War without embellishment: memories of a Russian conscript about Chechnya. Diary of a special forces soldier. A unique human document about the second Chechen war How I served Chechnya in 1994

A native of the Kovylkinsky district, Alexey Kichkasov, saved a reconnaissance detachment of the 506th motorized rifle regiment during the assault on Grozny in December 1999. Under heavy fire from the militants, he led out his children who were surrounded. This feat was written about by Komsomolskaya Pravda, the magazine of special forces units Bratishka, and featured on the ORT channel. Alexey was nominated for the title of Hero of Russia, but our fellow countryman still has not received the well-deserved award.

We met with Alexey in his native Kovylkino. In May last year he retired to the reserve. The officer's biography of our hero began simply and simply. After graduating from school, Lesha entered the Mordovian Pedagogical Institute named after Evseviev. I chose the Faculty of Physical Education, Department of Fundamentals of Life Safety. Kichkasov has been involved in martial arts for a long time. At competitions he managed to take prizes. At the end of his fifth year of study he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant. Kichkasov did not expect that the Motherland would call him under its banner. When he was studying, he had countless plans, but in none of them did his life intersect with military paths. He worked briefly as a teacher at the Kovylkino State Technical University, and was a Kyokushinkai karate coach.

Lieutenant's stars

Kichkasov did not manage to stay in civilian life for long. The Minister of Defense issued an order to call up reserve lieutenants. At the military registration and enlistment office he was offered to repay his civic duty to his homeland. Lesha agreed. So our fellow countryman ended up in one of the most famous Russian divisions - the 27th Totsk peacekeeping division. He ended up here among seven lieutenants from Mordovia. Most of them were assigned to the Guards 506th Motorized Rifle Regiment. He ended up in a reconnaissance company, then this unit, according to Alexei, was short-staffed with officers. The young lieutenant decided to take the most out of two years of military service, gain harsh army experience, and strengthen his character. Where else, if not in intelligence, can this be done? And that’s why he liked his stay in Totsk. Exercises and tactical exercises were replaced by field trips. Lieutenant Kichkasov took part in all this. He quickly mastered what cadets in military schools study for several years. There was no other way. The 506th regiment was a peacekeeper for a long time, went through Transnistria, Abkhazia and the First Chechen War, and became part of constant readiness. This meant: if the flames of a new war flared up somewhere, they would be abandoned first.

Second Chechen

In the fall of 1999, after the invasion of Basayev and Khattab’s gangs into Dagestan, it became clear that a new war could not be avoided. And so it happened. At the end of September, the regiment's echelons reached the North Caucasus. The columns of the 506th entered Chechnya from the direction of Dagestan. The first serious clashes with militants took place in the area of ​​Chervlenaya-Uzlovaya station. The guards did not lose face. Corr. “S” was able to visit this area just then, and we witnessed that motorized riflemen actually carried out combat missions that the elite units of the internal troops could not cope with. Moreover, they managed to get out of the most dangerous situations with minimal losses. This is a great merit of regimental intelligence. The company was relatively small, it consisted of 80 people. At first, Kichkasov commanded a platoon of armored reconnaissance and patrol vehicles, and, in principle, could not participate in going behind enemy lines. But in one of the battles, the lieutenant of a neighboring platoon was wounded, and our fellow countryman took command of his platoon.

“Capital S” has written more than once about the depressing state of the Russian army. The troops are now equipped in some ways even worse than during the Afghan war. Satellite navigation systems, thermal imaging surveillance equipment, which make it possible to detect the enemy not only at night, but also in rain, fog, under an impressive layer of earth - all this has long become a common attribute of Western reconnaissance units. In the Russian army all this is known as exotic. And although our industry can produce systems no worse than foreign ones, there is no money to purchase them. And as during the Great Patriotic War, all hope lies in the sharp eyes and strong legs of our military personnel. And where the Americans would have sent a remote-controlled flying reconnaissance aircraft, ours were forced to go themselves, sometimes even into the thick of it. The only reconnaissance equipment was AKM assault rifles with a silencer and binoculars.

Mordvinians against militants

As Alexey recalls, at the beginning of the Second Chechen Company they managed to penetrate 10-12 kilometers into the enemy’s location. Beforehand, in order not to fall under their own fire, they warned the command about the direction of movement. The lieutenant took with him 7-11 the most trusted people. By the way, among them there were guys from Mordovia, for example, Alexey Larin Kichkasov now lives in neighboring houses. During one trip, his namesake stumbled and fell into the river, got very wet, and it was already frosty, but they continued on their way. After all, going back meant disrupting the combat mission, and in war, failure to follow an order is fraught with losses in the ranks of the attacking motorized riflemen. And the fighter, soaked to the skin, never complained once during the 14-hour sortie. This is where the well-known saying in peaceful life acquired a specific meaning: “I would go on reconnaissance with him.”

The scouts studied the places where the columns of infantry and tanks were supposed to pass. They found militant firing points and called in artillery and aviation fire. Artillery is the “God of War,” and it performed much better in this campaign than in the previous one. The howitzers began firing within five minutes after they were given the target coordinates. Anyone who knows even a little about military affairs will understand that this is an excellent result. Moreover, as a rule, the shells hit with high accuracy. And this is without any fancy laser guidance systems. In this battle for Grozny, the Russian army finally used for the first time the entire arsenal of defeat at its disposal. Starting from long-range Tochka-U missiles (range up to 120 km, accuracy up to 50 m) and super-powerful Tulip mortars (caliber 240 mm), which turned five-story buildings into a pile of ruins. Alexey speaks highly of the Buratino heavy flamethrower (range up to 3.5 km, ammunition - 30 thermobaric rockets). With its long “nose” it simultaneously fires two vacuum missiles, destroying all living things within a radius of several tens of meters.

Kichkasov did not specifically count how many times they had to go behind enemy lines. Sometimes the intensity of reconnaissance missions was so great that no more than two hours were allotted for rest. I slept a little - and again forward! The work in the Grozny region was especially difficult. Here it was even necessary to conduct reconnaissance in force. This is when, in order to identify firing points, they cause an attack on themselves.

Battle for Grozny

During the Grozny operation, the 506th regiment was in the direction of the main attack. Therefore, he suffered great losses. The press reported that almost a third of the personnel were out of action within a week. In companies of one hundred and twenty people there remained twenty to thirty. In battalions of four hundred there are eighty to one hundred. The scouts also got a hard time. On the morning of December 17, 1999, their company was given a combat mission: to advance and occupy strategic height 382.1. It rose near Grozny, and from it many areas of the Chechen capital were controlled. The matter was complicated by the fact that there were powerful concrete militant bunkers there. We left at night. The transition took about seven hours. And then we came across militants. An intense firefight ensued. Walking next to Alexei Kichkasov was Sergeant Major Pavlov, an experienced fighter who had already served in Tajikistan and received the Order of Courage. In 1996, in Chechnya, he was part of the personal security of the commander of the Russian troops. The sergeant major's crown was cut off by a fragment of an exploding grenade. The wound was severe; the brain was affected. Alexey bandaged his comrade and gave him an injection of promedol. Already bandaged, he could not fire from a machine gun, but tried in every possible way to help the commander. He loaded the magazines with cartridges, but soon lost consciousness.

Pavlov will die in a few days in a Mozdok hospital, but that will happen later, but for now his comrades were destroying the terrorists. Sniper fire began. One fighter was hit in the eye by a bullet. He didn't even have time to scream. Then five more people died. Alexei’s best friend, Lieutenant Vlasov, was seriously wounded in the stomach by a machine-gun burst. A sniper killed a soldier who rushed to help. This time, due to some mistake, the artillerymen opened fire on their own. Alexey Kichkasov, together with several soldiers, carried out the wounded sergeant major, then returned back. The surviving soldiers gathered around the senior lieutenant. The militants, realizing that they were dealing with a small group of scouts, tried to surround them, but the fierce fire of ours thwarted their plan.

Lieutenant Vladimir Vlasov died in Larin’s arms. Unfortunately, the guys were unable to remove the bodies of the dead from the battlefield. Alexey Kichkasov brought out, or rather saved, twenty-nine people. For this battle, and his ability to act in a seemingly hopeless situation, Senior Lieutenant Kichkasov will be nominated for the title of Hero of Russia. Komsomolskaya Pravda will be the first to write about this. Then several more bloody battles will follow. And the ill-fated height 382.1 was completely occupied a week later, and they found the bodies of their comrades, mutilated by spirits. The militants mined Vladimir Vlasov, taking out their impotent anger on him.

Sports character

Alexey believes that he managed to survive this war only thanks to his sports training. Karate taught him to overcome fear and mortal fatigue. He adapted quickly enough to a combat situation. The worst thing in war is when complete indifference sets in, a person does not pay attention to the bullets whistling over his head. Military psychologists have described this condition; it is as dangerous as loss of control over oneself. Alexey did everything to prevent this from happening to him or his subordinates, because urban battles are the hardest. Here he received a concussion. He doesn’t even remember how it happened. Everything happened in a fraction of a second. The infamous Minutka Square was taken without Kichkasov. On ORT, in Sergei Dorenko’s program, there was a report about this event; looking into the camera lens, Alexei’s subordinates sincerely regretted that their commander was not nearby and said hello to him. This program was seen by the mother of our hero. Before this, she did not know that he was participating in hostilities. Our fellow countryman spent about a month in the Rostov hospital.

The senior lieutenant retired from the army in May 2000. Now he lives in his native Kovylkino. I wanted to get a job in the security forces, but it turned out that no one needed his combat experience. As before the army, Alexey devotes himself to karate - training children. As for the Hero of Russia star, Kichkasov never received it. Although he was nominated for this title three times. The fatal role in this was played by the fact that he is not a career officer. It turns out that when they sent the guy into battle, no one understood that he only had studies at the military department, but when it came to awards, then according to the logic of the rear bureaucrats, it turns out that he was not supposed to be a hero. It’s hard to think of anything more absurd and offensive. In our country, only the dead are honored.

(One Soldier's War); translation from Russian by Nick Allen)

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Sunday, March 30, 2008; BW05

Any war turns our ideas about reality and our very speech inside out. But the war that Russia waged in Chechnya was particularly grotesque.

In 1994, President Boris Yeltsin, for purely opportunistic reasons, sent Russian troops to forcefully overthrow the separatist government in the Chechen Republic in the south of the country. Officially, the military’s task included “restoring constitutional order” and “disarmament of gangs.” However, it was clear to the correspondents covering the conflict that Yeltsin's decision would lead to disaster, primarily because the Russian armed forces were a frightening bunch of undisciplined people.

Not only did these soldiers fail to restore “constitutional order,” they violated every article of the young Russian constitution, unleashing an orgy of plunder, violence, and murder in a region considered part of their own country. In 1995, I met a young Chechen businessman; he explained to me how the army carried out the second part of Yeltsin’s order - about the “disarmament” of the population of the republic. Rummaging through his own closet, he pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills (it contained a total of $5,000). According to him, for this money he agreed to buy from two soldiers a batch of weapons from a military warehouse - sniper rifles, grenade launchers and ammunition (naturally, all this was supposed to fall into the hands of Chechen insurgents).

In "One Soldier's War" - his memoirs about his army service - Arkady Babchenko confirms that this trade flourished in those days. He describes how two recruits were beaten, tortured, and then expelled from his unit for selling ammunition through a hole in the fence of a military camp to buy vodka. However, their fault was not in selling weapons to the enemy, but in the fact that they were newbies:

“We don’t look at the beating. We have always been beaten, and we have long been accustomed to such scenes. We don’t really feel sorry for the paratroopers. We shouldn’t have gotten caught... They spent too little time in the war to sell cartridges - only we are allowed to do this "We know what death is, we heard it whistle above our heads, saw how it tears bodies to pieces. We have the right to carry it to others, but these two do not. Moreover, these recruits are still strangers in our battalion, they have not yet became soldiers, did not become one of us.

But what saddens us most about this story is that now we won’t be able to use the gap in the fence.”

Such episodes in One Soldier's War are reminiscent of Catch-22 or, if we talk about Russian literature, the cruel irony of Cavalry: Isaac Babel's stories about the Soviet-Polish war of 1919-21.

Before going to war, Babchenko mastered Morse code, but he was not taught how to shoot. He and other conscripts were systematically beaten and humiliated by senior soldiers; they traded their boots for cabbage pies, had a sumptuous feast after catching a stray dog; they were filled with hatred and anger towards the whole world:

"We began to sink. For a week, our hands, which had not been washed, were cracked and constantly bleeding, turning from the cold into complete eczema. We stopped washing, brushing our teeth, and shaving. We had not warmed ourselves by the fire for a week - the raw reeds did not burn, and there was nowhere to get firewood in the steppe . And we began to go wild. The cold, dampness, dirt erased all feelings from us except hatred, and we hated everything in the world, including ourselves."

This book - sometimes scary, sometimes sad, sometimes funny - fills a serious gap, showing us the Chechen war through the eyes of a Russian soldier with a literary gift. However, gradually a series of cruel episodes begins to irritate the reader familiar with the political life of Russia. The end of the first war, the two-year pause, the beginning of the second - all this is barely mentioned. The book turns into a story about the “eternal war”, and we see it only in the perception of the author and other soldiers from his company.

We remain in the dark about the reason why Babchenko, who participated in the first Chechen war of 1994-1996. as a conscript, in 1999 he volunteered for the second war. But this, however, is not the author’s most alarming omission. What is more remarkable is that, unlike his hapless predecessor Boris Yeltsin, President Vladimir Putin is not mentioned even once in the book. Also left out of the narrative are the civilian population of Chechnya. “Chechens” is what the soldiers call the enemy—the rebel militants. Babchenko himself experiences moral torment after learning that an eight-year-old girl and her grandfather died from the artillery fire he directed. But, as a rule, his story reveals a strange indifference to the suffering of peaceful Chechens, who became the main victims of the Yeltsin-Putin war.

War is not just a difficult life experience acquired by young people. It is also a test of society's strength, forcing citizens to question whether they can trust the authorities with the right to inflict death on others in their name. And Babchenko does not touch on this issue at all in his heartbreaking, but somewhat self-centered memoirs.

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Arkady Babchenko: “I will never take a weapon again” (BBCRussian.com, UK)

("Delfi", Lithuania)

("Delfi", Lithuania)

("The Economist", UK)

("Le Monde", France)

InoSMI materials contain assessments exclusively of foreign media and do not reflect the position of the InoSMI editorial staff.

“...I'm going on a business trip soon. I have a bad feeling in my heart. The first funeral came to the detachment. They burned our column. Our guys died. The Czechs burned them alive, shell-shocked, in an armored personnel carrier. The column commander was hit in the head. Thus began the second war for our detachment. I felt sad and had a bad feeling. I began to prepare for it, I just knew what awaited us.”

...Faces received information about some suicide bombers. We went there, to this village, and took three stoned women. One was about forty years old, she was their recruiter, the main one. All three of them were on drugs because they all smiled at us. They were interrogated at the base. The eldest didn’t want to admit anything, and then, when they put an electric shock in her panties, she began to speak. It became clear that they were planning to carry out terrorist attacks to blow up themselves and many people at our home. They have documents and found a lot of things in the house. We shot them, and sprayed the corpses with TNT so that there would be no traces at all. This was unpleasant for me; I had never touched or killed women before. But they themselves got what they asked for..."

Going on a business trip soon. I have a bad feeling in my heart. The first funeral came to the detachment. They burned our column. Our guys died. The Czechs burned them alive, shell-shocked, in an armored personnel carrier. The column commander was hit in the head. Thus began the second war for our detachment. I felt sad and had a bad feeling. I began to prepare for it, I just knew what awaited us.

Suddenly, the militants’ PK started working from the roof of the house, one of ours shouted in time for me to lie down, the bullets passed above me, their melodic flight could be heard. The boys began to hammer back, covering me, I crawled. Everything was done instinctively, I wanted to survive and that’s why I crawled. When he reached them, they began to shoot at the machine gunner with grenade launchers. The slate scattered and he fell silent; I don’t know what happened to him. We retreated to our original positions.

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

In the morning we went along the same route again, and I remembered 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 were holed up.

On the way, they cleaned out the boiler room. Severed fingers and other body parts were lying everywhere, and 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 the task of guarding a basement with wounded militants; there were about 30 people there.

When I went down there, there were many wounded Chechen fighters there. There were Russians among them, I don’t know why they fought against us. They looked at me with such hatred and anger that my hand itself squeezed the machine gun. I left there and placed our sniper near the entrance. And they began to wait for further orders. When I was standing near the basement, two women came up to me and asked me to give one wounded man to their home. I was 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, the locals, saved our wounded soldier. Maybe in return.

After that, the Ministry of Justice came to pick up these wounded. It was a truly disgusting picture. They were afraid to go into the basement first and told me to go in first. Realizing that the riot police were in no danger, 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 on his own. He had no feet, he walked on his stumps, reached the fence and lost consciousness. They beat him, stripped him naked and put him in a paddy wagon. I didn’t feel sorry for them, I was just disgusted to look at this scene.

We took this village into a ring and dug in right in the field. Snow, mud and slush, but we dug in and spent the night. At night I inspected the positions. Everyone was freezing, but they lay in their trenches. In the morning we went to the village again, clearing all the houses along the way. There the ground was boiling with bullets. Our patrol was cut off as always. The militants went on the attack. We fell like the Germans in 1941. The grenade launcher actually ran out in front of them, yelled: “Shot,” and launched a grenade launcher at them. Suddenly my friend, a sniper, came running, he was wounded in the chest and head.

Another one of ours remained there; he was shot in both legs, and he lay there shooting back. My friend fell onto my lap and whispered: “Brother, save me. I’m dying,” and fell silent. I injected him with promedol. Pushing him on the shoulder, I tell him: “Everything is fine. You’re still going to get me drunk for demobilization.” Having cut off the armor, I told the two shooters to drag it to the house where ours were. We reached a grid that, instead of a fence, divided the distance between the houses. They were overtaken by machine gun fire. One was hit in the arm, the other in the legs. And the whole line fell right on 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 shot back at the corner of the house. Our people threw all the wounded over the chain link. What remains is my friend's body. 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, covering ourselves with an armored personnel carrier. My friend passed away. We found out this later, but while the battle was going on. We fired back.

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

I was struck by the words of one idiot general. He was asked why the submariners who sank on the Kursk were paid 700 thousand rubles to their families, but the families of those killed in Chechnya have still not been paid anything. So he answered that these were unplanned victims, but in Chechnya they were planned. This means that we, who fulfilled our duty in Chechnya, are already planned victims. And there are a lot of such freak generals. It was always just the soldier who suffered. And in the army there have always been two opinions: those who gave orders, and those who carried them out, and that’s us.

After spending the night, they brought us food and our water - it relieved the tension of yesterday's battle a little. Having regrouped, we entered the village along the same routes. We were following the footsteps of yesterday's battle. Everything in the house where we were was burned out. There was a lot of blood, spent cartridges, and torn bulletproof vests all around. Going behind our house, we found the corpses of militants.

They were hidden in holes in the corn. Wounded mercenaries were found in one of the basements. They were from Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Perm. They shouted to us not to kill them, they have families, children at home. It was as if we had escaped from an orphanage into this hole. We shot them all. We left the village at night. Everything was burning and smoldering. So another village was wiped out by the war. There was a gloomy feeling in my soul from what I saw. During that battle, the militants lost 168 people.

I was so cold that I couldn’t pull my hands out of my pockets. Someone took out a flask of alcohol and offered to warm us up; we just had to dilute it. We sent two people to the ditch. One began to collect 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 without patrol. They were stunned when they saw us and stood up. Our guys rushed back to us. The militants did not shoot. I started waking up the guys.

We struck first from the KPVT. The battle has begun. I sat down near the front wheel of the armored personnel carrier and began to shoot. Our machine gunner started working, hit the tank, and the militants began to retreat. They had many wounded and killed. The tank gunner was not oriented in the dark, and I ran towards him and came under fire from the tank. I was pretty shell-shocked. I couldn’t come to my senses for about 20 minutes. They pulled me away.

I crawled up to the machine gunner and exchanged fire with him. We had a heavy fire. In response, the militants hit the tank in front of it with a grenade launcher. But if they didn't hit him, let's keep shooting. The battle went on for about an hour. In the morning we were stunned; there were bloody trails in front of us. They pulled their own. The severed body parts were chopped up by KPVT and me. We ran up and began collecting trophies - machine guns, grenade launchers, unloading gear. Suddenly, shots and grenade explosions were heard. It turns out that the militants were wounded and were ambushed by us. There were two surviving militants who were seriously wounded, and they blew themselves up along with the wounded.

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

Many empty beds with candles and photographs of the guys appeared in the squad. In the detachment we remembered everyone and remembered them alive. My heart was heavy. Having lost our guys, we survived. We sat and walked together, and now they are gone. Only memories remain. There was a man, and now he is gone. This death snapped its teeth nearby and took for itself who it liked. Sometimes you get used to the idea that you yourself will someday end up there and your body will turn to dust. Sometimes you want to feel your friend next to you, to sit and hang your jaw, but he’s not there, there’s only one filming left, where their faces are alive. They were all great guys, and if we forget them, they will definitely die. Rest forever, brothers. We won't forget you, we'll see you there someday.

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

It was heard that the battle was going on somewhere ahead. We wanted to go out to the gardens, but they hit us again from the forest from the border. Suddenly shadows flashed ahead of us. One was in the window, the other darted into the basement. I mechanically threw a grenade there, and Smoked hit the windows with a burst of fire. When we went to look at the results, there were 2 corpses - a grandfather and a grandmother. Bad luck. There was another attempt to break through, but it also did not yield anything. The corpses (of the spirits) were then cut: ears, noses. The soldiers went wild with everything that was happening.

In the morning, my friend and I were called to headquarters. They said it was for escort. We went to headquarters dissatisfied, because after 2 hours the convoy was leaving, and we were sent for some kind of escort. We came there, and the major general of our division presented us with our first awards - a medal ... for a special operation back in October 1999. This was a surprise for us. Having hung it on our chests, we set off in a column. Having paid the conductor 500 rubles on top, we piled into the carriage. Having laid out all our things, we threw the medals into a glass of vodka and began to wash them. The dead guys were remembered with a third toast, and everyone fell asleep where they could. That business trip was too difficult for us.

After everything I had experienced, I began to drink heavily. I often started arguing with my wife, although she was pregnant, I still had a blast. I didn't know what would happen to me on my next business trip. With my friend who moved in with me, we had a blast. I didn't even try to stop. It broke inside me, and I began to treat everything coldly. He came home at night and tipsy.

My wife was getting more and more upset and we were arguing. She cried. I couldn't even calm her down. The days were approaching a new business trip, and I couldn’t stop, I didn’t know what would happen there. It is difficult for me to describe this period, because it was full of contradictions, emotions, quarrels and experiences. Especially the last day before a business trip. I went to the base, where we got drunk and drank until the morning.

I arrived home at about seven in the morning, there was 1.5 hours before departure. Having opened the door, I immediately received a slap in the face from my wife. She waited for me all night, even prepared the table. I silently took my things and left for the train without even saying goodbye. There were too many quarrels and worries during this period. On the train, our shift was walking, I lay on the shelf and realized everything that had happened to me. It was hard and painful inside, but the past could not be returned or corrected, and it was even more painful...

On the way, some slept, some drank, some wandered from car to car with nothing to do. We arrived in..., it’s winter outside. Snow and frost. Unloaded. One half of the squad flew on turntables, the other went under its own power. It was cold to ride on armor, but it was necessary. We unloaded the BC and drove off. Spent the night in... shelf.

We were accommodated in the gym and slept on the floor in sleeping bags. We 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, some of them went crazy and fought among themselves. It was hard to wake up in the morning, but on the parade ground we made a special forces “business card”, and a machine gunner with a PC fired a burst into the air. After all these adventures, this regiment was in shock, it seems that no one organized such concerts, they will remember us for a long time. Yes, this is how special forces should conduct things.

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

The eldest didn’t want to admit anything, and then, when they put an electric shock in her panties, she began to speak. It became clear that they were planning to carry out terrorist attacks to blow up themselves and many people at our home. They have documents and found a lot of things in the house. We shot them, and sprayed the corpses with TNT so that there would be no traces at all. This was unpleasant for me; I had never touched or killed women before. But they themselves 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 victims. But you can’t answer the question of why you remained alive and my son died, and no one will answer this question. It was too hard to look the mothers in the eyes. But nothing can be done or changed. We were woken up at 4 am. A reconnaissance ambush captured a messenger at a water pumping station, and there was a shootout. We needed to go there and pick up the abandoned SVD and the prisoner.

We went there again. It was raining. Having taken him, he turned out to be a young Czech, about 15 years old, we tortured him. I shot at him, that is. next to his head, and [he] began to betray everyone. He gave us information about their camps, caches and several messengers and 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 with 4 boxes and quickly took the cache. 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 militants’ signalman. We quickly burst into the house, cordoning it off on all sides. He was found in an abandoned house nearby. We dragged him to the armored personnel carrier. The Czech who handed him over to us identified him, and I held him at gunpoint, pushing a pistol into his ribs.

We quickly turned up and went to the base. After briefly torturing the signalman, he also gave us a lot of addresses. And it was decided to take it right away in hot pursuit. Again we went to the address of the bombers, who were involved in many explosions. Having arrived at the house, they noticed us and began to leave for their gardens. Our group broke into the house, we took nearby houses, covering the assault force. Seeing those running away, our patrol opened fire. The assault took one, we took one down, and the eldest left. We picked up the body on a nearby street, no one saw it. And quickly to the base. A crowd of protesters was already gathering.

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

I was woken up at 4:30, I had to remove this militant from the face of the earth. Having wrapped it in cellophane, we went to the Sunzhensky ridge. There they found a pit with swamp slurry. The bullet entered his thigh and came out of 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, another between his legs and walked away about 30 meters and connected it to the battery, there was an explosion. We went to explore the place.

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

Home again... When I was in the detachment, my friend arrived and said with a chuckle that my wife had given birth. I was completely taken aback by surprise. We went in to wash ourselves, and time dissolved into space. In short, my wife gave birth on Monday, I showed up only 3 days later. She was offended by me, I showed up there tipsy. 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 was lost for another day... A few days later we took my wife and child home. I took my baby in my arms, such a sweet little thing. I'm glad…

We were taking a break from some left exit. Somewhere in the morning there was a strong explosion and shooting, we were raised to the gun. One group left. It turned out that an armored personnel carrier was blown up by a landmine. 5 people were killed and 4 were injured. The dead were laid on the helipad. Our group went 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, they at least saw who they were with and knew who to shoot at, but now you have to wait all the time for them to hit you first. This means you are already shooting second.

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

In the village, two FSB officers and two from Alpha were killed. The entire nomadic group is removed from operations and thrown into the village. Everyone worked for the result to avenge the guys from Alpha. There were strict cleansing operations in the village. At night we brought Chechens to the filter, and there we worked harshly with them. We drove around the village and surrounding areas in the hope of finding the corpses of FSB officers. Then it became a little clearer what exactly happened. In order to verify the information, gigolos and opera faces entered the village.

We drove in two cars. The “six” was the first, the UAZ medical aid was behind. For some reason, in the center of the village, 06 went to the market, and the boozy woman went further. At bazaar 06, militants are blocking and shooting, our only time to broadcast was that “we were blocked.” When the drunk with the alphas entered the market, local women swept the glass and washed off the blood.

Another 5 minutes - and no traces would have been found, but everything had already fallen 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 everything happened. Next to the corpses stood a burnt 06. The corpses were badly mutilated, apparently they had been tortured. Then they arrived from the Alpha and radioed to their people...

Returning to the base, we were glad that the bridge we were crossing was mined and the landmine did not go off. And where the corpses were, a 200-liter barrel with 2 landmines and filled with lead barrels was buried 3 meters away. If it had worked, there would have been many more corpses. In the morning we went to the addresses. They took the first address quickly, two of them. 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 outside the village. There they were handed over to the “termites”. We went to another address, took a young Czech and an elderly one. They were thrown out near the filter with bags on their heads, and the fighters kicked them 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 discovered there and set up an ambush. Having crossed the river in 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 people for help, in response the militants replied that they should prepare to become “shaheeds”, 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, and we went to them They came out and smashed it.

We were sent to look for a PKK abandoned during a firefight by militants. We didn't find him. 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 been thrown. And we dragged him on a rope, tying him to an armored personnel carrier.

Today is my child's birthday. 5 years. I really wanted to congratulate you, but I was far away. I promised to buy a parrot, but I will only do it 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 praying for me. My soul shuddered. Everything was childishly pure and from the heart, I asked God for dad and mom and that everything would be fine with them. This really touched me.

Having arrived at the base, we settled down and had dinner, when they were eating, a shot rang out, as it turned out later, our soldier shot at another who went somewhere at night without knowing the password. The wound was serious, in the stomach, the entrance was as thick as a finger, the exit as thick as a fist. At night they took us to the helicopter. Whether he will survive, I don’t know. The war becomes incomprehensible, its own. And sometimes it comes to the point of absurdity and incomprehensibility, and without meaning, for what and for whom. In the evening I looked at my medal... which was awarded before leaving. It's nice, of course. And it’s nice when you appreciate it on time. I didn’t sleep well, the artillery was hammering in the mountains all night.

In the morning we went to ..., where a soldier killed 2 officers and a cop and fled the unit. We stopped near N, swam and washed, there were two weeks left here - and then we went home. Lately I’ve been really wanting to, I’m probably really bored, I just wanted to do some household chores and take my mind off all this crap. We settled down to rest, the locals brought us some munch, and as soon as we started eating, we were removed from this place; even the yellowbell had to be picked off hastily. We arrived at the same place where we started looking for this freak. And in the dark they had already completed all their work. I passed out, I don’t remember how, looked at the stars and fell asleep.

At about 8 o'clock it became known that this freak had been killed in the morning. I don’t know what he hoped for. The last operation was in N, and then we went to the base. I couldn’t even believe it. We drove through Chechnya coolly, with police lights flashing on armored personnel carriers and an American flag for fun. On this day, everyone was on edge, and we were the best for everyone, no one else was in any trouble. There was excitement around us, our souls were amazing, we were waiting for the shift. On the way, our driver rammed all the Chechen cars, although on the road we caused terror with our armored personnel carriers, and everyone was afraid of us.

I had a bad feeling from the very beginning. The intelligence chief was confident that everything would be fine. That day we went for a swim. And in the evening it began to rain, it felt like, guys, stay at home. ...Our tent was flooded, rats were running around the tent. I still had strong doubts about this whole operation. I couldn’t fall asleep until 2 am - I close my eyes and see only darkness. We drove into the village in complete darkness, left the boxes on the edge of the street, and went to the address on foot. The 1st group covered us.

They surrounded the house quietly and quickly climbed over the fence using the assault ladder. In the courtyard, everyone took their place. I walked third from the side, with my friend behind. They quickly dispersed. The group leader had already broken open the doors, and at that time shots were heard from the back of the house. The bullets hit him, and a smoke grenade exploded while he was unloading. Someone pushed me aside and disappeared into the smoke. I crawled on my back out of the yard. The boys pulled out the squad leader.

It was heavy. The bullet passed between the plates in the side and exited just above the heart. We put him on the APC and he drove off. They started checking people - one was missing, so they started looking. There were short lines coming from the house. The house was cordoned off, we didn’t shoot because it was a setup. As it turned out later, we would all have been imprisoned if the house had been demolished. We did not have such rights at that time.

My hands were simply tied. It turned out that there was not even a combat order for this operation. We needed a result. It turned out that our pointer, he wanted to settle scores with the one we approached, with our own 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 it around, and the other entered a vertebra. At one of these moments, he pushed me away from the door and thereby 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 the bullet. One single burst came out at him, and only one ended his life. Everything inside me was empty. My premonition did not deceive me. When we arrived at the base, the boys were lying on the takeoff in bags. I opened my friend's bag, took his hand and said, "I'm sorry."

The second lay already swollen in the 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 damn about ordinary fighters; he made a name for himself with them. Then he scolded me at the meeting, humiliated me in front of everyone for this operation, making me the extreme in everything, reproaching me with the boys. Bitch. But nothing, nothing lasts forever, someday he will be rewarded for everything and everyone.

You wonder if it’s enough, how much longer you’ll have enough strength. Is it still necessary to take care of your life? To live for my family, children, my beloved wife, who needs to erect a monument for all the suffering with me, experiences, expectations. I probably need to tie it up, or maybe a little more? I don’t want to stop there, I want more, I want peace and prosperity, the comfort of home. I will achieve this.

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 work and life are no longer there. ...Now you think a lot about your life and actions. 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 that if I had done things a little differently in some military encounters, maybe the guys would have survived.

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 your “enemies” within the squad. It's very sad for me that this happened. He fought, and in an instant everything turned to dust. I gave 14 years of my life to the detachment, I lost a lot and lost many.

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

S.I. Sivkov. Capture of Bamut. (From memories of the Chechen war of 1994-1996.) // VoenKom. Military commentator: Military-historical almanac. Yekaterinburg: Publishing House of the Humanitarian University; Publishing House "University", - 2000 N1 (1). - 152 p. http://war-history.ru/library/?cid=48

I don’t know about others, but for me the battle on Bald Mountain was the most difficult of all that I saw in that war. Maybe that’s why the events of those days were remembered to the smallest detail, although four whole years separate me from them. Of course, the outcome of the war was not decided in this battle, and in general the battle at Bamut can hardly be called a battle. Nevertheless, it is worth telling about it: many of the participants in those events never returned home, and those who survived in Chechnya are becoming fewer and fewer every year.

On the night of May 20-21, I changed guard when a vehicle with ammunition arrived at the location of our 324th regiment. All personnel went to unload, and each of us already knew about today's offensive. The large camp of the Ministry of Internal Affairs troops near Bamut, where we appeared on May 17, was constantly fired upon by the Chechens from machine guns and automatic self-propelled guns, but this time there were no losses. The ammunition was unloaded and divided here, they took as much as they could (I had 16 magazines, one and a half zinc cartridges in bulk, 10 or 11 grenades for an under-barrel grenade launcher: the total weight of the ammunition for each was approximately 45-50 kg). ...It should be noted that it was not regiments and brigades that went into battle, but so-called traveling (or combat) groups assembled from all combat-ready units of a particular military unit. Their composition changed periodically: some of the “militants” guarded the unit’s location, others were sent to accompany various cargoes. Usually there were 120-160 people in the group, a certain number of tanks, self-propelled guns and infantry fighting vehicles... This time we were unlucky: the day before, the 2nd company left with a convoy and “got lost” - it returned only on May 22. As a result, 84 people moved to the assault in eight infantry fighting vehicles. In addition, the attackers were supported by artillery (several self-propelled guns and mortars). Our battalion was then commanded by Major Vasyukov. A true “father to the soldiers,” he rooted for his men and did everything he could for them. At least we had order with food, but everyone got cigarettes as best they could: the battalion commander did not understand the problems with tobacco, because he himself was a non-smoker.

We didn't sleep long and got up at four o'clock in the morning, and by five o'clock all the columns were lined up - both ours and the neighboring ones. In the center, the 324th Regiment was advancing on Bald Mountain, and to our right, the 133rd and 166th Brigades were storming Angelica (I don’t know what names these mountains have on the geographical map, but everyone called them that way). The special forces of the internal troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs were supposed to attack from the left flank on Lysaya Gora, but in the morning he was not there yet, and we did not know where he was. Helicopters were the first to attack. They flew beautifully: one link quickly replaced another, destroying everything they could on their way. At the same time, tanks, self-propelled guns, and Grad MLRS joined in - in a word, all the firepower began to work. Amid all this noise, our group drove to the right from Bamut to the Ministry of Internal Affairs checkpoint. Coming out from behind it into a field (about one and a half kilometers wide), we dismounted, lined up and moved forward. BMPs went ahead: they completely shot through the small spruce grove that stood in front of us. Having reached the forest, we regrouped and then formed a single chain. Here we were informed that special forces would cover us from the left flank, and we would go to the right, along the field. The order was simple: “No sound, no squeak, no scream.” The scouts and sapper were the first to go into the forest, and we slowly moved after them and, as usual, looked in all directions (the rear of the column was backward, and the middle was to the right and left). All the stories that the “federals” stormed Bamut in several echelons, that they sent unfired conscripts ahead are complete nonsense. We had few people, and everyone walked in the same chain: officers and sergeants, warrant officers and soldiers, contract soldiers and conscripts. We smoked together, we died together: when we went out to fight, it was difficult to distinguish us from each other even by our appearance.

After five or six kilometers we came to some small plowed field (it looked as if an aerial bomb weighing half a ton had exploded here). From here it was clearly audible that our planes were being fired upon from the forest, and then some idiot launched an “orange smoke” rocket (meaning “I’m one of my own”). Naturally, he got it for this, because the smoke was visible very far away. In general, the further we walked, the more “fun” it was. When the group entered the forest again, the father-commanders began to find out whether Bald Mountain was here or not. Here I really almost fell: after all, we hadn’t walked that far, and with a normal topographic map such questions shouldn’t arise at all. When it finally became clear where Bald Mountain was, we moved forward again.

It was hard to walk; before going up we had to stop for a rest for about five minutes, no more. Very soon, reconnaissance reported that in the middle of the mountain everything seemed to be calm, but at the top there were some fortifications. The battalion commander ordered that they not climb into the fortifications yet, but wait for the others. We continued to climb the slope, which was literally “plowed up” by the fire of our tanks (the Chechen fortifications, however, remained intact). The slope, fifteen to twenty meters high, was almost vertical. The sweat was pouring down like hail, the heat was terrible, and we had very little water - no one wanted to carry an additional load up the mountain. At that moment someone asked the time, and I remembered the answer well: “Half past ten.” Having overcome the slope, we found ourselves on a kind of balcony, and here we simply fell into the grass from fatigue. Almost at the same time, our neighbors on the right started shooting.

Someone said: “Or maybe the Chechens have already left?” After a few seconds, everyone realized that no one had gone anywhere. It seemed that the fire was coming from all sides, the Chechen AGS was working right above us, and half of our people did not even have time to climb up (including all the machine gunners). Scattered, we shot wherever we could. It seemed dangerous to leave the BMP unguarded - the crew of each vehicle consisted of only two people - so all the armored vehicles were sent back after half an hour. I don’t know if the command made the right decision then. It is quite possible that the fire of the infantry fighting vehicle would have helped us in difficult times, but who could have guessed what would happen to us over the next few hours?

I reached the end of our company (there were 14 or 15 people in it, the company was commanded by Captain Gasanov). Here the ravine began, and behind its edge, higher up the slope, was the main dugout (or command post). Some Chechen constantly shouted “Allahu Akbar” from there. When they fired several times in his direction, they responded to us with such fire that we didn’t want to shoot anymore. Thanks to my radio station, I could imagine everything that was happening within a radius of four kilometers. The scouts reported that they had lost all their commanders and were beginning to retreat. In the first minutes of the battle, they suffered the most: it was impossible to hide from bullets and shrapnel among the rare trees, and continuous fire was fired at them from above. The battalion commander shouted that if they rolled back, then our entire group would be surrounded, then he gave the order to destroy the AGS at any cost. Our political officer was a graduate of the military department of the UPI (Lieutenant Elizarov, a chemist by profession), and he was always drawn to exploits. He decided, together with two soldiers, to approach the AGS from below, which I reported on the radio. We (the political officer, the machine gunner and I) had already begun our descent when the battalion commander called us idiots and ordered us to “calculate the target visually.”

Due to the dense foliage, it was possible to “calculate” the AGS only after three hours, when it had already done its job. They suppressed it with mortar fire (the mortar men generally shot very well, and the self-propelled gun gunners worked just fine: the range did not exceed 10-15 meters). Meanwhile, the Chechens repulsed the attack on Angelika. Two days later, in the camp, we learned about what was happening on our right flank, where guys from the 133rd and 166th brigades were advancing (there were about two hundred of them, no more). They met such heavy fire that they lost 48 people killed. There were a lot of wounded. It came down to hand-to-hand combat, in which 14 Chechens were killed, but it was still not possible to break through their defenses. The combat groups of both brigades rolled back, and the Chechens began to transfer the freed forces to their right flank. We clearly saw them crossing the river one and a half kilometers away from us, but there was nothing we could do to reach them. There was no sniper rifle, and the Chechens had another AGS. Our losses increased sharply: many were wounded two or even three times, and the promised special forces were still not there. Reporting on the situation, the battalion commander could only say one thing: “It sucks: I’m losing people.” Of course, he could not report exact data on losses on the radio: everyone knew that the broadcast was being monitored by Chechens. The group commander then told him: “Yes, at least you’ll be the last one left, but don’t give up the mountains: I forbid you to leave.” I heard this entire conversation personally.

The 3rd battalion went on the attack and knocked the Chechens out of the first line of defense, but immediately behind it began the second, the existence of which no one suspected. While our soldiers were reloading their weapons, the Chechens launched a counterattack and regained their positions. The battalion simply physically could not hold on and retreated. A protracted fire battle began: we were fired at from above and below. The distance was small, mutual abuse and obscenities rained down on both sides. Anyone who knows Russian can easily imagine what we talked about there. I remember the dialogue with two Chechen snipers (apparently, both of them were from Russia). To the rhetorical proposal of one of our soldiers, the first responded in the sense that she had enough of this goodness here too. The second, in response to the promise to find her after the war with all the ensuing circumstances, said: “Or maybe we are neighbors on the site, but you still won’t recognize it!” One of these snipers was killed a little later.

A mortar was soon connected to the Chechen AGS. According to our battle formations, he managed to fire four mines. True, one of them buried itself in the ground and did not explode, but the other hit accurately. Before my eyes, two soldiers were literally blown to pieces, the blast wave threw me several meters and hit my head on a tree. It took me about twenty minutes to recover from the shell shock (at this time the company commander himself directed the artillery fire). I remember what happened worse. When the batteries ran out, I had to work at another, larger radio station, and I was one of the wounded people sent to the coma. Running out onto the slope, we almost fell under sniper bullets. He didn't see us very well and missed. We hid behind some piece of wood, took a break and ran again. The wounded were just being sent downstairs. Having reached the pit where the battalion commander was sitting, I reported the situation. He also said that they could not reach those Chechens who were crossing the river. He ordered me to take the “Bumblebee” grenade launcher (a huge tube weighing 12 kg), and I had four machine guns alone (my own, a wounded one and two dead ones). I didn’t really want to carry a grenade launcher after everything that had happened, and I risked asking: “Comrade Major, when I went to war, my mother asked me not to run into trouble! It will be hard for me to run along an empty slope.” The battalion commander answered simply: “Listen, son, if you don’t take him now, then consider that you have already found the first trouble!” I had to take it. The return journey was not easy. Just in the sniper's line of sight, I tripped over a root and fell, pretending to be dead. However, the sniper started shooting at my legs, tore off my heel with a bullet, and then I decided not to tempt fate any more: I rushed as fast as I could - this saved me.

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

We occupied Bald Mountain only on May 22. On this day at nine o'clock in the morning the 3rd battalion went on the attack, but met only one Chechen. He fired one burst in our direction from a machine gun and then ran away. They were never able to catch up with him. All the other militants disappeared unnoticed. One of us saw a car leaving the village at night. Apparently, in the dark the Chechens picked up the bodies of the dead and wounded, and retreated shortly before dawn. That same morning, several of our soldiers went to the village. They realized that the bridge was mined, so they forded the river. The fact is that we had nothing but weapons, ammunition and cigarettes; No one knew how long we would sit on Bald Mountain waiting for the attack - after all, they had promised to change the group the night before. Having examined the abandoned houses on the outskirts, our people took several blankets and plastic and were about to return. At the same time, some troops began a colorful “offensive” on Bamut (if I’m not mistaken, these were troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs). From the top of Bald Mountain we clearly saw tanks slowly moving through the village under the cover of a smoke screen, followed by infantrymen. Without encountering resistance, they reached the cemetery, stopped, and then they were seen by the same soldiers who went down. When asked why there was a stop, the “advancing” modestly replied: “Well, you haven’t gone any further yet.” Ours, naturally, returned back, and they still spent the night in the cemetery. We could only laugh: there were seven or eight people on Bald Mountain at that moment, no more.

That day the battalion commander was asked if he needed reinforcements. He replied that if we go to take the village, we are needed. They sent people from the commandant's company of the regiment to Bamut by helicopter and assigned them everyone who could go. These reinforcements arrived after everything was over. On May 23, we crossed the river again, but this time it was more difficult to walk: due to heavy rain, the water rose and the current intensified. The Chechens were nowhere to be seen. When we got ashore, the first thing we did was inspect the bridge and immediately found several anti-personnel mines (at least five). It seemed to me then that they had been lying here since 1995 - they were placed so ignorantly. After the war, in the magazine “Soldier of Fortune,” I read an article about Bamut, written by some Ukrainian mercenary who fought on the side of the Chechens. It turned out that this “military expert” had laid those very mines (which our machine gunner - a conscript soldier - simply picked up and threw into the nearest swamp). (“Soldier of Fortune”, #9/1996, pp. 33-35. Bogdan Kovalenko, “We are leaving Bamut. UNSO militants in Chechnya.” The article is a mixture of outright lies and fiction, and of such a kind that, upon first reading, raises doubts about the author's full participation in the fighting in Chechnya and in the Bamut region. In particular, this article caused sharp rejection among the officers of the Special Forces "Vityaz" detachment of the Dzerzhinsky Odon, the author's inventions about the participation of this detachment in the Bamut battles. About the mining of the bridge B. Kovalenko writes: “The Chechens had a lot of mines and all sorts of them. Among them there were many mines. Usually they dropped a weight on them to check the effect. I mined the only surviving bridge across the river (before this, mines had not been laid for a year). Some expressed their displeasure: Now they had to ford the river. The situation changed when some "Katsapchuk" was blown up by a mine. It is doubtful that the "Katsapchuk" was "exploded" during the battles, the known circumstances of the battle do not give us such information, and any "explosions" after that , how the militants left Bamut, the latter could not observe in any way... - owkorr79) It turned out that the Chechens did not have time to pick up all their dead. The house located near the bridge was simply covered in blood, and several bloody stretchers were lying there. We found the body of one of the militants in the same house, and the remains of another were sewn into a poplar tree by a direct hit from a self-propelled gun. There were no corpses near the river. In the dugout they also found a group photograph of a Chechen detachment of 18 people defending here (there were no Slavs or Balts among them - only Caucasians). Not finding anything interesting here, we walked around the nearby houses and then moved back.

During the day, everyone noticed that something strange was happening below. Under the cover of a smoke screen, some screaming soldiers were running somewhere, shooting in different directions. Tanks and infantry fighting vehicles rolled after them: houses turned into ruins in a few seconds. We decided that the Chechens had launched a counterattack and we would have a new battle, this time for the village, but everything turned out to be much simpler. It was our television that filmed a “documentary” report about the “capture of Bamut.” That same evening we heard a message from the Mayak radio about the very battle where we had just fought. I don’t remember exactly what was said in that message: the journalists, as usual, were talking some kind of nonsense (“reported”, in particular, about losses on our side - 21 people killed).

The feeling, of course, was disgusting, but the worst awaited us ahead. On May 23, heavy rain began and lasted for ten days. All this time we sat in the open air and waited for further instructions. The cartridges and weapons got wet, dirt and rust had to be removed with anything. They no longer thought about themselves, they had no strength - people did not fall asleep, but simply fell. Usually twenty minutes was enough for us to come to our senses and carry on. At the end of the war, one of the journalists asked our company commander what quality of a Russian soldier should be considered the most important. The company commander answered briefly: “Endurance.” Maybe he was remembering that many-day “sitting” on Bald Mountain, which ended the capture of Bamut for us...

Interview with ex-Minister of Defense of the DPR Igor Ivanovich Strelkov.

I will say that I did not do anything heroic. He served, he worked, he fought as best he could.

Once again I became convinced that where you were posted in the army is where you have to fight.

Igor Ivanovich, tell us how you got into the First Chechen War?

After returning from military service in the army, this was at the very beginning of July 1994, I stood at a crossroads in life.

At that time, I visited the Russian State Military Historical Archive and studied the history of the Civil War. Then I wrote articles for the small magazine “Military Story” - a continuation of the immigrant publication. It was edited by Sergei Andreevich Kruchinin, my old friend.

In a sense, I was looking for myself, but I didn’t quite understand where to turn: I thought about turning to historical science. I liked working in the archive, I was fascinated by the history of the Civil War in Ukraine, the actions of the white troops of generals Bredov and Promtov, advancing on Poltava and Kyiv.

But when the Chechen war began, I could no longer calmly continue my usual activities...

I understood that I had some military experience, albeit insignificant, so I was eager to go there. When on New Year's Day I learned about the bloody assault on Grozny with huge losses, I could no longer sit idle.

Immediately after the end of the New Year holidays, I went to the military registration and enlistment office and signed up for contract service. They were just recruiting for three months and six months in Chechnya. I immediately signed up for six months. For some time there were problems with the contract, but at the end of February all the documents were completed, and I went to the Mulino garrison (Nizhny Novgorod region).

How did you become a gun commander?

On March 26, 1995, we were first transferred by plane to Mozdok, and from there by heavy cargo helicopters to Khankala. We flew standing, because there were no more seats. We landed normally. We were loaded onto the Urals and taken to the south-eastern outskirts of Grozny in the suburbs. The base camp of our 166th brigade was located in the field. We sat in rows on our duffel bags and waited to be assigned to units.

There were about 150 of us. As usual, “buyers” began to come and shout: “Driver mechanics! Tank gunners!”, - how many were found... “Driver mechanics, BMP gunners!” were also found among us. Then they began calling artillerymen, rangefinders, and gun commanders. Then the scouts came: they began to look for volunteers among us and call us back for a conversation.

I did not volunteer because I was going to join the infantry. It seemed to me that before joining the intelligence service, you need to look around the war.

In the end, when everyone was taken away - the cooks, the car drivers - there were about sixty of us left. They began to distribute everyone to motorized rifle companies.

But then my future division commander arrived. He began to go around the ranks, shouting that a gun commander was needed. Everyone grinned, because the gun commanders were sorted out like an hour and a half or two before him. Suddenly he turned to me, pointed his finger at me and said: “You, you have a smart face - you’ll go to the artillery!”

How did your service begin?

I ended up in self-propelled artillery, the second battery, the second platoon. He had to replace a conscript sergeant who was leaving for the position of deputy platoon commander of a gun commander. But he had to quit in a week, so within a week I had to take over the weapon from him.

The first two days I worked as a loader from the ground, then for two days as the main loader, then for two days as a gunner, and on the seventh day I took over the gun.

Science, in general, is not particularly tricky. I was pretty good at arithmetic back then, I calculated quickly in my head, and I didn’t observe anything difficult in this training. They taught us very quickly, harshly, everything was grasped on the fly, especially since all the training took place during combat operations.

Our battery, naturally, like the entire division, stood in the rear, far from the enemy. We were covered by motorized rifle units. Therefore, we did not see the enemy and followed the commands of the commanders who directed the fire. We were constantly moving from place to place, constantly unloading/loading shells. Daily shooting, a lot of hard physical labor, very little sleep and rest. In war it’s like in war.

It rained all spring of 1995. It’s good that we had permanent firing positions - we managed to settle in them: we dug tents into the ground, laid the floor from under the shell boxes, and built bunks for ourselves. They even lined the walls of the tents.

Unlike the infantry, which existed in much more difficult conditions, we were still “privileged” in terms of everyday comfort. We always had gunpowder for kindling, and fragments of boxes as firewood for potbelly stoves. However, everyone walked around constantly cold and rather dirty. If you managed to swim in a cold, muddy ditch, consider yourself very lucky.

Although we were assigned to the 166th brigade, we were first assigned to the combined marine battalion, then we were assigned to the paratroopers, then to the internal troops. And our battery was constantly maneuvering.

First we fired at a cement plant, Chechen-aul, then we were transferred to the mountains after the paratroopers. We operated in the Khatuni region, Bakhkity - settlements in the Vedeno region. I had to work there subsequently (already during the Second Chechen War); and in 2001, and in 2004 and in 2005, I visited there on visits. That is, the places where I drove for the first time, I visited a second time in a different capacity.

Tell us about the most memorable episodes for you...

A very funny episode occurred during the march to Makhkity from Shali. We passed a number of settlements. Before reaching Kirov-Yurt (now called Tezana), between the villages of Agishty and Tezana, our column walked very slowly, because the road there was quite narrow, and ahead there was paratroopers’ equipment (NONs), it was already getting dark. The column constantly stopped for half an hour (sometimes more).

For some reason, I jumped off the armor, and at that moment the column started moving. And our self-propelled gun at that time was trailing in tow at the tail of the column (as it later turned out because our driver dropped a rag into the tank, which clogged the transition pipe).

I was unable to jump onto the armor right away, and I was left alone on the road. I had to catch up with my friends on foot. I caught up with them only about three kilometers later. The road is winding, there are mountains all around, so it was a rather unpleasant feeling. I jumped off the armor without a machine gun and without any weapons at all. However, I was not scared, but rather happy. I was making fun of myself.

As a result, when the column stopped moving again, I returned to my place. Nobody even noticed my absence. The driver sits separately and does not see what is happening in the fighting compartment. Everyone else slept like the dead on tents and pea coats.

I remember that in Makhkity we tried for a long time to drag the equipment up a very steep climb - from the bridge to the left. Twice our cable broke. In the end, we were finally pushed upstairs. In the morning we managed to find the problem. Our car started working again. In the morning they fired at us, but they didn’t hit us. The paratroopers burned down two GAZ-66s. And we began to prepare for shelling enemy positions. We were told that there would be an assault on Vedeno. However, it did not take place. It was already the first days of June.

On June 3, the day before the artillery barrage, which was scheduled for 5-00, our positions were fired upon by a Chechen tank. Our cesspool was dug, and the ditch was surrounded by camouflage netting. Apparently the Chechen tank crews decided that this was a command post and planted a shell right there. But early on there was no one in the toilet.

Then they switched gears and hit the rear of the paratroopers - they burned two Urals and fired at a column that was walking along the road, knocking out an infantry fighting vehicle (the engine was torn apart by a shell). After this, the tank left, and the agreed artillery preparation began.

We shot back. When aircraft attacked, we were forbidden to shoot. Mi-24s were working right above our heads, and I was almost killed by a flying glass from a rocket. Literally a meter away from me, he flopped and hit the road.

After Vedeno, we were abruptly transferred to the Shatoi Gorge, again to support the paratroopers in the Dubai-Yurt area. Our firing position was between Chishki and Dachu-Borzoy (two villages at the beginning of the gorge).

Before my eyes, a helicopter was shot down when the paratroopers sent more than 20 helicopters to land troops. True, as they later said, he did not crash, but made a hard landing - there were many wounded (most of the people survived). A tragedy occurred at neighboring positions. The first division of our brigade exploded due to the negligence of officers and soldiers.

What caused you the most problems in your career?

Our guns were very worn out, and the arriving chief of artillery of the 11th Army could not get accurate hits from us. The trunks were shot. By that time, my howitzer had fired more than a thousand shells, starting in March. After every six hundred shells it was necessary to recalculate and make changes to the firing tables. But no one knew how to do this. There were no special wear measurements on the instruments. That's why we shot in the squares. Accuracy of target coverage was achieved by massing the fire.

Our howitzer turned out to be completely worn out. First, the feed from the ground burned out. It’s good that after the rains there was water in the bottom. She had nowhere to go. Otherwise, we could have exploded, because the sparks could have ignited the remains of gunpowder, which was always lying under our feet. Although it was removed, something still fell through.

Then the main axis of the armored shutter broke. It had to be lifted manually every time it was loaded. The snake (as it was called) - the feeding device that sends the projectile - weakened, and each charge had to be sent with a wooden hammer.

Then, right during the shooting, the so-called “Cheburashka”, a fire control device, broke off and fell into my lap, after which the turret could no longer be rotated automatically, only by hand, with two wheels. Accordingly, the barrel could also only be raised and lowered manually.

During firing, the gun must be started, otherwise the battery, from which all the mechanics of loading the gun operate, quickly runs out. Once, during shooting, it was necessary to change high-explosive fragmentation shells to R-5 (air burst shells). I leaned out of the turret and began shouting to my stupid subordinate, who was loading from the ground, so that he would not bring high-explosive fragmentation weapons, but R-5s, while trying to shout over the running engine.

At this moment the command “Volley!” is given. The gunner hears this command just like I do, and a shot follows. At this time, the fasteners of the tilted top hatch break off. Luke gets up and hits me on the back of the head with all his might. For about a couple of minutes I was in prostration, trying to figure out where I was. Then he came to his senses. If it weren’t for the headset, I might not be sitting here with you, answering questions.

What did you do in the fall?

In the second half of September, I asked to be transferred to reconnaissance rangefinders in the battery reconnaissance department, so that I could at least go somewhere. At that time, there was almost no shooting anymore, and I was looking for a job for myself. However, I didn’t do anything special in this position. Moreover, from time to time it was necessary to replace different gunners in the battery guns. I didn’t really have time to learn...

At the beginning of October, the period for which I signed a contract expired. The fighting at that time was extremely sluggish, and the smell of impending betrayal was already in the air. I no longer saw the need for my stay in Chechnya. On October 10, I was sent to Tver, where a week later I received payment.

This is where the entire first Chechnya ended. During six months of service, I was under fire four times. Even near Urus-Martan, we were fired at twice with machine guns. The infantry covered us poorly, and militants made their way towards us along the Roshna River and fired at us with green paint.

I will say that I did not do anything heroic. He served, he worked, he fought as best he could. Once again I became convinced that where you were posted in the army is where you have to fight.

The Museum of Russian Volunteers in Bibirevo keeps your homemade chevron with which you went through this war. Tell his story.

Chevron is truly homemade. I embroidered “Russia” on my chevron and my blood type on my tunic, the others liked it, picked it up and started doing the same. I decided to sew myself a white, blue and red volunteer chevron and embroider the unit number on it. I walked with him for about three days, managed to take photographs a couple of times, and another friend repeated my plan. We were called to battery headquarters and ordered to fight. An order is an order. They justified that, for reasons of secrecy, one should not reveal the number of one’s unit.

Was this chevron placed on the sleeve?

Yes, on the left sleeve, as expected. I deliberately copied the Volunteer Army chevron...

Interviewed by Alexander Kravchenko.