The Torn Souls 8 страница

The tandem of MI-6 and MI-24 turned off the road and was flying along a dusty steppe. Eventually they arrived. The pair of helicopters has been met by a black-bearded crowd of men with guns and rifles on their shoulders. Waiting for the flight engineer F. to go down from the blades, one pilot made a remark:

– Why do they need this useless “Sony”, if they can repossess these two helicopters with six pilots? This commodity will be enough for them to their dying day.

Holding the guns, pilots stepped down on the unknown land. A long distance away, near the Iranian border, there was a lake or just a mirage, which glittered and trembled the white riverside like a white stripe. The commander saluted to the gangs’ representatives, who were standing at some distance, and then he pointed out at his board, shaping with his hands a square figure. Three Afghanis came closer with an empty TV box. The leader stepped forward – a gloomy and overweight giant in his black cape – and gestured to follow him. Accompanied by armed men, all pilots proceeded. The flight technician F. already finished his cigarette and wanted to throw the cigarette away, but he hesitated – maybe it will be offensive towards the land in the presence of its natives? – You never know how they may react. So, he put out the cigarette with his fingers and put the butt into his pocket.

The clay house with a hemispherical ceiling was cold. The pilots have been asked to sit down on the pillows, which were arranged along the bare walls. The TV set was placed in the middle of the room,. Guests and hosts took their seats. The flight engineer F. noticed a window behind his head and he thought that through this window his head could be a good target. A tough looking man was sitting on his right, and the flight engineer F. unnoticeably tightened his gun belt to his foot – just in case the “neighbour” would try to grab it. The flight engineer F. was heavily armed as all of pilots: everyone knew – here there is no chance to survive against this crowd, and, before leaving the helicopter, all pilots took a hand grenade in their pockets. Of course, being guests here was a sacred thing, but anything could happen... especially on the day of the 1st of April...

The natives brought the tea – a small metallic teapot designed to share with everybody; and special glasses – a little bit similar to our beer glasses; white and beige cubes of Turkish delights; candied nuts in the ajar shell that looked like oysters. The leader, with a stinging smile, pointed at the treat. The pilots were waiting for a while, looking around and displaying a honest interest in what was at the ceiling. They did not want to drink or eat first, because of uncertainty what could be poured in this pot. They started to sip the tea only after the leader brought the glass to his beard.

The visit was not for a long time, but quite tense. After drinking a cup of tea, pilots stood up, awkwardly pressed their hands to their chests, then bowed, and made it clear with the gesture, that there no need to show them an exit. Finally, they shook hands in turn, one after another one, and after collecting their shoes at a doorstep, slowly and deliberately walked to the helicopters. Defencelessness of their backs was palpable more than ever. Because of tea or a fear, all six of them were sweating. A few men with guns were walking slowly behind them and their gazes indeed pressured the backs of the ones who were leaving.

We got to the helicopters, trying not to be obvious, examined it, looked quietly at the bottom searching for suspended grenades, on the same subject we also examined the chassis – a comfortable place to place a grenade, so while a helicopter was taking off, the ring pulls out the pin and the machine is torn apart...

We started the engines, waved to the leader from the cabins, who anyway came out to see us leaving. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sandy wind of propellers. We took off, turned around, still waiting for the shot, and flew, and flew – further, calmer, hiding behind the veil of dust... Finally we gone.

Go-o-o-ood! – The commander sighed. – One more tea-drinking ceremony like that, and my hair will be turning gray.

In a half an hour we got to the road, and asked for “MI-24” to meet us – we are coming back...

What a supporter! – the commander commented. – Do I really need them?! Where were they while we were having that awful tea-drinking?

After the MI-24 met them on the way to Herat, and took the front and the rear positions in our line, the question whether the leader presented a lamb was addressed to the commander.

– O, yep! Sure! One lamb for each of us, – the commander said. – He asked us to return the bones! – and throwing his head back, the commander laughed loudly.

At this time, from the stunted bushes, frightened by one of “MI-24”, a small flock of large – the size of a duck – birds rose in the air. That flock began to rise and reach the following “MI-8”. The flight engineer F. saw how the birds were separating in the way of fan, and managed to move away from the helicopter, flying at a speed of 230, away – but one bird did not- and flew directly under the glass cover...

The commander was still laughing, when the helicopter shook a thud. A hot wind, with splashes of grey fuzz and dust, poured onto the flight technician’s face from the bottom and filled in the cabin like someone ripped up a pillow. He looked down and saw that a bottom glass disappeared, and two parachutes were barely holding ready to jump to the flying ground.

– Damn it! –shouting, the commander straightened the gliding helicopter.   – Well what are you going to do, huh?! Eventually, we met troubles! And all of these because of the “Messers”! ” (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). What was that? Not a sparrow, right?

Sparrows were not only leaving the red blots of feathers on the glass after impact, but also were a cause for a seriously damaging helicopters’ foreheads. After some flights, the flight engineer F. got used to taking off the dried sparrows’ heads from the outboard motor and tanks.

– Possibly, it is a duck, – the flight engineer F. said, spitting out the feather and started re-arranging parachutes, which almost were sinking into the hole.

– Look, Frol, – the commander pleadingly looked at him, – would you make up a good story if the engineer asks what happened, huh? If they find out that I was caught by the ducks, they would accuse me of losing my flying skills. Would you make something up? You are a master of story-telling!

– I will try, – the flight engineer F., promised hesitantly thinking of what he could make up. Nothing comes to his head. Absolutely nothing! Maybe he should say that we got damaged while visited the gang? But how? Well, maybe like this: we were playing football – 302 squadron against the gang, Yep, it was a match of friendship, and a heavy self-made ball was kicked and broke the bottom glass... Maybe no, not like that – what kind the ball should it be? You can break a leg on it...

Not reaching the Herat road, the leading “MI-24” began to cut off a corner through the ruins of Herat. Everyone followed it. The duvals (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) destroyed by bombing, were flying fast under the bottoms of helicopters.

The flight engineer n F. saw a donkey tied in one yard, and became alerted. He was right – he immediately spotted two dukhs (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor), who lifted their guns into his direction. A sound of shooting was left behind the helicopter’s tail.

– They are shooting, commander! Two in the ruins on the right! –the flight technician reported.

– They are hiding under a roof! –the co-pilot added, looking back.

– Hey, escort! “MI-24”, what are you looking for? For a shelter? –the commander said angrily. – We just got attacked from the duvals’ fellows, at least two of them.

– Next to a donkey, –the flight t engineer added the details.

– Next to a donkey, – and the commander echoed.

“MI-24” turned around, returned back, shooting at the ruins from the outboard guns but did not see anybody, and proceeded to catch up with the pair.

We landed at the Herat airport to examine the helicopters on the subject of holes. When the flight engineer F. was rocking slightly a brake handle, he saw the flight technician Losenkov who, standing on a step-ladder, examined their board. The flight technician F. lit a cigarette and went outside. The technician Losenkov followed him:

– Are you wounded? – Losenkov looked into his face.

– Why do you think so?

– Well, you have been attacked, the glass over there has been broken; and when you landed, I saw the bag of shells hanging almost to the ground, well, and I guessed that they got you. Now I see that your face is covered with blood! Whose blood is that?

The flight engineer F. touched his face, smeared sticky drops of bird’s blood, and looked at his palm. Is it worth to confess? – he thought, – A good concatenation of circumstances! If I say that the glass had been broken by a bullet, then whose blood is that?...

–.. And who knows, – he answered aloud to himself, – but not mine. Probably, it is from the enemy, whom I busted. He splashed on me, bastard! – and the flight engineer F. started laughing.

– Yeah, yeah, stop bullshitting! – Losenkov distrustfully said, looking for a hole. He stuck his head in the helicopter’s bottom and mumbled:

–Was it in or out? Where did the bullet go?

Everybody had already gathered around the helicopter. They were examining the hole, getting into the cabin, searching for a bullet on the walls. Nobody paid attention to the feathers, which was not blown to the blisters. The crew of №10 has also been actively participating in this collective search for the bullets together with the rest of personnel, but mysteriously kept silent.

– Yeah, tell me, where’s the bullet? – Eventually the question has been directed to the commanders of the second helicopter and the leading one.

– Who knows! – the leading commander shrugged his shoulders. He also figured out that the mysterious bullet could be blamed for the broken glass. – Maybe it flew out through my blister?

The cabin was examined by voluntary ballistics specialists again and again. It was found that in this case, the bullet had a unique and complex curve: it passed via each commander’s leg and then it went up almost vertically into his blister.

– To hell with all of you! – the commander could not stand this circus any longer. – You do not get jokes or what! We kissed a flock of ducks! Today is the April First! But I ask you all to say nothing! Better examine our boards on the subject of holes rather than huddle there, looking for some unfortunate bullet...

– And what about the fire – is it not a joke?

– What is a damn joke?! They shot at us from two guns, but our valiant shelter found nobody. Or maybe you have already spoken with them? – his eyes suspiciously screwed up at “MI-24”.

– Comrade Major! – Suddenly the technician Losenkov shouted from his helicopter. – We have a hole!

They came closer. In the self-sealing rubber of the left outboard tank was a little ragged hole with a flabby dark spot around it. The technician Losenkov put a finger in it:

– Here we go, please! Now how will you get home? If pumps will work, then fuel will leak. This rubber holds nothing...

– Yes, but... – major wiped his freckled bald patch with his sleeve. We need a patch. Who will put it on? Will you call a technical team for that?

While the major was muttering, and lieutenant Losenkov, resting his hands on his hips, was proudly standing near by, the flight technician F. came to the left side. “Why is it on the left side? – he asked, examining the hole. – The right one had been fired”. He stuck his finger in the hole, the rubber was dry, rough and old. He touched the metal of the tank with his finger, probed it and made a circle under the rubber. There was no hole in the metal! This rubber hole was clearly a long-standing one, and the kerosene mark, most likely, was caused by refilling the helicopter.

– There is no hole! –the flight technician F. said.

– How come? – everybody was surprised.

– I am sure. Look here, the old rubber was broken, but the tank is undamaged. Check it yourselves.

The flight technician Losenkov stuck in his finger, felt it and blushed to the top of his ears.

– Well, – the commander sternly scolded him, – can you distinguish the hole from the “no hole” or not? You have mislead four crews and drove us mad.

... We were on the way to home. We were racing along the Herat’s highway embraced with pine trees. We were flying low, lower than some heads of pines. The co-pilot was in a low spirit because of missing two dukhs (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). This is why he had put a submachine gun in his blister and attentively controlled the situation, although in this area such diligent attention was not necessary as it already was a zone of control of the 101st regiment.

– You know, – the flight engineer F. said, – we have missed a good opportunity. The bullet could have broken the glass barely – they were shooting us almost sideward. Slid, cracked and left. And no holes!

– And why was I not thinking about it earlier?! – the commander sighed. - We already told everyone about these ducks...

.. Ahead they saw a lonely clay farm. There was a boy, running around the yard. When he spotted flying helicopters, he rushed towards them. The boy stood on the way, took a stick and, pretending to aim at us, began to “shoot”.

– Oh, you are a little brat! – The co-pilot shook his gun at him.

The boy dropped the stick, picked up a rock, swung, and waited until the helicopter would fly closely... he threw the rock at us!

Three of us in the cabin instinctively dashed aside, the commander pulled the handle, the helicopter lifted up his nose, and the rock hit the bottom with a sound like a tin can. Then the co-pilot briefly took his gun and pulled the trigger.

– Are you … at kid? –the commander shouted. – Are you insane?

– No, no, no, – the frightened co-pilot murmured. – It is happened accidentally, my finger twitched... We have already passed the boy.

– An accident! … If you will be responsible for this, the whole city will rebell.

– And what if he put us down? – the co-pilot said angrily. – You would now be rolled up in the forehead with that stone – there would be no time for fun if we would be smashed in their fields! But it would be laughable – the boy brought down the fighting helicopter with a little stone! After that, our army should retreat this country with shame. And you would be forever commemorated in historical annals of the war, as the most unlucky pilot ever, who was shot down with a stone on the Fool’s day!

– Shut up! – the gloomy commander ordered. – Gmm.. historical annals... Watch the road!

We arrived at Shindand, taxied to the parking area, and the pilots went away with no desire to give any explanations of what had happened but gave this opportunity to the flight technician F. Now it was only the engineer-on-duty, who approached the plane, looked at the hole, and asked:

– What has happened?

– Year, the boy threw the stone, in some settlement near Herat with velocity, huh, like from the gun...

– Do not tell me such fool stories! Surely your commander, Kozhedubov, was shooting the goats, landed on the sand and crashed the glass. Look, how high-density polyethylene moved in different directions!

– Yes, I wish, we were shooting some goats, but where are they? And high-density polyethylene is okay. You look better, comrade major!

The engineer-on-duty took off his dark glasses, put his head in the hole, then he stretched his arm inside of the carbine and took something out. I was a gray rock in a size of an egg, which the flight technician placed there upon their arrival.

– You did not lie! Look at this! – holding the stone, the engineer Ivanov shook his head. This is indeed a weapon of the proletariat! Well, I will order patching from a tin – there is no glass at this moment.

He turned to leave, and the flight engineer F. spotted a tiny grey feather stuck in the engineer’s head. He reached up his hand and removed it unnoticeably with two fingers...

P. S

From time to time, the flight technician F. was keeping a diary. In the evening, he took out from his bedside-table a black oilcloth notebook and briefly recorded this flight. The next day, after dinner he walked into the room, the lieutenant Mukhametshin met him spitefully, and, lying on the bed, sarcastically asked:

– So, after all, the bullet broke the glass?

– Reading somebody’s diary is not good manners! – The flight engineer F. was outraged. – And why are you worried about it? Everyone knows what happened, and I wrote about the bullet to myself! Maybe it’s a sort of stylistic device, like a hyperbole! Finally, may I fool myself on the day of April First?

Taking out the wisdom tooth

The flight engineer F. had a severe pain caused by his “wisdom” tooth. The poor guy was suffering during a whole day and a whole night. He was tossing in his bed, standing up, sitting down, and jumping; he even performed push-ups to be distracted from this pain, but nothing helped.

–You drive me nuts! – annoyed lieutenant Losenkov turned to him. – I cannot sleep. Have a mug of brew and you will feel better.

Suffering from the unbearable pain, the flight engineer F. obeyed and drank it in full. The pain stopped immediately, and he fell asleep. But in twenty minutes the pain returned again and woke him up. He drank another mug. The identical chain of events occurred again and again... For the rest of the night, he drank a three-litre jar of this precious alcoholic beverage, and in the morning, he was the subject of unfavourable critical comments from this pals who shared the same room with him. But it did not matter to him. He barely could wait for the beginning of the working hours to be able to get help, and as soon as the working day officially started, he rushed to the first-aid post in hope that it was a day for a visit of a dentist. But a dentist was not there.

For God’s sake! – lieutenant Losenkov said –I visited this dentist once, a female, and she stuck a drill into my mouth and then threw cement in my mouth and asked me to chew it – that was the treatment. You would be better going to a hospital.

So, the flight engineer F. waited for a car and went to the hospital. Used to the helicopters’ speed, the distance between his quarters and the hospital seemed very far; he was surprised how long the car was dodging in lanes and alleys, passing the check-points. At one of them, the board technician was strictly asked why he left the regiment without his gun, but after they saw his face, distorted by a pain, they let him go.

In the hospital, a sleepy black-bearded doctor put a pain killer tablet on top of his tooth, switched on the music and went to the nurse. When numbness began to fade, the merry doctor came back, said OK, took the pliers and together with a crackle sound and the pain, pulled out his tooth. Holding the tooth, he looked at it with his rolling eyes and threw the tooth into a rubbish bin, then he pushed a cotton wedge into the patient’s mouth, said “this is it”, and made himself disappear again.

Drooped in the chair, the flight engineer F. then rose and crawled out. Outside he learnt that a car will be going towards his regiment only in the evening. The wound was aching and he simply could not wait by doing nothing. He needed actions to distract himself from this pain!

Navigated by the Sun, he decided to hit the road towards his regiment. Leaving the hospital behind, he was heading through dry fields. The sounds of landing and getting off planes and helicopters, gave him reassurance that he chose the right direction.

In no time, the flight engineer F. reached and was passing through several kishlaks (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) quite big ones, judging by numbers of mosques and lots of dukhans (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). The people in the dukhans looked with a big surprise at the lonely strolling pilot in his distinctive army suit without any ammunition.

– Hey, pal! – one of them shouted towards him – What do you want? Buy or sell? Are you alone? – and looked cautiously around.

– Fat chance! – the board technician answered without slowing his stroll. – My people are marching behind me! Do not celebrate yet! – and spitted out the blood.

However, just in case, he changed streets and walked along on another, followed by a flock of little kids with their outstretched hands: “Give us a present, Russian! ”, who were annoyingly shouting, jumping and making ugly faces. Behind kids, a bit in the distance, several men with beards were walking towards him. The flight engineer F. started getting nervous. The pain immediately disappeared. The sweat covered his body. Why on Earth he did not take his weapon? And why he did go this way? Why did he not want to stay in the welcoming hospital! And the airdrome was in such visible distance …

At this moment he heard a row of engine and a military KamAZ, with metallic plates instead of windscreens, turns out from the nearest corner. The board technician F. waved, and the monster stopped. The door opened, a barrel of AK-74M appeared first, and then an unshaved face came out.

– Were you knocked down? – this face asked the blood spitting man wearing a jumpsuit.

– If you do not help me, I will definitely be knocked down in a minute. – the flight engineer F. aswered. – I am returning from hospital to my aerodrome. Will you give me a lift to the airdrome?

He climbed up to the cab. When the monster started his engine, the captain shook his head:

– Alone and unarmed! What a stupid thing to do! Just yesterday one warrant officer and one soldier disappeared. You, pilots, are so strange! You must have completely lost the reality of this land! Here we are completely shielded but you were promenading like on the Arbat Street! (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor).

The captain kept grumbling, the flight engineer F. kept silent, smoking and smiling. He even laughed from time to time…

After “Stinger”

April 17, 1987, Gerat. The last 5 days, the “cleaning up” operation ( an anti-terrorist operation – Editor) is in full steam. Everything should be clean ad tidy before the Chief Secretary Nadgibulla will arrive.

The Gerat airdrome is located on bare ground and the military aircrafts are lined up on the right, protected from the east by the field squadron regiment– the tents, AVVs.

It is an unbearable heat. Metallic surfaces are boiling and you can touch them only with thick leather gloves. A water cart goes from helicopter to helicopter and the personnel are pouring water on their bodies and watering the helicopters’ inside and out; they lie down on wet floors wearing only underpants and enjoying the coolness. Any movement of helicopters creates a dust-storm and the dirt covers the wet metal and wet bodies. Water evaporates in five minutes, leaving only the dust and heat again.

The flight engineer F. had a lucky morning – his team has been ordered to deliver weapons to Gerat. They got to Shindant, and waited there for shipping up until noon; then had lunch, swam in a pool and after that they came back, loaded with the vaults of rockets and bombs.

From the distance it was easy to see yellow smoke clouds above the Gerat valley – meaning that it was bombed. The “screamers” (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) were slashing the sky with a threatening row. On the ground, there were no helicopters left: everyone was on duty carrying out various tasks  – landing operations, bombing, hammering the enemies following the tips received from a military intelligence agency.

The landed pair of helicopters got unloaded, re-fuelled. The board technicians were about to lock their planes and to go to a command tent for listening to the radio, when the Squadron Major commander Umrihin with his co-pilot, together with the commander Bozhko and the second co-pilot Kolya Shevchenko (nicknamed “Rambo” for having a special bra stuffed with grenades) approached the plane.

– Are horses ready? –Major Umrihin asked. – Let’s ride!

Bozhko, climbing to the cabin, said to the flight engineer F.:

– We are going to shoot down the “Stinger”. The Squadron commander wants to receive a Hero. A secret agent and NKVD arrived. Let’s start the engine.

– It is cool, huh?! – “Rambo” said, comfortably accommodating his armed body in a chair. –We are doing the real thing! Let’s fight!

The flight engineer F. sceptically commented on his bravery:

– Well, it will be better if we will chase the “Stinger”, instead of the “Stinger” chasing us.

– No worries! – “Rambo” pulled out a gun with double bullets capacity from his briefcase.

We immediately took off towards the south-west trying not to burn kerosene for nothing. We were flying just above the roofs of villages. The dust was slurring a visibility, making the sky almost to merge with the yellow-gray ground. The leading helicopter was barely visible – and from time to time the background of the earth swallowed him.

– He is disappearing like a flounder. – Bozhko said angrily, steering into this blurred horizon.

The flight engineer F. got ready his machinegun and slightly lowered its barrel, holding his finger on the trigger and trying to control the panorama, which was flying away under his feet. Black squares were full of doors, an endless number of nesting boxes were scattered under his feet, and the game was to guess where the cuckoo-enemy will pop out. The co-pilot with his machinegun also looked for them on his right.

Suddenly, on the right, a hundred metres away from the helicopter, a black wall silently erected up to the sky. The flight engineer F. saw the shapeless clay fragments, split logs, and a slowly flying tree with its roots outspreaded like a chicken claw.

A moment later, compressed air hit the helicopter – something banged, dusty wind gusted on the right, a map was thrown from the co-pilot’s knees to the commander’s feet – the machine was shaken up like a feather, tilting to the left – but the commander responded quickly- and flight was stabilised.

– A bit of a surprise, – he said, – the “Whistles” (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) are bombing, but they do not see us. They will crush us like cockroaches if we do not tell them we are here.

– “Speed”, roger! – he asked – Who is working in the north-west from the centre – wait guys! Two “verticals” (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) are here!

Crackling of an empty radio was the only answer.

–What is their frequency?! – the commander asked the right co-pilot. – Find and command them to hold.

One more explosion burst from the left... Bozhko, without waiting for shockwaves, turned left and right, but the helicopter was shaken. The co-pilot turned the radio switch, requested contact, but no one answered him.

–That bombing is a coded one, but we do not know the code! – he said at last.

– Well, – the commander responded, – soon we will cross the river, over there nobody is bombing. Our guys are working there now.

There was busy work in the air. On the radio, through the crackling we heard a fast speech:

– “Brigantine”, I – “Peregrine”! I hold my position on the bank and now going forward slowly...

– “Peregrine”, what are you doing?! Fly away from there, helicopters are about to arrive, they will work there...

.. The rustling, crackling, clicking:

– All right, be quiet, they will work out a little more to the right...

The rustling again...

– “Air”, I – “Peregrine”! Do not go there, there is the ANC, the ANC works there, do you copy?..

An unemotional voice:

– Roger, understand you, “Peregrine “, we will clean... Right now, brothers... And, here, watch in the courtyard... w-working!

– This is our second unit, – Bozhko explained. – I wonder where they are working? I guess, we will see as soon as we will jump into the middle of this hell...

But they passed the Herat area safely. After passing a ridge, kishlaks (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) of Guldan and Sherband, the leading pilot suggested:

– Let’s land at our headquarters and take an Afghan gunner – he will also show us the way.

We landed on a bumpy road that looked like a ploughed garden, the area was fenced by barbed wire. While landing, the soldiers jumped and waved their arms to us and fired into the air from automatic weapons.

– Ha! They do look happy to see us, – Bozhko said, – it is obvious that they have not seen friends for a while...

When the wheels almost touched the ground, the commander asked flight engineer F.:

– Jump out, go around, look at the terrain, where it sits. Something is not right here...

The flight engineer F. was nearly on the ground, when the voice of the leading pilot from the right helicopter cracked in the headphones:

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