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

Sitting in the back with captives, the goliath size of mujahedeen (see “Terminology and Glossary” — Editor) with his full strength hit with foot a head of one of the captured man. The captives started to move towards the edge of the ute. With two-three kicks and the giant kicked them out of the car to the ground.

Other mujahedeens circled the captives and laughed at the, covered in blood helplessly moving bodies that tried to sit on the ground. The “goliath” with no hurry, took his knife and demonstratively punctured the shoulder one of the captives, at the place where the dusted shoulder strap hold two dirty-green coloured stars.

— These one is the leader. — He pronounced.

The kept silence to this moment captive, looked askew at the tip of the knife pocking his shoulder and overcoming the pain, whispered through his toothless mouth:

— Eight years as the war is going on and you did not learn how to read the ranks? Modj…

But the last phrase the captive could not finish as the standing next to him mujahedeen kicked into his already broken face. The body of the captured has fallen back to the driver, who from this unexpected impact made some unrecognisably sound — was it a sound of pain or just surprise? — but the ensign silently lowered his head and stared at the foot of the mujahedeen, expecting the next kick.

— The leaders or not — it has no difference how you will die. — “The goliath” spitted into the face of the captured one with the shoulder straps

The captive has made a poor attempt to kick his abuser back, but screamed from the pain and fallen on his back.

Watching the foot of “the goliath”, he has not noticed how teenagers next to his right, hit his head with a rifle butt. Losing the conscious, the ensign felt on the ground together with the driver tighten to him.

He regained consciousness only after few buckets of cold icy water were poured into his face. He opened his eyes and saw that a new group of mujahedeens joined the standing group around them. Among the newly arrived mujahedeens, he spotted an old man with a tidy beard and a turban with a bright white top on his head. The old man looked different compared to all who was standing around. On top of the traditional outfit — shirt and pants of safari colour — he was wearing the dark-brown coloured vest, embroidered with multi-coloured beads. But not all of these have drawn the ensign’s attention. A few wreaths woven made from artificial flowers hung on the old neck of this man. And the man, himself, was looking like a decorated Christmas tree and this look was ridiculously unnatural among these wild armoured people.

A young man in his 30th, from the “Toyota” group, stepped closer to the old man. Stretching his arms towards the eldest, he kept repeating some glorifying words to Allah and to the old man, who apparently was getting married on this day. Approaching him, the young fellow touched by his cheeks the cheeks of the old groom, incessantly muttering the same words.

Finishing with the ritual greetings, the guest stepped to the side of the elder. Pointing at the captured shuravi, he explained, that these two captured are the gift from him, the field commander who came to pay respect and to present the lives of these two infidels to Allah as a little present for the wedding of the most respected man on the Earth.

Disgusting looking at the captured, Hadji Latif ordered to cut the robes tided their hands and legs. The goliath in one motion followed the order. Popping out from the crowd, the mujahedeens forced the captives to kneel. Pointing their weapons to the heads of kneeling people, they demonstrated the respect in such original manner to the most respected person.

Hadji Latif slowly walked around the prisoners like he usually did when he wanted to buy sheep on the market place, even kicked each of them by his foot with the beautifully embroidered with shiny beads shouse. The prisoners were fallen into an indecent four-legs-position the made the crowd around them to humiliatingly laugh and hooting at them.

Whilst the crowd had her entertainment, Hadji Latif summoned his bodyguard and whispered to him something. The bodyguard despaired in the house and in one second returned to his master with the Kalashnikov rifle. Only a slight movement from the hand of Hadji Latif was enough to put the prisoners on their feet.

The elder has made a short speech with his very couched and harsh tone. He asked “the goliath” to translate his words into Russian, so the captives could understand what he was saying.

When the crowd quieted down a bit, “the goliath” produced seemingly recognized translation with a strong accent the message of the old man to the prisoners.

— You are cowardly jackals who learned to kill our innocent people and children, but afraid to fight with free spirited mujahedeens. Yes, two of you will die, but may be one of you wants to die voluntary?

“The goliath” wanted to add something else, but both captives simultaneously stepped forward to meet their fate. Hadji Latif only grinned at such unanimous wish of these shuravies to die in a foreign land. He took the machinegun from the hands of his bodyguard, and gave it to the captive driver. Having no clue what the old man wanted from him, the driver took the gun.

Pointing with his finger at the second captive — the ensign — Hadji Latif commanded: “Kill him”. “The goliath” translated these words. But the soldier shook his head and threw the submachine gun on the ground.

“The goliath”, with no hurry, picked up the gun from the ground, and, brushing the road dust off, offered the weapon to the ensign.

— Now it is your turn to shoot. If you do not want to kill him — kill yourself.

The ensign looked sullenly at the man and the surrounded him mujahideens. It was clear that he reached the last and most crucial moment of his life, and depending how he will act now he would answering to his own conscience, and to the God.

And he made his choice.

Sharply twitching the switch and pointing the barrel towards the giant man, he shouted in a wild voice “Get it, bitches! ”, and pulled the trigger. But the dry click of the trigger witnessed a misfire. Instantly reacting to this misfire, the ensign recharged the machinegun, and pressed the trigger again. There were no shot as in the previous time…

Please with such good entertainment, Latif was watching how the ensign in full desperation and anger threw the submachine gun at the crowd that hit somebody in a chest.

Several mujahideens jumped out of the crowd and began to maul him with the butts of their rifles and feet. They beat him up until scarlet blood rushed from his throat. Only after that, Latif with only one gesture stoped the massacre and said in Russian:

— For dog is dog’s death.

“The goliath” understood it like an instruction to actions. He approached the ensign and raised the sharp blade of his dagger to the prisoner’s throat, and with one sharp movement cut it from ear to ear. The body of the ensign became hammered in convulsions, and foaming blood, gurgling, rushed from this terrifying sword-cut to the ground.

Having done his dirty deed, “the goliath” turned toward the second prisoner, and still holding the bloody dagger in his hand, took a one step into his direction but

— “Bass!” Bass halas!” — Latif yelled.

“The goliath” froze, obviously not understanding why this master does not allow him to finish off the second prisoner.

After slowly approaching the shaking-to-core soldier, who already had said good-bye to his life, Latif with one finger lifted his chin and looked in the eye of captive. What he saw in the depth of the prisoner’s eyes is greatly satisfied him: it was a rudimental animal fear that occupied the soul of this young man. The enlarged pupils of the prisoner’ eyes eloquently evidenced about it. Latif stepped away from the prisoner and theatrically raise his hands to the sky, uttered a sacramental phrase: