Глеб Бобров - The Torn Souls - An Anthology of Prose About the Soviet War in Afghanistan

When the bullet was removed from the barrel, flight technician F. narrowed his eyes:

— You know, Felix, — they were aiming at your bum. If not for my barrel, this bullet would have drilled a hole under your seat.

— If it was not for your barrel — Lieutenant Mukhametshin shivered — we would not have this bravado trip in the first place, damn you!

— But now they are scared. They know who is in-charge!

And, indeed, the Chagcharan route became much safer.

At the very beginning of his war, the flight engineer F. was transporting three officers with their cargo, which included a bunch of jackets, packed lunch boxes, canned meat, canned butter and potatoes. Among the usual stuff there were some personal items: a “Sanyo” portable tape recorder and several boxes of chocolate with an inscription on their labels in Slavonic, but not in Russian: “Litoyi chokolat”. This chocolate inexplicably excited the imagination of the flight technician F.

He imagined that there, in the boxes, wrapped in colorful foil, are figurines cast in dark chocolate. It reminded him of a hygienic set “Moidodyr” for children, in which a molded soap in the shape of squirrels were placed next to a round box of tooth powder; he imagined the same squirrel, and other small animals, but made of chocolate.

Later, when he had some money, he had learned that those boxes had no chocolate, but contained ordinary Yugoslavian made lollypops “Bonko”. They had very pretty packaging, they were themselves pretty as semiprecious stones — the rocks shaped by the sea, — they were delicious, more delicious than the berries they were named after — but… it was a disappointment. Well, anyway, the image of chocolate — warm, heavy, glossy figurines stuck in the head of flight engineer F.

One day, the pair of choppers were bringing cargo to the advisors’ village somewhere in the south. Upon arriving, the pilots did everything that should be done, then started the ignition and took off. To save time and fuel, they decided to cut corners, and, without flying around the villages, take a direct flight.

The choppers took the safest route — above the villa of the advisors. They were flying neither high, nor low — something around fifteen metres — just to be sure not to touch the trees, but also diminish the risk of attack. So, when the first one flew over the villa, and the second one was just approaching it, major Bozhko transmitted:

— Oh, myyyyyyy God!. do not look down, young people!

After these words both crews, from the leading and the second helicopter, looked down with an extreme curiousness. Beneath them they saw a line of widely ramified Himalayan cedars; and there was also a blue rectangle pool, confined by a high fence, next to a substantial building. However, it was not the beauty of this “Taj Mahal” composition, but a reflection of the white villa in the calm water with a background of the blue sky, that made the entire crew lose their breathe.

On the pink sand near the pool, on identical towels with a pattern of slashing red and blue stripes, two young women were lying like candies wrapped in this surrealistic reality. One was lying on her stomach, the other one — on her back. Their bodies were naked and tanned. Shining sun reflected on their wet bodies. Two chocolate figures lying on the wrappers — they are a chocolate dream, those squirrels!

— The Fondant chocolate! — the flight engineer F. whispered and felt a taste of dark chocolate and cognac in his mouth. Yes, these figurines must have cognac in them…

It was like the helicopters had came across, and been stricken by an invisible force, which cause them to shiver slightly. The left and right pilots, sticking out their heads into the open blisters, were looking down; the right one even waved with his hand. The flight engineer F. also was looking down at his feet, through the lower glass under the bed gun. The water started to ripple, the bathers’ beach towels began hurriedly slapping their mistresses as they try to cover from the looks above. But the women were not embarrassed at all; they lent on their elbows, and waved to the dragons that were crawling over them.

— Hey, where are you? — Said Bozhko. — Have you got lost between their tits, or what? Catch up quickly!

And the second helicopter with a guilty bowing of its head followed the leader.

Sveta was beautiful; she was the waitress in a diner. To be exact, she was gorgeous, or, perhaps, she was rather absolutely stunning. However, not everyone shared this opinion of flight engineer F.

Her green eyes, big lips, a careless “ponytail”, slim, flexible, tanned body, small breasts, which were covered with a tight-fitting T-shirt, but revealing a dark flat stomach — all of these, of course, could excite those who were having breakfast, lunch or dinner. But not everyone openly admired her. Many people grimaced when her name was mentioned.

Maybe her provocative small breasts were a stumbling block for lovers, but there was another reason for such attitude of the majority of the summer crew. The beautiful woman was not responding to signs of the attention that she was receiving. Once, when a major extended his affectionate hand to Sveta’s tanned thigh while she was pouring him tea, she calmly said:

— Hands off, or I will rinse your bald head with this boiling water. — And she shook a large kettle slightly in the direction of the major’s face.

The flight engineer F. was fearful of her. Rather, he was scared that she might be rude to him, so he tried communicating with her politely and using a minimal set of words. Entering the diner in the morning, he would say “Good morning” — and she could kindly respond. His “Thank you” will be following by a very friendly “You’re welcome” or “That’s OK”. And this was enough for the lieutenant to hope that she could treat him differently compared to others.

Some guys explained her weary contempt by a rumor that Sveta came here from Odessa city. According to the rumor, over there she was in charge of a large department store, but the financial troubles allegedly forced her to flee to the “wild south”. Someone also suggested that the waitress was suffering from dissatisfaction with her personal life.

— That bitch! — Some would say when she left swinging her hips after throwing the plates on the table with a loud bang. The senior lieutenant Sklyarenko was the one who raged about her the most.

— What the hell is that! — he fumed. — Again, there are no knives on the tables, and this chick does not even care! By the way, we have to go into battle with a quiet mind. And here in the diner… — I cannot stand it!

One day, when Sveta, proudly holding her head and carrying a tray in her hands, was passing lieutenant Sklyarenko’s table, he said loudly:

— Excuse me, waitress, bring me the kettle, please!

Without turning her head, Sveta replied:

— Take it from the table next to you.

— I want you to bring it to me! — Senior lieutenant raised his voice.

The waitress took a full kettle and put it down on the table with force. Hot tea poured from the spout onto the lieutenant’s knees.

— A-ah-ah! — He cried and jumped up, knocking over a chair. — What have you done, you bitch! You did it on purpose!

Sveta, leaning across the table and looking into the eyes of senior lieutenant, quietly but clearly said:

— Fuck you, asshole!

— What did you say? — the senior lieutenant was cross. — Comrade Commander! Comrade Commander!

And Squadron Commander, who was sitting at a table together with a chief of staff and the deputy commander for political work, sighed wearily: