he was rescued! In the impassable
forests  they found him and evacuated.  What about us?  As the classic told:
"Blamed and forgotten!"
     Eh, Motherland,  you're not mother  for us but the fremd  aunt!  Do not
want  my son to serve in your Military forces. In order to  shoot as me into
his  own people  because the talantless  whim and poitical impotence  of  th
ekremlin alcoholics having gone gaga.
     When you are in shit up to eteballs, unknown if you're able to swim out
of, you will damn everybody and everything. All the world except yourself is
guilty about everything. But when analyzing existing situation it  turns out
that there's  no  my fault in it. No also any fault of the ones walking with
me.  There  is  only  the  endless  political  ambitions.  If the canons are
speaking the diplomats should cushion.
     Such thoughts aggregating  floundered in my head  while we were getting
out of the square carefully and trying  not to  make  any noise. Attentively
passed  over, overstepped the dead bodies. Alternately  there were liing our
fighters and officers and the chechen militants. Everybody realized that our
guys  will  already  not  be  buried,  nobody  will  send  their  bodies  to
Motherland. Ministry of Defence will economize awfully at the buriing of its
own soldiers.  It  is  allowed  not  to make  five  years  payment,  medical
insurance for death, not to  outprocess  the pension.  Why?  He's gone for a
burton and that's all. Yes, we're searching for him but understand us, there
no money, there were the  hard combats, communal graves and other  bullshit.
Lord  forbid me  to lie nyself in  such way. I'm not  a  kind Christian. No!
Merely do not want to leave my family without means of sustenance even after
my death. So, the result comes that the one should to  die in our country in
hte  way  that  his mortal  remains  would  be  identified,  brought  to the
relatives  and earth with funeral blizzard. Madhouse, no less than madhouse.
And the lads, overstepped by me feeling no usual qualms, will already not be
brought back. Niether brought back nor sent at home. Niether alife nor dead.
The furious  appealing of the  wag-lawmakers in  the sharp polemic will  not
assist.  The sermons in the churches will not assist also.  Interesting, but
why  the  Orthodox  Church does not impede such  madness  as this war?  Damn
interesting. Haven't seen any  priests here. The only one is here, they say,
the prior of the local temple. But in the troops or near them i haven't seen
anyone  with  cassock  on.  And  nowadays the  local  russians  -  who  were
slaughtered  as  the sheeps by  chechens  at first,  and after that we boned
downwith the  air bombs, artillery,  mines, fusilladed their houses, knowing
not that there are ours  inside  - need both  the medical and  psychological
assistance and also the God's word. Where are these Lord's servants, take'em
devil?
     There's nobody. The manycenturies war of the government against the own
people is going on. The church aside as always.  And the  worse circumstance
is that it provide the  criminal war. The history comes back  but on the new
higher quality turn of spiral. What for, what for, Lord, did it  fall to  my
lot to be born in this just damned by You country?!
     Paradox is that i  love and it  and hate it equally deep. I can give my
life for  my loved-hated Motherland. But only for the Motherland and not for
its governors.
     Nowadays a word "collegiality" has become popular again. I  spent  much
time to realize its sense. And the sense is that this eternal drem, faith of
the russian people into the kind good tsar.  There will come master,  master
will judje us. Ukh! No  one of the tsars, governors of Russia, including the
today's, never cared for the people. The  people is an enemy, and  even more
awful  then  the enemies'  agents and  other  abroad evel  spirits  for  the
governors. Nobody had any thoughts about well-being of the people NEVER! The
dead  people - the good  people. It's very  comfortable to put  against  two
tribes  of the own  country. Meanwhile  they are fighting  nobody never will
reember  why  do they live so bad. Why does not somebody pay'em  the  earned
money?  Where are  the  pensions?  Where are  the  payments? Where  are  the
scholarships? What where?  The  ugly  chechens  are  guilty  in  everything.
Everything is spent on the  war against foe. As soon as we win  him, as soon
as we  restore everything  destroyed in Chechnia,  you immediately  get back
your honestly earned  thing. And inflation? What's that got to do  with  it?
The war, why aren't you able to understand that because of the war we had to
increase the prices a bit, to print the money a bit. Nothing at all serious.
We  do not just talk you will never get'em. Will, will get! Just tolerance a
bit.  Sure at the  Great Patriotic war, they say, did not pay  money at all.
Everything  for  the front,  everything  for the  victory!  And what is  the
difference now? Doesn't matter that  we  attacked Chechnia  but not they did
us? Shut up and sniff through the  two  holes. Or we have many republics, if
you clamour - we'll start the war  against'em, but exectly you will sure see
neither money nor your children!
     I haven't  seen  neither today during  the  combat,  nor  earlier  both
Jirinovskii's  falcons and  blackshirts,  making  the  hand up as  a fascist
greeting. And they were the ones who  shrieked about patriotism, great power
statehood,  orthodoxy,  christianity  and  other trifle most of  all  in the
ninety third.
     "The Russian people - chosen by God!" Ukh! Codswallop. Paranoia! Only a
hundred years  ago one orthodox was  allowed to change another orthodox  for
the well-bred whelp without  doubts, to lay the one in deadly only following
his  own whim, shoot  the  one. Torture  with strappado is  spoken to be our
native invention. To  say truth  the other peoples had the things alike  but
they  went out of fashion quickly. For example the "bootikin". But  tortures
and prisons took roots  at our places in the aincent times. So, it turns out
that the third of population is imprisoned, the third works at the producing
where at  the conditions differ from the penal  colony ones only a  bit, and
the  third  secures  and  guards  in the penal colony and  searches  at  the
producing for the candidates to be sent to the colony.
     Kinda social formation has changed but the customs,  system,  minds are
the same ones. As the  nomenclature ruled us as it  makes  it now. Many ones
decided they are really allowed to discuss the decisions of Clan, Family, so
that the  last ones decided to divert attantion to the  unfit object. And by
the way to plunder something, to decrease the population. Not necessarily to
feed,  to teach. So that - gone for a burton, bullshit. This is not a Rio de
Janeiro, this is  worse much. And there are  here only  the soldiers walking
with  the white trousers on and only before turn-in.  No enough trousers for
all of them...
     Futher  and  futher  on we  were  going from the  tommygun crackle  and
explosions, from the victorious guttural shrieks of the local aborigens made
for us the  classical battleships entrapment. The guys learnt  the technique
in the  colleges  good.  They annihilated  the superior enemy with the small
forces, and  still  consider  in the  march column. Well  no matter, uglies,
we'll come back, we will come back  certainly. And we'll hold you,  bitches,
wholly, with percents, accountable for that shame and panic we had felt half
an hour  before. We'll only sort out the  relationships  about  the promosed
reinforcement  with the boors from  Khankala and  the "North" and we'll come
back. Will come back maybe pushing by bayonets the thick-fleshed colonels in
front of  us.  And even better -  will skulk  behind their bodies. We regret
only the guys, the real  tough  men,  who are liing under our feet and whose
bodies we being tired can not pass aside but  merely step over them, they'll
not see that.  There will  be  victory, certainly will  be.  Let it  be even
Pyrrhic victory. But  it will be. Much blood. We won't leave from  here. Not
because we do not want  but because we're dangerous. There will  be yet many
assaults, and the more of us  stay  here on the dirty overspit blood asphalt
the  better  will  fill  the  old  alcoholics  of  the  former CPSU  Central
Committee.
     Maybe some of the parents of the liing  here soldiers had a work at the
defense factory producing the rounds, missiles, mines. And  who knows  maybe
that bullet,  frag, missile,  mine  killed their son. And the wages are  not
paid the parents yet for the produced output. Nightmare! No, Slava, your lid
flips indeed, and flips  hard.  such fantasies and associations can not come
into the normal brains.
     I pawed over my belt. Something was guggling  in  the flask. Definitely
the half-swallow  of  congac, but i  like drink water. I quickened  pace and
touched  the next one in front of me. Can not  see in darkness  if it  was a
soldier or officer. "Everything was messed in the house of Oblonsii..."
     - Man, have you some water?
     He  turned  back.  It was a  soldier  from  the  second battalion. When
running  through the bridge he was  next  to me.  Apparently  he was able to
recognize me  also and smiled and showd at the ears. In  the moonlight i did
not notice  that there were the thick bloody crusts cloded  around his ears.
Contusion. Very hard contusion. The break of the eardrums. My contusion is a
baby  talk on the lawn comparing to his one. I indicated i was  thirsty. The
fighter nutated agreeing and not stopping unbuckled the flask from the belt.
I  made  a couple  of swallows.  He  drank it all after getting flask  back.
Buckled it the empty one on.
     I took  out mine  and, having flept  myself at  the throat, showd  that
alcohol was still in  the flask and gave it him. He made a  swallow and gave
it back me. I indicated he was able to drink it bottom up. He made that with
gratitude.  I did  not grudged about cognac.  He  needed  more.  When having
contusion,  contrary to all the  docktors' admonitions,  the militarie drink
hard and bate by that way the pain feelings and easier come round.
     Wanted devilishly and  awful  to  smoke. But nobody risked to  make any
fire.  Everybody  drrew in the quiet silence. Only some spalls cracked under
somebody's heel, and that's all. Did  not wnt to speak and it was senseless.
Everybody was crushed by the happening.
     Firstly, by the shameful our fleeing, by  the loosing of the guys. Here
there were many of them, left  and necessary for  nobody, behind  our backs.
And not possible to take'em away, to bury'em.
     Secondly, the brigade is disseminated, knocked out, is lost in fact.
     Thirdly, the commander is heart and will not come back to us. San Snych
is, of course, a good executive officer but what is he as a commander?  They
can send to us some undesirable outsider at all. Whome our brigade is as the
stop-signal  for the  hare. He will  come  to get  advancement, to  get  the
rewards, and will relate to us absolutely not better then our President does
to his people. Wait and see. If stay alife, of course.
     Fourthly, well, - sheerest personal uncertainty. What will be  about me
personnaly in  this beef up, about  the ones who are walking near me? Nobody
was able neither to say anything nor even to make any thought of it.
     Now of the two aims which were standing before me  earlier,  and namely
to execute  the aim and to  survive, only  the one exists -  to  survive, to
scramble! Anf after that we'll see  who's guilty in our triumphal shame. The
President is far away but  the "dukhs" are near now. Now we're  bunking from
them but every dog has his day.
     But after all it is a pity,  sincerely pity,  that  we can't  reach the
Warrantor  of  the  Constitution.  Sincerely  pity.  Well,  no  matter,  the
elections   are   soon.  Will   vote   in   another   way.   Not   for   the
prostituts-communists and not for the hysterical Jirinovskii, no! We'll hope
that maybe some good head will be found, which will not make the war against
the own people with such primitive, barbarian methods.
     Eh,  dreams, dreams. The dreams of the russian idiot that it's possible
to put the good tsar  in power.  The tsar who  will not  despoil the people,
will not bring the people's possession "over the hill", and will not put the
money on his abroad accounts. Eh, the dreams of idiot! The intellect can not
inderstand Russia! Russia can be  only believed at. In other words she is so
capricious hysteric woman, schiz that  it's impossible to communicate to her
on the normal language  of logics? It results so. Who's  guilty in that? The
governors guess  that the  people is.  The people guesses that the talntless
governors are.  And when there is no consent in the  comrads, the good music
will  noever come. Marasmus, marasmus. For  which  sins, God, for which sins
did you let me be born in this country?
     And here one seditious thought had come into my head.  And may be there
are  no neither  hell, nor  paradise meaning the sense which the  "reverend"
church fathers hammered in us. If we suppose that we have lived somewhen  in
another dimension but  it is exactly this place where the  hell is situated.
And  the sinners, in other words the ones living nowadays on this planet are
sent to  be reeducated. If you were able to manage worthy  all the fallen to
the lot  of you assays, having not violated  ten commandments of the Christ,
or how many of them has Mohammed and other "tru" religious teachers, -  then
following the  results you will be taken to the paradise or returned  to the
normal  life. Well as the there are in  life always  more the scums then the
normal men, so that is why they send the cattles, hangmen and similary ones.
This terrritory is the huge one. And the ones who sined less - they are sent
to the higher civilized countries. So, in the former life i've made a lot of
dirts, and in this one, seems, even more.
     I smiled about that  balderdash to myself involuntarily. If it had been
so easy! Meantime, and when reasoning  the  time and the distance had passed
quickly, we trooped off the square far away enough. There were the destroyed
houses ahead, aside. Even not the houses but the ruins. They were taken from
hand to hand for many times. And many ones were merely destroyed, the others
were staying  without  the highest  floors, mottled  by the frags,  bullets,
castaway, abandoned, left by the people. Stalingrad and indeed! All this was
seen unrealistic in the illusive moonlight. The  head was  buzzing, the body
was craving  the resting,  the  colored spheres  were  floating  in the eyes
because of the weariness. No any thought had already stayed in the head. The
feet were merely bringing my  body  nechanically  somewhere  forwards. Not a
human kind in all the sense of the word, but a wordless  animal. Even of the
"dukhs"  attacked  now then  scarcely anybody were  able to  maintain  smart
resistance.
     The first  ranks had come to some beforetime prestigious hous  and came
in to inspect its  remains. Sure  it was situated almost in the city center.
The flats were certainly the ones of the most expansive and now nobody would
give for them even a half-coin.
     The  second small group  had  left for inspecting of  the near-standing
building. Even being tired  we realized well that it's impossible to hide in
the only ratty corner. It's dangerous. That's why we took two corners. We'll
be the iron rats, gnawing through the concreet floors.
     The first group returned back at first and giving a hand's wave offered
to  take the night lodging and rest  in  the basement of the  nearest house.
Nobody  was commanding. Merely  the  ones  who wanted to enter that building
left for it. I went  with the second  group. Why? Don't  know. Went - that's
all.  About  thirty  men  wnet  into  the  second  building, rather in  it's
basement.  But they  did not stay in one  room  - they had dispersed in  all
directions. Benefit that the basement was  large. There were six ones having
stayed  with me. It  was  dark in  this lodgement. We began  to  strike  the
matches,  lighters lighting our  temporary lodgement.  The room was  a sqare
lodgement of  five  per five meters  size.  There were  two  windows  to the
street. About tem meters to the exit door.
     When the matches were fired the rats sprang  in the diverse directions.
Many rats. I feel calmly about different poultry. The main  thing is that it
would not bite you and not try to gorge you.
     We  had set the  sentries and, having cuddled  together closer, as it's
warmer, drop into the uneasy slumber. Wanted to eat and to drink very  much.
There were no such possibilities. So, we  had to forget  ourselves  with the
heavy  night fantasies, waking up after every suspicious  rustle and because
of the near shooting.
     Regularly waking up to change for the other side or  trying to draw the
chill wet legs in, hugging each other, whisking the muzzling us rats off, we
had slept not more then three  hours. The dream did not bring us relief. The
feeling of despair  was increased by the hunger  and thirsty sharpening. The
radioset  stayed  in  the first  building,  so  we  stayed  being  unknowing
absolutely  what was happening. Slowly,  heavy waking up  the people smoked,
made the "visits" to the fighters and  officers  in the  next lodgement. The
darkness in the street had not  passed yet  when  the smell of the smoke and
baked meat came  from  the futher corner.  Sure meat.  That  unearthly smell
could  have  been impossiblly confused with anything!  But where is the meat
from?
     All the crowd moved to  the  smoke and baked meat smell. And it tickled
the  nostrils, fogged the heads, provoked the sicky  cramps  of the stomach,
inspired the  hope for the best, arouse the memories  about the home,  about
the  picnics with shashliks. God, what was this  smell! I have felt such  an
unearthy smell never in my life.
     When the hungry crowd had come, flown to the impromptu fire made of the
remains of  the  funiture and papers  they  saw two soldiers were baking the
small  piecws  of  the  fresh meat on  the selfmade  spits.  The pieces were
trickling, the blood was dropping from'em,  the bree  was bubbling. The view
was unforgetable! Naturally, the first question from everybody came out:
     - Where is the meat from?
     - Where have you taken it?
     - Have you some more?
     - Isn't it a man?
     - No, it's  not a man! - the soldiers laughed, continuing  baking their
shashlik.
     - So, where from have you taken the meat?
     The impatience  and hunger invaded  the people.  The fighters,  baking,
faltered, clearly  wishing  not to tell their culinary  skills'  secret. The
pause was sure  too long.  The  strain grew up. The  crowd of the  weaponed,
uptight  close to  the border hungry males was able to cook the slum-burners
to be shashlik. Finally one of them mumbled:
     - The rat.
     - Rat?!
     - Yes, it's rat, - the fighters confirmed.
     - Are you mad? - many ones were shocked.
     The stomach was  cramping - not from the  hunger, from the sickness. If
there were anything inside, certainly would  go  outside. Many ones felt the
same reaction. But nearly half of us,  having no any emotions,  came  closer
and began to wonder about  the hunting  and culinary secrets of the "chefs".
As quickly as  possible i went to have  fresh  air. "Gourmand's"  particular
retorts were being heard after me, the exoticism lovers:
     - Have you tasted it?
     - No, but look - very fat!
     - Exactly, how much blood, fat! M-m-m-m! Wow!
     - Is it the one rat or two?
     - One.
     - Look, how large.
     - There are many of them here - enough for everybody!
     - I read  and was taught in the school that the rats are the  contagion
carriers, including plague.
     - We were taught many things in school, what's the sense?
     - Don't like - don't eat! - somebody answered with the iron logics.
     - Nothing will happen!
     - Correct. Noting will happen, we've only to bake the meat better.
     - Well baking is baking, but  not to dry the meat, not  to make it dry,
fragile and untasty.
     - Look, the crast has already baked.
     - Exactly! Classy crast!
     - Men, let me tast the small piece? A?
     - Ouh, we need not much.
     - If like it will catch rats.
     - Pity that thedogs are not here, there is more meat.
     - There's so much in the man. Why don't you eat?
     - Blow you out with jokes. You eat.
     - I was not able to bear these talking, went out and started inspecting
the flats' remains. The smell, smoke, blown out of the basement, rose up the
ladder,  hunting me literally upon  my heels.  I started  smoking, trying to
send away  the importunate smell. The stomach was cramped because of now the
hunger then the thought that i feel the toasted rat's smell. Br-r-r-r!
     From the former experience i know that the hunger feeling will leave me
on about the fourth day of not eating. There will be only the dull weariness
but there will not be hunger at  all. The thoughts will roll over slower and
slower, and not about the matter but about the meal.
     When on  nintyth year we  entered Baku, then  we  were  brought  to the
Saliansie  kasernes,  and after that moved to the fourth  microdistrict as a
commandant unit. We were  responsible  for the law order keeping and for the
closing time in that houses block. Our com-bat was not a fool and that's why
he organised the battalion command center  in the large supermarket. When we
wnet doen into the basemments  there was thick meal on the ground. There was
only the bread dearth. As in  that anecdote when the butter should have been
spread on the sausage. But it seems as if i repeat. The thoughts are hung up
about the  meal. Instead of the meal i jobed the bitter smoke inside myself.
Some fuss rose up below. Stop, listen to. "Dukhs"? No. The hazardous shrieks
were coming from the basement:
     - Come-on, come-on!
     - Chevy'em on me!
     - But where to do you chevy'em, idiot!
     - Let-s start again.
     - There, they ran in that corner.
     - Go round, go round.
     - Come-on, chevy'em.
     - Pity, we can't shoot.
     - You'll shoot! "Dukhs" will hear.
     - Beat'em! Beat!
     - Not with barrel, fool!
     - Beat with butt!
     - That's not a club! Beat with butt end.
     - But he'll be all bloody!
     - No matter, will wash!
     - Why, you don't want gorge?
     - Got it!!!
     - Many?
     - Three ones beaten dead.
     - Little, need more. There's nice stable.
     - Let'em beat themselves.
     - Stop talking. Enough rats for all.
     - Fat!
     - Normal.
     - Beat fat ones.
     - Can't see if they're fat or not.
     - Go round, now we'll chevy again.
     Stopping the  sickness urges i went  out to  the street not to hear the
dying  rat's  cheep. The nightfall has already  passed  away. Have  stopped.
Watched the street  long while. Can see sort of no activiy. The shooting was
heard from the "Minutka" side occasionally. But the sound showed that it was
not a combat. Most probably, these were the sentries shooting the sectors of
responsibility. Running, bent in  two, i crossed the street at diagonal  and
rushed  into the  hous entrence where at  the  first group had  hidden. When
entering the two sentries met me cautiously.
     - Hi, bros! - i addressed'em.
     Having seen me to be ours they eased and smiled.
     - Good morning, comrad capitan, - one smiled widely. Showing thirty two
teeth.
     - What's news?
     - Nothing. And what's the noise have you there?
     - "Dukhs"? - the second chorused.
     -  No. Those  are the  wisemen  happened who had opened the  season  of
hunting for rats.
     - For rats? - the amazement of the one was genuine.
     - For rats? - the second one  was, contra, thoughtful. As if  he rolled
off  the thought  of the baked rat. His eyes were  covered with the dreaming
shroud.
     - Yes,  rats.  the fighters  brakfasted  with  the  baked  rats in  the
morning, so the others wished also.
     - Did you taste? - the second fighter asked.  The first  one  felt sick
himself having only the thought about the rat.
     - No. Did not taste. And don't  mant, - i confessed honestly.  -  Where
are the fathers-commanders?
     -  Over there, - the  first fighter amorphously waved with hand showing
to the ladder leading into the basement.
     I  went  downwards, not  hurrying, smoking while  walking  through  the
ladder  covered  with  the  stone  frags  and  rubbish,  into  the  basement
lodgement.  About  ten  people  were  sitting there  inside.  Futher,  about
ten-fifteen  ones were  sitting and liing  in the next  room.  I marked  the
dreaming Yourka amoung them. Came close. Kicked his hip easily.
     - Stand up. Will oversleep the Kingdom of God.
 	Yourka opened his eyes quickly. And having seen me, jumped up. We embraced.
     - Alife? - he was sincerely glad.
     - Alife. Where to will i leave.
     - And i thought unwittingly that's all now...
     - Sod all!
     - Well, give tell what good about you, - Yourka clearly was not able to
find the place.
     - Why the news? - i wonderd. - All the same as about  you. If you want,
can go  to my basement, the fighters have  beaten five rats just now and are
cooking breakfast now.
     I told hem shortly the "rats" epic. He was amused. And did not hide his
stomach to be horrified when getting the only thought about the rat-fleshy.
     - Did you eat yourself? - he asked, managing hardly the sickness urge.
     - No. Not touched the bottom yet.
     - But the rat?
     -  But  why are you wondering? The Chinese say  that everything growing
and moving is eatable. But only the one should  be able to cook according to
the prorated manner. No matter, Youra, will want eat, will gorge  not only a
rat.
     - Necessary to go away from here qwicker or loos half mind.
     - That point is correct, bro. If we'll sit more, all the fuck-up for us
will be provided.
     The sitting nearby  ones listened to our talk ans opened the discussion
about the problems of nutrition  from the expedients. We did  not interfere,
stepped aside.
     - What the center says? Have you connected already?
     -  Have  connected.  Ugh! - Yourks spet. - Nothing  good.  The  brigade
remains  are trying to  fight the  way to the  old center.  The headquarter,
rather all the  remains of  it  got circled and fights. The paratroopers are
cast to assist. Don't  know will they fight to  them or not. Bullshit is all
that.
     - You  haven't  brought  a new mind  of  the  bullshit.  Will  we  make
anything?
     - Is there any plane yet?
     - No any plan. Sitting. Read fortune at coffee grouts.
     -  We should scarper, before cleanup is not started. They're  sure  not
fools also.
     - I've already  told... - Yourka hopelessly waved with the hand. - They
say it's necessary to sit, to watch around. I just tell bullshit.
     - Let's go and try to speak. We're indeed the quarter officers.
     - Let's go but there will be a little sense.
     But hving not  we  made coming to the first battalion  commander yet as
rushed  in one of  the  sentries, securing the  entrence  in  the house, and
shouted in half-wisper:
     - "Dukhs" are going!
     - How far away?
     - In a couple ouses from here. Making cleanup.



        12

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     (c) Copyright 2009 translation by Oleg Abramov
     Date: Nov 2009
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     - Headquarters, you're really something, again drinking. As if you were
not able when mousetrapped!
     - Come in, Serega, come in, dear!
     - Pashka! A cup and a fork to be offered!
     - No, men, i won't drink.
     - Forget rotting about. Won't you drink for our returning back?
     - Allright but drop only a bit.
     - We'll  drink now the third toast now and you have only the first one.
Catch up!
     - No. I'll drink the third one with you.
     - As you like it. Pasha, pour into! Less.
     - so, men, the third?
     - Yes, the third!
     - For the ones who have left.
     - Silence.
     - Ok.
     Stood  up and  quietly, not  chin-chinning, after the  second  silence,
everyone drank. Again  attacted the meal,  drinking the bear after.  Whether
meal  was  fat or some other  reason  made it but the drunkenness started to
leave us. The brains almost cleared up. The first one breaking the quietness
was deputy political officer.
     - So, tell us, hreos, how were you able to step in so hard.
     - If you speak to us in such a  mood  i'll break your snoot, - i warned
him. - You should have been with us.
     - Should have been but the heads  had sent me  for the humanitarian aid
to the "North". Have  brought. I hold  your part.  Haven't  given  for  that
loafer, - Sergey pointed at Pashka, - not to eat and not to drink.
     - And cigaretts?
     -  I've  taken  cigaretts   and   beer  for   you   and  your   paisano
Sashka-commandant sent you the  bow with  the hi. Will give  in the morning.
So, tell.
     Thus, what,  Serega, tell. In general terms you know everything without
extra talks.
     - Know but tell nevertheless.
     Briefly,  interrupting  each  other,  we  told  all  that  we   had  to
experience. Did not mask anything, did not whitewashed.  The impressions are
yet  too  fresh,  the memory again and  again  brought us into that nightmar
which from we succeeded to go out. We did but the other guys didn't.
     - There's no our guilty, Serega, that we've gone out but the men stayed
there. No.
     -  Don't be nervous. All  have already known that  - no.  Have reported
already to Moslow, to the minister and to all the other ragtag. Reported, to
say truth,  after Rolin, that  one  presented all as  if there had been  our
guilty in everything. As it happens, only we had to go assaulting, at  least
they say that  in Khankala. And the others had  to assist in supporting fire
only.
     - There was no any  assist. The  "dukhs"  had made so classy entrapment
for us that we stept in it as the blind kitties, - i pronounced darkly.
     - There were more "dukhs" then us, - Yourka confirmed.
     - Had thrown us to dye, stronzos of Moscow.
     - What about the new commander? - i asked.
     - Nothing about! He turns to be the sidekick of the minister of defense
Grachin. So he was stuck through that old boy network.
     - It  is from  the reduced to  cadre medical rejiment  to the combative
brigade?
     - Yes. To our brigade.
     - Fucking disaster!
     - We have discussed it here already. He's far from drawing only map, no
reading even it. During  the official meetings  there is nothing to be heard
but the only dirty  words.  And when  Bilich starts to  report and uses  the
military terms then Bulatov drops asleep.
     - Why asleep? - Youra didn't understand.
     - Very easy -  starts  sleeping. Hang the  head  on his  own breast and
sniff. He is nil.
     - Doesn't he want to get Hero?
     -  It is not clear yet but the manner he lead the main office convoy to
the old command center - that was fucking desaster, men. Absolute ignorance.
If Sanych would not  take the leading in his  hands we  would  not reach it.
When there was a rapid fire at the convoy,  may be  some kiddo was shooting,
that boneheadordered: " Stop! Accept the combat!" And when we stuck into the
entrapment he ordered:  "Go not reducing the speed!' And the obstruction was
ahead. Shortly - fool.
     - Nightmare! We will have a hell of a time with him!
     - Yes, we will. We'll attack Minutka tomorrow evening again!
     - Why attack?
     -  The  order from  Moscow. But this time we're not only ones.  To  say
truth, the same route.
     - Again through the bridge?
     - Yes, guys, again through the bridge.
     - Pour into or the lid will flip.
     - Exactly, Slava,  we'll not see it without a bottle. We didn't take it
with Bahel and now we'll do with tthis medic... Ukh!
     - Pour into, Pashka! Make the half-cup.
     - For the fortune, for the fortune do  not leave us! - we drank without
chin-chining.  The recieved information dazed us. We  were sitting  quietly,
without biting.
     -  What about  Bahel, what about the  second com-bat? -  asked  Yourka,
smelling the bread crust.
     - Bahel is  in  Moscow. The leg  was saved. In the hospital by the name
Burdenko. And com-bat...  -  Serega sithed hardly.  - Ne's not alife. He was
sent to Rostov and by board from it to the wife.
     - Yes, he  was  a good man.  Memory eternal to  him, let the  ground be
smooth for him.
     - Have we left many ours...there? - the lump appeared in my throat when
i remembered com-bat.
     - Many, very many.  Many ones  were lost. Maybe they're sitting  in the
basements, maybe they're captured. But  they're returning  back, sending the
messages. Somebodies are making war in the other units. Cannot fight through
to us. Thus the number of exactly died, in other words affirmed, is hundred,
gone missing and maybe alife yet - about sixty-seventy men. Not a few  tanks
were singed also. Shortly, we should be sent to parking  and form  ranks but
we're sent to thick again tomorrow. Madhous!
     - Madhous - that is even, Serega, softly  named. Seemingly they want to
knock us down. So that  only the name and the banner would  have been  about
us.
     - Exactly, the same as about Maikop brigade. Fags! Foul fags!
     - Don't be on the boil, Slava,  There's nothing reasoning by  us. Let's
better drink!
     - Let's drink. Bugger all is depending on us. Pour into. A bit for me.
     Have drunk. Quietly, without toast, not chin-chining.
     -  Serega, you  bring to  us only  the ugly news.  As  before the first
assault as now. Maybe  all the evil is in  you? - Yourka watched point-blank
at guilty of nothing Kazartsev.
     - Well gun  me down, will see  if it will change anything, - Serega was
cool.
     -  What the hell we're sent again in this thick? - i continued being on
the boil.
     Stupor had gone. The  rage had possessed me again. I  restrained myself
being own man hardly. To blow off steam somehow i was cussing out:
     - Jiggered  stronzos,  bitches,  scoundrels,  wanked off  douches, foul
fags,  brainless  dorks.  Beating's little  for'em.  On  thirty seventh such
stronzos would have been put up against the wall and got a  control  lead in
napes.
     - You  would  have been put first up against the wall yourself for such
talking, - Youra countered cool.
     - You're right. But what degenerates are they!
     - Calm down, Slava.  Everything's  passed. Everything's onward. If  you
are on the boil we'll piss you.
     - Allright, - i abated. - Serega and what about Yourka and me?
     - Don't know, ther was  no talk about you. But the other administrative
ones will  be recollected amoung the battalions.  I'll be sent to the second
battalion. You'll stay at the main quarter.
     - I'll not stay with that fucking commander,  - i began shouting again,
- i'll go to  the second one with you. I  wish i  could  paint  town from my
heart.
     - Correct, Slava, let's go together! -  Yourka poured vodka into again.
He made little drinks, for a swallow.
     - When we'll start?
     - On  seventeen according  to plan.  Will come by  ninteen. That convoy
will be large, yes, maybe entrapment also. Well, there will be again "tanks'
carrousel"  and... And  again with the naked ass on  the frits,  -  finished
deputy political officer.
     - We'll have time to sleep!
     - Exactly. Now the last  cups -  and slumber. Pashka! Do not  awake, do
not turn around, when fire bring out first of all! Allright, come-on! - we'd
drunk and  having  left Pashka to clean  in the  box went  in the street  to
smoke.
     - Did not want to tell into the fighter's face, - Serega started, - but
the question was investigated  absolutely seriously  whether Bahel specially
killed the men.
     - Fucking mad!
     - Are you seriously?
     - Even  more seriously.  Rolin had memorized you, Slava,  they  thought
that you were saboteur and so... - Serega stuck.
     - Keep on speaking! That i deserted? Did you want to say that?
     - Yes. Namely that you fled.
     I fevered. Felt  myself becoming bloodshot. The  rage woke  up.  Wanted
immediatly to crash somebody's snoot.  Preferrably that it would be Rolin or
Sedov. The small  fry from the mlitary  attorney departament would have been
of use. Or as we named'em - "prokuriata". I wished the "dukhs" had come now.
     - Jolly cinema. And what now i'll be court-martialed?
     - No. San Sanych has fought  blame  off you. The faighters and officers
having returned  earlier  then you,  confirmed  that you  had not  put  tail
between legs, had  not shot to the ours, fought as all the others. applied a
dressing at the wounded ones.
     - Listen,  Serega, there was somebody who had shot the "dukh's" tank in
the combat  with the first shooting from  the grenade dispenser.  It was all
covered with  the active defense  shields but  that sniper had socked at the
tank turret foundation. For  such things the one should be revarded woth the
Hero. But what's the name of that guy - do not know. Would you enquire?
     - Exactly,  Sergey, we started the attack after that  classy shot. Many
lives were saved by that shot.
     - You, men,  are not  the first who  has spoken about this. Have  known
already the name of the fighter. Was wounded, after that died. That is exact
already.
     - So, he should at  least be posthumously revarded with Hero of Russia.
The boyo had merited that.
     - The many ones have been offered to be revarded ut those stronzos from
Khankala say  that  something  like  the  square had not been  taken but the
revarding papers were sent ot them. Fags!
     - It is  not the  word, Youra. We've given to the dead and wounded ones
the  finger. The  ones who  had died or  had already stopped their  war. And
these dorks do not want even  to listen  to us. "Nothing fucking for" - they
say.
     - Oh, stronzos.
     - Stronzos, -  agreed Serega. - Khankala is secured by the battalion of
paratroopers, rejiment of "makhra"  and the  detachment  of  special forces.
They were taken from the firing line. Our next  units were taken off. Now we
stand the racket both for us and for that  guy. Should have seen maybe there
are less the block-posts?
     - We haven't seen them at all.
     - That's what it is.  The number  of the brigade  has shortened but the
zone of responsibility has grown up.
     -  The hotel of "Caucasus"  has been taken? - took the interest Yourka,
staarting smoking the new cigarette from the stub.
     - Who will take it? There was  also the battalion of the troopers taken
from and thrown to Khankala.
     - So, they there  want  us to be  the only ones to make the war against
the "dukhs"?
     - They are sitting pritty! I like it!
     - Well, men, take it easy. Go having rest. I'll say not to disturb you.
Catch up on sleep. And we'll speak tomorrow about all the other things.
     - Fail to return humanitarian aid borrowed!
     - But men, are you thinking i'm a rat?
     - It remains not to be seen, but you never can tell...Good night!
     - Good night, bullies!
     -  You are the one!  - we  shouted with one accord into the darkness on
the heels of Serega.
     - What do  you think,  Slava,  on  that subject? - Yourka asked when we
went to the box van.
     -  I  think nothing. If only not  to be court-martialed as a  deserter.
That is what i'm thinking about, i grumbled.
     - And on the tomorrow action?
     - Honestly?
     - Honestly of course.
     - If we are thrown again as the whelps, the only ones, there will  stay
alife about ten-twenty of us who will be sent either to the nut hospital  or
to the prison as deserters, saboteurs not to have a loose toungue.
     - In my opinion you have already told that.
     - Yes, i've told and keep the same mind about that. If we would be able
to get out of it alife and not to come  to nut hospital and not to come to a
prison, then i wouldn't  need any bertter commendation. That's all. And what
do you thinks, Youra?
     - Most probably it will happen so.
     - Youra, do you hear that anybody's bombing "Minutka" now? State bankk,
Palace of the fucking Dudaev?
     - No, i don't.
     - So, that's again as before the first assault. Can you remember we had
spoken about that?
     -  I can remember. Allright, let's  go to sleep.  Let's go, Youra, it's
late. Tomorrow the new turn of the nut hous will start.
     We  entered the box van. Took  off  the dress quickly. Spit at possible
attack.  The  skin, the  body were tired about clothing wearing.  Wnanted to
take a rest. We fell down quickly. I  switched off the light and disappeared
in the deep sleep.
     I saw  the nightmares.  War,  war, war. Nothing except the  war. But  a
couple times i saw  a public  prosecutor who was making some  blamings but i
shot him and the body threw to "dukhs". That was nothing but nightmare!
     Woke up because of Pashka was shaking my shoulder.
     - Comrade capitan,  comrade capitan, wake up!  Viacheslav  Nikolaevich!
Get up wlready.
     - Ah, what, "dukhs"?! - still speeping convulsively i started searching
for the tommy-gun.
     - No, not "dukhs", but it's already three o'clock now. It's time to get
up.
     - Bugger it? - i did not understand clearly after sleeping.
     - We'll start at five o'clock. Have you forgotten?
     - Have forgotten. Where's Ryzhov?
     - Have already got up. Washing himself.
     - Have we breakfast, so, i wnated to say lunch?
     - Everything is ready.  The executive officer  expect you  to  come  in
forty minutes.
     - Understand.
     We've  washed us quickly, shaved, ate the breakfast. And went, smoking,
slowly with unhusting gait to the  main office. The officers  greeted  us by
the way jolily. We  answered in the same manner. At the dorrstep of the main
office-kindergarden  we  stoppt  to  smoke  down  calm.  The rumble and  the
aircraft  ululation was heard from the "Minutka" direction. Not bad, not  so
bad. I liked all that cacaphony. They'd better to  put exactly  but they can
shovel up  the  holes  in all  the  radius,  and  you'd  creep over them and
stumble. "The pilot flyes high, gets much money. Mummy, i love the pilot!" -
i was able to refresh the memory about one childish, vulgar song. Had smoked
down, threw the stubs and grinded'em out and went to the executive officer.
     San Sanych was situated in the same room. And the table was  set in the
same position as it had been before. It seemed that nothing has changed. But
at the place of Bahel there was sitting Bulatov. Where to will  you lead us,
commander?  Haveing  entered we stayed near the door.  San Sanych lifted his
head and, observed us, invited:
     -  Come in,  come in.  Don't  hesitate!  Why  are you  hovering  at the
treshold as the fosters.
     - But may be we've been already deleted from the unit lists, - I joked.
     -  Oh  yeah. You'll  be  deleted,  -  San Sanych accepted the  joke and
answered in  the same  mood. - What's about the feeling?  Maybe you'd better
meanwhile to go to the baggage or to the docktors?
     - What for? - Youri asked perplexedly.
     - Maybe, you're tired. To heal. Will you have some rest?
     - That's allright, - i answered.
     - And maybe you don't trust us? - that was Youra yet going to provoke.
     - No, no. How were you able to think about that?!
     - But we ewre  told as somebody wanted to  put  all  the fault on us, -
Youra started to act flaky.
     I was  able to keep myself well in hand  but  hardly. Although realized
that Sanych  was innocent. And the huge gratitude is  for him getting me off
the court-matial hook. In other case i would roll to the prisoner transport.
     - Youra don't  wind up. The executive officer  has made all possible to
take all the suspicions off us.
     - And why do you know that?
     -  So,  the people  in the  brigade told, -  Youra answered  evasively,
stepping aside from his anger flash.
     - All of us have the nervs not good. It's better for us to cool.
     - They talk too much in  the  brigade. The tongues should be cut off, -
Bulatov made a word.
     - I've asked for  you to offer  the choice where would you  be situated
during the assault. I need the clear  heads in the main office. So,  i offer
to stay here, - San Sanych watche at us with the tired eyes.
     We could  see that  it  was  difficult for  him physically, and it  was
evident there was no any contact with the new commander of the brigade yet.
     - Thanks for the offer, - i've started, - but i'd be better sent to the
second batallion.
     -  I'd  better  also  to  the  second  batallion.  There  is  not  many
experienced officers and  i guess that we'd be  more  necessary  there  then
here, in the main office, - Youra tried to speak also politely and tuff.
     The executive officer, evidently, did  not expect  from  us  any  other
answer  and lifted  his  hands in dismay. But the com-brig watched at us  in
supprise. Evidently,  had not  yet seen such  bullies. "Look, look. Accustom
yourself,  - i  thought malevontely. - We hav  many ones  of such kind - the
whole brigade. And weather would you be accepted by our "court"? We'll see!"
     The pause had lasted  way too  long.  If there were not that new one we
would speak  to the executive officer a little bit  more. And  to this one -
no! The first  one who had broken the silence was San Sanych. He had sent us
to get ready for the expected march and for the coming combat.
     All the ones who were able to fight went for assault. The car  drivers,
some  of the radio-operators, the  repairing-restoring battalion,  supplying
battalion were the  ones who stayed.  The docktorsalso  followed the troops.
There were the ones who  would receive and operate at  the place  staying at
the medical company. If anybody would be evacuated.  Save  and  Protect. God
Speed.
     On seventeen twenty the convoy of the brigade was formed up and started
going to the "Minutka". There was a nois of the combat heard from there. The
third  batallion  and the  scouts had  taken and  protected the  bridge. The
damned  bridge! They had  already passed  it  and  were making the defending
combat at that side. It was not an easy work - "to draw the hippopotmus from
the bog. Take it easy, guys, we're combng!
     The comvoy was  the huge if to estimate it by the war time measures. In
full length of about five kilometers. Nobody  liked that. Espacially in  the
city. No any goo thing. We were the exellent targets.
     The "dukhs" had the same mind. They  hit when the head carrier had gone
only the four kilometers. There was no ane obstruction no mines.  But simply
hit with the dispensers from above and bunt two first  carriers of the first
batallion. At the same moment  they hit into the  middle of  it and into the
tail  of  the convoy. It was not the combat but the shooting  of the convoy.
The convoy  having  been the one  several moments  before started to  break,
tear. The drivers mechanics, leading form the shootibg their  carriers throw
them into  the  side streets,  courts, passes, crashed the shabby remains of
the near ruins with their head armours of  their armoured girl-friends. Somr
of them were not able  to break away of the heaps. They were finished off by
the "dukhs" there  instantly. It was no any word about any planned qualifyed
stand against.  The omes who were able leaft. There was no ane sole command.
The convoy was too large for any  boody  to come to  assist it. No any radio
connection,  no  any  commands.  There was  a panic.  Again it was a  panic.
Everybody for himself. In the  fire hell  where at the carriers, tanks  were
burning, exploding, the splashed fuel  was burning, the  burning people were
rushing about. The alife torchws were falling on the land, rolling trying to
blow out the fire. If there was anybody he tried to come to assist. At times
covered himself the one who was burning with his  body,  stiopping the fire.
But  it  happened  sometimes that  when  stopping the fire  of the  burning,
sopping with the  diesel jacket, the fire exchanged  for the saver. That one
also started burning and died.
     The commander carrier  was going  at the fifth  position of the convoy.
Everybody was waiting for  the orders. Any  ones  but orders - to attack, to
step-back, to take the combat  at the place. But the orders were  not given.
The  carrier of the new com-brig  was the first one  braking  the  line  and
crashing the chippings went to some side turn. The radio kept the silence. A
bit later the commanding was taken by the executive officer, but it was  too
late yet. The chaos had started in the convoy and in the souls of the people
being  left  by the commander  were  caught by  the panic.  Everybody's  for
himself. All who's able should rescue!
     The  battalion,  companies,  platoons commanders  tried to organize the
getting of the  ptple from the shooting, to  force the "dukhs'" attack  off.
Thus, it was abut our second battalion. The first company commander assigned
at  the position of  the died  battalion  commander (the  mates,  exdept the
political  affairs deputy commmander, died  or  were lost) capitan  Borovikh
Andrey Anatolievich gasped quickly and yelled:
     -  The cannons  at the five-floored house! Landmark - poplar! Fire! The
infantery dismounts and try to force out the "dukhs"! Go on! Fire! Fire!
     He jumped  off the armor first and  started  the tommy-gun showering at
the enemy. There  was a fighter with the radiostation liing near him. Andrey
made a  coordination of his  leadees and we were able  to force the  "dukhs"
from their positions. That was the first success, that was a victory. Let it
was  a  small  victory but  the  people  believed in  their  new  commfnder.
Unfortunately  the other commanders  did  not instantly orientate themselves
and the second battalion  and  Youra  and me had leave also. It so  happened
that Youra was on the head carrier of  the battalion and he lead the getting
of the battalion from the shooting.  By some courts, passes,  by-streets  we
were able to get to "Minutka". The order for the assault start was abolished
by nobody. And that's why we were not allowed to initiate any personal will.
Although we had moved to our startung positions  but did not  hurry to enter
the combat. Were standing  and assidted our third battalion with the running
fire of the carriers and ANGMs.
     Now they have  created the ANGMs of the forth generation. Good toy, but
there are too  little  of them  in  the army because it's too  expensive, so
little.
     Thus, we force-fed the "dukhs" with  such  "gifts". At first we started
working about the  fortification  that they created of the building rubbish.
Sadder  but wiser,  we did not want to loos the men while assaulting of that
memorial of the architecture and history of the  absurd war. We comtacted by
the raioset  constantly to the remains of the convoy. Com-brig kapt silence,
we thought already that he had died. The command over the brigade was  taken
by the executive officer. Two more tanks were lost by the tankmen. The first
battalion  - four  infantry  carriers.  The signalers  -  three  conneection
devices. Many men were  lost - twenty three ones. And how many went missing,
it was unknown. The docktors, when they rushed from the Command post to give
the  aid, also went missing. It is spoken they did not turn  in the  correct
point. Senior  leutenant of the  medical service Zonnov Eugine went  missing
also. Wise lad. Real man. Regret, so much.
     Gradually  the remains of the tankmen and  the first battalion  started
coming  to  that  shitty  square. Approximately by three o'clock a.  m.  the
remains of the brigade  concentrated in the near streets, courts, siding  to
the square.  At the same moment the  place and houses  around  were "cleaned
up". So that  no any "dukh's" cattle was not able to impede us. Have changed
the the  third battalion  and the scouts  selekted of  all the brigade.  The
tankmen started to move on their "carrousel". But there was neither any wish
nor hazard to start assault in the night.
     By  vive  o'clock  a. m.  the executive offiver  had come, he was  also
acting as a commander of the brigade.  At five fifteen  we had  come to  the
talk. The  talk was  combined with the meal. There was no time. In abou  two
hours, maximal in two and a half, the daybreak will  begin and we'll have to
start assault. So, when we'll have any time to meal!
     Khankala also  did not hurry to  stadt the talk.  They waited  for  us.
Having  reported  about  destruction  of the  convoy, we did not  hurried to
report about us  being ready  for assault. It would be the ideal variant  if
our troops at that  side of  the square shephered the "dukhs"  at us  and we
would meet them here yet. But alas, we realizes that it would not happen and
we'll have to beat the horn against, to loos  all  the bones  but to conquer
that square. The gossips were circling  that Dudaev isn't situated there for
a  long time, but  our  strategists both in  Moscow  and Khankala, comparing
probably that Palace  with Reichstag,  wanted  to  conwuer  it. May ge those
gaffers fancied that after  that the war would stop? It is  no  any  fucking
stop. The  bushwalkers  movtment will  bt  so mighty that it will be no  any
resilt but the only one  from the scortched-earth tactics. If of course they
have enough bravenss. Or it will be as in Afgfn - weak going on the position
war. Yeah! What will be? Who knows.
     And we're  facing the only  aim  -  the  square woth the complex of the
buildings. There it is  liing ahead of me. All is digged up by the shell and
ait-bombs  craters  and  enlaces  with the badbes  wires,  lightes  with the
cannons'  lighting shells, the same mines,  rockets. They  are hanging under
the parachites and  flooding  everything  with the unreal white-blue  light.
There is almost no shades.
     When i had seen again that square and memorized again as i was creeping
on  my pounch, grounded  myself and  ran after that from it,  the  fear blew
again,  the  coffin coldness. With the effort of will, as clasping the teeth
ristling, made myself to btcome cool.
     Was  smoking  the cigaretts, one after another, and  feeling  not their
taste, was not able to  tear off the glance.  And  even the  thought flashed
that  if there is no new com-brig, i can come to San Sanich  and to  ask him
for letting ne staying at the staff while the combat, but in the same moment
forced it away.
     We'll  battle through! Certaynly battle through! Awoke myself the spite
inside me. And  gradually the spite forced away the fear. There was only now
the spite  about  mystlf, about the  "dikhs", about  Moscow, about Khankala,
"North", about  all the peaceful life. The spite about  everything. The only
ones who about  i felt no any spitewere the men around myself. I'll  go with
them in stveral hours on that "frying  pan" whereat all of us regardless the
grades  and  ranks,  the  mtrrits  before  the  Fatherland  and  Motherland,
regardless the family status, will be the aims to be fryed. I drew my breath
deeply.  All the fear  had gone out,  the compassion  to myself and  to  the
others had  also  gome away. I'm cool. I'm trying  to be  cool. So, being in
such a condition i went for the tolk to the execurive officer.

        13


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     (c) Copyright 2011 translation by Oleg Abramov
     Date: Jul 2011
---------------------------------------------------------------

     All the  commanders  and  the  ones on the  duties  have come together.
Everyone has brought a bottle -- of vodka or something else, what God  could
let us, the same thing about  the meal but mostly  it were the tins with the
meat. The tins of different calibre and sorts. And of course, "the officers'
lemon" - say onion, garlic and many different things.
     We have headquartered  temporalily in the basement. The table  was also
set  there. It was made  of the boxes shifted  together,  the ones  for  the
shells, and  covered with the papers.  We were sitting on the every possible
thing. Some furniture, the moved camp-chairs, the boxes.
     We have sat at the table. San Sanych as a master. We have opend quickly
the tins warmed on the heating-radiators, unseald the vodka, cut the  bread,
onion, garlic, the unexpected sausage. We've spoken a little. Everything was
clear. The losses  --  in  the men and technique  -- were huge.  Not  ready,
according  to  the  all military skill canons,  we're  not ready  to take so
reinforced object as this square.
     It  was  sensless  to discuss with  San Sanych. It's not his fault. The
attack on the convoy hard morally. The fate of the lost is unknown also. Not
funny. Because  of the  alkohol and of  the  tanks' cannons crash, and  also
artillery, which we have not seen already a long time,  the mood was better.
We're alife. So then we'll live.
     Started talking. It was mostly about the shooting at the our convoy. We
had in fact nobody aside. The reconnaissance has not checked the ways, as it
was  arranged  for the bridges.  The avant-guarde was also not sent  for the
check.  Such a bullshit. And we're also idiots as we have not persuaded this
new cuttle with the colonel's shoulderstraps.
     Having discussed the overgone shame enough,  we  started to examine the
activity plan for the assault of the square. Hier spoke more San Sanych. The
meal and frink  were moved  aside. The decision was that the tankers work at
the  square and  we  go assaulting as  the next ones.  As it was sensless to
devide the  uncomplete batallions on the smaller units, the aim was given to
all the ones and at once.
     The  nearest aim  -- to  go through the bridge and to fix  on the other
side of "Minutka".
     The following aim is the  barricade. If there will  not be any "dukhs",
then next is the State bank. The tanks  and the armoured  cars  defence  our
flanks not to let again the  last situation and also shooting over our heads
make  the  way clean.  The  infantery,  knocking out  the  granade throwers,
defences the technique.
     The main aim -- the Palace of Dudaev.
     NOT  TO WAIT any reinforcement from the other side of the square. To be
supposed  only to ours forces. NOBODY HAS ANY INTEREST ABOUT  US -- that was
the sense of our conference. We'll fight by ourselves! We've no  reserve, no
fresh forces. All the technique and  all the men -- on the square. It is our
last  and decisive  combat!  Entirely as in a popular  recently  hit of  the
season.
     The combat of  the desperate men.  The combat  of the Sibiriaks, who in
the forty first have  rescued  Moscow, and it meant - all the Russia. Now we
had ahead something like that. As soon as we understood WHAT  is ahead, we'd
lost all the  words. The responsibility hung  over. A speaking is one thing,
to hear that there will no any help is quite another thing. And it's unknown
when your "allies" start the attacking on the oppposite  side. And may be as
it was at the last time, they do not begin it, but will observe the going og
events and "assist morally".
     After that  all  have gone and started to prepare  the men. To  explain
what is  ahead. We must to take care of the men. To take care of each other.
But  we  can not  send  the  technique  forward,  that  was  enogh  with the
experiments  at the last time,  as we  enterd Grozni. It seems  that all the
life has  passed.  So  many  things  have  passed,  a  man can  not remember
everything...
     I've gone to look for Yourka. He was  smoking near the tank, has talked
peacfully with the fighters-tankees. I've given them cigaretts.  The talking
was  about nothing. It was  simple fluttering to  send the  urgent  problems
away. They produced the usual military flannelettes. But now comes the order
for the crew to be ready. The tanks turning the "merry-go-round" have bekome
overheating of the  barrels and  therefore  they should  be changed now. The
tank with all ammunitions darted from the point and having stoppt before the
bridge, tepping on the  gas, was waiting for the turn. Youri and I have come
nearer. And now  tank, having shot the last  shell,  has lifted  the  barrel
according to the habit of the peacful life high in to the sky up and started
to roll  back. The  next  has  taken  the  position and started  the furious
shooting at the barricade. It was clear that there could  be nobody now. All
the remains of the  barricade were the heaps of the brickcrump. That's good,
we'll have not so much to do. I  like it when  such a  work will be  made bz
somebody but not me. Don't know why but i like it.
     I've looked at the whatch. In twenty minutes starts the assault. It was
sensless to say anything during  this crash. I've touched Youra's sleeve and
knockt with the finger  at the watchdial. He nodded  his head and we've gone
to the second batallion. The shooting over the square became more intensive.
Our  two  army divisions have compressed the  fire and changed for the  deep
square. The building of the State bank was not seen any more. Only the smoke
and the cloud of the dust were always hanging over it. That's also good.
     Youra  and i have come  to the remains  of  the second batallion.  Have
looked at the slowly rummaging men. Have set  on some  stone. Have begun  to
smoke. Have  arranged not  to loos  each other  from the view and help  each
other. Have remembered Pashka. Have laught that we've made him again furious
with  our dirty underware. Have remembered  that we have  not taken yaet our
art of "gumanitarka". That's good, if the one goes to attack  and  has still
some matter: the sure sign -- a man will come back to make it ready.
     Have  looked at the watches.  Five-minutes  readiness All  the  emotins
aside! Breathin  in and out, stop  breathing. Now man must start up. Malice,
fury are again boiling inn the blood. Adrehnalinjumps out of controll and is
brought with the blood through all  the  body. And now the signal  by radio.
And come on, come on, come on!!! Ahead! Only ahead! To work, to  work! To go
over, to jump over this fucking bridge  before the "dukhi" can it see! Uhra!
A-a-a-a!
     The breathing  is  breaking.  The  bag with the  launcher  granades  is
beating badly  at the leg with  the steps  tact,  it's  a  bit disturbig the
running. But I'm  already  at the condition not to pay any attantion  to it.
Ahead, only ahead! Nothing  is following me,  only  Russia, it helps us with
nothing. There's no reserve, the technique followes a bit later. And  it wil
be  last technique  in our brigade. And therefore  must work a man. To think
and ahead. But Adrehnalin disturbs thinking. And again the aincent man wakes
up in subcortex.
     There  is  a  durty-green jackets  mass  ahead already stepping  on the
bridge.  Nobody's shooting at them. And WHY is nobody  shooting at them? I'm
also with them and We're  being not shot!!! And having yet  no belive at the
fortune we as a thick crowd  run  through this  fucking bridge,  on which so
many our men  left at the last time. The reconnoiters spoke, that there were
no  corpses as they  took the bridge. That means they were  sent to feed the
fishes by these parasites or were somewhere  dragged  off. All right swines,
i'll askyou now where to have you our men taken. Now, bastards! Foul slinks!
I'm shooting. It seemd somebody was moving  at the barricade. The ones ahead
me are  also shooting. We continue racing  in mad tempo. The following ranks
having understood that there was no shooting ran quicker.
     Now already the following ranks pushed the front ones. Hier is the tank
shooting at the  position  of  "dukhi".  But it's  not  clear  where are the
"dukhi", but it's good, the shooting.  We can't  see  them however. Have hid
yourselves,  bitches! Beat  'em,  reptiles!  Come on, guys! Quick!!!  Tempo!
Tempo!!! Run as soon as no shooting!
     Am running  quietly, widely open my mouth.  Were I not skoming, could I
have catch breathing.
     But now my side's already breaking. So  can catch a man the shooting of
"dukhi". You're, swines, aren't able to throw us off from  the bridge and to
drown  us down, we're already on the square! Tempo, tempo, men. To  keep the
forces. Only forward. It's  a nuisance, direct on the  way yawns  the  large
crater.  Either round runnging or direct over  it.  Pity  that the breathing
will breake absolute.
     And  now  as  if  my thoughts were  heard  they  started shooting.  The
shooting was from the State bank side. Unsure burst with the machine-gun has
cut the fontaines of dust  and  the  sparkles out  from  asphalt and  stones
before  us.  But  the  distance  was  large  and the  "dukh"  evidently felt
semselves not goot because of the tank shooting, the aiming was wrong. Muff!
     Now well  teach you, black mug, how to shoot.  Ahead! I'm shooting from
the  shoulder. I  fire allmost  without  aiming. All  around  are  shooting.
Somebody's hot cartridge burns my cheek -- I'm rubbing it and look sideways,
what  a  swine  throws  me the  cartridges  away? Wow! That's Yourka! Has so
concentrated face. Is running one meter aside from me and is  shooting also.
For any case pull the granade in the black predatory muzzle of the launcher.
     The  "dukhis" have evidently recovered and started the fire at us. I've
droppt,  rolled away. Rolling, one more rolling. Have droppt,  broke into my
shoulder badly. A small crater. Why haven't I noticed it at once. The crater
is fresh, there's no  water yet -- either  from the night or made today with
the shell.  Not  important.  The  fire  from  "dukhi" becomes  thicker. I've
looked. Have bursted at the "dukhis" and  looked back.  Three  fighter  have
been carriing one heurt back. At the moment it's Ok. No killed. Unbelievable
luck.  Not to speak too soon!  Euphobia.  We've gone, run about fifty meters
through the open area and there's no one killed!
     I've throsted myself again  and started to watch more intelligently the
positions of the enemy. The breathing  allowed  me yet not to aim correctly.
The blood mixed with  the  hormons and  still hot  because  of  the  running
disturbed the effective  fight against  the "dukhi". All right, the bastards
tribe, if i  can not while shoot aiming,  then i can cover you good with the
granade-launcher. I've measured  the distance, made the  corretion  for  the
wind and havig open the mouth pulled the shooting hook of  the launcher. The
granade as a  potato have  raushed to  the "dukhi's" positions. I'm watching
attantively. Am seeing the explosion of my crumb-granade and a cloud of  the
dust  and smoke.  Something turned fleetlingly.  Looked like an  arm. Have i
really hit?  Exactly.  Somebody is  turning,  moving, evidently somebody  is
rushing to help the heurt one.  And  now  inconprihanciblly the slot-machine
will  be  good.  Am changing  the  aiming  slat  for  300 meters, making the
fire-controller   for  the   single-fire.   Breath  in   and   out,  at  the
half-breathing out stop  the breathing and  move the bead  together with the
rear sight at the cloudy stirring spot. Smoothly, very smoothly take off the
looseness --  the free  moving of  the shooting hook. Am not breathing.  The
subgun and I are the united  thing. It is the part of  me. Or i am a part ot
it.  I'm pushing the  shooting hook same smoothly. Am  concentrated. Nothing
exists but  my  subgun and  the indistinct  swarming spot. I could even  not
understand  and  not   feel  that  there  was  a  shooting.  Continuing  the
hook-moving I could not notice as it  was at a stop, and i continue to push.
My eyes, no - all my being  watches  at the place where to i have just shot.
The  spot died away and moved left. Got  it! One more  "dukh" is away. I'm a
sniper!
     And  again  the mortar plastering  begins. Everything's as at  the last
time. But now  we'll not run back.  The revenge feeling for the killed ones,
whom i had left hier becaouse  of  you, bastards, lets me not  to be afraid.
Prick you,  gits! The one  can  all the  war in this stinking crater lie. It
will not be so.
     I  sping out  of the  crater and rolling, short  crossing strive to hit
behind the barricade fragments. When  it's about ten meters  distance, I run
not  bending  down to  this  hill  of  the splinters  and  rubbish. I killed
somewhere  hier  "dukh"  having  not  control over the emotions. And am  not
ashamed about my act. Yes, have killed. Yes it was cruel. But what sould man
do? No choice. Almost no choice.
     I've realized  excellently, that the "dukhs" are now triing to  come to
this barricade using this mortar plastering and  next shoot us.  No  chance!
I'm the first!
     I'd no time  to watch around, but could see as the "dukhs" were running
from the State bank side. I could  now manage the cunning. I've  changed the
magazine. There were the  rounds but  too little. What  for to run risks and
fret while reloading. We need it not. The one must carefully prepare to meet
with the enemies. So, nearer, whores,  nearer!!!  There are so  many of you,
and Slava ia alone. And how many men are there? I've re-counted and found uo
to halfhundred mujahideens. Am choosing the aiming, push the shoooting hook.
The subgun  jerks, move  the  barrel  left  and right! Aha, monsters, you're
cought!  We'll organize for you now a Crystal Maze! I'm  happy, i'm besoted.
Was never so happy. There  is no  combat crash around. No  mines' explosions
behind. There are me with the subgun and the "dukhs". Many "dukhs". "Dukhs",
who do not like us.  "Dukhs", who mock at the captives, who nail our guys to
the crosses. Get now, choke over.  I  must change my position.  Rollimg, one
more. A couple meters on the knees. Changed magazine  again. Have chosen the
position. Watch now. Aha, degenerates,  you're flogging  at my old position.
There's  no me  any more. I'm hier, bastards!  Have given  shooting from the
knee. There  are  many,  now  very  many "dukhs", liing  without  moving  on
asphalt.  The same oure kids were liing  without moving on asphalt some days
ago. Where  to have you, shitheads, 'em taken? The  other  "dukhs" have also
laid down. Everithing was the same as earlier, but exect on the contrary.
     I'm shouting, I'm rejoicing. They"ve laid down. But it's Ok, we'll take
'em also. No problem!
     The  subgun shooting resounds  also asid. Am  turning my head, the  men
already  have come running  and  help to  hollow the  "dukhs". Come on, men,
there's enough for all! I'm not greed. I need no rewards. Hier is my reward!
Thank  You,  my Lord, for the happyness given to me. Teh blood is ranging in
srtherias.  There's not enough place  for it. I undo my jacket, have no body
armour on. Have had no time to get the new one. Doesn't matter. There are so
many  "dukhs" liing  with the armours.  Have  a  choice as  in supermarkt! I
change for the granade launcher.
     Yeah, the "dukhs" are liing with the asses upside but can also yap. So,
a man schould not show  himself. Let now the  granade launcher to work. Push
the shooting hook and watch where to flys the granade. I make the correction
and push  once  more. Swine, where  are you going!  As i was  reloading this
scoundrel  have rolled away, again miss. Spite and excitement are playing in
me.  Youra  is and  spitting aside. Is breathing  as  the exhausted military
hourse.
     It's smoking, Youra, yes?
     Aha, let's stop smoking as we get out.
     Then i'll have no shortages. Wife can part from so positive one, - joke
i back and shoot at the "dukhs".
     They  with their rolling have pestered me. Hier the one, who i  all the
time  hunted at,  has jerked  and loosing the subgun  started to roll about.
Youra  has  shot  him  just  with  the  first  attempt.   I  looked  at  him
reproachfully. That was my "dukh"!
     So as he do not suffer, - joked Youra.
     And i'm  looking, but can't see you, - continued he, - i'm  looking and
you're running already topsy-turvy as an ape along the embankment, shouting,
shooting and happy as on the holyday.
     But it is a  holyday. Loo, how many "dukhs" have we knocked down. Isn't
it a Happyness? Beat  the  Tschetschenen, rescue  Russia! To say truth, onlt
Devil knows, from whom.. There are sll  the chances  it willl  be neccessary
from You and meto rescue !
     We've  top-class workt.  They  had  no  effective  using  thier  mortar
plastering. Good made, Slavka!
     I know, - have i commented modestly.
     Meanwhiles our tanks tried  to suppress the  mortar battery,  but  they
could not make it good. Evidently the  battery was on a closed positione and
has us with an assistance of the aimer. It would be good to find this cattle
and "pinch off his tail".
     The "dukhs" meanwhiles tried to steap back, but were not successful All
the  "dukchs" who were on the square under our stormy fire have staied there
to lie. Perfect work!
     But we had to force through. The technique could not to come  following
us as  we were liing and  could not were not  able to  go  on becaus  of the
bombs. But now  some groups of our men have  started to go on with the short
crosses. The martar  battery made  nothing  in the  meanwhile. And therefore
more fighters followed bravly the first ones.
     Come on!  Come on, Slava, Come on, ahead! I've darted.  Ahead, over the
remains  of the barricade. The feet are  getting stuck in the sand and small
cruashed stones. The eyes're  looking ahead,  diesn't matter what's  for the
feet.  Again  my  blood's beating in  the head. The feet're  getting  deeper
stuck. It's more and more difficult to pull  'em out of the sticky  traps. I
drop  aside specially  and  roll. Am  holding the  subgun near me fastly and
lolling. Can hear  the crackle  of the tearing matelial. Fucking  end of  my
jacket! Doesn't matter.  No biggie!  Forward -- that's important,  away from
this barricade,  away from  this mark for the moratar-aimer. Am hitting with
head badly at some stone. The  red circles in  the  eyes. My  poor head!  In
spite of the nonstopping ache do continue the rolling  on the ground. Hier's
asphalt at last. Am jumping on the feet and running ahead. Can't see plainly
who  and  what are  ahead. Only forwad.  The  head's breking with the  pain.
Everything will be Ok. "Everything will be Ok and my turn will come..." - in
my head rose the wordes  of some old song. Fuck  you! Do  not come! I do not
give up. Not now at least! Forward! Only forward.
     My  eyes come in norm slowly. Our guys are  hier liing down. That means
forward  to 'em. It  was our  brigade liing  and  firing back.  The  "dukhs"
entrenched themselves  near the halfdestroyed State bank  and  on the higher
floors of it.  Meaning the fire from it man can say there are quite a lot of
'em. Pity!  And how was it good, our  crossing  through half of  the square!
Would be good the next half to cross  the same good! Well, monsters,  you've
invited us.  Am  falling between  the fighters.  The smoke hanging over  the
State bank let the  one not to see plainly. The "dukhs" are covered with the
smole. And according to the their thick fire there are a lot of these swines
entrenche there. Am watching the firing-points. Aha! Can see as in the smoke
a shooting refletion glimpsed. Without thinknig cast the subgun up and shoot
shortly  there.  Once  more.  Am watching.  There  are  no  more reflections
apparently.  May be he's rolled aside, but may be I've aimed. It's senseless
to  shoot with a subgun. Am standing on the knee, taking the granade for the
launcher. Ans wait. The thick  shooting is around me.  Everybody's using all
the possibilities  to shoot. But where are the tanks?  We've steppt forward.
What do  they need more? Spite,  despair are  overfilling me.  Were  all the
victims,  all the guys who have stayed to  lie hier after the first assault,
for  nothing and senseless?  Where are  you, tankists? Swines, bastards!  Am
pushing  the  shooting hook  and  the  granade  is flying  to  the  "dukhs'"
direction. Am not watching where was the  explosion, push the new one in the
launcher  and am  shooting again. You do  not do it! It will  not be such  a
humiliating shame, that i've felt, any more. Will not be! I'll be hier up to
the end. Where are you shitty tankees?
     The  mortar  bombing has  started  again.  The  bombs  are dropping and
exploising somewhere far  beheind us. But we can  feel the experience of the
aimer. Every salvo is  nearer and nearer. We may not stay hier. May not. But
is it possible to  hide,  to cover four  hundred men in the rear  and undeep
craters, digged into the plate-square? No fucking chance! Not possible!
     The nervs are exploding. The bombs wailing, which i'd ignored at first,
steps with every bomb into the soul more  an more forcefully. Every new wail
of this fucking bomb is vibrating as the  tight string and every cell of the
body, of unhappy brain is  also trambling, vibrating. I keep myself from the
deep wish  to close the ears and to drop on the ground. I perceive every new
bomb  explosion as a relief. It means, not you,  not  at you, it  means, not
your fate yet. And again the new salvo makes the one to tighten, to shrivel,
to breake the teeth clenching the jaw with the  crackle in the  cheek-bones.
And to suppress the  fear and my  powerless, to try the playing  against the
fate, you're running from place to place, shooting at the hardly seen in the
clouds  of smoke enemy. Am  repeating  continually  that i'm  not afraid. To
refresh myself, try to remember the view of the recent  fleeing and the last
look at the  square, covered with the corpses of our former  colleagues, our
friends...  It helps.  You  realize the reality. A kind of  the soul balance
comes. If we may not stay hier, we must go forward. Even if it seems to be a
madness,  there's  no  other  way.  There's no way back.  There  will be  no
reserves and  no reinforcements.  There are only  two  things staying in the
mind.  There  are we  -- "the rabid dogs" and there are  "dukhs". Who winns?
That's all clear and simple. Maximal clear and simple.
     It means forward, only forward. During an interval in the bombs wailing
i  make the rush  forward. With a short  crossing to the next undeep crater.
Have droppt into the slash. Screw it.  It dries and  drops away.  Look back.
The fighters are also crossing. Leaving the former positions. Our tanks have
started  to  shoot.  Sod it!  Where  were you,  monsters before. It's  about
hundred - hundred thirty meters up to the bank.
     We can  see the "dukhs" better and they can see  us also. But  owing to
the wise shooting of our tankees "dukhs" had to restrain thier  energy. With
exactly wise shooting, but  not the  well-aimed  one,  our tankees made  the
mujahideens to shut up a bit.
     The bursts of the shells  were  in a fan  direction,  bringing the high
floors down. We  know that there are the mighty basements, so there will  be
the problems. I  sighed. Ok, will manage the problem, we need only  to reach
them. And there it wil be "cleaned". While the "dukhs" have a bit shut up we
must go  forward. This thought was not only in  my head. The fighters around
were also going up and running forward.
     There was a rumour in the brigade that  they didn't succeed to evacuate
money and currency from the State  bank. And  that's  why in the eyes of the
all  brigade could  man read  not only the  fighting  fervour  but  also the
passion  of the winner. Although I  didn't believe  that  the money were not
brought  away but the light  of greed burnt my nerve cells also. It woulf be
good to make my finansial situation by this way. Almost legal way, therefore
--  forward, only  forward.  Fear, passion, greed and  with  the help of our
tanks -- are the  good stimulating forces.  Everybody wants to  be the first
one  bursting in the money depository. I've  seen the bank basements only in
the films. And if  there  is  a gold? I've  smiled  about my thoughts in the
meanwhile desperate shooting at the second floor. There is a wooden cock but
the golden hills.  All  the golden reserve of the SU, Russia,  of this petty
Ichkeria  are situated somewhere on the Kaiman islands. And the  passion  of
the  treasure-hunter eats me away and forces me forward. But we had again to
lay down. The "dukhs" started to yap in spite of the firing. And now,  kids,
your mortar can noto reach us. Now we can train in exact shooting. I put the
subgun  to  my cheek. Wht have you as a  blind kittens seize the State bank?
You've robbed enough,  lat now others to make it. Have you forgotten the law
of socialism and gangs -  "Rob the  loot!"? Not good! You must share! We are
also trambling  with  the gold-fever! Am shooting at the  "dukhs"  with  the
short bursts, they are  appearing rear  over the ruins. And oftenly they put
the subgun out and burst over shooting somewhere.
     It was the first time as the gold-fever cought me when i was in a fifth
class  at school. We lived at that time in a  nice  city at Volga -- the old
name Kostroma.  Before  the  Soviets  it  was  a  merchant city.  Very  many
churches. Many of them remained in the pristine form all the days. The first
Romanov was anointed to be the Tsar exactly there. In the Ipatiev monastery.
And  the last one was executed in the Ipatiev hous in Ekaterinburg. It's  an
interesting connection, isn't it?  The beginning and the end. So,  there was
usual for that place  dry  sommer. And it was a usage that exactly  in  that
sommer by  the  different  excavations, for a gatage or for a cellar,  a man
could find treasure or sometimes  some interesting things. The friends of my
father repaired a cellar in their hous and have found a bottle of vodka from
the tsar time.  The  throut  was pressed with  a sealing-wax. There were the
pressed eagles on the galss. The lable has decayed of course, but  it was no
problem for  the men.  They've opened and drunk.  They liked it. They say it
was an  amazing  vodka. At that time i  did not  drink  yet. So, it  was not
especially  interesing for me. But when the father of my friend, digging the
worms for the fishing, had run into the  the crystal jug  from the  time  of
Peter  the first filled with the golden coins and for the legel  premium has
cought a  car, then my friend and I got a fever. Got a deep gold-fever. That
was  a hard situation. We, kiddos, could not think about  anything but this.
All  the thoughts, intentions, deeds  were aimed  only to find the treasure.
Could man hide the treasure  somewhere  but in the  church? Since  the first
class  it  would  be  knocked  into  our  heads,  that the  priests  are the
bloodsuckers.  And  also that  they  have  taken all  the  savings  with the
stupefiing  from the  simple  people  away  and  have  diggen  them  in  the
thiftboxes (may  be nowadays happens  something  like  this  also).  And our
school was situated on the former Lazarevskoe cemetery. The  cemetery, as it
become the old soviet custom, was abolished, diggen again. The small chapel,
that was standing in the  cemetery, was worn  out completely and  the school
was  built on  chapel's  old basement. They have built  something  extra  of
course but the school is  there  up to  nowadays.  It  was  a bit  symbolic,
everything  as  it was in  the  standstill epoch  of 70th years. A secondary
school  instead of  the cemetery  chapel where  the the deceased were in the
funeral  service.  And  so we, a group of the  juvenile hooligans hooligans,
have  researched the  basement of  the  school.  We've discovered suspicious
niche  of one  square  meter  size. The niche bottom was  covered  with  the
bricks. What could have been there? Of course the treasures, by all means!
     We'd arranged to take  it in the night. The watchman was old,  liked to
hit some bottle. We'd told parents that we went fishing and  in fact  it was
"hunting" the tresures. Following all the possible rules to save us,  paying
attention to  any rustle we had sawn the grating of the basement's window in
two, and had taken the frame off. We'd got through. Shining with the torches
we  began  to break  the bricklaying.  It  was  difficult. And what does the
teenagers'  strength  mean?  But  nevertheless changing each other we  could
break this laying. There was nothing  behind it of  course. There was only a
cruxifiction fo  stone. Evidently the  builders  were not able  to break the
stony picture of Jesus and  decided to make  the  laying over.  They did not
take the  sinn  on themselves and kept the innocence of the statue. We  were
upset  and returned back. And  in  the morning there  were  the  milicioners
standing at the  school and noting  something,  measuring, photographing. It
turned  out that we had "worked" under the school director's room  and there
were money in his safe. The wages as i remember. Of course we were afraid.
     Since that time the treasure-fever has never touched  me, but now comes
relapce may  be. It's funny for me to watch my own activity. But it's better
to become  the attacks of such  a fever then to become  the  attacks of  the
fear, chilling the soul and paralysing the will.
     The  liing and  the  time marking were tiring. The  tanks were the same
keeping  the  "dukhs" in the trap, but  they  were not  able to make  larger
destroyings. To make it thez had to aim lower, but they could also touch us.
And we could not also to step forward. The "dukhs" let us not go.
     And the  greed instead of the cowardice yearned. Money, money.  Needs a
man any fucking  patriotism  on  the war?!  A  man needs some money. The one
who's the first becomes everything. If the labor of  the soldier is a  slave
labor,  then  you  can  take  the  people  who  will  make  this  work  more
professionally, skilly,  with a little blood,  with the minimal losses,  but
you must pay these people. And these ladies, who  have learnt to fight three
weeks ago with  the blood, with  the  experience  of their killed,  injured,
missed in  action friends, they have  only  the  greedy shine in  the  eyes.
Grasping shine, based on the deep fear.
     The subgun's barrel is already hot. I've changed again for the launcher
but it was not effective. The one should go  ahead or to roll back so,  that
our tanks could destroy this  all  this huge  hous finally. The shining eyes
off my colleagues proove that we want  to  go ahead  so much, but  after the
next tanks salvo there will be scarcely any coin.
     The  tankees are also our  simple russian  fellows. Are  following  the
russian principle for all the ages -- 'if it's not for me, then it's not for
anybody".  And  therefore  they wanted  to plaster this  hut absolutely, and
nobody becomes the sweet money. Passion, passion. What can man do?  The gold
steers the world. Everything's old as the earth.
     The radio  brought  the  news and  the  soldiers repeated that  now the
assault  from the other  side was starting now. That's also not bad.  At the
last time we were also promised  that the assault would be  started and as a
result there  was a shamy fleeing. We'll see.  Everybody was now  more alive
and  listening  to  the  happenings.  And the shooting tempo  was made  also
slower. The  waiting  was too  long.  The "dukhs" on  the contrary  took our
waiting to be  the unsureness  and  started to fire more. The slash bursting
started  to near me. And the  most nastiest sounds of the bound shots. These
sounds make the  one to drawl  instinktively  the  head in the shoulders, to
stop the  heartbeating and to drop  the  heart into the  feet, bursting  the
extra adrenaline into  the blood. I am overfilled with  it as i  see and now
the new stimulation.
     Fhui, fhui. Again the slashy bursting  comes before me. Sod it! I can't
to move my head due to these shooters. Can't  bear  it and crawl back, begin
to shoot. Can't see where  from comes the shooting at me  and am shooting at
random at the positions of the "dukhs". There is a "dukh", exactly his head.
Roughly, without aiming am shooting with the short burst at the foul noddle.
It has dissapeared too quickly after the shooting. That's good!
     The sound  of the aeroplane is comming from the hight.  They want again
to plaster us?  No, that was enough! The fear  as a cold band crawls inside.
I'm tightening. The sweat is running on my  face. Am  moving the legs to the
stomach. Everything inside me is rolling up  into the tight spring. Am ready
to rush forward, behind, somewhere, but not under this awful air-bombing. Do
not want to hear  wailing of  our airbombs, which our pilots are dropping on
me. Sod it! It's better to run, i'm ready to run on the positions of "dukhs"
but not to lie  and wait when you will be smashed with the direct bombing or
the fragments of the bomb will tear you on thousand shreds. Do not want. Now
i'm ready to rush. Both we and "dukhs" are watching in the sky. Niether ones
nor others are feeling  any special  joy. What will be  the  aim of bombing?
Everybody is liing stiil. The plane -- transport one or may be bomber --  is
soaring lazy on the unreachable hight and after the little hook aside begins
sharp loss of the height. Nobody's shooting already. The heart is beating as
a hare paw, it's hot, very hot. The  sweat is  streamming over all the body.
The steam is flying off from the head,  from the face. So, what is the  aim?
What is it?
     Instinct of selfpreservation demands  that  i  rush somewhere instantly
but far away from this terrible place. Or  that i dig myseslf. I'm trying to
think about something other  but the plane. Now diving  and again  taking of
the height: he's frightening  or wanting to  bomb  exactly. Our forward side
gives some rose smokes. May be these  pilotes-killers notice our  signal and
the horrlible fate goes aside? Am trying to fly away with the thoughts.
     Can remember  one case  when  ensign  Nikolaev during  the vacation was
picking up  the mushrooms near  the  firing field.  He didn't  notice  as he
strolled at  this field. Later he told that he'd heard as the bulets sinking
in the trees trunks. At once has he not understood and when it was clear, he
started to entrench himself. He  had only the small knife as a weaponry. And
with this knife and the hands, tearing off the finger-nails, he  was able to
dig a trench in a five seconds and it was enough to hide absolutely. He waws
sitting there in it and it was yet about halfmeter depth over his head. Plus
a breastwork with an earth, which he had  thrown  over. And  he had tied his
shirt  to the  stick,  which he  used to  shovel  the  leaves away  for  the
mushrooms-searching. He had  put out the  stick and began to  wave  with it.
They've noticed him and stoppt the shooting. Have run  to him and taken out.
And after it they wondered very much how  was the one able to dig the trench
during  so short time. If a man wants to survive, he can make hard things. A
historical  fact: during the Great Patriotic War a torpedo was brought  with
the wave  on  the  ship's  deck.  There was not explosion at once. A deckie,
usual  deckie, has run to it grabbed with the  hands  nad thrown over board.
And it has  exploded there.  The ship was safe. When they have asked  deckie
how was he able it to make, he answerded that he did not know himself.
     And  I was ready to show the untstanding results as a runner during the
bombing, or even to dig  myself in three meter  depth in the ground during a
couple minutes.
     And the  demned  plane  seemed to  be not hurrying with the bombing and
made only some mockery. We saw the  bursts flying from the earth at it  Many
bullets were tracer, therefore the lighting traces were seen sure.
     Now  the plane started to dive and before the nearest  point the  black
dark smudge parted from it and droppt down. But it did  not  look as a bomb.
Now the parachute opened and the load was slowly falling down on the  earth.
Where  to and to for whom was it,  we could not  see that behind  the bank's
building.  But because of the happy squeal of "dukhs"  a man  could  suppose
that it  dopped to them. I was also emigma for us for whom was assigned this
container initially. Can be that for  the "dukhs". Reconnoiters have told us
earlier that some paarcels are sent to the  "dukhs".  I  didn't believe. And
now it happened that I have seen with my eyes. Some ons are fighting but the
other ones are making money...
     The  "dukhs" have  started  again the fire  and  now  we've  heard  the
cannonade  on  the opposite  side.  Have our  guys really  beagun  the  real
assault? The "dukhs" began bustling. Don't know, monsters, where should they
shoot.  And now we have attacked. We've attacked with an inspiration, with a
fevour.  That  was great!  The  "dukhs"  were  tossing as  the  mice  in the
mousetrap.  A  bit more, men, and we this trap will be  closed.  Bash  them,
bastards! The subgun got again alive in my hands.  There  was  a panik among
the "dukhs". They were tossing, changes the  positions. Were shooting now at
our direction, now at the direction of their tail.
     The mesege by the words was that "makhra"  and paratrooper have started
assault  of the bank from the  opposite side. This was the  radioinformation
from San Snaych. Now it was our turn to yell joily. We had stood up and ran.
At first a assumed that it will be the usual transference  but  in some time
all our brigade  spontaneously went to  assault. "Dukhs" have noticed  their
blunder too late and therefore have not reacted instantly.
     Forward, only forward. Assaulting. Hura! Am running. I want to run with
the short crosses habitually, carefully, accurately. But it wasn't possible!
Teh fighters  were as if  halfmad, invited the troubles.  Now the first ones
have reached the  building, hier are two  survived doorways. And machine-gun
fired from it. Three or four our  soldiers  fell as if they were cut off. If
it is a machine-gun and at the short idstance, then the armour-jacket cannot
help...It cannnot stop  the bullet of such calibre with  such a speed. Now i
have appeared almoust  near the  doorway. Am running and instantly dropping,
then  rolling,  i  pulled  convulsive  at  the  lock   of   the   bag   with
launcher-granades. Have taken granade. Teh fingers are as if of the  wood, i
can't bind them. Tear off and through away the gloves. They were disturbing.
It seems that i'm making all very slowly.
     I  don't   look  at  my  subgun.  My   hands  are   making   everything
automatically. Terrible slowly. And  I, as the enchanted one, am looking iat
the black  doorway  of  the State  bank.  Only  the  light  of the  enemey's
machine-gun  can  be  seen there.  It's  seen as  the bullets  mow down  our
"makhra", as the men running, with all the body forward, are rushing to this
doorway but the line of the  bullets crosses them stomaches, shoulders, legs
out. An the fountains of the red, very red blood are bursting back,  and the
guys  having stumbled are  falling on  the ground. Some of them  are rushing
forward  with  the body's inertia, the others in contra are stoppt with  the
speed  of the  bullet,  pushes  backward  --  it's  seen as their  heads are
knocking on the dirty  asphalt. The  arms  are thrown about, the weapons are
flying  off far aside. Some of them are holding the subgans convulsively and
it  shoots all the  bullets, hitting the other  ones. It turns  slowly, very
slowly  in my eyes. And my hands are pushing the  granade  into the launcher
bottomless  barrel may  be even slower. Got  it!  The well-known incouraging
flick comes into my brain, explaining that the granade is set at the correct
position. The eyes are  watching continuously as  the machine-gun's bust  is
comming to my side.  And  at the places, where  it  catches no victims,  the
fontains  of the slash, dust, earth, asphalt,  metall rubbish, sometimes the
sparkles are being cut out. Out of the all bunt weapones left hier since the
first assault. It seems for me that I can see the flights fo the bullets and
they are being carried slowly  into the space. I  know where do they  hit. I
feel the machine-gunner and hie terrible  weapone. I am he. Just now, in one
and half second these heavy bullets hit me!



        Chapter 14

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     (c) Copyright 2011 translation by Oleg Abramov
     Date: Jul 2011
---------------------------------------------------------------


     The granade is fixed!  I'm jumping  on one  knee and am shooting at the
black  hollwo  of the doorway with the right, but not with  the left as says
the rules,  hand.  The  shot.  I'm looking  not  at  the  door  but  at  the
machine-gun's line. Now it is in about 20 cantimeters from me and i hear the
dim explosion and the line stays  still and after that dies away. I raise up
my  head.  The  smoke is  flying off from  the basement. Something's burning
there.
     And now again the  sounds'  world bursts  in. It's a strangeful feeling
that the eternity's  passed  but  not only some seconds. No  discussions! Am
alive  ans Ok. So then  that wsa  my fortune!  Forward! Only  forward.  I've
jumped  and rushed to the direction  of "my" doorway. And  although i had to
race  about  twenty meters I have looked  to the side of the second doorway.
There were the fighters on the our side throwing the hand grenades the black
hollow. Way  to  show  'em, men! No pardon anybody! Forward!  Forward! We're
bursting  into  the  doorway.  There is liing on the  floor char, halfbroken
corpse  of  the machine-gunner with smouldering, sick-stinking clothing. And
the murdering  tool is also there, mangled. My  work! Running I jump over it
and can see all the details of my "masterpiace". I forced the grenade before
his nose. Exactly in a halfmeter  before. There was no head. Something  like
indefinite  medley of brown-grey colour. The arms, rather the remains of the
arms are spread out, the jacket is smouldering. It's stinking with the burnt
wadding.
     We're bursting into  the  first  floor. A large room  with the  colomns
raising up into the darkness  under the ceiling. There is a mess of the dust
and shooting  smoke  hanging  in  the  air. We  can see  the  remains of the
camp-fires.  There  are some  rags in the corner. Where to should we run? No
light, and much dust, we can't see  anything. We're  starting  to  check the
room.  There  are already  about fifteen menof  us. And  the  men are always
comming.  We  go through the  room quickly  with chasse steps  guarding each
other.  Subgun is at  the shoulder,  everyody is tightened.  Nobody was able
after  the racing to catch the breathing yet. The  heavy breathing and short
retorts and  exclamations  are heard. It was so that three  standing near me
fighters and should to research behind the stntion. We're peeping. Theer was
somthing liing  in  the  darkniss. A foghter  comes  carefully, holding  the
subgun ready.  Touches with the boot's  tow. After  that binds  and turns it
over. It's dark. Very dark. It's difficult to  breathe because  of the dust,
stench, smoke.
     -- What's  there? - i  can't wait any more.  - But quickly. There's  no
time.
     -- Ours, - answers the fighter, returning to us.
     -- Who?
     -- Ours. Too dark. Can't see.
     -- Alive?
     -- Was killed long ago. May be he's left from the first assault.
     -- Ok. Let's go. Will take him later.
     The men are coming. The shouts and wails are heard. The shooting in the
street and over our heads becomes  more and more  hard.  The russian shouts,
foul language are going during the guttural chechen wails. Man can not catch
who and what are crying. Everything  in the head  is simple mixing to be one
wail. The thick walls muffle the shooting somehow. But it's already so loud,
that it lashes the  ears badly. The  "dukhs" understand that the way to step
back is  forbidden  and  are  fighting becoming  enraged.  Correct,  fucking
monsters, we accept nobody to be captured alive.
     Now  the shooting was heard. In the  near,  completely in the near. And
somewhere from the left end of the building the  crowd bursts in. The shouts
and  clattering.  Everybody's  listening. The foul  words.  The swearing  is
without  accent.  Ours!!!That  means they  were also successful!  We're  not
alone.  We'll se now what's on, when we come up to you and all together as a
united  collective start to kill  you! The jolly passion  fulfills us, we're
going, running to meet us. Are shouting joyfully.
     -- Ours!
     -- Men, don't shoot! Ours!
     -- Hello, "makhra"!
     -- Hurrah! Ours!
     -- So long time!
     Nobody's listening  to  each other. Everybody's simple speaking.  There
are no officers, no soldiers. We're shaking  hands, hugging and kissing  one
another. Ours! Our "makhra", our paratroopers. The word "ours" is rolling in
the mouthes! Am ready again and again to spell it loudly and to repeat in my
mind. We're  stepping aside. More and more men  are  being comming. Ours are
running,  forcing  in. And  the  paratroopers  are comming alternately  with
unknown "makhra". The joyfull-raising mood is touching everybody:
     -- "Dukhs" get fuck-up!
     -- Now, sure!
     -- And do you know how we were smashed here during the first assault?
     -- Have heard!
     -- They've heard. And why haven't you come to help us?
     -- There was no oder.
     -- Now we're taking this bank and part the money.
     -- Sure, no other way.
     So talks and  the others were in the air. Nobody was hurriing to go up.
Near the stairs, there were the fighters and  made  the "dukhs"  back in the
higher floors  with the  shooting  and  bursting. Now  all  of us go up  and
belabour these  bastards. Let 'em be mad of spite.  All were  fulfilled with
the  happy lirical mood. Many ones have  started to smoke, adding to the all
smoke  tabacco's smell.  Somebody  wanted to find a countryman. Somebody was
simply  discussing  al