The Torn Souls 9 страница

– Hey, 851, you are on a minefield!

At the word “minefield”, the helicopter jumped twenty feet above the
ground – the commander did it so abruptly, that the machine jumped vertically.

– So this is why the soldiers were so excited, – “Rambo” said, – they gave us a warning.

We kept flying towards the Iranian border.

– Today we had two warnings already – the commander said grimly. –Our guys almost shoot us down, then our own landmines nearly tore the tailpiece apart. Luckily, we are flying in a lucky number. This number should be considered to be lucky...

– Why? – “Rambo” asked.

– Because all laws of nature and army are not applied to this number. This machine cannot be knocked down, even at a close range. If someone can do it, it should be an alien. Am I right, Frol? – and the commander laughed.

“Rambo” checked the map – now they were flying along the Soviet border, only five hundred kilometres away from it, but on the Iranian side. A landscape of rocky plateaus was endless, where ever you can see.

– We will not go to the right because to buy vodka there, you need special coupons – Umrihin joked ( at the time of events, vodka consumption was rationed by the state via special coupons – Editor).

So, we went straight. Spreading out the map on his knees, “Rambo”, with a pencil in his hand, was dealing with the tracking and guiding of the route. The plateau was gradually decreasing. The flight engineer F. looked back and noticed that the pencil was crawling to the Hari Rud river.

– Commander, we are getting closer to the river.. – “Rambo” warned.

The commander kept silent.

– We are in I-ra-n! – co-pilot shouted bulging his eyes. – On the right is the village of Hatay and it is coming towards us!

– Will you shut up, for God’s sake! I cannot stand your screaming. It’s not our business. If the village is coming to us, it should be so, – and the leading pilot suddenly went into a left turn and muttered– We got a little bit lost...

–Wow! – “Rambo” said enthusiastically. – What would be happening if their border patrol did not sleep? An international scandal!

We turned back, jumped over the river, flew over a wide beach between the harsh river and a steep cliff.

– 851, do you observe- on top of the cliff is the “swallow’s nest”? – the leading helicopter enquired. – Seems to me, we have arrived... Now to the left, go up through the gorge...

A few seconds of silence.. and the leading helicopter suddenly said:

– You shoot too closely, 851! It was right next to me.

– I did not shoot – with a look of astonishment, the commander of 851 replied.

All of us looked up and forward. At the top of the cliff that was falling into a valley at a peculiar angle, a gleamed blaze fire was coming up with white smoke balls.

– Shoot, commander! – “Rambo” said pointing excitedly.

– They are marking the land, – the commander replied and, at the same moment, almost immediately between the leading helicopter and us, just to the left a little bit, a pair of explosions flashed. The “leading” flew through the smoke hearing how the sands were rubbing, against windows; then “the leading” has turned to the left and started descending down into the gorge.

– I told you – they are working on us! – “Rambo” shouted and his eyes sparkled; his moustache also stood up.

– “The second”, be careful, we have been targeted! – Bozhko reported. But the chopper silently disappeared behind the corner.

– From where are they shooting at us? – the commander asked, turning his head around. – Maybe, the Iranian border patrol finally woke up and came to their senses.

– Yes, over there! – the flight engineer F. and co-pilot shouted in one voice, pointing their fingers at the direction of “a swallow’s nest”.

– Yes, they flagged the target and here we are, – the commander said, directing the machine into the gorge.

The helicopter climbed up, zigzagging around the steep cliff. At the top, there was a woman with a bucket of water, who quickly covered her face with her elbow. There was also a lonely bald man with a beard in his black toe-length robe, who was watching how the Soviet helicopter was emerging from the gorge.

– The eagle! – Bozhko pointed out at him, when the helicopter levelled up with the bearded man, and gave a friendly wave from his opened blister. – Salam-hello, dear!

The flight engineer F. turned his head and looked at the bearded man. He noticed the shining sun on the shaved bald head. He saw how the man threw away his cloak and rested on his shoulder a green pipe with a heavy conical tip and directed it straight into the flight engineer’s forehead...

Time has stopped...

Slowly, the small spurts around the tip have formed smoky rings, which were curving like mushroom’s caps around the tube. The flight engineer F. heard the distinct hissing – he watched with interest how a white spray with a green pipe is slowly approaching one side of the helicopter, he saw how the tip – with two kilograms of death – is slowly rotating, screwing into the air...

The grenade was launched – the flight engineer F. thought slowly. – How to report to the commander, how to formulate it? Work or shoot? Bazooka or our RPG (see “Terminology and Glossary – Editor)? But maybe it is not a grenade after all? And why do I feel so calm, why is everyone so quiet?

The helicopter almost stood unmoved. Then the board technician estimated the distance – no more than twenty metres to the bearded man (he saw the shabby part of the grenades), and, considering the speed of the grenade, calculated that it took no more than a quarter of a second from the moment of the shot to his warning.

– He is shooting, commander! – the flight engineer F. yelled, pointing on the right.

And from this moment the time went fast. The commander turned his head to the left, threw a pitch, moved the handle forward – the helicopter boomed down. The grenade passed over the tail, hit the opposite wall of the gorge, the air burst out with flapping and stretching sounds that pressed down the helicopter.

The commander rearranged the machine for a horizontal flight, and then started drifting up.

– “Second”, these friends worked on us once again, holly-molly!

– 851, we do not need it, let’s go to another place, do not overstay, you will run out of fuel.

– Turn back! –“Rambo” screamed – They must be punished!

– I know that, – the commander growled.

The roaring machine flew out of the gorge, hanging for a moment, and then turned back to the spot with a deep heel, heading straight into the “swallow’s nest”. “Rambo” was having fun and kept shooting non-stop from his seat. The flight engineer F.. opened fire with his machinegun – and could see his tracers in the shadow of Duval. Two shadowy figures were running across the yard... The commander pulled the trigger, and rockets went forward fluffing plumage steel. Their smoky tails closed visibility, but the flight engineer F. noted how the “swallow’s nest” was covered with black and red flame. Something was cracking, exploding like a handful of caps thrown into the fire. Yet he could see, how the rockets tore apart the Iranian border...

– You wanted – you got it! – Bozhko said with a deep satisfaction, and, without looking back, they followed the leading helicopter.

– Yes, – the commander said. –this man lured us to this country, so we will be killed here. He got what he deserved. I just do not understand why they have not got us? After all, we were thrown on the plate, in a direct vision of this suicidal killer. Frol, let’s confess, is your machine bewitched?

– No, – flight engineer F. said. – This is not me... Before I enlisted the army, my Mom put spell on me to protect against evil. Back then I laughed...

– What a fool of you if you were laughing. I believe in this – the commander said. – Pass our thanks to your mother.

– “Second”, – he returned to business, – deal with the gunner. He framed us again. Check him out, or he will do it again.

– I copied that, 851. He will be punished. And now we will be landing in the same place to collect a weapon – we need to bring home something.

... We were going down into some huge funnel, spirally descending to a depth of thirty metres. It was like a blue ground pipe – it could be a gigantic azurite shaft or could be an entrance to the Dante’s hell. Crowded on each level, people were greeting us by the lifting their weapons. At the bottom we found all kinds of historical weapons and barrels that could be taken: English, Spanish, Chinese, even – from the American gangster era of Prohibition. Slowly, we climbed out of this crater, dragged behind a tail of dust, and left. The flight technician F. was confused who were these subterranean inhabitants; most likely they were one of the friendly gangs, whose friendship could be exchanged for numerous gifts.

Now we were flying without calculating out route. We were short of fuel. We jumped over the mountain, slid down the hill, and accelerating to 250, we were leaving behind the noise of our own engines and the whistling of blades.

Then the leading helicopter suddenly voiced:

– Guys, we have to stop in one place...

– I have no fuel left, my engines are going to stop soon! – Bozhko exclaimed.

– Okay, then you go home, but I will detour for a while! – and the “leading” turned right.

The second helicopter kept flying straight. We crossed the road, ran into a lonely ridge but we had no fuel left to do manoeuvring around this ridge and we simply started climbing.

– I do not recognise the area, – suddenly the commander said. –Did we follow the map? What if we jump over the pinnacle ridge and there will be no Herat!

– Oh, no! – and the co-pilot nervously began looking at the map.

We jumped over the pinnacle; it was smoky Herat. We flew over villages of Herat. Underneath, a red “Toyota”, with three unfriendly bearded men with a machinegun on a tripod, jumped from nowhere in front of us. They sat down and covered their heads with hands, but the board technician F. pressed the trigger– and we headed to the airport.

The fuel indicator showed the critical level of 50 litres – it was just unprocessed residue that was left. Our blood was pumping throughout our hearts: if the engine stopped, there is no autorotation at this speed, and the altitude is no help either – the helicopter will be crashed instantly.

We passed over the Herat airfield, over the strip. Wheels touched the ground, when taxied across the strip, finally all engines choked and shifted to a dying sound of a vacuum cleaner...

– This is a perfect job... – the commander said. –Ten out of ten!

Later on, during his nightly rest in Shindand, after his routine eight hours of flight, flight engineer F. was splashing in the pool for many hours. His body was overexcited and overheated.

He stretched himself on the tiled floor, lying down in this position for a while; then he popped-up, rolled over on his back and stared at the bright stars. Again and again, he was diving, then surfacing, coming out of water, lying on the wet floor, smoking, and listening how a chained common Indian monitor made a noise in his little house...

The fifth bullet

This was an operation on the cleaning of the western kishlaks (see “Terminology and Glossary”) of Herat. Returning from the action, the board No 33 contained five holes from bullets on the right side and the bottom. Normally, before imposing any patches, technicians, like as surgeons, provided a thorough check: they should remove all bullets stuck in the body of a helicopter and trace the bullet trajectories and fix all damaged units and pipelines. This job should be carried out until the last bullet will be found.

The fifth bullet on board No. 33 was a mystery one, and all staff have been looking for it for several days. Four bullets were found, but the fifth one just evaporated, despite her obvious mark of ricocheting from shutters and heading towards the hatch of a fodder machine gun. The hatch has no damage.

– Be honest, – the engineer Ivanov tried to find out the truth from the flight mechanic Tarabrin, –tell me that the hatch was opened and the bullet fell into it, am I right?

– I opened nothing! – the lieutenant Tarabrin lazily replied. – My machine gun was not even loaded, why would I need to stick the gun out?

– You should take it out; maybe then, you would not have the holes at the tail! – the engineer was getting angry. – Our fathers and grandfathers did it with Il-2, and you are too lazy to pull out your own real machine gun!

– The shooting was on the left, and my machine gun is on the right, they would not see it anyway, –the flight mechanic answered with an imperceptible yawning.

– Find this bullet then! – the engineer ordered, – I am allowed to hold the helicopter on the ground for a day but no longer!

The flight engineer F. was present during the conversation. He came to try on a denim suit which the flight mechanic Tarabrin had bought in Herat, but later on, he found out that it was a little bit too small for him.

– What is your problem?! – the flight engineer F. asked him as soon as the engineer walked away. – Shoot a hole somewhere – and you will have the fifth bullet’s entrance, that is all! Even better – to screw a hole somewhere so it will look like a trace of this bullet.

– You know, we looked for this bullet everywhere; – the lieutenant Tarabrin waved desperately with his hands, – and found nothing, but what will be if the bullet got stuck inside of some vital parts of a helicopter?

The flight engineer F. lowered his head and saw a mercury brilliant trace of a ricochet on the pulling lock; he looked towards the fodder hatch. A black Kalashnikov, strapped to a wall over the closed hatch, was looking directly at his face.

– You know, Alexey, –the flight engineer F. said with a tinge of doubt in his voice, – in physics, a movement of antiparticles can be described through an equation of the movement of the particle turned back in time?

– What are you talking about? – Tarabrin asked melancholically.

The flight engineer F. did not answer. He approached the machine gun, lifted it with handles and shook. The armor-piercing bullet of caliber 7. 62 rolled out on his palm, or to be exact, it was a core of the bullet, not rumpled at all, just scratched a little bit.

– What a smart bullet, – said Tarabrin validly. – It is smarter than we are!

– Yes, indeed, –the flight engineer F. snapped, –Definitely, it is smarter than you... And because of it, you will give me a good discount for a denim suite I want to buy from you.

The fight with the sun

The Divisional Commander has been brought to Gerishk. We were sitting in the country near the road and saw how he arrived.

The sun is still high in the sky. It is an unbearable heat. The pilots are walking to a small river, leaving their helicopters under the APCs’ (see “Terminology and Glossary”) protection. The soft white dust rises to their knees like cement, sticking to the army pants. The river bank is steep; the huge gray stone seems to be curved with a fancy decor. A bit closer to the river, old stone slabs with numerous holes are looking like old gigantic trees with mini pools in their holes. The peacefulness and silence have been interrupted only by a light sound of reeds growing on the opposite bank of the river. We do not want to think that there can be someone except the egrets. Nevertheless, our weapons and military uniforms are placed in a close proximity, and one of us is taking turn to guard the place with a gun in his hands. First, what the pilots do – is bathe in this small hot river with its stony and slightly rough bottom; then they are washing their uniforms; after that – they dry it for several minutes on the heated stones. Plunging into the river one more time, they imprisoned their bodies into these hot uniforms and drag their feet to a dining room to have lunch.

The Divisional commander together with the local infantry major waited for them near the helicopters.

– Listen here, guys, –the commander said. – Here is someone who is asking you for help. The enemy hidden in the mountain, fired at our column a hundred kilometers to the north from here. Our guys cannot get them. If we do not remove them before darkness – they will leave. Rise your machines in the air and destroy them from above.

We took the major aboard and departed. In a few minutes of the fight, we saw an enormous mass of gigantic rocks sticking out in the middle of the desert. When we came closer, we spotted two of our cars burning at the bottom of the mountain, and next to them a tank and two APCs that were standing with trunks lifted up.

– This is what I called an afternoon erection, – the commander cracked the joke. – What stupidity! Leave the APCs for interception, drive the tank far away and shoot.

– The enemy is on a northern slope! – the major shouted. – Do not come closer, hit on that terrace, they are in caves, you aim at them directly! Eh, it is a pity, our tanks do not fly!

The pair of the crocodiles (see “Terminology and Glossary”) passed the rock, drove for two kilometres more and turned back getting ready to release a volley of bombs. But being in a hurry there was one problem that we did not consider.

– Damn it! – the commander swore. – The sun is on the enemies’ side!

The crown of the sun spread its rays over a half-sky and was shining over the top of the mountains. The brightness of the sun shot us directly with its full-steam heat and attacked us with its hot yellow fog, filling our cabins with unbearable temperature and light.

The flight engineer F. regretted that he had not put on his helmet with the light filter. But it was too late to be sorry for that.

– “Air”, quickly, they are shooting at your forehead! –a warning comes from the “land”.

The flight engineer F. aimed slightly below the sun and pressed the trigger. He moved his trunk in all directions trying to cover the sector of rocks as wide as possible. The foreign land and its roads jumped into his eyes but the horror was that we could not see either the tracks, nor those who were on them, everything was filled with this endless sun.

The flight engineer F. kept pressing his trigger, and by bending down to the machine gun, he tries to avoid this incredible glare. Of course, it will be very sad, even, let’s say, it will not be fair to have a meeting with the bullets coming from this solar fog. One bullet – and everything is in silence. And you are not here anymore… The end.

The helicopter shuddered, the smoke, with a hissing sound, rushed into the cabin, but bombs missed on the left, moving towards the sun. The leading helicopter took off to the left, giving the opportunity to the second one to do the final stroke of their work.

– “Air”, I am “Earth”! A little bit higher one more time, guys! Drop these freaks, and we will finish them “, –the commander said.

– The 945, take the opposite to my direction! –the commander ordered. – I will go to the left, you – to the right. This sun will ruin us. Take altitude to four hundred and stop at forty five, do it!

– I got it …

The helicopters diverged in different directions; they turned at the same time and took the mountain under full control. Lowering their noses and lifting tails, they could see everything on this mountain with good visibility.

The flight engineer F. found a terrace, where he distinguished the figures of enemies who were fidgeting with machine guns. Divided into two groups, they had placed into two stocky tripods the machine guns. “How did they get them here? “–the flight engineer F. asked himself.

In a second, he understood what they had – it was the packed antiaircraft mountain-pack machine-gun installation unit. The second chopper was already stretching their bullets to the mountain. The flight engineer F. slightly adjusted his gun and pulled the trigger and saw how his slightly curved fiery arc connected his chopper with the edge of the terrace. He raised the gun again, moved a trunk, and fired to the left, spraying dust and stone on the terrace. The tracing bullets fell down into the abyss. The dukhi (see “Terminology and Glossary”) crouched down.

– Good job! –the commander commented: – The 945, it is your work.. Get ready … Fire!

Both choppers fired almost synchronously. The link of smoky streams from two sides hit into the rock – and the terrace was crossed out by this slanting cross.

The wind pulled away the fumes and we could see that there was no terrace any more – it was razed to the slope. Big fragments and small stones still flew down, hitting against ledges and jumping up, they fell directly near the tank and the APCs (see “Terminology and Glossary”).

The pale gray clouds were carried away. The helicopters completed their last turn; the second helicopter caught up with the leading, they formed the correct flight figure and went home.

– Well done, thank you, guys! – the “land” said goodbye – That was great! Top notch! Thank you!

The commander inquired about wounded, killed soldiers, and asked should he collect the dead ones. But all of us were alright, and the pair of the helicopters went back to Gerishk

– Kandahar men should give us a bottle of booze, –the commander said, – because we worked in their zone. What a good resting day we had today! At the beginning, we bathed, and then had deafened small fish …

He looked at the watch and was very surprised:

– Do you know – we bathed only fifteen minutes ago! No wonder that our suits are still wet!

Then he was silent.

– Or have I just sweated?

In a minute:

– And why have they not fired at us from the mobile surface-to-air missile system? We could have been burn down by now … Perhaps, they did not have it…

He lit up a cigarette, turned to the major who was sitting slightly behind the place of the flight mechanic, and asked:

– Well, did you like it?

– I’m speechless! – said the major. – “Mother, I love the pilot! ”  – he sang the line from a famous song.

Chakcharan’s dogs

The place of Chakcharan was famous for its kennel with a large amount of dogs. If pilots had an idea to have a stroll and enjoy the bright snow under the mountain’s sun, they could observe two types of living beings. The first are the soldiers of the “green” army wrapped up in some tatters and looking like fascists after the Stalingrad ( a reference to a famous victory battle of the Soviet Army during WW2– Editor), who were shoveling snow to clear a strip for the landing of distinguished guests.

The second were amazing dogs – huge, shaggy; they cheerfully jumped on the deep snow, falling up to their breast and coming out from this sparkling snow under the sun dust– they were not like dogs, but rather woolly dolphins that played in a sea of snow under the dark blue sky of Chakcharan.

Despite seeming docile, the dogs (the cross-breed between the Caucasian shepherd - dogs and an unknown local breed) were well trained for protecting the Soviet garrison. Many Chakcharan guests were fascinated by their beauty, size and cleverness, and all of them wanted to have a puppy from them (really, why not?! ). But only one case of leakage of this Chakcharan gene pool was known to the author authentically.

When the flight mechanic F. was going to visit Chakcharan one more time, the commander of the 2nd target acquisition unit approached him and gave five thousand afoshkas (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) to the flight mechanic F. and told him:

– Find the ensign there and buy a puppy. Be modest and do not ask everyone  – these sinologists can kick your ass and deport violently. Last time I tried to make a deal with the ensign because I promised to my son to buy a puppy.

Having arrived in Chakcharan, the flight engineer F. was not in a hurry to look for the ensign. He waited for the crews to go to dukhan (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor), closed his helicopter, and then he decided to have a walk. He headed for a cloud of smoke, rising on the edge of the field. Coming closer to it, he confirmed to himself that the army is still predictable – this was the army’s kitchen. There were three red fluffy puppies near the kitchen; they were turning and wagging their tails on the dirty trampled-down snow with ice-covered thawed patches, around the rumpled aluminum basin with already cooled down fat at the bottom. The flight engineer – having once again been surprised how smart he was –looked round, picked up the closest puppy and put him under a warm jacket bosom, zipped, and left, looking a bit pregnant.

The flight engineer F. casually walked to his helicopter, opened a door, put the silent puppy in the salon, and locked the door.

He was smoking when he saw how the ensign was looking for something around near the kitchen – he obviously was looking for his loss. The flight engineer F. met him by a question:

– Can I get something to eat here? Our men left and closed the helicopter’s door – he lied. (“Please, a little fellow, do not begin to whimper”, – he mentally pleaded to the puppy ).

– You can go to the kitchen, and grab hot tea over there, – the ensign mechanically answered, not even turning his head towards the flight engineer F. –Have you seen a puppy here? May be it came this way?

– Well, I have been here only for few minutes, but I will I ask our guys, when they return. You better ask the heavy multi-purpose helicopter 6 (MPH-6) over there, they were uploading for some time.

The ensign asked for a cigarette and light, and was almost ready to go to other side of the field where two silhouettes of gray elephant hulks of MPH6 stood up, surrounded by loading machines, when, suddenly, he heard a weak murmur, and the light yellow stream began to flow on the snow from a slit. The ensign pricked up his ears, bent, looking under the bottom.

– Damn it! The fuel beats out through the drainage! –the flight engineer worriedly exclaimed, bending too. – The pressure is rather low here, in the mountains …

The ensign sighed:

– I will go to these big helicopters … And, maybe, the little fellow has already been returned?

Thus, the puppy from the region of Chakcharan was transported to the Far East of the Soviet Union via Shindand.

The Fokker Scourge

Since dawn a pair of choppers were engaged in free hunting by searching the desert to the west of Shindand, near the Iranian border. Two helicopters have already been flying for two hours and landed whenever a senior officer from the Special Forces group requested. However, the hunting had no success – no cars, no camels, no enemy. There were only black tents of Pashtuns (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) that from above looked like karakurt (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor).

When we did land again and our soldiers were searching the tents for the enemy, an on-board technician looked at the fuel indicator and noticed that there was just enough kerosene to get back to the “point”.

– Commander, it is time to return, – he said, pointing to the fuel gauge.

The commander popped out from his blister, called to a soldier standing nearby and shouted:

– Notify everyone – our fuel is running low!

The soldier nodded calmly, turned his face to the tents, and made the ordered notification to his comrades. He did it a very simple way- raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The string of bullets – almost a third of cartridges from his loaded gun! – went straight up into the sky. But because he was standing right under the rotating blades, all bullets went straight into the blades!

The chopper’s crew became speechless. The commander together with the board engineer F. pulled their hair in desperation, swearing something unreadable. They were punching the air towards the soldier; pointed at the head and twirling a finger at the temple (this gesture indicates craziness – Editor). The soldier looked at these strange actions of pilots, shrugged his shoulders and, with a confused look on his face, decided to move a few steps away from the chopper, just in case.

On the way home, everyone in the crew was listening to the whistling blades, looking closely at the edges of the screws – but everything seemed to be normal.

When they arrived and turned off the engines, two pilots together with the flight technician F. climbed up to the blades and searched for the damage but their careful examination showed that they do not have any holes!

– This soldier probably has a Fokker Scourge (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) installed on his Kalashnikov! – the board engineer F. joked with a happy heart because it mean no need to change the blades.

– If this is the scenario, then it is okay – the commander grinned, – but what if (God forbid! ) our Special Forces are using blank cartridges?

The Armored Barrel

The Chagcharansk’s flights continued to be harassingly dangerous, mainly because of a lack of adequate responses to cover the fuel overuse due to the alpine landscape.

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