Today is August 2nd - the Airborne Forces Day! This day certainly cannot be confused with any of the other 364 days of the year. Thousands of paratroopers who went through the harsh school of the Airborne Forces Day (VDV) celebrate it across the vast lands of the former Soviet Union — widely, brightly, with all their might.
I first learned about the Airborne Forces from the stories of an acquaintance of mine, a paratrooper who had gone through Afghanistan. It was 1988, and at the time I called him nothing other than “Uncle Yura,” because I was just a little boy.
So, I had successfully finished the last school term and went off on well-earned summer holidays to the village to visit my friend Zhenka. Uncle Yura was actually Zhenka’s relative and had only recently returned from the army — he was among the last soldiers of the Great Country to leave the territory of Afghanistan.
Zhenka was proud of his uncle and often told stories about him — how he could easily break bricks with the edge of his palm, how he “shot cool” and jumped with a parachute. And in general, back then incredible stories circulated among the village boys about paratroopers. And those who had been to Afghanistan, those who had gone through that WAR — they were practically gods to us and objects of imitation.
By the way, Uncle Yura didn’t like to remember the war, and he told us stories only when he was in the “proper condition” — that is, under the influence of alcohol.
He was tall, strongly built, and had a slightly hooked nose, which made him look like Rambo from the first movie — “First Blood.” On Uncle Yura’s left shoulder there was a tattoo showing Soviet paratroopers descending by parachute against the backdrop of mountains; a couple of soldiers in the foreground were already standing on the ground near a half-ruined mosque, “Kalashnikov” at the ready. Zhenka and I dreamed that one day we would definitely get the same tattoo ourselves — because “that’s cool.”
I remember how, on Airborne Forces Day, Uncle Yura sat in the evening on the wooden doorstep of Zhenka’s house, having already “taken quite a bit to the chest,” and told us about one of the VDV operations — as far as I remember, somewhere near Kandahar. Most of the story was devoted to hand-to-hand combat, and from time to time Uncle Yura reinforced his tale with chopping gestures — as if he were cutting down “dushmans” right and left. Zhenka and I, with burning eyes and open mouths, absorbed every detail of the story without missing a word.
After listening our fill about feats and exploits, we would ask Uncle Yura to demonstrate his signature trick: breaking a brick with his hand. In a drunken burst he would agree, and we would immediately bring bricks and stack them on top of each other. And Uncle Yura really did break a brick with a single strike of the edge of his palm! We were simply beside ourselves with delight.
These are the memories that this day brings back for me — Airborne Forces Day.
