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

The helicopter shuddered, the smoke, with a hissing sound, rushed into the cabin, but bombs missed on the left, moving towards the sun. The leading helicopter took off to the left, giving the opportunity to the second one to do the final stroke of their work.

— “Air”, I am “Earth”! A little bit higher one more time, guys! Drop these freaks, and we will finish them”, — the commander said.

— The 945, take the opposite to my direction! — the commander ordered. — I will go to the left, you — to the right. This sun will ruin us. Take altitude to four hundred and stop at forty five, do it!

— I got it…

The helicopters diverged in different directions; they turned at the same time and took the mountain under full control. Lowering their noses and lifting tails, they could see everything on this mountain with good visibility.

The flight engineer F. found a terrace, where he distinguished the figures of enemies who were fidgeting with machine guns. Divided into two groups, they had placed into two stocky tripods the machine guns. “How did they get them here? “-the flight engineer F. asked himself.

In a second, he understood what they had — it was the packed antiaircraft mountain-pack machine-gun installation unit. The second chopper was already stretching their bullets to the mountain. The flight engineer F. slightly adjusted his gun and pulled the trigger and saw how his slightly curved fiery arc connected his chopper with the edge of the terrace. He raised the gun again, moved a trunk, and fired to the left, spraying dust and stone on the terrace. The tracing bullets fell down into the abyss. The dukhi (see “Terminology and Glossary”) crouched down.

— Good job! — the commander commented: — The 945, it is your work… Get ready… Fire!

Both choppers fired almost synchronously. The link of smoky streams from two sides hit into the rock — and the terrace was crossed out by this slanting cross.

The wind pulled away the fumes and we could see that there was no terrace any more — it was razed to the slope. Big fragments and small stones still flew down, hitting against ledges and jumping up, they fell directly near the tank and the APCs (see “Terminology and Glossary”).

The pale gray clouds were carried away. The helicopters completed their last turn; the second helicopter caught up with the leading, they formed the correct flight figure and went home.

— Well done, thank you, guys! — the “land” said goodbye — That was great! Top notch! Thank you!

The commander inquired about wounded, killed soldiers, and asked should he collect the dead ones. But all of us were alright, and the pair of the helicopters went back to Gerishk

— Kandahar men should give us a bottle of booze, — the commander said, — because we worked in their zone. What a good resting day we had today! At the beginning, we bathed, and then had deafened small fish…

He looked at the watch and was very surprised:

— Do you know — we bathed only fifteen minutes ago! No wonder that our suits are still wet!

Then he was silent.

— Or have I just sweated?

In a minute:

— And why have they not fired at us from the mobile surface-to-air missile system? We could have been burn down by now… Perhaps, they did not have it…

He lit up a cigarette, turned to the major who was sitting slightly behind the place of the flight mechanic, and asked:

— Well, did you like it?

— I’m speechless! — said the major. — “Mother, I love the pilot!” — he sang the line from a famous song.

The place of Chakcharan was famous for its kennel with a large amount of dogs. If pilots had an idea to have a stroll and enjoy the bright snow under the mountain’s sun, they could observe two types of living beings. The first are the soldiers of the “green” army wrapped up in some tatters and looking like fascists after the Stalingrad (a reference to a famous victory battle of the Soviet Army during WW2 — Editor), who were shoveling snow to clear a strip for the landing of distinguished guests.

The second were amazing dogs — huge, shaggy; they cheerfully jumped on the deep snow, falling up to their breast and coming out from this sparkling snow under the sun dust — they were not like dogs, but rather woolly dolphins that played in a sea of snow under the dark blue sky of Chakcharan.

Despite seeming docile, the dogs (the cross-breed between the Caucasian shepherd — dogs and an unknown local breed) were well trained for protecting the Soviet garrison. Many Chakcharan guests were fascinated by their beauty, size and cleverness, and all of them wanted to have a puppy from them (really, why not?!). But only one case of leakage of this Chakcharan gene pool was known to the author authentically.

When the flight mechanic F. was going to visit Chakcharan one more time, the commander of the 2nd target acquisition unit approached him and gave five thousand afoshkas (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) to the flight mechanic F. and told him:

— Find the ensign there and buy a puppy. Be modest and do not ask everyone — these sinologists can kick your ass and deport violently. Last time I tried to make a deal with the ensign because I promised to my son to buy a puppy.

Having arrived in Chakcharan, the flight engineer F. was not in a hurry to look for the ensign. He waited for the crews to go to dukhan (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor), closed his helicopter, and then he decided to have a walk. He headed for a cloud of smoke, rising on the edge of the field. Coming closer to it, he confirmed to himself that the army is still predictable — this was the army’s kitchen. There were three red fluffy puppies near the kitchen; they were turning and wagging their tails on the dirty trampled-down snow with ice-covered thawed patches, around the rumpled aluminum basin with already cooled down fat at the bottom. The flight engineer — having once again been surprised how smart he was — looked round, picked up the closest puppy and put him under a warm jacket bosom, zipped, and left, looking a bit pregnant.

The flight engineer F. casually walked to his helicopter, opened a door, put the silent puppy in the salon, and locked the door.

He was smoking when he saw how the ensign was looking for something around near the kitchen — he obviously was looking for his loss. The flight engineer F. met him by a question:

— Can I get something to eat here? Our men left and closed the helicopter’s door — he lied. (“Please, a little fellow, do not begin to whimper”, — he mentally pleaded to the puppy ).

— You can go to the kitchen, and grab hot tea over there, — the ensign mechanically answered, not even turning his head towards the flight engineer F. — Have you seen a puppy here? May be it came this way?

— Well, I have been here only for few minutes, but I will I ask our guys, when they return. You better ask the heavy multi-purpose helicopter 6 (MPH-6) over there, they were uploading for some time.

The ensign asked for a cigarette and light, and was almost ready to go to other side of the field where two silhouettes of gray elephant hulks of MPH6 stood up, surrounded by loading machines, when, suddenly, he heard a weak murmur, and the light yellow stream began to flow on the snow from a slit. The ensign pricked up his ears, bent, looking under the bottom.

— Damn it! The fuel beats out through the drainage! — the flight engineer worriedly exclaimed, bending too. — The pressure is rather low here, in the mountains…

The ensign sighed:

— I will go to these big helicopters… And, maybe, the little fellow has already been returned?

Thus, the puppy from the region of Chakcharan was transported to the Far East of the Soviet Union via Shindand.