(translated by Seva Kostenko)
The third combined special purpose battalion of the Fifty Fourth Independent Airborne Regiment left on a battle mission. The group was responsible for all mountainous and wooded part of Vedeno district up to the Georgian border, and in the early spring of 2001 work was plentiful for the scouts. The insurgents who wintered in the villages under false documents slowly began transition from peaceful villagers to fighters, various soldiers of islam quietly crossed from the Georgian border -some went to the bases in the deep woods that they created in advance, others just hoping to do some paid killing. The next season of the quagmired war that was ordered by the high-ups to be called an antiterrorist operation. Officers in group have quickly renamed it a contraceptic operation, having abandoned any strategic purposes and ideas long time ago and having reduced their essential cares to a minimum — to save up the soldiers and their own health whenever possible and to hold on to the end of the next tour of duty without losses.
Loss-free in truth, was rather impossible. Not just that spending many, many days sitting in ambushes and the long foot walks in winter Chechen mountains in searches of ghosts (1) that have gone to ground or were sneaking around didn’t raise nobody’s spirits. From that not numerous list of staff the yellow teeth of hepatitis gnawed the share, distilled water from mountain streams caused teeth to fall out. Contents of dry rations, for unknown reasons either cemented contents of stomachs' or alternatively caused fighters and commanders to eject liquid jets. Frostbite, scratches, furuncles were considered as personal oversight of their owner, and the only treatment it was possible to get from the medical officer for such misfortune was a kick in the ass as a lesson for future, and a temporary assignment for the dirtiest jobs.
23:00, March, 03rd 2001. The convoy left. Silently, without light, slowed to a crawl. Three APC’s with soldiers, Ural trucks with ammunition and command-staff GAZ-66. No chitchat, no smoking, keep lookout all around you. The head armored troop-carrier led the convoy with no lights, merely by touch — neither stars, nor silhouettes of mountains on barely pale sky. Darkness full of wet snow and drizzle from all sides. The track which has become a quagmire of ice slurry and clay has remained at the left, movement was done on roadsides. No time to sweep for mines, by a dawn the convoy must be at Elistanji, to disembark, dig in and camouflage itself. The first scout team at ones will be put forward to prepare an ambush, the others silently adjust temporary life in the new place — fat this base they will spend 14 days to work in neighboring mountains. God forbid to be discovered on the march or raising camp — at the best — ghosts will hide, depart, and all work will be for naught. In the worst — ghosts will observe, gather reinforcements and stage all-out assault. Though small, Special Forces group makes a desired target for any warlord and nobody wants to place themselves in harm’s way.
Two weeks with a minimum of heat and food. No lanterns, no fires, if you get wet- dry the clothes on yourself. Sleep- in shifts and fits. Two scout groups on ambushes, one guarding the camp. Behind they left a base camp — more or less rendered habitable «Shanghai» with a simple coziness, ovens, self-made baths and sickly, always fitful electricity from a diesel engine generator.
02:20, March, 04th 2001. Frost hardened the ground and cleared sky. The clay soup was seized by icy crust, which noisily bursts under tracks of sneaking APC’s, suppressing the quite whistling of diesel engines. Night stars appeared on the brightened sky, and silhouettes of mountains appeared, at once making guidance much easier.
— Omich to Palych.
— Yes.
— Two- three.
Palych — the commander of the mechanized group and the battalion’s technical officer. He leads the convoy. The captain, 24 years, pulls his third tour of duty already. Palych has quite for some time had no name, surname, and for officers — no military rank. His patronymic which has become his signal, used to address him by everyone- even grizzled lieutenant-colonel Shuvalov, commander of the battalion. A skilled, knowing, reliable and imperturbable officer, the boxing champion of a military district, he inspired reverential horror in soldiers. Palych could lead a convoy day and night to any specified location, roads or no roads. Repair an armored troop-carrier with no spare parts. In two months make a good, competent mechanic-driver or the machine gunner from any snotty recruit who in civilian life needed help from his mum even to brush his teeth. He did not shout, did not stamp legs, did not slap and practically did not punish troopers at all for their numerous stuff-ups. He looked the guilty trooper in the face and threw only one a phrase which for a long time turned the unfortunate into a laughing-stock. The biggest misfortune for the soldier was to be invited by the captain to confidential conversation — Palych communicated with «criminal» almost on equal, treated him with tea and cigarettes, but even at the most desperate breakneck in the end felt his hair move in terror, and broke in cold sweat. The soldier hiccupped and passed wind, shivered with shame and comprehension of his own uselessness and failure.
Two-three — a stop signal for the convoy. About forty meters directly ahead — two pairs of green pieces of coal. Palych has lifted his «Shaft» suppressed assault rifle, aimed the night sight. Wolves. Two large shadows with burning light-emitting diodes for eyes. Not moving, standing like statues. Captain moved the barrel slightly, pulled the trigger. Gun quietly champed, and the frozen ground rose in a little burst between forepaws of the first animal. The second wolf — probably, a female or a younger one- has sharply sat down, having turned it’s a tail between back legs. The leader has unperturbedly shaken his forepaws, shaking off the chips of ice in annoyance. Animals have continued on their way.
— Omich to Palych.
— Yes.
— Two five.
The column has continued on.
05:30, March, 04th 2001. They arrived. The halogen blinking of the stars, stuck in a smoky sky revealed the outlines of a small glade with remains of old ad-hoc artillery caponiers. A long time ago, still in the first campaign, there was an artillery battalion here. Dug in, having protected itself with bags of sand and shrouded by web of a barbed wire, the battalion supplied howitzer fire over a third of Vedeno district. The glade towered slightly above the surrounding ground, has been disguised by underbrush and had a good view over the surrounding area.
— The Wanderer -to Omich.
— Yes.
— Check up. The Rook- lookout.
Sappers have started to work, checking a place of the future base. Soldiers constantly stopped, sat down, lifting the left hand and cautiously picked at the ground with probes and shovels.
06:30, March, 04th, 2001. Omich has collected commanders. Wiping sweat, Wanderer has approached. Above the commander of sappers air wavered, his uniform was steaming from hard work.
— How long still?
— Everything rings, comrade lieutenant colonel. Cans, nails, barbed wire… Two hours more to check everything at least
Shuvalov for a second has reflected, rubbed his brick chin.
— Ok so we have no time. Palych, hide vehicles in caponiers. Rook, prepare your group for an ambush position. The Tartar, you’ll set the posts. Make sure they do not run into the bush. Wanderer, on sunrise, check around the camp for traps.
In the deepest caponier Palych has put the «Ural» with an ammunition load. Has approached the Wanderer:
— Nickolaich, did you check the caponiers?
— Not all of them, Palych. They all ring; we dug out heaps of rubbish.
— Ahhh…
At a dawn the Wanderer has removed four traps in bushes around the camp. The grenades with strings tied to the pins were rather fresh, not rusted. Fresh were both the dug out shell sleeves and tins as though they were specially brought there and also spread around to complicate the work of sappers. The doubts which have arisen on the eve, were shifting like rabbits in a basket, and assaulted the officer’s soul with pinpricks of certainty.
— Our place is a set-up, Wanderer.
— Yes I have understood… — the sapper spitted in annoyance- they either waited for us here, or prepared in advance just for such an occasion. It is strange, that they did not put a big IED at the entrance. Probably they very much wanted us to get in and settle down fully.
— What’s the commander saying?
— He agrees. Thinks, we have been noticed. Most likely, the ghosts watch such places constantly. Some kid patrols the area every two-three days and checks for fresh tracks.
— You think, we will be ambushed? — Palych shook a snowflake from his shoulder.
— Who knows? They might. Or they might just give us a few mortar volleys.
Shuvalov has made the only possible decision under the circumstances — having reported to the HQ about what happened, has sent all three groups on ambushes, in the ways of the possible insurgent approach. In camp he left the vehicles and a minimum of staff. All-round defense and lookouts over the roads were organized. An old dugout was restored in case of mortar or rocket attack. Sappers were told to clear it. Having cleared the entrance, the Wanderer has sent a soldier inside to have a look. The soldier has put a mine detector in the opening of a shelter, and the buzzer went off like a fire alarm. They cautiously had a look. In a dugout the ankle-deep water puddle was covered by an icy crust, from which empty metal boxes stuck out like skeletons of the sunken ships. The light shone on walls exuding moisture and a timbered ceiling covered by icicles and frozen mushrooms… There it is. Hardly noticeable wire, at the eye level. Very competent. Coming into a dark unfamiliar premise the man usually points the light on the floor and around the sides, not noticing what is right under his nose. The trap was left alone- who knows, how long it will take and whether it was tamper-proof. Last doubts have dissipated. Ghosts persistently waited when somebody will come upon this place, waited and prepared for them.
Omich has ordered everyone to hide in APC’s in case of a mortar attack and to withdraw at once, and now sat above a map, gnawing a pencil and puzzled as where to withdraw the battalion. To move back to base camp by the same way was dangerous, to ask request HQ to set roadblocks — completely abandon the operation.
Cloudy day stretched. Groups were slowly freezing in the ambush positions, quietly munching on biscuits and tinned meat. Rare snowflakes flew around like white flies and dived into the muddy ground
.
16:46, March, 04th 2001. — Omich — to the Tatar. Three -two, in a riverbed. I see eight. I see ten… Twelve…
Ghosts went through the riverbed. Shuvalov has quickly estimated the numbers and positions. Good. The direction of the approach has been guessed correctly, mines have been set up; the ambush group has had time to dig in. Rook’s group shifted to the side, cutting off the way of possible withdrawal. The group was small, twelve «ghosts», all armed, two machine guns, and a grenade launcher — a scout squad. Competent- scouts in front and rear but painfully hasty — probably in hurry to come to the campsite before dark.
Big and healthy, well equipped, you can see they have known war for a few years, but discipline is lax, they advance with care, but still crunch the small twigs, drag on the bushes with the gun barrels, and you can even hear half-whispered swearing from the group.
The advance scouts were taken out by two VSS (2) shots and their bodies dragged away into the bushes along with their radio station. The channel of a stream in this place did a small bend, other bearded insurgents held a distance of about forty meters. The query on the radio in Chechen was answered with two clicks — known «ghost» signal for «all clear». The main forces of the opponent have moved onwards reaching the bend and the Tatar has triggered the mines. Four OZM (3) banged at once throwing pieces of flesh and cloth up in the air. Lateral patrols and the insurgent’s rearguard hit the ground and opened chaotic fire but Tartar’s group was heads-down in the dugouts, camouflaged with frozen moss and managed to keep hidden.
Not having received return fire, ghosts have calmed down. They must have decided that the mined channel was not watched over and so they crawled from whatever makeshift cover they were sheltering behind and started to talk in guttural voices. At last two of them have got into a stream, quickly checked the dead fighter’s bodies, collected the weapons and started to climb back up the riverbank. The silenced rifles quietly sobbed, two corpses loudly banging their weapons on the rocks rolled down the embankment. The remains of the gang, not being hidden or numerous anymore, rushed back downstream, and ran directly into Rook’s machine guns. There was no need for stealth anymore and the soldiers happily spent full ammo box each.
Shuvalov was happy. The worrying negatives have turned into positives, none of the scouts was killed or wounded, and the results were quite impressive. Quite noisy of course, but the job was done. Twelve bearded insurgents were slaughtered and if their main force was approaching- they will retreat, having heard sounds of fight and having lost communication with the advance party. Captured radio station few asked something in worried Chechen and has broken off — «ghosts» changed radio frequencies. Now time to leg it good and proper from this place. It is a pity that weather is too bad to call in helicopters; it might have been possible to spot the rest of them and to guide artillery fire… It is necessary to make haste. There is a chance to slip away unmolested, while the sun is still up.
18:00, March, 04th 2001.
— Palych to Omich.
— Yes.
— That’s it; we are going, line up on the road.
APC’s and sixty-sixth have crept out on road, and lined up in marching order. Gunners rapaciously moved the turret guns side to side, aiming at promptly darkening mountain slopes. Heavily loaded «Ural» was helplessly stuck in the shelter — the day-warmed clay turned to liquid muck, stealing the grip from the thick rubber wheels. From the wood came the scouts — puffing and loaded with the trophy weapons and equipment. Guards were set to cover the retreat and everyone mounted the APC’s. The driver of «Ural'« — shaven-headed, big-eared soldier named Klyukov, popped his eyes ridiculously and stretched his neck up, desperately trying to get a grip on the ground.
Palych has approached the «Ural», looked inside the caponier, and opened the door in the cabin:
— Listen here, Klyukva. I will hook the APC to your front and as the cable will stretch, you will give it power and as soon as you roll out- go neutral and then brake. Understand?
— Yes…
— Lets go…
Palych has pulled the rearguard APC out of the convoy, reversed it and attached the towing cable. Has moved about twenty meters away- if the towing cable breaks it will cut him in half like a razor. He waved to the APC driver. The armored troop-carrier puffed out a cloud of diesel fumes and pulled, Klyukov pressed the accelerator and «Ural» slowly rolled from the shelter, squirting mud from under the wheels…
18:10, March, 04th 2001. The earth has risen vertically and with huge strengths has struck Palych on the back of the head. Sounds were gone, the vision was smudged. The captain has tried to inhale — and could not. He moved the jaw, has spat out something salty and has blown out his nose, cleaning sinuses. He blinked his eyes. The cloudy sky was ahead of him, and emptiness was under his legs. Finally he understood that he is lying on his back, hammered down into the huge puddle, with the cheerful streams of icy water pouring down his neck, turning his buzzing head cold. He could not get up at once. Palych has turned over on his stomach, has risen on all fours, his hands gone into the puddle of icy mud. He had a fit, coughing lumps of clay out of his lungs. All actions seem unimaginably slow, as in stop-motion cinematography.
So, the «Ural» where is it? He rose, shook his head clear…
The lorry has rolled down back into the shelter, the cabin was blown apart, and the left forward wheel has flown into bushes.
The exit from the shelter was marked by a shell-hole above which the grey cloud reminiscent of a small nuclear mushroom was still hanging. His coming back sense of smell was assaulted by the stench of diesel fuel and TNT fumes.
«Weapon» — flashed in his brain. Palych has looked around himself. The assault rifle was back in his hands, it just felt as if he was holding it using two lumps of wood. He shouldered the weapon, and on unsteady legs run to the «Ural» rubbing his numbed hands together.
The lorry was leaning on its left, wheel-less side, the roof was ripped up, the bent door jammed. Breaking his nails, and spending infinite seconds, he opened it. Palych has risen on a footstep, and crackled on the minced glass. «Ural» has tilted even more, moaned with the voice of bending iron. Here he is Klyukov, looking like he always does, his popped-out eyes covered by a red grid of burst blood vessels, staring at nothing in particular with horror and disbelief.
A moment to estimate the situation… The soldier is jammed between the seat and the steering wheel in his pelvic area, he holds his head up, meaning his neck is not broken. Strange, the ceiling of a cabin above its head is pushed out; it is obvious he hit it hard. The right hand is broken and pointed in unnatural way, below the elbow it looks like mush and further down… Onwards. The left leg it is not visible, it is somewhere under the dashboard remains. The groin is ripped open, pieces of cloth and cotton wool- the remains of his trousers — are soaked in blood. The right leg… Right leg is broken the hip area, the artery is severed — blood is pouring out in pulsing pushes, rolling down the snow-white fragment of a broken femur.
Klyukov stares at his body with an unusually intelligent look, but obviously not understanding what happened to him and what to do about it- most likely not feeling any pain yet due to shock. Palych has given him a stern look and said quietly:
— Shut your mouth soldier. Everything is all right.
Soldier immediately slammed shut his drooped jaw, exhaled deeply, blood bubbling in the corner of his mouth, and suddenly went soft like a bag of rags and slipped down the driver’s seat.
That’s it. Must get him out of here. Palych has turned back, hoarsely screamed over his shoulder: — «Tourniquet and Promedol!»
The right leg of the soldier was wound around the gearstick, kept only on a rag of skin and a tatter of wadded trousers. Thinking fast Palych has pulled out a knife and has it all off. Having pulled downwards the remains of the trouser leg he has pierced it sideways with a knife and twisted several times tightening the improvised tourniquet. The driver’s seat has been broken off the floor. The captain kicked it into the cabin and pulled silent Klyukov towards himself. The trapped left leg has slipped out bending in places where it should not bend. All is clear, it too is shattered. Covered in sticky blood, he has picked up soldier and pushed him into someone’s waiting hands. Scouts began to approach, squad commanders came running. They broke open their own medical kits, getting out the Promedol. Someone could not restrain himself and cried out:
— Oh, fuck!
— Oh, sh…
Klyukov has begun to breathe deep, looked back with mad eyes and begun to whimper.
— Silence all! Get the fuck away from here! — Palych has caught in his sight wild eyes of the scout next to him. Has quietly and carefully said:
— If you show emotions, he will panic and die. All is normal, everyone smile, is that clear? And get out of there and to your posts, in case, God forbid, we’ll get shelled.
Omich came up, chased the scouts away.
— You good yourself, Palych?
— In norm…
The captain walked to an APC, knocked on the door with a rifle butt.
— Timokha, you fine and well?
— Yes sir…
— Gimme some water to wash… And a new pea jacket too. While the mechanic pottered inside of the machine, Palych has grabbed the rear-view mirror and turned it towards himself, looked into it… Yes well, what an ugly mug. Covered in blood and clay, and resembling Devil himself. He threw off the ballistic vest and the pea jacket which has become a lump of grey dough. Timokha jumped out of the APC with a five-liter plastic container
— Here you go, captain… Warm water from the engine bay…
— Pour it for me…
Palych has washed, his teeth chattering from the «warm» water, pulled on a fresh pea jacket and went off to help the medic.
Klyukov, numbed by the horse-sized dose of Promedol, finally lost consciousness. The doctor had already spun the bandages into a football-sized ball and jammed it in the soldier’s groin, he has also put a proper tourniquet on his torn off leg and was now putting the splinters on his broken bones.
— How it, Doc? — Thoughts did not come easy into his hooting head, his tongue felt leaden.
— Shitty… He lost a lot of blood and if the internal damage is severe- we will lose him. Omich went to call in the helicopter… We have a lot of things here, and also the missing leg…
«Leg!» — The thought flashed like a lightning in concussion-liquefied head.
— Timokha!
Driver stormed in, looked at unconscious Klyukov, dropped his jaw and froze. Palych cuffed him on the back of the head to bring him back from stupor
— Timokha, go to the «Ural». Klyukov’s leg is there, take it, remove the boot and the trouser leg, get some fresh clean snow, from this little hill- do not go any further. You have two RPG’s in the back, take the cellophane covers off them. Put the leg in one, put it in another one, and pack snow in between them. If pilots will come here fast they’ll be able to put it back on. Understand?
Timchenko has dashed away and Palych, overcoming nausea and slowly winding his head around, helped Doc. Medic kept saying something, but the buzzing of the bees that made a hive inside his cranium and desperately hooted, prevented him from listening.
— Listen, Doc, is the pelvis joint in one piece?
— Yes…
— And eggs?
There all scrambled, Palych. Soft tissue is mush. I do not understand why he is still alive. I remember when…
— Listen Dima, can the leg be sewed back on? I ordered to put it in clean bag and cover it in snow. Well, I read somewhere, that it is possible to save the torn off limb that way…
— I do not know… Hardly. He had a piece of flesh ripped out of the hip; I dug two handfuls of fragments out of him… Though it is possible to insert a metal rod there, cut out skin and muscles from the back to cover it… How are you yourself? You bleed from the ear… Doctor kept talking; you could see he needed to talk to distract himself from the horror of his work.
It began to drizzle once again. Klyukov was have carefully dragged inside an APC and covered with blankets. With difficulty medic found a vein in the soldier’s arm, thrust a needle in it, and hung IVF bag under the armored roof.
Something pattered on the armor outside: — Palych!
— What…?
— It’s not what, it’s me. Get out.
Omich stood outside.
— How the soldier?
— He is alive for the moment…
I talked to the main base. We cannot move now and the helicopters will only come in the morning. It’s already dark and the weather is not flyable… — the battalion commander has sworn aloud. — Place APC’s around the perimeter and go to see the soldier. Keep him alive till dawn, you hear Palych? Soldiers obey you; give him an order not to die here…
— Till dawn… His leg will not go back on.
— What leg? — Shuvalov didn’t understand. Palych told him about a leg.
— Its nothing… Change snow frequently. There are always exceptions, — encouraged him the battalion commander and then turned around and was gone in the darkness.
23:05, March, 04th, 2001. Palych has got into the APC. Klyukov has come to his senses, moaned, and opened his eyes.
— Comrade Captain… Comrades captains… Where am I?
— Inside APC Klyukov. Sleep, why did you wake up?
— I was blown up, yes?
— What makes you think so…
Klyukov has swallowed hard, wished to cough but could not.
— I know, I drove over a mine. How bad am I?
— You got scratched a little… I was shaken, the head hoots. You will live. No hysterics here.
— Not, I am fine… I just don’t understand one thing, comrade captain…
Klyukov has blinked, tears streamed from his eyes — Promedol has run out guessed Palych.
— Why me, comrade captain? Why me? So many people here, tour of duty is nearly over, everyone is fine, why me? Driver’s lips shook, his eyes were full of desperation, he was about to crack understood Palych. He desperately, unimaginably pitied Klyukov, but he understood — if he will show any emotion now- soldier will begin to sob, trash around, will tear out IVF bag out of his broken arm, will rip off the dressings. Adrenal glands will splash out adrenaline into his bloodstream, blood pressure will jump, and heart will pump faster — pushing the already scarce blood out of the wounds. Pity will put them on one level, and Klyukov needs his commander right now. He should feel a force to be reckoned with, be afraid and obey it, not dare to relax for a second. Palych has caught Klyukov’s unsteady sight and quietly and angrily told him:
— You out of your mind monkey? You wanted to see me or Timokha get blown up? It would be much better wouldn’t it soldier?
— No, no, I did not mean that…
— So shut up, lie down and gather your strength. You are a lucky guy, laying here alive and well and talking bullshit. They will fix you well enough for you to dance. We have to stay here for two more months, and you will go home to see your girlfriend who will bring home-made cookies to you in hospital…
— The girlfriend… — Klyukov eyed the captain. — Comrade Captain am I alright… THERE… Is everything as it should be?
— Yep, just as it should be — lied Palych, having understood, that he made an error mentioning a girl — you were so turned on by the doctor that he had to tie your log up. You not queer are you soldier?
Klyukov has tried to smile, but his smile was skewed.
Are you in pain soldier? — asked the doctor. Palych glared at him, and shoved him with his elbow. You really, really did not want the soldier to concentrate on what he felt.
— In pain…
— Doc, why the hell did you ask? — has hissed Palych. Give him Promedol now.
— I can’t, he already got six shots.
— Well then why the hell did you ask? Klyukov, bear it, you understand? Helicopter will come soon — and all of this will end. Instead you’ll be in hospital with white bed sheets and pretty nurses…
The soldier was swept up, got covered in cold sweat. Has lost consciousness and begun to whimper. They stuck another Promedol in him. When doctor objected, Palych has reasonably noticed that maximum dozes are calculated with the big safety gap and if the soldier will die from pain shock, he will put the doctor down next to him.
05:30, March, 05th 2001.
Klyukov was either unconscious or when he woke up, raved and groaned. Palych was either swearing at him in the worst words possible or calmed him down, moistened the swelled hot lips with water and tea, squeezing them out from a wadded tampon into the soldier’s mouth. He told him jokes and funny stories, forced him to listen, laugh and look him in the eyes. He called Klyukov brother, and then also called him the mummy’s little boy, whining cry-baby, ape and shame of the paratroopers… Forced him to talk about his own village, to read poetry aloud, to sing the national anthem… Palych pulled him away from death with cables of nerves and ropes of sinew, willing them to come out of his own flesh and hold the soldier back, physically feeling as they ring as they are pullet taut, shiver as they are being overloaded, keeping back soldier’s escaping consciousness as their separate strings crackle and tear.
Cables of nerves burned his hands, cut his palms, the captain reeled up them on his elbows and pulled, clamping down his jaw so hard, that he felt his cheekbones were on fire, teeth were about to crumble, blood vessels in his arms were about to burst.
Klyukov lived on, persevered, clung to the captain. He was afraid to die, knowing, that he shall break his commanders order and Palych will be displeased with him, maybe even will call him the monkey soldier. In his exsanguinated, broken body there was a hot coal of spirit and firm belief in commander’s words. If Palych has told that Klyukov will survive, it means that so shall it be. It simply cannot be any other way.
Omich came twice. Wanderer also came, has told about the IED. Caseless, detonator is buried among the empty shells. When the «Ural» went in the ground was slightly frozen — it and did not work, but after the warmth of the day melted the frost… And Klyukov also pressed the accelerator when he was leaving; ground his wheels in the mud. The power supply — long-life Japanese car battery was buried far to the side and insulated from the cold. The IED also had a second part; much more powerful, which should have went off directly under ammunition-loaded trunk of «Ural». Parts of the device were connected by wires but it for some reason it was a dud.
06:30, March, 05th 2001. The dawn slowly began come in. Klyukov was non-responsive. He has grown thin, has turned blue, spoke nothing, did not hear anything and only just moved his paled lips. Palych just held his only whole hand in his grip, trying to force his life into the body of the stricken soldier. He willed slow seconds to go faster.
The helicopter has come, and heavily touched down onto the glade. It lifted a sheet of ice dust, and turned the orange smokes of the flares into long snakes along the ground. Two «Crocodiles» (4) hung above providing air cover. Klyukov was bundled in, and the doctors from the main base in Hankala were already working hard on him — blood IVF drip, oxygen mask, something else…
Palych started to walk from the helicopter to the APC. He lifted his eyes, and saw Timokha running towards him, slipping in the soft mud and pressing a package to his chest.
— Comrade Captain, the leg, we forgotten the leg!
Crap… Palych has pulled the package out of soldier’s arms and rushed to the helicopter. Crew of the «Eight» (5) has already shut the side door, preparing to lift off.
— Stop, stop, you devils! — The captain shouted. Take his leg!
Twice he was forced into the dirt by the airstream; Palych fell and again ran forward. At last the helicopter has lifted off and abruptly did a sharp turn and went up into the brightening sky.
07:05, March, 05th, 2001.
Palych sat, having leant against a wheel of an armored troop-carrier, bitter tears pouring down his face. The mad pressure of last day was slowly fading leaving behind a nervous electric shiver. The captain has suddenly become angry with himself, rose and wiped the soot of his face with his sleeve. The doctor has approached, brought him 100 grams of alcohol in an iron mug. Palych has silently swallowed it straight.
— Doctor, they did not take the leg. I have no time to give it to them. Is that it now, we cannot keep it? Can we deliver it to hospital ourselves?
— No, Palych, not at all now. Even then we didn’t have much of a chance.
— I am a fool; I had to take it from Timokha straight away!
— Lets have a look at it anyway — Doc has offered.
They cut open the package and shook out the snow. The internal package has appeared unnaturally small and soft. They cut it open… A piece of foot with toes, heel and a heap of flesh rags and bone fragments, the biggest of them the size of man’s palm.
— Timokha! What the hell is that, soldier!
— The leg, comrade captain… — Frightened Timokha eyed him with sleepy black orbs, — I went into the «Ural» with a small lamp and collected all night long. Got everything, down to the last pieces… Will they not sew it back on?
Palych silently swept the leg fragments back into the bag and carefully put them inside the APC.
— All good. Get in and join the convoy. Mabuta (6) has set the roadblocks already, it’s time to go.
07:45, March, 05th, 2001.
— Palych to Omich.
— Yes.
— It is ready?
— Yes.
— Three- five.
— Understood.
The convoy took off…
Epilogue
Klyukov has survived. From the main base in Hankala he has been transported to Rostov, then to Moscow’s Burdenko Hospital. They were forced to amputate left leg below the knee and the right hand above the elbow, besides the torn off right leg. Doctors repaired his perforated lung, removed his spleen and only God knows what else. Klyukov took the hardest surgeries marvelously bravely, was in high spirits and even tried to joke. When however he was at last moved to post-surgery ward and his relatives were allowed to visit him, the soldier’s spirit broke under assault from their sympathy sights and funeral-like cries. He cried and moaned like a little boy, smearing tears and snot all over his face, cried day and night without a break. Trashed around, threw dishes and refused to eat. After a huge dose of sedatives he a fever, went into sticky delirium, groaned, threatened some Palych and promised to find and kill him, because he did not let him, Klyukov, die and has forced him to live the rest of his life like a lump of meat…
In about a month and a half his tired, frightened mother squeezed into the room. Klyukov lay on his back and with indifferent eyes studied cracks in whitewashed ceiling.
— You ate nothing again… Look at you; you have grown so thin sonny, just skin and bones. They are giving you all the medicines; all you have to do is eat…
Behind a window the fresh young foliage rustled in a tree, and birds were chattering. The fourth floor. Tonight he will make it if only the window remains open. At any cost, with his one good hand and teeth if necessary, he will crawl out of the bed, climb onto the window sill, and make the last jump of his life. Not «just another one» as the airborne say to avoid a jinx, the last one.
— The letter for you, sonny… From your unit I think. Moscow-400, from captain Putilov. Should I read it to you? Klyukov has blinked, has torn his eyes from a hypnotic crack in a ceiling.
— Give it here… I’ll read it.
With difficulty he broke open the envelope and has pulled out the letter using his one good hand.
The soldier read the letter and changed in a matter of minutes. His cheeks filled out; there was a shine in his eyes. He vividly ran eyes over the lines, re-reading what was written there. At last he has lowered the letter on his chest and it appeared that he was standing to attention- just somehow he did it lying in bed. His eyes became full of business-like worry, and rosy color appeared on his cheeks for the first time. Old doctor entered the room, and stopped in her tracks, struck dumb by the change in the patient.
Klyukov straightened out his shirt, and looked at his mother with suddenly cheerful sight.
— Mum, bring some warm water, razor and a toothbrush. I will give you the address, go to the Veteran’s Union, tell them I am one of Captain Putilov’s soldiers; they will help any way they can. And get me my books — I am going to re-enroll back into university. Commander is coming to see me soon…
I will live!
P. S. Klyukov never showed his mother the letter, no matter how hard she asked. The son often re-read it and stored it as the greatest treasure. Mother was feeling jealous and could not understand — what such unknown words could the commander have used to have aroused her son and why her loving heart could not produce them. She once managed to make out just the first line. The letter began with words: «Klyukov, you ape… «
Glossary
- Ghost — nickname for the insurgents in Afghanistan or Chechnya
- VSS — Silenced Sniper Rifle, used by Russian special forces.
- OZM — Defensive Fragmentation Mine- remote-controlled mine, similar to Claymore Mine, used by Russian Special Forces.
- Crocodile — Mi-24 attack helicopter.
- Eight — Mi-8 transport helicopter.
- Mabuta — derogatory name used by Russian Airborne for any non-airborne infantry.