A Russian Gambol in Vegas : Music: The Red Army Chorus, whose touring variety show has mesmerized critics, gets in some R&R; at the gaming tables in Las Vegas.

“Bwystrey! Bwystrey!”

Viktor (The Briefcase) Kadinov grinned broadly as he hollered the Russian equivalent of “Faster! Faster!” at the flashing lights, whistles and up-tempo rendition of “Camptown Races” that took over inside the Coin Castle slot palace.

For an hour or so, Kadinov, financial administrator of the 175-member Red Army Chorus and dance ensemble, had been feeding quarters into the one-armed bandits in downtown Vegas’ Glitter Gulch. He wasn’t alone. Ensemble director Col. Anatoly Maltsev and artistic director Igor Agafonnikov and his wife were also dropping coins, cautiously at first and, then . . . bwystrey and bwystrey .

Kadinov never lets the Samsonite briefcase containing the box-office ledgers leave his sight. It stays with him in the hotel rooms, restaurants, buses, airliners . . . even in the casinos of Vegas. It was with him this particular evening too, a symbol perhaps of the deep-set suspicions that still lurk in the innermost reaches of the Soviet soul about deke zabeb (loosely translated as “crazy Westerners,” according to troupe publicist Steve Boulay).

Natasha Ivanova, the translator for the group, started off the evening as a kind of den mother/chaperon, resisting mightily the Pavlovian lure of the slots.

“No, no gambling,” she said sternly.

But, by 8 p.m. Sunday, a scant three hours after the troupe had arrived in sin city, Natasha Ivanova, Kadinov and six others in their group had been through $300 in quarters. After her second complimentary champagne cocktail of the evening, delivered in a plastic cup by the obligatory scantily clad waitress, Natasha allowed as how playing the slots could be “most enjoyable.”

There is irony, to be sure, in the musical arm of the Soviet Army spending a night in the frenzied neon heart of bourgeois Western capitalism. But if ever there were concrete proof that glasnost works, this was it. The Red Army Chorus, whose three-hour variety show and chorale has mesmerized critics at every stop along its 31-city North American tour, was demonstrating firsthand that blackjack, baccarat and Bolshevism can co-exist.

“Every time the lights come up like that, you get five times your jackpots,” Coin Castle floor manager Nancy Dahlke patiently explained to a pair of the show’s male dancers. She pointed at the flashing lights and the slots and held up five fingers as she repeated herself. The dancers nodded at each word, grinning without comprehension.

“I know they don’t understand a damn thing, but I gotta tell them anyway. House rules,” Dahlke said while they were both still within earshot.

Then the pair were off to the machines again, happily losing money as quickly as a Kansas City conventioneer.

The company might have gotten in a lot earlier on Sunday for its one-night stand of authentic American R&R;, but Viktor the Briefcase and others got hungry. En route from Bakersfield, where they spent Saturday night, they insisted on stopping at an all-you-can-eat breakfast joint in Barstow. One of the American tour coordinators suggested a few dozen barrels of Kentucky Fried Chicken as an alternative, so that the company could zip through the California desert a little faster and arrive in Vegas before dark.

But Kadinov wasn’t in the mood for more fast food. He had wised up to Western cuisine as the group rolled across the country in its bus caravan these last couple of weeks. To Kadinov’s delight, and the restaurant owner’s chagrin, the Barstow bistro advertised that it served an all-you-can-eat breakfast until 2 p.m. That’s how long the Red Army kept coming back for seconds.

All-you-can-eat cafes in Southern California should take notice. The chorus and its massive appetite will be in Los Angeles and San Diego through next Thursday.

Less than two months following its Sept. 12 debut on American soil at Manhattan’s City Center theater, the Red Army Chorus speaks enough English to tell its American guides “No more McDonald’s.” It isn’t that the golden archetype of American cuisine is totally unpalatable. It’s just that they survived on Big Macs throughout much of the first half of the tour. As they approached the halfway point in Los Angeles--where there are to be four performances at Shrine Auditorium, beginning at 8 tonight--fries, burgers and Cokes just didn’t do the trick anymore.

As the cliche goes, an army tends to travel on its stomach, and the Red Army is no exception. Started as a modest 12-soldier cultural ensemble in 1928, the original concept for the Red Army Chorus was to create an all-male group to perform at military ceremonies and entertain the troops. In time, it grew into an 80-man chorale of the best baritones and tenors among the entire Soviet Army, accompanied by an additional 100 Cossack dancers, ballerinas and an orchestra. For decades, they have been regularly dispatched outside the Soviet Union to give the rest of the world a taste of Soviet culture.

They have been virtually everywhere--except for the United States.

The chorus was scheduled to appear for the first time in the United States at the 1939 New York World’s Fair but wound up having to take a 50-year rain check because of World War II, the Cold War and years of saber-rattling on both sides. Finally, after years of Kirov and Bolshoi, the Red Army is finally taking its turn on the American stage.

The show it has delivered thus far to American audiences is loaded with Russian folk songs, burlesque and acrobatics, but also remains heavy on diplomacy: The opening number is “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the close is a rousing rendition of “God Bless America.” It doesn’t seem to matter that few, if any, of the privates, sergeants and colonels among the 80 singers understand the patriotic words any better than Nancy Dahlke’s admonition about Coin Castle slot pots.

“As long as they have a good time,” Dahlke said, handing out free bags of gourmet popcorn to the Soviets to get them to stay a little longer.

Kadinov nibbled a handful as the lights began flashing once more and “Camptown Races” blasted over the loudspeakers.

As head administrator, Kadinov has developed a somewhat parsimonious reputation among the soldiers, singers, musicians and dancers of the 61-year-old Soviet troupe. He watches every capitalist penny that the performers take in and has become something of a frugal role model for the small army of singing Soviet soldiers. If free drinks, free food or free anything are to be had, they rarely turn them down.

The bus caravan stopped at a gas station offering free coffee halfway between Minneapolis and Chicago, according to publicist Boulay. While most of the men were lining up for coffee, a few slipped off into a wooded area to gather up edible mushrooms. They lunched on mushrooms and coffee, all for free, Boulay recalled.

“They’re paid a per diem, but if they can just save it somehow and not have to buy food, they do,” said Boulay. What they save, they can spend on Western clothing or big-ticket items like cars or computers, he said.

But Kadinov seemed to have forgotten his self-discipline in Glitter Gulch. While he was dropping quarters and pulling handles hoping for cherries to come up on the payline, he held his ever-present briefcase tightly between his MacGregor tennis shoes. Otherwise, he was oblivious when a floor boss named Sheila shouted at him from a bank of slot machines on the opposite side of the Coin Castle.

“Hey, honey! Play the dollar slots! You get a bigger return!”

He looked at her and laughed a deep, musical laugh. He nodded at her with an expression that bespoke total understanding. He smiled an international grin, big and broad and excruciatingly happy. Then he turned back to his machine and, ignoring her, dropped in another quarter. His shoulders twitched in time to “Camptown Races.”