45th separate special purpose reconnaissance regiment of the Airborne Forces. Get to forty-five

In the 45th separate regiment (now deployed to a brigade) special purpose Airborne Forces celebrated their 85th anniversary in Kubinka Airborne troops. As always, the paratroopers put on an interesting show. A ceremonial meeting with laying flowers and rewarding those who distinguished themselves, a ceremonial march, music and songs of the Airborne Forces, demonstration performances by paratroopers with the obligatory breaking of bricks with their hands. The highlight of the holiday was a simulated battle to capture a militant base on enemy territory with the release of a hostage. Scouts-climbers, troops, armored personnel carriers, anti-tank systems and even a tank took part in the battle! Congratulations on the 85th anniversary of the Airborne Forces!
Photos are clickable, with geographic coordinates and linked to a Yandex map, 08/02/2015.

1. Formal formation of the unit

2. According to tradition, the celebration of Airborne Forces Day begins with a solemn meeting and laying flowers at

3. Command

4. Passage in a solemn march, the banner group leads the passage

5.

6. Znamenny group

7. After the ceremonial march, while preparations are underway for a simulated battle to free a hostage from a militant camp, military songs and the unofficial anthem of the Airborne Forces are played

8. Militant camp, bandits are having fun: someone is training in throwing knives and axes, while others are dancing lezginka to “Black Eyes”

9. And at this time, the scouts are descending from the cliff behind the militants (the wall of the barracks acts as mountains)

10.

11. The militants do not sleep and their duty is set - the sentries are on watch. But our scouts are secretly approaching the sentries...

12. ... and take them off

13. At this time, the sniper destroys the leader of the militants (wrestling with a pistol in his hand) and eliminates the danger to the hostage, whom the bandits hastily take into the house

14. The capture group lands from a Mi-8 helicopter (Ural vehicle plays the role of Mi-8)

15. Demonstration of combat techniques (small deviation from simulating the capture of a militant base)

16. Each paratrooper undergoes a test run in an armored personnel carrier (a small deviation from simulating the capture of a militant base)

17. And now the landing using an armored personnel carrier is fighting to capture the militant base

18. Demonstration of the "Carousel" technique

19.

20.

21. Unfortunately, a paratrooper was wounded during the battle; he is being evacuated for medical assistance.

22. The surviving militants hid in the building and their assault and cleansing begins

23. Under the cover of an armored personnel carrier it turns out health care to a wounded soldier

24. The hostage has been released and is being evacuated

25. The militants called for help and a tank arrived to support them! - there he is on the right. But the paratroopers, using a requisitioned SUV (and they are now behind enemy lines) and an anti-tank missile system, destroy the militants’ tank

26. BA-BANG!!! and the militants no longer have a tank

A year ago, hearing soldiers from the 45th separate guards regiment special forces airborne troops song “To the Airborne Special Forces Scout”, I at first thought that it was performed by a professional musician, it sounded so good.

In response to a question about the author of the hit, the soldiers showed me a photo of a tall, strong man in a field uniform and a blue beret: “This is our intelligence officer, he served in a special detachment! Slava Korneev is his name, Leshy is his call sign. He is a holder of the Order of Courage, the medal of the Order of Merit for the Fatherland, II degree, and two medals for courage. Not disguised, not fake, real. And he sings about a matter that he truly knows.”

Intelligence veteran and singer-songwriter Vyacheslav Korneev talks about himself, his service, life and songs.

I was born on February 25, 1976 in the polar city of Kovdor, in the Murmansk region. School years flew by unnoticed, and in the spring of 1994 I was drafted into the army. Despite my passionate desire to serve in the airborne troops, they brought me to artillery training in Pargolovo, near St. Petersburg. Trained to be a crew commander anti-tank gun MT-12, awarded the rank of junior sergeant and assigned to the 134th Guards Motorized Rifle Regiment of the 45th Motorized Rifle Regiment peacekeeping forces, which was based in the village of Kamenka, Vyborg region. The commander of our regiment was Guard Colonel Mikhail Yuryevich Malofeev. On January 17, 2000, he died in Grozny with the rank of major general and was posthumously awarded the high title of Hero of Russia.

One night, I, the duty officer at the soldiers' canteen, introduced myself to a passing general and asked to be sent to the Caucasus. Was it reckless? Don't know. Only in response did I hear: “Which unit? Hand over the outfit, run and march to the location! And it started spinning! Obtaining equipment, food. Formation of personnel. The commander reads out the lists of those leaving, but my name is not on this list! Why? Seeing my inflexibility, the commander took the guy out of action, covered in tears, and I took his place. So I became deputy platoon commander leaving for the war.

First impressions

The next day, as part of the battalion, we flew to Mozdok and unloaded at the takeoff. Cold, dirt, crowds of armed people scurrying here and there. Seeing musician Yuri Shevchuk among the soldiers, he made his way to him and asked for an autograph. He did not refuse and signed the top deck of my guitar. We even sang a couple of verses from “The Last Autumn” with him.

We moved to a field next to the takeoff and spent the night. And look in the morning - our battalion is gone! And we, 22 soldiers in bulletproof vests and helmets, with weapons and equipment, were left alone, without officers. Used by no one, wanted by no one!

After holding out for three days without hot food or water, having managed to chew dry rations and burn all the gas masks, overcoats and felt boots, we got hold of cartridges and grenades. They just stood in some kind of formation receiving ammunition and received half a cap of ammunition! They didn’t ask us for our names or force us to sign anywhere. And we stole two boxes of grenades at night from an unguarded caponier, filled to the brim with this stuff.

One day we met a colonel who stopped us in a menacing voice: “Who are they? What kind of herd? I introduced myself and explained. The colonel ordered us to follow him and led us to the bathhouse. After washing, he sent us to the dining room. Clean and well-fed, we boarded the bus and went with the colonel, as it later turned out, to the city of Prokhladny, to the 135th motorized rifle brigade.

In the brigade we were fed, changed clothes, rearmed, and a day later we were sent in a convoy to Chechnya. We drove for a short time, often avoiding roads common use and abandoning several faulty cars along the way. Here are the artillery positions... Howitzers and self-propelled guns are hitting deafeningly where our column is crawling, drowning in the mud.

Jumping from the Ural to the ground, I slipped. Taking a stable position, I realized that I was standing on a corpse rolled out in a road rut. Helping the others get out of the car, he warned them to be more careful. A mutilated corpse is what we saw first in Chechnya.
The task assigned to our unit led us to the central market of Grozny. The trucks were closely packed into the courtyard adjacent to the market building, and while we unloaded dry rations, duffel bags and sleeping bags from them, they sadly awaited their sad fate.

Some guy running past, hung with “Flies”, grenades, knives and pistols, nervously adjusting the sawed-off shotgun of a hunting rifle dangling on his hip, attacked me: “You... on... Why did you bring the equipment on... here, motherfucking...? They’ll burn it all.”

Our only armored personnel carrier, it turns out, was burned on the way. Having finished unloading and leaving Mikola Pitersky to guard the dry rations, I went on a reconnaissance tour of the market building. The personnel were dying of thirst, and I discovered deposits of jars of compote! The mines that occasionally pierced the roof were no longer frightening, but my soul was uneasy.

And then it began! One of the first mines flew into the dry rations, burying Mikola Pitersky in them! They dug it up. Alive! Meanwhile, our Urals were already blazing! It's a pity that the guitar burned in the cabin. Someone screams: “They shot down a tank there!” Let's run and look. We carefully look out of the windows. Here he is! Very close! Lit. And suddenly a deafening shot! A shell hits a five-story building. They say that at this time it was stormed by paratroopers. Then - like in a dream. Explosion! We are thrown on broken glass! When the dust settled, we saw that the tank was gone. Everlasting memory…

After sitting in the market building for a day, we finally received the task of capturing a high-rise building on Karl Liebknecht Street, adjacent to a small market square.

Our new platoon commander outlined the task to us in a very clear form: “Run quickly, without tripping over corpses. Stopping is death! Let’s run into the house and sort it out!”

Let's run. The first of the three nine-story buildings was already occupied by paratroopers, and we got the second one without a fight. No residents, no militants, empty.

My platoon was tasked with gaining a foothold on the sixth floor and preventing the enemy from entering the house through the roof of the neighboring five-story building.
The apartment, the windows of which overlooked the roof of this five-story building, was impressive; it was a very rich apartment.

We emptied the refrigerator and set an impromptu table in the hallway, but did not have time to raise it for the recent New Year and for housewarming open jars condensed milk, as if something serious had entered the house. The building shook and a fire started. The fire spread so quickly that we barely jumped out of the apartments into the entrance before they burned to the ground, and while the apartments were burning, we sat on the flights of stairs, choking in the smoke, because there was death on the street. There were “spirits” in the third nine-story building.

Sausage

The next day, the commander set the task: “Due to the enemy’s destruction of the entire food supply of the battalion, it is necessary to force our way to the market with the help of four volunteers and a miraculously surviving infantry fighting vehicle of unknown origin. Find it there and then take it out maximum amount food!

I turned out to be the main volunteer. I decided to involve my squad commanders in this task. Good guys. Reliable. We went down and found an infantry fighting vehicle and even its driver in the ruins of the house. There was no one else in the crew, and where his unit was located, the guy had no the slightest idea. After listening to the task, the mechanic nodded: “We’ll do it, but... the car doesn’t turn left. The cravings are broken! Let's waltz! Well, turn left, spinning 270 degrees to the right!”

We loaded into the landing force and took off. First turn to the left... spinning... scary. Forward! We're spinning around the second turn. There is no light in the car, we don’t know how to open the hatches from the inside, if anything, it’s creepy! And now, through the roar and clang of the tracks, bullets began to knock on the armor! And suddenly a blow! We crashed! "Everybody is alive? We’ve arrived!” - it was the mechanic who shouted. As it turned out, he rode in the “stowed” position all the way! Under bullets! Well it does! And he said to me: “Why? The triplexes are broken, you can’t see a damn thing!” Hero man!

We ran through the market. It’s empty, our troops have gone somewhere, and we don’t know what to expect. The products were found quickly. Sausage! There was a lot of it. Having filled their mouths with the Krakow soldiers and throwing their machine guns behind their backs, they quickly loaded the landing compartments of the infantry fighting vehicles and their own duffel bags and pockets with sausage. Childish greed played a cruel joke on me. Realizing that the loaded provisions for the battalion were not enough, I decided to leave my guys at the market and, climbing into the turret of the vehicle, personally deliver the cargo and return for the second batch. "Let's go!" - I yelled to the mechanic as soon as I reached the hatch. And he went. Surely so, with afterburner! And he didn’t know, didn’t know that behind his back I, in a bulletproof vest stuffed with sausage and with a plump duffel bag, was trying to get into the tower. By the time we got to the treasured house, I didn’t have a single whole store left! And I threw the empty ones onto the armor.
Having made three raids in a row, we completed the task. Thanks brother mechanic!

Storm

On Friday, January 13, my platoon received orders to occupy one of the houses on Rosa Luxemburg Street. It faced the presidential palace, and attempts to capture it have so far been unsuccessful. The paratroopers who held out to the last were trapped in his basement, and “spirits” ruled the house.
We ran to our house through a vacant lot between five-story buildings and came under fire. There was nowhere to hide except behind the burnt BMP. The whole platoon crowded in for her, it was scary to go further. But it is necessary, otherwise they will put everyone on the flank. They rushed to the brick booth, a heating center with pipes and valves, and took refuge behind the wall.

We sat at the booth for over an hour, waiting for “Shilka”. She was supposed to cover us by shooting at the windows of the palace. Moreover, we had to run right under the barrage of her fire! Before our eyes, three soldiers from another unit jumped out from somewhere and rushed headlong towards our house! To our entrance! One of them fell a meter from the door, shot by a sniper, and two jumped inside. One threw a rope to the wounded man from the entrance door, but he could not cling to it, the bullets hit him one after another. The second fighter exchanged fire with the militants inside the house.

Suddenly, about twenty meters from us, a mine flies in with a characteristic whistle and explodes! One of ours was hit by shrapnel in the leg. Well, I think, bandaging the wounded, it began! He suggested that the commander position the platoon inside the house: “Probably the “spirits” are adjusting the fire of their mortar at this moment!” The platoon commander voiced the proposal to the battalion commander. The answer is bright: “No, wait, the team will come now! Better check this house for a sniper. Got it, bastard!

Well, we split into three groups, three people in each, and ran around the house with opposite side and jumped into the windows. Purely. When we were returning, we heard two strong explosions in a row on the second floor. About where we just left our platoon. Throw down! And there... Blood, smoke, groans! The squad commander Dan Zolotykh and his troika finished searching his entrance before us, came out, and he was covered - he was lying in blood! The commander, Stas Golda, was wounded. Later, doctors counted eighteen shrapnel wounds on his body, and the Motherland awarded him the Order of Courage.

Where is the signalman, is the station alive? Our P-159 on the chest of Mikola Pitersky took several fragments, but worked properly! “Cutter,” I shout. - “Freza-12”, I have “200” and “300”, I’m checking the quantity, and the commander is wounded! I ask for help in evacuating!” And the battalion commander calmly replies that the command has been given for the assault and that I must gather the healthy ones and complete the task. And he promises to evacuate the wounded, without even asking how many there are. The platoon is consolidated, it is unknown who was assigned and from where, we did not exchange addresses with everyone, we do not know the names of many of them. That's how they fought for their homeland.

Indeed, to the left of us, a Shilka came out for direct fire and roared with fire. I had no choice but to send “Freza” to hell and start helping the bleeding guys. I finally achieved their evacuation. And we completed the task assigned. Blood and sweat. So I became a platoon commander. A platoon of nine people. Minus thirteen!

Then everything went smoothly. Are you ready, Freza-12? Ready, I answer! "Forward!" - shout from the walkie-talkie. What is it like to storm a house with nine people, without smoke cover, not understanding where ours are and where the strangers are? Now I remember all this as if horrible dream or stills from a film. Covered in blood, black with dirt and soot, behind my back there are seven machine guns left over from the evacuated guys, in the hands of the PKM, shredding the house from forty meters to which my guys are running! Tactics? What the hell are the tactics? We reached the fifth floor, throwing grenades at the doors as we went and sometimes shooting. We have gained a foothold. We counted. All.

Later, when we had to pull out the main forces, we cleared all the apartments in our entrance from top to bottom. Walking down the street at that time was bad manners, so the main forces pulled up to us through the wall, in which we punched a hole with the help of a grenade launcher, some mother and a sledgehammer that came from God knows where!

It was in this house, having “borrowed” his SVD from a friend Sashka Lyutin, on the butt of which there were already three cuts with a bayonet-knife, I became a sniper. He equipped a wonderful, tactically competent position. He settled down in the bathtub, on a stool. For emphasis - a previously emptied refrigerator. From there, through a small hole punched by a shell in the wall, an impressive section of the area in front of the house was shot through, namely, the annex to the presidential palace and part of the palace itself.

One day, marines ran into our house: two officers and a sailor. The sailor, as it turned out, was real, from a warship! Perhaps that's why he almost shot me when I changed position. But the Marines impressed me in other ways. Hunting for live bait! One, standing in the window opening, began to fan out the palace with tracers, and the second, in the back of the room, having prepared an RPG-18 for battle, waited. As an artilleryman, I understood that the guys were walking on a razor's edge, but they were stubbornly lucky. The bite on live bait was excellent, and soon I joined this “fishing team,” and the sailor made sure that none of the fighters came to my bullet while moving around the apartment.

Combat Commonwealth

There was a day when the company commander gave me the task of taking three volunteers and with them finding and evacuating from the street rubble the bodies of two dead - Sergei Les and Dima Strukov from the third platoon. They died a few days ago. Attempts to find them had already been made by the company sergeant major, warrant officer Purtov. Then the “spirits” squeezed him and the fighters behind a pilaster (this is a protrusion from a house the size of two bricks) and began to methodically destroy the shelter, firing incredibly dense fire at it from the house, which we then occupied with a platoon. Together with my fellow countryman Pomor, we pulled them out, covering the retreat with our fire. I will never forget how Warrant Officer Purtov, while running, stumbles, falls, and in the place where he had just been, a machine gun burst bites into the brick...

In general, the task is clear. I am a machine gun on my shoulder, a helmet on my head. I suggest one fighter go, the second, the third, and they - some with a stomach, some with a sudden headache, some from their post. They don’t want to take risks, no matter what. But when the search for volunteers reached the guys from Dagestan, they, without further ado, put their helmet on their cap and off they went, commander! But they didn’t know the dead for whom we had to go! And with this composition, I, two Dagestanis and a Kazakh went on a search.

We found Sergei's body quickly, brought it to that same booth, and then stop. The fire is so dense that it becomes clear that we won’t get through in daylight. Even smoking this damn area. We tried it. We managed to return to the house only in the morning, leaving Sergei in place, but placing the body so that it could be seen from our windows. They were able to pick up and transfer the body to the rear no earlier than a few days later, when the militants left the palace without a fight.

Once, at the height of the fighting in our sector, the battalion commander needed to go to the rear, and he took me with him for protection. The rear units were then located in Lenin Park. Left to my own devices for a while, I wandered around the park, wondering how they live here in tents? What if it's a mine? And suddenly something seemed strange to me. Everywhere I went, everyone froze, stopped preparing firewood, cleaning, and silently looked at me. And there was some kind of reverence in these views, respect mixed with compassion. “Look, look, there’s a guy from the front line!” - I heard and, as if waking up, looked around. Then invitations to warm up in the tents, questions, and congratulations on being alive poured in! "What's the matter?" I ask. “How do you know that I’m from the front line?” “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” - asks one. "Of course not! Where are the mirrors in the city from? Everything is burned and broken!” - I laugh. “Here, look! People like you are only brought to us dead!” - The soldier, embarrassed, handed me a mirror. Well, I took a look. He looked and got scared. A monster in a dirty, torn black cap with a black, sooty face, burnt stubble and eyebrows, and red, watery eyes looked at me from the mirror.

A little later, when the fighting for the city moved to other neighborhoods, we decided to visit the less damaged entrances to our house. Find something like mattresses. My platoon was lucky to have apartments that burned to the ground, and for the last week I slept on two VOG boxes, without a sleeping bag, of course. Having collected some junk, on the way back to our “temple” we saw an interesting picture: Dudayev’s palace was dashingly stormed by guys in white camouflage suits and in unprecedented unloading gear. Special forces, no less, I thought angrily, a couple of days ago you would have been here!

A decade and a half later, while celebrating the 30th anniversary of the 901st OBSPN with my fellow soldiers, we were watching a Chechen chronicle, when suddenly... The end of our house and the hole made by a shell through which I once fired my first shot from an SVD flashed in the frame. So those guys in camouflage suits turned out to be my current friends! It's a small world!

Then our war began to wane. We stayed for a month in the village of Andreevskaya Dolina at the Central Budgetary Institution, then in Shali. In May, when the war moved into the mountainous regions, our battalion, which had lost more than half of its personnel, was taken to Khankala for rest and replenishment.

At the shooting range in the quarry I met fellow countryman Dima Koksharov. We started talking. He served in the 45th airborne regiment. And the tough guys who were lowering down into the quarry on ropes and performing tactical exercises that were incomprehensible to me at that time with “screw cutters” unprecedented in the infantry turned out to be his colleagues. Cool scouts, I thought, what do I care about them!

New life

In September the war ended for us. The battalion departed in a column to its permanent deployment point in Prokhladny. I was riding on the armor of the trailing infantry fighting vehicle, and all the way a broom tied to the armor was trailing behind us, never to return here. Sign!

Resigned to the reserve. I came to my parents in the Smolensk region. And there is darkness! A depressing impression from a dying village. Unemployment, alcoholism, drug addiction. The youth were engaged in stupid self-destruction.

Only the right decision was a return to the army, and seriously and for a long time. The commander of the 45th Special Operations Division, Colonel Viktor Kolygin, to whom I came for a relationship in 1996, told me: “We don’t take a contract from a civilian, sign up for the Tula division, and we’ll transfer you from there.”

In the 173rd separate reconnaissance company in Tula I heard something similar: “Let’s go to the regimental reconnaissance company first, and then we’ll see.” So, as a reconnaissance officer in the reconnaissance company of the 51st Parachute Regiment, I began my combat career in the Airborne Forces.

During my year of service, I managed to go on a three-month business trip to Abkhazia. For several years in Gudauta, paratroopers carried out a peacekeeping mission, and I made my small contribution to the restoration of peace on the southeastern coast of the Black Sea.

After Abkhazia, the assistant chief of intelligence of the division, Major Sergei Konchakovsky, paid close attention to me. He asked provocative questions, monitored my answers and actions. Soon Konchakovsky invited me to go to Sokolniki and talk with the commander of the special detachment of the 45th regiment, where I left, having secured the necessary recommendations.

Special Squad

Service in a new place captivated and absorbed me completely. I liked everything: the people, the equipment, the weapons, the technology, the approach to conducting training sessions.
When I arrived in Tula for the weekend with a whole backpack of special forces gadgets and in a fashionable padding polyester and told the officers about everything that I had seen and learned during my month of service in special intelligence intelligence, most of them were eager to transfer there. Which they soon did.

the appearance of my call sign - Leshy - is very funny. The commander of the reconnaissance group, Captain Stanislav Konoplyannikov, lined us up, young scouts, and ordered us to come up with call signs for ourselves. I came up with “Leshy”, but did not voice it, for fear of getting into an awkward situation, suspecting that the regiment already had such a call sign. And when the commander, walking around the formation and writing down the call signs he had come up with, stopped in front of me, I told him: “I didn’t come up with it, Comrade Captain.” To which he replied: “Well, then you’ll be Leshy!” Since then, since 1998, I have been Leshy.

In September 1999, we flew to Dagestan, into the heat of the flaring war. They carried out various tasks to reconnaissance the area, search and destroy militant bases. In October, working in the interests of the 61st separate Kirkenes Red Banner Brigade Marine Corps Northern Fleet, the first to reach the Terek.

October 14, having completed the task of conducting optical reconnaissance settlement S., our group moved to the evacuation area. Went with increased attention. It always seemed that something was wrong to the left of the course, as if someone was looking at us.

And here comes the armor! It became calmer. Suddenly the radio station comes to life. An order follows that radically changed our plans, and for many, the destinies. We had to inspect the forester's house, which was located nearby, but in the opposite direction.

Our two armored personnel carriers (group commander Pavel Klyuev was the eldest in the first, V. was in the second) went along the narrow road along the Terek. The river bank is low, the places are overgrown, wild, beautiful. To the right of the road there are four-meter reeds, to the left there is a turn and thick greenery on a one and a half meter artificial bank.

At the entrance to the right turn, in front of a huge puddle, the car slowed down, and something made me turn back. It seemed that with my peripheral vision I caught something similar to a “grenade launcher” target. Three seconds passed before I realized - it really was a grenade launcher! Bearded, camouflaged by branches, he prepared to shoot from his knees, and it seemed that he was aiming straight at my forehead from some fifteen meters! I didn’t want to allow this, so with a shout: “There he is...!”, I turned the SVD in his direction. My next cry: “Attention! Left,” drowned in the roar of a shot and an explosion that killed the armored personnel carrier. I don’t remember how we ended up behind the armor; apparently, persistent tactical training took its toll. Due to excess pressure in the engine compartment, the power hatches vomited and lifted. I think this saved the lives of many of our group, because at least a dozen militants were shooting at our lifeless car point-blank from a roadside embankment, while their grenade launcher was preparing for the second shot. Having dropped off the store, the machine gunners lay down to reload, and the grenade launcher again planted a “flea” in the rear of our vehicle. And again lead rain! And so three times in a row. And all three times the grenade launcher hammered into the stern.

Hiding under the nose of the “box” with a rifle that was useless at a distance of 10–15 meters, I had no idea what was happening to the group. Are the guys alive? Near Novosel. What about the rest? Abrek crawled up to us from the side of the road and gestured upward to the armor, and there was Klyuev. He lay slumped over the bleeding Igor Salnikov - Gosha. Believing that we would save him, Abrek and I carefully pulled them off the armor. Gosha's head was broken, but signs of life gave us hope. I tried to find signs of life in the group commander, but, alas. “How’s Pasha?” - Abrek asked, bandaging Gosha. “No more Pasha!” - I answered, dropping the useless bandage. Gosha died a few days later, already in the hospital. On the day when Pasha was buried.

The “spirits” themselves suggested how to deal with their attack, starting to throw grenades at us. Abrek stayed with Gosha and Pasha, and I returned to Novosel under the nose of the armored personnel carrier, when suddenly an F-1 flies out from behind the shaft and falls onto the road five to seven meters from us! These were endlessly long seconds, as if in slow motion. I shout: “New settler, grenade!” “What grenade?” - he rolls his eyes. “In my opinion, efka!” - and I fall between Pasha and Gosha, covering my head with my hands. I extend my tightly clenched legs towards the center of the explosion and wait - where will the fragment fly to me? Explosion. It's gone! And a confident run back to where the damn grenade had just exploded.

We fall, take all our grenades out of unloading and calmly, methodically, with the pins fired, confidently throw them to the other side of the shaft! How do you like this, fighters?

It helped! Novosel guessed to climb into the armored personnel carrier and, using a mechanical release, empty the PKT box. There was a turning point in the combat situation, the shooting died down for a while, the groans of the wounded and the cracking of branches began to be heard. Vetok! This means that the militants were preparing for evacuation. Then a second armored personnel carrier rolled up, for some reason it was lagging behind, and its appearance forced the militants to speed up their retreat, covering it with active fire. So dense that two of our machine gunners, who had climbed onto the rampart, had to leave their positions and crawl down to the road. Then again, as in slow motion of an action movie: on the shaft in full height V. rises, raises his AKMS with a drum for 75 rounds, branches mown down by enemy bullets fall nearby, and he, as if under a spell, shoots at the brilliant green until the drum jams. Bark and shreds of leaves fly into his face, but he shoots without bending down!

V. is a man of unparalleled courage, will and uncompromisingness. A real Russian officer. I am glad that his numerous exploits were noticed, and by Decree of the President of Russia he was awarded the title of Hero of Russia. After few years.

The battle died down. "Who?" - V. asked briefly. “Pasha, Gosha,” Novosel and I answered. They also brought Vitya Nikolsky, a bullet went right through his thigh. We approached the guys lying on the ground. I squeezed the group commander’s wrist in my hand in the hope of feeling a pulse, and suddenly: there is! I shout: “Comrade Major! There is a pulse." V. touched Pasha’s neck and silently shook his head. It turns out that out of excitement I squeezed my hand too hard and felt my pulse.

An infantry fighting vehicle with scouts from the Stavropol regiment flew up to the battlefield. Having dismounted, they took up defensive positions around us, moving their heads in disbelief in search of the enemy. We’re probably tired, we’ve been evacuated and evacuated all day, but nothing happens. Here our second armored personnel carrier turned around and began to back up in order to pick up a damaged fellow on a trailer and drag it to the regiment’s location. The wheel of an armored personnel carrier drove into a puddle on the side of the road. There's a mine there. Knock powerful explosion, and the multi-ton machine jumped up. Everyone was thrown to different directions by the blast wave!

A moment, silence, I was lying in the middle of the road, looking in surprise at the black rubber snow - this wheel of an armored personnel carrier, split into rubbish by a mine explosion, slowly and sadly waltzed like small black snowflakes to the ground, settling on the faces of living and dead scouts. Thank you, I think, brother, driver of the first reservation, you listened to our advice not to run into puddles. If we had run over this mine first, there would have been no one left alive.

As soon as my hearing returned, I heard a painful groan through the ringing in my ears. Stavropol resident Minenkov was lying on the rampart. His leg is torn off, but he is conscious and even tries to apply a tourniquet. "How is your leg?" - asks. “It’s okay, you’ll walk!” - I answer, and I quietly move the severed leg, which lies next to his head, down. The blood was stopped and the man was saved.

I will add that by decree of the acting President of Russia dated January 17, 2000, Mikhail Minenkov was awarded the title of Hero of Russia.

Having removed the machine guns from the broken armored personnel carriers and shot the on-board radio stations, we decided to blow up the vehicles. We didn’t have the opportunity to get them out that day, and we couldn’t leave them to the militants. I was preparing our car for detonation, and tears flowed from my eyes. From that moment my other one began, adulthood. Life in the Airborne Special Forces.

The group that inspected the combat area and evacuated the armor found several more mines and landmines installed on the road. Apparently, the militants were preparing a powerful ambush, and we were not their target at all. It is very likely that that battle prevented a major tragedy, since a column of one of the parachute regiments was expected to pass along this road.

Well, we, a handful of scouts who remained relatively unharmed, shell-shocked and tired, with stern, gloomy faces, appeared before the menacing eye of Major General Popov, who personally met him at the side of the helicopter that took us to the Central Bureau of Investigation. His welcoming speech shocked the guys: “So, soldiers, I, of course, understand everything, there is a war going on, but the dress code must be observed! Where are your caps, fellow scouts?

A few days later we gathered in our tent to remember our fallen friends. We were just informed that Gosha died in the hospital. When the third toast was raised in memory of the fallen brothers, the deputy commander of the 218th special forces battalion, Major Pyotr Yatsenko, picking up a guitar and putting a sheet of text in front of him, sang his new song about our group. While he sang, it seemed that we were reliving that short but brutal battle. Many furtively, turning away, wiped away a stingy male tear.

Pyotr Karlovich was sitting right opposite me, and when the song ended and everyone came to their senses, I asked him for a piece of paper with the lyrics to copy it into my notebook. I never had a chance to return Yatsenko’s sheet. On the next mission, which we went on in two groups, Pyotr Karlovich, commanding a special-purpose reconnaissance group, died a heroic death in battle with superior enemy forces. By decree of the President of Russia of March 24, 2000, Pyotr Yatsenko was awarded the title of Hero of Russia (posthumously).

The sheet with the song is now kept in the museum of military glory of the Special Forces of the 45th Special Forces of the Airborne Forces.

"Special forces sense"

There were many interesting tasks. In November we go out on an ambush. Two groups. Our guide. Two nights. We charged, checked the connection, and jumped. Command: “Head watch, forward!” Let's move. With the very first step, fear fades into the background, giving way to attention and caution, cold calculation and lightning-fast reaction. But fear does not disappear completely. Who said that a scout is not afraid of anything? Lies! How scary! But a real intelligence officer knows how to manage his fear, directing it in the right direction so that fear becomes caution. Let's go. As before, all five senses are clenched into a fist and working to the limit. But for some reason, it was precisely on this task that another, sixth sense was added to them - the so-called “special forces sense.” This is when you go out to a task and know in advance that something will happen, and sometimes you even understand at what exact moment. So it is this time.

Stumbling at every step, I walk and try to remain calm. Anyone who has walked through a mown corn field at night will understand what I mean. There are only six hundred meters to the edge of the forest covering the ridge through which we need to cross, but what meters were those?! We walked them for four hours! The feeling that someone was watching us did not leave me for a minute! And then I heard two blows with a metal object on gas pipe, stretching parallel to our route on the left, below. “Stop! Attention!" I report the strikes to the commander. He didn't hear any knocking. "Forward!" No sooner had we started moving than again: “bamm-bamm”...

Hurry to the saving forest! Having disappeared into the greenery, we got in touch, took a breath, and again: “Head patrol - forward!” The commander stubbornly did not want to walk along the night road, preferring rough terrain, namely, dense thickets of thorny acacia, through which two reconnaissance groups with artillery gunners and radio operators assigned from the Marine Corps and dressed in shaggy “Leshy” suits, made their way with a deafening crash! But time was running out, and I still managed to convince the commander to follow the road!

Quickly, without unnecessary noise or adventure, we reached the desired edge and dispersed to our respective areas to organize ambushes. The main object of our attention turned out to be a dirt road about forty meters from the edge. It was on it that Mole installed the MON-50 mine. But for some reason on this day the “spirits” categorically did not want to use the roads and tactically competently walked along the edge of the forest, almost stepping on the trunk of my VSS! Conversing enthusiastically, one pair of militants with machine guns at the ready passed over me, and at an interval of fifty meters, the second. I managed to notice in the bag of one of them something round, reminiscent of an anti-tank mine.

Where is the command to work on the enemy? When the “spirits” walked above me, I covered the radio station with my hand and felt that they were saying something into it, but what? Having given the bandits a couple more minutes of life, we let them through to an ambush by another group. Of course, after warning the brothers that guests were rushing to them.

What if this is just a gang headache? What to do? Reflections were interrupted by fierce shooting in the area of ​​the second ambush! Let's get to work! To the left is the rumble of the engine! A handsome cherry-colored Grand Cherokee drove into the sector of our mine's destruction! Through the scope I clearly saw a healthy bearded guy. Clutching a machine gun in his hand, he looked forward with concentration. Explosion! The jeep was covered with a cloud of blowing up dust mixed with smoke, from which the car never left. The veil cleared, and my gaze fixed on the target. Well, I think you have arrived, Mr. Basayev, I shoot at the doors, I hear the sound of crumbling glass.

Looking to the right to see how our people were doing, I saw that the group had begun to retreat. How? For what? After all, in the car... One could only guess what and who could be found during the search of the jeep. But a departure is a departure. I give the command to the observers on the left and go to the extreme ones. The preliminary collection point is 200 meters to the rear. In front of me is Lekha the radio operator. Star is his call sign. Zvezda runs, adjusting his backpack with a radio station on one shoulder. Unexpectedly, well, very unexpectedly for us, RMB started working on the left side of the group! I prepared for battle, the Star to the right broke through the thorns and got stuck. The bush has already begun to crumble under a hail of bullets! Throw away that damn backpack, friend! Quit. Gone. God bless!

Somehow we gathered at the collection point. We count. All? There is only one missing - the Sentinel. We call the station - clicks in response. Clearly, it only works for reception, village food. Oriented. I was sent to meet him! I'm meeting you. I look - he’s running, but he’s not alone! Some villain with a machine gun has settled in behind him and is not far behind! Well, I think they decided to capture our Olezhka alive? We won't allow this! I take aim at the scoundrel, let him get closer, and set the speed to idle. Stop! Yes, this is ours, Ryazan! Eh, commander! Now everything is definitely assembled.

“Star, let’s get in touch!” - the commander growls. “What kind of a Star am I now, we don’t have a station anymore,” the radio operator answers dejectedly. Let us remember the radio operator of the Marine artillery gunner. Immediately before the task, I installed 300 grams of PVV-5 explosive with a ZTP-50 fuse on his Historian radio station and instructed: “In the event of a threat of the station falling into enemy hands, move the igniter pin to the firing position and pull out the ring, understand?” He understood, yeah! With the very first shot, the boy thought that all the Basmachi from the surrounding villages rushed to attack in order to take over his radio station, and he bravely blew it up as he retreated! Affairs!

Having reached the evacuation area, they somehow called the armor via radio stations intended for work within the group, and to increase the communication range the radio operator had to climb onto tall tree! And laughter and sin. It was a beautiful evacuation. With dashes and inevitable smokes. And the commander of the second group, as it turned out, was a very lazy person! Or very smart. He did not go to the evacuation area on foot, but flew into it in a comfortable Mi-8 helicopter! It’s more convenient this way, he explained, supervising the unloading of trophies and their former owners from the ship. By the way, that round thing in the bag, reminiscent of an anti-tank mine, turned out to be quite tasty pita bread.

But the task did not end there. The group's intelligence chief, who arrived on a helicopter, ordered the group to fly out with him and show the jeep destroyed in the battle. Eat. Flying over the ambush site, we discover that there is no trace of the car! We clearly see the angle of attack of our mine, plowed by the explosion, and that’s it! It turns out that the “spirits” dragged the car into the forest and carefully disguised it with branches. But we found it! When inspecting the jeep, I worked together with Anatoly Lebed, a legendary scout, future Hero of Russia, who absurdly died in 2012 in an accident. The commanders were satisfied with the results of the inspection: documents, radios, weapons and equipment. Listening to the broadcast helped us reveal ninety-two correspondents working in our reconnaissance area, and the identity of the person killed in battle field commander. The magazine “Brother” wrote about this ambush in 1999 in a short news article: “November. As a result of search and ambush operations, the 45th separate special forces regiment of the Airborne Forces killed Salman Raduev’s closest associate with the call sign...”

The joy of victory and the pain of defeat

I remember the death of the signalman of the detachment, senior warrant officer Alexei Ryabkov.

We went to work near Kharachoy, in the Vedeno district, in two groups. One was thrown on helicopters far into the mountains, the second on a BMD rolled towards the paratroopers who had completed their task, providing them with an exit from the area of ​​​​operation.

Ryabkov was in the group on the armor. The serpentine road stretched along the mountain slopes. There were no more than five minutes left to reach the checkpoint when we came across a militant ambush. An explosion behind the lead vehicle of the column occurred suddenly, followed by automatic and machine gun fire. Alexey was hit in the neck by a bullet. He managed to empty the entire magazine from the machine gun before he fell, whispering that he was wounded.

The fight was short. The BMD guns turned towards the attackers fired a salvo. The soldiers' machine guns began to chatter. The “spirits” hastened to retreat.
In the Vedeno region, our special detachment gave good results in 2002 and 2005. We blew up several residential bases and destroyed militants of various hierarchies. Helped previous experience, knowledge of the geography of trails and the psychology of enemy behavior.

Once my non-standard appearance was successfully used by security officers. I, shaved bald, but with a solid beard, looked like a Chechen, and the officers of group “A” of the TsSN FSB of Russia, having dressed me in civilian clothes appropriate for the place and hanging a pendant with the image of a mosque around my neck, released me into the street to conduct surveillance of the house in a private sector. The information provided by me was used by the security officers for their intended purpose - the leader of the local gangster underground was neutralized.

Creation

In 2005, immediately after returning from a business trip, I received injuries incompatible with service in special forces, and in 2007, having completed a course of treatment, I retired to the reserve. And now, without the opportunity to make parachute jumps or go on missions as part of a reconnaissance group, all I can do is write, sing, talk about special forces to the younger generation and collaborate with military-patriotic clubs.

He wrote his first poems in Chechnya back in 2004. Somehow, in the summer of 2005, my good friend, author-performer Vitaly Leonov, a fair wind brought us to Khatuni with a concert. The joy from the meeting knew no bounds! Of course, the tent of our reconnaissance group was chosen for his accommodation. Leafing through my notebook, Vitaly shared his thoughts that my poems could make good songs. In the area of ​​the New Khatuni airport, Vitalya gave several concerts for fighters and even sang for reconnaissance groups leaving on the night of the mission. He had plenty of impressions from the trip, and soon after returning from the Caucasus, Vitaly came up with a wonderful song about reconnaissance with the same name. When I heard my poems that became a song, I thought: “Why not?” – and decided to try his hand at creativity himself.

I sincerely consider 10 years of service in the airborne special forces best years own life. The video for the song about the 45th Special Forces Regiment of the Airborne Forces was shot by my friend Igor Chernyshev, a former intelligence officer of a special special forces detachment. Many years ago, when it was time for Igor to leave the service, it was from him that I adopted the good old Vintorez. Now Igor is not only a wonderful cameraman and director, but also a talented theater and film actor.

I am very glad that my songs instilled in the hearts of listeners a love for the army and a desire to serve the Fatherland in the special forces of the Airborne Forces and other units of the Armed Forces. Remember, friends, it is not you who are giving years of your life to the army! It is the army that gives you the years that make you real men!

45th separate brigade special purpose is the youngest military unit as part of the Russian Airborne Forces (VDV), its formation began in February 1994.

The regiment was formed on the basis of two separate special-purpose battalions, each of which had its own history of formation and development before being included in the regiment.

The 901st separate air assault battalion was formed on the territory of the Transcaucasian Military District and was immediately transferred to Czechoslovakia as part of the Central Group of Forces, where from November 20, 1979 it was stationed in the village. Riečki village.

In March 1989, in connection with the withdrawal Soviet troops from of Eastern Europe, the battalion was redeployed to the city of Aluksne, Latvian SSR and became part of the Baltic Military District. In May 1991, the battalion was transferred to the Transcaucasian Military District and redeployed to Sukhumi, Abkhaz Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic.

In August 1992, the battalion was reassigned to the Airborne Forces Command and renamed the 901st separate parachute battalion. Later, as a separate battalion, it became part of the 7th Guards Airborne Division, but the city of Sukhumi remained its permanent location.

In 1993, during the Georgian-Abkhaz conflict, the battalion carried out tasks to protect and defend important military and government facilities on the territory of Abkhazia from looting and destruction. During this period, eight soldiers of the battalion died, having fully fulfilled their military duty, and about 20 were injured. For completing combat missions, 13 servicemen of the battalion were awarded the Order “For Personal Courage”, 21 people - the Medal “For Courage” and 1 person - the Medal “For Military Merit”.

In October 1993, the battalion was redeployed from Sukhumi to the Moscow region, where in February of the following year it was reorganized into the 901st separate special-purpose battalion. With the beginning of the formation of the 45th Special Forces Special Forces, the battalion was included in its composition.

The 218th separate special forces battalion was formed on July 25, 1992. By order of the commander of the Airborne Forces, in order of historical continuity, the day of formation of the 45th Special Forces Special Forces is considered to be the day of the creation of this battalion.

The battalion took part in peacekeeping missions in the zones interethnic conflicts in Transnistria in June-July 1992, in North Ossetia - in September-November 1992, in Abkhazia - in December 1992. Many soldiers of the battalion were awarded state awards for courage and heroism.

Active use of battalions in the solution special tasks in various conflicts showed the need to unite them into a regiment. By July 1994, the 45th Special Forces Special Forces was fully formed, equipped with personnel, equipment, and began combat training.

On December 2, 1994, the regiment's personnel left for the North Caucasus to participate in the liquidation of illegal armed groups on the territory of the Chechen Republic.

By Presidential Decree Russian Federation dated July 21, 1995 to the commander of the special purpose reconnaissance group, senior lieutenant Ermakov V.K. for the courage and heroism shown during the execution special task command for the disarmament of illegal armed groups, awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation (posthumously). On July 30, 1995, a monument in honor of the fallen scouts was unveiled on the territory of the regiment in a solemn ceremony.

On May 9, 1995, for services to the Russian Federation, the regiment was awarded a diploma from the President of the Russian Federation. He took part in a military parade dedicated to the 50th anniversary of Victory in the Great Patriotic War.

From February to May 1997, the combined detachment of the regiment took part in a peacekeeping mission in the zone of separation of the Georgian and Abkhaz armed forces in the city of Gudauta.

On July 26, 1997, following the glorious traditions of the Armed Forces, the regiment was awarded the Battle Banner and the certificate of the 5th Guards Airborne Rifle Mukachevo Order of Kutuzov, 3rd degree regiment, disbanded on June 27, 1945.

Since September 12, 1999, the regiment's combined reconnaissance detachment took part in the counter-terrorist operation in the North Caucasus.
In August 2008, units of the 45th Special Forces took part in the operation to force Georgia to peace. Regimental officer, Hero of Russia Anatoly Lebed was awarded the Order of St. George, IV degree.

On July 20, 2009, in accordance with Decree of the President of the Russian Federation of December 18, 2006 No. 1422, the regiment was awarded the St. George Banner.

In April 2010, the battalion tactical group of the regiment carried out a combat mission to ensure the safety of Russian citizens on the territory of the Kyrgyz Republic.

By Decree of the President of the Russian Federation dated February 9, 2011 No. 170, the regiment was the first in modern history awarded the Order of Kutuzov. The presentation of the award took place on April 4, 2011 at the regiment's location in Kubinka. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev personally attached the badge and ribbon of the order to the regiment's St. George banner.

In May-June 2012, the regiment's reconnaissance platoon participated in joint exercises with " green berets» US armed forces at the US military base of the 10th Force Group special operations, located at Fort Carson.

The regiment's paratroopers honorably continue the glorious combat traditions of scouts of all generations, proudly bearing the high guards rank, because it is not without reason that their motto is: “The strongest wins.”

During the existence of the regiment, five servicemen were awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation for courage and heroism.

Among the divisions domestic special forces Airborne Forces, 45th Separate Guards Order of Kutuzov Order of Alexander Nevsky Special Purpose Regiment, or military unit No. 28337, occupies a special place. Firstly, some of them belong to the elite special forces troops, which are almost completely transferred to a contract basis. Secondly, there is simply enormous competition among conscripts who want to join the ranks of military unit 28337. And thirdly, the 45th Special Forces Regiment is the youngest of the composition Russian Airborne Forces Federation.

History of military unit 28337

The military unit, formed on the basis of two separate battalions in February 1994, is currently stationed in the city of Kubinka, Moscow Region (formerly an academic campus). In 2007, the unit was reorganized into the linear 218th special forces battalion, but in 2008 the name of the 45th separate guards regiment was returned to it.
Despite the fact that military unit 28337 was formed 10 years ago, its soldiers and officers took part in hostilities in Chechnya and South Ossetia(August 2008).

Youth competitions are regularly held at the base of the military unit. The special forces group, formed on the basis of the regiment, has also been participating in international competitions between special forces units since 1995. The military unit regularly holds demonstrations in parachute jumping and hand-to-hand combat at events in Moscow and the region.

Awards
1996 – 3rd place in the overall competition of the Partnership for Peace program (Bulgaria);

1997 – champion of the “Partnership for Peace” program competition (Bulgaria);
2005 – Challenge Battle Banner, rank “Guards”, Order of Alexander Nevsky (from the disbanded 119th Guards Parachute Regiment);
February 2011 – Order of Kutuzov “For the successful completion of combat missions of the command and the courage and heroism shown by the regiment personnel.”

Reviews of military unit 28337

Currently the soldiers carrying conscript service, in military unit 28337 there is practically none, it is being transferred to a contract basis. The contract is concluded for a period of three years, the criteria for selecting fighters are moral, physical and psychological preparation, as well as the ability to respond in difficult environments and the desire to serve in special conditions.

In order to enter into a contract for military service in the 45th Guards Regiment, the candidate is required to:

Be between 18 and 40 years old and have Russian citizenship;
Have a certificate of form A-1 for health reasons;
Submit a report or statement of desire to serve in the Airborne Special Forces, indicating the unit;
Arrive at the unit itself and undergo an interview with the regiment commander and the head of the personnel department;
Pass tests on physical training(standards for pull-ups, cross-country, etc.);
Pass psychological tests for service compatibility in special units Airborne Forces

Such requirements do not stop almost anyone - military unit 28337, judging by the reviews, even attracts girls. True, few people want to go to “hot spots” and pass physical training standards, but there are plenty of people who want to work in a first-aid post, as a psychologist or as a radio operator in the unit.
Those rare representatives of the fair sex who serve in the ranks of the 45th Separate Guards Regiment undergo the same training as men and live in similar conditions. However, many contract soldiers with families are provided with housing in the garrison.

The paratroopers do not have part of the barracks; its function is performed by the soldiers' dormitory. It consists of several blocks (two adjacent rooms, designed for 4-6 people in each). The soldiers' dormitory has showers, toilets, Gym, recreation room and classrooms for military training.
Eyewitnesses say that military unit 28337 currently includes two battalions. One of them is engaged in providing support for the regiment, and the second is in training soldiers.
Those who served in the military unit also note that talking on the phone with relatives in the evening is allowed here.
For the period of classes Cell phones are with the company commander.
Shoes are issued along with the uniform, but you can purchase them yourself. Jumping boots made by foreign armies are allowed.

As for classes, special forces paratroopers of military unit 28337 master not only practical skills, but also a theoretical course in military affairs. However, more attention is paid to the physical training of soldiers, for example, forced marches over long distances, when soldiers carry equipment and equipment on themselves.
The specific operating conditions of the unit require knowledge of certain military equipment and weapons. Therefore, both domestic models of machine guns and the collection of captured weapons from the Armored Museum in Kubinka are carefully studied by soldiers. The military unit also trains intelligence officers, so field exercises are regularly held.

The 45th Separate Guards Special Purpose Brigade, stationed in Kubinka near Moscow, passed its first test in its new status (previously it was a regiment) and demonstrated the high level of training of each soldier and their skills as a team in carrying out the assigned task. Journalists who prepared a rather interesting report from the scene of events were allowed to check, timed to coincide with Special Forces Day, which is traditionally celebrated on October 24.

On the obstacle course
“The Scout's Path” reproduces the obstacles that may be encountered on the path of a paratrooper when performing a real mission.

Is the group ready?
The scouts are completing preparations for the test.

Forward and upward
The machine gunner on the wall has the hardest time.

Crossing

In short dashes
All movements between positions are carried out by running.

In the forest
A group of scouts on an BTR-82. Soon they will go into the forest to organize an “ambush” on the militants.

Before the task
The scout is armed with an AK-74M assault rifle with underbarrel grenade launcher GP-25.

Terrorists neutralized
Some of the fighters portrayed a mock enemy.

Finding a target
In the foreground is a fighter with sniper rifle VSS.

Terrorists' car
“Ural” was “blown up” by an explosive package and conditionally fired upon.

And again "terrorist"

Eyes of Intelligence
The crew is preparing to launch the Tachyon UAV.

Assembling the device
The UAV and control system occupy two inconspicuous suitcases.

Ready to go!
To launch, you need to tighten the catapult cable.

Controlled flight
Rugged laptops with special software provide flight control and reconnaissance results.

Route by points
The UAV can fly both under external control and independently - in advance given points route.

Parachute belay device
Ensures that the parachute opens after a specified period of time or at a specified altitude.

Stowing parachutes
Parachute training remains the main one in the Airborne Forces.

Primary Weapon
The scouts are armed with AK-74M assault rifles.

Everyone packs their own parachute

Duration of installation - 45 minutes

Preparation of standard No. 4
Standard No. 4 - putting on equipment to prepare for a jump with shooting in the air.

Training apparatus
Training on the simulator is a mandatory part general course before the actual jump.

Ready for the training jump!
When adjusting equipment, the paratroopers are divided into pairs, monitoring the correct preparation of their comrade.

Let's jump
Jumping on old tires should prepare the joints and muscles of the legs for landing.

Ready for training jump
The roller suspension is designed to hook onto the rail of the training complex.

Climbing to the simulator

Ready? Let's go!

Landing