The Bloody Veil

Nurmuradov Abdurashid

After a while we approached the remains of the AFV. I had a serious headache. Two of our soldiers came down to the quarry. One, apparently feeling something, immediately jumped up. The second failed. Shot down. There was no brave man who wanted to go down after the dead soldier. Six bulletproof vests covered the side where the Afghans settled, but their bullets broke through the cover. Then the sappers tried to pull out the body with their hooks. However, they also failed to cope with this. It took a long time before we finally managed to retrieve the dead soldier’s body. After that, the IFV began to shoot kariz from the cannon. The regiment was standing at the bottom and no one understood what was going on there, where the cannon was firing. Smoke bomb was thrown into the hole, only after the dushmans began to get out of their shelter one by one. The man with a black beard came out last. He was in a subconscious state. One leg below the knee was completely removed. The blood flowing from the foot was mixed with dust. One of the Afghans held his leg.

Prisoners were interrogated on the spot. They pointed to another clearance, where five women were hidden, intended as gifts to the leaders. The blinds of the three testified to their youth, and the black color of the blinds indicated that they were thirty-year-old women.

On that day, the dushmans were to arrive in the village Sangin for an important meeting.

We subjected the village to heavy shelling. After such a hurricane fire, the devil would have left this light himself, but we were met with a strong retaliatory fire.

We were ordered to take enemies alive. As one of the surviving sappers, I was included among the spies. We walked unnoticed to the chest. From the window of a small valley there was a continuous fire. Then the soldiers, coming from the side, knocked the door with their feet and rushed inside. I stayed at the door. In order to get to the inner yard, it was necessary to take about twenty steps. As soon as the soldiers reached the courtyard, a man with a machine jumped out. I pulled it out of my machine. He fell to the ground and began to run. Our eyes met. He was like a wolf, scratching his teeth, but soon his enlarged pupils froze in place. He was dead. At nineteen I became a murderer. Not by my own will, but this does not save you from hard thoughts. I still can’t forget that scene. His white teeth, frozen eyes are chasing me now.

"…NO FANTASY IS ENOUGH…"

Baymurat Mamanov, born in 1967. Kashkadarya Region, Uzbekistan.

Injured in Kindahar.

– The sergeant from Khorezm was named Ozod. One day his AFV exploded on a mine. Dushmans tried to take him alive, wounded. He escaped from the beaten AFV and, seeing the enemies approaching, hid himself in a nearby pipe. They, making sure that no one was left alive in the car, gave several rows on the pipe. We hurried for help and were not far away. The Afghans, feeling bad, fled to the nearby ruins. When we approached, Ozod came out of the pipe. One hand was shot and hanged helplessly down. We took him carefully into the car. No one dared to approach the burning AFV – there were deaf explosions. We returned back. Two days later we went to the AFV to pick up spare parts. Looking into the car, I saw two broken legs. The soldier burned alive in the car. No one thought about his burial and especially about sending him home. Perhaps, instead of the dead soldier's body in the zinc tomb sent salt. Yes, there was something like that.

During the demining, the machine "Ural" exploded. The senior lieutenant, sitting in the cabin, broke off both legs. He slipped to my side. His legs, stuck in his pants, walked behind him. Instead of tears, blood flowed from the eyes. I looked at him with horror. A noble, beautiful commander in a few moments turned into a terrible rubbish. Carefully lifted, I took it to the AFV. At this time, the lower part of the pants barely held, broke off with the legs and fell to the ground. No one was able to raise them. I look at the feet and I think they are going to get up and go. Some unknown force bring me to lift them up, they were still warm. I gave them to the guys sitting on the AFV. Some of my fellow servants put them down as if it was ordinary wooden beads.

The soldier, lying in the wreck, was also stripped one leg. He repeated: "Mommy, mommy, give me water!" He was also put on the AFV. The broken leg was not found. The driver, from the strong impact flew out of the viewing window, lay with his head shaken. Something intestinal, stretching from his neck, wrapped his chest.

No fantasy can paint such scenes. In war, you always think of the imminent death, you constantly feel its breath, ignorance and decision from everything. But, die so ugly, like a dog… If you meet some bright clearing, it attracts you like a magnet, you want to die in such a good place under a blue cloudless sky. Having a home, parents, family, people who love you seems like a happy but distant dream. Now they are gone. You will not see, you will not hear. All around is anxiety, horror, death.

The sappers have a very difficult job. Death always walks next to them. Not in vain it says: "Sapper only once makes a mistake".

We started cleaning off the road that the column was supposed to go through. Here one of the Afghans ran and that about five hundred dushmans were hiding in the ruins. When I told to the officer, he did not believe it.

– Continue to demine, – he ordered.

The shooting soon began. We didn’t even know where to hide. We remembered the wasp buzzing of bullets, the demolished upper part of the skull of the Samarkand guy and his white brain. I looked at him in exaggeration. Then the white brain gradually began to become red and blood flowed. The boy's hands were held by the tank with an iron grip, it seemed as if a villain-sculptor had created a terrible statue. The tank turned and went back. The boy’s brains crashed into the iron car.

From somewhere aircraft appeared and began to bomb the enemy. They shot from a rifle. This time we were protected and able to get back in part. On that day, the road remained undemined.

I can’t forget another story. The soldiers along with the captain went to the desert for demining. My legs fell into the sand. The sun burned unhappy. It was not possible to recognize each other in the face. The throat was dry, it seemed like instead of air we swallowed hot sand. At that time, the signal was given by the mine-detector. He began to scratch the land carefully, arrived at the mine, it was Italian-made. I asked the commander to blow it up on the spot.

– No, you will take the explosive device here.

In fact, we, the sappers, when a mine is detected, must destroy it on the spot. The commander's orders cannot be fulfilled. Others moved to a safe distance. I began to remove the explosive carefully, a cold sweat in an instant covered my body. It seemed like an explosion was about to happen. As soon as I removed the explosive, I instantly debilitated. On the cotton legs took the mine to the AFV. We went further. Luckily, I saw a mine on the road. I met the commander in the eyes.

– Take this one off, too, – he said mockingly.

– I will not, – I answered stubbornly.

– You will go to court! – He cried out.

The soldiers stood down. In such cases, you curse the military service a thousand times. Oh, be free now and spit in the face of this ugly guy!

The distance between me and the "baby"¹ is about ten meters. My feet fall into the sand. The mine lies on the sand, like on a perineum. "The Baby of Death". My legs are being heavy, I can’t walk. The cold sweat swelled the body again. The eyes began to close themselves. I can’t keep the eyelids. I prayed to the household, father and mother, whom I had not seen for a thousand years: "My relatives, protect me, please, banish death! May my remains not remain unburied in this strange hot country. May I die in your arms. Is there really no place for me in my native village? Pray to God, ask him to be merciful!" – I whispered.