The world from the sky to the deepest essence of the earth has burst, cracked, and there is a feeling as if nirvana has come to me. Then emptiness has blown up and unbearable pain is in my ears and the raging sound of millions of cicadas has hit every inch of my body and in the end poured a hot shower of fire in my face. Around me the fighting is continuing…my body has met a familiar feeling of nausea, confusion and loss of reality. Long live all who have suffered contusions!
Alright… all the tanks’ turrets have turned towards the river. Thank God!
I looked at Boldy and he is all right; he has not tripped up; he keeps on firing as if writing a school essay.
In the meantime, behind the river, the dirty asses “comrades” have gone really crazy. There is no doubt they are stoned, as they charge directly into our line of fire. Sanyok Kataev is really in business. All his military service he was in infantry but now he got a present — the automatic gun of the BMP-2. He keeps spraying the mujahedeens (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) with bullets, considering neither the bullets nor my hearing.
Me too: without any sense of saving bullets, I am showering the enemy blindly.
I spot three mujahedeens and do not give them a chance to hide behind the wall, Kataev spotted my tracer shots. He got my idea and joined me to move them towards a rock. Together we finished off those three. I started and Sanyok finished them off.
I was just starting to enjoy the craziness of this unhealthy fun, when I heard someone calling “Paramedic! Paramedic!” This was not good.
The sappers have their own combat paramedic. I knew him when I was in a field hospital. Insigne Stepan, our paramedic, is also going with them to help.
I am calling out to Zubov:
— Give me a full machine gun box!
This dick is so tight-ass, he gave me only a belt. I am not arguing because there is no time for it. Returning to him the empty belt, I reloaded my gun and run to the sappers. Hearing heavy breathing behind me, I turn around and…what the hell! Timur is coming towards me, dragging his gun — his “bitch” — behind him. What the fuck are you doing! Stay there! Kill you, bastard! Bloody hell, but this fool is already here; I cannot send him back.
And here is also a complete mess. Two wounded are already treated and waited when Stepan fwill apply his death magic on the third one. I see where he is now! Leaning backwards to the vehicle, another soldier is hosing bullets somewhere towards the mountains. Between the vehicles is a complete chaos. Covered with blood, two soldiers are trying to drag a third one, who is shouting, crying and resisting them. He is trying to reach his dead dog, whose half-crashed body was lying in a pool of blood. Everything is a complete mess. No clue which blood is it — human or animals? Who is crying? Who is wounded? But there is no time for emotion…
Between the APCs, I see two sappers, wounded but not mortally. The resistant one worries me; he is completely covered with blood. To restrain his convulsions, I throw myself on top of him and use wadding to cauterize his wounded leg. At the same time, not letting him move, I inject anti-shock promedole (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) with into his other leg. There is no time for bandaging.
He tries to kick me, but the wound is such a mess that I cannot see what to fix, where it is nerves, bones, or blood vessels. Doctors will fix it later.
These two who had held him, now drag this fellow to Stepan, but the kid has lost his mind and screams, yells, crying for his dog “Darling Dusya! Darling Dusya! Darling Dusya!”.
Come on, sleep, brother. I will take care of your dog. Lifting the animal, I run behind the tank. Such a huge dog, just enormous! Boldy comes to help me: he jumps up, grabs the tail and a leg of the dog; and two of us can move the dog to a safe place. What a clever Tatar man! Spotted immediately which leg is not hurt… But this mate of mine has dropped his gun! What a moron!
Meanwhile, the tanks so enthusiastically showered cartridges towards the rocks that, in my opinion, the shallow Kokcha-river produced some waves that in agony climb the river banks. On the ground, the previously spotted unfriendly valley was ironed so tidy that Afgan’s kalashnikovs (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) stopped making its mortal noise after only three outbursts. Then the iron of death transformed into a pointed hose of Armageddon that reached the highest and therefore the most hidden placed amongst the rocks with no way to escape. As a result, the enemy’s machine gunners were silenced. The heavy machine gun also went to sleep.
I can imagine how these brave Afghanis were looking for any tiny cracks to crawl into it, but it was pointless, there was no place to hide…
The tankmen are famous for a very methodical approach and seldom do things spontaneously. Their fists are small but heavy, if they are involved in a fight, any wish to resist will vanish into the air quickly.
And finally, the pair of “crocodiles” (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), had arrived. They circled above with hushing noises sending their unguided rockets and left off with a sense of honestly delivered international duty. What can I say — the elite! I always envied pilots… I guess, I should have paid more attention to a saying my Mom kept telling me during my childhood: “Those who are studied will fly, but whose who are not — will cry”.
But the battle is still on…Sappers rushed at once to the hot spots trying to finish the business as soon as possible: there was not much time to do scrupulous de-mining: a battalion of wounded soldiers needed be transported immediately to the landing points as helicopters will be there in a matter of minutes. A column of armored vehicles showed off as well and after sending few lines of rockets towards the bare mountains, left in a hurry, speeding up to Kisima.
We did not leave; we stayed on the same spot as before — fifty meters from the outposts of the tank, but when we will be marching back, we will be the first, leading the march. We get used to it and are not surprised any more.
But I have a feeling that something is not finished. Kind of feeling that I forgot to return a favor and this was bothering me! I don’t want to do a big return of favor, as I had in the beginning of my military service. No, I am a different now, I am almost home but I need something smaller, something that only can satisfy my itchiness. I waved to Bogdan, who picked up his rifle, jumped out of his car. We left young solders on out spot, and we waited for a while when a continuous stream of moving armored vehicles will be broken up into a small shattered window to be able to cross the road. We were heading towards the kishlack(see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), well, let say, the remains of kishlack, the destroyed Afgany’s settlement.
Yep… a good job done by tanks… This bare land is used producing a bare minimum for living, but now, as far as you can see, no sign of life is left, nothing alive and some bits of house stamps like rotten dragon’s teeth were sticking out from this dead land.
We spotted him immediately. This son of sneaks was still, laying next to a funnel and already spreading stinking odor of his dead body. I remember that I was surprised when mentally assessed how well thought-out his position was. His position was not in kishlack as we always presumed they are, but 30 meters away down the hill. From our position we would mistakenly think that he is in the middle of kishlack but it does not matter now… his trick did not work. He could not destroy our tank, only minor damage has been done. Soon his dissembled body will be buried in pieces.
We went closer to the body. Buried his snout in the dust, I can see his right arm together with a shoulder are dissembled from the body. His left arm is twisted up. One leg is missing from the knee, only a rubber shoe is visible, by the way, the common Soviet black rubber shoe with pink velvet inside. This devoted believer to Allah is completely chopped in pieces, burned, covered with blood and shredded pieces of clothes and skin…so tiny and pitiful…Only when he is dead.