Keeping this warning in mind, the soldier drugged his feet towards the northeast for two kilometres, but after that he gave in to the nerves, and he broke into running. At that moment, Petrukha, the soldier from the remote outpost, spotted him.
Nobody knows how this story ended.
The story is silent, whether the names of ensign and the driver remained on the list of missing persons, or the “craftsmen” from the funeral team of the Kandagar Brigade were able to retreat these two names into a mournful “cargo of 200”, giving them a chance to be buried somewhere in the ground, on the vast territory of the former Soviet Union.
The story is silent about whether Hadji Latif has a legitimate heir and whether the elder himself is still alive. After all, according to the modest estimates, he now is over ninety years old.
But one thing is certain that the young wife of Hadji Latif was six months pregnancy when the shuravies left Kandahar forever, and if she really gave birth to a son, then it is likely that this seventeen-year-old boy is now fighting in Kandagar with the Americans.
Alexander Gergel
Gergel, Alexander Nikolayevich was born in 1961, in Moscow. He studied at the Moscow Institute of Transport Engineers, but after the 4th year of his study, he left tertiary education for the army. From 1983 to 1985 he served in a separate motorized rifle regiment at the “860 hot point” located at the fortress of Baharak (Afghanistan, Badakhshan Province, Faizabad). He was awarded the medal “For Courage”. Currently, he lives in Moscow.
Go West!
“Let’s go”, — Alyosha said.
Without any word Vitka got up from his bed and went outside, following Alyosha. They were intently marching along the wall towards the division of supply quarters.
Dzhuma,[1] the driver of the supply division, was already waiting for them, leaning up against a cherry-plum tree. Dzhuma — a skinny fellow — was about to be demobilised. In accordance with an unwritten dress code of the dembel (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) his uniform had been washed and ironed so many times that it had almost became white.
His bleached shirt was slimmer than permitted by army regulations. His leather belt was loosely buckled with its lower end hung at the exact level of his jacket. His badge was also bent in accordance with this dembel fashion. This debmel fashion look was crowned with a Russian military panama hat, aka “Afghanka”, that was bent at a precise angle giving him a rakish look.
Alyosha and Vitka were wearing the standard winter uniform, obligatory for those who were waiting to be demobbed in the spring. Vitka rather liked this look: it set him sharply apart from the rest of their intake. Alyosha felt the same, so neither had put in for the summer uniform, preferring instead to wear out the uniform they had been issued with in the autumn. Why bother to seek favours from the quartermaster, or relieve the junior soldiers of the summer uniforms and boots? Why go through all that useless effort, when they were so close to going home?
The friends shook hands with Dzhuma, who without any words pulled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the door and welcomed them into the small storeroom. They entered, went for the heavy paper bag as usual, opened it, pocketed a handful of dried fruit, and left the storeroom. While Dzhuma was locking the storeroom, Alyosha and Vitka were marching towards the opening in the fortress wall, which led to the automotive machinery yard. Passing this opening in the wall, they took the stairs to the yard and went along the row of vehicles which were lined up along the wall.
— Which car shall we take? — asked Alyosha, — The ZiL or the Tabletka? (See “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor).
— The ZiL. — Vitka answered and added quickly. — I’m driving today, it is my turn!
Dzhuma caught up with them near his own vehicle — the ZiL-131. Dzuma was assigned as a driver to ZiL-131, but this car had not moved from the Bakharak valley for five years, since the regiment had left one of its battalions in Badakhshan after a long march over the mountains from the Soviet Union.[2] Most of the other vehicles, such as water tankers, tank transporters, and others ZiL-131s belonged to the supply division, and were equally immobile. There was also a green UAZ-452 van, shaped like a loaf of bread, with a red cross on it: it was the ambulance car, which the soldiers called a “tabletka” (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor). In order to prevent the deterioration of the vehicles, some measures had been taken: wooden beams a metre high had been put under their axles to take the load off their shock absorbers. Written notices were placed on their windscreens to inform that the radiators had been drained. Having decided that the safety of vehicle was ensured, the cars were left alone. The only vehicles still in use were a ZiL-131 model, which was used for delivery of ammunition supplies from the helicopter pad to the storehouse. There was also a model ZiL-130 for use as a dump truck that looked unbelievably civilian with its blue — white colour.
This dump truck was normally parked next to the break in the wall, so the canteen
orderlies could throw directly into the truck empty cans, which had contained meat and condensed milk. When the truck was full, one of the orderlies would drive the truck a kilometre away from the fort to the Saripulsky Bridge and dump the garbage near the road. Polished by wind and sand, the huge pile of cans glistened like gold on the roadside. This is why the First Company preferred to do their firing practice there, using the cans as targets. Of course, it is difficult to hit a can from a distance between a hundred fifty and two hundred metres. But the reflection of the bright Afghan sun was so glistening on the metallic cans that in this light you can spot a rabbit a kilometre away. From his first shot an experienced sharpshooter could make a can fly up into the sky; and the young soldiers were happy, looking at the can’s trajectory that was spinning like a furious cheerful little shooting star. For the younger soldiers it was a great incentive to get them to improve their shooting.
The journey over the mountains with their pinnacles four thousand metres high had left Dzhuma’s ZiL-131 pretty battered. Despite its helpless look, it was the favourite place for the boys’ ritual evening gathering,
Vitka jumped straight on the footboard of the car, opened the door and flopped down into the seat. Alyosha and Dzhuma got into the cabin from the other side. Whilst Dzhuma crumbled up some ganja (see “Terminology and Glossary”) with his finger nails, Alyosha took from his pocket the “Donskie” cigarette paper and tore a strip. After that he rolled it into a filter, blew some tobacco onto his hand and joined the filter to the cigarette. Dzhuma carefully poured the ganja onto Alyosha’s palm. Alyosha quickly got rid of the excess tobacco, mixed what was left with the ganja and started to roll the joint. Vitka lay back comfortably in the driver’s seat and observed his friends’ actions out of the corner of his eye.
They had been repeating this daily ritual for the last two months. They worked in silence, neither larking about nor cracking jokes: so that there would be more to talk about after the second joint.
Alyosha carefully tied the end of the joint with a piece of string so that nothing would fall out, and handed it to Vitka.
— Let’s get going, — he said carelessly, to hide his impatience.
Dzhuma struck a match, shaded the flame with his hands, and brought it up to Vitka’s face. Vitka quickly lit the joint, inhaled, drew the aromatic smoke into his lungs, held his breath for several seconds, and slowly breathed out. He inhaled again, then passed the cigarette to Dzhuma. Frowning, Alyosha patiently waited his turn. As he watched Dzhuma’s face relax and melt into a blissful smile, Vitka felt that those first puffs were beginning to hit him as well. The slight pressure on his temples was beginning to grow, to squeeze his forehead, and to press down upon his eyelids: as if the visor of a knight’s helmet had fallen over his eyes. They closed for a second of their own accord, and when he opened them again, the world seemed to be quite different. It was as if, long ago in his childhood, his mother had delicately removed the translucent wet backing paper from a decal, so that instead of a colourless, barely visible shape, the little Vitka could see part of a fantastically bright picture on the warped page of the album, with sharp lines and remarkably bright colours. Every little leaf on the poplars facing the windscreen swelled up, and the play of the shadows transformed the intimately familiar shapes of the treetops into a miraculous green country of a mysterious fairytale beast. The mountain slopes you could see through the trees began to quiver in rich shades of brown and violet. But the most beautiful thing of all was the setting sun, its red changing to crimson as it sank through the soft blue sky towards the western mountain range.
1
The Soviet Army was drafted from the conscripts which came from different parts of the vast Soviet Union and had various ethnic backgrounds and religions. Some soldiers in this story are Russians, like Aleksei (Alyosha), Viktor (Vitka), Oleg and Nikolai (Kolya). Some solders are Muslims from Central Asia, like Dzhuma, Sultan, Yakub (Babay). When the Soviet Union broke up into different independent states, soldiers who had fought together became citizens of different and sometimes hostile states.
2
In the winter of 1979–1980 the 860th Independent Motor Rifle Regiment completed an arduous march from its base in Central Asia to the province of Badakhshan in North East Afghanistan. Most of the regiment was stationed in Faisabad. But one battalion was left in Bakharak, where this story is set.