About three years ago, the website topwar.ru, one American was a newspaper published almost confession Lieutenant U.S. Marine Michael Fogetti. It described the events of his life that took place 40 years ago during the "one small but dirty war waged by the United States, Algeria, Ethiopia and Somalia." The text itself Fogetti necessary, however, to premise a brief explanation: the described events unfolding in the now infamous Gulf of Aden. «Tankist», also known as "the bearded captain" — Maj. Nicholas Ignatievich Eremenko, separate battalion commander of the 104th TB, the dowry of the UN mission.
Confessions of a U.S. Marine lieutenant
My name is Michael Fogetti, I — the captain of the U.S. Marine Corps, retired. Recently I saw in a magazine photograph of Russian monument of Treptow Park in Berlin, and remembered one of the episodes of his life. My platoon after the special operation was ordered to wait for evacuation at a given point, but to get to this point, we have not been able to.
In the Golden Horn, as always, it was hot in every sense of the word. Local residents apparently was not enough of a revolution. They should have a minimum of three, a couple of civil wars and in the bargain — a religious conflict. We have now completed their task and hurried to the rendezvous with a boat, on which were to come to their rescue.
But we are waiting for a surprise. On the outskirts of a small seaside town we met hurriedly tolkuschiesya small groups of armed men. They looked askance at us, but did not touch, because a convoy of five jeeps, bristling with barrels of M-16 and M-60, a matter of respect. Along the street from time to time come across cars with traces of fire and looting explicit, but these objects and caused major interest peyzan, with armed looters had a clear priority over unarmed.
When we noticed the walls of the houses several dead bodies of explicit Europeans, I ordered to be ready, but without orders not to open fire. At this moment, out of the narrow alley ran a white woman with a little girl in her arms, her laughter followed with three local niggers (sorry, "African-Africans"). We had no time for political correctness. A woman with a child instantly dragged into a jeep, and on its pursuers hissed and explicitly threaten with a gun barrel, but the intoxication of impunity and shed blood with villains played a bad joke. One of them raised his G-3 and is clearly prepared to shoot at us, Marine Koloun automatically pulled the trigger gun, and then we all raced under increasing fire. It's good that these monsters did not know how to shoot straight. We took off on a hill where, in fact, located the city, and saw the panorama of the port at the bottom of the brightest fragment which was blazing at the dock boat.
The port has accumulated more than 1000 European civilians and members of their families. Given the fact that the surrounding area declared independence and at the same time jihad, they are all eager to escape as soon as possible. As mentioned above, the ship, which had to evacuate the refugees, blazed merrily on the roads, on the outskirts of the crowd focused insurgents, but from friendly forces was only my platoon with six machine guns and walkie sour (walkie-talkie does not count).
We had a flotation device, ready to march, and perfectly camouflaged boat, but there could only accommodate us. Abandoning his women and children, we do not have the right. I described the situation and told the guys that stay here and have no right to order any of them to stay with me, and that the order for evacuation in our power boat and on the go.
But to the credit of my guys were all. I calculated the available forces: 29 "Marine", including myself, 7 demobilized French legionnaires and 11 sailors from the sunken ship, two dozen volunteers from the civil population. Port during the Second World War was a transit point, and dozens of stone warehouses, surrounded by a solid wall with turrets and other architectural excesses of the last century, as if descended from the pages of Kipling and Boussenard looked quite solid and is suitable for defense.
It is this complex and served us a new fort Alamo. Plus, in these warehouses were placed warehouses with the UN humanitarian aid, there were the old barracks in which to work and water supply, and sewerage. Of course, the toilets were not enough for so many people, not to mention the soul, but it's better than nothing. By the way, half of one of the warehouses was filled with boxes of good whiskey. Apparently, some of the officials of the United Nations was doing there own small gesheft. That is, the whole situation, in addition to the military, was normal, and the military situation was as follows …
More than 3,000 insurgents, consisting of the Revolutionary Guards, irregulars and just rabble, who wanted to plunder, the army, luckily for us, only with light weapons — from "Mauser-98" and "shturmgeverov" to Kalashnikovs and "The Wall" — he occasionally attacked our perimeter. The local were three old French cannon from which they managed to sink a boat accident, but the legionaries were able to grab the battery and blow guns and ammunition.
At the moment, we can oppose them 23 M-16 rifles, 6 M-60 machine guns, 30 Kalashnikov rifles and Chinese five creepy Russian machine guns as the Chinese production of ammunition 50 caliber. They are foremost and help us to keep the enemy at a proper distance, but ammo for them ended with downright terrifying speed.
French said that after 10-12 hours will approach another boat, and even accompanied by a guard-ship, but the clock still had to hold on. And the besiegers had one big incentive in the form of warehouses with humanitarian aid and hundreds of white women. All of these types of products are highly appreciated. If they are smart enough to attack both from the south and from the west and north, the one we just recapture the attack, but the second can already run out of ammunition. The radio is our shlopotal bullet when we are just driving up to the port, and the walkie-talkie "beat" practically only a few kilometers. I put on an old lighthouse with a sniper Master Sergeant Smithy, our "radioboga." He is there something smudril of two radios, but much good of it has not happened.
The enemy did not have snipers, and that makes me very happy. The city was situated above the port, and the roofs of some buildings of the territory occupied by us was in full view, but the layout of the city and worked in our favor. Five straight streets down exactly to the wall, and defended us to easily sweep from the towers, gazebos and bay windows … And so began another attack. She was with two opposite directions and quite massive.
Previous failure insurgents have learned something, and they were kept under heavy fire of our machine-gun emplacements. In five minutes, three gunners were wounded, another killed. At this moment, the enemy struck at the front gate of the complex: they tried to knock the gate truck. That they almost succeeded. One wing was partially knocked out into the courtyard flooded dozens of armed figures. Department of Corporal Westheimer — last reserve defense — has beaten off the attack, but lost three people wounded, including one seriously. It became clear that the next attack could be our last: we have had two more gates, and heavy-duty trucks in short supply. We were fortunate that it was time prayer, and we, taking advantage of the respite and mobilizing the maximum number of civilians began to barricade the gate all the means at hand.
Suddenly, on my radio received a call from Smith:
— Sir. I have some strange call, and apparently from Russian. Require older. Allow the switch to you?
— And why did you decide that this is — Russian?
— They told us that causes "solar Siberia," and Siberia — she seems to be in Russia …
— Go ahead — I said and heard in the earpiece spoken English with a slight, but obviously Russian accent.
— Can I find out what makes United States Marine Corps on the territory entrusted to me? — Followed by a question.
— Here — Marine First Lieutenant Michael Fogetti. With whom do I have the honor? "- In turn, I asked.
— You have the honor to communicate, lieutenant, with those who have, the only one in this part of Africa, there are tanks that can radically change the situation. And my name is «Tankist».
I had nothing to lose. I described the whole situation, avoiding, of course, the question of our military "might." Russian in response asked whether, say, my minor report asking for help. Given that the shooting around the perimeter of the rose with a bang, and it was clearly a massive attack the besiegers, I remembered the old Winston once said that if Hitler invaded Hell, he, Churchill, would have concluded an alliance against him with the devil and the Russian replied in the affirmative. At that followed the following tirade:
— Mark the position of the enemy rockets red and wait. When your visibility in the area of the tanks, and it will be us. But be warned: if you follow at least one shot in my tanks — all the things that you want to make local peyzane, you will find nirvana in comparison to what I'll do with you.
When I asked for clarification as to when they come up in the area of sight, a Russian officer asked not from Texas I, and received a negative response, expressed his confidence that I know that Africa is more than Texas, and did not take offense at it.
I ordered the red mark missiles congestion enemy fighters, keep your head down and do not shoot at tanks in the case, if they appear. And then did not come. She was beaten by at least a dozen barrels caliber not less than 100 mm. Part of the insurgents rushed to escape the bombings in our direction, and we met them, not saving the last shops and tape. And in the gaps between the buildings on all streets at the same time there were silhouettes of tanks T-54, plastered landing.
Combat vehicles raced as chariots of fire. The fire led and turrets, and paratroopers. Most recently, which seemed a formidable army besieging dissipated like smoke. The paratroopers jumped from the armor and were spread around the tanks were cleaned houses nearby. Across the front of their occurrence heard short bursts of automatic fire and grenade explosions in blind areas. From the roof of a house suddenly hit of all three tanks immediately turned to the side of the tower last resort half-witted hero of jihad, and the structure volley immediately converted to triplex explosion stripped the city of one of the architectural excesses.
I caught myself thinking that I would not like to be the target of Russian tank attack, and even be with me the whole battalion with support units for these rapid armored monsters with red stars, we would not have been a serious obstacle. And it was not at all the firepower of Russian military vehicles. I saw a person with binoculars Russian tank sitting on the towers of its tanks: these people had absolute confidence in the victory over any enemy. And it's stronger than any caliber.
Russian commander, my age is too high for the tanker, tanned and bearded captain, introduced unintelligible to my poor hearing Russian name, shook my hand and invitingly pointed to his tank. We are comfortably settled in the tower, when Russian officer abruptly pushed me aside. He jumped up, tearing off the shoulder machine, something struck a rustling whistle again and again. Russian jerked on his forehead crawled trickle of blood, but he raised his gun and gave two short line somewhere, clearly caught up stingy-turret machine gun burst from a nearby tank.
Then I smiled apologetically and pointed to the balcony Customs, overlooking the square in front of the harbor wall. There could guess a person's body in a dirty burnoose and gleaming barrel rifle. I realized that I just saved a life. The black-haired girl (Cuban, as part of tankers and paratroopers) in camouflage overalls meanwhile bandaged my savior's head, saying in Spanish that "forever senor captain climbs the bullets," and I got a sudden burst of the soul from the inside pocket a copy of the duplicate his Purple Heart, which he never parted, as a talisman of good luck, and handed it to Russian soldiers. He is in some disarray took an unexpected gift, then shouted something in Russian to the open hatch of his tank. A minute later there was put out a hand holding a huge plastic holster with a huge gun. Russian officer smiled and handed it to me.
A Russian tanks are already deployed along the wall, pointing guns at the town. Three cars through the newly opened gate and razbarrikadirovannye entered the territory of the port on the front armor and I stayed. Refugees streamed out of the warehouses, the women were crying and laughing, the kids jumped and screamed, men in uniform and without shouting and whistling. Russian captain leaned over and over the noise, he said, "That's it, Marine. Who never entered the tank in the liberated city, he did not feel the soul of the festival. This is not from the sea to land. " And clapped me on the shoulder.
Tankers and paratroopers hugging, holding out to them, and we launched some bottles and a Russian captain approached the girl about six years old and a shy smile, handed him a piece of chocolate from humanitarian aid. Russian tanker caught her and gently lifted her, she embraced his arm around his neck, and I was suddenly visited by a sense of deja vu.
I remember a few years ago on a tourist trip on the West and East Berlin showed us the Russian memorial in Treptow Park. Our tour guide, an elderly German woman with angry face, pointing at the huge figure of a Russian soldier rescued a baby and tsedila contemptuous phrase in bad English. She talked about that, well, that's it — a big communist lie, and that in addition to evil and violence in the Russian land of Germany brought nothing.
Like scales fell from my eyes. Before me stood a Russian officer with the rescued child in her arms. And it was real, and so is the German lied in Berlin, and that Russian soldiers from the pedestal to the reality also rescued the child. So maybe our propaganda and lies that the Russian sleep and see how to destroy America? .. No, for the simple first lieutenant of marines such lofty matters are too complex. I waved my hand at it and went nuts with a bottle of whiskey Russian is unknown as it turned out in my hand.
On the same day, got in touch with the French steamer going here under the auspices of the UN and sailed the same in two in the morning. Before dawn was loading, steamer set sail from the inhospitable shore, when the sun was already high enough. And while the inhospitable shore disappeared into the haze, the little girl waving a handkerchief left on the bank of Russian tankers. A Master Sergeant Smithy, the former we note-philosopher, said thoughtfully:
— Never would I not want to Russian seriously fought against us. Let it unpatriotic, but I feel that we definitely ass they will kick.
And, on reflection, he added:
— Well, they drink as cool as we never dreamed of. Suck a bottle of whiskey from the bottle — and not in one eye … And no one will believe us: tell you that this does not even come up with Davy Crockett.