Ghost behind the wall. Walk along the Kremlin wall Crushed by the Kremlin wall

I was cruel only in my thoughts. The junk, having licked their wounds, remembered that there were only a few days left to serve and finally decided to take their souls. It was decided to conduct a rite, popular among the military personnel of the Presidential Regiment, called "Riding on the Ass". The main participants in the skating were to be miserable old men, but the essence of what was happening was as follows: in large forty-liter buckets, called, as the reader remembers, “rockets”, foam was filled, which filled the entire take-off. After this, the wretched old man was taken by the legs and arms and thrown at a run onto the foam, so that he would slide in some direction.
Having chosen a suitable day, confident old men gave a ride on the soapy foam of several wretched people. It was unpleasant to look at the humiliating procedure, but not to turn away? It was especially insulting to look at how Sasha Kurchevsky was given a ride. He endured the execution stoically, and as soon as he was left alone, he went to the cockpit, took off his wet clothes, changed clothes, and then began to poke around in the bedside table with a calm look. I chose the moment, approached Sasha and expressed my sympathy as best I could:
- Well, how are you, Sasha? Did these goats get you? Do not worry. All normal people understand that you are human, and they are slapped. It seems to them that they are something of themselves.
- Thank you ... Yes, I'm not worried. My only concern is to get home as soon as possible. I have a life there, friends, relatives. I don't care what these bastards think. Strange of course: what did I do to them? Grandmothers did not occupy, did not knock, did not substitute. He served calmly, did not pretend to anything. The fact that I'm from another company? .. Strange - they took it, they gave it a ride.
Well, no one has brains. In order to understand something, the same brains are needed. And they just don't exist.
I saw that Sasha Kurchevsky really didn't care too much. But some of the old people were very discouraged. At the same time with the wretched old men, the wretched bar Bernikov Denis rode along the soapy foam. He, too, did not hesitate because of this, he did not even change his facial expression. Probably Denis developed immunity to various humiliations, he constantly fell on the neck, he rode on his ass not for the first time. It was also repeatedly “flooded”, there was such a procedure for lowering the poor: at night, a bucket of water was poured into the soldier’s boots. The clothes lying on the stool were also poured with water, sometimes they could pour a bucket of water right on their heads to the heap. In especially severe cases, water was replaced by urine, for which all the elephants of the company had to urinate into a bucket. True, it rarely came to such a tin.
After skiing, the poor almost every day flooded. The junk began to thump intensively, they got some weed somewhere, smoked it and then ran around the place with wild cries. Andrey Baranov liked to drag on a joint and yell at the top of his voice:
- Fool!!!
It would seem that it is time for sure to calm down, but it was not there. Moreover, the so-called “hundred-day period” was in full swing: when exactly one hundred days remained to serve as junk, some rules came into force, generated, as is usual by the dibile traditions of the Presidential Regiment. So, for example, if every day the old people demanded from the young for themselves Golden Java cigarettes, sometimes Winston or Chesterfield, then with the beginning of the hundred days, each confident old man was entitled to one expensive cigarette: Sobrani, Coffee Cream, well, or what some such rubbish. Such a cigarette was supposed to be signed in a special way, with a pen with gold ink. I don’t remember what exactly should have been written on the cigarette, but there was definitely the number of days remaining. One or two old men were so fond of expensive cigarettes that they demanded them for themselves every time, instead of Golden Java. And it was very difficult.
In addition to expensive cigarettes, the confident ones demanded for themselves a certain number of cans of condensed milk, they needed to be hemmed with a special kind of hemming, which is a piece of hemming fabric, the size of a decent towel. This fabric was folded many times, as usual, a wire called a vein was inserted into the upper edge. I have already described this ridiculous process, so I will only say that on the cobweb, usually embroidered at the corners of the hemming, it was now necessary to plant, neither more nor less, but spiders. Spiders were embroidered with red threads, they did not require special realism in their depiction, but the weaving process itself became very complicated with the advent of these arthropods. The number of spiders was supposed to be equal to the number of remaining days of service. Here you used to sit, embroider 80, 90 or 100 spiders and marvel at yourself and at the surrounding crazy Kindergarten.
The number of different events and traditional madness has noticeably increased for the hundred days. In an ordinary army, as far as I know, old people take butter from young people in the canteen. In the Presidential Regiment, no one needed oil, and even more so for a hundred days: all the old people collected the oil circles they had put, strung them on a table knife, like on a skewer, and forced it all to gobble up one of the confident bubbles. So I want to ask the reader: have you ever vomited butter? Hardly. But the confident bubbles from our regiment had a chance to vomit butter just fine. Here, as the forester Hagrid from the famous film "Harry Potter" would say: "... it's good that it doesn't get stuck ..."
A very remarkable event was the "Bubble Day", which was part of the hundred days. It was an ordinary day, it fell either at the beginning of a hundred days, or at some other time. The bottom line was this: junk and bubbles changed places for one day. The old people prepared for this day with all their might: they prepared blocks of Golden Java in advance, a lot of chewing gum, condensed milk and all that. During the Bubble Day, there was something to look at: the junk was wrung out, and gave birth, and put things in order ... True, the bubbles were really afraid to humiliate someone: Bubble Day, this is just one day ... I hasten to note that we have a full-fledged Bubble Day in the company did not succeed: the junk suffered until dinner, struck and neighed a little, then the old people went crazy and that's it. The Bubbles were very offended by such an abbreviated Bubble Day, they said that it was pathetic, unworthy, etc. There was supposed to be another Elephant Day, but that was also cancelled. Bubbles, after all these cancellations, whispered, saying that old stuff was miserable.
There was a little less than a month of service for the old people when junior sergeants from Kupavna arrived in the company. The fact was that those few who were sent six months ago to the Regimental School to study as sergeants returned to their native battalion when young soldiers arrived in Kupavna.
Coincidentally, the younger ones were neither more nor less, but bubbles. And they were to remain bubbles for about three weeks. Of course, the junk immediately remembered this and decided to recoup the sergeants in full. The younger ones were supposed to put down their name, trying in three weeks to somehow compensate for all the lack of attention to the old people that had arisen in six months. Even the younger ones had to keep order in the company especially fiercely, much more fiercely than the rest of the bubbles. The last item of duties was very reflected in us elephants. For six months, we got used to the bubbles, put things in order quickly and, as they say, efficiently. They beat us, of course, shook us and all that, but the new sergeants fell on our heads like a bolt from the blue. We ran five times faster than usual.
In my first platoon, there was a junior who arrived at the company with an injury. I don’t remember what exactly happened to him, but the battalion doctor insisted on bed rest. The guy's name was Sergei Krotkov. So, this Sergey, lying right on the bunk, managed to steer in order in his platoon. It was impossible to hide from him, he was spinning on his bed like a top, he saw everything and everywhere. True, he could hit with a stool like all other self-respecting bubbles only with a certain reservation: he had to approach him, give him a stool, then substitute his head and cut off his skull properly.
From junk, the younger ones received the full program. As soon as the old man saw a speck of dust under some shkonka, the younger ones were immediately forced to crawl under the beds in circles, polishing the floor with their own clothes. What happened to us elephants after such a crawl, I think is clear. Our skulls cracked so that the brains were ready to leak out through the ears. For everything that you can think of, the younger ones were forever affixed. Smoked chickens, rolls and soda with other glutamate rubbish have replaced the usual human food with junk.
The apotheosis of old hatred for the younger ones was the beating of Sasha Kolesnikov, the mega-confident old, unfortunate, wretched youngest, Sergei Solkin. What the latter angered Sasha, I forgot, I only remember that Sergei was on duty in the company that day. Maybe Kolesnikov was dissatisfied with the way the sergeant kept order in the company? .. Sasha cornered Solkin and beat him properly, wielding his fists with all his might. Well beaten and beaten, it would seem there is nothing special about it. Take any elephant, so someone must have just beaten him up. Yes, and beating bubbles were not a curiosity. But in the case of Sergei, everything did not go according to plan: after the execution, for some reason, he turned pale, then even turned blue, and then completely began to lose consciousness. They dragged the sufferer to the medical unit, from where he went by ambulance to the hospital. There he was diagnosed with a ruptured spleen. The spleen was cut out, Seryozha was commissioned.
Confident Sasha Kolesnikov, after the incident with Solkin, at first walked like a gogol, laughing all the time. After a couple of days, he became gloomy, and a few days later he left for the Disciplinary Battalion. There is such a terrible place, disbat, about which there is a very bad reputation. Kolesnikov was supposed to serve there, as a punishment, a couple of years. Let me remind you that at that time Sasha and everything else had to serve two weeks. In principle, from the point of view of eternity, that two weeks, that two years - all the same. But the fact of leaving for the disbat, in fact, a few days before the demobilization, plunged me into a state of shock. To be honest, even the torn spleen of the unfortunate Solkin faded in my eyes against the background of such a punishment, although, of course, this is from cowardice.
After what happened to Solkin and Kolesnikov, the younger ones, as well as everyone else, were no longer touched by the junk. Well, except that they gave a ride on the priest along the take-off of the same Sergei Krotkov, who was prescribed bed rest. In something there, Seryozha was guilty before the old people, he annoyed them with something. Let me remind you that the purpose of the take-off ride was humiliation, and the one who rolled was considered lowered. In the case of Krotkov, everything was confusing: the junk seems to have lowered him, but his fellow conscripts, i.e. bars, it was decided not to consider him a descent after skating. He was weighed and found quite heavy. For some reason, I remember this sight: Seryoga was rolled on a soapy foam, running by the arms and legs, he rode, then got up from the floor, covered in soapy foam, and muttering something rather under his breath, wandered into the washbasin with a smile. To be honest, such a skating, and even with an unaccounted result, was far from the most striking incident of army everyday life. But the soapy Krotkov stuck in my memory, getting up from the floor and smiling contentedly. He personified something at that moment, but what exactly, it is not clear. The quintessence of who knows what... to be continued

The previous part... We stepped into the kitchen attire upon leaving the guard. It was necessary to count the dishes very carefully, to check everything for cleanliness. Because…

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Inna came in with chest pain. She underwent several operations, after which her condition only worsened. And she went to treatment folk remedies. ...

The Kremlin wall was built in 1485-1495. from red brick. Its length is 2235 meters. The wall, as if following the outline of the Kremlin hill, gets higher and lower. The thickness of the Kremlin wall is 3.5-6.5 meters with a height of 5 to 19 meters. There are 20 towers of various heights, shapes and styles.

Today we will make walk along the Kremlin wall and climb the inaccessible towers.

It was probably one of the hardest shoots I've ever made. It took more than one month to agree on it - I had to collect a lot of signatures, write a list of desired points and get a dozen permits. At some point, I had already forgotten about the Kremlin, when suddenly they took the picture and allowed it!

The list of desired points was severely cut - they were not allowed to shoot from the roofs of buildings, they were not allowed to climb some towers, but most importantly, the Kremlin wall was left. Walking along the Kremlin walls, climbing inaccessible towers was my old dream, and now it has come true!

This is the staircase leading to the Spasskaya Tower. There are two platforms on the tower, one under the clock, the second above them:

Trees grow on the Spasskaya Tower! Almost on every side behind the clock, it is not visible from Red Square, but they are there:

Bricks on the floor of the Spasskaya Tower:

View of Red Square from the Spasskaya Tower:

View of Historical Museum and the mausoleum from the Spasskaya Tower:

Kremlin Wall. View from Konstantin-Eleninskaya tower:

Beyond the Wall, everything is not as beautiful as in the tourist areas. For example behind the Beklemishevskaya tower some rubbish piled up. On the left you can see the mount for the Kremlin Christmas tree:

There are floodlights on the Kremlin wall. It is difficult to walk freely there:

Staircase in one of the towers. most towers empty inside, there is electrical equipment and communications:

In spite of a large number of sensors and cameras, city lunatics sometimes try to take the wall by storm.

Near the Kremlin wall between the Komendatskaya and Troitskaya towers there is an interesting civil structure of the middle of the 17th century. - the so-called Amusing Palace:

In the 19th century the commandant of Moscow lived in the Poteshny Palace, in the 20th century there was the first Kremlin apartment of I.V. Stalin (until 1932). The Poteshny Palace is the only architectural monument of the boyar dwellings preserved in the Kremlin.

Commandant's Tower:

View from observation deck Borovitskaya tower to the Armory and BKD:

Kremlin wall, view from the tower:

Behind the wall are these crow traps. Sometimes up to 200 birds are packed into a cage. Their further fate is not known. What do you think they do with the crows? An FSO employee denied the information that I make meatballs out of crows in the Kremlin canteen 😉

Bench in the Tainitsky garden. The president sat on it.

Some towers have a special telephone number:

The walls inside some towers do not differ from the entrances of houses in disadvantaged areas. This refutes the theory of some scientists that they shit and shit where it's dirty. The Kremlin is very clean, but the cattle crap even on the centuries-old Kremlin walls:

Surprisingly, there is a gate on the wall. Here they are needed so that the musicians of the Presidential Orchestra, located in the Trinity Tower, cannot escape 😉

There are many pipes along the Kremlin wall:

And this is a greenhouse that grows plants in it that decorate the interiors of the Kremlin premises:

Eternal flame Glory at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier:

Grotto "Ruins" in the Alexander Garden:

The doors in the tower are old:

And this Royal tower. A small turret was placed right on the wall in the 80s of the 17th century between the Spasskaya and Nabatnaya towers of the Kremlin. Its octagonal tent on pitcher-shaped pillars resembles the lockers of the porches of stone residential choirs common at that time:

The name of the tower is associated with a legend according to which it served as a kind of canopy over the royal throne, from where the sovereign of all Russia could observe the events taking place on Red Square from the walls of the Kremlin.

And this is the sunset from the Spasskaya Tower:

Slowly, madness entered our lives. Just after the end of the story with Savostin, it again made itself felt. It happened like this ... There were two distant, traveling guards in our battalion, called "Airboard" and "Lake". Elephants were not put on these guards, but the bubbles went there all the time. And once, when the company left the guard, everyone was informed about an emergency: Fedya Mordunov, aka Bomba, one of the most hated bubbles for me, while serving in the Ozerny guard, went crazy, neither more nor less. At first, no one was told the details of what happened to Bomba. The ferocious bubble was simply brought from the guard, and after Pestun's conference with Major Soldatov, he was put to bed for a long time. Anyone who asked something about his condition was severely punished by all who had the right to punish.
Frankly, when I found out that Mordunov went crazy, my joy knew no bounds. To the reader, such joy may seem heartless, but Fedya was the most vicious of the bubbles, he always hammered everyone in the kidneys and generally adored violence. How could I not rejoice at the prospect of his possible disappearance from the company? For a long time Fedya lay in bed, everyone was ordered not to approach him. The commanders hoped that Bomba would rest and "let him go". I confess that I, like many others, was very interested to know what exactly should “let him go” from? As always, the secret soon became clear and everyone learned that Bomba began to behave strangely on guard. He told his comrades that they did not know how to give birth at all, but only he knew how. When the bubbles decided to clarify the details of the new Mordun worldview, he told them about the many secrets allegedly known to him ... He knows where the secret gas station is located, from which you can constantly steal gasoline and then sell it, cutting down the loot. He also told a lot of tales about how at night he allegedly trades somewhere, something stolen.
At first, all the bubbles decided that Fedya decided to joke in a special way. However, it soon became clear that there was no question of jokes. Then the bubbles reported everything to the head of the guard, who at that time was Senior Sergeant Baranov, a stupid, confident old man, about whom I have already spoken a little. Baranov and someone else from the old ones decided to ask Mordunov about all these gas stations and night trade. During the conversation, it turned out that the Bomb considers not only all the bubbles, but also all the old miserable jerks, which I am glad to tell them right here. When asked why everyone, both old and bubbles, are jerks, he replied:
- What else would you like to be called? You all serve here and don't even know what and where you can get, sell... But I know... I know everything. And I know all your secrets too...
Here, according to such a scheme, Fedya's madness began. In the company, after lying on the bed for some time, Mordunov suddenly began to get out of bed every now and then and wander everywhere. At the same time, in the process of fermentation, he scattered notes along the corridor with poems telling in poetic form about all the secrets of junk known to him: who, to whom, what and in what amount, how each of the old people makes everyone give birth, etc. There were funny poems, decently rhymed, it's a pity I didn't remember a single one. These verses showed that Bomba actually knows many secrets of junk. When several such works fell into the hands of our political officer, the junk got very hard. It just so happened that Major Soldatov believed the crazy Bomb more than the excuses of the old ones, who assured that all these poems were the nonsense of a madman. Rather, he believed in nonsense, but he also believed in poetry.
There were two versions of the origin of Mordun's disease. I think the reader already understands what is at stake. According to one version, the Bomb actually went crazy from a nervous overexertion. According to another version, he was simply tired of serving and he decided to go home, squinting like a lunatic. Personally, I stuck with the first version. Fedya, even before his delirium, was somehow abnormal, too vicious, too brainless, in a word - crazy, but no one but me noticed this. At some point, his brainlessness reached its climax and became noticeable not only to me, but to everyone else.
Be that as it may, after some time the Bomb was recognized as crazy and sent home, as they say, with a certificate. In our company, the crazy boy had a countryman, Sergei Atronyuk, a confident old man. Both were from Tyumen. Sergei accompanied Fedya home and then, returning back, assured everyone that he was not crazy: there were no signs of madness on the road, and upon arrival, Mordunov immediately ran to have fun in a nightclub ... Personally, after such a story, I did not change my mind about Bomb: no one had noticed any signs of him before, except for me, and as for the nightclub, there’s probably a place for a madman there, isn’t there?
Our bloody-gray everyday life was diluted not only with the antics of crazy people, but also with various events, such as going to the shooting range. We went to the shooting range once a month and nothing particularly interesting happened there. As the hero of the famous film said: "they shot" ... Of course, we had to get to the training ground. Traveled by truck and bus, about an hour. Junk and bars demanded that we take cigarettes and sweets for them on the road. I wanted to sleep on the way very much and of course, it was strictly forbidden. Of course, someone was sure to fall asleep and bubbles with elephants fell on the spacer...
I remember one of the winter trips. Everyone has been preparing for it for a long time. Elephants, as usual, received lyuli for everything and for everyone. Each soldier was given boots. I got boots, which are not particularly different from all other boots, except for huge holes in the place where the sole was supposed to be. I remember that the captain laughed heartily at me and advised me to repair the felt boots with the help of newspapers and plastic bags laid in several layers. Since no other ideas came to my mind in this regard, I had to use a newspaper-package repair. For some insane reason, you couldn't even wear galoshes on those damn boots. The fucking commander of our fucking company, for some fucking reason, forbade the use of this rubber device.
Usually shooting was always canceled if the frost went off scale for twenty degrees. In the case I am describing, when the company left the battalion, it was ten degrees below zero outside. By the time they arrived at the landfill, Santa Claus was pinned down and the temperature dropped sharply below twenty. When, being already thoroughly frozen, the company unloaded from the vehicles, some constructions, roll calls, meetings of great commanders began. The construction with meetings lasted, of course, for a very long time. During all these events, the soldiers just had to stand like idols in the icy wind and wait, when will we finally go to shoot? Very soon everyone was so cold that no one even thought about shooting. The elephants had a particularly bad time, as they got the worst uniforms. Personally, I have newspaper felt boots very quickly, first they got wet, and then they froze. Soon I stopped feeling my legs and tried to jump on the spot, but I was not allowed to jump without a reason. Everything else froze after my feet, and I decided that here, in this snowy field, I would most likely be buried.
By the time I hit the damn firing line, I didn't care about the shooting at all. I just wanted to warm up somehow. I remember that I completely lost the feeling of my fingers. It’s such a strange feeling: you look at your palms, you see how your fingers move, and you don’t feel anything at all with these same palms and fingers. At that moment, I could have safely cut off my fingers and I would not have felt it.
When at last I was ordered to shoot, at first I did not succeed. I was lying on the snow, near the firing stop and could not put my numb, frostbitten finger into the trigger guard. The political officer, Major Soldatov, stood over me and, looking at my unsuccessful attempts, yelled furiously:
- Soldier! Can't you see the target?! Shoot come on!
- I can't feel my fingers... They're frozen to hell.
- What? I'm dressed just like you and I'm not cold! - I did not argue with the fat major and, controlling my frostbitten hands with my eyes, somehow put forefinger on the trigger.
The firing exercise consisted of the following: it was necessary to shoot two rounds at a rising target. At the same time, as in Kupavna at one time, close attention was given to the elements of drill training: correctly bend the arm, kick back the leg and all that. Everyone, including me, at the very least coped with drill training. But how do you shoot two rounds when you can't feel your fingers? I managed to pull the trigger, but I released half of the magazine at once. Soldatov shouted something at me about this, but he didn’t spy too much. Apparently I realized that I really, as it is called, frostbitten.
When that time the company arrived from firing, three soldiers were put in the medical unit due to frostbite on their cheeks and fingers. They didn’t put me anywhere, although I also had a great frostbite on my fingers and toes, but they just turned red and swollen in me, and blackened in those three unfortunate ones.
Frostbitten firing was remembered by me by an interesting incident that happened in the fourteenth company next to us. There, during the firing, the company commander, Major Sidorchuk, personally broke the nose of a young frozen soldier with the butt of a machine gun (or jaw, I don’t remember exactly), because he was “very dumb”. I don’t know how the events developed after the incident, I only know that even Sidorchuk’s expression on his impudent face did not change, from which I concluded: the commander of the fourteenth company got away with everything. Like water off a duck's back. Too bad, I think so. The major persuaded the elephant for sure not to tell anyone anything, and he behaved "like a kid" ...

October 9th, 2018, 03:34 am

"... Tomorrow there will be a new masquerade,
Knights, tournaments, fireworks and dances,
The jester will put on a colorful outfit,
Will run, jump and laugh.
Tickle the king's feet
Make the princess laugh with an ugly dance,
Gaer imitates the nightingale,
But hides a crow under a mask ... "
"Jester". Group "Lyapis Trubetskoy".

Part three. Make-believe life.
Chapter first. His Majesty's usurer.
Start

It was a beautiful spring day, one of those when everything around is preparing for flowering. Heat returns imperceptibly, birds fly in, the summer breeze, breaking through the cold weekdays that have become familiar, excites the imagination. Such a day is good to spend in nature, take a walk, contemplate, eat barbecue in the end. I didn’t contemplate anything, didn’t eat anything, and spring had practically no effect on me. Sitting in a stuffy Pazik bus, with Nosikov on my knees, I watched an unfamiliar soldier open the gate, letting future cadets into the territory of the Kupavna military camp.
For some reason, life for me often leaves the last place everywhere. So on that day, the jealous people arrived in Kupavna after everyone else. Bustle reigned in the camp, the soldiers were unpacking, laying out things, arranging furniture. Again I saw the hated parade ground, walking along which, half a year ago, I learned what drill is. The barracks building has not changed a bit since then. Kupavnovtsy, our future junk and bars, behaved coldly, reservedly, strictly. In the early days, we were only hinted at non-regulation, probably because no one knew anyone. But hinted well, with soul. By that time, everyone already knew that it was customary to give birth in Kupavna not only on confident old, but also on confident bars. On the one hand, this was surprising, on the other hand, everything was natural: there are quite a few junk, there are almost no elephants at all, and they are all in other companies, mostly auxiliary ones, which means that only we, the cadets, are left, strange elephantine bubbles. By the way, the soldiers of the first half of the year in the bath were called not elephants, but ears, according to the Kremlin tradition.
I, along with the rest of the Zavidovites, was assigned to the fourth platoon of the first training company. By a strange coincidence, I had to live on the same floor and in the same cockpit where I spent the first twenty days of service, so during the formations, I stood on the take-off opposite the old familiar portrait of Kutuzov, just like six months ago. There was something mystical about it.
Our platoon, like all the rest, consisted of four squads, each of which had eight soldiers belonging to one of the companies of the Presidential Regiment. Squads were led by bar sergeants, platoons by old men, deputy platoon commanders, "castles". It was on these commanders that we had to give birth. In our fourth platoon, the commander of the platoon, Golubev Sasha, and the commander of the fourth squad, Kotov Sasha, were considered confident. Two Sashas. Basically we had to give birth on them. In addition, the foreman of the company, Aleksey Zibrov, the medical instructor Zaichikov Sergey, and the chemical instructor of the company, who was well known to me from the first days of service, Sergey Bugorkov, could demand something from any of the cadets. Bugorkov, who had the nickname Bug, who looked like a monkey with a vicious face and sinewy hands, I have already described in the first part of my story. And this is despite my positive attitude towards real monkeys, animals. The meeting with Buga caused the worst emotions. I got to know him really well six months ago.
To my great regret, I did not meet either Nikishin or Chubakov, whom I knew from the first twenty days of service, in Kupavna. But he met Boldin Denis, and right in his new platoon. In the first part of the story, I wrote about how six months ago, Denis was one of the first to arrive at the training company and was considered as confident as possible for a skull (I remind you that soldiers who did not take the oath were called "skulls"). In those days, Boldin excellently stuffed pillows, swept floors and did a lot of other things, everyone treated him with respect, and he himself was unreasonably proud. It was very difficult to communicate with Boldin the skull, he was so arrogant. Now I saw in front of me a frightened, downtrodden boy in a dirty ball, feverishly stuffing a piping on a rack and looking around in a hunted way. When I met him, I had mixed emotions, if not joy, then something positive: a familiar mug, after all. Turning to Denis himself, I met complete indifference on his part. Yes, he recognized me, yes, he remembers how he taught me to stuff pillows ... And nothing more, no stories about the service, not the slightest desire to communicate.
During my service, I came to terms with the cowardice of people. As a rule, everyone very quickly got used to humiliation, to a slave role. Yes, and I myself, so to speak, learned to "endure" in the army. But despite all this, Boldin surprised me. I didn’t recognize him as himself: six months ago, a self-confident, well-groomed, respected by everyone, including sergeants, Kremlin soldier, was leaving Kupavna, and now a slug without self-esteem stood in front of me.
Having tried to talk about something with Boldin, I very soon became disillusioned with this useless undertaking. Moreover, some problem has already made itself felt: the squad leader Kotov Sasha, together with the platoon commander, Golubev Sasha, demanded mayonnaise for lunch, threatening the platoon with death penalties in case of his absence. It was a minor annoyance, mayonnaise was born. I had to buy it from one of the brothers, paying three times as much real value. Fortunately, I put aside a few kopecks in reserve back in Zavidovo. In addition to money, I had with me chewing gum, cigarettes and other "good things" in a small amount. There was no conflict over mayonnaise.
On the other hand, the conflict arose on the basis of relationships with one's own call. The history of this conflict is very interesting. It all started during the first Kupavnov dinner. Before eating, we all cleaned up the company for several hours. But the orderly shouted:
- The first training company, to follow for lunch, build up! - everyone lined up and went first to the parade ground, then to the dining room. During this first trip to the dining room, I learned that just going down the Kupavnovskaya stairs, as in the days of the "skull", would not work, you must definitely run at a run, jumping over the steps, falling, breaking the protruding parts of the body and objects. On the first day, while running up the magical staircase, I smashed my wristwatch on the railing. It was an indispensable, wonderful "Electronics-5", it was a pity.
We ran to the dining room, sat down. I handed the promised mayonnaise to the old men. For lunch they gave pasta with meat, very tasty, as well as quite tolerable soup and compote. For the distribution of portions, a large, "multi-storey" cart was used, which the orderly slowly rolled along the rows between the tables. From the cart, everyone took portions for themselves, which were enough for everyone in excess, so that if desired, one could take more than one, although theoretically the orderly could resist such zahapistnost and had to agree with him by giving a cigarette, or something valuable. No one, as a rule, tried to take an extra portion, since everyone was full.
It would seem, what conflict situation can arise because of portions? Like none. But the situation has arisen. During the distribution, a fellow fellow, Chernikov Kolya, who previously served in the fourteenth company next to us, ran up to me with Filonov Max. Running up, Kolya quickly and plaintively stammered:
- Guys, let's take more portions, pasta, soup is not needed. Come on, get it faster!
- Why, Kohl, do junk need portions? .. - I asked in surprise, because the old people rarely leaned on the dishes served in the dining room.
- No, guys, this is not for junk, this is for those guys over there, see? They are from the Kremlin, even from the first company! They used to eat well there! - Chernikov pointed towards the bubbles sitting nearby, the same as all of us, except that they were big-faced, very tall and obviously impudent. They looked at us and Chernikov with an expression of superiority.
- Well, why the hell are you carrying them portions? Have you fallen from an oak tree? - Kolya Filonov asked, - they are from the Kremlin ... Yes, at least from the Bastille!
- Yes, Kolya probably just overate henbane, not otherwise, - I said, - it’s not enough for him that he gives birth to junk, he decided to chase after his call.
“Yes, you don’t understand anything,” Chernikov said hysterically, “you don’t have Zavidovo here, you have Kupavna and completely different laws!” It’s better not to get lost .. to do what is supposed to be done! I was shocked by what I heard. Kolya Chernikov took it into his head to give birth to his call. While I was shocked, Max answered very rudely and harshly:
- Tell the guys from the Kremlin that if they are used to eating well and want me to bring them portions, let them kiss me on the f..pu! - Filonov specifically said this at the right volume so that the pervorotniks could hear everything. Those just carefully watched what was happening, chewing food. Max's answer made them so angry that they even stopped working their jaws from indignation and began to threaten Max and me with gestures.
Filonov and I laughed in response and calmly sat down to eat. Well, not quite of course calmly, but they tried to keep a confident look. In this situation, I really liked the healthy aggression on the part of Max. Glukhov Anton and Konyakhin Ruslan also supported us. The rest pretended not to notice. The story with the Kremlin guys continued at night. The company had fought off a long time ago, everyone was fast asleep, including me. I was awakened by a strange conversation: someone demanded that Filonov go to the toilet. I quickly realized that Max was invited to the showdown. He, after a short conversation, got up and went, so to speak, to the call. I got up a few seconds later and followed.
Going into the toilet, I saw there the guys I knew from the Kremlin, who were standing near the washstands with impudent faces.
- In! The second one is here too! - said one of the Kremlin soldiers, - that's right, we must both give pi..dy!
The preponderance of forces was, of course, on the side of the people from the first company, but Filonov and I were not distinguished by a fragile physique and timidity of character. I looked around, saw a wooden mop standing nearby and took it. Max thought for a second and also grabbed the inventory. It was quite possible to fight with a mop.
- If you want to fight guys, let's fight. Max and I don't mind, I said.
- Easily! It's even funny! - Filonov confirmed my words.
Of course, there were more "kremlin guys", to be more precise, there were five of them. But my appearance, wooden mops in my hands, clearly violated the plans of the insolent people. I don’t know what exactly they were counting on, but obviously not on a bloody massacre. They probably just wanted to crush Max from the bottom of their hearts. Seeing what our night meeting threatens to develop into, one of the turncoats, the most healthy, aggressive and impudent in appearance, spoke:
- Well, what, you immediately climb into a fight or something?
What else do we have left? Maybe wait until you beat us faces? I clarified.
- And why just beat right away, we might want to talk, - the impudent fellow spoke again.
- And so, as soon as I went to the toilet, you immediately wanted to give me pi..dy?
- All right, Lyokha Kurochkin just said it in a rush. Nobody wanted to fight, but we need to clarify something. We came from the Kremlin, gave birth there. And we all, - the impudent fellow waved his hand around the whole company, - are confident. We don't have to be told to kiss someone's ass.
“Yeah, it’s clear,” Filonov said, “but we’re not wretched either, you don’t need to send your sixes to us, we won’t give birth to you, don’t even wait!
- Well, we didn't send Kolya to you. We puzzled him, for sure. But only him. And why did he run to you, x..r knows him, we did not demand anything from you. And here you immediately began to be rude, they said that we should kiss you. It’s not good either, - another unfamiliar percolator explained.
"Directly diplomats, fuck them! It's clear that they sent Chernikov to us, and now they come up on the go: they say," I'm innocent, he came himself. "They want to make fools of me and Max," I thought to myself . Whatever it was, it became clear that no one wants a fight. The guys were just looking for weaklings. Suddenly, Filonov could be lowered, it's always nice. Well, it didn’t work out, and to hell with him - they will find another, lower him and force him to give birth to himself. In general, the behavior of the perverts was unusual, strange, impudent, but understandable. The Kremlin members had to accept our position: there is no need to get into the office with the envy members, otherwise there will be conflicts. After a conversation in the toilet, a kind of peace treaty was concluded between us, the participants of which were in a state of armed neutrality. So these negotiations can be safely called the "Kupavnovskaya toilet conference." In the course of the conversation, I learned that the most impudent turncoat is called Denis Gavrikov, and his nickname is Gavrila.
After talking in the toilet, Max and I went to bed. The first day in Kupavna managed to provide good food for thought. I lay down in bed thinking that the day's events were somehow unusual. We put things in order in the company, arranged bedside tables, but this was not remembered. I remember the mayonnaise, his search, the meeting with Boldin and, of course, the conflict with the perverts. The latter were generally very surprised: in this company, what, some scum? In the future, I met other soldiers from the first company and realized that, of course, not all of them are scum, they are just insolent everywhere and always catch the eye. But in general, the first company was in a special position in the regiment, and many people from it considered themselves an elite. Simply because it was the turncoats who stepped on the main guard of the Presidential Regiment - the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, in the local language - MNF. Again, at all solemn Kremlin events, the first company always played the main role ... to be continued

Ghost behind the wall. Walk along the Kremlin wall Crushed by the Kremlin wall

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