Talk Alexander Komarovsky starts with a short historical background:
– Decision on the introduction of the Limited contingent Soviet troops was adopted on December 12, 1979 at a meeting of the Politburo of the CPSU. The Secretary General at the time was Leonid Brezhnev. The issue of bringing Soviet troops into Afghanistan was put to a vote. Only one member of the Politburo voted against, Foreign Minister Alexei Kosygin. Troops were brought in only after the 21st request from the Afghan government. This is according to the official version. In fact, it is still unclear who and how asked for military assistance from the Soviet Union. Amin was at the head of Afghanistan at that time: he was killed almost immediately after the introduction of the Soviet contingent.
On December 14, 1979, allegedly at the request of Amin, a battalion of the 345th Guards Airborne Regiment was sent to Bagram, which was stationed in Ferghana, actually on the border with Afghanistan. Together with the fighters of this battalion, he arrived in Afghanistan Babrak Karmal, who was at that time Afghanisan's ambassador to Czechoslovakia. It is obvious that the leadership of the USSR made a bet on him. The beginning of hostilities in Afghanistan was aimed at bringing Karmal to power in Afghanistan.
By the evening of December 23, 1979, the leadership of the USSR knew that Soviet troops were ready to enter Afghanistan. The next day, USSR Minister of Defense Dmitry Ustinov signed a directive, which spoke about the introduction of a limited contingent of Soviet troops. Initially, it was assumed that the Soviet garrisons would protect important industrial and other facilities, thereby freeing up parts of the Afghan army for active operations against opposition groups, as well as against possible external interference.
The purpose of the presence of Soviet troops in Afghanistan was designated as "providing international assistance to the friendly Afghan people."
On December 25, 1979, the introduction of our troops began. On the night of December 27, the assault on Amin's palace began.
Thus began that senseless war, which became a real tragedy for the multinational Soviet people, which claimed thousands of human lives. It lasted 9 years 1 month and 20 days.
– How many Belarusians went through the hell of the Afghan war?
- 30,577 citizens of the BSSR took part in the hostilities in Afghanistan. 789 people were killed, 12 were missing, 718 people became disabled as a result of hostilities. More than 5 thousand of our compatriots participated in the hostilities on the territory of other states - Cuba, Angola, Egypt .... In total, there are about 35 thousand Belarusians among the soldiers-internationalists.
Now there is no official statistics of the deceased participants in that war. Many Belarusian veterans continue to die young, even now, 24 years after the withdrawal of troops.
According to our data, already 25-30% of Belarusians who fulfilled their international duty did not live to this day. The suicide rate is relatively high. People, unable to cope with psychological trauma, due to social insecurity and disorder, settle scores with life. Of only two hundred members of our Zhodzina organization, three committed suicide...
The war, for the Afghan warriors, is not over even now. We are trying with all our might to turn the state to face this category of citizens. The answer is indifference and deafening silence.
- Do you have any complaints about the authorities?
- Undoubtedly. And, first of all, personally to Alexander Lukashenko. It was he who made the decision according to which benefits and social guarantees for internationalist soldiers were completely eliminated. And as a result, the veterans of the Afghan war in Belarus turned out to be powerless, and we have nothing. Except, perhaps, preferential travel to public transport remained.
There are many questions for the state leadership. Why do internationalist soldiers in Belarus still have no official status of a participant in a war or a participant in hostilities? Why do we not have the right to free spa treatment? Why don't we have standardized certificates? Why is there no government assistance for children of the disabled or people who died in Afghanistan?
I'll give you an example. Zhodino is home to the family of a veteran of the Afghan war, a disabled group II Alexander Shchukin, who committed suicide in March 1993. The widow, who worked as a secretary at that time, left two children - two girls. A few years ago, Schukina's sister died, and a third child appeared in the family - the sister's daughter. All children are talented, all study, but the family is in an extremely distressed situation. The younger girl Maria, even after a personal appeal to Lukashenka, could not receive free budgetary education at the university.
What kind of social targeted assistance, what kind of “state for the people” can we talk about? The government simply spits on the Afghans.
– As far as I know, there is another, official Union in Belarus, uniting soldiers-internationalists?
-Absolutely right. There are two Afghan organizations: the Belarusian Union of Veterans of the War in Afghanistan and the Belarusian Republican Association of the Disabled of the War in Afghanistan. I stood at the origins of both organizations with my team. Then provocations began against me and the members of my team. This included a criminal case. The business of the “wrong” Afghans, which provided real financial assistance to war invalids, was actually ruined.
As for the official organization, in my opinion, it is empty. Here's a concrete example for you.
On May 3 last year, Igor Gruk, a special forces sergeant who was awarded the medal "For Courage", died in Zhodino. Did the state notice the death of our comrade? We buried him at our own expense: we passed the hat around and collected three million rubles in order to say goodbye to him in a human way. He was a poor man, an invalid of the third group - he had nothing to put on or wear. Mother and father died, brother drinking. The official Union did not help. The Zhodino executive committee received a financial donation only three weeks later!
And where is the real help, which is talked about a lot from high tribunes?
The main trouble is that there is no harmony and unity in society. Responsibility for this, I think, lies with the leadership of the country, which, by the way, announced the "creation of a monolith" among Afghan veterans. And there will be no monolith. According to the logic of the authorities, it turns out that a “monolith” is possible only when no one opposes this very government. And they will not keep silent about the fact that Afghan veterans are disenfranchised people, people with a conscience will not.
– What would you ask Lukashenka directly?
- Why did the state turn away from the soldiers of that war? Why has not at least one been found in Zhodzina so far? square meter to register the legal address of the Regional Center for Disabled Persons of the Minsk Region of the Public Association of Disabled Persons from the War in Afghanistan? Why is an “Afghan” in prison on an absolutely far-fetched charge? Nikolai Autukhovich? And, in the end, why do people who gave up their health, fulfilling their international duty, have no rights in “strong and prosperous Belarus”?
On the eve of the anniversary of the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan, Slutsk veterans Sergei Mironchik, Nadezhda Yarkina and Nikolai Evseenko told Kur "er how they performed their international duty, what they saw in the war and what they remember Afghanistan for.
Hooray! We are alive
“When we were just called up and taken on the train, we were told that after the “training” everyone would go to Afghanistan. We were 150 Belarusians.
He served in Afghanistan for a year and 9 months (from 1983 to 1985) in the 66th motorized rifle brigade, in the air assault battalion. 
Sergey Mironchik, served as a paratrooper, was awarded the medals "For Courage" and "For Military Merit" Almost every week we went to fighting. They returned for a day or two, received dry food and returned by helicopter. We were at the Panjshir operation for more than a month. The brigade itself was rarely fired upon by spooks: only on Soviet holidays.
I received the medal "For Courage" in the Black Mountains. We defeated many "spirits" and found ammunition depots.
I received the medal "For Military Merit" when we went to the lair of dushmans and exchanged their dead for our dead motorized riflemen. We went to the exchange without weapons. They pushed us with their feet and hands. They provoked it.
The best memories are how we climbed in body armor to the heights where the snow lies. They recalled their childhood: on body armor, like on a sled, they drove down the hills.
The worst ones are when you lose your friends. Four people from our battalion died during my service. With one of them, we studied together at a technical school physical culture. His name was Stas Kunis. He died on April 22, 1985. They had just arrived from the Maryinogorsk Special Forces Brigade, still “unfired” guys. The commander was inexperienced. They were "squeezed" into the gorge. They did not provide cover for the skyscrapers, and the "spirits" covered them. The wounded were killed. The entire company was killed.
They returned to their homeland by plane TU-134. The stewardess announced that we had crossed the border of the USSR, and everyone immediately got up and shouted: “Hurrah! We are alive!
I have a colleague friend Kostya from Vitebsk. We usually meet on February 15th. Now we are the closest. Those who were even closer have already gone to the next world.
Let's remember the living first. Then - their commanders, who saved many lives. For example, our commander Yevgeny Dutov went on vacation, and when the Panjshir operation began and the motorized rifle battalion was “squeezed”, he flew from vacation right to the battlefield.
And the last to remember our dead. Stas, who studied with me, the guys from Ukraine, who also died."
There's nowhere to hide under fire
“It was September 1985. We went on a business trip for 2-3 months to neutralize the cholera outbreak in Jalalabad, but stayed for two years. The hospital stood on the territory of the brigade. There was no front line. The units just went out into the mountains, where the scouts found bandit formations. 
Nadezhda Yarkina, served as a nurse. It used to be fired upon. There were no instructions for this case: there was nowhere to hide. When the shooting was going on, they tried to at least understand which side they were shooting from. What about hiding? We lived in plywood modules. They burned down in three minutes, it was useless to hide in them.
In war, you can see who is worth what. When our hospital was formed, only volunteers were recruited. There were those who went without thinking, and they behaved like cowards.
We didn't have working hours. Working means working. If many wounded were brought in, everyone got up and worked. Although our hospital was infectious.
No one in Soviet times thought about what kind of psychological trauma it was. Sometimes even the officers could not stand it, and there is nothing to say about the soldiers. When there are 15 people at the outpost, and they have been together for a year and a half every single day. And there is no way to be alone, no personal space. It's very hard.
Every year we meet to see each other. We remember those who died in Afghanistan."
They flew home with "cargo 200"
“At night, our regiment in Ivanovo was raised on combat alert. Selected battalion. The commander said: "You are going to fulfill an international duty." It was January 1980, it had been two weeks since our troops entered Afghanistan. On trains we went to Termez ( city in Uzbekistan - Approx. ed.). They crossed the Amu Darya on a floating pontoon bridge. Then we saw the first deaths of our soldiers. The current is very strong, and the bridge was difficult to keep afloat. Someone broke, someone drowned. 
Nikolai Evseenko, served as a signalman The first thing I saw in Afghanistan was an ox plowing the ground. A peasant followed him. It struck. We did everything on cars, I myself am a tractor driver. And here they plow on a cow.
We arrived two days later and pitched our tents. Near the village - 15-20 huts. The first night it was -20 degrees. For us, this is customary, and the Afghans are in dressing gowns. We felt sorry for them, shared uniforms, although it was forbidden.
Their houses are made of clay and that's it. We were in this house. Poverty struck. Undressed, nothing to work with and nothing to wear. And the brutality of the "spirits" that attacked us was also amazing...
We, signalmen, did not participate in hostilities. But there were skirmishes during the service.
In May of the same year we went back. With us in the same plane flew "cargo 200" and "cargo 300" ( "cargo 200" - dead soldiers in zinc coffins, "cargo 300" - wounded soldiers - Approx. ed.).
When the pilot announced that we were flying over the border of the USSR, we sat quietly, because we understood who was flying with us. And they were able to fully rejoice in Tashkent. Although there were still thousands of kilometers to the house, we were already in the Union.
I was demobilized in May, and my countryman from Slutsk Valerka remained in Afghanistan. He says: "Come to mine, say that I'm fine here." I went to them.
They know that their son is at war, they look into his eyes. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t say what could actually happen there. I tried to brighten up so as not to worry. My mother, while waiting for me, lost her sight, she was so worried. But everything turned out well, both returned, alive and well."
Today, 32 years ago, in the Maravar Gorge of the Kunar province in Afghanistan, a group of Soviet special forces began fighting with the Afghan Mujahideen. Various authors disagree on the details of the description of this battle, but all agree on one thing: the battle was one of the most fierce of the entire Soviet-Afghan war. The Mujahideen managed quite competently to cut off part of the company, which later became known as the "Maravar", from the main forces, to ambush, surround and then destroy almost all of them. As a result of the battle, 31 people died on the Soviet side, the losses of the enemy are unknown.
Five Belarusians died at once in the Maravar Gorge, here are their names.
Nikolai Nesterovich Tsebruk, captain, commander of a special forces company. Born on November 27, 1955 in the village of Rudavka, Pruzhany district, Brest region. My parents worked on a collective farm. Nikolai graduated from high school, then a technical school, served in the Soviet Army, was sent to study at the Kiev Higher Combined Arms command school. Served on Far East and then sent to Afghanistan.
Nikolai Tsebruk.
Yuri Cheslavovich Gavrash, sergeant, BMP commander - commander of a special forces detachment. Born on April 20, 1966 in the village of Gozha, Grodno region. My parents worked on a collective farm. graduated high school, entered the Grodno Polytechnic. In May 1984 he was drafted into the Soviet Army. In the DRA - since September 1984. In a battle in the Maravar Gorge, he blew himself up with a grenade.
Yuri Gavrash.
Stanislav Iosifovich Kulnis, sergeant, squad leader. Born on April 11, 1966 in the village of Kuzmichi, Ivye district, Grodno region. My parents worked on a collective farm. He graduated from high school, entered the Grodno Physical Education College. He was drafted into the army in May 1984, and into the DRA since October of the same year.
Stanislav Kulnis.
Mikhail Alekseevich Matokh, sergeant, BMP commander - squad leader. Born on October 26, 1965 in Zhitkovichi, Gomel region. Mother worked in the dining room, father worked as a machinist in the PMK. He graduated from 8 classes, and then entered the Zhitkovichi vocational school No. 182. In May 1984 he was drafted into the army, in the DRA - from September of the same year.
Michael Matokh.
Igor Anatolyevich Napadovsky, junior sergeant, BMD commander. Born on January 30, 1966 in Lepel Vitebsk region. Parents are workers. He graduated from the 8th grade of the local school, then completed his studies in the evening. In May 1984 he was drafted into the army, from September of the same year - into the DRA.
Igor Napadovsky.
The funeral of Igor Napadovsky in Lepel.
But those with whom they fought - the Afghan Mujahideen.
This year marks 30 years since the withdrawal of a limited contingent of Soviet troops from Afghanistan. By the same date, Russian director Pavel Lungin shot the film "Brotherhood". Main character- intelligence soldier. There has been a lot of discussion around the film. Lungin's professional military work was called biased. Particularly zealous and completely accused the author of the "Brotherhood" of Russophobia. Positive reviews boil down to the fact that it is, first of all, piece of art, which does not claim to be completely reliable. The hero of our material - Valery Sokolenko, served in Afghanistan from 1987 to 1988 as an intelligence officer. He spoke about his service at the end of the war in every detail and detail.
Text: Andrey Dichenko
"Then you will know everything"
I finished eight classes in 1981. Entered the Suvorov military school in Kazan. I had to apply from Mongolia, because my father was sent there for work.
At school I learned that there was a war going on in Afghanistan. I went into the barracks and noticed that the guys had gathered in a circle and were discussing some kind of newspaper article. I asked what's the matter? They gave me the newspaper. It was written in the article that some junior sergeant was awarded the medal "For Military Merit". And that during joint exercises military units of the Soviet Army and the Army of the Democratic Republic of Afghanistan, passing through the territory of Afghanistan, commanding his squad, he destroyed a conditional firing position of a conditional enemy on an impregnable mountain height. Everyone knew that in the Soviet Union, the medal "For Military Merit" is presented only for real military merit, and not for "conventions". It was just before the break. Naturally, the night was almost sleepless. And the next morning with the newspaper we went to the officers to explain to us how to understand this article. The answer was something like "then you'll find out everything."
In those days, it was necessary to unlearn two years in Suvorovsky. And between the first and second course, we were given a camp for 45 days. So we ended up on the training ground in isolation from the world. The Major came to visit us. A graduate of our school. Probably just like that, to visit someone. Dressed in civilian clothes. And he had long hair around his ears. They didn’t immediately believe that a military man could have such a hairstyle. It turned out that he was captured in Afghanistan. He managed to be exchanged for captured dushmans. This is what we called those who fought against the legitimate Afghan government. But the dushmans cut off the officer's ears. It was probably at that moment that I realized that a real war was going on in Afghanistan.
“They served with the condition that parents not have only children”
In 1983, after graduating from Suvorov, he entered the military school. And judging by the information that was given, we were being prepared for this war. I wrote a report that I want to serve in Afghanistan. No special romance. There was just an inner feeling that a military officer needed combat experience. Moreover, he was unmarried.
Then he talked to the commission. They looked at me and realized that I was not some kind of romantic fool. After the interview, they told me that now they are no longer sent directly to Afghanistan. It was 1986. IN next year I was supposed to be graduating. Due to the heavy losses among young officers, school graduates were first sent to units geographically close to Afghanistan. I received a referral to Uzbekistan, to Tashkent. After - an order to arrive in a unit in Turkmenistan, in Ashgabat. There are four lieutenants in total. As a result, we got to the checkpoint of the desired part, 76 kilometers from Ashgabat. The stop was called Geok-Tepe Post Office. The nearest village is Kelyata. Behind him was a mountain training center. And two kilometers before the checkpoint - the Karakum Canal and the Kara-Kum Desert.
There was intensive training at the base. We could spend a day in the Kara Kum desert. Or go to the mountains, behind which Iran is already. The mountains spread out just "behind" the battalion. Combat training was intense. Approximately in this mode: day - desert, day - classes at the base, training ground or shooting range. Then a day - mountains, the next one again at the base, then in the desert ... We lived in modules - these are houses made of light panels that are assembled like a designer. There were four, six and eight people in the room. Despite the officer rank, I had a soldier's position: a shooter - an assistant to a grenade launcher. Part was staffed only by officers. In other words, officers were in the soldier's positions. There was a unit of conscript soldiers that maintained and repaired military equipment our battalion. I still remember its number and name - Military Unit "Field Mail 71212". Officially - BROS, or "officer reserve battalion".
The term of service in the battalion began from nine months and could last two years. From this unit, officers were sent to guard embassies in "wild" countries and to international military missions, to Afghanistan and to places where officially our military was not. It was the only unit in the Soviet army consisting exclusively of officers. Few knew about its existence. Every couple of years, the unit changed its location. The canteen staff, namely the cooks, worked there for a couple of months. And they brought them from other republics of the USSR. Only non-family young officers served, and with the condition that they were not the only children of their parents. Basically, athletes, from families of the same Soviet military. Well, and one more condition - that in the biographies of close relatives everything should be "exemplary".
I arrived in the unit in the summer. And closer to winter in Afghanistan, the army operation "Magistral" began. With losses among officers. Needed an urgent replacement. We gathered a battalion and asked if there were those among us who felt they were ready to serve in Afghanistan? They gave me time to think until the morning. 64 lieutenants wrote reports about their desire to leave for Afghanistan. Of these, only 18 were selected. So we were sent to the headquarters of the 40th Army through Tashkent. They flew to Kabul on Tu-154. The plane is landing, but painted under the civil "Aeroflot". We did not sit down right away, because we were fired on approach. Attack planes and helicopters covered from below. They "took" the fire on themselves and "dispersed" those who attacked us.
The senior officer of the political department at the army headquarters immediately said that there was no international duty here and we were fulfilling the task of protecting the southern borders of the Union. At the same time, we are helping the government of Afghanistan cope with international intervention that helps the rebels and mercenaries. From the conversation, we realized that the situation in Afghanistan was the same as in Russian Empire after February Revolution 1917. External forces attacked the young republic. The revolutionaries "broken wood." Civil War was in full swing. AND Soviet army carried out political tasks by military means. Everything, as Marx wrote. Nothing new.
Me and another lieutenant were sent to the garrison near the city of Ghazni. The city is the center of the province of the same name. But there, as luck would have it, no columns went. We managed to fly away by helicopter.
“Looking at the abundance on the tables, he said without thinking that “they are fed here, like for slaughter”
Arrived at night. The foreman of the company met, fed and placed.
For the first breakfast, I came to the dining room and found out that we had tables for four people. Breakfast consisted of a handful of rice, a glass of compote and a piece of bread, which we divided into four parts. It turned out that almost the entire garrison went into the combat zone. They were given almost all the food. The garrison itself was under blockade. Therefore, there was no need to wait for supply columns. Just save what's left. I remember how I got into an idiotic situation, when, after returning from Operation Magistral, during breakfast, looking at the abundance on the tables, I said, without thinking that “they are fed here like for slaughter.” And I was taken aback when I saw how silently they looked at me at the neighboring tables. Nobody. Nothing. Didn't say. Nobody smiled. Silence. There was just silence… Even if you fell through the ground from those cold looks!.. When it dawned on me what I blurted out and where I blurted out, I sweated and turned purple with shame.
Then, after the first breakfast in the dining room, I asked the foreman of our company who I could talk to here in order to learn more about the duty station. I was pointed to a nearby reconnaissance tent. This is how I met Yasha Vaksman, a political officer. It was said about him that he was a demanding, strict, but very sympathetic person. Wise and smart. He constantly took his guys to combat operations and was the soul of the company. After talking with Yakov, I got the feeling that I had known him all my conscious life and had been serving in the garrison for more than a year. He told me everything that is called, put it on the shelves.
So… I went up to him and introduced myself. Then he asked me to spare some time. He replied that he would finish checking the group's equipment before going out at night and "let's drink tea while talking about life." Stepping aside, I watched with curiosity what was happening and drew attention to the backpack of one of the soldiers of the reconnaissance group. There was a faded inscription in pen "BSSR, military unit 39676, RR (reconnaissance company - author's note), Pavlovich S. S. ". I asked the senior lieutenant to allow me to talk to the fighter.
We met. I asked him his name and where he came from. It turned out that my parents live at a distance of 35 kilometers from his parents. They embraced him when they found out that they were countrymen. We got talking. He was a junior sergeant, first-class scout, machine gunner. Then he learned from the soldiers of his company that Sergei was presented with the medal "For Courage", and Yakov - with the Order of the Red Star. Once, going out on a night operation, their group itself landed in an unfamiliar area for an ambush. Yakov gave the command to the sergeant to take the group to the base. And he undertook to cover the guys. Sergei stayed with Yasha. When the group returned to base, special forces helicopters landed for their luck. The helicopter pilots still had fuel. SWAT - on the ground. Scouts - on board. And a dash to help. Soon our helicopter picked them up. They already calculated that Yasha had 11 rounds for the machine gun, and Sergei - 20 or 25 rounds for the machine gun.
“One wounded person can distract five people from work”
It was possible not to go to the military operation. Before the group left, the commander asked if anyone was feeling unwell, tired, insecure, or had any other reason to stay at the base. And most importantly, no one demanded to voice the reason decision. The logic is that fewer people are better, but with a clear mind and a healthy reaction. Anything could be a cause for frustration. General malaise. Or a bad letter. A demoralized person is easier to hurt. One wounded person can distract five people from the "work".
As for the war, it was most difficult to fight with those who were from poor peasants. Illiterate, fooled by false religious teachings. But it was possible to talk to them, to explain our tasks, to discuss. They were poorly trained militarily, but strong in spirit. And if you could find mutual language, then an alliance could be counted on. Local residents could tell when gangs of mercenaries from Pakistan would come. By the way, those who went through the “Pakistani training” were well trained. True, they surrendered at the first opportunity.
“It was the day when he and I hit the mines together. I survived"
Our garrison is a tent city with several modules. One staff, the second for the command of the regiment and the third - for civilian personnel. I graduated from the school as an officer of tank troops. But the tankers had no vacancies. Offered to the mountain infantry. He graduated from the school in a mountainous area, was engaged in mountain tourism, marathon running, sports shooting - all this was an argument in favor of choosing a mountain unit. They said that it was temporary until a vacancy in the tank unit became available. But, ahead of events, I will say that I fell in love with the infantry. Therefore, until the end of the service, he refused to be transferred from it anywhere. In Afghanistan, there was such an unspoken rule - the first two months and the last two months of service in those parts were not taken to combat exits. After a few days of being in the garrison, the head of the political department came one evening. He said that there were not enough officers and, if there was confidence that he was “ready for battle,” then there was a night for reflection, and the next day he was already waiting with a report.
In the morning, the report "to clear the conscience" of the head of the political department was already lying with the officer on duty. The foreman of the company helped with ammunition and equipment. The automatic machine chose in a warehouse itself. After shooting a few pieces at the shooting range, I was left with a battered AK-74 in my hands. Although, the warehouse was full of brand new ones, in factory lubrication. I worked a little with needle files, adapted the optical sight from a sniper rifle, slightly lengthened the butt - I got what I wanted. I did not part with this machine gun until May 5, 1988. It was the day he and I hit the mines together. I survived. And he, darling, was written off as beyond repair, because the poor fellow was bent into an arc.
“When crossing the mountains, such “mods” went ahead”
A couple of helicopters flew to the combat area to the border with Pakistan. Empty. They took me with them. The pilots said that they did not count on a "passenger" and therefore there was no parachute for me. But there is an onboard machine gun with full ammunition. Along the way, they came under fire from heavy machine guns. But they fought from the mountains between which we flew. The pilots pressed the cars to the very ground and maneuvered in such a way that I tumbled in the "salon" from one corner to another, adding abrasions to myself with every second.
Arrived. At the command post of the regiment, a group from our company was already waiting for me. Hours of walking along steep cliffs, climbing a mountain range, a halt at the battalion command post, then descending. And another ascent to the mountain, where the company was entrenched. The commander met without joy on his face. Yes, it is understandable - completely without combat experience. In short, a burden. He placed me in a tent with two soldiers.
The first task involved crossing a mountain range. It was necessary to advance to the command post of the regiment, which was located on the other side of the mountains. The task is to deliver provisions and ammunition, and then return back before the end of the day.
I remember how, before going out, the company commander whispered to the sergeant who was appointed as my deputy for this exit. Both looked in my direction. The sergeant, who was much older than me, periodically nodded his head. Apparently, he agreed with something said by the company commander.
The soldier, by the way, himself looked like a dushman. Asian with long hair and a chic beard. The commander also did not look like a Soviet military man. Beard, hair to the collar. In general, half of the company looked like this. As they say, uniform number eight, what we wear is what we wear. Usually, when crossing the mountains, such “mods” went ahead as part of a reconnaissance patrol. If you stumble upon the enemy, he will not immediately realize that he has a Soviet unit in front of him. And this is a gain in time, when you can make the right decision and hit the spirits by surprise.
Our group consisted of twelve people, most of whom were bearded and in trophy "suits". We went at a good pace. And almost non-stop. I periodically reminded the sergeant that it was time to make a halt for rest. But the sergeant found excuses not to do it. Then it dawned on me that this was how they tested endurance. We watched how I behave in the mountains. When the sergeant already said that it was time to make a halt, I replied that there was not much left - to jump over the ridge, and go down the sheer cliffs. When they arrived at the place, the exhausted soldiers simply collapsed to the ground. I was also ready to fall next to them. But this moment was my moment of truth. He pretended with all his might that he was not tired. Half an hour - and the exit back. But with a load. All distributed equally. The sergeant tried to distribute so that I didn't have to carry anything. "Comrade lieutenant, you're still stretching for two more years!" But I stood my ground. One soldier on the way back began to run out of breath, asked to take more frequent breaks. I took his equipment for myself, and his cargo was scattered on everyone, including me. After the successful completion of the assignment, I can be said to have been accepted into the company. The soldiers began to find an excuse to talk to me. The officers offered to help "in case of emergency."
The commander then said: "Lieutenant, take your things and move to my tent." And his tent is only his tent. Everyone, of course, sat down from such a "setting" of the company. The next day, the company commander asked what I want to become? I answered that I wanted to finish my service and retire from the post of commander of a separate tank battalion somewhere in the Far East. The company commander said that he had joined the infantry from the Airborne Forces and would probably remain in the infantry forever.
"For the infantry, the mountains are a living hell"
Later there was a moment when I realized that the mountain shooter does not feel at all like that in the desert. Sometimes our fighters were in the same ranks with paratroopers and tankmen. But they did not do what was expected of them. They felt insecure. It also worked in reverse. For the infantry, the mountains are a living hell, because they, working on flat terrain, where everything is visible far away, in the mountains behind every stone assumed a threat. A mountain shooter's psyche works differently: each stone is perceived as a shelter. Mountain shooters move mainly at night. The rest of the troops - in the afternoon.
We were lucky that during the service we had no serious losses. Only wounds, concussions. And they are not heavy either. I got it too. Two contusions and a slight shrapnel wound. The first shell shock was mild, but, one might say, insulting. Worked its own barrage mine.
When we took a position, we additionally placed mines around. Because when you are at a height, then the clouds are above you. At night, they descend and go under you. And when the clouds rise again at dawn, spooks can come along with them. You may just not see them.
Only one path led to our position. And the deputy commander of the company blocked it with a banner for the night. Morning has come. We received the task to advance for ammunition. When they began to descend, the deputy commander ran out of the tent screaming and began to wave his arms intensively. It just dawned on me that he was shouting “Mina!” when a soldier caught her. It is very difficult to notice a white thread from a parachute sling on exactly the same white snow. The sapper, who walked ahead, did not notice her either. His equipment saved him - he received several fragments from behind. One fragment hit me in the head, the second in the leg. Two mountain knitted hats-masks protected from a fragment in the head, which were rolled up at the place of "arrival". Knitted Afghan double gaiters saved from a fragment in the leg. Although, of course, there was no blood. Two fragments still cut the skin. Concussion is an unpleasant condition. You stand and do not understand where you are and who. He stood on his feet, but staggered like a drunk and fell on his side. All sounds seem to come from afar. I felt sick. It felt like they put foggy glasses over their eyes and stunned them. In 1988 we went out to another country. We left through Gardez under the command of our legendary regiment commander Valery Shcherbakov. They were supposed to go through Ghazni, but an ambush awaited there. Thanks to the skillful actions of the commander, we had no losses. Such a maneuver saved the fighters from a great tragedy.
When the enemy realized that he had been outwitted, he began to shoot from artillery in pursuit. But they couldn't get us. Then they went through Kabul to the north. In Kabul and to the north, the situation was different. Many locals wept as they waved goodbye to us. Along the route of our column, we often came across inscriptions on fences and houses, on fabric banners - “Don't leave!”, “Don't leave us!” and something similar. There was a lump in my throat when women with babies in their arms and old people ran out and lay down under the wheels and tracks of our equipment. Others, looking at our cars, wept. I don't know how my soldiers felt. I couldn't look in their direction. I was afraid to look. Just averted his gaze. Everyone was silent. There was a terrible sense of betrayal. We betrayed them, abandoned them.
Twenty-three years later, already at home, in Belarus… On one of the weekends in the market, a swarthy, strong man was staring at me intently. It seemed that we had met somewhere. Then he nevertheless approached me and asked: “Excuse me, have you been across the river?”. “Beyond the river” means beyond the Amu Darya River, which flows along the border between Afghanistan and the Soviet Union. He replied that yes, it was. He clarified, "191st Regiment?" It turned out that the second tanker at that checkpoint was also from Belarus. It's just that he then had a mouth full of stew, from which he almost choked when he heard my cry. And that same second tanker was now standing in front of me! Embraced. I don’t remember how long they stood silently hugging tightly. But these hugs cost a lot. Then - conversations, memories ... But that was already later.
"Your division! Spirits all around!
Jumped Salang. Further north. Already calmer. The locals are welcoming. We go through some town. We pull slowly. We look, and some Afghans walk in groups and one by one with machine guns. One of them has a grenade launcher casually slung over his shoulder. Some, in general, in full combat gear. One thought - “Your division! Spirits all around! On the air, you only hear - “Bearded around!”, “I have eight spirits on the left! Right on the roadside!”, “What to do? To the right and left of me to a platoon of spirits! I also reported my situation. Everything inside went cold. And the "spirits" seemed to be busy with their own affairs and did not notice us on purpose. Lined up with roadblocks. And there our tankers, together with two "spirits", are sitting at the parapet by the fire, drinking tea and discussing something cheerfully.
During the withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan, I saw everything that I doubted. And again he asked if everything in my life was done right? By all accounts, everything seems to be correct. Time after time I remember the withdrawal of our regiment. Some of them were waiting for us in ambushes and fired after the outgoing column. Others didn't let us leave. But when the withdrawal of troops began, everything fell into place. Each time - one picture. Some experiences. I'm not mad at those who shot at us. But I feel guilty before those whom we have betrayed, abandoned. This is my personal pain. After these memories, I have no question whether we were needed there or not. Well, if someone who has not been there has such a question, then listen to a song in which there are such words: “Ask the mountains. They know better who we were in the distant land ... ".
Belarusian lieutenant Sergei Anisko at the age of 22 became perhaps the youngest company commander in Afghan war. On the eve of the 25th anniversary of the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan, he told Komsomolskaya Pravda what helped to survive and how the motherland welcomed the dead
Photo: Victor GILITSKY
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In the Afghan war, which lasted almost 10 years (1979-1989), more than 15 thousand Soviet soldiers died. Young guys went to "fulfill their international duty", and their bodies were returned to their homeland without much publicity.
Yes, at the beginning of the war, bad news from Afghanistan was banned. When the body of 19-year-old Belarusian Seryozha Gribko - the guy died in battle from a direct shot in the heart - was brought to his native village of Dubniki, Chervensky district, officials from the district committee of the party came to his relatives.
Warn them not to make a demonstration out of the funeral and in no case mention the word "Afghanistan" on the nameplate of the future pedestal. Then it was all hidden.
But Sergey's mother still ordered an inscription for her son: they say, just try to touch, then stand this monument at the district committee of the party! ..
Such an indication was throughout the Union. It was impossible to write "He died in the line of international duty."
Today Serezha's name is engraved in the Chapel on the Island of Tears, his name is also in the book of memory. Sergei Gribko was posthumously awarded the Order of the Red Star.
“In Afghanistan, I received twice as much as the secretary of the district party committee”
Of course, they were afraid of where to go from fear? At the beginning of the fight, my left knee always trembled. As once before entering the ring, I was engaged in boxing.
But if in the ring - how it will turn out, then in the war, it seemed, the main thing is not to disgrace yourself, you are an officer! ..
We had a battalion of various calibers, there were only eight Belarusians, ours were always ready to help.
The orderly officer of the company, Yura Smolensky, in addition to his duties as a paramedic, poked around in cars, helped fix them, and sometimes even got behind the wheel. And sheared half a battalion. I think the willingness to help is in the genes of Belarusians.
Others - Kazakhs, Uzbeks, Tajiks - reacted differently, holding on to their diasporas.
I remember there was only one Estonian. When he had a month left before demobilization, he, as part of a column, was ambushed, there was a fierce battle. Then he came up to me and asked: “Comrade Lieutenant, do not send me any more, I am afraid that I will perish in the last days!”
Asking not to be sent into battle was considered shameful. But I understood him and appointed him on duty at the checkpoint for a month. Moreover, in two years in the DRA, he fulfilled his duty to the USSR even with a makeweight.
- In the war, many were frightened by the premonition of death?
It was so. On December 18, 1983, I led the column out of locality Puli-Khumri. There was also a saying: "If you want to live in dust, go to Puli-Khumri." The dust is knee-deep there, you can smell it, hear its champing. The British Expeditionary Brigade died there from hepatitis.
Before leaving, I formed a company, and scolded one soldier with a dirty undercollar: “How can you, even in tsarist army soldiers before the battle dressed in everything clean!
And he told me - his commander! - for no reason at all: “What difference does it make how to die: clean or dirty? ..”
He, the kid, as luck would have it, on that day - his birthday - is 19 years old. “Okay, I say, then wash off!” - congratulated him before the formation of the company and drove off.
We go out onto the highway, we drive five kilometers, the shelling begins. And that soldier at full speed jumps out of the cab of an uncontrollable car and falls with his chest directly onto the iron crane of a huge pipe lying in a ditch.
When we picked him up, he let out his last breath. So I didn’t have time to wash my collar ...
I became a company commander just a year after graduating from a military school. My company was called Chinese - 150 people, in an ordinary automobile company - no more than 120.
But I was comfortable leading a large team in wartime conditions. Then there was no whimpering or disobedience. What machismo?
If someone did not follow the order, I was obliged to achieve its execution up to the use of weapons. Before that, thank God, it did not come, but my political officer once imitated execution.
Two old-timers who sold sugar, condensed milk and stew from a common boiler to the Afghans for moonshine. Sharop - Afghans sold it right in plastic bags. And those idiots were drinking.
Idiots - because the Afghans sometimes poured poison into moonshine, and ours went blind.
At that time, the products were sold, and the convoy was on the road for another three days - there was nothing to eat! And the political officer put them to the duval (fence. - Ed.). He lined up a company nearby and read out his own order: they say, these bastards left their comrades hungry, so I sentence them ... to be shot!
And gave a turn. over their heads. The lesson was remembered by everyone who was there ...
Iniquity? Yes. For which the political officer suffered a severe punishment.
I also got it, although I was at that time in Kabul. Not the most pleasant facts of that war, but they cannot be erased from memory and history.
- I know that during the Afghan war your son was born.
Yes, this day is forever etched in my memory. I remember that my convoy was going to Kabul, in the Tashkurgan region, our other convoy was meeting. From there they shout: “Tova-arish lieutenant, someone was born with you!” "Who?!" - yell that there is urine. “Yes, I don’t know, maybe at the end of the column, who knows ...”
And I give the command: “Ta-a-ak! Pull over to the parking lot!"
And there is the very place for a combat pause: a huge parking lot, two small radon lakes and a former hotel in which, after a brothel, our motorized rifle company was stationed.
I stop the column, and they finally tell me: “Your son was born!”
He gathered officers and ensigns, raised mugs, as is customary among the Slavs, with vodka ...
- Where is the vodka from?
How from where? Bought in the Soviet Union! After all, I crossed the state border with my company column three or four times a month.
We had plenty of money, there was even such a saying: money is tight on the thigh.
In Afghanistan, I received three front-line salaries, by the standards of the Soviet Union, twice as much as the secretary of the district committee - 750 rubles a month, part of it in foreign currency, by checks. And they gave in cash, and on a passbook.
In short, then they walked notably, they even staged a salute from ZSU-23 anti-aircraft guns.
- And they say that holidays do not count in war ...
It's like when. For example, on the eve of each New Year, all officers were usually lined up: “Comrade officers, remember - no shooting at midnight - no salutes, no rockets! - It's clear?!" "Yes sir!"
And at 24.00, the cheered brigade commander and all his deputies went out and let's shoot into the sky. At this point, everyone else picked up the baton.
When tracer bullets were fired from a large-caliber machine gun, the word "New Year!" lit up in the sky over Kabul.
I spent a year in Afghanistan before my vacation. I remember the first feeling - interesting! Romance, in a word. And the country is beautiful, and the people are hardworking, and at first they treated us friendly.
And it seemed that it was we who were saving this country from "the insidious tentacles of NATO"...
And on the eve of the vacation, I led the convoy to Kabul, exhaled: that's it, I'm flying away to my wife, I will see my son Maxim for the first time!
And the battalion commander says: “Sergey, it won’t work, your convoy was redirected, it needs to be led to Jalalabad.”
And this is another 200 kilometers, then they still said: “If you want a bullet in the ass, go to Jalalabad!” I understood that this place was a dead place, anything could happen.
All these throwings were probably reflected on my face, and the battalion commander waved his hand: “Okay, Seryoga, that's it - you are free, another will lead, and you fly away to your wife. Deserved!
Later I often recalled that incident: maybe that saved me? All my life I have been grateful to the battalion commander Kochergin.
“They exchanged potatoes for silk scarves”
In Afghanistan, he became friends with the head of the medical service of the battalion. He taught: so that in those conditions I would not go down, not get sick with hepatitis, typhoid or malaria - every evening I ate an onion and sometimes drank 50 grams of medical alcohol for prevention. Army vitamins ate handfuls. But they tried not to abuse alcohol. Although, sometimes there was no other way out.
Once our column was covered up on the pass: four cars were cut off by an avalanche. We did not know in how many days they would break through to us. For eight - a bag of crackers, three boxes of oranges and a five-liter canister of alcohol.
To save diesel fuel, all the cars did not start, but warmed up in turn in my Kamaz. I poured each half a glass of alcohol for internal warming and rubbing, gave out crackers and an orange. Oranges in Afghanistan got so drunk that I still can’t look at them.
And how we missed potato pancakes! We also had a Belarusian cook in the officer's canteen, from the Gomel region, cook - I don't want to! But a good potato in Afghanistan was worth its weight in gold, not to be found during the day with fire.
Everything was there: watermelons, pineapples, oranges, Finnish salami, even kangaroo carcasses from New Zealand. And there were no potatoes (ours, crumbly!) More often dry potato powder, which was poured with water and diluted with liquid, such as mashed potatoes.
For potato pancakes, we in Termez (a regional center in Uzbekistan. - Ed.) We got potatoes on the basis of blat at the base in Uch-Kizil .. We exchanged them for scarce Chinese silk scarves, which cost a penny in Afghanistan, and in Soviet Uzbekistan - 60 rubles - a month nurse's salary.
I remember the first time we went to the Union, I did not yet know how valuable these scarves were. We go through customs, enter Termez, and around - women, children - everyone is screaming and waving!
I straightened my shoulders, well, I think the heroes are met, we are internationalists! And I joyfully say to the driver: “Look how they meet us! .. And what are they shouting?” And from the window I hear: “Plyatki, platyki come on! ..”
I think, well, your mother, those are the hero (laughs)!
- Did you believe in omens?
They often looked at my car in bewilderment, but I had a number - “13-13 LZ”
I chose it myself, 13 is my favorite number, so I took it off the previously damaged car of my company. I drove with this number for about a year - only one bullet hole appeared in the back.
And once in a shot MAZ I counted 97 holes. Then two of our guys died. And because of that MAZ, I received the first party penalty.
At that time it was forbidden to drive in one car, and a truck was assigned to our convoy, which was supposed to bring a concrete mixer.
The head of the car - captain Lyutenko - did not heed the lieutenant's ban and, taking advantage of my being in a closure, rushed to Kabul on his own. He was waiting there for a replacement in the Union.
Already when they climbed the Salang pass, they found out that their car had been shot near the village of Jabal-uzh-Saraj.
And on the dashboard of the MAZ lay an unfinished letter home from the driver Martynenko. On a piece of paper - his bloody five, right under the text: “Mom, I can’t believe that in 10 days I will be at home ...”
“More than 60 officers landed in the USSR, but did not get home”
- Then what did the communists believe in the war?
In that war, we all seemed to be atheists. But only at the beginning - the war quickly made me believe in heavenly values. It turned out that many had crosses, and icons, and amulets. I didn’t have a cross: as I am an officer, a communist, I will take it through customs - it’s a shame!
But over the left shoulder before the battle, he always spat three times and tapped on the wooden butt of the machine gun.
Turn away - cross yourself and forward to the mines - the war has begun!
But I saw my soldiers when they washed - many had crosses, they were given mothers on the road. The Muslim fighters, respectively, have rosaries and notes with quotes from the Koran. Many as amulets hung around the neck bullets in the form of key chains. But the main amulets are photographs of loved ones and relatives.
And after my vacation from Belarus, I brought the icon of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker with me - a gift from the late mother-in-law, from the Zhirovichi Monastery. Helped, didn’t help - I don’t know, but it definitely calmed the soul!
But it was not the war that impressed me more, but the tragic moments of that time, not related to the war. Few people know about them now. I myself found out only when I was already working in the Special Department of the KGB.
Most of the officers of that war returned from Afghanistan to the Union by transport aircraft to the Uzbek Tuzel airfield. It is located far beyond Tashkent, there was no regular bus service as such.
Here, local taxi drivers, having heard the rumble of landing planes, like kites, gathered at the airfield to take officers to the Tashkent airport. So everyone thought...
The officers returned to the Union "packed": they brought home currency, Japanese equipment, branded clothes.
It turned out that more than 60 Soviet officers and ensigns who landed in the Union did not get home. They went through the war, survived, but they were torn to pieces by their own, killing and robbing. So big question: who are our own, and who are strangers, and where exactly the war begins and ends ...