“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 engine 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 on 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 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.

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 was living in the airport hotel with numerous bodyguards. 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 is a great success for us. 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. Callsigns 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...

“... Coming soon on a business trip. There is a bad feeling in my heart. The first funerals came to the detachment. They burned our convoy. Our guys are dead. The Czechs burned them alive, shell-shocked, in an armored personnel carrier. The commander of the column was hit in the head. Thus began the second war for our detachment. I had a heartache and a bad feeling. I began to prepare for it, I just knew what awaited us.

…Faces received information about some suicide bombers. We moved there, to this village, and took three stoned women. One was forty years old, she was their recruiter, the main one. All three of them were drugged because they were all smiling at us. They were interrogated at the base. The eldest did not want to confess anything, and then, when they put an electric shock in her shorts, she began to speak. It became clear that they planned to make terrorist attacks to blow themselves up and many people in our house. They have documents and found a lot of things in the house. We shot them, and the corpses were sprayed with TNT, so that there were no traces at all. It was unpleasant for me, I had never touched or killed women before. But they themselves got what they were asking for ... "

Coming soon on a business trip. There is a bad feeling in my heart. The first funerals came to the detachment. They burned our convoy. Our guys are dead. The Czechs burned them alive, shell-shocked, in an armored personnel carrier. The commander of the column was hit in the head. Thus began the second war for our detachment. I had a heartache and a bad feeling. I began to prepare for it, I just knew what awaited us.

Suddenly, a PC of militants started working from the roof of the house, one of ours yelled in time for me to lie down, the bullets passed over me, their melodic flight was heard. The boys began to peck back, covering me, I crawled. Everything was done instinctively, I wanted to survive and therefore crawled. When he crawled up to them, they began to shoot at the machine gunner with grenade launchers. The slate shattered, and he fell silent, what happened to him, I do not know. We retreated to our original positions.

For me it was the first fight, it was scary, only idiots are not afraid. Fear is the instinct of self-preservation, it helps to survive. The boys who get into trouble with you also help to survive. They slept right on the snow, putting boards under them, huddled together. There was frost and wind. A person gets used to everything, survives everywhere, depending on the preparation and internal capabilities. They lit a fire and settled down near it. At night, they shot at the village from grenade launchers, they slept in shifts.

In the morning we again went along the same route, and I recalled yesterday's battle. I saw those locals who showed the militants the way. They silently looked at us, we at them. Everyone had hatred and anger in their eyes. We passed this street without any incidents. We entered the center of the village and began to move towards the hospital, where the militants settled.

On the way they cleaned the boiler room. Severed fingers and other parts of the body lay everywhere, there was blood everywhere. When approaching the hospital, the locals said that they had a captured soldier, the militants broke his legs and arms so that he would not go anywhere. When the group approached the hospital, it was already occupied by our troops. We were given to guard the basement with wounded militants, there were about 30 people there.

When I went down there, there were many wounded Chechen fighters. Among them were Russians, for which they fought against us, I don’t know. They looked at me with such hatred and anger that the hand itself squeezed the machine gun. I went out of there, put our sniper near the entrance. And they waited for further orders. When I was standing near the basement, two women came up to me and asked me to take one wounded man home to them. I'm a little confused by this request. I don't know why I agreed to this. I will probably never answer. I felt sorry for these women, I could have shot him, but they saved, local, our wounded soldier. Maybe in return.

After that, the Ministry of Justice came to pick up these wounded. It was a really ugly picture. They were afraid to go first into the basement and told me to go first. Realizing that nothing threatened the riot police, they began to drag them out, strip them naked and put them in a paddy wagon. Some walked on their own, some were beaten and dragged upstairs. One militant came out by himself. He had no feet, he walked on stumps, reached the fence and lost consciousness. He was beaten, stripped naked and put into a paddy wagon. I didn’t feel sorry for them, it was just disgusting to look at this scene.

We took this village into a ring, dug in right in the field. Snow, mud and slush, but dug in and spent the night. At night, he inspected the positions. Everyone froze, but lay in their trenches. In the morning we again went to the village, clearing all the houses along the way. The ground was seething with bullets. Our watch was cut off as always. The fighters went on the attack. We brought down like the Germans in the 41st year. The grenade launcher generally ran out in front of them, yelled: "Shot" and hit them with a grenade launcher. Suddenly my friend, a sniper, came running, he was wounded in the chest and in the head.

There was one more of ours left, they shot him in both legs, and he lay back shooting. My friend fell on my knees and whispered, “Brother, save me. I'm dying" - and calmed down. I injected him with promedol. Pushing him in the shoulder, I tell him: “It's okay. You will still get me drunk on demobilization. ” Having cut off the armor, I told two shooters to drag it to the house where ours were. We ran to the grid, which instead of a fence divided the distance between the houses. They were overtaken by machine-gun fire. The bullet hit one in the arm, the other in the legs. And the whole line fell just in my friend, because he was in the middle. They left him near the chain-link.

Having collected all the wounded, they began to slowly crawl away from the house, because the house was already collapsing. We fired back at the corner of the house. Ours threw all the wounded over the chain-link. The body of my friend remains. They opened fire on us again. We lay down. Near the opening of the wall, where we crawled, the machine gunner, who was covering us, was hit in the neck by a bullet, he fell, covered in blood. We later evacuated all the wounded along the road, hiding behind an armored personnel carrier. My friend has passed away. We learned this later, but for now there was a battle. We fired back.

We drove off in an armored personnel carrier to the starting point. We spent the night with the 1st group. They lost 7 people in battle, it was even harder for them during the day. We sat down near the fire and silently dried everything. I took out a bottle of Chekhov's vodka, they remembered silently and silently wandered off to sleep in all directions. Everyone was looking forward to tomorrow. Near the fire, the boys talked about the dead in the 1st group. I have never seen or heard anything like this. Russia did not appreciate this heroism, as well as the feat of all the guys who fought in Chechnya.

I was struck by the words of an idiot general. He was asked why the families of the submariners who sank on the Kursk were paid 700,000 rubles each, while the families of those who died in Chechnya had not yet been paid anything. So he answered that these were unplanned victims, and in Chechnya they were planned. This means that we, who were fulfilling our duty in Chechnya, are already planned victims. And there are a lot of such freak generals. A soldier has always suffered. And in the army there have always been two opinions: those who gave orders, and those who carried them out, and this is us.

After spending the night, they brought us food and our vodyaru - it relieved the tension of yesterday's battle a little. Regrouping, we entered the village along the previous routes. We followed in the footsteps of yesterday's battle. Everything in the house where we were was burned out. There was a lot of blood around, shot shells, torn bulletproof vests. Going behind our house, we found the bodies of the militants.

They were hidden in holes in the corn. Wounded mercenaries were found in one of the cellars. They were from Moscow, from St. Petersburg, from Perm. They shouted to us not to be killed, they have families, children at home. And we, as if from an orphanage, ran into this hole. We shot them all. We left the village at night. Everything burned and smoldered. So another village was wiped out by the war. There was a dark feeling in my heart from what I saw. During that battle, the militants lost 168 people.

I was so cold that I couldn't get my hands out of my pockets. Someone took out a flask of alcohol and offered to warm up, it was only necessary to dilute it. We sent two people to the ditch. One began to draw water, the other remained on cover. And at that time about 15 militants came down to meet them. The distance was 25-30 meters, it was twilight, and everything was visible. They walked boldly into the open and unguarded. They were stunned when they saw us and stood up. Ours rushed back to us. The fighters did not shoot. I started waking up the guys.

We hit first from the KPVT. The fight has begun. I sat down near the front wheel of the APC and started shooting. Our machine gunner fired up, hit the tank, the militants began to retreat. They had many wounded and killed. The tank gunner couldn't navigate in the dark, and I ran to him and got hit by a tank shot. I was greatly concussed. I could not come to my senses for about 20 minutes. They dragged me away.

I crawled up to the machine gunner and fired back with him. We had a heavy fire. In response, the militants hit the tank from a grenade launcher in front of him in a hillock. But if you don't hit him, let's keep shooting. The fight went on for about an hour. In the morning we were stunned, there were bloody paths in front of us. They pulled theirs. Torn off parts of the body - it was we with the KPVT who crumbled them. We ran up and began to collect trophies - machine guns, grenade launchers, unloading. Suddenly, shots and grenade explosions rang out. It turns out that the militants are wounded, who ambushed us. There were 2 surviving militants with severe wounds, and they blew themselves up together with the wounded.

That night there was an attempt to break through a small group of 3 people. They went to our group, they were stopped by a sentinel, asking them for a password in the dark, they threw a grenade at him, it bounced off a tree and fell near the location of the group, and from there the PC immediately started working, the machine gunner also hit this group from his PC . They were all riddled. The next morning, the "stars of the screen" came running - the riot police, through which they passed unnoticed, and began to pose with the corpses of the militants and take pictures. Goats…

Many empty beds appeared in the detachment with candles and pictures of the guys. In the detachment, we commemorated everyone and remembered them alive. It was hard on my heart. Having lost our guys, we remained alive. We sat, walked together, and now they are gone. Only memories remain. There was a man, and now he is gone. Nearby, this death clicked its teeth and took away who it liked. Sometimes you get used to the idea that you yourself will someday be there and your body will turn to dust. Sometimes you want to feel your friend next to you, sit, droop, but he is not there, there are only one shooting left, where their faces are alive. They were all great guys, and if we forget them, they will definitely die. Rest forever, brothers. We will not forget you, see you there someday.

On the radio of the commander of the 2nd group, one militant came out, that Allah knows everything better and he sees who is fighting for the faith, and it became clear that our little brother was killed. We went along their route, the commander of the detachment yelled for us to go faster, but we were hollowed out from 2 sides - from the forest and from the neighboring street. We walked through the houses. Breaking into groups, we went forward.

It was heard that the battle was going somewhere ahead. They wanted to go out to the vegetable gardens, but again they hit us from the forest from the border. Suddenly, shadows appeared ahead of us. One at the window, the other darted into the basement. I automatically threw a grenade there, Smoked burst hit the windows. When we went to see the results, there were 2 corpses - grandfather and grandmother. Bad luck. There was another attempt to break through, but she also gave nothing. The corpses (spirits) were then cut: ears, noses. The soldiers were furious from everything that was happening.

In the morning we were called to the headquarters with my friend. They said they were for escort. Dissatisfied, we went to the headquarters, because after 2 hours the column was leaving, and we were sent for some kind of escort. We came there, and the Major General of our division presented us with the first awards - a medal ... for a special operation back in October 1999. This was a surprise for us. Hanging on the chest, we set off in a column. Having paid the conductor 500 rubles on top, we huddled in the car. Having laid out all our belongings, we threw the medals into a glass of vodka and began to wash them. The dead children were commemorated with the third toast, and everyone fell asleep where he could. That business trip was too hard for us.

After all that I've been through, I've become very drunk. Often they began to quarrel with my wife, although she was pregnant, I still came off to the fullest. I did not know what would happen to me on my next business trip. With my friend, who settled with me, we had a real blast. I didn't even try to stop. Inside I broke down, and I began to treat everything coldly. He came home at night and was tipsy.

My wife got more and more upset, and we fought. She cried. I couldn't even comfort her. The days were approaching a new business trip, and I could not stop, I did not know what would happen there. It is difficult for me to describe this period, because it was full of contradictions, emotions, quarrels and worries. Especially the last day before a business trip. I went to the base, where we puffed up and swelled until the morning.

I arrived home at seven o'clock in the morning, it was 1.5 hours before departure. When I opened the door, I immediately received a slap in the face from my wife. She waited for me all night, she even collected the table. I silently took my things and left for the train without even saying goodbye. There were too many quarrels and experiences during this period. On the train, our shift was walking, I was lying on a shelf and was aware of everything that had happened to me. It was hard and painful inside, and the past can no longer be returned or corrected, and it was even more painful ...

On the way, some were sleeping, some were drinking, some were wandering from car to car, having nothing to do. We arrived at ..., it's winter outside. Snow and frost. Unloaded. One half of the detachment flew on turntables, the other went on its own. It was cold to ride on the armor, but it was necessary. We spread the BC for unloading and drove off. Overnight at…. shelf.

We were settled in the gym, slept on the floor in sleeping bags. They sat down at a small table, made a cocktail - 50 g of alcohol, 200 g of beer and 50 g of brine - and warmed up, that some of them had their heads blown off well, that they fought among themselves. It was hard to wake up in the morning, but we made a special forces “business card” on the parade ground, and the machine gunner from the PC fired a burst into the air. After all these adventures, this regiment was in shock, it seems that no one arranged such concerts, they will remember us for a long time. Yes, this is how special forces should be led.

Faces received information about some suicide bombers. We went there to this village and took three stoned women. One was forty years old, she was their recruiter, the main one. All three of them were drugged because they were all smiling at us. They were interrogated at the base.

The eldest did not want to confess anything, and then, when they put an electric shock in her shorts, she began to speak. It became clear that they planned to make terrorist attacks to blow themselves up and many people in our house. They have documents and found a lot of things in the house. We shot them, and the corpses were sprayed with TNT, so that there were no traces at all. It was unpleasant for me, I had never touched or killed women before. But they got what they asked for.

The squad has been through too much. We lost about 30 people killed and about 80 wounded. And this is too much not only for the detachment, but also for the mothers of the dead. But they can’t answer the question why you survived, and my son died, and no one will answer this question. It was too hard to look mothers in the eye. And you can't do anything and you can't change. We got up at 4 am. The reconnaissance ambush took a messenger at the water pump, and there was a shootout. We had to go there and pick up the abandoned SVD and the prisoner.

Again we went there. It was raining. Taking it, it turned out to be a young Czech, about 15 years old, we tortured him. I shot him, i.e. next to his head, and [he] began to hand over everyone. He gave us information about their camps, caches and several liaisons, a signalman. While we were interrogating him, we were fired upon from the forest, we prepared for battle, but nothing happened. We began to develop this information.

To check the authenticity, we decided to take the cache, and then the addresses. With the 1st group, we went to the village on 4 boxes, took the cache quickly. There were 2 "bumblebees", 8 kg TNT and an 82-mm mine, this was enough to save someone's life. And then we went to the address of the signalman of the militants. We quickly broke into the house, cordoning it off from all sides. He was found in an abandoned house nearby. We dragged him to the APC. The Czech who ratted him out to us recognized him, and I held him at gunpoint, sticking a pistol in his ribs.

We quickly rolled up and drove to the base. After some torture of the signalman, he also gave us a lot of addresses. And it was decided to take immediately in hot pursuit. Again we went to the address of the bombers, who were involved in many explosions. When they drove up to the house, they noticed us and began to leave the gardens. Our group broke into the house, we took the nearby houses, covering the assault. Seeing the fleeing, our patrol opened fire. The assault took one, we rolled one, and the elder left. We took the body from a nearby street, no one saw it. And quickly back to base. A crowd of protesters was already gathering.

At the base, all the militants were identified, and information was downloaded from them using a harsh method. They decided to wipe the dead militant off the face of the earth, wrapping it in TNT and blowing it up. This had to be done in the morning, at 4:00, so that there were no witnesses. All information was passed to the intelligence department. I wanted to sleep and eat. I fell asleep, I don’t remember, at 2:00. With a friend sat for a mug of alcohol. It eased a little, but not for long.

I was picked up at 4:30, it was necessary to remove this militant from the face of the earth. After wrapping it in cellophane, we drove to the Sunzha Range. There they found a hole with swamp slurry. The bullet entered his thigh and exited his groin, he did not live even half an hour. Throwing him in the middle of the pit, I put a kg of TNT on his face, the other between his legs and walked about 30 meters and connected it to the battery, there was an explosion. We went to look around the place.

There was a putrid smell, and no traces of blood. There are no emotions inside. This is how they go missing. I always felt sorry for the guys. How much loss, how much pain. Sometimes you wonder if all this is not in vain, for what and for the sake of what. The motherland will not forget us, but it will not appreciate us either. Now in Chechnya everyone is against us - the law, Russia, our prosecutor's office. There is no war, and the guys are dying.

Home again... When I was in the detachment, my friend came and said with a laugh that my wife had given birth. I was taken aback by surprise. We went to wash, and time dissolved into space. In short, my wife gave birth on Monday, I appeared only after 3 days. She was offended by me, I appeared tipsy there. She asked me to buy her medicine, I went to the pharmacy. We bought what we needed and wandered into a local tavern, and there I got lost for another day ... A few days later we took my wife and child home. I took my baby in my arms, such a lovely baby. I am glad…

We rested from some left exit. Somewhere in the morning there was a strong explosion and shooting, we were raised in a gun. One group left. It turned out that an armored personnel carrier was blown up on a landmine. 5 people were killed and 4 were injured. The dead were laid on the helipad. Our group came out to look at the dead. There was silence, everyone had their own thoughts. And death was somewhere nearby ... Now the war was even tougher. Previously, at least they saw who they were with, and knew who to shoot at, but now you have to wait all the time for the first one to be kicked at you. And that means you're already shooting second.

All around there was one set-up and this dirty war, the hatred and blood of ordinary soldiers, not politicians who started it all, but ordinary guys. In addition to this set-up, they threw with money, with military, one swamp, in short. And we, despite this, did our job and carried out these stupid orders. And they came back on a business trip. Everyone has their own reasons and motives for this. Everyone was himself.

Two FSB officers and two from Alfa were killed in the village. The entire nomadic group is removed from operations and thrown into the village. Everyone worked for the result in order to avenge the guys from Alpha. There were tough sweeps in the village. At night, we brought the Chechens to the filter, and there they worked hard with them. We traveled around the village and its environs in the hope of finding the corpses of the FSB. Then it became a little clearer what exactly happened. In order to verify information, gigolos and faces-opera entered the village.

They traveled in two cars. The “six” was the first, followed by the UAZ medical aid. In the center of the village, for some reason, 06 went to the market, and the loaf went further. In Bazaar 06, militants are blocking and shooting, ours managed to broadcast only one thing, that "we were blocked." When the bump with alphas drove into the market, the local women swept the windows and washed off the blood.

Another 5 minutes - and they would not have found traces, but everything already fell somewhere as if through the ground. Only on the 2nd day they found the corpses of two faces at the entrance to the village. In the morning we crossed the bridge in an armored personnel carrier and drove up to the place where it all happened. Next to the corpses stood a burned-out 06. The corpses were badly mutilated, apparently they were tortured. Then they drove up from the Alpha, handed over to their people by radio ...

Returning to the base, we were delighted that the bridge through which we were traveling was mined, the landmine did not work. And where there were corpses, a 200-liter barrel with 2 land mines and filled with lead barrels was buried 3 meters away. If it worked, then there would be much more corpses. In the morning we went to the addresses. The first address was taken quickly, two. The women turned up the hi-fi, already on the street. A crowd had gathered, but we, having pushed two Czechs, were already flying to the filter beyond the village. There they were handed over to the "termites". We went to another address, took a young Czech and an elderly one. Near the filter, they were thrown out with bags on their heads, and the fighters kicked heartily, after which they were given to the faces.

Having left for the village, we received an order to turn around and enter the neighboring one, a gang of militants was found there, which made an ambush. Having crossed the river on armored personnel carriers, we entered that village. The brothers from another detachment had already entered into battle with the militants and pressed them tightly, surrounding them, they desperately resisted. And they asked their help, in response, the militants answered that they should prepare to become "martyrs", the surrounded militants did not want to become martyrs, they say, it's too early, then only Allah will help you, but one group responded and went to help, we and came out and shattered.

We were sent to look for a PKK that had been abandoned during a skirmish by militants. We didn't find it. And out of anger from everything that was happening, I beat up the militant. He fell to his knees and sobbed that he did not remember where he had thrown him. And we dragged him on a rope, tying him to an armored personnel carrier.

Today is my child's birthday. 5 years. I so wanted to congratulate, but I was far away. I promised to buy a parrot, but I will only do so when I arrive. I miss you so much, I really miss my family. I know how they wait for their daddy, I once saw my child pray for me. My soul has trembled. Everything is childishly clean and from the heart, he asked God for dad and mom and that everything was fine with them. It moved me greatly.

Arriving at the base, we settled down and had dinner, when hawali, a shot rang out, as it turned out later, our soldier shot at another, who went somewhere at night, not knowing the password. The wound was severe, in the stomach, the entrance was as thick as a finger, the exit as thick as a fist. At night they were taken to the turntable. Will it survive, I don't know. The war becomes incomprehensible, its own. And sometimes it comes to absurdity and incomprehensibility, and without meaning, for what and for whom. In the evening I looked at my medal ... which was handed over before leaving. It's nice, of course. And it's nice when they appreciate it on time. I slept badly, all night artillery was hollowing in the mountains.

In the morning we went to ..., where the soldier overwhelmed 2 officers and a cop and fled from the unit. We stopped near N, swam and washed, there were two weeks left - and home. Lately, I really want to, probably got bored a lot, I just wanted to do household chores and get away from all this shit. We settled down to rest, the locals brought us a hawk, and as soon as we started eating, we were removed from this place, even the yellow-bellied had to be skinned in haste. We arrived at the same place where we started looking for this freak. And in the dark they have already completed all their work. Passed out I do not remember how, looked at the stars and fell asleep.

At 8 o'clock it became known that this freak was filled up in the morning. What he hoped for, I do not know. The last operation was in N, and then we went to the base. I didn't even believe it. We drove through Chechnya cool, with police flashing lights on armored personnel carriers and an American flag for fun. On this day, everyone was out, and we were the best for everyone, no one else was in any alterations. There was excitement around us, it was awesome in our hearts, we were waiting for a change. On the way, our driver rammed all the Chechen cars, even though on the road we terrified our armored personnel carriers, and everyone was afraid of us.

I had a bad feeling from the start. The head of intelligence was sure that everything would be fine. We went for a swim that day. And in the evening it began to rain, it feels like, they say, boys, sit at home. ... Our tent was flooded, rats were running around the tent. I still have strong doubts creeping in about the whole operation. I could not fall asleep until 2 am - I close my eyes and see only darkness. We drove into the settlement in complete darkness, left the boxes on the outskirts of the street, and went to the address on foot. The 1st group covered us.

They surrounded the house quietly, using the assault ladder quickly climbed over the fence. In the yard, everyone stood in his place. I walked third on the side, behind my friend. They quickly dispersed. The leader of the group had already broken the doors, and at that time shots rang out from the back of the house. Bullets hit him, a smoke grenade exploded in his unloading. Someone pushed me aside and disappeared into the smoke. I crawled out into the yard on my back. The boys pulled out the squad leader.

He was heavy. The bullet passed between the plates in the side and exited just above the heart. We put him on an APC and he left. They began to check people - one was missing, they began to search. There were short lines from the house. The house was cordoned off, we did not shoot, because it was a setup. As it turned out later, all of us would have been imprisoned if the house had been demolished. We did not have such rights at that time.

The hands were just tied. It turned out that there was not even a combat order for this operation. We needed a result. It turned out that our indicator, he wanted to settle scores with the one we contacted, with our hands, and for this he promised several AKs to the boss. My friend was lying in front of the door. One bullet entered the head under the helmet, turned around, and the other entered the vertebra. At one of these moments, he pushed me away from the door and in doing so saved my life.

And the station told us that the commander of the assault squad died on takeoff. The doctor said that he would not have survived: the vessels over the heart were torn by a bullet. One and only turn all went to him, and only one cut off his life. Everything inside me was empty. The premonition did not deceive me. When we arrived at the base, the boys were lying on the take-off in bags. I opened my friend's bag, took his hand and said: "I'm sorry."

The second lay already swollen in a bag. The boss didn't even come out to say goodbye to the boys. He was drunk as hell, at that moment I hated him. He always didn’t give a shit about ordinary fighters, he made a name for himself on them. Then he scolded me at a meeting, humiliated me in front of everyone for this operation, making me extreme in everything, reproaching the boys. Bitch. But nothing, nothing is eternal, someday he will be rewarded for everything and for everyone.

You think, maybe enough, how much more strength is enough. Do you still need to get on with your life? Live for the family, children, beloved wife, who should be erected a monument for all the suffering with me, experiences, expectations. Probably, it is necessary to tie, or maybe a little more? I don’t want to stop there, I want more, I want peace and prosperity, home comfort. I will get it.

Another year of my life has passed. The past year has been very bad. Many of my friends died. Those people who were with me in their service and in life, they are no longer there. ... You think a lot about your life and actions now. Maybe the older you get, the more you think about it. Let these lines remain from me. They are my life. My. It’s a pity about one thing, that if in some combat clashes I would have done a little differently, maybe the guys would have remained alive.

Maybe life takes its toll, fate too. I miss home so much, these business trips are already boring. It turns out that it is easier to fight with an external enemy, i.e. with the one who shoots at you than with his "enemies" within the detachment. It's very sad for me that this happened. He fought, and in an instant everything turned to dust. I gave the detachment 14 years of my life, I lost a lot and lost many.

(I) have many pleasant memories, but only of those who really gave their lives for the detachment. Time and life, as always, according to their law, will put everything in its place. It’s a pity that you can’t fix anything in this, but you just try not to repeat your mistakes and live in a normal way. My service in the special forces is over. The detachment gave me a lot and took a lot. I have a lot of memories in my life.

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 "peacemaking" began by some high-profile personalities who, without embarrassment, 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 the wire around the village ... - and handed Zvantsev a wire guard from the wire.

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 ...

Chechen snipers did not shoot at the camp for a whole week. 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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Chechen War. There will be no peace

Vedeno

The doctor died last night. I just fell asleep and didn't wake up. He was lying on his bunk young, strong, handsome, and we silently stood around him. Consciousness refused to perceive this death. Not from a bullet, not from a fragment, not from an enemy shot, but because deep in this strong young body, the heart suddenly got tired of this war, of its dirt and pain. Tired and stopped.

The mood was off the charts! A long, tedious rain poured down, turning the camp of the detachment into a swamp. The low, deadly gray sky bled down to the ground in icy, prickly jets, with which the insane mountain wind continually whipped across the face. The distance of a couple of tens of meters between the tents turned into an obstacle course, and each step on the slippery steep slope required skill and balance.

Indeed, rain in the mountains is a special cataclysm. Barely damp chocks smoldered in the potbelly stove, tightening the tent with acrid smoke and not giving heat. Everything was damp and soaked with water. Mud was champing underfoot, cold, damp camouflage was disgustingly sticky to the back. Rain drummed heavily on the tarpaulin. And the doc is dead...

We stormed ancient Ichkeria, the very heart of Chechnya - the Vedeno region. Although what does stormed mean? The motorized rifle division, having knocked down Dudayev's blocks and ambushes, climbed into this mountain valley and stopped. There was no war.

"Chechi" valued and loved this "ancient Ichkeria" too much. Walkers-messengers from the surrounding villages reached out to the divisional commander, slyly assuring them of peacefulness and loyalty, but in fact, they were ready to sign anything, even an agreement with Iblis - the Muslim devil, just to survive, to squeeze the army out of here. Don't let her fire a single shot here.

It was there, in the valley, in foreign villages, that they easily and ruthlessly set up other people's houses under Russian shells and bombs. It was the valley Chechens who had to experience the full horror of this war: the ruins of destroyed villages, the ashes of their homes, death and fear. Here they pressed their claws in front of the Russian military power, froze. This is their nest, this is their domain. They wanted to keep it at all costs.

And the division was involuntarily drawn into this game. Accustomed to war, to wipe out enemy strongholds, to break his resistance with fire and iron, she was now clumsily and discontentedly engaged in "peacekeeping" - negotiations with "bearded men", with some nimble "administrators", "delegates", "ambassadors" , who, as if by choice, had a smile glued to their lips, and their eyes fumbled lasciviously around, either counting the technique, or simply hiding from our eyes.

Both the divisional commander and the "ambassadors" perfectly understood all the deceit and insincerity of the signed papers and the promises made, because the negotiations were not shaky or rolled. Somehow by inertia, without interest, sluggishly.
The army people - soldiers, platoons, company - gloomy swearing at the "negotiators".

- Sweep everything here to such and such a mother. Burn this snake's nest, throw mines, so that for another five years they were afraid to return here. Here grandfather Stalin was wise. Knew how to deal with them. No bombings or casualties. A humanist, not like Yeltsin.

…Whether talks will give a horse-radish! They have a lair here. We'll leave - they'll drag everything here again. Both weapons and equipment. Bases deployed. Slaves are picked up in Russia. Burn everything down here!

But they didn't let me burn. The war froze in the foothills of Vedeno.

Who on this earth immediately and unconditionally accepted the Russians are animals. In almost every crew, in every platoon, someone lives. Where is the dog, where is the cat, where is the rooster. Once, a BTEer met on the road, on his armor among the soldiers there was ... a bear cub, with a military cap deftly sitting on his head.

The dogs have nicknames like for selection - Dzhokhar, Nokhcha, Shamil.

In general, the impression was that everyone who was not tied around the neck with a rope to Chechen houses and fences went over to the Russians: cats, dogs, birds. Apparently, the peculiarities of the Chechen character were known in abundance. The sheep are just unlucky. Their fate is the same - under any power.

Vedeno in Chechen - "flat place". The untouchedness of the land and the neglect of the villages are immediately striking. Nowhere is a patch of plowed land, nowhere is there a vine, or a garden. Dirty, rickety fences, wattle fences. Work here is clearly not in tradition and not held in high esteem. “Russians, we need your women, we ... will have them, and your hands so that you work for us,” a Chechen radio operator once philosophized on the air. In this formula - all their morality. The radio operator was impudent, he liked to climb into our frequencies and talk about "Russian pigs" and "Chechen heroes." This brought him down. Gereushny special forces spotted the place from where he was broadcasting. Together with the "philosopher" they covered a whole radio center here. They flunked a dozen "Chechs" and a local commander. And the radio operator was convinced from his own experience that the Russian hand can not only plow.

But here, in Vedeno, they don't let you fight. In the villages, shaved-headed bearded men of about thirty years of age walk openly, spitting after the BTEers through their teeth, in whose eyes a wolf longing for someone else's blood froze. They are now “peaceful”, a “treaty” has been signed with them. The division will leave, and after it these will go into the valley. They will leave to kill, rob, take revenge. But now you can't touch them - peacekeeping. They would, peacekeepers, here - under the bullets.

restless

The “spirits” called the 19th motorized rifle division Restless, because for the past year and a half it has been wandering around Chechnya from one end to the other, chasing gangs and detachments, taking cities and villages, knocking down ambushes and strongholds. She took Grozny, fought in the Northern group, then she took Argun and Gudermes, fought near Vedeno and Bamut. Now she is here again. But not for long. Soon, its regiments will leave for Shali, where, according to intelligence, up to 1,500 militants have accumulated, then, most likely, they will move to the northeast. That's for sure - a restless division ...

But war is not a holiday. The division pays dearly for restlessness. In a year and a half, she lost three hundred people killed and about one and a half thousand wounded. With a staff of seven to eight thousand people, this is almost a quarter of the staff. There is no company or platoon here that would not have its mournful list of losses ...

But if only it were a matter of combat losses, other losses are much more painful, harder to experience. In the division, with bitterness and pain, they talk about the former commander of one of the regiments, Colonel Sokolov, and the head of intelligence of this regiment, Captain Avdzhyan. Both were sort of divisional legends. One can talk about their exploits during the storming of Grozny for a very long time. Both were presented to the title of Hero and both were ... expelled from the division and from the army. Their "guilt" was that in the heat of battle, having captured three "spirits", the soldiers simply did not take them to headquarters. The colonel and the captain were removed from their posts and put on trial "for lynching." This blew up the division so much that a little more - and the battalions would have gone to smash the prosecutor's office. The authorities have changed their minds. They did not try the officers, but they kicked them out anyway. Undeserved and shameful. And this pain is still not forgotten ...

Restless fights with some special passion. With your unique handwriting. The chief of artillery, a short, stocky colonel with attentive, tenacious eyes, said:

- A month ago, mine worked - yes! One battery stood in Ingushetia, another - under Vedeno, and self-propelled guns - under Khasavyurt. So the shells were laid on targets just a hundred meters from our front line. And not a single one - on their own. Everything is on target. The infantry then thanked ...

Even to me, a person far from artillery, the artilleryman's pride was understandable. This work is truly top notch!

We leave at dawn...

“The wind blows over the mountains. Lifting our thoughts to the skies. Only dust under boots. God is with us and with us the banner and the heavy AKS at the ready ... ”-“ compote ”from Kipling and everyday life of Chechnya sings to the guitar a reconnaissance officer of the special forces special forces. He is the leader of the group. Ordinary Russian young man. Nothing Rambo or Schwarzenegger, but behind the soul - a year and a half of war. Do not count how many raids in the rear of the "Czechs". On account of more than a dozen "spirits". In general, only an experienced person can determine the real "specialists". There are as many as you like, hung with weapons to the eyebrows in camouflage and fashionable "unloadings". But to the “specialists” they are like heaven! A real scout is usually in a worn-out "gornik" - an ordinary student tarpaulin windbreaker - and the same pants. And there are exactly as many weapons on it as needed - without surpluses. No cool camouflages, no fingerless gloves and all that bells and whistles.

"Specialist" can be recognized by the face, tanned by the winds, bad weather, sun and cold, which has become somehow especially swarthy-tanned.

All life is on the street. Like wolves, - the commander of the "specialists" laughs. “I’ve even begun to grow undercoat and claws ...” the major scratches at the dense vegetation on his chest.
In the morning the camp of "specialists" was empty. The groups went to the mountains. The guitar remained in the sleeping bag to wait for the owner.

Replacement

- Plafond requested a turntable. She will be in half an hour,” the commander announced. "Plafon" is the call sign of the aircraft controller assigned to the detachment. The callsign smoothly turned into a nickname. Plafond - lean blond - in the world, i.e. outside the war, pilot on the An-12. Now he is wrapping himself in a raincoat at the landing site, and in the disassembly headquarters tent:

— I myself want to stay, — for the umpteenth time, the short, strong fellow, the group commander, pulled his own. — I know people. They are used to me. I understand the situation. I will change in a month.

- Commander, well, the man himself wants. Why not leave? Let's replace the signalman, he will also soon expire, - he supported the refusenik of another command group.
The commander of the detachment, a lieutenant colonel, a former paratrooper, summarized briefly:

- You're flying! Get ready, soon "turntable". Wants, does not want ... Not children! Expired time to go home. If something happens, I will never forgive myself. Fatigue is fatigue. Take a break and come back...

They are replaced differently. Someone defiantly crossing out day after day on the calendar, counting down their time, getting ready to fly away a week in advance. Someone only has time to hastily grab a backpack with clothes, returning from the mountains and being late for the "turntable". It seems, perhaps, there is always one thing - it is sadness at parting. It's hard to leave friends here, cats scratch my soul. And very often when parting you hear:

- Wait, brothers! I won't delay...

Here come back here really cool. With bags of gifts, gifts, letters, vodka. They return cheerfully, with some strange feeling of ease of release. And, falling into the strong arms of friends, you suddenly catch yourself thinking that you were languishing without them. I yearned there, in peaceful Moscow, for these people, for this case ...

Guardsmen and Musketeers

As in any war, glory is poorly shared here. Everyone strives to pinch off a bigger piece and prove that it was he (his regiment, his branch of service) who “made” the war. And at the same time, behind the eyes, "break away" to the neighbors.

The army men are snarling at the address of the internal troops, the VVs pay the same coin to the "advice" - that is how the army men are called. Both of them scold the paratroopers and special forces, and those, in turn, are not averse to riding on the infantry and tankers. The pilots get it from everyone at once.

Everyone is jealously counting who fought more where, who took what cities, who filled up the most “Chechs”.

And watching this skirmish, you suddenly catch yourself thinking that all this is very reminiscent of the plot of Dumas - about the endless hostility of the cardinal's guards and the king's musketeers.

But the order comes, and all jealousy is on the side. The infantry storms Dudayev's fortified areas, surrounds the villages. Internal troops and employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs are going to "cleanse" inside these snakes. Somewhere in the mountains, "Chech" "specialists" are wooling.

Everyone has their own business in this war.

Then we will consider glory ...

In general, everyone is very tired. People are tired, technology is tired, weapons are tired. The special forces detachment, which took me in, has not got out of this war for a year and a half. Once brand new BTEers now resemble sick old people, when, sniffling and coughing like asthmatics, they barely climb mountains at the limit of their worn-out engines. Pockmarked, with paint burnt out from endless shooting, the barrels of machine guns. Mended, over-darned camouflage, weathered, tattered tents. One and a half years of war! The last three months in the mountains without getting out. Hundreds of kilometers of roads. Dozens of villages. Losses. Fights.

People are on the uttermost limit of exhaustion, fatigue. And yet it's a team! This is a strange Russian mentality, when no one complains, does not curse fate, and returning from the mountains at night and having received a new task, resignedly begins to prepare for the raid. Refuel, hurriedly clean their worn-out armored personnel carriers that went out of their entire conceivable resource. Stuff tapes and magazines with cartridges, charge the batteries of radio stations, patch windbreakers and pants crawling from dilapidation. And only in the morning to forget for a couple of hours in a dream. Black, deep, dreamless.

And then, having hastily swallowed porridge with canned fish - the stew ended long ago, as bread and butter ran out, sit down on the armor - and go! "We leave at dawn..."

... There will be no peace. No matter how Moscow politicians talk about it, there will be no peace here for a very long time ...

I saw a Russian slave who worked for four years in Dargo. His eyes are unforgettable.
I saw a Russian old woman - she is forty-two years old. In Grozny, her husband and son were killed; she knows nothing about the fate of her thirteen-year-old daughter...

I saw something here that, probably, my eyes should have turned black with horror and hatred a long time ago. As, however, with any soldier in this war ...

No, there will be no peace. Nobody will give it to us.

Moscow — Khankala — Shali — Vedeno — Moscow

Armament

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. 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'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 “forward, guys!” Our battalion commander, Major Zhovtoripenko, comes out and reports: “The personnel are not ready for military operations!”. 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 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 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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