There was a waterfall next to our post. On other posts with water it was tight and when we came to one of them to change comrades, the guys ran out to meet us.
– Misha Klykov was killed, – they said. This was the first death of my friend. His body was wrapped in a blanket. There was no left hand, the meat from the back was rubbed and the bones too. The intestines are folded next to them, and the removed fingers are folding to the head. He exploded on a mine buried at the edge. He was twenty years old that day. Tonight we were going to celebrate his birthday. Misha went out on the road with a barrel to get water from us…
In memory of the deceased, we had three days of mourning. All these three days there was bread and a glass of water at the soldier’s bed.
Misha lived in the 19th quarter of Chilanzar. He was the only son in the family. After the end of the service, I visited his parents, both of whom were terribly old. They didn’t want to let me go, they bothered me all around. His portrait hung on the wall. I couldn’t sit with them for long. In front of me was a terrible picture of that day.
"MURDERER AT NINETEEN YEARS OLD"
Fazlitdin Rasulov, 1965 year of birth. From Tashkent, Uzbekistan
– I was a sapphire. We guarded the bridge across the river Hilmenda. We were brought the ammunition and food across this bridge. We had to protect the cars. Three tanks went out every day. The enemy placed an assembly in the nearby destroyed villages. The elimination of every settlement, the demining of roads was achieved at the cost of fierce battles.
There was a lot left in the memory that I wanted to remove from it. One story that happened stuck and often reminds of itself. Scouts reports that the meeting of Afghan commanders was scheduled in the village located twenty kilometers away.
We went into that village. A regiment followed us. Kilometers to six before the village we noticed several houses. Next to them we saw a kariz in the growth of a man. Usually such cherries were located near the dushman's houses. We were surprised and alerted by this.
The tunnels are dug in an open way for ten meters, and then in a closed way. On the surface a hole is carved like a well. In the closed part of the kariz, four more recesses are dug in four directions. Therefore, it is very difficult to hit the enemy hidden in these buildings. One of the holes was covered with a bag of some shiny material. I saw him first, I was alarmed and pointed to my friend Mumin from Andijan. As soon as he looked out of the AFV manhole, the bag moved to the side, from there a man with a black beard in a black turban and in a black chekmen looked and, shooting from the anti-tank weapon, fled quickly. The car started burning. Mumin and I were stuck in the lounge as I sat, hanging my legs from car.
The worst thing during an AFV fire is an explosion, because the car is filled with shells and grenades. In order to survive, it is necessary to get away at a distance. After a moment, I fell to the ground. Striking my head at something hard, I lost consciousness for a while. When I recovered, I heard that deaf grenades and shells were spreading from our AFV. In an instant, it burned like a box of fireworks. There were guys lying next to me. Their faces were bleeding. It smelled like blood, it seemed as if the blood was flowing in mixture with the sage. The soldier, lying closer to me, had ears as if specially stained with thick blood. The captain was lying next to me in a convulsion. He raised his hands and said: "Why have I come, let this land be cursed?" And quiet…
After a while we approached the remains of the AFV. I had a serious headache. Two of our soldiers came down to the quarry. One, apparently feeling something, immediately jumped up. The second failed. Shot down. There was no brave man who wanted to go down after the dead soldier. Six bulletproof vests covered the side where the Afghans settled, but their bullets broke through the cover. Then the sappers tried to pull out the body with their hooks. However, they also failed to cope with this. It took a long time before we finally managed to retrieve the dead soldier’s body. After that, the IFV began to shoot kariz from the cannon. The regiment was standing at the bottom and no one understood what was going on there, where the cannon was firing. Smoke bomb was thrown into the hole, only after the dushmans began to get out of their shelter one by one. The man with a black beard came out last. He was in a subconscious state. One leg below the knee was completely removed. The blood flowing from the foot was mixed with dust. One of the Afghans held his leg.
Prisoners were interrogated on the spot. They pointed to another clearance, where five women were hidden, intended as gifts to the leaders. The blinds of the three testified to their youth, and the black color of the blinds indicated that they were thirty-year-old women.
On that day, the dushmans were to arrive in the village Sangin for an important meeting.
We subjected the village to heavy shelling. After such a hurricane fire, the devil would have left this light himself, but we were met with a strong retaliatory fire.
We were ordered to take enemies alive. As one of the surviving sappers, I was included among the spies. We walked unnoticed to the chest. From the window of a small valley there was a continuous fire. Then the soldiers, coming from the side, knocked the door with their feet and rushed inside. I stayed at the door. In order to get to the inner yard, it was necessary to take about twenty steps. As soon as the soldiers reached the courtyard, a man with a machine jumped out. I pulled it out of my machine. He fell to the ground and began to run. Our eyes met. He was like a wolf, scratching his teeth, but soon his enlarged pupils froze in place. He was dead. At nineteen I became a murderer. Not by my own will, but this does not save you from hard thoughts. I still can’t forget that scene. His white teeth, frozen eyes are chasing me now.
"…NO FANTASY IS ENOUGH…"
Baymurat Mamanov, born in 1967. Kashkadarya Region, Uzbekistan.
Injured in Kindahar.
– The sergeant from Khorezm was named Ozod. One day his AFV exploded on a mine. Dushmans tried to take him alive, wounded. He escaped from the beaten AFV and, seeing the enemies approaching, hid himself in a nearby pipe. They, making sure that no one was left alive in the car, gave several rows on the pipe. We hurried for help and were not far away. The Afghans, feeling bad, fled to the nearby ruins. When we approached, Ozod came out of the pipe. One hand was shot and hanged helplessly down. We took him carefully into the car. No one dared to approach the burning AFV – there were deaf explosions. We returned back. Two days later we went to the AFV to pick up spare parts. Looking into the car, I saw two broken legs. The soldier burned alive in the car. No one thought about his burial and especially about sending him home. Perhaps, instead of the dead soldier's body in the zinc tomb sent salt. Yes, there was something like that.
During the demining, the machine "Ural" exploded. The senior lieutenant, sitting in the cabin, broke off both legs. He slipped to my side. His legs, stuck in his pants, walked behind him. Instead of tears, blood flowed from the eyes. I looked at him with horror. A noble, beautiful commander in a few moments turned into a terrible rubbish. Carefully lifted, I took it to the AFV. At this time, the lower part of the pants barely held, broke off with the legs and fell to the ground. No one was able to raise them. I look at the feet and I think they are going to get up and go. Some unknown force bring me to lift them up, they were still warm. I gave them to the guys sitting on the AFV. Some of my fellow servants put them down as if it was ordinary wooden beads.
The soldier, lying in the wreck, was also stripped one leg. He repeated: "Mommy, mommy, give me water!" He was also put on the AFV. The broken leg was not found. The driver, from the strong impact flew out of the viewing window, lay with his head shaken. Something intestinal, stretching from his neck, wrapped his chest.
No fantasy can paint such scenes. In war, you always think of the imminent death, you constantly feel its breath, ignorance and decision