самИздат

But let's turn back to the casual (everyday) uniform the upper part of which (the cap) has already been exposed, in general.

The innermost layer of those sheathing a conbatist were underpants and a tank-shirt (in winter long-sleeve undershirt and long johns).

These next to the skin items at the following (moving outward) lever had a composite cover of the khaki cotton jacket without any shoulder-straps (in case you got promoted to any rank distinguished by a number of yellow stripes across the shoulder-strap, then you were in charge of procuring the needed insignia).

Five round buttons of light green plastic had no holes but a single protruding eyelet in the underbelly so as to save their entire globoid faces for the embellishing bass-relief of pentacle star that contained sickle and hammer (crisscross) in its center, all of which served to fasten the jacket's front vertically. The skirts of the jacket reached the middle of the thighs and its sides had straight pockets—just below the waist—covered with flaps wide enough to prevent ground getting inside when the conbatist dug holes. The buttons in the wide sleeve cuffs were of the same green plastic, and of the same design, but thrice smaller in size.

Under the left breast in the jacket, there was the inner sack-like pocket of khakied burlap.

Besides the jacket, the second level layer in casual uniform included trousers—some proud manifestation of the ideals of pragmatism—two cotton pipes of legs, narrowing downwards, overlaid with large patches on knees for hardening and prolonging the service life of the whole item, two upright pockets on the hips had no flaps and the small smooth buttons of emblematic decorations to operate the fly. (Just for the record, at each of the leg down apertures there also was an inch-wide strip sewn across the openings but the fanciful additions got cut off at once so that they wouldn't fuck your brains nor rub your soles.)

In winter the cap was replaced by a hat with ear-flaps made of artificial gray fur. The fastening strings at the flap tips allowed for wearing such a hat in four distinct manners:

1. "ears up"-type, aka King Solomon Crown;

2. "ears pressed under the back of the head"-type, aka Cautious Rabbit;

3. "ears loosened"-type, aka Hawk Coasting Proudly;

4. "ears tied under the chin"-type, aka Sparring Partner.

A padded jacket constituted the outmost layer worn in winter. Upright stitches, keeping the wool lining in place, gave the padded jacket a hybrid-like looks of epic heroes combat outfit and concentration camp uniform, only in an unvarying khaki color.

Instead of a padded jacket, a soldier could wear a pea-jacket with the smooth outside surface. The latter surpassed the padded jacket in many ways. Firstly, there was twice as much wool in its lining and hence it was warmer. Secondly, it reached the middle of the thighs, covering the groin and buttocks from the nasty extremes of winter weather.

And one final glimpse of the parade-crap, not to omit the double-breasted greatcoat of cloth-felt completing the ceremonial ensemble in winter.

The greatcoat ended a bit below the knees and had 2 vertical rows of yellow metallic buttons (same bass-relief of the loaded star etc.) on the breast (one of the rows decorative). Behind—across the sacrum—the short strip of same-fabric, half-belt, with a buttons at each end (both decorative), under which, just next to the rectum, started the vertical gash splitting the skirts – in case of the need to quicken the pace or for any other needs.

And last but not least, the wide belt of sturdy tarpaulin with the weighty metal plate-buckle which could be used for a host of purposes, starting from digging a hole up to becoming a lethal weapon in a fight, when used as a mace on a string, sort of. It was not used to keep a soldiers pants though but to have him girded over any jacket or greatcoat he had on, and only in the parade-crap the belt was not observed, yet mostly present under the jacket, just in case.

Here, in short, how the construction battalion soldier, aka conbatist, was dressed. Though we, the spring draft of 1973, at first were honored and trusted to finish off the Russian and Red Armies' tunics with the stand-up collar, aka choker, which had been inherited and kicking back around in the warehouses of the Soviet Army. Later on, when we had worn them off to tatters and they became a real rarity, the "pheasants” were steaming with the itch to get such a one, unlike anybody else’s.

The comparative analysis of the component items in the outfit of the conbatist serviceman shows that the most idiotic piece in it was the forage cap, being uncomfortable to put under your head when sleeping, because of its hard visor, and mulishly resistant to attempts at pulling it over your ears in the rain…)

Each of the barracks was entered thru the outside cell in the middle of its long side. The narrow vestibule (3m x 3m) had the floor of wide ash-colored tiles underneath the low ceiling of painted plywood resting on wide lattice windows in its walls.

Outside the front door, a rectangular grating of parallel rebar-rods bridged a shallow cemented pit for the dirt falling off the high boots when scraped against the grating.

Close to the vestibule there stood an equally sized openwork gazebo with a bench of three beams running along the three plank sides. Its four-sided roof was propped by the posts in the gazebo corners. In the center of the cemented floor there was another pit, this one of rounded walls and without any lid or grating – for the servicemen to throw their cigarette stubs in, which eventually would be cleaned up by the on-duty soldier.

Next to the gazebo, there stretched a three-meter-long footrest allowing several men to simultaneously put one or the other of their feet upon it when polishing their high boots.

Anything omitted? Oh, yes! And the grass on both sides of the asphalt path around the barrack. When the Sergeants got over hot with drilling us in the sun-swept drill grounds, bounded by the gate, the Canteen, and the sorteer, or fed up with driving it home to us the meaning of lines in the booklet of the Statute of Internal Military Service, they cut us loose with the order to eradicate ragweed, aka ambrosia.

Previously, I knew for sure that ambrosia was a cheerful drink at the feasts of the eternally young and immortal gods of Olympus, and never suspected it had a nickname – the terribly vicious grass. We were shown sheets with a black-and-white picture of the wanted culprit coupled with short lines calling to find and liquidated the offender spreading dangerous hay fever.

That was the one and only unreservedly welcome command because the Sergeants disappeared for an hour or so, and, lying in the grass, we could talk and get acquainted in no hurry… From Konotop there was no one but me and others were from different cities – Buryn, Krolevets, Shostka, in the same Sumy region.

In general, the entire spring draft to VSO-11 was from Ukraine with the Dnepropetrovsk fellas brought before us. They had already undergone the training and got distributed to the companies of the battalion. Taking advantage of the Sergeants' absence, a couple of them sneaked into the gazebo to collect the cigarette stubs from the rounded hole, dropped there by us at the command to fall in.

Nobody really knew why the poor Ambrosia was hunted down so severely, and nothing in the grass around resembled it even remotely, but the idle talks helped to at least shortly forget about the gruesome eternity piled on us for the following two years…

~ ~ ~

The newly acquired outfit harbored certain predicament at training the commands of "get up!" and "light out!", the buttons could hardly be squeezed in and out of the tight buttonholes. On the advice of a wise newbie Vitya Strelyany, I widened them with an aluminum spoon handle in the Canteen, and they began to fly in and out nice and swiftly…

The immediate goal of the drill training was to sell ourselves on the Oath Day. All in all, there were three platoons in the "training" barrack with one and the same song for them all, which was often aired by the All-Union "Mayak" Radio Station.

"In two winters,

Merely in two winters,

In two summers,

Merely in two summers

I'll do my honest service in the army

And come back to you…"

After the first platoon finished their ceremonial-step circling round and round the drill grounds and singing the song in a false course chorus concluded by the finalizing, "Stop! One-two!" the second platoon marched into the same ground singing the same song, which turned unbearably long. And when at last they also stopped, we, the third platoon, stomped in, blaring about the third pair of winters and summers, which was a crying redundancy.

The recruits snickered, the Sergeants of the first and second platoons laughed outright, and our Sergeant got icky nervous… When I told him I could prepare another song for us to sing, if only I had a pen and paper, he did not immediately get it what I was talking about, but then I was set free from the drill grounds to do creative work for the benefit of the platoon.

The Sergeant instructed me to get the needed stationery from the on-duty soldier guarding the cabinet-box… The first thing you saw on entering any barrack was a soldier standing next to the cabinet-box. The soldier was an on-duty serviceman, and the cabinet-box was his sentry post. Standing there, he had to issue the command "Company! At attention!" when the barrack was entered by an officer.

There were 2 on-duty privates daily who replaced each other by the cabinet-box every four hours, and at the mealtime, the one free from the watch went to the Canteen under command of the on-duty Sergeant to lay the tables with the havvage for the company servicemen to have it.

Those 3 (the on-duty Sergeant and the pair of private men) were called "on-duty detail" and stayed it for 24 hours. The current on-duty Sergeant was surprised by my request, yet he gave me a pen and a sheet of paper.

Passing to the end of the barrack, I entered the room which the company political commander, aka zampolit, called "Leninist Room" because its walls were paneled by yellow chipboard and next to the mirror there hung the brown-yellow icon of Leader's profile in a piece of Beaverboard, but in the soldiers' lingo it was "live-mains room" because of the wall sockets for an iron or electric razors and the mirror wide enough to be used by 2 or 3 of shaving men at once…

The song air was no problem – everyone knew the perennial hit:

"Maroosya, a black-haired girl,

Picked berries

Of gelder rose..."

But not everyone knew that originally the song was sung as "C’mon, fellas, uncinch the horses…" which meant that it got used to transformations of its lyrics:

"Our parade march is the best,

And our song's the loudest,

That's the tune

Of our platoon!.."

Sitting over a sheet of paper I twirled the pen in my fingers picking up words in my mind, fitting them this or that way. And gradually the Leninist live-mains around me, and the acrid smell of fresh cotton from my uniform, and the smarting itch in my right foot rubbed to bleeding, all that faded into the woodwork. I was in AWOL from the army…

Yes, we did learn and sing it quite bravely…

the most final
concluding work

:from the personal
site
of
a graphomaniac

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~