He was injured in Djabal.
Djabal to Gulbakhora is half an hour away. Our battalion had three infantry companies and one mortar battery. Every week, fifteen soldiers are taken out of the company. We must attribute to the comrades who stand in the pickets, food, water, fuel. We approached the narrow path in Gulbakhor. We often had to change our friends. On one of those days, performing such an operation, we had to walk in a chain five meters from each other. There was a very high mountain. On us was a bulletproof jacket, on the shoulders – products, in the package – water protection. In the hooks to them, an automatic machine, four stores of 45 ammunition. I needed to go up, but it was very high. Therefore, not all soldiers reach the target at the same time. Ten to fifteen people usually lag behind. Many guys from fatigue, tension and poor nutrition started stomach disorder. Halfway into the mountains, your feet will cease to obey you; if you bend, you will not be straight. The pain absorbs all other feelings. Within two and a half hours we reached the final objects. Many of them did not look like soldiers. They overgrown, become a dervish[2 - Dervish – rambler.]. We change them at the post, they go down, in the shelf location, wash, come back.
The soldiers stumbled. Products ceased to come from the Union. We only eat suckers. The water situation is difficult. I haven’t washed for twenty days, it turns out, and that’s enough to lose the human appearance. I started scratching. I don’t know what it was, whether it was lice, or bugs, or maybe fleas. All the clothes struck them. By the morning, the body became red from their bites. In front of them all were equal – soldiers and officers. These creatures are terrible. They push people to the limit.
On December 31, when it was twenty minutes until twelve Moscow time, we came out of the landscape, shooting in the air from machine guns, missiles.
Sergeant major and I looked at the traces of bullets in the night sky. Suddenly my legs were rejected. At first I didn’t even realize that one of them got into me. I have fallen. I cannot get up. Comrades raised me up and took me to the medical unit. I lost a lot of blood on the road. They burned me and sent me to Bagram. I thought I couldn’t get up anymore. I never had to meet the New Year with my comrades.
Ask about locals? Afghans especially dislike non-Muslim soldiers. I had a companion Muhammad from Samarkand, a Tajik nation. He was captured. A year later he was released. It was an interesting story. Many prisoners were slaughtered, their ears and noses cut off. Muhammad knew their language. He was asked the name. When they knew that his name was Muhammad, they looked over and asked again with amazement. When they were convinced that they had not heard, they took him to the chief. The chief with a long beard examiningly looked at him with his bloody eyes:
– Muhammad? – he said, and brought him to the prisoners, a senior and a soldier named Vasiliy.
– It was about noon, he said. They followed me. I did not understand what was happening. I was placed in a row with comrades. They cut clothes with a knife. Divide the second. Not wanting to see them mocking my comrades, I closed my eyes. Then someone, tightly pressing my hands, said:
– Open your eyes, Muhammad, or do you want to suffer like them?
– But I could not look anyway. I could never have imagined that there was such cruelty, such methods of bullying. My hands were bound, and my feet were dressed with candles. I look awkwardly. Suffering and smarting were on the faces of my comrades. The Afghans tortured them in turn. The place of one bandit was occupied by the other. And so on, more and more. The soldiers could not stand anymore. They lost consciousness. Then I closed my eyes and went. I saw them again when they exchanged us. It was terrible to look at both. I was finally told:
– You will regret not being with us. Go and say thank you to the one who called you Muhammad.
They have a very religious feeling. If a person of another faith is captured, they are very cruel.
In Thermez, I was wrongly operated, failed in the hospital for several months. My feet are still insensitive.
"THEY WERE ROBBED…"
Hasilhan Mamarasayev, born in 1968. From Syrdarya region, Uzbekistan.
– There were four days until I returned home. We stood in a wreck along the road as our troop left Kabul. We were five in one car. Not a hundred miles away – dugout, at night we rested in turn in it. I was the commander of the mine division. But our driver, a Russian guy, had something in his head. Once he broke into the commander of the regiment with a grenade in his hands, threatening to blow him up. He was then sent home and I was ordered to drive the car.
On the second day of our watch, an antitank mine exploded in front of us. Smoke and dust rose by 200 meters. Fortunately, we were in the car cabin. The glass broke, but it didn’t hit us.
The soldiers searched the nearby village. There was no soul in the houses. Everyone left home and fled. In fact, we were dealing with the robbers.
On February 10, one soldier was killed and another wounded. The next day at ten or eleven we went on our way. From Aybat came to Tashkurgan. There was an order to leave no one.
In the morning we went on the road again. 200 meters passed. How I was hurt, I didn’t even notice. I felt like my legs were rejected. The officer stopped the column. Something slipped into my boots. "There’s hot water" – I wondered. My legs crossed with rubber.
In medical unit I took the injection and was brought to Termez. They operated, but one bullet was left behind. Doctors are cruel. For a long time they stumbled in my wounds, pulling out the bullets, and yet shouting at me. It was especially painful when, finally, a bullet was touched, which struck into the bone, like a knife. My brother took it to himself as a bitter memory of the experience.
I saw an Afghan officer in the hospital. He was injured and laid three chambers away from me. At first I wanted to suffocate him. But gradually the anger passed, and I began to realize that he was also a victim. He was hit by a bullet, like me. I was from a stranger, but he was shot by his own. It is not easy for him. Obsessed by the idea of revolution, he wandered through foreign countries.
My father visited me. I cannot say a word of excitement, as if the tongue had gone away. My father also shakes his head. I was angry. This was our first meeting.
"FUZZI"
Safarmakhmud Babayev, born in 1963. From Tajikistan.
– From the regiment where I served as a driver, we headed to the thirty-eighth barrel. They left their food and went on. A tank was ahead. To catch him, I increased the speed. There were thirty meters between the tank and us. Something broke our car. When I woke up, I was lying far from it. I looked around. There were no front wheels in the car. The door collapsed and gasoline was poured out of the tank. I started looking for the senior lieutenant and senior officer who were with me in the car. The oldest officer was lying at ten meters and looked at me. His leg was broken, and his bone was torn out of his broken shoe. When I noticed that I was looking at his feet, he turned his eyes away. Then I lost consciousness. Then I heard the senior lieutenant’s voice: "Are you alive?" I lay down, turned to the side and looked where the voice came from.
The Lieutenant’s legs turned into a bloody messy. I tried to get up to help the wounded. But I didn’t have time to step, as the pain spread through the whole body. I lost consciousness and fell. I don’t know how long I was lying there, but when I woke up, I heard a lieutenant’s cry:
– Shoot, shoot, the IFV will lead! I did not find a machine next to me. I heard the sound of the engines. Both cars approached. I remember only the sleeve wet from the wound, blood. Then I lost consciousness again. I woke up when the nurses washed the wound. We all three stayed there for two days. On the third day I learned that the lieutenant's legs had been cut off and I cried. But what about me, where I was wounded, I still did not realize.
On January 17, we were brought to Tashkent. Two weeks later, my leg was operated. I woke up after the operation on the third day. In my eyes, everything was like a fog.
…I realized we got into the mine. I broke up not the first time. The first explosion occurred at the beginning of my Afghan service. The day before, I had a dream. I saw my father. He begged me with tears: "Son, don’t go with the officers, you are my beloved son". I was upset and promised not to go. I woke up. Everyone was dressed in a hurry. I also dressed. We went on the way. Almost immediately, we encountered a tank that exploded on a mine. He stood right by the road, the engine was dropped fifty meters away, and the tower lay far from the body. Then I thought, "If the mine has eroded the tank in this way, then the car, probably like a flashbox, will fade into small pieces". Not far we left this place, as happened what I thought. By chance I remained uninjured.
Before I ran into the mine for the second time, my father also dreamed, he strictly said, "Today do not drive, if you go – you are not my son". I begged the mayor not to go today, but he refused. Then I drove fast. I had a friend Fakhri from Samarkand. I asked him, "If I come back alive, we will continue to serve. If it is not judged, do not send my things, but take them for yourself". He abused me. But I felt that something would happen. My father don't begged me for nothing.
When my father came to the hospital, I looked at him and seemed to be in remembrance. He ran to me, hugged me and only then I came back to myself. We were silent for a long time. Then we talked a lot, cried.
On the photo that I sent to my father and my mother, one of my hands was hardly visible. Then my father told me that my mother was crying, looking at it. "Where are his hands? You are deceiving me!" – She said and sent my brother to photograph me again. I have picture taken with my arms raised, now my mom probably calmed down.
It was terrible in the war. I cannot forget one case. As we walked with the commander on the cheek, a curly boy with a white bandaged hand was running out to meet us. When I saw him, the commander rushed to the machine. I took him by the hand, but he pushed me away and shot the boy. He did not fall, but exploded. So there is a picture before my eyes how the curly boy's head broke off and froze for a moment in the air. What was this boy to blame for? The commander explained:
– He had a mine in his hands. He wanted to explode all of us.
– I’m tired, don’t ask me anymore.
"NO ONE WAS CLOSER…"
Muhammad Tashbayev, born in 1968. From Kazakhstan.
He was injured in the town of Puli Humri.
– With Yakub Jalilov, my friend from Fergana, we were called into the army at the same time. And in the barracks our beds were nearby. We were both tank commanders. We went on tasks together. On the outside, we were like brothers. Before the army, there was no close friend, and with Yakub we became here as relatives. When I went to work, he didn’t sleep, waiting for me to come back. I was also worried about him.
On that day there was free time, we sat down, talked, and remembered our homeland. We read letters from our girlfriends. Some tremendous force of attraction connected us with strong bonds and therefore we had no secrets from each other. Even my relatives did not know about my girlfriend, but I read her letters to Yakub. And he did too.
He had to go on a task. As always, we hugged up to say goodbye. Yakub, the captain, the shooter and the driver left the location of the regiment. I went over to my seat, sat on the board and suddenly, as if from a current blow, involuntarily jumped out of place. There was a shadow in front of my eyes. I felt like I heard someone’s complaining voice. From anxiety the heart so hopes out of the chest. I can’t sit still and know what to do. It was the first time I was in this condition. I went out. It was hot. The hot wind is blowing in the face. Then I came back. The heart fell again, not giving me peace. Probably, once hundred I went out and entered the barracks again.
I don’t know how much time has passed. I woke up from the loud scream of the "Alarm!" And as if only waiting for that word, I immediately ran to the tank. Along the way, someone said that the tank sent to the task was shot by dushmans. My section took its place. Without waiting for the team, I moved forward. The others followed me. By the commander’s order, we determined the direction. Here he informed that the tank, which went to the task two hours ago, fell from the bridge. That sort of cases has happened on this bridge many times.
The cold sweat covered my body. I heard Yakub’s voice in my ears. "So far" – he said, glimpsing at me to say goodbye. Probably I said something out loud, the senior lieutenant pushed my shoulder and asked with a gesture what was going on.
In about an hour we reached the bridge. It was built in the event of spring rains and seawater streams. Now the bottom of the waterless river was covered with small stones. The tank was not seen. We stopped a little further from the bridge and jumped off the tires. As I approached, I noticed a tank. It was like a twisted beetle, lying with his goats up. People were not seen.
It was a Yakub's tank. The tremors encompassed me. In a 40-tonne tank that fell from such a height, no one could survive. I went down. My feet did not listen, my knees bowed. I thought of my friend lying breathlessly inside the tank. Tears clogged the eyes. I couldn’t hold back and started to pin the tank, but someone pulled me back. The senior lieutenant submitted a command from under the bridge:
– To me!
Two broken legs were pulled from the tank. We put them aside. They had officer boots. Others followed us. In the depth where the tower was to be located, there was a frozen body of an officer. His cut off head remained next to the deepening. The soldiers pulled out those who remained inside the tank. We all put them next to us. Yakub seemed to be whole and unharmed. I touched his face. It was cold. I noticed a small wound. I whispered something to him, hugging his cold body. I still can’t remember what I was saying then. I was like crazy. I saw it all, but it was like through the fog. The shock did not think.
The mechanic driver survived. The scratched skin of the forehead with a red speck hanged over the nose. The last time I said goodbye to a friend whom I found in the hardest days of my life. It made it easier for me to endure this nightmare. The days spent with him came to an end. I became inhumane. I couldn’t understand why I was born, why I had to live. At night, I suddenly jumped out of place. I seemed to hear his voice. I could not believe that he was dead and that we would never talk to him again until morning. Only my fingers, which captured the coldness of the dead face, reminded me that all this, unfortunately, it was not a terrible dream, but a cruel reality.
…I fell, when there were three steps to the tank. I felt my feet. Something hot, sticky was under my fingers. I couldn’t get up. The shooting continued. I was put on a tank and taken to a garrison hospital. Sometimes I lost consciousness.
How long I’ve been there, I don’t know. I woke up in a helicopter. There was a grave nearby. Who it was I don’t know, in the nonsense I seemed, I touched the cold face of Yakub, I raised: these were the legs of an officer.
I was in Termez for four days under anesthesia. When I woke up, a soldier was laid on the next bed. His chest was crushed, his straightening bandages impregnated with blood. He is chilled. Calmed down. Dead. You cannot get used to it.
He seemed to have spent eternity among the dead and blood. The head hurts. Can I go to bed?…
"THROUGH THE CANAL FLOWED RED BLOOD"
ZairKhalmukhamedov, 1965 year of birth. From Tashkent, Uzbekistan.
We were led to the shooting field, where we fired targets from machine guns. So, we prepared.
It was August. It was 8 pm. It gets dark there quickly. We should have stood in the assembly on Mount Kuruk. From the outskirts of Kabul to this mountain is four kilometers.
If you are not threatened by danger, there is nothing to climb such mountains even with a bull's body on your shoulders. After all, you are calm and majestic mountains, like a magnet, pull to yourself. Why do you think the faces of people who hunt in the mountains are covered with wrinkles early? Because, pursuing or waiting in the siege of the beast, the nerves are strained to the limit, thousands of words overcome it. But no matter how dangerous the predator is, it is still an animal, a man is smart and in this case the master of the situation.
And imagine two clever people who intend to kill each other. Time shrinks, minutes of anxiety replace dozens of years lived
Especially it is difficult in the mountains. The echo of the shot will spread from all sides and you do not know where the bullet is flying from, behind which stone the enemy hides and targets you. As they say, it is a matter of habit, and you begin to get used to evil and cruelty. I don’t know how it was for others, but it happened to me in a moment. I shot the first man. He jumped high and fell.
Intelligence has its own rules. A patrol of three of the strongest men is put forward. Behind them followed the main group with the commander. A 40-kilogram load was on his shoulders.
I was in the front door. With me the "old" who remained until the "demobee" for a few days. In intelligence you need to be extremely careful, walk silently. To do this, you put your foot on your foot and only then move your body forward. There are three liters of water in the mosque, but when you climb the mountain, you can’t drink. Just wash your mouth. Otherwise, you will only be an unnecessary burden for your comrades, because you will relax from the water, there will be no strength to go.
Those who have swallowed water cannot be left on the road. Therefore, the commander repeatedly warns that no one should drink on the road. No matter how much you explain, they are weak.
… We arrived at the cottage of corn. We had to set up an assembly. I look forward to seeing the sun finally sinking beyond the horizon. It seems to have frozen in place. It was dark, and we built up. We checked the equipment and started climbing the mountain. The mountain on which we wanted to settle was three hundred and fifty meters high. But the way to the top was far, the mountain path is not easy and insidious. We went on the road at 8 o'clock. Even before they reached the mountains, a few of the boys could no longer withstand, drank water and got out of power. We went ahead. After certain periods of time, I inform the commander on the safety of the road. In the first half we reached the top. The fortification was constructed with great caution. We did this until five in the morning. Then they lay down. One of us listened to the sounds, the other one in the binoculars watched the district. The guards are free to rest. The commander forbade the fortification. 24 hours passed. At two o’clock in the night, some unclear sounds were heard. But not knowing their source, we took care to light the district with a rocket.
The day broke. The peasants of the village of Kuruk with the spade through their shoulders went to the field. It is very hot in the mountains in summer. Below, shining in the rays of the sun, water flows. You greedily swallow viscous saliva. We have been drinking our three liters of water long before. The lips broke. But we continue to observe. I think it makes no sense what we are doing here. We observe the paths leading to the pebble, and our gaze leads to a shadowy tree near the canal. I would lie down under it!
Suddenly two figures stumbled away. We got along. The distance between us decreased. Approximately two hundred meters later, two more appeared. They approached the cylinder. Passing along the canal, the persons stopped right in front of us, removed their knots from their shoulders, and sat down to eat in the shade of the same tree, which has become an unattainable dream for us. Those who walked from behind stopped and examined the area. At the command of the commander, three groups of three men began to descend to surround them. When they were a hundred meters away, they noticed us. The shooting began. I was right. In a hurry, I took a careless step and slipped away. I ran over a gallon of thirty meters and struck a stone, injured my right hand. I looked carefully over the stone, the bullets flew in my direction. Only now I realized that those two days of waiting were not meaningless. And the bullets hit the stone for which I hid and jumped away. And you don’t know where they were shooting from, the echo of shots was spreading everywhere. I have no strength to raise my head. There is a voice of the commander, constantly calling for contact.
Thirty second I was lying in such a state. In front of my eyes, like a film, memories of past days – family, friends pass through the wreath. I am a participant in this film. It is like watching TV. Whom I helped and did well, whom I hurt. Then, as if awakened from my sleep, I shudder. The paintings of memories disappeared and their place was taken by bullets, whispering around. I wanted to get right. My hands did not obey me. Then I took the machine with my left hand and crossed to the left edge of the stone. I saw an enemy constantly shooting at me. He was hiding behind a bag. "You don’t know how to shoot", a cruel thought came into my mind. I took a bag and shot. He was one of those two who ate in the shadow of a tree. The partner was dead. My shot calmed me. I told the commander that two were killed and two were resisting. One of the remaining hid in the displacement between the stones and, not ceasing, fired. We were at thirty meters from him. The commander ordered to cover him with a grenade. Seven grenades, thrown in his direction, did not reach, exploded in the air. Volodya Kudryavtsev managed to cope with the last enemy. With victory we went down.
In the dust of battle you do not realize the death of a man. The essence of events comes to you later. When we walked to the canal, we saw that the water in it had turned red. The smell of blood hit my nose. I was ripped. The one I shot was very young, almost a boy.
His black eyes were uncovered. The bullet hit his head, and he lay, hanging it in a canal. Blood from the wound colored the water. I looked at his eyes:
– Why are you here? Why did I have to shoot you? I remembered my younger brothers, my peers. Mother stood opposite: "What did you do?" She asked, and tears flowed on her face. I was crying. I don’t know what force made me lean toward him. I kissed him in the forehead. He has not yet cooled. Someone, holding my hand tightly, raised me. He put a pin in my hand and said, "Cut off his ears". With a mixed sense of confusion and fear, I looked at him…
Dagger was blunt. After several attempts, I, finally, not that broke them, or cut them off.
The soldier, who had only a few days to serve, with some pleasure carefully wrapped them in paper and put them in his pocket.
How I raised my hands on this, I don’t understand. After all, before that I couldn’t even squeeze the bucket, and then I almost cut off the boy’s ears with a dumb knife. Yes, the war disgraces some, and harms others.
Among our soldiers established the custom of cruel, bloody. To the "old" soldier a young one must necessarily bring some cut organ of the killed enemy. When I first heard about this "habit", I was shocked. This is probably the highest manifestation of cruelty. There are a lot of things that I cannot and do not want to talk about. And our bodies were fragmented, and we manufactured the same. The thirst for blood swept both sides.
Our assembly was discovered, and we headed back to the company. Someone cried out: "Lie down!" From surprise, everyone got caught up. The commander said:
– Well, guys, we’ll try our happiness again. – And shot two silhouettes on the top of the mountain. Two eagles went up in the air.
The next day, we were shot from the shells. It became clear that the killed were from there. We usually placed mines under bodies, so we knew that the relatives of the killed who tried to take the body also died.
September 21st. We went on the IFV took to the road leading to Surubi. From the two sides the mountains rise. The boys, who set up on the armor of the IFV, are observing. Upon arrival at our destination, we took positions on the road. There were exploded IFV on the way. Distance between posts is 2 km. We got to the third post. During the day we rested, and in the evening, at nine o’clock, we went to the mountains to arrange a siege. After we built the fortification on the spot, the shooting began. A rocket flew into the air. The Afghan's donkeys were lying dead, but they were not seen. When they came down, they were already far from us. The newcomers were too hasty to start shooting, and all our efforts turned out to be in vain.
There was a waterfall next to our post. On other posts with water it was tight and when we came to one of them to change comrades, the guys ran out to meet us.
– Misha Klykov was killed, – they said. This was the first death of my friend. His body was wrapped in a blanket. There was no left hand, the meat from the back was rubbed and the bones too. The intestines are folded next to them, and the removed fingers are folding to the head. He exploded on a mine buried at the edge. He was twenty years old that day. Tonight we were going to celebrate his birthday. Misha went out on the road with a barrel to get water from us…
In memory of the deceased, we had three days of mourning. All these three days there was bread and a glass of water at the soldier’s bed.
Misha lived in the 19th quarter of Chilanzar. He was the only son in the family. After the end of the service, I visited his parents, both of whom were terribly old. They didn’t want to let me go, they bothered me all around. His portrait hung on the wall. I couldn’t sit with them for long. In front of me was a terrible picture of that day.
"MURDERER AT NINETEEN YEARS OLD"
Fazlitdin Rasulov, 1965 year of birth. From Tashkent, Uzbekistan
