Married to a military man: a personal story of an officer's wife. Tales and Stories Tales from an Officer's Wife

Even at school, Yulia became a mercantile bitch, she was absolutely not interested in her peers. She, as she said, is not interested in talking with them, they say, there is nothing. Although she herself, if she knocks on the head with a stick, will look around and ask: “Where is it knocking?”. She loved, you know, wandering around the clubs with a hundred rubles in her pocket, taking a taxi home. She had the same girlfriends, I remember trying to drive up to one, so she told me that a man without a car is not a man. I later remembered about it, when I arrived at the reunion of graduates in a Lexus, these were her eyes. If I found out that the Lexus is not mine, I would probably be upset.

The story, in fact, is not about her, the story, about Yulia, after school she entered the medical academy, then she sort of dropped out, she said she didn’t want to study for six years in order to earn fifteen thousand later. She went into some kind of economic sharaga. I don’t even remember where I was at that time, in my opinion, I enlisted after the army on an expedition, to the far north, it seems, is not the point.

I once met Dimka, a classmate, at the airport, and he told me a wonderful story that Yulia settled somewhere in Novosibirsk and her dream partially came true, she became a nurse in a hospital. I forgot this story literally in five minutes, I was thinking about my drilling rigs, the equipment is delicate, and the movers are drunk, no matter what happens.

I have a friend Slavik. 1964 year of release. That is, birth. And he finished at the time HVVAUL. For those who are not in the know, this is the Kharkov Higher Military Aviation School of Pilots. Produced on the MiG-21. For its characteristic appearance, this device among flyers received the persistent nickname "balalaika". Because the wing is triangular.

Autumn early 80s. All cadets help the collective farmers to harvest. Well, these Arkharovites were also harnessed to cleaning. A company of cadets arrived in the morning, listened to the task of the chairman of the collective farm: "Dig from here until dinner," and dejectedly set to digging.

And I must say that one of the flight zones was located just not far from the field of this collective farm. And a company of cadets, instead of digging, stood in dreamy-dreary poses, leaning on shovels with longing, lifting their heads, and watched how a “pair” of MiG-21s frolicked in the sky (then it was the day of flights). In the end, a brilliant decision was made ...

It happened in Moscow, at the Dzerzhinsky Academy (now Peter the Great). On a warm, dark summer night, the head of the third year, being on duty at the academy, decided to take a walk around the territory of Dzerzhinka ...

Suddenly... Chu! What kind of strange whistle is heard? Rushing towards the sound, he saw the following picture... The cadet, apparently returning from a self-propelled gun, slowly levitated upwards along the barracks wall. The officer, who had gone crazy, crept closer and saw that the intruder was actually climbing on a rope with a crossbar (like a bungee) tied to it, which was briskly drawn into the window of the fourth floor ...

What to do? There is a flagrant violation of discipline! Screaming is useless - they will only drag a colleague through the window faster. Due to the darkness and the fact that only the sirloin part of the body is exposed to observation, it is also not possible to identify the cadet ... Having reasoned that, judging by the speed of raising the fighter, the actions of his comrades-in-arms are very well coordinated, which means that the matter has been put on stream, the head of the course has taken ingenious, in his opinion, the decision - to take red-handed!

After waiting ten minutes for conspiracy, he went under the window and "loudly and clearly" reproduced the cadet's whistle. Less than a minute later, "the carriage was served." The officer, like a proud bird, sat down on the perch and pulled the rope - they say, pull ... Ascension has begun ...

Armor, tksst, is strong, and near the high banks of the Omur - Chisavye Motherland stand. And silence...

I wrote all this cleanly so as not to fill three lines of really bad swearing, after which it’s better not to smoke for an hour and at least three hours of non-pitastso. I sincerely say to you: get ready to feed someone else's army, hulks.

I have served my due year. in the Far East, ended up in the Airborne Forces. not exactly where I was going, but still good. I decided to dash off a compact report on the current army, "service through the eyes of a junior sergeant-conscript." Would it come in handy?

The main impression of the army is that it has become much softer. Everything that was told about by more mature acquaintances who seized "the very same", still the Soviet Army, can in no way be compared with the kindergarten that we have today. A bunch of incomprehensible civilian aunts, psychologists, doctors, prosecutors surround the young herds and constantly climb to the soldiers with questions like: “Is there a temperature?”, “Do they offend?”, “How are you?”. home driving force any normal army, zvezdyulina, now appears only quietly, half-heartedly and somehow grayishly. In my presence, two conscripts were sent to diesel for 4 months for (!) a bream (slap) to a newly arrived corporal from training when asked for failure to comply with an order. One call to a civilian mother, and any soldier or officer can have serious problems. One lawyer friend said that in such cases, evidence is not particularly important, the main thing is the statement.

The story is told in a third person, authenticity is guaranteed, since the narrator was a very serious person and also held a responsible position. The story was heard by him personally from the lips of one of the senior communications officers, who then served at the construction site of the BAM century. It happened back then in Leningrad in the early 80s.

At that time, this officer, while still a senior lieutenant, was studying at the military academy of the signal troops, where not only citizens were trained Soviet Union, but also from other socialist countries of that time. Of course, mostly young men studied, who free time spent in various entertainments, and there was enough time, as well as money.

Young officers often spent their leisure time in restaurants, both ours and officers from other socialist countries. Somehow they got together an international campaign and, as usual, after taking N-th doses of alcohol, they got into an argument about drinking. The Germans began to assert that the Russians did not know how to drink vodka - and this hurt our officers very much.

In the distant stagnant years, the commission came to the traditional spring (autumn) check in a motorized rifle regiment based far from civilization, in fact, to check the same glorious infantry regiment. Since the remoteness of the regiment from the leadership was significant and the garrison was not burdened with centers of culture, the pastime of the majority of officers in their free time was trivially simple. Something like in a joke: "Why are you drinking? - because it is liquid, and if it were solid, I would gnaw it!"

And here is the check. It should be noted that any check begins with a drill review of the entire military unit, even all the lame, oblique and pretending to come out in full gear, with the exception of the inner outfit.

A young wild-growing colonel - the chairman of the commission with assistants inspects the regiment's units, checking footcloths, underwear, trench tools, the contents and completeness of the soldiers' duffel bags and officers' alarm suitcases. Everything is as always - routinely and got to the crunch in the back. And here the inspector does not believe his eyes.

I was not in the army because I was a student. So, except that - in the military. A military commissar - she is a military commissar. To join the general heroism of the masses. Towards the end - when the studies were already over, but there were no diplomas yet - there were fees. In the Ensk Aviation Regiment. There are such big planes. Airbus type. For landing only. IL-76, who knows. According to the VUS, I am a navigator. Although, which of me is the navigator - one frustration. Student. But I had to.

They fed well. This was reassuring.
It was called Blue Quarantine. In the sense - for the flyers.
Outfitted. Footcloths. Boots are just right. The tunic is big.
Three sizes. Or five. Times of the German company. Almost brand new - no holes or rips. For partisans. Reminds me of the game "Zarnitsa". The pioneers had one. And I am in it - as there is a "partisan navigator." In green form. Because it's a flyer.

This completely incredible story told a familiar military surgeon. One officer served in their garrison. He drank recklessly. His wife and mother-in-law lived with him. The old mother-in-law completely got both her husband and son-in-law. Her quarrelsome character was aggravated by insanity and sclerosis.

One night, having come home drunk in a frenzy, the officer decided to put an end to the suffering of the family. Taking a hammer and a ten nail, he hammered it into the drunk mother-in-law's head with a flourish. Like, no one will know why the old woman died - let's bury and be done with it.

However, when he woke up in the morning, he saw his mother-in-law alive and unharmed, preparing breakfast in the kitchen. “Well, wow, what a real dream I had!” - the officer was dumbfounded.

Two weeks later, the mother-in-law began to complain about headache. Well, at first, the wife gave her pills, and the mother-in-law knows that her head hurts. Went to a therapist. She measured her blood pressure, advised some medicines and let the ailing woman go in peace. But the pain didn't go away. For the second time, the therapist sent the mother-in-law to the surgeon. The surgeon examined the head and ... also did not notice anything. Because the head of the nail was covered with a crust similar to dandruff.

Summer, Batumi, Soviet army. The guys and I hid in a small workshop and quietly waited out the time between breakfast and lunch. The door opened and Dima rolled some contraption on the cart.

Dima is my fighting friend, now they are called botanists, but then they said: “Petya from the Pioneer Palace.” He knew by heart the name of all the thyristors and radio tubes, and even the receiver could make even from two rusty nails ...
In short, the smartest head, but Dima didn’t pull on a 100% botanist, his character is not botanical, because he’s a shitty “nerd” from Ossetian ...

And now he, like a black raven with a screwdriver, cut circles around a peeling green-red iron contraption. The contraption looked like an intricate car alarm horn, only the size of a refrigerator, and the nameplate said 196... a scrambled year. To the question of the public: “What kind of canoe is this ...?”, Dima explained that this was a decommissioned and deftly stolen by him emitter of infrasonic waves from a warehouse, only he needed a special generator.

A long time ago, the chief engineer of the Air Force of the Moscow Military District was a general named Mukha, intelligent, competent and respected by everyone.

At one of the debriefings, uncharacteristic (atypical) failures of aviation equipment were analyzed. One of the officers reported on a failure on the plane due to a malfunction in the air pressure receiver (APS). Having reached the reason for the failure of the PVD, the officer said:
- And the reason for the refusal turned out to be banal: a fly got into the PVD!
General Mukha, sitting in the presidium, started up, and looking at the reporting officer over his glasses, he asked with interest:
- Who-who got there?!

AB-SA-RA-KA

bloody land:

The stories of the officer's wife

Colonel Henry Carrington

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to Lieutenant General Sherman, whose proposal was accepted in the spring of 1866 at Fort Kearny, and whose energetic policy of solving the Indian problems and quickly completing the Union Pacific to the "Sea", crushed the last hope of an armed insurrection.

Margaret Irvine Carrington.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

Absaraka, indeed, became a bloody land. The tragedy, in which the army lost twelve officers and two hundred and forty-seven brave soldiers in 1876, was but the continuation of a series of skirmishes which brought about peace after the catastrophe of 1866. Now you can learn more about a country that was so dependent on the military to expand settlements and solve Indian problems.

In January 1876, General Custer told the author, "It will take another massacre of Phil Kearney for Congress to give generous support to the army." Six months later, his story, like Fetterman, has become monumental thanks to a similar catastrophe. With extensive experience on the frontier—Fetterman was a rookie—and with a belief in the ability of white soldiers to overcome overwhelming numbers of Indians, fearless, brave, and peerless horsemen, Custer believed that an army should fight hostile savages under any circumstances and at every opportunity.

Short story developments in this country is of great value to all who are interested in our relations with the Indians of the Northwest.

The map attached here was considered sufficiently detailed by Generals Custer and Brisbin. General Humphreys, chief of US engineers, pointed out additional forts and agencies on it.

The first appearance of the military in this country is accurately represented in the text. There has never been a more insane impulse of the Americans than that which forced the army into the country of the Powder and Bighorn Rivers in 1866, doing the will of irresponsible emigrants, regardless of the legal rights of the local tribes. There has never been a wilder takeover for gold than taking over the Black Hills in the face of solemn treaties.

Time brings to the surface the fruits of an unreasonable policy - the agreement of 1866 in Laramie - a simple deception, as far as it concerned all the tribes. These fruits are ripe. The fallen can attest to this. I am ready to state that at the time of the massacre, if this line had been severed, it would have required four times as many forces in the future to reopen it; since then, more than a thousand soldiers have faced a problem that was then solved by less than a hundred. The battle for the Bighorn Country was presented in one statement: “Having had a partial success, the Indian, now desperate and bitter, looked upon the reckless white man as a sacrifice, and the United States had to send an army to deal with the Indians of the northwest. It is better to incur the costs immediately than to delay and provoke a war for many years. It needs to be understood here and now.”

There is no glory in Indian warfare. If too little has been done, the West complains; if too much is done, the East condemns the massacre of the redskins. The lies of justice are between extremes, and here is represented the quality of that Indian policy which was inaugurated during the official term of President Grant. So little truth, mixed facts, and such a strong desire to be popular by pointing to the scapegoat at the first public condemnation of the war, which lasted for six months, that, even now, public opinion has taken only a few uncertain lessons from that carnage. Indeed, it took another tragedy to try to sort out the relationship between the Americans and the Indian tribes and solve this problem.

Henry Carrington

You probably won’t argue that we, military sailors, and civilians too, are the most vulnerable part of society in terms of safety family relations. Once I read about a Norwegian, the conqueror of the Arctic, I don’t remember her last name, who said an interesting phrase. Her meaning boiled down to the fact that she conquered the North, but she could never be the wife of a sailor, because not every woman will be able to withstand a long separation, nature will take its toll, well, it is impossible for a young woman to be a nun in the world. I don’t know how to love a man in order to remain faithful to him when there are a lot of hefty stallions around with peaks at the ready. But it happens that the woman remains on top, and the man is shit.

So. We had an absolutely positive lieutenant on the ship, now they are called “nerds”. Didn't smoke, didn't even drink beer, studied English language and, perhaps, knew him perfectly, in any case, English literature I read it in the original, I saw it myself. On vacation with his wife, he went to camp sites, where they went hiking and climbed mountains. In general, there was not a single speck on his "image of morality."

It was on this "nerd" that our special officer had his eye. What else is needed? Cause of the CPSU and Soviet government, like all of us, he is devoted, but, unlike us, he does not drink, does not smoke, he has not been noticed in anything reprehensible. Hooray! And the special officer recommended him to his office as a future employee. And Vova-botan gathered for knowledge in the city of Novosibirsk, because neophytes were attached to the great caste there. But, before changing career guidance, he went on another vacation, as usual, to a camp site. With my wife.

After taking a vacation and gaining the necessary amount of health, the family was gathering to a new duty station. Vova says to his wife: “Darling, come immediately to Novosibirsk, and I will send the container from home myself. It makes no sense for two to drag on Far East, and then to Novosibirsk. The wife said, “That makes sense. I listen and obey".

But it is not in vain that they say that in a still pool, you yourself know who is found. Once Vova, being a cadet of the first or second year of the naval bursa, met with one girl, and she simply threw him away when a fifth-year student loomed on the horizon. Also reasonable. It’s not for me to tell you - why the hell is she a first-second-year jerk, who needs to be brought up and courted for a few more years, and here is a ready-made lieutenant with a salary, like a miner with experience! And the new family left for the Far East.

Vova married a very interesting girl, they had a daughter. According to the distribution, Vova ended up in the same place where the woman who threw him had lived for several years. With family, of course. Our small town, they could not meet. In general, feelings flared up again, and from feelings-with people they can do a lot of stupid things. In short: “If you drown, or stick to p ... stick, it’s difficult at first, and then you get used to it.” Vova stuck and got used to it.

The fornicators decided that they would go to Novosibirsk together, and he would introduce her as his wife, and then, you see, everything would settle down. The husband of Vova's passion was in military service. There were children, she had two of them. But then the wives of officers always helped each other out. And this time the woman came to her friend and asked her to look after the children, she would be away for a day or two. There was nothing unusual about the request, and the friend agreed. In general, the wife runs away with a passing lieutenant, as in sentimental novels. The children stayed with a neighbor. The mother was not going to return. Why she did this is still a mystery. And Vova, you know, stuck to the female genital organ and therefore did not understand anything.

But he was a noble man and a great fool. Before leaving, he writes a letter to his lawful wife. The same as in sentimental novels: they say, I'm sorry, all my life I loved only her, and he married you out of hopelessness and despair. It is at least unpleasant for any woman to hear this, and Vova’s wife was a woman who was not only outwardly interesting, but, unlike his passion, she had something in her head. She did not tear up the letter received from her lawful husband in annoyance, as a less intelligent woman would have done, but carefully preserved it. And immediately returned to the place of residence. There she appeared in a special department and, presenting a letter, caught up with a rustle: “How did Felix Edmundovich teach you? Clean hands!!! The man left his family and went with a whore to your holy of holies!!! How did you let this happen?!"

To the honor of the special officers, they reacted promptly and adequately. We were not afraid to sully the honor of the uniform. Although the order to enroll Vova in their camp was signed by the biggest boss, nevertheless, in a matter of days it was canceled, and Vova was expelled for low moral qualities. He returned to the ship, but there was already another person on his staff. Therefore, Vova was accepted back, but taken out of the state, that is, he received money only for his small rank. He was expelled from the party for the same moral qualities. At a party meeting, his uterus was twisted masterfully and completely, and this story became public, because only our party organs and Catholic inquisitors could twist the insides of a person with such pleasure and put them on public display. Or am I wrong?

A neighbor, after sitting with the children for several days, raised the alarm. The husband was pulled from a ship in the Indian Ocean and rushed to his place of residence. Other relatives were also called ... In general, the family united again. The lady returned to her husband. Who would dare to throw a stone at her? He accepted it. And now they live, but I don’t know if they are happy.

And Vova was settled in my cabin, and after a while we began to communicate, but we didn’t touch on past events at all. He is closed, and I do not like to climb into a person’s soul. And only once Vova asked:

“Do you think if I try to return to my family, I will succeed?”

- I do not know. I said honestly. - Women tend to forgive, you should at least try.

Vova did nothing. Subsequently, he went to another ship, but, in my opinion, he rose to the rank only to a drop *. His wife lived alone, according to neighbors and friends, she did not meet with anyone, and after two or three years she left for her homeland with her daughter.

* lieutenant commander (captain)

Reviews

Anything happens.
I had a friend - a marine officer somewhere near Vladik.
You know yourself - marines on large ships, dowries. They went on a campaign, six months later he returns - there is a note on the table, his wife is gone.
Married for the second time. After the next campaign - the same picture.
He never married again.

Grigory, this is not only among sailors.
Here is a typical episode for you.
Grozny. Second Chechen. Call center at Severny airport. Just opened, two booths, satellite connection, expensive. There is a crowd on the porch, there is just no one: special forces, riot police, SOBR, intelligence ... Chatting, flasks in a circle, smoke in a column.
One of the officers called home.
- Hello! Hello! Are you son?
Call Mom!
- There is no mother. And who are you?
- Like who? I am your dad!
- Nope. Dad is washing in the bathroom.
And you are an uncle.

I don't know with what heart he came home.

On Defender of the Fatherland Day, it is customary to congratulate all men without exception and age discounts. The male? Congratulations! So he deserved it. But only a few of them know what service is. An experienced wife of an officer tells about how the military live and serve.

To become the wife of a general, you need to marry a lieutenant and wander around the garrisons with him. But a rare bird will fly to the middle of the Dnieper, which means that with a successful combination of circumstances, you will meet old age with your husband-colonel. Or you won’t if you run away earlier, unable to withstand all the hardships and hardships of military life.

C - Stability

She just doesn't exist. You will never know how long you will live in one place and where you will then be sent. Most likely further away. The more remote the place of its location, the higher the chance that you will go there.

Every time you need to start all over again and be prepared for the fact that the water is in the column, and the amenities are on the street.

T - Patience

We need to find its inexhaustible source. And draw liters from there - one glass on an empty stomach for prevention, and in advanced cases, increase the dosage until the symptoms disappear.

About - Communication

With anyone, but not with her husband. Sometimes he leaves in the morning, as usual, for service and returns not even at night (this, by the way, is excellent and consider yourself lucky!), But two weeks later, simply because the Motherland said: “We must!”. The voice of the wife is deliberative, but by no means decisive.

D - children

At first it’s hard with them, grandparents are far away, there is often no one to help, you can only rely on yourself. But children grow up and become like cats! That is, they walk on their own. In a closed area where everyone knows each other, nothing bad will ever happen.

F - pity

Forget! First, you will learn not to spare yourself, otherwise you will not survive, because the whole life is on you, and there is no time for your husband - he has a service. Then stop feeling sorry for others. And if you see that someone is not conscientiously fulfilling their duties, just do not remain silent. And it is right!

The train flashed by with luminous windows, a long whistle of goodbye, and we were left alone with two suitcases at a dimly lit half-station. Rare lanterns, one-story wooden and brick houses with tightly closed shutters, the lights of high-rise buildings flickered in the distance ... After the regular thud of the wagon wheels, silence fell upon us.

Our independent life began.

We had nowhere to sleep. The compassionate duty officer of the hostel offered to stay in the "red corner", where a young married couple had already settled for the night. Probably, our confusion touched the heart of the unfamiliar lieutenant, because late at night, when the four of us gathered at a long meeting table covered with red staples and wondered what we should do, he knocked softly and, apologetically, handed us the key to his room. He and his friend went to sleep in the gym ...

My husband and I once studied in the same class, sat at the same desk, copied from each other, prompted in the lessons. How I did not want him to become a military man! .. gold medal excellent knowledge of natural sciences- the doors of all the universities of the city were open before him, but the family tradition (in his family all the men were officers) outweighed the scales.

When my research supervisor at the university found out that I was marrying a cadet, he urged me for a long time not to do stupid things. I studied well, received an increased scholarship, developed a promising topic that could become the basis for a dissertation. But youth and love do not care about the advice of elders, career and well-being. In addition, in self-denial, I imagined myself to be Princess Volkonskaya, going into exile to fetch her husband...

Our town was considered one of the best. Representative commissions were brought here, flying back in helicopters filled to overflowing with deficits from military trade warehouses and modest gifts of the local nature.

Everything was in that prosperous, exemplary garrison and the cleanliness that the soldiers brought in the mornings instead of full-time janitors, and the pond, dug and cleaned by their own hands, and the flower beds, abundantly filled with water, while it did not reach the upper floors of the houses, and even a fountain with cascades. There was only the smallest thing - housing for officers.

The same as me, young girls every day besieged the instructor of the communal-operational unit in charge of resettlement, and she calmly shrugged her hands: “Wait” ...

But not everyone was waiting. Who turned out to be smarter and who had money, soon moved into apartments. The rest, who did not want to present expensive gifts and give bribes, or simply did not have the required amount, lived in the hostel for a long time, moving from room to room.

There, in a communal apartment, for the first time in my life I saw bedbugs. Neighborhood with blood-sucking insects was combined with the crying of a baby behind the wall, the rumble of stomping boots along a long corridor, the howling of a siren in the morning, calling officers to a drill, with the voice of a singer coming from someone's old tape recorder, or the strumming of a detuned guitar.

A year later, I was no longer surprised that at three in the morning someone suddenly needed salt or a piece of bread, or even just wanted to pour out their soul.

Those who had no problems with housing are unlikely to understand the depth of happiness of owning their own corner. One of my acquaintances, also an officer’s wife, who has spent a lot of time around the world, lived in private apartments for crazy pay, once admitted to me: “You know, when I get my apartment, I will kiss and stroke its walls ...”

We were almost the last to leave the hostel, the day before the New Year. And together with the new neighbors, they burned unnecessary trash, boxes and crates. We watched in silence as the flames licked dry cardboard, shooting out bedbugs, and it seemed to us that we were incinerating our recent past in smoldering firebrands. It was believed that this cleansing fire would forever carry away all our sorrows and hardships into the blackness of the night.

And then they returned to their empty apartment, where instead of a light bulb two bare wires hung lifelessly, and on rickety chairs with official numbers that replaced our table, they celebrated the holiday by candlelight.

It wasn't until three years later that we finally received a warrant for a separate apartment.

After work, having hastily eaten store cutlets, we went to repair our new home. They rejoiced, like children, at each painted window, the wall pasted over with wallpaper. And in rare breaks, we imagined how great it would be for us to live here. No one will wake you up in the morning with the sound of heels, no one will meet you at the door and hand over your two-month-old baby to sit. In the evening it will be possible to watch by yourself, without neighbors, a rented TV.

I don’t remember when the first well-knit box appeared in our house, but only then did they become our constant companions. Wooden and cardboard, large and small, neatly folded "just in case."

Surprising this state - temporality. It is difficult to grasp at what point it becomes dominant in your destiny, powerfully subordinates you to its laws, predetermines your desires and actions.

I was absolutely sure that even the most severe administrator would not resist my honors diploma, optimism and energy, and I would find a job for myself without much effort. It wasn't there! At first, everything really went wonderfully (a pleasant smile, a friendly tone), but as soon as I announced that I was the wife of an officer ... At first, it was even curious to observe the drastic change that was taking place with my employers. Where did their administrative enthusiasm, friendliness, sympathetic intonations go! The answer followed immediately and in a categorical form: there are no vacancies and are not expected in the near future.

I continued to knock on the thresholds of the institutions until the military family instructor patiently explained to me that there was a long and hopeless queue for every place in the town. And you have to get out yourself if you want to work. The only thing she could offer me at that moment. - the position of the administrator in the hotel. And yet I was lucky. Something touched the heart of the elderly editor of the local newspaper, and he accepted me as a correspondent for a month's trial period, thus insuring himself against further obligations.