The spooks were spraying from above, madly (about 20 guns) but disorganised.
With a couple of grunts now had to leave our APCs behind and sneak our way over to the headquarters. - We should scarper, before cleanup is not started.
Here, though, all guards were soundly asleep or spooks gashed them quietly. When heads pop open with a crunch under a steel caterpillar and all around it is sprayed with a grey and red mass of brain. - Well, give tell what good about you, - Yourka clearly was not able to find the place.
Everything was on fire, all that could burn and even all that couldn't. Brain of a maybe unaccomplished genius, poet, scientist or just good lad, father, brother, son, friend who didn't chicken out and came here in this shithole of a place called Chechnya and, may be, to his last moment, didn't even realised what the hell happened to him.
Some even shot themselves not to get into the ragheads' hands. As their CO you'd then have to write up their Death Notifications and body ID reports. I'd rather choke in an attack, blasting from my beloved AKS left, right and forward with my eyes popping out, rather than write those horrible papers. Although, honestly, no one of us has really understood what has transpired here. Semeon and myself too hastened to take cover behind the nearest heap of rubble.
At all times only one goal in mind - survive, complete the task and save your men. They'll send more in, who, maybe, because of your inexperience, cowardice and desire to go home, will drop under machinegun fire and will be ripped to pieces by grenades, mines, mortar or be captured. The very thought of this responsibility makes my stomach rumble. Glue noticed some movement in a window of the five-story building, next to the Station Plaza. From behind his corner, Glue opened up at the window from his AK.
"Reinstating Constitutional Order" on the territory of the former Soviet Union. Our soldiers are Siberians and all together we are "mahra" (Russian word for cheap tobacco). Glue moves away from the window and a starts muttering into his handset, calling onto the 1st Battalion's Road Post and our APCs. - "Sopka" is waiting for us, "boxes" were fired upon and rolled back a block.
It is mounted under the rifle's barrel and can be fired straight into the target or launch in an overhead trajectory. Their faces are all black from gunpowder, eyeballs and teeth are shining. Nod to one, point direction to another and we are all off sprinting forward, zigzag, "screw" and roll. - Eh, mama told me: "learn English" - My mama told me: "Do NOT crawl into wells, sonny". No sign of the enemy in the window at the other side of the house and we leapfrog, taking short streaks, stooped four times our normal hight, towards the Central Train Station. The brigade remains are trying to fight the way to the old center. Although, these coats were surely not made for rolling. High above in the sky, a jet fighter is barraging the city with high explosives and shooting at somebody's positions from an unreachable hight. Gunfights are starting everywhere sporadically and sometimes turn into some kind of cheesecake: ragheads, us, ragheads again and so on (US Marines call it a "cluster fuck"). The headquarter, rather all the remains of it got circled and fights. Now we are going to the Central Train Station, where, in almost full complement, was wiped out the Mikop Brigade. When after the battle they began to fall asleep (imagine no sleep for a week, adrenaline and Vodka for breakfast, lunch and dinner), spooks slunk up and wasted them from a point blank range. When our brigade fought its way through heavy rebel defences to help them, our tanks had to struggle through barricades of corpses of our Slavic brothers... If you want, can go to my basement, the fighters have beaten five rats just now and are cooking breakfast now. Just the mistake Chapaev made: no guards along perimeter. Their commander, with both his legs injured; still tried to reassert control, although he could retreat to the rear. When you see how tracks chop and hummer human flesh, how heavy leading wheels coil intestines of people just like yourself...