How I replaced the barracks...
The case was in September 1997. Our tank battalion in almost its entirety went to exercise at the field. In the location of the barracks remained only the battalion dress, the captain and I, the officer at the headquarters of the regiment, or as the gentlemen of old servants and officers-shakals called me contemptuously.
The broken computer. I understood them and therefore I did not regret them.
The specificity of my service was that almost all the work was done at night, as the combate set tasks in the evening, after the command itself cut off tasks, and everything had to be done by morning. That is to say, I fucked at night, making a bunch of all kinds of plans, concepts, schedules, cards, posts and other things.
I did everything well and the combat in my soul did not weep, because thanks to me for documentation he did not worry. And from the eternally drunk chief of the battalion headquarters there was little sense. But the Combat was the only one in the battalion who treated me well. For all the rest, I was a jerk in my ass, a crack, a “wrenched computer” and just an irritant.
The reason was that I didn’t go to the guard, I didn’t go to the field, I didn’t fuck with tanks and other equipment. Immediately after breakfast, when the whole battalion was going to class or elsewhere, I, if there were no urgent tasks, slept out in the disposal on the bed or in the capote on the bushlats. When before dinner the tired and dirty battalion returned to its disposal, I went to the laundry room in my shoes, swollen from sleep. Why did you love me?
On that day, the combat suddenly returned to the barracks in a very unhealthy spirit. Whether the documents I forgot, I don’t remember now. The daytime man scratched his portion of puzzles, but that was not enough. And then he got my sleeping harya in his eyes. Speaking on the subject, if we go again to
Chechnya, then he himself will give me a knife on meat, because it's not enough from me, the combat has developed his thought further and told me, since I don't do any shit.
(and since the battalion was on exercises, I had no work), he gives me the task of preparing the windows of the barracks for the winter, that is, to blur the joints in the frames with mastic. My objections that there is no mastic have been interrupted by a thick bump.
(militia PR-73, the combat with her did not break up), and I finally convinced myself of my wrongdoing after a pedal under the bark. M-MDA... The task is set, it must be accomplished. Going into the capote, I awakened the capote, who, just like me, in the absence of the battalion, sharply pressed the mass on the boulders. My talks with him did not lead to anything, he did not agree to change the mastic for either a condensed or a puzzle, motivating it with the fact that it simply does not exist. It fucking. I told him that I would find a mastic in his capsicum, but if I did without his help, he would suffer terribly. And then I turned the first closet and chased the rats that ran out of it, I found at the very bottom of the helmet a healthy piece of mastic, the size of a human head. In anger, I immediately injured Capter.
Having found two free daytime sleepers, I assigned them the task of blurring the windows of the barracks, and then, remembering the culprit of my good mood, joined the daytime and the capter. He went to sleep himself.
I woke up from a powerful and terribly painful blow with a rubber bump on my back. When I opened my eyes, I saw a combat standing above me and swallowing with a hole for a second blow. I didn’t feel the fate, I dive under the bed, I just slipped under five more beds, and only then I carefully pushed my head and asked, “T-st major, why?” My answer was an obscene battle, the general meaning of which was that I needed to approach the window and see with what I blur the windows. As I approached the windows, I found blurred joints in the frames. At first glance, everything is fine, not perfect, but tolerable, there are no gaps, the capter with the sunrise managed the task. Continuing to observe a safe distance and wondering, and what, in fact, is the case? In response, the combat, waving with the oak, said:
“You, shit, look at what you smashed – it’s plastic!” And then I had the frost running through my skin. I looked at it: really, plastic! Plastic is an extremely powerful explosive, used in active armor on tanks to destroy the cumulative jet. Have you seen such boxes on our tanks all over the armor? There is plastic in these boxes. They say that plastic is the analogue of Pindosov C-4, but I don’t know, I won’t lie. It is extremely difficult to make it explode, you can knock a hammer, burn it - it is useless. Just a detonation. In the appearance of plastic as a window patch: yellow-brown color, sticky and stretched. Our mechanics quietly removed the plastic from the tanks and in the winter burned it in small pieces to warm up: it burns long and hot, and wood is not needed. And it was the illegal stock I stumbled upon in the captain, the captain himself knew nothing about it.
The combat spoke: "You, the cattle, have mined the whole barracks, there is only an explosive to put in!“”
That’s how I accidentally came into the role of a saper and “mined” the whole barracks.