I can’t remember how I was able to endure it.
I remember when I got back from sentry duty, I was sitting on the heating pipes for two hours.
What’s strange is, I’ve never been sick at the boot camp or at the outpost. Apparently, my body realized that there nobody would have any pity for it, and it get its stuff together.
Because our seniors had the same cure for all ills, as the saying goes, fight fire with fire. If someone got sick, they were assigned to sentry duty for 8 hours in the cold, and the sickness, apparently, froze and retreated.
I had another misadventure with the canine.
All rookie soldiers had to play the role an intruder in a drill at least once, acting as bait for the guard dog. And I wasn’t spared by this tradition.
What was it look like?
There was a special thick suit that covers your body almost completely and protects you from bites.
As it happens, the suit was in use for years, it was pretty worn out and wasn’t thick enough.
And I wasn’t very lucky with the dog either. It had a very peculiar manner of restraining intruders.
An ordinary dog would snap the intruder and hold him with a dead grip. And that dog used to loose its grip and snap over and over again, resulting in many bites instead of one.
From the point of view of detaining a real intruder, this would be even better, probably, but it wasn’t for me.
In general, I was successfully caught, successfully for the squad with the dog. When I came back and removed my clothes, all my legs and back were in blue bruises.
Being extremely distressed and disturbed, with a bit of indignation, I went to the outpost commander and showed him my bruises, for which I immediately got another twenty-four-hour service duty and three hours of exercising on the drill ground.
There were, of course, positive aspects, as I had been thinking at first, before it turned against me.
I’m talking about food. After all the training, I munched on village food so much that my friends at home stopped recognizing me in photos.
But the worst thing was different. We had a lot of physical training, pretty much being running.
There was a lot of running, and a lot of different types of it. It wasn’t enough that all the running was done in heavy kirzaboots, there were different variations of it.
Cross-country running in the morning with us wearing only breeches and boots, then the midday march in so-called full service marching order, namely: fully clothed, complete with a cap, with backpack, assault rifle, ammo, OZK (chemical protective gear) and, nearly forgot to mention, the entrenching tool.
The last one is a pain. No matter how reliably you fasten it, the tool starts hitting you in between your legs after a ten steps. There could be another cross-country running in the evening, if the outpost commander was in a bad mood.
When the outpost commander was in a very bad mood, we had to wear OZK protective gear during the entire midday march.
For someone who doesn’t know it, it’s a rubber hazmat suit that covers you from head to toe, plus a gas mask.
It feels like you’re running in a steam bath. There have been times when some guys have passed out for a while.
This was in summer, and it was the same in winter, but on skis. The skis, though, were not of the modern types what we are used to see now, with boots, fastenings, etc.
It was wooden planks with front ends bending upwards and bindings for winter felt boots.
