Hazing
I myself did not experience bullying as some kind of catastrophe. I quite seriously think that it is good that she is. After all, the "grandfathers" forced us to do the right thing. Usually no one does the right thing all the time, it is very difficult. And then they force you to do everything right! And you just have to live not the way you want, but the way you should. Of course, anything happened … For example, demobilization was taken away from the young all the money. The only demobilization that did not take money was my Umar. As a sniper, I got fifteen checks a month. He took one check and left fourteen. And other demobels could not take money from me - he protected me from them.
I remember how they got together in the next module, at the "chemists". After Kandahar we relaxed - they sit, smoke … And suddenly my name is! It’s scary to go there - it’s not known what it would occur to them, who are smoked. I come running. Umar: “See? Remember it! " And after that they didn't touch me anymore.
We had a sergeant who was in charge of food. He was terribly afraid of demobels, hiding, hiding from them everywhere, so that he would not be beaten. Therefore, I organized good relations with all demobels. They come to him, take something tasty: sprats, condensed milk, fish. Once again, they call me demobilized. I think they got stoned again. I come, I see - they haven't had time yet. - "What do you need?" Umar: "Go to this, take two cans of condensed milk, two packs of cookies, two cans of this, this, this, this …". Me: "And if he doesn't?" - "Give!"
I come and say: “Listen, Umar sent. You need three cans of this, three of this, three of this … ". He gave without a sound. I stuffed myself up with extra cans, my friends and I ate them. Two days pass. Umar sits with demobels and says to me: "Come here!" I think something is wrong. I feel - now it will hit. I went up … He: “Did you bring food the other day? Brought. And how many cans did you take? " I say: “Umar, what are these banks to him! Took only three. And we, too, hawla "detsl!". He: “Listen! What a maladet, how clever! You must think so! Free!"
And I liked this life. We didn't have wild hazing in the company as such. I was in the second company, where the guys were really beaten. And we gave them "kolobashki", they could punch them in the chest. I got a button on my jacket many times, even a bruise remained and the skin in this place became coarse. But I got to work - I always got into trouble!
They made their demobilization clothes themselves. The maximum that Umar forced me to do was to clean his machine and bring him food from the "bastard". I also washed Umar's clothes along with my clothes. That's all. No!.. Even in the morning I dragged him on my shoulders. He jumps on the horizontal bar and shouts: “Horse, sivka-burka, come to me!”. I run up and he mounts me. Everyone is running to the song of Leontyev: "And everyone is running, running, running, running …". It was a regimental song, which was constantly played to us through a large speaker, and we were winding circles in the mud under it. And I also carry Umar on my shoulders! Everyone looked at me with sympathy: well, you have a "grandfather", just some kind of usurper! But in fact, in this way, he shook my legs!
There was no anger in the relationship between him and me at all. The only difference was that I was young, and he was demobilized. And I had respect for him, because in the fighting he did everything right. And he also fiercely hated Afghans. He asked for Afghan himself. In Dushanbe, where he lived, he had a girlfriend. And this girl in the park was raped by Afghan officers who studied there at a military school. He said that he found them and severely revenged them. They wanted to arrest him - as if someone saw him. He went to the military registration and enlistment office and asked for an interpreter in Afghanistan, because he is Tajik by nationality, he knew the language. At first he was a translator in the division. But then he "flew" to the combatants (like, when the caravan was hammered, he took the money for himself) and he was sent to a combat company.
By the way, when he quit, he gave me a whole bag of money. Such a large bag, thirty kilograms. I looked in - there was a mixture of Afghan money, checks and dollars. Some are simply compressed, some are tied with rubber bands. I didn’t even count this money, I was afraid: after all, if they had grabbed me with dollars at that time, it would have come to me for sure. So in the end I buried the bag.
But when I opened the bag for the first time, I gave some of the money to the guys. We bought some Sharp tape recorders for ourselves, then it was difficult to get them in the Union. But I was a country boy and did not understand why everyone was so eager to buy a tape recorder. For them it was a dream, but for me it was nothing special. And then, when I became demobilized, I was no longer thinking about tape recorders, but about staying alive. I still live with this thought. Every time, when it is really hard for me, I immediately have a thought: “Lord, why am I complaining? After all, I could have died there long ago!"
Everyone bought tape recorders, except for Kuvalda, Seryoga Ryazanov. He's also a country boy. And then the company commander found out that there was money in the company, the informer told him. I knew the informers specifically. The company commander was my fellow countryman from Mordovia. When I got into this company, he found out that I was his fellow countryman (we are from neighboring districts), and almost every day he invited me for tea, talked … Dembelya: “You often go to see him. Look there, don't lay it! " - "No, he doesn't ask anything." - "Look!.. He is cunning."
How I refused to be a snitch
And the demobilization looked like they were looking into the water! About a month later - tea-coffee, tea-coffee-sweets - the company commander asks: “Well, how are things in the company? Are they hitting? " - "No". - “Why not? You were beaten yesterday. " - "So this is the case!". - "Who beat you?" - "It does not matter". - "No, you report." - “No, no, I won't. You are still an officer, and I am a soldier. This is our soldier's business. " - “No, you tell me. I know that such and such beat you. " - "How do you know?". - "And I know everything." - "Why do you need to know this?". - “I'm the company commander! I feed you, I sing with tea. And you in return - nothing. " Then my jaw fell off: "So what?..". - “Let's agree this way: you tell me what's going on in the company. And I, as a fellow countryman, as a native person, provide you with the Red Star, “For Courage”, “For Military Merit”. And you will go home as a foreman. Deal?". - “I don’t understand?.. Are you suggesting that I knock?!.”. - “Why knock? You’ll just tell.” - "So this is snitching?" - "Yes, this is not squealing!" - "You know, comrade commander, I can't do that!" - “In short, you will report! If you won’t, I’ll tell everyone that you’re an informer, and you’ll have a cap! And they will believe me, because you and I have been drinking tea for a month. I will say that you reported to me this and that”. I stood up: "Would you have gone very far in general, comrade commander, with such proposals!" And he went to his room.
And the guy from Chuvashia knocked on the company commander. He constantly drinks tea with the commander, and then he knows everything about us. Became a foreman, Krasnaya Zvezda, "For Courage", for "Military Merit" - everything coincides.
So this company commander got a good fight for my refusal to knock on me. While I was young, everything was fine - they only drove me to demobilize. "Pheasant" - also more or less nothing. But when I became demobilized, it's just a nightmare. The company commander just got me! First, he cut all my awards. And those that the regiment commander wrote out were already sawed in a special department. He came there and reported: this should not be awarded. The platoon leader wrote me three times for the Order of the Red Star and four times for the Medal For Courage. Nothing came through. And all around with medals!
Sniper
I served half of the service and became a pheasant. By that time, he became a sniper and finally learned how to shoot accurately. But it turned out that a sniper rifle greatly changes a person's consciousness. I did not like it. It turned out that in fact this is a great danger. I am just starting to aim at the dushman and suddenly I understand: he is definitely mine, he will not leave … I shoot, he falls. And I feel like I'm getting in. And after that, something in my brain began to change not for the better. I felt that something strange was happening, as if some incomprehensible forces had begun to seize me.
Once we surrounded the dushmans: we settled in the mountains, and they were in a gorge, in a small village. Four days later, they surrendered: we called in aviation, artillery, and they realized that soon nothing would be left of them and their village. On this occasion, representatives of the Afghan government, television, and some foreigners arrived.
Before that, it happened that our surrounded spooks were taken prisoner. And the "spirits" then wrote complaints that they were beaten and the money was taken away. And we had such a case in the company too. The young inexperienced platoon leader took two "spirits". Our commander tells him: “Don't take it. Bahni - that's all! " He: “No, I'll take it! For this they will give me an order and a starley. " We: "Stupid person …". The lieutenant handed over the prisoners where they should be. And a week later he was invited to a special department: “They were peaceful people, they just defended their village. Not only did you beat them, you also took a lot of money from them. Where's the money?". - "We didn't take." - “An instruction has come from the KhAD. So that in five days there will be money. If there is no money, you will be in prison for two years."
It came to the regiment commander. And, apparently, funds were allocated from the suitcase of the division commander, with which the lieutenant was redeemed. After that, he quickly learned how to act, and hated dushmans specifically. And if in such situations the "spirits" were killed, then the bullets were pulled out. After all, by the bullet it was possible to determine, at least, who was shooting - ours or the spooks. In general, I always had Dushman patrons with me. When we seized weapons, I often yanked cartridges of 7, 62 caliber. They are a little different, but they fit my rifle. I thought: if I have to shoot, then at least they won't be caught.
We see: the "spirits" are walking directly below us four hundred meters below, stretched out for almost a kilometer. So it was my hands! After all, before we surrounded them, we had losses. But the division commander strictly forbade shooting, right up to the tribunal.
And suddenly in the evening we see - they are already walking back! With machine guns, with their ancient guns. We get in touch, and we are told: "The spooks signed an agreement that they will not fight with us anymore." That is, they have passed into the category of peaceful. But we already knew for sure that this could not be in principle! During the day - a peaceful Afghan, at night - a dushman!
And we could not resist: “Commander, let's bang! And we will clean the weapon right away. They put a mortar, launched mines. Then I was the first to shoot with a rifle. Fired twenty bullets into the crowd from a distance of four hundred meters. And the spooks all scattered in different directions and hid behind the stones! Not a single one fell … After that, until the very demobilization, everyone made fun of me: “Oh, you, you are also called a sniper! What kind of sniper are you, you didn't get into a pile?!.”. I think: “How can this be? I hit a brick from four hundred meters without any problems. And then not a single “spirit” fell!”Then I was very ashamed. And now I think: thank God that I didn't kill anyone then …
Appendicitis - no anesthesia
Somehow my stomach ached. They said it looked like appendicitis and sent me to the medical battalion. For some reason I remembered the green military gurneys. It was hot, and they put me right on the piece of iron. The stomach was treated - the operation site was poured with iodine. The iodine dripped down, and then my skin peeled off almost to the knee. They laid out the tools on their chest and began to cut …
Two captains from Voenmed cut me. They cut the belly: first a little, then cut further for their convenience. It hurt so much that it felt like they had thrown me into the fire! It was indescribably difficult to endure such pain, only for some seconds it was possible, then it was simply unbearable. It felt like I was going crazy. With a groan I growl: "It hurts me!..". They: “What are you shouting, paratrooper! What kind of a paratrooper are you! " And they gave a stick in the teeth.
Cut, cut … At that moment the spirits began to fire at the regiment with rockets! We got into an electrical substation from which the operating room is powered - the light went out. The captains went to find out when the lighting would be. They came and said: "Now the truck will be brought in, the generator will be connected." While they drove, while they connected, an hour passed. And it hurts so unbearably that I can't convey it: I'm tearing my hair on myself, biting my hands … Finally they gave the light, and the operation continued.
When the appendicitis was excised, one doctor says to another: "Look, it turns out, he does not have appendicitis …". I show them my fist: "I won't see that you are two captains!..". Those: “What did he have? I don't understand … Okay, let's sew it up. At least you will definitely not have appendicitis. " And then one asks the other: "How many injections did you give him?" - "Which ones?" - "Promedola". - "I didn't do - you did!" - “What are you kidding me? You did! You definitely didn't? " - "No!". And both to me: "Do you feel okay, okay?!.". Me: "It's okay, it's okay …". If I had the strength, I would have punched them right there! I was given at least local anesthesia, it wouldn’t be so painful. After all, when the teeth are treated and an injection is given, then it doesn’t hurt!”)
The captains quickly - tyk-tyk-tyk - gave me several injections in the stomach. And the pain disappeared immediately! They took me to the ward, where they made another injection, after which I slept for thirty-eight hours. I woke up - and my left hand gave up straight from my shoulder, lying like a piece of wood. The doctors said that the nurse who gave me the last injection could hurt either a muscle or a nerve.
I was very scared - after all, I am now disabled in one hand! I don't feel anything in it at all: I lift it with my other hand, let it go - and it falls like a log! Here my mental strength left me, I became indifferent, sluggish, I did not expect anything good ahead … But my friend Viktor Shultz from the reconnaissance company (he was put in our ward with a wound) says: “Vityok, don’t give up! You have at least one hand working. Look - here are invalids without legs at all, without arms. And he began to wrinkle my hand for an hour every day.
It takes about twenty to twenty-five days. (It was the twenties of May 1986.) I was sitting somehow - suddenly my finger on my hand began to twitch! But I still don't feel anything! Victor shouts: "Vitiok, the hand is working!" And we have been massaging our hand all day long. The guys are connected. One of them crumpled my left hand, and I drew Adidas sneakers on his bandaged feet with my right hand, then depicted boxing gloves on his bandaged hand for the other … And my hand gradually recovered. First, three fingers came to life, then the remaining two. I could not pull up for a while, but by August 1986 everything was completely restored. Now doctors tell me that I could lie down when I slept for almost forty hours. It seems that this happens …
Rebellion of the young
A little more than a month has passed since the operation. I was still listed as the BMP gunner. Everything inside me was seething because of this: I am a sniper, this is such a dangerous job! And the gunner-operator needs to clean the cannon, which weighs one hundred and twenty kilograms. I asked the young soldier to clean it, but he didn't clean it! The battalion commander came to check, and it turned out that the gun was unclean. That - a reprimand to the company commander. And when the latter found out that it was I who had to do it, he was even delighted … I told him: "I just had an operation." - "I know nothing!". I had to take out the gun, clean it, put it back in. I went to the toilet, I looked - my seam was torn, my stomach was covered in blood. I washed myself, washed my clothes, sealed it with a plaster. Then I went to the medical unit, where they sealed it with something else, but for a whole month I did not go to the military.
He punched the young man. Then again! He: "For what?!.". - "Because of you, my seam was torn!"- "It's your problem". I say: “If I were you, I would ask for forgiveness. Don't you understand this? " He: "I shouldn't clean the gun, don't hit me." After that, at night, the young people got together, came up to me (I was just guarding the backpacks on the street) and said: "If you touch any of the young people, we will arrange a" dark "one for you!" I say: “Everything is clear, you are free! I'm not going to teach you anymore. Fight as you like."
Then I thought about it for a long time. Perhaps the Lord saved me through obedience to dembels. After all, how many difficulties I had, the company commander simply did not give life! But I was terribly in love with the Airborne Forces and was ready to endure everything! And to this day, I love the Airborne Forces infinitely. I obeyed the Dembels completely, did as I was ordered. And yet I treated them well, with the exception of one of them. Once in the dining room, he poured soup on me. He didn't get meat in the soup at lunchtime - the others ate demobilization. He: "Where is my meat ?!" Me: "There, in the tank." - "He's not here!" - “Well, I didn't eat it! They ate your demobilization. " - "Where is the meat!" - “Listen, how do I know where ?! It was there. I didn't eat it. " He: "Around!" I turned around, and at that moment he poured soup on my head. The soup was warm, I didn't get burned.
I went to wash. And then my demobilization Umar began to look for me. - "Where were you? I asked you to bring potatoes. " - "I was erased." - "And what?". - "You ate the meat of Kuzino (the name of the demobilizer was Kuznetsov), but he got angry and poured soup on me …". Then Kuzya comes in. Umar hit him so hard that he fell! - "Who allowed you to touch my soldier?!." Kuzya then came up to me in the dining room: "Well, are you complaining, knocking?..". And I was just glad of myself: after all, I myself could not hit the demobilizer, it was not supposed to. Although I really wanted to … Therefore, the fact that the young decided to arrange a "dark" for me was wrong.
Kuzya distinguished himself twice. The first time - with the Sledgehammer, the second time - with me. Sledgehammer is my closest friend in Afghanistan, Sergei Ryazanov. He was also from the village, from the Kurgan region. They called him a sledgehammer because his hands were like small melons. Dembelya, when friends came to them, kept repeating the same joke: “Sledgehammer, come here! Come on, bring it to him! Sledgehammer raises his hand - and everyone laughs … Sledgehammer served in Afghanistan for three months more than me. He was in Ferghana for only three months, and I was in Gayzhunay for six months.
We just got off the battlefield, and then Kuzya Kuvaldu just got it out: he didn’t cook the soup so quickly, bring “detsla” quickly … Shouts: “Puppy, come to me!”. Sledgehammer was a machine gunner, a big guy. He takes his PKM, it has two hundred and fifty armor-piercing incendiary rounds. Dembel turned white, his hands were shaking … The sledgehammer would give a burst to the ground!.. Dembel ran, the sledgehammer again burst into the ground next to him! Here the platoon commander Igor Ilyinichev began to calm him down: “Sledgehammer, quietly … Seryoga, calm down, calm down … Put down the machine gun. You will go to jail because of this fool! There are not so many morons like that. Have you come here to fight and calmly return home or kill your own? Better put down the machine gun. And calm down … . Sledgehammer's hands are shaking, and the others are standing nearby and are also shaking. After all, one more second - and Seryoga would have laid them all down!
Finally, Sledgehammer dropped the machine gun. And then Umar will jump on demobilization, because of which they were almost killed, and how he will punch him in the nose! The rest of the demobilization was added, the platoon commander also added. Kuzya, beaten, covered in blood, shouts: "For what?!.". To him: "The sledgehammer almost shot us because of you … And we have, after all, demobilization in two months!"
Before leaving, this bad demobilization took my watch from me and somehow set me up. I come to Umar and say: "He took the watch from me that you gave." He: “Don't be upset, I'll hit him! We fly with him. I will also take off the medals from him. " Me: “No, no medals are needed. Earned means earned."
They wrote to me that two weeks after our departure a tragedy had occurred with the young men from my platoon. The platoon was on the battlefield. They descended from the mountains and lit a fire near the BMP. Usually we boiled tea like this: we put a huge twenty-liter kettle on the stones, and TNT was set on fire under it. It burns very strongly, the water boils quickly. Our young men brought in two tank artillery shells. Checkers, which burn under water, and firewood were put under the shells. They began to boil the water. But it turned out that although one cartridge case was crumpled, it turned out to be intact, not fired. The tank drove through it and crumpled. There was something inside, but they probably thought that there was just earth crammed in there. And there was a charge in the cartridge case … The guys were sitting around, only one got into the car for some reason. Then the cartridge case jerked … Everyone survived, but someone lost his sight, someone's arm, someone's leg. I really feel sorry for these guys …
Now I understand that everyone has their own limits. I'm not talking about bullying for the sake of bullying at all - this is absolutely unacceptable, this line cannot be crossed. But for that young soldier whom I punched in the chest, that was the limit. He rebelled, and I refused to further educate him in this way. But if you do not follow the instructions of the demobilization, then you will go to the outfits. And how cute you are going to wear outfits, this is according to the Charter. After all, he refused to go to the outfit - the guardhouse. And you will not leave this system anywhere. Therefore, in the army, it is the Charter that is most feared.
For me, hazing has a completely different meaning. It is a system in which a senior soldier teaches young soldiers. Of course, he teaches hard. I was lucky to get demobels, they were good people. Yes, they chased me like a sidorov goat, but they did not humiliate me for no reason.
It seems to me that obedience should come first in the army. I myself listened to demobels without much strain of my mental strength, because in the village clear obedience to elders was common. Dembel is more experienced than me. He hits me, but he teaches me! And in combat, no one touched anyone at all. If for the cause - then the "kolobashka" was given. I bent down, between your shoulder blades - grunt! Ha ha ha - and that was the end of it.
So the principle "got in and out" was inevitable. And what does it mean, for example, "flew"? We are somehow in the unit. Silence. I went to my civilian friend, he worked in the Mattech Support Department. He has his own cockpit. I think: let's talk, we'll eat "detsla". And while I was with him for two hours, the regiment on alarm left for combat. And I, a sniper, no …
I come running - no one is there. I was sent on guard. A week later, our people return: "Come on here!" One demobilization for me - melons! The second demobilization is melons! They ask: "Where have you been?" - "Yes," detsla "got drunk with a friend, had a rest!". And that was all over! But for my flight there is a real guardhouse for at least two weeks. It was an unauthorized excommunication from the unit. This was our hazing.
