War in Chechnya stories. Stories about the Chechen war anthology

15.10.2019

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Alexander Gradulenko is 30 years old. Blooming male age. Retired captain, awarded the medals “For Courage” and “For Distinction in military service“II degree. Vice-chairman public organization"Contingent". Veteran of the first and second Chechen wars. Wars of modern peaceful Russia.

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

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

Honor, duty and courage. Is not beautiful words, in combat conditions the husks fall off from them, you understand their meaning. These building blocks make up a real warrior. And they are the ones who lead into battle. One more thing. Revenge. I want to avenge the boys. And end the war as soon as possible.

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

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

Have you ever imagined what war is? Vague, very vague. What did we know then? What is bad in Chechnya is that the first assault failed, how many guys were killed. And they understood that if they collect marines from all fleets, and the marines have not been used in combat for a long time, then things are bad.

From our native Pacific Fleet, the 165th Marine Regiment was being prepared for departure. Where can you find 2,500 trained people if the Armed Forces are understaffed? The Pacific Fleet command decides to staff the regiment with personnel serving on ships and submarines. And the guys only held the machine gun when they swore an oath. The boys have not been shot at... And so are we, actually.

We were gathered, I remember, they gave us 10 days to prepare. What can you prepare during this time? Funny. And now we are standing at the airport, winter, night, the planes are ready to depart. A high military official comes out and talks about patriotism and “go ahead, guys!” Our battalion commander, Major Zhovtoripenko, comes out next and reports: “The personnel are not ready for combat!” Next come the officers, company commanders: “The personnel are not ready, we will not be able to lead people to the slaughter.” High rank His face changes, the officers are immediately taken under arrest, we are sent back to the barracks, and in the morning we fly to Chechnya. But with other commanders...

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

Bricks of victory over fear

Remember your first fight? How does a person feel about this?

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

Alexander Gradulenko served in the second Chechen war as 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 TOVMI named after Makarov and returned to his native regiment. And even the platoon in which he fought as a sergeant was given command.

The second time we were sent to war classified as “secret”. There was talk about a peacekeeping operation, and we were already mentally trying on blue helmets. But when the train stopped in Kaspiysk, our peacekeeping ended there. They guarded the Uytash airport and took part in military clashes.

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

To the officer. More responsibility, this time. An officer is constantly visible, 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 protection, and the Lord God, and anyone else. And you can’t hide from these eyes. The second difficulty is that managing people with weapons is difficult, you have to be a psychologist. The rules in battle become much simpler: I couldn’t find them common language with soldiers, you are engaged in massacres - well, beware of a bullet in the back. That’s when you understand the meaning of the words “commander’s authority.”

Alexander takes out the “Book of Memory”, published by “B”, and points to one of the first photographs, with carefree boys in uniform 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 now work together, we are still friends.

You and your friends, one might say, passed with honor not only the test of war, but also a much more difficult test - the test of peace. 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 crossed the line, violated the commandment, the very same one - do not kill. Come back after this, stand on your cell, like chess figure? This is impossible.

Just imagine what awaits, for example, a scout who went behind enemy lines when he arrives home. Community appreciation? Of course. The indifference of officials awaits him.

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

Proud memory

You come from a family of career military personnel. Why did they break tradition and resign so early?

Disappointment came gradually. I’ve seen a lot in military life, I’ll say without bragging, it would be enough for another general. And every year it became more and more difficult to serve the Motherland, seeing the attitude towards the army and veterans.

Do you know how many questions I had that I had no one to ask?.. They are still with me now. Why are they cutting down military schools and conscripting civilians who have graduated from a university to serve as officers for two years? Does a person who knows for sure that he is here for only two years care what happens next? No grass can grow on him! Our lower officer ranks have been exterminated - why? I didn't find any answers. That’s how the decision to leave the army slowly came. Get down to business. After all, you can bring benefits to your 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 Chechnya, my soul hurts. That is why we began to actively work in the “Contingent”. We found contact with the administration of the region and the city, participated in the development of a program for the protection and rehabilitation of veterans of “hot spots”, and a program to help the parents of dead children. We are not asking for money, we just want understanding.

Dedicated to "Gyurza" and "Cobra", the fearless scouts of General Vladimir Shamanov

“I thought I would die any way, but not like this... Why did I rarely go to church and was baptized at twenty-five? Perhaps that’s why there was such a death? The blood oozes slowly, not like from a bullet wound, I will die for a long time...” - Sergei took a deep breath of air with difficulty. That's all he could do. There was not a crumb in his stomach for the fifth day, but he didn’t want to eat. The unbearable pain in the pierced arms and legs temporarily disappeared.

“How far you can see from this height, how beautiful the world is!” - thought the sergeant. For two weeks he saw nothing but the ground and concrete walls of basements turned into zindans. A machine gunner, he was captured by militant scouts when he was lying unconscious on the edge of a nearby forest, shell-shocked by a sudden shot from a fly.

And now he has been floating in the air in a light breeze for two hours. There is not a cloud in the sky, an unbearable spring blue. Directly below him, near the militants’ trenches flowing like an uneven snake, a serious battle was unfolding.

The battle for the village of Goyskoye was already in its second week. As before, Gelayev’s militants took up defense along the perimeter of the village, hiding from artillery behind the houses of local residents. Federal troops they were in no hurry to storm; the new generals relied more on artillery than on infantry breakthroughs. After all, it was already the spring of 1995.

Sergei came to his senses from a kick to the face. The militants brought him on a stretcher to interrogate him. The taste of salty blood in my mouth and the pain from knocked out teeth immediately brought me to my senses.

WITH Good morning! - people in camouflage uniforms laughed.

Why torture him, he still doesn’t know anything, he’s just a sergeant, a machine gunner! Let me shoot you! - a bearded militant of about thirty with black teeth said impatiently, swallowing the endings, in Russian. He took up the machine gun.

The other two looked at Sergei doubtfully. One of them - and Sergei never found out that it was Gelayev himself - said, as if reluctantly, tapping the toes of his new Adidas sneakers with a stick:

Aslan, shoot him in front of the trenches so that the Russians can see. The last question for you, infidel: if you accept Islam with your soul and shoot your comrade now, you will live.

It was only then that Sergei saw another bound prisoner - a young Russian guy of about eighteen. He didn't know him. The boy's hands were tied behind his back, and he, like a ram before the slaughter, was already lying on his side, crouched in anticipation of death.

The moment stretched into a full minute.

No, it seemed to pour out of my mouth like lead.

That’s what I thought, shoot... - the field commander answered laconically.

Hey Ruslan! Why this nice guy shoot? There is a better offer! Remember the story of what the Gimry, our ancestors, did more than a hundred years ago,” said a militant who came up from behind in a brand new NATO camouflage and in a green velvet beret with a tin wolf on his side.

Sergei, with his broken kidneys, dreamed of falling asleep quietly and dying. Most of all, he did not want to have his throat cut with a knife in front of a video camera and his ears cut off alive.

“Well, shoot him like a man, you bastards! - the soldier thought to himself. - I deserve it. I can’t count so many of yours with a machine gun!”

The militant approached Sergei and looked inquisitively into his eyes, apparently to see fear. The machine gunner answered him with a calm look from his blue eyes.

Today is a holiday for the infidels, Easter. So crucify him, Ruslan. Right here, in front of the trenches. In honor of the holiday! Let the infidels rejoice!

Gelayev raised his head in surprise and stopped tapping the zikt rhythm on his sneakers.

Yes, Hassan, it’s not for nothing that you went through the school of psychological warfare with Abu Movsaev! So be it. And the second, young one, was also on the cross.

The two commanders, without turning around, walked towards the dugout, discussing the tactics of defending the village as they went. The prisoners had already been erased from memory. And from the list of the living.

The crosses were made from improvised telegraph poles and Muslim funeral boards, which were stuffed across and diagonally, imitating church crosses.

The sergeant was laid on the cross, having been stripped of all his clothes except his underpants. The nails turned out to be “one hundred”; they couldn’t find any larger ones in the village, so they drove several of them into the hands and feet at once. Sergei moaned quietly while his hands were nailed down. He didn't care anymore. But he screamed loudly when the first nail pierced his leg. He lost consciousness, and the remaining nails were hammered into the motionless body. No one knew how to nail the legs - directly or crosswise, sweeping the left onto the right. They nailed it directly. The militants realized that the body would not be able to support itself on such nails anyway, so they first tied Sergei by both hands to a horizontal board, and then pulled his legs to the post.

He came to his senses when a wreath of barbed wire. Blood gushed from the ruptured vessel and flooded the left eye.

Well, how are you feeling? Ah, machine gunner! You see what kind of death we came up with for you for Easter. You will immediately go to your Lord. Appreciate it! - smiled the young militant who scored in right hand Sergei has five nails.

Many Chechens came to watch the ancient Roman execution out of pure curiosity. Whatever they did to the captives before their eyes, they crucified them on the cross for the first time. They smiled, repeating among themselves: “Easter! Easter!"

The second prisoner was also placed on the cross and nails were hammered in.

A blow to the head with a hammer stopped the screams. The boy's legs were pierced when he was already unconscious.

Local residents also came to the village square, many looked at the preparation of the execution with approval, some turned away and immediately left.

How the Russians will become furious! This is a gift for them from Ruslan for Easter! You will hang for a long time, sergeant, until your people spank you... out of Christian mercy. - The militant, who was tying the machine gunner’s bloody legs to the post, laughed loudly with a hoarse laugh.

Finally, he put Russian helmets on both prisoners’ heads over the barbed wire, so that in General Shamanov’s camp there would be no doubt who was crucified on the outskirts of the village by field commander Ruslan Gelayev.

The crosses were taken to the front line, placed standing, and dug right into the piles of earth from the dug trenches. It turned out that they were in front of the trenches, with a machine-gun point of the militants located under them.

At first, terrible pain pierced the body, hanging on thin nails. But gradually the center of gravity was taken over by the ropes tightened under the armpits, and the blood began to flow to the fingers less and less. And soon Sergei no longer felt his palms and did not feel the pain from the nails driven into them. But the mutilated legs hurt terribly.

A light warm breeze blew across his naked body. In the distance he saw tanks and artillery of the 58th Army, which after long preparation intended to quickly drive the militants out of Goisky.

Hey, are you alive? - Sergei’s neighbor came to his senses. The boy's cross stood a little behind, so the machine gunner could not see him, even turning his head.

Yes and you?

The fight is heating up. As long as they don't hit their own with a bullet.

The sergeant chuckled to himself: “Fool! It would be a release from everything. True, ours will not shoot at the crosses, they will try to repel them as quickly as possible. But it's empty. Even if the Chechens begin to retreat from the village, they will definitely shoot the two crucified people - right on the crosses.”

The name of? - Sergei wanted to keep the conversation going because he subtly sensed that the guy was afraid to die alone.

Nikita! I'm a cook. Left behind the column. There was a battle, three were killed, I survived.

“And in vain,” the machine gunner thought to himself.

How long does a person live on a cross?

From two days to a week... More often they died from blood poisoning. The Romans usually waited three days... They even gave us water. When they got tired of it, they pierced it with a spear.

Stories about Chechen war

Anthology

Alexey Borzenko

Dedicated to "Gyurza" and "Cobra", the fearless scouts of General Vladimir Shamanov

The battle for the village of Goyskoye was already in its second week. As before, Gelayev’s militants took up defense along the perimeter of the village, hiding from artillery behind the houses of local residents. Federal troops were in no hurry to storm; the new generals relied more on artillery than on infantry breakthroughs. After all, it was already the spring of 1995.

Good morning! - people in camouflage uniforms laughed.

The other two looked at Sergei doubtfully. One of them - and Sergei never found out that it was Gelayev himself - said, as if reluctantly, tapping the toes of his new Adidas sneakers with a stick:

Aslan, shoot him in front of the trenches so that the Russians can see. The last question for you, infidel: if you accept Islam with your soul and shoot your comrade now, you will live.

The moment stretched into a full minute.

No, it seemed to pour out of my mouth like lead.

That’s what I thought, shoot... - the field commander answered laconically.

Hey Ruslan! Why shoot such a good guy? There is a better offer! Remember the story of what the Gimry, our ancestors, did more than a hundred years ago,” said a militant who came up from behind in a brand new NATO camouflage and in a green velvet beret with a tin wolf on his side.

Sergei, with his broken kidneys, dreamed of falling asleep quietly and dying. Most of all, he did not want to have his throat cut with a knife in front of a video camera and his ears cut off alive.

“Well, shoot him like a man, you bastards! - the soldier thought to himself. - I deserve it. I can’t count so many of yours with a machine gun!”

The militant approached Sergei and looked inquisitively into his eyes, apparently to see fear. The machine gunner answered him with a calm look from his blue eyes.

Today is a holiday for the infidels, Easter. So crucify him, Ruslan. Right here, in front of the trenches. In honor of the holiday! Let the infidels rejoice!

Gelayev raised his head in surprise and stopped tapping the zikt rhythm on his sneakers.

Yes, Hassan, it’s not for nothing that you went through the school of psychological warfare with Abu Movsaev! So be it. And the second, young one, was also on the cross.

The crosses were made from improvised telegraph poles and Muslim funeral boards, which were stuffed across and diagonally, imitating church crosses.

He came to his senses when a wreath of barbed wire was placed on his head. Blood gushed from the ruptured vessel and flooded the left eye.

The second prisoner was also placed on the cross and nails were hammered in.

A blow to the head with a hammer stopped the screams. The boy's legs were pierced when he was already unconscious.

Local residents also came to the village square, many looked at the preparation of the execution with approval, some turned away and immediately left.

“...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’ PC 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 crawled up to 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 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, a patrolman stopped them, 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...

There were many in the squad empty beds with candles and photos of the guys. 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 no longer 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, which made some of us crazy and fought among ourselves. 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 it nearby standing houses, covering the assault. 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 off the face of the earth altogether 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 results 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, where a gang of militants was discovered 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 housework and take my mind off all this crap. We settled down to rest, the locals brought us some munchies, and as soon as we started eating, we were removed from this place, even the yellow belly had to be skinned a quick fix. 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. IN locality We arrived 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 rang out from reverse side Houses. 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. Last year was 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.

In 1995 - the first Chechen war. I am Lieutenant Colonel Antony Manshin, I was the commander of the assault group, and the neighboring, second assault group was named after the hero of Russia Arthur, my friend, who died in the Grozny battles, covering a wounded soldier with himself: the soldier survived, but he died from 25 bullet wounds. In March 1995, Arthur’s assault group of 30 fighters in three BRDMs carried out a headquarters raid to block militant groups in the Vvedensky Gorge. There is a place there called Khanchelak, which translates from Chechen as a dead gorge, where an ambush awaited our group.

An ambush is certain death: the lead and trailing vehicles are knocked out, and you are methodically shot from high-rise buildings. A group that is ambushed lives for a maximum of 20-25 minutes - then a mass grave remains. The radio station requested air support from fire support helicopters, raised my assault group, and we arrived at the scene in 15 minutes. Air-to-ground guided missiles destroyed firing positions on high-rise buildings; to our surprise, the group survived, only Sasha Vorontsov was missing. He was a sniper and was sitting on the lead vehicle, on the BRDM, and the blast wave threw him into a gorge 40-50 meters deep. They started looking for him, but didn’t find him. It's already dark. They found blood on the stones, but he was not there. The worst happened, he was shell-shocked and captured by the Chechens. Hot on our heels, we created a search and rescue group, climbed the mountains for three days, even entered militant-controlled settlements at night, but we never found Sasha. They wrote him off as a missing person, then presented him with the Order of Courage. And can you imagine, 5 years pass. Beginning of 2000, the assault on Shatoi, in the Arthur Gorge in the Shatoi region there is a settlement called Itum-Kale, when it was blocked, civilians told us that our special forces soldier had been sitting in their zindan (in a hole) for 5 years.

I must say that 1 day in captivity of Chechen bandits is hell. And here - 5 years. We ran there, it was already getting dark. Headlights from the BMP illuminated the area. We see a hole 3 by 3 and 7 meters deep. We lowered the ladder, raised it, and there were living relics. The man staggers, falls to his knees, and I recognize Sasha Vorontsov by his eyes; I haven’t seen him for 5 years and I recognize him. He was covered in a beard, his camouflage had disintegrated, he was wearing burlap, had chewed a hole for his hands, and was warming himself in it. He defecated in this pit and lived there, slept, he was pulled out every two or three days to work, he equipped firing positions for the Chechens. The Chechens trained live on it and tested techniques hand-to-hand combat, that is, they stab you in the heart with a knife, and you must fight off the blow. Our special forces guys have good training, but he was exhausted, he had no strength, he, of course, missed - all his arms were cut up. He falls to his knees in front of us and cannot speak, he cries and laughs. Then he says: “Guys, I’ve been waiting for you for 5 years, my dears.” We grabbed him, heated a bath for him, and dressed him. And so he told us what happened to him during these 5 years.

So we sat with him for a week, we’ll get together for a meal, the provision was good, but he munch on a piece of bread for hours and eat it quietly. All his taste qualities have atrophied over 5 years. He said that he had not been fed at all for 2 years.

I ask: “How did you live?” And he: “Imagine, commander, he kissed the Cross, crossed himself, prayed, took clay, rolled it into pellets, baptized it, and ate it. In winter, the snow ate.” “So how?” I ask. And he says: “You know, these clay pellets were tastier for me than homemade pie. The blessed pellets of snow were sweeter than honey.”

He was shot 5 times on Easter. To prevent him from running away, the tendons on his legs were cut; he could not stand. So they put him against the rocks, he is on his knees, and 15-20 meters from him, several people with machine guns who are supposed to shoot him.

They say: “Pray to your God, if there is a God, then may He save you.” And he prayed like that, I always have his prayer in my ears, like a simple Russian soul: “Lord Jesus, my Sweetest, my Most Wonderful Christ, if it pleases You today, I will live a little longer.” He closes his eyes and crosses himself. They remove the trigger - it misfires. And so twice - the shot DOES NOT HAPPEN. They move the bolt frame - NO shot. They change the magazines, the shot doesn’t happen again, the machine guns CHANGE, the shot still doesn’t happen.

They come up and say: “Take off the cross.” They CANNOT shoot him, because the Cross hangs on him. And he says: “It was not I who put on this Cross, but the priest in the sacrament of Baptism. I won’t take pictures.” Their hands reach out - to tear off the Cross, and half a meter from it - their bodies are CRUSHED by the Grace of the Holy Spirit and they, crouched, FALL to the ground. They beat him with machine gun butts and throw him into a pit. Like this, twice the bullets did not fly out of the barrel, but the rest flew out and that’s it - they flew PAST him. Almost point blank - they COULD NOT shoot him, he was only hit by pebbles from the ricochet and that’s all.

And this is how it happens in life. My last commander, the hero of Russia Shadrin, said: “Life is a strange, beautiful and amazing thing.”

A Chechen girl fell in love with Sasha, she was much younger than him, she was 16 years old, then the secret of the soul. For the third year she carried him into the pit at night goat milk, lowered him onto the ropes, and so she got him out. At night, her parents caught her in the act, flogged her to death, and locked her in a closet. Her name was Assel. I was in that closet, it was terribly cold there, even in summer, there was a tiny window and a door with barn lock. They tied her up. She managed to chew the ropes overnight, dismantle the window, climb out, milk the goat and bring him milk.

He took Assel with him. She was baptized with the name Anna, they got married, and had two children, Kirill and Mashenka. The family is wonderful. So we met him in the Pskov-Pechersky Monastery. We hugged, we both cried. He tells me everything. I took him to Elder Adrian, but the people there wouldn’t let him in. I tell them: “Brothers and sisters, my soldier, he spent 5 years in a pit in Chechnya. Let me go for Christ’s sake.” They all knelt down and said: “Go, son.” About 40 minutes passed. Sasha comes out with a smile from Elder Adrian and says: “I don’t remember anything, as if I was talking to Sunny!” And in his palm are the keys to the house. Father gave them a house, which was given to the monastery by an old nun.

And most importantly, Sasha told me when we parted, when I asked him how he survived all this: “For two years while I was sitting in the hole, I cried so much that all the clay under me was wet from tears. I looked at the starry Chechen sky through the funnel of the zindan and SEARCHED for my Savior. I cried like a baby, SEEKING – my God.” “What next?” I asked. “And then - I bathe in His embrace,” answered Sasha.

War in Chechnya stories. Stories about the Chechen war anthology

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