Sea tales. Life on a ship

True stories from naval life

Sea minesweeper. Photo from the book "Weapons of Russia"

FRIENDSHIP!

And, as sometimes happens when performing official duties away from superiors and family, not without a small sin, known to everyone as passion for the green snake.

On one of the wonderful fine days, the trawl was driven into the sea. To protect the already mentioned borders. For it was in the days that in a certain country, where, according to its natives, the sun rises, they once again celebrated “Days northern territories". I do not name the country, so as not to cause unforeseen diplomatic difficulties. A smart man will guess, but a fool does not need to know.

So, these same vile samurai, considering some of the original Russian stones as their own, went out at that time on their fragile boats, called junks, into the sea. And the picture turned out like this.

Our heroic sea minesweeper cruises in the sea space, and around it are dozens, hundreds of junks, fluttering here and there, like butterflies over the field. The pandemonium is almost Babylonian. That and look someone will drown if you give a little more speed. And it is impossible to lie down in a drift, because cross-eyed friends strive to climb aboard the minesweeper.

Kolya-Drake, seeing such a thing, nevertheless made a move. And added turnovers. And since the 254th move is gaining quickly and imperceptibly, the maneuver turned out to be very successful. A couple of junks managed to dodge the stem, and one was torn in half, like an eggshell. Fisherwomen, who a minute ago dreamed of returning to the Country rising sun Kunashir and Shikotan have already begun to dream about how they would not drown. Because no matter how you grab posters with bright hieroglyphs, they don’t add buoyancy.

Kolya-Drake, let's give him his due, despite some drunkenness, did not lose his head. Played "Man overboard!" and dragged the semi-drowned men onto the deck. Brothers in arms, by the way, were in no hurry to help them. As the fighters for land were hauled aboard the wheeled corvette, Drake thought for a moment. Because it turned out, of course, an emergency with a touch of an international scandal. And Kolya did not like scandals.

So I had to give the radio to the base. There, of course, they were somewhat stunned by the surprise, and since the main thing in the fleet was to report in time and clarify the situation, they sent a boat to the area of ​​​​the incident with high headquarters.

In the meantime, the boat was going to the meeting point, Drake decided to sort things out with the owner of the junk. Which, of course, could not speak Russian. In addition, he began to cough and sneeze suspiciously. And Kolya had to heal the samurai, for which the commander's reserve was removed from the safe.

A couple of hours later, the boat with the commission moored to the minesweeper. Not listening to the inconsistent report of the watch officer, the chairman of the commission - a thin, energetic caprice - quickly walked into the commander's cabin.

The rest of the inspectors did not lag behind the chief. Kapraz paused for a moment at the cabin door and pushed the door sharply. The latter opened and an unforgettable picture appeared before the eyes of the commission.

Drake, embracing the foreigner by the thin shoulders, loudly sang: "On this day the samurai decided ..." The captain of the junk diligently sang along with him. On the table stood a hefty bottle of alcohol. The commander's safe was opened to its fullest. The handle of the Makarov protruded from its belly and the roots of some documents were visible.

Drake looked up at the newcomers with dazed eyes and, with difficulty moving his tongue, uttered the only foreign word he had learned over the long years of school and later life: "Freundschaft..."

A month later, Lieutenant Commander Nikolai Bulgakov commanded the base minesweeper of the Mashka type. In the darkness of the Pacific Fleet called Timofeevka.

True, and there he did not last long. Possessing truly horse health (Kolya swam in the sea from April to November - this is at the Pacific Fleet!), Drake believed that his subordinates should also be like that. Therefore, the subjects of his ship kingdom went forever half-dressed and half-shod, with holes in the "reptiles" and in tatters to match the pirate attire.

Somehow, another commission raided Colin "Masha". Arranged, as is customary, drill review. Drake brought his own, built. The view of the sailors, of course, was terrifying. But what a morale! The highest level!

The stunned inspectors, moving from sailor to sailor in the ranks, heard from the ragamuffins in uniform only valiantly cheerful: “Sailor Pupkin. Well-fed, shod, I like service in the Navy. Ready to stay on overtime!”

The patience of the high authorities snapped. Kolya was demobilized. Now he is a pilot somewhere on the Dnieper.

SHURICK

- Well, everything, kabzdets "Kobchik". About him here is an article in the most excellent colors. So it either sinks or burns...

Either he croaked, or he foresaw. Exactly a week later, "Kobchik" - also the TFR of the fiftyth project, burns with a blue flame right at the wall. As always, turmoil and panic, fire trucks came in large numbers, a couple of fire boats moored, everything is in smoke, hoses are spewing with might and main ...

Screech of brakes, a black Volzhanka flies up, the commander of the base, Vice Admiral Shchadrich, comes out of it. Only a foot in a polished boot steps on the concrete, heart-rending is heard:

- Smi-i-i-r-on!

This is our Chief of Staff Shura Kardash coming to greet the high authorities. Stroev, as on a parade ground, lifting his legs high. Shura is a construction worker. And a decent dude. Flies up to the admiral and growls:

- Comrade Vice Admiral, on the 30th division of patrol ships ...

The crazy Shadrich stares at the zealous servant for a moment and interrupts him with an even more menacing growl:

"Go to hell, Kardash!"

And somewhere in the crowd accompanying:

A month later, Shura is serving in Riga. Already a division commander. Punished, it's called...

By the way, I have always loved Shura. For his immutable:

“Hey lieutenant, come here!”

Suitable:

- Comrade Captain 3rd Rank, Lieutenant Riskin...

- So, Riskin, call me this one ... how is he? Yes, this ... Well, in general, you know yourself ...

And you leave. With a clear conscience.

Disassembly at the headquarters. Already in Riga, where Shura is the commander of the "canning" division. Brigade Chief of Staff:

- And you, comrade Czardash, sailors went to self-propelled yesterday!

- I, comrade captain of the 2nd rank, not Czardash, but Kardash ...

- So I say: you, comrade Czardash, the sailors were not only in self-propelled, but also got drunk there ...

In Riga, in front of the headquarters of the "canned food" division, there was either a bronze or cast-iron football player. The body of the statue is tilted, the right leg is swinging, and the ball is in front of it.

And if a football player hit him, the ball would fly right into the window of the Kardashian office.

All this picture was presented to me live. A blow, the ball is in flight and ... flies through the window, meeting there already with the brother-in-law's forehead. And it shatters!

In Riga, Shura received captva. And retired. He got a job at a choreographic school. By whom, though, I don't know.

And I was too shy to ask.

Protocol of interrogation of a Russian sailor in the Hokkaido police,
translated literally

Where did your ship come from?
- From where it is necessary, from there, corrupt woman, and it came.
- Answer my question directly!
- Why should I, a corrupt woman, answer you directly to your question covered with feces?
- Your captain said that your ship came from Nakhodka. This is true? Do you confirm this fact?
- This corrupt woman, captain, female dog, chases, corrupt woman, and you believe him, you who have had sexual contact in your mouth! He will lie to you, a corrupt woman - and you, a female dog, will believe him!
- For what purpose did you have weapons in your cabin?
- In which male genital organ cabin?! What kind of weapon is on the male genital organ ?!
- Two Makarov pistols.
- Yes, they, a corrupt woman, some naked head of the male genital organ threw me!
- Are you sure these are not your pistols?
- Here, the selling woman! I say: these are not my Makarovs.
- How do you explain the fact that both pistols have your fingerprints on them?
- What, in the female genital organ, fingers?
- Yours.
- Yes, you went to the internal female genital organ!
- Do not swear, but answer. A sincere confession will ease your lot.
- I do not know any male genital organ! Selling women you all! What were they arrested for? Dog females!
- You have not been arrested yet, but only detained. In a few hours, the prosecutor will review our submission and decide whether or not to sign a warrant for your arrest.
- Buttocks with a handle! Prosecutor of the male penis! You want to get your Kuriles, covered with feces! Here you are mocking us, corrupt women!
- The Kuriles have nothing to do with it! Answer the question about pistols!
- The sexual organ of a male walrus, and do not "answer"!
- Stop arguing! For what purpose did you want to import pistols? Who would you like to sell or give them to?
- The male genital organ is bald to you, and not "transfer"! I will not speak of the male genital organ, corrupt woman!
- Where did you get these pistols?
- Fuck you on the male genital organ with these pistols!
- Did you bring these pistols with you from Nakhodka?
- From the male-genital-organ-clothes!
- From Vladivostok?
- From the male-sexual-organ-eye!
- Are you going to express yourself vaguely?
- I, a corrupt woman, express myself clearly: go to your mother who has had sexual intercourse!

The confused Japanese policeman, realizing that he needs to temporarily move on to another topic, changes tactics. But another disappointment awaits him:

What is your marital status?
- A?
- Do you have a family?
- What, on a man's sexual organ, family? On the male genital organ is my family? Well, her buttocks, this family!
- Which of your relatives in Russia can we contact to report your detention?
- I, a corrupt woman, to you, a corrupt woman, officially declare that, firstly, you will never receive any covered with feces of the Kurils from us or a male genital organ, and, secondly, a corrupt woman, to anyone, a corrupt woman, nothing needs to be reported. I myself, a corrupt woman, who needs to be informed!
-----
All people are different.
Treat people the way you would like them to treat you.

damn fingers
It happened when I was studying at the nautical school. After the end of the second year of training, our entire course, 98 people, led by the company commander, was assigned to the Kommissar Polukhin training transport refrigerator. We were sent to the Atlantic for a month and a half for our first group industrial practice. For almost all of us, this was the first trip to the sea. For the first time, we learned what a decent storm is, a mind-blowing pitching, and we were also given the opportunity to experience a real sea ​​work- work hard on all shifts and services, starting with the bridge, engine room and ending with the deck. One afternoon, with a group of our guys, I was at the disposal of the boatswain. We were dragging something on the deck, getting ready to come to the fishery near the Canadian island of Newfoundland. The work was not intellectual, but necessary, like any occupation on the ship. There was no time to admire the beauties of nature. And what is there to admire? The weather was vile. It rocked strongly, I had to constantly monitor my balance so as not to stumble myself and not to drop the boxes and boxes that we were carrying on our partner. Yes, and something unimaginable was going on in the stomachs out of habit - a recent dinner was constantly rushing out. The sky was overcast with gray clouds. An unpleasant damp fog spread over the sea in places and a fine, penetrating rain constantly drizzled. I noticed that not far from us, two miles away, two small islands. Or rather, not even islands, but rather two big rocks, almost vertically rising above the sea. I did not notice any vegetation on them, no signs or buildings: bare stone with a dark brown wet oily surface and characteristic cracks. One could clearly see the white breakers of the waves crashing at the foot of these bulky monoliths. I didn’t look at them for long, I simply fixed their presence with my eyes and continued to do my job. However, after a while I was like a tub cold water doused. Stop! And what are these two “damn fingers” doing in the middle of the ocean?! The comparison came unexpectedly, by analogy with the remarkable rock Devil's Finger on the Crimean Karadag. The depths in the places where we were are enormous, measured in many hundreds of meters. Just yesterday, the guys and I studied with interest the route of our travel on the navigation map and did not see any islands there at all. And experienced sailors would never lay a course near such dangerous rock formations. The ocean is large - there is enough free space for movement. Why take the risk? I became interested in this phenomenon and, without stopping my work, from time to time began to look over the side at these rocks. The next observation just shocked me. Our transport went on its course at the usual speed of 15 knots (about 27 kilometers per hour). In theory, after some time, the rocks should have been already far astern. But this did not happen! "Damn fingers" only moved back a little, but continued to be almost on our beam. It turned out that they were also moving parallel to our ship, but at a slightly lower speed. This discovery amazed me, and yet I did not tell anyone about it. He was ashamed of his inexperience, fearing to be branded as a rookie, who does not understand anything in maritime affairs. And yet for the "moving rocks" began to look even more closely. Soon I noticed that, in addition to everything else, the outlines of these islands also change their shape. Just a minute ago they looked like giant turtles, and now they stretched even more upwards, they began to resemble the skeletons of large destroyed concrete buildings. The color of these rocks became protective gray, separate stone blocks and cracks on them began to stand out. The contours of the islands, however, were somehow unstable, swaying, playing. These incomprehensible visions continued for about thirty minutes. The rocks looked very realistic and were visible in detail. However, soon the sun appeared from behind the clouds, the weather improved a little, the light fog disappeared and the outlines of the stone blocks somehow immediately, as if in a cartoon, began to form and take shape in a completely different image. A few minutes later, in place of floating shapeless islands, two fishing trawlers rocked on the waves. It turned out that they, like us, were also in a hurry to fish and were our fellow travelers for some time. Wow! I did not expect such a sudden transformation, and not somewhere in the cinema or at the performance of an illusionist, but in Everyday life. Miracles, and more! Never again in my maritime practice did I come across phenomena that even remotely resembled this unexpected session of natural tricks.

invisible spotlight
Here's another case. In the early eighties, the ship "Dedovsk", where I then worked as an electrician, crossed Atlantic Ocean with a general cargo of some mechanisms and assemblies for friendly Cuba. There was still a week to go before the capital of the island, Havana, and our ship calmly proceeded in the warm tropical waters in the direction Gulf of Mexico. The sailors enjoyed the good weather calm sea, anticipating acquaintance with all sorts of Cuban exotics. I often spent time in the company of my friend, the second mate. He was on watch from midnight to four in the morning. Usually at these moments, having brewed good coffee in a thermos, I went up to him on the bridge and we passed the time in a friendly conversation. This made his watch seem to go faster. And then one day, when we were peacefully drinking coffee on the bridge and having a casual conversation, from somewhere high altitude a beam of bright light hit us. It became as bright as day. Our ship, more than a hundred meters long, moved in a cone of light, the diameter of the base of which somewhat exceeded the dimensions of the ship's hull. The light source was somewhere very, very high (being inside the light cone, its height was simply impossible to determine). The light was uniform, bright, but somehow "cold" and very unusual for the human eye. The objects in it seemed very contrasting, embossed. From the impact of this light, I wanted to hide somewhere, go into the shadows. The word "irradiation" would best describe the flow of this light. This light was somehow inanimate, prickly. I even find it difficult to imagine what could be the source of such lighting and whether searchlights of such power existed at that time. Not sure if they still exist. But since there is artificial light (and we had not the slightest doubt that it was artificial), then there must be an owner of this unprecedented lamp. We tried to examine the place where the incomprehensible beam came from, listened: would it be possible to distinguish any sounds, for example, from an aircraft hovering above us? Everything turned out to be in vain. The silence was broken only by the steady roar of our ship's engine. And the radar did not give any marks. So only a helicopter could hover over the ship. But where could he come from almost in the center of the ocean? After all, to the nearest shore it was still to go and go. Yes, and helicopters do not fly so silently. We continued to move in this beam. The feeling was terrible. After all, few people will like it when they look at you so shamelessly and impudently. And the feeling that we are being closely studied did not pass all this time. Imagine yourself in the place of an ant, which is viewed through a large magnifying glass, and even for better visibility, the light was turned on ... The glow lasted about fifteen minutes. It did not weaken, did not intensify, did not change its color and intensity. Confused at first, my friend the navigator finally came to his senses and already decided to report the incident to the captain's cabin. And suddenly the invisible spotlight went out as suddenly as it appeared. Not faded, not retired into oblivion, but simply turned off. What was it? A group hallucination of two young people under the influence of black coffee and a blissful mood inspired by the magical beauty of the southern night? Don't think. Now there is a lot of talk about different unidentified objects, flying saucers, inexplicable phenomena and other miracles. Then newspapers and television rarely reported on any natural or other oddities. 'Cause after we've witnessed inexplicable phenomenon, which cannot be explained in any way, we did not tell anyone about it. This was fraught with ridicule from fellow sailors. At best, in response, one would have to listen to recommendations that it is not always convenient to doze off on watch - various devilry dreams. At worst, they would give advice to consult a psychiatrist. But it really happened to us!

Alexander Olegovich BOGATYREV, Murmansk

Alexander Kozlov

Naval stories

Sailors have no questions

Two hours before the new year

I ask "good" to defeat

love for the sea

sea ​​loaf

We swam - we know

Forbidden reports

Canape sticks

Sailors have no questions

The most intelligent people are us, military sailors. Explain to us, the military, don't explain - we will do it our own way anyway! Therefore, any encroachments on freedom, expressed by provocative questions: "Do you understand everything? Do you know how to do it?" - we always and without hesitation stop, answering: "Of course!" And, of course, we add: "The sailors have no questions!" At the same time, no one: neither the one who asks, nor the one who answers, has any doubts that everything will still be done not as it is said, but most likely - exactly the opposite! Such is our, among military sailors, intractable character.

Of course, this quality has invaluable advantages. So many fools command us that if we strictly followed their "brilliant" instructions with medical precision, the fleet would have died long ago, buried by the "debris" of their senile ideas. But we survived no matter what. Because they always clearly said grief to the commanders: "Yes!" And they did everything in their own way. Moreover, outwardly maintaining a deep devotion to a stupid instruction. Well, what matters is the end result.

The main thing is that the order be executed accurately and on time. How you do it is up to you. Of course, not in the way your "wise" commander explained to you. After all, you are not your own enemy, and you have no intentions of breaking your head or going crazy... No, we are not talking here, of course, about combat work and even combat training. Combat work does not tolerate amateur performance. Laughing at this is blasphemous. An order is an order. It is not discussed, but carried out.

We are talking about something completely different here. For example, the boss sends you to the warehouse to get freon cylinders for the ship's refrigeration units. And you are a newly minted lieutenant, who has just come from the school, and has not even had time to switch from a jacket to a jacket. At the same time, your boss instructs you that each cylinder must be with a cap, weighed on the scales, and each cylinder must have a standard stamp. And he sends you from the ship alone, on a dilapidated "lawn" connection, with the same first-year driver-sailor as you. And he gives the deadline before dinner, because after dinner the ship goes to sea.

Your boss promised, believing in a strange way that they were waiting for the representative of the ship in the warehouse almost with bread and salt: both loaders, and the beautiful warehouse manager, and almost the warehouse manager himself. And you come to the warehouse and see: the storekeeper Aunt Masha, who has been retired for ten years, but is still working, the loader Uncle Vasya, who seems to be at work, but has been gone for a long time, and, of course, a dusty pile of your cherished cylinders with freon. What kind of scales are there? ... Three hours in a brand new jacket, with a young executive driver-sailor, you throw these heavy cylinders into the body and curse the boss and yourself at the same time that you accepted his instruction, in the first and last time, at face value.

The next time, when you are sent to receive fuel and lubricants, you will no longer be asked: "Do you have any questions about the briefing?" "No! - you will answer, - The sailors have no questions!" And you yourself will send a midshipman with a dozen brave sailors to the warehouse in advance, and even just in case you will put on a "special outfit" and take with you a full set of entrenching and locksmith tools. And then you will complete the task for sure, accurately and on time. The sailors have no questions. They themselves know how to complete the task, and not to mess up the jacket.

Two hours before the new year

On New Year's Eve our ship was at an anchorage "point" twelve miles from a foreign shore. Ordinary duty in a long Mediterranean campaign. And suddenly the chief of staff of the brigade, Captain 2nd Rank Teply, the senior on board, noticed some kind of green object floating on three cables from the ship. "Mine! Enemy buoy! .. Alarm! .. Boat on the water! .." - commands were heard like machine-gun bursts. Finally confusing everyone and everything with them, Teply himself rushed to lead the launch of the craft.

Maybe that's why the boat was lowered exactly forty minutes. It was complete chaos. During the operation, the chief of staff managed to announce seven reprimands, four "strict men" and one NSS (incomplete official compliance) - this was personally for the first mate.

Finally, the boat was lowered. The rowers powerfully swung their oars... The green object turned out to be... a dead bird of an unknown breed and from no one knows where it came from. Perhaps she was brought here by the current from the shore.

The bird was immediately delivered to the chief of staff. Warm, having built the crew, spoke for a long time about the vigilant adversary, about the need to be vigilant on a weekly basis, about the standards for launching watercraft ... But then his eyes came across the ill-fated bird, which for some reason was held in the hand of the boat commander. The chief of staff instantly forgot what he was talking about before, and said sternly, addressing the crew of the boat: "You ... you ... Savages! If you had lowered the boat earlier, this bird might have been alive now. It was flying to us from a strange shore, but she did not have enough strength. And you ... And we, Russian sailors, could not help her ... "

He also suddenly fell silent, apparently trying to remember the topic of the previous speech. And without remembering, he waved his hand and began to climb the bridge.

What to do with the bird? the first mate called after him ingenuously.

Bury ... according to naval rituals ... - threw the chief of staff resolutely.

The bird was buried from the forecastle by those same twelve punished sailors. Starpom - the main victim - ordered:

Bury the bird!

At this command, the boatswain, who got off with just a reprimand, took the unfortunate little animal by the paws and threw it overboard.

The bird was honored with a moment of silence. And another five minute break. It's only two hours before New Year's Eve...

I ask "good" to defeat

The anti-submarine ship carried out in the Barents Sea the most famous and, probably, the most interesting shooting of all annually carried out by military sailors. The shooting was called briefly: "According to Khrushchev." In the staff language, this is artillery firing along the coast, or, in short, AC - 80. Well, in fact, this shooting is not even along the coast, but at an old, abandoned ship that has been lying on the shallows near Cape Podgorodetsky since time immemorial. And for some reason the cape was called the name of one of the "leaders of the world proletariat" of the period of the post-Stalin thaw. Either the ship itself once had this name, or because it sank in Stalin's times, or the rounded stern of the sunken ship strongly resembled the expressive bald skull of Nikita Sergeevich Khrushchev, but the name stuck with this place and even with shooting at this place strong and forever!

And so the ship lay down on a combat course. The navigator of the ship, Captain 3rd Rank Bondarev, finally decided on the course, reported to the navigation post and the target distribution post (PRC): "Target bearing 320 degrees." At the PRC, the commander of the missile and artillery warhead (BCh-2), Captain 3rd Rank Mishin, having accepted the report of the navigator, rehearsed it in the antenna post of the firing station. But purely mechanical. At the same time, he made a mistake and called the bearing not 320, but 220 degrees! The commander of the artillery battery, Senior Lieutenant Akulin, reports in response:

"Target designation accepted. I'm observing the target!" The commander of the BCH-2 reports to the commander at the navigation post:

"Ready to shoot!" The commander commands: "Volley!" ... A volley follows. Everyone runs out to starboard, looking at Khrushchev. And there is absolute silence! And only fat cormorants soar peacefully over the "drying"! The commander gives the command for the second salvo. And again follows a volley. And again serene silence in the area of ​​​​the ill-fated ship.

And suddenly, like a thunder from the sky, the report of the signalman: "I see! I see! ... Explosions of shells in the area of ​​​​the fishing seiner, 100 degrees to the right of the firing area!"

The shells landed 50 cables from a Norwegian fishing seiner, which was peacefully fishing in the area. From a small anti-submarine ship (MPK), which covered the firing area and was not far from this seiner, shell explosions on board a foreign vessel were clearly visible. But on the ship itself, apparently, they did not expect such agility from the Russian military, and the cannonade went unnoticed.

Meanwhile, on the anti-submarine ship, everyone was clearly in shock. Shooting at a foreign peaceful ship is no joke to you! This is not far from an international scandal. But the calm did not last long. He was interrupted by the same commander of the artillery battery, Senior Lieutenant Akulich. In absolute silence, forcedly ridiculous radio silence, a peppy report from the battalion commander was suddenly heard over the loudspeaker:

"Comrade, commander! I'm observing the target. Undershoot 200. Correction introduced. I ask for the go-ahead!..."

What!? How!? - the commander wheezed and after a moment he screamed with all his might, - Fraction! Dro-o-b! Don't watch!

He yelled with such force that even the cormorants in the Khrushchev area broke from their homes and flew somewhere towards the coast, away from the unpredictable military sailors.

love for the sea

So much and beautifully said about love for the sea - it's breathtaking! Blue expanses, snow-white gulls, gentle surf... And you, excuse me, didn't call the "ichthyander" in the ship's latrine overflowing with excrement during a storm? Did you try to dine, even in a 5-point storm, in the wardroom? ... And didn’t you stand by the “dog” (night watch from 4 to 8 in the morning)? Well, then it will be difficult for us to find with you in a conversation about the sea mutual language. You will obviously be drawn to romance, and romance is unusual for real sailors. And if it arises, then with a touch of irony. What the hell is beauty in a hopeless series of shifts and exhausting shipboard work. Where to get the charm of the ocean and enjoy the cool sea breeze in the 70-degree "steam room" of the boiler room. Only amateurs dream of the sea, professionals perceive it as an inevitable inevitability.

Recently, a funny and, I must say, very instructive incident happened at the Northern Fleet Hydrometeorological Center. Senior Lieutenant Nepogodin Nikolai at the drill review of the GCM (hydrometeorological center) decided to file a complaint with his boss, Captain 1st Rank Pryamonosov ... What would you think? You will never guess! ... On the "lack of romance" in the coastal service! It was necessary to come up with this! Those who have served on ships for ten years will immediately understand me. And for a long, long time they will laugh. And what about the lieutenant, who only saw the sea in the picture? For him Kola Bay, which opens to the gaze through the muddy windows of the Hydrometeorological Center, and really does not give a complete picture of the naval service. Sometimes, somewhere in a smoking room or in the company of experienced friends, magic words like: "gathering-hike", "hands-on", "anti-submarine zigzag", or even cooler: "leading", countering a submarine ", " sea ​​battle with the enemy", "working out L-3". And then strange, inexplicable desires are born in the lieutenant's head.

And, by the way, senior lieutenant Nepogodin at the drill review may not have had any desires to improve his service. It was just that the mood was playful, so I decided, to put it mildly, to show off. "Little," he says, "romance in the coastal service." And the commander, take it to him and say with all seriousness:

Well, Nepogodin, we will take into account your desire!

Well, Ivan Petrovich, and you say we have no one who wants to serve on ships! Prepare an order to move Nepogodin as the commander of the hydrometeorological group at the Kuznetsov TAVKR ...

And then the lieutenant realized that he was joking. All his cloudless service rushed before my eyes in an instant, and some kind of black cloud, approaching from the sea, clouded my mind. How could he know that the commander also liked to joke. And he, unlike Nepogodin, knew well the specifics of naval service. Previously, before getting ashore, officers had time to serve on ships for a year or two.

They say that the lieutenant ran for a long time to various offices in search of documents on his transfer to the ship. Nepogodin's friends-comrades at each meeting with him now joked:

Well, Kolya, serve you on the Flagship of the Russian Fleet.

Or asked in surprise:

Nikolay, are you not at Kuznetsov yet?

Others, experienced, simply frightened:

Listen, do you know how many rooms there are on this "crocodile"? Over a thousand. In the meantime, you don’t pass the credits for admission to duty on the ship to the chief officer - you won’t see the gathering like your ears!

Nepogodin did not find a place for himself. And only 100% convinced that there were no documents for his transfer, that the commander really joked, he finally calmed down.

He no longer dreamed of the sea. Moreover, for some time now, any reminder of him in Nikolai caused slight nausea and weakness. That's all love, as they say.

sea ​​loaf

A large anti-submarine ship went to sea for minelaying, according to the plan - exactly for a day.

Having successfully completed the training and combat mission, the sailors asked for the go-ahead to go to the base. And they received an order:

"To intercede in the protection of the area, since the minesweeper on duty broke down, and there is no one to replace him!" An order is an order - it must be carried out. Three days later the ship ran out of bread, another day later - fresh water. The valiant mechanics, having launched the desalination plant, “brewed” the water. It was the turn of the suppliers to take adequate action.

The commander calls the chief supply officer - the assistant supply commander - and tells him:

Come on, bake me, pom, a test loaf. Yes, more! Yes blush!

Eat! - the assistant answers, and he scratches the back of his head.

Why are you scratching your "turnip"? - the commander asks him.

And how to bake it, I have never done it?

Everything, assistant, once you have to do it for the first time. Go before I order the crew to eat you. It was necessary to take a supply of bread not for three days.

Well, I didn't think...

That's it! Oh, you have to think of an assistant. And the head! Take action! The commander summed it up.

Bread has not been baked on the ship since the day of sea trials, as they say in such cases: "since the time of Nero."

The dough mixing unit and the baking oven were covered with a "meter" layer of dust. But, oddly enough, after a little preparatory work, both the unit and the furnace started up, and gave out almost factory, working parameters! It was up to the test. The supply men conjured over him all night. But for some reason it never came up. The loaf was molded at once by three sailors at the same time. The dough surprisingly resembled raw rubber: it was just as sticky to the hands and stubbornly refused to take the shape of a loaf. With grief, they made a loaf in half, huge: two meters in diameter. The baking oven, heated to 300 degrees, accepted this mass reluctantly and with obvious disgust. The bread, of course, was not baked inside, covered with a black crust on the outside, similar to the armor of a tank.

In the morning at 8:30, immediately after the flag was raised, the commander scheduled a review of the newly baked bread. On this occasion, a whole retinue gathered at the GKP, a kind of commission: commander, deputy, first mate, commanders of combat units. There was a quiet conversation. Those present doomedly discussed the current situation with the food supply of the ship. And then some kind of revival passed through the ranks of those present. After some time, the first mate, who was on duty at the entrance and was the first to meet the bakers, ordered:

Bring in the loaf!

At this command, three messengers from the officer's wardroom, dressed as they say "to the point", brought in a huge red loaf similar to bread ... Dead silence fell on the GKP. Through the closed ranks of the "spectators" the bewildered assistant commander for supplies timidly squeezed his way to the orderlies.

Sea loaf, - the assistant answered frightened.

These lumps of spoiled flour, these, damn it, stone statues naval debelism, you call the noble word "loaf" breaking into rudeness, the commander expressed himself and yelled:

Take away!..

They tried to cut the loaf specially for this case with sharpened knives, then they began to chop with axes and crush with sledgehammers. In vain. As a result, the sailors were given crackers for breakfast.

For the rest of the day, the sailors merrily sang the same song in the cockpit to the guitar:

How we baked a loaf for "Pomovsky" name days!

That's the width! Here is such a height! ..

It's been a fun event! Fortunately, the minesweeper soon arrived at his home base and the need for baking bread disappeared.

We swam - we know

It is difficult to surprise a sailor with anything. And he knows everything, and he has seen everything. Sometimes it seems that the theme is unique and the case is extraordinary, but, you see, the sailor keeps talking to you: "Ah, I know. There was such a case with me ..." And starts another story of his own.

“You won’t be surprised by anything over a mug of beer with me. Every year, it seems, only emergency workers come to classes, it seems, only emergency workers. as a hand immediately reaches out from the hall:

Comrade teacher! It wasn't like that.

How it is not so - you will be surprised, firmly believing in the truth of this case.

Yes, it's not like that. I myself was a direct participant there! ...

Well, of course, the direct participant in the event always knows more. It is known that always the true causes of what happened are trying, if not to hide, then at least to retouch. You move on to another case.

You give an example from another fleet. But before you have time to paint on the board in chronological order the chain of events and the reasons for what happened, a hand reaches out again from the hall.

Anatoly Vasilyevich, - another witness addresses and somewhere even the direct culprit of this accident, - I'm not to blame. It was the commander who ordered to increase speed ...

The whole harmonious report, made with scientific precision and rigor, is falling apart before our eyes. What the hell are the assessments of what happened from the point of view of the governing documents, if a direct participant stands in front of you with a live focus, he is the culprit, he is also the victim. Yes, and all those sitting next to you are not looking at you, but at him, and about your conclusions they smile skeptically and sentence.

It wasn't like that.

Everything in the Navy is different.

Here you are not there. There you are not here.

The official version is not yet a fact.

We swam - we know ...

“Now I,” the teacher ends his sad story in a private conversation with me, “always, before bringing any case in detail, I always ask:

Are there any eyewitnesses, victims, direct participants of this event?!

And only after receiving a negative answer, I calmly continue my lecture:

We know you warlords. All that you know. They've been everywhere. All that you managed to spoil and break. Teach you to try something.

Forbidden reports

Almost from the first days of the young sailor's arrival on the ship, the unit commanders teach the "elements" of naval wisdom, wean them from civil carelessness, sluggishness and childish spontaneity. No wonder. Every six months, another call "gets into operation" - and everything comic and funny, everything absurd and stupid is repeated here with enviable stability. Reports of subordinates are a special case. After all, the sailor does not answer the boss, but reports! The art of reporting is taught not only by statutes. In the Navy, on almost every ship you can find printouts of the so-called "forbidden reports". "I wanted the best ..." "I came, but you were not there ..." "I thought you were told ..." "Everything worked yesterday ..." Such reports truly constitute "naval folklore", are eloquent evidence fidelity to "stupid traditions".

Never, - the battalion commander says to his subordinates standing in the ranks, analyzing the actions of one of the sailors, - do not tell me: "But you saw ... I passed by you"! Hack on your nose: there are many of you, and I am one. I command - you execute. And after you complete it, report in person. Clear!?.

At this very time, the chief mate in his own cabin is raising another sailor, a ship's messenger, who did not wake him up at the appointed hour, but explained this with a "forbidden report": "I did not want to disturb you."

I gave you a command, idiot, - the first officer is indignant.

You rested, - an inexperienced messenger adds fuel to the fire ...

But reports like: "washed, but did not dry", "just came off", "searched, but did not find" will never be eradicated in the fleet. And here you can't get by with bans alone. After all, they themselves are a product of a sailor's fear of punishment. How can you stop being afraid. An obvious absurdity in desires.

Another thing is the report: "We have always been like this" or "We have done this all the time." It's a delusion. It is always easy to dispel.

It is enough to command: "And now it will be as I said. And that's the point!"

But in general, unnecessary reports should not be banned, but made so that their sailors themselves do not want to produce and produce in great numbers. Therefore, I propose to rename them throughout the fleet from "forbidden" to "bad!" You can't ban anything from the "Russian peasant", but to put a label, to put it mildly, "not smart" - oh, how effective!

Canape sticks

The assistant commander on the minesweeper is the second person after the commander. On a small ship, which is the minesweeper, the "lieutenant commander" is almost the most key figure. After all, here even the lieutenants are already rushing to the handles of telegraphs.

Lieutenant Commander Tyurinov - assistant commander of a minesweeper who performed a combat mission in the RRP (fishing area) near the borders of Morocco in South Atlantic, was a fully formed "naval commander". The commander of the minesweeper boldly entrusted him with both the management of the vessel and the daily organization. But one day Tyurinov let the commander down, causing almost an international scandal. Here is how it was.

The minesweeper came to the next mezhpohodovy rest in the port of Guinea Conakry. The event took place in the late eighties, then it was still possible. A well-known case, the commander left for the embassy on important business, entrusting the entire organization of leisure to the assistant. The assistant, by the way, was a cheerful person, which, although not a rare occurrence in the fleet, still deserves special attention. Funny people are really the gene pool of the fleet.

And Alexander Tyurinov also loved to "scream". It means delicious and sweet food. In this weakness, as a rule, he was supported by two friends: a mechanic and a navigator. It was they who suggested to him the "grand plan": how to unwind the stingy battalion of the food midshipman Frumkin for a "dinner party" ...

The assistant calls Frumkin to his cabin and says anxiously:

Well, Vasily Petrovich, we are in trouble! There is no commander, and will not be until tomorrow, and the French have come to visit us. Tomorrow at 14 o'clock they will come.

Are these the ones on berth 5? - asks the battalion.

And it should be noted that indeed on berth 5, not far from our minesweeper, there was a French warship, of the same class as ours. The Georgian tanker "Leselidze" also stood there next to it.

Yes, yes Petrovich! - Tyurinov confirmed the hunch of the food worker, and again became preoccupied, - What are we going to do? It is supposed to hold a buffet according to etiquette.

We'll do everything right. Let's not disgrace our country! Frumkin replied with pathos.

Well done! - his cunning assistant supported him, - To begin with, Vasily, you need to cut the cannabis sticks. You know those little sandwiches they serve on the table?

Let's figure it out! Petrovich said matter-of-factly.

The plan worked. "The wheels of the imaginary buffet table" spun with great speed. The assistant himself was no longer glad that he had started this hopeless business. Only with chopsticks for canapés Frumkin got Tyurinov half a day.

The first ones were as thick as a felt-tip pen, you could prick whole loaves of bread on them. Only from the tenth time they acquired a presentable, "alya-fourshetovsky" look. Tyurinov did not expect such agility from the messengers of the wardroom. Having learned about the event of an "international scale", the messengers took out their still untouched, "demeb" things from the stash and began to reshape them in accordance with the coming moment. In this case, Zaitsev would simply rest. In naval fashion age-old traditions and secrets. But most of all, the assistant head of the table in the wardroom was surprised by the young groupman Lieutenant Vanya Molodtsov. Succumbing to the mood of general euphoria, Vanya managed to run away in the evening of the same day to the Leselidze tanker (still domestic at that time) and take there a complete set of beautiful, expensive dishes for diplomatic receptions.

By 2 pm the next day, the table in the wardroom was bursting with food. Everything was here: from red caviar to five-star Armenian cognac! Moreover, the assistant had already prepared an answer to Frumkin to the alleged indignation at the failed fact of international contact between the two nations: they refused, they say, the French. But before they had time, completely satisfied with the organized event, the assistant, mechanic and navigator sat down with all the other officers gathered for this occasion, at the table, as a frightened messenger for the ship ran into the wardroom and reported in a trembling voice:

Comrade Lieutenant Commander! The French delegation arrived on board! ...

Here the assistant himself looked at each other in bewilderment with his conspirators: the mechanic and the navigator, and somehow smiled stupidly. A frightened assistant ran out to the pier. And on the pier, indeed, there are some two Frenchmen on bicycles and ask to show the way to their French ship. In broken English, Tyurinov explained to them how to get to berth 5 and even eloquently indicated with a gesture where they needed to go and in which direction to go. And, delighted with such an unusual and highly symbolic coincidence, he calmly returned to the festive table.

Imagine his surprise when, an hour later, the military attaché himself unexpectedly appeared on the ship Soviet Union in the Republic of Guinea Conakry! Moreover, the military attache was in such a hurry that he even left the commander somewhere at the embassy. It turned out that he received a report from the relevant staff "agent" of the tanker "Leselidze", that the assistant commander of the minesweeper "personally" expelled the French delegation from the ship! And the fault was Lieutenant Vanya Molodtsov's initiative to "rent" dishes for official receptions on the Leselidze tanker.

From that moment on, the minesweeper was under the vigilant eye of the relevant authorities, and the eloquent gesture of the assistant to the French cyclists was perceived as a signal to prevent an international scandal!

Pierced, as they say, on a trifle. And everything was so beautifully conceived! The assistant was scolded. The commander, of course, was punished. The commander expressed gratitude to the food battalion for the high organization. The products have been written off. And in order to rationally use the accumulated experience of "international receptions", the next day the military attache appointed a real reception of the French delegation on the ship from a nearby warship. Cannabis sticks, skillfully carved the day before, came in handy!

Marine stories

As you know, sailors are for the most part cheerful and not boring people who love to tell all sorts of funny stories that happened to them or their friends while working at sea and being discharged ashore. There are a great many such stories or sea tales and on completely different topics: about working days on a ship, about harmful and not very commanders, about young and inexperienced seamen, and of course, about the weaker sex. Most of these stories have a real historical basis, the rest, of course, is the wild imagination of some gifted storytellers. I bring to your attention one funny story about the cook Zina, who wanted great and pure love. Whether this is a true story or fiction, it's up to you. But the fact was there.

At the time of the Union, in the Black Sea Shipping Company, cooks - women worked on some sea vessels. And then there was a position in use - pompolit or political assistant. To make it clear what kind of animal this is - it was a very responsible and harmful position, the only meaning of which was to search for an "unreliable" element among the crew, unworthy of being a Komsomol communist, and disgracing colleagues and the whole country with their supposedly immoral actions. Pompolit held meetings every week. Archival event. Everyone gathered and listened as he ranted about the bright prospects for a communist future.

One day, one of the ChMP ships came to work in Kerch. During the day he worked on dredging, and in the evening he was moored for the whole night. It is clear that the entire crew very quickly acquired "wives" on the shore. And on this ship, during the next meeting of the crew, for the purpose of political information, after the speech of the pompolit and the captain, the “debriefing” begins. It seems that everything was found out, discussed, at the end the standard “Are there any more questions?” The crew is silent, everyone wants to scatter already ... And then the cook Zinaida gets up and asks .... “Why doesn’t anyone f @ eet me?”. She herself in appearance, let's say, was not the first freshness. And everyone is languishing on the shore, what kind of Zina is there. The crew is in shock, they know that they will force someone now. Pompolit bellowed, the captain scratched his turnip and said to the boatswain: "Mikhalych, well, you, take care of this issue." Mikhalych pondered and decided that somehow this issue would be resolved by itself, without his participation.

Some time passed, and once, the crew went down to the dining room in the morning and found it tightly closed, without any smells of food coming from there. Everyone crowded in bewilderment near the entrance, when a cook without overalls appeared, and to all the hungry and angry exclamations, she said one phrase: “No love - no food!”, Turned around and left. Everyone was just in shock. The captain began to solve the problem with the crew there.
- Mikhalych, you were her boyfriend, what happened!? asked the master boatswain.
“No, Nikolai Ivanovich, I haven’t been friends with her for two weeks now,” the boatswain found, “I have such a stalker here, what the hell do I need her for!”
- Sanych, maybe you will start to be friends with her, you liked her, you even tried to drive up to her, - the captain asked the electrician.
- Nikolai Ivanovich, but when was that! I have such a wild love here with a crane operator, it’s already creepy, - the electron snapped.
- Guys, - the master began, - do you understand that we will work hungry all day if no one is friends with Zinochka!?

About an hour passed in disputes and proposals, but everyone had sweethearts on the shore, and no one categorically wanted to devote time to the ship's cook Zina.

Here a new character appeared, in a suit and tie (which was rare for a shipping company), and with a large bag, who politely asked the captain, and immediately introduced himself: "Your new pompolit, just arrived from Odessa." Everyone immediately fell silent and stared at the new pompolit, sarcastically shifting their eyes from his tie to the captain. The captain did not lose his head and immediately took the new crew member into circulation, explained the state of affairs and the only way out of this situation. Pompolit was a new man in the company, and most importantly, a bachelor, and probably hungry from the road, because he did not resist for a long time ...

The ship worked all day in the strait without hot food, and in the evening the whole hungry crew watched the picture. A new political assistant, with a tie, a tape recorder (given by one of the young), a flower (someone had already driven ashore at his request), a bottle of strong drink, which he brought to pour into the crew, but everyone unanimously agreed to donate her on the amorous deeds of pompolit. He knocked on the door of the cook's cabin, from which he immediately heard the answer: "Let's go to ..., I won't cook for you!" captain, I got to know everyone, but I didn’t bother to meet you during the day, allow me to introduce myself. After a couple of seconds of silence, the door opened...

The next morning, a wonderful smell of freshly baked bread spread throughout the ship. There was radiant cleanliness in the galley and the dining room, the tables were filled with beautifully looking and tasty food, Zinochka herself fluttered between the tables in a clean dressing gown and cap, and very politely, with a happy smile on her lips, asked about the desire to get an addition ....

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