‘The operation is set to begin today at twenty-three hundred hours. All active units will move in accordance with the orders received this morning. Confirmation of operational orders in thirty minutes…’
The tankers’ colonel extinguished his cigarette in a dish, leaned against the crate of cannon shells, looked up at something only he could see, and began to speak very slowly:
‘If we go that way, as directed in the orders, they’ll wipe all of us out… What’ll we do with the burned tanks left in the middle of the road? The Arabs will use them as shields, and we’ll end up repeating the same mistakes we’ve made in the past… Those Muscovite pieces of shit at general command don’t give a shit what happens here. Since this operation began I’ve lost sixty men and twenty-three tanks. We have to come up with something…’
‘Orders have to be respected, Colonel… Tanks can’t break through a city defence alone, we all know that, they have to follow the soldiers and support them in the attack.’ Nosov spoke in a conspiratorial tone. ‘But the place is small, and if we coordinate with the assault units, I’m sure we’ll only need four or five tanks to keep the positions the soldiers have liberated… We’ll use the other tanks for transport beyond the perimeter, outside town, to guarantee our boys protection from fire…’
I listened attentively to what our captain was saying. It was no surprise that a higher ranking officer took Nosov’s tactical advice into consideration. Everyone knew that he was always able to find a strategic solution (often it differed from the original plan but still led to the desired result) that would save human lives and conserve resources while also carrying out command’s orders. Experience was everything in war – rank meant almost nothing.
The colonel seemed like a humble guy. As Nosov spoke he kept nodding.
‘All right,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll go rally the assault unit commanders. We’ll try to help each other, as always… Nosov, are you sure you can get by with just one support unit?’
Our captain lowered his eyes, resting them on the makeshift table, where the town map was spread out.
‘The less we are, the better it is. Now, they don’t know what side we’re going to attack from, and when our assault begins they’ll move most of their men to the hottest point…’ He pointed to a spot on the map and the colonel moved closer to see. ‘We saboteurs will enter from the other side and go in deep. Once we’ve found a safe position, like for example this path here…’ He ran his finger along a line traced in pencil. ‘We’ll shoot three red signal flares – at that sign your tanks and infantrymen can proceed. The important thing is for them to take this route and not take secondary roads; otherwise we’ll end up killing each other…’
The colonel looked at the map, absorbed:
‘With the dark and this damn fog we’ll have to be pretty careful…’
‘It’s not the first time – actually, it could even be useful to us…’
Nosov seemed very sure of himself, but I wasn’t so convinced. In the fog you can’t see a thing, and even the softest sound seems amplified. The captain knew very well that it was a risky mission, but he didn’t let it show.
The colonel suddenly noticed we were there and gave us a questioning look. Nosov introduced us right away:
‘The sergeant and sniper of my group, they just inspected the western side… What’s the situation, strays?’
According to military code it was Moscow’s responsibility to speak, but since I was usually the one who gave reports, I went ahead.
I gave a hint of a military salute, and the colonel invited me to sit at the table with them.
‘Show me what you saw, son…’ He was nice and casual; we could act with him as we did with Nosov.
I set my rifle on the table, sat down and took a look at the map. There were already several marks; I limited myself to indicating the points where I had seen the trenches and the cars that the Arabs had arranged to block the roads.
When I finished, Nosov said that we could go.
‘We start in a few hours… Eat something and get a good nap, and check my weapons and clips, get my vest and get everything in order – I still have quite a bit to take care of here…’
We left the tent.
Our boys were in an armoured car. Some were already sleeping; others were eating or preparing ammo for the operation. After a while we were joined by the infantry night explorer group that was supposed to come with us. I noticed how well equipped they were; the butts of American and European guns poked out from their jacket pockets. Their sniper had a rifle like mine, but his night scope was foreign, a model I’d never seen before. They seemed relaxed – they must have been through lots of battles – and this put us somewhat at ease.
I prepared my things and filled four magazines for Nosov. I tore off a piece of bread, wolfed it down, and went to sleep.
Shoe woke me up with a light tap on the chest. I opened my eyes and realised that I hadn’t dreamed anything, as often happened in war.
Nosov was already mobilising the unit:
‘Everyone get up, listen to the operational orders!’
We formed a circle by the car. Some sat on the wheels, others on crates or right on the ground. I was next to the explorer sergeant, a guy as big as a mountain; he was holding a light machine gun, which, against his belly, seemed little more than a toy.
Nosov and the explorers’ lieutenant major – a young man already ravaged by war, his face marked by a long scar that went across his right cheek down to his neck – sat down in our circle.
They unfolded a battered, crumpled map on a crate. Nosov gave a brief introduction, showing us the areas where enemy defences were likely to be, explaining our moves and predicting the enemies’. He was very skilled at this – all he needed was a little information and he could construct the dynamics of an operation with precision.
‘Snipers, listen up… We have to take the heavy machine guns down first. Logically, they should be here.’ He pointed to two crossroads on the way into the town. ‘Follow the sound and the flash of the fire. If you see a light go on and off in the middle of the fog, keep your eyes there and you can’t go wrong…’
He went on, improvising a mini-lesson on the tactics of war in the fog, insisting on the fact that the most important thing was not to be afraid and not to lose control. Since he didn’t know them very well, he seemed to be addressing the explorers in particular. To us, the ones in his unit, it was clear by then that we were going to spend the rest of the night shooting at each other in the fog.
Then our captain rose to his feet. We knew what was going to happen – in fact, we sat back to enjoy the show, as we usually did on these occasions.
The explorers, on the other hand, were looking around at one another, a little embarrassed. Their lieutenant gestured for them to stay seated and listen.
Nosov pulled a document out of his pocket, the executive order that was supposed to be read before every mission:
‘Comrade soldiers! The Nation thanks you for your indispensable service and cannot conceal the pride it feels in knowing that you will liberate it from the parasitic presence of Islamic terrorists hiding in the city of N—, which, for the sake of simplicity and military ignorance, we’ll call by a name dear to every one of us: “objective!”’ He read a little and made up a little, accompanying his performance with a series of gestures and facial expressions that kept us doubled over with laughter. ‘At twenty-three hundred hours and fifteen minutes, Moscow time – Moscow, the incomparable capital of our magnificent Country – we received the highly anticipated confirmation of our absolutely invaluable order…’