I wish you good health to everyone reading!
I am still a private in the Russian army. “Bye” because by the New Year they promised to give a corporal according to the position held. I am a reconnaissance spotter in an artillery brigade in the Central Military District.
Here they write and say all kinds of things about the army. I decided to write a little about how I got here and why I, in kind, for fun here.
In general, since childhood, I dreamed of the Airborne Forces. Then there was a bummer.
But I wanted to. I'm not a nerd in general, it's easier for me to break my nose than a website or whatever. I have never smoked, I haven’t learned to drink like a human either. Like overkill, it's easier to die. So - a rocking chair.
I'm not a two-meter closet. 176 cm up and slightly less to the side. In short, in the area late at night they did not ask to smoke.
I didn’t go to college, but don’t think that it’s stupidity, no. I went to college at an enterprise that also has its own university. And after college, you can immediately go to the third year and without exams. You lose a year, but there are no strains with the exam. And as if we have such a small factory, the whole city works there. Defense, in short.
I graduated from my college and, like everyone so law-abiding, sat down to wait for the Motherland to come for me. And it doesn’t go. Here I even got worried about where, whether to the smart, or to the beautiful. I went to the military registration and enlistment office.
There, they looked at the deaf, but said they would take him. And they sent it to the commission.
And the commission sentenced me to the dream of the Airborne Forces. Flat feet. I told them that I can squeeze out a hundred square meters, that I squeeze a weight half a hundred times, and they told me … In short, unsuitable for the Airborne Forces.
And since, apart from the Airborne Forces, I basically did not care where to serve, I ended up in training. It seems like the tankers, but they decided to make me an infantry gunner-gunner out of me.
This tutorial, I can tell you, is so-so place. In principle, everyone gives a fuck about you, if only you were busy with business. And he didn't complain about anything. The sergeants-commanders are all local, therefore they are often lawless. And they can squeeze the phone, and arrange a sad life. The officers are nothing, but they are all covered in papers.
But it's fun.
It's fun in the sense that since the main part of the officers needs to sculpt reports, then the personnel should still be puzzled by something. Here is any sweeping and painting in green, everything is not on the way. More precisely, there is absolutely not enough for everyone.
And so here is for you, comrades, a full range of entertainment: shooting from personal weapons, shooting from standard weapons of the same BMP, throwing grenades, floundering in OZK and gas masks in a labyrinth of several kungs, where the nachkhim generously smoked poison, and all that.
Naturally, all this is at the training ground, which is 5 km away. That is, a cross there and a march from there. What is the difference? In the speed of movement. If they leaned back or shot badly, then the throw-march is replaced by a cross.
And in the final - cleaning of weapons.
The funny thing is that every day there is something new. And so a month after the oath. Really fun and educational. And, what is most interesting, you begin to memorize everything that the sergeant nags in the head. For the sake of their own safety and a quiet life.
Believe it or not, I learned to sleep while standing. Everyone learned who wanted to. It didn't always work out while sitting.
The training passed like this with the first quarter of the service, I only managed to lose 6 kg in weight. But I tried myself in a bunch of disciplines, and I was almost pleased with myself. Could be worse. Like many.
Well, nerds who live on computers sometimes do well. Some scribblers write reports to commanders, others poke around in hardware. But the problem is that there are much more people who want to screw up and sit at a computer than computers and officers combined. So knowledge of a computer at a professional level, of course, is great, but you also need to have a muscle not only in your head. This is what our sergeant Sologub said. I don’t know what and who offended him in terms of the computer, but nerds were engaged in "iron", that is, machine guns with infantry fighting vehicles, carrying and cleaning.
Honestly, I say no fools, a rocking chair, if you go to the army, it is useful.
And after training I got into the artillery. Don't ask which one, I don't understand myself. It seems that they were taught to be an infantry gunner-gunner, but I ended up in an artillery brigade as a reconnaissance spotter.
On the one hand, as the battalion commander told us in his welcoming speech, we are the elite, because intelligence and all that. On the other hand, what was I studying in school then? Weird things.
In the brigade, of course, it's not like that. First, everyday life. The construction part is not a tutorial for you. Cubicles for 5 people, human beds, not bunk beds. The food is also not the same as in the training. I have already reimbursed half of what was lost.
But boring. This brigade is just being formed. It never existed before us, or rather, it was, but on paper. Two cripples, three plagues. But now they began to re-form. They are recruiting double bass, and what is most interesting, they go to this wilderness in droves. There are a lot of Chechens and Dagestanis. They are, if anything, guys. Either because they are far from home, or in the local frost, they humanized them. But it is quite possible with them both for life and for service. I have a sergeant in command from Dagestan, quite normal.
And we are mainly engaged in making this brigade. Out of nothing. The equipment has come - it is necessary to arrange, the spare parts have come - it is necessary to unload and unfold. So we are loading.
The technique is all new. More precisely, old, but new. KamAZ trucks 86-88 year of release, but from storage. The fly did not sit, runs 400-500 km on the speedometers. Drivers in happiness, engines rumbling, got to the point.
The machines were being unloaded. 16 Tons. The car is shorter. Also, all from the warehouses, they have not seen life. The locks on the drawers had to be folded back with pry bars. Brand new, everything is in the lubricant. Also at the end of the 80s everything was done.
The ammunition was unloaded. In assortment. By carriages. When we were told that the shells still have to be cleaned of the preservative, we were discouraged, to be honest. Because we only unloaded them for three days. But the fathers-commanders told us not to bother, there are army grips, we will not die.
And, of course, in the breaks after unloading, you have to put things in order. More precisely, to eliminate the consequences of an emergency. Considering that every unloading rush, it is clear that the territory has to be re-created every time.
That's how we live. Boring, to be honest.
And the most annoying thing is that the polygon is located behind our part. And there every day someone bangs heartily. But we all roll round and wear square. But as our sergeant Adashev says, everything is great, because it could be quite the opposite.
The bosses comfort us from time to time. Say, you are participating in the process necessary for the army and the country. Creation of a full-fledged military unit. And so wait a minute, now we will receive military equipment, in December the brigade will be finally formed, and then combat work will begin. Well, stuff like that. In the meantime, we carry and carry.
So there are no complaints, the officers, too, without days off, are running around like horses. Maybe it’s true, by December everything will work out.
It turns out that our army is not a sad place. Even sometimes you are imbued with your own significance when the lieutenant colonel mentally pushes the speech. And in the Airborne Forces it would still be cooler. And what can you tell? And you won't show anything, we have a man with a phone worse than a monkey with a land mine. Only under the supervision of the office and you can hang out with your own. To take a photo - God forbid, how to change the Motherland. But we do it slowly.
Dad happened to be on a business trip nearby, he stopped by to check it out. Neighing, of course, when the sergeant led me under escort at the checkpoint, it is impossible for the rank and file to rummage around freely in our territory. Well, he says, boarding house. In their time, the sadness was, apparently, universal in terms of service.
And so, I will report to you, today the army is a tedious business, but not fatal.
