The further away from Victory Day, the more enemies are at our borders.

“For the removal of the wounded from the battlefield.”

Flight from Moscow to Vladivostok / South Sakhalinsk / Magadan / Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky takes 7.5 - 9 hours.
The whole flight is not always sleepy)), I usually work or watch movies.
During the last flight watched "Dear Comrades" with the magnificent Yulia Vysotskaya in the main role.
The film is about the events of 1962 in Novocherkassk, but it is not about it. According to the film, the main heroine was on the front, a carrier, a sanitary, wounded from the battlefield pulled out.
In this regard, I recalled

In 1983, after the fifth course of the medical institute, we had military fees. Every year, our university, 250 people from all faculties, were sent to the Volga steppes, to some division. According to the six-year-olds, there were "thousands of students, the sun is burning, in a tank with a compot can be put a straw, the humidity is high, any scratch begins to purify, worse than a month does not happen."
And then we, our base, were transferred to Chelyabinsk, to another division.
But something didn't work out, someone in the division didn't have time to prepare something and we were just taken to the Basque-Ural forests, alone. (The next year and then our university was already driving under Chelyabinsk).

Apartment owners put up floating tents, a barbecue for the kitchen, a barbecue for the dining room, a mushroom for the clock.
We came, dressed up, and ate dinner. Our students cooked, not a restaurant, but definitely better than the university dining room, and the addition has always been.
In the morning, sweaters, boots, pants, topless - running and loading. Breakfast and practical activities. After lunch, every day, all the charges are rain, which means an afternoon honest sleep. The sun was before dinner. After dinner and washing a personal boiler, cups, tablespoons in the nearest stream - football. somehow so.

The class.

Theory, OTC - organization and tactics of medical services.
For example:
You have 5 wounded on the field, you can bind 2. Who will you bind and whom will you leave? Why is?
There are 50 wounded in the hospital. Operate, before the emergency arrives, and you can save 5 people. How will you sort them? Why is? Who will you operate and who will you let die? Why is?
and so on.

The Practice.
For a couple of days to warm up, we linked each other different limbs and other places, made artificial breathing, dragged on supports from one corner of the field to the other. Hot but fun.
Two days later, the barracks were dug. (Well, the doctors are going to dig roofs???) Teachers specifically found a field of pure clay.
And then they began to "bring out the wounded from the battlefield" - we were broken into pairs and one joyfully collapsed in the sun, and the other must pull him to the barracks.
Our teacher major turned out to be an "Afghan": it was worth to raise your head while you slide to your "injured", as a major quietly so shoe your boots on the back of the neck - a slide! “You’re killed, pull up again.” It was worth kicking your ass up - on the four is faster and more convenient to move - you immediately on your ass with your heels from above - boom! “You are injured in your ass and you haven’t saved the wounded, start again.”
I then weighed about 75 kilograms, 182 heights, sports, not a puppy, but another bag of cement or a large bag of potatoes put on my shoulder and a quick step up the stairs or similar in a cargo car on the next shabash, and here a fellow student, some 60 kilograms of living weight together with boots and a machine - yes, I will now take him out of the "fighting field"!
Fuck it there.
A relaxed person weighs as much as one and a half times more, but he still needs to be bound, rolled over on a coat and dragged with a wool on the grass. I could not even imagine such a force of friction.
You will move a few centimeters for twenty, you will bend up with the letter zhu, so that the major will not get a booth on the shirt, you will knock the corner of the coat - and no shit, he does not move, shit. Rings, 5-10 centimeters, you will pull it up and again forward for 20 centimeters... to the rocks nearby, meters 7-8, the sun is hot, and in a couple of meters you are nothing but those centimeters do not consider.
But the full writer came to the exercise "evacuation of the wounded from the battlefield on himself."
First to supplement. Then somehow this unbearable begemot crash on your back. And how? I lie on my stomach, he lies on his back, stands, fucking, for an entourage, well, how can I pull him on my back?? to
Okay, somehow pulled, with the third or fourth attempt, the major watches that you don't get stuck, and that the "injured" doesn't help you.
And here I remembered Vysotsky - "we pull the earth with our teeth behind the stems, on ourselves, under ourselves, from ourselves."
You only weigh 60 kilograms, but if you press the whole surface of your body to the ground, you can’t move. at all. You have to stick to something and move forward.
Why to cling? For the grass. She cuts and cuts her fingers. After a few minutes of "climbing on the spot" and a couple of weak pinks from the major "do not sleep, the companion with blood runs out, now your shaking ass will be discovered by the enemy and shoot it" you, breaking your nails, shake the ground in an attempt to get stuck somehow and literally cling to the grass with your teeth so that you can at least a little stretch.

This is study. The peaceful sky. No one is shooting. You are a healthy guy. Around the "stones" of the wounded mixed with the mat and the hook.
Just an idyll.

As the girls-saninstructors tricked to pull on themselves under bullets and fragments of adult men...
How many lives have been saved.

A low tribute and eternal memory to all sanitary instructors and nurses.
You are heroes.

- Rabinovich, what do you think about people sticking on their cars the inscription "we can repeat"?
Young man, be realistic. 90% of the stickers, however, can only repeat their stick.

Unchangeable power is unchangeable power.

On the eve of the great (without exaggeration, especially for the residents of the post-Soviet space) holiday, one thought struck my head. If I go back, at least in the early 1990s, when my grandfather-veteran led me to Victory Square as a child, I clearly remember how when I saw my little one (and not only me, but the other grandchildren brought with them by grandfathers), the veterans, as an order, said one phrase, the meaning of which is: "We fought for you to live in peace, and it is better for you not to know what we experienced and never to repeat." But as I grew up, I saw that the veterans became less and less, but the message of the remaining was unchanged. And now, when I see citizens who “can repeat,” I have this thought: it is a pity that these “repetitions” cannot be thrown there, in the 90s, when there were many veterans and many were not yet seventy. Oh, I would look at them! I think that the preventive conversation with the harsh participants, instantly returned the thoughts in the right direction. Without hands, these people were able to pick up harsh words to scare and cause shame in the "repeaters" at the same time.

The idea of punishing the people of the country for lack of money is literally carried out in the air.

At night, a drunk man went for cigarettes and disappeared. Called friends, hospitals, police, morgi. No one saw. In horror it seemed that he was killed lying in the bushes. Then panic - how can I be alone with two children? Well, okay, I sell the car, I give away the second apartment, I exchange my own for two and I also give away, plus a pension for the loss of a feeder... And everything was so well planned that when he returned after three hours alive, I even got a little upset...

Previously I thought: how people lived at thirty-seven, did they not notice anything? Now I know how.

I went for a visa to the British Embassy. There was a crowd of people who were rejected for various reasons. I go to the interview window. In English, the charming lady, looking with English kindness, pressing her lips, asked, "Do you speak English?" I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sometimes.” Widely opened eyes, then rust - and a visa.

In short, he went into the woods, gathered mushrooms, gathered a calf, sat down for a couple of years. I went out, and I’ve got my puppets in the yard. He left for life.

Xxx: Well, I’m 27 and I’ve never fucked at all, all my knowledge is pure theory and a mushroom on my palm. And the only advice from a friend is to feel.

Yyy: When I read this, I want to be a good fool and give good boys to virgins, lol

Zzz: God bless you

Despite the unwelcome attitude of many countries, we will still build a gas pipeline and defend our right to be a raw material appendix of Europe!

Non-trivial meth

I bought self-tapping wallpapers. I sit. I wait.

My mother liked to joke, in any cold she said, "I will die, all my you will get... take care of daddy and brother" and watched my reaction, I trembled, presenting her in the grave, and crying in the pillow at night. At the age of 6 developed a real neurosis, then panic attacks and enuresis, I was terribly afraid to lose it. The fear of my own death and my loved ones has persecuted me for more than 35 years. This fear plunges suddenly and enters the soul with cold nails, it becomes difficult to breathe and tears suffocate... Psychotherapy has helped little. Why so ridicule the child’s psyche, for the sake of their own fun, or what moms would make sure that it is “god-making”, self-esteem scratching about the child’s soul?



yyy: My mother-in-law shared with me how to teach children to be independent. She went to bed for a break and told her sons that it was just an examination. Then she came, walking sad, sinking, abandoned. I hadn’t spoken to anyone for three days. The children got married (10 and 8 years old) and the mother decided to reveal to them the mystery of her mother’s cancer and she would soon die and her only wish was that the sons would become independent and could cook/wipe/cleaning themselves, etc. For two months she played this show and then suddenly recovered.

As a result, one has a painful fear of losing his mother and an aversion to cleaning, the other has a distrust of his mother, but independent, it is.

I honestly didn’t believe this, but the two sons of the mother-in-law confirmed it.

When I was in second grade (1988), a classmate instructed me that stealing a bakery for 3 cents, in a gastronomy, is a pledge. There were no surveillance cameras at the time, as did the guards. And the fucking fuck me to spit that baking cake. I didn’t have three copies. There were much more.

I waited for two days until they came from the police. Of course, no one came after me. But I, tormented by my conscience, three days later, silently put 20 copies on the bench. I could buy ice cream. But getting rid of the pain of conscience is more expensive.

In the 11th grade at the last lessons of physics, when the course of the textbook was already passed, but to let us walk through the school the teacher could not - she taught us life.. I remember how she told how to monitor the location of the planets, and that there is such a special location of the planets, these days you must definitely guess a wish and it will definitely come true...

And she also taught us girls that when we get married - we must definitely burn our husband's pants / shirt... and then he no longer entrust us to smooth anything... Otherwise we will have to smooth our husband's clothes for the rest of our lives... It was very strange to hear all this from the mouths of a physics teacher... in addition, our physical education teacher was her husband.

If a person is satisfied with everything, it means that he is no longer poured.

My teachers at high school were people about my current age. The elderly. The elderly. Their youth was in war. I am so clever and can count years. And then, in the seventies, I didn’t even think about the fact that the partorg of the school of Rimma Mikhailovna with her assy waist, sad eyes and shoes on spikes and the Olympiad Andreevna, my teacher of literature with a flowery shining, like a bird nest on her head, could participate in the war just as the frontman director of the school, a historian. During the ambulance, a portrait of Lenin fell on him. He gradually stumbled. Starting with lily. Lenin said nothing. Actually, I don’t remember anything about the director. And not about him.

Olympiad Andreevna was my class leader and teacher of Russian language and literature. Time lightened her eyes to the steel, and her hair laid in a funny, thin shining on the back of her head. Andrievna’s Olympiad was slightly sluggish, slightly above the third class, but every pupil of my school, having seen from a distance her silhouette with a whitening in her teeth, slowed down and marched like the field Marshal Zhukov:
Welcome to the Olympics of Andreevna!

Olympiad Andreevna created in my school the museum "Buchenwald, your heroes talk about you". On May 9, he opened the doors to first-class students. Imagine black satin-strung walls with photographs of the Buchenwald horrors, hanging windows, the dim light of wall lamps. The little girl stumbled and stopped cuddling at the entrance. Andreevna’s Olympics included a magnetophone, and we, the high school girls, learned to take pictures and tell the kids about Buchenwald.

After such an entry, it would be appropriate to note that every future criminal who had undergone such hardening, smashing, considered the Olympiad Andreevna an authority in our district, which was disadvantaged in all respects, and at its literature lessons he sat like a silk, bitten a pencil, covered with steam and plunged something non-memberly on the question of Chatsky, for what (for presence!) I got a deserved trio.

In the graduation class we had a new one. Red as the fire of Alka from Poltava. Smooth and sharp on the tongue. And at the first lesson on "Groze" Ostrovsky stretched his hand. I disagree with the benevolent. The bell ringed and Alkin’s voice spread through Buchenwald. What a lie? Catherine descends from the abyss into the river, and she is "a ray of light in the dark kingdom"?? to

I pulled my hand to the textbook. Rinka, a party neighbor, raised her head trying to see O.A.’s attitude. what is happening in her eyes. And the Olympiad Andreevna, inviting Alka to the board with a broad gesture, went back to the back.

Give up! She just said.

And more we did not hear her during the lesson, absorbed by the dispute on the subject, what is more important, no, what is more correct - to be able to stay with a loved one or drown from thirst and hopelessness. Even the twins said something. We burst like spring streams. And Olympiad Andreevna was sitting on the back, laying her head on her arms... and her glowing eyes shone with quiet happiness.

When the phone sounded, she said:

Thanks to everyone! This is the dream of any teacher of literature. But there are five!

Why is it five? She is thinking wrong! Not as in the textbook. We have stumbled.

That’s why she has five. Growing up, you will understand.

P.s. Thank you for the Olympics. I’m “grown up” and I think now: God, what a teacher we had!

– Katya, did you have someone before me?
“Sasha, are you a fool? Look at the clock. 5 in the morning. They still sleep!