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Stories about the war in Chechnya from soldiers. The truth of war - the story of a participant in the Chechen campaign. Chechen War. There will be no peace

“Don’t shoot, fool, they are waiting for me at home”

In 1995, having served in the Airborne Forces, I wanted to continue serving in the Winged Guard under a contract. But the order was only in the infantry. And there I insisted on reconnaissance. Our reconnaissance platoon in the battalion was supernumerary. At least that's what the commander said. But the weapons and support were on top. Only in our platoon from the entire battalion were two BMP-2s and BRMs.

On the BMP of my squad, on the left bulwark, I wrote with white paint: "Don't shoot, fool, they are waiting for me at home." We were armed to the maximum: pistols, machine guns, machine guns, night sights. There was even a large passive "night light" on a tripod. This list was supplemented by camouflage suits and "gorniks". In addition to unloading, we had nothing to wish for. The platoon commander Senior Lieutenant K. was an ambiguous person. In the past, a riot police fighter, fired either for drinking, or for a scuffle. Sniper Sanek, my fellow countryman, is also a contract soldier. I am a grenade launcher. The rest of the conscripts.

Upon arrival in Chechnya, our battalion was given the task of guarding and defending the Severny airport. Part of the battalion was placed around the perimeter of the airport. The other part, including the headquarters and we, the scouts, was located not far from the "take-off". Our "coolness" and self-confidence were felt in everything. All the tents in the camp were dug up to their very tops, and only three of ours stuck out like “three poplars on Plyushchikha”.

First of all, we surrounded them with boxes from under the NURSs, which were going to be filled with earth. But on cool nights, our boxes burned in the fireboxes of the bourgeoisie. Moreover, we made bunks in tents. Thank God that there were no people willing to fire mortars at us. After some time, the first losses appeared in the battalion. One of the BMPs ran into an anti-tank mine. The driver was torn apart, the gunner was shell-shocked. The troops from the armor were scattered in different directions. After that, the participants in the undermining could be easily recognized by the form, sprinkled with machine oil.

The battalion was subjected to rare shelling, although the activity of the "spirits" around the North was observed. Apparently, this factor and our desire to work according to the profile prompted the command to organize surveillance in places of the greatest activity of militants. BMPV during the daytime, we began to go around the checkpoints of our battalion in one or all three vehicles at once. They learned the details of the shelling, the places of work of the "night lights", etc.

During these trips, we tried to cover as much territory as possible. Firstly, curiosity prevailed, and secondly, by doing this we wanted to hide our increased interest in the airport area. One of these trips almost ended in tragedy. We moved out with the whole composition, in three cars. On the first "deuce" the commander was located on the tower, plus a few more scouts sat on the armor. We did not have time to drive off even a few hundred meters from the “take-off”, when suddenly something crashed from behind. Ringing in the ears, confusion in the head. What the hell happened?

It turns out that we were hit from a cannon ... by the "two" following us. The commander screams heart-rendingly: “Stop the car!” Without removing the headset and without disconnecting the headset, he makes an original somersault in the air and falls to the ground. The bullet flies onto the second BMP and begins to bonfire the gunner. We are very lucky. The car following us was at a distance of only 8-10 meters, went exactly along the track, and only the fact that its gun was raised just above our tower saved us from death. A thirty-millimeter shell passed above us, and perhaps even between the commander and the gunner. They rode in a marching way, sitting on a tower. The most interesting thing is that the same operator at the parking lot again accidentally fired. This time from PKT.

On that day, the commander gave us the command to prepare for the night departure. They were supposed to advance in a small group in one car. We chose BRM. Not only because of the special equipment, but also because of the desire to hide the substitution at the guard post of our battalion: in the afternoon, from this post, the BMP-1 left for the battalion's location.

It was an ordinary trip: they went to the battalion for food, water and mail. As soon as it started getting dark, we got into the car. All the soldiers, except for me and the commander, hid in the troop compartment, and we moved through the gap in the airport fence towards the post. We approach the runway and move along it to bypass it. We were told that after the capture of the airport, not only armored personnel carriers, but also tracked vehicles drove along the “take-off”. We were strictly forbidden to leave the strip. If shooting and missile launches were overlooked, then this ban was strictly enforced.

So, we are driving along the runway, and the IL-76 starts to accelerate towards us. It is clearly visible, it is all in the lights. Suddenly, the commander gives the command to turn right and cross the "take-off". The mechanic, without hesitation, turns the car and, it seems to me, does not cross the concrete fast enough. The plane roars past. I can imagine what words the pilots were saying to us at that moment. But, apparently, the fate of this Il was like that. When the plane took off from the ground and gained several hundred meters, a long tracer burst went in its direction. As it seemed to us all, from the KPVT or the NSVT. At least the distant sound of a heavy machine gun could be heard.

We never found out who fired, but there seemed to be a unit of the Internal Troops in that area. There was only one version of the shooting - someone got drunk.

Jude

We drive up to the guard post - a brick booth with a rectangular roof. From the front, behind a camouflage net, a position of sandbags was hidden. The infantry rejoiced at our arrival. They have a day off today. We drive the BRM into the prepared caponier in the hope that from the side they will not notice the substitution of the BMP. On the roof of the booth we set up a post with a large "night light".

After the exchange of information, we begin to disperse in places. The commander with two scouts remained at his post. He identified me and my partner at the OP, which was in a crater at a distance of 150-200 meters from the post. A little further, three of our boys staged another NP. We lie for an hour, another. Silence. My partner does not look up from the optics, he is interested. This is his first night out. He is a nurse and is almost constantly at the location of the battalion. We whisper words. I learn that he has three years of medical school.

Soon, of course, we begin to talk about the "citizen", women, delicious food. This goes on for a few more hours. By two o'clock in the morning, the starry sky is covered with clouds. A strong wind blew from the front, lifting crumbs of dry arable land into the air. They nasty hit in the face, get into the eyes. I'm starting to regret that I didn't ask for it in the BRM crew. With these thoughts I put on the hood of the mountaineer and turn away. Airport in darkness. Only a lone light bulb sways in the wind somewhere in the airport building. There is nothing for the eyes to catch on. I look at the light bulb. And then it hit me like an electric shock. The dream vanished. Morse!!!

What I at first took to be a swinging light bulb, disappearing in sequence, was message passing. What? From whom? To whom? After all, besides us, there are no more of us here. I wake up the nurse and, without letting myself recover, I ask: “Do you know Morse code?” “No,” he replies, “but what?” I show him the work of a snitch. What to do? There is no communication with the commander, climbing out and revealing one's presence is prohibited. Fire? The airport is about five hundred meters away. But after all, this is not the Moscow of 1941 at night, where they opened fire on luminous windows without warning. And there are their own, though not all. Large drops of rain nail the dust, and the enemy keeps “knocking”. What to do? Start at 500 meters and at least scare him off? Or start shooting at the nearest ditch and at your BRM in order to provoke firing from a cannon and thereby again frighten or destroy the "receiving". If he, of course, is nearby. And if he is far away and with optics?

In general, for those 15-20 minutes that the enemy worked, I did nothing. I just didn't have the opportunity. I didn't even have a pencil and a piece of paper with which to write down the signals, although they must have been encrypted. But the main reason for my inaction was still different, namely, the nip in the bud of any initiative in our army. As soon as it began to dawn, we, wet and dirty, moved to the post. From there, I determined that the signal was coming from about the fourth floor of the control tower. I reported to the platoon commander about the night event. My information was supplemented by an operator who was in the BRM. He observed the work of "night lights" and heard the movement of people.

The commander decided to immediately report the incident to the brigade headquarters. We were received by the brigade commander himself. After listening to the report, he, to my surprise, said that this was not the first time that information had been transmitted from the airport. And that counterintelligence is aware. I feel better. At the end of the meeting, the brigade commander secretly shared information that President Zavgaev lived in the airport hotel with numerous guards. Subsequently, we were on duty at this post more than once, but we did not observe any more signals. After this incident, I concluded for myself: satellite phones, modern radio stations are, of course, progress, but it is too early to write off the good old tricks as a reserve. Maybe even carrier pigeons will come in handy someday. After all, everything ingenious is simple.

"Utilization" in Russian

After some time, we were informed that our brigade (or rather, what was left of it) was returning to its place of permanent deployment. And here, in Chechnya, a separate motorized rifle brigade is being formed on a permanent basis. We started getting ready. And they became witnesses of the so-called "utilization". Apparently, there was a command not to take extra ammunition with them. But where to put them? Found the perfect location. Everything “extra” (and these were cartridges from machine guns and heavy machine guns) began to be drowned in our field toilet. Then they razed it to the ground. If desired, this place can now be found and presented as another cache of bandits. Will pull on a medal.

Tragic and comic side by side

The transition to the reconnaissance battalion brigade was simple. We loaded junk and weapons into the cars, drove 300 meters and ended up on the spot. In addition to the commander and demobilizations, everyone moved to the reconnaissance battalion. The battalion, like the whole brigade, was formed from separate units. Most of the battalion were contract soldiers. The initial period of formation I remember tragic, comic and just bad cases. So, in order. One day, a tragic incident occurred at the location of our battalion.

Shots were heard in the airport area day and night. And here we are sitting in a tent, doing what we love: looking for and crushing lice. Suddenly, a double shot sounded somewhere nearby. It didn't matter at first. But the running began, and we jumped out of the tent. They hurried towards the crowd. Then I saw a badly wounded officer. They tried to help him, someone ran after the car. She immediately rushed to the hospital, which was three hundred meters away from us. They began to figure out who was shooting. The culprit was found immediately. It was a young soldier. In the tent near which the tragedy occurred, he decided to clean the machine gun. Without unfastening the loaded magazine, he jerked the bolt and pulled the trigger. The machine was at an angle of 50 degrees (as taught) and no one would have been hurt if the tent had not been dug in. But at that moment an officer was passing by the tent and two bullets hit him in the chest.

After 15 minutes, the car returned with sad news: the officer had died. I was most struck by the fact that the deceased lieutenant colonel of the Ministry of Internal Affairs flew to Chechnya just two hours before the tragedy ...

The comic incident happened on May 9th. And then it became clear that from funny to tragic one step. On this day, a parade in honor of Victory Day was to take place on the "take-off" of the Northern. Our company did not take part either in the parade or in strengthening the security. Most of the platoon, including me, was in the tent. I even dozed off when suddenly there was an explosion. Something nearby exploded, so much so that our well-stretched tent shook very strongly. And there was a hole in the tarpaulin. We were warned that the "spirits" would try to arrange a provocation. Grab a weapon and jump out in what.

Opposite the camp was the park of our equipment. And next to the tent was a BMP-2, from the tower of which our gunner (contractor) named Feeska leaned out. Eyes - five kopecks each. He was not a regular gunner, and he wanted to study the materiel better. Since firing from the Konkurs ATGM is an expensive pleasure, his knowledge was purely theoretical. So he decided to train. The infantry fighting vehicle was about twenty meters stern to the tent, and the rear cover of the ATGM flew towards us. And where the rocket itself flew away, they immediately left to find out.

Fortunately, no one was injured in the explosion. Feeska was put in a zindan for a week. A few days later we learned the comic continuation of this incident. Allegedly, this was the case. The commander of the grouping is going to take the parade. With him in the car sits his wife, who came to Chechnya to visit her husband. He reassures her, saying that the situation is getting better, there is almost no shooting here. And then suddenly there is an explosion and a rocket rushes somewhere from above. Maybe this is a bike, but on the same day all the gun barrels were raised to the maximum, and the ATGMs were removed.

In the army, you constantly have to deal with stupid, bad orders. Doing them is unwise. And you can't do it. You don't have to look far for examples. Morning exercises, as you know, an integral part of the daily routine. But there are always exceptions. Our battalion commander did not think so. In the morning at the same time, the personnel of the battalion with a naked torso and without weapons arranged races outside the protected territory of the brigade. Our arguments about the danger of such a charge (two machine gunners or several MONKs and OZMOKs would be enough for the battalion to cease to exist) did not find understanding with the command for a long time. There are hundreds of facts like this. But how much effort must sometimes be applied to overcome stupidity!

In the land of fearless "spirits"

The team for the collection came, as always, unexpectedly. Composition: two incomplete companies and French journalist Eric Beauvais. That's how his chief of staff introduced him. Outwardly, a typical Frenchman, in Russian - zero, in English he speaks well. The column moved to the mountains. On the way, five people, Terek Cossacks, were added to us. And they were seconded to us officially.

Three were armed with AKMs, one was armed with PKKs, and the fifth was completely unarmed. Of course, we generously supplied all of them with cartridges and grenades, we gave two RPG-26s to the unarmed. Having got to know them better, they learned that they were from the same village, and the unarmed Cossack was guilty of something and had to atone for his guilt in battle. By the way, he had to get weapons in battle. Having reached the foothills, the column stopped at a former pioneer camp. And in the morning we went up on the "goat" paths on the technique. Without armor in this land of fearless "spirits", it was extremely dangerous to fight with them.

In the mountains of Chechnya

Our father commanders chose the "sea of fire" tactic. The head "two" from the cannon punched the way. That's where the chips flew! The rest of the vehicles held the trunks in a herringbone pattern, periodically shooting through the flanks from the PKT. As soon as the shells at the lead vehicle ran out, the next one took its place. Soon we reached the desired area and immediately took up all-round defense. There is nothing to the positions of the "spirits", and, after consulting, the chief of staff gives the command to advance: until the enemy comes to his senses and begins to get dark, you need to hurry.

On foot we approach the hill. We decide to conduct reconnaissance in battle. Hiding behind the trees, we rush to the top. Silence. The embrasures are already visible, but there is still no heavy machine-gun fire. Maybe they're letting us get closer? From the right flank, several boys rush to the top with a jerk. And immediately they begin to shout that everything is clean here. The defensive position of the militants was empty. Two fires were still burning...

After examining the position, I was amazed at how well it was equipped. I immediately felt the work or guidance of professionals. With difficulty we drive the cars to the top and take comfortable positions. They gave a command to each scout to hand over one F-1 to mine the approaches to our now stronghold.

There was a small pile of pomegranates, but there was a problem with wire trips. There were only a few of them. The way out was found in the army simply. We decided to fire an ATGM. Already taught by experience, I move away. But then the law of meanness worked - there was a misfire. The gunner quickly removed the non-firing ATGM and pushed it down the slope. It’s good that they didn’t shoot at the Abrams or Bradley in a real battle.

Second try. The rocket flew into the forest. There was enough "golden" wire for everyone. It starts to get dark. The fact that the "spirits" left their positions without a fight, for us great luck. On the approaches to them, we could lose a third of our detachment. This was confirmed the next day when we surrendered this position to the infantry. Several of their people were blown up by anti-personnel mines planted behind trees.

The most interesting thing is that we climbed all the slopes the day before, but did not receive a single explosion. The night passed quietly. Eric and the Cossacks celebrated "the taking of the Bastille" until dawn. And in the morning he was already skillfully cursing. At first, Eric was somewhat squeamish and did not want to eat with a licked spoon from a common bowler. But hunger is not an aunt, and he "fell in love" with simple soldier's food. If the Frenchman was not lying, then he was familiar with Claudia Schiffer. How can you not envy the man?! In general, our attitude towards this foreign photojournalist was much better than towards many representatives of the domestic media. Maybe because we didn't read French newspapers? A few days later, Eric left for Grozny in a "grocery" BMP. And we got a new job.

Judas-2

Our convoy arrived in a given area. They decided to leave the equipment with the crew. The order was as follows: at night, covertly go out to the militant base, collect intelligence information and, if possible, destroy the bases of the bandits. We were given three soldiers from another regiment as guides. After a quick supper and loaded with weapons and ammunition, we moved into the forest. All night we went to the mountains. They often stopped and listened. There was a real danger of running into an ambush. By dawn we reached the desired height.

It was a hill with a peak of 40 × 30 meters. On the one hand there was a small cliff and trees, on the other - a gentle slope and rare bushes. A barely noticeable road passed through the top. Where she went, we did not know. Our detachment, together with the Cossacks, consisted of about forty people. Of the officers there were a deputy battalion commander, a chief of staff, two or three platoon commanders. Half of the scouts are contractors. Of the weapons - one AGS, three PKMs, almost every RPG-26, and the officers also have a Stechkin with a silencer. And, of course, machines. During the night of the journey, everyone was tired, I wanted to sleep.

A third of them sat down in combat guards, the rest began to rest. Not more than an hour passed, as the work of the car was heard, judging by the noise, a truck. The chief of staff gathered a small group for reconnaissance, which moved towards the noise. The group included only those who had machine guns with PBS and a machine gunner. Then, for the first time in my service, I regretted that my standard weapon was the AKS-74. A little time passes, when suddenly a long queue from the PC pierces the morning silence. And again there is silence. Everyone who was sleeping woke up. We communicate with the group by radio. They report: "Everything is fine, we are going with a trophy." They come leading two Chechens, one of whom is lame. Everyone who was part of the group is excited, the mood is on the rise.

Their story was brief: they moved out, everything was ready, the weapons were loaded. The further we went, the louder the noise of the car was. Soon they saw her. It was a GAZ-66 with a booth. Oddly enough, but the all-terrain vehicle skidded in place. We came closer, since the forest hid the group. There were two people in the cab. But who are they? Judging by the clothes, civilians. Suddenly, the barrel of a machine gun flashed in the passenger's hands. We decided to take over. At this moment, the car began to gradually get out and could break away at any moment. Shot from multiple barrels. The driver received a dozen bullets at once. They wanted to take the passenger alive, taking advantage of the fact of surprise.

But the machine gunner decided to do his bit, and this was the first mistake. He hit from PKM. The silence was broken. Scouts who jumped up pulled out a dumbfounded and wounded bandit in the leg, and AKM fell out with him. The driver hung on the steering wheel. His machine gun lay on top of the engine. Having thrown open the door of the booth, they found another bandit, whose weapon was next to him. None of the militants had time to use machine guns, although all three had cartridges in their chambers.

The camp began to study the captured trophies. The catch was good. Three brand new AKMs, a duffel bag full of ammo packs, a Kenwood radio. But that was not the main finding.

We were struck by a 10 × 15 cardboard box, or rather what was written on it. There were information concerning our detachment. Frequencies and time of the broadcast of our radio. Call signs of our column, detachment and detachment leadership with surnames, first names, patronymics, ranks and positions, the number of personnel and equipment.

Two weeks ago, our column left Severny, and the enemy already knew everything about us. It was a betrayal at the command level. Bandaging the wounded bandit and separating the captured, they began their interrogation. And immediately the answer: “You don’t understand mine.” I had to deal with it physically. Both immediately spoke in Russian. But they screwed up. They began to hang “noodles” on us, they say, they are peaceful shepherds, at six in the morning they went to the police to hand over their weapons. And that's it! For their "forgetfulness" you could give them five.

A few hours later we sent them down, which we later regretted. We should just pack up and leave. After all, the enemy knew everything about us, and we knew nothing about him. But we didn't leave. And that was our second mistake. I decided to sleep anyway. But as soon as he fell asleep, automatic bursts rang out, and close at that. It turns out that two "spirits", chatting with each other, walked along the road in our direction. The guards noticed them at the very last moment, when they approached 30 meters. The young conscript, instead of two aimed shots from a prone position, stood up to his full height and began to “water” the militants from the hip like a fan.

On that day, not only we made mistakes, but also the “spirits”. Judging by the traces of blood, one of the bandits was wounded, but, having rushed into the forest, both of them disappeared. This episode was our next mistake.

After a little sleep and after drinking the rest of the water, they wanted to eat. But there were problems with this. True, in the late afternoon, God himself sent us food, which we successfully missed. And again because of our slovenliness and self-confidence. We didn’t have any distant “secrets”, and the guards didn’t notice how “Chapai” drove up the hill from the other side with a machine gun behind his back. He, apparently, was greatly surprised to see Russian soldiers around him. However, this "visit" of the Chechen was also unexpected for us. The Cossack was the first to react with the PKK. The bullets went after the rider, after 100 meters he fell off the horse, but still gave a tear. We tried to catch up with him, but only found a bag and traces of blood at the crash site. Whose blood it was, I do not know. But we were more sorry that we hadn't killed the horse.

In the bag they found four gray camel blankets, 6 bread cakes, feta cheese and greens. Each got a blockade ration. FighterThe moment of truth struck at 20.00. It just burst. The attack was unexpected. From all sides - a flurry of fire. At the time of the attack, I was under the trees. This is what caused my injury. An RPG grenade hit the trees above us. A friend received a shrapnel wound in the arm, I - in the lower back. The fire was so strong that it was impossible to raise your head. The screams and groans of the wounded were heard everywhere.

Imperceptibly darkened, but the density of the fire did not decrease. The AGS made one burst and fell silent (as it turned out later because of nonsense), grenades flew from our side. There were about five RPG-26s lying next to me, but it was not possible to stand up for a shot. And the "piglet" was so small that the jet stream could hook its own from the rear. So all the grenade launchers lay the whole battle. From all sides was heard: "Allah Akbar, Russians, surrender." From our - selective mat. A few meters from me, judging by the voice, lay the deputy battalion commander. He tried to control the fight, but his commands were drowned out by the roar of gunfire and explosions. And then Pavlov's reflexes woke up in me. Still, six months of training for the Airborne Forces did not go unnoticed. I started duplicating the captain's commands, I had more dicebels from fear. And although there was nothing special in the orders, the feeling of control and control in this battle was more important than the AGS.

From the beginning of the attack, we got in touch with our column and asked for help. In response, the battalion commander replied that this was a provocation and that the enemy was trying to lure the main forces into an ambush. "Spirits" came quite close. Hand grenades began to explode in the center of our defense. Well, I think, a little more pressure on us and that's it, khan. If only there was no panic. And before my eyes, like shots in a movie, my whole life passed. And not as bad as I used to think. The good news arrived when it was no longer expected. Help was coming to us. With this news, I switched my AKS-74 to automatic mode.

We heard the sound of an engine, and in absolute darkness an infantry fighting vehicle came up to us. Ahead of her was a zampotylu. Several grenades immediately fly over the car. But the BMP is silent, the gun does not shoot. Maybe due to the fact that the trunk does not fall lower? The commanders shout: "Beat the distant approaches." It wasn't there. It turned out that one of several cars reached us, and that one was faulty. Finally got a PCT. Under his cover, the seriously wounded began to be loaded. There were many of them, several people put on top of the car. Having fired two thousand rounds of ammunition and unloaded the ammunition, the car went back. She had little chance of returning. But the wounded were lucky. With the dawn, the battle began to subside. The rain froze. I decided not to get wet and crawled under the trees. He covered himself with a found blanket and fell asleep instantly.

That's human nature: a few hours ago he was going to die, but as soon as he receded, he immediately went to sleep. The commander arrived in the morning. He looked guilty. There was a tough conversation between the officers. The guys from our column told us why they came to the rescue so late. It turns out that the battalion commander forbade sending help under various pretexts. When the zampotylu sent him away and began to gather a detachment, the battalion commander stopped objecting. I don't remember the names of the dead, but I can't forget the name of the coward, battalion commander Major Omelchenko.

In that battle we lost four men killed and twenty-five wounded. But the enemy also got it, there was a lot of blood and bandages on the slopes. They took all of their dead, except for one. He was lying eight meters from our position, and they could not take him away with them. In the afternoon, we, slightly wounded, taking the dead, moved to the base. In the Severny hospital, I had an operation under local anesthesia. And the next day we again went to the place of previous events. By that time, our column had become a camp in a mountain village. Arriving there, we learned the history of the capture of this aul.

Our approached the village and sent the Cossacks to reconnaissance. They looked like partisans. And it played into their hands. Right at the village, two young guys unexpectedly came out to meet them and, mistaking them for their own, asked: “What detachment are you from?” Without giving them time to come to their senses, the Cossacks disarmed and rounded up their imaginary "colleagues". After the losses we suffered, we were embittered. So the interrogation was tough.

One of the bandits was local. Despite his 19 years, he behaved with dignity. The second, to our surprise, turned out to be a Russian mercenary. Bitch, in a word. He was from Omsk. We found his fellow countryman - a contractor. He took the address from the bitch and promised someday to go to his family and tell everything. For him, the sentence was one - death. Upon learning this, the mercenary began to crawl on his knees and beg for mercy. This traitor could not even meet death with dignity.

The verdict was carried out by his countryman...

War in Chechnya Stories of participants in the Chechen war

Interview with Alexander Gradulenko, participant in the storming of Grozny 1995

He didn't come back yesterday

Alexander Gradulenko is 30 years old. Flowering male age. Retired captain, awarded with medals "For Courage" and "For Distinction in Military Service" II degree. Deputy Chairman of the public organization "Contingent". Veteran of the first and second Chechen wars. Wars of modern peaceful Russia.

In 1995, contract sergeant Alexander Gradulenko as part of the 165th regiment marines The Pacific Fleet took part in the assault on Grozny.

Sasha, what makes a person who saw the death of his friends with his own eyes still go on the attack the next day?

Honor, duty and courage. Is not beautiful words, in combat conditions, the husk flies off them, you understand their meaning. These bricks make up a real warrior. And they are the ones who go into battle. One more thing. Revenge. I want to avenge the guys. And end the war as soon as possible.

Questions come to mind later, already at home, when the euphoria "I'm alive" passes. Especially when you meet the parents of those guys ... Why did they become a "load of 200", and I didn't? These questions are difficult, almost impossible, to answer.

Did you personally, Sasha, understand where you were flying?

Did you imagine what war is? It's vague, very vague. What did we know then? What is bad in Chechnya - after all, the first assault bogged down, how many guys died. And they understood that if the Marines were collected from all fleets, and the Marine Corps had not been used in hostilities for a long time, then things were bad.

From our native Pacific Fleet, the 165th Marine Regiment was being prepared for dispatch. Where can you find 2,500 trained people if there is an understaffing in the Armed Forces? The command of the Pacific Fleet makes a decision on staffing the regiment with personnel serving on ships and submarines. And the guys kept the machine gun only on the oath. The boys are not shot ... Yes, and we, too, in fact.

We were assembled, I remember, they gave us 10 days to prepare. What can be prepared during this time? Funny. And now we are standing at the airfield, winter, night, the planes are ready to be sent. A high military rank comes out, talking about patriotism and about "go ahead, guys!" Our battalion commander, Major Zhovtoripenko, comes out and reports: " Personnel not ready for combat!” Officers and company commanders followed: “The personnel is not ready, we will not be able to lead people to the slaughter.” The high rank in the person changes, the officers are immediately taken under arrest, we are sent back to the barracks, and in the morning we fly to Chechnya. with other leaders...

By the way, those who then told the truth at the airfield slowly “left” the army. My friends and I respect these people very much. They essentially saved our lives, defended at the cost of their careers. Otherwise, the Baltics would have perished, like the guys from the Northern Fleet, after all, they were withdrawn from Chechnya already in February - there were so many wounded and killed.

Bricks of victory over fear

Remember your first fight? What does the person feel about this?

It's impossible to explain. Animal instincts kick in. Anyone who says it's not scary is lying. Fear is such that you freeze. But if you defeat him, you will survive. By the way. Here's a detail for you: exactly 10 years have passed since the first Chechen war, and we, gathering with friends, recall the battles - and it turns out that everyone saw different things! They ran in the same chain, and everyone saw his own ...

The second Chechen Alexander Gradulenko was already an officer, a platoon commander. After a severe concussion, after a long treatment in the hospital, he graduated from the Faculty of Coastal Troops of the Makarov TOVMI and returned to his native regiment. And even a platoon in command received the same one in which he fought as a sergeant.

The second time we were sent to war under the heading "secret". There was talk of a peacekeeping operation, we were already mentally trying on blue helmets. But when the train stopped in Kaspiysk, our peacekeeping ended here. They guarded the Uytash airport, participated in military clashes.

Who is more difficult to fight - a soldier or an officer?

Officer. More responsibility, this time. The officer is constantly in sight, and even more so in battle. And whatever the relationship between the officer and the soldiers in the platoon, when the battle begins, they look only at the commander, they see in him both protection, and the Lord God, and anyone. And you can't hide from those eyes. The second difficulty is that it is difficult to manage people with weapons, you have to be a psychologist. The rules in battle become much simpler: I didn’t find common language with soldiers, you are engaged in scuffle - well, beware of a bullet in the back. That's when you understand the meaning of the words "the authority of the commander."

Alexander takes out the "Book of Memory", issued by "B", and points to one of the first photographs, from which carefree boys in uniform are smiling.

- This is Volodya Zaguzov ... He died in battle. During the first battle, my friends died ... But these are my friends, those who survived, we are now working together, we are still friends.

You and your friends, it can be said, with honor passed not only the test of war, but also a much more difficult test - the test of the world. Tell me, why is it so difficult for warriors from "hot spots" to fit into peaceful life?

War breaks a person both spiritually and physically. Each of us has crossed the line, violated the commandment, the very one - do not kill. Go back after this, stand on your square, like a chess piece? It's impossible.

Can you imagine what awaits, for example, a scout who went to the rear of the enemy when he arrives home. Community appreciation? How. The indifference of officials awaits him.

After demobilization, after the war, my parents helped me. Friends - those same, fighting. I think this friendship saved us all.

Proud memory

You are from a military family. Why broke with tradition and resigned so early?

Disappointment came gradually. I saw a lot in military life, without boasting I will say that another general would have had enough. And every year it was more and more difficult to serve the Motherland, seeing the attitude towards the army, towards veterans.

Do you know how many questions I had that I had no one to ask? .. They are with me now. Why are military schools being reduced and civilians who have graduated from high school being called up for two years as officers? Is there a person who knows for sure that he is here for only two years, what will happen next? Let him not grow grass! Our lower officer ranks have been exterminated - why? I didn't find any answers. That's how slowly the decision came to leave the army. Get down to business. After all, you can bring benefits to the homeland in civilian life, right?

We - me and my friends in the Contingent organization - still live in the interests of the army, we care. When they show Iraq or the same Chechnya, the soul hurts. That is why we began to work actively in the Contingent. We found contact with the administration of the region and the city, participated in the development of a program for the protection, rehabilitation of veterans of "hot spots", a program to help the parents of dead children. We do not ask for money, we just want understanding.

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Alexander Gradulenko is 30 years old. Blooming male age. Retired captain, awarded with medals "For Courage" and "For Distinction in Military Service" II degree. Deputy Chairman of the public organization "Contingent". Veteran of the first and second Chechen wars. Wars of modern peaceful Russia.

In 1995, contract sergeant Alexander Gradulenko participated in the storming of Grozny as part of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet.

Sasha, what makes a person who saw the death of his friends with his own eyes still go on the attack the next day?

Honor, duty and courage. These are not beautiful words, in combat conditions the husk flies off them, you understand their meaning. These bricks make up a real warrior. And they are the ones who go into battle. One more thing. Revenge. I want to avenge the guys. And end the war as soon as possible.

Questions come to mind later, already at home, when the euphoria “I am alive” passes. Especially when you meet the parents of those guys… Why did they become “cargo 200” and I didn’t? These questions are difficult, almost impossible, to answer.

Did you personally, Sasha, understand where you were flying?

We were assembled, I remember, they gave us 10 days to prepare. What can be prepared during this time? Funny. And now we are standing at the airfield, winter, night, the planes are ready to be sent. It turns out a high military rank, it pushes about patriotism and about "forward, guys!". Our battalion commander, Major Zhovtoripenko, comes out and reports: “The personnel are not ready for combat operations!” Following are officers, company commanders: “The personnel are not ready, we will not be able to lead people to the slaughterhouse.” The high rank in the face changes, the officers are immediately taken under arrest, we are sent back to the barracks, and in the morning we fly to Chechnya. But with other commanders...

By the way, those who then told the truth at the airfield slowly “left” the army. I, my friends respect these people very much. They essentially saved our lives, defended at the cost of their careers. Our battalion, as allegedly refuseniks, was not thrown into battle from the wheels. Otherwise, the Baltics would have perished like the guys from the Northern Fleet. After all, they were already withdrawn from Chechnya in February - there were so many wounded and killed.

Bricks of victory over fear

Remember your first fight? What does the person feel about this?

The second time we were sent to war under the heading "secret". There was talk of a peacekeeping operation, we were already mentally trying on blue helmets. But when the train stopped in Kaspiysk, then our peacekeeping ended. They guarded the Uytash airport, participated in military clashes.

Who is more difficult to fight - a soldier or an officer?

Officer. More responsibility, this time. The officer is constantly in sight, and even more so in battle. And whatever the relationship between the officer and the soldiers in the platoon, when the battle begins, they look only at the commander, they see in him both protection, and the Lord God, and anyone. And you can't hide from those eyes. The second difficulty is that it is difficult to manage people with weapons, you have to be a psychologist. The rules in battle become much simpler: I did not find a common language with the soldiers, you are engaged in massacre - well, beware of a bullet in the back. That's when you understand the meaning of the words "the authority of the commander."

Alexander takes out the "Book of Memory", issued by "B", and points to one of the first photographs, from which carefree boys in uniform are smiling.

- This is Volodya Zaguzov ... He died in battle. During the first battle, my friends died ... But these are my friends, those who survived, we are now working together, we are still friends.

You and your friends, it can be said, with honor passed not only the test of war, but also a much more difficult test - the test of the world. Tell me, why is it so difficult for soldiers from “hot spots” to fit into civilian life?

Can you imagine what awaits, for example, a scout who went to the rear of the enemy when he arrives home. Community appreciation? How. The indifference of officials awaits him.

After demobilization, after the war, my parents helped me. Friends - those same, fighting. I think this friendship saved us all.

Proud memory

You are from a military family. Why broke with tradition and resigned so early?

We - me and my friends in the organization "Contingent" - still live in the interests of the army, we care. When they show Iraq or the same Chechnya, the soul hurts. That is why we began to work actively in the "Contingent". We found contact with the administration of the region and the city, participated in the development of a program for the protection and rehabilitation of veterans of "hot spots", a program to help the parents of dead children. We are not asking for money, we just want understanding.

The second Chechen war began.

“In early May, we were transferred to the mountains northwest of Gudermes, to the southern tip of the Baragun Range. From here we keep our sights on the railway bridge over the Sunzha, which is guarded by riot police. Before the riot police are cut out, they have time to cause fire on themselves. Every night they have a “war”. From evening to morning, riot police fire around without a break from all types of weapons. A few days later they are replaced by our 7th company. Night "wars" immediately stop: the infantry creeps along the "secrets" and calmly shoots the spirits.

In our “above” there is absolutely silence, no war. Despite this, observers are posted around the clock, streamers are put up. General prophylaxis. Further north along the ridge was the 1st Battalion. The tankers, as usual, were scattered around all the checkpoints.

Around - not a soul. Beauty and nature. The weather is wonderful: sometimes it's hot, sometimes it's raining, and sometimes it will snow at night. In the morning everything melts, and in the afternoon - again Africa. And far to the south are visible high mountains where the snow never melts. Someday we will get to them ... Thyme grows around, and we constantly brew it with tea. Nearby - Sunzha. If you throw a grenade at it, then the fish will get a full duffel bag"

A Chechen prays in Grozny. Photo by Mikhail Evstafiev. (wikipedia.org)

“I saw a blown up car, it was lying on its torn off tower, in the bottom there was a hole about 3 square meters. m almost from side to side. The fighters lay around, they were assisted. The guys were badly broken, one had his eyes gouged out (they had already put on a bandage) and a machine gun was tied to his leg as a tire, he was shaking violently, the place around was a mixture of dirt, oil, blood, cartridges and some kind of garbage ... We just got into the trench how the BMP ammunition detonated. The explosion was so strong that one of the doors crashed into the barrels of the company's tank (they were empty), the turret, together with the top sheet of the hull, was crumpled and thrown a few meters, the sides parted slightly. Yes, and the gunner and I got it - we were sick all day. The hatches were ajar (dangling on the torsion bars), stood on the stopper. Then the MT-LB mortars with mines caught fire, they pushed it with BTS from a height, in that place there was a rather steep descent of 200 meters, it rolled to the very bottom, burned out, smoked and went out. Around the middle of the day, the fog began to dissipate, a couple of Mi-24 helicopters flew in, passed over us, and as soon as they were above the positions of the spirits, quite heavy fire was opened on them from small arms and grenade launchers (helicopters were flying at low altitude) "

Memoirs of Hussein Iskhanov (during the war he was Aslan Maskhadov's personal adjutant), journalist Dmitry Pashinsky spoke:

“We didn’t even have enough ammo. Two or three people with bare hands were running near the machine gunner, waiting for him to shoot someone. Fortunately, weapons were soon brought in bulk - if you want to get it in battle, if you want, buy it. AK-74 cost $100-300, the 120th grenade launcher - $700. It was possible to buy at least a tank ($3-5 thousand). The soldiers will spoil it a little, shoot it - like they lost it in battle. They have money in their pockets, we have a tank battalion of three tanks. Over time, the weapon changed to a bottle of vodka or a can of canned food. With this good I could drive through the whole of Chechnya. You drive up to the checkpoint. There are soldiers - grimy, hungry. Winter, and they are in rubber boots.

First Chechen war. (ridus.ru)

Russian troops began to storm Grozny from the outskirts. We tried to hold them back, but they kept coming at us - with infantry, tanks, helicopters, aircraft. They occupied the hills and the city lay at a glance - I don’t want to bomb! Maskhadov ordered to pull all the troops to the center and take up defensive positions at presidential palace where the fiercest battles unfolded "

“After daily skirmishes, the militants began to make attempts to break into the railway building. station, and it became more and more difficult to restrain their onslaught, there were practically no cartridges left, the wounded and killed became more and more each time, strength and hopes for help were running out. We held on with all our might, and hoped that reinforcements with ammunition would soon arrive, but we did not wait for the long-awaited help. At that time, I received numerous shrapnel wounds: thighs, both arms, chest, right hand, and a ruptured eardrum in my right ear. I put on my tank helmet, and immediately my head felt calmer, lighter, the shots of machine guns and machine guns, as well as from grenade launchers that hit the crumbling walls of the station, did not reach my brain so clearly through the helmet. It was scary that you would be like a burden, as long as you are on your feet, you can fight.

Memories of a VeteranEvgenia Gornushkina about shelling by militants:

“It was impossible to calmly even go to the toilet. They started shooting at 23-00 to one in the morning. By this time we had not slept and were sitting in the trenches, equipping stores, and when militants appeared, we opened fire. The installations were dug in, covered with chain-link mesh in two rows so that shots from a grenade launcher did not reach the car. They had to fight back with conventional machine guns or mortars and AGS. Then, so that the enemies could not enter our positions, we began to mine the banks of the river, along which they made their way every time, and installed lighting rockets. Also, we were regularly fired upon by snipers, but we successfully answered them.”

S.Sivkov. "The capture of Bamut. From the memories of the Chechen war of 1994-1996”:

“For me, the battle on Bald Mountain was the most difficult of all that I saw in that war. We did not sleep long and got up at four o'clock in the morning, and by five o'clock all the columns were lined up - both ours and neighboring ones. In the center, the 324th regiment was advancing on Lysaya Gora, and to our right, the 133rd and 166th brigades stormed Angelica (I don’t know what names these mountains have on the geographical map, but everyone called them that). From the left flank, the special forces of the internal troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs were supposed to advance on Lysaya Gora, but in the morning they were not yet there, and we did not know where they were. Helicopters were the first to attack. They flew beautifully: one link quickly replaced another, destroying everything in its path. At the same time, tanks, self-propelled guns, Grad MLRS were connected - in a word, all the firepower was working. Under all this noise, our group drove to the right from Bamut to the checkpoint of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Leaving behind him on the field (about one and a half kilometers wide), we dismounted, lined up and moved forward. BMPs went ahead: they completely shot through a small spruce grove that stood in front of us. Having reached the forest, we regrouped, and then stretched out in one chain. Here we were told that the special forces would cover us from the left flank, and we would go to the right, along the field. The order was simple: "No sound, no squeak, no scream." In the forest, scouts and a sapper were the first to go, and we slowly moved after them and, as usual, looked in all directions (the closing of the column was back, and the middle was right and left). All the stories that the “feds” went to storm Bamut in several echelons, that they sent unfired conscripts ahead, are complete nonsense. We had few people, and everyone walked in the same chain: officers and sergeants, ensigns and soldiers, contractors and conscripts. They smoked together, they died together: when we went out to fight, even appearance it was hard to tell us apart.

It was hard to walk, before the ascent I had to linger for a rest for five minutes, no more. Very soon, intelligence reported that everything seemed to be calm in the middle of the mountain, but there were some fortifications at the top. The battalion commander ordered that they not climb into the fortifications yet, but wait for the rest. We continued to climb the slope, which was literally "plowed" by the fire of our tanks (the fortifications of the Chechens, however, remained intact). The slope, fifteen or twenty meters high, was almost sheer. Sweat poured down in hail, there was a terrible heat, and we had very little water - no one wanted to drag additional cargo uphill. At that moment, someone asked the time, and I remember the answer well: "Half-past ten." Having overcome the slope, we found ourselves on a kind of balcony, and here we simply fell into the grass from fatigue. Almost at the same time, shooting began near our neighbors on the right.

Second Chechen war. (fototelegraf.ru)

A mortar soon joined the Chechen AGS. According to our battle formations, he managed to release four mines. True, one of them buried itself in the ground and did not explode, but the other hit exactly. In front of my eyes, two soldiers were literally blown to pieces, the blast wave threw me several meters and hit my head against a tree. About twenty minutes I came to my senses from shell shock (at this time, the company commander himself directed the artillery fire.). I remember the next one worse. When the batteries ran down, I had to work at another, large radio station, and I was sent as one of the wounded to the comat. Running out onto the slope, we almost fell under the bullets of a sniper. He didn't see us very well and missed. We hid behind some piece of wood, rested and ran again. The wounded were being sent downstairs. Having reached the pit where the battalion commander was sitting, I reported the situation. He also said that they could not get those Chechens who were crossing the river. He ordered me to take the Bumblebee grenade launcher (a hefty pipe weighing 12 kg), and I only had four machine guns (my own, one wounded and two dead). I didn’t really want to drag a grenade launcher after everything that had happened, and I ventured to say: “Comrade Major, when I went to war, my mother asked me not to run into trouble! It will be hard for me to run on an empty slope. The battalion commander answered simply: “Listen, son, if you don’t take him now, then consider that you have already found the first trouble!” I had to take. The return journey was not easy. Just in the sniper's line of sight, I tripped over a root and fell, pretending to be dead. However, the sniper began to shoot at the legs, tore off the heel with a bullet, and then I decided not to tempt fate anymore: I rushed as best I could - this saved me.

There was still no help, only artillery supported us with constant fire. By the evening (about five or six o'clock - I don't remember exactly) we were completely exhausted. At this time, with shouts: "Hurrah, special forces, go ahead!" the long-awaited "specialists" appeared. But they themselves could not do anything, and it was impossible to help them. After a short exchange of fire, the special forces rolled back down, and we were left alone again. The Chechen-Ingush border passed not far, a few kilometers from Bamut. During the day, she was invisible, and no one even thought about it. And when it got dark and electric lights came on in the houses to the west, the border suddenly became tangible. Peaceful life, close and impossible for us, flowed nearby - where people were not afraid to turn on the light in the dark. Dying is still scary: more than once I remembered my mother and all the gods there. It is impossible to retreat, it is impossible to advance - we could only hang on the slope and wait. Cigarettes were fine, but by that time we had no water left. The dead lay not far from me, and I smelled the smell of decaying bodies, mixed with gunpowder. Someone already did not understand anything from thirst, and everyone could hardly resist the desire to run to the river. In the morning, the battalion commander asked to hold out for another two hours and promised that during this time they should bring water, but if they don’t, he will personally lead us to the river.

The truth about the exploits and everyday life of the Chechen war in the stories of its eyewitnesses and participants formed the content of this book, which is also published as a tribute to the memory of our soldiers, officers and generals who gave their lives for their friends and continue their military feat for the sake of our well-being

They say that paratroopers are the most uncompromising warriors. Maybe so. But the rules that they introduced in the mountains of Chechnya during the complete absence of hostilities are clearly worthy of special mention. The paratrooper unit, in which Captain Mikhail Zvantsev commanded a group of scouts, was located on a large clearing in the mountains, a kilometer from the Chechen village of Alchi-Aul, Vedensky district.

These were rotten months of rotten negotiations with the "Czechs". It's just that in Moscow they did not understand very well that it was impossible to negotiate with the bandits. It simply won't work, since each side is obliged to fulfill its obligations, and the Chechens did not bother themselves with such nonsense. They needed to stop the war in order to take a breath, bring up ammunition, recruit reinforcements ...

One way or another, a clear rampant "peacekeeping" of individual high-profile personalities began, who, without hesitation, took money from Chechen field commanders for their work. As a result, the army team was forbidden not only to open fire first, but even to return fire with fire. They even forbade entering the mountain villages so as not to "provoke the local population." Then the militants openly began lodging with their relatives, and the "federals" were told to their faces that they would soon leave Chechnya.

Zvantsev's unit had just been thrown into the mountains by a turntable. The camp, set up before them by the paratroopers of Colonel Anatoly Ivanov, was made hastily, the positions were not yet fortified, there were many places inside the fortress where it was undesirable to move openly - they were well shot through. Here it was necessary to dig 400 meters of good trenches and lay parapets.

Captain Zvantsev obviously did not like the equipment of the positions. But the regiment commander said that the paratroopers were only here for a few days, so the engineers continued to equip the camp.

But there have been no losses so far! - said the commander.

"They're looking at it, don't hurry, Comrade Colonel. It's not time yet," Misha thought to himself.

The first "two hundred" appeared a week later. And almost as always, the reason for this was sniper shots from the forest. Two soldiers who were returning to the tents from the dining room were killed on the spot in the head and neck. In broad daylight.

A raid into the forest and a raid did not give any results. The paratroopers reached the village, but did not enter it. This was contrary to the order from Moscow. Have returned.

Then Colonel Ivanov invited the elder of the village to his place "for tea". They drank tea for a long time in the headquarters tent.

So you say, father, there are no militants in your village?

No, it wasn't.

How so, father, two assistants of Basayev come from your village. Yes, and he himself was a frequent visitor to you. They say he wooed one of your girls...

People are telling lies... - The 90-year-old man in the astrakhan hat was imperturbable. Not a single muscle in his face moved.

Pour some more tea, son, - he turned to the orderly. Black as coal eyes glared at the card on the table, prudently turned upside down by the secretary.

There are no militants in our village,” the old man said again. - Come visit us, Colonel. The old man smiled slightly. So imperceptibly.

But the colonel understood this mockery. You won’t go to visit alone, they will cut off your head and throw it on the road. But with soldiers "on armor" it is impossible, contrary to orders.

"Here, they besieged us from all sides. They beat us, but we can't even conduct a raid in the village, can we? In a word, the spring of 1996." The Colonel thought bitterly.

We will definitely come, venerable Aslanbek...

Immediately after the Chechen left, Zvantsev came to see the colonel.

Comrade Colonel, let me educate the "Czechs" in the airborne way?

And how is it, Zvantsev?

See, everything is within the law. We have a very persuasive upbringing. Not a single peacekeeper will find fault.

Come on, just so that my head doesn’t fly off at the army headquarters later.

Eight people from Zvantsev's unit quietly went out at night towards the ill-fated village. Not a single shot was fired until the morning, when the dusty and tired guys returned to the tent. The tankers were even surprised. Scouts walk around the camp with cheerful eyes and mysterious grins in their beards.

Already in the middle of the next day, the elder came to the gates of the camp of Russian military personnel. The sentries made him wait for about an hour - for education - and then led him to the headquarters tent to the colonel.

Colonel Ivanov offered tea to the old man. He refused with a gesture.

Your people are to blame, - the elder began, forgetting Russian speech from excitement. - They mined the roads from the village. I will complain to Moscow!

The colonel called the chief of intelligence.

Here the elder claims that it was we who set up the stretch marks around the village ... - and handed Zvantsev a wire guard from the stretch.

Zvantsev twisted the wire in his hands in surprise.

Comrade Colonel, not our wire. We give out steel, and this is a simple copper wire. The militants set, not otherwise ...

What fighters! Do they really need it, - the old man shouted loudly in indignation and immediately broke off, realizing that he froze stupidity.

No, dear elder, we do not set banners against the civilian population. We have come to free you from the militants. It's all the work of bandits.

Colonel Ivanov spoke with a slight smile and complicity on his face. The old man left, somewhat bruised and quiet, but furious and annoyed inside.

Are you putting me under an article? The Colonel made an indignant face.

No, Comrade Colonel. This system is already debugged, has not yet given failures. The wire is really Chechen ...

For a whole week there was no shooting at the camp Chechen snipers. But on the eighth day, a fighter of the kitchen outfit was killed with a shot in the head.

On the same night, Zvantsev's people again left the camp at night. As expected, the elder came to the authorities:

Well, why put stretch marks against civilians? You must understand that our teip is one of the smallest, there is no one to help us.

The old man tried to find understanding in the colonel's eyes. Zvantsev sat stone-faced, stirring sugar in a glass of tea.

We will proceed as follows. In connection with such actions of the bandits, a unit of Captain Zvantsev will go to the village. We'll clear you out. And to help him I give ten armored personnel carriers and infantry fighting vehicles. Just in case. So, father, you will go home on the armor, and not go on foot. We'll give you a ride!

Zvantsev entered the village, his people quickly cleared the "unworked" tripwires. True, they did this only after intelligence had worked in the village. It became clear that from above, from the mountains, a path leads to the houses of the villagers. The inhabitants kept more cattle than they themselves needed. We also found a barn where beef was dried for future use.

A week later, an ambush left on the trail in a short battle destroyed seventeen bandits at once. They descended into the village without even launching reconnaissance ahead. Five villagers were buried in their teip cemetery.

And a week later, another fighter in the camp was killed by a sniper bullet. The colonel, having called Zvantsev, told him shortly: "Go!"

And again the old man came to the colonel.

We have another person died, stretch marks.

Dear friend, we also lost a man. Your sniper took off.

Why our. Where is ours from? - the old man got excited.

Yours, yours, we know. There is not a single source here for twenty kilometers around. So it's up to you. Only, old man, you understand that I cannot demolish your village to the ground with artillery, although I know that almost all of you are Wahhabis there. Your snipers kill my people, and when mine surround them, they drop their machine guns and take out a Russian passport. From now on, they can no longer be killed.

The old man did not look into the eyes of the colonel, he lowered his head and clutched his hat in his hands. There was an agonizing pause. Then, with difficulty pronouncing the words, the aksakal said:

Your truth, Colonel. The militants will leave the village today. There were only strangers left. We're tired of feeding them...

They leave so they leave. There will be no stretch marks, Aslanbek. And they will return - so they will appear, - said Zvantsev.

The old man silently got up, nodded to the colonel, and left the tent. The colonel and the captain sat down to tea.

"It turns out that it is possible to do something even in this seemingly hopeless situation. I can no longer send two hundredth after two hundredth," the colonel thought to himself. "Well done captain! What can you do? In war as in war!"

Alexey Borzenko

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