Military Review

To the day of the internationalist warrior

22
The Afghan war began for me in the front-line Chirchik. The famous training in the shortest possible time squeezed out of our spring call the entire civil sauce. As a simple, but perfect machine, she shook out all unnecessary, equalizing everyone, smart and stupid, strong and weak, educated and dense.




A study book is a unique place where you understand that it is not the strongest, not the fastest and not the smartest. And the "equestrian" lessons drove into the head the confidence that the paratrooper is an eagle for only three minutes, and everything else is a horse. With what gratitude, then he recalled our night run with a box of sand on the hump! For in war, your advantage over death is the ability to run fast. Fast and long. And uphill. And as soon as you get tired and sit down, she will immediately sit down next to you, hug you and have something to talk about.

Extreme physical exertion did an amazing job, the person became extrapractical. Fulfilling only the norm, no more, using any opportunity for rest and sleep. We must meet the time on the march, believe me, not a minute earlier, it is necessary to do a standard exercise on the shells, not one more. The desire to be the first and the best is completely out of order. And at night, the war in Afghanistan came in terrible stories of junior commanders. Imagination agitated, but any questions ended with the Kandahar bridge. After a year of service, I began to understand the sergeants of our equestrian company, the report on the shipment over the river remained in the office, and the guys simply burned with envy to these salagoons, whom they drove into the tail and mane, where they would hardly go. After all, each has its own task.

No matter how it was, but the joy that I felt when flying to Kabul was immense. We flew abroad. Not to war. And they did not want to understand, and knew nothing. Did we perform some kind of international debt? Given the ability to sleep with open eyes in the classroom on political information, no one will say that there is not. Another thing is more important: who did these children become when they were not even twenty years old, many of whom even shaved every three days. Every day made them soldiers. In some philosophical, mystical sense, imparting some knowledge, which then, in the civilian world, unmistakably allowed to determine "their" by sight. Of course, the Afghan experience is much broader and differs than the experience of a single DSB, but it is from such streams of awareness that the sea of ​​the personality of the Afghan war consists. Especially if this trickle of ice falls from the highest peaks.

Yes, I was lucky, I was lucky to be in the very rapids of the Afghan events, in "caravan" fighting. That is, there was enough material with an instrument. Soldier's luck allowed not to become the very "material" in this invoice. I was lucky while my immediate commander was responsible for me, and stopped driving when I was entrusted with responsibility for eighteen people. Immersion in the underworld would probably be a more comfortable act. Already returning to the mainland, he looked with horror at a group of young flyers with a thin mustache, excited by their mission. Realistically, they were to command platoons. In war, all the soldiers, but the commander - is a martyr, if he is a real commander. And the more personnel are in his charge, the worse his third shot of vodka will be. Omitting, of course, those people who have a soul of two pennies in one Soviet phone call, which does not fit any conscience or shame.

Whoever speaks of the “Afghan syndrome”, or the troubles of the war veterans, but in reality service in the DRA has become a real springboard for many. I am sure that a bitter drunkard, telling stories about the "red tulips" under the stall, with anguishness, would have become such, having served as a clerk in the construction battalion. War does not break, war hardens. Strong makes even stronger, and weak, weak always. And in all. It will not change neither war nor a lottery win. It does not weaken and does not strengthen, weakness - the constant is constant. VUS in my military ticket opened almost all the doors in the USSR. Personal connections even interfered with this, for they made it difficult to make the right choice. Only the “Kips operator” helped me, which the command imposed on me to shuffle a little over the mountains, but with wise advice. What we remember to this day, once every two or three years, forcing him to drink vodka, when in February, and when in August.

Afghanistan confirmed the amazing feature of the Russian, Soviet people, the brotherhood of veterans. For the first time since the Great Patriotic War, the military fraternity brought the soldiers to the dates of the calendar. In the form and without, on whose chests their whole book of life was written, the most important thing that the Most High gave them. For awards, distinctive signs, badges, you can explore the geography of the globe. Each of these soldiers can become the hero of the book of any military writer. Everyone has their own unique историяwhich once seemed to him, and maybe now, ordinary, ordinary. The path of war, such work. Sacred work, for you are on it every day, and even an hour, or even a minute, you experience your death. Afghanistan-Asia, Vietnam, Africa, Yugoslavia, Moldova, Chechnya and now Ukraine. Ukraine stands alone.

Ukraine stands alone. Not even because friends have already died on it. And from different sides. For a soldier, this is prose, the end of the road. And because in every episode of the battle he saw himself. Twenty-year-old boy, transferred from the mountains of Afghanistan to the Ukrainian steppes. And the comparison is not in my favor. I look into the eyes of the fighters and see what they have experienced in a little over a year, they experience in a few weeks. What can I tell them? To them, the training of which were real fights, and the motivation for the death of loved ones? What else can a soldier with thirty years of experience teach them how to cheat with death? Tell them that I understand them every glance, every word, every movement and every deed? That I feel the same bitterness when they pull out Soviet military tickets from the pockets of defeated enemies? I know that this is all they do not need, because war is a very practical thing. And the culmination of this practicality is victory. Do just a little for the victory, and they will thank you. For the living and for the dead.

It will take some time and on February 15, new faces will appear in the places of gathering. With unprecedented awards on his chest, with new badges, dressed in a motley camouflage. We will drink vodka and remove hats under the third. There will be many conversations about everything, and little about patriotism or other regular speeches. After all, patriotism is as practical as war. There will be joy that survived, survived, but not because the bravest and strongest. And because lucky. In the cities there will be new obelisks, with new names, in which candles will burn and flowers will lie. In the textbooks will appear the new-old names of cities that will sound like the ringing of a bell. The directors will make new films about the war, the writers will write new books, the singers will sing new songs. And we will always remain soldiers.
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  1. bionik
    bionik 15 February 2016 07: 04
    26
    The blessed memory of DEAD in this war !!!
    1. PKK
      PKK 15 February 2016 20: 23
      +1
      We will remain Soldiers of Our War!
    2. The comment was deleted.
  2. Volga Cossack
    Volga Cossack 15 February 2016 07: 17
    19
    Keep quiet. Remember. Remember the Living!
  3. sa-ag
    sa-ag 15 February 2016 07: 37
    +7
    "... The Afghan war began for me in the front-line Chirchik."

    Oh how, my brother’s part was taken from Afghanistan just to Chirchik
  4. aszzz888
    aszzz888 15 February 2016 07: 52
    +7
    Live and remember!
  5. parusnik
    parusnik 15 February 2016 08: 00
    10
    Strongly written ... Thanks ..
  6. Karlos
    Karlos 15 February 2016 09: 25
    +5
    Yes, as it was a long time ago, but it seems like more recently.
  7. Kunar
    Kunar 15 February 2016 10: 05
    10
    29 years old in a flash.
    Who remembered fatigue there?
    Bite her to the blood! And all we have to do is
    And all we have left. Half a trench in full profile.
    And all we have left, and all we have left.
    Half a trench in full profile.

    I am stubborn, the earth is stubborn. Less than an hour before dawn.
    Mom, sleep well, Mom. Mom, sleep well, Mom.
    I sleep here quite often.
    Mom, sleep well, Mom. Mom, sleep well, Mom.
    I sleep here quite often.

    Steel curled up with petals. The sky is in the stellar drops of sweat.
    A stone has eaten in our palms. A stone has eaten in our palms.
    Our company bite into the hill.
    A stone has eaten in our palms. A stone has eaten in our palms.
    Our company bite into the hill.

    A newborn, awkward, timidly crawled out the first ray.
    Platoon, disguise yourself! Platoon, disguise yourself!
    Tear the camel thorn.
    Platoon, disguise yourself! Platoon, disguise yourself!
    Tear the camel thorn.
  8. Kunar
    Kunar 15 February 2016 10: 12
    +4
    Our parachutes soaked in the sun.
    The sky of Turkestan is burned to the ground.
    Earthly joys have remained
    Those on the pillow, but at the bottom of the boiler.
    Well, at home, my mother is impatiently waiting for me.
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right, in the middle of the platoon.
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right, in the middle of the platoon.

    The sun does not spare the strength of its scorching.
    The fifth ocean is red-hot like a bath.
    Fries us crawling, soaring across the sky.
    Each foot is generous to the Russians.
    On the other side of the motherland, my mother is waiting for me,
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right, in the middle of the platoon.
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right, in the middle of the platoon.

    Guard Tuesday, Bath Monday
    In plastuski time creeps to the demobilization.
    Striped as a service my landing vest.
    Disguises the heart of a personal machine gun.
    But not only my mother is impatiently waiting for me.
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right, in the middle of the platoon.

    We often remember how once in the mountains
    We shaved on the march, looking at the bayonet steel.
    Remember how each two years were given
    Chirchik hills swollen with sweat.
    Let the paratrooper young, brave fun sing
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right in the middle of the platoon.
    The hill on the left, the hill on the right in the middle of the platoon.
  9. Glot
    Glot 15 February 2016 10: 19
    +7
    Training is a unique place where you understand that it is not the strongest, not the fastest and not the smartest.


    It's right. That you are no one at all.
    I remember my school, 7 km away. from the border with this "fabulous" country. laughing You look into the distance, through take-off, on the left is our mountain, on the right is already Afghanistan. Yes, just like in Bondarchuk’s movie. laughing By the way, something in this fucked-up movie was written off just like from life, it was even amazing. laughing But the film is a film, and God bless him ... Training ... My most terrible memory of the service! Often afterwards I caught myself thinking that I would like to go through again and more than once, but with the condition that only there, with the same ones and bypassing the study. laughing laughing
    1. Sling cutter
      Sling cutter 15 February 2016 17: 09
      +2
      Thanks to the author!
      Everything is beautifully written; there seems to be nothing to add.
      Indeed, each has its own completely individual, special story ...
      Hello Ferghana -86, 2nd company.
      Training is tin.
  10. Vladimir
    Vladimir 15 February 2016 10: 58
    +8
    Thank you, the article is short but strong. But then, indeed, it was not for the money and the rewards that they fulfilled their military duty. The Afghans, healthy to you and to a normal life.
  11. guzik007
    guzik007 15 February 2016 11: 19
    +8
    Strongly written, not a word too much. and everything is right about people. We had two Afghans on our course. One painted everything about his exploits, the other was always silent - you won’t stretch out the words. Only once commented: Cho Sashka? Sasha served as a clerk, even if he bursts further. Only many years later I learned what that classmate was doing behind the river, and that from others.
    And two years ago, an Afghan relative was buried. I looked at "cargo-200", went to the balcony and hanged himself. Here are the things. '' The peasant got overwhelmed.
  12. Partisan Kramaha
    Partisan Kramaha 15 February 2016 11: 27
    +2
    It doesn’t fit into my head-how could Afghans in Ukraine take part in the Maidan? How do they fight for banderlogs ?? HOW !?
    1. Scud
      Scud 15 February 2016 15: 40
      +1
      I agree with Partizan. Moreover, these so-called Afghans wear Mujahideen trousers and this should arouse respect among others. It's the same as putting on an SS uniform and imagining yourself a hero.
      1. Sling cutter
        Sling cutter 15 February 2016 17: 41
        +2
        Quote: Partizan Kramaha
        It doesn’t fit into my head-how could Afghans in Ukraine take part in the Maidan? How do they fight for banderlogs ?? HOW !?

        Quote: scud
        I agree with Partizan. Moreover, these so-called Afghans wear Mujahideen turbaned shirts and this should be respected by others.

        I remind you about Chechnya if Che.
        Do not judge them, but you will not be judged.
        This is there "beyond the river" We had one for all True, and now .... eh .., damn it ...
    2. Glot
      Glot 15 February 2016 16: 24
      +5
      It doesn’t fit into my head-how could Afghans in Ukraine take part in the Maidan? How do they fight for banderlogs ?? HOW !?


      And how someone went to the bandits in the 90s. And not even someone but many. You can recall the explosion at the Kotlyakovsky cemetery when their own were soaked. And how many were lit up in different trenches by all kinds of wars in the former republics of the Union that flared up with its collapse?
      Each person chooses his own path. Some have chosen one, others this ...
      So they fought and are fighting. Alas.
    3. The comment was deleted.
  13. Fox
    Fox 15 February 2016 13: 45
    +7
    Whoever speaks about the "Afghan syndrome", about the ordeal of front-line soldiers, but in reality, service in the DRA for many has become a real springboard to life. I am sure that a bitter drunkard, with anguish telling tales about "red tulips" under a stall, would have become like that, having served as a clerk in a construction battalion. War does not break, war tempers. It makes the strong even stronger, and the weak, the weak always. And in everything. Neither war nor lottery winnings will change it. Will not weaken or strengthen, weakness is a constant constant.
    Golden words. Relevant for any war and work.
    1. sa-ag
      sa-ag 15 February 2016 17: 31
      +1
      Quote: Fox
      having served as a clerk in the construction battalion

      This is probably some kind of wonder, we built a relay battalion built, I don’t remember that the clerk was there, or it's just a special case :-)
  14. Razvedka_Boem
    Razvedka_Boem 15 February 2016 20: 08
    0
    Just "+"
  15. APASUS
    APASUS 15 February 2016 20: 23
    +2
    I remember how one girl called me a murderer, for so long I could not recover
    1. PKK
      PKK 15 February 2016 20: 31
      +3
      This girl can show off here in a relatively peaceful way. And she would winter in Debaltsevo last winter, when dill traveled around the city and until they burned down three houses, they didn’t calm down. It would have ventilated in her head.