t in the cars and leave. We don't want your blood, but if you stand in the way, we'll kill you. Understand? You know who we are? - I do, you are "the dogs". I understood. - You don't know anything. We're no dogs we are mahra. We'll tear you up if our commander is in danger. That's all.Now go. And if you or any of your grunts make a peep, you'll all die. You like that? - No I don't. - That's right. We are here to fight chechens, not each other. They want us to storm Minutka head-on. Basically they want us dead. But we don't want to die. That's why Rolin is angry. Go and don't make any trouble. - OK, I've got it. I've heard you guys are real madmen; but to jump at Rolin like that, is beyond everyone's expectations. You guys are total nuts! - Chief of the guards has already recovered from his shock and was walking with us towards the exit. His face expressed both admiration and distrust at the same time. All of us came out steaming hot. Everyone lit up and was inhaling hungrily, digesting the newly received information. Since he was the youngest one of all, our recon unit leader was sent to move the armour closer to the airport. Chief of the guards was told to give the order to allow that. - Are you nuts, men? I'll go down for this! This is crazy! - Do we have to tie you up or what? - Tie me up, kill me, do what you want. I can't give that order. Full stop. - OK, chill out. We won't move the cars beyond your posts. Are you happy with that? - Fine by me. But if you move in, I'll have to open up. - OK, fine. We all knew perfectly well what disobeying an order could lead to. Especially in a war-zone, it could result in anything up to the firing squad without court-martial or even an investigation. The Military Law states clearly: "An order must be carried out undisputedly, entirely and in time. After the order has been carried out it can then be challenged." Who can then challenge that order after our entire brigade will be slaughtered on this fing Square? Whoever lives through, we'll be permanent mental home clients. Yep, this looked like an armed rebellion. What else our open refusal to carry out an order could be called? - Slava, what do think about leaving, ah? Like the battleship"Poteomkin". Yurka asked, inhaling hungrily. - How about Turkey? - With our APC, via the Black Sea bottom. I'd say not such a bad idea. Don't be silly. We haven't done anything illegal as yet. There is a statute in the Military Law that if you consider that a given order violates The Constitution Laws, you have the right not to follow it*. To lead your men out there now means death. Take Chekhoslovakia for instance. Maybe just a bit bigger then Chechnya but back then preparations took six months. Over here, it was thrown together ad hoc. Because over there it was considered overseas, here, on the other hand, inside the boarders, the bustards can put down a million soldiers on both sides, no one would notice. I chucked off my cigarette and pulled out another one. Unaccustomed to the weaker tobacco I just couldn't get enough. - Look, Sashka is coming over with help! Next to the walking, with important look on his face, Sashka, was dragging his feet under a weight of two heavy boxes, our old acquaintance - corporal from the hospital with a patch across his nose and two black eyes. - We told you to watch your manners, sonny! - Yurka and I were smiling. - You brought it on yourself. - Don't be so ill mannered, young men, or you'll die before your discharge. - I added. - If had punched you a little higher, could've crushed your skull. You are a lucky lad, my friend, we could've held on until you make your move with a pistol and cut you open right there without a hint of anaesthetics. Sashka came just in time. For once, his appearance distracted us from our bitter thoughts. I had no desire to become a criminal while I am a patriot in my heart. Nor did I want to lose all my men at the square and then shoot myself. I don't think, as an officer, I could live on with such a heavy weight on my shoulders. What I did want was to get totally shitfaced. Those two boxes contained liqueur that would, at least for a short while, let me avoid making this horrible choice. However, we can't do it here and right now. Or they for sure would accuse us of drinking on the job. All present knew it well. - Did you guys just declare a rebellion? - Sashka was alarmed. - You stirred up some havoc. People are talking about your capture. - No, we just said that you have expressed desire to lead your company ahead of us at machineguns on the square, but he turned stubborn. Just wouldn't let you go full stop. He says that he would never allow his beloved captain to die like this. But you bastards, says he to us, I don't give a shit about. Go, perish, the whole brigade of yours with Colonel and General. I'll throw a medal in every one of your coffins, - I was again filling up with rage. I knew that neither Sashka nor the grunt had anything to do with it. I just needed to take it on somebody. - Or Sasha, you could donate this scumbag to us. We'd write up the request for transfer and he'd sign it at the gunpoint of his own pistol. In fact I think he'd sign anything. Nobody would notice the gunshot. As for the body, we'll stash it somewhere far in the debris. What do you scum think about that? I was waiting for anyone of them to reply, at least with a gesture of some kind. But they were both speechless. My mood was gloomy and ferocious. All my feelings and thoughts were now motionless, bound into a tightened spring, ready to pop open with a gigantic charge of energy. But they were still speechless. - Sasha, did you load up everything we talked about? - I was gradually getting the grip on myself. But the spring was tightening stiffer and stiffer, sharpening all my senses already sharp as it is. - Let's go load it up. We wondered off to our APC. I walked ahead, then corporal and Sashka at the tail of the procession. Thick mud was everywhere and the sun already started to set. I opened the infantry hatch and the grunt began to load Sashka's gifts inside the compartment. Sashka finally came over. I booted the grunt's ass, he disappeared inside the vehicle's belly and I slammed the hatch behind him. Then I grabbed Sashka by his vest, pressed him against APC's wall and drew my pistol. He face turned white and eyes widened. He looked at me then at the gun. - Now tell me who gave the order to encircle us. Hurry up, you know we'll either die now or later anyway.Hurry up, bitch, tell me all. Yurka came up behind me. - The ring is getting tighter. It'd be pretty difficult now to make our way into the building. They've dragged in there about a company of men, no fewer than that.RPG gunners are in there too. The range is damned close. - Yurka was absolutely deadpan and ready for action. He said to Sashka: - Come on, man, tell us who said what and what's the order? - Sedov came out after you left and ordered not to let out of the airport area. The passwords are already changed. The building has also been secured. If you make an attempt to fight your way out or inside the building, we are to open fire without warning. He said you're planning to change sides. I was given the order of distracting you, get you drunk or something. That's all. Let go me. Still, you're madmen. What are you going to do with the grunt? - Sashka was rubbing his neck. - Take him. He must've shitted his pants by now. What's the password? - I don't know. They only told me to get you drunk and get out quick. What do I tell Sedov? - The truth. The grunt will confirm. So, they'll start the onslaught soon since you've been told to promptly get out. OK Sasha, go. Good bye. - Slava, Yura, everything's going to be fine. They'll come to an agreement, you'll see. I'll approach Sedov and Rolin and ask them to leave you alone. Let's come with me and when it's all over I'll let you out. Come on guys. He said "whet it's all over". It could only be over after the firing squad is done shooting. Because I knew now, that I would not return fire. They are like us, how could I shoot back? In their eyes, however, we are traitors. - Thank you Sasha, but no. Just tell them we're not traitors, OK? Even if we die here today, we're still not. Good bye. I opened the hatch and the grunt hopped back. - It's OK. Get out. You've heard everything? - Yes. - When asked, tell the truth, - when they wondered off, I couldn't help myself and yelled out: - Don't be rude to strangers! The grunt cramped like from a punch. - So, Slava, let us go? All the way back we walked in silence. There was emptiness in my mind and talking seemed pointless. Absolutely nothing was up to us anymore. We knew what to do. All that was left was to await the slaughter, like sheep. All our officers herded together and talked about something. The grunts were all atop of APCs. Engines were all started and many guns were wheeled towards the airport building. We came closer to the crowd of officers. It seemed that every one of them was talking at the same time, but no one was listening to anybody: - They're really going to shoot? - What would you do? - We fought together before, how could they? Sons of bitches, freaks, mothers - Sold mother Russia and now trying to screw us! - Hey, who'd go to Moscow now? - My father was right, your worst enemy is in Moscow. He wants you dead first. Then comes your Air Force and only then the Germans! - Yura, Slava, what did you decide? - The discussion halted and everyone was staring at us now. - I, personally, - I emphasised "personally", - will not shoot at my own people. Supplies captain said Sedov ordered not to let us out of the area and inside the building. The password has been changed. There is about a company-sized element inside the building. Now maybe even more. I'd say, we're in deep shit. - So, you say we just stand there and let them shoot us like ducks? Nice attitude, man! - If I wanted to leave, I would've left by now. It's only a hundred meters to the gates. Sedov told them we want to change sides and thus refuse to assault Minutka. Everyone went nuts. It would be impossible to describe the monologues since I could only leave dots and comas. If you, my reader, can replicate the mood like that, you can yourself make up a speech or two. I can only say that politicians from the past as well as the ones presently in charge, ours as well as foreign, were all mentioned, so were their parents and other close and distant relatives. Officers of the security regiment were all standing on the airport's porch, also herded together. So to say: our "likely opponents", who were, not so long ago, our comrades in arms. Our lives now depended on them. If they believe Sedov's lies, we're doomed. Whatever they decide to do, I will not fire back at you guys. I felt sad; if they could only shoot me dead instantly. Or maybe I'll just shoot myself now? No, not yet, not all has been done; that I can do any time - it's never too late to put a bullet in my head. Meanwhile, behind those closed doors our fates were being decided. Much depends on the final decision. The fates of Russia and Chechnya are now in the hands of four men, who are now trying madly to prove each other wrong. Or maybe our CO is already under arrest with the general. It would be pretty foolish to just waist a military commander and a general without a court-martial. We, on the contrary, can easily be all hosed from a pair of machineguns now. Investigations can be done later. Yep, if you want to go home at some stage, you shoot first and ask questions later. I keep along that route myself when meet with the ragheads and now feel quite uncomfortable acting as target. Occupied by these thoughts I didn't even notice that I only had left one cigarette. The taste in my mouth was bitter from tabacco and the stupid situation we were in. I pulled the last smoke from the packet and a thought stung through my mind: is this my last cigarette? I started puffing it slowly, striving to enjoy every bit of smoke I breathed in. Allright, boys, I'm ready for anything now. With every breath came calm and confidence. I'm no sheep, waiting to be throttled; I am a man, having consciously made up his mind. I watched a small group of officers who probably felt just as uneasy. Perhaps, they were trying to make some sort of decision, to fire on us or not to fire at all: to kill or not to kill. 7 --------------------------------------------------------------- © Copyright 2001 translation by Alex Dokin (adokin@today.com.au) --------------------------------------------------------------- Anybody needs help? - Doctor, captain of the medical squad, Zhenya Ivanov, came up to the grunts. A very bright fellow, smart, intelligent, toll and skinny, with his head shaved, bushy moustache and glasses he reminded me of a very popular bard Rosenboum. The grunts flipped away from him. - No, nobody needs nothing! - Pliers tried to get away, but the doc, like any other corpseman, quickly grabbed him and pulled over: - Stand still, patient, and don't make any sudden movements or I'll break you something by mistake. OK, your bones are fine and the rest seems in place. You'll live for now. After your untimely death an autopsy will reveal the reason why such a young and pretty creature passed away. - Let's go, shell we? - Asked Zubastik surrounding him officers. - Yep. I gave the order and pointed my finger at Pliers, Badalov and the diggers: - You go ahead, we'll cover your rear. And make it snappy, will ya. Don't worry if you see lots of mines, we only need one go at it, move in and quickly back out. Is our medical team ready? - Yes chief! - Doc Zhenya answered for all. We set off one by one, glinting around and covering each other's backs, ready to scatter off and take security around perimeter at any moment. From where we left our carriers we could hear nothing besides their running engines. - Zhenya, - I caught up with the doc, - Yurka asked for some tablets against booze. - There is one very radical thing against booze. You know which one? - Not to drink? - Bingo! You knew, didn't you? - No, just a lucky guess. - Amazing. Usually people buy it. You couldn't have guessed, could you? - You see, Zhenya, being just as cynical as you are, I am trying not to take things the hard way. Because if I did I'd go nuts. The rest is all up to the Man. - It's a mystery how you can still maintain your sense of humour. - It's simple, really. Turks have this wonderful expression "kysmet" which means "destiny", that's what I use to stay afloat. If your fate were to live this long and die from a grenade burst at such particular moment, you would, trust me. Regardless of how cool you are and how many bodyguards you have, your guts will be dangling off a tree eventually. Same goes for the rest in life. - You seriously believe in all this? - Yes Zhenya, I do. For example. In your medical practise, have you ever had cases when your patient, according to all signs, must've been already dead by now, but he's still hanging there, against all odds? You can reject all laws, but he's still here, according to the law of fate. Have you? Don't try telling me that his immune system turned out much stronger than you previously thought. You have to agree that there is something mysterious in many medical cases. - I agree, especially there are lots of cases like that here, in extreme circumstances, so to say. - That's right. What about when men drop all around but one soldier is like spellbound, like bullets bounce off the guy. - Yeah, I've seen something like that. Remember platoon from the first battalion got lost and walked straight into an ambush? - I sure remember that one. They were all wasted from close range. - Three of them did survive though. Two wounded and one without a scratch on him. Everyone thought the guy was hiding behind the others' backs and nearly killed him in the rush. But the wounded confirmed that they only lived because of him. He pulled the burning track from under fire and only having made sure that all others were dead picked up the casualties and drove off. Thus, I think you might be right. What about you? Aren't you afraid of death? - Of coarse I am, Zhenya. But maybe, I'm just prepared for this, you know. But more than the death herself I'm scared of becoming crippled. Promise me Zhenya, that if I ever get onto your operating table without a limb or some other crippling wound, you would serve me the chance to leave this world peacefully. I understand you can't do it yourself, but please give me that chance. - OK, slow down. First, I think you are heading straight for a nervous breakdown and all this is just shock talking. I've heard, you know, what happened at the "North". I also know that you guys were first to refuse to return fire. It was your buddy the airport chief, who straightened it all out with our ex-allies and practically forced them come to the same decision. Therefore, take my advice, have a drink, or come to me and I'll give you some tablets. By the way, that's what we are here for. Only do not take too many of them. As for the death, everyone is free to do with his life whatever he wants. There are no "no choice" situations. There is always a choice and a way. Maybe, it's not the choice we would prefer, but it is still a choice. People create problems and people solve them. - You just don't get it, do you? - I wearily waved my hand, - I'm not a schoolgirl, hysterical over her boyfriend, and it's no breakdown. It's much worse for those guys at the frontline. I am just scared of being crippled, that's all. I have a huge respect for people like that Meresjev guy, clutching for every little thing in life, even when disabled, despite all the obstacles and shit they are faced with, but I don't think I've the character. I'd rather use the "toy" and let my guts fly free than live like that. OK, let's just drop it, shell we? Or we might bring the bad luck. - Look Slava, the sappers are signalling, they must've finished over there. Let's go, shell we. We'll continue our little talk some other time, accompanied by a bottle of good cognac and cards. - Fine, let's move. However, you, bastard, still haven't promised me anything. For now just think about it, would you? - OK. I'll think about it if you buzz off. I can consider it, but I don't have to do it. Understood? - Understood. Let's go. - Found anything? - I asked the sappers, coming over. - Not much, comrade Captain. A booby-trapped grenade at the entrance and that's about it, - they reported merrily, happy at the fact that there wasn't much to do for them out there. - OK, go check around the territory. When done, come back and help us load up. As the grunts heard about the loading up business, they were gone before I could finish my speech. Now, try to find an idiot to carry heavy boxes, even for a good reason like this one. I looked around. Republican medical warehouses were made up of several big hangars and two administrative single-storey buildings. I turned to our surgeons: - Well, gentlemen, where do you think we should start from? It's a lot of buildings out there. I suggest we split up in small groups and search the docks. If you find anything of use, we carry it outside and then load onto trucks. Any questions, doubts or proposals I shell accept in written form in no less than three printed copies. Some sneers came back instead and we all walked off. - Zhenya, - I asked Ivanov, - do you even know what you're looking for? - I sure do, - he pulled out a piece of paper with a decent list on it. I took a glance but couldn't work out any of it since it was all written in Latin, - Don't bother, you couldn't read any of it. - What about you, can you understand this? It's not really your writing. - I'll work it out. We have to look for tranquillisers, anti-shock stuff, anti-burns, breath relief, cardio medications, things like that. We came to the gates of the nearest hangar. They were locked up so I nodded to the private: - Go for it! Just watch for the ricochet, allright? Everyone moved behind the soldier and he smashed both locks with a short burst. We walked into the semi-dark dock. Long shelves with packages were stretching for as far as we could see. - Hey doc, watch for the expiry dates. You might have to feed this stuff to us. - It is as darks as in a nigger's ass in there, put some light on it, will ya. - It's good to know you've been places, doc, - I noted sarcastically and everybody cackled. - Zhenya, is it really that gloomy in there? - A voice came from the dark and again everyone gaggled. - As soon as I catch one I'll shove you bastards one by one up his ass and you'll see it for yourselves, - The doctor came back swiftly. - What if we catch a female one? Could we do an extensive checkup on her? - Mulatto girls are much prettier. - They say Korean women are nice too. - Even a girl from Rjasan' would do it for me these days. - Fellows, women of Europe are all horrible. No one is better than our Siberians. Gabbing this way about this and that, we moved along the endless rows of shelves. - Help me up, will ya, - Zhenya climbed up a shelf. Up there he opened up a package and helping himself with a torch, started digging into a bunch of little boxes. - OK, take them down. Watch it, they ampoules. - Found something useful? - Yes, cerebrolisin. - What kind of disease is that? - It's not a disease, you moron, it's a medication, helps against concussion. - Which means it's only any good for the young soldiers. We, officers, don't need that because we have no brains no more. What we have is one big strong bone instead. - I was in the mood for lyrics. After the shakedown at the "North" and preceding it briefing I just wished I could relax a little. - Sometime during my third year in college, - I continued, - we had one funny little incident. Those days we already lived in the student hostel and rules were not as tough as they used to be during the first years. So it was in April, we get up in the morning, going to the toilet but sergeants are kicking us out for the morning jog. It's bloody cold outside though. We rarely did any jogging as it is, but now, God knows why, they started kicking us out in the cold. May be an inspection of some sort arrived or something else happened, I can't remember. Anyway, one of the students, named Popov, decided to bugger it. He said stuff it, I won't go and that's that. Our unit leader was not all too happy with such attitude, so he grabs Popov and starts yelling at the guy. Popov, though, tells the unit leader to go screw himself. As the one who gave an order, the unit commander, as the law states, must see that the order is carried out and otherwise enforce it by any practical means so he punches Popov in the face. Popov, by the way, was returning from a trip to the bathroom and had a big carafe with water in his hand. Remember those huge, thick glass carafes in the army back then? Anyway, Popov turns around and hits his unit leader with that carafe right on the head. The carafe breaks into thousand little pieces, blood mixed with water is running down the leader's face. He tumbles like a sack of shit, we think that's it, the guy's dead. Popov, scared shitless, drops carafe's neck, which he was still clutching, and splits off via the corridor. All of us kneel near the leader, assuming the worst, but he pushes everyone off, jumps up and, like cougar, sprints after Popov. Then he catches up with him and starts kicking the living shit out of the fellow. We barely managed to tear him off the guy. We thought the leader was in shock or something and that's why he couldn't feel the pain. The blood was still streaming out from his most probably broken skull. Finally we called for a nurse. She gave the guy a checkup and a x-ray. After all this his skull was absolutely intact, without a single crack. She couldn't even find any signs of concussion. And now tell me if you think he had brains. A civilian would've been most likely dead, a first year student seriously hurt, but a military college graduate was absolutely fine. - Yep, that's right, servicemen' skulls are tough. - Doc, you've seen a lot of skulls. Which ones are tougher? - Airborne, for sure. They hit their heads constantly against the edge of the plane's hatch and land on their heads sometimes too, - the hangar shook with the thunderous laugh this time, - I'm kidding, I'm kidding, everyone's skull is different. Unfortunately, they don't get any stronger with careers. Imagine if that was true, how thick colonels' and generals' skulls would be. - Yeah, that's funny, imagine, fellows, how thick must be Rolin's skull! I say it could take a direct hit from a tank cannon. - He probably wouldn't even need a helmet. - Hey, help me up over here. There's more here of interest, - Zhenya again started to climb another rack. - Yeah, exactly what we need! Take it carefully. We took down a box from him with cardiamin and some other stuff. - It's for treating heart failure, - he explained, leaping down and dusting himself off. He climbed up a few more racks in this fashion, selected more boxes and passed them down to us. We, in turn, stockpiled them outside and left them all there in guards' possession. After that we visited a few more hangars, smaller than the first one, where we picked up all sorts of stuff. Everyone's pockets were full of vitamin tablets and soldiers were carrying huge cans with them. All of us were already crunching on the tablets and some were even chewing anti-nicotine chewing gum, hoping to quit smoking right about now. I loaded up on vitamins too as well as nicotine patches, zhen-shen balsam, tablets for Yura and some other stuff. Everyone was in fabulous mood. I looked at my watch and thought that I might even make it to the briefing. At the thought of the briefing I knew that relaxation time was nearly over. We must go back. - Let's move it boys! The sun is setting. It's true, the noon was almost over. - Hurry up, will ya. Get the boxes. I'm not in the mood to spend the night out here. Suddenly, the noise of sporadic gunfire came over from where we left our armour. - What the hell!? I thought, for once we could do something without interruption. Go, go, fellows! - I sprinted forward, carrying a package with heavy drugs, given to me by Zhenya. To get everything out we had to bust a little armoured door. For some strange reason no one has yet managed to snatch the drugs or may be we were just lucky. We've got the rare medicines and I had a feeling we'd soon need them. The gunfire soon died away which was very strange to say the least. Perhaps our drivers got it mixed up or maybe, they were not the winners. - Come on! Move it fellows. - Go! Go! - Hold on, guys! - We'll fry the motherfuckers! - Let's just hope the carriers are fine! Kicking and screaming like that we scooted ahead via the school rubble. The school's upper floors at the rear have all collapsed, having made a virtual hill with its debris, all the way down to the warehouses. Coming down was easy enough, but running uphill, stumbling on chips of bricks and concrete, was no fun at all. A funny kids rhyme suddenly popped in my mind: "...what a hard work that would be, to pull a hippo from a swamp...". Breathing heavily, falling down and getting back up again, tearing skin off our hands and faces and busting ampoules with medicine, we ran up the school's second floor and dashed down the opposite hill. Since I had the smallest box, I overtook everyone and was the first to see that our mechanics were peacefully chatting with some other unfamiliar soldiers next to the armoured tracks. I stood still in the shadow and carefully looked at the panorama. Everything seemed calm. Nobody seemed to be hiding or slinking about. Haven it was. I caught my breath and spewed with green and yellow slime again. Damn it. I've got to quit smoking. Others came up. All of us, with rifles braced, started to come down slowly. Those guys could be deserters or may be again, escaped cons. OK, we'll see when we get there. Coming closer, we saw that the guests were like us, "the saviours", "members of the southern adventure force". Having noticed our arrival, my mechanic leapfrogged over to me and jerked his hand up to his helmet in salute and reported: - Comrade Captain, during your absence nothing particular happened, with the exception... we mistook our neighbours for ragheads and opened fire at them... - And the number of casualties is... - None, we quickly worked it out. - That's good. Imagine, if you were better shooters you might've killed each other. - Comrade Captain, I am a platoon leader of the 125st artillery regiment, lieutenant Krikov! -Junior officer, barely any older than his subordinates, came up to me and saluted. "Krikov - Kryukov", it rhymed inside my head. Strangely enough, I was thinking of Kryukov this morning and now see Krikov. It's all too funny. - When did you graduate? - Someone asked from the back. - This year, - proudly answered lieutenant. - Right, - I whistled, - Lucky you didn't kill each other. What the hell are you doing out here anyway? - We were getting some water for the division. When we walked down, there were no one here, but returning we stumbled upon your backup. We've not enough people and too many heavy water tanks. We had no choice but to do the run without reconnaissance since every one was carrying water. Lieutenant was saying "us", like the decisions he was making were based on his and his men "chinese parliament", which was most probably true. He is very "green". I had the urge to give him a lecture, but held it in. He won't learn anything anyway until he steps into his own shit. That shit though could be his last. Thinking of this I spewed again. What a moron, ha? He'll die and his men would perish too. I could hold it in no more: - Next time, lieutenant, take either more men or fewer flasks. Otherwise, an ambush is out there waiting for you. Get it? - I told him in low voice. The man cringed under my look and most probably would say something daring in response but in the end changed his mind. So very "green" he was that all his thoughts could easily be read on his face. He thought it over for a while and then asked: - Comrade Captain, could you give us a ride for a few blocks to the regiment, I wouldn't want to tab all the way back. Spooks are always a problem too, wouldn't want to meet them either. - Sure, get in. Where do you get your water? - Stupid question, really, in this situation. Where else but Sunzha? - From Sunzha, of course. Twice someone shot at us. - Lieutenant was bragging. - If they wanted you dead, they would've left one good sniper there and we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Where abouts? - I rolled out the map while we walked back to the carriers. - Here, - Krikov pointed at the spot, five blocks away from the school. - And here is the nest the shots came from. - OK, I wouldn't venture for water out here anymore, tomorrow they'll be waiting for us up there for sure. Did you at least shoot back? - Of course. - Fine, get in the trucks. We loaded up on the armour and set off. In a few blocks lieutenant asked to pull over. I gave the order to stop and APCs halted. Lieutenant and his men leapt off, waved us good by and walked off to the regiment quarters, crooked under the heavy weight of their tanks and flasks. Another half an hour and we were back at our base. Instantly Corpsemen hurried off to their tents to sort out the spoils. I was off to my cab too where Pashka was feeding firewood to our stove. - Tell me news, - I asked him taking off my gear. - No news. Everyone is at the briefing. Is that true we'll have a go at Minutka soon? - Yeah. - I said dryly, - long briefing? - It's been going on for about hour and a half. They've been calling for you a few times. - No shit, - I walked out and lit up on the way to briefing room. Making my way through the mud, I came over to the HQ. Crowd of officers and men near the entrance were having a lively discussion. I neither wanted to put off my sweet cigarette or get in there and continue on discussing those suicidal plans. The question now was how many hundreds of us will die out there. The "enemy" at the "North" and Moscow has finally rejected our appeal for air and artillery support and tightened the time frames. What we now had to discuss was which battalion was to go in first. Officers tried to tell me something but I wasn't listening to anybody. In my head, I was struggling to come up with the right arguments in favour of my plan, which I haven't even finished composing yet, but some details were already beginning to build up. There was, it seemed, a small chance to reduce the number of casualties. Having read my state of mind, the officers left me alone. I nodded to them in appreciation and tossed off my cigarette, which fell into the mud in an arc-like trajectory. Just like the life itself, isn't it? As soon as gets atop, it slams right back down. I was thinking how many lives would tomorrow fall without even reaching the top. Old men invented the war. They are already infertile but still lack wisdom and surely have enough ambitions for all the young ones put together. Their Power lets them push the youth to die for their old ideals and, after having satisfied their thirst for blood, they'd be stealing again left, right and forward whatever's left there. We, officers, the witnesses to their madness, are pretty much done too. They'll do to us what they did to the veterans of the afghan campaign. They'll portray us as idols, and then would demote us to the status of drunks and drug junkies. Those vets are now officially murderers that had gashed off peaceful afghan population unable to take on a decent force. Now they're shut out, blamed for everything. Their official diagnosis - the "afghan syndrome". Jesus, how many more of those "syndromes" they've forgotten to mention. Every hotspot is another "syndrome". Too many, if ask me, even for such large state like Russia. I was just "winding up" myself. It is better to walk in already pissed off and "wound up" than do it in there. Everybody's already tired of endless useless arguments and constant dead-end conversations and you are barging in, aggressive, ready to tear to pieces every one in your way. Your opinion at this stage is a breath of fresh air. My ideas have already begun to take shape of a final plan. We depended heavily though on our captured men not being in that palace, because I was afraid we could knock them out too. There is a device that sappers use for pushing mines out. It would work for us beautifully. The thing consists of a rocket with three jet engines, one for the flight and two initial boosters. When it takes off it drags behind it a thick hose stuffed with C4 and only flies in one particular direction. When that hose (or gut) unwinds all the way, the rocket slumps and in a few seconds the gut's C4 detonates, making a ditch about four meters wide. This "dragon" is employed to make ways for infantry inside minefields. Those mines that do not explode, after the detonation would surely be pushed out on the surface anyway. Depending on a type of terrain, the width of the ditch could vary from one meter to four. Therefore, if we got close to that fricking palace, we could launch a few of these "dragons" toward it. After that not much of that whorehouse will be left standing. The most important task would be to destroy the lower floors. The rest would fall soon after, burying them all in there. But again, it only worked well in case only the spooks were inside. Anyway, I walked up to the entrance, moved my AK behind my back, and pushed the door open. - May I come in, comrade Colonel? - I interrupted Bahel in the middle of his explanation. All battalion commanders, their chiefs, com-brig's XOs and other HQ officers were looking at the map. A few more men were smoking near the window breach barricaded with sandbags. - Come in, Mironov. How was the trip? - Very well, comrade Colonel. - Please take a seat and do not interrupt us. Whatever you have missed you can find out later. He turned to the map again and moved his pen across it, using it as pointer. Judging from the spot he was at, we were now storming the State Bank. Which in turn meant that we have already taken over (on the map that is) the bridges and successfully moved across the open space under the hail of gunfire. I should probably ask them afterwards how they did it. For now I'll just seat here quietly and listen. The time will come for me to stand up and express my point of view, like any other present here. First, the lowest ranking officers will speak, then, all the way up the pyramid. It is done deliberately, so that the opinion of the higher-ranking officers wasn't weighing on their shoulders. At the end, com-brig will do the summing up. He, the brigade's commander, is the one responsible for every single thing, he is to oversee the state of affairs, make decisions, give out orders and control the way they are carried out. His chief of staff could sometimes get a piece of the pie, but mostly it is up to him to do all those things. Same order is in the trenches. Battalion, company or platoon commander is always responsible for his unit. He is the one who would get all the blame if his men didn't achieve the objective. Tribunal would be swift, it won't drag on, I'd vouch for that. Best case scenario, he'll lose his ranks, get kicked out of the army and go back to farming. Worst case: court martial, dishonourable discharge, his medals taken away and then jail. In our country, the most fearful prefix to your status is "ex-". If they could have a go at the ex-president, an ex-military commander's rank is no cover for sure. If they found out you were at war, hold on to your pants, my friend, you are as good as dead. You're now a war criminal. The blood of innocent civilians is most definitely on your hands. We, law-abiding citizens killed no one. If any of our countrymen are being slaughtered somewhere in the south, so be it. What else would you like, Mr President, maybe send more of our children to the next bloodbath? No problem, sir! We voted for you so how can you possibly be wrong or lie to us? Not a chance! Did you, my reader, think like that? Or maybe still thinking? Chehov once said that one must squeeze a slave out of oneself, drop by drop. It must be added that our rulers should be daily squeezing big bosses out. Just look at the map. How can possibly a republic, so small that it's marked on the map as dot, be threatening Russia's sovereignty? Unless, you feed and support this motley general, encouraging his fiery speeches. Come on, he's nothing but