"Mikhail Evstafiev. Two Steps From Heaven " - читать интересную книгу автора

wore his uniform badly, but then nothing would have looked a good fit on a
body like that.

...anger arises from a desire to gain revenge ... the weaker the man,
the more he is oppressed, and when one who has been slighted gets a chance
to rise, he takes his revenge on the new boys - a vicious circle...

... time to sleep ... let others sort out this mess... after all, he's
not from our company...

"Let's go back to bed, Zhenka," suggested Sharagin after they both
smoked a cigarette,
"How can anyone sleep after that?"
He could understand Chistyakov. Afghanistan has made him so harsh and
fiery.

... who can say what I'll be like at the end ...

Chistyakov had served twenty three months in Afghanistan and for the
past eight weeks had been hanging around waiting to be replaced.
He had stopped going to the mess hall and lived off canned food, bread
and tea. From time to time the girls in the goods depot would give him a
snack out of gratitude for his songs and attentions, especially the
mysterious blonde nobody had ever seen but who, according to Zhenka, was
crazy about him.
"She though I was going to marry her," confided Zhenka to his friends.
"How's that?" queried Sharagin. "You've already got a family,"
"That's right. That's what I told her, if I didn't have a family, I'd
take you to the ends of the earth.
"And what did she say?" chipped in Pashkov.
"She kept crying, damn it..."
"That's a bad sign," warned Morgultsev. "We'll be going into combat
soon, and women in war bring bad luck..."
Chistyakov spent the entire following day lying on his bunk. He even
refused to go into town when the opportunity came up, just lay there in
silence.
"Where's senior lieutenant Chistyakov?" demanded the commander, running
his eyes over the troops.
"His lordship's resting.." replied Pashkov, smoothing his luxuriant
whiskers.
I see, down for safe keeping..." The captain knew this mood well. This
was the state of many awaiting replacements. The Lord helps those who help
themselves . Should the spooks start shelling, even the most seasoned and
brave soldiers would race for cover without a second thought. Who wants to
be killed a few days before going back home?
"Fuck! Where the hell is he?" moaned Chistyakov. "Where is that fucking
son of a no-good bitch?"
"Enjoying his leave," replied Pashkov, fueling the flames. "Or maybe
he's drunk as a skunk in Tashkent. Putting down one beer after another..."
"Just wait and see," prophesied the commander. "Right now Chistyakov's