Now we are going to the Central Train Station, where, in almost full complement, was wiped out the Mikop Brigade. When after the battle they began to fall asleep (imagine no sleep for a week, adrenaline and Vodka for breakfast, lunch and dinner), spooks slunk up and wasted them from a point blank range. When our brigade fought its way through heavy rebel defences to help them, our tanks had to struggle through barricades of corpses of our Slavic brothers... If you want, can go to my basement, the fighters have beaten five rats just now and are cooking breakfast now. Just the mistake Chapaev made: no guards along perimeter. Their commander, with both his legs injured; still tried to reassert control, although he could retreat to the rear. When you see how tracks chop and hummer human flesh, how heavy leading wheels coil intestines of people just like yourself... (c) Copyright 1996-1999 Vyachslav Mironov (c) Copyright 2001 translation by Alex Dokin ([email protected]) (c) Copyright 2001 translation by Konstantin S. Have to run a zigzag path (in our brigade we call it "run a screw"). And there are enough screwballs like that in every unit, the enemy and ours. We thought, maybe medivac the fellow, but then again, can't even medivac the casualties, and this one, though a crank, still fighting. Everybody had a thought that the brigade had made everything according to it. Leskov (c) Copyright 2001 translation by Marta Malinovskaya (c) Copyright 2009, 2011 translation by Oleg Abramov (c) Copyright 2001 translation by Oleg Petrov ([email protected]) Date: Feb-Mar 2001 I'm running. Up there on "The Continent" he'd definitely go nuts. Their faces are all black from gunpowder, eyeballs and teeth are shining. Nod to one, point direction to another and we are all off sprinting forward, zigzag, "screw" and roll. - Eh, mama told me: "learn English" - My mama told me: "Do NOT crawl into wells, sonny". No sign of the enemy in the window at the other side of the house and we leapfrog, taking short streaks, stooped four times our normal hight, towards the Central Train Station. The brigade remains are trying to fight the way to the old center.
And now again, we are beating our own Russian land on somebody's hugger-mugger order... Turned around - all my grunts are fine, prone on the ground, watching. In the WWII books and movies, infantry is called "The Queen of the battle field ". - Fine, let's go, or we'll frost down here, - I make terrible hoarse sounds coughing. I spat with green and yellow slime - consequence of my many years of smoking. It seemed like the Earth, asphalt and house walls were ablaze from the burning fuel. When your boots slip on the bloody mucus, then the important thing is to think of nothing, and concentrate on only one objective: survive, survive and save your men. People panicked in the inferno, some tried to return fire, some helping the wounded. What would you, my reader, do in that hell on earth? Because those you'd lose will come to you in your dreams. The spooks were spraying from above, madly (about 20 guns) but disorganised.
With a couple of grunts now had to leave our APCs behind and sneak our way over to the headquarters. - We should scarper, before cleanup is not started. At least the dogfaces are more confident now, more or less used to this, all were tested by fire.