ready made things and the coming assault of the
Dudajev's Palace. The assault of the bank was in the mind as already made
thing. Many ones were joking that they will part the gold and dollars
hiddden in the basement.
Suddenly the tellible crash comes. As if the ceiling is dropping on
you. And now the men's wails. In a couple seconds one more explosion and
crashing. Nothing can be seen. The wall of the dust is hanging in the air.
And only the shouts and the groans of the injured ones. In the seiling,
where the left corner was situated, there was a void yawning. What has
happened? The rinning hangs in the ears. The Chechen wails are heard louder
and louder. Teh shooting is more hard. Somebody has caused the wall to fall.
May be some tankee has shot? That's scarcely. The shell could not creat such
thing. That means, the "dukhs" have sowd mines. They wanted to make a mass
grave for us. Have waited to let more of us to crowd in the room and made
the explosion. Such monsters, bastards, fucking bitches! They and their
perverted psychology have really got to me! I've come to the fallen corner.
Dust and smoke are penetrating into the lungs. Everybody's coughing.
All the stairwell has fallen. About ten men were under the heap. Many
ones were absolutely smashed. Teh heads, stomaches are broken. The insides
are smashed out. Many meters of the white-blue guts were being moved through
the dirt, dust following their owners, who were taken form under the ruins.
Someones have lost the extremities. The smashed hands, arms, feet with the
boots on were liing just near me. The alive ones were walking as the sleepy
ones because of the view's mpression, kicked the torn parts of their
friends. Some fighter was bound to the corpse and tried to make the fallen
out insides back. No success. As a dough insides went out. And he was tired
of it and took the knife and cut off the spare ones. He pressed the ends
into the broken body. When he had taken the hands off, they got dirty with a
blood, bile and with something slimy and mushy. The fighter had squeamishly
wiped up the hands with the jacket of the corpse. I was able to stop the
sickniss urges.
The injured ones were sitting near. They were being bandaged. The torn
off hands' stumps of two of them were being bandaged. The injured was being
smoking with the healthy hand and was being asking excitedly the others
around him: "Will they sew on my hand? Well, men, don't keep silent, really,
they'll sow it on?" The others around him turned away bashfully and kept
silent.
One got his leg being bandaged and tighten. He was unconscious. The
shiny white bone was being protruding and over it the black-red blood was
streaming out continuously. The leg was already tighten with tourniquets in
some places but the blood was being gushing unendly.
Someones were being shouting blood-curdling, others were being dirty
swearing. Someone spoke loudly something like a prayer. Three or four men,
all in the dust and unrecognizable, were shouting in their radio sets
disturbing esch other:
-- We're blocked up!
-- Have gotten the dead and injured!
-- Fuck you with your "twohundreds" - "threehundreds"! I've told --
dead and injured!
-- Don't know how many ours. There are all of 'em ours!
-- Don't know!
-- The docktors!
-- Immediately docktors!
-- We've the heavy ones! Cannot bring 'em with the hands!
-- Yes! Send the technique!
-- To beat off the "dukhs"?
It has passed not a minute from the moment of the explosion and almost
all the victims were already taken from under the ruins. There were some
more ones but it wsa impossible to take them without crane. There were
nobody alive under this terrible concret flag-stone.
Everybody realized that due to the "dukhs" on the roof and on the first
floor we can't become the technique to evacuate the injured and dead ones.
We must beat 'em out. And now the shouts were made:
-- Attack 'em!
-- Let's beat the bastards!
-- I'll cut off a hundred for this explosion!
-- Hurrah! Assault!
-- Forward!
-- Upwards!
There were niether commander nor commands. All were runnung to the only
stairsway leading to the first floor. There were the swears and wails heard
over there. What were the shouts of the "dukhs", it was unclear. The first
ones have started to shoot with the launchers uowards. The grenades' busrts
sound was waving through the rooms, painly whipping the ear membranes. The
others, due to the narrow way, had to stand waiting for the possibility. And
now the forward fighters and officeres have made one more launches' salvo
and steppt upwards. Step -- salvo, after that two more steps and again a
salvo. And now the're running shooting with the subguns forward. All others
are also running upwards. Jostling each other pushing the forwards with the
magazines, pushing out with the hands everybody was dashing on the second
floor. The remains of the second floor and a part if the roof. There were
more then six hundred men downwards, as i guess. I was afraid that the
stairs would not bear such a heavyness and falls down completely. It had not
fallen.
I'm running in the thick crowd. Am pushing the forward one badly with
the subgun. I'm also pushed. After that someone kicked me into the bottom to
force me forward. There were already the bursts of the grenades and subgund
upwards heard. Forward! Forward! Oh, god, why is this large bottom ahead me
moving so slowly?! Go ahead, you! Quicker, quicker! Aren't you, monster,
able to move your feet? Can keep myself hardly not to prick him with the
knife.
Now we've left the first stairs platform. Upwards. Upwards! There's
something mild under the feet. I look down -- the remains od a "dukh". At
least hundred men have steppt over 'em. The feet are sliding aside in
something slippery and sticky. I must not think that it was a man somewhen.
Forward! Upwards! Was it really a man? That was a "dukh". And that explains
everything! Do not start any discussions. Forward! This bottom ahead has got
to me so much! Go quicker! Can't you? Push the on before you. You're making
it badly. Force him surely! Bastards' traibe! All the "dukhs" will be killed
when we come.
The spite, the furious are catching my throut. Am listening to nobody.
Everybody's talking only about the quiqest reaching upper floor. The spite
against the thick bottom, that can not move ahead quicker, the spite about
the idiot, who pushes me into my back always. Can't he see that I am not
able to go fast due to some fat guy. I know that i'm not a slimy, but if you
could look at this one before me, then i would be a walking-stick.
Now we can see a the roof. The tempo is accelerating. Everbody's
running through the stairs overload with the rubbish. The feet seem almost
to break away so that i could fall. Fuck You! I will not fall. I've set the
teeth and bend the body. Forward! Am forcing onto the roof, running on the
right. There are the fighters liing and aren't able to beat off some "dukhs"
staying on the second floor. The first floor has remained almsot all intact,
but the second floor has remained as only one corner. And the roof has
remained almost all. It is as a portico hanging over us on the seven meters
height. The "dukhs" are partly hidden partly on the remained corner of the
second floor. And partly they are have climbed on the roof. All of them were
higher then we were and sparing no bullets and grenades sent them at us. The
killed and injured ours were already pulled back. Hier a body of the "dukh"
has droppt from upwards. It was not touched, only kicked with the feet
further as a disturbing thing.
The positions of "dukhs" and our ones were practically the same
invulnerable for both the enemies. We were sending the lead our enemy the
best of us but there was no any sense. All my nature strived for
retribution. I've come to the fighters:
-- Who has explosive?
-- Don't know.
-- Who has explosive?! - I shouted trying to overtake the combat nois.
They have brought about 50 gramm of plastit. Too little. Icalled for
the rado operator of our brigade:
-- Call for ours, say that they bring us about kilogram of plastit and
electro-fuses. Got it?
-- Got it. - the fightrer noddid his head and happily bered his teeth.
-- Don't dry the teeth, call!
-- Yes, sir!
The spite was still inside, demanded some exit. I saw in the mind the
picture with the smashed bodies. I've cast up my subgun and made up a burst
with all my heart. We had to force them a bit back, they didn't let us to
sow the explosive. I've explained the next ones shortly my plan. They have
understood and we started shooting at the "dukhs". Have tried to throw the
grenades and to hollow 'em with the launchers and "flys". It seemed to be
effective. They've steppt back, rolled back. Gold may be easily told!
And at once our brigade miner have come. They've brought the large
piece of the yellow plastit and the fuses with the wire. We'll have fun now!
- Men! Make, plese, not too much, not to ruin all the building with us!
-- Don't worry!
-- There's not much hier. We'll pich up the "dukhs" now as the apples
under the tree.
-- Let's fry these cattle!
-- It's pity that we've no flame gun!
-- Once more, men, let's force the "dukhs" back!
-- Come on! Fire!
And everybody started shooting the sitting on the higher floor "dukhs"
in the furious tempo. The bullets were bouncing, going upwards. The hand
grenade, thrown upwards, hit and came off back. It droppt on the square.
Nobody of ours was injured.
-- What are you doing, fucking bonehead?
-- It was not on a purpose!
-- Fuck you, on a purpose or not. Almost wrecked me. Idiot!
-- Take the grenade for the launcher, hit it to the heel and then
throw.
-- Won't it explode in the hand?
-- Don't worry, try it!
That one tried. Was able to make it. The others also began to shoot
"their" "dukhs" using our idea and forcing them further back. Our miners
were working quickly. They have tied with the wide black electrical tape the
blocks of the eplosive to the remained columns, stuck the fuses in, for
every one more spare for any case, and ran back. And the moment has come.
The Judgement Day has come. Pray your Allah, bastard tribe. The miner has
fixed the ends of the wires in his "infernal machine" and started to roll
the handle. And after that he pushed quickly the small black button.
The deqfening explosion resounded and the brick laying has fallen down.
We could hear the short absolutely horrible human shouts when the explosion
resounded. Under these bricks the "dukhs" have found their death. So must it
be. Eye for eye! There were the "dukhs" in the remains of the roof. The
miners worked also about it. And now they've draged their "machine" to that
corner.
-- Won't the roof fall?
-- Don't know.
-- Let's get far away
The commands were heard and the crown flooded back and let the corner
be clear. Teh miners have also steppt away. Again they have rolled quickly
the handle, pushed the button and explosion crashed out. Now the roof bended
and was falling not on the first floor but on the street. Teh "dukhs" were
the first ones dropping from the roof and after them the roof fell, having
covered them. The heit of the dropping was about twelwe meters and the
concrete ceilings were over it also... That's good, i have even not come to
the edge to look it. But the people have come.
-- Can't see anything!
-- Now the dust will subside.
-- Don't shoot, it's enough a hanging dust.
-- And what if there is somebody alive?
-- Are you out of your wits? So high...
-- And abotu ten tons over. No, scarcely.
-- Look, the same as downstairs the ours were covered.
-- Aha, nad the guts are the same rolled out. They had not to explode
the ceiling over us, then they would die as the men.
-- TfuiA dog's death for a dog!
-- Let's go!
-- Let's go to part the money!
-- Everybody gets the equal part!
-- Keep dreaming! Equal! He-he!
-- All who have taken this shitty bank, become the prize.
-- But nobody else!
-- Fuck 'em! Let 'em go feet first!
-- Downstairs! In the basement! Quickly! Everybody has a hard breathing
feeling the possibility to be reach. It's strangeful bit the ones, who have
stayed down, did not go to look and to rob the basements. Although there
were about fifty people with the injured ones. They were staying shooting
down. And downstairs in the basements it was dark as in the soul of the
siiner. We made of the jackets left by the dead and injured something like
the flares, dipped them into the diesel fuel of the come infantry combat
vehicle and started the fire.
On the stairs leading in the dungeon the disfigured with the tortures
corpses of our soldiers and offisers were liing. Of the ones who injured or
shell-shocked were captured by the "dukhs" during the first assault. Many
ones had in the open mouthes packs of the money. Some ones had the stomaches
cut and instead the insides there were the money. Much money. But the money
were old. These ones were changed in Russia in the year 93, but in the free
Ichkeria they were in the use up to our entrance. It was clever of you,
bastards. The people, population teh funny money were given, the money which
had no any meaning anywhere but in this chitty hole, and you got dollars for
the oil, weapons, narcotics. Fucking bastards. Although they acted according
to the principle of the unforgetable kommunist party. When our "wooden"
roubles would nowhere but in the Soviet Union accepted. I'm not sure that
they would be now somewhere accepted.
Everybody got at ones the gold fever off. The corpses were brought away
on the street. Teh paratroopers and strange "makhra" have gone to their
units. We've stayed at the place, went into the basements.
The basements of the State bank of the independent Republik Ichkeria
were situated under all the building. At one place the basement was of "two
floors". Lighting up our way with the selfmade flares we went down. We were
going slowly. The "dukhs" could have left any surprize for us, any meanness.
They are able. Man can see everywhere the traces of the hasty fleeing. The
left broken drawers, boxes, where from the money of the year 1991 model were
halfspilled. The empty and the fulfilled bill collector's bags. The forward
going shouted happily and started rummaging in a box. Everybody has come to
him. The packs of the dollars, re-tied with the paper and elastic bands were
sticking out of two partly torn boxes. In the dull unsure light of the
flares these two boxes seemed something as an unbelievable fortune. Dollars,
dollars! This is comfort life, thiare the apartaments, the cars, the good
university for the children. Dollars, dollars!
Instantly it was crowdy near the boxes. Jostling each other sverybody
has come running to these boxes and started seizing on. They took on, two
packs. Pulled out the banknotes, tried to watch them exactly in the bad
light the clear space, worked them up, pressed and smeled them. Dollars!
That's why the one should be on the war! This is as s prize for every born
thing. The prize was deserved. And we need niether any rewards nor medals.
Hier is our reward. Everybody was excited. Hier oer heward! Everybody was
excites. But now one fo the soldierd shouted:
-- Men, but they stain!
-- Coo? What a fantasy!
-- Indeed, stain! My fingers are green!
-- You have 'em for real dirty!
-- You've dirty! Spit at the banknote and rub it!
-- Really stain! Phew, heh..
-- Good gravy! So, I've open my mouth too wide. I thought that now
there is a fortune and I'll live as a man. Fack! Phew! Facking chechens
could have left a couple boxes aith the real bucks!
-- Monsters!
-- What shall we do with it?
-- I know, we'll use it in WC.
-- Bottom will be green.
-- So, we'll burn 'em. Bugger 'em!
-- But may be we can something make with 'em? - some timid voice
resounded in the darkness.
-- Yes, you can, but for five years in prison.
-- So, well, burning?
-- Let's make it, homy, burning!
-- Let's check, may be there are some real bucks?
-- Let's check!
And we've begun to tear the boxes, to break the packs, to touch, to
slabber the banknotes.
The only thing, that we did not make, was to lick them. If it were of
some sense, then we would bite them as it was made earlier to check. The
checked fals packs flew in the common pile. And now this pile of fals
dollars started with the flare to burn slowly. Slowly, with the fumes and
crackle, spreading the stench of the burniing papier and paints, the pile
cought wit fire. There was no one real dollar in these boxs.
It was strangeful really, only seven-ten years ago i trained myself for
the war against the country, where at the dollars are the national currency,
and now I'm ready to get them joyfully. So, what for do I fight hier? For
some dollars? For the idea? For the Motherland? Do not know. But it's a real
fact that we've lost the third world war. We've lost it without any combats.
We were won with the help of exact this dollar. It is our God, our Main
Commander, and due to it this war has started. And no any tank could us
help, they can cover the area equal the territory of may be all France. The
rockets with the nuclear heads did not help us also. Our governors are
trying to move just this dollar abroad. And this means that Russia, the
great, the mighty, the indivisible one is of no sense for them. Having got
their part of the "greeny" they are ready to leave. Their kinder are being
also taught abroad, ant we drop on the earth in this cold, damp with the
shooting and wind everywhere Chechnya! What for, my Lord! What for?
While looking at the burning down pack of the false dollars as if at
the burning down our hopes the fighters brought the six sacks with the
fifty-thousand banknotes. And again with the hope but now already without
any former zeal we have started to watch them. But unfortunately even by the
first look we could see that the paper, used o print these false notes,
could bear no any control-check. I had a feeling that the "dukhs" were not
able to find any paper but this wrapper to make this money. And again the
next portion of our hopes and expectations comes into the fire. The fire
flares up and the fire is burning bright and shiny.
-- Look, the ours are burning better then the bucks!
-- But they are "wooden"!
-- Exactly, wooden!
-- Ok, let's go ahead.
-- Let's go and see why ours have bombed down the local Ministry of
finance and what a hell was about the bombing of the State bank.
-- Don't you understand? To burn the documents about the machinations.
-- Have you seen any document in this building?
-- No. Only the clear blanks.
-- That's why. The "dukhs" have taken off all the documents, i'm not
sure if they were able to make such a joke about the Minfin, but i guess
they will further long blackmail our governors. And we'll as the dogs beat
the "dukhs" off everywhere only to find these documents.
-- It seems to be so. And what should we do?
-- And who lives now good?
-- What is this?
-- Money. What did you want to find in the State bank?
-- Sure. Money. But the old money. The ones of the ninety first year
emission. What shall we do with them?
-- What?! Let's gather and use to bake the ovens. We must further sleep
in this building. So, we'll warm ourselves near the fire made of the
millions! Have you ever warmed yourselves near the fire made of the
millions?
-- No.
-- And me too. So, we'll warm ourselves!
-- I'd like it.
-- Of course!
All the present liked this idea. We carried the sacks with the invalid
money to the exit. Now everybody will be not the real but the sham
millionaires. We could let us to warm ourselves near the fire of the burning
money. By the way the one can dream, get away from the realities.
And realities were the next ones: during the assault of the State bank
we've lost about fifty men. The killed ones, the injured and missed ones.
Together with the first assault of "Minutka", with the unfortunate
transition and taking of the bank it gave a figure of about three hundred
men. A very expansive price. Many unclear things. The place of the new
commander was unknown, he had left off us. Many fighters were missed and
nobody tried to search for them. There were no forces, no means. The furious
tiredness covered us. There were no wishes. There was one wish - to eat and
to fall asleep.
If the meal was brought for us, then the second question was a
difficulty. The battallion of the food provision sent us the meal ration of
NATO. It was a kind of a cardboard rectangular box. There were the soldered
tins with the meal inside, the largest one - with the meat and vegetables,
the next one - with a kind of jelly, chocolate, soluble coffee, the tablets
to disinfect the water, the hygienic napkins, the chewing tablets. They were
of double function. On one side they served for the cleaning of the mouth
cavity after the meal, on the other side there was a kind of the caffeine in
them and when the one was tired, fatigue they were refreshing and
reinforcing.
We've began to warn the tinned meat with the vegetables on the fire
made of the money and the furniture fragments. It turned that it could be
eaten also not warmed. The meat was not fat. The vegetables were tasty. We
concluded that our injured fighter would not be able to open the tin of meat
and would die because of the hunger. There were the fighters and the
officers of the battalion of the material provision turning about us.
-- Where from have you got such a luxury, men?
-- It was sent to Russia as a humane assistence. It is from the
Germans. The remains of the "humanitarka" were sent to you.
-- Our enemeys are fed good!
-- No doubts!
-- Better not to talk about that.
-- Yes. Have the rearsoldiers brought any spirit?
-- There is a bit. About fifty gramm per head.
-- A bit really. They could have given for the State bank some more.
-- Wait a bit, tomorrow we're going on the fucking palace, and you'll
drink a bit more.
-- What's the news, by the way?
-- Nothing new. Ours are running hier and there. That's all.
-- Must again something take.
-- And you'd like something other on the war?
-- I'm sick of it!
-- You can hang yourself.
-- Fuck you.
-- Fuck you!
In four hours after the taking of the State bank the euphoria of the
victory was changed to be the deep tiredness. We could see from the
building's roof as our troops tried to force to the Palace, but the massive
fireing made them again to step back. The troops were sent to assault again
and again with the dull stubbornness of the doomed ones, but every time they
steppt back from the covered with the smoke building leaving on the square
the killed ones. Everybody was aware of the fact that tomorrow we will also
in the same way go forward under the mighty shooting. The aircrafts were
flying somewhere high in the sky shooting sometimes eith the guns to the
building. Not numerous tanks tried the best of them but it was no result. My
throat was dry because of the view: the uselessness and futility of the
assault attemts. The wish to become deep drunk has come. Annoyance,
indignation against the senseless butchery changed to be the deep tiredness.
It was everything indifferently. And even the fact that just near to us
under the ruins our comrads are liing brought already no any emotions up.
Everything was absolutly indifferent. "To hell with it!" - that mind about
the events was prevailing. The thoughts were rolling in the head as the
heavy large stiones. Yura had come. His inflamed eyes and tired appearance
proved that it was not good with him. He set near me. To say correctly, he
did not set, he fell down, his back partly coming down by the wall.
- How are you? - i've asked him.
-- I don't give a damn. - he waved the hand tiredly.
-- Have you a drink?
-- A bit. Let's jolt the rearguys.
-- Have no power. It would be better that they bring us a drink, so
could it be. I haven't any idea...
-- What are the men making now in the cellar?
-- Are pillaging the shelvings with the old money. Would you like also
some?
-- What for?
-- And i say the same. For the baking, for the playing cards -- we'll
find something ourselves.
-- What make we tomorrow? - I've asked getting a light.
-- Have no demned idea. I'm somehow tired in the last time.
-- We're old, Yurka, alreadt for these games. It's absolutly
indifferent now for me. The one can come and take me only with the hands.
It's all the same at all.
-- The same about me. Shall we sleep?
-- Of course. But where?
-- Let's go to the cellar, it's cold hier. It will be cold in the night
and the draughts will bother us.
-- Ok. let's go.
We had rose slowly, lazy, dragged ourselves smoking meanwhile. When we
were near the stairs leading to the cellar, we could meet the rearguys and
the signallers carriing the fulfilled sacks of the money.
-- Why do you need this rubbish, men?
-- We'll use it somehow! - answered us someone cheerfully.
-- They will use everything, - commented i tiredly and started to go
down into the cellar, holding on the wall.
-- The battlefield after the battle is in the competence of the
pillagers, - answered Yura philosophicaly.
He was already not seen in the darkness and only the light of his
cigarette showed the lacation. There were the flares lighting ahead.
-- Let's go to the light. We'll set there.
-- Yes, they'll have pillaged enough and get away.
-- They have no time. They need ten lorries to take the money.
-- I can't understand what for do they carry this rubbish themselves?
It would be better to organiz a couple of cranes and to take the men form
under the ruins.
-- Aha, don't be so naive. These bastards will never do that!
-- There is an old military anecdote about that thems. The two ones --
Ivan-fighter and Abraham-rearguy -- are meeting after the war. Ivan has a
lot of injures, dragging himself on foot, but Abraham is halting on the
splendid car near him. Ivan says, where from has you, Abrasha, so splendid
"wheelbarrow"? And Abaraham answers -- do not envy, i have been enviing you
all the war that you have your tank.
-- Yes, these ones will later on TV talk as they fought just
first-class. Fucking militamnts. Phew!
-- You should only see, they can manage it so good. The ones are
raking, the others are carriing to the exit, the third ones are bringing to
the lorries. Hard workers!
-- Fuck 'em.
-- Yes, fuck 'em.
-- Let's go and find the dry and the silent corner and sleep.
-- Let's do that. But we'd better to inform that bastards' tribe that
they arouse us when there wil be something to eat and to drink.
-- Hey, pillagers! We'll be sleeping hier. You must awake us when the
food comes! See?
-- See. Ok. - was the answer of the "money manpower", packing the next
sack with the banknotes.
-- Look, it's tough to sleep, - we were fidgetting triing to squeeze us
on the concrete cellar floor. Cold, tough, uncosy.
-- Let's gather the sacks and sleep on 'em.
-- A good idea. Let's go, - we came to the shelvings and started to
grab silently the fulfilled with the money sacks.
-- Are you demnd crasy? - the men were nervose.
-- Who has told? - Yura and me were looking at these nonentity
scoundrels as two experienced hungery tired wolves were looking at the
sheeps' herd, daring to bleat something.
The rats! The very real rats. The oblique set flares made the uneven
ghosts and the dirty face features of all of them were distorted. The pause
hanged in the air. The matte was really that for Yura and me it was
absolutly indifferent. We, namely we, were the ones who were running risks
with our hindquarters a couple hours ago knocking the "dukhs" out. And
looking now at these fresh made splended guys a felt not them to be the
humans, to be my brothers-Slavs, to be my regimentmates, to be "makhra".
They were even lower then the "dukhs'" level. Those ones fought and died for
some idea at least. For the mythical independence, for the illusory freedom,
even let it be the freedom to follow the criminal lifestyle. These ones, the
bitches' tribe, staying now before us, they even were not fighting, they
were present at the war. I could see no any reason to let them alive. There
was no any inducing motive to avoid the shooting at them. We needed only the
occasion. A tiny occasion to catch the subgun hanging on the shoulder with
the barrel down, to release the safety device and to send the magazine in
this swines' herd. My hands were even trembling when i imagined this sweet
oicture. The silence was hanging in the air. Evidently feeling our
superiority and the circumstance, that their subguns were standing near the
wall -- the subguns were of course disturbing their resultative work -- they
were keeping silance. The couple of them had the holsters with the pistols.
Heh, dupes! As he is convulsively with the trembling hands break the
fastenings, I can five times to shoot him. We had taken two more sacks and
went slowly into the darkness. I was going and listening whether someone
says any filth in our backs. But they were keeping quiet. Pity! I feel hurt.
The rats! Pfew!
Chapter 15
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(c) Copyright 2011 translation by Oleg Abramov
Date: Jul 2011
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In some time i noticed about me that comparing the "dukhs" with these
nobodies -- pillagers -- i started to respect the "dukhs". I hate them
sometimes and sometimes i respect them. Yeah, i can beome ma by this way!
Meanwhile we had silently come to the nice corner and begun to settle
down. We've drop the sacks with the oney. Some of them as the mattresses,
some of them a sthe pillows. Having nestled us todether up we put the other
sacks over us. The smell of the money was going from them. The smell of the
paint, of the sweat, of the fat, of the oil and of something more else.
-- You know, Yura, it's indifferent for me at all now to know how much
money have i under my back.
-- The same about me. Good night! But wait a second. I'll unlace the
boots. Would you also?
-- I've already made that. Don't disturb my sleeping. Good night. How
do you think will these pillagers make some filth against us?
-- But they're cowards. The worst thing from their side can be only a
whispering in the corneres. And they can also "forget" to wake us up for
thegetting the food. That's all, we can sleep.
-- Ring off for the communication troops.
-- So, one more day is over, - started Yura an old military joke.
-- Forget that damned day, - finished I.
And we've fallen asleep. I fell asleep somehow inctantly, without
turning, have only closed the eyes and was sleeping. There were no any
dreams. No war, no combat, only the darkness. I've opened the eyes because
somebody was shaking my shoulder. Again darkness. There ia a combat going on
somewhere. Being sleepy i could not realize at once where am I, and
inctantly i've cought the subgun. And now the voic from the darkness:
-- Quiet, quiet. Ours. You asked to awake you for the dinner.
-- Yura! - I have jostled Yurka in the flank unceremoniously. - Let's
go to eat.
-- What eat? We've just started to sleep.
-- What time is it now?
-- It's already one o'clock p. m. The dinner is already hier.
-- Hey, fighter, are you crazy? What a dinner. We've eaten recently.
-- No, you've slept 24 hours.
-- Twenty four?
-- Yes. I had twice come to wake you up, but you did not wake up. I've
reported. I've thought that your were dead. The doctor had come and looked
at you. Had told that you were sleeeping.
-- You're telling lie! What a doctor?
-- I don't know his name. Looks to be not a Rosenbaum.
-- Certainly, Eugeny.
-- Ok. let's go to dinner.
We followed by touch the fighter. Was it possible indeed to contrive
twenty four hours sleeping? It was somehow unbelievable but the stomach
hunger cramps prooved the truth. An interesting cinema! But may be it's
drawn game? On the exit form the cellar the bright light sharply beat at the
eyes. The combat din was growing. There were the soldiers and officers
sitting on the ground floor of the bank and eating. They greeted us
joyfully:
-- Hello, sleeping kingdom!
-- You are able to sleep well, men!
-- You can oversleep all the war.
And now we realized that we had slept really all the twenty four hours.
We've coem to ensign, who was giving out the NATO-portions, took for us and
went aside.
-- So, what do you think, Slava?
-- What can i think, we have overslept, that's so. The nerves are at
the border, we're at the border. It's good that we were not forgotten at
all. In this case we could have been counted as the lost ones, as the missed
ones, that's all.
-- That could have been really, - accepted Yura. - They are so ones.
-- And where is San Snaych? - i asked the officer from the battalion of
communicatoins.
-- San Sanych will be in an hour. We were sent to assist the assaulting
ones but we've sent 'em far away. Have no commander. No headquarters chef,
without 'em we can not go assaulting.
-- That's also correct, - I've nodded. - And is there any news about
the new commaner?
-- He was a couple times on the radioset contact. Told us that could
not force through, the "dukhs" were too active in the city. The troops were
not let to the square direction.
-- It means that we're surrounded.
-- Surrounded, - accepted the officer.
-- We're not surrounded, we're in the anus, - summarized Yura.
-- Yura, we've been being there since the beginning of the military
college.
-- That's truth, - nodded Yura.
-- What else do they tell about the assault?
-- We're going assaulting. There were no yet any attacks from our side.
From the other three sides there were already the attaempts but they have
last the teeth and steppt back. The recons have already checked the
building, we've a gloomy situation. The "dukhs" have set in the windows
ourd, the dead and the injured ones. Many oones are still alive, are
attached to the windows' frames. The "dukhs" use 'em to hide behind.
-- I see. "Alive" shield. Bastards. - Yurka was changing angry.
-- That means no any "tank merry-go-round" can be used.
-- What "merry-go-round". Only to attack. And they, swines, prematures,
will slaughter ours.
-- They will not slaughter 'em, they are as the guarantee for 'em. The
last insurance.
-- We'll see. When is assault, what do they say?
-- We're going as soon as San Sanych comes. Khankala has already killed
all the nerves with the orders to go on the Palace. At first we had refused
'em and now we don't answer 'em.
-- Correct. We're waiting for the lord to be judjed.
-- And is the territory shot through?
-- Everything is as on the plate. The technique can not be sent.
Hundred fifty meters of the square, the open area.
-- Phew! Shit.
-- We'll lay down the men again.
-- We'll spit the blood, we'll spit.
-- Are the men taken from under the flag-stone?
-- No. Nobody tried.
-- How many men are there under it?
-- We've defined. There should be two fightera from the first
battalion.
-- Listen to me, yesterday the pillagers from the battalion of
communications and from the rear were carriing the money. Where are these
sacks with the treasures?
-- They are in the rear. It was hier a real funny thing. Meanwhile we
were breaking hier our navels and taking the State bank, these militants
were smashing the private garages. They were shooting, bursting the cars.
They have gathered as many spare details for their personal cars, as the the
mushrooms in the forest. And Kulebiakins, the father and the son have made a
real trick. They have taken a mink fur coat from one woman, so she was
running following the APC through three blocks. She was asking to give it
back.
-- Have they given back?
-- No, of corse.
-- Phew! Fucking militants. To fight against the woman!
-- By the war some ones fail the health, but the other ones bail the
wealth.
-- They have also gathered the hunting guns. Not so many carabins but
about twenty guns.
-- How will they register them?
-- No fucking idea. They're planning something.
-- The rats are the rats even in Africa.
-- We could let them before us when we go on the Palace, and we'll be
the block detachment. And as in the year forty first -- no any step back.
We'll se as they are tossing and turning betweenn the two fires.
-- You're dreamer. They will be rather the block detachment behind our
backs.
-- Yes Motherland knows her heros.
-- Man, have you something to drink?
-- Spirit.
-- Entertain.
-- Hold, - he sent us a flask with spirit. Approximately full of it, a
heavy flask.
-- Not bad. I'll look for the mugs and water.
Yura went and brought three glasses and some water. We poured the
spirit in and diluted it with the water. The water was muddy. We decided to
wait when the mud subsides but it ws senseless. Eh, the eyes do not see, the
stomach does not suffer. We clinked the galasses and drank. The sand
squeaked on the teeth. The taste was as if the rotten thing was mixed with
the spirit. But nevertheless it was warm in the stomach. All'right. We'd
poured the second drink. The same effect. Nonsense. The red eyes do not
become the yellow ones. The most terrible possible result of it can be only
some diarrhoea. We poured some spirit in our flasks. Have gathered the
cartriges and filled into our half-empty magazines. We took also the
grenades for the launcher and the hand ones. My "cherish" one were liing in
my pocket. Such a peculiar talisman. Lord, let me not to use it! The roaring
of the engine and the clang of the caterpillars on the asphalt were heard.
Somebody had come.
The boots tramp and the familiar voice resounded. San Sanych
accomponied by the officers appiared. There was almost nothing of his
foppish view. The undercollar was black as if it was used to brash the
shoes. As everybody he was smoked through, not shaved. All the face was
covered with the small cuts and the scratches. It seemed to be injured by
the small stonies and the glass fragments. The uniform was torn in many
places. It ws seen that he had a hard time also.
The officers of the headquarter and of the brigade administration
followed him. Everybody greeted each other. The brigade is still alive.
There was also Serega Kazartsev among the arrived ones. He came to us. We
embraced us.
-- Hey, men!
-- Hello, Sereja, hello, dear.
-- How are you there?
-- Bullshit, full bullshit.
-- They say, Khankala sends us to assault the Palace. And we don't
hurry up.
-- We've scarcely forced through from this fuckin Khankaa. "Dukhs" make
everywhere the ambushes. Almost all the ways to the square are cut off.
There are as lot of the "dukhs", as slash in the autumn. They don't let us
to the square and we don't let 'em also. A flaky cake, in a word.
-- What are the news about the commander?
-- The new one or the old one?
-- About both of 'em.
-- About the old one is the only news that he's in Moscow, in hospital
by name of Burdenko, there were two operations. Say, Ok. Phew, phew, phew.
Not to put the evel eye on. And about the new one the news is that he was on
Khankala and after that was lost. Was on the radio a couple times. That's
all. Nd what's about you?
-- No news. Have taken this fucking Sstate bank. There were no money.
No gold. The currency was false. But there was much money of the old
emission. Paper. The rearguys and the signalers have pillaged and brought
somewhere.
-- What for was this rubbish?
-- No demned answer, Sereja, what for was this rubbish.
-- The pillagers have thier own psychology. The normal humans can not
understand.
-- Rats
-- We told the same thigs. Yura and me had laid us yesterday to sleep.
And were sleeping twenty four hours.
-- No problem, men, you had the hard work. Are the losses large?
-- Fucking large. There are still two guys liing under the flag-stone.
Nobody knows when can we 'em take off.
-- Yeah, we've only the remains of the brigade. Without the
paratroopers and "makhra" we would stay hier for ever.
-- Now we're going to help 'em.
-- We've got the order from Khankala to go on assaulting. And how can
we go through the square?
-- There are still our fighters staying in the windows. Some of 'em
alive, some of 'em dead. The tanks and artillery can not be used, and no
aircrafts. So it will be the toil for us. That's not good. Absolutely not
good!
-- And can they take it without us?
-- They tried it. As in the First World war -- racing hier and there
and they steppt back.
-- Now it our turn to race. What will be the remain of our brigade?
-- Nobody has demned interest.
-- Exaclty. Nobody but we has any troubles.
-- Have you seen Pashka?
-- I have. He's alive, parasite. Is sitting by the rearguys. I told
that he should drink no cognac and no vodka and should not eat our
portionen. He had not to touch the cigarettes also. I've brought the
cigarttes for you by the way. Not many but something.
-- Thanks, dear. What's more spoken in Khankala?
-- Moscow is pressing 'em to take the Palace as soon as possible.
Dudaev is announced to be a criminal. It's allowed to take him not alive.
-- They want to hide their business. The accomplises should be dead.
-- Quarreling, simple quarreling.
-- Will they help us?
-- No. No real plan. Manage that thing at once. Connect to the next
units, mean the situation. Our general was almost fighting against Rolin.
They were able to part 'em at the last moment. Otherwise there could have
been a battle.
-- Crazy hous.
-- I would bet on our general. He is higher, the arms are longer, the
weight is heavyer.
-- Look, we're invited to the consulting.
-- Let's go.
All the officers around were collected. The ones were staying, the
others sitting on the boxes, the others were settled on the floor. Someones
were sitting on the sacks with the money. We, three of us, were staying.
Wanted not into the first ranks. Everything was already clear earlier yet.
Now they will contact the next units and we'll go forward. The best they can
make -- to set the smokes. And if they make it not, we'll have to gnaw
asphalt nd lose the men. There are already not many of us.
-- Well, men, - San Sanych had startedd, - the bank is oures, well
done! It cost much our blood. We've left there many our good fellows. We're
demanded also to help in taking of the Palace. Palace of the Government.
We're given no plan as usual. There's the only order -- forward! We've no
reserves. I've ordered that the rearmen and the signallers gave us the men
and we're going forward. Now we connect to the side units, arrange the
moment of the offensive beginning and are to go. If there is good wind,
we'll set the smoke veil. If there's no good wind, the God will help us.
Have you the questions?
The officers started to ask the questions. Yurka, Serega and me had no
questions. But the only one -- how can we use the tanks and APC?
-- Comrad colonel, what about the tanks and APCs? - somebody was
quicker then me.
-- Allowed to use according to the opportunities. Everybody knows that
there are our fighters, officers, chained to the windows' frames. We'd like
to rescue them. At least would not be guilty at their death.
I na word the desision to attack was made. To attack in spite of
anything. Everything was the same as usual. Toi execute the order and to
survive if possible. The order is for the Motherland, party and government,
to survive is for ourselves. My God, I'm so tired! But to relax must not a
man. If although anyone could explain me, convince me that this war is
necessary, that i'm defending my familly. Or that there were the guarantees
that on the case of my death my son, my wife will become enough guaranteed
provision. That the son has guaratee to get the higher education, the wife
will be engaged. And up to their lives end they will become the good
pension. And now I know that they have guarantee to get the beggarly
existence. Nobody will help them and they will have to turn. On one sie to
measure my hatred and the wish to execute the order, to cconfirming to your
familly not to die because of the hunger becoming the beggarly benefit on
the lose of the bread-winner. And it was no illusion about the hard work
going on. The situation was complicate also because the "tank
merry-go-round" was not possible. I'm depressed deeply. Am depressed and am
longing. Am not afraid, but namely am longing. I can understand that i can't
get off from this hell work, i wish to save the men, not to lose my head, in
a word, to get the pleasure and to be innocent. I wish i could be drunken up
to the green snot!May be the same feeling had Jesus, when was being
announced about his fate. He was being at least awaited by the
high-magisterial daddy, and we're awaited by nobody there. Although the one
cannot die twice and if the one has no destiny to die in this swiny combat,
then anyway the one will get his lead portion in his mortal body. Forgive
me, Lord, if i have hurt You anyhow by my reasoning! You should understand
me: the fear, the spite, the offence, the longing. So, help me.
Yurka, serega and me have gone aside to smoke. Have gone up to look at
the square, where through we should now jump as the injured ape. Hundred
fifty meters of the flat, clear, perfectly shot through space. The asphalt
of the square was dug up by the craters of the bombs and shells. To hide in
them was impossible. They are shot through perfectly from the Palace. So
that means we'll make it not. The only hope is the speed. The ones can of
course to take attantion and the others would attack, but as it is spoken
this tactics is not for thi situation. The "dukhs" are now already trained
to wage. And they are thinking the same, unfortunately.
Such a distance can be crossed by five-six men secretly. But when about
four hundred men are running and stamping, only the blind one will not
notice it. And a man can not hide or shelter in the craters. That's not
good, not good.
Some of the fighters will not run, will be afraid, and that means the
one should to pull them out with the kicks. By the way, i've no armoured
jacket. I should to search the one. I've asked Serega:
-- Politmate, have you to take care about the staff?
-- What do you want, scoundrel? - Serega pricked up his ears.
-- You know, I need an armoured jacket! Where can i get it?
-- The fools are fortunate. There was one on the floor of the APC, by
which we were going.
-- I guess, it had holes?
-- I've not checked. Let it be with the holes, that's not absolutely
nothing.
-- We'll keep together?
-- We have to.
-- You, Serega, makes always the promises that you will be together,
but at the ast moment you're bsent.
-- That happens somehow.
-- Aha, somehow. You step side probably.
-- I?! Step aside?!
-- But who then? - we started to anger Serega. A good fellow and in
spite of the age difference we took him as an our friend.
-- But i... - Sergey started to rage. - can you remember the
"Severniy"?!
-- We can remember, Sergey, of course. We're joking. Don't cockwork.
-- We're joking, Serega, Let's better looke for the "armory". Or I'll
attack again "naked", don't want that. Although it does not rescue but it
warms somehow the soul and it will protect against the incidental splinters.
-- It will protect against the splinters, but hardly against the direct
bullet.
-- I know, we've tested it so many times. Per five-seven plates the
only one can repulse, the others are crashed.
And in this manner, discussing the pluses of some armoured jackets
against the others, we had come to the three APCs, y which San sanych and
his team have come. Serega knocked with the barrel of the subgun at the
armour. A head of the fighter appiared. His crumpled physiognomy prooved
that he had been sleeping.
-- You'll oversleep all the God Kingdom, warrior! - greeted him
Sserega. - There was the armoured jacket liing in the landing force section,
i put it on the armour under the hindquarters. Whose is it?
-- Nobody's, - the fighter started to wake up.
- Give it to capitain. He wants not to go "naked" on the Palace.
-- Just a moment, - the fighter jumpt on the earth, opened the landing
section and having rummaged a bit took from the darkness the jacket.
-- It was dirty, greasy, burnt through in some places, with the brown
patches like the ones from the blood. But as i saw it was intact.
-- Where from is it? - i asked the soldier.
-- We carried the injured one during the assault of the "Severniy",
that was his one.
-- Where at was he injured?
-- At the head. The patches are from that injure. But it's intact.
Dirty, yeah, but intact. I used it myself a couple times. I've lost my one
somewhere. So i used it untill i was able to find the cevlar one, - the
fighter showd us the cevlar armoured jacket proudly. That looked to be
import one.
-- Where from?
-- Trophy.
-- Well done! - we were watching, admired, at the fine light thing.
-- Have you got something in it?
-- Only splinters.
-- And how was it?
-- Ok, it bears 'em.
-- And the bullets?
-- The god let no one at me.
-- They say the ribs would be broken.
-- Shall we change?
-- No. The thing is trophy. I've got it personnaly.
-- Well done. Thanks for this one, - I started to set the "armoury" to
my jacket, Serega and Yura were assisting me.
I could not order the fighter to give me his trophy. I could not also
simply take it away. It was his thing. He ran his life risks to get it.
That's his proud. The object to be silently wished by the friends. And I
will not be impudent. That has no sense.
I've put the armoured jacket on. It set down good. It did not protrude,
did not hang down, did not hinder while going, did not inhibit the motions.
We began to smoke again. It's strangeful, there was only some building of
the State bank between us and the Palace, but it seemed to be the distance
of more then a thousand kilometers.
-- Do you know what's the name for us at Khankala? - asked Sergey.
-- For whom concretly?
-- For us all. The whole grouping.
-- What?
-- The angels-destroyers. A kind of printing stamp to make the divine
halo for our devilish mission.
-- We should be better named the idiots-kamikadzes.
-- Sure.
-- That's said good.
-- Do the fighters still fly by the catapults?
-- They do. There are still enough idiots. They sit in the aeroplane,
pull the lever of the catapult, the powder accelerators are atarting. And
that's all. Someone was too cuuning, tried to pull the lever having not set
in the chair. The arm was torn off.
-- We've already heard all these stories many times, was there anything
new?
-- No. I've heard nothing about the new things.
-- Look, they're waving to us.
-- Do they want to attack? And why you, the headquarter's officers do
not participate in the wirking out of the operation?
-- What an operation, Sergey?
-- That's only suiside.
-- No planning. As in the Civil war. Forward and that's all. That is
all the operation. The one should not graduate from the academy for such
thing. As Gaidar. To capture as many enemies asa possible. And to force 'em
under the ice. Haven't you read the book of Soloukhin "The saulty lake"?
-- No.
-- I recommend you. Read about the grandfather of our nowadays
vice-prime forced his enemies under the ice. If you get not crazy, then
that's Ok. That would mean that you have already become crazy.
-- I guess that after such hell-fire, if we can get out, then i can be
not amased at all and not frighten at all.
-- You're right probably. Let's go and listen to.
-- Let's go.
-- Look, there's a red flag set up by somebody on the roof of the State
bank, - wundered I, there was a red width flapping there.
-- But haven't you seen?
-- No. We've explained you that we'd slept all the twenty four hours.
-- You're strong, men.
-- Sure! The flag is just as the one on the Reichstag.
-- Yes.
-- I'm interested why didn't they take the Russian flag?
-- First, we've no one. Secondly, the nowadays Russian flag in the
eyes, in the mind of the fighters is still not blowd by the great military
victories, thierdly, the laddies, brought up in the childhood on the heroism
of The Great Ptriotic War, want to touch the victories of their
grandfathers. They fought however under the red banner.
-- You're right. The communist ideas are not the reasons.
-- Ok, let's go and listen what shall we do.
-- No good thing, have no gramm of any doubts abut that.
-- You're right as always. Let's go.
We'd entered the building again. There were the officers around San
Sanych, he explained them something. The sense of the attack was the same.
The side units, having been already beaten, offered us to act first to take
attantion on us. And after that they go on. San Sanych told them that will
not be so. He offered them the next idea:
-- The sense is that in an hour we start the attacking. Everybody, no
exclusions, are going. All the ones who can fight. All the rearmen, miners,
signallers, repaires, the tank crews. I'll go personally. If we stay
there... - San Sanych kept silent a bit, - then no any signallers, no any
rearmen will be necessary. Just as in the song of the communists: "That's
our last and decisive combat..." Have you the questions?
- How shall we go -- billow, one torrent?
-- Yes, to reak the forces is of no sense. We've to little forces.
-- May be in the night?
-- Then they make the lighting rockets and it will be worse for us,
they will be in the darkness.
-- And the smokes?
-- Now the wind goes into our face. If it changes, we'll try to do
that. And now it's of no sense. And remember, please, that there are in the
windows our guys.
-- That's bad. Otherwise we could ruin the "duhs" with their building,
but we must now to be careful!
-- They will die anyway! - someone of the young platoon's commander
shouted. The usual thing -- hysterics before the combat.
-- And were you in their situation, what would it be? - asked Serega.
-- I would shoot myself.
-- Aha, with the chained hands. You're hero. Would you be able to live
after that realizing the death of the fellows were due to you?
-- Well, you'll quarrel in the other place, - San Sanych stoppt the
discussion. - There is about one hour for the preparing, after that forward.
Everybody can have the free time.
We dispersed to the corners of the building, somebody went on the roof
to look once more on the square, through which we'll have to race in an
hour. Somebody got a hysterics, he had psychosis, was being nerved, the
others started to wright convulsively the letters to home. They sweared in
love to the wives and odered the children to be good in these letters. Who
knows may be this letter will come with the one who had written it. In a
complex.
Many ones discussed rapidly where and which unit will go. Nobody wanted
to go himself with his men through the craters of the bombs and shells,
these one could not shelter from the shooting of the "dukhs". Finally we
decided to lot the fate. The matches have decided who goes to the real death
and who becomes the deferment. The chance and the God have steered these
matches. The fate. "Kysmet" (?). Everybody gets his own destiny.
Neither me, nor Yurka had any mood to discuss, to wright the letters.
We wanted simple to order the thoughts, to abate. To rest morally. May be to
drink about fifty gramm but when we remembered the disgusting taste of the
watered spirit, the wish disappeared. And reaction can let down as well as
the stomach also. Yura and me went out in the street, laid on the stones and
were silently smoking watching the clouds. How devilish little need a man to
be happy. The normal family, the work, this sky, the nature. A man should
not race following the illusory good fortune of the bank notes. There are
only the problems due to them. And sometimes to watch this eternal nature.
If you comes to a prison, phew, phew, phew, due to soem idiot or due to the
money, then you'll be deprived of this beauty this happiness during some
time. But if you're killed in some hours, minutes. Meters, you will be
deprived forever of this pleasure to watch the nature. You'll change to be a
pert of the nature.
The clouds were sailing in the blue winter sky, were majesticly
bringing their splendid bodies to the North. To Russia. To the Motherland.
And a thousand years ago they were flying the same splendid forward, and in
one thousand years they will be flying the same. And nobody will remember.
The interesting was that I was not feeling sorry for myself, i was feeling
sorry for the thing that i had not made so many things. Although on the
other side I have made my small sign on the earth. I've executed my mission
partly. The mainist was my son. My son. My continuer of the kin, of the
surname. The only thing was to bring him up as a human. But that can come
true due to the will of the only God. Even if I die, my son will be not
ashamed for his father. He would have died but was not a coward. He did not
make off. Save him, God, and me too by the opportunity.
A fighter ran out from the building and shouted that we should be
ready. We went to the subdivisions. We've already decided to go with the
remains of the second battalion. If they had taken us from that hell-fire,
then we would go together further. The first battalion was settled down on
the right side. The headquarter's cheif, Vania Il'in waved me with the hand.
I nswered him back.
-- Slava, come to us!
-- No, Ivan, the horses are not ot be changed on the ford.
-- As you like it. Good luck!
-- Thanks. Good luck to you also!
The nearer the square comes, the quicker flows the blood, that's
already hot. I've taken off the gloves, put them under the armoured jacket.
Checked the subgun. Released the safty device, sent the cartridge into the
cartridge load. Checked whether the "lucky" grenade on the place is. Had
crossed myself watching into the sky. The clouds were on the place and were
the same continuing their slow voyage. It's hot. I'd moved the black
underhelmet onto the headback. The blood was raging in my body. There was
the smack of the blood in the mouth. Adrenalin had started its game again.
Now the main thing was that our father-commanders would not overkeep us
hier, otherwise adrenalin would burn all the energy and we would be as the
squeezed out lemons. We know that, we've experienced that. And now the order
"555" came at the radio set.
Assault. Assault. Assault. Go on, rabid dogs, go on! And we went on. We
rushed out from the State bank's shelter. There are hundred fifty meters of
the square now just before us. Everything is as on the plate. A man can not
find a shelter, can not hide. Only forward. The "dukhs" started shooting
almost at once. The first seconds it was slack, but after some moments
become thick, got the might and strong. Having run not yet even fifteen
meters, we had to start somersaulting, rolling, the moving on with the short
crossings. Many ones were being disturbing each other by this movings. We
clashed, dropt on the earth, sweared each other.
By the irony of the fate namely the second battalion had to run through
the senter of the square, just through the plot where the most of the
grooves and craters were situated and which was being shot through.
We can see almost nothing, the sweaat flows over the eyes, corrodes
them. Rolling, one more rolling. Step far aside from the fountains raising
the dust near the head. The face breaks into the stones, into the slash. Not
a problem at all. Instinctively want to get into the crater. Is not allowed.
The holes from the bullets say that they have shot them good. The bag with
the grenades for the launcher disturbs. Is dangaling. While rolling breaks
into asphalt and stones. Hopefully the grenades will not explode and tear me
in the peaces. It would be not about me only, some more men could have
accompony me by this case. I'll be more accurate.
Apparently i have rolled enough far away. Panting I started to choose
the aims for shooting.
I did not notice from the State bank, but having run, rolled about
seventy meters, I was able to see clearly, that in the windows of the Palace
there were ours standing, hanging, being tied, nailed to the frames. Ours.
Russians. Slavs.The dead ones were disdressed and their yellow bodies were
hanging. The arms were upwards, the knees were bended. Some ones were on the
window-sill so that the impression came, that they were sitting and making
the mute prayer on the knees, holding the arms upwards to the sky. The
others were hanging as if in the air, the third ones had their legs hanging
from the window-sill inside or outside. The hands were being nailed or tied
and did not let the bodies to fall down.
Many ones were being still alive. Were crying, weeping. Someones were
crying that they should be killed to stop their torments. The others on the
contrary were entreating to rescue them. The "dukhs", hiding behind the
bodies fo the alive and of the dead ones, were shooting at us. The rare ones
had no shelter of the russian soldier or officer. I realized suddenly and
with the horror that i was not able to shoot. Was not sure that i hit no one
of the ours. The dead or alive one. WAS NOT ABLE!
The snipera were shielded behind the bodies of our brothers. They did
not almost hide theselves. Their optical sights were blinking in the sun. It
was impossible to smash these swines with the laucher. Nothing could have
been done! Nothing!
Only forward, forward under the stormy shooting and there close to beat
off the scoundrels. The Germans, the fascists during the assault on Berlin
were not able to imagine the taking of the captives from the concentration
camps and the setting them as the alive shield before themselves. But these
ones...
They were alive, worn out, beaten up, with the cracked on the wind and
frost dirty swellt up faces -- they were crying. Someones were simple
mooing. The other ones opened the mouth with a mute shouting. All this
provoked the bouquet of the contradictory feelings. There was a lump rolling
up in my throat. I wished i could sob full loudly as in the childhood
without shame for the tears. To weep because of the pity to the ones who
were suffering now innocently and because of the realizing that I could not
assist them plainly. What for, Lord, what for? What for do they get such
sufferings? All of them were the putils just some monthes ago. One-two years
ago they sat at the school table, wrote the notes for the girls, smoked
secretly in some corners. They are not guilty!
Lord, why don't You punish the ones who had sent them to die so
brutally? Why? Answer me! What is their fault? Is it only the fact that they
were unfortunately born in Russia?
Instead of the racing forward now when there was no shooting at me I
let my subgun down on my arm and started straining the eyes to watch the
faces and bodies of the ones who were the alive shields for the "dukhs".
Many ones seemed me to be acquainted, I didn't know their names and
origin but i saw them in the subdivisions of the brigade. Because of the
straining or because of the other reason the tears were dropping from my
eyes, it was difficult to breath. The lump was standing in my throat, it was
stuffy, i tore off my underhelmet. On the second floor of the Palace there
was a fighter who was liing near me under the bullets during the first
assault. He was disdressed over the waist, dead, the legs were hanging out
and the hands were nailed to the frames. As if somebody had thrown him out
from the window but he was able to catch the window block with the last
effort. There was something balck aside him on the right. It was a face of
"dukh".
18
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(c) Copyright 2001 translation by Oleg Petrov, siberiaforever[a]hotmail.com
Editor: Dan Ray
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"Hey, easy, you sadistic moron! That hurts!"
"Sure, and that's the good news."
"Easy, you bastard, you can tear it off!"
"Not to worry, I will sew it back."
He checked each of my ears twice with a metal pipe, and then inspected
the insides of my mouth and nose. Now what, Papa Doc?
"The eardrums are OK, just some inflammation."
"Say it again in Russian, and louder, please."
"You will survive."
"What about hearing?"
"That will recover later. I'll give you some eardrops. Stay away from
cold. And-take care of yourself."
"They keep you really busy here, don't they?"
"You bet! It has been slow for a while, but all through the night and
morning we were getting so many wounded we almost panicked. A lot of
shrapnel wounds, broken bones, stomach wounds...Many died right in the hands
of paramedics, some on their way here. Overall, thirty men did not make it."
"Oh, shit!"
"Yeah, this sucks."
"Do you have enough supplies?"
"Well, we got enough for now, but my colleagues from other units are
completely out of medications. The Ministry of Emergencies has some, but
they won't share their stock with us or Interior Ministry troops. They say
their supplies are for the local civilians."
"What a bunch of dickheads! They would rather let their own kin die!"
"Sorry, Slava, but I got work to do. Come see me, if you have any
problems."
"I'd rather have you visiting me."
"I'm too busy, and if I get a break, I just drop dead asleep. I have no
time even to take a shot of vodka, only the cigarettes keep me going. The
dukhi will keep us busy tonight for sure, so I need to get ready for that.
What about you? A couple of days rest in the hospital won't hurt you."
"Forget it. Remember our talk?"
"You mean, the life and death stuff?"
"Yes. If it comes to that, you will help me."
"You're such a bloody fool, Slava."
"Look, I feel really dumb right now because I'm deaf, but I guess that
won't last for too long, and I'll get back in shape soon. But...if some day
you find me passed out here, will you please make sure that I won't regain
my consciousness back, OK?"
"No way and I don't even want to talk about that." Zhenya rubbed his
eyes that were -- red from fatigue and constant lack of sleep. "I will go
now. I really have too much work to do. And you need some rest. You guys
won't take that shithouse tonight anyway. I am also tired of shouting into
your ear at the top of my lungs. Take a good nap. Good luck to you, and here
are your eardrops."
He took a plastic batch of some tablets out of his pocket and held it
out to me.
"What's that?"
"This will take care of fatigue and stimulate your cardiovascular
system. It's sort of like doping. They used to give this to athletes, like
marathon runners. This will keep you awake and you will stay cool when the
shit hits the fan. I even take this stuff myself sometimes. But do not take
too many of them at once. Hey, take these vitamins too. Some vitamin C,
don't forget to take it."
"Thanks, Zhenya."
"Good luck!"
"Good luck to you too!"
When he left, I felt how tired I was. The fatigue hit me hard. Part of
the hard, dangerous job was done, but there was too much to be done yet, and
the end was nowhere to be seen. Only in the movies is everyone bright-eyed
and bushy-tailed in between the fighting, where they take every chance to
start dancing.
Well, maybe that's what it used to be, but now it looks very different.
Everyone is just dead tired. It gets you when you keep fighting non-stop for
too long. Your emotions, senses, even instincts are silenced, your reaction
gets too slow. And that is bad for you. When your instincts become numb, you
are dead. You will stick your head out in the wrong moment, or become
negligent with your weapons. So, you better forget your feelings. On one
hand, your numbed emotions won't let you go crazy, on the other hand, you
need to keep your reaction fast and your senses sharp. For that you need
some relaxation and rest. Vodka can relax you, and slumber is the best
possible rest. Killing a couple of dukhi is also an excellent way of
relaxing, and will relieve your stress completely. Those who have hand
grenades or other explosives at hand, but no dukhi around, can use a loud
explosion for the recovery. I used to do that too, it helps. But a couple of
dukhi would work much better. The chopper pilots, as I've been told, have
dropped some dukhi down over enemy's territory, with an awesome
psychological effect. The dukhi got their will paralyzed, and the chopper
pilots got some stress relief in turn. I won't bet that this was for real,
but I liked the idea. I heard this tale even before the troops entered
Grozny; of how 2-3 dukhi were taken up into the skies in a chopper. One of
them knew some important stuff, but, being an idiot or just a tough SOB,
won't talk. And for some obscure reason torture was out of question. So,
they put some psychological pressure on him, by throwing his friends out of
the chopper. He saw that, and when they kicked him to the door, he started
talking. Here, everything goes.
That is why I felt so tired, not depressed, just tired. I took a couple
of vitamin tablets and put the unknown stimulant into my pocket. I got the
whole night ahead of me to experiment with those. I took a good look at
myself: I was as dirty, as a pig. My overcoat and pants were covered with
mud, clay, and blood, and got torn and holed in several spots. My boots were
also covered with mud. I sighed. Luckily, major Zemtzov, my mentor in the
Academy, could not see me in such poor condition! When it came to uniforms,
he was a perfectionist, and tried to bring us up the same way. Any given
moment might look as the most brutal time of your life ever, but when you
look back later, things that you took for hardship earlier can only make you
laugh. It would actually be fun to recall your high school problems later,
when you become a college student or an Academy cadet. Likewise, it would be
fun to tell your kids of your hardships at the exams in the Academy. Also,
you will laugh with your friends at a party at how being in charge of a
platoon for the first time was really a big deal for you. After you had lost
some hair and your face got all wrinkled, you would recall just how shy you
used to be when it came to dating girls; how excited you were when getting
ready for your first date, and romantic stuff like that. Yeah, if only that
young cadet Slava Mironov had my experience! Now, when I meet a girl younger
than myself, I do not get as excited as I used to. I am getting old, I
guess, my blood is getting colder. This idea made me grin. Some dating right
now sure would be fun. Hey, how about Christmas, did it already pass? What
date is it today, anyway? Maybe, I should go and ask someone. Oh well, just
forget about it. Who cares? Let's forget that my birthday is coming up in
January, thinking of it won't do me any good. All I need to do is to fulfill
my duty and survive. That's it. The rest, including those who remained on
the Big Land, can go to hell. Me and my boys, we don't give a shit about
you, just like you don't give a shit about us. But we will be back!
I looked around. Everyone seemed tired and moved slowly, their faces
dull, with sharp, pointed features; their deep-fallen eyes turned into red,
like those of albinos. All signs of corpulence in these folks were gone by
now. That's a great diet, I thought. If anyone is interested in loosing some
weight, just come here and success is guaranteed.
Previously, anticipation of a fight would have caused some excitement;
now everyone was just plain tired. If we must fight, so be it and to hell
with all that. Your nerves must have learned the trick of self-preservation
by avoiding unnecessary waste of any emotional energy before the event
itself comes. But when it comes, the adrenalin will start rushing and I will
get my reaction back. The human organism is a pretty smart device...
Yuri showed up, looking jumpy.
"So, what's new?
"Have you seen the Doc?"
"Cut the crap, will you? I have asked you a question."
"Well, I've been to the HQ. No good news. They are under lots of
pressure from Hankala. Our neighbors shat their pants, so we will bear the
brunt. That's it."
"That will be our last and decisive battle, right?"
"Sure. You don't seem to be interested, are you?"
"That's not the right word, Yuri. I don't give a fuck. Whatever."
"You are just depressed."
"I am calm. I am so absolutely calm. I did not feel that peaceful for
God knows how long. I'm totally cool, and nothing else matters anymore. No
regrets, no remorse. No fear, nor vigilance, no other feelings. Everything
looks parallel."
"You look as if you made some kind of decision. You don't have any
suicidal ideas, I hope? Like, assaulting a machine-gun nest with your own
body?"
"No, I am just mortally tired of this madness. So, let them decide
anything they want. I will go anywhere, except for the hospital. I will just
stay here, the way I am, just doing my job."
"Hey, you did not lose your appetite for life, did you?"
"Don't worry about that. I'm fine. When do they plan to attack, at
night?"
"No, they changed the plan, as usual. We are to begin in two hours. The
neighbors will start, and we will join them in 20 minutes."
"I wish there were 2 hours instead.
"Oh, sure. Unlike the elite troops, Siberian makhra never complain. We
just keep on fighting till we die, as usual."
"Stop talking like that. We are just fine, your highness! You better
help me."
"Like what?"
"I need a first aid kit and body armor, if you can find any. If not,
that's OK too."
"I'll see what I can do. Take it easy!"
"I'm fine. I repeat: I am just cool, you moron. That's all."
He left and came back in about 20 minutes, carrying brand new body
armor.
"Where did you get that?"
"They just got some in Battalion 3, and that's their gift. Zhenya
Ivanov asked me to give you the eardrops. He said that's his last batch.
Take it, and here is the first aid kit, too."
"Thanks, Yuri. What am I going to do without you?"
"Nothing. You would just spend the night with no body armor, that's
all."
"Right. Can you help me adjusting it? Careful, my ear hurts."
"What's the big deal? You are deaf anyway, right?"
"Doesn't matter, it still hurts."
"Patience, I'm loosening the belts."
"This shit is so heavy. I've spent a half day without body armor, and I
felt like flying."
"Get down to Earth. San Sanytch wants you to stay at the HQ during the
assault."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Yeah, he knows about your ears."
"Was it you who told him?"
"No. The whole brigade already knows that you brought a dead soldier
back. The same thing happened in Battalion 1, and their platoon leader had
just gone mad. That's why San Sanytch and Sergei Kazartsev are worried about
your mental health. You better stay, Slava. One just can't go into night
fighting in a state of mind like yours."
"Back off, I'm fine. I'm just cool. I feel really good. Never felt this
good before. Well, maybe that's my reaction to the night before. But I want
to go and I will go into this night fighting. And to hell with the orders, I
don't need any sympathy. So, guys, I do respect you and I love you, but you
can go and screw yourselves."
And even saying that, I was calm as a python. No emotion, just a sober
mind.
We spent the rest of the break shooting alcohol, trying to stay low on
snacks. Yuri was tired of shouting into my ears, so he did not talk much.
And I did not want to turn the evening into a one-actor performance. I had
no intention of pushing the fragile piece of my soul off balance by talking
too much.
So, time passed in silence. I was neither thinking, nor dreaming or
recollecting, I just kept my eye on what was going on around me. I picked up
some ammo, filled my canteen with water, and off I went.
This time we went along with the remains of the 1[st]
Battalion. Sergei Kazartzev was walking next to us. The neighbors attacked
first and engaged with the enemy, but the dukhi were not dumb and they were
waiting for us. Ten minutes after the fighting started we had received
Budalov's order to attack.
The dukhi opened up with tremendous fire. Some of the 2[nd]
Battalion troops could not hold on and turned back, searching for cover near
the State Bank building. For a moment, it seemed the whole Brigade was going
to retreat. But something stopped folks from turning their backs on the
enemy. The troops hesitated, but they did not run back this time.
Running made me sweat, but I stayed calm and collected. I tried to stay
away from corpses and to avoid the point where I had stayed the night
before. My body armor remained there, as was the corpse of that private who
rushed to help me out. It still lay there in the same pose. I just caught
this picture with the corner of my eye, but I had no intention of going
through all that again. I could not resurrect him, but I will remember him
until I die.
The Brigade charged ahead like an avalanche. The dukhi were under
attack from all sides. Ahead, charge ahead! Soon we were under the walls of
the Palace. The dukhi blew up the entrance into the Palace, so it was not
easy to get inside. They were shooting at us from above. Our tanks, hiding
behind the Gosbank building, began firing at their nests in the Palace. The
dukhi returned the fire, shooting back at the Gosbank area. A large piece of
the Gosbank wall collapsed, and some soldiers, who could not hold the
enemy's fire and have turned back in the first minutes of the battle, were
now crouching behind the fallen wall, terrified. They were shooting
chaotically at the Palace, and that attracted more and more of the dukhi's
fire. At that moment, Sergei Kazartzev did what later had became the subject
of many discussions in the Brigade. He rushed toward them and, with kicks
and curses, he managed to rise them up and lead them toward the Palace. It
was sheer madness.
We were just stunned by his courage, and tried to cover him with fire.
But for the dukhi this was just like sports hunting. They were shooting at
him first, then at his group when they charged forward. My heart sank when I
watched this mad racing. I did not breath, all my feelings were with these
guys. Even when I was not looking their way and was shooting up at the
dukhi, I could sense with the back of my head where they were at the moment.
I tried to distract the enemy's attention by keeping up firing, and only
when I changed the mag I glanced at the running men. They seemed close
enough, but still had a lot of space to cover. I could not shoot a bomb up
into the dukhi's nest because it was way too steep. So we just kept shooting
long bursts at them, trying to distract their attention or draw them away
from the windows. And the dukhi also began shooting wildly with long bursts
at the square. Run faster, guys! Faster! Just fucking run! I know you can
make it! Come on, Sergei!
The Gods must have been on our side that night. The guys had made it
safely through the wall of bullets and joined us successfully. They just
could not believe their luck and looked around themselves in dizziness. They
shouted something and we patted them on their shoulders, saying some words
of encouragement. But Sergei, of course, was the real hero. From now on, we
would respect him in a new way. He was rather short and skinny, and I was
always skeptical of the abilities of political officers, but occasionally
you could come across a worthy officer even among their big crowd. He was
sweating, his warm breath clouding, and he drank the whole canteen of water
that somebody gave him. Everyone was trying to greet him. Earlier, in Soviet
times, he would get a Star of a Hero for that, but now only the soldier's
mothers could appreciate his courage. He would never hear them, though. So,
pray, you mothers, for Sergei Kazartzev, a man with a big soul. Wish him
good health.
Meanwhile, the dukhi started putting pressure on us, dropping down some
hand grenades. That did not cause us any damage and we managed to shoot down
a couple of dukhi. One went down with a scream. Others, already dead, fell
down silently. The grunts did not bother to search their dead bodies. Step
by step, we moved on, shooting up at the dukhi above. My neck and shoulders
became stiff from looking up and the gun smoke was getting into my eyes and
lungs. It would be great to stop, bend down and cough this crap out. So, I
had to breath slowly, through my nose. OK, we had reached the walls of the
Palace.
The first group climbed the wall and got inside. I screamed to overcome
my fear, as I tried to jump up the wall. A window nearby was blocked with
sandbags. The bags were made of heavy-duty glossy paper and were packed
densely with sand and soil. My fingers slid on those sandbags, unable to cut
through the surface. My body armor and the AK were pulling me down with
their weight. So I stuck to those sandbags, like snot on a mirror, listening
to the battle raging inside. I felt I could not hold on. In a second I would
have fallen down, but anger at my own clumsiness gave me some extra strength
and I managed to climb up a little. I found an opening between the bags,
with some dirt and some traces of recent shooting. This must have been a
good machine gun nest over here.
When I felt I could hold on, I shifted my AK forward to my chest and
peered inside. I was lucky to spot a small group of the enemy from behind.
Four of the dukhi with their backs turned toward me were shooting at the
grunts that were inside the building.
Almost without aiming, I gave a long burst at their backs. Two of them
fell down, howling; the other two ran away. I saw some grunts bursting into
the room and cried for help. They dragged me in and we ran. No words were
said between us.
The hall at the first floor was rather typical for a large
administrative building. The ceiling was high and numerous columns and
niches provided the defenders with many opportunities to hide, to set up an
ambush or booby-trap the place. Darkness did not help us either. The air was
dense with smoke and dust. I felt how the gunk that accumulated in my lungs
was trying to get out of there.
Surprisingly enough, I was still calm, despite the adrenaline rush that
I just had. My mind was clear and worked like a calculator.
The dukhi were fighting for every inch of the hall, and we kept pushing
them out. We kept shooting, aiming at muzzle flairs, at noises, or simply
intuitively. Some furious gunfire erupted to my left, followed by a
tremendous explosion. Just as it happened before, my hearing had somewhat
improved after the concussion. It was great to hear all the sounds of battle
again. I felt rage and a wild desire to live. My tranquility and numbness
were gone. Charge ahead and kill them all!
The blast had opened a breach in the wall and in rushed our neighbors,
who were also makhra, judging by their uniforms. They were eager to join us.
Some of the dukhi, who made it to the upper floor, were now trying to throw
down hand grenades, but most of the enemy were cut off and cornered in the
end of the hall. They were fighting vigorously, but we were too strong for
them. We kept firing our grenade launchers, and the small fragments from the
bombs killed everything in the closed space.
More troops came in. Siberian makhra, Volga area makhra, some
paratroopers, and even some Interior Ministry troops were all mixed now.
Naturally, there was no one in command and no plan. There was just an
overwhelming desire to destroy the enemy, to dump these jackals down from
the Palace's roof. Charge ahead!
I was out of breath again. Nobody listened to anyone anymore. Shooting
at the enemy, everyone was shouting something of their own, like names of
those friends who were killed in action, pressing the trigger with every
name. We were right in the enemy's den! We lost too many of our comrades on
the damned Square. We cried when we saw our comrades hanged in the windows
of this building. Though now, at the turn of the century, there is a general
cry for kindness and forgiveness in our world, there will be no mercy for
you, dukhi! For using our boys as human shields, death to you all! The
Judgment Day has come!
I kept shooting, excited by the battle again. I put a long burst into
the shadow that jerked ahead of me. I was shouting something, too, like
everybody else, but I don't remember, what. So that is our Reichstag, at
last! We have finally done it! I will remember this moment for the rest of
my life.
Somebody pat me on the shoulder. Whoa, this is it's Yuri! He was also
very excited, his eyes shining with joy. We smile to each other: we are
alive, and if we had survived all that, we will live forever. I tried to
tell him, that I got my hearing back, but the noise was just too terrible.
We moved on together.
Part of our ragtag force went down into the basement. There was no
shooting down there, so the basement must have been clean. In our direction,
it was also clear, and all the surviving dukhi were pushed upstairs. I had
no intention of going upstairs at the moment. It was getting really dark
now. The grunts were throwing some bloodied rags out through the windows. We
did not want to spend the night here with whatever was left of the first
floor defenders.
There was some excitement at the basement entrance, and I saw a group
of makhra with burning torches carrying out corpses of our soldiers from the
basement. Some were carried on improvised stretchers, some were just carried
on hands. Some bodies were still dressed in uniforms, and some were naked.
Many bodies were mutilated and clearly had signs of torture. Many corpses
had their throats slashed, which was a typical style of execution by the
dukhi. Some had eyes poked out, fingers crashed into the bloody mess, and
two corpses had their feet cut off. We screamed in anger. From now on, there
will be no mercy for the enemy!
In that same basement, where the world-known blabber Korolev had spent
some time with his team, our soldiers were tortured to death. They were his
countrymen, his kin. So, what right did he have to talk about our "cruelty"
and " civilian abuse"? He is the same kind of pervert as everyone who
defended this building!
We kept watching, in silence now. Those who had their helmets or wool
caps on, took them off, and watched in great sorrow. Dear friends, forgive
us, for we were too late and failed to rescue you.
They kept carrying the bodies out. No one kept count, but there were no
less than 50. When the sad line stretched outside the building, the dukhi
opened fire. Someone screamed, as only a wounded can scream.
We were suddenly overwhelmed with a thirst for revenge. Forward, and
up!
Nobody gave an order, but we rushed toward the two stairways to the
second floor. The dukhi tried to stop us with a hail of bullets, but we
overpowered them with our grenade launchers. This time we fought in silence.
There were no victorious shouts and that sheer delight of battle we felt
earlier was gone. Only one feeling was left, Revenge! They cannot be left
alive.
Step by step, we moved upstairs. Dead militants were lying on the
steps. We walked right over them. These were not human beings any more, just
some stuff under the feet. All attention was concentrated on aiming. I step
on something soft; it's a militant's corpse. My foot sinks in some soft and
disgusting stuff. Without looking down, I kick it away. The visibility is
very poor, only the wind blows through the shattered windows. It is too dark
to see the enemy. Now the game of who's going to lose his nerve first
begins. Whoever makes the first shot will reveal his position and die. None
of us smoked or talked, we just kept walking very carefully. One of the
grunts picked up an empty can and threw it ahead. At once, three bursts of
automatic fire erupted from different sites. We locked onto those muzzle
flashes and fired back. Those of us who used the other stairway opened up
too. There were more flashes in front of us. We just kept spraying the
second floor with long bursts of fire. Bullets ricocheted from the columns
with terrible noise. It was too dangerous to stay where we were, so we
dispersed.
I shot from kneeling a position, then dodged forward, rolled over and
shot again, then rushed ahead. It was hard to breathe; I was sweating like a
pig again. My feet slipped on broken glass and spent cases. But to stop
meant to die, so we kept moving on. I could hear the steps of the soldiers
behind my back. The open area of the first floor was easier to take. Here
there were plenty of offices, there were pillars and doorways in the
corridor. Inch by inch, cutting the dukhi away from the exits and elevator
shafts we kept moving inside. We reached the office area and began mopping
up cleaning it: one or two hand grenades were thrown inside, then a spray of
gunfire. Most of the doors were gone, so we did not have to kick through the
doors down. Someone screamed to the left of me and cursed loudly in Russian.
I figured, the guy was wounded by the fragments of his own hand grenade. I
could tell from the noise that he was taken downstairs. The dukhi were also
throwing grenades and shooting bombs. More and more often the fallen
soldiers were carried away. Some would become "Cargo 200", and some would
become "Cargo 300"...
But that was not on my mind then: ahead, charge ahead! Again, I had the
salty taste of blood in my mouth; again, adrenaline rushed in my veins. Fear
and excitement are the feelings that motivate men in the battle. When these
two feelings mix, an explosive is formed that can blast with a tremendous
amount of energy.
We got to another office. A couple of hand grenades were thrown in and
we took cover behind the pillars. As two explosions thunder inside the
office, we heard more explosions echoing in the far end of the corridor. We
jumped through the doorway and sprayed the inside of the office with
bullets. Looks like no one was inside. We turn our backs and at once a burst
of fire comes from the inside. Luckily, no one gets hurt. We throw grenades
again, shoot bombs and the AK's. Altogether, about six bombs explode inside,
one by one. We keep shooting the automatics and move inside slowly, stumping
on a corpse of a militant, badly torn by explosions. It's too dark to
inspect the body and we just check his pockets. When we get out of the
office again, we find that the rest of our group had gone far ahead. The
corridor is dark; only some muzzle flashes and grenade explosions, so
deafening when inside the building, light the darkness. Slowly, everything
quiets down. The second floor is taken!
I can feel my sympathy for the militants vanishing with every action. I
felt some remorse initially, that we had come here as conquerors, and I was
tortured by guilt of being an occupant, maybe even a murderer. Now, I do not
give a shit. This is all just about revenge, and nothing else. Everything is
just black and white. We are the good guys, they are the bad guys.
Gradually, the delight of the battle is fading away, and I felt tired and
drowsy. The soldiers around me were chatting in excitement, interrupting
each other, telling the most remembered moments of the fight. Two soldiers
came from the first floor. I figured, one of them had a shoulder wound. The
medics kept operating heavily wounded in the basement.
The soldiers pulled some cotton out from their padded coats to make
improvised torches. A sympathetic crowd gathered at once. The wounded
soldier took his coat off, and we saw that his shoulder was messed up.
Someone gave him a canteen with vodka, or maybe alcohol, and he took a good
drink of it. Then they began cleaning his wound. The wounded clutched a
leather belt between his teeth. And just bit it harder with every touch,
that made his body shiver. He wiped sweat and drops of saliva rolling down
his chin with the back of his hand. Others kept talking, trying to distract
him from pain. Someone offered him a shot of painkiller, but he refused.
His friend was working with his bayonet, and a stiletto, widening the
wound, trying to get to the fragment. When he finally cleared his way to the
piece of metal, he attached the sheath to the bayonet, the way it is
normally done to turn the bayonet into scissors to cut the barbed wire. Only
this time the device would be used as forceps. We already knew that the
fragment must be pulled out quickly, or the patient could lose his
conciousness, or even die from pain shock. The war had turned us into fairly
good medics. Such skills are always valuable here. The helpers held him
tight now. He stiffened, shut his eyes and bit the belt harder, waiting for
the shock to come. His friend carefully reached the fragment inside the
wound with his improvised forceps, and then pulled it out abruptly. The
wounded soldier groaned, jerked backward, then forward. Blood streamed out
of the wound. The soldiers nearby opened the packs of bandages and tried to
stop the bleeding, but it did not work. The blood quickly soaked all
bandages and streamed down his back. Either an artery was cut, or this guy's
blood did not clot fast enough. We realized he could eventually die from
bleeding. Someone took the mag off his assault rifle and quickly took out
several catridges. There was no other way to stop bleeding, but to use this
barbaric approach. We often dusted small scratches with cigarette ashes, and
more serious wounds were treated with gunpowder.
A soldier came forward with two opened cases in his hand. The bandages
were removed at once and he quickly poured the gunpowder from the cases into
the wound. One of the guys touched it with his torch and the powder burned
with a flash that blinded us for a second. The wounded soldier jumped up,
but we saw that the bleeding had stopped. Cries of relief roared through the
group. The shoulder was finally bandaged; the fragment was washed with vodka
and given to the wounded as a souvenir. Then he drank whatever vodka was
left in the canteen. The operation was over. We were facing another long,
cold winter night in Chechnya.
My partner took something out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was
too dark to see the object, so I bent down and in the dim red light of my
cigarette I saw that he was holding a hand grenade, and a fuse. So, he also
kept one in his pocket! Our time has not come yet.
"I see, you did not use it."
"Not yet. Where have you been? I was going to stay with you, but I lost
you somewhere."
"Fuck knows where. I just ran with the pack. I was hoping they were
after some beer, but they had led me here instead."
"There would be a line to get beer. So, how are you doing?"
"Fine. Even my ears can hear something. Just fine."
"Well, just fine?" His voice was skeptical.
"Aren't we both alive? Yes! Unhurt? More or less so. We are on the
second floor of their Reichstag. What else do you need?"
"A shot of vodka and some chow."
"Why don't you go upstairs and ask?"
"Yeah, right. They will give me some. How are we going to spend the
night?"
"I have no idea, Yuri. Let us figure out something. We can't go down to
the basement, cause the medics work down there. How can they operate, I
can't even imagine."
"Well, they got some torches, just like us here."
"Shit! This is the end of the Twentieth Century, and they still operate
in torchlight. It's good to know that the wounds are not treated with snake
oil and witchcraft."
"When you fight with your own people, you end up treating wounds with
witchcraft. What did you expect?"
"Nothing. Can we sneak out of the building?"
"No way! No one could break through, either here or back. That is it,
we are sealed up!"
"Bastards!"
"Who?"
"Not us. Dukhi, of course!"
"Stop that. If you need some action, there are more stories above you.
They will wear us down. We won't hold for long without food, water, ammo and
evacuation of the wounded. So, we have no choice but move up."
"Just wait till they surprise us by blowing up a ceiling right above
our heads, the way they did it in Gosbank. That will be really funny!"
"They won't do that."
"Why not?"
"Cause the upper floors could collapse."
"Big deal. When Muslims fight with unbelievers, they can sacrifice
their lives."
"Everybody wants to live."
"True, but there can always be a couple of fanatics among them, who
don't give a shit. And these could light the fuse. There are enough fools
everywhere."
"I like your optimism. When one needs to hear some encouragement, we
can always bet on you, Slava. You are always there to boost our morale!"
"I am just being realistic. Let's go and find some place to take a
nap."
"We will need to build a fire. Maybe the dukhi left us some firewood."
We slowly walked along the corridor, searching for some firewood in the
offices. We picked up whatever we could find: pieces of broken furniture,
doors and window frames. We carried all that into one of the offices, where
we built a fire with the help of some office paper we found there. The
office furniture was not as good as firewood. It burned slowly, with the
remnants of polish bub