The major barked:
‘Captain! You are an officer in charge of one unit. Do all of us a favour; devise strategies with your men however and whenever you see fit, but don’t try to resolve something that goes beyond your capacities!’
Nosov, however, didn’t want to listen. He went on with accusations, using the same old stories about Afghanistan, talking about how he had been abandoned by a bunch of ‘officers with no balls’ worried more about their medals than about the soldiers who were dying in the ‘traps laid out for them by the generals in the Kremlin’, people who had sold out to those ‘faggots at the Pentagon’…
At a certain point the major lost his patience and he went outside the tent, asking to be brought a field radio.
Three soldiers came running up. One carried the radio; the other two – Cossacks armed to the teeth, with vests, guns, Kalashnikovs and extra clips all over – went into a corner and started talking with the explorers’ sniper.
The soldier with the radio fiddled with the equipment a little, then passed the handset to the major. They were calling the unit of trapped infantrymen, who had been holding out heroically for hours.
‘Twelve thirty-two! Twelve thirty-two! Birch calling! Birch calling!’
They answered right away.
‘Birch! Birch! This is twelve thirty-two!’ You could hear the agitation in his voice, gunfire in the background.
The major took a deep breath, and said in a shaky voice:
‘Soldier, what is your situation? Request confirmation of your situation!’
For a moment everything on the other side stopped, you could only hear some shooting and a couple of loud explosions. We all stared at the radio, holding our breath.
After a moment the voice returned, even more agitated than before:
‘Birch, Birch! Confirming our situation! The unit is under siege. Lots of two-hundreds![6] The three-hundreds are almost gone,[7] we have no more medi-kits! The unit has run out of supplies, I don’t know how much longer we can last! We request air strike on our coordinates! Fire on us!’
The soldier’s voice seemed not to come from the radio, but to come from somewhere beyond. It was more than desperate – it was defeated. After a brief pause, he concluded the conversation:
‘Goodbye, brothers, remember us, and may God bless you! The whole unit and I salute you…’
Afterwards, we heard a long whistle; that sound meant the other side had ended communication. The major ordered the radio to be turned off and sat down on one of the crates, his face tired. He took an unfiltered cigarette and started smoking it with fury. He looked Nosov in the face, and then said quietly:
‘Captain, unfortunately you heard for yourself how badly off they are. Sending our units would be a futile sacrifice, pure insanity… Independent of whatever action we decide to take, command has already given the order, and soon we’ll have confirmation – they’re going to bomb the perimeter. All we can do is be ready for the attacks from the surviving enemy groups, who will most certainly try to flee the area.’
Nosov turned back to the map. The major got up and ordered the soldier with the radio to return to his unit. Only then did the two Cossacks approach the major. One of them, the older one, gave him a military salute. The major stood up, and before responding, checked to make sure his hat was on[8] – you could see that he was tired and worn out too.
The Cossack said:
‘I’m Osaul[9] Ustinov, Sixth Division of Free Kuban Cossacks… My son, Private Ustinov, is in the enemy-surrounded area. I ask your permission to join the attack group going to support our boys!’
The major looked at our captain for a second and then, lowering his eyes, began explaining the situation to the Cossack:
‘I understand your request, but the boys have no hope. They requested fire on their position, I’m certain they won’t make it to daybreak alive… I officially apologise for our total powerlessness in the face of a situation like this…’ From his tone of voice, it was almost as if he were apologising for having personally killed the Cossack’s son.
The Cossack’s face went dark, like a cloud heavy with rain. I was standing beside him, and I had the impression he was going to burst at any moment.
‘How much time do we have before the first air strike?’ Nosov suddenly asked.
He was focused on the map and didn’t notice the expression that came over the major’s face. Naturally, the major didn’t want to take on responsibility for any potential plans that came from Nosov’s mind. Despite all that, he replied:
‘About an hour and a half, Captain… But I don’t understand – what does the time of the strike matter now? The situation is cut-and-dried, unfortunately…’
Nosov looked up from the map, took a piece of bread from the table and chewing it almost cruelly, said:
‘Major, with all due respect… In an hour my strays and I can break through the enemy defence, check out their position, free the boys and come back home. We’ll have time left over for breakfast…’
At these words my heart sank into my boots: Nosov was going to take us straight to hell.
The major took off his cap and sat down on the crate. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack; he was probably already picturing some superior stripping the stars from his uniform. He tried to object, without conviction, and raising his voice just a touch, he repeated:
‘That’s not within your competencies, Captain…’
But Nosov shot back arrogantly:
‘Major! Let the beasts in the forest cry, we’re soldiers and we must do our duty! My men and I will go into operation immediately. We’ll go through the sewers, you prepare a group to cover us, because within an hour we’ll come out at this exact point.’ His finger pointed to the spot on the map.
Nosov traced a line marking a little street that went behind the trapped infantrymen’s position and ended just opposite our units. Between those two points there was a kilometre and a half with enemy positions. Looking at it on the map, the route seemed short and simple, but to physically travel it, on the actual perimeter, definitely wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.
The explorers’ sniper came up, shook my hand and said:
‘Good luck and may God protect you, do everything you can for our boys…’
I, at that moment, was thinking that if anything went wrong, there wouldn’t be anybody to do everything they could for us. If we tarried even a little we would get bombed by our own planes. Nothing to be cheery about.
The major looked Nosov in the eyes and said:
‘Captain, there’s nothing I can do to stop this insane endeavour of yours, but remember that if anything happens behind the line, no one will be able to help you… As an officer of the Russian Army, all I can do is restrict myself to calling your actions dangerous for the lives of the soldiers under you. Personally, I’m against anarchy…’ After these words, the major made a sly face, and whispered in a low voice, ‘But, Captain, if you need anything in particular, all of our magazines are at your disposal…’
Nosov spoke seriously, as he would do whenever he could already taste victory:
‘Prepare the support troops at the places I showed you on the map. In an hour we’ll be there.’ Without another word he exited the tent.
Before leaving, I paused to salute the major according to regulation. Looking at me squinty-eyed, he just waved his hand as if he were shooing away a fly.