ime, of course...
     With these  thoughts  I rolled  to the  left  and climbed  into a small
crater  left from a tank  cannon shell.  Ground  was still slightly warm and
unbearably smell with acid - burnt explosives. I rose a bit and gave a short
burst at the "dukhs". To check myself, so to say. Quickly looked around. The
others were also in haste looking for shelters to get ready for the oncoming
fight. Looked at the advancing "dukhs". About two hundred showed up and were
trying to attack. About two companies. Not too many, guys. With you, whores,
we  finish up  soon.  Screaming from horror  and frenzy,  "dukhs" ran on us,
desperately shooting  from  Kalashnikovs. Some  were  throwing grenades. Not
allowing  them  to come  closer,  we  met their wave with automatic  fire. A
machine gun started "talking" on the right. Another one a second later, then
one more, then a couple. Trying to muffle their  fear, soldiers were yelling
too. In  most cases they were shouting  obscenities, not virtuous, but short
like an automatic shots. Someone on the left flank was giving a short  burst
at  the enemy  after each  yell.  Apparently,  he was remembering his killed
friends.
     "For Fyodor!" - burst.
     "For Vaska!" - burst.
     "For Pashka!" - burst.
     "For Senya!" - burst.
     He  had had a  special  account  with  the  "dukhs".  Inadvertently,  I
adjusted to his curses. When he was giving short, two-three  bullets, burst,
I was  giving  it too.  When he was  quiet, my automatic also  was silent. I
waited until he shouted the next name and whispered it too. Burst.
     "For Mishka!" - burst.
     Chose a  dark silhouette of  a "dukh", who was hurrying  to  his death.
Pulled  the  trigger. "Dukh"  fell as if he  had  been  cut down.  I checked
whether he was moving. No. Finished. Burnt out. A voice again, "For Sashka!"
Repeated  the name  silently.  Chose the  next "dukh". A  green band  on the
forehead. He was  shooting with Kalashnikov, taking aim carefully.  Bitch! A
soldier screamed on the left.
     Inhale,  exhale,  on the half-exhale,  stopped breathing and  placed an
aiming slot, a  foresight and  a dark spot of the "dukh" on the  same  line.
Beast! He was not standing in one place. Wounded soldier moaned on the left.
Just a  moment, just a moment, brother,  I'll  knock down this pederast  and
help you.  Wait a little bit! Aha! Here is this bastard! Not taking  any aim
gave  a short  burst.  "Dukh" fell and  screamed. Wounded. No  problem. I'll
finish him later.
     I rolled to the left. To suppress fear,  made a couple of short bursts.
Here was  the soldier.  His  face  was pale,  large  droplets of sweat  were
pouring  down from under  his dirty cap. Left shoulder was  devastated. Coat
swelled from  blood around the wound. Using his right hand,  he had tried to
tighten a rubber band to stop  bleeding. It  did not work.  I unbuttoned his
coat to expose the wound. The  soldier creased from pain and yelled right in
my ear. Unwillingly, I started back.
     "Don't  yell,  brother!" I tried to take the coat off him. He grimaced.
Painful, very  painful. He  reached his  breast pocket with his  right hand,
pulled out  an  individual medical kit and gave  it to me. I  opened  it.  A
syringe  tube  with anaesthetic was in place.  It was good. I put  it aside.
Unsheathed a trophy stiletto and carefully cut his coat on the shoulder. Wet
from blood, fabric  and cotton insulation was not yielding easily. Fountains
of dust rose around  us.  I heard abhorrent screaming sounds of  ricocheting
bullets. Bastards! Don't  you see  that I am tending a  wounded? I left  the
soldier, rose on  my knee and poured the approaching "dukhs" with lead. They
fell  and shot back.  I shouted to our  soldiers nearby, "Hey, men, cover me
up! I'll deal with wounded. Then help me to evacuate him."
     "All right, we'll do!"
     "Let's bury them!"
     Shooting  rose around. I looked at the "dukhs". They tried to snap back
at  first, but then did not even dare to raise their heads. You earned that,
bastards! I lay on my side by the wounded and continued  to saw  his  bloody
outfit. Whenever I  pressed  it, blood poured  out, rolled  down  the knife,
fingers and flowed into my sleeve. It looked as if I was cutting not fabric,
but  a living being and it was  heavily  bleeding. Too much blood. I had  to
hurry. I did not want to lose this guy. He was bravely endured all pushes. I
cut off a  collar, a  sleeve  and a  piece of coat on the wounded  shoulder.
Then, working together, not rising from the ground, we took off  the rest. I
made  a  long cut  on the right sleeve of  his shirt exposing  skin. Took an
anaesthetic  syringe  from  the  kit.  Twisted off  a  cap,  punctured small
plastics bag and punched the needle into soldier's arm.
     "Hold on, man! I hate injections  my  self. It'll  be  better  now."  I
plunged. The  liquid came out  from the  tube. I  pulled the  needle out and
massaged his arm.
     "What's your name?"
     "Sasha", the soldier pushed the word out of him.
     "Everything will be all  right, Sasha! I'll take  care of your arm." He
nodded agreeably. He must  have felt  too bad  if it were painful for him to
talk.
     "Hold on, brother,  I'll be  done soon." I examined the  wound. Smashed
bones  were  seen.  "Make a  deep  inhale, I'll  tighten the band."  Wounded
soldier  obediently inhaled  and held the breath. I swiftly threw the rubber
band around the arm near the base of the  neck, pulled it under the shoulder
and tightened it on  the chest. Guy's irises dilated from pain,  but he only
moaned silently, afraid of letting air out. I patted his cheek.
     "That's  all, son. Now breath. Inhale often and deep, but make sure not
to get dizzy, understood?"
     "Yes," he whispered.
     "Don't speak, man. Save your energy. Everything will  be fine. Now I'll
bandage you  and then we'll carry  you to the medics. They'll patch you  up.
Don't  be afraid. We'll break through!"  I yelled all this into his face and
winked encouragingly. My grimace might have terrified a normal person. Dirty
face smeared  with  blood. But the  soldier understood  me right  and smiled
weakly in response. Meanwhile, I took his Kalashnikov, took a bandaging  bag
from  the foldable butt, and tore its rubber package and  yellow paper. Took
out a pin and cotton  tampons and, trying  not to touch  their inside parts,
applied them to  the wound. One tampon to the  inlet  hole, another  on  the
outlet. Then, clumsy, lying on one side bandaged the  shoulder. From time to
time, I looked  in soldier's face whether he was alive. Alive.  With healthy
hand,  he  began too  search for  something in his pockets. Wanted  to shoot
himself?
     "What are you doing?" I asked alarmed.
     "Want to  smoke, cannot find. Do you  have  some?"  he  half-whispered,
half-rustled.
     "You could not find better time to smoke!" I was glad I had been wrong.
"If you want to smoke, you'll live!"
     I took out cigarettes, inserted one into his  lips,  stroke a match and
lightened up.
     Don't inhale the smoke too deeply or you'll get dizzy!" I warned him. I
finished bandaging him. It did  not look  nice,  but  it  covered  the wound
completely. I was steaming.
     "Hey, men! I've done, carry the wounded away, I'll cover!" I lay on the
back, took  a cigarette and smoked looking at the  sky. My soul felt good. I
had not made too many good deeds in my life. Now  I had probably saved man's
life. Good! Great! I turned and saw three soldiers  rolling  toward us. Then
looked at "my" wounded. I was almost in love with him. I had saved his life.
He would  live.  It was  great! I felt myself such a good man, that I became
proud of  myself.  Good job, Slava! I turned to my  belly, grabbed automatic
and looked around still holding a cigarette between my teeth.
     While I was saving the soldier, "dukhs"  attack  was stopped. They  lay
down and were shooting at us. No problem. We'll break through! I  joined the
cacophony of the fight with three short  bursts at the  places where "dukhs"
were crawled about.
     Soldiers came, took  the  wounded, dragged, carried  him to the bridge.
Good luck to you, Sashka!
     I gave a long burst. Rifle's lock clicked dryly. Pulled  Sashka's  belt
with a  foot. It  had a clip bag, bayonet, a spade and a  water bottle. Took
one clip, inserted  into  my automatic,  put  the rest  into the pockets and
opened  fire  again. "Dukhs" became agitated and  started to  retreat.  Aha,
wetted your pants! We rose and charged forward.
     Onward!  Bear's  roar  came  out from my chest.  Lion's  roar.  Onward,
hounds! Let's corner the wolves!  Tear them apart like a flock of dogs kills
a wolf.  Hurrah!  Kill the bastards! You are  not wolves! Puppies!  I rushed
forward together with the rest. There was no command to storm. Everybody was
running in  the same heat. Nobody needed to  be hurried. Nobody needed to be
sworn at or kicked  pulled by collar  to  be risen from the ground. Shut the
bastards down! Hurrah! Aaaah!
     Blood was pounding again.  Mind left me,  only instincts remained.  Let
them work. There was a task, an extreme wish to survive. Mind would be of no
help here.  Only forward! Zigzagging,  twisting, rolling, you  name it,  but
only forward! Stop meant death! Forward! Hurrah! Kalashnikov at my shoulder,
I made few  shots. Threw myself  to the left, rolled,  shot at the barricade
standing on one knee. Rolled to the right, one more roll. Burst while lying.
Jumped, made ten steps  forward with  another  burst.  While approaching the
"dukh's"  stockade,  our bursts became longer. We shot  randomly.  Shot at a
sound, a shadow, and a flash. Shot without thinking.
     Mind,  get out!  Blood is storming. A taste  of  blood in  my  mouth. I
wanted to smell "dukh's" blood with my nostrils, to see how it was streaming
out of wounds, to feel how warmness left his body. Go away, mind! You cannot
endure  all  this.  Let  a  Neanderthal  possess  the  body  and  the  brain
completely. Let him  command. Only  then, mind, you and  I will  survive and
come back  in one  piece. Let  the Neanderthal take us out of  this! Hurrah!
Aaaah! And the mind left me.
     Power came instead. Arteries, veins swelled. Mouth was open wide, there
was  not enough oxygen. I felt as if I was  observing everything from aside.
Soldiers and  officers ran  to the barricade like  a single  organism.  Some
climbed it,  throwing down wounded and  dead  "dukhs". Some squeezed through
slots and holes  in the wall. The enemy ran. Get them! Take!  Strangle! Tear
them into pieces!
     The  clip  emptied. Right hand detached it, threw aside and started  to
pull out  the next one from the pocket. A "dukh" rose suddenly from behind a
pile of trash, bristled up and raised an  assault rifle to the hip level. It
was too late to insert new  clip and cock the lock. "No time," flashed in my
mind. A Neanderthal talked again. I made a long launch forward with my right
foot. The barrel of my Kalashnikov thrust into soft "dukh's" belly. My mouth
was open. I bellowed with inhuman voice. It was a  roar  of victory.  My own
eardrums  barely survived it.  "Dukh" tried  to make a shot  from  his  gun.
Ha-ha-ha!  Won't work!  I grabbed and  easily snatched the weapon from  him.
Threw it far away. His pupils became dilated from terror and pain.  I pulled
the  barrel out. "Dukh" fell  and  clutched  his devastated  belly with left
hand. His right hand was searching for something on his belt. I did not know
why, but I knew exactly that he was looking  for a grenade. He knew he would
not survive and was  determined to  take me with  him. Poor bastard! Bestial
smile bared my teeth. I jumped as high as I could and landed on the chest of
lying "dukh". I  directed  all weight  of my body on  the heels of my  heavy
boots. I clearly heard, felt how  enemy's ribcage crackled. I  jumped  again
and fell  on my  knees.  I heard the ribs shattering again. Not  rising from
broken flesh,  I  looked into  enemy's eyes.  Blood was fountaining from his
mouth and streaming from  ears. His body jerked, bent and stilled. Open eyes
stared at the sky. Pupils reflected icy, slow winter clouds.
     Are you  sick of my story, dear reader? Unfortunately, it is  not  show
off. It happened with me in real life. I am neither a  superman, no  a crazy
maniac.  Simply, if you want to come  back  alive and in one piece, you must
become an animal in its worst. The monster of war gives birth to monsters in
the brains of its participants. Those  monsters will come out on the streets
and take what, in their opinion, belongs to them. Belongs by the law of war.
We do not know any other law.
     Forward!  Forward! See, mind, there is nothing to do  for you. You will
not be able to endure this. You will escape the reality, you will flee and I
will  lose you. Hurrraaa! Tear them apart! Chew them down!  What for? For my
friend's and my own lives!
     We  did not notice  how we appeared on the other side  of  barricade. A
building  of  the  State  Bank  of  Republic of Ichkeria,  pox  on  it,  was
blackening fifty meters ahead. With wild yells and howls, we  rushed  toward
it.  Hidden by a  cloud of exhaust gases,  tanks and BMPs flowed  around the
stockade  and  took  a  position  behind  us. "Dukhs" hit  us from the  Bank
building.  They were  shooting from  small  arms. Although  the distance was
large and  nothing could be seen because of smoke,  their  bursts  were long
like  in close combat.  It indicated that the "wolf puppies" were panicking.
Long bursts  decrease the precision of fire. I wanted blood.  Only blood and
nothing else. I liked the experience of "dukh's" abdominal cavity dissection
without anesthesia. I  was drunk with fight.  Drunk  without  wine.  Onward,
Neanderthal!  Blood and  life!  Aaaaaaa!  Nevertheless, the first ranks  lay
down. Somebody had stopped moving already. Somebody, howling,  squeezing his
wound,  was  rolling  on  asphalt  covered  with  construction trash.  Their
comrades,  fellows  were hurrying  to help them. We'll  kill for  every "one
hundredth" and "two hundredth".
     Whatever genes were roaring in me, I decided not  to make a hero out of
myself and fell on the dirty asphalt like all the others. Dusk had fallen on
us  already. Those fools, our Mister  Constitution Guarantee and his Defense
Minister, started the war in winter. It would be much easier in summer. Warm
and  dry.  Long  day. No need in carrying heavy sweaty  coat and in worrying
about  firewood. There  would be no problem in sleeping right on the ground.
Now was different. Winter  darkness came down. Cold penetrated my body. Wind
drove  sparse clouds away. The full Moon illuminated us like bright lamps in
a theatre lighten the scene. Thank you, Comrade Rolin, for your support from
the air and from the other side  of the square. If  they  did not engage the
enemy during the daylight, they would certainly abandon us like dogs  to die
in this crappy place. Why? Who knows. It's warm now  in  the Kremlin, in the
Government House,  in  the State Duma,  in the Federal Council  and  Defense
Ministry.  I was thinking that bankers,  for whom we were  earning big money
while breaking our necks, were not shivering from cold.  If  we  did not  go
forward  within  two  hours,  we would  start dying from  hypothermia.  Many
soldiers' hearts  would  not  withstand abrupt  temperature  drop.  Alcohol,
brandy,  vodka, hot  food and hot tea  were in immediate need. Otherwise, we
would not see any luck. All Siberians, we understood well that unless we had
hot  food, we would not be  able  to take Dudaev's Palace that  night. I had
some brandy, but others... By  the way, I indeed had brandy! It would not be
enough, of course,  for  the  whole brigade,  but  I  could  share  it  with
two-three soldiers. No problem.
     Fire never interrupted.  Two soldiers ahead of  me next to  each  other
jerked and lay motionless. Arms and legs were bent in unnatural  ways, heads
thrown back. Wounded  do not lie like that. One  of the men next to me tried
to crawl to them, but was caught by other soldiers.
     "Idiot?  Where're  you  going? They'll shoot you not asking  your  last
name. Lie still."
     "You son of a bitch, you want to leave them like that?"
     "They are done. Sniper killed them."
     "Get off me, you cowards! There's a fellow from the same town as I am.
     We're from  the same apartment  building.  I  don't believe you! Let me
go!" The soldier was shouting trying to break loose from his friends. One of
those holding him lost patience and released the guy. Using the moment,  the
soldier tried to run to the dead, but the same  man who had let him  go  hit
his nose strongly with elbow. The soldier passed out. Two others grabbed him
under arms and gently carried the guy to the rear. Voices followed them.
     "Why did you punch him like that?"
     "He was in a hurry to get under a sniper, I just calmed him down. Don't
worry, he'll be all right, even thank me for that."
     "Exactly. He'll be very grateful!"
     "He'll be in  the  Med  Company  soon. It's  warm over  there.  They'll
bandage his nose. He'll spend a couple of days there. Not too bad!"
     "Come over, I'll smash your mug and then tow to the medics. Come on!"
     "Get off."
     "Hey men, I would not refuse half a bottle of vodka, uh?"
     "Shut up, motherfucker!"
     "If no alcohol, we'll have to attack."
     "Right, see the Moon is coming up."
     ""We've got  to  either roll back and gobble alcohol  or forward. It'll
lighten everything in a minute like a train station."
     "What're we gonna do?"
     "Who knows. There are commanders. Let them have a headache."
     "Oh, a shish-kebab would be just right, " someone said dreamy in the
     Darkness and  snapped at "dukh's" direction with automatic fire.  Tanks
began shooting behind us. After several correcting  shots, shells started to
hit the target more or  less precisely. We met every good shot with cheering
yells. It became too cold to lie  on the ground. I pulled out my bottle with
brandy, untwisted  the cap and made a large gulp. Immediately, I felt warmer
and  cozier. At this moment, the  mind of a  twentieth century man got along
well with a gloomy ancestor  from cold caves, who was ready to take over and
fight enemy with his  claws  and  teeth.  Apparently,  they  both liked  the
brandy. I made one more gulp.
     Hot air waves from explosions were rolling over our bodies raffling our
clothing. Good! It slightly warmed us  up.  The State  Bank  building caught
fire.  We cheered. Snow had melted  under us and  we all were lying in muddy
puddles. An order  was spread by chain, "Get ready for assault!" Based on my
previous combat experience, I had a big doubt in the necessity,  rationality
and effectiveness  of this kind of night assaults, but I  should have argued
about  it on the  command  point. Here, on  the square, I had to  follow the
order. In two minutes the order for assault came. Tanks were still shooting.
Shells flew right above our heads. After a ten meter run under friendly fire
our  pace slowed down, because  we  were afraid of  getting hit  by  our own
shrapnel.
     Mind left me again. I did not comprehend what was happening to me. Here
was  the  building. Dark  craters from aviation  bombs punctured  the square
around it.  The building stand  solid. It was old. At that time they used to
build well. "Dukhs"  were intensively pouring lead on us.  Apparently,  they
also had snipers hidden somewhere.
     Our first ranks... About twenty people were killed or wounded. Men from
the second  row tried to drag their  comrades our of fire range.  Many  fell
too. Some were just  writhing, others,  squeezing their wounds, were rolling
with  terrible  scream and  howl  on muddy  and  bloody asphalt.  Some  made
attempts to escape on their own. But many... Many men lay motionless.
     The  whole  scenery  was  illuminated by  the  fire  of  burning  Bank,
permanently hanging in the air torch rockets and  by  the  Moon,  which  was
indifferent to everything. Descended night was pierced by bursts of tracking
bullets from the tank-mounted  machine guns. The thunder of battle, howl  of
shrapnel and ricocheting bullets, their  disgusting whacks whenever they hit
dead  bodies created  a  nightmarish  acoustic picture, which  paralyzed  my
brain.  Not thinking  was  the  most  important.  Otherwise,  psychosis  was
guaranteed. Work, work! Forward, only  forward! Ten more  minutes of sitting
in one place and we  are  finished. Dear parents, sweet wife, here is a zinc
box  with  the body of your beloved warrior-liberator, the  re-installer  of
Constitutional Order. Don't forget to sign here, here and here. Please don't
vilify us.  We  did not  send your beloved there.  Who knows  who  sent him.
That's all. Please accept  our sincere condolences. Good bye! No. We can not
stay here. We have three more "parcels" of this kind  to deliver. Go to  the
military commissariat and  social security office after funeral, fill out an
application  for aid and  pension. Don't forget  to bring twenty  five memos
with you. Make sure  they  are all  originals,  otherwise we won't  give you
anything. Have a nice life.
     F...  you!  You won't  bring me back in this shitty box, unless I  kill
myself after a wound. Forward! Come on, infantry, move your asses!  Move you
stomachs! May be,  there are still  money in the Bank. Huraah! Dengi, money,
babki,  cabbage! Since this is the  State Bank, there may be even dollars in
it. May be there are, but they won't wait for you! Forward! Move! Don't push
me with your Kalashnikov, idiot, it can shoot.
     The  dirty-gray mass  of  our brigade came to life again. We  ran, ran,
ran. Tanks stopped firing to  let us in.  The Bank was so close. But what is
it?
     From the darkness  of our flanks we  heard roar and clanging of tracks.
Is it help coming? Hurrah! Push! We'll bury "dukhs" in a moment!
     Tanks indeed drove out from darkness. They were T-64s. Ours were T-72s.
These old  tanks began to shoot us point blank.  Infantry was hiding  behind
them. Not our infantry.  "Dukhs"  had used the  moment when  in the rush  of
battle we started our assault. They hit  our rear from both  flanks.  Nobody
figured how  many  enemy tanks had been there. They  hatched into our ranks,
their  tracks  grinding  and threshing  our soldiers'  bodies.  Arms,  legs,
intestines,  clothes were being wound  on the wheels and gears. At  the same
time, they shoot at the tanks at our rear. Again, at our tanks.  Those could
not fight  back, because of the danger of  killing our  infantry.  They were
sitting ducks. "Dukh's" tanks were shooting them like targets on a  training
ground. We were  herded on a  small patch in front of the Bank where "dukhs"
were shooting us at point  blank range  from three  sides, leaving us not  a
slight chance to escape the ambush. Our tanks could not help us and we could
not get out  to  give them a chance. We were rushing about like a frightened
herd of sheep.
     Someone succeeded in putting  out one "dukh's" tank.  It  caught flame.
While its ammo cache was exploding, we made an attempt to break out. By that
time,  our tanks were  all burning bringing additional light to the blinding
picture of the square.  I did not feel  anything but  horror.  It ousted all
other  emotions from me. Neither Capitain, no citizen Mironov had existed by
then.  Instead, a  shivering clot  of shit wanted only one thing  - survive.
That was all. Simply, survive. No long forgotten prayers came to  my mind, I
was just running into darkness.  Stumbled, flew  down, did not feel any pain
from  bruises  and cuts. Nothing,  except freezing terror. Flocks of bullets
followed us. Yells of rage and pain, screams of wounded men. No way of going
back to help them. Panic and horror smeared  me on the asphalt, forced me to
run in straight line like a rabid dog.  Despite the speed, I felt that I was
staying in place. I  was running on the square, which I had been taking just
several hours ago fighting for every centimeter. The place is littered  with
bodies of our  soldiers, as well as "dukhs".  I stampeded  on  one  of them,
fell, jumped up and ran forward. Corpses of my friends had not provoked  any
emotions  already. There was no passion for revenge. I only  felt irritation
that they were obstacles for my run. What the hell are they doing on  my way
when I do not have any strength left? I slowed my pace down. Many our people
were running around me. Bulged inhuman eyes, mouths  open wide  in soundless
screams, same  as mine. Nobody yelled. Nobody shouted obscenities. Everybody
was saving power for  the run. "Dukhs" were reluctant  to come closer to us.
Apparently,  they were afraid of  us striking  back. Do not corner mouse, it
becomes more vicious and aggressive than a cat.
     We lost our  direction in the dark. Now we  were  already  running  not
toward the bridge, but to  Dudaev's  Palace. Flares  rose up in  the sky and
illuminated running herd.  Those  were we. There  was nothing  human  in our
faces, eyes, breath and stares.  Kalashnikovs and machine guns  fired. First
row was mowed down. The rest tried to turn  back still running. Those in the
rear pressed them, shoved on the ground, fell themselves, rose and ran again
into darkness. I saw sparkles from fatigue in my eyes. Nobody helped nobody.
Wounded were  shooting  themselves. Some were making attempts  to crawl into
obscurity, farther from the  light of the  flare  rockets. Moon the traitor,
bitch,  f...  thing  was  lighting  stronger than  those flares  through the
curtain of smoke.  I had almost had  no strength  left.  Lord  God! Not  the
captivity! Better death than that! Help me, Lord! Save me!
     I  switched  to trot. I was  out of  breath.  I wanted to  rip  off the
armored vest  and the coat, to fall on the bloodied asphalt with  open chest
and lie. Lie still,  hyperventilating,  restoring breath. No!  "Dukhs" would
come  over  and then  - captivity. I tried to run again. Blood was  pounding
inside my skull like a Siberian river on the falls.  It felt like  the skull
might  explode  from  extensive pressure.  I  could  not hear  anything from
exhaustion,  except  for  blood pounding in my ears. I slowed  down my pace.
Hanged the  Kalashnikov on my neck and put my arms on it. It  was  hard  not
only to run but also simply to move the feet. A soldier came from the right.
Without saying a word, he grabbed me and dragged along. After several meters
I understood, that  I only impeded  his own run. A barely heard  voice broke
through my torn bronchi and nicotine plugs.
     "Go. Go. I'm not of a help to you."
     "What about you?" yelled the soldier into my ear.
     "Go. I'm on my own..." It was hard to talk.
     "I won't leave you!" Desperation was heard in his voice.
     "Get  off  me!  Save  yourself, I'll  follow  you."  Gathering my  last
strength,  I pushed the  soldier  with  both  hands.  We  flew  in  opposite
directions. He disappeared.  That last push  consumed what  was  left  of my
energy. I  sat on the ground breathing hard. Spat  out viscous saliva. Heart
was pounding fast. From my studies in the military college I  knew  that  it
was bad to sit right after run. Heart  valves might close and not open back.
When dancing sparkles in the eyes went away, I looked around, my stare heavy
and bleak. My gun was still hanging from my neck. No energy was left to take
it off or to simply move a hand. Not far from me, silhouettes of people were
sitting and lying. Most of them  were officers. It was understandable. Their
age and physical shape were far  from the best. Civilians sometimes complain
that the military retire earlier. If there had been anybody older than forty
five among us, they would have not been found alive later. Some were sitting
on the dead bodies. May be it was comfortable, but I had  not come into that
state yet when I would not be able to perceive nothing.  People were sitting
and looking in the direction of the enemy. Somebody was about to  resume the
run, but  many, including myself, were ready to accept the last battle. Mind
awoke,  horror subsided. Rage began to  speak up  and  it was  good. Healthy
anger meant that I had  not yet become an animal. It  was time to figure out
how  to get out of there and save my skin. Soul was  the last thing to think
about. I remembered God as a powerful benefactor, whom I used to rely on.
     I coughed. A clog of nicotine mucus was painfully and slowly making its
way out of my bronchi.  Need to quit smoking or cigarettes won't allow me to
reach the sanctuary of a stone, a bump or a hole. Spat out a wet shniblet of
mucus. Felt a taste of my own blood. A piece of bronchi came out too. I took
a  deep breath. Chest  pain knifed me again. Another suffocating  seizure of
cough. The only desire was to tear  my chest apart  and let fresh air in.  I
was too  tired to run  long distances.  I  would rather do something simple,
short and quiet. "Learn English!" my Mommy always told me.


        18

---------------------------------------------------------------
 © Copyright 2001 translation by Oleg Petrov (siberiaforever@hotmail.com)
 Editor: Dan Ray
---------------------------------------------------------------

     "Hey, easy, you sadistic moron! That hurts!"
     "Sure, and that's the good news."
     "Easy, you bastard, you can tear it off!"
     "Not to worry, I will sew it back."
     He checked each of my  ears twice with a metal pipe, and then inspected
the insides of my mouth and nose. Now what, Papa Doc?
     "The eardrums are OK, just some inflammation."
     "Say it again in Russian, and louder, please."
     "You will survive."
     "What about hearing?"
     "That will recover later. I'll give you some  eardrops. Stay  away from
cold. And-take care of yourself."
     "They keep you really busy here, don't they?"
     "You bet! It  has been slow for a while,  but all through the night and
morning  we  were getting  so  many  wounded  we almost  panicked.  A lot of
shrapnel wounds, broken bones, stomach wounds...Many died right in the hands
of paramedics, some on their way here. Overall, thirty men did not make it."
     "Oh, shit!"
     "Yeah, this sucks."
     "Do you have enough supplies?"
     "Well,  we got enough  for now, but my colleagues from  other units are
completely out  of medications. The  Ministry  of Emergencies  has some, but
they won't share their stock with  us or Interior Ministry  troops. They say
their supplies are for the local civilians."
     "What a bunch of dickheads! They would rather let their own kin die!"
     "Sorry, Slava,  but I got work  to do.  Come see  me,  if you  have any
problems."
     "I'd rather have you visiting me."
     "I'm too busy, and if I get a break, I just drop dead asleep. I have no
time even to take a shot  of  vodka, only  the cigarettes keep me going. The
<i>dukhi</i>  will keep us busy tonight for  sure, so I need to get ready for that.
What about you? A couple of days rest in the hospital won't hurt you."
     "Forget it. Remember our talk?"
     "You mean, the life and death stuff?"
     "Yes. If it comes to that, you will help me."
     "You're such a bloody fool, Slava."
     "Look, I feel really  dumb right now because I'm deaf, but I guess that
won't last for too long, and I'll get back in shape soon. But...if some  day
you find me passed out here, will you please  make sure that  I won't regain
my consciousness back, OK?"
     "No way and  I  don't even want to  talk about that." Zhenya rubbed his
eyes that were  -- red from fatigue  and constant lack of sleep.  "I will go
now. I  really have too much  work to do. And you  need some rest. You  guys
won't take that shithouse tonight anyway.  I am also tired of shouting  into
your ear at the top of my lungs. Take a good nap. Good luck to you, and here
are your eardrops."
     He took a plastic batch of some  tablets out of his pocket and held  it
out to me.
     "What's that?"
     "This  will  take  care of  fatigue  and  stimulate your cardiovascular
system. It's sort of  like doping.  They used to give this to athletes, like
marathon runners.  This will  keep you awake and you will stay cool when the
shit  hits the fan. I even take this stuff myself sometimes. But do not take
too  many  of them at once. Hey, take these  vitamins  too. Some vitamin  C,
don't forget to take it."
     "Thanks, Zhenya."
     "Good luck!"
     "Good luck to you too!"
     When he left, I felt how tired I was. The fatigue hit  me hard. Part of
the hard, dangerous job was done, but there was too much to be done yet, and
the  end was  nowhere to be seen. Only in the movies is everyone bright-eyed
and  bushy-tailed in between the  fighting, where  they take every chance to
start dancing.
     Well, maybe that's what it used to be, but now it looks very different.
Everyone is just dead tired. It gets you when you keep fighting non-stop for
too long. Your emotions, senses, even  instincts are silenced, your reaction
gets too slow. And that is bad for you. When your instincts become numb, you
are dead.  You will stick  your  head  out in  the wrong moment,  or  become
negligent with  your weapons. So, you better forget  your feelings.  On  one
hand, your numbed emotions won't let you  go crazy, on the other  hand,  you
need  to keep  your reaction fast and your  senses sharp. For that you  need
some  relaxation  and rest.  Vodka  can relax you,  and slumber is  the best
possible  rest.  Killing  a  couple  of <i>dukhi</i> is  also an  excellent way  of
relaxing, and  will relieve  your  stress  completely.  Those who  have hand
grenades or other explosives  at  hand, but no  <i>dukhi</i> around, can use a loud
explosion for the recovery. I used to do that too, it helps. But a couple of
<i>dukhi</i> would  work much better. The  chopper pilots, as I've been  told, have
dropped   some   <i>dukhi</i>  down   over  enemy's  territory,  with  an   awesome
psychological effect. The <i>dukhi</i>  got  their will paralyzed,  and the chopper
pilots got  some stress relief in turn. I won't bet that this  was for real,
but I  liked  the idea.  I heard this tale  even  before the troops  entered
Grozny;  of how 2-3 <i>dukhi</i> were taken up into the skies in a chopper.  One of
them knew some important stuff,  but,  being  an idiot or just a  tough SOB,
won't  talk. And for some obscure reason  torture was  out  of question. So,
they put some psychological pressure on him, by throwing  his friends out of
the chopper. He saw that, and when they kicked him to  the door,  he started
talking. Here, everything goes.
     That is why I felt so tired, not depressed, just tired. I took a couple
of vitamin tablets and put  the unknown  stimulant into my pocket. I got the
whole night ahead of me  to experiment  with  those.  I  took a good look at
myself: I was as dirty,  as a pig. My overcoat  and pants were  covered with
mud, clay, and blood, and got torn and holed in several spots. My boots were
also  covered with  mud. I sighed. Luckily, major Zemtzov, my mentor  in the
Academy, could not see me in such poor condition!  When it came to uniforms,
he was a  perfectionist, and tried  to bring  us up the same way.  Any given
moment might look as the most brutal time of your  life  ever, but  when you
look back later, things that you took for hardship earlier can only make you
laugh. It would  actually be fun to recall your high school problems  later,
when you become a college student or an Academy cadet. Likewise, it would be
fun to tell  your kids of your hardships at the exams in the  Academy. Also,
you will  laugh with  your  friends  at a party at how being in charge  of a
platoon for the first time was really a big deal for you. After you had lost
some hair and your face got  all wrinkled, you would recall just how shy you
used  to be when it came to dating girls; how excited  you were when getting
ready for your first date, and romantic stuff like that. Yeah, if only  that
young cadet Slava Mironov had my experience! Now, when I meet a girl younger
than myself,  I do not  get as  excited as  I  used to.  I am getting old, I
guess, my blood is getting colder. This idea made me grin. Some dating right
now sure would be fun. Hey, how about Christmas,  did  it already pass? What
date is it today, anyway? Maybe, I should go and ask someone. Oh  well, just
forget  about it.  Who cares? Let's forget that my birthday is  coming up in
January, thinking of it won't do me any good. All I need to do is to fulfill
my duty and survive. That's it. The rest,  including those  who  remained on
the Big Land,  can  go to hell.  Me and my boys, we don't give a  shit about
you, just like you don't give a shit about us. But we will be back!
     I looked around.  Everyone seemed  tired and  moved slowly, their faces
dull, with sharp, pointed features; their deep-fallen eyes turned  into red,
like those of albinos. All signs of corpulence  in  these folks were gone by
now. That's a great diet, I thought. If anyone is interested in loosing some
weight, just come here and success is guaranteed.
     Previously, anticipation of a  fight would have caused some excitement;
now  everyone was just plain tired.  If we must fight, so be it and to  hell
with all that. Your nerves must have learned the trick  of self-preservation
by avoiding  unnecessary  waste  of  any emotional  energy  before the event
itself comes. But when it comes, the adrenalin will start rushing and I will
get my reaction back. The human organism is a pretty smart device...
     Yuri showed up, looking jumpy.
     "So, what's new?
     "Have you seen the Doc?"
     "Cut the crap, will you? I have asked you a question."
     "Well,  I've been  to the  HQ.  No  good  news. They are under  lots of
pressure  from Hankala. Our neighbors shat their pants,  so we will bear the
brunt. That's it."
     "That will be our last and decisive battle, right?"
     "Sure. You don't seem to be interested, are you?"
     "That's not the right word, Yuri. I don't give a fuck. Whatever."
     "You are just depressed."
     "I am  calm. I am so absolutely calm. I did not feel that  peaceful for
God knows how long. I'm totally cool, and nothing  else  matters anymore. No
regrets, no remorse. No  fear, nor vigilance, no other  feelings. Everything
looks parallel."
     "You look as if you  made some kind  of decision.  You  don't  have any
suicidal ideas, I hope? Like, assaulting  a machine-gun nest with  your  own
body?"
     "No, I am just  mortally tired  of this  madness.  So, let them  decide
anything they want. I will go anywhere, except for the hospital. I will just
stay here, the way I am, just doing my job."
     "Hey, you did not lose your appetite for life, did you?"
     "Don't worry about  that.  I'm fine. When  do  they plan  to attack, at
night?"
     "No, they changed the plan, as usual. We are to begin in two hours. The
neighbors will start, and we will join them in 20 minutes."
     "I wish there were 2 hours instead.
     "Oh, sure. Unlike the elite troops, Siberian <i>makhra</i> never complain.  We
just keep on fighting till we die, as usual."
     "Stop talking like  that. We are  just fine,  your highness! You better
help me."
     "Like what?"
     "I need a first aid kit  and body armor, if you can  find  any. If not,
that's OK too."
     "I'll see what I can do. Take it easy!"
     "I'm fine. I repeat: I am just cool, you moron. That's all."
     He  left  and  came back in about 20 minutes,  carrying brand  new body
armor.
     "Where did you get that?"
     "They just  got some in  Battalion  3,  and that's  their  gift. Zhenya
Ivanov asked  me to give you the eardrops. He said  that's  his  last batch.
Take it, and here is the first aid kit, too."
     "Thanks, Yuri. What am I going to do without you?"
     "Nothing.  You would just  spend  the night with no body  armor, that's
all."
     "Right. Can you help me adjusting it? Careful, my ear hurts."
     "What's the big deal? You are deaf anyway, right?"
     "Doesn't matter, it still hurts."
     "Patience, I'm loosening the belts."
     "This shit is so heavy. I've spent a half day without body armor, and I
felt like flying."
     "Get down to Earth. San Sanytch wants you to stay  at the HQ during the
assault."
     "Are you kidding me?"
     "Yeah, he knows about your ears."
     "Was it you who told him?"
     "No. The whole brigade already knows  that  you brought a  dead soldier
back. The same thing  happened in Battalion 1, and  their platoon leader had
just gone mad. That's why San Sanytch and Sergei Kazartsev are worried about
your mental health.  You better  stay, Slava. One just can't  go  into night
fighting in a state of mind like yours."
     "Back off, I'm