The T-8 is an excellent attack aircraft, mainly used to deal with the armored forces of the front-line enemies and ground combatants. This attack aircraft often needs to take off and land at simple front-line airports, so it has excellent take-off and landing performance. The fairly flat runway in the Jalalabad base allows the T-8 to land calmly.
The two fighter planes landed one after another, taxied for a distance, and stopped.
The ground crew who had been waiting on both sides brought the ladder over and placed it at the cabin door. The hatch was opened, and the pilot, with a smile on his face, took off his oxygen mask and climbed out.
"It's a long distance from the flight test institute," said Fegachov. "This seat is too uncomfortable and not suitable for long-distance flights. We need to tell the guys at Sukhoi to modify the seat of this aircraft."
The flying boots stepped on the solid ground. Fegachev watched his partner Solinovich also walk down and continued, "But that special incendiary bomb is really good. It is the best gift for the Afghan guerrillas."
As soldiers, obeying orders is their duty. Now, the battlefield in Afghanistan is the best opportunity to test this kind of aircraft. What the two men are thinking about at this moment is how to unleash the power of this aircraft.
"The targeting system needs to be improved. Those guys just refuse to use advanced onboard computers." Solinovic complained: "One of my bombs almost went astray."
"Don't worry about it." Feigachev said, "Let's go and have a drink. We can't touch Afghan women, but vodka is an indispensable partner in our lives."
After getting on a ground crew vehicle, the two headed towards the tower, where the commander of the flight base, Ilyich, was waiting for them.
"Welcome to Afghanistan." Ilyich said to the two of them. With the T-8, their support on the ground will be more powerful. Those Afghan guerrillas have always been a headache for them.
"Is there any wine?" Fegachev asked Ilyich. The test pilots all had high military ranks, and the two were on the same level as Ilyich.
Alcohol? Hearing the two people's questions, Ilyich suddenly felt a headache. Drinking is not allowed in the army, especially in combat troops. There will be orders to take off and fight at any time. How can drinking be possible?
However, almost all Soviet people are addicted to drinking, and many of his subordinates secretly hide alcohol and take a sip whenever they get a chance. Ilyich can only turn a blind eye. But now, there are very few people like the two people in front of him who come up and ask for wine directly.
Seeing that Ilyich did not respond, Fegachev said, "The maintenance ground crew will arrive in the next two days. Before that, take good care of these two planes."
The ground crew here can only maintain Mi-24 helicopters. Only the personnel from the Flight Test Institute can maintain the newly developed T-8 aircraft.
After saying that, Feghachev turned around, took Solinovich, got into the base's car, and said to the driver in front: "Let's go to Jalalabad."
"Your Excellencies, you must stay in the base. Jalalabad is very dangerous," Ilyich said.
These are two test pilots. If something happens to them here, Ilyich will also bear a great responsibility.
"Haven't we already controlled all the cities?" Fegachev asked. "Everyone in the country is celebrating our victory. The Afghan guerrillas are just a small resistance force and will be wiped out soon. What should I be afraid of?"
After that, Feghachev said to the driver in front: "Drive!"
Test pilots deal with death all the time; in terms of technology, they study hard and strive for excellence, while in life, they are very indulgent. As tall and burly Russians, life is meaningless without alcohol.
In the Flight Test Institute, with so many old guys watching, the two dared only to drink secretly in the dormitory. But now, at the field base, they are finally free.
"Two heroes, you are really my idols. When you arrived, the commander's face turned green with anger." The driver in the front said to the two people in the back seat while driving. At this time, the two were taking off their flight jackets in the car and changing into ordinary clothes.
"Is there a place to drink in Jalalabad?" asked Feghachev. The driver in front of him was more to his taste.
"Yes, there are many places selling alcohol in Jalalabad. I know a bar that is relatively safe. Almost all the people there are our people," said the driver.
Although Afghanistan prohibits alcohol, it does not prevent foreigners from drinking in Afghanistan. In fact, even Afghans themselves drink alcohol frequently. The way of drinking whiskey with ice and water was created in Afghanistan.
Afghanistan's strictest prohibition on alcohol was limited to the few years when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan.
Now, the Soviet Union occupied Afghanistan, and the Afghan government was a puppet government of the Soviet Union and had no time to take care of these things.
In the Soviet Union, the strict planned economy meant that the middle and lower classes had almost no chance to drink, and the soldiers who went out to fight were faced with the danger of exchanging fire with guerrillas or even losing their lives at any time. Therefore, when the mission was completed, drinking a glass of wine was their happiest time.
After the driver finished speaking, he looked at the two people behind him and said, "There are special services there. If you need them, I can find something interesting for you."
In the bar, in addition to selling alcohol, there are also women working in special industries.
Solinovich shook his head: "Women are all devils. It's best to stay away from them."
Figachev smiled. He knew that Solinovich had been at the Flight Test Institute all year round, leaving his wife alone at home. As a result, Solinovich's wife had an affair with a worker in the factory. When Solinovich found out, he beat the man severely and divorced his wife.
From then on, Solinovic became fond of drinking, but he never looked for women.
Soon, the car stopped in front of a Gorky bar, and the two men got out of the car and strode inside.
There were two bartenders at the door. When they saw that the two men looked like Soviet nationals, they let them in.
After entering, Feghachev saw Soviet soldiers all around him. Many of them were still armed and had AK-74 rifles on their backs. He couldn't wait to pick up the glass of wine.
This is such a great place!
"Two glasses of vodka," Fegachev said to the bartender at the bar, who was a native Afghan.
"Okay." The bartender took out two glasses and filled them with wine.
When the stimulating liquid flowed into his mouth, Figachev felt that every cell in his body was extremely relaxed. Thinking of the village that was bombed during the day, he felt that life in the Flight Test Institute was too dull. He might as well be transferred from the Flight Test Institute to the front line, where he could fly fighter planes and fight every day. This was the life a pilot should have!
"Another drink." He drank the wine in one gulp and put the glass on the bar.
"Oh, oh oh." At this moment, several Soviets suddenly shouted.
When Feghachev looked over, he saw a woman standing on a high platform in the middle of the bar. The woman was wearing a transparent suspender skirt, and his eyes could see her black underwear, especially her lower body, which made people imagine a lot.
The Soviets shouted and chattered with joy.
"What is this?" asked Figachev.
"The new project that started yesterday, dancing." The bartender said as he watched intently. He saw the woman on the stage taking off her clothes while dancing.
The scene suddenly became more lively.
This was a blonde, blue-eyed Western woman. Solinovich watched the woman's waist twisting and her hips constantly making certain gestures, and suddenly he felt a certain desire himself.
At this moment, the woman looked at her and gave her a seductive look.
…
"Gululu, gululu." A donkey cart was moving on the dirt road, its wheels crushing the yellow soil, raising dust half a meter high.
The people in the cart sat listlessly in the front, with the whip hanging in front of the donkey.
A T-62 stood on the side of the road with its gun barrel facing outward, as if it could fire at any time. It was a simple roadblock.
Several Afghan government soldiers stood beside the roadblock under the scorching sun, looking at the donkey cart approaching from afar.
Before the car arrived, a strong and special smell came over, and they couldn't help but cover their noses.
"Stop!" shouted the squad leader of the Afghan government army, holding an AKM rifle and looking at the people in front.
"Whoa." The man on the donkey cart stopped the cart and looked ahead in confusion. There was no checkpoint yesterday, so why is there a checkpoint set up here today?
"What do you do?" asked the squad leader.
"I'm a dung collector." The man in the car said, "Do you even need to ask?"
There was a large round wooden barrel placed horizontally on the car, which continuously emitted a strong and unique smell. He was still lazy, as if the other party was asking a very stupid question.
This city, like many cities in Afghanistan, has simple public facilities. The public toilets are just a few pits, and the stench is terrible. Every once in a while, a special dung collector will come and take away all the dung.
It is the 1980s, and even in wealthy Kuwait and Saudi Arabia, there are still such toilets in cities. Luxurious flush toilets are not yet popular. Even if they are popular, in a country like Afghanistan with a shortage of water resources, it is impossible for every household to use modern sanitary facilities.
"The city is under martial law these days. No unauthorized persons are allowed to enter." The squad leader shouted, covering his nose.
In fact, he just wanted to ask for some benefits. While others were hiding in the camp to cool off, he had to come here to scorch in the sun. How could he do this without some benefits?
When the soldiers of the government army were called traitors by the people, they had no shame at all and the only thing they were interested in was making money.