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.
It was a Yakub's tank. The tremors encompassed me. In a 40-tonne tank that fell from such a height, no one could survive. I went down. My feet did not listen, my knees bowed. I thought of my friend lying breathlessly inside the tank. Tears clogged the eyes. I couldn’t hold back and started to pin the tank, but someone pulled me back. The senior lieutenant submitted a command from under the bridge:
– To me!
Two broken legs were pulled from the tank. We put them aside. They had officer boots. Others followed us. In the depth where the tower was to be located, there was a frozen body of an officer. His cut off head remained next to the deepening. The soldiers pulled out those who remained inside the tank. We all put them next to us. Yakub seemed to be whole and unharmed. I touched his face. It was cold. I noticed a small wound. I whispered something to him, hugging his cold body. I still can’t remember what I was saying then. I was like crazy. I saw it all, but it was like through the fog. The shock did not think.
The mechanic driver survived. The scratched skin of the forehead with a red speck hanged over the nose. The last time I said goodbye to a friend whom I found in the hardest days of my life. It made it easier for me to endure this nightmare. The days spent with him came to an end. I became inhumane. I couldn’t understand why I was born, why I had to live. At night, I suddenly jumped out of place. I seemed to hear his voice. I could not believe that he was dead and that we would never talk to him again until morning. Only my fingers, which captured the coldness of the dead face, reminded me that all this, unfortunately, it was not a terrible dream, but a cruel reality.
…I fell, when there were three steps to the tank. I felt my feet. Something hot, sticky was under my fingers. I couldn’t get up. The shooting continued. I was put on a tank and taken to a garrison hospital. Sometimes I lost consciousness.
How long I’ve been there, I don’t know. I woke up in a helicopter. There was a grave nearby. Who it was I don’t know, in the nonsense I seemed, I touched the cold face of Yakub, I raised: these were the legs of an officer.
I was in Termez for four days under anesthesia. When I woke up, a soldier was laid on the next bed. His chest was crushed, his straightening bandages impregnated with blood. He is chilled. Calmed down. Dead. You cannot get used to it.
He