How it happened, I learned later. The one who called me was my friend Fahri from Gulistan. He is now serving in the Kushka. His mother came recently and I received letters from him.
When the car turned over, my companion got out of it. The one who remained among the flames was the Uzbek guy who first sang the song. He was burned. Commander died in the fall. The one who screamed next to me turned out to be my countryman. Then I learned that he was also dead. I had both legs broken and my bones broken.
I can’t watch movies about war. The nightmares tormented me all night. It seems to me again to smell the smell of burning human flesh, burnt hair, before my eyes again curves in the fire of the Uzbek guy.
Then, through the flame, I saw his eyes. It seems like they are still looking at me. I remembered those moments to the smallest detail. I have experienced a lot, but I cannot find words to describe it all, and I am sure that there are no such words.
"THE BITE OF THE COCKROACHES EXHAUSTED US…"
Alisher Ismailov, born in 1969. Khorezm region of Uzbekistan.
He was injured in Djabal.
Djabal to Gulbakhora is half an hour away. Our battalion had three infantry companies and one mortar battery. Every week, fifteen soldiers are taken out of the company. We must attribute to the comrades who stand in the pickets, food, water, fuel. We approached the narrow path in Gulbakhor. We often had to change our friends. On one of those days, performing such an operation, we had to walk in a chain five meters from each other. There was a very high mountain. On us was a bulletproof jacket, on the shoulders – products, in the package – water protection. In the hooks to them, an automatic machine, four stores of 45 ammunition. I needed to go up, but it was very high. Therefore, not all soldiers reach the target at the same time. Ten to fifteen people usually lag behind. Many guys from fatigue, tension and poor nutrition started stomach disorder. Halfway into the mountains, your feet will cease to obey you; if you bend, you will not be straight. The pain absorbs all other feelings. Within two and a half hours we reached the final objects. Many of them did not look like soldiers. They overgrown, become a dervish2. We change them at the post, they go down, in the shelf location, wash, come back.
The soldiers stumbled. Products ceased to come from the Union. We only eat suckers. The water situation is difficult. I haven’t washed for twenty days, it turns out, and that’s enough to lose the human appearance. I started scratching. I don’t know what it was, whether it was lice, or bugs, or maybe fleas. All the clothes struck them. By the morning, the body became red from their bites. In front of them all were equal – soldiers and officers. These creatures are terrible. They push people to the limit.
On December 31, when it was twenty minutes until twelve Moscow time, we came out of the landscape, shooting in the air from machine guns, missiles.
Sergeant major and I looked at the traces of bullets in the night sky. Suddenly my legs were rejected. At first I didn’t even realize that one of them got into me. I have fallen. I cannot get up. Comrades raised me up and took me to the medical unit. I lost a lot of blood on the road. They burned me and sent me to Bagram. I thought I couldn’t get up anymore. I never had to meet the New Year with my comrades.
Ask about locals? Afghans especially dislike non-Muslim soldiers. I had a companion Muhammad from Samarkand, a Tajik nation. He was captured. A year later he was released. It was an interesting story. Many prisoners were slaughtered, their ears and noses cut off. Muhammad knew their language. He was asked the name. When they knew that his name was Muhammad, they looked over and asked again with amazement. When they were convinced that they had not heard, they took him to the chief. The chief with a long beard examiningly looked at him with his bloody eyes:
– Muhammad? – he said, and brought him to the prisoners, a senior and a soldier named Vasiliy.
– It was about noon, he said. They followed me. I did not understand what was happening. I was placed in a row with comrades. They cut clothes with a knife. Divide the second. Not wanting to see them mocking my comrades, I closed my eyes. Then someone, tightly pressing my hands, said:
– Open your eyes, Muhammad, or do you want to suffer like them?
– But I could not look anyway. I could never have imagined that there was such cruelty, such methods of bullying. My hands were bound, and my feet were dressed with candles. I look awkwardly. Suffering and smarting were on the faces of my comrades. The Afghans tortured them in turn. The place of one bandit was occupied by the other. And so on, more and more. The soldiers could not stand anymore. They lost consciousness. Then I closed my eyes and went. I saw them again when they exchanged us. It was terrible to look at both. I was finally told:
– You will regret not being with us. Go and say thank you to the one who called you Muhammad.
They have a very religious feeling. If a person of another faith is captured, they are very cruel.
In Thermez, I was wrongly operated, failed in the hospital for several months. My feet are still insensitive.
"THEY WERE ROBBED…"
Hasilhan Mamarasayev, born in 1968. From Syrdarya region, Uzbekistan.
– There were four days until I returned home. We stood in a wreck along the road as our troop left Kabul. We were five in one car. Not a hundred miles away – dugout, at night we rested in turn in it. I was the commander of the mine division. But our driver, a Russian guy, had something in his head. Once he broke into the commander of the regiment with a grenade in his hands, threatening to blow him up. He was then sent home and I was ordered to drive the car.
On the second day of our watch, an antitank mine exploded in front of us. Smoke and dust rose by 200 meters. Fortunately, we were in the car cabin. The glass broke, but it didn’t hit us.
The soldiers searched the nearby village. There was no soul in the houses. Everyone left home and fled. In fact, we were dealing with the robbers.
On February 10, one soldier was killed and another wounded. The next day at ten or eleven we went on our way. From Aybat came to Tashkurgan. There was an order to leave no one.
In the morning we went on the road again. 200 meters passed. How I was hurt, I didn’t even notice. I felt like my legs were rejected. The officer stopped the column. Something slipped into my boots. "There’s hot water" – I wondered. My legs crossed with rubber.
In medical unit I took the injection and was brought to Termez. They operated, but one bullet was left behind. Doctors are cruel. For a long time they stumbled in my wounds, pulling out the bullets, and yet shouting at me. It was especially painful when, finally, a bullet was touched, which struck into the bone, like a knife. My brother took it to himself as a bitter memory of the experience.
I saw an Afghan officer in the hospital. He was injured and laid three chambers away from me. At first I wanted to suffocate him. But gradually the anger passed, and I began to realize that he was also a victim. He was hit by a bullet, like me. I was from a stranger, but he was shot by his own. It is not easy for him. Obsessed by the idea of revolution, he wandered through foreign countries.
My father visited me. I cannot say a word of excitement, as if the tongue had gone away. My father also shakes his head. I was angry. This was our first meeting.
"FUZZI"
Safarmakhmud Babayev, born in 1963. From Tajikistan.
– From the regiment where I served as a driver, we headed to the thirty-eighth barrel. They left their food and went on. A tank was ahead. To catch him, I increased the speed. There were thirty meters between the tank and us. Something broke our car. When I woke up, I was lying far from it. I looked around. There were no front wheels in the car. The door collapsed and gasoline was poured out of the tank. I started looking for the senior lieutenant and senior officer who were with me in the car. The oldest officer was lying at ten