The Bloody Veil

Nurmuradov Abdurashid

I saw an Afghan officer in the hospital. He was injured and laid three chambers away from me. At first I wanted to suffocate him. But gradually the anger passed, and I began to realize that he was also a victim. He was hit by a bullet, like me. I was from a stranger, but he was shot by his own. It is not easy for him. Obsessed by the idea of revolution, he wandered through foreign countries.

My father visited me. I cannot say a word of excitement, as if the tongue had gone away. My father also shakes his head. I was angry. This was our first meeting.

"FUZZI"

Safarmakhmud Babayev, born in 1963. From Tajikistan.

– From the regiment where I served as a driver, we headed to the thirty-eighth barrel. They left their food and went on. A tank was ahead. To catch him, I increased the speed. There were thirty meters between the tank and us. Something broke our car. When I woke up, I was lying far from it. I looked around. There were no front wheels in the car. The door collapsed and gasoline was poured out of the tank. I started looking for the senior lieutenant and senior officer who were with me in the car. The oldest officer was lying at ten meters and looked at me. His leg was broken, and his bone was torn out of his broken shoe. When I noticed that I was looking at his feet, he turned his eyes away. Then I lost consciousness. Then I heard the senior lieutenant’s voice: "Are you alive?" I lay down, turned to the side and looked where the voice came from.

The Lieutenant’s legs turned into a bloody messy. I tried to get up to help the wounded. But I didn’t have time to step, as the pain spread through the whole body. I lost consciousness and fell. I don’t know how long I was lying there, but when I woke up, I heard a lieutenant’s cry:

– Shoot, shoot, the IFV will lead! I did not find a machine next to me. I heard the sound of the engines. Both cars approached. I remember only the sleeve wet from the wound, blood. Then I lost consciousness again. I woke up when the nurses washed the wound. We all three stayed there for two days. On the third day I learned that the lieutenant's legs had been cut off and I cried. But what about me, where I was wounded, I still did not realize.

On January 17, we were brought to Tashkent. Two weeks later, my leg was operated. I woke up after the operation on the third day. In my eyes, everything was like a fog.

…I realized we got into the mine. I broke up not the first time. The first explosion occurred at the beginning of my Afghan service. The day before, I had a dream. I saw my father. He begged me with tears: "Son, don’t go with the officers, you are my beloved son". I was upset and promised not to go. I woke up. Everyone was dressed in a hurry. I also dressed. We went on the way. Almost immediately, we encountered a tank that exploded on a mine. He stood right by the road, the engine was dropped fifty meters away, and the tower lay far from the body. Then I thought, "If the mine has eroded the tank in this way, then the car, probably like a flashbox, will fade into small pieces". Not far we left this place, as happened what I thought. By chance I remained uninjured.

Before I ran into the mine for the second time, my father also dreamed, he strictly said, "Today do not drive, if you go – you are not my son". I begged the mayor not to go today, but he refused. Then I drove fast. I had a friend Fakhri from Samarkand. I asked him, "If I come back alive, we will continue to serve. If it is not judged, do not send my things, but take them for yourself". He abused me. But I felt that something would happen. My father don't begged me for nothing.

When my father came to the hospital, I looked at him and seemed to be in remembrance. He ran to me, hugged me and only then I came back to myself. We were silent for a long time. Then we talked a lot, cried.

On the photo that I sent to my father and my mother, one of my hands was hardly visible. Then my father told me that my mother was crying, looking at it. "Where are his hands? You are deceiving me!" – She said and sent my brother to photograph me again. I have picture taken with my arms raised, now my mom probably calmed down.

It was terrible in the war. I cannot forget one case. As we walked with the commander on the cheek, a curly boy with a white bandaged hand was running out to meet us. When I saw him, the commander rushed to the machine. I took him by the hand, but he pushed me away and shot the boy. He did not fall, but exploded. So there is a picture before my eyes how the curly boy's head broke off and froze for a moment in the air. What was this boy to blame for? The commander explained:

– He had a mine in his hands. He wanted to explode all of us.

– I’m tired, don’t ask me anymore.

"NO ONE WAS CLOSER…"

Muhammad Tashbayev, born in 1968. From Kazakhstan.

He was injured in the town of Puli Humri.

– With Yakub Jalilov, my friend from Fergana, we were called into the army at the same time. And in the barracks our beds were nearby. We were both tank commanders. We went on tasks together. On the outside, we were like brothers. Before the army, there was no close friend, and with Yakub we became here as relatives. When I went to work, he didn’t sleep, waiting for me to come back. I was also worried about him.

On that day there was free time, we sat down, talked, and remembered our homeland. We read letters from our girlfriends. Some tremendous force of attraction connected us with strong bonds and therefore we had no secrets from each other. Even my relatives did not know about my girlfriend, but I read her letters to Yakub. And he did too.

He had to go on a task. As always, we hugged up to say goodbye. Yakub, the captain, the shooter and the driver left the location of the regiment. I went over to my seat, sat on the board and suddenly, as if from a current blow, involuntarily jumped out of place. There was a shadow in front of my eyes. I felt like I heard someone’s complaining voice. From anxiety the heart so hopes out of the chest. I can’t sit still and know what to do. It was the first time I was in this condition. I went out. It was hot. The hot wind is blowing in the face. Then I came back. The heart fell again, not giving me peace. Probably, once hundred I went out and entered the barracks again.

I don’t know how much time has passed. I woke up from the loud scream of the "Alarm!" And as if only waiting for that word, I immediately ran to the tank. Along the way, someone said that the tank sent to the task was shot by dushmans. My section took its place. Without waiting for the team, I moved forward. The others followed me. By the commander’s order, we determined the direction. Here he informed that the tank, which went to the task two hours ago, fell from the bridge. That sort of cases has happened on this bridge many times.

The cold sweat covered my body. I heard Yakub’s voice in my ears. "So far" – he said, glimpsing at me to say goodbye. Probably I said something out loud, the senior lieutenant pushed my shoulder and asked with a gesture what was going on.

In about an hour we reached the bridge. It was built in the event of spring rains and seawater streams. Now the bottom of the waterless river was covered with small stones. The tank was not seen. We stopped a little further from the bridge and jumped off the tires. As I approached, I noticed a tank. It was like a twisted beetle, lying with his goats up. People were not seen.