Глеб Бобров: The Torn Souls: An Anthology of Prose About the Soviet War in Afghanistan

That evening and night, they were busy and did not have time to deal with me; but in the morning, we received an order to march into the mountains. Paradoxically, we, “young solders” were happy to do it because we were tired from a constant fatigue, bullying from crazy, bored “veterans”. However, the cases of aggressive behaviour towards comrades sharply reduced after spending time side-by-side in the mountains. For us “the youngest” — to receive the order to ambush the mujahidins all the way to the border of Pakistan, will be much more favourable than the humiliation that we experienced from our “own” people. Just leave us alone!

Indeed, better to say nothing about the Red Army methods of how to lift the soldiers’ moral spirit — the military operation that frightened us a couple of days ago, now was taken as a relief.

To tell the truth, mood has been slightly spoiled because the first, so-called “veteran” platoon was also marching with us. But at least we were glad to get rid of the demobs-idiots from the third platoon.

So, we moved into the mountains as a co-jointed column but with two platoon commanders and on top of the cake was a deputy political commissar.

Around my neck is an AK (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), which I have received upon arrival to Afghan. Unlike ordinary assault AKs used by our brigade, mine was with a non-folding wooden butt and a metal magazine. Usually this model has SSD — “silent shooting device”. However, my AK did not have it — who knows where this SSD disappeared to, but I can reassure you, it had happened before my conscription. But being in the army you have to carry a weapon, regardless of its condition. Is there any sense of this? Well, who cares about sense in the army, anyway?

Plus an additional disadvantage of the AK 7.62 was the size of the cartridges; they were shorter but thicker than the model 5.45 AK. This is why, as “a privilege” of being a “young soldier”, I should carry “two CKs” (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), which, as the regulation stated, has 900 cartridges of ammunition; some of them crammed into metal, not plastic magazines, and the weight is terribly heavy.

Also four grenades, a smoke-shell, flares, flare guns, a helmet, a flak jacket, a digging tool, cotton pants, felt boots, a waterproof cape tent, and camping food for three days (nine heavy cans and three huge packs of crackers) should be not forgotten…

In total, all of these weighed thirty-five kilograms — and was half of the size of me — and I had to carry this into the mountains! Tell me, how an ordinary fellow from Moscow, who had never been in the mountains higher than the Lenin Hills ((see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), can do it!? Plus, for the last seven months I have not had enough sleep and food. My ear was painful under the purulent bandages covering my head. Besides, I wear the heavy tarpaulin boots with puttees on my feet, which we were ordered to put on only a month ago. Nobody taught us how to use the puttee. In Fergana (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) we wore the boots, in Afghanistan we were given the ankle boots with laces and socks; and at that time, our supervisors, who provided a ceremonial check-up, did not care whether I can wind on the puttees or not. The main thing, as we were instructed, was to bring extra puttees with you, as “the way it should be”.Well, nothing more to say…

Also it is worth mentioning, after an hour of marching, your heart was beating so hard that you could hardly breathe, your legs, covered with blood, became incontrollable and disobedient to your commands, and you could not lift your head. But we should keep scrambling up and up on the endless slopes of foothills. The stops occur more often, and with each rest we tried desperately to catch our breath, but it leads to nothing — only to start moving after these breaks become even harder.

I remember that in such a moment, the political officer came to me — by that time, he already disliked me: he failed to convert me into a snitch — and in his usual manner he begins to “encourage” me with something like: “you are a useless fart”, “a piece of shit in this world”, and “people like you are just a waste in this world”.

Yep… he can talk — why not? He wears the light “Afghan” ankle boots. His BP (see “Teminology and Glossary” — Editor), as I can assess, has a packed food ration only for 2 days, and a very economical supply of ammunition. Indeed, he is definitely enjoying his weight deficiency, as I can observe.

His “political propaganda” did extend my sufferings but I did not bother to reply back. I simply could not do it, because, at this point, I was not a human, I became an exhausted mule dragging a half-dead body up to the hill. All I can think of is to have a little break at this moment, but I know, there will be no stop in the near future: our company commander Pikunov, nicknamed “Rex”, already rushed ahead with his platoon of “dembels” (See “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), and definitely they will not be slowing down because of some emaciated soldiers. Moreover, he has a mission, he knows where he is going and why. We do not. We are not required to know about it — we should just do, and keep doing, until we will get the next order.

…And this happens at the moment when I almost gave up walking, and, it seemed to me, I will crash on the ground any minute. I did not care anymore if the political officer will go into pieces from his anger.

Climbing to a hill with a round peak, we formed a sort of semicircle, in which I was in the centre among the first platoon “veterans”. Ahead of me was Kravchenko, behind me was Grishin and someone else, from their platoon, was on the right, Vova Mordvinov was a little bit further on. He is (together with the Belyiy and Pakhomov) from our year’s conscription, but for some mysterious reason they were directed to serve with “dembels”.

In parallel to us, a chain of “young” soldiers from Afghan government troops kept climbing. Suddenly I heard that someone from the top of the hill cried out to the “dembels”. My first impulse was to take to the right — it was a short cut, even though I had to go through some low bushes, — but somehow I have got an idea that our soldiers will be gathering together somewhere ahead. So I kept walking behind Cravoy, who proceeded walking strictly step-in-step, as he was taught, behind a soldier, who, in the same manner, followed a sapper with a probing rod.” They called the dembels to have a rest!!!” — the idea flashed across my mind.

The last thing I remember (everything that followed after slipped from my memory, as I only remember fragments of sensations, sounds of this event) was that somewhere, very close to the right and a bit behind me, a powerful explosion blows the earth… I feel that something hits me in the face… I was falling…

Darkness covered my eyes together with a terrifying burst from machine guns that fire from everywhere but a heart-rending cry suppressed all sounds, it was not even a human cry, it was a heart-rending yell of a wounded animal.

I still have no idea what happened, and what was going on around me. When I opened my eyes, I spotted one of the Afghani soldiers, or “greenhorns” as we named them, who was firing franticly not far from me.

“I should open fire too” — this thought came to my mind and I pulled off the gun belt from my neck. But when, somehow, I realised that shooting was coming only from us, nobody was actually shooting towards us. I think this realisation came to the “greenhorn” as well.

And then a fallen deafening silence was cut by the cry, scream and howl, which can be heard more distinctly in the cold air. I do not know how to describe it, but it was an inhuman sound which I had not heard before and I did not hear after.