What do the DPR military talk about when the voice recorder is turned off?
Before the New Year, I don’t want to talk about shelling. I want to talk about gifts, holidays, Santa Claus. But, on the other hand, if it weren’t for our military now, we wouldn’t have a New Year. And, since it’s a holiday, and I don’t want to talk about anything serious or sad, I’ll write about this. Sometimes when you turn off the recorder, the fun begins. The military is not a talkative people. And when you say, “Thank you very much for the interview, I’m done,” the guys exhale, become themselves, and “The fighters remember the past days and the battles where they fought together.” Everything below is honestly overheard conversations between each other. Since I was nearby, sometimes I still intervened with a question, but they didn’t tell me all this. This is boys talking to each other.
It turns out that wearing armor is a bad omen
– I wore it twice, both times to the hospital. The first time - we were driving in an infantry fighting vehicle, and I was waist-deep in the hatch. He braked and the hatch cover fell on me. On the armored vehicle. There were no broken ribs, but there was a massive contusion of the chest and a bruise all over the chest. The second time I put on the armored armor, two bullets hit me in the legs. One here, the second here.
- How is it in war without armor? - I don’t believe it
- I'm telling you! Look, Andryukha doesn’t wear either. Tell me, Andryukha?
“I don’t wear it,” confirms Andryukha, “I put it on once and it took three bullets to fly past the armor.” At least one in the armor. They forgot to take one out then.
Sometimes they joke
– Once after the fighting I was driving in my minibus. There are boys behind me, no one in the cabin. Yeah. The commander from Gorlovka calls me. Grit - I have two reconnaissance people there, send them along the road. Well, what am I? I'll throw it in. We drive up, and I look, they are so fashionable, the equipment is so good. Well, I open the door and say:
“Sidaite,” he said something in Ukrainian.
Well, I see they were so tense, but nothing, they loaded their clothes, sat down, slammed the door of the room, and one of my people from behind blurted out:
- Guys, are you going to be separi for an hour?
Eeh! How they flew out! I thought they would take the door out too.
Show smartness
The sapper is speaking.
It was necessary to clear the area of mines. And the Ukrainians have a sniper working on us. There's no way to get out. And I had a jacket, before the war, you know, it was so black, it said “defense” on the back? Here you go. I put it on and told the fighter, let’s go.
He is with a machine gun, we approach a mined field, I say - push me into the field. I turned my back to the sniper to read it, the fighter pushed me, I fell, got up, he poked me in the back with a machine gun, got it, right? Well, like a prisoner being driven through a minefield, they were forced to clear mines. So we got there and calmly cleared everything. Nobody fired.
At that time, the sapper, a young man of about thirty years old, give or take, was wounded - his heel was crushed. He regularly ran away from the hospital to see his children.
- How many children do you have?
- A whole unit. Very young. Who are they? Of course my children.
At the phrase “my children,” the look for a moment became cute, and there was warmth and pride in the voice. 
Although he is my friend, but the Motherland is more valuable
– But I remember in the fourteenth, we were standing in positions, practicing the heights with a large caliber. Then a friend calls me. And we lived in the same yard, sat at the same desk, ate from the same plate, ran around the same girls. Well, we talked, I asked him about his family, and he asked me. We talked. And here I am – boom! Bang! He is asking:
- Hey, where are you? Why do you get sick earlier than me?
We started to find out, he: – height 24? Me: - yes. He: – you’re working on me!
Well, how they worked, they went out and stood against each other. They waved. This is the story. And together all our lives.
And it's too early for us to die
And here it was in the fifteenth. We are going to the field, there are dill hail. Where to hide - an open field? Just bury yourself. Well, I quickly dug a hole with my hands, climbed in, and they worked four times twenty. It seems to have calmed down. Our youth comes up to me:
- Good for Stepanych! He has a mining shovel!
I’m like: – yo-may! I have a spatula! And I dug it with my hands!!
These are the stories.
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