16
When the Chechen singer sang, ‘There’s nothing more terrifying than the courage of a man who’s doomed,’ you never really reflected deeply on the meaning of those words. No doubt the singer did not truly understand the words he’d penned. Yet this song expresses the essence of a man whose spirit is at its zenith. Man is a predator. If in this dog-eat-dog world he hadn’t been a predator, man, who is quite feeble if you take away his intellect, could never have survived as a species. When our distant ancestor, armed with a stone axe or wooden club, came face to face with the mighty cave bear, he’d have been fully aware of how puny he was compared to this giant. But he would also have realized that the bear was free to leave without hurting him, whereas he did not have that luxury. If he let the bear go, he would encounter an enemy still more powerful and ruthless, an enemy he’d be condemned to lose against: hunger. And so this greater fear in the face of a more potent opponent forced our ancestor to attack his formidable enemy and win. Win for the sake of life. Or else die. Modern man would call the taking of such a decision – the decision to submit in such circumstances to one’s predatory instincts – strength of spirit. And often the outcome of a confrontation between warring parties or individuals comes down to which side has more strength of spirit.
In early August 1996, such a situation arose in Grozny. On 6 August the armed forces of the Chechen Republic entered the city and in a matter of hours effectively took control of it. And it was not the first time that year they’d taken Grozny. In March, Chechen units had seized and held it for an entire week. This time round, the Chechens were so successful in sealing in the Russian Army units based in the city that the slightest activity on the part of the Russian artillery and air force would have inevitably involved friendly fire. And without backup from artillery and air strikes, they were powerless and vulnerable. The Chechen resistance fighters were positioned just a few dozen metres from the Russian units. And this prompted the famous forty-eight-hour ultimatum[35] delivered by General Pulikovsky, which finally forced both sides into an impasse. Neither side could withdraw without losing Grozny and thereafter the republic. And indeed, nor could they leave unless there was a decisive battle where the massive loss of life would justify giving up the city. Before the countdown began, most of Grozny’s residents fled the city. And the ‘poseur fighters’, as the Chechen people scathingly referred to the fighters who were empty show-offs, fled with them. A small group remained – around 850 men; with the resolve of the doomed, they took up their positions and waited.
You were in excellent spirits, despite the highly tense situation. It often happens as you wait for close combat to begin. And though you weren’t taking up arms yourself, the reason for your good mood was clear: you were among your own. You’d spent the past year in the occupied city and your links with the resistance were plain to everyone except those who’d rather not know. One day you even managed to go to the mountains with a group of Japanese journalists, posing as their translator at the checkpoints. They spoke fluent Russian and you didn’t speak a word of Japanese, but the soldiers at the checkpoints didn’t know that. Your semi-underground life, in constant expectation of a second – and final – arrest, had taught you to weigh up situations soberly as they arose. If the worst came to the worst, you could always put up a fight.
Not long before, in mid-July, at the military commandant’s office in Grozny, you’d faced the chillingly real prospect of arrest, and you were hugely grateful to your Creator for your narrow escape. You’d gone to the commandant’s office to pick up some passes for yourself and some colleagues at the literary anthology Orga, which you were working for at the time. These passes were simply pieces of paper issued to local journalists along with press registration so that they could go about their work without hindrance. You’d got a lift in a military truck – civilian vehicles, unless they had a special pass, were stopped a few kilometres from the commandant’s office, based in Grozny Airport. Arriving without a hitch, you found the right room on the first floor and asked for the passes. The major enquired which publication you were from, looked through the paperwork and said, ‘The FSB has refused one of you a permit. But the others will be ready tomorrow.’
‘Who was refused?’
Silently, the major showed you the list: you saw your name with a line through it. Perhaps it would have been best to leave quietly, but the chances of being let out without them checking your ID were slim. People were checked on their way out too. They must have waved you through on your way in because you’d arrived in a military truck. If they spotted somebody whose name had been crossed out on an FSB list, they were bound to take a closer interest; for you that was tantamount to death. In a matter of seconds all the arguments for and against flashed through your mind.
‘Why did they refuse his permit? He’s a good guy,’ you resumed.
‘Well, if they refused it, there’s got to be a reason. He might be a “good guy” to you, but clearly the FSB think differently. Not the sort of journalist to be trusted. Wait a minute, who are you? And why are you so keen to defend him? Your name?’
‘Aliyev,’ you blurted out, the first name you remembered.
‘Did you show your ID?’
‘No. I wasn’t asked for it.’
‘Well, I’m asking. Where is it?’
‘I left it downstairs. In the car.’ This was, of course, a lie. You had your documents on you. And there was no car downstairs. But you’d realized that if they checked your papers now, there would be no way out of here. Attempting to deceive an official was grounds enough for arrest. Yet even without deceiving them, your chances of arrest were high. Fully aware of what you were doing, you decided to play this out to the end.
‘Let’s go and get it, then,’ the major said, clearly deciding something was up.
‘No, you wait here, Major. I’ll bring it up for you. After all, you don’t think I could escape from this place, do you?’ you said wryly, half-asking, half-reassuring him.
‘Certainly not. Go on, then, let’s see it! Quick!’
You walked out of the building and, racking your brains frantically, you headed towards the checkpoint. You had no plan at all; your only hope was luck. Maybe you could find a military truck and persuade them to give you a lift. If it came to it, you could always lunge at the soldier at the checkpoint and die swiftly. But you had no intention of repeating your journey to hell. In the meantime you could act as if you were waiting to be picked up by some vehicle. And at that moment you saw a yellow minibus driving away from the checkpoint. You ran after it and flagged it down. There was a young guy at the wheel and two old men were in the back.
‘I’m in trouble. I need to get out of here urgently,’ you told the driver. It must have been plain that you were in trouble from the deathly pallor of your face. ‘But if they check my papers, then you’ll be in trouble too,’ you added. ‘If you drive off, I’ll understand.’
‘Jump in!’ the driver said abruptly. ‘Don’t show them your papers unless I say so,’ he added, pulling off.
We had barely gone a hundred and fifty metres when we were stopped at the next checkpoint. Your new friend fished out a pass and thrust it through the window, addressing the men rather gruffly.
‘And who’s in the bus?’ one of them asked.
‘Can’t you see? They’re with me,’ the driver cut him short and drove off. Fortunately, at the rest of the checkpoints nobody moved to flag him down and you safely made it to the centre of Grozny. Neither of you said a word for the entire journey. You both realized that questions were inappropriate. It was only as you were leaving the minibus that you thanked him and he wished you luck.
35
General Pulikovsky delivered an ultimatum giving the resistance fighters forty-eight hours to evacuate the captured city. Otherwise, the general promised to use all available means to liberate the city by force.