— Why do they need this useless “Sony”, if they can repossess these two helicopters with six pilots? This commodity will be enough for them to their dying day.
Holding the guns, pilots stepped down on the unknown land. A long distance away, near the Iranian border, there was a lake or just a mirage, which glittered and trembled the white riverside like a white stripe. The commander saluted to the gangs’ representatives, who were standing at some distance, and then he pointed out at his board, shaping with his hands a square figure. Three Afghanis came closer with an empty TV box. The leader stepped forward — a gloomy and overweight giant in his black cape — and gestured to follow him. Accompanied by armed men, all pilots proceeded. The flight technician F. already finished his cigarette and wanted to throw the cigarette away, but he hesitated — maybe it will be offensive towards the land in the presence of its natives? — You never know how they may react. So, he put out the cigarette with his fingers and put the butt into his pocket.
The clay house with a hemispherical ceiling was cold. The pilots have been asked to sit down on the pillows, which were arranged along the bare walls. The TV set was placed in the middle of the room,. Guests and hosts took their seats. The flight engineer F. noticed a window behind his head and he thought that through this window his head could be a good target. A tough looking man was sitting on his right, and the flight engineer F. unnoticeably tightened his gun belt to his foot — just in case the “neighbour” would try to grab it. The flight engineer F. was heavily armed as all of pilots: everyone knew — here there is no chance to survive against this crowd, and, before leaving the helicopter, all pilots took a hand grenade in their pockets. Of course, being guests here was a sacred thing, but anything could happen… especially on the day of the 1st of April…
The natives brought the tea — a small metallic teapot designed to share with everybody; and special glasses — a little bit similar to our beer glasses; white and beige cubes of Turkish delights; candied nuts in the ajar shell that looked like oysters. The leader, with a stinging smile, pointed at the treat. The pilots were waiting for a while, looking around and displaying a honest interest in what was at the ceiling. They did not want to drink or eat first, because of uncertainty what could be poured in this pot. They started to sip the tea only after the leader brought the glass to his beard.
The visit was not for a long time, but quite tense. After drinking a cup of tea, pilots stood up, awkwardly pressed their hands to their chests, then bowed, and made it clear with the gesture, that there no need to show them an exit. Finally, they shook hands in turn, one after another one, and after collecting their shoes at a doorstep, slowly and deliberately walked to the helicopters. Defencelessness of their backs was palpable more than ever. Because of tea or a fear, all six of them were sweating. A few men with guns were walking slowly behind them and their gazes indeed pressured the backs of the ones who were leaving.
We got to the helicopters, trying not to be obvious, examined it, looked quietly at the bottom searching for suspended grenades, on the same subject we also examined the chassis — a comfortable place to place a grenade, so while a helicopter was taking off, the ring pulls out the pin and the machine is torn apart…
We started the engines, waved to the leader from the cabins, who anyway came out to see us leaving. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sandy wind of propellers. We took off, turned around, still waiting for the shot, and flew, and flew — further, calmer, hiding behind the veil of dust… Finally we gone.
Go-o-o-ood! — The commander sighed. — One more tea-drinking ceremony like that, and my hair will be turning gray.
In a half an hour we got to the road, and asked for “MI-24” to meet us — we are coming back…
What a supporter! — the commander commented. — Do I really need them?! Where were they while we were having that awful tea-drinking?
After the MI-24 met them on the way to Herat, and took the front and the rear positions in our line, the question whether the leader presented a lamb was addressed to the commander.
— O, yep! Sure! One lamb for each of us, — the commander said. — He asked us to return the bones! — and throwing his head back, the commander laughed loudly.
At this time, from the stunted bushes, frightened by one of “MI-24”, a small flock of large — the size of a duck — birds rose in the air. That flock began to rise and reach the following “MI-8”. The flight engineer F. saw how the birds were separating in the way of fan, and managed to move away from the helicopter, flying at a speed of 230, away — but one bird did not — and flew directly under the glass cover…
The commander was still laughing, when the helicopter shook a thud. A hot wind, with splashes of grey fuzz and dust, poured onto the flight technician’s face from the bottom and filled in the cabin like someone ripped up a pillow. He looked down and saw that a bottom glass disappeared, and two parachutes were barely holding ready to jump to the flying ground.
— Damn it! — shouting, the commander straightened the gliding helicopter. — Well what are you going to do, huh?! Eventually, we met troubles! And all of these because of the “Messers”! (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor). What was that? Not a sparrow, right?
Sparrows were not only leaving the red blots of feathers on the glass after impact, but also were a cause for a seriously damaging helicopters’ foreheads. After some flights, the flight engineer F. got used to taking off the dried sparrows’ heads from the outboard motor and tanks.
— Possibly, it is a duck, — the flight engineer F. said, spitting out the feather and started re-arranging parachutes, which almost were sinking into the hole.
— Look, Frol, — the commander pleadingly looked at him, — would you make up a good story if the engineer asks what happened, huh? If they find out that I was caught by the ducks, they would accuse me of losing my flying skills. Would you make something up? You are a master of story-telling!
— I will try, — the flight engineer F., promised hesitantly thinking of what he could make up. Nothing comes to his head. Absolutely nothing! Maybe he should say that we got damaged while visited the gang? But how? Well, maybe like this: we were playing football — 302 squadron against the gang, Yep, it was a match of friendship, and a heavy self-made ball was kicked and broke the bottom glass… Maybe no, not like that — what kind the ball should it be? You can break a leg on it…
Not reaching the Herat road, the leading “MI-24” began to cut off a corner through the ruins of Herat. Everyone followed it. The duvals (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) destroyed by bombing, were flying fast under the bottoms of helicopters.
The flight engineer n F. saw a donkey tied in one yard, and became alerted. He was right — he immediately spotted two dukhs (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), who lifted their guns into his direction. A sound of shooting was left behind the helicopter’s tail.
— They are shooting, commander! Two in the ruins on the right!-the flight technician reported.
— They are hiding under a roof! — the co-pilot added, looking back.
— Hey, escort! “MI-24”, what are you looking for? For a shelter? — the commander said angrily. — We just got attacked from the duvals’ fellows, at least two of them.
— Next to a donkey, — the flight engineer added the details.