Foreword
We always drink black on Tanker's Day. We remember everything and everyone. But not everything and not everything is possible to tell …
We remembered the order of the Old Tankman on the tank-launching tower … it was a long time ago …,.
It is necessary (!!!) to tell about this to the growing generations of tank officers …
Tankdrome tower. Winter. Passing test for driving armored vehicles of a tank battalion. Ahead is the departure to the "Chekhi-2". It is very good that we are now our "mazut" dr … chim. This is very good, so the 95th should not be repeated, when Pashka-Mercedes (Grachev, Minister of Defense under Yeltsin) threw us in the New Year to shake our weapons naked … eprst, brute.
Sleepless weeks of training mechanics, gunners, tank commanders were left behind … And all kinds of mischief in the form of command-staff exercises (command-staff exercises) and the like. The crew, tortured in an "arc", is standing "in nature", pressing their chin to their chest … (this is warmer), covering their eyes to thorny snowflakes flying into the face with the wind from all sides (except for the back of the head covered with a helmet). The battalion commander is sticking out on the "tower". And there is a regiment commander and a representative of veterans. It was not easy to bring it, I would have rest at home, in warmth and comfort with a glass of tea.
-What kind of veteran did he draw on the tank-training tower?
-Yes, hell knows … Some old man in a jacket.
-In a jacket? It's cold after all. And where is his down jacket or … pea jacket?
-Yes, hell knows. He sat on the toilet seat on the tower and stuck out there, looking at some kind of crap in a blizzard …
-Afiget … brought the same hard extra diapers on our heads …
-Yeah. Horseradish carrots are not sweeter.
-Exactly.
The double and triple animal "the scribe in the glass" woke up and tumbled from the cold and misunderstanding. Poor "scribe" … sorry for the animal. This is normal…
The mechanics started racing on the track … young …, all sorts of …, and experienced … The animal "scribe" just died. And he is right, lucky! To die is the simplest thing than to pass the training exercise of the battalion on "oud".
- Guys, do at least something !!! Well, explain to these rogues how the armor should be "correctly" controlled! - the commander of the regiment raged on the tower, sensing that there was no one on the tower, except for the tankers, and there was no need to smile with a "beautiful" smile at the camera at the left civilian journalists (they took, too, for me, fashion, to pump a show on the "screens").
Karas and I, two captains, two company commanders, stood at the hood in front of all this commanding staff and devotedly “ate with our eyes” the authorities. Well, Duc, still - we are not stupid, we understand that the commanders are always right.
On the chair, the old tankman modestly looked at ALL THIS, resting his chin on the hands holding the invalid cane. Colonel in reserve.
- Command, - wearily threw the phrase of the regiment commander to the head of driving.
- DO YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING ?! - quietly and seriously asked the battalion commander, turning from the control panel, looking at us from the bottom up with tired whites of his eyes (he did not say that the mechanics of the entire battalion would look at us - a hammer, nefig-nafig rubbish into snot rubbing snot.
- That's right, dragging Major! - we blurted out in chorus with Karas (and what have we to lose, we have nothing to lose, hehe).
Silent look.
- To the cars !!! - The battalion commander barked.
The right hand mechanically found the right ear of the "Cheburashka" (military greeting, Cheburashka - headset)
- There is!!!
- With God, comrade officers! Show "Kuzkin's mother" !!! EPRST !!! - This is the regiment commander gave birth to speech in our backs, well, the political officer is direct … Yes, we do not mind, say what you want, the winter blizzard will write off everything, it is hefty cold, the blizzard is … hehe.
Automatically legs turned over the left shoulder and … running from the tower … Yes, up the steps, up the steps of this fucking tower …
Running through the slurping mud and snow to the idling "armor". He climbed onto the hull, the commander of the car was bored in the tower, gestured to him "Tyk-nyk" (check TPU - Tank Intercom). Inside the armor is a fucking mechanic hatch with a closing mechanism. Tangenta on the "button", mom and dad - "got married." Laring (microphones) - all the way to the throat. (TPU connection procedure). With the right foot slightly "revs" - m the car obeys. Instruments are normal.
Clutch. 3rd gear, mountain brake release, feet on the pedals. Tower report:
- "Tower, I am" 216th ", ready to move!
Hands pulled the clutches all the way …
- "Tower, I'm" 218th "to move - ready! It echoed in my ears.
Hehe. I am faster than Karas, now worry about waiting for the command.
- I am "Tower" !!!, - banged in the headset …, "216th" … silence … - Forward !!!
"Clutch" and fuel supply "kicked in on the machine … The armor went, trembling with the whole body …" Turns "on …" sound "… 2000 !!! in 2nd gear … Yes !!!
Alternate "Reset" of clutches, "revolutions" again … 2000 !!! in 3rd gear … Yes !!!
Living tons of armor excited the whole body with its movement along … "the tonsils" … The "soulful dances" began, well, finally, I got it!
"Turns" with the right foot !!! … 4th gear. There is…
A quick glance at the devices ("revs" and "cooling") is the norm …
Turnovers to "polic" …
I feel the "iron" …
Hehe. And now - the most important thing … "The beginning is not clear what" …
Hooray! Let's go !!!
The forehead in the headset rested against the upper edge of the "prism" (observation device) of the mechanic. Nice, damn it … Ahead - "track bridge". Fingers (on the friction clutches) leveled the mafinka … transition to 3rd gear. I don't touch the clutches. Takeoff … not a fig is visible in the prism, only a bright sky …
Level ("rut"), too nifiga is not visible … we reset the fuel supply, we brake the engine. "Fall" oops … the earth is visible. Translated to "second", added momentum. I played with the clutches, again connected to the "third".
- I am "Tower", banged in the headset …, "218" … silence … - Forward !!!
Oh … Crucian carp followed me, although it will not be boring to knead mud and snow with gusli.
Acceleration … (devices: "revs" and "cooling" are normal).
Turnovers, "fourth".
Turnovers, "Fifth"! main !!!
42 tons of armor went sensitively at the command of the finger clutches. We walked in … "the right direction." What is ahead?
"Stop on the rise." Takeoff and abrupt stop! Oh, my head hurts! So what kind of soil do we have here? Well, since such, then we will do "so" …
Second gear …, revs …, reconnection …, forehead in the "prism". The armor trembles again, crushing everything ahead of itself with caterpillars. Nice … You feel like a human being. The racing segment … "6th …, revs", "7th …, revs" … the forehead merged with the "prism … the fingers themselves do something by themselves, the legs - by themselves … If only" the forehead to the prism "I'm not tired !!! Nifiga do not feel when "the forehead is not to the prism" … Formula-1 on a mammoth, 6th …
Takeoff and descent …
Yeah … "envelope" …
We will do it, if only the "gusli" did not go skidding, winter, however …
2nd gear … 1st gear …
The clutches, in turn, towards themselves, through the center of the envelope … b.ya, b.ya, reconnection!, Turns! reconnection! …
Came out of the "envelope" !!!
(devices: "revs" and "cooling" all in growth … sucks …)
I reconnected it to a lower one and added speed, so that the fan shish kebab in five seconds in the air, and not in the engine.
If I were swaggering into the "Czechs", then nifiga would not have "vilified" on the mountainside, open to all winds and gullies with grenade launchers awakened in caches with weapons from the roar of my diesel engine. I would fucking all over the evil clean "evil conscience" from the main caliber, and then pouring over the entire piston of the surrounding world of Nature with the PCT, I would cut in the "Fifth", and add the fuel supply "all the way" … If only they my fingers gusli and would see if they stayed alive.
Brrr … What am I talking about ?! …
This is a training driving of armored vehicles at the tankodrome !!!
Yeah. It's clear. They drove on …
Hehe, what do we have there "next"? "Intersection with the highway" - garbage., "Turn by 90 degrees" - garbage, we do everything on the 5th.
(devices: "revolutions" and "cooling"? OK). "Pit". It will be more serious. We put our gaze through the pit, descent to the third, nothing is visible through the prism. We feel, with the bottom of the car, that the “bottom of the pit” is suitable …, we add “revs” to the “polyk” … and again …, we see only one sky through the “prism” … fun, you can't see where we take off … and we feel the ground as “gusli” … Wow, the breath snapped for a second, hehe, nice.
The beauty…
Ahead is a "minefield". Well, this is: nah.r - nah.r at the test site, even boring …
Through the prism "I aligned the armor with the friction clutches and" flew "along the thread on the" fourth "…
U-turn under "180" on "automatic" and … "Snake" … eprst.
Well, beware, the dog is angry … Clutches …, Caterpillars …, "snake" arcs and … the play of fingers on the levers …
The armor obediently dived from side to side at the commands … the song …
Exit from the "snake" … Turnover, reconnection … Sweat, infection, went into the eyes from under the "Cheburashka", fucking funny "snake".
(devices: "revolutions" and "cooling"? OK).
"Double turn 90 degrees" … Favorite entertainment (especially in Winter, hehe) …
The mass of all the "armor" … the gusli's adhesion to the frozen ground …, the air temperature …, the "tight" engine with all its power and engine braking …
We with the tank, as usual, are complete perverts, we do not care about the laws of physics. We don’t care at all when we are together …
Exit to the "initial" on the "Fifth".
Clutch depressed brake without skidding.
(devices: "revs" and "cooling"? OK … uh … fuck. how good !!!)
Report on the upper key of the TPU tangent:
- "Tower, I'm 216th, I finished driving," blah, blah "about the instrument readings" …
- "Bronya, I am Tower, 216th … - to the car!".
The tank - on the "mountain brake", the gearbox - in "0", "let go" of the legs …
He opened the mechanic hatch, disconnected the TPU from the headset (button), got out of the "armor" and … sighed fresh, real AIR !!!
And then the "218th" gusli rumbled on the original, swaying the whole body. The crucian swam on his box.
-Fast, however, hammer, zema!
The tank was barely noticeably fevering at idle underfoot.
- THANKS, FRIEND !!! … A stealthy and imperceptible kiss on the armor on the descent from the hull, and on the way to the tower.
Winter, b. I …, how hot it is!
I'm running. Belated sweat covers the eyes from under the headset already in a stream, fuck the Cheburashka off the head … It's good that there is snow on the land - you can wipe yourself off. Damn, hands are shaking.
- Crucian, I'm waiting for you.
- You will not get it!. Wash yourself with snow, there is a lot of it, - a running friend chuckled, crawling with a heated muzzle into a snowdrift near the cleared path to the "initial" one.
- Report?
- Report!
- Let's go to the tower, brother …
- Ayda, hehe …
Fucking stairs. Open door to the "tower" of the tower.
- "Drag …", the training exercise is completed! … Well, tydy and typy … (as expected, about butter there with temperature and other crap).
- Well done !!! The battalion commander shone. - Zero "downed" !!! (penalty restraints on obstacles)
- Very good, comrade officers! The regiment commander got up from his chair.
Karasem and I stand in front of the command personnel with our eyes burning and not cooled down after the armor, heat and sweat pouring over our bodies. Happy, like polished coppers, but not from praise (nafig we need it, tomorrow we will be just as easy and “ripped off” into everything I can’t, and no matter what), but from “Bronya's feeling”.
- How do you assess our combat training, dragging the colonel, - the regiment commander turned to the veteran tanker, squinting at the inopportunely switched on light bulb glowing in the ceiling of the tank training tower.
The old tankman stood up, straightened his shoulders, leaning on a stick.
A "reward bar" on a civilian jacket with two orders of the "Red Star", a medal "For Courage", "For Military Merit", on the left side and a "garland of red and yellow stripes for a wound" on the right side of the jacket opened to their eyes.
- To hell with you, "mazut" my dear, the armored colonel smiled, leaning with difficulty on a stick, his eyes sparkled with a smile from the fire of living diesel engines.
His shoulders straightened and the cane in the hands of the tanker buried itself in my chest and the chest of Karas.
- Actually, you are a little … scum.
?!.?!.?! … silent shock on the tower …
- What did you expect from me ??? - The wounded tankman grinned … The stick returned to its original position again, maintaining the balance of the lean body.
- Eh you, falcons-eagles, - the old man shook his head reproachfully. Teach your mechans to drive as you drive yourself … then I'll DRINK with you !!!
And with dashing ease the veteran shook his stick in the air …
There are no words … In general, there are no words … the broken body and eyes of a veteran tanker burning with fire … The noise of the drain tank in our heads carried away "everything incomprehensible" into "understandable" … so ALL THIS WAS SIMPLY SAID …
How are you RIGHT, old TANKIST !!!
How are you, bl.ha-fly, RIGHT!
