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

The flight engineer F. sceptically commented on his bravery:

— Well, it will be better if we will chase the “Stinger”, instead of the “Stinger” chasing us.

— No worries! — “Rambo” pulled out a gun with double bullets capacity from his briefcase.

We immediately took off towards the south-west trying not to burn kerosene for nothing. We were flying just above the roofs of villages. The dust was slurring a visibility, making the sky almost to merge with the yellow-gray ground. The leading helicopter was barely visible — and from time to time the background of the earth swallowed him.

— He is disappearing like a flounder. — Bozhko said angrily, steering into this blurred horizon.

The flight engineer F. got ready his machinegun and slightly lowered its barrel, holding his finger on the trigger and trying to control the panorama, which was flying away under his feet. Black squares were full of doors, an endless number of nesting boxes were scattered under his feet, and the game was to guess where the cuckoo-enemy will pop out. The co-pilot with his machinegun also looked for them on his right.

Suddenly, on the right, a hundred metres away from the helicopter, a black wall silently erected up to the sky. The flight engineer F. saw the shapeless clay fragments, split logs, and a slowly flying tree with its roots outspreaded like a chicken claw.

A moment later, compressed air hit the helicopter — something banged, dusty wind gusted on the right, a map was thrown from the co-pilot’s knees to the commander’s feet — the machine was shaken up like a feather, tilting to the left — but the commander responded quickly — and flight was stabilised.

— A bit of a surprise, — he said, — the “Whistles” (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) are bombing, but they do not see us. They will crush us like cockroaches if we do not tell them we are here.

— “Speed”, roger! — he asked — Who is working in the north-west from the centre — wait guys! Two “verticals” (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) are here!

Crackling of an empty radio was the only answer.

-What is their frequency?! — the commander asked the right co-pilot. — Find and command them to hold.

One more explosion burst from the left… Bozhko, without waiting for shockwaves, turned left and right, but the helicopter was shaken. The co-pilot turned the radio switch, requested contact, but no one answered him.

-That bombing is a coded one, but we do not know the code! — he said at last.

— Well, — the commander responded, — soon we will cross the river, over there nobody is bombing. Our guys are working there now.

There was busy work in the air. On the radio, through the crackling we heard a fast speech:

— “Brigantine”, I — “Peregrine”! I hold my position on the bank and now going forward slowly…

— “Peregrine”, what are you doing?! Fly away from there, helicopters are about to arrive, they will work there…

…The rustling, crackling, clicking:

— All right, be quiet, they will work out a little more to the right…

The rustling again…

— “Air”, I — “Peregrine”! Do not go there, there is the ANC, the ANC works there, do you copy?..

An unemotional voice:

— Roger, understand you, “Peregrine”, we will clean… Right now, brothers… And, here, watch in the courtyard… w-working!

— This is our second unit, — Bozhko explained. — I wonder where they are working? I guess, we will see as soon as we will jump into the middle of this hell…

But they passed the Herat area safely. After passing a ridge, kishlaks (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) of Guldan and Sherband, the leading pilot suggested:

— Let’s land at our headquarters and take an Afghan gunner — he will also show us the way.

We landed on a bumpy road that looked like a ploughed garden, the area was fenced by barbed wire. While landing, the soldiers jumped and waved their arms to us and fired into the air from automatic weapons.

— Ha! They do look happy to see us, — Bozhko said, — it is obvious that they have not seen friends for a while…

When the wheels almost touched the ground, the commander asked flight engineer F.:

— Jump out, go around, look at the terrain, where it sits. Something is not right here…

The flight engineer F. was nearly on the ground, when the voice of the leading pilot from the right helicopter cracked in the headphones:

— Hey, 851, you are on a minefield!

At the word “minefield”, the helicopter jumped twenty feet above the

ground — the commander did it so abruptly, that the machine jumped vertically.

— So this is why the soldiers were so excited, — “Rambo” said, — they gave us a warning.

We kept flying towards the Iranian border.

— Today we had two warnings already — the commander said grimly. — Our guys almost shoot us down, then our own landmines nearly tore the tailpiece apart. Luckily, we are flying in a lucky number. This number should be considered to be lucky…

— Why? — “Rambo” asked.

— Because all laws of nature and army are not applied to this number. This machine cannot be knocked down, even at a close range. If someone can do it, it should be an alien. Am I right, Frol? — and the commander laughed.

“Rambo” checked the map — now they were flying along the Soviet border, only five hundred kilometres away from it, but on the Iranian side. A landscape of rocky plateaus was endless, where ever you can see.

— We will not go to the right because to buy vodka there, you need special coupons — Umrihin joked (at the time of events, vodka consumption was rationed by the state via special coupons — Editor).

So, we went straight. Spreading out the map on his knees, “Rambo”, with a pencil in his hand, was dealing with the tracking and guiding of the route. The plateau was gradually decreasing. The flight engineer F. looked back and noticed that the pencil was crawling to the Hari Rud river.

— Commander, we are getting closer to the river… — “Rambo” warned.

The commander kept silent.

— We are in I-ra-n! — co-pilot shouted bulging his eyes. — On the right is the village of Hatay and it is coming towards us!

— Will you shut up, for God’s sake! I cannot stand your screaming. It’s not our business. If the village is coming to us, it should be so, — and the leading pilot suddenly went into a left turn and muttered — We got a little bit lost…

-Wow! — “Rambo” said enthusiastically. — What would be happening if their border patrol did not sleep? An international scandal!

We turned back, jumped over the river, flew over a wide beach between the harsh river and a steep cliff.

— 851, do you observe — on top of the cliff is the “swallow’s nest”? — the leading helicopter enquired. — Seems to me, we have arrived… Now to the left, go up through the gorge…

A few seconds of silence… and the leading helicopter suddenly said:

— You shoot too closely, 851! It was right next to me.

— I did not shoot — with a look of astonishment, the commander of 851 replied.

All of us looked up and forward. At the top of the cliff that was falling into a valley at a peculiar angle, a gleamed blaze fire was coming up with white smoke balls.

— Shoot, commander! — “Rambo” said pointing excitedly.

— They are marking the land, — the commander replied and, at the same moment, almost immediately between the leading helicopter and us, just to the left a little bit, a pair of explosions flashed. The “leading” flew through the smoke hearing how the sands were rubbing, against windows; then “the leading” has turned to the left and started descending down into the gorge.