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They call us dogs. We ARE rabid dogs. Hold on, dirty wolves, we are coming!
Tear you apart, bitches! Rip your guts off for everybody! For Combat! For
those kids, who left on the bridge and for those who lay on this shitty
square. For our horror and for the bombing. For everything!
The commander of the first battalion was in charge. He was talking on a
radio for long time and then started to loudly give away orders. The roar of
the battle did not allow to hear him, soldiers conveyed his commands by
chain. The order was that after two tanks finish shooting, we would break
through. The object of attack is the building of the State Bank. He had also
said that on the other side of the square Marines, Paratroopers and
motorized infantry from St. Petersburg were ready to attack. Let's make a
stalingrad to "dukhs"! Everybody felt good. It is much better to fight as a
mob, especially when somebody else will hit the enemy in the back. We
increased small arm fire. "Dukhs" snapped back. They understood that our
attack was imminent. Their tank had been burnt, BMP was a toy against our
tanks. Now they were shaking in terror. It was their turn to sweat!
One tank finished, another rolled in. We saw a fresh inscription on its
cannon, "Catch!" People laughed over the crew's joke. Nobody knew how many
shells the tank had, everybody was counting.
"Ready!" command came. We put ourselves together, took weapons in the
ready. Pockets were full with loaded clips, heavy launcher's grenade bag was
bouncing against the leg. The order "Onward! Storm!" sounded like a song.
With the last shot of tank we charged from our trenches and ran forward.
Thunder roared behind. Bridge was invisible behind a dense cloud of shots
and exhaust gases. Our tanks and BMPs were driving across to our side of the
river. That meant that stuff was also pulling close to its battalions,
which, bunched together without knowing who where, were charging toward the
enemy's positions with shouts and bellowing.
We were not met with flowers. Long automatic bursts streamed on us.
Mortar shelling resumed. However, their aiming was wrong, or may be we were
running too fast, and the shells were falling far behind without inflicting
any damage. From the covered behind a wall BMP, a machine gun opened fire at
us. Soldiers fell. Front ranks backed up. The rear ones pressed from behind
pushing them under the bullets. We reached our first goal - a barricade of
blocks, concrete slabs and bricks. It was five meters high and fifty meters
long. It must have taken a lot of time to bring all this construction junk
here. It was solid. Direct hit of a tank shell would not destroy it. But we
were infantrymen! We climbed those slabs, encircled the structure from the
flanks. The fire contact was so dense that we and "dukhs" were shooting each
other point blank in long bursts, which interrupted only when a clip was
empty or when the owner of the gun was killed.
I ran, sweat was pouring down. Right in front of me, in an improvised
gun port, a dushman popped up, his face distorted from fear and rage. He
fired from his automatic at us. Still running, I raised my Kalashnikov and
gave short burst in his direction. He noticed new danger and transferred
fire on me. I ducked. A momentum of running body pushed me on my right side.
From this hellishly uncomfortable position, I shot at the "dukh".
Apparently, I got him, since he disappeared and did not show up any more. It
is a very rare situation in such a fight when you see the face of your foe.
I could not look closer. Shot means dead, fuck off. The most important was
to survive and take this fucking square.
"Dukhs" intensified their fire from behind the barricade. The pace of
attack slowed down. Mortar shells and grenades began to explode among us. By
radio we demanded tank's support. They hit "dukh's" structure with direct
shots and "dukh's" rear with plunging fire using high-explosive shells. In
contrast to the conventional shells, these fougasse projectiles explode not
at the moment when they hit the ground, but a short time after. When it
happens, shrapnel consists not only of the metallic parts of the shell
itself, but also of stones and other sediment particles, which penetrate the
body and kill just like the metal fragments. These shells are good to
destroy enemy's fortifications mowing down everything inside. We rolled
back. Shrapnel and brick fragments were flying on us, gathering their part
of death crop to the God of War. Medics carried the wounded and killed from
the square. Those beside them helped to evacuate their comrades. "Mukha"
grenades flew in our direction from behind the barricade. Feeling that we
had stampeded, "dukhs" tried to counter attack. Under the cover of their
grenade launchers, they charged from their shelters, squeezed out from
narrow slots, made by our tanks' shells. With screams
"Allah akbar!" they rushed on us. Many had green bands on their
foreheads. I had been told that those were suicide fighters or something. I
had not asked "dukhs" themselves about it. If I catch one, I would
definitely ask, if I would have enough time, of course...
With these thoughts I rolled to the left and climbed into a small
crater left from a tank cannon shell. Ground was still slightly warm and
unbearably smell with acid - burnt explosives. I rose a bit and gave a short
burst at the "dukhs". To check myself, so to say. Quickly looked around. The
others were also in haste looking for shelters to get ready for the oncoming
fight. Looked at the advancing "dukhs". About two hundred showed up and were
trying to attack. About two companies. Not too many, guys. With you, whores,
we finish up soon. Screaming from horror and frenzy, "dukhs" ran on us,
desperately shooting from Kalashnikovs. Some were throwing grenades. Not
allowing them to come closer, we met their wave with automatic fire. A
machine gun started "talking" on the right. Another one a second later, then
one more, then a couple. Trying to muffle their fear, soldiers were yelling
too. In most cases they were shouting obscenities, not virtuous, but short
like an automatic shots. Someone on the left flank was giving a short burst
at the enemy after each yell. Apparently, he was remembering his killed
friends.
"For Fyodor!" - burst.
"For Vaska!" - burst.
"For Pashka!" - burst.
"For Senya!" - burst.
He had had a special account with the "dukhs". Inadvertently, I
adjusted to his curses. When he was giving short, two-three bullets, burst,
I was giving it too. When he was quiet, my automatic also was silent. I
waited until he shouted the next name and whispered it too. Burst.
"For Mishka!" - burst.
Chose a dark silhouette of a "dukh", who was hurrying to his death.
Pulled the trigger. "Dukh" fell as if he had been cut down. I checked
whether he was moving. No. Finished. Burnt out. A voice again, "For Sashka!"
Repeated the name silently. Chose the next "dukh". A green band on the
forehead. He was shooting with Kalashnikov, taking aim carefully. Bitch! A
soldier screamed on the left.
Inhale, exhale, on the half-exhale, stopped breathing and placed an
aiming slot, a foresight and a dark spot of the "dukh" on the same line.
Beast! He was not standing in one place. Wounded soldier moaned on the left.
Just a moment, just a moment, brother, I'll knock down this pederast and
help you. Wait a little bit! Aha! Here is this bastard! Not taking any aim
gave a short burst. "Dukh" fell and screamed. Wounded. No problem. I'll
finish him later.
I rolled to the left. To suppress fear, made a couple of short bursts.
Here was the soldier. His face was pale, large droplets of sweat were
pouring down from under his dirty cap. Left shoulder was devastated. Coat
swelled from blood around the wound. Using his right hand, he had tried to
tighten a rubber band to stop bleeding. It did not work. I unbuttoned his
coat to expose the wound. The soldier creased from pain and yelled right in
my ear. Unwillingly, I started back.
"Don't yell, brother!" I tried to take the coat off him. He grimaced.
Painful, very painful. He reached his breast pocket with his right hand,
pulled out an individual medical kit and gave it to me. I opened it. A
syringe tube with anaesthetic was in place. It was good. I put it aside.
Unsheathed a trophy stiletto and carefully cut his coat on the shoulder. Wet
from blood, fabric and cotton insulation was not yielding easily. Fountains
of dust rose around us. I heard abhorrent screaming sounds of ricocheting
bullets. Bastards! Don't you see that I am tending a wounded? I left the
soldier, rose on my knee and poured the approaching "dukhs" with lead. They
fell and shot back. I shouted to our soldiers nearby, "Hey, men, cover me
up! I'll deal with wounded. Then help me to evacuate him."
"All right, we'll do!"
"Let's bury them!"
Shooting rose around. I looked at the "dukhs". They tried to snap back
at first, but then did not even dare to raise their heads. You earned that,
bastards! I lay on my side by the wounded and continued to saw his bloody
outfit. Whenever I pressed it, blood poured out, rolled down the knife,
fingers and flowed into my sleeve. It looked as if I was cutting not fabric,
but a living being and it was heavily bleeding. Too much blood. I had to
hurry. I did not want to lose this guy. He was bravely endured all pushes. I
cut off a collar, a sleeve and a piece of coat on the wounded shoulder.
Then, working together, not rising from the ground, we took off the rest. I
made a long cut on the right sleeve of his shirt exposing skin. Took an
anaesthetic syringe from the kit. Twisted off a cap, punctured small
plastics bag and punched the needle into soldier's arm.
"Hold on, man! I hate injections my self. It'll be better now." I
plunged. The liquid came out from the tube. I pulled the needle out and
massaged his arm.
"What's your name?"
"Sasha", the soldier pushed the word out of him.
"Everything will be all right, Sasha! I'll take care of your arm." He
nodded agreeably. He must have felt too bad if it were painful for him to
talk.
"Hold on, brother, I'll be done soon." I examined the wound. Smashed
bones were seen. "Make a deep inhale, I'll tighten the band." Wounded
soldier obediently inhaled and held the breath. I swiftly threw the rubber
band around the arm near the base of the neck, pulled it under the shoulder
and tightened it on the chest. Guy's irises dilated from pain, but he only
moaned silently, afraid of letting air out. I patted his cheek.
"That's all, son. Now breath. Inhale often and deep, but make sure not
to get dizzy, understood?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Don't speak, man. Save your energy. Everything will be fine. Now I'll
bandage you and then we'll carry you to the medics. They'll patch you up.
Don't be afraid. We'll break through!" I yelled all this into his face and
winked encouragingly. My grimace might have terrified a normal person. Dirty
face smeared with blood. But the soldier understood me right and smiled
weakly in response. Meanwhile, I took his Kalashnikov, took a bandaging bag
from the foldable butt, and tore its rubber package and yellow paper. Took
out a pin and cotton tampons and, trying not to touch their inside parts,
applied them to the wound. One tampon to the inlet hole, another on the
outlet. Then, clumsy, lying on one side bandaged the shoulder. From time to
time, I looked in soldier's face whether he was alive. Alive. With healthy
hand, he began too search for something in his pockets. Wanted to shoot
himself?
"What are you doing?" I asked alarmed.
"Want to smoke, cannot find. Do you have some?" he half-whispered,
half-rustled.
"You could not find better time to smoke!" I was glad I had been wrong.
"If you want to smoke, you'll live!"
I took out cigarettes, inserted one into his lips, stroke a match and
lightened up.
Don't inhale the smoke too deeply or you'll get dizzy!" I warned him. I
finished bandaging him. It did not look nice, but it covered the wound
completely. I was steaming.
"Hey, men! I've done, carry the wounded away, I'll cover!" I lay on the
back, took a cigarette and smoked looking at the sky. My soul felt good. I
had not made too many good deeds in my life. Now I had probably saved man's
life. Good! Great! I turned and saw three soldiers rolling toward us. Then
looked at "my" wounded. I was almost in love with him. I had saved his life.
He would live. It was great! I felt myself such a good man, that I became
proud of myself. Good job, Slava! I turned to my belly, grabbed automatic
and looked around still holding a cigarette between my teeth.
While I was saving the soldier, "dukhs" attack was stopped. They lay
down and were shooting at us. No problem. We'll break through! I joined the
cacophony of the fight with three short bursts at the places where "dukhs"
were crawled about.
Soldiers came, took the wounded, dragged, carried him to the bridge.
Good luck to you, Sashka!
I gave a long burst. Rifle's lock clicked dryly. Pulled Sashka's belt
with a foot. It had a clip bag, bayonet, a spade and a water bottle. Took
one clip, inserted into my automatic, put the rest into the pockets and
opened fire again. "Dukhs" became agitated and started to retreat. Aha,
wetted your pants! We rose and charged forward.
Onward! Bear's roar came out from my chest. Lion's roar. Onward,
hounds! Let's corner the wolves! Tear them apart like a flock of dogs kills
a wolf. Hurrah! Kill the bastards! You are not wolves! Puppies! I rushed
forward together with the rest. There was no command to storm. Everybody was
running in the same heat. Nobody needed to be hurried. Nobody needed to be
sworn at or kicked pulled by collar to be risen from the ground. Shut the
bastards down! Hurrah! Aaaah!
Blood was pounding again. Mind left me, only instincts remained. Let
them work. There was a task, an extreme wish to survive. Mind would be of no
help here. Only forward! Zigzagging, twisting, rolling, you name it, but
only forward! Stop meant death! Forward! Hurrah! Kalashnikov at my shoulder,
I made few shots. Threw myself to the left, rolled, shot at the barricade
standing on one knee. Rolled to the right, one more roll. Burst while lying.
Jumped, made ten steps forward with another burst. While approaching the
"dukh's" stockade, our bursts became longer. We shot randomly. Shot at a
sound, a shadow, and a flash. Shot without thinking.
Mind, get out! Blood is storming. A taste of blood in my mouth. I
wanted to smell "dukh's" blood with my nostrils, to see how it was streaming
out of wounds, to feel how warmness left his body. Go away, mind! You cannot
endure all this. Let a Neanderthal possess the body and the brain
completely. Let him command. Only then, mind, you and I will survive and
come back in one piece. Let the Neanderthal take us out of this! Hurrah!
Aaaah! And the mind left me.
Power came instead. Arteries, veins swelled. Mouth was open wide, there
was not enough oxygen. I felt as if I was observing everything from aside.
Soldiers and officers ran to the barricade like a single organism. Some
climbed it, throwing down wounded and dead "dukhs". Some squeezed through
slots and holes in the wall. The enemy ran. Get them! Take! Strangle! Tear
them into pieces!
The clip emptied. Right hand detached it, threw aside and started to
pull out the next one from the pocket. A "dukh" rose suddenly from behind a
pile of trash, bristled up and raised an assault rifle to the hip level. It
was too late to insert new clip and cock the lock. "No time," flashed in my
mind. A Neanderthal talked again. I made a long launch forward with my right
foot. The barrel of my Kalashnikov thrust into soft "dukh's" belly. My mouth
was open. I bellowed with inhuman voice. It was a roar of victory. My own
eardrums barely survived it. "Dukh" tried to make a shot from his gun.
Ha-ha-ha! Won't work! I grabbed and easily snatched the weapon from him.
Threw it far away. His pupils became dilated from terror and pain. I pulled
the barrel out. "Dukh" fell and clutched his devastated belly with left
hand. His right hand was searching for something on his belt. I did not know
why, but I knew exactly that he was looking for a grenade. He knew he would
not survive and was determined to take me with him. Poor bastard! Bestial
smile bared my teeth. I jumped as high as I could and landed on the chest of
lying "dukh". I directed all weight of my body on the heels of my heavy
boots. I clearly heard, felt how enemy's ribcage crackled. I jumped again
and fell on my knees. I heard the ribs shattering again. Not rising from
broken flesh, I looked into enemy's eyes. Blood was fountaining from his
mouth and streaming from ears. His body jerked, bent and stilled. Open eyes
stared at the sky. Pupils reflected icy, slow winter clouds.
Are you sick of my story, dear reader? Unfortunately, it is not show
off. It happened with me in real life. I am neither a superman, no a crazy
maniac. Simply, if you want to come back alive and in one piece, you must
become an animal in its worst. The monster of war gives birth to monsters in
the brains of its participants. Those monsters will come out on the streets
and take what, in their opinion, belongs to them. Belongs by the law of war.
We do not know any other law.
Forward! Forward! See, mind, there is nothing to do for you. You will
not be able to endure this. You will escape the reality, you will flee and I
will lose you. Hurrraaa! Tear them apart! Chew them down! What for? For my
friend's and my own lives!
We did not notice how we appeared on the other side of barricade. A
building of the State Bank of Republic of Ichkeria, pox on it, was
blackening fifty meters ahead. With wild yells and howls, we rushed toward
it. Hidden by a cloud of exhaust gases, tanks and BMPs flowed around the
stockade and took a position behind us. "Dukhs" hit us from the Bank
building. They were shooting from small arms. Although the distance was
large and nothing could be seen because of smoke, their bursts were long
like in close combat. It indicated that the "wolf puppies" were panicking.
Long bursts decrease the precision of fire. I wanted blood. Only blood and
nothing else. I liked the experience of "dukh's" abdominal cavity dissection
without anesthesia. I was drunk with fight. Drunk without wine. Onward,
Neanderthal! Blood and life! Aaaaaaa! Nevertheless, the first ranks lay
down. Somebody had stopped moving already. Somebody, howling, squeezing his
wound, was rolling on asphalt covered with construction trash. Their
comrades, fellows were hurrying to help them. We'll kill for every "one
hundredth" and "two hundredth".
Whatever genes were roaring in me, I decided not to make a hero out of
myself and fell on the dirty asphalt like all the others. Dusk had fallen on
us already. Those fools, our Mister Constitution Guarantee and his Defense
Minister, started the war in winter. It would be much easier in summer. Warm
and dry. Long day. No need in carrying heavy sweaty coat and in worrying
about firewood. There would be no problem in sleeping right on the ground.
Now was different. Winter darkness came down. Cold penetrated my body. Wind
drove sparse clouds away. The full Moon illuminated us like bright lamps in
a theatre lighten the scene. Thank you, Comrade Rolin, for your support from
the air and from the other side of the square. If they did not engage the
enemy during the daylight, they would certainly abandon us like dogs to die
in this crappy place. Why? Who knows. It's warm now in the Kremlin, in the
Government House, in the State Duma, in the Federal Council and Defense
Ministry. I was thinking that bankers, for whom we were earning big money
while breaking our necks, were not shivering from cold. If we did not go
forward within two hours, we would start dying from hypothermia. Many
soldiers' hearts would not withstand abrupt temperature drop. Alcohol,
brandy, vodka, hot food and hot tea were in immediate need. Otherwise, we
would not see any luck. All Siberians, we understood well that unless we had
hot food, we would not be able to take Dudaev's Palace that night. I had
some brandy, but others... By the way, I indeed had brandy! It would not be
enough, of course, for the whole brigade, but I could share it with
two-three soldiers. No problem.
Fire never interrupted. Two soldiers ahead of me next to each other
jerked and lay motionless. Arms and legs were bent in unnatural ways, heads
thrown back. Wounded do not lie like that. One of the men next to me tried
to crawl to them, but was caught by other soldiers.
"Idiot? Where're you going? They'll shoot you not asking your last
name. Lie still."
"You son of a bitch, you want to leave them like that?"
"They are done. Sniper killed them."
"Get off me, you cowards! There's a fellow from the same town as I am.
We're from the same apartment building. I don't believe you! Let me
go!" The soldier was shouting trying to break loose from his friends. One of
those holding him lost patience and released the guy. Using the moment, the
soldier tried to run to the dead, but the same man who had let him go hit
his nose strongly with elbow. The soldier passed out. Two others grabbed him
under arms and gently carried the guy to the rear. Voices followed them.
"Why did you punch him like that?"
"He was in a hurry to get under a sniper, I just calmed him down. Don't
worry, he'll be all right, even thank me for that."
"Exactly. He'll be very grateful!"
"He'll be in the Med Company soon. It's warm over there. They'll
bandage his nose. He'll spend a couple of days there. Not too bad!"
"Come over, I'll smash your mug and then tow to the medics. Come on!"
"Get off."
"Hey men, I would not refuse half a bottle of vodka, uh?"
"Shut up, motherfucker!"
"If no alcohol, we'll have to attack."
"Right, see the Moon is coming up."
""We've got to either roll back and gobble alcohol or forward. It'll
lighten everything in a minute like a train station."
"What're we gonna do?"
"Who knows. There are commanders. Let them have a headache."
"Oh, a shish-kebab would be just right, " someone said dreamy in the
Darkness and snapped at "dukh's" direction with automatic fire. Tanks
began shooting behind us. After several correcting shots, shells started to
hit the target more or less precisely. We met every good shot with cheering
yells. It became too cold to lie on the ground. I pulled out my bottle with
brandy, untwisted the cap and made a large gulp. Immediately, I felt warmer
and cozier. At this moment, the mind of a twentieth century man got along
well with a gloomy ancestor from cold caves, who was ready to take over and
fight enemy with his claws and teeth. Apparently, they both liked the
brandy. I made one more gulp.
Hot air waves from explosions were rolling over our bodies raffling our
clothing. Good! It slightly warmed us up. The State Bank building caught
fire. We cheered. Snow had melted under us and we all were lying in muddy
puddles. An order was spread by chain, "Get ready for assault!" Based on my
previous combat experience, I had a big doubt in the necessity, rationality
and effectiveness of this kind of night assaults, but I should have argued
about it on the command point. Here, on the square, I had to follow the
order. In two minutes the order for assault came. Tanks were still shooting.
Shells flew right above our heads. After a ten meter run under friendly fire
our pace slowed down, because we were afraid of getting hit by our own
shrapnel.
Mind left me again. I did not comprehend what was happening to me. Here
was the building. Dark craters from aviation bombs punctured the square
around it. The building stand solid. It was old. At that time they used to
build well. "Dukhs" were intensively pouring lead on us. Apparently, they
also had snipers hidden somewhere.
Our first ranks... About twenty people were killed or wounded. Men from
the second row tried to drag their comrades our of fire range. Many fell
too. Some were just writhing, others, squeezing their wounds, were rolling
with terrible scream and howl on muddy and bloody asphalt. Some made
attempts to escape on their own. But many... Many men lay motionless.
The whole scenery was illuminated by the fire of burning Bank,
permanently hanging in the air torch rockets and by the Moon, which was
indifferent to everything. Descended night was pierced by bursts of tracking
bullets from the tank-mounted machine guns. The thunder of battle, howl of
shrapnel and ricocheting bullets, their disgusting whacks whenever they hit
dead bodies created a nightmarish acoustic picture, which paralyzed my
brain. Not thinking was the most important. Otherwise, psychosis was
guaranteed. Work, work! Forward, only forward! Ten more minutes of sitting
in one place and we are finished. Dear parents, sweet wife, here is a zinc
box with the body of your beloved warrior-liberator, the re-installer of
Constitutional Order. Don't forget to sign here, here and here. Please don't
vilify us. We did not send your beloved there. Who knows who sent him.
That's all. Please accept our sincere condolences. Good bye! No. We can not
stay here. We have three more "parcels" of this kind to deliver. Go to the
military commissariat and social security office after funeral, fill out an
application for aid and pension. Don't forget to bring twenty five memos
with you. Make sure they are all originals, otherwise we won't give you
anything. Have a nice life.
F... you! You won't bring me back in this shitty box, unless I kill
myself after a wound. Forward! Come on, infantry, move your asses! Move you
stomachs! May be, there are still money in the Bank. Huraah! Dengi, money,
babki, cabbage! Since this is the State Bank, there may be even dollars in
it. May be there are, but they won't wait for you! Forward! Move! Don't push
me with your Kalashnikov, idiot, it can shoot.
The dirty-gray mass of our brigade came to life again. We ran, ran,
ran. Tanks stopped firing to let us in. The Bank was so close. But what is
it?
From the darkness of our flanks we heard roar and clanging of tracks.
Is it help coming? Hurrah! Push! We'll bury "dukhs" in a moment!
Tanks indeed drove out from darkness. They were T-64s. Ours were T-72s.
These old tanks began to shoot us point blank. Infantry was hiding behind
them. Not our infantry. "Dukhs" had used the moment when in the rush of
battle we started our assault. They hit our rear from both flanks. Nobody
figured how many enemy tanks had been there. They hatched into our ranks,
their tracks grinding and threshing our soldiers' bodies. Arms, legs,
intestines, clothes were being wound on the wheels and gears. At the same
time, they shoot at the tanks at our rear. Again, at our tanks. Those could
not fight back, because of the danger of killing our infantry. They were
sitting ducks. "Dukh's" tanks were shooting them like targets on a training
ground. We were herded on a small patch in front of the Bank where "dukhs"
were shooting us at point blank range from three sides, leaving us not a
slight chance to escape the ambush. Our tanks could not help us and we could
not get out to give them a chance. We were rushing about like a frightened
herd of sheep.
Someone succeeded in putting out one "dukh's" tank. It caught flame.
While its ammo cache was exploding, we made an attempt to break out. By that
time, our tanks were all burning bringing additional light to the blinding
picture of the square. I did not feel anything but horror. It ousted all
other emotions from me. Neither Capitain, no citizen Mironov had existed by
then. Instead, a shivering clot of shit wanted only one thing - survive.
That was all. Simply, survive. No long forgotten prayers came to my mind, I
was just running into darkness. Stumbled, flew down, did not feel any pain
from bruises and cuts. Nothing, except freezing terror. Flocks of bullets
followed us. Yells of rage and pain, screams of wounded men. No way of going
back to help them. Panic and horror smeared me on the asphalt, forced me to
run in straight line like a rabid dog. Despite the speed, I felt that I was
staying in place. I was running on the square, which I had been taking just
several hours ago fighting for every centimeter. The place is littered with
bodies of our soldiers, as well as "dukhs". I stampeded on one of them,
fell, jumped up and ran forward. Corpses of my friends had not provoked any
emotions already. There was no passion for revenge. I only felt irritation
that they were obstacles for my run. What the hell are they doing on my way
when I do not have any strength left? I slowed my pace down. Many our people
were running around me. Bulged inhuman eyes, mouths open wide in soundless
screams, same as mine. Nobody yelled. Nobody shouted obscenities. Everybody
was saving power for the run. "Dukhs" were reluctant to come closer to us.
Apparently, they were afraid of us striking back. Do not corner mouse, it
becomes more vicious and aggressive than a cat.
We lost our direction in the dark. Now we were already running not
toward the bridge, but to Dudaev's Palace. Flares rose up in the sky and
illuminated running herd. Those were we. There was nothing human in our
faces, eyes, breath and stares. Kalashnikovs and machine guns fired. First
row was mowed down. The rest tried to turn back still running. Those in the
rear pressed them, shoved on the ground, fell themselves, rose and ran again
into darkness. I saw sparkles from fatigue in my eyes. Nobody helped nobody.
Wounded were shooting themselves. Some were making attempts to crawl into
obscurity, farther from the light of the flare rockets. Moon the traitor,
bitch, f... thing was lighting stronger than those flares through the
curtain of smoke. I had almost had no strength left. Lord God! Not the
captivity! Better death than that! Help me, Lord! Save me!
I switched to trot. I was out of breath. I wanted to rip off the
armored vest and the coat, to fall on the bloodied asphalt with open chest
and lie. Lie still, hyperventilating, restoring breath. No! "Dukhs" would
come over and then - captivity. I tried to run again. Blood was pounding
inside my skull like a Siberian river on the falls. It felt like the skull
might explode from extensive pressure. I could not hear anything from
exhaustion, except for blood pounding in my ears. I slowed down my pace.
Hanged the Kalashnikov on my neck and put my arms on it. It was hard not
only to run but also simply to move the feet. A soldier came from the right.
Without saying a word, he grabbed me and dragged along. After several meters
I understood, that I only impeded his own run. A barely heard voice broke
through my torn bronchi and nicotine plugs.
"Go. Go. I'm not of a help to you."
"What about you?" yelled the soldier into my ear.
"Go. I'm on my own..." It was hard to talk.
"I won't leave you!" Desperation was heard in his voice.
"Get off me! Save yourself, I'll follow you." Gathering my last
strength, I pushed the soldier with both hands. We flew in opposite
directions. He disappeared. That last push consumed what was left of my
energy. I sat on the ground breathing hard. Spat out viscous saliva. Heart
was pounding fast. From my studies in the military college I knew that it
was bad to sit right after run. Heart valves might close and not open back.
When dancing sparkles in the eyes went away, I looked around, my stare heavy
and bleak. My gun was still hanging from my neck. No energy was left to take
it off or to simply move a hand. Not far from me, silhouettes of people were
sitting and lying. Most of them were officers. It was understandable. Their
age and physical shape were far from the best. Civilians sometimes complain
that the military retire earlier. If there had been anybody older than forty
five among us, they would have not been found alive later. Some were sitting
on the dead bodies. May be it was comfortable, but I had not come into that
state yet when I would not be able to perceive nothing. People were sitting
and looking in the direction of the enemy. Somebody was about to resume the
run, but many, including myself, were ready to accept the last battle. Mind
awoke, horror subsided. Rage began to speak up and it was good. Healthy
anger meant that I had not yet become an animal. It was time to figure out
how to get out of there and save my skin. Soul was the last thing to think
about. I remembered God as a powerful benefactor, whom I used to rely on.
I coughed. A clog of nicotine mucus was painfully and slowly making its
way out of my bronchi. Need to quit smoking or cigarettes won't allow me to
reach the sanctuary of a stone, a bump or a hole. Spat out a wet shniblet of
mucus. Felt a taste of my own blood. A piece of bronchi came out too. I took
a deep breath. Chest pain knifed me again. Another suffocating seizure of
cough. The only desire was to tear my chest apart and let fresh air in. I
was too tired to run long distances. I would rather do something simple,
short and quiet. "Learn English!" my Mommy always told me.
---------------------------------------------------------------
© Copyright 2001 translation by Oleg Petrov (siberiaforever@hotmail.com)
Editor: Dan Ray
---------------------------------------------------------------
"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
Tear you apart, bitches! Rip your guts off for everybody! For Combat! For
those kids, who left on the bridge and for those who lay on this shitty
square. For our horror and for the bombing. For everything!
The commander of the first battalion was in charge. He was talking on a
radio for long time and then started to loudly give away orders. The roar of
the battle did not allow to hear him, soldiers conveyed his commands by
chain. The order was that after two tanks finish shooting, we would break
through. The object of attack is the building of the State Bank. He had also
said that on the other side of the square Marines, Paratroopers and
motorized infantry from St. Petersburg were ready to attack. Let's make a
stalingrad to "dukhs"! Everybody felt good. It is much better to fight as a
mob, especially when somebody else will hit the enemy in the back. We
increased small arm fire. "Dukhs" snapped back. They understood that our
attack was imminent. Their tank had been burnt, BMP was a toy against our
tanks. Now they were shaking in terror. It was their turn to sweat!
One tank finished, another rolled in. We saw a fresh inscription on its
cannon, "Catch!" People laughed over the crew's joke. Nobody knew how many
shells the tank had, everybody was counting.
"Ready!" command came. We put ourselves together, took weapons in the
ready. Pockets were full with loaded clips, heavy launcher's grenade bag was
bouncing against the leg. The order "Onward! Storm!" sounded like a song.
With the last shot of tank we charged from our trenches and ran forward.
Thunder roared behind. Bridge was invisible behind a dense cloud of shots
and exhaust gases. Our tanks and BMPs were driving across to our side of the
river. That meant that stuff was also pulling close to its battalions,
which, bunched together without knowing who where, were charging toward the
enemy's positions with shouts and bellowing.
We were not met with flowers. Long automatic bursts streamed on us.
Mortar shelling resumed. However, their aiming was wrong, or may be we were
running too fast, and the shells were falling far behind without inflicting
any damage. From the covered behind a wall BMP, a machine gun opened fire at
us. Soldiers fell. Front ranks backed up. The rear ones pressed from behind
pushing them under the bullets. We reached our first goal - a barricade of
blocks, concrete slabs and bricks. It was five meters high and fifty meters
long. It must have taken a lot of time to bring all this construction junk
here. It was solid. Direct hit of a tank shell would not destroy it. But we
were infantrymen! We climbed those slabs, encircled the structure from the
flanks. The fire contact was so dense that we and "dukhs" were shooting each
other point blank in long bursts, which interrupted only when a clip was
empty or when the owner of the gun was killed.
I ran, sweat was pouring down. Right in front of me, in an improvised
gun port, a dushman popped up, his face distorted from fear and rage. He
fired from his automatic at us. Still running, I raised my Kalashnikov and
gave short burst in his direction. He noticed new danger and transferred
fire on me. I ducked. A momentum of running body pushed me on my right side.
From this hellishly uncomfortable position, I shot at the "dukh".
Apparently, I got him, since he disappeared and did not show up any more. It
is a very rare situation in such a fight when you see the face of your foe.
I could not look closer. Shot means dead, fuck off. The most important was
to survive and take this fucking square.
"Dukhs" intensified their fire from behind the barricade. The pace of
attack slowed down. Mortar shells and grenades began to explode among us. By
radio we demanded tank's support. They hit "dukh's" structure with direct
shots and "dukh's" rear with plunging fire using high-explosive shells. In
contrast to the conventional shells, these fougasse projectiles explode not
at the moment when they hit the ground, but a short time after. When it
happens, shrapnel consists not only of the metallic parts of the shell
itself, but also of stones and other sediment particles, which penetrate the
body and kill just like the metal fragments. These shells are good to
destroy enemy's fortifications mowing down everything inside. We rolled
back. Shrapnel and brick fragments were flying on us, gathering their part
of death crop to the God of War. Medics carried the wounded and killed from
the square. Those beside them helped to evacuate their comrades. "Mukha"
grenades flew in our direction from behind the barricade. Feeling that we
had stampeded, "dukhs" tried to counter attack. Under the cover of their
grenade launchers, they charged from their shelters, squeezed out from
narrow slots, made by our tanks' shells. With screams
"Allah akbar!" they rushed on us. Many had green bands on their
foreheads. I had been told that those were suicide fighters or something. I
had not asked "dukhs" themselves about it. If I catch one, I would
definitely ask, if I would have enough time, of course...
With these thoughts I rolled to the left and climbed into a small
crater left from a tank cannon shell. Ground was still slightly warm and
unbearably smell with acid - burnt explosives. I rose a bit and gave a short
burst at the "dukhs". To check myself, so to say. Quickly looked around. The
others were also in haste looking for shelters to get ready for the oncoming
fight. Looked at the advancing "dukhs". About two hundred showed up and were
trying to attack. About two companies. Not too many, guys. With you, whores,
we finish up soon. Screaming from horror and frenzy, "dukhs" ran on us,
desperately shooting from Kalashnikovs. Some were throwing grenades. Not
allowing them to come closer, we met their wave with automatic fire. A
machine gun started "talking" on the right. Another one a second later, then
one more, then a couple. Trying to muffle their fear, soldiers were yelling
too. In most cases they were shouting obscenities, not virtuous, but short
like an automatic shots. Someone on the left flank was giving a short burst
at the enemy after each yell. Apparently, he was remembering his killed
friends.
"For Fyodor!" - burst.
"For Vaska!" - burst.
"For Pashka!" - burst.
"For Senya!" - burst.
He had had a special account with the "dukhs". Inadvertently, I
adjusted to his curses. When he was giving short, two-three bullets, burst,
I was giving it too. When he was quiet, my automatic also was silent. I
waited until he shouted the next name and whispered it too. Burst.
"For Mishka!" - burst.
Chose a dark silhouette of a "dukh", who was hurrying to his death.
Pulled the trigger. "Dukh" fell as if he had been cut down. I checked
whether he was moving. No. Finished. Burnt out. A voice again, "For Sashka!"
Repeated the name silently. Chose the next "dukh". A green band on the
forehead. He was shooting with Kalashnikov, taking aim carefully. Bitch! A
soldier screamed on the left.
Inhale, exhale, on the half-exhale, stopped breathing and placed an
aiming slot, a foresight and a dark spot of the "dukh" on the same line.
Beast! He was not standing in one place. Wounded soldier moaned on the left.
Just a moment, just a moment, brother, I'll knock down this pederast and
help you. Wait a little bit! Aha! Here is this bastard! Not taking any aim
gave a short burst. "Dukh" fell and screamed. Wounded. No problem. I'll
finish him later.
I rolled to the left. To suppress fear, made a couple of short bursts.
Here was the soldier. His face was pale, large droplets of sweat were
pouring down from under his dirty cap. Left shoulder was devastated. Coat
swelled from blood around the wound. Using his right hand, he had tried to
tighten a rubber band to stop bleeding. It did not work. I unbuttoned his
coat to expose the wound. The soldier creased from pain and yelled right in
my ear. Unwillingly, I started back.
"Don't yell, brother!" I tried to take the coat off him. He grimaced.
Painful, very painful. He reached his breast pocket with his right hand,
pulled out an individual medical kit and gave it to me. I opened it. A
syringe tube with anaesthetic was in place. It was good. I put it aside.
Unsheathed a trophy stiletto and carefully cut his coat on the shoulder. Wet
from blood, fabric and cotton insulation was not yielding easily. Fountains
of dust rose around us. I heard abhorrent screaming sounds of ricocheting
bullets. Bastards! Don't you see that I am tending a wounded? I left the
soldier, rose on my knee and poured the approaching "dukhs" with lead. They
fell and shot back. I shouted to our soldiers nearby, "Hey, men, cover me
up! I'll deal with wounded. Then help me to evacuate him."
"All right, we'll do!"
"Let's bury them!"
Shooting rose around. I looked at the "dukhs". They tried to snap back
at first, but then did not even dare to raise their heads. You earned that,
bastards! I lay on my side by the wounded and continued to saw his bloody
outfit. Whenever I pressed it, blood poured out, rolled down the knife,
fingers and flowed into my sleeve. It looked as if I was cutting not fabric,
but a living being and it was heavily bleeding. Too much blood. I had to
hurry. I did not want to lose this guy. He was bravely endured all pushes. I
cut off a collar, a sleeve and a piece of coat on the wounded shoulder.
Then, working together, not rising from the ground, we took off the rest. I
made a long cut on the right sleeve of his shirt exposing skin. Took an
anaesthetic syringe from the kit. Twisted off a cap, punctured small
plastics bag and punched the needle into soldier's arm.
"Hold on, man! I hate injections my self. It'll be better now." I
plunged. The liquid came out from the tube. I pulled the needle out and
massaged his arm.
"What's your name?"
"Sasha", the soldier pushed the word out of him.
"Everything will be all right, Sasha! I'll take care of your arm." He
nodded agreeably. He must have felt too bad if it were painful for him to
talk.
"Hold on, brother, I'll be done soon." I examined the wound. Smashed
bones were seen. "Make a deep inhale, I'll tighten the band." Wounded
soldier obediently inhaled and held the breath. I swiftly threw the rubber
band around the arm near the base of the neck, pulled it under the shoulder
and tightened it on the chest. Guy's irises dilated from pain, but he only
moaned silently, afraid of letting air out. I patted his cheek.
"That's all, son. Now breath. Inhale often and deep, but make sure not
to get dizzy, understood?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Don't speak, man. Save your energy. Everything will be fine. Now I'll
bandage you and then we'll carry you to the medics. They'll patch you up.
Don't be afraid. We'll break through!" I yelled all this into his face and
winked encouragingly. My grimace might have terrified a normal person. Dirty
face smeared with blood. But the soldier understood me right and smiled
weakly in response. Meanwhile, I took his Kalashnikov, took a bandaging bag
from the foldable butt, and tore its rubber package and yellow paper. Took
out a pin and cotton tampons and, trying not to touch their inside parts,
applied them to the wound. One tampon to the inlet hole, another on the
outlet. Then, clumsy, lying on one side bandaged the shoulder. From time to
time, I looked in soldier's face whether he was alive. Alive. With healthy
hand, he began too search for something in his pockets. Wanted to shoot
himself?
"What are you doing?" I asked alarmed.
"Want to smoke, cannot find. Do you have some?" he half-whispered,
half-rustled.
"You could not find better time to smoke!" I was glad I had been wrong.
"If you want to smoke, you'll live!"
I took out cigarettes, inserted one into his lips, stroke a match and
lightened up.
Don't inhale the smoke too deeply or you'll get dizzy!" I warned him. I
finished bandaging him. It did not look nice, but it covered the wound
completely. I was steaming.
"Hey, men! I've done, carry the wounded away, I'll cover!" I lay on the
back, took a cigarette and smoked looking at the sky. My soul felt good. I
had not made too many good deeds in my life. Now I had probably saved man's
life. Good! Great! I turned and saw three soldiers rolling toward us. Then
looked at "my" wounded. I was almost in love with him. I had saved his life.
He would live. It was great! I felt myself such a good man, that I became
proud of myself. Good job, Slava! I turned to my belly, grabbed automatic
and looked around still holding a cigarette between my teeth.
While I was saving the soldier, "dukhs" attack was stopped. They lay
down and were shooting at us. No problem. We'll break through! I joined the
cacophony of the fight with three short bursts at the places where "dukhs"
were crawled about.
Soldiers came, took the wounded, dragged, carried him to the bridge.
Good luck to you, Sashka!
I gave a long burst. Rifle's lock clicked dryly. Pulled Sashka's belt
with a foot. It had a clip bag, bayonet, a spade and a water bottle. Took
one clip, inserted into my automatic, put the rest into the pockets and
opened fire again. "Dukhs" became agitated and started to retreat. Aha,
wetted your pants! We rose and charged forward.
Onward! Bear's roar came out from my chest. Lion's roar. Onward,
hounds! Let's corner the wolves! Tear them apart like a flock of dogs kills
a wolf. Hurrah! Kill the bastards! You are not wolves! Puppies! I rushed
forward together with the rest. There was no command to storm. Everybody was
running in the same heat. Nobody needed to be hurried. Nobody needed to be
sworn at or kicked pulled by collar to be risen from the ground. Shut the
bastards down! Hurrah! Aaaah!
Blood was pounding again. Mind left me, only instincts remained. Let
them work. There was a task, an extreme wish to survive. Mind would be of no
help here. Only forward! Zigzagging, twisting, rolling, you name it, but
only forward! Stop meant death! Forward! Hurrah! Kalashnikov at my shoulder,
I made few shots. Threw myself to the left, rolled, shot at the barricade
standing on one knee. Rolled to the right, one more roll. Burst while lying.
Jumped, made ten steps forward with another burst. While approaching the
"dukh's" stockade, our bursts became longer. We shot randomly. Shot at a
sound, a shadow, and a flash. Shot without thinking.
Mind, get out! Blood is storming. A taste of blood in my mouth. I
wanted to smell "dukh's" blood with my nostrils, to see how it was streaming
out of wounds, to feel how warmness left his body. Go away, mind! You cannot
endure all this. Let a Neanderthal possess the body and the brain
completely. Let him command. Only then, mind, you and I will survive and
come back in one piece. Let the Neanderthal take us out of this! Hurrah!
Aaaah! And the mind left me.
Power came instead. Arteries, veins swelled. Mouth was open wide, there
was not enough oxygen. I felt as if I was observing everything from aside.
Soldiers and officers ran to the barricade like a single organism. Some
climbed it, throwing down wounded and dead "dukhs". Some squeezed through
slots and holes in the wall. The enemy ran. Get them! Take! Strangle! Tear
them into pieces!
The clip emptied. Right hand detached it, threw aside and started to
pull out the next one from the pocket. A "dukh" rose suddenly from behind a
pile of trash, bristled up and raised an assault rifle to the hip level. It
was too late to insert new clip and cock the lock. "No time," flashed in my
mind. A Neanderthal talked again. I made a long launch forward with my right
foot. The barrel of my Kalashnikov thrust into soft "dukh's" belly. My mouth
was open. I bellowed with inhuman voice. It was a roar of victory. My own
eardrums barely survived it. "Dukh" tried to make a shot from his gun.
Ha-ha-ha! Won't work! I grabbed and easily snatched the weapon from him.
Threw it far away. His pupils became dilated from terror and pain. I pulled
the barrel out. "Dukh" fell and clutched his devastated belly with left
hand. His right hand was searching for something on his belt. I did not know
why, but I knew exactly that he was looking for a grenade. He knew he would
not survive and was determined to take me with him. Poor bastard! Bestial
smile bared my teeth. I jumped as high as I could and landed on the chest of
lying "dukh". I directed all weight of my body on the heels of my heavy
boots. I clearly heard, felt how enemy's ribcage crackled. I jumped again
and fell on my knees. I heard the ribs shattering again. Not rising from
broken flesh, I looked into enemy's eyes. Blood was fountaining from his
mouth and streaming from ears. His body jerked, bent and stilled. Open eyes
stared at the sky. Pupils reflected icy, slow winter clouds.
Are you sick of my story, dear reader? Unfortunately, it is not show
off. It happened with me in real life. I am neither a superman, no a crazy
maniac. Simply, if you want to come back alive and in one piece, you must
become an animal in its worst. The monster of war gives birth to monsters in
the brains of its participants. Those monsters will come out on the streets
and take what, in their opinion, belongs to them. Belongs by the law of war.
We do not know any other law.
Forward! Forward! See, mind, there is nothing to do for you. You will
not be able to endure this. You will escape the reality, you will flee and I
will lose you. Hurrraaa! Tear them apart! Chew them down! What for? For my
friend's and my own lives!
We did not notice how we appeared on the other side of barricade. A
building of the State Bank of Republic of Ichkeria, pox on it, was
blackening fifty meters ahead. With wild yells and howls, we rushed toward
it. Hidden by a cloud of exhaust gases, tanks and BMPs flowed around the
stockade and took a position behind us. "Dukhs" hit us from the Bank
building. They were shooting from small arms. Although the distance was
large and nothing could be seen because of smoke, their bursts were long
like in close combat. It indicated that the "wolf puppies" were panicking.
Long bursts decrease the precision of fire. I wanted blood. Only blood and
nothing else. I liked the experience of "dukh's" abdominal cavity dissection
without anesthesia. I was drunk with fight. Drunk without wine. Onward,
Neanderthal! Blood and life! Aaaaaaa! Nevertheless, the first ranks lay
down. Somebody had stopped moving already. Somebody, howling, squeezing his
wound, was rolling on asphalt covered with construction trash. Their
comrades, fellows were hurrying to help them. We'll kill for every "one
hundredth" and "two hundredth".
Whatever genes were roaring in me, I decided not to make a hero out of
myself and fell on the dirty asphalt like all the others. Dusk had fallen on
us already. Those fools, our Mister Constitution Guarantee and his Defense
Minister, started the war in winter. It would be much easier in summer. Warm
and dry. Long day. No need in carrying heavy sweaty coat and in worrying
about firewood. There would be no problem in sleeping right on the ground.
Now was different. Winter darkness came down. Cold penetrated my body. Wind
drove sparse clouds away. The full Moon illuminated us like bright lamps in
a theatre lighten the scene. Thank you, Comrade Rolin, for your support from
the air and from the other side of the square. If they did not engage the
enemy during the daylight, they would certainly abandon us like dogs to die
in this crappy place. Why? Who knows. It's warm now in the Kremlin, in the
Government House, in the State Duma, in the Federal Council and Defense
Ministry. I was thinking that bankers, for whom we were earning big money
while breaking our necks, were not shivering from cold. If we did not go
forward within two hours, we would start dying from hypothermia. Many
soldiers' hearts would not withstand abrupt temperature drop. Alcohol,
brandy, vodka, hot food and hot tea were in immediate need. Otherwise, we
would not see any luck. All Siberians, we understood well that unless we had
hot food, we would not be able to take Dudaev's Palace that night. I had
some brandy, but others... By the way, I indeed had brandy! It would not be
enough, of course, for the whole brigade, but I could share it with
two-three soldiers. No problem.
Fire never interrupted. Two soldiers ahead of me next to each other
jerked and lay motionless. Arms and legs were bent in unnatural ways, heads
thrown back. Wounded do not lie like that. One of the men next to me tried
to crawl to them, but was caught by other soldiers.
"Idiot? Where're you going? They'll shoot you not asking your last
name. Lie still."
"You son of a bitch, you want to leave them like that?"
"They are done. Sniper killed them."
"Get off me, you cowards! There's a fellow from the same town as I am.
We're from the same apartment building. I don't believe you! Let me
go!" The soldier was shouting trying to break loose from his friends. One of
those holding him lost patience and released the guy. Using the moment, the
soldier tried to run to the dead, but the same man who had let him go hit
his nose strongly with elbow. The soldier passed out. Two others grabbed him
under arms and gently carried the guy to the rear. Voices followed them.
"Why did you punch him like that?"
"He was in a hurry to get under a sniper, I just calmed him down. Don't
worry, he'll be all right, even thank me for that."
"Exactly. He'll be very grateful!"
"He'll be in the Med Company soon. It's warm over there. They'll
bandage his nose. He'll spend a couple of days there. Not too bad!"
"Come over, I'll smash your mug and then tow to the medics. Come on!"
"Get off."
"Hey men, I would not refuse half a bottle of vodka, uh?"
"Shut up, motherfucker!"
"If no alcohol, we'll have to attack."
"Right, see the Moon is coming up."
""We've got to either roll back and gobble alcohol or forward. It'll
lighten everything in a minute like a train station."
"What're we gonna do?"
"Who knows. There are commanders. Let them have a headache."
"Oh, a shish-kebab would be just right, " someone said dreamy in the
Darkness and snapped at "dukh's" direction with automatic fire. Tanks
began shooting behind us. After several correcting shots, shells started to
hit the target more or less precisely. We met every good shot with cheering
yells. It became too cold to lie on the ground. I pulled out my bottle with
brandy, untwisted the cap and made a large gulp. Immediately, I felt warmer
and cozier. At this moment, the mind of a twentieth century man got along
well with a gloomy ancestor from cold caves, who was ready to take over and
fight enemy with his claws and teeth. Apparently, they both liked the
brandy. I made one more gulp.
Hot air waves from explosions were rolling over our bodies raffling our
clothing. Good! It slightly warmed us up. The State Bank building caught
fire. We cheered. Snow had melted under us and we all were lying in muddy
puddles. An order was spread by chain, "Get ready for assault!" Based on my
previous combat experience, I had a big doubt in the necessity, rationality
and effectiveness of this kind of night assaults, but I should have argued
about it on the command point. Here, on the square, I had to follow the
order. In two minutes the order for assault came. Tanks were still shooting.
Shells flew right above our heads. After a ten meter run under friendly fire
our pace slowed down, because we were afraid of getting hit by our own
shrapnel.
Mind left me again. I did not comprehend what was happening to me. Here
was the building. Dark craters from aviation bombs punctured the square
around it. The building stand solid. It was old. At that time they used to
build well. "Dukhs" were intensively pouring lead on us. Apparently, they
also had snipers hidden somewhere.
Our first ranks... About twenty people were killed or wounded. Men from
the second row tried to drag their comrades our of fire range. Many fell
too. Some were just writhing, others, squeezing their wounds, were rolling
with terrible scream and howl on muddy and bloody asphalt. Some made
attempts to escape on their own. But many... Many men lay motionless.
The whole scenery was illuminated by the fire of burning Bank,
permanently hanging in the air torch rockets and by the Moon, which was
indifferent to everything. Descended night was pierced by bursts of tracking
bullets from the tank-mounted machine guns. The thunder of battle, howl of
shrapnel and ricocheting bullets, their disgusting whacks whenever they hit
dead bodies created a nightmarish acoustic picture, which paralyzed my
brain. Not thinking was the most important. Otherwise, psychosis was
guaranteed. Work, work! Forward, only forward! Ten more minutes of sitting
in one place and we are finished. Dear parents, sweet wife, here is a zinc
box with the body of your beloved warrior-liberator, the re-installer of
Constitutional Order. Don't forget to sign here, here and here. Please don't
vilify us. We did not send your beloved there. Who knows who sent him.
That's all. Please accept our sincere condolences. Good bye! No. We can not
stay here. We have three more "parcels" of this kind to deliver. Go to the
military commissariat and social security office after funeral, fill out an
application for aid and pension. Don't forget to bring twenty five memos
with you. Make sure they are all originals, otherwise we won't give you
anything. Have a nice life.
F... you! You won't bring me back in this shitty box, unless I kill
myself after a wound. Forward! Come on, infantry, move your asses! Move you
stomachs! May be, there are still money in the Bank. Huraah! Dengi, money,
babki, cabbage! Since this is the State Bank, there may be even dollars in
it. May be there are, but they won't wait for you! Forward! Move! Don't push
me with your Kalashnikov, idiot, it can shoot.
The dirty-gray mass of our brigade came to life again. We ran, ran,
ran. Tanks stopped firing to let us in. The Bank was so close. But what is
it?
From the darkness of our flanks we heard roar and clanging of tracks.
Is it help coming? Hurrah! Push! We'll bury "dukhs" in a moment!
Tanks indeed drove out from darkness. They were T-64s. Ours were T-72s.
These old tanks began to shoot us point blank. Infantry was hiding behind
them. Not our infantry. "Dukhs" had used the moment when in the rush of
battle we started our assault. They hit our rear from both flanks. Nobody
figured how many enemy tanks had been there. They hatched into our ranks,
their tracks grinding and threshing our soldiers' bodies. Arms, legs,
intestines, clothes were being wound on the wheels and gears. At the same
time, they shoot at the tanks at our rear. Again, at our tanks. Those could
not fight back, because of the danger of killing our infantry. They were
sitting ducks. "Dukh's" tanks were shooting them like targets on a training
ground. We were herded on a small patch in front of the Bank where "dukhs"
were shooting us at point blank range from three sides, leaving us not a
slight chance to escape the ambush. Our tanks could not help us and we could
not get out to give them a chance. We were rushing about like a frightened
herd of sheep.
Someone succeeded in putting out one "dukh's" tank. It caught flame.
While its ammo cache was exploding, we made an attempt to break out. By that
time, our tanks were all burning bringing additional light to the blinding
picture of the square. I did not feel anything but horror. It ousted all
other emotions from me. Neither Capitain, no citizen Mironov had existed by
then. Instead, a shivering clot of shit wanted only one thing - survive.
That was all. Simply, survive. No long forgotten prayers came to my mind, I
was just running into darkness. Stumbled, flew down, did not feel any pain
from bruises and cuts. Nothing, except freezing terror. Flocks of bullets
followed us. Yells of rage and pain, screams of wounded men. No way of going
back to help them. Panic and horror smeared me on the asphalt, forced me to
run in straight line like a rabid dog. Despite the speed, I felt that I was
staying in place. I was running on the square, which I had been taking just
several hours ago fighting for every centimeter. The place is littered with
bodies of our soldiers, as well as "dukhs". I stampeded on one of them,
fell, jumped up and ran forward. Corpses of my friends had not provoked any
emotions already. There was no passion for revenge. I only felt irritation
that they were obstacles for my run. What the hell are they doing on my way
when I do not have any strength left? I slowed my pace down. Many our people
were running around me. Bulged inhuman eyes, mouths open wide in soundless
screams, same as mine. Nobody yelled. Nobody shouted obscenities. Everybody
was saving power for the run. "Dukhs" were reluctant to come closer to us.
Apparently, they were afraid of us striking back. Do not corner mouse, it
becomes more vicious and aggressive than a cat.
We lost our direction in the dark. Now we were already running not
toward the bridge, but to Dudaev's Palace. Flares rose up in the sky and
illuminated running herd. Those were we. There was nothing human in our
faces, eyes, breath and stares. Kalashnikovs and machine guns fired. First
row was mowed down. The rest tried to turn back still running. Those in the
rear pressed them, shoved on the ground, fell themselves, rose and ran again
into darkness. I saw sparkles from fatigue in my eyes. Nobody helped nobody.
Wounded were shooting themselves. Some were making attempts to crawl into
obscurity, farther from the light of the flare rockets. Moon the traitor,
bitch, f... thing was lighting stronger than those flares through the
curtain of smoke. I had almost had no strength left. Lord God! Not the
captivity! Better death than that! Help me, Lord! Save me!
I switched to trot. I was out of breath. I wanted to rip off the
armored vest and the coat, to fall on the bloodied asphalt with open chest
and lie. Lie still, hyperventilating, restoring breath. No! "Dukhs" would
come over and then - captivity. I tried to run again. Blood was pounding
inside my skull like a Siberian river on the falls. It felt like the skull
might explode from extensive pressure. I could not hear anything from
exhaustion, except for blood pounding in my ears. I slowed down my pace.
Hanged the Kalashnikov on my neck and put my arms on it. It was hard not
only to run but also simply to move the feet. A soldier came from the right.
Without saying a word, he grabbed me and dragged along. After several meters
I understood, that I only impeded his own run. A barely heard voice broke
through my torn bronchi and nicotine plugs.
"Go. Go. I'm not of a help to you."
"What about you?" yelled the soldier into my ear.
"Go. I'm on my own..." It was hard to talk.
"I won't leave you!" Desperation was heard in his voice.
"Get off me! Save yourself, I'll follow you." Gathering my last
strength, I pushed the soldier with both hands. We flew in opposite
directions. He disappeared. That last push consumed what was left of my
energy. I sat on the ground breathing hard. Spat out viscous saliva. Heart
was pounding fast. From my studies in the military college I knew that it
was bad to sit right after run. Heart valves might close and not open back.
When dancing sparkles in the eyes went away, I looked around, my stare heavy
and bleak. My gun was still hanging from my neck. No energy was left to take
it off or to simply move a hand. Not far from me, silhouettes of people were
sitting and lying. Most of them were officers. It was understandable. Their
age and physical shape were far from the best. Civilians sometimes complain
that the military retire earlier. If there had been anybody older than forty
five among us, they would have not been found alive later. Some were sitting
on the dead bodies. May be it was comfortable, but I had not come into that
state yet when I would not be able to perceive nothing. People were sitting
and looking in the direction of the enemy. Somebody was about to resume the
run, but many, including myself, were ready to accept the last battle. Mind
awoke, horror subsided. Rage began to speak up and it was good. Healthy
anger meant that I had not yet become an animal. It was time to figure out
how to get out of there and save my skin. Soul was the last thing to think
about. I remembered God as a powerful benefactor, whom I used to rely on.
I coughed. A clog of nicotine mucus was painfully and slowly making its
way out of my bronchi. Need to quit smoking or cigarettes won't allow me to
reach the sanctuary of a stone, a bump or a hole. Spat out a wet shniblet of
mucus. Felt a taste of my own blood. A piece of bronchi came out too. I took
a deep breath. Chest pain knifed me again. Another suffocating seizure of
cough. The only desire was to tear my chest apart and let fresh air in. I
was too tired to run long distances. I would rather do something simple,
short and quiet. "Learn English!" my Mommy always told me.
---------------------------------------------------------------
© Copyright 2001 translation by Oleg Petrov (siberiaforever@hotmail.com)
Editor: Dan Ray
---------------------------------------------------------------
"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