The Torn Souls 13 страница

Under a monotonous rumbling of engines, I relaxed and indulged myself by planning: what I will do in headquarters? where to go? whom to contact first?

I knew how to get to the personnel department of army headquarters because one of my classmates used to be a guard there, but he was replaced in July. No hope of help from him. Should I go to the department overseeing “special forces”? This is a new department. It is unlikely my name will mean something to them. Maybe my girlfriend knows someone and can help on this matter? But she is an assistant in different matters. Should I be visiting the regiment of communication? There is Vovka – my acquaintance whom I met through my neighbour’s friend – who works there. Why not? I will find him, he has already been in this department for a year, he should be experienced enough to help me solve my problem.

Hey! I remember how I celebrated my vacation with him at home, oh! And when I returned to the army, he even connected me with my Mum when I was located at isolated army barracks during some army operations. Can you imagine? I am sitting on the hill with my troops thousands of kilometres away from my home and talking with my mother! This was an unforgettable experience! Thats it! Decided! I should firstly go to the regiment of communication!

But here my thoughts were interrupted by a dashing pirouette of my chopper when they tried to avoid the whistling tracers being shot from the ground by doukhs ( see “Terminology”  – Editor). The doukhs are even shooting this close to the capital of Afghanistan!

The pair of choppers lowered their noses to the ground – and NURSov ( see “Terminology and Glossary”– Editor) covered the ground below with gunfire, violently shaking the people sitting inside. From the windows, I spotted barely noticeable flashes on the ground. This is too much! This is the last thing I need! I have had everything but not this: at the end of my international duty to be burned alive inside of this metallic can! I still want to run across the green fields, to smell the scent of chamomile with cornflowers in the bouquet of my bride. Oh, I do not like this chopper! Those who were born to crawl should not fly!

After sending to the ground an avalanche of lead and metal, the tandem of choppers managed to fly away from the dangerous zone and after a few more hiccups eventually we started landing. I noticed that serious “crocodiles” were sent to that bad place.

That’s all, we have landed. The blades, by inertia, still continue their rotation, and only then I felt a cold sweat trickling on my back. No this is not my game, guys! It is much better and calmer to walk on the mother earth. As the saying says: “Every ram has its own fat tail. ” I agree with this.

I look out the window. On the sun-scorched earth, at the edge of the helicopter pad, five or seven people were sitting and squatting. Among them, Mishka with a bottle of vodka in one hand is hugging some officer. My heart popped: “Is he my replacement? ”

I jumped to the ground:

– Mishka, what are you doing here?

– Ha! He is asking! Dance, dear: he is your RE– PLA – CE– MENT! – and he nodded at the officer. – I’m taking him from the army headquarters to your post! All documents for conducting the substitution is sealed in this envelope! – and he shows me a large white bag sealed with wax.

No-no-no! It must be mistake! This is not the way how it should happen! I pictured this epochal moment very differently: more exalted, more intelligent. And here – right in your face: “Change”!

My substitute is a senior lieutenant, puny compared to me. He stands up and with a foolish smile of a newcomer and reports:

– Senior Lieutenant Yunusov, 11th Brigade.

I stood up like a statue and just looked at him, hardly believing that this day has actually arrived. Now, I am just like him, smiling silly:

– Sorry, what brigade?

– Eleventh. Mogochinskaya, Transbaikalian Military District.

–What? – I gave Mishka a puzzled look.

– Sanya, this is all a mess and bullshit, but it does not matter, the main thing here is your replacement, and you will get transferred to the Odessa district next time... – Mishka replied to my unspoken question.

He knew that I wrote a report addressed to the Commander of TurkVO, in which I expressed my desire to continue my international duty in Afghanistan until I will be returned to Odessa, the place where I was signed up. Transbaikalian Military District is the place that we translated as “Forgot to return to civilisation”. It is my worst nightmare!

– In an hour we will be heading back, to Gardez. – the voice of the chopper’s commander returned me to reality.

Returning means returning.

Vodka should not be wasted. Give me a sip, for the joy of this sudden happiness.

Hiding from the severe heat of the sun, we went under the shade of the helicopter and placed the jacket of the newly-baked-international officer on the ground.

– Here you do not need a parade uniform for official presentation to the senior officer, there is no parade here. You can present yourself even wearing a singlet, – Mishka with a laughed invited us to drink with him –Let’s have a look for snacks we can have with vodka!

Some food was stored in my bag, Mishka found some, and my replacement Yunusov took out his food ration.

– Hey, pal! –I said to the pilot resting under the tent. – Come on, joint us, but bring the glass with you together with a bottle. I will pay for this bottle with my cheque.

The pilot was experienced, he understood everything immediately and disappeared without a word inside his helicopter, and after a minute he joined us on an improvised table on which was a bottle of vodka accompanied by a “gentleman’s set”  – three onions, a can of stew, and half a loaf of bread.

– Guys! – he says, – I will not take your money for the bottle.. This bottle is my present to you because you were waiting for this day for so long! We are alive and healthy. Let’s drink to it and for returning home! Cheers!

Following the tradition to have a small break between the first and the second drinks, we speedily rose our mugs for the third time.. And at this time the choppers’ crew commander loomed on the horizon. We also invited him for a quick symbolic drink, – it was too hot.

Our flight back seemed shorter and took less than half an hour.

After landing I went directly to the headquarters to register the newcomer, and after that I will organise my documents for the replacement. The first thing is to inform my team, then to report to the battalion commander.

I reported to major K. that everything is in order. I said that tomorrow our group is scheduled for a planned march that includes three APC (armoured personnel carriers – Editor) with their crews. Dimych will be the leader of this column. That is all. If we will be alert and quick, we will reach Barak Station in no time... and all together. By the way, during this march we can see how good my new replacement is.

And then I began organising my replacement documents. I do not know anyone at the administration, they are all new officers but they are all diligently sitting at their chairs. It is a positive sight, because the old ones I could chase for days. These new once are still unspoiled.

When I was transferring my document, the deputy head of the party committee looks at me so closely.

– You are from Barak Station – and have no punishments? – he addressed the question to me.

– How is it possible to have no penalty on file? In my service record, I have a “Severe Punishment” that was issued to me by the battalion commander for harsh treatment of the captured prisoners. – I answered.

– I am not referring to your service. I am talking about the discipline in your battalion. Internal affairs of your battalion is disgusting, They engage in binge drinking for weeks. We got reports that some commanders of the battalion this month committed some disgusting actions. Reports reached me on unethical behaviour of drunken officers. What do you do as a Communist to stop this kind of nonsense?

Well, – I answered, – we do drink hard and do fight hard. You cannot deny the heroism of my guys. Even the snitch, who apparently reports everything to you, has already received a medal on his chest..

– He is informing us, not snitching – raising his voice, the Lieutenant Colonel began to educate me on army ethics.

What kind of rights, you cranky man, have you to educate me, sitting here far away from the tracers and bullets? You do not even know where my battalion is located.

– I just finished a talk with Major K.... He is aware of your problem.

Ha! What problem? This is something new. Now I turn all my attention to the deputy PO ( see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor).

– If it’s not a secret, what kind of problem? In the morning I did not have any problem, I did not have it at lunch, but for some reason my problem was cooked by now. What is it? For your information, I spoke with my battalion and there, in Barak, everything is in order. They are getting ready for tomorrow’s march.

– You can be dismissed! – and he pointed at the door with his finger.

After that conversation I had a bad taste in my mouth. This guy definitely does not like me. Where is my old pal Lt. Col. Platsynda Nikolai Kondratievich?

With a heavy feeling in my heart, I went to see my friends from another department Trying to be secretive, so no one can see, I opened my bag:

– Choose your taste!

– Oh! You do have here a good collection of weapons! What do you want from us?

– Change the first letters from Transbaikal Military District to Far Eastern Military District and send me to the direct service of the District Commander. Somehow make a misspelling, or make a mistake. I will pretend I never saw the original order.

– No problem!

I feel like a heavy burden was lifted from my shoulders. Well, all I want to do is to forget about this Transbaikal Military District

Walking further along the corridor, I reached the room of Deputy Brigade Commander.

– Come in! – he invited me and straight to business – Where are your documents? Let me put my autograph on them. By the way, you do not need to return to your Barak Station, go from here directly to the Union ( see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). Tomorrow afternoon will be the board to Kabul, and from Kabul you will take a plane to Tashkent. You, in fact, already have a replacement. Let the new guy take over your company. This decision is coming from someone in the political department. No need to piss against the wind.

– Yes, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel! I will follow your advice, but it is not right not to say goodbye to my people at Barak Station.

– It is up to you, I warned you. The guys who are overseeing the moral standard of the army, have a very inquisitive attitude towards your company. They look forward to checking your people on this matter. With a newly arrived replacement it would be problematic to do so. You are a smart guy, and the army is executing the orders, not discussing them..

– Yeah, Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel. – I was dumbfounded by this news – Enemies, as turns out, are not only in the mountains.

– The internal enemies, Senior Lieutenant, are worse. With those at the mountains, you are in battle, face to face. But these ones will harm you from behind. – the Comrade Lieutenant-Colonel said.

This is my fate! And why did you, my fate, do this to me? What kind of replacement is this? Two feelings are fighting inside of me. Which one is stronger, I cannot identify.

The first impulse is throw everything to hell and do as my heart is telling me. But walking under a sword hoisted overhead for the last two years, gives me the reason not to risk my replacement. This is how my mind works. The rational decision prevailed over the emotional attachment. I decided to leave.

In these pre-departure worries, I did not notice that the day is finished.

Where to go now? Maybe to the Eleventh company to my friends to smooth my uneasy decision.

On return back to my bunk, I am tossing sleeplessly. “How is it possible? ”– the thought drills my brains all night.

In the morning, I can see clouds of dust on the horizon. This is a column with a military escort. They started marching very early, at dawn, from the Barracks, and now they managed to get to headquarters exactly for breakfast. We run towards them to meet the whole brigade.

Dimych is fully covered by dust, Komarik as usual is merry and happy. The march went without incident. It is a good road along the desert with very little “green” on the way. This is why enemies practically do not attack. Although last year, some stoned dukhs (see “Terminology and Glossary”– Editor) tried. But one place is particularly cursed. This is close to a damaged bridge near Altamur, but we know about it and always “comb” it before marching.

– Sanka, – Dymych turns towards me. – I do not understand what is going on. K.... is screaming. He ordered to collect all your stuff and bring it with the column. I collected everything I could find.. What is this nonsense?

– Dymych, I received the order not to return to the battalion.

– Now I got it. Do not worry, Sanka, “justice will prevail! ”.. The main thing is that we are alive. Who is this? – and he pointed by a finger at my replacement.

– He is my replacement, – I answered, – and this is our new company commander, – and I introduced Dimych to Yunusov.

I decided to leave my AK (see “Terminology and Glossary”– Editor) with Yunusov and told Dimych to officially transfer my gun to Yunusov.

– Savin! – I shouted to the deputy commander of the machine-gunners, – here is Senior Lieutenant Yunusov – the third platoon commander. You will give him my safe vest, a radio station, a radio-helmet and explain to him what is what. You know... code of calls, frequencies. And now line up the soldiers.

Ten people lined up.

I looked at them and a spasm squeezed my throat.

– Lads! My last order to you is to return home safely! Is it clear?

– Yes, sir! – There were dissonant voices in response.

They all feel that I am no longer a part of their life. I am already in a different dimension but they have to stay. Who will return home, only God knows, but I tried my best to keep you all alive. I did not want them to see my tears, and in a broken voice, choking, I commanded:

– Dismiss!

Together with the officers I sat down on the spare wheels that were laying near the APC. There was no need for farewell words. We kept silent. We finished our cigarettes and..

All get ready! The 371-st, 375-th, 378-th started the movement at the maximum speed. Follow me! March! – the words, which my regular teams learned as a song, were clearly heard in the air. Mishka and Komarik waved goodbye to me.

They were moving towards a battalion location. I was going forward to a new life.

Forgive for everything and do not remember bad things.

That was all.

Afghanistan got rid of me. However did I get rid of Afghanistan? This was unknown.

* * *

– This is my story, Dima! – I finished telling my short story.

– Well, now everything is clear! –Dima Shesternin said, – This K.. is an asshole and I am going to tell you about K...

– Dima, today is our meeting, Let’s not talk about bad things. God will judge him.

ANATOLY VORONIN

Voronin, Anatoly Yakoblivich was born in 1951 in Astrakhan. He worked in the KGB system as an intelligent service agent. From 1986 to 1988 was a consultant for Internal Affairs of People’s Police of Afghanistan at the Kandagar Province. He retired as a Colonel and lives in Astrakhan.

THE WEDDING PRESENT

Hadji Latif was not just an ordinary military commander, he was a leader of an Islamic movement at the Daman county he was the most respected mujahidin (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) in this, the most rebellion area out of a whole province of Kandagar (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). However, the inhabitants of Kandagar and settlements near by respected him not because he was well-positioned in the Islamic organisation. This old men, in his well past 80s, was famous for the hadzh (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) in his youth, when he walked to the sacred land of the Prophet Muhammad. During his long journey across the mountains and deserts, he smashed his foot to bloody blisters, under the merciless southern sun his body conditioned to the stage that it had no muscles at all, only stinging, crunchy veins, thoroughly saturated with bitter, smelly salt from the evaporated sweat.

In those early years, a very young Latif achieved what he wanted – he touched the sacred Kaaba (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) with his hand.

Woy, what a miracle! Allah has noticed the submissiveness, devotion and suffering of Latif, or nowadays is Hadji Latif, and has extolled him above all other tribesmen and descendants of the Kukuzai, the Pashtun tribe. Latif received his primary education in a madras (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) during the time when his father – a petty shopkeeper- was alive and was selling the basic necessities and goods from his little shop. By the age of twelve, Latif learned by heart all suras (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) and verses from the Koran. Without any difficulties, he also mastered arithmetic and geometry, and learned how freely operate with the large numbers. There, in the madrasa, secretly from mualems (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor), the young Latif has read the books of Oriental sages, comprehending the truth of life extracted from the book of Eastern wise men. He learned a lot about the history of the East, about the life of peoples who inhabited it. Science and wisdom in all disciplines – philosophy, astronomy and medicine- had been penned to him.

Unfortunately, the typhoid epidemic that swept throughout Afghanistan, did not pass Kandagar. The first one, whom the merciless disease brought down, was his father, who, at that time, was not even forty years old; and second one was his mother, who looked after her sick husband. They died with a difference of one day. The death did not give her mercy to youngest four children in the family. She collected all of them with her bony cruel hands.

After burying close relatives, Latif was left alone with the harsh reality of life. His father’s shop, for allegedly having debts, was taken by a wealthy shopkeeper, called Kazi. Whether these debts existed or not, is no one knew, but for Latif it was useless to appeal to Kazi, because no one even will not consider of listening the beardless orphan. Even more, for this greedy shopkeeper, who already coveted someone else’s property to himself, seems to be not enough what he got, so he fabricated a deed, according to which the Latif family’s house was sold during the time when his father was alive; and the house also fell into the ownership of this scoundrel.

Left without housing and means of subsistence, Latif wandered where his eyes were looking. This is how he found himself in the village of Loy-Karezak.

Glory to Allah, who did not abandoned Latif in his devastation and struggling, who did not allowed him to die from starvation. One day, a local rich man was riding the donkey, when he noticed a lonely, wandering on the road teenager. After asking the boy who is he and where he is going, the rich men immediately saw an opportunity to have an extra pair of hands and offered to work for him. Since Latif had no other alternative, he agreed without hesitation.

From dawn to dusk, under the blazing ruthless of the Afghan sun, Latif mastered the wisdom of the slave labouring. Working hard on his master’s land, he sincerely hoped that his laborious effort would not be wasted, and sooner or later, the Supreme will spotted him, and will help him to rise about a crowd.

And this miracle did happen.

One day, may be in the year of 1925, a some bai (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) from Kabul visited the city of Kandagar. It is happen, that the bai stayed at the place of the Latif’s master. One day a dispute arose between them on the question: is any sincere devotee left who could fulfil the most unfulfilling desire of his master. And again, it just happening that that young Latif was walking by during this hot dispute. Deciding to prove his point, his master summoned Latif and gave him the order: during the holy months of Ramadan, Latif should reach the city of Mecca by foot. If he did it, then the guest from Kabul – who was not believed in a devotion of servants – will added up a half of his neighbouring to the master’s land. If Latif will fail to reach Mecca than his master will gave up his land to the guest from Kabul. Nobody asked what Latif thinks regarding such dangerous trip.

Many years passed since that day, but Hadji Latif still remember his first hadzh in details. Later, he was travelling to Mecca and Medina many times on camels or by cars but these trips were different. Last visit to these sacred places, Latif conducted by “Boing” from the newly built airport in Kandagar “Ariana”...

Indeed, many things have happen for the last sixty years. During this years, Hadji Latif himself reached the wealth and became one of the richest land owner in the province. How he manages to do so – this is a different story, in which will be a place for everything: a love and hate, a friendship and betrayal. Usually, he was the one who was a victim of betrayal. And from whom? From the people of the Afshar tribe, whom he helped to establish themself, gave them chance to receive education. Shaitan (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) messed with the heads of these people by giving them all sort of indecent thoughts. Few years ago, one of them came to Loy-Karezak village, to the home of Lafar. This shaitan-driven man tried to take his land! Of course, Latif pointed out at the door for him and his helpers. But few days later the shaitan-peopled returned with the armed soldiers and the first blood was spelt. And them was a big invasion of shuravi (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) that brought to the land of Afghanistan a bid war that took the lives of his two wives and four children. Very recently, his third wife died not even conceived his son.

Before this bloody war, Latif knew on which side he will be holding the weapon. His people, whom he for many years gave his land for a rent, supported him. These people exchanged their agricultural tool to the weapon. The gazavat (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) is begun.

His people were good soldiers too. Very soon everyone in their province knew about a vicious bravery of their attacks and his enemies from the military organisations, somewhere in Kandagar, usually turned pale when the name of Hadji Latif has been mentioned. However, the time arrived when the most warrior’s souls demand to have a peace and a little human happiness.

Something similar did happen to Latif. He was in his seventy five years old when he decided to have a rest from his military activities. By the way, he had the reason to do so.

His best friend – Haji Yusuf – lived in the neighbouring province of Pandzhvain. He was also a well recognised military commander as well as a wealthy man. He had a granddaughter, Guzel, who just turned fifteen years old. Her parents died during the first years of the war; and she was living in the house of her grandfather.

“Well, she cannot live all her life behind my back. ”  – Her grandfather decided one day, and the idea how to arrange the happy life for his granddaughter in such turbulent time, came to his mind. Learned about the death of the Latif’s third wife, the loving grandfather offered his granddaughter to be the next wife of Latif.

Muslims do not grieve for a long time due to their belief that the death is a beginning of eternity. So, Latif, after a month or two of his grieving, realized that in his house should be a woman who, with her gentle caresses and attention, could distract him from the hardships of the war. This is why he accepted Haji Yusuf’s proposal as a gift from Allah.

Matchmaking was conducted with a strict compliance to stern customs of Sharia (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor). For a kalym (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor), the old groom gave to Yusuf a brand-new car  –“Semurg”, a herd of fifty sheep, and a small land in the Daman county. The wedding was decided to be done without special festivities, just to avoid the trouble on their heads in a form of bombs or rockets from shuravi (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor)..

It will be a modest wedding. Not attracting much attention, about a hundred bearded men will gather together for eating, smoking, and firing in the air from their automatic rifles, and later each of them will go to their own paths.

But on the day of the wedding, there was another event, which had the most direct influence on the wedding...

Approximately at 14. 00 hours, an alarming message from the 70th Brigade, reached the Officer-on-duty at Administration of the Tsarandoi province, informing that the refilling car together with two Soviet soldiers and pressured gasoline complete disappeared. It was known that the car passed the block post near the fuel station, drove into the city and... gone without a trace.

The ginja (a criminal investigation department) staff immediately realized that the car could only be disappeared at the Sixth district, on the road between the “Black Square” and the technical college. In this particular place, some hungry-for-easy money shuravi, detouring from the prescribed main roads, stoped to do funny private business, by offering everything what they can steal from the army to the customers of the back streets. Fuel, spare wheels, empty canisters and even ammunition – everything possible and impossible could be finding here on sale.

These careless Soviet servicemen often were arrested by the gingja staff for unlawful activities, but they did not learn. They were also not afraid at all that at any moment they could become an easy prey for the enemies who wandered as well around the city in the crowds, searching for an adventure.

So, this is how it all happened.

As soon as so-called businessmen left the main road, they were immediately seized by people of the Haji Askar gang. In one hour the gingja department received the information about this seizure. A couple of hours later, a the missing car’s skeleton was discovered behind the tall clay fence of the courtyard of the ruined house. The car has no fuel, wheals, electric appliance, and other more or less valuable details. Anything that people of the Haji Askar gang could not take with them, were swiped by the local “locusts”. Now all these details can be seen in the local shops and garages, but to repossess these lost items was a dead business.

The driver and accompanying him ensign vanished in the thin air.

Next day about the accident not only Soviet side, but also the government of Afghanistan had a great concern because the Soviet General Varennikov shared his concerns with all appropriate military departments of the Government of Afghanistan and asked to establish, via theirs intelligence agents, the exact location of these two missing persons. What he was going to do next, the Soviet General Varennikov had not shared his plan and the Government of Afghanistan could only guessed.

In one week or so, one of the agents, imbedded into one of the rebellion gang, returned to the city the terrifying story of the last days of missing shuravies.

The wedding was full on, when the ‘Toyota’ stopped next to a house with merry guests. In the back of this cat, there was a pair of shuravies with all signs of mercilessly tortures. Their faces were covered in blood and swollen to the stage that their eyes cannot been seen. Their lips were smash in blood. One of the captured man even did not has his lower lip because it was turned off and like a bloody sausage was hanging on his chin, widely opening his teeth less mouth.

Sitting in the back with captives, the goliath size of mujahedeen (see “Terminology and Glossary”  – Editor) with his full strength hit with foot a head of one of the captured man. The captives started to move towards the edge of the ute. With two-three kicks and the giant kicked them out of the car to the ground.

Other mujahedeens circled the captives and laughed at the, covered in blood helplessly moving bodies that tried to sit on the ground. The “goliath” with no hurry, took his knife and demonstratively punctured the shoulder one of the captives, at the place where the dusted shoulder strap hold two dirty-green coloured stars.

– These one is the leader. – He pronounced.

The kept silence to this moment captive, looked askew at the tip of the knife pocking his shoulder and overcoming the pain, whispered through his toothless mouth:

– Eight years as the war is going on and you did not learn how to read the ranks? Modj...

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