nks drove on the bridge and started shooting. "Dukhs" cut their zeal and transferred all fire on them. Now it was our turn to attack. Chief ordered again: "Forward!" We left our wounded waiting for assistance and rushed ahead. It was so smoky that we could not see a thing on that square. We spread in a chain, shooting randomly from hips into the smoke. Eyes were watery from gunpowder gases. Forward! Only forward! I was screaming together with others. Some were shouting "Hurrah!" some cursing, "Sons of the bitches! Death to sons of the bitches!" I simply screamed with my mouth wide open "Aaaaah!" It helped to stay cool. Adrenaline was raging in blood. I could have head the world record in running beaten. Suddenly an automatic fire came from the behind of the smoke screen. Chechens shot the same way as we were doing, long bursts from hips. Apparently, they had allowed us to come closer deliberately. We dropped down. It was suicidal to lie on the open square. I rolled over, then again. Aha, here was a chunk of some wall. I flattened myself against it bruising my shoulder. Then I began firing back. The distance between us and the enemy was no more than fifteen meters, but they had unquestionable advantage. They were hidden behind the walls whereas we were with butts up in the middle of the square. My assault rifle clicked and shut up, it was out of ammunition at a wrong time as usual. The attached clips were empty too. I raised the barrel of my Kalashnikov and put a grenade into the launcher. It would be better to shoot from the knee, but I had no choice. I pressed the trigger with my left hand finger. Detonator exploded and grenade flew toward the enemy. It went too far. I corrected the aiming. Another grenade went into the launcher and the trigger was pulled. While the grenade was flying, I swiftly detached the empty clip and pushed the paired new one in. Thunder came from the behind. I looked back. Fuck! "Dukhs" hit both our tanks. They were engulfed in flames. Cartridges were cracking. Soon shells would explode. Yes, a moment later, deafening explosion thundered, followed by another one. Tanks' towers flew off. Almost synchronously, they slowly, very slowly went up in the air and, turning over and over, flew in the opposite directions. The first tower fell into the water with a loud splash, the second dropped on our side of the river. What was left of tanks continued to burn. The body of the first one split right in the middle. Cartridges were still bursting in flames. Rabid from their victory, "dukhs" switched their attention and fire to us. Mortar shells started to gather their crop again. Soldiers had to dig in under this hurricane fire. The luckiest ones appeared to be those who found themselves spots with asphalt destroyed by tanks' or BMP's tracks. There was mud there, in which a soldier would dig in up to his ears. Our ranks were dwindling with every second. Many were wounded. Sun could not break through the dense smoke. I was hoping to hear shooting from the other side of the square where, according to commanders' plan, paratroopers and marines were supposed to attack. But there was nothing going on there. So it was just us, a pity handful, no more than a hundred and fifty people, battling on the open space with well-fortified enemy. Shouts and bursts of automatic fire came from behind again. I turned back and saw first battalion trying to cross the bridge. With doubled efforts, we began to pour bullets and grenades on "dukhs". But the guys did not succeed in their attack and rolled back once more. Our ranks shivered. The feeling of emptiness and futility of our efforts enveloped us and crushed our will. Fear, dark fear smashed under its immense weight everything human in our souls. The instinct of self-preservation worked. Without any order, we began to retreat. Not to run, but to retreat, snapping back with bursts of automatic fire and sparse shots from the launchers, carrying our wounded, leaving our dead. Leaving them, however we knew that if we did not pick them up by tonight, "dukhs" would come and mutilate their bodies, would dismember them. They would cut off noses, ears, and private parts and would throw them, together with the body remains into the Sunzha River to feed fish. Please, forgive us, guys! We retreated to our former positions, where our own aviation bombed us. Suddenly we heard a shout: "Daddy is wounded!" Everybody turned and saw Battalion Commander to a shelter, his left arm hanging like a piece of rope. His left foot stampeded, he fell on his side. Soldiers ran to him and pulled him out from under the fire into a temporary shelter. Officers of the battalion began to show up, crawling and rolling on the ground. I hurried too. I saw my buddy Yura among them. Alive! I had lost him from my sight since the beginning of the fight. Major Ivan Genrihovich Kugel, a battalion commander deputy came as well. A paramedic was trying to stop Chief's hemorrhaging using rubber band and sterile bandage. Battalion commander was intermittently losing and gaining consciousness. He breathed hard. Something was croaking in his chest impeding ventilation. He was pale, big drops of sweat were constantly rolling down his face leaving gray traces on his dusty skin. "Why did you drag your butts up here?" he asked after opening his eyes. "Go, work. Don't leave people. Fuck off. While I'm here, my deputy is Kugel. Get out! Work, you shitheads, work!" He closed his eyes again and passed out. We turned to the paramedic. "How's he? Will he make it out?" "Leg arteries are punctured. Large blood loss is dangerous. I don't know, I need to get him to the hospital." "Save him! Listen you! Save the Chief or I'll make holes in you!" Vanya Kugel yelled at the guy. "Don't swear at him, Ivan! Let's carry him out," Commander of the first company said. "Take him and try to break through! We'll cover you up!" Ivan said. " Try! Carry Daddy out!" And then loudly to cover the roar of fight, "Listen to my order! I'm in command while Battalion Commander is incapacitated! First company has to break through and carry him out. We all will cover them! Dig in and fight until the last one! Radio operator, where the hell are you?" "There's no operator, the guy's killed, " one of the soldiers shouted. "Tune companies' transmitters on brigade's frequency and tell that in five minutes we'll try to carry our Chief out. Tell them to meet us and cover with fire. Is it clear? Forward! Forward!" First company went back under terrible fire, directed at the exposed bridge. They were carrying Battalion Commander, who was unconscious and three other wounded. They could not take any more with them. Only thirty-three men were left of the company, slightly more than a platoon. We were shooting, shooting, changing clips and shooting again. I looked over my shoulder. Five men from the first company lay still on the bridge adding their bodies to already so many fallen. The luckier ones had reached the middle. Just a little bit more, guys! Press forward! "Dukhs" were furiously shooting at us and at the first company. I hoped we had enough munitions to respond. Don't worry, sons of the bitches, we'll talk to you in a little while, you damn bastards! Suddenly my soul calmed down in peace. It happens when the decision has been made and you understand that this it is the final one. There is only an end of the story ahead and, unfortunately, you have no influence to change it. All you have to do is to sell your body and soul as high as possible. I did not want to die, but I had no fear of death any more, just absolute calmness. My head was clear. Thoughts were precise. Reflexes were sharp. Some kind of invigorating sense came, similar to that of gambling. Who would win? We were the good guys and they were the bad. Everything was simple. I remembered our boot camp song: We have everything we need, Frozen vodka goes with meet. Our girlfriends are the best, So is my AKMS! Let's make war, bastards! 9 --------------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright 2001 translation by Konstantin S. Leskov --------------------------------------------------------------- Everybody around me was slowly digging in. That's right. An infantry soldier will bite asphalt, but hold the position. I did not have a sapper's spade. A dead man was lying three meters from me. A spade in a slipcase was attached to his belt. I rolled to him and tried to unfasten the case. It did not work out. Bullet whistled close to me. Instinctively, I ducked. However it is known that the bullet, which you can hear, is not yours, I duck anyway. With a jerk, I turned the body over, unbuckled and pulled off the belt. Rolled back to my place. As soon as I found cover, a bullet pierced the dead body and made it shiver. They could have hit me, fucking souls. Explored my site. Asphalt was crashed in several places. I started to scoop its pieces out with a spade and put them in front of me. Here is earth mixed with stones. Not paying attention to my ground to blood fingers, I was continuing digging and building a parapet. Soil was cold. My chest and belly had already been in a small trench. Head and legs were still on the surface. I was completely dirty, ripped off the skullcap from under the helmet. Head was steaming. Hot, very hot. Heard clanging and roar from behind again. Looked back. Tanks had roped their burnt colleagues with wire hawsers and tried to pull them aside. "dukhs" began to shot at them with mortars and grenade launchers over our heads. We stopped digging and opened fire at the Chechen fortifications. With dread I heard dry click of my Kalashnikov. Shit, no ammo whatsoever. Only seven grenades were left for the launcher. Kaput! A water bottle and a clip bag were hanging from the dead soldier's belt. I weighted the bag. Oho! Heavy. We'll live for a while then. I pulled out three clips and examined them. Full. Three clips thirty shots each - ninety. Not too much, but it's the best we have. When there is no fish, even a dick is meat. I loaded the automatic, took an aim, and gave a short burst at barely visible shadow. It disappeared. Might be hit, might be not. Switched to single shots just in case. Started to dig in again. Suddenly, piercing screams of "dukhs" came from ahead. They cannot talk quietly even in normal life, on the war they scream so that ears get blocked. I heard a familiar clang. A tank and a BMP rolled out. Very nice. Retreating was impossible because of risk being shot in the back and a success of advance was also futile. It is very uncomfortable wrestle with a tank on the open square. Different weight categories. Ivan Kugel shouted something, but, because of distance and shooting, I could not hear anything. I only heard the result: popping of our launchers. It's hard to get a tank with a small launcher grenade, especially when it is coated in "active" armor. It's a good thing for tanks, the "active" armor. A number of square boxes are lain next to each other on the hull. There is a high-temperature-activated explosive inside each of them. When a cumulative shell or a "Mukha" grenade hits a tank, it produces a narrow stream of heat, which normally penetrates steel shields. When "active" armor is used, explosive blasts and breaks the direction of the stream. The tank remains intact. The enemy tank, which was moving in our direction, was decorated with those boxes like a Christmas tree. The bastards came prepared to meet us. A grenade launcher shot popped on the left flank. Judging by the sound, someone used "Mukha". Cumulative grenade precisely hit the junction between hull and tower. Explosion thundered. Smoke went up from the tank. Then flame. Deafening blast came next. Tower was ripped off and thrown back. It fell on "dukh's" positions. A wall collapsed in a cloud of dust. We heard yells. Flame was raging in the tank. Ammunition was cracking inside it's belly. We ourselves exploded with joyful exclamations and shouts. Aha, bitches, you have seen! What a shot! What a great shooter! I wouldn't spare a Star of Hero for such a shot! Great job! "Dukh's" BMP rolled back and began shelling us. Projectiles blasted in front of us, then behind our backs. Shrapnel hit several soldiers, but did not kill them, just wounded. To our luck, their crew was bad at aiming. An anti-aircraft cannon, installed on the BMP might have tear our humble fortifications into pieces. Two our tanks stopped at the beginning of the bridge ready to open fire. The third one was moving to our, or "dukh's", bank shooting randomly. Infantrymen were hiding behind it. They were launching grenades into the enemy over the tank and our heads. Great! "Dukh's" BMP retreated far back and disappeared from the view. Our tank came closer, stopped and shot "dukh's" positions at almost point-blank. Infantry ran from behind it. It was our first company, which returned, and a part of the first battalion. More infantry was running on the bridge. Those were first and third battalions. They told that Combat died. Unconscious, he kept shouting out orders, was restless, then calmed down and passed away. All soldiers and officers were shaken by the news. Alexander Petrovich had been an embodiment of courage, a colossus, something eternal and unshakable. He had been an axle of the battalion, and he was not with us anymore. It was hard to believe it had happened. We had used to losing close friends on the war, but him... No I could not believe it. I did not want to believe. Everybody around looked devastated. Petrovich was not only a commander, but for his soldiers and officers he was a teacher, big brother, "Batya", "Papa". Sad, too sad. The arrived brought more ammo. It was quickly distributed and loaded into empty clips, grenade bags, leaving the "novices" the pleasure of shooting at the "dukhs" and digging trenches for themselves. Shelling the enemy positions, tank backed up without turning the tower. Another one started from "our" bank its cannon firing as it was moving toward us. Its place was immediately occupied by the third one. Tank "carousel" was working. The fun was about to begin. Adrenalin raged in blood again. Steam was rising from skin. Excitement of battle came back. I looked at the nearest soldiers. The same effect. Only half an hour ago all of thought how to sell our lives as dear as possible, now everybody seemed to have the same hunter's heat. Cornered rabbits, we turned into mature wolves. No! Not wolves. Chechens are wolves. They have a wolf under the Moon on their flag. 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. 10 --------------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright 2009 translation by Oleg Abramov Date: Nov 2009 --------------------------------------------------------------- Meantime the resting ones, having caught the breath, began to come closer to each other. Approximate expectation gave us the figure of about fifty people to be her. Mostly the officers, but there were good few the soldiers and the warrant officers. Many ones had already thrown the armor vests off to enable running. The faces were confused. Everybody actively started to discuss the happning hushfully. After the strongest shock, after indignity, stress everybody wished to get a load off his mind. Everybody had a thought that the brigade had made everything according to it. - They kicked the shit out of us. - Stronzos, they lost all the brigade! - Lousy, lost. Many ones got out the firing limits. - Prick! Did not get out! Did you see the land battleships burning? - Saw. Everybody saw. About seven-eight ships were shot down sure! - And why didn't our ones shoot? - Don't understand? We would have been laid resting at that place! - To be laid resting is better then funky fleeing. - Thus why did you rush? Could have stayed there. Would be granted the hero posthumously. - Aha, would be overtaken and granted more! - These stronzos from Moscow and Khankala will never bring thanks. - If there were no those gorks with their wreched plan of head-on attack of fucking square, we wouldn't bunk now, as the Sweden near Poltava! - Schnooks! - Sodding fugs! - Rolin for certain did not put thr other troops in force intentionally to let the "dukhs" crush our brigade deadly! - Exectly, he can not forgive us for our mutiny at the Airport "North"! - Where's this goon? - He should be here. i would look at him! - Bullshit, we will be blamed about unsuccessful assault. - Blow it out... - You'll see. They'll say the plan was magnificent but we had been against it from the beginning and that's why we refused to execute it. - May be they'll also blame us to have affection to Dudaev. - Fuck away with your Dudaev. - He's as mine as yours. - I would see him in coffin in white slippers! - It's still him who tries to put us into coffin. - Sweet F. A. - Half of brigade has been already put. - Exactly, may be will get to us also. - We should scarper away! - Where to? - To our waterside. Did the brigade tech go there? - May be "dukhs" made entrapment there? - Everything's possible but we shouldn't prop up here. - Correct! Must go. - The sooner the better. - Wouldn't they arrest us? - What for? - For not executing of the order! - All the brigade they would not arrest. - It's not a thirty seventh year now! - And not a forty first when the retreat-bloking detachments were put behind. - Correct! - There was no order "no step back" as the one of Stalin! - There was the only order! - Which one? - Should not bother the refinery. - Stronzos, sooterkins, dog faces, scoundrels, cruds, crums, rubbers, fags, traitors! Have framed us! - Don't vociferate! "Dukhs" will hear. - Fuck'em. Let'em listen. - Want to be the "twohundredth"? Welcome! But not with us. Go. "Dukhs" are waiting over there. - Stop shooting the carp. Have to go. - Correct. - Go quickly. - What about entrapment? - We'll fight, what else? - Has anybody radioset? - I have, - the fighter stepped out of the darkness haveing the large radioset pickback. Why didn't he cast it away when "cross-racing" - unknown. - Call for ours, - the voice seems to be of the first battalion com-bat. Radiop started buzzing in the phone breastplate. In about five minutes they answered. Radiop gave the breastplate to somebody and that one started speaking. Everybody has quikened. - "Nipple-25", i'm - "Uran-5"! Read me good? Read You good also. Where are we? - and he asked us from the darkness: - And where are we, guys? - At the south-eastern end of the square. About tree hundred meters from the bridge. Ask wether they ready to assist us with fire if "dukhs" shoot during the breakthrough. - Hallo, "Nipple"! We're at the south-east of the square, nearly tree hundred meters from the bridge! If force - will assist us firing! Why you're not there? Where are you? And what about us? Understand. To force to the old brigade command center. Is that all? What? Who was hurt? And where is he? And San Sanych? - com-bat broke all the possible traffic rules but everybody didn't care at all. Any one liking that not could try to come and arrest. Everybody followed the traffic attentivly. - And what should we do? That is what i can advise me myself. Where to are you going? Are they following you? Many our "boxes" are burnt? Cricky! And what shall we do? Yes i understand we should go close to the old commander center. And did you report to tool Rolin? And what did he say about reinforcing? Nothing? Dork! Domino. Pulldown. Over. - How does it go? - Tell, don't tip toe. - Hist. Hush. Let him speak. - Thus, guys, - it was audible it was hard to speak, - the first point - Bahel was hurt... - Hurt? - Is he alife? - Where's he? - the vexed voices were heard. - Don't break, let me speak all and you can ask! - Don't stew us, speak! - Bahel was heart in the laeg, at thigh. The heart is bad. - He stays alife? - Shut your face, dork! - the vexed hollo was heard. - Stop shouting. You dork. - Will come now to break you dull head. Shut up, jerk! - You jerk! - the kickers were not seen in the darkness. The moon and the paraflares starting up far away produced the shadows but unclear, vague, breaking ones. - Sod it! Will you give it a rest or not? - Will stand up now and cool you out! - the voice of the first troop and the second battalion was heard. He's alife, smoky! - Once more for unique dull repeating: the commander of brigade was heart in the leg. At thigh. The heart is bad. Being unconscious he was brought to the "North". Domino. Thaat's the first. - What else is heard about tha commander? - Sod it, why are you so dull? - Let the man to speak first and you can ask your stupid questions! - Talk. - No any more news about commander. It's known only he was brought to the "North" but they were not able to fight their way - "dukhs" made a block. Tehy fought the way to Khankala, will bring by "spinner" from it to the "North", after the first surgery. - Well, gloria Tibi... - Will you shut up, cow, or not? - Keep on! - The brigade is commanded by Bilich temporary. - San Sanych? - But who else? Have we many Biliches? - Bilich commands the brigade, - repeated com-bat, - they have left, fought the way to the south. The tech went through the bridge but it's not at that place now... - Fucking fiasco of brigade! - Exectly. Have broken, crashed... - the hysterical note were heard in the voice of the speaker. - Shut up, hysteric! - What's on? - They burnt, annihilated five our battleships, three infantry carriers... - Five battleships? - Sure, fucking fiasco of the brigade! - Will you shut up at all or not? - They offered to fight the way to the former point of the old command center by ourselves and to wait there for the others to comem closer. That was all from me now! - And where have they gone to? - They have "dukhs" on the tail. They steped in the entrapments couple times. Lost about five more men and now having parted at the small groups will concentrate at the former command center. - Jollily! - We were crashed as the Germans in the Great Patriotic near Kursk. - But shut up you, ugly creature! - And why do you writhe to be heros! - We should go to "dukhs" and surrender. About just the first battleships convoy on the last year november they just gave back the ones who they had let to be alife! - They'll give you fuck all! - Have you forgotten what they had made with our captives? - And we're also so good ourselves... - Yes, our arms are bloody up to the neck. - There will be no mercy. - That's fact. - So, what shall we do? - Where? To fight the way to the ours. - As a first step to reach any unit and after that to go to the former command center. - And how can we go to it? - Someone knows fuck all/ - Let's look at map. - The map is of forty seventh year edition, it's the same as to look at the "Belomor" package. - Ye-a-ah. We should come closer to the ours. - Let's start with leaving from this sodding square. - "Let's start". It's easy to say "let's start". And where to should we go? What is the direction? Through the bridge? - Will try through the bridge sure some of the soldiers have gone through the bridge. Kinda strong fire duel was not heard. - And would you, at the "dukhs" place, let the bridge be without protection when having reconquered us? - No-o-o-o, definitely. - That's what it is. We and they graduated from the same military colleges. So that means we and they think identically. - They do not think. They are "pakies"! - If they were "pakies" we would not be sitting here and quake with fear! - That's exact! - We have to leave by the same way - to the south-east, and from that place maybe we're able to get across to that waterside. - Sodding Bastards! - Who about are you? - About everybody! And about the moscowers and the wiseheads form the General Staff, and the dorts from Khankala and Mozdok. And about Warrantor of our Constitution and minister of defense, and about shitty "dukhs"! Why the devil gave me this hole - Chechnia? - Don't belch! - I belch? I want to live! Understand? I want to live! - Well, live, so we do not impede you. - You do not impede but the moscow sooterkins do impede. - They impede all the Russia. And what? - Why whaat? Let's go to Moscow! - Just from here? - You sould get out of this square at first, and after that collect the troops to march agains Moscow! - Eh, we have no leader, headman! - The headmen are only amoung the Indians and tribes. - Cut the cackle! Leave. - Where to? - To the south-east, there's no other way. - But maybe will risk through the bridge? - Go to risk. - Are there volunteers to check the bridge? The silence broken by the bursts near Gosbank and screeches of chechens. - Nobody. So, we go trough south-east. Will look around in the daytime, shelter us, call for ours. Let's go. - Let's go. - But may be actually through the bridge? - Go. Nobody stops you. Go. We had started. Having spread at the distance of about 30 meters as lengthwise as breadthways. Slowly walking. Attentively minding our steps, listening to the every rustle. The moon was being at the very zenith, lighting us the way and us also. "Dukhi" did not think about following us up. They either were afraid or did not want bother themselve with following up. In the times of the naval battles when there was Katharina the Second the fleeing enemy was not followed up. It was named "to build the golden bridge". Refined freak. Ushakov, having become later admiral, was the first one who broke that tradition and laid in the turkish of those days with might and main. The mouse should not be backed into corner and malcted the rescuing hopes. We were similar to those mice. May frightened, coursed, but if we were forced into mousetrap, we would fight as fated. Nobody raced to rescue us. Nobody organized rescuing expeditions. Would not wonder that, if we're able to wrest out of this "cul-de-sac", it will turn out there is already no our brigade anymore. Disestblished in the likeness of reduction of budgets. Ye-e-eh, that's not America. They had sent whole the fleet for rescuing of some lost in Yugoslavia pilot. And sure he was rescued! In the impassable forests they found him and evacuated. What about us? As the classic told: "Blamed and forgotten!" Eh, Motherland, you're not mother for us but the fremd aunt! Do not want my son to serve in your Military forces. In order to shoot as me into his own people because the talantless whim and poitical impotence of th ekremlin alcoholics having gone gaga. When you are in shit up to eteballs, unknown if you're able to swim out of, you will damn everybody and everything. All the world except yourself is guilty about everything. But when analyzing existing situation it turns out that there's no my fault in it. No also any fault of the ones walking with me. There is only the endless political ambitions. If the canons are speaking the diplomats should cushion. Such thoughts aggregating floundered in my head while we were getting out of the square carefully and trying not to make any noise. Attentively passed over, overstepped the dead bodies. Alternately there were liing our fighters and officers and the chechen militants. Everybody realized that our guys will already not be buried, nobody will send their bodies to Motherland. Ministry of Defence will economize awfully at the buriing of its own soldiers. It is allowed not to make five years payment, medical insurance for death, not to outprocess the pension. Why? He's gone for a burton and that's all. Yes, we're searching for him but understand us, there no money, there were the hard combats, communal graves and other bullshit. Lord forbid me to lie nyself in such way. I'm not a kind Christian. No! Merely do not want to leave my family without means of sustenance even after my death. So, the result comes that the one should to die in our country in hte way that his mortal remains would be identified, brought to the relatives and earth with funeral blizzard. Madhouse, no less than madhouse. And the lads, overstepped by me feeling no usual qualms, will already not be brought back. Niether brought back nor sent at home. Niether alife nor dead. The furious appealing of the wag-lawmakers in the sharp polemic will not assist. The sermons in the churches will not assist also. Interesting, but why the Orthodox Church does not impede such madness as this war? Damn interesting. Haven't seen any priests here. The only one is here, they say, the prior of the local temple. But in the troops or near them i haven't seen anyone with cassock on. And nowadays the local russians - who were slaughtered as the sheeps by chechens at first, and after that we boned downwith the air bombs, artillery, mines, fusilladed their houses, knowing not that there are ours inside - need both the medical and psychological assistance and also the God's word. Where are these Lord's servants, take'em devil? There's nobody. The manycenturies war of the government against the own people is going on. The church aside as always. And the worse circumstance is that it provide the criminal war. The history comes back but on the new higher quality turn of spiral. What for, what for, Lord, did it fall to my lot to be born in this just damned by You country?! Paradox is that i love and it and hate it equally deep. I can give my life for my loved-hated Motherland. But only for the Motherland and not for its governors. Nowadays a word "collegiality" has become popular again. I spent much time to realize its sense. And the sense is that this eternal drem, faith of the russian people into the kind good tsar. There will come master, master will judje us. Ukh! No one of the tsars, governors of Russia, including the today's, never cared for the people. The people is an enemy, and even more awful then the enemies' agents and other abroad evel spirits for the governors. Nobody had any thoughts about well-being of the people NEVER! The dead people - the good people. It's very comfortable to put against two tribes of the own country. Meanwhile they are fighting nobody never will reember why do they live so bad. Why does not somebody pay'em the earned money? Where are the pensions? Where are the payments? Where are the scholarships? What where? The ugly chechens are guilty in everything. Everything is spent on the war against foe. As soon as we win him, as soon as we restore everything destroyed in Chechnia, you immediately get back your honestly earned thing. And inflation? What's that got to do with it? The war, why aren't you able to understand that because of the war we had to increase the prices a bit, to print the money a bit. Nothing at all serious. We do not just talk you will never get'em. Will, will get! Just tolerance a bit. Sure at the Great Patriotic war, they say, did not pay money at all. Everything for the front, everything for the victory! And what is the difference now? Doesn't matter that we attacked Chechnia but not they did us? Shut up and sniff through the two holes. Or we have many republics, if you clamour - we'll start the war against'em, but exectly you will sure see neither money nor your children! I haven't seen neither today during the combat, nor earlier both Jirinovskii's falcons and blackshirts, making the hand up as a fascist greeting. And they were the ones who shrieked about patriotism, great power statehood, orthodoxy, christianity and other trifle most of all in the ninety third. "The Russian people - chosen by God!" Ukh! Codswallop. Paranoia! Only a hundred years ago one orthodox was allowed to change another orthodox for the well-bred whelp without doubts, to lay the one in deadly only following his own whim, shoot the one. Torture with strappado is spoken to be our native invention. To say truth the other peoples had the things alike but they went out of fashion quickly. For example the "bootikin". But tortures and prisons took roots at our places in the aincent times. So, it turns out that the third of population is imprisoned, the third works at the producing where at the conditions differ from the penal colony ones only a bit, and the third secures and guards in the penal colony and searches at the producing for the candidates to be sent to the colony. Kinda social formation has changed but the customs, system, minds are the same ones. As the nomenclature ruled us as it makes it now. Many ones decided they are really allowed to discuss the decisions of Clan, Family, so that the last ones decided to divert attantion to the unfit object. And by the way to plunder something, to decrease the population. Not necessarily to feed, to teach. So that - gone for a burton, bullshit. This is not a Rio de Janeiro, this is worse much. And there are here only the soldiers walking with the white trousers on and only before turn-in. No enough trousers for all of them... Futher and futher on we were going from the tommygun crackle and explosions, from the victorious guttural shrieks of the local aborigens made for us the classical battleships entrapment. The guys learnt the technique in the colleges good. They annihilated the superior enemy with the small forces, and still consider in the march column. Well no matter, uglies, we'll come back, we will come back certainly. And we'll hold you, bitches, wholly, with percents, accountable for that shame and panic we had felt half an hour before. We'll only sort out the relationships about the promosed reinforcement with the boors from Khankala and the "North" and we'll come back. Will come back maybe pushing by bayonets the thick-fleshed colonels in front of us. And even better - will skulk behind their bodies. We regret only the guys, the real tough men, who are liing under our feet and whose bodies we being tired can not pass aside but merely step over them, they'll not see that. There will be victory, certainly will be. Let it be even Pyrrhic victory. But it will be. Much blood. We won't leave from here. Not because we do not want but because we're dangerous. There will be yet many assaults, and the more of us stay here on the dirty overspit blood asphalt the better will fill the old alcoholics of the former CPSU Central Committee. Maybe some of the parents of the liing here soldiers had a work at the defense factory producing the rounds, missiles, mines. And who knows maybe that bullet, frag, missile, mine killed their son. And the wages are not paid the parents yet for the produced output. Nightmare! No, Slava, your lid flips indeed, and flips hard. such fantasies and associations can not come into the normal brains. I pawed over my belt. Something was guggling in the flask. Definitely the half-swallow of congac, but i like drink water. I quickened pace and touched the next one in front of me. Can not see in darkness if it was a soldier or officer. "Everything was messed in the house of Oblonsii..." - Man, have you some water? He turned back. It was a soldier from the second battalion. When running through the bridge he was next to me. Apparently he was able to recognize me also and smiled and showd at the ears. In the moonlight i did not notice that there were the thick bloody crusts cloded around his ears. Contusion. Very hard contusion. The break of the eardrums. My contusion is a baby talk on the lawn comparing to his one. I indicated i was thirsty. The fighter nutated agreeing and not stopping unbuckled the flask from the belt. I made a couple of swallows. He drank it all after getting flask back. Buckled it the empty one on. I took out mine and, having flept myself at the throat, showd that alcohol was still in the flask and gave it him. He made a swallow and gave it back me. I indicated he was able to drink it bottom up. He made that with gratitude. I did not grudged about cognac. He needed more. When having contusion, contrary to all the docktors' admonitions, the militarie drink hard and bate by that way the pain feelings and easier come round. Wanted devilishly and awful to smoke. But nobody risked to make any fire. Everybody drrew in the quiet silence. Only some spalls cracked under somebody's heel, and that's all. Did not wnt to speak and it was senseless. Everybody was crushed by the happening. Firstly, by the shameful our fleeing, by the loosing of the guys. Here there were many of them, left and necessary for nobody, behind our backs. And not possible to take'em away, to bury'em. Secondly, the brigade is disseminated, knocked out, is lost in fact. Thirdly, the commander is heart and will not come back to us. San Snych is, of course, a good executive officer but what is he as a commander? They can send to us some undesirable outsider at all. Whome our brigade is as the stop-signal for the hare. He will come to get advancement, to get the rewards, and will relate to us absolutely not better then our President does to his people. Wait and see. If stay alife, of course. Fourthly, well, - sheerest personal uncertainty. What will be about me personnaly in this beef up, about the ones who are walking near me? Nobody was able neither to say anything nor even to make any thought of it. Now of the two aims which were standing before me earlier, and namely to execute the aim and to survive, only the one exists - to survive, to scramble! Anf after that we'll see who's guilty in our triumphal shame. The President is far away but the "dukhs" are near now. Now we're bunking from them but every dog has his day. But after all it is a pity, sincerely pity, that we can't reach the Warrantor of the Constitution. Sincerely pity. Well, no matter, the elections are soon. Will vote in another way. Not for the prostituts-communists and not for the hysterical Jirinovskii, no! We'll hope that maybe some good head will be found, which will not make the war against the own people with such primitive, barbarian methods. Eh, dreams, dreams. The dreams of the russian idiot that it's possible to put the good tsar in power. The tsar who will not despoil the people, will not bring the people's possession "over the hill", and will not put the money on his abroad accounts. Eh, the dreams of idiot! The intellect can not inderstand Russia! Russia can be only believed at. In other words she is so capricious hysteric woman, schiz that it's impossible to communicate to her on the normal language of logics? It results so. Who's guilty in that? The governors guess that the people is. The people guesses that the talntless governors are. And when there is no consent in the comrads, the good music will noever come. Marasmus, marasmus. For which sins, God, for which sins did you let me be born in this country? And here one seditious thought had come into my head. And may be there are no neither hell, nor paradise meaning the sense which the "reverend" church fathers hammered in us. If we suppose that we have lived somewhen in another dimension but it is exactly this place where the hell is situated. And the sinners, in other words the ones living nowadays on this planet are sent to be reeducated. If you were able to manage worthy all the fallen to the lot of you assays, having not violated ten commandments of the Christ, or how many of them has Mohammed and other "tru" religious teachers, - then following the results you will be taken to the paradise or returned to the normal life. Well as the there are in life always more the scums then the normal men, so that is why they send the cattles, hangmen and similary ones. This terrritory is the huge one. And the ones who sined less - they are sent to the higher civilized countries. So, in the former life i've made a lot of dirts, and in this one, seems, even more. I smiled about that balderdash to myself involuntarily. If it had been so easy! Meantime, and when reasoning the time and the distance had passed quickly, we trooped off the square far away enough. There were the destroyed houses ahead, aside. Even not the houses but the ruins. They were taken from hand to hand for many times. And many ones were merely destroyed, the others were staying without the highest floors, mottled by the frags, bullets, castaway, abandoned, left by the people. Stalingrad and indeed! All this was seen unrealistic in the illusive moonlight. The head was buzzing, the body was craving the resting, the colored spheres were floating in the eyes because of the weariness. No any thought had already stayed in the head. The feet were merely bringing my body nechanically somewhere forwards. Not a human kind in all the sense of the word, but a wordless animal. Even of the "dukhs" attacked now then scarcely anybody were able to maintain smart resistance. The first ranks had come to some beforetime prestigious hous and came in to inspect its remains. Sure it was situated almost in the city center. The flats were certainly the ones of the most expansive and now nobody would give for them even a half-coin. The second small group had left for inspecting of the near-standing building. Even being tired we realized well that it's impossible to hide in the only ratty corner. It's dangerous. That's why we took two corners. We'll be the iron rats, gnawing through the concreet floors. The first group returned back at first and giving a hand's wave offered to take the night lodging and rest in the basement of the nearest house. Nobody was commanding. Merely the ones who wanted to enter that building left for it. I went with the second group. Why? Don't know. Went - that's all. About thirty men wnet into the second building, rather in it's basement. But they did not stay in one room - they had dispersed in all directions. Benefit that the basement was large. There were six ones having stayed with me. It was dark in this lodgement. We began to strike the matches, lighters lighting our temporary lodgement. The room was a sqare lodgement of five per five meters size. There were two windows to the street. About tem meters to the exit door. When the matches were fired the rats sprang in the diverse directions. Many rats. I feel calmly about different poultry. The main thing is that it would not bite you and not try to gorge you. We had set the sentries and, having cuddled together closer, as it's warmer, drop into the uneasy slumber. Wanted to eat and to drink very much. There were no such possibilities. So, we had to forget ourselves with the heavy night fantasies, waking up after every suspicious rustle and because of the near shooting. Regularly waking up to change for the other side or trying to draw the chill wet legs in, hugging each other, whisking the muzzling us rats off, we had slept not more then three hours. The dream did not bring us relief. The feeling of despair was increased by the hunger and thirsty sharpening. The radioset stayed in the first building, so we stayed being unknowing absolutely what was happening. Slowly, heavy waking up the people smoked, made the "visits" to the fighters and officers in the next lodgement. The darkness in the street had not passed yet when the smell of the smoke and baked meat came from the futher corner. Sure meat. That unearthly smell could have been impossiblly confused with anything! But where is the meat from? All the crowd moved to the smoke and baked meat smell. And it tickled the nostrils, fogged the heads, provoked the sicky cramps of the stomach, inspired the hope for the best, arouse the memories about the home, about the picnics with shashliks. God, what was this smell! I have felt such an unearthy smell never in my life. When the hungry crowd had come, flown to the impromptu fire made of the remains of the funiture and papers they saw two soldiers were baking the small piecws of the fresh meat on the selfmade spits. The pieces were trickling, the blood was dropping from'em, the bree was bubbling. The view was unforgetable! Naturally, the first question from everybody came out: - Where is the meat from? - Where have you taken it? - Have you some more? - Isn't it a man? - No, it's not a man! - the soldiers laughed, continuing baking their shashlik. - So, where from have you taken the meat? The impatience and hunger invaded the people. The fighters, baking, faltered, clearly wishing not to tell their culinary skills' secret. The pause was sure too long. The strain grew up. The crowd of the weaponed, uptight close to the border hungry males was able to cook the slum-burners to be shashlik. Finally one of them mumbled: - The rat. - Rat?! - Yes, it's rat, - the fighters confirmed. - Are you mad? - many ones were shocked. The stomach was cramping - not from the hunger, from the sickness. If there were anything inside, certainly would go outside. Many ones felt the same reaction. But nearly half of us, having no any emotions, came closer and began to wonder about the hunting and culinary secrets of the "chefs". As quickly as possible i went to have fresh air. "Gourmand's" particular retorts were being heard after me, the exoticism lovers: - Have you tasted it? - No, but look - very fat! - Exactly, how much blood, fat! M-m-m-m! Wow! - Is it the one rat or two? - One. - Look, how large. - There are many of them here - enough for everybody! - I read and was taught in the school that the rats are the contagion carriers, including plague. - We were taught many things in school, what's the sense? - Don't like - don't eat! - somebody answered with the iron logics. - Nothing will happen! - Correct. Noting will happen, we've only to bake the meat better. - Well baking is baking, but not to dry the meat, not to make it dry, fragile and untasty. - Look, the crast has already baked. - Exactly! Classy crast! - Men, let me tast the small piece? A? - Ouh, we need not much. - If like it will catch rats. - Pity that thedogs are not here, there is more meat. - There's so much in the man. Why don't you eat? - Blow you out with jokes. You eat. - I was not able to bear these talking, went out and started inspecting the flats' remains. The smell, smoke, blown out of the basement, rose up the ladder, hunting me literally upon my heels. I started smoking, trying to send away the importunate smell. The stomach was cramped because of now the hunger then the thought that i feel the toasted rat's smell. Br-r-r-r! From the former experience i know that the hunger feeling will leave me on about the fourth day of not eating. There will be only the dull weariness but there will not be hunger at all. The thoughts will roll over slower and slower, and not about the matter but about the meal. When on nintyth year we entered Baku, then we were brought to the Saliansie kasernes, and after that moved to the fourth microdistrict as a commandant unit. We were responsible for the law order keeping and for the closing time in that houses block. Our com-bat was not a fool and that's why he organised the battalion command center in the large supermarket. When we wnet doen into the basemments there was thick meal on the ground. There was only the bread dearth. As in that anecdote when the butter should have been spread on the sausage. But it seems as if i repeat. The thoughts are hung up about the meal. Instead of the meal i jobed the bitter smoke inside myself. Some fuss rose up below. Stop, listen to. "Dukhs"? No. The hazardous shrieks were coming from the basement: - Come-on, come-on! - Chevy'em on me! - But where to do you chevy'em, idiot! - Let-s start again. - There, they ran in that corner. - Go round, go round. - Come-on, chevy'em. - Pity, we can't shoot. - You'll shoot! "Dukhs" will hear. - Beat'em! Beat! - Not with barrel, fool! - Beat with butt! - That's not a club! Beat with butt end. - But he'll be all bloody! - No matter, will wash! - Why, you don't want gorge? - Got it!!! - Many? - Three ones beaten dead. - Little, need more. There's nice stable. - Let'em beat themselves. - Stop talking. Enough rats for all. - Fat! - Normal. - Beat fat ones. - Can't see if they're fat or not. - Go round, now we'll chevy again. Stopping the sickness urges i went out to the street not to hear the dying rat's cheep. The nightfall has already passed away. Have stopped. Watched the street long while. Can see sort of no activiy. The shooting was heard from the "Minutka" side occasionally. But the sound showed that it was not a combat. Most probably, these were the sentries shooting the sectors of responsibility. Running, bent in two, i crossed the street at diagonal and rushed into the hous entrence where at the first group had hidden. When entering the two sentries met me cautiously. - Hi, bros! - i addressed'em. Having seen me to be ours they eased and smiled. - Good morning, comrad capitan, - one smiled widely. Showing thirty two teeth. - What's news? - Nothing. And what's the noise have you there? - "Dukhs"? - the second chorused. - No. Those are the wisemen happened who had opened the season of hunting for rats. - For rats? - the amazement of the one was genuine. - For rats? - the second one was, contra, thoughtful. As if he rolled off the thought of the baked rat. His eyes were covered with the dreaming shroud. - Yes, rats. the fighters brakfasted with the baked rats in the morning, so the others wished also. - Did you taste? - the second fighter asked. The first one felt sick himself having only the thought about the rat. - No. Did not taste. And don't mant, - i confessed honestly. - Where are the fathers-commanders? - Over there, - the first fighter amorphously waved with hand showing to the ladder leading into the basement. I went downwards, not hurrying, smoking while walking through the ladder covered with the stone frags and rubbish, into the basement lodgement. About ten people were sitting there inside. Futher, about ten-fifteen ones were sitting and liing in the next room. I marked the dreaming Yourka amoung them. Came close. Kicked his hip easily. - Stand up. Will oversleep the Kingdom of God. Yourka opened his eyes quickly. And having seen me, jumped up. We embraced. - Alife? - he was sincerely glad. - Alife. Where to will i leave. - And i thought unwittingly that's all now... - Sod all! - Well, give tell what good about you, - Yourka clearly was not able to find the place. - Why the news? - i wonderd. - All the same as about you. If you want, can go to my basement, the fighters have beaten five rats just now and are cooking breakfast now. I told hem shortly the "rats" epic. He was amused. And did not hide his stomach to be horrified when getting the only thought about the rat-fleshy. - Did you eat yourself? - he asked, managing hardly the sickness urge. - No. Not touched the bottom yet. - But the rat? - But why are you wondering? The Chinese say that everything growing and moving is eatable. But only the one should be able to cook according to the prorated manner. No matter, Youra, will want eat, will gorge not only a rat. - Necessary to go away from here qwicker or loos half mind. - That point is correct, bro. If we'll sit more, all the fuck-up for us will be provided. The sitting nearby ones listened to our talk ans opened the discussion about the problems of nutrition from the expedients. We did not interfere, stepped aside. - What the center says? Have you connected already? - Have connected. Ugh! - Yourks spet. - Nothing good. The brigade remains are trying to fight the way to the old center. The headquarter, rather all the remains of it got circled and fights. The paratroopers are cast to assist. Don't know will they fight to them or not. Bullshit is all that. - You haven't brought a new mind of the bullshit. Will we make anything? - Is there any plane yet? - No any plan. Sitting. Read fortune at coffee grouts. - We should scarper, before cleanup is not started. They're sure not fools also. - I've already told... - Yourka hopelessly waved with the hand. - They say it's necessary to sit, to watch around. I just tell bullshit. - Let's go and try to speak. We're indeed the quarter officers. - Let's go but there will be a little sense. But hving not we made coming to the first battalion commander yet as rushed in one of the sentries, securing the entrence in the house, and shouted in half-wisper: - "Dukhs" are going! - How far away? - In a couple ouses from here. Making cleanup. 11 --------------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright 2009 translation by Oleg Abramov Date: Nov 2009 --------------------------------------------------------------- Meantime the resting ones, having caught the breath, began to come closer to each other. Approximate expectation gave us the figure of about fifty people to be her. Mostly the officers, but there were good few the soldiers and the warrant officers. Many ones had already thrown the armor vests off to enable running. The faces were confused. Everybody actively started to discuss the happning hushfully. After the strongest shock, after indignity, stress everybody wished to get a load off his mind. Everybody had a thought that the brigade had made everything according to it. - They kicked the shit out of us. - Stronzos, they lost all the brigade! - Lousy, lost. Many ones got out the firing limits. - Prick! Did not get out! Did you see the land battleships burning? - Saw. Everybody saw. About seven-eight ships were shot down sure! - And why didn't our ones shoot? - Don't understand? We would have been laid resting at that place! - To be laid resting is better then funky fleeing. - Thus why did you rush? Could have stayed there. Would be granted the hero posthumously. - Aha, would be overtaken and granted more! - These stronzos from Moscow and Khankala will never bring thanks. - If there were no those gorks with their wreched plan of head-on attack of fucking square, we wouldn't bunk now, as the Sweden near Poltava! - Schnooks! - Sodding fugs! - Rolin for certain did not put thr other troops in force intentionally to let the "dukhs" crush our brigade deadly! - Exectly, he can not forgive us for our mutiny at the Airport "North"! - Where's this goon? - He should be here. i would look at him! - Bullshit, we will be blamed about unsuccessful assault. - Blow it out... - You'll see. They'll say the plan was magnificent but we had been against it from the beginning and that's why we refused to execute it. - May be they'll also blame us to have affection to Dudaev. - Fuck away with your Dudaev. - He's as mine as yours. - I would see him in coffin in white slippers! - It's still him who tries to put us into coffin. - Sweet F. A. - Half of brigade has been already put. - Exactly, may be will get to us also. - We should scarper away! - Where to? - To our waterside. Did the brigade tech go there? - May be "dukhs" made entrapment there? - Everything's possible but we shouldn't prop up here. - Correct! Must go. - The sooner the better. - Wouldn't they arrest us? - What for? - For not executing of the order! - All the brigade they would not arrest. - It's not a thirty seventh year now! - And not a forty first when the retreat-bloking detachments were put behind. - Correct! - There was no order "no step back" as the one of Stalin! - There was the only order! - Which one? - Should not bother the refinery. - Stronzos, sooterkins, dog faces, scoundrels, cruds, crums, rubbers, fags, traitors! Have framed us! - Don't vociferate! "Dukhs" will hear. - Fuck'em. Let'em listen. - Want to be the "twohundredth"? Welcome! But not with us. Go. "Dukhs" are waiting over there. - Stop shooting the carp. Have to go. - Correct. - Go quickly. - What about entrapment? - We'll fight, what else? - Has anybody radioset? - I have, - the fighter stepped out of the darkness haveing the large radioset pickback. Why didn't he cast it away when "cross-racing" - unknown. - Call for ours, - the voice seems to be of the first battalion com-bat. Radiop started buzzing in the phone breastplate. In about five minutes they answered. Radiop gave the breastplate to somebody and that one started speaking. Everybody has quikened. - "Nipple-25", i'm - "Uran-5"! Read me good? Read You good also. Where are we? - and he asked us from the darkness: - And where are we, guys? - At the south-eastern end of the square. About tree hundred meters from the bridge. Ask wether they ready to assist us with fire if "dukhs" shoot during the breakthrough. - Hallo, "Nipple"! We're at the south-east of the square, nearly tree hundred meters from the bridge! If force - will assist us firing! Why you're not there? Where are you? And what about us? Understand. To force to the old brigade command center. Is that all? What? Who was hurt? And where is he? And San Sanych? - com-bat broke all the possible traffic rules but everybody didn't care at all. Any one liking that not could try to come and arrest. Everybody followed the traffic attentivly. - And what should we do? That is what i can advise me myself. Where to are you going? Are they following you? Many our "boxes" are burnt? Cricky! And what shall we do? Yes i understand we should go close to the old commander center. And did you report to tool Rolin? And what did he say about reinforcing? Nothing? Dork! Domino. Pulldown. Over. - How does it go? - Tell, don't tip toe. - Hist. Hush. Let him speak. - Thus, guys, - it was audible it was hard to speak, - the first point - Bahel was hurt... - Hurt? - Is he alife? - Where's he? - the vexed voices were heard. - Don't break, let me speak all and you can ask! - Don't stew us, speak! - Bahel was heart in the laeg, at thigh. The heart is bad. - He stays alife? - Shut your face, dork! - the vexed hollo was heard. - Stop shouting. You dork. - Will come now to break you dull head. Shut up, jerk! - You jerk! - the kickers were not seen in the darkness. The moon and the paraflares starting up far away produced the shadows but unclear, vague, breaking ones. - Sod it! Will you give it a rest or not? - Will stand up now and cool you out! - the voice of the first troop and the second battalion was heard. He's alife, smoky! - Once more for unique dull repeating: the commander of brigade was heart in the leg. At thigh. The heart is bad. Being unconscious he was brought to the "North". Domino. Thaat's the first. - What else is heard about tha commander? - Sod it, why are you so dull? - Let the man to speak first and you can ask your stupid questions! - Talk. - No any more news about commander. It's known only he was brought to the "North" but they were not able to fight their way - "dukhs" made a block. Tehy fought the way to Khankala, will bring by "spinner" from it to the "North", after the first surgery. - Well, gloria Tibi... - Will you shut up, cow, or not? - Keep on! - The brigade is commanded by Bilich temporary. - San Sanych? - But who else? Have we many Biliches? - Bilich commands the brigade, - repeated com-bat, - they have left, fought the way to the south. The tech went through the bridge but it's not at that place now... - Fucking fiasco of brigade! - Exectly. Have broken, crashed... - the hysterical note were heard in the voice of the speaker. - Shut up, hysteric! - What's on? - They burnt, annihilated five our battleships, three infantry carriers... - Five battleships? - Sure, fucking fiasco of the brigade! - Will you shut up at all or not? - They offered to fight the way to the former point of the old command center by ourselves and to wait there for the others to comem closer. That was all from me now! - And where have they gone to? - They have "dukhs" on the tail. They steped in the entrapments couple times. Lost about five more men and now having parted at the small groups will concentrate at the former command center. - Jollily! - We were crashed as the Germans in the Great Patriotic near Kursk. - But shut up you, ugly creature! - And why do you writhe to be heros! - We should go to "dukhs" and surrender. About just the first battleships convoy on the last year november they just gave back the ones who they had let to be alife! - They'll give you fuck all! - Have you forgotten what they had made with our captives? - And we're also so good ourselves... - Yes, our arms are bloody up to the neck. - There will be no mercy. - That's fact. - So, what shall we do? - Where? To fight the way to the ours. - As a first step to reach any unit and after that to go to the former command center. - And how can we go to it? - Someone knows fuck all/ - Let's look at map. - The map is of forty seventh year edition, it's the same as to look at the "Belomor" package. - Ye-a-ah. We should come closer to the ours. - Let's start with leaving from this sodding square. - "Let's start". It's easy to say "let's start". And where to should we go? What is the direction? Through the bridge? - Will try through the bridge sure some of the soldiers have gone through the bridge. Kinda strong fire duel was not heard. - And would you, at the "dukhs" place, let the bridge be without protection when having reconquered us? - No-o-o-o, definitely. - That's what it is. We and they graduated from the same military colleges. So that means we and they think identically. - They do not think. They are "pakies"! - If they were "pakies" we would not be sitting here and quake with fear! - That's exact! - We have to leave by the same way - to the south-east, and from that place maybe we're able to get across to that waterside. - Sodding Bastards! - Who about are you? - About everybody! And about the moscowers and the wiseheads form the General Staff, and the dorts from Khankala and Mozdok. And about Warrantor of our Constitution and minister of defense, and about shitty "dukhs"! Why the devil gave me this hole - Chechnia? - Don't belch! - I belch? I want to live! Understand? I want to live! - Well, live, so we do not impede you. - You do not impede but the moscow sooterkins do impede. - They impede all the Russia. And what? - Why whaat? Let's go to Moscow! - Just from here? - You sould get out of this square at first, and after that collect the troops to march agains Moscow! - Eh, we have no leader, headman! - The headmen are only amoung the Indians and tribes. - Cut the cackle! Leave. - Where to? - To the south-east, there's no other way. - But maybe will risk through the bridge? - Go to risk. - Are there volunteers to check the bridge? The silence broken by the bursts near Gosbank and screeches of chechens. - Nobody. So, we go trough south-east. Will look around in the daytime, shelter us, call for ours. Let's go. - Let's go. - But may be actually through the bridge? - Go. Nobody stops you. Go. We had started. Having spread at the distance of about 30 meters as lengthwise as breadthways. Slowly walking. Attentively minding our steps, listening to the every rustle. The moon was being at the very zenith, lighting us the way and us also. "Dukhi" did not think about following us up. They either were afraid or did not want bother themselve with following up. In the times of the naval battles when there was Katharina the Second the fleeing enemy was not followed up. It was named "to build the golden bridge". Refined freak. Ushakov, having become later admiral, was the first one who broke that tradition and laid in the turkish of those days with might and main. The mouse should not be backed into corner and malcted the rescuing hopes. We were similar to those mice. May frightened, coursed, but if we were forced into mousetrap, we would fight as fated. Nobody raced to rescue us. Nobody organized rescuing expeditions. Would not wonder that, if we're able to wrest out of this "cul-de-sac", it will turn out there is already no our brigade anymore. Disestblished in the likeness of reduction of budgets. Ye-e-eh, that's not America. They had sent whole the fleet for rescuing of some lost in Yugoslavia pilot. And sure