The Bloody Veil

Nurmuradov Abdurashid

– Son, don't do this; we beg you, don't kill yourself.

Until now, this day, like a living picture, has risen before my eyes. I dream of them at night; they are begging, begging…

"DON'T CRY, GUYS, I'll BE BACK…"

Pyotr Krysyuk, born in 1962. From Ukraine

– The three of us were driving in the car. We left the groceries at two gates and headed for the third. That's why the driver Babayev asked us not to go then. "Don't be afraid, – I told him, everything will be fine".

After the explosion, the driver lied motionless in front of me. Foreman Dolinskiy was writhing on the ground. The car was smoking. "Are they alive?" flashed through my mind. Sand grated on my teeth. I open my mouth, but I can't make a sound. As if something was stuck in his throat, a wheeze escaped. "Are you alive?" – I either shouted or croaked. I didn't know if I had injured myself because I didn't feel any pain. But, chained to the ground, I could not get up. When I somehow turned to the foreman, my gaze fell on a dark puddle under my feet. I was scared. I looked at my feet…

Have you seen meat chopped with an axe? In the same way, my legs were chopped into small pieces. The severed feet were sticking out of a bloody puddle, and it seemed to me that fingers had grown out of the ground. Chunks of meat hung on rags of skin that had not been torn from the legs yet. I looked at the driver and the foreman. The foreman lay motionless, and the driver got to his feet. "Shoot the machine gun" – I told him. "They will hear us on the IFV and take away". He took a step and felt like he had a hamstring. I heard the hum of engines. Then I lost consciousness. I woke up when they put me in the car. I felt cold. I was trembling all over. One of the soldiers who came for us took off his greatcoat and covered me with it. Then the second one did the same. When I opened my eyes, both of them were sitting next to me, undressed. Then they said that when they heard the explosion, they quickly threw their pea jackets over their shoulders and hurried to help. I saw how cold they were and told them to take their overcoats, but they refused. When I was brought to the medical battalion, all the soldiers, for some reason, averted their eyes, some tried to hide their tears. I encouraged them: "Don't cry, guys, I'll come back again to you". I was really sure I'd be back.

When they brought me into the ward, my consciousness was already clouded. My strength was draining away, and my eyes were getting dark. Finally, everything was plunged into darkness, and my eyelids closed.

When I woke up, the bright light hurt my eyes, It had been five days. The soft touch of someone's fingers on my forehead opened my eyes. This was a nurse.

– They fought for your life, but there was no way to save your legs, – she said in a trembling voice. I had no legs.

Recently, I saw my guys on a TV show, and it burned like fire. I found out that the foreman was also left without both legs. The decision to enter this country was a cruel mistake. But what to do? Fate so ordered that we guys of the sixties had to pay for this mistake.

"WE WERE NAMESAKES"

Abduvahid Ergashev, born in 1963. From Tashkent, Uzbekistan.

We cleared the roads of mines. One company was allocated from each battalion of our regiment for this purpose, and a new battalion was formed. We also had to clear the territories of the exploded warehouses of mines, shells, and other ammunition.

When we came to the village where the warehouses exploded, there were no people there. Only cows and chickens, left without owners, wandered through the deserted streets. Houses are destroyed, and trees are charred. Even the ground was scorched underfoot, like ashes.

We set up tents. The next day, we went to our destination. We got off the cars. There was nowhere for the feet to step – shells, grenades, damaged mines, and other dangerous weapons were scattered everywhere.

We were taught how to collect all this. We split into groups and started working thirty meters apart from each other.

At the sight of this terrible place, none of us hoped to survive. When I was collecting shells, I saw my relatives one by one in my mind's eye. Two days later, the first mine exploded, and the guy from the next company was left without legs. Like that, it went on. Explosions were heard here and there, soldiers were injured, died. On my return from this exhausting, hellish work, my nerves were already at their limit. I had nightmares, the guys were delirious, screaming, moaning.

In the morning, we went to work again, and the more dangerous it was, the more thoughts rushed to my relatives. At the very sight of this infernal black wasteland, the heart shrinks, skips a beat. You remember that you haven't seen anything in this world yet, you haven't even kissed a girl yet, and you feel so sorry for yourself. But you can't relax.

On October 18, I had a dream. I can't really tell now, but I remember that it was very scary. I woke up to the voice of a daycare worker shouting, "Rise!" After breakfast we went to work. As if I felt something was wrong, I didn't want to go. But, as you know, no one considered your wishes there. We were going. My comrade – Muhammad from Krasnogorsk, was walking next to me. The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow overnight, and the fatal wasteland turned white. Again, at a distance of thirty meters from each other, we began to collect ammunition. I picked up two pistols, and when I picked up the detonator of the mine, there was an explosion. Everything went dark. I looked at my hands. They were covered in blood. Staggering, I took a few steps and dropped. There was a new explosion. My family flashed before my eyes, everyone was looking at me with tears. Then everything was plunged into darkness.

Someone picked me up, put me in the car. I was getting worse and worse. We drove for a long time. On the way, the car stopped. Someone sitting next to me started swearing: "Do the Soviets have normal cars at all? Wheels fly off anywhere! Go fix it, rascal!" They stood for a long time. I'm freezing. The pain intensified. I started swearing, cursing everyone and everything, not sparing words, and cursing those who dragged me here. I saw wounded soldiers in the movies. It's all a lie. There are no such wounded people. The wounded man curses everything in the world.

In one movie, I remember that the Germans forced the prisoners to drag a jagged iron block through a minefield. We were treated the same way. After all, who can distinguish a damaged mine, grenade, or detonator from an undamaged one? The bosses initially knew that someone had to die…

Then we were transferred to another car. Now the wind was hitting us in the face. While we were getting to the hospital, I was remembering my school years: "Now I can't see their faces, I'm only eighteen, and what have I managed in life? What's the point of living now?" I asked myself. And so I would like to enjoy life, see relatives, friends, classmates, talk to them…

An operation was performed – fingers were cut off. I was conscious. They probably operated without anesthesia, I felt my fingers being cut with a crunch. I was losing a lot of blood, and the doctors were afraid that I would not survive anesthesia.

The analgesic injection didn't really work, and when they pressed something hard on my bone, I couldn't stand it and started swearing at the top of my voice in Uzbek. "My son, my son, calm down", – someone said. It just spurred me on. Why calm down now. Silence and complacency have already done their job, brought them to the last line!