take us to our place. We said goodbye, and I again moved into the department: I had to come up with some great excuse, so that the chef would forget about us for three days. Heaps of reasons were spinning in my head, but for some reason, apart from the phrase: "Comrade Colonel, let us go and drink!" - nothing in my head climbed.
This time I knocked carefully on the study door. The authorities allowed to enter. This time the colonel stood bending over a card and chewing on a pencil. His face slipped, thoughts slipped past the colonel’s head. Seeing me, he called to the map. Looking at the map, I was stunned: at heights with marks a thousand meters away, the colonel painted tank wedge attack ...
- Here look! - He slapped me on the shoulder. - We will conduct a special operation here !!!
- Yeah! - I made an enthusiastic face. - And what will it look like?
The colonel began to explain that here he was blocking the heights by the forces of the tank battalion, he would put special forces groups here, and then he would strike a bombing attack. And still once again blocks the motorized rifle regiment.
- Comrade Colonel! And here the tanks will not pass - I dared to blather.
- What is it they will not pass? - the colonel was indignant.
Here, figuratively speaking, I "smelled" the smell of "burning clutches and leaked brake fluid" that came from the colonel.
I began to explain to him that tanks would not climb on such skyscrapers: mountain slopes, precipices, etc.
The colonel replied that since he had a pencil on the map, why not tanks on the ground go?
Then I finally came to my senses, and asked:
- And your special forces tanks will be?
I even poplohelo. Maybe while I went to smoke - tanks were injected into the special forces states, and some special ones, too?
For about ten minutes I explained to the chief that we have no tanks or guns. Chef got hrenovato. A powerful tank attack, stalled before it could begin.
- In short, go. Develop something, and I'll check in the evening.
I sat in the office, checked all the information on the area. No shit no. No manifestations of militants. Why all this special operation?
Went to the chief and offered the following option. We single out three reconnaissance groups from the composition of the commandant company: let them scratch the area. A reconnaissance company from the division (the one on the hill) will be in reserve. We will be in charge of this whole undertaking (sitting with the brothers: military intelligence officers). Chief roared, but in principle agreed. I painted the card, printed an explanatory note: all sorts of calculations of forces and means, gave it to the signature and - ran to my room.
My colleagues, Slava and Zhenya, were engaged in trying to concoct the national special forces drink, “Moo-Hrew”, from alcohol and lemons.
- Boys, pour !!! - I screamed from the doorway. - Tomorrow we are going on a special operation !!!
- Uuu! - colleagues howled in one voice. - Celebrated three times in August. That's always ...
I neighing, then reassured them, betraying all the circumstances so well-formed.
In the evening, a contented chef came up and pleased us with the fact that the plan of the operation was approved by the commanders and we will start tomorrow after the divorce.
We poured the glass a cup.
He knocked one over with suspicion, then another fifteen and with a firm maritime walk walked to himself.
Morning building pleased us more than usual.
The chief of staff of the grouping (a matershinny and always behaving like a boorish general) yesterday ordered the builders to build a flagpole for the solemn raising of the flag. Warriors-builders flagpole dug into something somehow: they did not even bother to concrete.
Therefore, on the morning rise, the flagpole was dangerously tilted, and the people standing in the ranks were waiting and began to discuss what was happening.
- Talk !!! - roared the gallant general.
Flagstaff could not bear the bureaucratic roar and conscientiously screwed right in the middle of the line.
The personnel rushed to scatter, squeals, mats and teams sounded. The commandants, who carried the service at the observation post, decided that the assault on the grouping fortress had begun. Therefore, they began to water the nearby territory of a large-caliber machine gun. The chief of staff pulled off the tricolor that fell on him and screamed:
- To fight !!!
All rushed into a gun to get the trunks.
There was a crush ...
Forty minutes later, it turned out that, in principle, there was no terrorist act, and no one undertakes an assault on the fortress.
The solemn part of the construction began.
They awarded everyone certificates in honor of the anniversary of the Airborne Forces and the badge "For service in the Caucasus."
Of those awarded, there was not a single paratrooper: there were policemen and representatives of the internal troops.
And we stood and opened his mouth rejoiced that we were going on a special operation.
According to the plan - we went on a hill to the company of the intelligence battalion and kept in touch with the scouts of the commandant company, who would come to the area later.
Five minutes later, after we were dressed in the hills and unloading - an armored personnel carrier and the group commander rode after us.
We, out of harm's way, grabbed the signalman given to us, jumped on the armor and rushed through the village.
Beautiful village, even now, when it is destroyed by war.
Won - a Basayev jeep: drunk policemen are already taking pictures next to him, who began to celebrate the Airborne Forces Day in the morning.
But the restaurant "Vedeno": next to him and in it graze "chicks" and "mares", eating the weary grass that has broken through the destroyed concrete floors.
Beautiful, in one word: do not take your eyes off.
On the hill, in the location of the company we were already waiting.
My former colleague at first poured everyone a glass of vodka, and then we went to see the farm.
Near one of the tents, an appetizing white lamb was tied, which, with a doom in its gaze, chewed weed and surely swaddled us all.
Then the signalman, who stared blankly at a bunch of radio stations, showed signs of life.
The contract soldier demanded that he be immediately sent back to the village.
In general, he turns out to be not a signalman, but a cook from the material support platoon: he was standing next to the signaling sidekick.
When he was leaving for the necessary one, he asked to hold the station - and then we flew up, stuffed it in an armored troop-carrier and took it away.
The soldier was shown a fig, sent to the company’s kitchen to help the soldiers preparing the table, and the station was set up and set up by themselves: good, they were trained in all this.
Here, on the connection, a voice camedecha: they were approaching.
The fact that they were approaching, I heard without a message on the station.
Not far away, cheerful conversations and laughter were heard.
When the valiant scouts approached, I tried to find out: who drives the intelligence division from them, and in particular - in groups.
It turned out that we are.
The chief, as usual, confused everything, and, moreover, seeing off the scouts - he was already pretty drunk.
I swore long and eloquently.
The curfew, opening their mouths, stared at me and cringed.
By the method of cross-examination, I nevertheless managed to find out that among the arrivals there are two lieutenants and an ensign.
I divided them into groups and appointed commanders.
Thank God, they had cards.
None of the Komendachi knew the mine situation in the area, they knew the search area very roughly, and they didn’t have a clear idea of the assigned task.
After conferring with everyone, they decided to do everything simply, and without any fuss: the special forces are taking the commandos to ambush near the camp, and they sit there for three days without twitching.
Checked the connection and komendachi went to perform feats.
Then it is time to take a second glass and have a snack, than God sent.
They drank, ate and went to cut a sheep.
No sooner had you reached the place of sacrifice, how did the messenger rush in:
- There the radio beeps !!!
I stumbled on the link.
One of the platoons of Komendachi discovered a group of spirits moving along with them in a parallel course.
Darn! It began on the farm morning ...
Here, on another station, I am called by another squad of komendachi.
- llayayayaya !!!!!!!!!! Well it is necessary !!! These figures also discovered a group of spirits moving along a parallel course with them.
I command all the groups "Stop".
Become.
They stand and report that the militants also stopped.
Almost breaking the tangent of a yell first with one group, then with another:
- Wash it with a pen !!!!
- Oh! And they wave !!! - almost simultaneous report.
- Skotyyyyyyyyyy !!! Go to one frequency and you can peck each other's ass ...
The guys finally realized that they were watching their own: intelligence officers.
We switched to one frequency and safely reached ambush sites.
The ambushes organized by pseudo-scouts I could observe directly from the observation post of the company.
Nothing betrayed the location of ambushes, nuuu ... except for such trifles as: smoke of the fireplace, socks hanging on the trees to dry and the smell of the heated stew.
I spat on this whole venture and went to participate in the slaughter of the lamb.
Zhenya and Slava stroked the ram’s head, took pictures with him and soothed him as much as they could.
But the ram was still nervous and trying to get off the leash.
The company commander killed the animal with his own hands, and specially trained fighters set about doing it.
On the clearing next to the staff tent, tables were laid, barbecues were kindled, the cooks made salads, and the contract soldier who turned out to be “absolutely not a signaler.”
The boy knew his business exclusively, so everything was spinning, spinning, roasting and baking.
As soon as we approached the tables, the company’s foreman came up from somewhere, carrying a bottle of Gzhelka in their hands.
Immediately there was a contract soldier "not a communicator" with glasses and a plate of sandwiches on a tray.
The foreman poured, we clinked glasses, drank and ate.
Then Zhenya saw a table standing in the distance, on which two fighters under the leadership of one of the group commanders laid out various rockets, signlets and ribbons for the Kalashnikov machine gun filled with tracer cartridges.
“I'll go see,” he said, and went to give advice.
It must be said that in this area he was a great specialist and could make awesome fireworks even with the help of one seedy “illuminator”.
Slavik, as the easiest of us, and, therefore - more resilient to the effects of wine vapors was laid on a sleeping bag under a spreading beech.
Right. Let her sleep. Just in time for the main celebration will be in shape.
We took a company with binoculars, a radio station and went to observe the terrain and find out the situation from the valiant commandant scouts.
They did not contact for a long time.
Therefore, we took the machine with the store and went to them: good, all the ambushes were within sight.
After twenty minutes of walking, we reached the location of the first ambush.
"Chip" (side watch), consisting of three people peacefully snored.
Nearby rested a bottle of vodka and green rations.
It can be seen, the boys are tired ...
We, completely without hiding, took weapon and - let's go look for the rest.
Only the platoon commander did not sleep.
He painfully struggled with a yawn, squinted in the sun and tried to draw something on the map.
I came up behind him, clamped his mouth, and the commander of the special forces pulled the machine gun from his hands.
Letyokha darted, but got his breath and was still.
- And Bile, and your guide guilde kamandyr? - with a terrible accent, I whispered in his ear.
- Atvachay, just quiet, and then go out like a ram!
I opened my mouth to him, and he whispered:
- I don't know anything specifically. I just called from the institute. But there are some special forces on the hill and they rule us ...
Here we could not stand it and began to neigh.
The scouts dormant around realized it and began to move.
Someone asleep hit a tree, someone tried to open fire, but was quickly brought to life.
They laid down the hapless letheha in all the crusts, made contact, and moved to another group.
The picture repeated exactly to the smallest detail.
But in this group, even the "chips" were not, and the entire staff was dozing along the side by the burning fire pit.
However, the same institute years that we captured in “captivity” behaved differently: as soon as we opened his mouth he screamed:
- Anxiety! Anxiety! GERMANS !!!!!!!!!!!
We were taken aback, and the scouts "drooling" on sleeping bags reluctantly began to be undermined with the beds.
And the group commander suddenly began to sing:
- The brave "Varyag" does not surrender to the enemy, no one wants mercy ...
We, as we could, reassured the scouts.
We repressed everyone in full and - moved to the third group: there I appointed a warrant officer as commander.
The third group was the exact opposite of the first two.
We first could not detect patrols.
But soon the watch, well disguised - found us.
Hissing and identification gestures, which we talked about while still in camp, were called to us.
We leaked to the core of the group.
All positions were well disguised.
No fires, no packs from under rations.
Silence, and no odor.
The ensign, with a silent shadow, approached us and very sensibly and thoroughly reported on how he organized the ambush: where are their positions, where did the stretch marks, the order of actions in various situations.
Regarding the connection, he explained that the batteries are "weak", and therefore he will work with mandatory sessions in time.
As it turned out, the ensign served in Afghanistan in the "Lozhkarevsky" special forces and he was far from being the first to fight.
We congratulated him on the Day of the Paratrooper, discussed some questions and moved towards us.
Tables have already been laid, people gathered for debauchery.
Before starting to celebrate the holiday, contacted the headquarters: to report on the situation and the coordinates of the working groups.
Something in the headquarters muttered indistinctly and disconnected.
Come on, wake the sleeping Slavik and sit down at the tables.
The fun has begun. There was a bunch of toasts, juicy kebabs, songs with a guitar.
It's getting dark.
Flowers of rockets, tracer strokes began to bloom in the air, shouts of "FOR the Airborne Forces !!!" were heard everywhere.
My old colleague built his homegrown salute team.
The fighters are ready.
- Attention !!! The fire !!!
Roscher tracer, fiery tails of rockets, howling signaling.
Beauty!!!
The company commander, grabbing the "PC" - began to write out the number two from the hip by the tracer.
Strangely enough, from the side of the village, where militants usually turned over, rockets also whistled and tracer flew.
We went with a company to smoke.
- Pancake! Are the spirits also celebrating Airborne Day? - he was surprised. - Although, why be surprised? After all, they, too, served in the Union, maybe someone was in the Airborne Forces, and some were in Afghanistan. And now?
He sighed bitterly: - Blah! Politicians all nafig poherili ...
I shrugged and replied:
- You will agree right now to the fact that these boys-action movies will go to the market: Caucasians will start to cheat ...
We both screamed and returned to the tables.
Operative groups reported that everything is normal.
We walked somewhere around five in the morning.
Then Slava surprised me: he was sitting on a stool under a tree and staring at one point.
- Eh, bro! What's the matter? - I asked him: - Do you fucking, or what?
Slava stretched one hand forward and pointed:
- There!
- What is it? - I asked, thinking to myself that Slava was visited by the “squirrel” and it would be time for him to go bainki.
And then my eyes went to my forehead: nearby, in the grass there was a white spot, jumped up and spinning around its axis.
I rubbed my eyes: no, vision. Not disappeared.
He called Zhenka and showed in the same direction.
He also saw the mysterious spot and opened his mouth.
The company headman came up with a bottle in his hands and at first also hatched on the stain, but then he began to whine wildly:
- Aah! Guys! Yes, this is Vaska, my rabbit !!!
The spot, called the rabbit, jumped on the sergeant’s voice and jumped around us.
Indeed, it turned out to be a snout, very fat and cute rabbit.
We all began to grab his hands, squeeze, pull his ears.
- Fat what! - I admired. - Do you cook for fattening?
- She, men. I'll take him home - as a gift to my daughter!
We admired the rabbit Vaska, pulled a vest sleeve over him (which fit him), poured vodka into his face and let him run.
Closer to the morning we fell to sleep.
Through a dream, I sort of heard clicks of shots from a silent pistol and some kind of mats.
In the morning I was woken by a gloomy foreman.
- Come on, let us get drunk ... I’ve already laid tables, and we’ll eat kebabs from svezhaninki.
- And why barbecue? The ram was kind of eaten yesterday ...
“From the rabbit,” answered the gloomy foreman.
It turns out that yesterday the vodka, drunk with water and mad with her, began to make claims to an ensign, as a result of which he was shot by the foreman.
Having corrected health, we got in touch.
In the groups everything was all right, however, some kind of “Star” appeared on the air, which asked me for the procedure.
I went to headquarters.
About the "Star" no one knew anything.
And then the ether went berserk: Patron, Bumblebee, and other unknown comrades appeared.
He screamed the headquarters of the group in Vedeno.
It turned out that a bomb strike would now be delivered, but no one knows where ...
Then it turned out that the group in Khankala had also developed a special operation in the area and the landing of our own special forces had already begun.
I received “Welcome” on the folding of a special operation.
A column of armored vehicles came from the village to return the groups.
With a clear conscience, I gave the command to exit to the collection point.
Everything seemed to end safely but ...
When the column descended from the hill and slowly drove into a dormant village, on MT-LB on which we were sitting, from some part of the ruins, several automatic bursts of bursts spilled.
The scout soldier who was sitting next to him screamed and grabbed his leg.
- Shelling !!! - It was rushing along the column.
At this time, everyone and everything acted very clearly, the drivers gave gas, the cars at full speed slipped through the sweep.
The front MT-LB died out and the whole column rose.
- To the machines !!! - I shouted.
The whole person quickly jumped off and began to occupy the defense.
When I jumped off armor, I leaned on the shoulder of the melancholy dormant Slavik, who was unleashed on the drum.
Slavik looked like a mannequin.
He limply went down, as a result of which his head (in particular, its front part) touched the hatch cover.
Juicy mats were heard and sparks flew from Vyacheslav’s eyes.
In three seconds I and the company intelligence officer decided where the fire came from.
People stretched "back angle" and - in short rushes they moved towards the ruins.
Over the heads whistled a few more queues, beat branches, but did not bring absolutely no harm to the scouts.
“Spirit”, in all likelihood, was one. Therefore, he was terribly nervous and began to shoot at the white light, like a pretty penny.
It was then that he and "shot" sniper scouts.
Grabbing him still not cooled off the crooks, we rushed back.
Serious shooting flared up at the site of our column: VOGi booted, someone shot down Spartak-Champion from a PC, shouts of mats and target designation data were heard.
Dragging the corpse for unloading, we finally got to the column.
The picture was colorful: the rest of the personnel under the leadership of Slavik, holding on to the right half of his face, fired in absolutely the opposite direction of the shelling.
- Left! To the left! - commanded Slavik machine gunner. - VOGI Dawaaai !!! - he shouted to the calendars.
And they regularly fired on a hill overgrown with various greens.
I crossed myself, stood behind Slavik in full growth.
In our direction absolutely no one shot !!!!
I patted my inadequate friend on the shoulder and urged him to calm.
- Nifiga easy! - Glory screamed. - Yes, they contused me !!! I blew up on the armor !!! Look !!! - and he showed me his colorful physics.
A magnificent purple-purple bruise blurred under the right eye ...
- Oh, not ... myself - I admired and went to command the landing.
"Spetsuha" failed.
Even the result was.
Nobody believed Slavik that he got the “lantern” as a result of an “explosion”.
Zhenya during that fight did not even wake up.
Those guys who came to the area after us didn’t find anything except rations packs.
The intelligence chief walked proud and important.
The chief of staff of the group wrote an award to himself ...
Today is 1 August, and tomorrow is the day of the Airborne Forces. Already, crying hunt. Tomorrow our comrades in Khankala will be drunk and well fed, they will drink vodka, make barbecue, will launch rockets and sing songs about "Sinevu". My companions on the link sat in a grouping hostel and disassembled items. And our main melancholic sitting in the office and watching some porn on the computer.
- Comrade Colonel! I went. - I blurted out at the half-open door.
The colonel quickly took his hands out from under the table and waved to me: - "Go, they say, uncultured brute" ...
He went out, lit a cigarette, squinted at the hot August sun and went into a hostel. And right here, a soldier with a very familiar physique comes across to me. Youthful major with light gray hair, hung with unloading, machine guns and pistols. He stopped dead, opened his mouth and shouted:
- Komaandir !!! - and rushed with open arms.
Hugging, wiping away male tears. It turned out that my former platoon commander of the first war: I was driving a company, and he was taxiing the first platoon.
As is known, the land has the shape of a suitcase, and for the military all corners are in Chechnya, and such meetings are not uncommon here.
My former subordinate commanded a company of reconnaissance of divisional intelligence battalion, standing nearby, on a hill. They smoked, they reshuffled, and my comrade offered to pick us up for the day of the Airborne Forces on a hill. It was agreed that after the morning building we would receive an APC with the commander of one of the groups and take us to our place. We said goodbye, and I again moved into the department: I had to come up with some great excuse, so that the chef would forget about us for three days. Heaps of reasons were spinning in my head, but for some reason, apart from the phrase: "Comrade Colonel, let us go and drink!" - nothing in my head climbed.
This time I knocked carefully on the study door. The authorities allowed to enter. This time the colonel stood bending over a card and chewing on a pencil. His face slipped, thoughts slipped past the colonel’s head. Seeing me, he called to the map. Looking at the map, I was stunned: at heights with marks a thousand meters away, the colonel painted tank wedge attack ...
- Here look! - He slapped me on the shoulder. - We will conduct a special operation here !!!
- Yeah! - I made an enthusiastic face. - And what will it look like?
The colonel began to explain that here he was blocking the heights by the forces of the tank battalion, he would put special forces groups here, and then he would strike a bombing attack. And still once again blocks the motorized rifle regiment.
- Comrade Colonel! And here the tanks will not pass - I dared to blather.
- What is it they will not pass? - the colonel was indignant.
Here, figuratively speaking, I "smelled" the smell of "burning clutches and leaked brake fluid" that came from the colonel.
I began to explain to him that tanks would not climb on such skyscrapers: mountain slopes, precipices, etc.
The colonel replied that since he had a pencil on the map, why not tanks on the ground go?
Then I finally came to my senses, and asked:
- And your special forces tanks will be?
I even poplohelo. Maybe while I went to smoke - tanks were injected into the special forces states, and some special ones, too?
For about ten minutes I explained to the chief that we have no tanks or guns. Chef got hrenovato. A powerful tank attack, stalled before it could begin.
- In short, go. Develop something, and I'll check in the evening.
I sat in the office, checked all the information on the area. No shit no. No manifestations of militants. Why all this special operation?
Went to the chief and offered the following option. We single out three reconnaissance groups from the composition of the commandant company: let them scratch the area. A reconnaissance company from the division (the one on the hill) will be in reserve. We will be in charge of this whole undertaking (sitting with the brothers: military intelligence officers). Chief roared, but in principle agreed. I painted the card, printed an explanatory note: all sorts of calculations of forces and means, gave it to the signature and - ran to my room.
My colleagues, Slava and Zhenya, were engaged in trying to concoct the national special forces drink, “Moo-Hrew”, from alcohol and lemons.
- Boys, pour !!! - I screamed from the doorway. - Tomorrow we are going on a special operation !!!
- Uuu! - colleagues howled in one voice. - Celebrated three times in August. That's always ...
I neighing, then reassured them, betraying all the circumstances so well-formed.
In the evening, a contented chef came up and pleased us with the fact that the plan of the operation was approved by the commanders and we will start tomorrow after the divorce.
We poured the glass a cup.
He knocked one over with suspicion, then another fifteen and with a firm maritime walk walked to himself.
Morning building pleased us more than usual.
The chief of staff of the grouping (a matershinny and always behaving like a boorish general) yesterday ordered the builders to build a flagpole for the solemn raising of the flag. Warriors-builders flagpole dug into something somehow: they did not even bother to concrete.
Therefore, on the morning rise, the flagpole was dangerously tilted, and the people standing in the ranks were waiting and began to discuss what was happening.
- Talk !!! - roared the gallant general.
Flagstaff could not bear the bureaucratic roar and conscientiously screwed right in the middle of the line.
The personnel rushed to scatter, squeals, mats and teams sounded. The commandants, who carried the service at the observation post, decided that the assault on the grouping fortress had begun. Therefore, they began to water the nearby territory of a large-caliber machine gun. The chief of staff pulled off the tricolor that fell on him and screamed:
- To fight !!!
All rushed into a gun to get the trunks.
There was a crush ...
Forty minutes later, it turned out that, in principle, there was no terrorist act, and no one undertakes an assault on the fortress.
The solemn part of the construction began.
They awarded everyone certificates in honor of the anniversary of the Airborne Forces and the badge "For service in the Caucasus."
Of those awarded, there was not a single paratrooper: there were policemen and representatives of the internal troops.
And we stood and opened his mouth rejoiced that we were going on a special operation.
According to the plan - we went on a hill to the company of the intelligence battalion and kept in touch with the scouts of the commandant company, who would come to the area later.
Five minutes later, after we were dressed in the hills and unloading - an armored personnel carrier and the group commander rode after us.
We, out of harm's way, grabbed the signalman given to us, jumped on the armor and rushed through the village.
Beautiful village, even now, when it is destroyed by war.
Won - a Basayev jeep: drunk policemen are already taking pictures next to him, who began to celebrate the Airborne Forces Day in the morning.
But the restaurant "Vedeno": next to him and in it graze "chicks" and "mares", eating the weary grass that has broken through the destroyed concrete floors.
Beautiful, in one word: do not take your eyes off.
On the hill, in the location of the company we were already waiting.
My former colleague at first poured everyone a glass of vodka, and then we went to see the farm.
Near one of the tents, an appetizing white lamb was tied, which, with a doom in its gaze, chewed weed and surely swaddled us all.
Then the signalman, who stared blankly at a bunch of radio stations, showed signs of life.
The contract soldier demanded that he be immediately sent back to the village.
In general, he turns out to be not a signalman, but a cook from the material support platoon: he was standing next to the signaling sidekick.
When he was leaving for the necessary one, he asked to hold the station - and then we flew up, stuffed it in an armored troop-carrier and took it away.
The soldier was shown a fig, sent to the company’s kitchen to help the soldiers preparing the table, and the station was set up and set up by themselves: good, they were trained in all this.
Here, on the connection, a voice camedecha: they were approaching.
The fact that they were approaching, I heard without a message on the station.
Not far away, cheerful conversations and laughter were heard.
When the valiant scouts approached, I tried to find out: who drives the intelligence division from them, and in particular - in groups.
It turned out that we are.
The chief, as usual, confused everything, and, moreover, seeing off the scouts - he was already pretty drunk.
I swore long and eloquently.
The curfew, opening their mouths, stared at me and cringed.
By the method of cross-examination, I nevertheless managed to find out that among the arrivals there are two lieutenants and an ensign.
I divided them into groups and appointed commanders.
Thank God, they had cards.
None of the Komendachi knew the mine situation in the area, they knew the search area very roughly, and they didn’t have a clear idea of the assigned task.
After conferring with everyone, they decided to do everything simply, and without any fuss: the special forces are taking the commandos to ambush near the camp, and they sit there for three days without twitching.
Checked the connection and komendachi went to perform feats.
Then it is time to take a second glass and have a snack, than God sent.
They drank, ate and went to cut a sheep.
No sooner had you reached the place of sacrifice, how did the messenger rush in:
- There the radio beeps !!!
I stumbled on the link.
One of the platoons of Komendachi discovered a group of spirits moving along with them in a parallel course.
Darn! It began on the farm morning ...
Here, on another station, I am called by another squad of komendachi.
- llayayayaya !!!!!!!!!! Well it is necessary !!! These figures also discovered a group of spirits moving along a parallel course with them.
I command all the groups "Stop".
Become.
They stand and report that the militants also stopped.
Almost breaking the tangent of a yell first with one group, then with another:
- Wash it with a pen !!!!
- Oh! And they wave !!! - almost simultaneous report.
- Skotyyyyyyyyyy !!! Go to one frequency and you can peck each other's ass ...
The guys finally realized that they were watching their own: intelligence officers.
We switched to one frequency and safely reached ambush sites.
The ambushes organized by pseudo-scouts I could observe directly from the observation post of the company.
Nothing betrayed the location of ambushes, nuuu ... except for such trifles as: smoke of the fireplace, socks hanging on the trees to dry and the smell of the heated stew.
I spat on this whole venture and went to participate in the slaughter of the lamb.
Zhenya and Slava stroked the ram’s head, took pictures with him and soothed him as much as they could.
But the ram was still nervous and trying to get off the leash.
The company commander killed the animal with his own hands, and specially trained fighters set about doing it.
On the clearing next to the staff tent, tables were laid, barbecues were kindled, the cooks made salads, and the contract soldier who turned out to be “absolutely not a signaler.”
The boy knew his business exclusively, so everything was spinning, spinning, roasting and baking.
As soon as we approached the tables, the company’s foreman came up from somewhere, carrying a bottle of Gzhelka in their hands.
Immediately there was a contract soldier "not a communicator" with glasses and a plate of sandwiches on a tray.
The foreman poured, we clinked glasses, drank and ate.
Then Zhenya saw a table standing in the distance, on which two fighters under the leadership of one of the group commanders laid out various rockets, signlets and ribbons for the Kalashnikov machine gun filled with tracer cartridges.
“I'll go see,” he said, and went to give advice.
It must be said that in this area he was a great specialist and could make awesome fireworks even with the help of one seedy “illuminator”.
Slavik, as the easiest of us, and, therefore - more resilient to the effects of wine vapors was laid on a sleeping bag under a spreading beech.
Right. Let her sleep. Just in time for the main celebration will be in shape.
We took a company with binoculars, a radio station and went to observe the terrain and find out the situation from the valiant commandant scouts.
They did not contact for a long time.
Therefore, we took the machine with the store and went to them: good, all the ambushes were within sight.
After twenty minutes of walking, we reached the location of the first ambush.
"Chip" (side watch), consisting of three people peacefully snored.
Nearby rested a bottle of vodka and green rations.
It can be seen, the boys are tired ...
We, completely without hiding, took weapon and - let's go look for the rest.
Only the platoon commander did not sleep.
He painfully struggled with a yawn, squinted in the sun and tried to draw something on the map.
I came up behind him, clamped his mouth, and the commander of the special forces pulled the machine gun from his hands.
Letyokha darted, but got his breath and was still.
- And Bile, and your guide guilde kamandyr? - with a terrible accent, I whispered in his ear.
- Atvachay, just quiet, and then go out like a ram!
I opened my mouth to him, and he whispered:
- I don't know anything specifically. I just called from the institute. But there are some special forces on the hill and they rule us ...
Here we could not stand it and began to neigh.
The scouts dormant around realized it and began to move.
Someone asleep hit a tree, someone tried to open fire, but was quickly brought to life.
They laid down the hapless letheha in all the crusts, made contact, and moved to another group.
The picture repeated exactly to the smallest detail.
But in this group, even the "chips" were not, and the entire staff was dozing along the side by the burning fire pit.
However, the same institute years that we captured in “captivity” behaved differently: as soon as we opened his mouth he screamed:
- Anxiety! Anxiety! GERMANS !!!!!!!!!!!
We were taken aback, and the scouts "drooling" on sleeping bags reluctantly began to be undermined with the beds.
And the group commander suddenly began to sing:
- The brave "Varyag" does not surrender to the enemy, no one wants mercy ...
We, as we could, reassured the scouts.
We repressed everyone in full and - moved to the third group: there I appointed a warrant officer as commander.
The third group was the exact opposite of the first two.
We first could not detect patrols.
But soon the watch, well disguised - found us.
Hissing and identification gestures, which we talked about while still in camp, were called to us.
We leaked to the core of the group.
All positions were well disguised.
No fires, no packs from under rations.
Silence, and no odor.
The ensign, with a silent shadow, approached us and very sensibly and thoroughly reported on how he organized the ambush: where are their positions, where did the stretch marks, the order of actions in various situations.
Regarding the connection, he explained that the batteries are "weak", and therefore he will work with mandatory sessions in time.
As it turned out, the ensign served in Afghanistan in the "Lozhkarevsky" special forces and he was far from being the first to fight.
We congratulated him on the Day of the Paratrooper, discussed some questions and moved towards us.
Tables have already been laid, people gathered for debauchery.
Before starting to celebrate the holiday, contacted the headquarters: to report on the situation and the coordinates of the working groups.
Something in the headquarters muttered indistinctly and disconnected.
Come on, wake the sleeping Slavik and sit down at the tables.
The fun has begun. There was a bunch of toasts, juicy kebabs, songs with a guitar.
It's getting dark.
Flowers of rockets, tracer strokes began to bloom in the air, shouts of "FOR the Airborne Forces !!!" were heard everywhere.
My old colleague built his homegrown salute team.
The fighters are ready.
- Attention !!! The fire !!!
Roscher tracer, fiery tails of rockets, howling signaling.
Beauty!!!
The company commander, grabbing the "PC" - began to write out the number two from the hip by the tracer.
Strangely enough, from the side of the village, where militants usually turned over, rockets also whistled and tracer flew.
We went with a company to smoke.
- Pancake! Are the spirits also celebrating Airborne Day? - he was surprised. - Although, why be surprised? After all, they, too, served in the Union, maybe someone was in the Airborne Forces, and some were in Afghanistan. And now?
He sighed bitterly: - Blah! Politicians all nafig poherili ...
I shrugged and replied:
- You will agree right now to the fact that these boys-action movies will go to the market: Caucasians will start to cheat ...
We both screamed and returned to the tables.
Operative groups reported that everything is normal.
We walked somewhere around five in the morning.
Then Slava surprised me: he was sitting on a stool under a tree and staring at one point.
- Eh, bro! What's the matter? - I asked him: - Do you fucking, or what?
Slava stretched one hand forward and pointed:
- There!
- What is it? - I asked, thinking to myself that Slava was visited by the “squirrel” and it would be time for him to go bainki.
And then my eyes went to my forehead: nearby, in the grass there was a white spot, jumped up and spinning around its axis.
I rubbed my eyes: no, vision. Not disappeared.
He called Zhenka and showed in the same direction.
He also saw the mysterious spot and opened his mouth.
The company headman came up with a bottle in his hands and at first also hatched on the stain, but then he began to whine wildly:
- Aah! Guys! Yes, this is Vaska, my rabbit !!!
The spot, called the rabbit, jumped on the sergeant’s voice and jumped around us.
Indeed, it turned out to be a snout, very fat and cute rabbit.
We all began to grab his hands, squeeze, pull his ears.
- Fat what! - I admired. - Do you cook for fattening?
- She, men. I'll take him home - as a gift to my daughter!
We admired the rabbit Vaska, pulled a vest sleeve over him (which fit him), poured vodka into his face and let him run.
Closer to the morning we fell to sleep.
Through a dream, I sort of heard clicks of shots from a silent pistol and some kind of mats.
In the morning I was woken by a gloomy foreman.
- Come on, let us get drunk ... I’ve already laid tables, and we’ll eat kebabs from svezhaninki.
- And why barbecue? The ram was kind of eaten yesterday ...
“From the rabbit,” answered the gloomy foreman.
It turns out that yesterday the vodka, drunk with water and mad with her, began to make claims to an ensign, as a result of which he was shot by the foreman.
Having corrected health, we got in touch.
In the groups everything was all right, however, some kind of “Star” appeared on the air, which asked me for the procedure.
I went to headquarters.
About the "Star" no one knew anything.
And then the ether went berserk: Patron, Bumblebee, and other unknown comrades appeared.
He screamed the headquarters of the group in Vedeno.
It turned out that a bomb strike would now be delivered, but no one knows where ...
Then it turned out that the group in Khankala had also developed a special operation in the area and the landing of our own special forces had already begun.
I received “Welcome” on the folding of a special operation.
A column of armored vehicles came from the village to return the groups.
With a clear conscience, I gave the command to exit to the collection point.
Everything seemed to end safely but ...
When the column descended from the hill and slowly drove into a dormant village, on MT-LB on which we were sitting, from some part of the ruins, several automatic bursts of bursts spilled.
The scout soldier who was sitting next to him screamed and grabbed his leg.
- Shelling !!! - It was rushing along the column.
At this time, everyone and everything acted very clearly, the drivers gave gas, the cars at full speed slipped through the sweep.
The front MT-LB died out and the whole column rose.
- To the machines !!! - I shouted.
The whole person quickly jumped off and began to occupy the defense.
When I jumped off armor, I leaned on the shoulder of the melancholy dormant Slavik, who was unleashed on the drum.
Slavik looked like a mannequin.
He limply went down, as a result of which his head (in particular, its front part) touched the hatch cover.
Juicy mats were heard and sparks flew from Vyacheslav’s eyes.
In three seconds I and the company intelligence officer decided where the fire came from.
People stretched "back angle" and - in short rushes they moved towards the ruins.
Over the heads whistled a few more queues, beat branches, but did not bring absolutely no harm to the scouts.
“Spirit”, in all likelihood, was one. Therefore, he was terribly nervous and began to shoot at the white light, like a pretty penny.
It was then that he and "shot" sniper scouts.
Grabbing him still not cooled off the crooks, we rushed back.
Serious shooting flared up at the site of our column: VOGi booted, someone shot down Spartak-Champion from a PC, shouts of mats and target designation data were heard.
Dragging the corpse for unloading, we finally got to the column.
The picture was colorful: the rest of the personnel under the leadership of Slavik, holding on to the right half of his face, fired in absolutely the opposite direction of the shelling.
- Left! To the left! - commanded Slavik machine gunner. - VOGI Dawaaai !!! - he shouted to the calendars.
And they regularly fired on a hill overgrown with various greens.
I crossed myself, stood behind Slavik in full growth.
In our direction absolutely no one shot !!!!
I patted my inadequate friend on the shoulder and urged him to calm.
- Nifiga easy! - Glory screamed. - Yes, they contused me !!! I blew up on the armor !!! Look !!! - and he showed me his colorful physics.
A magnificent purple-purple bruise blurred under the right eye ...
- Oh, not ... myself - I admired and went to command the landing.
"Spetsuha" failed.
Even the result was.
Nobody believed Slavik that he got the “lantern” as a result of an “explosion”.
Zhenya during that fight did not even wake up.
Those guys who came to the area after us didn’t find anything except rations packs.
The intelligence chief walked proud and important.
The chief of staff of the group wrote an award to himself ...
Information