What is happiness? Anniversary of input of the Soviet troops to Afghanistan it is devoted to
I here it thumbs through my medical record:
- Contusion. Burn of the third, fourth degree. The contusion …
A raises then the wise head from pieces of paper and, looking to me directly in eyes, asks:
- Injuries of the head were?
No, here who you are after that? Neuropathologist? City policlinic of the regional center? There were I silently and pochapat, privolakivy the right leg, - from - for it actually and came - to an exit from an office. Expert, Japan Maunie. Even having read all pieces of paper, so understood nothing? Yes you have to have a gut feeling for the person - who is he from what and with what came to you. As those hospital attendants in Tashkent felt.
We have a freight 200 did not send without identification. And I just after the first wound from the Dushanbe hospital came back. Through Termez. And from it is differently up to One Tashkent closer, than from Tashkurgan. And red tape if whom from - for small rivers to send. When still that column goes to Hairatan? Customs besides. Generally, gave me for a while a paradka in commandant`s office, on the transport worker, and by the evening I already in Tashkent. I cost in a morgue of hospital 40 - y armies. And there it, like football, the field and zinc, zinc - yet not soldered - ranks.
Two hospital attendants bring me to one of them:
I look - Red. The Udmurt is devil`s. How you are so? Well, hooked. But live you in a revolving object were pushed. Already the last, as the easiest. And it as. I here stand here though nobody thought that he will survive, and you - in zinc.
- Wash, - I say.
And they throw a paradka directly in zinc:
- You will dress? And that by the morning … At you in the morning a board to Sverdlovsk. And even so, together with a paradka of your buddy we will solder. The stranger is not necessary to us. The alcohol will be enough. Perhaps and you with us will shudder? Time still - in bulk.
Well, I also went. Shuddered with them. Just alcohol. Have a snack was not. And then looked at them and I speak:
- Hear, boys … Well, if I to you “two-hundredth“ get - it clearly. The years, besides, in zinc you will not solder. And if from there, from - for small rivers the schoolmate of one of you comes? With which shared the same desk. For the national team of school together on skis ran. And it? Too here so - naked? And a paradka to which to you it is not necessary, - from above?
They looked at me, rolled on a half-glass, got up silently and went with me. And I lifted Ryzhego, overturned, and they dressed. Undershirt, shirt, trousers, single-breasted coat … And it all - in formalin. To Bor Ryzhego, to raise, and pieces of his skin remain on my fingers.
But we dressed it. And only then soldered to zinc. And in the morning I left with the military transport worker to Sverdlovsk. Also I had with myself still a flask with alcohol. Which hospital attendants gave me. Just like that. I did not ask them about it. But, as we dressed Ryzhego, to zinc soldered and the car came, they before loading, put to me this flask and so far I could see them in a rearview mirror, stood at gate of a morgue and looked to us with Red following.
They did not see my pieces of paper. Also did not thumb through them. Just looked in eyes. And everything was understood.
Perhaps someone will tell, - not that example. Hospital attendants … Yes coincidence is simple. But if it so, then why … Why I already in an uchebka became Fake? Before will line mine beter, nearly a year more should be lived. And already in a week, for all team:
- Fake, with a tabachok it is not rich?
Yes I in general could and not get in Avhan. All team plunged and left to Chita. And one I in empty barracks. What for nonsense? The worst fighter was found? Who and from what took it? On a shooting range to me questions were not. The ZIL across winter Shilka finished there where it and should be finished … I can lift the helicopter! However, I will not manage to put him. But it already is also not necessary. And if so, - why? Why they left to Chita, and I remained, one in empty barracks?
Was young. And the devil in relatives at me did not go. I also went to the chief of a staff. So supposedly and so companion colonel. What for affairs? I that, the worst? Why it is not worthy to execute an international debt?!
- And if such good, - as call the chief of the Transbaikal pogranokrug?
- From where to me nobility, tashch colonel. To me and on a position of it is it is not necessary.
- And your grandmother how to call, you know?
- I know. Only it - that here - at what?
- Already I do not know this. But she called the chief, and I have an order. To give to you the rank of the staff sergeant and to leave in an uchebka.
We look silently at each other … And what to do?!
- And it is possible to call?
And the colonel moves to me on a table the phone. I dial familiar number:
- Oh, you?
- Oh … You? From where?
- Here, from the Chief of Staff I call you. Oh, you from where the chief of the district you know?
- Yes we with it in the basmatches thirtieth together across all Turkistan drove.
- You called him?
And at once - a pause in a tube:
- And you from where you know?
- No matter, oh. Means, called? What for?!
- Granddaughters … In Avhan kill. Did not forget still that you at us with mother one?
- Oh! Well you did …
I hung up.
I stand, I am silent. And the colonel looked, looked at me:
- What, you want to catch up with the?
- I want!
- Look, the guy. You understand if that, you to me not only will break career, all life?
- I understand.
- Well if you understand …
I it gets my documents from a table box:
- Mortars have test firing practice the day after tomorrow. I can change to you military specialty. You will shoot back and together with them you will catch up with the team in Chita. You will shoot back?.
Already then, in Avhan, I looked at these guys that served on automatic mortars “Cornflower“. In total. Full bum. Suicide bombers. The most real suicide bombers. But can because these boys were not afraid neither of God, nor line, that old woman with a braid that stood directly at them behind shoulders, sometimes gave them chance to leave dry of that water which, apparently, it is impossible to leave in general. But it was then. And then that else remained to me? Only to tell shortly, in one word:
- I will shoot back.
And I shot back. Perfectly well.
Only when we reached Termez, already there it became clear that neither in motor-maneuverable group of Mazar-i-Sharif, nor in Tashkurgana, there are no “Cornflowers“. Still the civilization did not reach those places. And therefore in mortar batteries of both MMG was adopted old kind 82 - mm a battallion mortar of a sample of 1943. And if the second number according to the fighting schedule drags on itself to a firing position a trunk, then the commander of calculation a sight and … Mortar plate! And it weighs … It is simple to go nuts how many! One and a half poods with a small tail. And when I saw this plate, to me somehow at once was ceased to want to be the mortar. Yes I will just die under this iron bandura. Still before we will leave on fire.
Therefore when told that in Tashkurgan tipper-ofs are necessary … And by then we already knew that if in Mazaryakh chance to survive - almost absolute, then in Tashkurgana - as God willing. Fifty on fifty. We already knew. But when there, on the Termez parade-ground, told: “In Tashkurgan tipper-ofs are necessary“, - I took a step forward and failed. Not because so strongly I wanted to play the Russian roulette. No. Just by then I already understood: a mortar plate - not for me.
But all this was then, in Termez. And when I, together with all mortars, poured out from a revolving object on the concrete road of the Chita airfield and suddenly heard … Not one, not two, but whole chorus of the family so well recognizable voices:
- Pale - about - it! Chertushka … Caught up-!
No, then I did not know yet that it and is happiness. But such warm and a little bit the pressing feeling somewhere there, in a breast, I, probably, any more never had in life.
If someone wants to be talent. Or even genius … Two steps forward. To fail. Also be free as wind in a clean floor. I - do not want. Talent. Especially, genius. I want here so. To be one of. Among the. Same, as I. Perhaps in something it is a little better. In something - it is a little worse. But same, as I. Such which will not throw. Also will pull out. Even from the burning beter. In spite of the fact that the ammunition can jerk in any second.
Though, generally, I also got out of a beter. Not in it business. I knew that will not throw. But also most if you are a fighter, it is not necessary to ploshat.
However, till that warm May evening in a kishlak of Akchi it was still far. And then … I stood on the concrete road of the Chita airfield. Someone clapped me on shoulders, someone embraced. And in front, and from a back. And I stood, was silent. Also went crazy. Then, yet without understanding that with happiness. It reached me much later. But reached. And maybe, for this reason I am not sorry about anything. Neither about contusions, nor about splinters of the cumulative grenade that still and sit somewhere there, it is deep in a body. About anything. I am not sorry.
Boys … Perhaps someone else needs the old, gray-haired tipper-of who did not forget to hollow at once, at the same time, from two machine guns of a beter yet? And not forgotten what marking is applied on what bullet of the boss … to
That?. Leg?! Yes all with it as it should be. I to the paid neuropathologist descended then.