They only do to us what we ourselves allow to do

2024 Author: Seth Attwood | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-16 15:55

There was such a simple Russian guy, Sergei Maslenitsa, who was born on May 6, 1972 and grew up in Chechnya, in the village of Shelkovskaya, in a family of Terek Cossacks and hereditary military men. His great-grandfather in the First World War earned a personal saber from the tsar for bravery, his grandfather died in 1944 in Belarus, becoming a posthumous Hero of the Soviet Union, his father received an award pistol in 1968 for Czechoslovakia, his older brother died in Afghanistan. Sergei went to kindergarten with Vainakh children, went to school with Chechens, and fought with them more than once as a child. Since childhood, he did not think of any other career for himself, except for a military career.

And then 1991 broke out: the massacre of the Russian population began in Chechnya. Sergei's parents, as well as most of his relatives, died in the monstrous massacre that the Nokhchi perpetrated. At this time, Sergei studied at the Ryazan Airborne School and could not help them. And then, after graduating from college, he returned to his homeland - to take revenge. After going through both Chechen campaigns, receiving wounds and the highest military awards of the Russian Federation, he was hospitalized four times. In 2001, the injury was very serious, he shielded his fighter from a bullet, and this bullet hit him near the heart.

After the trial of Ulman and his fighters, he wrote a very boorish report, calling Putin a "shitty commander" and went into the reserve, having previously handed over all his awards.

After the service, he was actively and successfully engaged in the construction business, transferring part of his earnings to the families of the deceased special forces officers. In parallel, he worked with "problem" teenagers, drug addicts, street children, Taking them off the needle, bottle, doing sports with them, taught them Russian history, language, went with them to the mountains, considering it the most important thing in his life.

On September 1, 2010, Sergey and his wife were driving along the federal highway, when an accident occurred in front of them, as a result of which one of the cars turned over and caught fire. When he pulled out two passengers and returned for a third, the overturned car exploded.

He had a lot of friends, more than 500 people came to the funeral feast. Even Chechens came and handed his son the saber of the Chechen Emir.

Below are the memoirs of Sergei Maslenitsa about his life and war.

“In 1991-1992 (even before the first war) TENS OF THOUSANDS of Russians were massacred in Chechnya.

In the village of Shelkovskaya in the spring of 1992, the "Chechen militia" confiscated all hunting weapons from the Russian population, and a week later militants came to the unarmed village. They were engaged in the re-registration of real estate. Moreover, a whole system of signs was developed for this. Human intestines, wound on a fence, meant: the owner is no longer there, in the house there are only women ready for "love". Women's bodies planted on the same fence: the house is free, you can move in. Therefore, I and those who fought next to me - least of all thought about "small-property interests." We thought about something completely different.

I was born and raised in Chechnya, more precisely in the village of Shelkovskaya, Shelkovskaya region of the Chechen-Ingush Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic. From early childhood I had to intersect with the Vainakhs. And even then it struck me how much stronger they are in spirit. In kindergarten, fights constantly took place between Russian and Vainakh children, as a result of which parents were called. Moreover, from the “Russian” side, a mother always came, who began to reprimand her son: “Well, what are you, Vassenka (Kolenka, Petenka) fighting? You can't fight! This is not good!" And the father always came from the "Vainakh" side. He gave his son a slap on the head and started yelling at him: “How did you, dzhyalyab, dare to lose a battle to a stinking Russian - the son of an alcoholic and a prostitute ?! So that tomorrow he would beat him up so that he would always shit out of fear later!"

At school, it was a rare day without fights, and I almost always had to fight in the minority. And this despite the fact that in my class there were fifteen Slavs for five Vainakhs. And while I alone brushed off five, the other fourteen "proud dew" at this time carefully examined their shoes.

(In principle, if you use public transport, then a similar picture should have been observed more than once: one rowdy bothers someone, and half of the men in the salon at this moment will certainly become interested in their own shoes).

Psychological pressure was constantly made on us, they were constantly “feeling for weakness”. If you bend a little - that's it, the end: they will lower it so that you cannot rise.

Once, after school, high school Vainakhs watched me. In a fight, I broke the head of one of them with a water pipe. The rest stopped fighting and dragged away their wounded animal. The next day, in the classroom, unknown Vainakhs approached me and beat the arrow, announcing that we would fight with knives - to the death. I came, and there are about fifteen of them, and all of them are grown men. I think - that's it, they'll stab you now. But they appreciated that I was not scared and came alone, so they put out one fighter. They gave me a knife, and the Chechen left without a weapon. Then I threw mine too, and we cut ourselves with our bare hands. As a result of this fight, I ended up in the hospital with fractures, but when I got out, the father of the guy whom I smashed the head off with a pipe met me. He told me: “I see that you are a warrior and are not afraid of death. Be a guest in my house. After that we talked with him for a long time. He told me about adats (Chechen tribal customs), about upbringing that turns Chechen boys into fighters, about the fact that we, Russian pi @ aras, broke away from our roots, stopped listening to our old people, drank themselves, degenerated into a crowd of cowardly rams and stopped to be the people.

It was from this very moment that my “changing shoes” began, or, if you like, my formation.

Then came the "fun times". Russians began to be slaughtered in the streets in broad daylight. Before my eyes, a Russian guy was surrounded by Vainakhs in the line for bread, one of whom spat on the floor and asked the Russian to lick the spit off the floor. When he refused, they ripped open his stomach with a knife. Chechens rushed into the parallel class right during the lesson, chose the three prettiest Russian high school girls and dragged them away with them. Then we learned that the girls were given as a birthday present to a local Chechen authority.

And then it got really fun. The militants came to the village and began to cleanse it of the Russians. At night, the screams of people who were being raped and slaughtered in their own home were sometimes heard. And no one came to their aid. Everyone was for himself, everyone was shaking with fear, and some managed to bring an ideological base under this case, they say, “my home is my fortress” (yes, dear ones, I heard this phrase just then. The person who uttered it is no longer there alive - his guts were wound by the Vainakhs on the fence of his own house).

I saw columns of buses, which, due to the stench, could not be approached a hundred meters, because they were filled with the bodies of slaughtered Russians. I saw women, evenly sawed along with a chainsaw, children, impaled on poles from road signs, artistically wound on a fence of the intestine. And that was 1992 - there were still two and a half years left before the “first Chechen war”.

This is how we, cowardly and stupid, were cut out one by one. Tens of thousands of Russians were killed, several thousand fell into slavery and Chechen harems, hundreds of thousands fled from Chechnya in their underpants.

This is how the Vainakhs solved the "Russian question" in a separate republic.

And they succeeded only because we were nonentities, complete crap. We are shit even now, though it is not so liquid anymore - grains of steel began to come across among the shit. And when these grains come together, kondopogs occur. There are still few of them, but the Vainakhs are great. Real orderlies of the forest. As a result of their cultural and educational mission in Russia, Russian sheep are becoming people again.

In general, those who have crossed paths with Chechens in life have something to hate them for. And after this, there is something to hate them for, and those who did not intersect with them (The video was removed due to its cruelty - ed.).

The video was filmed by militants in 1999 during the invasion of Basayev's group into Dagestan. On the way of the group was our checkpoint, the personnel of which, seeing the militants, crap out of fear and surrendered. Our servicemen had the opportunity to die like a man in battle. They didn't want it, and as a result they were slaughtered like rams. And if you watched the video carefully, you should have noticed that only one of the hands was tied, who was stabbed last. For the rest, fate gave one more chance to die like a human being. Any of them could get up and make the last sharp movement in his life - if not to grab the enemy with his teeth, then at least take a knife or a machine gun fire on his chest, stand. But they, seeing, hearing, and feeling that their comrade was being slaughtered nearby, and knowing that they would be killed too, still preferred the death of a ram.

This is a one-to-one situation with the Russians in Chechnya. We behaved the same way there. And they cut us out in the same way.

During the first Chechen war, video recordings of underage Vainakhs were having fun with Russian women. They put women on all fours and threw knives like targets, trying to get into the vagina. All this was filmed and commented on.

By the way, I showed trophy Chechen videos to every young replenishment in my platoon, and then in the company. My soldiers looked at the torture, and at ripping open the abdomen, and sawing off the head with a hacksaw. We looked carefully. After that, none of them even thought of surrendering.

There, in the war, fate brought me together with one Jew - Lev Yakovlevich Rokhlin. Initially, our participation in the New Year's assault was not supposed. But when the connection with the 131st and 81st mechanized infantry brigades was lost, we were thrown to the rescue. We broke through to the location of 8 AK, commanded by General Rokhlin, and arrived at his headquarters. It was then that I saw him in person for the first time. And at first glance he somehow did not seem to me: hunched over, with a cold, in cracked glasses … Not a general, but some tired agronomist.

He set us the task - to collect the scattered remnants of the Maikop brigade and the 81st regiment and bring them to the police department of the Rohlin reconnaissance battalion. This is what we did - we collected the meat pissing from fear in the cellars and took them to the location of the Rochlin scouts. There were about two mouths in total. At first, Rokhlin did not want to use them, but when all the other groupings retreated, 8 AK was left alone in an operational environment in the center of the city. Against all militants! And then Rokhlin lined up this "army" opposite the formation of his fighters and addressed them with a speech. I will never forget this speech.

The general's most affectionate expressions were: "fucking monkeys" and "n @ darasy". At the end, he said: "The militants outnumber us fifteen times. And we have nowhere to wait for help. And if we are destined to lie here, let each of us be found under a heap of enemy corpses. Let's show how Russian soldiers and Russian generals can die!" Don't let me down, sons … ". (Lev Yakovlevich has been dead for a long time - they dealt with him. One Jew less, isn't that so?).

And then there was a terrible, terrible battle, in which six of my 19-man platoon survived. And when the Chechens broke through to the location and it came to grenades, and we realized that we all get n @ zdets - I saw real Russian people. The fear was gone. There was some kind of cheerful anger, detachment from everything. There was one thought in my head: "Dad" asked not to let you down. " The wounded themselves bandaged themselves, they themselves were cut off by prodol and continued the battle.

Then the Vainakhs and I met in hand-to-hand combat. And they ran. This was the turning point of the battle for Grozny. It was a confrontation between two characters - Caucasian and Russian, and ours turned out to be firmer. It was at that moment that I realized that we can do it. We have this solid core, it only needs to be cleaned of the stuck shit. We took prisoners in hand-to-hand combat. Looking at us, they didn't even whine - they howled in horror. And then they read to us the radio interception - Dudaev's order was sent over the radio networks of the militants: "scouts from the 8AK and special forces of the Airborne Forces should not be taken prisoner or tortured, but immediately finished off and buried like soldiers." We were very proud of this order.

Since then I have been observing and trying to take note of the outbursts of the Russian character.

Thank God the Russians in 2009 are fundamentally different from the Russians in 1991. In the 91st year in st. Shelkovskaya, one armed Chechen killed more than a hundred Russians - he walked from house to house, calmly reloading, shooting. And no one dared to resist. And just 15 years later, in Kondopoga, Tver and Stavropol, the Chechens brutally broke off.

The dynamics of change, in principle, is pleasant, but it is still very, very far from the complete change of the Russians' shoes to the correct one.

But there are, alas, much more SUCH "outbursts" of the Russian character. Together we admire the "future hope and support" of the new Russia: (video removed - ed.)

Here, the crowd of Russian pi @ arasov bends down not even a Chechen, but only an Armenian, and the Armenian's "physics" is so-so (the blow is not delivered and the throwing technique is weak), but for the rams this is enough: to be harder than liquid shit - just be just clay.

Probably, someone, seeing something like that, will hate this Armenian (or all the "black-asses" in general). But this is only the first, the simplest phase of hatred. Then the understanding comes that neither the Chechens, nor the Armenians, nor the Jews, in essence, are to blame. They only do to us what we ourselves allow to do with us.

Let's practice a little more liquid warfare. In my platoon (and then in the company) there was a Jewish contract soldier, Misha R … yman. His own called him a Jew, and he corrected strangers, declaring: "I am not a Jew. I am a Jew!" During the "first Chechen war" in Grozny, in the region of the cannery, our entire reconnaissance group fell into an ambush. And when the militants who surrounded us shouted: "Rusnya, surrender!"

During the second Chechen war, I once caught a couple of bullets. And this little girl was pulling my 100-kilogram carcass on himself 11 kilometers. Do you want to fight this Jew? No problem. But first you have to fight with me.

If the Russians were men, no troops would be needed. The population of Chechnya by 1990 was approximately 1, 3-1, 4 million people, of which Russians - 600-700 thousand. There are about 470 thousand inhabitants in Grozny, of which at least 300 thousand are Russians. In the primordially Cossack regions - Naursky, Shelkovsky and Nadterechny - Russians were about 70%. On our own land, we poured into an enemy two or three times smaller in numbers.

And when the troops were brought in, there was practically no one to save.

Think about it.

Who gave the order to fight? And don't tell me that Yeltsin the alcoholic did it. All decisions for him were always made by members of that very organized Jewish community.

Yeltsin - the drunkard could not do this, but the Jew Berezovsky with the company is quite. And the facts of his cooperation with the Chechens are well known.

But that doesn't justify the performers. The weapon was handed out to the Vainakhs not by the Jew, Berezovsky, but by the Russian Grachev (by the way, a paratrooper, a hero of Afghanistan).

Yeltsin's crime is not that he brought in troops in 1994, but that he did not do it in 1991.

But when "human rights activists" dragged to Rokhlin and offered to surrender to the Chechens under their own guarantees, Rokhlin ordered to put them in cancer and kick them to the front lines.

In January 1995, Yegor Gaidar, as part of a large delegation of "human rights activists" (headed by SA Kovalyov) arrived in Grozny to persuade our soldiers to surrender to the Chechens under their personal guarantees. Moreover, Gaidar shone in the tactical broadcast, as if not even more intense than Kovalev.

72 people surrendered under Gaidar's "personal guarantees". Subsequently, their mutilated, with traces of torture, corpses were found in the area of the cannery, Katayama and pl. Wait a minute.

This Clever and Beautiful has blood on his hands, not up to the elbows, but up to the ears. He was lucky - he died himself, without trial or execution. But the moment will come when, in Russian traditions, his rotten entrails are taken out of the grave, loaded into a cannon and shot to the west - IT is unworthy to lie in Our Land.

I am grateful to the Chechens as teachers for the lesson taught. They helped me see my true enemy - the cowardly ram and pi @ aras, which has firmly settled in my own head."