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The Jericho rose in his buttonhole hero
Material posted: Publication date: 08-11-2014

Can't say I'm crazy because of this monastery Ilya Muromets, but rested on the furnace I'm pretty, with legendary tenacity of the Russian quitter. To enter the blog after a prolonged pause, the equivalent of how to jump out of the warm huts into the cold and poured over ice cold water. Many friends had called for an end to the seclusion and anabiotic to say what I think at the current moment.

The first trumpet sound filed the current assistant Minister of DPR for humanitarian Affairs Alexey Anpilogov. Addressing your Philips former Commander-in-chief of the armed forces of Novorossia, Strelkov I., Alexey, being in the excited state, nearly blew me out of the furnace, calling a mentor character named "Sam". "Sam" is a children's toy legends of Novorossiya Igor Ivanovich Strelkova. "Shooters" is also a teaser, but already an adult. No doubt that this teaser is my former subordinate will go down in History. What we have many? Such that for conviction under the "bony" to be substituted.

Who could imagine that without the awe-the sacred call of the Motherland, the slender columns of the righteous, as well as creative and scientific intelligentsia will go to the point of committing collective feat. This does not happen. Passionate single. Them in help the people go, far from righteous living, with the broken biographies, with dark gaps in them. This had always happened. In the collapse of linear History they are dying sinners, they are the same blood and suffering of building a new statehood, which inhabit intellectuals of various stripes, without which that state also would not survive. But the consistency of it is this: from sinners to the righteous. I almost righteous, I am the rose of Jericho, where rapid color grow new sinners prepared through suffering to tread the road to the heights of Holiness.

Slide the sight on the monitor, the names of the people I met, served, fought, rested, and skomoroshij misbehaved in politics. Two thousand names. But there are among them those who are willing to sacrifice themselves for ideas. Not even among veterans of Afghanistan. Yes, and we were not timid, but behind us was a Country. The country has given us the order and we were done. Strelkova different story. He Is "Himself"! He pulled in Crimea, and he moved to Slavyansk. I think Konstantin Malofeyev it encouraged? How is strelkov should not know! He encouraged Malofeev: the brow beat for the tails dragged, but emptied with the Orthodox oligarch handful or two of "green cuts" on his squad. And in the Crimea landed. There was, of course, and the General trend, and itching of politicians basement scale, but in General, sorry element! The element of return in the Russian World.

So sometimes you think — and what's useful about it is not the best of worlds you created? The tree was planted? Perhaps, maybe more — parody in the pioneers and Hilo woodlands — in the Komsomol. Son did you raise? And such was! However, I have seen it more in photos than in person, but the project I was developed! Yes, the house was built. Naturally, not cooperative, and the, the of Adobe, reeds, and branches. I heard later lived there at the dawn of the twenty-first century Germans. The Germans of coalition forces in Afghanistan. Well, good people, good accommodations. Warriors of them useless, so, flimsy volunteers on hand humanitari. Comes out of the man. Good job! As for the rest — all about.Rahl!

International duty celebrating — and as a result the drain! The Soviet Union defended is dishonored. The analyses in the sky-high verticals, so it would be better in my clinic handed. In the first Chechen headquarters was kalkulierbar — collective churchyard Maikop brigade, the project was closed. Would have remained in the memory of posterity the exalted rank layman, if not the case... Case, luck, divine Providence, the Black Swan, luck — whatever you call it, only destiny is to be a heroic dung, to be exact — fertilizer for growing heroes. In short, to be me dried cow fuck forever-centuries, not saleti in him the seed... And in that time the weather was rainy: the abyss opened up, blood was shed pretty. In the Balkans, and the Caucasus... That seed and rose...

And how was it actually? Yes simple, no frills... the Mid-90s. Drink a bitter General. A knock at the door. "Come in"! The bottle under the table, and snacks-that actually was not originally envisaged. In short, second — and working environment are obvious. Probably not a restaurant "Tsarskaya Okhota" and the Cabinet of the severest authority. The mere mention of his name — all cockroaches are dead. So, "enter", you say... Are two: the head of Department and Deputy head of the Department in years — more garden "klubnikoy" wondered not at the expense of the work. An ardent Communist, by the way, as his Deputy From Zyuganov "on you," Ilyukhin with the deceased (God rest his soul) a day in the doorways met, secrecy-secret in the safe hands handed over.

"Listen!" — deep voice invited to report. "Such a thing, then GN, we have chosen here one candidate for a job." "So what's up?" — buzzing locomotive General nick (I have it here in the magazine in the sketch "Uncle nick and the anthem of Russia" reflected). Too left-wing was, but God was afraid. The General frowned, whitish browni led. Two colonels started chattering at once, say, a candidate for the job and a handsome face, and valerica, and Pushkin's style owns. And that's not all, two wars passed! "They're lying! — I interrupt visitors, — we have this moment alone, and she is Chechen! Little shits no place in it!"

Colonel persisted. Spoke aggressively with heat, like sons to vneshş economş Bank arranged. Indeed, they listed the benefactors of the candidate for the job commanded respect: behind history and archives, volunteer service in the Balkans and Transnistria, publications in Newspapers and magazines — and it's almost in infancy. My friend Kolya, fair-haired General in command, "Prepare the materials. Take!" And here the brave Colonel fell silent. Silent and watching, silent, watching...

"What?" — I could not resist. "So he, TAVO..." "What time!.." "The object he is our..." "What is the object?" "The object of the case..., group, so to speak from a negative environment." "Why are you fooling with ya?" "We like him..." And again go on to list the virtues of carbonaria. "Though you did your PhD in?" "Nothing is done. Hang out among the monarchists, well, you know: "Your honor --" "I have Honor!" "In the name of God, King and country..." "This is fixable. — I conclude, Take the case and the wiretaps".

That unremarkable day I first heard a little grassiruyuschey the speech of the young man, whose voice millions know today. Kolya pokumekali and gave the command to close the case. A horseradish — prospects for implementation. Sitting there, these insurgents for kitchenettes, gundet about the greatness of the Empire, Bolshevikov pudendal MOT pripechatat baptized on homemade image images of saints cut out of magazines "the Spark" and trimmed the salaries of tin tin, is that they confused! Was among those Royal sons another. Terribly significant! Boring, as the Jewish groom before the wedding, honest as the boy Bartholomew, the righteous, as the sufferer job. His name was... Ah, but what's the — what was the name. Most importantly, as they call it now. And his name is "summer56". Now how do we become friends with him! Crystal soul this Mature lad. Now such not to find...

Less than nine months, was born, to be exact — appeared in my office a wonderful sample of the man of bygone eras. And filled office light aromas of spent gunpowder, the sweet incense and the smell of fish oil shelled boots. Of course, it is a metaphor and an exaggeration, but the fact that the young Lieutenant, rechavi at me "Good morning!" was difficult, I felt it right away. Igor Strelkov (don't want to dignify his clan name, he already reincarnat deserve the name by which everyone knows him) instantly joined the team. Well, naturally, immediately thundered to another war.

That's what I was amazed — never mentioned the past war upon them in vain. So, occasionally, in the case. Other W my friends, riding in carts, poking me in the nose colour photographs in the style of "selfi" with an openwork weaving machine-gun tape, Smoking barrels, the twelfth discharging size bras, before bursting tarpaulin scored horns. Even squeezed the avaricious man's tears. And this is not. Speak maliciously, Joker good-naturedly over colleagues, but about their feats of arms — GU-GU! "Beast!" — was called by his mates, and before me stood a matured guy with a slightly funny face, does not look like a serial killer, although I'd already guessed that it should look like a real war machine.

And it was called "Myself." "Himself" is coming! — this feigned scream of terror sounded through the corridor for a minute until strelkov with a folder for the report under the mouse. The officers also falsely constructed mask of panic on their faces and stretched out at attention, sticking to the walls. Was "Himself"!

I this phenomenon had never met. Friends at the same time felt for him a sense of what human respect and at the same time good-naturedly over him laughed. And how should I treat a man with a monstrous strength of will and an expression of shy teenager. Apparently, in this cunning manner, he charmed not only me. You know Misha Leontiev from "Lonely"? Who is favored in Chechen? Still the same shy Moloch of War. And who dared to argue with the best military specialist of all times and peoples Shurygino Vlad? Well, someone finally dragged me to the kitchen of the most famous military adventurer Marat Musin? He, Shooters! He told me and not as instances of political Cabinet of curiosities was brought. Was sdavalsa Shooters and with the oligarchs and with the VIP officials and military elite. If this person is not an Opera, then anyone can be called an Oper. Operskogo work is contacts, thousands of meetings, Dating, tea herring... was harsh, Padfoot. The pressure he could bring to any hiccups intellectually is a significant person, even such prolific as El Murid.

Good Shooters and in routine work. To edit the documents in hand did not rise. She wrote that life in the bureaucratic snouts appeared. The departmental document is like a Bible verse. Vocabulary is still the same! For people ashamed to read. And he wrote! Had him in a half-century earlier to be born, he would be the Czar did not hesitate to write: "Your Imperial Majesty, I meant no insult...", well, etc. etc. All the talented little tramp, and fuck it only a warrior was born. The bureaucrat would have turned out excellent.

Yes, Strelkov was always confined to war. War in the name of... (choose any, but only to noble). Education? I don't think, but rather genetics. Yes, my grandfather fought, but the fact that he is from God! After all, how could it be: God sent a neither unsold proton of nebulous constellations. Flew the proton a thousand years to fall into the zygote the nascent organism and to initiate one of the junk genes, and began to sculpt from a failed mercury the future of Mars. All in God's hands!

My friend told me a story: the Excavation under the hillside. Worth Shooters in thought, and the shovel (then they dug in the battlefields of the great Patriotic). Friend soap soshelsya, sweat streams, and Igor — in thought. Was enraged friend, "You would be the eyes with the horizon removed, and a couple of bayonets towards the dead, see, shiny something, maybe the iron cross, or badge Krasnoarmeyskaya..." And Shooters, not leaving the horizon, blandly replies: "Oh, brother Misha, smell — my war soon will happen" "So you're the so and four behind! Can not get enough?" "Not the ones they were waiting for her...!" Friend Misha cursed, swung a shovel was, but thought better of it. Hmm... Kept the fate of Igor strelkov.

And there was another case. How is in Russia, every imposing chin tries to ride roughshod over the lower ranks, Yes work master download. So I decided not to break traditions.

In year 97-m started in an apartment overhaul. Masters caused, try. Only all bestolku! I did not have the money to pay the masters. Did not exist! Was hand struck with three colonels from the Academy of Chemical protection (maybe that's where the majors were, but the prices were charged as Colonel). The military professors and doctors of science labored to lay the flooring. I'm with them and drank vodka, and brandy, but at the last moment, the Toad as a cut — no, and that's it! I decided to grief with my own hands repair to do. First brought the apartment to the condition of Pavlov's House in Stalingrad, and then began to recover, the benefit was on vacation. As a galley slave© was plowing, and at the time did not meet. Went to work, and the apartment even the family can not be returned. There was no place to live family: mountain construction materials, dust, and the echoing walls.

Threw I cry the bottom ranks! Save, say, commander. Responded almost probspot and Shooters among them. All weekend, he migrant workers were registered. Squad is not worse than other Tajik. In the evening a glass of vodka and — talk. Igor was something to pamper tired nachalnichka. His evening stories were entertaining and even somewhere fantastic. When it was quite dark, lying on the mattress on the floor, Igor and his friend excavation (also an officer) has told, how once has heard the swamp roar of tank engines and the clank of tracks and fragmentary command of the red army commanders. Shining in the night leukoma eyes, two voices were pressing, they say, really heard. "And then what?" — I asked in a whisper. "Yes, as usual — gave a tear! Only in the morning returned to the excavation site, and in the night pass". I didn't believe then. Did not believe that tear gave. Igor wouldn't let her. Is it to be witty.

Igor always was in my cage, but not along the lay, often across. Was I him a mentor. I am not a mentor, even if his son I was not the best father. Yes, I was commander of him, sorry not for a long time. Five years in one office served. I went to the store. While she was healthy — had something to do. Trolled, as they say, offshore elite, whether for consideration fought corruption (lost outright), has advised politicians. And always not close, but within reach, was Igor. In the civilian world was not of higher and lower ranks. It was a partnership and trust. Igor grew up, her husband, and scared me with their projects, angry, and uncompromising, amused boundless overbearing, but never, never did I would think that once again, reserves three sheets to the wind, I send unprintable word of the future commander of the army. No matter how long we were sending each other, but each time was met in my kitchen, was going through not the easiest of topics and argued again and again made plans.

And once he came, rattling crutches. For search engines it happens. A mine or a shell exploded, I do not remember his explanation. Wounds of both legs. Ukraine would have declared a national holiday, if it had occurred at the end of summer 2014. At the same time not wounded commander, Lieutenant-Colonel of secret services. The bosses flew, but only just. The wound healed, and the crutches in the recovered wounded birds I have kept for myself. Still he limped, but the crutches gave. To me they were most needed.

Igor has always been delicate. I did not impose Orthodoxy, not pulled by the sleeve in the monarchists, but on fundamental issues was cruel. As showed life, it's not just my clip was lying across. The orthogonality has not gone unnoticed and in the service. Yes, passionate at the secret service is nonsense, is a headache. Especially during the laminar extinction. On the edge, on the turn of epochs, in the social singularity points shake is a must, and when in honour of a show-off, arrogance, servility — who needs them! So strelkov's gently squeezed, not leaving the post after organizational and staff changes. Did not help neither military experience nor a good performance. Colonel Strelkov wanted to serve, but the service of his Ministry was unnecessary. This is logical. The agenda — loyalty and faithfulness and nothing more. I think he was squeezed out from military service more than delicately. Whatever was said, but the humanity and warmth under the straps.

The last time Igor was sitting in my kitchen in November or December 2013. More we didn't. He spun round star, but I didn't even know. It should be so and this is very true.

The fate of strelkov in Ukraine, I learned from radio intercepts of SBU. Identified the voice. A month has restored a shaky relationship, and not need had a connection. Igor has ascended above the Jericho rose and became the center of crystallization of a new Russian identity. No, not so simple this reaction crystallization. She can go, but may quit running. But the example served! The heroes go! Strelkov will not, others will rise. We have roses of Jericho, the whole of Russia (zasrana) Unawatuna. The first bloom will break out more, and there is a third, and there, Only to honor, conscience and worship was from the heart. We'll do it.

If someone I clouded the bright face of the hero — sorry. Who bad his nature, he is nauseous and nelum is not exact. Grow their heroes. I wish you looked at Igor Strelkova as a person. Take a look and figure — but you so poorly?

Source: http://detnix.livejournal.com/92066.html


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