Captain First Class Uroš Ćirković was, generally speaking, the very ideal of an officer’s good looks. A striking figure, with a sun-browned complexion, black hair, and a gaze that radiated warmth and severity at the same time. Slender, chiselled like a model, in a made-to-measure uniform.
Head held high, he would arrive at his office every morning with a brisk stride. Although, admittedly, not every day quite so briskly or sharply.
Sometimes he walked along the ground without moving.
Don’t ask me how. I don’t know, but that is exactly how it was.
Sometimes he limped a little on his left leg. His appearance, however, outshone every shortcoming.
He had just one rather conspicuous flaw.
His voice.
That was how he came by his nickname — Ćiro.
When he tried to roar like certain other officers and strike terror into the recruits’ bones with unquestionable authority, he sounded like a young cockerel in the throes of puberty, squawking hoarsely. Then, on his next attempt, he resembled an unfortunate case of an African rhinoceros bellowing in its death throes.
Even when he was lucky enough to begin a command in a stern, booming voice, at the least expected moment, like a string suddenly snapping, he would let out an uncontrollable squeal like a hysterical little girl, hitting the most important note hopelessly off-key.
The soldiers therefore grinned and giggled mercilessly, though to their own detriment. Those with moustaches were betrayed by their dancing whiskers, while some had fat bellies that bounced. Lips pressed tight, eyes wide, faces flushed, they would burst out laughing and regret it in the very same instant.
However hard anyone tried to hide it.
It was simply unbearable.
The captain would pretend not to notice their reaction, then force himself to make jokes, as though nothing unusual were happening.
It only made everything funnier.
He would then resort to giving the soldiers some arduous task or asking awkward questions, never missing an opportunity to needle them.
Anything to divert their attention and impose the necessary discipline.
“Comrades! Someone threw a glass bottle down the squat toilet last night, and the pipes are blocked! Who volunteers to fish it out?”
Silence fell. The soldiers lowered their eyes.
“It isn’t deep. Don’t be afraid! You only have to put your arm in up to the elbow. No deeper.”
The captain smiled ominously, and a strange light gleamed in his eyes.
No one volunteered.
The timid took a step backwards, sheltering behind the man beside them.
Those in the front row, mostly bewildered, did not blink for an instant, convinced that the descent of an ill-advised eyelid would create a draught that would treacherously reveal their position.
Everyone knows how deeply rooted among our people is the belief that a draught is the greatest enemy of the human race.
I don’t mean to say they were stupid.
They just seemed to have no luck when it came to thinking.
The young bulls always went in front.
That, after all, was what they called the June intake — the Junci.
Unpopular with the March and September recruits.
“Comrades!” the captain squealed again, but nobody felt like laughing any more. “Comrades, I know! I know the water is cold. I know, and I understand.”
His moustache spread, and a single tooth gleamed.
A rotten one.
The suspense lasted for a while.
Unexpectedly, a certain Bećiri from Preševo volunteered, provided Ćirković promised him ten days’ leave. He would do it with his bare hands, without protective equipment.
There had to be some reward.
So that the heroic deed would be remembered and never forgotten.
Impressed by his boldness, and wishing to encourage the comrades to volunteer for service, the captain made the promise in front of everyone.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
One man plucked up the courage to suggest awarding him the Exemplary Soldier badge.
Let his mother be proud.
The drama did not last long. The soldiers grew restless again, and the captain instinctively raised his voice.
Much higher than he intended.
Everything went straight back to the beginning.
Dancing moustaches and fat bellies, bulging eyes…
The captain would not give in, and neither would the soldiers.
Which was why the second act of this drama took place inside his office.
There came the threats and the blackmail. Young men lined up to report, then made to endure hours of standing in the same spot.
While the exhausted soldiers shifted from one foot to the other, he would wash their brains with endless, monotonous sermons on service regulations, or simply display his lavish gift for epic narrative on the achievements of the People’s Liberation struggle.
A crestfallen soldier stood before Ćirković, trying to explain himself.
“Look here, comrade, I’m not asking you why!” the captain shouted. “I’m asking you ‘for what reason’ you failed to carry out the task society entrusted to you! Society wants it done, and you don’t! Speak! For what reason?”
“We-ell…”
“Silence! Don’t speak while I’m talking.”
“Capta… Comrade Captain, that’s why I wanted to…”
The captain promptly cut him short.
“I’m not asking you ‘why’. I’m asking you ‘for what reason’! For what reason?!”
“Well, I didn’t know!” said the soldier.
“But you knew how not to ask? Well, that’s why I’m asking you now. I’m asking! Your hearing isn’t good, soldier!”
“I can hear, Comrade Captain!”
“I didn’t ask you anything just now! We’re reasoning. Tell me, where are your trousers?”
“What trousers now?”
“Never mind what trousers! Speak!”
Another soldier hurried into the office without knocking.
“As you were! Is that how you enter?”
The frightened young man, however, was short, almost dwarf-like, and understood little of the language and spoke it poorly. Like a wound-up toy, he began explaining himself, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Oh, Comrade Captain… I come. That soldier tell me… brother… he call me, and I come me — to you now.”
“As you were! You’re supposed to say: ‘Comrade Captain, Private So-and-so.’ Introduce yourself first. Then ask: ‘Permission to speak?’ Come on now, loud and clear. From the beginning. Say it. What are you staring at me for?”
“Oh, Comrade Captain. I come, to you…”
But when he realised he was about to repeat his mistake, he immediately grew solemn, looked the captain straight in the eye, and shouted:
“Comrade Captain! Private So-and-so!”
Noticing the officer’s peculiar expression, he repeated it much more quietly, just to be on the safe side:
“So-and-so?”
He smiled instinctively, looking into the distance.
To soften the captain’s heart.
By evening, everyone had fallen happily asleep, stinking out the entire dormitory.
The only man punished was the Senior Sergeant First Class, because an empty beer bottle had been found beneath his desk. It could not be proved that the man in question had consumed its contents, but the bottle certainly had no business being there.
In the end, Ćata, the company clerk, swallowed the punishment, staying overtime to sort out the sergeant’s untidy paperwork.
And he, of course, would have had nothing against swallowing a cold beer.
And so, the next day, nothing happened of all that will not happen.
Or of what had not already happened somewhere else.
And that was perfectly clear to everyone.