¡No pasarán! January 2024: Fletch trench diary part 43: memoir diarising on a quiet morning after sneaky Russian infiltration at night, being hit with RPGs at 6am or so (my Georgian brother flying back across the position, as explained, and myself rather casually noting that I had 'earth blown into my face'… both of us groggy awhile, my first concussion, and marked unceremoniously by the line commander 'Klaus' arriving to shout at N*** that he should "NAGUTSIA, BLYAAAAT!"
It means 'duck down—fuckkkk!" N*** groaned in response, rubbing his head. My own health was not inquired about.
Grumpy as the line commander was every time I engaged in those earlier missions—e.g. on the staredown / Mexican standoff with the sniper, broken by Dato screaming 'Fletch, sniper, sniper!", then letting loose a few shots then flinging myself aside… or when Perequito and I had an infiltrator creeping up on us before cocking his kalashnikov at close-range in the night, etc. etc.—well, grumpiness or not, I'm quite fond of those moments, and they were amusing at the time. The blend of Ukrainian stoicism and curmudgeonliness in those situations is both helpful and funny, in a hellscape.
Among my favourite moments in the earlier missions, December 2023-January 2024: alongside sniper 'Dato': first night on stag together, December 2023, I played cat n' mouse with a flashing red figure in the thermal goggles, who kept leaning out from cover and taking aim… a strange moment where I almost didn't believe my eyes, and surrendered to curiosity and amazement till Dato cried 'sniper, sniper! Fletch!' and I ducked…
The contact (gunfire provoked by this staredown / Mexican standoff with a damned enemy sniper!) received no enthusiasm, and met only with grumpy tantrums from the line commander, who was unhappy with my apparent willingness to engage…
Then, as detailed here: Perequito (see him on Tik Tok) and I were on stag, and without any visuals through the tepplers (thermal goggles) we heard the unmistakeable sound of kalashnikovs cocking really close to our position, perhaps twenty metres away…
They'd crept through the undergrowth passing the position forty metres to our southeast, avoided detection through thermals or NVGs, gotten into the blind spot, and were about to unload on us. Sure enough, after we blazed and sprayed, awhile later our line commander came out and grumpily berated me for shooting 'at rabbits and mice' (crollik i mishka, ne strilyat blyaaat!) rather than congratulating us on our splendid activities in holding the line. Funny old life.
And, as detailed here (starting at 1:30) in my 'trench diary', my Georgian brother and I getting hit with RPG fire, 'moya gruzynksi bratta' being blown back against the sandbags, myself with a faceful of earth and quite groggy, then having the same line commander come to berate us for not ducking. Or rather, berate N***: me, he ignored, though I was grateful he didn't blame this engagement on 'rabbits and mice' like usual.
Good old 2nd Legion.
I miss these guys.
http://amazon.com/author/danielfletcher
See 'PoetwarriorFletch' and 'Fletch_aka_BANGERS' on Youtube, Mixcloud and soon-to-be Tik Tok.
Информация по комментариям в разработке