The guy next to me sniggered, his machine gun bouncing rhythmically on his belly.
‘Thus, the Nation orders you to go forth in two independent units directed towards the “objective”, enter by combating within the “objective”, breaking through the enemy defence, physically eliminating all the terrorists, Islamists, Muslims, dogs, cats and every living thing you find, until you reach the main street of the “objective”, where the nexus of communication of enemy trenches is concentrated… Upon arrival, fire three red signal flares to signal your position to the tankers and support units, take your defensive positions and wait for them to reach you… Ah, the Nation also reminds you that dying, getting hit or hurt in any way is strictly prohibited…’
At that last sentence, the sergeant started laughing so hard he lost his balance, falling off the tyre he’d been sitting on.
We had to hold our bellies from laughing, and Nosov concluded:
‘As the ranking officer of this company, I confirm receipt of the order and wish you good luck, my dear comrade soldiers!’
After a few minutes we jumped onto the armour, and in good spirits – thanks to the captain’s comic interlude – we left for our mission, even if we knew that really there was nothing to laugh about…
The car went down the dirt road, jolting up and down at every bump; so as not to fall off we hung on to anything sticking out on the armour. We could barely see a few metres ahead; everything around us was as white as milk. The car carrying the explorers followed us. The cars were equipped with an electronic navigation system that could follow the road even in the complete absence of visual points of reference, and they took us to the exact location indicated by our captain, right in the middle of the fields.
‘Get off!’ Nosov ordered when the tracks stopped. ‘From here on we’re walking.’
The car following us nearly bumped into ours. Braking hard, it stopped suddenly, and an explorer fell on the ground. Some of his men helped him up; he was fine.
Nosov ordered all of us to move in line, following him. He had calculated the exact number of steps it would take to get to the village. All we had to do was stay alert and follow him.
Walking through the dark and the fog gave me the sensation of being totally defenceless; even if I couldn’t see anyone, I was sure that everyone could see me. We went down a path in the middle of the fields. Somewhere out there in the fog were the first houses in town.
Nosov stopped all of a sudden:
‘Everyone get down and don’t move!’ he whispered to Moscow, who was behind him.
As opposed to many non-professional officers, who hide behind the backs of their own soldiers in the event of danger, our captain exposed himself without a second thought. He was like a tiger on the prowl; he perceived and processed every sound and every movement, and if something obstructed our route, while we were still trying to figure out what was going on, he was the first to aim his rifle and shoot, if that’s what was needed.
Moscow turned to inform the others, and we passed the message to everyone in the line, forming a human chain. After a moment we were still, plunged into the most total silence imaginable. I squinted, trying to make out a shape in the fog, but I couldn’t see anything other than the cold, damp substance that surrounded us like an endless white wall.
After a while we heard a series of loud explosions in the distance, from the other side of the town. Our attack had begun. Just after that the Kalashnikovs came out, and we heard the sound of glass rattling very close to us – someone must have slammed a front door. Shouts in Arabic and Chechen came from all around, and then there was a series of footsteps quickly moving away from the shots and blending in with the sound of the battle. Our tanks had entered the town with the assault units – we counted at least ten cannon blasts. Someone near us kept shouting…
Nosov got up.
‘Follow me, there’s a house nearby: their first reinforced position. We have to take it fast…’
Jumping over an old, half-destroyed wooden fence, we entered one of the yards. In the pitch dark, completely enveloped in fog, the house seemed very small, but that was just an impression.
Part of the explorers’ unit was to stay in the yard and cover the access routes to the house. Nosov pointed out a long wire running to our left: a tripwire to a mine.
Zenith broke down the door – that was his speciality. In fact, Nosov called him the ‘poet of the busted door’ – with minimal effort, he was able to break down almost any door without making much noise. He would push on them with his foot, swift and steady, and they would obediently open.
‘Moscow, Zenith and I are going first,’ Nosov said. ‘You guys break up into groups.’
Once we were inside we noticed that the hallway was long and wide – there had to be lots of rooms, so we split them up. With me there was Shoe, the explorers’ sergeant, and two of their soldiers.
The enemies had arranged a row of speakers against the walls. So as not to attract attention, the windows had been obscured with tarpaulins, the kind usually used to cover tanks. Placed on the ground, in the blind corners away from the windows, were lamps that gave off a dim light. All this gave the place a macabre aspect… The electric plant in town hadn’t been functioning for ages; the light came from a combustion generator. Lots of houses had generators – usually they were kept in the cellar or on the patio, with a pipe system built to carry away the exhaust.
We entered one of the rooms. There were just a few mattresses and some sleeping bags; the floor was covered with clothes, Turkish toiletries, boxes of vacuum-packed food (some still half-full with spoons inside) and a pot with some tea. Next to one of the mattresses there was an unopened pack of single-use syringes; in a corner there was a pile of used syringes with brown spots on them, most likely heroin. On the mattress there was a brick-sized block: a nice fat chunk of hashish. One side of it was burnt and crumbled, and beside it was a box of filters and a bag with some tobacco. This was where our enemies prepared their ‘vitamins’ so that they could get through the attacks without fear and exhaustion.
Suddenly we heard gunshots. We looked into the hall and saw Nosov, Zenith and Moscow rushing past chasing someone.
We broke down a door that opened onto a large room. A few enemies were waiting for us inside. They fired a spray of bullets at us, but we were able to dodge it. After throwing three hand grenades, we entered the cloud of dust, which smelled of burnt flesh. We kicked the bodies a few times – everyone was dead. One was literally disintegrated – only his shoes were left, and his ankle bones protruded from them; his clothes were smeared on the walls, mixed with blood and flesh. The F1 is a very powerful fragmentation grenade, and it could chop you up mercilessly. If you’re lucky you’re just left an invalid, but three F1s in one room definitely won’t spare anyone. The others must have thrown that poor wretch at the grenades trying to save themselves. They were blood-sucking junkies, with no honour or soul.
In the room there were lots of weapons and some crates of RPG-7 grenade launcher ammo, which had remained undamaged. A pair of grenade launchers was leaning against the wall. One was fine, whereas the other had been damaged by the explosion. I took the intact one and loaded a round in it, then passed it to an explorer. The RPG was a very useful weapon; if you knew how to use it well it could change the course of a battle. We only had one single-shot RPG at our disposal, which we called the ‘fly’ or ‘hornet’. But whenever we came across a trophy as valuable as the RPG-7, we took it without a second thought, and after using it we would get rid of it.