Alcohol secrets of the Stirlits. What do intelligence officers drink in times of crisis? Voropaev training camp

Additional materials for the biography:

Colonel VOROPAEV Anatoly Petrovich born July 29, 1940.

He graduated from high school in 1957 in the city of Brest (Belarusian SSR). In the same year he entered and in 1962 graduated from the Minsk Higher Engineering Radio Engineering School of the country's Air Defense Forces with a degree in radio engineering for special equipment with the qualification of radio engineering engineer, and essentially an engineer for the S-75 and S-125 air defense systems. After graduating from college, he received his first military rank of “lieutenant engineer” and assignment to military unit 03080 (10th State Research Test Site of the USSR Ministry of Defense) to the 35th site in the 4th command. I immediately got to test the S-200 air defense system, data transmission, communications and documentation equipment for the K9 command post. The head of the 4th team was Colonel E.S. Melik-Adamov, the head of the laboratory was Major Evgeniy Andreevich Muravyov (now retired, lives in Grodno, Belarus).

Having passed the level of test engineer and senior test engineer during testing of the S-200 air defense system in 1966, he was transferred to the position of senior test engineer in the 1st team (headed by Colonel Evgeniy Chevyrin) to the Azov system radar (1- th prototype). Took part in testing the 1st and 2nd samples of RSN-225.

In 1969, he was transferred to the position of test engineer in military unit 03080-L (1st Landfill Directorate). The head of the Department was Colonel Perfilyev Vladimir Aleksandrovich, the head of the department was Colonel Volkov Adolf Aleksandrovich. He was involved in testing radar systems of the Azov system, obtaining and analyzing materials on target selection and their processing. On this topic, he rose to deputy head of the department.

In 1974, equipment and equipment (in the form of functionally complete devices) of the 5K17 measuring complex, created on the basis of the RSN-225, was delivered to the test site. At the 35th site, it was docked from the FZU, checked according to the Technical Specifications, and in the summer of 1975 it was relocated to Kamchatka (Ust-Kamchatsk, Kura training ground) and installed in a pre-prepared position. At the same time, in the city of Krasnogorsk near Moscow, in the 1st Special Directorate for the Commissioning of Facilities (head of the Directorate, Lieutenant General Mikhail Markovich Kolomiets), a military unit was formed to operate and maintain the specified 5K17 measuring complex. To support the operation of the complex, analyze the characteristics of reflected signals from ballistic missiles and their warheads launched at Kourou, determine their trajectories and impact points, the Department needed a specialist with experience in service and work at the test site. Voropaev A.P. was offered the position of senior engineer in one of the departments of the service of the chief engineer of military unit 73570 (the head of the department is also a veteran of the Balkhash training ground, Colonel Udalov Viktor Mikhailovich). He didn't refuse.

Anatoly Petrovich recalls: “ The analysis of materials was preceded by “printouts” on paper of records of BC transactions, received at the facility on magnetic media and delivered to military unit 73570. This was very inconvenient and required a significant amount of time. It was decided to create an information exchange system (IIS) based on two satellite and radio relay channels using SPD 5Ts19 equipment. The peculiarity of this work was that in thematic terms, in the development of initial data for interface equipment and software at the Test Center (TC) of the Directorate (military unit 03353), mainly military specialists were involved. In 1977, the SIO was tested - measuring signal and trajectory information from the Kamchatka Peninsula was transmitted to us via communication lines, processed in the IC and presented in the form of reports for its intended purpose in the organizations of MCI, Air Defense, Strategic Missile Forces, Navy, etc. Subsequently, the possibility of transfer was realized real-time measurement information about escorted especially important spacecraft directly to the Space Control Center (SCSC). Along with these works, since 1979 the department was entrusted with the work of commissioning the head object of the A-135 Missile Defense System. In the process of solving this extremely important task, I went from senior engineer to head of department (1981), replacing Viktor Mikhailovich Udalov, who retired, in this position. The commissioning of the A-135 Missile Defense System and the head object 2311 took a decade of my service in the Department. It was not only a lot of work, but also a school in organizing work, interacting with organizations and institutes of industry and the Ministry of Defense, feeling satisfaction from the work done and respect from others. The finale of my active participation in the creation of the A-135 System was the fulfillment in 1991 of the responsible and troublesome duties of the secretary of the State Testing Commission and the commissioning of the system with subsequent placement on combat duty. In March 1992, due to my length of service (age), I was dismissed from the Armed Forces with the prospect of working at the RTI named after. Mintsa. But “new times” came and life decreed differently: after my dismissal I worked at a factory for two years, for three years in the transport inspection, and from 1997 to the present I have been working as a technical director in a private company for the development of material resources (fuel storage warehouses, gas stations etc.). Having come a long way, I remain with the firm opinion that my family and I had the best years at the training ground. Youth, energy, favorite work with the achievement of visible results, interesting leisure time associated with fishing and hunting, prospects and confidence in the future are the explanation and reason for this. In my life and service I have never enjoyed patronage, in the worst sense of the word. I didn’t change many places of service, by army standards, but life presented a whole series of, at first glance, accidents that today I recognize as patterns. What do I mean: after transferring from the training ground to the Directorate, my career path again crossed with those people who, in one way or another, controlled my “course” from the very first independent steps at the training ground: Major General Pavel Ivanovich Markov - head of the Directorate; Lieutenant General Valentin Ivanovich Kuzikov – Head of the Department; Colonel Voskoboinik Mikhail Aleksandrovich – deputy chief engineer; Colonel Zakharenko Leonid Yakovlevich - deputy chief engineer; Colonel Udalov Viktor Mikhailovich – head of the department; Colonel Butenko Valery Vladimirovich - deputy chief engineer; Major General Popkovich (I don’t remember his name and patronymic) – chief of staff. I am grateful to all of them for what I consider to be a very successful career as an officer.”

For his great contribution to testing missile defense systems and systems, testing and commissioning of the unique A-135 missile defense system, Colonel A.P. Voropaev. awarded the Order “For Service to the Motherland”, III degree, and fourteen state and departmental medals, including the Medal of the Order of the II degree “For Services to the Fatherland”.

Married, has a son, daughter and granddaughter. Currently lives with his family in the city of Krasnogorsk in the military town of Pavshino. Takes an active part in the work of the Regional Public Organization “Veterans of the Missile Defense Test Site”, Moscow.

Voropaev again now had a lot of time to think.

Having raised the collar of his overcoat and pulled his hat over his forehead, he now sat for hours on the balcony of the district committee. Four times a day, Lena silently placed in front of him either a glass of tea, or a cup of milk, or a little uzvar from the dryer. Three bags of dried apples and pears were brought from some collective farm, and now everyone in the district committee drank uzvar from morning to night.

At first there was really not much to do. But then several foreign ships entered the port, and lively groups of American and English sailors, accompanied by admiring boys, appeared on the embankment. The guests were cheerful. The land of fantastic Russia disposed them to tenderness. They willingly took pictures with local residents, especially female residents, applauding the most interesting ones.

The embankment quickly filled with people. Some of the guests, getting acquainted with the sights of the city, immediately took a fancy to the only restaurant, nestled in a former hairdressing salon. The Russian cocktail, a mixture of beer and vodka, aroused universal admiration, knocking out even those who had never given up.

However, the need for special translators did not arise until several skirmishes occurred between the British and Americans over the division of military glory.

Having barely reconciled one group of sailors and almost vowing to promise them to return immediately to drink a large bottle of whiskey, Voropaev hobbled to another, where there was a risky conversation about Dunkirk, the honor of the flag and the fact that the British most often fight with their tongues.

Voropaev was struck by the instability of friendly relations between the sailors of the two related allied powers, and even more so by the ease with which each side looked for reasons for disagreement. From the outside it seemed that the state of friendship was depressing and almost insulting to both, and that it would be natural for them to feel in different camps.

The British - even when meeting them on the street - gave Voropaev the impression of people who noticed with sincere surprise that the world, besides them, was inhabited by someone else and that these someones were people.

Willingly believing that the Russians were brave, the Norwegians pious, the Spaniards ardent, and the Belgians reasonable, the British did not envy anyone, considering themselves superior to everyone. And the Americans gave the impression of being very good-natured guys who hated only two peoples in the world - the Japanese and the British.

Voropaev was unexpectedly freed from the tedious duties of not so much a translator as an agent of order in one of the next days. It was already firmly known that Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill had arrived. There was a story about a boy who was given a cigar by the English Prime Minister. Some old sailor swore that Churchill was a boxer by vocation and only gave up the ring just before the war. Several women appeared with whom Roosevelt spoke and bowed. All the beautiful foreigners were suspected of being Edens.

People talked a lot about Roosevelt.

He made a good impression on those who saw him. People love to feel the traits of asceticism in great people, for what, in the end, is the measure of greatness if not feat?

Churchill, with an eternal cigar in his teeth, corpulent and seemingly decrepit, but fussily active and surprisingly insidious, also made an impression, but not the same, not at all the same as Roosevelt.

The Premier of England had the air of a tireless businessman, consumed by anxiety lest he be late for some very important event that could happen every minute. His manner of peering into faces, as if expecting that they would certainly speak to him, always caused cheerful laughter, and his passion for jeeps, in which he was visible to the people and could bow to the sides with a satisfied look, also aroused lively disagreements.

He was the head of the allied army, and for this alone they wanted to respect him, but nothing was noticed in him that could captivate. In his appearance, the street felt like an elderly, cunning gentleman who had just had a hearty breakfast and washed it down with something unusually exciting.

One evening, Voropaev received a call to immediately go to the Pervomaisky collective farm, where some American, visiting hut after hut, was interviewing collective farmers using some incredibly idiotic questionnaire. The car was provided immediately. The desire to see his May Day residents was so great that Voropaev left without going to the district committee.

The American had been hustling around the May Day crowd since early morning, and by the time Voropaev arrived, he was already in that almost inhuman state in which only seasoned drunkards who have drunk many lakes can be. Voropaev was almost convinced that this was some small person, and he could hardly believe the business card after reading the name of a famous journalist from the most famous newspaper in the whole world.

Considering that in this form the guest, together with his own translator of the former tsarist officers, could not be sent anywhere alone, Voropaev ordered the visitors to be put to bed at Ogarnova’s, and he himself went to Podnebesko.

Natasha was at home. Her plump body, full of unspeakable beauty, obviously seemed the ugliest thing to her, and she blushed as she greeted him. But everything about her - her smile, her huge, heavy belly, and the paleness of her pregnancy-weary face - was so touching that Voropaev looked at her almost lovingly.

They started talking about Yuri, who had left for a consultation with a very famous professor, and that the situation was developing very favorably for their family, but then Styopka Ogarnov came running to say that the American had gotten up and was hungover from Riesling, and they still couldn’t get a translator, although gave the sleepy one something to drink.

Voropaev hobbled “with all his crutches” to the Ogarnovs.

Harris (that was the American's last name) turned out to be a very broken man, sympathetic to the Soviet order. They immediately liked each other and started talking.

An hour later, they were arguing about issues of a quick peace, and, as only happens between people who know each other well, the harshness of expressions and extreme points of view did not cool their ardor... Having returned to the regional center late in the evening, they agreed to meet the next day to finish the conversation, but, As usual, they didn’t finish the conversation a second time and set up a new, additional date.

It began with the fact that the American decided to find out what the Soviet system and Soviet people actually were. They started talking about national characters and national destinies and eventually started arguing about democracy.

Why?

The monopoly on the best democracy is in our hands. There is not and cannot be another democracy more beautiful than the American one. I'm talking seriously.

Is this your belief or that of the newspapers?

Of course it's mine. I am interested - and this is completely disinterested - in convincing my readers that you are almost Americans, but I feel that I cannot do this.

This will be - as you yourself understand - wrong.

Perhaps. But we study the world by comparison. Of course, we Americans are a 100% democracy. We love and respect everything that is similar to us, everything that approaches us, we reject everything that is far from us. Don't forget this if you want to please us.

Why then are your people so ill-disposed towards the British? After all, it seems that there is no other people who would so much like to be like you, and yet...

As for traditional England, there is nothing more unprincipled in the world, and we Americans do not respect it too much, and sometimes this feeling is involuntarily transferred to the entire nation...

Let's say this is the explanation. But then, what do you have in common with the Chinese? If we talk about the so-called souls of the people, then you and the Chinese are souls of different colors and different dimensions.

The American laughed.

Do you think we can’t do without the laws of capitalist development, the struggle for markets, and so on?

Think.

You see, sober, I'm not good at fending off an attack. Take me somewhere where I can have a drink in peace. By the way, I'll get rid of my translator.

Voropaev decided to take the American to Shirokogorov.

As Voropaev expected, the old man turned out to be very dissatisfied with the appearance of the foreigner.

But everything went very well. Shirokogorov spoke French. and Harris considered it his second native language. Voropaev joined the conversation either in Russian or in English.

The conversation turned to wine. Shirokogorov noted with disappointment that this year’s wine, the Victory wine, will probably be unimportant for a number of reasons

Do you expect to win this year? - Harris pestered the old man. - Tell me frankly.

Shirokogorov confirmed his assumption and was not particularly worried when he saw that the American had written something down in a notebook.

Yes, this year we would be able to win if you, gentlemen, do not interfere with us,” Shirokogorov suddenly repeated with an unexpected bilious smile.

We? - Harris, like a hunting dog, looked into the old man’s face and wrote down, without lowering his eyes, in a notebook.

You and the British.

Well, this is downright wonderful. Why?

But you always have something not ready. I am sure that you are still going through the stage of defeat and are not ready for victory.

Oh, that's great. Don't you think that you still have quite a lot left to do?

The old man, turning pale, shouted as if from a tribune:

Less than done. We have brought victory so close to you that you can reach it with your hand. But you are afraid that they will say that they gave you victory...

What do you think?

Yes you.

I personally?

Exactly, you personally.

I, Shirokogorov, believe that the British certainly received it as a gift from us, but you did more in your area than all the others, although much less than us, and without us you would never have won, even if you had seriously wanted to win. Here. Write it all down, please. This is my personal opinion, of course.

And then Voropaev, noticing how wide the old man’s nostrils were flaring, tried to turn the conversation to peaceful topics of winemaking as quickly as possible.

Reluctantly, Shirokogorov led the guests into the tasting room, furnished with tables and chairs in the shape of barrels. Svetlana Chirikova,” Voropaev was surprised to see her at Shirokogorov’s, “put special tasting glasses on the table, widened downwards, like lamp glass.

Let's start with dry.

Svetlana poured greenish-golden wine into glasses. The old man raised the glass to his nose and sniffed several times, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, as if inhaling ammonia.

Grapes of this variety have not always received the correct use from us,” he began sadly, forgetting about everything in the world. — Riesling is a typical German and is truly good only on the Rhine, but it seems to me that our Riesling from Alkadar is incomparable in its subtlety of taste. What will you do?

Harris drank his glass, throwing his head back like a rooster, because the special glass is not designed for quick drinking, but for slow sipping. Tasters do not drink, but, in fact, chew the wine.

Looking guiltily into the empty bowl, Harris begged Svetlana with signs to pour more. She turned away, blushing, as if not understanding the signs.

Look at his morning, slightly muted tones... - Shirokogorov admired, shaking his glass.

“Pour me a second one, miss,” said Harris decisively. — In the first glass, due to my inexperience, I didn’t notice any tones.

When they tried aligote, Harris came to his senses and started talking about a greenish tint, but now this made no sense, because there was no such shade in aligote.

The old man frowned and began to speed up the tasting ceremony.

Here is the red table. It is a composite of cabernet, malbec, grenache and mourved varieties. A solid, business-like wine, without any special subtleties.

At the word “solid,” Harris perked up noticeably and again swallowed what he had poured before he had thought to smell and examine the drink.

Hmmm, really,” he said embarrassedly, sniffing the empty glass. - It, I would say, is making itself felt.

Yes, it quickly and even somewhat rudely enters into communication with a person,” Shirokogorov noted.

Even rude? - Harris was ready to be offended for the businesslike red. - I would not say. Maybe if you drink a bottle, it won't be rude at all.

He clearly wanted another glass of this businesslike drink, but Shirokogorov started talking about Madeira.

This is a bright wine, lovely! We, I must tell you, specialize in strong and dessert wines. The dry climate and intense heat give us grapes that are sweet and aromatic, rich in possibilities. Figuratively speaking, our grapes love to turn into good wines... Look at the amber-golden color! Old amber, huh? This is from the Portuguese varieties Sercial and Verdelio with the addition of Malvasia and Albillo. And what a delicate, well-coordinated bouquet, what a harmonious color!.. The wine is very bright, talented, brilliant in appearance. And, you know, it’s nice,” he turned to Voropaev, “from year to year it’s getting better and better. Have you ever tried our red cabernet port wine, Alexey Veniaminich? In its homeland, cabernet produces the best Bordeaux table wines in the world, and we make port from it, which is not inferior to the best Portuguese brands. I would call it a pomegranate port. Molten Gem! And the taste! Full, strong, with the finest aroma.

Harris, writing something in a notebook, silently nodded his head.

And here is our pinot gris. The French, as you may know, make from it, in combination with other pinots, champagne or a light, fine table wine. But for some reason our champagne drinkers don’t particularly like it; and so, you know, we decided to make dessert wine from pinot gris. We discuss with the French in this way. And it worked. The result, as you can now see, is a magnificent, very original wine, noble, the color of strong tea, full, thick, resinous.

Great wine! - Harris also approved. - Wonderful wine!

Scent? The bouquet of rye crust is strong and memorable for a long time.

Don't you think, Mr. Professor, that wine should smell like wine, and not like something foreign? I don’t understand why wine should smell like bread?

What is the smell of wine? - Shirokogorov answered with a question and, seeing that Harris was not inclined to continue the argument, he signaled to Svetlana to clear the table of glasses.

Now we will try our signature wine - Muscat. This is the leader of our wines.

Svetlana brought in four glasses, golden in the light, on a tray, and Shirokogorov was the first to carefully bring his glass to his face, like a flower.

I ask you, do you smell the honey smell of the meadows? Do you feel it or not?

Actually, not quite,” Harris said, embarrassed. - In any case, doctor, not meadows.

In this case, drink in one gulp to clear the container. “You, my dear, should drink shoe polish diluted in alcohol,” he added, as if jokingly.

Harris laughed.

I need to drink undiluted alcohol. And the meadows - I can imagine them myself, Mr. Professor. And why do I need the smell of meadows when I drink wine? This is original. Purely in Russian.

There is a word in our dictionary: “inspiration”. So, the wine that I create exists to inspire people. It smells of associations, of life. The wine that you downed in one gulp, I must note, is usually drunk in small sips. It creeps into your spinal cord like memories of wanderings and journeys, of golden meadows on high rocks, and you become young if you are old. Your chest breathes with such a wide expanse, your eyes are focused on such distances that everything difficult seems easy, the insoluble - simple, the distant - close. This wine seems to me, poetically speaking, the soul of a mountain shepherd. The mountain slopes are covered with dense vineyards, far below is the sea... Heat, silence, open spaces, and he, leaning on the gerlygu, sings in a third of his voice about his great-grandfather’s campaigns. However, generously excuse the inappropriate lyrical digression... Let's move on... This is the second type of our white nutmeg. He is the neighbor of the first... They are separated by some twenty kilometers along the coast, but smell it - for some reason this second one smells most delicately of citron. Where? It's completely unclear. As you know, we don’t have citrus fruits. Our wine also does not contain any foreign impurities. And we will probably never know the origin of this strange smell.

This is what it smells like on ocean ships. This is the smell of wanderings and discoveries. The second Muscat seems to me to be the soul of a sailor who crossed all the oceans and experienced all the storms, and in his old age peacefully talks about his travels on the threshold of his home. Well, so... Now here in front of you is pink nutmeg. It differs from the first two only in color and that very strange and also still inexplicable feature that it smells like a rose, but - note - not every season. The scent of a rose visits him as if on special years. This wine is extremely beautiful and feminine. Have you heard the old tale about the nightingale falling in love with a rose? If I were a poet or a storyteller, I would definitely create a fairy tale about a grape bush falling in love with a rose flower.

Well, that’s just wonderful,” Harris said. — Sentimental, like in America. But listen, doctor, how can you do all this harmonic nonsense when your country is in ruins? - he asked, putting the notebook in his pocket.

I prepare her elixirs of celebration, dear friend, wines of Victory, wines of relaxation and comfort. You cannot live only in today, because most often it is unfinished yesterday. The true present is always ahead.

Without invitation, Harris poured himself an almost full glass of nutmeg and topped it up with Madeira.

Shirokogorov shook his head disapprovingly.

I can never understand people who drink cocktails. It's so unappetizing to drink...

-...only the British and Americans can, I know! Who is ahead of everyone? - Russians! Who eats the best? - Russians! Who drinks the best? - Russians! You know, I’ve heard this before and I know well the value of such statements.

You see, Mr. Harris, the point here is not that we eat better than everyone else - we eat, perhaps, worse than you, but we have long since deserved a better life for very, very many things. Won't you write this down? It's a pity.

The soul of the local wines is not as militant as yours, Mr. Professor.

And it's a shame. We will still need militant qualities.

For what? You are going to end the war this year, and fascism will be defeated, as I understand it.

German - yes, but you, Mr. Harris, will take the place of the defeated, you will become the most ardent defender of capitalism in its worst forms. And there are many like you.

Why me? - Harris took up his notebook again. - This is just wonderful. Do you think Roosevelt could also someday become a defender of fascism?

Why is he necessarily a defender of fascism? He can stand next to us.

Ah, that's how it is! But why—last question—do you prophesy this about America? Isn't the fascist quality more suitable for England?

Churchill's England is your kept woman. This lady of very respectable years risked throwing in her lot with a young womanizer, promising that she would leave him a good inheritance if he loved her while she was alive.

Well, that's it! Today I will earn money for you, as I have not earned for a long time, Mr. Professor. Goodbye, thank you,” and Harris laughed evilly.

To say that England is our kept woman!..,” he grumbled, getting into the car. -You heard, of course?

In my opinion, the old man is so right that it’s not even interesting to talk about it. After all, there are two Englands, one of them is your kept woman.

We are not rich enough to support England.

But England, you must admit, is not so rich as to give it to you for free.

Voropaev ordered the driver to climb into the mountains, to Merezhkova’s children’s sanatorium.

The children had lunch.

Voropaev led the guest into the “philosophers” room, where everyone was gathered except Zina, but she also came running, having learned about the American’s arrival, and, as always, immediately began to talk about herself and her comrades.

Shura Naydenov, without stopping, was reading some book, turning the pages with a stick with a rough rubber tip, which he held in his teeth.

“This is not humane,” said Harris in a whisper, although he probably did not admit that his English could be understood by anyone here.

What is not humane?

It is not humane to force this unfortunate creature to live. You understand what I mean.

Do you think, Mr. Harris, that having a pair of arms and a pair of legs makes you much happier than him? And what is more humane to give you the opportunity to live? So did I understand you?

Yes. So.

I disagree.

Harris, meanwhile, did not let up.

So tell me, for what experiments does this child exist? - he asked Voropaev. “Are you so sure that he will definitely grow up to be a genius?”

I admit it, but I don’t insist on it.

So what, then, do you expect to grow?

Human. However, why don't you ask him yourself, this boy speaks a little English.

Without looking at Naydenov, who was still reading the book, Harris left the room and, without saying goodbye to anyone, headed to the car.

We returned along the lower road, which ran close to the sea.

The driver asked Voropaev:

What didn't he like, apparently, upstairs?

Did not like.

Yes, not that tasting.

The road wound between vineyards, empty and sad at this time of year. Bare vines stuck out like gray squiggles along the slopes, and somehow it was hard to believe that in the summer they would be dressed in elegant foliage and look picturesque.

The guard booths in which the watchmen sat in the fall were also deserted, and not a single living soul came across them, as if they were traveling on the ground without people.

The driver stopped the car abruptly at a roadside well and turned to Voropaev.

Tell him, Comrade Colonel, that the Germans threw two of my brother-in-law’s children alive into this well.

Voropaev translated. Harris was silent.

When I returned from the partisans, I climbed down myself and identified it. Wow, terrible thing! It's scary to remember. One of the youngest, a seven-year-old boy, had only broken legs and a rib, apparently dead from hunger, and the oldest, thirteen-year-old, had his head, it was immediately obvious...

Harris's lips turned white.

There are things you can’t say out loud,” he said.

Then we would have to be silent too often.And they didn't talk until the town itself.

...The next conversation between Voropaev and Harris took place on the city embankment.

Harris insisted that Russians did not like Americans, and Voropaev explained to him that it was not a matter of love.

But no one here can understand why your country supports the most reactionary policies. After all, listen, Harris, you will not deny that England has lost all its advantages in this war and that victory will not bring her anything good?

Yes, that's probably true.

But you won’t deny that many people want to take all the proceeds of victory from you.

No, here you are... no, no, here you are wrong.

But I tell you that your bankers are striving for one thing - to turn America into a fortress of militarism, and Churchill will thank heaven that he raised them into such good militarists in time. Churchill is their god, not Roosevelt. Roosevelt is too good for them. They've long deserved a worse president, Harris.

Can I write to you someday, Voropaev? - suddenly

he asked.

What for? If you change, I will hear about you without letters, but if you remain what you are now, then what is the use of your letters?

That's probably true.

They separated, although they still really wanted to talk.

The conversation with Harris excited Voropaev so much that he gladly took the first opportunity to avoid further meetings with the visitor.

And yet he had to meet Harris again. Foreign journalists gathered for an excursion to Sevastopol, and Voropaev was needed again.

Vasyutin, who had just arrived from the regional committee, personally stopped by to ask him - as a favor - not to refuse this trip, as he emphasized several times.

Voropaev was not yet familiar with Vasyutin, and he liked that he stopped by easily, without any bossy arrogance, and that outwardly Vasyutin made a pleasant impression.

He was a broad-shouldered, fat man with a shock of curly brown hair and a charming smile on both cheeks, from which his contented face turned pink every time.

I already told Korytov not to torture you. But even then, who else if not you? There are no people. I’ll give you one more related task. On a local topic.

I, Comrade Vasyutin, have also been here for almost a week, not an old-timer.

If you're not an old-timer, you'll become one. Are you planning on leaving yet? Have you settled down a little?

More or less.

Rather, perhaps less than more, as I heard. Well, you'll get used to it. In appearance, Vasyutin was a typical party worker, active but not fussy, with a decisive categoricalness in his gestures. He was like that not so much by character, but by his position, which over many years had automatically developed in him the habits of a commander who did not know how to hesitate or be late.

Vasyutin did everything immediately and immediately, as soon as any task arose before him. He put off only what had already been determined to be successful or completely hopeless. He must have impressed the communists of the region as a tenacious, stubborn and mocking person. Voropaev knew from many reviews that Vasyutin was respected for his simplicity, for his ability to get involved in new things, and most importantly, for his ability, which is very striking: to remember the names, patronymics and surnames of many thousands of people who make up the asset of the region.

While Voropaev was fiddling with crutches—he never wore a prosthesis at home—and combing his hair in front of the mirror, Vasyutin, looking out the window, impatiently tapped his open notebook with a pencil.

“I heard that you, Comrade Voropaev, slightly underestimated your strength or, let’s say, overestimated your illness and retired early,” he said, looking at the street.

I may have left really early, but, as they say, injuries and illnesses are not asked for, but received.

This is what I understand. I'm not blaming you. I regret.

Ah, well, thank you for your attention then.

By the way, don’t snap at us, the rear people, too much. We also saw your brother, a front-line soldier, in different faces. Not every front-line soldier is a leader. Shoulder straps and decorations do not hypnotize us, Comrade Voropaev, and, it seems to me, they should not hypnotize you either.

Voropaev remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

I'm not talking about you. As for your person, they speak well of you, not bad,” Vasyutin finished.

“A typical assessment of an apparatchik,” thought Voropaev: “to say “good” is scary, to say “bad” is wrong,” and since the conversation that had begun was unpleasant to him, he sat down at the table, saying:

I'm ready. I’m listening to you, Comrade Vasyutin.

The guest, looking at him with half an eye, made a deep dot in his notebook with a flourish.

Yes. So here it is. I'll start from the end. Yesterday Comrade Stalin was returning from the conference to his place on foot. Tired, apparently wanted to have fun. I walked along the lower highway. Do you know? And he drew attention to the abundance of empty slopes. "What's the matter?" - asks. I say: “Water is tight, Joseph Vissarionovich. Tobacco won't work, it's too high for vineyards, so they left it for olive trees. And it’s healthy and you don’t need water...” And he told me: “So, he says, I don’t see any olives there. Where is she?

But that’s right - where?

Definitely correct. We, I confess to you, thought about this ourselves, but never got around to it. Turnover is eating us up, damn it. So, I want to ask you: if you go with your guests now to show them our nature, think about it - wherever, how much and how. We will, of course, set up a special commission later...

Voropaev waved his hand dismissively.

Just spend money. I am a supporter of Fergana methods. Commissions upon commissions, and a collective farmer with a ketmen stepped on their heels.

The experience, to be sure, is wonderful,” Vasyutin said with envy, “but I’m afraid of it: the time is different. Please note that they started in Fergana - when? In thirty-nine! What a year, remember? This initiative of theirs did not come from poverty, but from an excess of strength, from... prowess, or something... What strength was seething in the blood! Right? What can we dream about now, when the whole people are at war and you and I are only able to mobilize each other?.. Yes. So here it is. Take a closer look, dream up. Sometimes I think it’s time for us to have special dreamers like agitators and propagandists.

They'll sit on the salary - and away are the dreams!

It is truth too.

Let's go together, Comrade Vasyutin! - Voropaev suddenly suggested. He liked this impatient man. “I’ll be with you until the pass, I’ll spend the night there with the meteorologist, and at dawn I’ll join the journalists’ excursion.”

Will you spend the night at Zarubin's? Who talks to the winds? Baibak,” Vasyutin scratched his temple with a pencil, squinted his eye, wondering if he had time, and unexpectedly agreed.

On New Year's Day, Russians will raise their glasses of champagne as the chimes strike. However, for many, stronger drinks will go into battle. And not everyone will be able to stand on their feet in this alcoholic battle.

How to defeat the green serpent on New Year's Eve? Why do our Stirlitz drink often and not get drunk? The AN columnist talks about this with retired colonel Alexei Nikolaevich IVANOV.

The only thing better than vodka is tea

The conversation about New Year's drinks with the intelligence veteran took place not over a glass of vodka or a glass of wine, but over a cup of green tea. After the surgery, the AN columnist was banned from any alcohol for two months by doctors.

“My favorite drink is green tea with jasmine,” Alexey Nikolaevich supported the journalist after taking a small sip. – In these times of crisis, it is also the most economical.

– Few people can afford it now champagne 500 euros per bottle “, I agreed with the old scout. - Yes and the price black label whiskey Now it bites a lot. What do intelligence officers drink during a currency crisis?

Ivanov grinned:

- Everything that burns. In case of extreme operational necessity, even Ukrainian moonshine and Georgian chacha . But on December 20th - on Chekist Day– My friends and I drank Putinka and Crimean wine.

– A bottle of Russian vodka and a loaf of black bread were always the best gifts in any of our residency: even in Singapore, at least in Tel Aviv... – I fell into journalistic memories. – But I liked Massandra sherry most of all.

For lack of a favorite wine and drinking green greenfield It's good to talk with an old acquaintance. Although the practice of intelligence services shows that strong drinking makes it much faster to establish informal contact with the desired source of information. Tea is not vodka, you won't drink much. After it you are drawn not to drunken exploits, but to quiet memories.

Putin's favorite wine

The tasting in Crimea is etched in my memory. We go down the echoing metal stairs to Massandra cellars . First they show huge wine barrels. Then glass dusty vessels. In total, in the plant’s collection, which, by the way, is listed in the Guinness Book of Records, more than 1 million bottles . According to foreign experts, all this grape wealth costs about 4 billion dollars. Now it belongs to Russia again!

The most expensive wine is stored in an elite cellar under the supervision of video cameras. This sherry 1775. At the auction, for one copy of this oldest exhibit from the Massandra collection, they offered over 50 thousand dollars. This wine is extremely rare. The factory stores only 6 bottles. Even presidents are not allowed to try it.

According to the head of the sales and marketing department of the plant V. Zenkina, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin out of thirty liked the wines tasted most red table "Alushta" . It's certainly not cheap, but it's not the most expensive either. In the factory's company store it is sold at 1300 rub. per bottle. Recently, a batch of such wine was sent to Moscow by order of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. They say it’s for Vladimir Vladimirovich’s New Year’s table.

My acquaintances, veterans of the Russian special services, recommended tasting the main line of Massandra wines: starting from "The Seventh Heaven of Prince Golitsyn" and up to "Old Nectar" .

Of all the drinks I tried, I liked it the most sherry my year of birth. And although he was far from the cherished Massandra figure 1775 and it wasn't worth it at all 50 thousand bucks, it still turned out to be beyond my salary. Like other ordinary consumers, I had to choose: drink cheaper wines or switch to homeopathic doses.

By the way, in Crimean resorts they have recently been successfully using enotherapy- wine treatment. Cold in Yalta they treat with Massandra Cahors. From neuroses and excess radiation in the body helps to get rid of cabernet.Keep healthy heart helps dry red wine, which Putin loves so much. And the best cure for constipation, according to the resort doctors - Crimean port wine. Old people especially respect him.

And I took a box of Massandra to Moscow madeira 500 rubles per bottle. Connoisseurs call this wine for its strength "ladies' cognac "or "babolayer". No wonder I loved him so much Grigory Rasputin !

How to get a hangover without failing

Alexey Nikolaevich distracted me from my memories. He shared his experience of fighting the green serpent.

According to Colonel Ivanov , this is not taught in intelligence schools and academies. But drinking alcohol correctly for an intelligence officer is almost the main professional quality. Therefore, in foreign residencies, intelligence bison generously share their alcoholic experience with young employees. Here are just some practical tips:

1. A few hours before the feast, eat a hearty meal. fat food. A piece of lard or a sandwich with butter and plenty of honey poured on top wouldn't hurt.
2. A glass of vodka or another strong drink half an hour before your main drink will put your body in full combat readiness to resist alcohol. You can have an aperitif 10 sorbent tablets (previously it was activated carbon, now they use polyphepan or enterosorbent). Most effective Among them is considered a silicon-based enterosorbent - enterosgel, 3-4 tablespoons of which help the body quickly cope with the elimination of alcohol .
3. Previously, they wrote a lot in the West that KGB officers took drug RU-21. They themselves remained sober and could get their interlocutors drunk to such an extent that they blurted out any secrets. The miracle remedy supposedly stops the body's production of an enzyme that converts alcohol into acetaldehyde, a toxic chemical. In fact, this is just advertising.

According to Colonel Ivanov, now in London This is how our scouts get hung up. After a heavy drinking session, the operative prefers to pour into himself a traditional glass of a mixture called "oyster". This is a cocktail of sunflower oil, two tablespoons of tomato juice, a teaspoon of cognac and egg yolk, which are shaken before use, after adding salt and pepper. You can eat some toast. If it doesn’t help, then the famous oatmeal, which is filled with something fermented milk. Alcoholic drinks for a hangover are called "dog's fur" (hair of the dog).

And here in Finland our intelligence officers are not further ado and hope only for sauna. For some reason this method of getting drunk in Finland is called Russian. They arrange a non-hot sauna from a hangover - 80 degrees quite enough. It is believed that it is at this temperature that toxins leave the body through the skin most actively: 2-3 passes for 5-7 minutes. are able to completely remove any remaining alcohol.

By the way, in Moscow Instead of a Finnish sauna, the highest ranks of the secret services use the latest infrared capsules . There the temperature is only 45–60 degrees, which significantly reduces the load on the heart, and the warming effect is much stronger. Therefore, the body is cleansed of alcohol decomposition products no worse than from a dropper. But the process is faster and much more pleasant.

In TaiwanOur intelligence officers, in order to avoid a hangover, drink several drinks before a feast. raw quail eggs . After this, they drink vodka or whiskey exclusively with green tea. The technique of mixing whiskey with antioxidant-rich green tea is unusual, but the resulting drink does not cause such a severe hangover.

Russian intelligence officers in Mexico The best cure for a hangover is considered to be a thick, spicy soup made from veal legs, tripe, green chilies, cornmeal and seasonings. It is these components that contain a lot of vitamins and glycine. This soup is somewhat reminiscent of Caucasian khash.

Gourmets from the Russian intelligence station in Paris relieve a hangover with garlic or onion soup . They crumble more garlic into a large plate, pour boiling water over it and put in a piece of French bread, after adding a raw egg.

–In Germany It’s a long-standing tradition on a hangover morning to wash down pickled fish with yoghurt, thickly flavored with onions,” recalls Alexey Nikolaevich. – I don’t know if I’ve ever used this recipe. Vladimir Putin while working in Dresden. In my opinion, this is Teutonic barbarism. I preferred a small bottle of Bavarian beer on hungover mornings.

Colonel Ivanov also said that in our intelligence station VNorway after New Year's drunkenness they return to life with the help buckets of coldwater which they pour on their heads. It is important that the water flows down your back! Extreme? But it's effective! Especially if you wash it down with a glass of thick, warmed cream.

But our scouts in the countries of South America and Africa use the most extraordinary ways to combat hangovers. They rub it in there lemon in axillary area and eat bananas without measure . They say it helps. But this is hard to believe.

At worst, you can take humorous advice from American jazzman Eddie Condon: painful morning squeeze juice from two empty bottles whiskey... However, in our currency crisis, the remains of any alcohol will save you from a hangover. The main thing: drink, but in moderation!

Yuri Kobaladze, retired major general, foreign intelligence veteran:

– There are no famous KGB pills. At least I haven’t used them in my practice. It is very important for a scout to be able to drink a lot and still have a fresh head. The most effective remedy for intoxication is regular sandwich with butter . And the next day it’s best to drink alco-seltzer or treat yourself with folk remedies: kefir, brine . Soviet intelligence officers tried these methods on themselves more than once and, as a rule, were at their best.