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Automatically translated version. May contain inaccuracies compared to the original.
And the nomenklatura of the fellow who was flying was decent.
Anyone who could, from incoming strikes, arrivals, or shots, buy out the weapon type had the right to receive an associate professor of armed sciences.
Are you even aware that there used to be AGS, SPG, DShK, UAZes would go out and fire thirty-caliber guns, mortars from the 60-ka to the 120-ka, and artillery—however much there was—fuck that mess, from the Gvozdika to the Giatsint?
Those were times when an enemy tank that jumped out of the dust and smashed into your face wasn’t a novelty but a normal thing. And for that tank you had dicks, single-use rockets, grenades, icons, and curses.
We assaulted by charging in one big column, a whole battalion one after another like chicks running about, and while we were advancing there were zero losses, because the guy aiming at you was scared and his balls were shaking—because that column would reach him and hit him in the face, not some kid with a joystick from a faraway save spot.
That was real pounding, not this latent petty drone movement.
The description of past times sounds like something distant, like what happened in the last century, but in fact only two years have passed.
How war changes.
I don't even want to imagine what the next new thing will be.
I just want something simple and good: blow a bastard’s dugout from the “Boot” to pieces and then sit down to smoke with a coffee.
That’s a peasant’s/folk movement.
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