Читать книгу Free Fall - Nicolai Lilin - Страница 9

My dear Mama, I’m writing you a letter:

‘Hi mum, I’m good,

the sun is shining, everything’s fine,

on the mountains as always there’s fog . . .’

Mama doesn’t know what we do on those mountains,

she don’t know a thing about our troubles.

The years of our youth are spent

in the Caucasus, where there’s always war . . .

The sound of bombs in the background, our brigade advances,

over there you can already hear the shots.

The sound of bombs in the background, the tracer bullets fly,

and the whole earth shakes from the cannons.

The helicopter goes off, and we must go on,

I hope you make it back, brother . . .

The helicopter goes off, and we must go on,

It’ll be hard, and some’ll never make it home . . .

Too young when we came here

to the Caucasus, where there’s always war.

We’ll never forget these terrible years,

and our friends left behind forever . . .

When we come back we’ll sit down together,

and before our third glass we’ll be silent.

The fallen in battle, the ones who made it home,

Now our souls are one . . .

Russian military song from the period of the Chechen conflict

We don’t need a soul, we’ve got blue berets instead,

we swoop from the sky like angels, with parachutes instead of wings,

we leap onto the ground like demons in battle,

we don’t care about a thing, we just want victory . . .

From the Russian paratrooper anthem

There’s fog over town, the ataman’s smoking his pipe,

and his Cossacks keep drinking their vodka.

The sentinels curse, the osaul’s dead drunk,

and the room’s filled with the empty bottles.

And while the enemy’s calm, the town celebrates,

we fill up with vodka, turn our nose up at death.

But if that bastard the enemy should harm our people,

the ataman, always first, will raise his sword high.

In the streets the accordion plays and the vodka flows,

the Cossacks will never tire of spirit—

‘One litre, two litres, three litres, four . . . that’s nothing, give us some more!’

But the little old ladies can hardly distil it any more.

And while the enemy’s calm, the town celebrates,

we fill up with vodka, turn our nose up at death.

But if that bastard the enemy should harm our people,

the ataman, always first, will raise his sword high.

And when the war comes, when the enemy’s near,

when his army wants to defeat us,

whatever they do will be pointless, we’ll kill ’em all!

Sword against tank, the Cossack will go . . .

‘The Cossacks’ Song’ by the rock group Gaza Strip *

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* Young Russians love this group for their use of swearing; this song is also popular among soldiers in the army.