The language barrier, or "I would know English, would catch spies"
Our platoon Oleg, whom I mentioned, did not know English and therefore did not catch any spies. Having difficulty handing over the language minimum, he thought he spoke English fairly well. In fact, trying to communicate with someone in English, he invariably switched to Russian with an English accent, interspersed with English and Arabic words that he knew. Something like an American would say in Russian:
- Your ride to follow me. Understand? If the xy is a jester to you, then you go to the side of the road. I am you safe mudara. Anderstand me?
Translated, it would have sounded like: “Your place in the column is behind my car. When firing, take it to the side of the road, I will cover you with an armored troop-carrier armor”.
In general, by the middle of the rotation almost everyone had learned a couple of hundred words in English and Arabic. Well, at least, within the limits necessary for service and dialogue with the local. Someone went further and achieved quite good results. One of my comrades taught 10 words a day and immediately replaced them in his Russian during the day. Sometimes it became difficult to communicate with him because of the slipping Arabic words. Through 3 of the month, he spoke freely with the locals. Well, and our platoon was not a polyglot, and therefore we a couple of times because of ignorance of the language, we got into a mess. Well, now myself story.
I who pulled the leg. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock - 5: 00. What the fuck?
- Sasha, get up. Send a convoy to the convoy. I need a translator. - Starley spoke in a whisper, so as not to wake the boys.
- Oleg, blah, let me sleep. In fig you need me? You'll figure it out. - I wanted to sleep, and I remembered my mother (earth she down) the riddle: "What is the sweetest? Sleep!"
“Get up, sergeant,” hissed his platoon, pulling on his tunic.
By name - in everyday life, and in the service - titles and surnames. It was a matter of service, and I began to wake up:
- I go, comrade senior lieutenant.
We went out in the morning chill and silence from the barracks. The sun was not yet visible, it was already dawn, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The day promised to be hot, and the convoy would drive us to the “Scania” - a transshipment logistics base in 190 km from us. Again, hot armor (8 minutes, and eggs are made of eggs), burning the wind in the face and decaliters of drunk water. We walked to the parking of trucks. The 40-50 machines stood in even rows. Unpretentious civilian drivers from India, China, Vietnam and the hell were still sleeping, stretching hammocks between the wheels of trailers. At the parking lot, we met another KV, greeted each other, lit a cigarette. It turns out that he, too, to drive the convoy, but in another place. Talking, the platoons went to look for their cars, and I sat down on someone's folding chair at the truck and zamaril, half listening to everything.
Oleg approached the driver who had just woken up:
- Anyone go to "Scania"?
She drove his head:
- Nou, v tuday mast gow vis convoy to Babil.
- This is my client. Babil? Babylon? Yes? - The second platoon was delighted. - How many of you? My documents are Seven Kars. OK?
“Naw ah fajnd olu kars,” the driver reassured and went to look for his colleagues.
The drivers were disciplined, the order of construction and maintenance knew. The alien platoon commander went to wake his convoy squad. Oleg thoughtfully wandered among the cars. He walked over to one wagon and braked a sleeping Hindu by the shoulder:
- "Scania"? - He awake shook his head and poked at the car next to him.
KV knocked on the car door, another Hindu looked out:
- "Scania"? - Oleg asked. Hindu nodded in response.
- Well, thank God, - the platoon sighed. - Go here tventi machines on the "Scania." OK? Let's fly. Stey and Wayt us there. Afta Foti minutes go.
Oleg pointed to the place of construction of the column.
- Sergeant, go wake the boys. Through 40 min. Instruction and exit.
I moved to the post, announced the rise. With Lehoy, a friend, went to the dining room. On the way, they drove the Beters to warm up and pump air into the wheels. Returning and bringing our mechvod to eat, we were built on a briefing. After he built a column and drove to leave the base. Charged, turned on land minders and went on the road.
The track was great. The convoy was 90-100 km / h. On a good solarium, the batterers also issued 110.
Everyone was looking around, KPVTeshniki fell sweating foreheads to the sights. I fell behind the driver's seat, periodically changed the turret gunner and lit a cigarette with a driver. Ball seat. A couple of times got out on the armor.
Along the road came across hovels nameless villages. Women, shook in such heat in all black, carried all sorts of things on their heads. The flocks of dirty kids ran out almost under the wheels of the cars. If possible, we scattered the water and the American Suhpay. I was always amazed by the seeming grayness of the landscape on the ground. But it is necessary to climb up the helicopter, and now at the bottom one greens and a riot of colors, not gray. The veins of aryks and canals are visible from above, everywhere are oases and small squares of cultivated multi-colored fields.
Having driven halfway, we saw a standing convoy ahead. It turned out that the Poles found traces of digging on the side of the road and stopped to check. Together they decided to shoot the ground of the roadside for an explosion of a potential mine. Fallen from all trunks. The turret shooter blurted out a box of 14,5 cartridges. Everything is normal, nothing bahnul. We go further. After 3 hours we already entered the "Scania". Having handed over cars to local logisticians, we went to eat in the canteen.
Puzzled Oleg came and sat down next to us:
- Ate, and now let's understand. There Chevy major logistics officer swears at me, but what, I do not understand. Come on, boys, we will translate by common efforts.
We left the dining room, the major was already waiting for us with some papers. He was angry and quickly said something, waving documents under our noses. I did not understand him:
—Pliz, sir. Doo you can speake esi. We note Andestand yu.
- Fuck !!! - Major said in the hearts. - Wait here.
The major left and returned with some ordinary Marine.
“Vital,” the Marine introduced himself with the MOROZOV badge. - What is the problem, men?
Vzvodnik delighted native speech:
- Listen, Vital, what does Pindos want? We drove a convoy to him, he stands there, but he is not happy.
Acne asked about something major, he replied. The Marine turned to us:
“So you didn't drive the cars.”
- How not to those? He che, ofanarel? 12 machines on the "Scania". The drivers said themselves, that Hindu. - Oleg poked at some Indian. - Hey, you, Jawaharlal Nehru, come here.
Ran drove the truck. Oleg went on a rampage:
“You told me that you were on Skania?” So?
“Scania, EU,” the Hindu nodded.
- Twenti Kars, eu?
- Yes, - shook his head drove.
- Well, that's all right. Che this major still need?
Vital, the major and the driver began to talk about something. Vital looked at the column, said something and all three of them suddenly stopped talking. And then they began to neigh like horses. The major was neighing the most, he sat down on the sand and was already coughing out laughing on crouches. The soldiers passing by also began to smile, looking at this picture. The Marine MOROZOV was trying to tell us something, but choking. In the end, he went to the first car and poked his finger in the grille. On it was written in large letters brand cars SCANIA. We looked out over the whole column: IN A RANGE WAS A 12 TRAILER "SCANIA". A curtain.
PS From 12 necessary machines we drove only 2. Then they escorted the rest of the cars back to their base, took the necessary ones and drove them off again. And then again went to her not empty. I would like to give advice to everyone: learn languages, maybe it will come in handy.
- Your ride to follow me. Understand? If the xy is a jester to you, then you go to the side of the road. I am you safe mudara. Anderstand me?
Translated, it would have sounded like: “Your place in the column is behind my car. When firing, take it to the side of the road, I will cover you with an armored troop-carrier armor”.
In general, by the middle of the rotation almost everyone had learned a couple of hundred words in English and Arabic. Well, at least, within the limits necessary for service and dialogue with the local. Someone went further and achieved quite good results. One of my comrades taught 10 words a day and immediately replaced them in his Russian during the day. Sometimes it became difficult to communicate with him because of the slipping Arabic words. Through 3 of the month, he spoke freely with the locals. Well, and our platoon was not a polyglot, and therefore we a couple of times because of ignorance of the language, we got into a mess. Well, now myself story.
I who pulled the leg. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock - 5: 00. What the fuck?
- Sasha, get up. Send a convoy to the convoy. I need a translator. - Starley spoke in a whisper, so as not to wake the boys.
- Oleg, blah, let me sleep. In fig you need me? You'll figure it out. - I wanted to sleep, and I remembered my mother (earth she down) the riddle: "What is the sweetest? Sleep!"
“Get up, sergeant,” hissed his platoon, pulling on his tunic.
By name - in everyday life, and in the service - titles and surnames. It was a matter of service, and I began to wake up:
- I go, comrade senior lieutenant.
We went out in the morning chill and silence from the barracks. The sun was not yet visible, it was already dawn, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The day promised to be hot, and the convoy would drive us to the “Scania” - a transshipment logistics base in 190 km from us. Again, hot armor (8 minutes, and eggs are made of eggs), burning the wind in the face and decaliters of drunk water. We walked to the parking of trucks. The 40-50 machines stood in even rows. Unpretentious civilian drivers from India, China, Vietnam and the hell were still sleeping, stretching hammocks between the wheels of trailers. At the parking lot, we met another KV, greeted each other, lit a cigarette. It turns out that he, too, to drive the convoy, but in another place. Talking, the platoons went to look for their cars, and I sat down on someone's folding chair at the truck and zamaril, half listening to everything.
Oleg approached the driver who had just woken up:
- Anyone go to "Scania"?
She drove his head:
- Nou, v tuday mast gow vis convoy to Babil.
- This is my client. Babil? Babylon? Yes? - The second platoon was delighted. - How many of you? My documents are Seven Kars. OK?
“Naw ah fajnd olu kars,” the driver reassured and went to look for his colleagues.
The drivers were disciplined, the order of construction and maintenance knew. The alien platoon commander went to wake his convoy squad. Oleg thoughtfully wandered among the cars. He walked over to one wagon and braked a sleeping Hindu by the shoulder:
- "Scania"? - He awake shook his head and poked at the car next to him.
KV knocked on the car door, another Hindu looked out:
- "Scania"? - Oleg asked. Hindu nodded in response.
- Well, thank God, - the platoon sighed. - Go here tventi machines on the "Scania." OK? Let's fly. Stey and Wayt us there. Afta Foti minutes go.
Oleg pointed to the place of construction of the column.
- Sergeant, go wake the boys. Through 40 min. Instruction and exit.
I moved to the post, announced the rise. With Lehoy, a friend, went to the dining room. On the way, they drove the Beters to warm up and pump air into the wheels. Returning and bringing our mechvod to eat, we were built on a briefing. After he built a column and drove to leave the base. Charged, turned on land minders and went on the road.
The track was great. The convoy was 90-100 km / h. On a good solarium, the batterers also issued 110.
Everyone was looking around, KPVTeshniki fell sweating foreheads to the sights. I fell behind the driver's seat, periodically changed the turret gunner and lit a cigarette with a driver. Ball seat. A couple of times got out on the armor.
Along the road came across hovels nameless villages. Women, shook in such heat in all black, carried all sorts of things on their heads. The flocks of dirty kids ran out almost under the wheels of the cars. If possible, we scattered the water and the American Suhpay. I was always amazed by the seeming grayness of the landscape on the ground. But it is necessary to climb up the helicopter, and now at the bottom one greens and a riot of colors, not gray. The veins of aryks and canals are visible from above, everywhere are oases and small squares of cultivated multi-colored fields.
Having driven halfway, we saw a standing convoy ahead. It turned out that the Poles found traces of digging on the side of the road and stopped to check. Together they decided to shoot the ground of the roadside for an explosion of a potential mine. Fallen from all trunks. The turret shooter blurted out a box of 14,5 cartridges. Everything is normal, nothing bahnul. We go further. After 3 hours we already entered the "Scania". Having handed over cars to local logisticians, we went to eat in the canteen.
Puzzled Oleg came and sat down next to us:
- Ate, and now let's understand. There Chevy major logistics officer swears at me, but what, I do not understand. Come on, boys, we will translate by common efforts.
We left the dining room, the major was already waiting for us with some papers. He was angry and quickly said something, waving documents under our noses. I did not understand him:
—Pliz, sir. Doo you can speake esi. We note Andestand yu.
- Fuck !!! - Major said in the hearts. - Wait here.
The major left and returned with some ordinary Marine.
“Vital,” the Marine introduced himself with the MOROZOV badge. - What is the problem, men?
Vzvodnik delighted native speech:
- Listen, Vital, what does Pindos want? We drove a convoy to him, he stands there, but he is not happy.
Acne asked about something major, he replied. The Marine turned to us:
“So you didn't drive the cars.”
- How not to those? He che, ofanarel? 12 machines on the "Scania". The drivers said themselves, that Hindu. - Oleg poked at some Indian. - Hey, you, Jawaharlal Nehru, come here.
Ran drove the truck. Oleg went on a rampage:
“You told me that you were on Skania?” So?
“Scania, EU,” the Hindu nodded.
- Twenti Kars, eu?
- Yes, - shook his head drove.
- Well, that's all right. Che this major still need?
Vital, the major and the driver began to talk about something. Vital looked at the column, said something and all three of them suddenly stopped talking. And then they began to neigh like horses. The major was neighing the most, he sat down on the sand and was already coughing out laughing on crouches. The soldiers passing by also began to smile, looking at this picture. The Marine MOROZOV was trying to tell us something, but choking. In the end, he went to the first car and poked his finger in the grille. On it was written in large letters brand cars SCANIA. We looked out over the whole column: IN A RANGE WAS A 12 TRAILER "SCANIA". A curtain.
PS From 12 necessary machines we drove only 2. Then they escorted the rest of the cars back to their base, took the necessary ones and drove them off again. And then again went to her not empty. I would like to give advice to everyone: learn languages, maybe it will come in handy.
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