Military secret

English Russian

The fact that I'm a reserve officer is not a secret. Definitely not. The fact that reserve officers are called to the training sessions is not a secret either. But I won't tell you where they go because it is.

We were taken by a bus and quickly changed into a uniform with shoulder straps. We became all green and alike, as the state lottery tickets. After that, we became worth to talk to.
"Remember, officers," said the colonel, "No. Never. Under no circumstances."

And I signed a nondisclosure agreement. That is I pledged not to reveal the information constituting a military secret. Now you only have to learn what makes this secret and what does not. Otherwise you'll get into a stupid situation.

When the Colonel had left, a Major continued. He looked longingly at the horizon and said:
"So you're here and you will do it."
"What?" I could not resist.
"What a hole." the major said, ignoring my indiscretion, "You know the mess hall hours. Please do not be late."

In the evening we had a long argument, where we were. Some contended that this was Infantry, others insisted that it was Artillery. One thing was clear. It was not Navy.

The next morning they took us behind the barbed wire. The fence had three strands of the wire. That's where I'm puzzled. Maybe it's a secret, that there were three strands, but maybe not. But I've grasped the purpose of this device. When a spy crawls through all three strands, he'll scratch himself all over and die of tetanus, because the wire is rusty. They rust it on purpose.
"May I talk to you, Sir," I addressed the Major in compliance to the code of courtesy.
"Come on."
"When we will be released?"

The Major looked up. Perhaps, he wanted to check that there's no spy satellite above us. In any case, he made a stone face. I realized that I touched the secret. So I do not reveal when we were released. Anyway, I'm back.

At the end of the first month, there was confidence that we are in some technical forces. It was accidentally discovered that the Major is familiar the word "capacitor". But he has justified this by saying that he had been in a ham radio club at high school.

I served well. I has not been late to the mess hall, and I was given a leave of absence to visit the homeland. I changed into civilian clothes and got on the bus. There were plenty of old women with sacks.
"Does the second division on duty today, or the first?" said one, referring to the space.
"The second, the second," echoed others.
"Then it's time to mow," concluded the first one.

I grew suspicious. Obviously, these old women never signed a nondisclosure agreement. Otherwise I can not explain the subsequent conversation. They began to discuss some kind of rocket that ostensibly fell yesterday off the launcher and got badly damaged. They mentioned the names and ranks of the responsible parties, and discussed a possible wording of the order. Came out a little dispute concerning the modification of the fallen rocket. They mentioned some figures, but I did not remember.

In general, when we arrived at the station, I knew quite well the tactical and technical data. One question intrigued me further.
"Old dear," I asked, "do they fire at ground targets?"

The old woman looked at me suspiciously and pursed her lips.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"He's a stranger," others said, "If he doesn't know this, he is one. We must take him to the commandant's office."

And they, by the way, took me to the commandant's office. All in all, they were vigilant but fair, because you should not poke your nose in other people's affairs...