Dreamchaser

By Yakov Rozenberg

Dreamchaser relates stories that occurred during two years in the Soviet military and two years in a Soviet prison camp, the GULAG, as a political dissident. Written sometimes in anecdotal form, they provide a window into both the author's life and experiences in the Soviet Union and the feeling of horror for everyday existence there. The book begins with the harshness of military life, from the bizarre humor of painting living trees to suit a general's color preference to the perils of detonating old mines and explosives left buried during the Second World War, told in the voice of one young sergeant major. From the beginning, it is clear that whenever possible, he followed his own path to chase his dream. The difficulties of burying a grandmother in a society with so much red tape and prejudice that it seems surreal in its idiocy. The violence and deception that permeated all aspects of the Soviet society also fill these stories. The injustice and waste are illustrated throughout. The KGB is as malevolent and pervasive as the worst Cold War movie ever depicted it. After being sentenced to two years in the Russian GULAG, the author describes the terror of surviving in a prison of about 2,500 criminal inmates. The circumstances of several individual prisoners are described, and together they shed an awful light on some of the darkest parts of life in the USSR. And yet in the midst of the horror, there are also moments of humor and an unwavering belief that someday there would be escape to freedom in the outside world. Dreamchaser provides a new angle on life in a Communist Bloc country, beyond the imagination or understanding of anyone born in a free society. It ends with a train ride across the border that is filled with heart-stopping moments, bringing the author out of the stone age and into freedom to catch his dream—freedom and pursuit for happiness. After reading Dreamchaser, you will start counting blessings in your life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645845836

Book preview

Chapter 1

1973–1975

In 1973, all eighteen-year-old males in the USSR had to serve in the military. If the young man was enrolled in college when he received notice, he could defer his military service until he finished his degree. If the college had a military program (such as the ROTC program in America), he would be inducted as an officer and serve his two years in the military with a starting rank of lieutenant. If he didn’t take this military training course in college, he would serve the same two years but without a commissioned rank. Most of the time, he would be trained to become a sergeant in the special training base, which took about six months. Since the college that I had selected did not have military training courses, I fell into the latter category and began training to become a sergeant.

Nothing associated with the Soviet military was fun or easy. The recruiting was done twice a year, in three-month sessions each time. The first period was in April, May, and June, and the second was in August, September, and October. All branches of the military were required to serve a minimum of two years, except for the Navy, which required three years. It was common knowledge that if someone was inducted in the beginning of the first month, they were more likely to serve two years in a foreign country, like East Germany, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, or Bulgaria. With this foreign posting, a soldier could actually serve more than two years, even though that was the length of service that was legally required. The military always made some amendments to the law, and the young men often served more than two years.

Selection for service at the foreign bases was a very prestigious distinction. To be chosen, the young man needed to be very highly skilled and have many generations of loyal party members in his family. Without this special combination of qualifications, it was not easy to obtain this distinction. Even the different bases and different branches of service had their own standards and profiles. The enlistment term for the foreign Navy could be as long as four years. As a regular enlisted soldier, all your ammunition, clothing, and food were supplied to you by the government, and you were paid three rubles and eighty kopecks a month. On the open market, this amount of money was not even enough to pay for a month’s worth of black shoe polish.

If you completed the training and were promoted to the rank of sergeant, then your monthly pay would start at ten rubles and eighty kopecks. Sergeant majors received about thirty-six rubles and eighty kopecks a month. At that time, six rubles were worth approximately one American dollar on the black market.

Twice a year, the military would erect walls in an open field to create a huge meeting area called a prizivnoy punkt. The young men living in the surrounding areas were mailed notices for an assembly in these locations. Usually, so many men were invited on the same day that they would wait for hours before their name was called for processing. To pass the hours of boredom (and stress), they would start drinking, and some of them would continue until they couldn’t even talk.

Most of the young men came to these recruitment meetings with family members. Frequently these relatives were also heavily under the influence of alcohol and would bring plenty of it along with the picnic baskets that they had packed for lunch. All the paperwork was filled out by hand. The time required to process the forms for one person ensured that there was no way that the military could absorb even half of the men on the day that they were ordered to report.

Since this was common knowledge, no one was serious about the first day, and the majority of people spent the day drinking and eating at their picnics. They shared their food and alcohol with the soldiers, who came from the bases to recruit the young men. Whoever was too drunk to answer questions was usually sent home. But if they could remember where they lived and what their names were, then recruiting officers usually accepted them.

Drunken brawls frequently occurred, and the military patrol usually took care of those situations by themselves. In instances where there were too many combatants or the fights were too bloody, the police were called in, and they handled the situation by beating the participants into submission (or unconsciousness, whichever came first). After this display of peacekeeping, the other drunken observers usually became as docile as sheep and the rest of the day would pass without major incidents.

On May 5, 1973, both my best friend and I were ordered to come to the prizivnoy punkt. He was slightly drunk and showed up with his girlfriend, who had come with him to say goodbye. They both cried a lot because this was the beginning of a separation that would last for a minimum of two years.

The college where my girlfriend was a student was too far away for her to come and spend the day with me. My father and brother came with me on that first day but left around noon. About three hours later, the major came out and used a megaphone to read a list of names. These were the men whose papers had been processed and who had been accepted into the military that day. The rest of us could go home for the night but had to return the next day.

My best friend was accepted on the second day (May 6), but I was not. For me, the second day was a repeat of the boredom and frustration of the first, and again, they sent me home. May 7, 1973, was the day that my papers were finally processed. A lieutenant selected twenty young men, and we were taken through a formal medical exam and then loaded onto a military truck. This was how my two years of Soviet military service began.

Many bribes were paid to the recruiting officers by the parents and families of the young men. Most of the parents wanted their sons to serve their two years on bases that were close to home, and they would bribe the officers who could move their sons’ names from one base assignment to another. A few parents wanted their sons to serve far away from home, in places like Siberia or in various foreign countries, and they were also making bribes. Parents were willing to do whatever they could to get what they wanted, and in most cases, they succeeded. The government had created a system that showed no regard for what the young men wanted where they wanted to serve or even which branch of the military they would join (Army, Navy, or Marines). Some of the new recruits didn’t want to serve in the military at all, but the USSR government didn’t give any alternative options.

The truck ride from the prizivnoy punkt to the military base lasted over four hours. As soon as we arrived, we learned that this was a training camp for sergeants. Most of the new recruits on this truck had already earned a college degree, were older than eighteen, and already had some work experience.

We were led to the smoking area, where we waited until a sergeant major arrived to address us. He came in, threw three hand-operated shavers on the ground, and barked, "In thirty minutes, I’ll be back, and there had better be no hair on anybody’s head! The hair under your arms and on your butt is your choice!" He then laughed loudly at his own joke.

None of the new recruits even smiled. Based on what I knew about the Soviet military from my neighbors, things were not going to be very pleasant. I made the first move, picking up a shaver from the grass and asking someone to start cutting my hair, which was already very short. One guy said that he wasn’t going to shave his head because his hair was already short enough. I replied that short hair was not the same as no hair. If he didn’t want to get in trouble immediately, he’d better start cutting it off. He was sure that nothing would happen to him, though, and was confident that he would be able to talk with the sergeant major. Two other followers didn’t cut their hair either, because they also felt that it was short enough.

In exactly thirty minutes, the sergeant major returned to the smoking area. He asked us to line up, and we somehow managed to do so. Except for the three rebels, everyone had tried to cut their hair. In most cases, the hand-operated machines had pulled the hair out instead of cutting it. The sergeant major started shouting at us, saying that he was not a dog barking at us but that he was an officer of the Soviet Army. He could see that some recruits didn’t respect his orders. "Everything that I say is an order, and you must do it without questioning. If you do not comply, then you will be arrested, and a military tribunal will sentence you to four years of disbat." (This was the disciplinary battalion that all soldiers feared.)

The recruits who had not cut their hair were ordered to step forward. They were told that there was a main bathroom behind the building next to where we had been standing. He wanted them to go into that bathroom and clean it within the next thirty minutes. The rest of the new recruits would watch so that it would be clear to us what would happen if we were to disobey orders.

One of the recruits started telling the sergeant major that this treatment was inhumane, but before he could finish his sentence, the sergeant major was shouting in his face again, I am not a dog barking at you, I am an officer in the Soviet Army, and you will do as I order!

Two minutes later, several other sergeants joined us and started shouting at the three recruits. The effect was frightening for all of us. We went behind the building and found a small structure that smelled so awful that we immediately knew that it was the latrine. The floor in the bathroom was made of wood and across the back wall, a portion of the floor had been elevated one step higher, with about fifteen holes down the length of it. There were no seats; you just had to aim in the hole for whatever you needed to do. There were no bathroom tissues or running water. When I looked inside, I saw a huge amount of human waste, along with maggots and green flies. The stench was so bad that I started throwing up and was hardly able to aim into the hole. It was not a good beginning.

None of us could have imagined this kind of beginning. During the next six months of training, I had to clean those bathrooms twelve times. Each time, I would vomit until there was nothing left in my stomach, and I felt that I had almost thrown up my guts. There were eight other times when I was ordered to help others clean the bathroom. Three of these occasions were because I provided support to my friends and one time was because I refused to hit another recruit when I had been ordered to do so. Later, I understood that it was the least severe punishment I could get for disobeying an order from the sergeant major.

In this training camp for sergeants, we were humiliated so much that several recruits attempted to commit suicide. Because we had all been recruited together, we respected each other and became comrades.

Part of our training was as karaul (security guard / guard duty). During this exercise, we had to carry an AK-45 machine gun, four full magazines, and a bayonet. The time spent on karaul lasted twenty-four hours and was supposed to be rotated between two hours of patrolling and two hours of sleeping. In this training camp for future sergeants, our superiors wanted us to read and learn the military laws and rules by heart, so instead of sleeping, we would study for two hours. With the exhaustion that this produced, I feared that an accident would happen; it was just a matter of time.

We had one lieutenant who was usually drunk and liked to pull a wild stunt on the recruits during karaul. He would put a rope on a soldier’s neck, tie him up, take away his machine gun, and then call a drill for the entire base. We had an event one night when that lieutenant was on duty.

I had just studied the book on military laws for two hours. It had seemed like a waste of time to me, because as far as I could see, nobody respected or followed these laws. There were many unwritten laws, and the officers would select which ones to observe when it suited them. The only consistent pattern was one of inconsistency. The normal sequence for maneuvers after finishing the patrol should have been two hours of sleep. This would be followed by two hours of recreation, which included reading newspapers and magazines as well as playing checkers and chess. In spite of this, the sergeants had kept us without sleep for twenty-four hours, making us drill every thirty minutes. This increased our stress levels and exhausted us to the point that we were close to taking over and beating the shit out of our sergeants.

At around four o’clock in the morning, we heard several gunshots. We responded as if it was a drill, and after taking machine guns from the pyramid, we began running to support the areas according to our instructions. My area was in the far north sector and was adjacent to a cornfield. As I ran, I began to wonder what could happen, worried that an accident might occur because we were all so tired.

Suddenly, several shots rang out again from the area that we had needed to support, and a young voice shouted at us, Lie face down on the ground, or I will shoot!

By military law, he was required to ask for us to identify ourselves and give the parol (password). After we responded with the password, he was supposed to let us get closer to him. Instead, he shouted again, I’ll shoot you, unless you guarantee that I will not be arrested!

Our sergeant replied that he couldn’t guarantee anything but that it would be better if we could come in to evaluate the situation.

No way am I letting you into my territory. I’ll shoot you just like I did that other son of a bitch! the voice yelled back.

We started asking each other if there was anyone down on the ground. After a minute, someone’s scared voice said that he was on the ground. He then said that he was afraid to make a move or say anything because the crazy soldier would kill him.

As soon as the anonymous voice had finished speaking, the soldier shouted back that he wasn’t crazy. He told us that had been patrolling, when he saw someone jump over the fence. He knew a few tricks that he had learned from hunting wolves with his dad when he was growing up. He went around the building in the opposite direction, climbed onto a tree, and waited. A few minutes later, he saw a man in uniform with a gun in his hand and decided to shoot above his head.

As soon as the intruder fell, the guard fired off short rounds above his head while on the run, which forced the intruder to throw away his gun. The soldier fired several shots to keep the man down and quiet. Later, the guard realized that the intruder was the lieutenant, who enjoyed harassing the recruits by strangling them with a rope. When he realized that the intruder was a lieutenant, he became afraid of a military tribunal.

He didn’t want us to get closer to him until a higher-ranking officer could guarantee that he wouldn’t be court-martialed. About two hours later, a major arrived and promised that nothing would happen to him. The incident provoked a big investigation, which resulted in the lieutenant being placed under house arrest and relieved of his duties for two weeks. The young soldier was evaluated, judged as unstable, and sent to a regular military base to continue his two years of military service in the construction brigade. As the lowest-ranking brigade, the construction brigade built buildings for the military and never carried machine guns.

Two months later, when I had been promoted to corporal and was on karaul again, I was sent to relieve some soldiers in the field after they had secured the area. I took another soldier with me, and we went out into the darkest night that I had ever seen. The noise of the frogs seemed to be amplified by the darkness. Suddenly, the frogs stopped croaking, and I dropped down on the ground, ordering the other soldier to do the same. From what I had read, when frogs stopped croaking, it meant that someone was walking nearby. When the person who was walking by had left the area, the frogs would begin to croak again. My instincts told me that we were in danger and might be entering some kind of a trap.

I asked my companion to get closer to the building so that I would be able to see his silhouette against the white wall. If someone tried to get him, I wanted to be able to see the two figures. He was afraid to get up from the ground and refused to follow my order.

Instead of forcing him to obey, I asked him to attach our flashlight to the end of his AK-45, raise it up in the air, and shine it on the area closest to the building. The building was part of a technical reservation park (supply depot of reserve equipment). There were trucks that were loaded with bridges that had been used during the Second World War. They were being held in storage in case of another war, but I doubted that any of those trucks would be able to start. I also thought that if they ever started those trucks that their rubber tires would explode as soon as the wheels started turning.

While the soldier attached the flashlight, I moved farther to the side and deeper into the darkness. I looked around but couldn’t see anything except for the area that had been highlighted by the beam of the flashlight. It didn’t appear that anyone else was around, and I was just about to get up, when I heard a small noise. I held my breath, and the next moment, I saw a large dark form jump on my comrade. I charged toward the forms that were wrestling on the ground. My bayonet was attached to the end of my AK-45, and I held the weapon in front of me, yelling, Stop moving or I will shoot!

The mystery assailant tried to wrestle the gun away from my comrade, but even in his fright, my companion maintained an iron grip on his AK-45. A second later, my knife was on the intruder’s neck, and as a further threat, I chambered a bullet and shouted, Make a move and die, fucker!

Only his back was visible; his face was hidden, but it was possible to see that he was wearing a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and military boots. I ordered him to put his hands behind his head and told my comrade to take the belt off his pants and use it to tie up the intruder.

After the intruder was tied up and we shined the flashlight on his face, I recognized him as the lieutenant who enjoyed playing dangerous games and scaring raw trainees. Now it’s our turn to teach you a lesson, I said. It looks like your two-week vacation was not educational enough. Lie down and crawl on your belly to the swamp area. Some people might say that giving the lieutenant a taste of his own medicine was mean. However, there was such animosity between the officers and the soldiers in the USSR military at that time that we had very little sympathy for him. He had been causing trouble and was going to face the consequences.

The lieutenant started talking quickly and said that he had made a mistake; this had just been a bad joke on his part. He surrendered and ordered that we let him go.

I said that since he was now under arrest, we didn’t have to take any orders from him. I told him that I would give him three seconds to comply with my commands, or I would shoot him for illegal trespassing and assaulting a soldier on karaul.

When his response was only to shout at me, I slowly moved the end of my knife to his neck. The sharp tip broke though the surface of his skin, and a few drops of blood welled up as they trickled down his neck. Just try it one more time, and your brains will be all over the ground, Comrade Officer. Now, crawl to the swamp.

He crawled to the swamp as we walked along beside him. The water on the path that we used was barely deep enough to cover the bottoms our boots, but since he was on his stomach, it got him all wet and dirty. When we passed the water, I asked him to get up and walk in front of us.

Suddenly, my companion seemed to recover from the shock that he had been experiencing, and he jumped on the officer and began beating him with his AK-45. I pulled him away from the officer and shouted, Stop it, you’re not an animal! You don’t want to be court-martialed for beating this piece of dirt, so leave him alone for now. Besides, we can always shoot him just before we reach the karaul house. We can say that he was trying to escape arrest, and we had to kill him.

The officer’s face turned so white that I could see it in the darkness. He began screaming, No, you wouldn’t do that to me! I was just playing. This was all a joke!

I guess now you’ll find out that this is not a joke. It is reality for you, Comrade Officer, I answered.

When he suddenly began running, I told the soldier that it looked to me like the officer was trying to escape arrest. This meant that the soldier could do anything that he wanted with the lieutenant. I told the soldier that I would appreciate it if he would try not to shoot him. The soldier gave me a big grin and ran after the officer. A minute later, he caught him and once again started beating him with his AK-45.

I approached very slowly, so I could give those two animals time to blow off the rest of their tension and energy. Then I shouted at them, Are you done, comrade animals? They both suddenly stopped and looked at me, so I continued, "Lieutenant, you are a piece of dirt, and someday someone will shoot you like a crazy animal. Then that unfortunate person will probably suffer his whole life for putting you out of your misery.

And you are a piece of dirt too, I told the young soldier. If you’re going to use your weapon, use it and get it over with. But if you’re a human being, you will show the same respect for another life as you do for your own. Follow your heart but remember that a smart man always lets his brain control his actions. That’s what makes us different from animals. Now take this comrade officer to the karaul house and call the duty officer. Be sure that you include the fact that he is drunk in your report.

This time, after three weeks of investigation, the officer was transferred to another base, which was not a training area for new recruits.

Sergeants in charge of the new recruits at the training bases were very tough on the trainees, but they were especially rough on anyone who had a college degree. While they didn’t follow the military laws and rules themselves, they forced us to follow them, even when they didn’t make any sense. An example of this was when they ordered us to assemble for a drill without allowing us to get to the kazarma (barrack where we slept) and look at the layout of the room. During the drill, they yelled at us when we ran in the wrong direction, but we didn’t know the correct direction or where the ammunition was kept.

We were like a flock of sheep; if one of the trainees ran in the wrong direction, everyone behind him ran that way too. Then the sergeants in charge would start shouting and hitting the trainees on their shoulders and backs. Once, during this exercise in military insanity, a sergeant major tried to hit me between my shoulders. I ducked, turned toward him, and whispered fiercely in his ear, Don’t try that again, or you will regret for the rest of your life that you ever touched me, Comrade Sergeant Major.

He jumped back, and shouted, "Sralnya for you for a whole month! You will clean it with your toothbrush." (Sralnya is a slang word for bathroom. An exact translation would be shit room.)

My reply was that if I had to clean the latrine after he tried to hit me, he would go under tribunal, because I would file a complaint when the general arrived. It would explain how the sergeant major and all his sergeants harassed and beat the trainees. It would further list the fact that the trainees were forced to go without sleep for twenty-four hours during karaul, that we were forced to clean the bathrooms with toothbrushes, and that our money and food were taken by the sergeants. Basically, I would describe the threats and lies that were told to us regarding our future in the military. Perhaps the best evidence to present to the general would have been the fact that the reports regarding target practice had been falsified. The sergeants had had me shoot at the targets with my AK-45 for all the other forty trainees during tests, because I was the best shot. Most of the others could only hit the targets when they weren’t wearing a gas mask, which was a tremendous weakness. It would have looked very bad for the sergeants if the general had become aware that this was happening.

The sergeant major didn’t say a word for a moment. Big mistake, soldier, very big, he muttered.

The next day, all the sergeants were on my case. However, I had a weapon that they had placed in my hands themselves. I knew the military laws better than they did. They had forced me to read and memorize the manual, and that had given me the ability to use it against them. Each time they would try to get me to do something that would result in my punishment, I would counter their commands by citing the rules of military law which stated that the order was illegal and explain why this was so.

Several days later, when we were practicing a marching drill on the plaza, the sergeants were making us raise our boots higher and higher. My best friend said that he was ill and couldn’t march any longer. He was pulled out from the line and told to do two sets of twenty pushups, followed by one hundred sit-ups. In less than five minutes, he collapsed on his belly and couldn’t move. The sergeants ordered three trainees to stand him up so that one of the sergeants could yell at him, and then they pushed him, causing him to fall onto the concrete.

My friend shouted that he wouldn’t accept any orders from them from then on and that he was sick and tired of their harassment. I approached my friend and helped him sit up, cautioning him to keep his mouth closed. Then I suggested that the sergeants let him rest a bit.

Four of the sergeants surrounded us and began yelling that we would be washing dishes by hand for the entire base for two twenty-four-hour shifts. We started calculating how many dishes that would be and discovered that it would be roughly 750 after breakfast, 1,500 after lunch, and 750 after supper. We would also have to clean around 2,250 mugs. Everything was made from aluminum and was cleaned and dried by hand between each meal. Usually, four trainees did the work, but now the two of us had to do it. We would have had to spend twenty-four hours a day doing these chores until the training program ended. On the positive side, the sergeants had at least stopped hitting the two of us and had been trying not to hit any of the other trainees in my presence.

One Sunday, when my friend’s mother had come down to visit, I let her know what had been happening and advised her to talk with the commander of the base. I suggested that she ask him to protect her son from the sergeants; otherwise, she might lose him. A day after she talked with the commander of the training base, the sergeants began to leave him alone when in public. This left only me at their mercy, and the sergeants were looking for additional ways to demonstrate their authority.

One day, the sergeants took my platoon to the cornfield and said that they expected us to execute a 10K march while we were dressed for chemical exposure. We were ordered to put on suits and gas masks that were supposed to protect us against any kind of chemicals and run ten thousand meters while carrying all our field gear on our backs. This load would consist of our AK-45, four magazines of ammunition, a winter coat, a backpack, a knife, and a shovel.

At the time, we were not aware that we were not supposed to have a full chemical gear march at our current training level. In fact, no march of this nature had been officially scheduled in the lesson plan. I learned much later that the sergeants had ordered this march for their own malicious humor. In fact, I didn’t find out about this until long after I had completed my basic training and had been transferred to a regular base. A lieutenant from the same training base had also been transferred there and had joked to some other lieutenants about the march that they had made us do that day.

When the sergeant gave us the order to put on the chemical suits and gas masks, I realized that I only had one chance to survive. I pulled out two valves from my gas mask and wrapped them in a handkerchief to keep them clean. After I had done this, I put them in my pocket. I had never worn a gas mask for more than five minutes before, and we had never practiced the 10K march with a full load of ammunition.

I doubted that the sergeants and lieutenant had actually received permission for this maneuver, and since I knew that it was an unsanctioned exercise, I suspected that they would add some other surprises. They were not wearing the chemical suits or gas masks themselves, and they were not carrying winter coats or backpacks either.

The sergeants were behind us when they gave us the command to start running. They stayed with us for the first thirty minutes and didn’t tell us which direction we were supposed to run or where our final destination would be. I was glad that I had pulled the valves out of my gas mask because only four of us were able to keep running after everyone else had started to fall to the ground. It was extremely hot; about 90°F.

Suddenly, I noticed that the sergeants had disappeared. About a minute later, smoke grenades began to fall on us. All the trainees stopped, and I dropped down to the ground, pulled my gas mask off my face, installed the two valves, and put the mask back on. When I stood up, I saw that the other three soldiers who had been in front with me couldn’t stop coughing and were starting to lose consciousness. They were also struggling to take the gas masks off their faces.

Using our belts, I linked us together and started running into the wind. I was thinking that a smoke grenade could usually not be thrown farther than fifty meters. However, once the grenade exploded, the wind could carry the fumes a long way from the point of impact. It would be faster to run into the wind and past the point of impact to get out of the smoky area. We decided to try it and were able to run out of the smoke in less than three minutes. After we safely made it out, we all fell to the ground, pulling our gas masks off our faces.

Apparently, most of the trainees didn’t have gas masks that fitted them properly, and when the smoke surrounded them, they began choking where they stood. When I had dropped down to the ground, I was able to stay below the worst of the smoke while I held my breath and installed my valves.

The sergeants suddenly rejoined us and ordered us to get up, put our gas masks back on our faces, and continue to run. Again, I pulled out the valves, wrapped them in my handkerchief, and started to run after the sergeants. They shouted that if we didn’t make good time, we would have to repeat this exercise again the next day.

The four of us were still ahead of the rest of the platoon, but after about twenty minutes, two of the other trainees started to fall behind. They were struggling to breathe with their gas masks on, so I asked everyone to stop and explained what I had done with my valves. I showed them how to remove the valves but explained that just before the end of the march, they would have to replace them without being seen. I warned that we should also be ready for another smoke attack, and if it came, we would have to immediately drop to the ground and install the valves. Then I suggested that we slightly alter the direction of the run and try to keep an eye on the sergeants and lieutenant.

There were another three smoke attacks, but we did just fine, and all four of us finished the march. No one had started this 10K run with proper training or instruction. Most of the trainees in our platoon had not had their gas masks properly fitted, because there were not enough small and medium sizes to go around. After this exercise, the sergeants told us that nobody could wear a gas mask for longer than forty-five minutes without damaging their facial muscles or suffering from spasms and cramps.

The sergeant had not properly trained us for this exercise or prepared us to be able to march in full field gear (which included wearing the chemical protective suits and gas masks). It was a daily joke between the sergeants and lieutenant that a 5 percent death rate was acceptable in the USSR military during training and military maneuvers. I didn’t want to die because of the stupidity of the sergeants and lieutenant.

As part of our training every day, the sergeants and officers would try to brainwash us. They would spend about three hours each day telling us that the USA was our primary enemy. They would also tell us that the Americans were ready to drop an atomic bomb on the USSR, just like they had done to Japan in 1945. At the end of the training period, 99 percent of the trainees believed that propaganda.

Once, after about two hours of this kind of training, I asked the politruk (the officer responsible for brainwashing) why anyone would want to have a nuclear war. I told him that there would be no winners; everyone would lose. I didn’t believe that anyone in the world wanted to have a war and watch their children die.

The major shouted that all capitalists wanted war because they made a lot more money during the war than they did during peacetime. I didn’t want to argue this point but replied that there was no logic behind what he had said in the case of nuclear warfare, because there would be very few (if any) survivors.

The major decided to take a break and asked everyone to leave the classroom, except for me. After everyone left, he started yelling at me because I had questioned him and doubted what he had said. He added that he would enjoy reporting me to the military KGB.

Two days later, an officer in purple epaulets interrogated me for four hours. During his questioning, he asked me to discuss an incident that had occurred a few weeks before.

One time, a general had been scheduled to visit the training base to conduct an inspection. It was known that this particular general didn’t like trees with trunks that had been painted white. All bases were located in the woods, and there were thousands of trees that had been covered from the ground up with five feet of white paint for many years. The paint was a pesticide and was considered an attractive improvement. Trainees had spent hours painting those trees, but now, because the general didn’t like this look, we had been ordered to scrape off all the white paint with steel brushes in an attempt to return the trees to their natural color. Unfortunately, I had been voicing the opinion that it was stupid