Hideo Furukawa - Belka, Why Don't You Bark?

“S” was in charge of all special operations within the KGB. The KGB Border Guards as a whole had more combat experience than any of the Soviet Union’s other military organizations, having been active since the Great Patriotic War (World War II). And within the Border Guards, “S” was special. It specialized in unconventional warfare.

“S” rapidly adapted itself to the battle against the mujahideen.

Its fighters made use of the difficult, hilly terrain. They learned how to counter the special tactics of the Afghan jihadists.

Even then “S” hadn’t realized its full potential. The Soviet Union itself was still changing. The drama surrounding its leadership continued. On February 9, 1984, General Secretary Andropov suddenly passed away after fifteen months in office. His successor was Konstantin Chernenko, a man who had been born, astonishingly enough, in 1911. He was way too old to be doing this. The only reason he could take over from Andropov was that he had been a loyal follower and right-hand man to Brezhnev. The old faction Andropov had struggled to crush was back. General Secretary Chernenko died on March 10, 1985, however, also of sickness.

Too old.

“S” found its fortunes changing, then changing again. If Andropov had remained general secretary, “S” might have managed to turn the quagmire of the Afghan War into something closer to a pond, at least, with relatively clear waters. “S” probably could have calmed the situation. But that wasn’t what happened. Because the Soviet leaders kept popping in and out so fast, one after the other. General Secretary Brezhnev was replaced by General Secretary Andropov, General Secretary Andropov was replaced by General Secretary Chernenko. Three deaths from sickness, one sudden. But these three men weren’t the only ones to have an effect on the fortunes of “S.” The unit—the most highly guarded secret at KGB Border Guard Headquarters—had been created by the man who preceded General Secretary Brezhnev. The previous general secretary… except that he wasn’t general secretary. Until April 1966, the party had put a moratorium on the use of this title, going instead with “first secretary”—a title that Brezhnev had used for his first year and a half in the position. First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party. Why had “general secretary” been abandoned? Because that was the title Stalin had used. And who had decided to abandon the title? Which forces? Forces critical of Stalin, obviously. Who was first secretary before First Secretary Brezhnev? The man who had declared that Stalin was a despot. The man who had delivered a searing critique of Stalin in 1956 in a closed session at the Twentieth Congress of the Communist Party. Nikita Khrushchev.

The man Red China’s leader, Mao Zedong, hated.

Khrushchev had had a dream. He dreamed of a day—sometime, somewhere—when the Cold War would turn hot. Perhaps the magma would come spurting up in the form of a proxy war somewhere in the Third World. And just imagine how cool it would be if, when that day came, the USSR could dispatch to the front lines of that regional conflict a unit so unlike any other that it would take people’s breath away—imagine the value that would have as propaganda! Incomparable! He had that dream. And so he gave the order, almost as a joke. And when it reached the end of the long chain of command, having made its way through that rigid bureaucratic system, the order was rigorously enacted. All the romance of the dream died, and it was turned into something utterly pragmatic and real. Two former communist space dogs were the raw material from which the new reality was fashioned. Two Soviet heroes. A male dog named Belka and a bitch named Strelka.

It had all started with them.

And it was continuing with them.

In 1982. A dog and a bitch, heirs to the same names.

And in 1983.

And in 1984.

And in 1985.

Their line continued, unbroken.

A unit of killers who would fight the anticapitalist war, training in the very real Arctic.

In short, “S” had its origins in Khrushchev’s dream. Years later, reality had chipped its way through the shell of that dream, picked at the edges of the hole, and then shaken the last pieces off so that it stood fully revealed, a monstrous “unit” with a life of its own. But Brezhnev had a memory. He had been part of the group that brought Khrushchev down. He himself had pushed Khrushchev out in October 1964 and taken his place as first secretary. He wanted to expunge all trace of Khrushchev’s administration. And so he offered a reappraisal of Stalin’s legacy and changed his title from “first secretary” to “general secretary.” And so, in April 1966, General Secretary Brezhnev was born. And so, years later, when the situation in Afghanistan became impossible, Brezhnev chose not to call on “S” to make things right. The KGB suggested bringing “S” in, but Brezhnev refused. The whole idea… it sort of had that Khrushchev smell to it.

Then Andropov became general secretary, and he used “S.”

But he died.

Then Chernenko became general secretary, and as an old geezer who had once been the late Brezhnev’s right-hand man, he thought this whole “S” thing stank of Khrushchev. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of the effluvium because he was so old, his sense of smell going. But he intuited it. Brezhnev had always made a point of that, back when he’d been boss. Don’t give Khrushchev anything. Not a thimbleful of cat food.

Chernenko steered clear of “S.”

In the end, “S” only had seven months to show what it could do. It never had a chance to play a significant role in the first half of the Afghan War.

Only a little more than seven months. A very short time.

And yet, even so, something happened.

An epoch-making event. For dogs.

In the second week of December 1983, “S” was in a valley amidst the hills of northeastern Afghanistan, having been led there by a general known as the Director—the Director of Department S. In this area the main road to the capital was subject to frequent targeted attacks from a mujahideen organization hoping to steal Soviet supplies. “S” launched a targeted attack of its own against the mujahideen organization, which excelled in guerrilla techniques. “S” used the same sort of guerrilla techniques. But while the jihadists really were guerrilla fighters—in the sense that they were “irregulars”—“S” was a regular army unit. The difference between the two was enormous in terms of their structures for communicating orders, their discipline, and the refinement of their land war tactics. “S” was a regular guerrilla unit, so to speak. Its fighters were consummate professionals, but they conducted only surprise and sneak attacks. The mujahideen had no idea the Soviet army had units like this, so “S” had no trouble penetrating their defenses. “S” didn’t rely on MiG fighters, after all, and didn’t ride in on T-64 tanks, and didn’t even send in attack helicopters. It had some auto-cannons to intimidate the enemy, but heavy firearms were not its main weapons. It used another kind of weapon.

Military dogs.

The unit’s special nature allowed it to catch the mujahideen off guard.

Ever so easily. From behind.

And then it happened.

The scene was set. Ninety-one men lying on the ground. Ninety-one bodies, that is. Dead. Eighty-eight were mujahideen. Former jihadists. Their weapons had not been particularly up-to-date. They had a rocket launcher, but that was their only heavy firearm. Other than that it was all automatic rifles and pistols for self-protection. A few of the men had even had matchlocks. Most of the mujahideen were Pashtuns. Farther north there were armed groups made up largely of Tajiks, but in this more rugged region the bands tended to be composed of Pashtuns, and of Pashtuns known for their Islamic fundamentalism. There was one casualty among the mujahideen who was not a Pashtun, however. One among eighty-eight. He was a Mexican. He had a beard, and his blondish mestizo hair had been dyed black. His once-brawny physique had no strength in it now, all his life having flowed out onto the sand around him.