— Next to a donkey, — and the commander echoed.
“MI-24” turned around, returned back, shooting at the ruins from the outboard guns but did not see anybody, and proceeded to catch up with the pair.
We landed at the Herat airport to examine the helicopters on the subject of holes. When the flight engineer F. was rocking slightly a brake handle, he saw the flight technician Losenkov who, standing on a step-ladder, examined their board. The flight technician F. lit a cigarette and went outside. The technician Losenkov followed him:
— Are you wounded? — Losenkov looked into his face.
— Why do you think so?
— Well, you have been attacked, the glass over there has been broken; and when you landed, I saw the bag of shells hanging almost to the ground, well, and I guessed that they got you. Now I see that your face is covered with blood! Whose blood is that?
The flight engineer F. touched his face, smeared sticky drops of bird’s blood, and looked at his palm. Is it worth to confess? — he thought, — A good concatenation of circumstances! If I say that the glass had been broken by a bullet, then whose blood is that?…
— …And who knows, — he answered aloud to himself, — but not mine. Probably, it is from the enemy, whom I busted. He splashed on me, bastard! — and the flight engineer F. started laughing.
— Yeah, yeah, stop bullshitting! — Losenkov distrustfully said, looking for a hole. He stuck his head in the helicopter’s bottom and mumbled:
-Was it in or out? Where did the bullet go?
Everybody had already gathered around the helicopter. They were examining the hole, getting into the cabin, searching for a bullet on the walls. Nobody paid attention to the feathers, which was not blown to the blisters. The crew of No.10 has also been actively participating in this collective search for the bullets together with the rest of personnel, but mysteriously kept silent.
— Yeah, tell me, where’s the bullet? — Eventually the question has been directed to the commanders of the second helicopter and the leading one.
— Who knows! — the leading commander shrugged his shoulders. He also figured out that the mysterious bullet could be blamed for the broken glass. — Maybe it flew out through my blister?
The cabin was examined by voluntary ballistics specialists again and again. It was found that in this case, the bullet had a unique and complex curve: it passed via each commander’s leg and then it went up almost vertically into his blister.
— To hell with all of you! — the commander could not stand this circus any longer. — You do not get jokes or what! We kissed a flock of ducks! Today is the April First! But I ask you all to say nothing! Better examine our boards on the subject of holes rather than huddle there, looking for some unfortunate bullet…
— And what about the fire — is it not a joke?
— What is a damn joke?! They shot at us from two guns, but our valiant shelter found nobody. Or maybe you have already spoken with them? — his eyes suspiciously screwed up at “MI-24”.
— Comrade Major! — Suddenly the technician Losenkov shouted from his helicopter. — We have a hole!
They came closer. In the self-sealing rubber of the left outboard tank was a little ragged hole with a flabby dark spot around it. The technician Losenkov put a finger in it:
— Here we go, please! Now how will you get home? If pumps will work,then fuel will leak. This rubber holds nothing…
— Yes, but… — major wiped his freckled bald patch with his sleeve. We need a patch. Who will put it on? Will you call a technical team for that?
While the major was muttering, and lieutenant Losenkov, resting his hands on his hips, was proudly standing near by, the flight technician F. came to the left side. “Why is it on the left side? — he asked, examining the hole. — The right one had been fired”. He stuck his finger in the hole, the rubber was dry, rough and old. He touched the metal of the tank with his finger, probed it and made a circle under the rubber. There was no hole in the metal! This rubber hole was clearly a long-standing one, and the kerosene mark, most likely, was caused by refilling the helicopter.
— There is no hole! — the flight technician F. said.
— How come? — everybody was surprised.
— I am sure. Look here, the old rubber was broken, but the tank is undamaged. Check it yourselves.
The flight technician Losenkov stuck in his finger, felt it and blushed to the top of his ears.
— Well, — the commander sternly scolded him, — can you distinguish the hole from the “no hole” or not? You have mislead four crews and drove us mad.
…We were on the way to home. We were racing along the Herat’s highway embraced with pine trees. We were flying low, lower than some heads of pines. The co-pilot was in a low spirit because of missing two dukhs (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor). This is why he had put a submachine gun in his blister and attentively controlled the situation, although in this area such diligent attention was not necessary as it already was a zone of control of the 101st regiment.
— You know, — the flight engineer F. said, — we have missed a good opportunity. The bullet could have broken the glass barely — they were shooting us almost sideward. Slid, cracked and left. And no holes!
— And why was I not thinking about it earlier?! — the commander sighed. — We already told everyone about these ducks…
…Ahead they saw a lonely clay farm. There was a boy, running around the yard. When he spotted flying helicopters, he rushed towards them. The boy stood on the way, took a stick and, pretending to aim at us, began to “shoot”.
— Oh, you are a little brat! — The co-pilot shook his gun at him.
The boy dropped the stick, picked up a rock, swung, and waited until the helicopter would fly closely… he threw the rock at us!
Three of us in the cabin instinctively dashed aside, the commander pulled the handle, the helicopter lifted up his nose, and the rock hit the bottom with a sound like a tin can. Then the co-pilot briefly took his gun and pulled the trigger.
— Are you… at kid? — the commander shouted. — Are you insane?
— No, no, no, — the frightened co-pilot murmured. — It is happened accidentally, my finger twitched… We have already passed the boy.
— An accident!… If you will be responsible for this, the whole city will rebell.
— And what if he put us down? — the co-pilot said angrily. — You would now be rolled up in the forehead with that stone — there would be no time for fun if we would be smashed in their fields! But it would be laughable — the boy brought down the fighting helicopter with a little stone! After that, our army should retreat this country with shame. And you would be forever commemorated in historical annals of the war, as the most unlucky pilot ever, who was shot down with a stone on the Fool’s day!
— Shut up! — the gloomy commander ordered. — Gmm… historical annals… Watch the road!
We arrived at Shindand, taxied to the parking area, and the pilots went away with no desire to give any explanations of what had happened but gave this opportunity to the flight technician F. Now it was only the engineer-on-duty, who approached the plane, looked at the hole, and asked:
— What has happened?
— Year, the boy threw the stone, in some settlement near Herat with velocity, huh, like from the gun…
— Do not tell me such fool stories! Surely your commander, Kozhedubov, was shooting the goats, landed on the sand and crashed the glass. Look, how high-density polyethylene moved in different directions!
— Yes, I wish, we were shooting some goats, but where are they? And high-density polyethylene is okay. You look better, comrade major!