"Valery Gorban. The taste of war " - читать интересную книгу автора

venomous Serpent, perpetually dissatisfied with everything. Waxing lyrical
is not something that we do in OMON. But I'll remember your condemned,
concentrated faces as long as I live. You deployed on that dusty square and,
with weapons bristling, shielded your commander and the wounded Chechen like
a living fence in body armor. How much anguish did you have to endure in
those minutes?
Winnie is back again. Having covered our backs from the five-story
buildings with his Ural, he is sitting in a wheel well, holding my body
armor ready for me.
Now it really is all over.
The local police pull up. The crowd grows bold, stands up, and
surrounds us, babbling in Russian and Chechen. The wounded man gets put into
the patrol car. A young Chechen shakes my hand, hiding his eyes:
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. And don't forget to tell the doctors about the
promedol, that we administered a tube and a half. And the time when we
applied the tourniquet. That's very important: a tube and a half and the
tourniquet."
"I understand, I won't forget...."
Umar also raises his head:
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Good luck and a have a good life. Forgive us, if you
can."

A column from the commandant's office races out to meet us with its
weapons bristling. The trucks brake to a stop, and our troops spill out of
them, followed by our Siberian brethren and soldiers from the Urals. They
slap us on the back and inundate us with questions. Their commander Dushman,
a tough, bearded character, grumbles:
"Real fine! You call for help, but where should we go - to the `trash
heap by the road intersection!'"
Don't gripe, my friend, I can see right though you. I see how glad you
are that your friends managed by themselves. And how proud you are that, all
as one, your young studs rushed to their aid.
And again, I experience this heart-warming feeling.
Listen to me, people: There are still real men in Russia. Not all
have
sold out for greenbacks, nor have they corrupted their souls.
Listen to me, Russia: You do still have someone to defend you!

***
Both my arms are bloodstained up to elbows, my skin is covered with a
scab-like crimson crust, and everything itches beneath it. But the washroom
is as dry as the Sahara - no water at all.
Oh, will I ever give it to that orderly!
And there he is, gawking at the melon and salivating.
"Commander, when can we line up for it?"
"Once I wash my hands. But your entire detail can count on pulling a
second 24-hour period of duty! You guys managed to spot the melon right
away, but the fact that the wash stands are empty - that you don't fucking