A story about alcohol in the grinding radiator. The Far 1980, Stepankert
(which no one knew at the time), a lieutenant-two-year-old (I) prepares a radio complex (three large cars) to be sent to another part (far away - in the
and Urupinsk. The complex was not in operation, i.e. it must be in the form it came from the factory. But, of course, some of the “necessary” things have disappeared.
One hope is that the receiving party will find it possible not to notice. But a lot has disappeared. Fortunately, loading on the railway platform takes place at the Agdam station (yes, the same port wine was poured in the railway tank).
And as it is, no clean canister in part and in town (it is small). But university education was of high quality in those years. The idea of using the tank of the complex's diesel power plant was born almost without pain (the complex never worked).
At night, before loading, Ural375 (a car with a power plant) arrived at the filling post, where Agdam was poured into 50-ton tank tanks. As usual, some thing went into the hands of the operator (a hat or a small sapphire scarf, I don't remember). The hose on the side of the body was pushed into the hose and the process went. I am entertaining the operator with jokes.
The anecdotes gradually exhaust and the operator begins to worry. But the flow is not and is not. He looks underneath the car - it's dry, checking the pump, etc. But finally, the wine began to flow out of the garlic, and I quickly leave. I seal the cover of the tank, load it onto the platform, and promise to the chief of the guard to shoot if even a gauge disappears from this “totally secret” car. The train leaves. A couple of weeks later, a telegram arrives that the equipment in Urupinsk needs to go to make an act of reception. I come, meets a major with a characteristic nose color, expresses doubts about the success of my mission. Let’s go to technique. “Well, write down the shortcomings in the act,” he says. "There is no spike of the fork castle" is a piece of wire on the hook, i.e. as a father-in-law would check the floor in the hallway with a cloth. I tell him that this type of complex has a particularity that needs to be started with. He tries to offend, saying eggs do not teach chickens. Please bring a glass. They bring. I open the crane, pour the port wine and give the major. It smells, lights the face, dries the glass with one throat. Gamma of feelings (unfortunately, not Shakespeare I, as you have noticed). It shouts - "Caravello to the secret technique!“I ask, ‘How many there?’ “Full tank there,” I say. “You are our Savior! We have only vodka in the shops for the third month. “Where do you have to sign your document?”
When I arrived, I looked into the paper. The tank was 400 liters. I was a month without radio surveillance.