Free Fall (31 page)

At some point, while observing the roads, I saw the fog arrive. It suddenly appeared amidst the houses, enveloping them in a thick white embrace. It covered the courtyards, the streets, the gardens, and hung there; after a while you could only see the roofs of the houses, or the electric poles that poked out from the white cloud. The dogs began to bark, and I could also hear the cries of a few farm animals, cows and sheep frightened by the atmospheric phenomenon.

When Moscow and I withdrew, the whole town was completely wrapped in fog and darkness, and the dampness went all the way to the bone. After crawling two kilometres through the fields on the edge of the little stream, once we were at a safe distance, Moscow said to me, with his usual sarcasm:

‘Looks like we're going to be playing blind man's bluff tonight . . .'

I didn't answer. When I was little I hated blind man's bluff, where one kid would be blindfolded and have to try to catch the others, who would run away and push around whoever was ‘it'. The idea of getting into a situation like that, facing the enemy in a town wrapped in fog and the darkness of the night, did not sound appealing in the least.

When we got back to base Nosov was in the tent talking into the handset of the field radio. He was explaining to someone in command that it made more sense to mobilise the artillery first, have our cannons and missile fire system go to work on the enemy positions, and only afterwards bring in the assault troops.

Moscow and I couldn't hear what command was saying, but from Nosov's face – which grew increasingly tense and sombre – it was clear that the person on the other end didn't agree with our captain's strategy at all. Next to Nosov sat a colonel who led a team of tankers in a paratrooper unit. He looked sad; he had an unfiltered cigarette clenched between his teeth, and from his lungs billowed a layer of smoke so thick and solid it hung in the air, filling the tent like in one of those Seventies discos so often depicted in movies from the West.

Nosov said goodbye to the person he was talking to on the radio, calling him ‘Colonel', and then replaced the
handset. The tankers' colonel took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at our captain with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Nosov placed both his hands on his bulletproof vest and then stared at his belly, as if he were gauging how much it had grown. Sounding exhausted, he said:

‘The operation is set to begin today at twenty-three hundred hours. All active units will move in accordance with the orders received this morning. Confirmation of operational orders in thirty minutes . . .'

The tankers' colonel extinguished his cigarette in a dish, leaned against the crate of cannon shells, looked up at something only he could see, and began to speak very slowly:

‘If we go that way, as directed in the orders, they'll wipe all of us out . . . What'll we do with the burned tanks left in the middle of the road? The Arabs will use them as shields, and we'll end up repeating the same mistakes we've made in the past . . . Those Muscovite pieces of shit at general command don't give a shit what happens here. Since this operation began I've lost sixty men and twenty-three tanks. We have to come up with something . . .'

‘Orders have to be respected, Colonel . . . Tanks can't break through a city defence alone, we all know that, they have to follow the soldiers and support them in the attack.' Nosov spoke in a conspiratorial tone. ‘But the place is small, and if we coordinate with the assault units, I'm sure we'll only need four or five tanks to keep the positions the soldiers have liberated . . . We'll use the other tanks for transport beyond the perimeter, outside town, to guarantee our boys protection from fire . . .'

I listened attentively to what our captain was saying. It was no surprise that a higher ranking officer took Nosov's tactical advice into consideration. Everyone knew that he was always able to find a strategic solution (often it differed from the original plan but still led to the desired result) that would save human lives and conserve resources while also carrying out command's orders. Experience was everything in war – rank meant almost nothing.

The colonel seemed like a humble guy. As Nosov spoke he kept nodding.

‘All right,' he said, rising to his feet. ‘I'll go rally the assault unit commanders. We'll try to help each other, as always . . . Nosov, are you sure you can get by with just one support unit?'

Our captain lowered his eyes, resting them on the makeshift table, where the town map was spread out.

‘The less we are, the better it is. Now, they don't know what side we're going to attack from, and when our assault begins they'll move most of their men to the hottest point . . .' He pointed to a spot on the map and the colonel moved closer to see. ‘We saboteurs will enter from the other side and go in deep. Once we've found a safe position, like for example this path here . . .' He ran his finger along a line traced in pencil. ‘We'll shoot three red signal flares – at that sign your tanks and infantrymen can proceed. The important thing is for them to take this route and not take secondary roads; otherwise we'll end up killing each other . . .'

The colonel looked at the map, absorbed:

‘With the dark and this damn fog we'll have to be pretty careful . . .'

‘It's not the first time – actually, it could even be useful to us . . .'

Nosov seemed very sure of himself, but I wasn't so convinced. In the fog you can't see a thing, and even the softest sound seems amplified. The captain knew very well that it was a risky mission, but he didn't let it show.

The colonel suddenly noticed we were there and gave us a questioning look. Nosov introduced us right away:

‘The sergeant and sniper of my group, they just inspected the western side . . . What's the situation, strays?'

According to military code it was Moscow's responsibility to speak, but since I was usually the one who gave reports, I went ahead.

I gave a hint of a military salute, and the colonel invited me to sit at the table with them.

‘Show me what you saw, son . . .' He was nice and casual; we could act with him as we did with Nosov.

I set my rifle on the table, sat down and took a look at the map. There were already several marks; I limited myself to indicating the points where I had seen the trenches and the cars that the Arabs had arranged to block the roads.

When I finished, Nosov said that we could go.

‘We start in a few hours . . . Eat something and get a good nap, and check my weapons and clips, get my vest and get everything in order – I still have quite a bit to take care of here . . .'

We left the tent.

Our boys were in an armoured car. Some were already sleeping; others were eating or preparing ammo for the operation. After a while we were joined by the infantry night explorer group that was supposed to come with us. I noticed how well equipped they were; the butts of American and European guns poked out from their jacket pockets. Their sniper had a rifle like mine, but his night scope was foreign, a model I'd never seen before. They seemed relaxed – they must have been through lots of battles – and this put us somewhat at ease.

I prepared my things and filled four magazines for Nosov. I tore off a piece of bread, wolfed it down, and went to sleep.

Shoe woke me up with a light tap on the chest. I opened my eyes and realised that I hadn't dreamed anything, as often happened in war.

Nosov was already mobilising the unit:

‘Everyone get up, listen to the operational orders!'

We formed a circle by the car. Some sat on the wheels, others on crates or right on the ground. I was next to the explorer sergeant, a guy as big as a mountain; he was holding a light machine gun, which, against his belly, seemed little more than a toy.

Nosov and the explorers' lieutenant major – a young man already ravaged by war, his face marked by a long scar that went across his right cheek down to his neck – sat down in our circle.

They unfolded a battered, crumpled map on a crate. Nosov gave a brief introduction, showing us the areas where enemy defences were likely to be, explaining our
moves and predicting the enemies'. He was very skilled at this – all he needed was a little information and he could construct the dynamics of an operation with precision.

‘Snipers, listen up . . . We have to take the heavy machine guns down first. Logically, they should be here.' He pointed to two crossroads on the way into the town. ‘Follow the sound and the flash of the fire. If you see a light go on and off in the middle of the fog, keep your eyes there and you can't go wrong . . .'

He went on, improvising a mini-lesson on the tactics of war in the fog, insisting on the fact that the most important thing was not to be afraid and not to lose control. Since he didn't know them very well, he seemed to be addressing the explorers in particular. To us, the ones in his unit, it was clear by then that we were going to spend the rest of the night shooting at each other in the fog.

Then our captain rose to his feet. We knew what was going to happen – in fact, we sat back to enjoy the show, as we usually did on these occasions.

The explorers, on the other hand, were looking around at one another, a little embarrassed. Their lieutenant gestured for them to stay seated and listen.

Nosov pulled a document out of his pocket, the executive order that was supposed to be read before every mission:

‘Comrade soldiers! The Nation thanks you for your indispensable service and cannot conceal the pride it feels in knowing that you will liberate it from the parasitic
presence of Islamic terrorists hiding in the city of N—, which, for the sake of simplicity and military ignorance, we'll call by a name dear to every one of us: “objective!”' He read a little and made up a little, accompanying his performance with a series of gestures and facial expressions that kept us doubled over with laughter. ‘At twenty-three hundred hours and fifteen minutes, Moscow time – Moscow, the incomparable capital of our magnificent Country – we received the highly anticipated confirmation of our absolutely invaluable order . . .'

The guy next to me sniggered, his machine gun bouncing rhythmically on his belly.

‘Thus, the Nation orders you to go forth in two independent units directed towards the “objective”, enter by combating within the “objective”, breaking through the enemy defence, physically eliminating all the terrorists, Islamists, Muslims, dogs, cats and every living thing you find, until you reach the main street of the “objective”, where the nexus of communication of enemy trenches is concentrated . . . Upon arrival, fire three red signal flares to signal your position to the tankers and support units, take your defensive positions and wait for them to reach you . . . Ah, the Nation also reminds you that dying, getting hit or hurt in any way is strictly prohibited . . .'

At that last sentence, the sergeant started laughing so hard he lost his balance, falling off the tyre he'd been sitting on.

We had to hold our bellies from laughing, and Nosov concluded:

‘As the ranking officer of this company, I confirm receipt
of the order and wish you good luck, my dear comrade soldiers!'

After a few minutes we jumped onto the armour, and in good spirits – thanks to the captain's comic interlude – we left for our mission, even if we knew that really there was nothing to laugh about . . .

The car went down the dirt road, jolting up and down at every bump; so as not to fall off we hung on to anything sticking out on the armour. We could barely see a few metres ahead; everything around us was as white as milk. The car carrying the explorers followed us. The cars were equipped with an electronic navigation system that could follow the road even in the complete absence of visual points of reference, and they took us to the exact location indicated by our captain, right in the middle of the fields.

‘Get off!' Nosov ordered when the tracks stopped. ‘From here on we're walking.'

The car following us nearly bumped into ours. Braking hard, it stopped suddenly, and an explorer fell on the ground. Some of his men helped him up; he was fine.

Nosov ordered all of us to move in line, following him. He had calculated the exact number of steps it would take to get to the village. All we had to do was stay alert and follow him.

Walking through the dark and the fog gave me the sensation of being totally defenceless; even if I couldn't
see anyone, I was sure that everyone could see me. We went down a path in the middle of the fields. Somewhere out there in the fog were the first houses in town.

Nosov stopped all of a sudden:

‘Everyone get down and don't move!' he whispered to Moscow, who was behind him.

As opposed to many non-professional officers, who hide behind the backs of their own soldiers in the event of danger, our captain exposed himself without a second thought. He was like a tiger on the prowl; he perceived and processed every sound and every movement, and if something obstructed our route, while we were still trying to figure out what was going on, he was the first to aim his rifle and shoot, if that's what was needed.

Moscow turned to inform the others, and we passed the message to everyone in the line, forming a human chain. After a moment we were still, plunged into the most total silence imaginable. I squinted, trying to make out a shape in the fog, but I couldn't see anything other than the cold, damp substance that surrounded us like an endless white wall.

After a while we heard a series of loud explosions in the distance, from the other side of the town. Our attack had begun. Just after that the Kalashnikovs came out, and we heard the sound of glass rattling very close to us – someone must have slammed a front door. Shouts in Arabic and Chechen came from all around, and then there was a series of footsteps quickly moving away from the shots and blending in with the sound of the battle.
Our tanks had entered the town with the assault units – we counted at least ten cannon blasts. Someone near us kept shouting . . .