"Mikhail Evstafiev. Two Steps From Heaven " - читать интересную книгу автора

fly settles on your miserable portion of yellow, runny butter, you should
think a dozen times before sticking it down your throat, that you should not
eat anything that comes to hand however hungry you might be. Young soldiers
are always hungry. They will gape at the fruits and vegetables displayed on
Afghan stalls, they will pick up a fallen unripe tomato from a puddle and
eat it after a cursory wipe against their sleeve, eat their fill of free
water-melon, they will drink from a mountain stream without a second thought
if they're thirsty.
PFC Prokhorov saw private Chirikov hanging around near the latrine, and
called him over:
"Hey! 'Buchenwald strongman'! Come here!"
"What?" asked Chirikov listlessly.
"Not 'what', but report properly!"
"Comrade PFC, private Chirikov reporting as ordered."
"Go get me a bottle of soda."
"What about money?"
"Don't you have any of your own?! What are you gaping at?! I'll square
up with you later." Prokhorov was a small man, but very agile. He took up a
karate stance and landed Chirikov a shrewd blow on the neck with the edge of
his palm. Chirikov yelped and shuffled off in the direction of the store.
Junior sergeant Titov gave a snort of laughter.
"Think you're a regular Bruce Lee, don't you?"
"If I wasn't sick, I'd show you the meaning of sparring!"
"You already have." Titov waved dismissively. "While you're flinging
your fucking feet around in the air, I'll give you such a whack on the head
you won't know what hit you."
Myshkovsky and Sychev emerged from the latrine. Myshkovsky had been
nicknamed "Virgin" because his parents had conceived him somewhere in the
steppes of Kazakhstan, while they were turning up its virgin soil. They must
have been overcome with joy at their own inhuman efforts. The mother died
soon after giving birth, and the father took to drink. So Myshkovsky had
been called "the orphan" in his time, but eventually "Myshara" was the
nickname that stuck. The other one, Sychev, freckle-faced and with prominent
ears, gloried in the nickname "Odessa" in honor of the fine Black Sea city
in which he was born.
"Myshara! Odessa! Get your asses over here! Going to the can a bit too
often, aren't you?" Hounding the youngsters was a favorite pastime of
Prokhorov's. He used Chirikov as a target for his karate tricks, but did not
try that with Sychev, who was strongly built and quite up to taking on
Titov. However, there was nothing to stop Prokhorov from having his fun
verbally. "What the hell do you do in there? Read the papers?"
"What does everyone usually do there?" snarled Sychev.
"Jerking off?!"
"No!" chorused the recruits indignantly.
"Don't wait for policemen in the night!" quoted Prokhorov aggressively.
"How does the rest of the rhyme go?"
"Jerking off you'll feel all right," replied Myshkovsky and Sychev
obediently. "Dismissed!" Prokhorov ended the lesson - warrant officer
Pashkov was trotting purposefully toward the latrine.
Like any warrant officer, Pashkov was convinced that he was craftier