Marine Corps in Chechnya 1995 photo album. Marine purgatory: how the storming of the Council of Ministers building in Grozny turned into hell. What the “black berets” were not ready for

No one now remembers that in 1995 the naval tradition of the Great Patriotic War was revived - a marine corps company was formed on the basis of more than twenty units of the Leningrad naval base. Moreover, this company had to be commanded not by a marine officer, but by a submariner...

Just like in 1941, the sailors were sent almost straight from the ships to the front, although many of them only held a machine gun in their hands while taking the oath. And these yesterday’s mechanics, signalmen, electricians in the mountains of Chechnya entered into battle with well-trained and heavily armed militants.

The Baltic sailors, as part of the marine battalion of the Baltic Fleet, fought in Chechnya with honor. But out of ninety-nine fighters, only eighty-six returned home...

List of military personnel of the 8th Marine Company of the Leningrad Naval Base who died during combat operations on the territory of the Chechen Republic in the period from May 3 to June 30, 1995

1. Guard Major Igor Aleksandrovich Yakunenkov (04/23/63–05/30/95)

2. Guard Senior Lieutenant Sergei Anatolyevich Stobetsky (02/24/72–05/30/95)

3. Guards sailor contracted Egorov Alexander Mikhailovich (03/14/57–05/30/95)

4. Guards sailor Dmitry Vladimirovich Kalugin (06/11/76–05/08/95)

5. Guards sailor Stanislav Konstantinovich Kolesnikov (04/05/76–05/30/95)

6. Guards sailor Koposov Roman Vyacheslavovich (03/04/76–05/30/95)

7. Guard foreman of the 2nd article Korablin Vladimir Ilyich (09/24/75–05/30/95)

8. Guard junior sergeant Dmitry Alexandrovich Metlyakov (04/09/71–05/30/95)

9. Guard senior sailor Anatoly Vasilievich Romanov (04/27/76–05/29/95)

10. Guard senior sailor Cherevan Vitaly Nikolaevich (04/01/75–05/30/95)

11. Guards sailor Mikhail Alexandrovich Cherkashin (03/20/76–05/30/95)

12. Guard senior sailor Vladimir Ivanovich Shpilko (04/21/76–05/29/95)

13. Guard Sergeant Oleg Evgenievich Yakovlev (05/22/75–05/29/95)

Eternal memory to the dead, honor and glory to the living!

Captain 1st Rank V. (call sign “Vietnam”) says:

“I, a submariner, became the commander of a Marine Corps company by accident. At the beginning of January 1995, I was the commander of a diving company of the Baltic Fleet, at that time the only one in the entire Navy. And then suddenly an order came: to form a marine corps company from the personnel of the units of the Leningrad naval base to be sent to Chechnya. And all the infantry officers of the Vyborg anti-landing defense regiment, who were supposed to go to war, refused. I remember that the command of the Baltic Fleet then threatened to put them in prison for this. So what? Did they imprison at least someone?.. And they told me: “You have at least some combat experience. Take the company. You are responsible for it with your head.”

On the night from the eleventh to the twelfth of January 1995, I took over this company in Vyborg. And in the morning we have to fly to Baltiysk.

As soon as I arrived at the barracks of the company of the Vyborg regiment, I lined up the sailors and asked them: “Do you know that we are going to war?” And then half the company faints: “Wha-a-ha?.. For some kind of war!..”. Then they realized how they had all been deceived! It turned out that some of them were offered to enroll in a flight school, while others were going to another place. But here’s what’s interesting: for some reason, the “best” sailors were selected for such important and responsible cases, for example, those with disciplinary records, or even former offenders in general.

I remember a local major running up: “Why did you tell them that? How are we going to keep them now?” I told him: “Shut your mouth... It’s better that we collect them here than I do there later. Yes, by the way, if you don’t agree with my decision, I can change things with you. Any questions?". The major had no more questions...

Something unimaginable began to happen to the personnel: someone was crying, someone fell into a stupor... Of course, there were also just complete cowards. Out of one hundred and fifty there were about fifteen of them. Two of them even rushed out of the unit. But I don’t need these either; I wouldn’t take these myself anyway. But most of the guys were still ashamed in front of their comrades, and they went to fight. In the end, ninety-nine men went to war.

The next day in the morning I formed the company again. The commander of the Leningrad naval base, Vice Admiral Grishanov, asks me: “Are there any wishes?” I answer: “Yes. Everyone present here is going to die.” He: “What are you talking about?! This is a reserve company!..” Me: “Comrade commander, I know everything, this is not the first time I’ve seen a marching company. People have families here, but no one has apartments.” He: “We didn’t think about it... I promise, we will solve this issue.” And then he kept his word: all the families of the officers received apartments.

We arrive in Baltiysk, to the marine brigade of the Baltic Fleet. The brigade itself at that time was in a dilapidated state, so the chaos in the brigade multiplied by the chaos in the company resulted in a mess squared. Neither eat properly nor sleep. And this was only a minimal mobilization of one fleet!..

But, thank God, by that time the old guard of Soviet officers still remained in the fleet. It was they who drew out the beginning of the war. But during the second “walk” (as the Marines call the period of hostilities in mountainous Chechnya from May to June 1995 - Ed.), many of the “new” officers went to war for apartments and orders. (I remember how back in Baltiysk one officer asked to join my company. But I had nowhere to take him. I then asked him: “Why do you want to go?” He: “But I don’t have an apartment...” I: “Remember : They don’t go to war to buy apartments." Later, this officer died.)

The deputy brigade commander, Lieutenant Colonel Artamonov, told me: “Your company is leaving for war in three days.” And out of a hundred people, twenty of me even had to take the oath without a machine gun! But those who had this machine gun were also not far behind them: practically no one knew how to shoot anyway.

Somehow we settled down and went out to the training ground. And at the training ground, out of ten grenades, two do not explode, out of ten rifle cartridges, three do not fire, they simply rotted. All this, if I may say so, ammunition was manufactured in 1953. And cigarettes, by the way, too. It turns out that the most ancient NT was raked out for us. It's the same story with machine guns. They were still the newest ones in the company - produced in 1976. By the way, the captured machine guns that we later took from the “spirits” were produced in 1994...

But as a result of “intensive training”, already on the third day we conducted combat shooting classes for the squad (under normal conditions this is supposed to be done only after a year of study). This is a very complex and serious exercise that ends with combat grenade throwing. After such “study”, all my arms were cut with shrapnel - this is because I had to pull down those who got to their feet at the wrong time.

But studying is not so bad... The company is leaving for lunch. I'm conducting a search. And I find under the beds... grenades, explosive packages. These are eighteen-year-old boys!.. They saw weapons for the first time. But they did not think at all and did not understand that if it had all exploded, the barracks would have been blown to smithereens. Later these soldiers told me: “Comrade commander, we don’t envy you what you had to do with us.”

We arrive from the training ground at one in the morning. The fighters are not fed, and no one in the brigade is going to feed them much... Somehow they still managed to get something edible. And I generally fed the officers with my own money. I had two million rubles with me. This was a relatively large amount at the time. For example, a pack of expensive imported cigarettes cost a thousand rubles... I can imagine what a sight it was when, after the training ground, we burst into the cafe at night with weapons and knives. Everyone is shocked: who are they?..

Representatives of various national diasporas immediately came to ransom their fellow countrymen: give the boy back, he is a Muslim and should not go to war. I remember these guys driving up in a Volkswagen Passat and calling to the command post: “Commander, we need to talk to you.” We came with them to the cafe. They ordered such a table there!.. They say: “We will give you money, give us the boy.” I listened to them carefully and answered: “No money is needed.” I call the waitress and pay for the whole table. And I tell them: “Your boy will not go to war. I don’t need people like that there!” And then the guy felt uneasy, he already wanted to go with everyone. But then I clearly told him: “No, I definitely don’t need one like that. Free..."

Then I saw how people were brought together by common misfortune and common difficulties. Gradually, my motley company began to turn into a monolith. And then during the war I didn’t even command, but simply glanced at me - and everyone understood me perfectly.

In January 1995, at a military airfield in the Kaliningrad region, we were loaded onto a plane three times. Twice the Baltic States did not give permission for aircraft to fly over their territory. But the third time, they still managed to send the “Ruev” company (one of the companies of the marine brigade of the Baltic Fleet. - Ed.), but we were not there again. Our company was preparing until the end of April. On the first trip to war, I was the only one out of the entire company; I went as a replacement.

We were supposed to fly for the second trip on April 28, 1995, but it turned out only on May 3 (again because of the Baltic states, who did not let the planes through). Thus, the “TOFiki” (marines of the Pacific Fleet. – Ed.) and the “northerners” (marines of the Northern Fleet. – Ed.) arrived before us.

When it became clear that we were facing a war not in the city, but in the mountains, for some reason there was a mood in the Baltic Brigade that there would be no more casualties - they say, this is not Grozny in January 1995. There was some false idea that a victorious walk through the mountains was ahead. But for me this was not the first war, and I had a presentiment of how things would really turn out. And then we actually found out how many people in the mountains died during artillery shelling, and how many died when columns were shot. I really hoped that no one would die. I thought: “Well, there will probably be wounded...”. And I firmly decided that before leaving I would definitely take the company to church.

And many in the company were unbaptized. Among them is Seryoga Stobetsky. And I, remembering how my baptism changed my life, really wanted him to be baptized too. I myself was baptized late. Then I returned from a very scary business trip. The country fell apart. My own family broke up. It was not clear what to do next. I found myself at a dead end in life... And I remember well how after baptism my soul calmed down, everything fell into place, and it became clear how I should live further. And when I later served in Kronstadt, I sent sailors several times to help the rector of the Kronstadt Cathedral of the Vladimir Icon of the Mother of God clear away the garbage. The cathedral at that time was in ruins - after all, it was blown up twice.

And then the sailors began to bring me the royal gold chervonets, which they found under the ruins. They ask: “What should we do with them?” Imagine: people find gold, a lot of gold... But no one even thought of taking it for themselves. And I decided to give these chervonets to the rector of the church. And it was to this church that I later came to baptize my son. At that time, Father Svyatoslav, a former “Afghan,” was a priest there. I say: “I want to baptize a child. But I myself have little faith, I don’t know prayers...” And I remember his speech verbatim: “Seryoga, were you under water? Have you been to the war? This means you believe in God. Free!” And for me this moment became a turning point, I finally turned to the Church.

Therefore, before going on the “second walk,” I began to ask Seryoga Stobetsky to be baptized. And he firmly answered: “I will not be baptized.” I had a feeling (and not only me) that he would not return. I didn’t even want to take him to the war at all, but I was afraid to tell him about it - I knew that he would go anyway. Therefore, I was worried about him and really wanted him to be baptized. But nothing can be done by force here.

Through local priests, I turned to the then Metropolitan of Smolensk and Kaliningrad Kirill with a request to come to Baltiysk. And, what is most surprising, Vladyka Kirill abandoned all his urgent matters and specially came to Baltiysk to bless us for the war.

It was just Bright Week after Easter. When I talked with Vladyka, he asked me: “When are you leaving?” I answer: “In a day or two. But there are unbaptized people in the company.” And about twenty boys who were unbaptized and wanted to receive Baptism, Vladyka Kirill personally baptized. Moreover, the guys didn’t even have money for crosses, which is what I told Vladyka about. He replied: “Don’t worry, everything here is free for you.”

In the morning, almost the entire company (only those who served on guard and in uniform were not with us) stood at the liturgy in the cathedral in the center of Baltiysk. The liturgy was led by Metropolitan Kirill. Then I built a company near the cathedral. Vladyka Kirill came out and sprinkled the fighters with holy water. I also remember asking Metropolitan Kirill: “We are going to fight. Perhaps this is a sinful thing?” And he answered: “If for the Motherland, then no.”

In the church we were given icons of St. George the Victorious and the Mother of God and crosses, which were worn by almost everyone who did not have them. With these icons and crosses, a few days later we went to war.

When we were seen off, the commander of the Baltic Fleet, Admiral Egorov, ordered the table to be set. The company formed up at the Chkalovsk airfield, and the soldiers were given badges. Lieutenant Colonel Artamonov, deputy brigade commander, took me aside and said: “Seryoga, please come back. Will you have some cognac?" Me: “No, don’t. It’s better when I return.” And when I already went to the plane, I felt rather than saw how Admiral Egorov crossed me...

At night we flew to Mozdok (military base in North Ossetia - Ed.). There's complete confusion there. I gave my team the command to set up security just in case, get sleeping bags and go to bed right next to the take-off. The guys managed to at least take a nap before the upcoming restless night already in their positions.

On May 4 we were transferred to Khankala. There we sit on the armor and go in a column to Germenchug near Shali, to the position of the TOFI battalion.

We arrived at the place - there was no one... Our future positions, more than a kilometer long, are scattered along the Dzhalki River. And I only have a little more than twenty fighters. If then the “spirits” had attacked immediately, it would have been very difficult for us. Therefore, we tried not to reveal ourselves (no shooting) and began to slowly settle in. But it didn’t even occur to anyone to sleep that first night.

And they did the right thing. That same night we were shot at for the first time by a sniper. We covered the fires, but the soldiers decided to smoke. The bullet passed just twenty centimeters from Stas Golubev: with fifty-kopeck eyes, he stood in a trance for some time, and his unfortunate cigarette fell on his armored car and smoked...

At these positions we were constantly under fire from both the village and some unfinished factory. But we later removed the sniper at the plant from the AGS (automatic easel grenade launcher. - Ed.).

The next day the entire battalion arrived. It seemed more fun. We started re-equipping the positions. I immediately established a normal routine: getting up, exercising, lifting, physical training. Many people looked at me with great surprise: in the field, charging looked somehow, to put it mildly, exotic. But three weeks later, when we went to the mountains, everyone understood what, why and why: daily exercises yielded results - I did not lose a single person on the march. But in other companies, soldiers who were physically unprepared for the wild loads simply fell off their feet, fell behind and got lost...

In May 1995, a moratorium on military operations was declared. Everyone noticed that these moratoriums were announced exactly when the “spirits” needed time to prepare. There were still shootouts - if they shot at us, we would definitely respond. But we didn’t move forward. But when this truce ended, we began to move in the direction of Shali-Agishta-Makhketa-Vedeno.

By that time there were data from both aerial reconnaissance and short-range reconnaissance stations. Moreover, they turned out to be so accurate that with their help it was possible to find a shelter for a tank in the mountain. My scouts confirmed: indeed, at the entrance to the gorge in the mountain there is a shelter with a meter-long layer of concrete. The tank leaves this concrete cave, shoots in the direction of the Group and drives back. It is useless to fire artillery at such a structure. The way out of the situation was this: they called in the air force and dropped some very powerful aerial bomb on the tank.

On May 24, 1995, artillery preparation began, absolutely all guns woke up. And on the same day, as many as seven mines from our own “nons” (self-propelled mortar. - Ed.) flew into our location. I can’t say exactly why, but some mines, instead of flying along the calculated trajectory, began to tumble. Along our road, on the site of a former drainage system, a trench was dug. And the mine hits exactly this trench (Sasha Kondrashov is sitting there) and explodes!.. I think with horror: there is probably a corpse there... I run up - thank God, Sasha is sitting, holding his leg. The fragment broke off a piece of stone, and with this stone part of the muscle in his leg was torn out. And this is on the eve of the battle. He doesn’t want to go to the hospital... They sent him anyway. But he caught up with us near Duba-Yurt. It's good that no one else got caught.

On the same day, a “hail” drives up to me. A marine captain, a “TOF officer,” runs out of it and asks: “Can I stay with you?” I answer: “Well, wait...”. It never occurred to me that these guys would start shooting!.. And they drove thirty meters to the side and fired a volley!.. It felt like they hit me in the ears with a hammer! I told him: “What are you doing!..”. He: “So you allowed...” They stuffed their ears with cotton wool...

On May 25, almost our entire company was already at the TPU (rear control point - Ed.) of the battalion south of Shali. Only the 1st platoon (reconnaissance) and mortars were moved forward close to the mountains. The mortars were deployed because the regimental “nones” and “acacias” (self-propelled howitzer - Ed.) could not shoot close. The “spirits” took advantage of this: they would hide behind a nearby mountain, where artillery could not reach them, and make sorties from there. This is where our mortars came in handy.

Early in the morning we heard fighting in the mountains. It was then that the “spirits” bypassed the 3rd air assault company of “TOFIks” from the rear. We ourselves were afraid of such a detour. The next night I did not lie down at all, but walked in circles around my positions. The day before, a “northerner” fighter came towards us, but my guys didn’t notice him and let him through. I remember, I was terribly angry - I thought that I would simply kill everyone!.. After all, if the “northerner” calmly passed by, then what can we say about the “spirits”?..

At night, I sent the platoon commander, Sergeant Edik Musikayev, and the guys forward to see where we were supposed to move. They saw two destroyed “Dukhov” tanks. The guys brought with them a couple of captured machine guns, intact, although usually the “spirits” took the weapons after the battle. But here, probably, the skirmish was so fierce that these machine guns were either abandoned or lost. In addition, we found grenades, mines, captured a “Dukhovsky” machine gun, and a smooth-bore BMP gun mounted on a homemade chassis.

On May 26, 1995, the active phase of the offensive began: “TOFiki” and “northerners” fought forward along the Shali Gorge. The “spirits” prepared very well for our meeting: they had echeloned positions - systems of dugouts and trenches. (We later even found old dugouts from the time of the Patriotic War, which the “spirits” converted into firing points. And here’s what was especially bitter: the militants “magically” knew exactly the start time of the operation, the location of the troops and carried out preemptive artillery tank strikes.)

It was then that my soldiers first saw the returning MTLB (multi-purpose light armored tractor - Ed.) with the wounded and dead (they were taken out right through us). They grew up on the same day.

The “TOFs” and the “northerners” were stubborn... They did not even half complete the task for that day. Therefore, on the morning of May 27, I received a new command: together with the battalion, move to the area of ​​the cement plant near Duba-Yurt. The command decided not to send our Baltic battalion head-on through the gorge (I don’t even know how many of us would be left in such a development of events), but to send it around in order to go to the rear of the “spirits”. The battalion was given the task of passing through the right flank through the mountains and taking first Agishty, and then Makhkety. And it was precisely these actions of ours that the militants were completely unprepared for! And the fact that a whole battalion would come through the mountains to their rear, they couldn’t have even dreamed of in their worst nightmare!..

By thirteen o'clock on May 28, we moved to the area of ​​the cement plant. Paratroopers from the 7th Airborne Division also came here. And then we hear the sound of a “turntable”! In the gap between the trees of the gorge, a helicopter appears, painted with some kind of dragons (this was clearly visible through binoculars). And everyone, without saying a word, opens fire in that direction from grenade launchers! The helicopter was far away, about three kilometers, and we couldn’t reach it. But the pilot seemed to have seen this barrage and quickly flew away. We didn’t see any more “spiritual” helicopters.

According to the plan, the paratroopers' scouts were to go first. The 9th company of our battalion follows them and becomes a checkpoint. Behind the 9th is our 7th company and also becomes a checkpoint. And my 8th company must go through all the checkpoints and take Agishty. To strengthen me, I was given a “mortar”, a sapper platoon, an artillery spotter and an air controller.

Seryoga Stobetsky, commander of the 1st reconnaissance platoon, and I are starting to think about how we will go. They began to prepare to leave. We organized additional physical classes (although we already had them every day from the very beginning). We also decided to hold a competition to equip the store for speed. After all, each fighter has ten to fifteen magazines with him. But one magazine, if you press the trigger and hold it, will fly out in about three seconds, and life literally depends on the speed of reloading in battle.

Everyone at that moment already understood well that what lay ahead was not the same firefight that we had the day before. Everything spoke about this: the burnt remains of tanks were all around, the wounded were coming out through our positions in dozens, the dead were being taken out... Therefore, before going to the starting line, I approached each fighter to look him in the eyes and wish him good luck. I saw how some people’s stomachs turned with fear, some even wet themselves... But I don’t consider these manifestations something shameful. I just remember well my fear before the first fight! In the solar plexus area it hurts as if you were hit in the groin, but only ten times stronger! It’s a sharp, aching, and dull pain at the same time... And you can’t do anything about it: even if you walk, even if you sit, it still hurts so much in the pit of your stomach!..

When we went to the mountains, I had about sixty kilograms of equipment on me - a bulletproof vest, a machine gun with a grenade launcher, two ammo (ammunition - Ed.) grenades, one and a half ammunition cartridges, grenades for the grenade launcher, two knives. The fighters are loaded the same way. But the guys from the 4th grenade-machine-gun platoon were dragging their AGSs (mounted automatic grenade launcher. - Ed.), “cliffs” (NSV heavy machine gun of 12.7 mm caliber. - Ed.) and plus each two mortar mines - more ten kilograms!

I line up the company and determine the battle order: first comes the 1st reconnaissance platoon, then the sappers and the mortar, and the 4th platoon brings up the rear. We walked in complete darkness along the goat path, which was marked on the map. The path is narrow, only a cart could pass along it, and even then with great difficulty. I told my friends: “If someone screams, even if they are wounded, then I myself will come and strangle them with my own hands...” So we walked very quietly. Even if someone fell, the most that could be heard was an indistinct mooing.

On the way we saw “spiritual” caches. Soldiers: “Comrade commander!..”. Me: “Leave it alone, don’t touch anything. Forward!". And it’s right that we didn’t poke our noses into these caches. Later we learned about the “two hundredth” (killed - Ed.) and the “three hundredth” (wounded - Ed.) in our battalion. The soldiers of the 9th company climbed into the dugouts to rummage. And no, to first throw grenades at the dugout, but they went stupidly, into the open... And here is the result - warrant officer from Vyborg Volodya Soldatenkov was hit in the groin by a bullet below his bulletproof vest. He died of peritonitis and was not even taken to the hospital.

Throughout the march, I ran between the vanguard (reconnaissance platoon) and the rearguard (mortar). And our column stretched for almost two kilometers. When I returned back again, I met reconnaissance paratroopers who were walking with ropes tied around them. I told them: “You’re going great, guys!” After all, they were traveling light! But it turned out that we were ahead of everyone, the 7th and 9th companies were left far behind.

Reported to the battalion commander. He tells me: “So go to the end first.” And at five in the morning I and my reconnaissance platoon occupied the height of 1000.6. This was the place where the 9th company was supposed to set up a checkpoint and the battalion's TPU would be located. At seven o'clock in the morning my entire company arrived, and at about half past eight the reconnaissance paratroopers arrived. And only at ten in the morning the battalion commander arrived with part of another company.

According to the map alone, we walked about twenty kilometers. Exhausted to the limit. I remember well how Seryoga Starodubtsev from the 1st platoon came all blue and green. He fell to the ground and lay motionless for two hours. And this is a young guy, twenty years old... What can we say about those who are older.

All plans went astray. The battalion commander tells me: “You go forward, in the evening you occupy the heights in front of Agishtami and report.” Let's go ahead. We passed the reconnaissance paratroopers and moved further along the road marked on the map. But the maps were from the sixties, and this path was marked on it without a bend! As a result, we got lost and went along another, new road, which was not on the map at all.

The sun is still high. I see a huge village in front of me. I look at the map - this is definitely not Agishty. I tell the aircraft controller: “Igor, we are not where we should be. Let's figure it out." As a result, they figured out that they had reached the Makhkets. From us to the village is a maximum of three kilometers. And this is the task of the second day of the offensive!..

I get in touch with the battalion commander. I say: “Why do I need these Agishtas? It takes me almost fifteen kilometers to get back to them! And I have a whole company, a “mortar”, and even sappers, there are about two hundred of us in total. Yes, I have never fought with such a crowd! Come on, I’ll take a break and take the Makhkets.” Indeed, by that time the fighters could no longer walk more than five hundred meters in a row. After all, each one weighs from sixty to eighty kilograms. A fighter sits down, but he can no longer get up...

Battalion commander: “Back!” An order is an order - we turn around and go back. The reconnaissance platoon went first. And as it turned out later, we found ourselves right at the place where the “spirits” came out. The “TOFs” and “northerners” put pressure on them in two directions at once, and the “spirits” retreated in two groups of several hundred people on both sides of the gorge...

We returned to the bend from which we took the wrong road. And then the battle begins behind us - our 4th grenade-machine-gun platoon was ambushed! It all started with a direct collision. The soldiers, bending under the weight of everything they were carrying, saw some “bodies”. Our people fire two conventional shots in the air (in order to somehow distinguish ours from the foes, I ordered a piece of vest to be sewn on my arm and leg and agreed with my people on the “friend or foe” signal: two shots in the air - two shots in response) . And in response, ours receive two shots to kill! The bullet hits Sasha Ognev in the arm and cuts off a nerve. He screams in pain. Our medic Gleb Sokolov turned out to be a great guy: the “spirits” hit him, and at the same time he bandaged the wounded!..

Captain Oleg Kuznetsov rushed to the 4th platoon. I told him: “Where!” There is a platoon commander there, let him sort it out himself. You have a company, a “mortar” and sappers!” I set up a barrier of five or six soldiers on the high-rise with the commander of the 1st platoon, Seryoga Stobetsky, and give the rest the command: “Retreat and dig in!”

And then the battle begins with us - they fired at us from below with grenade launchers. We walked along the ridge. In the mountains it’s like this: whoever is higher wins. But not at this time. The fact is that huge burdocks grew below. From above we see only green leaves from which pomegranates fly out, but the “spirits” see us perfectly through the stems.

Just at that moment, the outer fighters from the 4th platoon were retreating past me. I still remember how Edik Kolechkov walked. He walks along a narrow ledge of the slope and carries two PCs (Kalashnikov machine gun. - Ed.). And then bullets start flying around him!.. I shout: “Move to the left!..”. And he is so exhausted that he cannot even turn off this ledge, he just spread his legs to the sides so as not to fall, and therefore continues to walk straight...

There is nothing to do at the top, and I and the soldiers go into these damned mugs. Volodya Shpilko and Oleg Yakovlev were the extreme ones in the chain. And then I see: a grenade explodes next to Volodya, and he falls... Oleg immediately rushed to pull Volodya out and in the process died immediately. Oleg and Volodya were friends...

The battle lasted for five to ten minutes. We didn’t reach the starting point by only three hundred meters and retreated to the position of the 3rd platoon, which had already dug in. Paratroopers stood nearby. And then Seryoga Stobetsky comes, he himself is blue-black, and says: “There are no Spires” and there is no “Bull...”.

I created four groups of four to five people, sniper Zhenya Metlikin (nickname “Uzbek”) was put in the bushes just in case and they went to pull out the dead, although this, of course, was an obvious gamble. On the way to the battlefield we see a “body” flickering in the forest. I look through binoculars - and this is a “spirit” in a homemade armored coat, all hung with bulletproof vests. It turns out they are waiting for us. Let's go back.

I ask the commander of the 3rd platoon, Gleb Degtyarev: “Are they all yours?” He: “There’s only one missing... Metlikin...”. How could it be possible to lose one out of five people? This is not one of the thirty!.. I return, go out onto the path - and then they start shooting at me!.. That is, the “spirits” were really waiting for us. I'm back again. I shout: “Metlikin!” Silence: “Uzbek!” And then he just seemed to rise up from under me. Me: “Why are you sitting and not coming out?” He: “I thought it was the “spirits” who came. Maybe they know my last name. But they can’t know for sure about Uzbek. So I came out.”

The result of this day was this: from the “spirits” after the first battle, I myself counted only sixteen corpses that were not carried away. We lost Tolik Romanov and Ognev was wounded in the arm. The second battle – the “spirits” had seven corpses, we had two dead, no one was injured. We were able to pick up the bodies of two of the dead the next day, and Tolik Romanov only two weeks later.

It was dusk. I report to the battalion commander: there is a “mortar” on the high altitude at the starting point, I am three hundred meters above them. We decided to spend the night on the same site where we found ourselves after the battle. The place seemed convenient: on the right as we moved there was a deep cliff, on the left there was a smaller cliff. There is a hill in the middle and a tree in the center. I decided to settle down there - from there, like Chapaev, I could clearly see everything around. They dug in and set up a guard. Everything seems to be quiet...

And then the reconnaissance major from the paratroopers began to make a fire. He wanted to warm himself near the fire. Me: “What are you doing?” And when he later went to bed, he again warned the major: “Put it out!” But it was on this fire that the mines arrived a few hours later. So it happened: some people burned the fire, but others died...

Around three in the morning I woke up Degtyarev: “Your shift. I need to get at least a little sleep. You remain the eldest. If there is an attack from below, do not shoot, only grenades.” I take off my body armor and RD (paratrooper's backpack - Ed.), cover myself with them and lie down on a hill. I had twenty grenades in the RD. These grenades saved me later.

I woke up from a sharp sound and a flash of fire. It was very close to me that two mines from the “cornflower” exploded (Soviet automatic mortar of 82 mm caliber. Loading is cassette, four mines are placed in the cassette. - Ed.). (This mortar was installed on a UAZ, which we later found and blew up.)

I immediately became deaf in my right ear. I can’t understand anything at first. All around the wounded are groaning. Everyone was yelling and shooting... Almost simultaneously with the explosions, they started firing at us from both sides, and also from above. Apparently, the “spirits” wanted to take us by surprise immediately after the shelling. But the fighters were ready and immediately repulsed this attack. The battle turned out to be fleeting, lasting only ten to fifteen minutes. When the “spirits” realized that they couldn’t take us forcefully, they simply walked away.

If I had not gone to bed, then perhaps such a tragedy would not have happened. After all, before these two damned mines there were two sighting shots from a mortar. And if one mine lands, that’s already bad. But if there are two, it means that they are being taken into the fork. The third time, two mines arrived in a row and fell just five meters from the fire, which became a reference point for the “spirits.”

And only after the shooting stopped, I turned and saw... At the site of the mine explosions, there were a bunch of wounded and dead... Six people immediately died, more than twenty were seriously wounded. I look: Seryoga Stobetsky is lying dead, Igor Yakunenkov is dead. Of the officers, only Gleb Degtyarev and I, plus the aircraft controller, survived. It was terrible to look at the wounded: Seryoga Kulmin had a hole in his forehead and his eyes were flat and dripping. Sashka Shibanov has a huge hole in his shoulder, Edik Kolechkov has a huge hole in his lung, a shrapnel flew in there...

RD saved me myself. When I began to lift it, several fragments fell out of it, one of which hit the grenade directly. But the grenades, naturally, had no fuses...

I remember the very first moment well: I see the torn Seryoga Stobetsky. And then everything from inside me begins to rise to my throat. But I tell myself: “Stop! You’re the commander, put everything back!” I don’t know by what effort of will, but it happened... But I was able to approach him only at six o’clock in the evening, when I had calmed down a little. And he ran all day: the wounded were moaning, the soldiers had to be fed, the shelling continued...

Almost immediately the seriously wounded began to die. Vitalik Cherevan died especially horribly. Part of his torso was torn off, but he still lived for about half an hour. Glass eyes. Sometimes something human appears for a second, then they turn glassy again... His first cry after the explosions was: “Vietnam,” help!..” Addressed me using “you”! And then: “Vietnam,” shoot...” (I remember how later, at one of our meetings, his father grabbed me by the chest, shook me and kept asking: “Well, why didn’t you shoot him, why didn’t you shoot him?..” But I couldn’t do it, no way could...)

But (what a miracle of God!) many of the wounded, who were supposed to die, survived. Seryozha Kulmin lay next to me, head to head. He had such a hole in his forehead that his brains were visible!.. So he not only survived - his eyesight was even restored! True, he now walks around with two titanium plates in his forehead. And Misha Blinov had a hole about ten centimeters in diameter above his heart. He also survived and now has five sons. And Pasha Chukhnin from our company now has four sons.

Not only do we have water for ourselves, even for the wounded - zero!.. I had with me both pantacid tablets and chlorine tubes (disinfectants for water. - Ed.). But there’s nothing to disinfect... Then they remembered that the day before they had walked through impassable mud. The soldiers began to filter out this dirt. It was very difficult to call what came out water. A muddy slurry with sand and tadpoles... But there was still no other one.

The whole day they tried to somehow help the wounded. The day before, we destroyed the “spiritual” dugout, which contained powdered milk. They lit a fire, and this “water”, extracted from the mud, began to be mixed with powdered milk and given to the wounded. We ourselves drank the same water with sand and tadpoles for our dear soul. In general, I told the fighters that tadpoles are very useful - squirrels... No one was even disgusted. At first they threw pantacid into it for disinfection, and then they drank it just like that...

But the Group does not give the go-ahead for evacuation by helicopters. We are in a dense forest. There is nowhere for helicopters to land... During the next negotiations regarding the helicopters, I remembered: I have an aircraft controller! “Where is the air controller?” We are looking and looking, but we just can’t find him in our little patch. And then I turn around and see that he has dug a full-length trench with his helmet and is sitting in it. I don’t understand how he got the earth out of the trench! I couldn't even get through there at all.

Although helicopters were forbidden to hover, one helicopter commander still said: “I’ll hover.” I gave the sappers the command to clear the site. We had explosives. We blew up centuries-old trees, in three girths. They began to prepare the three wounded for departure. One, Alexey Chacha, was hit in the right leg by a shrapnel. He has a huge hematoma and cannot walk. I prepare him for shipment, and leave Seryozha Kulmina with a broken head. The medical instructor asked me in horror: “How?.. Comrade commander, why don’t you send him?” I answer: “I will definitely save these three. But I don’t know about the “heavy” ones...” (It was a shock to the fighters that war has its own terrible logic. Here, first of all, those who can be saved are saved.)

But our hopes were not destined to come true. We never evacuated anyone by helicopter. In the Group, the “turntables” were given the final all-clear and two columns were sent to us instead. But our battalion drivers in armored personnel carriers never made it through. And only in the end, towards nightfall, five BMD paratroopers came to us.

With so many wounded and killed, we could not move a single step. And towards evening, the second wave of retreating militants began to filter through. They fired at us from time to time with grenade launchers, but we already knew how to act: we simply threw grenades from top to bottom.

I contacted the battalion commander. While we were talking to him, some Mamed intervened in the conversation (the connection was open, and any scanner could pick up our radio stations!). He started talking nonsense about ten thousand dollars that he would give us. The conversation ended with him suggesting we go one-on-one. Me: “Not weak! I'll come." The fighters tried to dissuade me, but I really came to the appointed place alone. But no one showed up... Although now I understand well that it was, to put it mildly, reckless on my part.

I hear the roar of the column. I'm going to go meet you. Soldiers: “Comrade commander, just don’t leave, don’t leave...” It’s clear what’s going on: dad is leaving, they’re scared. I understand that it seems impossible to go, because as soon as the commander leaves, the situation becomes uncontrollable, but there is no one else to send!.. And I still went and, as it turned out, I did well! The paratroopers got lost in the same place as us when they almost reached Makhket. We finally met, albeit with very big adventures...

Our medic, Major Nitchik (call sign “Dose”), the battalion commander and his deputy, Seryoga Sheiko, came with the convoy. Somehow they drove a BMD onto our patch. And then the shelling begins again... Battalion commander: “What’s going on here?” After the shelling, the “spirits” themselves came in. They probably decided to slip between us and our “mortar,” which was dug in three hundred meters away on a high-rise. But we are already smart, we don’t shoot from machine guns, we just throw grenades down. And then suddenly our machine gunner Sasha Kondrashov gets up and fires an endless burst from the PC in the opposite direction!.. I run up: “What are you doing?” He: “Look, they’ve already reached us!..” And indeed, I see that the “spirits” are about thirty meters away. There were many of them, several dozen. They most likely wanted to grab us and surround us. But we drove them away with grenades. They couldn’t break through here either.

I walk with a limp all day and have trouble hearing, although I don’t stutter. (It seemed so to me. In fact, as the fighters later told me, I stuttered!) And at that moment I didn’t think at all that it was a shell shock. The whole day is running around: the wounded are dying, we need to prepare for evacuation, we need to feed the soldiers, shelling is going on. I tried to sit down for the first time in the evening and it hurt. I touched my back with my hand - there was blood. Paratrooper doctor: “Come on, bend over...” (This major has enormous combat experience. Before that, I saw with horror how he chopped Edik Musikayev with a scalpel and said: “Don’t be afraid, the meat will grow!”) And with his hand he pulled out a fragment from my back. Then such pain pierced me! For some reason it hit my nose the most!.. The major hands me the fragment: “Here, you can make a keychain.” (The second fragment was found only recently during an examination at the hospital. It is still sitting there, stuck in the spine and just barely reaching the canal.)

They loaded the wounded and then the dead onto the BMD. I gave their weapons to the commander of the 3rd platoon, Gleb Degtyarev, and left him in charge. And I myself went with the wounded and dead to the regiment’s medical battalion.

We all looked terrible: we were all beaten, bandaged, covered in blood. But... at the same time, everyone has polished shoes and cleaned weapons. (By the way, we didn’t lose a single gun; we even found the machine guns of all our dead.)

There were twenty-five people wounded, most of them seriously wounded. They were handed over to doctors. The most difficult thing remained - sending the dead. The problem was that some did not have documents with them, so I ordered my soldiers to write each person’s name on their hand and put notes with the name in their trouser pockets. But when I started checking, it turned out that Stas Golubev had mixed up the notes! I immediately imagined what would happen when the body arrived at the hospital: one thing was written on the hand, but another was written on the piece of paper! I pull the shutter and think: I’m going to kill him now... I’m surprised now by my rage at that moment... Apparently, this was a reaction to the stress, and the shell shock took its toll. (Now Stas doesn’t hold any grudge against me for this. After all, they were all just boys and were generally afraid to approach the corpses...)

And then the medical colonel gives me fifty grams of alcohol with ether. I drink this alcohol... and I remember almost nothing else... Then everything was like in a dream: either I washed myself, or they washed me... I only remember: there was a warm shower.

I woke up: I was lying on a stretcher in front of the “turntable” in clean blue RB (disposable underwear. – Ed.) of a submariner and they were loading me into this “turntable.” First thought: “What’s wrong with the company?..”. After all, the commanders of platoons, squads and platoon commanders either died or were wounded. There were only soldiers left... And as soon as I imagined what would happen in the company, the hospital immediately disappeared for me. I shout to Igor Meshkov: “Leave the hospital!” (It seemed to me then that I was screaming. In fact, he had difficulty hearing my whisper.) He: “We have to leave the hospital. Give up the commander!” And he begins to pull the stretcher back from the helicopter. The captain who received me on the helicopter does not give me the stretcher. “Sack” adjusts his armored personnel carrier, points the KPVT (large-caliber machine gun. – Ed.) at the “turntable”: “Give up the commander...”. They freaked out: “Yes, take it!..”. And it turned out that my documents flew to MOSN (special purpose medical detachment - Ed.) without me, which later had very serious consequences...

As I later found out, it was like this. A “pinwheel” arrives at MOSN. There are my documents in it, but the stretcher is empty, there is no body... And my torn clothes lie nearby. The Ministry of Emergency Situations decided that since there was no body, I had burned out. As a result, a telephone message arrives in St. Petersburg addressed to the deputy commander of the Leningrad naval base, Captain 1st Rank Smuglin: “Lieutenant-Captain so-and-so has died.” But Smuglin has known me since he was a lieutenant! He began to think about what to do, how to bury me. In the morning I called Captain 1st Rank Toporov, my immediate commander: “Prepare a load of two hundred.” Toporov later told me: “I come to the office, take out cognac - my hands are shaking. I pour it into a glass - and then the bell rings. Fraction, put it aside - he’s alive!” It turned out that when Sergei Stobetsky’s body arrived at the base, they started looking for mine. But my body, of course, is not there! They called Major Rudenko: “Where is the body?” He replies: “What a body! I saw him myself, he’s alive!”

And this is what actually happened to me. In my blue submariner’s underwear, I took a machine gun, sat down with the soldiers on an armored personnel carrier and went to Agishty. The battalion commander was already informed that I was sent to the hospital. When he saw me, he was happy. Here Yura Rudenko also returned with humanitarian aid. His father died, and he left the war to bury him.

I come to my people. The company is a mess. There is no security, weapons are scattered, the fighters are “running wild”... I say to Gleb: “What kind of a mess?!.”. He: “But we’re all around us! That's all, relax..." Me: “So relaxation is for the fighters, not for you!” I began to restore order, and everything quickly returned to its previous course.

Just then the humanitarian aid that Yura Rudenko brought arrived: bottled water, food!.. The soldiers drank this carbonated water in packages - they washed out their stomachs. This is after that water with sand and tadpoles! I myself drank six one and a half liter bottles of water at a time. I don’t understand how all this water found a place in my body.

And then they bring me a package that the young ladies collected in the brigade in Baltiysk. And the parcel is addressed to me and Stobetsky. It contains my favorite coffee for me and chewing gum for him. And then such melancholy washed over me!.. I received this parcel, but Sergei no longer...

We stopped near the village of Agishty. “TOFIKs” on the left, “northerners” on the right occupied the dominant heights on the approach to Makhket, and we retreated back - in the middle.

At that time, only thirteen people died in the company. But then, thank God, there were no more deaths in my company. From those who remained with me, I began to re-form the platoon.

On June 1, 1995, we replenish our ammunition and move to Kirov-Yurt. Ahead is a tank with a mine sweeper, then a “shilka” (self-propelled anti-aircraft gun. - Ed.) and a battalion column of armored personnel carriers, I am on the lead one. The task I was given was this: the column stops, the battalion turns around, and I storm the high-rise 737 near Makhkety.

Just before the high-rise (there were a hundred meters left before it), a sniper fired at us. Three bullets whizzed past me. Over the radio they shout: “It’s hitting you, hitting you!..”. But the sniper didn’t hit me for another reason: usually the commander sits not in the commander’s seat, but above the driver. And this time I deliberately sat in the commander’s seat. And although we had an order to remove the stars from the shoulder straps, I did not remove my stars. The battalion commander made comments to me, and I told him: “Fuck off... I’m an officer and I’m not going to take off my stars.” (After all, during the Great Patriotic War, even officers with stars went to the front line.)

We go to Kirov-Yurt. And we see a completely unreal picture, as if from an old fairy tale: a water mill is working... I command - increase the speed! I look - on the right, about fifty meters below, there is a destroyed house, the second or third from the beginning of the street. Suddenly a boy of about ten or eleven runs out. I give the command to the column: “Don’t shoot!..”. And then the boy throws a grenade at us! The grenade hits the poplar. (I remember well that it was double, it spread like a slingshot.) The grenade bounces off with a ricochet, falls under the boy and tears him apart...

And the “dushars” were so cunning! They come to the village, and there they are not given food! Then they fire a volley from this village towards the Group. The group, naturally, is responsible for this village. By this sign one can determine: if a village is destroyed, then it is not “spiritual”, but if it is intact, then it is theirs. Agishty, for example, was almost completely destroyed.

The helicopters are patrolling over Makhkety. Aviation passes overhead. The battalion begins to turn around. Our company is moving forward. We assumed that we most likely would not encounter organized resistance and that there could only be ambushes. We went to a high-rise building. There were no “spirits” on her. We stopped to determine where we could stand.

From above it was clearly visible that the houses in Makhet were intact. Moreover, here and there there were real palaces with towers and columns. It was clear from everything that they had been built recently. On the way, I remembered this picture: a large, solid rural house, with a grandmother standing next to it with a white flag...

Soviet money was still in use in Makhkety. Locals told us: “Since 1991, our children have not gone to school, there are no kindergartens, and no one receives a pension. We are not against you. Thank you, of course, for ridding us of the militants. But it’s time for you to go home.” This is verbatim.

The locals immediately started treating us to compotes, but we were careful. The aunt, the head of the administration, says: “Don’t be afraid, you see, I’m drinking.” Me: “No, let the man drink.” As I understand it, there was a triple power in the village: the mullah, the elders and the head of the administration. Moreover, the head of the administration was precisely this woman (she graduated from a technical school in St. Petersburg).

On June 2, this “leader” came running to me: “Yours are robbing ours!” Before that, of course, we walked around the courtyards: we looked at what kind of people they were, and whether they had weapons. We follow her and see an oil painting: representatives of our largest law enforcement structure are carrying out carpets and all that stuff from palaces with columns. Moreover, they arrived not in armored personnel carriers, which they usually drove, but in infantry fighting vehicles. Moreover, they dressed as infantry... I so marked their eldest - the major! And he said: “If you appear here again, I will kill you!” They didn’t even try to resist, they were instantly blown away like the wind... And I told the locals: “Write on all the houses: “Vietnam Farm.” DKBF". And the next day these words were written on every fence. The battalion commander was even offended by me about this...

At the same time, near Vedeno, ours captured a column of armored vehicles, about a hundred units - infantry fighting vehicles, tanks and BTR-80s. The funny thing was that the armored personnel carrier with the inscription “Baltic Fleet”, which we received from the Group on the first “walk”, was in this column!.. They didn’t even erase this inscription and the letter “B” on all wheels, stylized under the Vietnamese hieroglyph... On the front of the shield it was written: “Freedom to the Chechen people!” and “God and St. Andrew’s flag are with us!”

We dug in thoroughly. Moreover, they started on June 2, and already finished on June 3 in the morning. We assigned landmarks, sectors of fire, and agreed with the mortar men. And by the morning of the next day the company was completely ready for battle. Then we only expanded and strengthened our positions. During our entire stay here, my fighters never sat down. We spent days setting up: we dug trenches, connected them with communication passages, and built dugouts. They made a real pyramid for weapons, and surrounded everything with boxes of sand. We continued to dig in until we left these positions. We lived according to the Rules: getting up, physical exercise, morning divorce, guard duty. The soldiers cleaned their shoes regularly...

Above me I hung the St. Andrew’s flag and a homemade “Vietnamese” flag made from the Soviet pennant “To the Leader of Socialist Competition.” We must remember what time it was: the collapse of the state, some gangster groups against others... Therefore, nowhere did I see the Russian flag, and everywhere there was either the St. Andrew’s flag or the Soviet one. The infantry generally traveled with red flags. And the most valuable thing in this war was a friend and comrade nearby, and nothing more.

The “spirits” were well aware of how many people I had. But apart from shelling, they did not dare do anything else. After all, the “spirits”’ task was not to die heroically for their Chechen homeland, but to account for the money received, so they simply did not go where they would probably be killed.

And a message comes over the radio that near Selmenhausen militants attacked an infantry regiment. Our losses are more than a hundred people. I visited the infantry and saw what kind of organization they have there, unfortunately. After all, every second fighter there was captured not in battle, but because they got into the habit of stealing chickens from the local residents. Although the guys themselves were humanly understandable: there was nothing to eat... These local residents grabbed them to stop this theft. And then they called: “Take yours, but only so that they don’t come to us anymore.”

Our team is not to go anywhere. How can we not go anywhere when we are constantly being shelled, and various “shepherds” are coming from the mountains. We hear the neighing of horses. We walked around constantly, but I didn’t report anything to the battalion commander.

Local “walkers” began to come to me. I told them: we go here, but we don’t go there, we do this, but we don’t do that... After all, we were constantly being fired upon by a sniper from one of the palaces. We, of course, responded by firing everything we had in that direction. One day Isa, a local “authority”, comes: “I was asked to say...”. I told him: “As long as they shoot at us from there, we will also hammer.” (A little later we made a sortie in that direction, and the issue of shelling from that direction was closed.)

Already on June 3, in the middle gorge we found a field mined “spiritual” hospital. It was clear that the hospital had recently been in operation - blood was visible all around. The “spirits” abandoned equipment and medicines. I have never seen such medical luxury... Four gasoline generators, water tanks connected by pipelines... Shampoos, disposable shaving machines, blankets... And what kind of medicines were there!.. Our doctors simply cried with envy. Blood substitutes - produced in France, Holland, Germany. Dressing materials, surgical threads. But we didn’t really have anything except promedol (painkiller - Ed.). The conclusion suggests itself - what forces are thrown against us, what finances!.. And what does the Chechen people have to do with it?..

I got there first, so I chose what was most valuable to me: bandages, disposable sheets, blankets, kerosene lamps. Then he called the colonel of the medical service and showed all this wealth. His reaction is the same as mine. He simply fell into a trance: stitching materials for heart vessels, modern medicines... After that, we were in direct contact with him: he asked me to let me know if I found anything else. But I had to contact him for a completely different reason.

There was a tap near the Bas River from where the locals got water, so we drank this water without fear. We drive up to the crane, and then one of the elders stops us: “Commander, help! We have a problem - a sick woman gives birth.” The elder spoke with a thick accent. A young guy stood nearby as a translator, in case anything was unclear. Nearby I see foreigners in jeeps from the Doctors Without Borders mission, who seem to be Dutch in conversation. I’m coming to them - help! They: “Nope... We only help the rebels.” I was so taken aback by their answer that I didn’t even know how to react. I called the colonel-medic on the radio: “Come, we need help with childbirth.” He immediately arrived on a “tablet” with one of his people. Seeing the woman in labor, he said: “I thought you were joking...”.

They put the woman in a “tablet”. She looked scary: all yellow... This was not her first birth, but there were probably some complications due to hepatitis. The colonel himself delivered the baby, gave the child to me and started putting some IVs on the woman. Out of habit, it seemed to me that the child looked very creepy... I wrapped him in a towel and held him in my arms until the colonel was freed. This is the story that happened to me. I didn’t think, I didn’t guess that I would participate in the birth of a new citizen of Chechnya.

Since the beginning of June, somewhere at the transport hub there was a cooker working, but hot food practically did not reach us - we had to eat dry rations and pasture. (I taught the fighters to diversify the diet of dry rations - stewed meat for the first, second and third - due to pasture. Tarragon grass was brewed as tea. You could make soup from rhubarb. And if you add grasshoppers there, you get such a rich soup, and again protein ". And earlier, when we were standing in Germenchug, we saw a lot of hares around. You walk with a machine gun on your back - then the hare jumps out from under your feet! Those seconds while you take the machine gun, you spend - and the hare is no longer there... As soon as you put the machine gun away - they are here again here. I tried to shoot at least one for two days, but gave up this activity - it was useless... I taught the boys to also eat lizards and snakes. Catching them turned out to be much easier than shooting hares. Of course, there is little pleasure from such food, but what to do - I need something...) There was also a problem with the water: it was cloudy all around, and we only drank it through bactericidal sticks.

One morning local residents came with a local police officer, a senior lieutenant. He even showed us some red crusts. They say: we know that you have nothing to eat. There are cows walking around here. You can shoot a cow with painted horns - this is a collective farm cow. But don’t touch the unpainted ones - they’re personal. They seemed to give the go-ahead, but it was somehow difficult for us to get over ourselves. Then, after all, one cow was dumped near Bas. They killed her, but what to do with her?.. And then Dima Gorbatov comes (I put him in charge of cooking). He is a village guy and in front of an amazed audience he completely butchered a cow in a few minutes!..

We haven't seen fresh meat for a very long time. And then there's the barbecue! They also hung the cutting in the sun, wrapped in bandages. And after three days it turned out to be dried meat - no worse than in the store.

What was also worrying was the constant night shelling. Of course, we did not return fire immediately. Let's take note of where the shooting is coming from and slowly move towards this area. Here the ESBEER (SBR, short-range reconnaissance radar station. - Ed.) helped us a lot.

One evening, the scouts and I (there were seven of us), trying to go unnoticed, went towards the sanatorium, from where they had fired at us the day before. We arrived and found four “beds”, next to a small mined warehouse. We didn’t remove anything - we just set our traps. Everything worked at night. It turns out that it was not in vain that we went... But we didn’t check the results; the main thing for us was that there was no more shooting from that direction.

When we returned safely this time, for the first time in a long time I felt satisfaction - because the work that I know how to do had begun. Besides, now I didn’t have to do everything myself, but some things could be entrusted to someone else. Only a week and a half has passed, and people have been replaced. War teaches quickly. But it was then that I realized that if we had not pulled out the dead, but left them, then the next day no one would have gone into battle. This is the most important thing in war. The guys saw that we weren’t abandoning anyone.

We had constant forays. One day we left the armored personnel carrier below and climbed into the mountains. We saw an apiary and began to examine it: it had been converted into a mine class! Right there, in the apiary, we found lists of the company of the Islamic battalion. I opened them and couldn’t believe my eyes - everything was the same as ours: the 8th company. The list contains information: first name, last name and where you are from. A very interesting squad composition: four grenade launchers, two snipers and two machine gunners. I've been running around with these lists for a whole week - where should I send them? Then I passed it on to headquarters, but I’m not sure that this list reached the right place. No one cared about it.

Not far from the apiary they found a pit with an ammunition warehouse (one hundred and seventy boxes of sub-caliber and high-explosive tank shells). While we were examining all this, the battle began. A machine gun started firing at us. The fire is very dense. And Misha Mironov, a village boy, as soon as he saw the apiary, became not himself. He lit the smoke, took out the frames with honeycombs, and brushed away the bees with a twig. I told him: “Miron, they’re shooting!” And he went into a frenzy, jumped up and didn’t throw away the frame of honey! We have nothing special to answer - the distance is six hundred meters. We jumped on the armored personnel carrier and left along the Bas. It became clear that the militants, although from afar, were herding their own class of mines and ammunition (but then our sappers blew up these shells anyway).

We returned to our place and pounced on honey, and even milk (the locals allowed us to milk one cow occasionally). And after the snakes, after the grasshoppers, after the tadpoles, we experienced simply indescribable pleasure!.. It’s a pity, but there was no bread.

After the apiary, I told Gleb, the commander of the reconnaissance platoon: “Go, look around further.” The next day Gleb reports to me: “I think I found the cache.” Let's go. We see a cave in the mountain with cement formwork, it went fifty meters deep. The entrance is disguised very carefully. You will only see him if you come close.

The entire cave is filled with boxes with mines and explosives. I opened the box and there were brand new anti-personnel mines! In our battalion we only had machine guns that were as old as ours. There were so many boxes that it was impossible to count them. I counted thirteen tons of plastic alone. The total weight was easy to determine, because the boxes with plasticite were marked. There were also explosives for the “Snake Gorynych” (a machine for clearing mines by explosion. - Ed.), and squibs for it.

And the plastic in my company was bad, old. To make something out of it, you had to soak it in gasoline. But, clearly, if the fighters start soaking something, then some nonsense will definitely happen... And here the plastic is fresh. Judging by the packaging, it was produced in 1994. Out of greed, I took myself four “sausages”, about five meters each. I also collected electric detonators, which we also didn’t have in sight. The sappers were called.

And then our regimental reconnaissance arrived. I told them that the day before we found a militant base. There were about fifty “spirits”. Therefore, we did not make contact with them, we only marked the place on the map.

Scouts on three armored personnel carriers pass by our 213th checkpoint, drive into the gorge and start shooting from KPVT on the slopes! I also thought to myself: “Wow, reconnaissance has begun... It immediately identified itself.” It seemed to me something wild at the time. And my worst premonitions came true: a few hours later they were caught right in the area of ​​the point that I showed them on the map...

The sappers were minding their own business, preparing to blow up the explosives depot. Dima Karakulko, the deputy commander of our battalion for weapons, was also here. I gave him a smoothbore cannon found in the mountains. Apparently, its “spirits” were removed from the damaged infantry fighting vehicle and placed on a makeshift platform with a battery. It's an unprepossessing thing, but you can shoot it by aiming it down the barrel.

I got ready to go to my 212th checkpoint. Then I saw that the sappers had brought firecrackers to detonate the electric detonators. These firecrackers operate on the same principle as a piezo lighter: mechanically pressing a button generates a pulse that activates an electric detonator. Only the firecracker has one serious drawback - it works at about one hundred and fifty meters, after which the impulse fades. There is a “twist” - it operates at two hundred and fifty meters. I said to Igor, the commander of the sapper platoon: “Did you go there yourself?” He: “No.” Me: “So go and look...” He’s back, I see he’s already unwinding the vole. They seem to have unwound the whole reel (more than a thousand meters). But when they blew up the warehouse, they were still covered with earth.

Soon we set the table. We are having a feast again - honey and milk... And then I turned around and couldn’t understand anything: the mountain on the horizon begins to slowly rise up along with the forest, with the trees... And this mountain is six hundred meters wide and about the same in height. Then the fire appeared. And then I was thrown several meters away by the blast wave. (And this happens at a distance of about five kilometers from the explosion site!) And when I fell, I saw a real mushroom, like in educational films about atomic explosions. And this is what happened: the sappers blew up the “spiritual” explosives warehouse, which we discovered earlier. When we sat down at the table again in our clearing, I asked: “Where do the spices and pepper come from?” But it turned out that it was not pepper, but ash and earth that fell from the sky.

After some time, the broadcast flashed: “The scouts were ambushed!” Dima Karakulko immediately took the sappers, who had previously been preparing the warehouse for the explosion, and went to pull out the scouts! But they also went in an armored personnel carrier! And they also fell into the same ambush! And what could the sappers do - they have four magazines per person and that’s all...

The battalion commander told me: “Seryoga, you are covering the exit, because it is unknown where and how our people will come out!” I was standing right between three gorges. Then the scouts and sappers, in groups and individually, came out through me. In general, there was a big problem with the exit: the fog had settled, it was necessary to make sure that our own people did not shoot at their own retreaters.

Gleb and I raised our 3rd platoon, which was stationed at the 213th checkpoint, and what was left of the 2nd platoon. The ambush site was two or three kilometers from the checkpoint. But ours went on foot, and not through the gorge, but through the mountains! Therefore, when the “spirits” saw that they couldn’t easily deal with these guys, they shot and retreated. Then ours did not have a single loss, either killed or wounded. We probably knew that former experienced Soviet officers fought on the side of the militants, because in the previous battle I clearly heard four single shots - this, back in Afghanistan, meant a signal to retreat.

With reconnaissance it turned out something like this. The “spirits” saw the first group in three armored personnel carriers. Hit. Then we saw another one, also on an armored personnel carrier. They hit again. Our guys, who drove off the “spirits” and were the first to arrive at the ambush site, said that the sappers and Dima himself fired back from under the armored personnel carriers until the last moment.

The day before, when Igor Yakunenkov died from a mine explosion, Dima kept asking me to take him on some kind of outing, because he and Yakunenkov were godfathers. And I think that Dima wanted to take personal revenge on the “spirits”. But I then firmly told him: “Don’t go anywhere. Mind your own business". I understood that Dima and the sappers had no chance of getting the scouts out. He himself was not prepared to perform such tasks, and neither were the sappers! They learned differently... Although, of course, well done for rushing to the rescue. And they weren’t cowards...

Not all of the scouts died. All night my fighters brought out those who remained. The last of them came out only on the evening of June 7th. But of the sappers who went with Dima, only two or three people remained alive.

In the end, we pulled out absolutely everyone: the living, the wounded, and the dead. And this again had a very good effect on the mood of the fighters - once again they were convinced that we were not abandoning anyone.

On June 9, information arrived about the assignment of ranks: Yakunenkov - major (it happened posthumously), Stobetsky - senior lieutenant ahead of schedule (also happened posthumously). And here’s what’s interesting: the day before we went to the source for drinking water. We return - there is a very ancient old woman standing with lavash in her hands and Isa next to her. He says to me: “Happy holiday to you, commander! Just don’t tell anyone.” And hands over the bag. And in the bag there is a bottle of champagne and a bottle of vodka. Then I already knew that those Chechens who drink vodka receive a hundred sticks on their heels, and those who sell - two hundred. And the next day after this congratulation, I was awarded the rank of “major of the third rank,” as my soldiers joked, ahead of schedule (exactly a week ahead of schedule). This again indirectly proved that the Chechens knew absolutely everything about us.

On the tenth of June we went on another sortie, to the high-rise 703. Of course, not directly. First, we allegedly went in an armored personnel carrier to get water. The soldiers slowly loaded water onto the armored personnel carrier: oh, we spilled it, then we need to smoke again, then we had a chat with the locals... Meanwhile, the guys and I carefully went down the river. First they found trash. (It is always moved away from the parking lot, so that even if the enemy stumbled upon it, he would not be able to accurately determine the location of the parking lot itself.) Then we began to notice recently trodden paths. It is clear that the militants are somewhere nearby.

We walked quietly. We see “spiritual” security - two people. They sit and chatter about something of their own. It is clear that they must be removed silently so that they cannot make a single sound. But I have no one to send to remove the sentries - the sailors on the ships were not taught this. And psychologically, especially for the first time, this is a very creepy thing. So I left two people (a sniper and a soldier with a machine gun for silent shooting) to cover me and went on my own...

The security has been removed, let's move on. But the “spirits” nevertheless became wary (maybe a branch crunched or some other noise) and ran out of the cache. And this was a dugout, equipped according to all the rules of military science (the entrance is in a zigzag, so that it was impossible to kill everyone inside with one grenade). My left flank was almost close to the cache; there were five meters left to the “spirits”. In such a situation, the winner is the one who opens the shutter first. We are in a better position: after all, they weren’t waiting for us, but we were ready, so ours shot first and killed everyone on the spot.

I showed Misha Mironov, our main honey beekeeper and part-time grenade launcher, to the window in the cache. And he managed to fire a grenade launcher from about eighty meters away so that he hit that window! So we also killed the machine gunner, who was hiding in the cache.

The result of this fleeting battle: the “spirits” have seven corpses and I don’t know how many wounded, since they left. We have not a single scratch.

And the next day, a man came out of the forest again from the same direction. I shot in that direction with a sniper rifle, but not specifically at him: what if he was “peaceful”. He turns and runs back into the forest. Through my sights I see that he has a machine gun behind his back... So he turned out to be anything but peaceful. But it was not possible to remove it. Gone.

Locals sometimes asked us to sell them weapons. Once the grenade launchers ask: “We’ll give you vodka...”. But I sent them very far away. Unfortunately, gun sales were not that uncommon. I remember back in May I came to the market and saw Samara special forces soldiers selling grenade launchers!.. I said to their officer: “What is this going on?” And he: “Calm down...”. It turns out that they took out the head of the grenade, and in its place they inserted a simulator with plasticite. I even had a recording on my phone camera of how a “spirit” had its head torn off by such a “charged” grenade launcher, and the “spirits” themselves were filming.

On June 11, Isa comes to me and says: “We have a mine. Help clear the mines." My checkpoint is very close, two hundred meters to the mountains. Let's go to his garden. I looked - nothing dangerous. But he still asked to pick it up. We stand and talk. And with Isa were his grandchildren. He says: “Show the boy how a grenade launcher fires.” I shot, and the boy was scared and almost cried.

And at that moment, on a subconscious level, I felt rather than saw flashes of gunfire. I instinctively grabbed the boy in my arms and fell with him. At the same time I feel two blows in my back, two bullets hit me... Isa doesn’t understand what’s going on, rushes to me: “What happened?..” And then the sounds of gunshots come. And in my pocket on the back of my body armor there was a spare titanium plate (I still have it). So both bullets pierced through this plate, but did not go any further. (After this incident, peaceful Chechens began to show us complete respect!..)

On June 16, the battle begins at my 213th checkpoint! “Spirits” are moving towards the checkpoint from two directions, about twenty of them. But they don’t see us, they look in the opposite direction where they are attacking. And from this side the “spiritual” sniper is hitting our people. And I see the place from where he works! We go down the Bas and come across the first guard, about five people. They did not shoot, but simply covered the sniper. But we got behind them, so we instantly shot all five of them at point-blank range. And then we notice the sniper himself. Next to him are two more machine gunners. We killed them too. I shout to Zhenya Metlikin: “Cover me!” It was necessary for him to cut off the second part of the “spirits” that we saw on the other side of the sniper. And I rush after the sniper. He runs, turns, shoots at me with a rifle, runs again, turns and shoots again...

It is completely impossible to dodge a bullet. It was useful that I knew how to run after the shooter in such a way as to create maximum difficulty for him in aiming. As a result, the sniper never hit me, although he was fully armed: in addition to the Belgian rifle, there was an AKSU assault rifle on his back, and a twenty-round nine-millimeter Beretta on his side. It's not a gun, it's just a song! Nickel-plated, two-handed!.. He grabbed the Beretta when I almost caught up with him. This is where the knife came in handy. I took the sniper...

They took him back. He was limping (I wounded him in the thigh with a knife, as expected), but he walked. By this time the fighting had stopped everywhere. And our “spirits” were scared away from the front, and we hit them from the rear. “Spirits” almost always leave in such a situation: they are not woodpeckers. I realized this even during the battles in January 1995 in Grozny. If during their attack you do not leave your position, but stand or, even better, go towards them, they leave.

Everyone is in high spirits: the “spirits” were driven away, the sniper was captured, everyone was safe. And Zhenya Metlikin asks me: “Comrade commander, who did you dream about most during the war?” I answer: “Daughter.” He: “Just think: this bastard could have left your daughter without a father! Can I cut off his head?” Me: “Zhenya, fuck off... We need him alive.” And the sniper limps next to us, and listens to this conversation... I understood well that “spirits” swagger only when they feel safe. And this one, as soon as we took him, became a little mouse, no arrogance. And he has about thirty notches on his rifle. I didn’t even count them, I had no desire, because behind every notch is someone’s life...

While we were leading the sniper, Zhenya throughout these forty minutes turned to me with other proposals, for example: “If we can’t have his head, then let’s at least cut off his hands. Or I’ll put a grenade in his pants...” Of course, we didn’t intend to do anything like that. But the sniper was already psychologically prepared for interrogation by the regimental special officer...

According to the plan, we were supposed to fight until September 1995. But then Basayev took hostages in Budyonnovsk and, among other conditions, demanded the withdrawal of paratroopers and marines from Chechnya. Or, as a last resort, withdraw at least the Marines. It became clear that we would be taken out.

By mid-June, all we had left in the mountains was the body of the deceased Tolik Romanov. True, for some time there was a ghostly hope that he was alive and went out to the infantry. But then it turned out that the infantrymen had his namesake. It was necessary to go to the mountains, where there was a battle, and pick up Tolik.

Before this, for two weeks I asked the battalion commander: “Give me, I’ll go and pick him up. I don't need platoons. I’ll take two, it’s a thousand times easier to walk through the forest than in a column.” But until mid-June I still didn’t receive the go-ahead from the battalion commander.

But now we are being taken out, and I finally received permission to go after Romanov. I build a checkpoint and say: “I need five volunteers, I’m the sixth.” And... not a single sailor takes a step forward. I came to my dugout and thought: “How can this be?” And only an hour and a half later it dawned on me. I take the connection and tell everyone: “You probably think that I’m not afraid? But I have something to lose, I have a little daughter. And I’m afraid a thousand times more, because I’m also afraid for all of you.” Five minutes pass and the first sailor approaches: “Comrade commander, I’ll go with you.” Then the second, third... Only a few years later the fighters told me that until that moment they perceived me as some kind of combat robot, a superman who does not sleep, is not afraid of anything and acts like an automaton.

And the day before, a “bitch udder” popped out on my left arm (hidradenitis, purulent inflammation of the sweat glands. - Ed.), a reaction to an injury. The pain is unbearable, I suffered all night. Then I felt for myself that with any gunshot wound it is necessary to go to the hospital to clean the blood. And since I suffered a wound in the back on my legs, some kind of internal infection began. Tomorrow I'm going into battle, and I have huge abscesses in my armpits and boils in my nose. I was cured of this infection with burdock leaves. But I suffered from this infection for more than a week.

We were given MTLB, and at five twenty in the morning we went to the mountains. On the way we came across two patrols of militants. There were ten people in each. But the “spirits” did not engage in battle and left without even firing back. It was here that they abandoned the UAZ with that damned “cornflower”, from the mines of which so many of our people suffered. “Vasilyok” was already broken at that time.

When we arrived at the scene of the battle, we immediately realized that we had found Romanov’s body. We did not know whether Tolik’s body was mined. Therefore, two sappers first pulled him out of his place with a “cat”. There were doctors with us who collected what was left of him. We collected our things - several photographs, a notebook, pens and an Orthodox cross. It was very difficult to see all this, but what to do... This was our last duty.

I tried to reconstruct the course of those two battles. Here's what happened: when the first battle began and Ognev was wounded, our guys from the 4th platoon scattered in different directions and began to fire back. They fired back for about five minutes, and then the platoon commander gave the command to retreat.

Gleb Sokolov, the company's medical instructor, was bandaging Ognev's hand at this time. A crowd of ours with machine guns ran down, and on the way they blew up a “Utyos” (12.7 mm NSV heavy machine gun – Ed.) and an AGS (easel automatic grenade launcher. – Ed.). But due to the fact that the commander of the 4th platoon, the commander of the 2nd platoon and his “deputy” escaped in the front ranks (they ran so far that they later came out not even against ours, but against the infantry), Tolik Romanov had to go to the end cover everyone’s retreat and shoot back for about fifteen minutes…. I think the moment he stood up, the sniper hit him in the head.

Tolik fell from a fifteen-meter cliff. There was a fallen tree below. He hung on it. When we went downstairs, his things were completely pierced by bullets. We walked over spent cartridges as if on a carpet. It seems that the “spirits” riddled him with anger when he was already dead.

When we took Tolik and were leaving the mountains, the battalion commander told me: “Seryoga, you are the last to leave the mountains.” And I pulled out all the remnants of the battalion. And when there was no one left in the mountains, I sat down, and I felt so sick... Everything seemed to be ending, and so the first psychological impact began, some kind of relaxation, or something. I sat for about half an hour and came out with my tongue on my shoulder, and my shoulders below my knees... The battalion commander shouts: “Are you all right?” It turns out that during that half hour, when the last fighter came out and I wasn’t there, they almost turned grey. Chukalkin: “Well, Seryoga, you give...” I didn’t even think that they could worry about me so much.

I wrote awards for Hero of Russia for Oleg Yakovlev and Anatoly Romanov. After all, until the last moment Oleg tried to rescue his friend Shpilko, although they were hit with grenade launchers, and Tolik, at the cost of his life, covered the retreat of his comrades. But the battalion commander said: “Fighters are not entitled to a Hero.” Me: “How is it not supposed to? Who said that? They both died saving their comrades!..” The battalion commander snapped: “According to the regulations, it’s an order from the Group.”

When Tolik’s body was brought to the company’s location, the three of us in an armored personnel carrier went for the UAZ on which that damned “cornflower” stood. For me, this was a fundamental question: after all, because of him, so many of our people died!

We found the UAZ without much difficulty; it contained about twenty cumulative anti-tank grenades. Here we see that the UAZ cannot drive under its own power. Something jammed in him, so the “spirits” abandoned him. While we were checking whether it was mined, while the cable was being hooked, apparently they made some noise, and the militants began to gather in response to this noise. But we somehow got through, although we drove the last section like this: I was sitting behind the wheel of a UAZ, and an armored personnel carrier was pushing me from behind.

When we left the danger zone, I could neither spit out saliva nor swallow - my whole mouth was tied up from anxiety. Now I understand that the UAZ was not worth the lives of the two boys who were with me. But, thank God, everything worked out...

When we had already gone down to our people, in addition to the UAZ, the armored personnel carrier was completely broken down. It doesn't go at all. Here we see the St. Petersburg RUBOP. We told them: “Help with the armored personnel carrier.” They: “What kind of UAZ do you have?” We explained. They radioed to someone: “UAZ” and “cornflower” for the Marines!” It turns out that two detachments of the RUBOP had been hunting for the “cornflower” for a long time - after all, he was not only shooting at us. They began to agree on how they would cover a clearing in St. Petersburg on this occasion. They ask: “How many of you were there?” We answer: “Three...”. They: “How are three?...” And they had two officer groups of twenty-seven people each engaged in this search...

Next to the RUBOP we see correspondents from the second television channel; they arrived at the battalion’s transport hub. They ask: “What can we do for you?” I say, “Call my parents at home and tell them you saw me at sea.” My parents later told me: “They called us from television! They said they saw you on a submarine!” And my second request was to call Kronstadt and tell my family that I was alive.

After these races through the mountains in an armored personnel carrier behind the UAZ, the five of us went to Bas for a dip. I have four magazines with me, the fifth is in the machine gun and one grenade in the grenade launcher. The fighters generally only have one magazine. We’re swimming... And then our battalion commander’s armored personnel carrier is blown up!

The “spirits” walked along Bas, mined the road and rushed in front of the armored personnel carrier. Then the intelligence officers said that it was revenge for the nine who were shot at the TPU. (We had one rear officer at the TPU who was an alcoholic. They arrived somehow peacefully, got out of a car. And he’s tough... He took it and shot the car with a machine gun for no reason at all).

A terrible confusion begins: our guys mistake the guys and me for “spirits” and start shooting. My fighters are jumping in their shorts, barely dodging bullets.

I gave the command to Oleg Ermolaev, who was next to me, to retreat - he did not leave. I shout again: “Get away!” He takes a step back and stands. (The fighters only told me later that they had appointed Oleg as my “bodyguard” and ordered me not to leave a single step from me.)

I see the departing “spirits”!.. It turned out that we were in their rear. This was the task: to somehow hide from our own fire, and not to miss the “spirits”. But unexpectedly for us, they began to go not into the mountains, but through the village.

In war, the one who fights better wins. But the personal fate of a particular person is a mystery. No wonder they say that “the bullet is stupid.” This time, a total of about sixty people were shooting at us from four sides, of which about thirty were our own, who mistook us for “spirits.” In addition to this, we were hit by a mortar. Bullets were flying around like bumblebees! And no one was even hooked!..

I reported to Major Sergei Sheiko, who remained behind the battalion commander, about the UAZ. At first they didn’t believe me at the TPU, but then they examined me and confirmed that it was the one with the cornflower.

And on June 22, some lieutenant colonel came to me along with Sheiko and said: “This UAZ is “peaceful.” They came from Makhkety for him, he must be given back.” But the day before I felt how things could end, and ordered my guys to mine the UAZ. I told the lieutenant colonel: “We’ll definitely give it back!..”. And I look at Seryoga Sheiko and say: “Did you understand what you are asking me for?” He: “I have such an order.” Here I give my soldiers the go-ahead, and the UAZ takes off into the air in front of the amazed public!..

Sheiko says: “I will punish you! I am removing you from command of the checkpoint!” Me: “But the checkpoint is no longer there...” He: “Then you will be the operational duty officer at the transport hub today!” But, as they say, there would have been no happiness, but misfortune helped, and in fact that day I just got enough sleep for the first time - I slept from eleven in the evening until six in the morning. After all, all the days during the war before that there was not a single night when I went to bed before six in the morning. And I usually only slept from six to eight in the morning - that’s all...

We begin to prepare for the march to Khankala. And we were located about one hundred and fifty kilometers from Grozny. Just before the start of the movement, we receive an order: hand over weapons and ammunition, leave one magazine and one under-barrel grenade with the officer, and the soldiers should have nothing at all. The order is given to me verbally by Seryoga Sheiko. I immediately take a drill stance and report: “Comrade Guard Major! The 8th company handed over its ammunition." He understood…". And then he himself reports to the top: “Comrade Colonel, we have handed over everything.” Colonel: “Are you sure you passed?” Seryoga: “Exactly, we passed!” But everyone understood everything. A sort of psychological study... Well, who would think, after what the militants and I did in the mountains, to march in a column for one hundred and fifty kilometers across Chechnya without weapons!.. We got there without incident. But I’m sure: only because we didn’t hand over our weapons and ammunition. After all, the Chechens knew everything about us.

On June 27, 1995, loading began in Khankala. The paratroopers came to harass us - they were looking for weapons, ammunition... But we prudently got rid of everything unnecessary. I just felt sorry for the captured Beretta, I had to part with it...

When it became clear that the war was ending for us, the rear began to fight for awards. Already in Mozdok I see a rear officer - he is writing an award certificate for himself. I told him: “What are you doing?...” He: “If you perform here, I won’t give you a certificate!” Me: “Yes, you came here for help. And I pulled out all the boys: the living, the wounded, and the dead!..” I got so worked up that after this “conversation” of ours, the personnel officer ended up in the hospital. But here’s what’s interesting: everything he received from me, he registered as a shell shock and acquired additional benefits for it...

In Mozdok we experienced worse stress than at the beginning of the war! We walk and are amazed - ordinary people are walking, not military people. Women, children... We have lost the habit of all this. Then they took me to the market. There I bought real kebab. We also made kebabs in the mountains, but there was no real salt or spices. And then the meat with ketchup... A fairy tale!.. And in the evening the lights on the streets came on! A wonderful miracle, and that’s all...

We approach a quarry filled with water. The water in it is blue, transparent!.. And on the other side there are children running! And what we were wearing was what we were wearing and splashed into the water. Then we undressed and, like decent people, in shorts, swam to the other side, where people were swimming. On the edge is a family: an Ossetian father, a girl child and a Russian mother. And then the wife begins to loudly shout at her husband for not taking the child water to drink. And after Chechnya, it seemed to us complete savagery: how can a woman command a man? Nonsense!.. And I involuntarily say: “Woman, why are you shouting? Look how much water there is around.” She says to me: “Are you shell-shocked?” I answer: “Yes.” Pause... And then she sees the badge on my neck, and it finally dawns on her, and she says: “Oh, sorry...”. It’s already dawning on me that it’s me who drinks the water from this quarry and rejoices at how clean it is, but not them. They won’t drink it, let alone give the child something to drink, that’s for sure. I say: “Excuse me.” And we left...

I am grateful to fate that it brought me together with those with whom I found myself at war. I especially feel sorry for Sergei Stobetsky. Although I was already a captain, and he was only a young lieutenant, I learned a lot from him. And on top of everything, he behaved like a real officer. And I sometimes caught myself thinking: “Was I the same at his age?” I remember when the paratroopers came to us after the mine explosion, their lieutenant came up to me and asked: “Where is Stobetsky?” It turns out that they were in the same platoon at school. I showed him the body, and he said: “Of our platoon of twenty-four people, only three are alive today.” It was a graduation from the Ryazan Airborne School in 1994...

It was very difficult to meet the relatives of the victims later. It was then that I realized how important it is for relatives to get at least some thing as a keepsake. In Baltiysk, I came to the house of the wife and son of the deceased Igor Yakunenkov. And the rear people sit there and talk so emotionally and vividly, as if they saw everything with their own eyes. I couldn’t stand it and said: “You know, don’t believe what they say. They weren't there. Take it as a souvenir." And I hand over Igor’s flashlight. You should have seen how they carefully picked up this scratched, broken, cheap flashlight! And then his son began to cry...

Marine Lieutenant Colonel Igor Borisevich was among those commanders who led his soldiers in the assault on Grozny in January 1995. At that time he was a platoon commander. He had the chance to participate in the battles for the city center and take the Dudayev palace. His truth is the truth of a fighter. And today we will hear it.

IT LOOKS LIKE THEY WILL NOT CAN GET THERE WITHOUT US...

In 1994, I, a graduate of LenVOKU, had the opportunity to be assigned to the Marine Corps. I was very proud of this, because I believed and still believe that the Marines take the best. A good military career was important for me, because I am a hereditary military man. My father fought in Afghanistan, and I always wanted to be no worse than him.

I was assigned to the 61st Marine Brigade of the Northern Fleet, which is based in the village of Sputnik. Arriving in the Arctic, I was appointed to the primary officer position - platoon commander of the air assault company of the 876th separate air assault battalion. The unit was reduced in strength. Besides me, there are fifteen people in the platoon, all conscripts (contract service was just beginning at that time). They were normal guys, prepared. In terms of age, some of the sergeants were my age, and some were even older. Despite this, I was perceived as a commander. In the Marine Corps, discipline has always been at its best. Against the backdrop of the rapidly decaying army, this was pleasing. It was also pleasing that the brigade was constantly engaged in combat training, not nominally, but as it should be - “according to the full scheme.” Shooting, tactical training - everything took place in full, no savings were made on ammunition and fuel. Each fighter had six parachute jumps under his belt, could wield any weapon in the platoon, and use communications. The interchangeability was complete.

Meanwhile, events in the country were developing rapidly. They could be described in one word - “Chechnya”. Looking at the TV screen, it was easy to guess what would happen next. At some point, a thought arose among my colleagues:

Looks like the guys won't be able to get by without us.

Our command had a similar opinion. The war has not yet begun, and our time for combat training, shooting, tactics, etc. has sharply increased. And sure enough, as soon as the shooting began in the Caucasus, our unit was brought to wartime status. And this is a sure sign - soon we will go into battle.

At the end of November 1994, my platoon, like everyone else, was replenished; fifteen sailors were added to me. The shortage in the fleet was terrible at that time, so people were scraped together wherever possible: on ships, on submarines. It’s clear that the sailors were completely untrained; they only held the machine gun when they were sworn in. Within a month they had to be properly “harmed”, because tomorrow they would go into battle with these people! Of course, you can’t teach everything in a month, but we did what we could manage.

Meanwhile, reports about the war in Chechnya on television and in newspapers became completely gloomy. The unsuccessful New Year's assault on Grozny, the death of the Maikop brigade - all this did not add optimism. On the other hand, we were military people. We had been preparing for war for too long, and therefore there was some kind of special excitement inside, akin to hunting. As the army saying goes, “if you can’t avoid something, then manage to enjoy it.”

BREATH OF WAR

...January 7, 1995 began. We were put on alert. We marched to the Korzunovo airfield. From there we flew on an An-12 to a larger airfield, and from there on an Il-76 we headed to Mozdok. At the Mozdok airfield our battalion was divided. Three hours after arrival, the 1st company was put into helicopters and sent to Grozny to stand at checkpoints. For the remaining two companies, the war provided a reprieve.

The rest of the battalion was transferred by vehicle to Severny Airport. Here the breath of war is already felt with all its might. Everywhere is full of motley troops, chaos, bustle, constant movement. The entire airport building was smashed, there was soot everywhere from fires, holes from shells, and on the airfield there were broken Dudayev planes (with their help the Chechens planned to bomb Stavropol and Mineralnye Vody). The cannonade did not stop either day or night. The battles for Grozny were in full swing.

In Severny we learned that our battalion had been included in the group of General Lev Rokhlin. Its backbone consisted of units based in Volgograd. During the two days spent at the airport, we got to know our neighbors in the group better. I especially remember the communication with the Volgograd intelligence officers. They were real pros. And they got it to the fullest during the New Year’s battles. In the first composition, all the commanders were mowed down - some were wounded, some were killed.

The scouts trained us well. The fact is that the Marine Corps had not participated in hostilities before Chechnya almost since the Great Patriotic War. Marines were not sent to Afghanistan, Tajikistan, or Transcaucasia. And even more so, the marines did not participate in the assault on cities. We don’t even have such a topic. We must capture enemy coasts, create bridgeheads or defend our coast. Therefore, any combat experience was extremely important for us. The Volgograd scouts explained the most basic things related to military operations: where to expect dangers, how to storm buildings, how to move along the street, how to act at night.

FIGHTERS IN BURNING PEA COATS JUMPED OUT OF THE WINDOWS AND RUSHED INTO FIGHT AGAIN...

Two days later, the “H” hour has come for us. We prepared weapons and equipment and received “beka” (ammunition). The commanders were given maps - old ones, of course, but in principle quite detailed. Typically, before introducing our battalion into battle, General Rokhlin personally assigned tasks to each company commander.

We moved into the city. The impression, needless to say, is stunning. Stalingrad in photographs in books about the Great Patriotic War is one thing. But when you see such a picture of a destroyed city with your own eyes, it becomes gloomy. Burnt panel houses, remains of broken equipment, corpses everywhere.

We had no special illusions about our future. The fact is that the principle of war in the city provides for gradual advancement. First comes the first company, it takes control of the first quarter, then the second company passes through its battle formations, it takes control, for example, of the next quarter. And the third one ends up in the very depths of the enemy’s defense, face to face with the enemy.

First fight. I remember it to the smallest detail. The smallest details. My platoon had to take an L-shaped two-story house near the stadium. There was a road junction on one side, and a vast private sector on the other. The house dominated the area; a number of militants were holed up in it on the second floor. I divided the platoon into three groups - fire, capture and reserve. Here I am a little confused - where, in which group should I, as a commander, be? At the military school they clearly explained to us: the commander is obliged to lead the battle, and not directly participate in it. The commander must have binoculars, a map and a pistol with one cartridge in order to shoot himself (just kidding, of course). But when it came to the real deal, everything turned out to be not so simple. That's right, I have to lead the battle. However, if I send people to their deaths, can I stand aside? And how will my subordinates look at me then? Luckily, I had very smart sergeants. The capture group was led by my platoon commander, Sergeant Ivan Antufiev.

The battle turned out to be extremely intense. The militants were very busy. Under this fire, ours had to run across the road. They began to act like this - the fire group suppresses enemy fire, at this time one or two soldiers of the capture group cross the road. We hit the windows and breaches with all guns, literally with heavy fire. It doesn’t matter where, the main thing is that the enemy cannot stick his head out. Meanwhile, my guys from the capture group moved to the other side of the road.

My sailors managed to break into the second floor. The house was on fire by that time, and the fighters found themselves between the fire and the militants. Like between a rock and a hard place... Bullets are flying on one side, and fire is burning on the other!

I will never forget the picture - fighters in burning peacoats jumping out of the second floor windows into the snow, extinguishing the fire on themselves, and then rushing into battle again!!!

The frenzy in that battle reached the extreme - shooting was carried out from a distance of seven meters, almost point-blank. On one side of the room there are Chechens, on the other there are ours. It was necessary to do something urgently, since the enemy was stubborn. We figured out how to resolve the situation. Through the neighboring entrance, sappers dragged several powerful KZ-4 shaped charges. They lined the passage connecting both parts of the building from below and blew it up. At this point the battle ended - some of the militants managed to escape, others were knocked down. Three bodies were found on the surface of the ruins, and below, under the ruins, who knows how many there were there?

Then I noted with joy that my first battle ended without losses. For any commander, this is the main idea - not to lose people! But there were losses in other platoons. Our battalion then walked through almost all the “sights” of Grozny: the Main Post Office, the Puppet Theater, the building of the Council of Ministers. It was especially difficult for the second company, commanded by Captain Shulyak. She took the Council of Ministers, the Dudayevites clung to this building with all their might. Needless to say, it was just a meat grinder there.

WE WENT TO THE DUDAYEV PALACE BY ACCIDENT...

And besides the Council of Ministers, there were enough losses. Sometimes it's just stupidity. One night, our company advanced along the street to the next captured object. Suddenly the column stopped - either they got lost, or something else. The sergeants (fortunately, mine were not there) gathered to confer. The enemy spotter probably noticed this. Be that as it may, an enemy mortar shell fell right where the sergeants were conferring. The explosion killed and injured some, but this could have been avoided.

Although, in war you never know how things will turn out. Chance is everything here. For example, our unit took Dudayev’s palace, on the one hand, completely by accident! Although, on the other hand, not entirely... To make everything clear, I’ll tell you in order.

From the very beginning, a fierce struggle unfolded for the Dudayev palace. The area in front of him was completely strewn with corpses and the remains of equipment; nearby there were several tanks dug into the ground, rows of trenches, and barricades. The huge building was all mutilated by our artillery fire, but it was expected that the same serious struggle would unfold for the palace as for the building of the Council of Ministers.

When our battalion made its way to the center of Grozny, battalion commander Colonel Boris Sokushev appointed me commander of the reconnaissance group. There are eleven people with me. Our task was to go to the dilapidated building of the Kavkaz Hotel and “drag” our company along with us. That is, if the enemy was not detected in the “Caucasus”, a company was supposed to go there, and from there begin an attack on the palace.

By that time, many units had reached the center, so before leaving it turned out that we were not the only ones: similar reconnaissance groups from airborne paratroopers and motorized rifles were also supposed to go to the “Caucasus”.

They "pulled out" their units. All three units had to go to the Caucasus along a common route, and then disperse in different directions, each to its own line.

After one o'clock in the morning we set off. Walking around the city of Grozny at night, in no man's land, among destroyed houses, is not an activity for the faint of heart. Flares are constantly flying up, and hundreds of tracers are flying in the air. Any careless movement, any noise, and so much will come to your soul that it will not seem like enough. We had to move literally by touch, pressing into the remains of the walls, sometimes running, sometimes crawling. It costs nothing to lose orientation in such a situation and wander towards the enemy.

Finally we came to the building, which was believed to be the sought-after “Caucasus”. Only this turned out not to be the case: the hotel seemed to be made of brick, but here it was entirely reinforced concrete. Where are we then? The three of us gathered - the commanders of the paratroopers, motorized riflemen and me. We covered ourselves with a raincoat, illuminated the map with a flashlight, and began to ask advice - where are we? Then one of the fighters crawls up to us and says:

Looks like Caucasus is on the left.

Then another flare took off nearby, and sure enough, in its light we see that “Caucasus” is on the left, behind the square. And we are located right under the walls of the palace! It turns out that our groups managed to get to it without meeting any resistance. Larger units can also move here in the same way. The clock says three in the morning, there is still time before dawn. We contacted headquarters and reported our “discovery.” From there they gave the command for reconnaissance groups of paratroopers and motorized riflemen to return to their starting point. I, along with my scouts, were ordered to “follow” the building adjacent to the square, in which a Marine airborne assault battalion, the same as ours, only from the Baltic, was holding defense. We started to move, but then it turned out that there was no radio contact with the Baltic battalion. There is no way to warn them of our approach. The Baltic people are on the defensive. Snipers are constantly shooting at them from the darkness, they are constantly waiting for an attack. And here we are. What will they do?.. It’s a shame if they kill their own Marines.

Once again the Russian mate came to the rescue. When my reconnaissance group approached the Baltic people, at first we started yelling at them. The conversation went something like this:

Baltika! E..!!! Do not shoot!

Who the f... are you?!!

We are from Sputnik, nah..!!!

While they were yelling, they agreed that one of us would come out to them. Like in the movies - alone and without weapons. I became “one of us”. I was well aware that at that moment more than a dozen guns were aimed at me, and every step could be the final one in my short biography. But it worked out. One of the Baltic officers came out to meet me. We talked, I explained the situation. My scouts were allowed to pass.

"SPUTNIK", MARINE CORPS-95"

The Baltic people gave us compote to drink. At the same time, the building was constantly hit by enemy snipers who had settled in the ruins of buildings surrounding the palace square. While they were drinking compote, one of the Baltic sailors was killed by a sniper. Right in front of us. The bullet hit right in the head. But by that time we had already seen enough of everything. The brain stopped recording what was happening as a tragedy. He just noted everything that was happening and forced the body to act at the level of instincts. Get down! Crawl away! Hide!

Meanwhile, the troops around the palace began to move. Everything around began to stir. At 5.00 the Baltic men and I moved towards the palace. They secretly approached the wall of the building. There is no movement inside. Colonel Chernov and four soldiers were the first to enter. I followed him with my group.

Inside, right at the entrance, we came across the tail section of an exploding rocket. The enemy was nowhere to be seen, only up to a dozen corpses were lying on the floor. They searched the entire building - no one. Apparently, the militants left through the underground passages that abounded in the palace building.

It was necessary to indicate that we had captured the building. I sent Sergeant Major Gennady Azarychev to pick up the flag. At that moment it began to get lighter and the snipers became more active. Despite their shooting, the foreman ran over to the Baltic troops, and soon returned with St. Andrew's flag. They wanted to raise it above the roof, but the flights of stairs were destroyed by artillery fire at the sixth floor level. I had to hang the flag through the window.

I then wanted to leave something of my own in the taken palace. I pulled off my vest and hung it on the fittings that stuck out above the central entrance of the palace - there were huge doorways there. This vest had its own history - my father fought in it in Afghanistan. Now it was flying in Grozny, over the former residence of Dudayev. Next to it, the guys and I scrawled the inscription: “Sputnik.” Marine Corps-95".

At that moment, for some reason, it seemed that everything was over - the war was over. But it was a deceptive feeling. It was all just beginning...

THEY WERE PREPARED BY PEOPLE WHO KNOW THEIR BUSINESS...

For the next two days, our company was at the Caucasus Hotel. There were also many underground passages under it. Suddenly, militants began to appear from there. Such a figure will crawl out of the hole, shoot back and forth a couple of times, and then back again. When our sappers blew up the underground passages, the attacks stopped.

After the palace was captured, the fighting continued with increasing force. Day after day we moved forward, clearing the huge accumulation of destroyed ruins from the enemy. Our task was the same - to always be ahead. We storm the building, hand it over to the Internal Troops or motorized rifles, and move on. And so on day after day.

There were also pleasant moments. For example, a bathhouse. Every week we were taken to Severny, where our base was located. There they washed themselves and received brand new, unworn uniforms. I must say that the fleet command took care of us better than ever. Compared to other troops, we lived quite comfortably. Once every two weeks, the commander of the Northern Fleet brought his plane filled with everything necessary to the Northern Fleet. We had the best food - even red fish every day, the best supply of ammunition and weapons. If you want a roller coaster, get it; if you want new sniper rifles, please. Just fight like Marines should! We fought as expected.

Day by day it became more difficult to act. Now we and the enemy have studied each other's tactics quite well. The Chechens were dominated by classic guerrilla tactics - swoop-and-retreat. They acted in small groups of three to five people. Part of the group carried out demonstrative actions and lured our soldiers into fire traps. They jumped out, fired randomly and quickly retreated. The main thing was to make more noise. The fire was usually not aimed. Many militants fired from machine guns with the butts removed or from homemade Borz submachine guns. If ours started pursuing, they came under fire from snipers or machine guns.

It should be fair to say that the enemy had very good preparation. It was felt that he was trained by very professional military men who knew their job well. For example, we were faced with the fact that many militants wore Soviet-style soldiers' overcoats. The fact is that those overcoats had a special impregnation that made them invisible at night in night vision devices. Russian-style overcoats did not have such impregnation. This means that someone knew and took this into account, and this “someone” was very competent. Our strength was our technical advantage. This was especially true in night battles. Therefore, we tried to impose night fighting on the enemy.

SHARP SECONDS

Sometimes the war presented very unpleasant surprises. One day I was at the checkpoint of my platoon. It's already dusk. The commander of the neighboring platoon, Senior Lieutenant Zhenya Chubrikov, and I stood under the cover of a reinforced concrete fence and talked about something. Suddenly, five people jump over the fence and run towards us. They are all wearing Afghans and are holding machine guns. Who are they?! Each person has a white bandage on their left sleeve. Despite the twilight, I was able to see that the unexpected guests’ features were clearly Caucasian.

What are you doing here? We answer;

We're standing here.

Where are the “federals”?

There are moments in life when the count is not in seconds, but in a few fractions of them. Who is faster, like in a lousy American movie about cowboys.

That time we were faster. Zhenya raised his machine gun and killed three people with one burst from three meters away. The two survivors rushed towards the fence. But from the checkpoint they managed to see what was happening. Someone fired a shot of lead into the fleeing people with a machine gun. What can I say - that time we were very lucky and they were very unlucky,

THE BLOOD WAS UNNATURAL BRIGHT...

Another time we were less lucky. Our company found itself under heavy mortar fire. In the city, a mortar is a mean thing. Where he is hiding in this concrete jungle - just guess; from somewhere he is working from a closed position, and we cannot see him. And he “sees” us through the spotter.

That day we moved along the street with the task of taking control of the building dominating the area - the panel “candle”. The street – you can’t imagine anything worse – is like a tunnel. On one side there is a high fence, on the other there is the private sector. I also remember that it was paved with cobblestones.

Surely everything was shot in advance. The place for an ambush is ideal. We ended up in this ambush.

Suddenly, mines began to explode from all sides. Howling, explosions, burning smoke, fragments and broken cobblestones flying in all directions. Apparently, the enemy spotter was sitting exactly in the “candle” that we were supposed to take. He had us in the palm of his hand,

Almost immediately the wounded arrived. Two sailors in my platoon were wounded. Fortunately, it's not hard. It's worse in other platoons. We lay down and couldn’t raise our heads. The deputy company commander, Senior Lieutenant Praslov, fell next to me. I look - he’s wounded. Moreover, the wound couldn’t be worse. A large, finger-thick fragment entered under his buttock and broke an artery. I began to help him. Blood gushes out like a fountain, unnaturally bright and hot.

To prevent a person wounded in an artery from bleeding to death, a tourniquet must be applied. But how to apply it if the artery runs deep inside?! I bandaged Praslov with cotton gauze and bandages. They immediately swelled with blood. This was not an option. Then I used the packaging from the bandage - it is made of dense, air-tight material. He put it on the wound and wrapped it tightly. After that, he dragged the wounded man out from under fire. He crawled about a hundred and fifty meters under fire, dragging him behind him. Luckily, I met motorized riflemen. They gave me an infantry fighting vehicle, and we used it to evacuate Praslov to the rear. As it turned out, it was just in time. A little more - and they wouldn’t have pumped it out anymore. Praslov survived, so I have one saved life on my account. Perhaps this will be counted somewhere...

For me, that business trip ended unexpectedly. I was not wounded, but due to carelessness I broke my arm, after which I was sent to the hospital. My company stayed in Grozny until March 8, 1995.

After returning home to Sputnik, it turned out that the most difficult thing was ahead. If during the war I was constantly overcome by a feeling of fighting spirit, something like constant euphoria, then this was not the case here. Suddenly a terrible emptiness came upon me. All the dark memories came to mind at once. The memory of our fallen comrades constantly bothered me. It was especially difficult when there were funerals, when the parents of the fallen came.

I was lucky then as a commander. In Grozny, I only had two soldiers wounded (those who came under mortar fire), and even then only lightly. Without the slightest boasting, I can say that during that business trip to Chechnya I did not lose a single soldier killed. Not a single mother will say that I did not save her son.

(Journal “Soldier of Fortune”, recorded by A. Musalov)

On January 9, 1995, marine units of the Red Banner Baltic Fleet and Northern Fleet entered Grozny. The Marines had to operate in assault groups and detachments that successively captured buildings and neighborhoods, sometimes without neighbors to the right or left, or even completely isolated. The soldiers of the 876th Northern Fleet Division fought especially effectively and competently in the city. In the direction of their actions there were serious points of militant resistance: the building of the Council of Ministers, the Main Post Office, the Puppet Theater, and many high-rise buildings. Soldiers of the 2nd Airborne Assault Company (ADS) of the battalion stormed the Council of Ministers. The fighters of the 3rd battalion fought for the building of a nine-story building, which occupied a dominant position and was turned by the militants into a powerful stronghold, blocking the exit to one of the main centers of resistance - the Main Post Office building.

On January 14, the building of the Council of Ministers, a high-rise building and the Main Post Office were occupied by marines. On January 15, assault groups of the 3rd company captured the Puppet Theater.

But the hardest part was yet to come. Federal troops gradually advanced towards the center of Grozny - towards the presidential palace, the buildings of the Council of Ministers and the Caucasus Hotel. The buildings located in the city center were defended by elite militant detachments, in particular the so-called “Abkhaz battalion” of Sh. Basayev.

On the night of January 17, the 3rd DShR advanced in the direction of the Council of Ministers. On Komsomolskaya Street, the advanced groups of the company were ambushed by 6 soldiers. The bandits tried to surround one of the groups of marines. Sergeant V. Molchanov ordered his comrades to retreat, while he remained to cover them. The regrouped Marines pushed back the militants. Around the position where Molchanov remained with the machine gun, 17 bandits were killed. The sergeant himself died.

On January 19, marines, in cooperation with scouts from the 68th separate reconnaissance battalion (orb) and motorized riflemen of the 276th motorized rifle regiment, captured the presidential palace. A group of Baltic soldiers led by the deputy battalion commander of the Guards. Major A. Plushakov hoisted the Naval and Russian state flags over the palace.

Then, after the fall of Grozny, the 105th Combined Marine Regiment was formed in Chechnya on the basis of the 1st Battalion of the 106th Regiment of the 55th Marine Division, with a separate Marine Battalion from the Baltic (877 Marine Corps) and Northern Fleets, engineering a sapper unit from the OMIB (separate naval engineering battalion) of the Baltic Fleet, which for another two months, until June 26, 1995, destroyed militants in the Vedeno, Shali and Shatoi regions of Chechnya. During the fighting, more than 40 settlements were liberated from militants, and a large number of heavy weapons and military equipment were destroyed and captured. But here, unfortunately, there were losses, although they were much smaller. In total, during the 1995 fighting in Chechnya, 178 marines were killed and 558 were injured of varying severity. 16 people received the title of Hero of Russia (six posthumously).

In 1994, on the basis of the disbanded 77th Guards. or there was an attempt to form a new 163rd department. MP brigade. However, the brigade was never deployed and, in fact, resembled the BVHT. In 1996 it was disbanded.

In 1995-96, the 810th Marine Brigade of the Black Sea Fleet was reorganized into the 810th Separate Marine Regiment, while the 382nd Separate Marine Battalion and a separate tank battalion were separated from it. Both allocated battalions were redeployed to the village of Temryuk (the coast of the Azov Sea, Krasnodar region of Russia). It should be noted that in the period 1990-91. this brigade did not have a tank battalion at all, and the newly recreated one (initially on T-64A/B tanks) was initially stationed in the village of Temryuk.

Pacific Fleet Marine Corps. May 1995 Chechnya

Place of events

Reserve Colonel Sergei Kondratenko recalls what the Pacific Fleet Marines faced in Chechnya in 1995.

I think I will not be mistaken if I classify Colonel Kondratenko (we have known him for many years) as the type of Russian officer-intellectual who is known to us from Lermontov and Tolstoy, Arsenyev and Gumilyov. From January to May 1995, Kondratenko with the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet was in Chechnya and kept a diary there, recording day by day and sometimes minute by minute what was happening around him. I hope that someday these notes will be published, although Sergei Konstantinovich himself believes that the time has not yet come to speak out loud about everything.

On the 20th anniversary of the beginning of the war in Chechnya, Sergei Kondratenko and my colleague, editor-in-chief of “New in Vladivostok” Andrei Ostrovsky, published the fourth edition of the Book of Memory of the Primorsky Territory, which names all the Primorye residents who died in the North Caucasus over these years (and those called up from Primorye) . New names were added to each reissue, each time hoping that these additions were the last.

I will preface the conversation, the occasion of which was this non-celebratory anniversary, with a brief background. Sergei Kondratenko was born in 1950 in Khabarovsk, graduated from the Secondary Educational Institution in Blagoveshchensk. From 1972 to 2001, he served in a division (now a brigade) of the Pacific Fleet Marine Corps, retiring from the post of deputy division commander. Later he headed the regional search and rescue service, headed the organization of local war veterans “Contingent”, now he is the chairman of the Vladivostok Veterans Council. Awarded the Order of Courage and the Order of Military Merit.

Pacific Islanders in the Caucasus: “Everything was learned on the spot”

Sergei Konstantinovich, all your life you have studied and taught others to fight, and with an external enemy. Remember, they told me how, as a DVOKU cadet in March 1969, during the battles on Damansky, you took up positions on the Amur embankment in Blagoveshchensk... Then everything worked out. And the Marines were not sent to Afghanistan. You had to fight only a quarter of a century later - already a mature man, a colonel. Moreover, the war broke out on the territory of our own country...

Yes, many of us in the Marine Corps wrote reports and asked to be sent to Afghanistan, but we were told: you have your own combat mission. But, by the way, at that time our landing groups were constantly on ships in the Persian Gulf...

June 1995. Sergei Kondratenko after returning from Chechnya

When we arrived in Chechnya, saw the destruction of Grozny, talked with civilians, we realized that there really was genocide of the Russian population. Not only the Russians spoke about this, but also the Chechens themselves, especially the elderly, and we saw it all ourselves. True, some said that we shouldn’t have interfered; they would have sorted it out themselves. I don’t know... Another thing is that the decision to send troops was hasty, this is 100 percent.

Being the deputy division commander, I was appointed head of the division's operational group. This group is created for ease of control when the regiment operates at a distance from the division. The regiment itself was handled by its commander, and I was the first to “jump out” to the rear area, to Grozny, and agreed with the Baltic Marines to transfer the tent camp to us... During the fighting, I ensured the interaction between the “regiment and the group.” Then he took upon himself the exchange of prisoners and the collection of weapons from the population. I traveled to different departments. If there was some kind of emergency, skirmish, death, he always jumped out and sorted it out on the spot. On February 18, I received barotrauma - four of our comrades died in battle that day... In general, I did not sit idle.

- When did you find out that you were going to fly to the Caucasus?

The fighting in Chechnya began on December 11, 1994, and on December 22 I returned from leave and learned that a directive had arrived: to complete the 165th regiment to wartime levels and carry out combat coordination - we have such an expression, the computer emphasizes this word. It was clear that they were preparing for Chechnya, but then I thought: just in case, the reserve is not the first echelon... They began to give us people from ships and fleet units. Of these, 50 percent were eliminated, if not more. Firstly, this is an old army tradition: they always give up the “best”. Secondly, they didn’t take anyone who said: “I won’t go.” Or if you have health problems.

We managed to carry out almost everything that was required at the Bamburovo and Clerk training grounds: shooting, driving... On January 10, when it became clear that the New Year's assault on Grozny had failed, we were given the command to go to Chechnya.

- Shooting, driving - it’s clear, but was there another plan in preparation? Let's say, cultural?

This is precisely what did not happen, and this is a huge omission. Everything had to be learned on the spot. I loved history, but I still didn’t know much when I went to the first negotiations with the Chechens. At a meeting with the residents of Belgatoy, an old man comes out and hugs me. At first I was confused. And then it happened all the time - I was hugging a man who could kill me in half an hour. It’s customary there - the elder hugs the elder.

- What were the “black berets” not prepared for?

You know, the general impression is this: we were taught one thing, but there everything was different. We didn’t expect much, from the dirt and chaos to the use of units. We learned on the go.

- Were there combatants among you?

The commander of the 165th regiment, Colonel Alexander Fedorov, commanded a motorized rifle battalion in Afghanistan and used this combat experience. In general, our percentage of losses was the lowest. Partly because we were staffed mainly by our own people. I knew all the officers of the regiment from company commanders and above, many platoon commanders. Few of the officers were from the outside. We were given people from ships and parts of the fleet, but the Marines were still the basis.

In general, the Marine Corps was well prepared. About a third of our deaths were non-combat losses, but in the same 245th regiment (245th Guards Motorized Rifle Regiment of the Moscow Military District, replenished by Far Easterners. - Ed.) non-combat losses amounted to more than half. “Friendly fire” has been and will be in all wars, but much depends on the organization. In the same Book of Memory we did not always write how exactly a person died. You can’t tell his parents that, for example, he took drugs... And then all the vices of the citizen come out. In general, during war the threshold of legality is lowered. A man walks with a machine gun, his finger is on the trigger, if he doesn’t shoot first, they’ll shoot at him...

- Were the Marines assigned any special tasks?

No, they were used like regular infantry. True, when we “crossed” Sunzha, our PTS - a floating transporter - was involved there. We joked: the Marine Corps is used for its combat purpose!

First battle: “I could have died three times that day”

- Could you imagine then how long all this would drag on, what it would result in?

On January 19, when Dudayev’s palace was taken, Yeltsin declared that the military stage of restoring the Russian Constitution in Chechnya had been completed. Just in time for this date, our regiment concentrated in the rear area near Grozny. Having read the Krasnaya Zvezda newspaper of January 21, in which this presidential statement was published, I thought: why the hell were we being dragged from the Far East?.. And on the night of January 21-22, the second battalion of the 165th regiment was brought into battle, and already
On January 22, senior lieutenant Maxim Rusakov died.

- The first loss of the Pacific Fleet Marine Corps...

When this slaughter began (the battalion was fighting, a sailor was wounded), I immediately “jumped out” to the place. Not only because of the wounded: ours lost contact, there was no interaction, panic began - all this is called the first battle... I took with me an engineer, a medic, a signalman, spare batteries for the radio station, ammunition. We went to the carbide plant, where units of the second battalion were located. This is Khabarovskaya Street - my “native” street. And I almost flew into it - on that first trip I could have died three times. We were given a ten-fold card, but we didn’t work with such cards, and I couldn’t “get into it” with it. We walked along Khabarovskaya in two armored personnel carriers, jumped out to the bridge over the Sunzha, but the bridge was not visible - it was blown up, and it bent and sank. The spirits placed blocks in front of the bridge. I look through the triplex - nothing is clear, black figures are rushing around with weapons, clearly not our sailors... We stopped and stood there for a minute or two. If they had a grenade launcher, it would be lost. I look around - there is some kind of enterprise on the left, on the pipe there is a hammer and sickle. And at the group headquarters they told me: a pipe with a hammer and sickle is “carbide.” I look - the gate is opening, a figure in camouflage is waving. We dropped in there. Second point: when we drove into the yard, I drove along the wire from the MON-200 - a directed action mine. But it didn’t explode - ours were setting the mine for the first time, the tension was weak. And when we passed there, I already opened the hatch and leaned out. If it had been severely slashed, it would not have penetrated the armor, but the wheels would have been damaged and the head would have been blown off... And the third thing. We drove into the courtyard of a carbide plant, picked up a wounded man, but there was no other way out. I realized that the spirits had driven us into a mousetrap and would not just let us out. Then I drove the armored personnel carriers to the far corner of the yard in order to disperse them as much as possible, turned the KPVT barrels to the left and ordered them to shoot from the left loopholes. I jumped out; they didn’t have time to shoot at us from a grenade launcher. A second armored personnel carrier came out immediately behind us. They fired at him, but due to the high speed the grenade missed. At this time, Rusakov looked out from behind the gate, and a grenade hit him... We learned about his death after arriving at the regiment command post. When it got dark, I again went to the positions of the second battalion. We managed to remove Maxim’s body only at night - the militants were holding the factory gates at gunpoint.

Destroyed Grozny

That evening I drank a glass and remembered that my patron was Sergius of Radonezh. I decided that I had chosen my limit: it flew by three times, which means it won’t kill me. But I made conclusions. And then in such cases I always analyzed and predicted.

- By the way, “perfume” is an Afghan word?

Yes, from Afghanistan, but we used it. “Bandits” - no one said. And the “Czechs” - that’s what happened later.

- How was life organized? What was the mood like? Were you sick?

At first it was difficult - accommodation, food, and heating. Then people adapted. At first there was lice, and then baths were established in each unit: in tents, dugouts, trailers... The moral state - at first it was very difficult, I’m even surprised how the sailors withstood it. After all, I was already 44 years old, I had service experience, physical training, but it was also difficult. And for the sailors... During the battle, everyone swore terribly - they simply spoke obscenities during this stressful period. Then they got used to it.

At first, we suffered a lot from colds. The mud was terrible, it was cold, and they also sent us rubber boots... We later threw them away. The second is skin diseases. But then they got used to it again. At first I got sick myself, I lay down for a day, and then, no matter how much I tossed around - my feet were wet, I was cold - there was nothing, not even snot.

- Did local residents complain about your fighters?

It was like that, I had to sort it all out. There was a case - after the death of Senior Lieutenant Skomorokhov, the guys took five drops in the evening, and the Chechens violated the curfew: movement was prohibited after 18 o'clock, and here a man and a young guy were driving a tractor. The man ran away, and the guy fell under the hot hand - our people pushed him. The next day - chaos. I understood that the Chechens had also violated, but still I couldn’t touch them... I went to the elder - this guy’s uncle - and asked for forgiveness. I offered to gather the residents and was ready to publicly apologize, but they told me: no need, you asked for forgiveness - in an hour the whole village will know.

- What were the militants armed with besides small arms? How was their tactical literacy?

I personally was once under fire from an 82mm mortar - a great machine! Another time I came under fire from a Grad - about half a packet was dropped, fortunately there were no casualties. There was an anecdote - a communications sailor was hiding from the Grad in a tent... Then they forced everyone to dig in.

The militants knew the area well. And then, ours changed, but those remained in place. Those who survived were very well prepared. They had assertiveness, audacity... We couldn’t change people like that - they come unfired, not knowing the situation... There was a sad experience with the introduction of the 9th company into battle, which initially remained in Mozdok at the group’s command post, performing commandant functions. After that, we made it a rule: when a replacement officer comes, let him first sit, listen, and grow into the situation. I know this from myself - I couldn’t even get the hang of the map right away. Or the same triplex - you can’t see anything through it. Then it’s always - the hatch is open, you look. If the situation is very alarming, you look into the gap between the hatch and the armor. When I went on my first trip, I put on a helmet and body armor... As a result, I couldn’t climb onto the armored personnel carrier - the sailors pushed me like a medieval knight! Somewhere on the block you can sit in a bulletproof vest... On January 22, I put on a bulletproof vest and helmet for the first and last time and I don’t regret it. All comes with experience.

War and Peace: “Maskhadov even invited me to visit”

- The military were unhappy with the February truce...

We considered such a decision inappropriate. The initiative was on the side of our troops, and by this time Grozny was completely controlled by us. The peaceful respite was beneficial only to the militants.

During that period, I met a lot with local residents and militants. He was engaged in collecting weapons in the villages of Belgatoy and Germenchuk, and carried out an exchange of prisoners.

- I had to become a diplomat... Later you facilitated negotiations between Troshev and Maskhadov - how did they go?

Negotiations between Maskhadov and the commander of our troops in Chechnya, Major General Troshev, took place on April 28 in Novye Atagi, in the house of a local resident. At first, field commander Isa Madayev and I discussed the details. Already on the day of negotiations, security was provided. On the other side were Aslan Maskhadov and his assistant Isa Madayev, Deputy Prime Minister of the Dudayev government Lom-Ali (I didn’t remember his last name), Shamil Basayev’s older brother Shirvani Basayev. Our side was represented by General Troshev, a lieutenant colonel of the internal troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, an FSB captain and myself.

Negotiations in New Atagi. In the center - Isa Madayev, Gennady Troshev, Aslan Maskhadov.Photo from the archive of S. K. Kondratenko

Troshev came in a camouflage cap, and Maskhadov in an astrakhan hat. Troshev asks: “Aslan, why haven’t you switched to a summer uniform yet?” He answers: “And I am like Makhmud Esambaev.” There was no firmness in Maskhadov's behavior, he looked unsure of himself - they were then pressed... Troshev clearly dominated - he joked, behaved assertively. Maskhadov understood that he was in a losing position, but his own people would not have understood him if he had accepted our conditions. Therefore, the main goals of the negotiations were not achieved (they wanted us to withdraw troops, we wanted them to disarm). But they agreed on the release of the bodies of the dead and the exchange of prisoners. Maskhadov even invited me to visit. I told General Babichev, the commander of the West group, about this, and he said: “What, don’t even think about it.” Although I am sure that if I had gone there with Isa Madayev, everything would have been fine.

In your notes you call the Peace of Khasavyurt shameful and tantamount to capitulation. And what about the second war - could we have done without it?

I don't think so. Firstly, we left our prisoners and dead there. Secondly, Chechnya has turned into a real hotbed of banditry. All these former "brigadier generals" carried out raids on the surrounding areas. Dagestan in 1999 was the last straw.

May 5, 1995, Knevichi, return from Chechnya. Left - Governor of Primorye Evgeny Nazdratenko

As for the first war, I think it could have been completely avoided. In the same Ingushetia, it was also on the brink, but Ruslan Aushev (President of Ingushetia in 1993–2002 - Ed.) was awarded the rank of lieutenant general and so on. It was possible to come to an agreement with Dudayev.

War does not start by itself. And it’s not the military that starts it, but the politicians. But if a war starts, let professionals, military men deal with the war, and not so that they fought, then stop - they kissed, then start again... The most important thing is that the death of people could have been prevented, there was no need to lead to such a conflict. The war in Chechnya is the result of the collapse of the Soviet Union. And what is happening now in Ukraine has the same roots.

dezzor

Marines killed in the First Chechen 165th Regiment of the 55th Division MP Pacific Fleet

Our fallen will not leave us in trouble,

Our fallen are like sentries...

V. Vysotsky

This material is dedicated to the unfairly forgotten Marines who fell in the line of duty.

In 2010, the anniversary of the Victory of our people in the Great Patriotic War is celebrated, and you realize with bitterness that not everyone understands and realizes what kind of Victory it was and at what cost it was achieved. Not everyone is buried yet, not everyone has been identified. Although it is late, the country’s authorities rushed to eliminate the shortcomings of their predecessors. And this is good.

But the victims of recent conflicts, not even of Soviet Russia, but already, like, democratic ones, have been forgotten. Only those close and involved remember them. Is it really possible that, thirty years from now, the authorities and the public will still be plugging their gaps in relation to these people? I would like to live to see this, at least, but it’s better to start now. Let's remember them by name, let's remember them, even if we never knew them. They gave their lives for us, so let us appreciate the greatness of their death.

Everlasting memory!

All materials from the Book of Memory of the Primorsky Territory were collected and processed by Sergei Kondratenko. The material was compiled by Kirill Arkhipov, the Book of Memory of the Primorsky Territory was provided by Oleg Borisovich Zaretsky, a photo of Yuri Lysenko from his personal file was provided by Seryoga.

165th Marine Regiment of the 55th Marine Division of the Pacific Fleet

Attack by militants on a convoy of communication vehicles of the 165th PMP near the village of Samashki on January 30, 1995. 4 Marines were killed.

1. Konoplev Andrey Vladimirovich, born in 1970, Volgograd, midshipman, head of the hardware communications group of the 165th Marine Regiment. On the night of January 30-31, 1995, a convoy of communications vehicles was ambushed near the village of Samashki. Got a concussion. I was captured. Subjected to severe torture. A medical examination established that death presumably occurred on February 6-7, 1995. He was buried in Volgograd.

Afterword.

From the age of eleven, Andrei was interested in technology, at first it was a hobby for modeling aviation equipment, then, when his older brother joined the army and ended up in tank forces, he switched to armored vehicles. The result of my technical hobbies was admission to a mechanical engineering college. After being drafted, he joined the Pacific Fleet, where he remained after finishing his service, and in 1992 received the rank of midshipman.

2. Antonov Vladimir Anatolyevich, born in 1976, sailor, driver-electrician of the communications group of the 165th Marine Regiment. He died on January 30, 1995 when militants destroyed a convoy of communication vehicles that was ambushed near the village of Samashki. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Khornozary, Vurnarsky district of the Republic of Chuvashia.

Afterword.

Date of death is approximate.

3. Nikolai Evgenievich Kandybovich, born in 1972, sailor, signalman of the communications group of the 165th Marine Regiment, orphan. He died near the village of Samashki on January 30, 1995 during an attack by Chechen militants on a convoy of communication vehicles. He was buried by the Pacific Fleet Marine Corps unit at the Marine Cemetery in Vladivostok.

Afterword.

Orphan. Date of death is approximate.

4. Sergey Vasilievich Ipatov, born in 1975, Krasnoobsk village, Novosibirsk region, sailor, driver of the communications group of the 165th Marine Regiment. He died near the village of Samashki on January 30, 1995 during an attack by Chechen militants on a convoy of communication vehicles. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Krasnoobsk.

Afterword.

The date of death is approximate, he was in a group with Konoplev and Chistyakov.

The battle of the reconnaissance group of the 165th PMP, which was ambushed by militants in the southern suburbs of Grozny on February 7, 1995. 4 Marines were killed.

5. Firsov Sergey Aleksandrovich, born in 1971, Serebryanye Prudy, Moscow Region, senior lieutenant, deputy commander of the reconnaissance company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died in a street fight on February 7, 1995 in Grozny. Awarded the title Hero of Russia (posthumously). He was buried in the town of Serebryanye Prudy.

6. Vyzhimov Vadim Vyacheslavovich, born in 1976, drafted into the Pacific Fleet from the Altai Territory, sailor, driver of the reconnaissance company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Killed in a street fight on February 7, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in the city of Novoaltaisk, Altai Territory.

7. Yuri Vladimirovich Zubarev, born in 1973, Ulyanovsk region, sergeant, squad commander of the reconnaissance company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Killed in a street fight on February 7, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in Dmitrovgrad, Ulyanovsk region.

8. Soshelin Andrey Anatolyevich, born in 1974, Nizhny Novgorod, senior sailor, radiotelephone operator-reconnaissance reconnaissance company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in battle on February 7, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in Nizhny Novgorod.

Afterword.

From a letter from the only survivor of the Malina group, sailor Andrei Serykh:

“...At the beginning of the letter, briefly about myself. I work at a woodworking plant, got married, and live separately from my parents. We meet with Romka Chukhlov often; he was recently awarded the medal “For Courage”. I haven’t seen Seryoga Volkov for a year; he and his wife went to Irkutsk. I haven’t seen anyone else, no one writes...
I don't know how to begin to describe that day. On February 7, we crossed the bridge over the river, met our guys from the airborne assault battalion, they said that everything was calm here. We went further, reached the factory, left the platoon there and then went on as a reconnaissance group. When we were going up to the bus station, we were fired on from the left. We launched a green rocket, they stopped shooting at us. After passing the bus station, we went to the right. When we reached the high curb (where the boys died), they opened fire on us from a five-story building. Ahead at the curb were Firsov, Zubarev and the young Vyzhimnov, Soshelin and I covered them a little from behind. The sniper wounded Zuba to death immediately. We also opened fire on the enemy. Then the young man was wounded, and Firsov ordered to retreat. I was the first to leave, but Soshelin was delayed for some reason...
And I didn’t see anything else...
OK it's all over Now. Every year Romka and I remember the guys..."

The battle of units of the 1st Airborne Battalion on the southern outskirts of Grozny in the area of ​​​​the Railway Hospital during the truce concluded with the militants on February 18, 1995. 4 Marines were killed.

9. Borovikov Vladimir Valerievich, born in 1973, lieutenant, platoon commander of the 1st airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment. He died in a street battle on February 18, 1995 on the southern outskirts of Grozny in the area of ​​​​the Railway Hospital, covering with fire the retreat of a unit that was ambushed. Awarded the title Hero of Russia (posthumously). Buried in the cemetery of St. Pivan, Komsomlsk-on-Amur.

Afterword.

“...They ran into an ambush suddenly - ambushes are always sudden. And when the militants’ machine guns and machine guns started working, Lieutenant Borovikov managed to shout to his soldiers to retreat, while he tried to cover them with fire. Such a battle is fleeting, Vladimir Borovikov was one of the first to die. How many lives did you manage to save - two, three, five? Who can count, the logic of war cannot be counted..."
Lieutenant Colonel Mikhail Lyubetsky: “It was hard to find officers like Borovikov...”
Captain Vadim Chizhikov: “If it weren’t for him, we would all have been mowed down then...”

10. Zaguzov Vladimir Anatolyevich, born in 1975, Bondari village, Tambov region, contract junior sergeant, squad commander of the air assault battalion of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died in a street battle on February 18, 1995 on the southern outskirts of Grozny in the area of ​​​​the Railway Hospital. He was buried in the village of Bondari, Tambov region.

Touches to the portrait.

From a letter from Maria Mikhailovna Zaguzova:

“I am very grateful for your concern for our sons, in particular my dear son Volodya. You ask to send a photograph of your son, preferably in military uniform. I'll definitely send it, just a little later, you'll have to wait. The thing is this: I have the only photograph of him left in his uniform, and, to be honest, my son’s face is somehow thin; Apparently the shadow fell so that dark circles appeared under the eyes. It’s not about any special beauty, don’t get me wrong, but I want an army soldier to look like a soldier, and he’s not bad in appearance - forgive me for saying such words, but I can’t do otherwise...
Thank you for your condolences and for sharing the bitterness of loss with us. My pain will always remain with me. Soon it will be five years since Volodya has been gone, but there hasn’t been a day, and probably not an hour, that his image hasn’t appeared before me - in a boy playing in the sand, in a guy walking with a girl, and even in a young man. leading his son or daughter by the hand. I see - and my heart shrinks, turns to stone... For some reason I was so open, I usually try not to show my grief, I don’t think it’s necessary, but here you go, I opened it to a piece of paper, maybe because I’m writing late at night. My hair turned grey, it became completely white, my health was undermined, and the world darkened without my son...”

11. Akhmetgaliev Robert Balzitovich, sailor, grenade launcher of the 3rd airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on February 18, 1995 in a street fight in Grozny on Nakhimov Street. He was buried in the village of Kushmanovka, Buraevsky district of the Republic of Bashkortostan.

Touches to the portrait.

From a letter from my father:

“...Robert grew up as a kind, cheerful boy, he is still remembered with a smile on his face. He was very hardworking, loved country life, was fond of beekeeping and wanted to get involved in this business closely after the army. His openness and sociability made it possible to quickly find a common language with everyone. I can write a lot about my son, but I don’t know if anyone besides me needs it...
Robert's mother, my wife, could not bear this terrible grief; she only lived for six months after the death of her son.
I turned 60 at the end of July. I am very ill, the illness worsened after Robert's death. They offered me a 2nd group disability, but I refused. Just recently left the hospital and suffered a heart attack.
You are asking about benefits. This is the situation for me and all other parents who have lost their sons. Since May 1999, benefits for medicines have been abolished, and local and urban transport passes are not paid for - all this is explained by the difficult situation in the republic. Before I retired, I received a pension for my son of 269 rubles, now it has been cut to 108... I have to give up expensive medicines...
You probably already understand: do local authorities and the military registration and enlistment office help?
I wish everyone in the world good health and that no one experiences such grief as befell me..."

NO PHOTO

12. Semenyuk Vladimir Yurievich, born in 1975, Moscow, sailor, crew commander of the 3rd airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on February 18, 1995 in a street fight in Grozny on Nakhimov Street. Buried in Moscow.

Afterword.

He died together with Akhmetgaliev, during the “truce”, they together moved away from the checkpoint on Nakhimov Street in Grozny, 50 meters, and were shot at point-blank range.

13. Evgeniy Pavlovich Betkher, sailor, rifleman of the 5th company of the 165th Marine Regiment, drafted from the Tomsk region. Died on January 26, 1995 in a street fight in Grozny. He was buried in the town of Strezhevoy, Tomsk region.

Afterword.

He died in one of the first battles, in the southern part of Grozny. The group, which included Evgenia, covered the tank on the territory of the carbide plant, the tank fired at the militants’ points, and then retreated. At one such waste site, an RPG grenade that missed the tank hit a Marine, and there was practically nothing left of him. According to eyewitnesses, a woman fired from a grenade launcher.

14. Brovkin Igor Anatolyevich, born in 1975, Tula region, Aleksin, sailor, gunner, crew number of the 6th company of the 165th Marine Regiment. On January 29, 1995, he was mortally wounded in a street fight in Grozny. He died of wounds in the Vladikavkaz hospital on February 4, 1995. He was buried in the city of Aleksin, Tula region.

Touches to the portrait.

From a letter from Nina Ivanovna and Anatoly Ivanovich Brovkin:

“...It’s difficult to write about your own son. Igor was born on July 16, 1975 in the city of Aleksin, Tula region. After finishing 9 classes, he entered a vocational school, where he received a specialty as an electric and gas welder. He was hired at a mechanical plant as an electric and gas welder of the 3rd category. But he didn’t have time to work for long - on December 14, 1993, he was drafted into the army, to the Pacific Fleet. He began his service on Russian Island, then he was transferred to Vladivostok, where he remained until approximately December 25, 1994 - his last letter was from this date. We did not receive any more letters. From official documents we only know that on January 29, in a battle in Grozny, he was seriously wounded and on February 4, he died in a hospital in Vladikavkaz. And on February 13, this terrible news overtook us...
The last letter we received was signed by the deputy commander of the company in which Igor served, Andrei Aleksandrovich Samoilenko: “... I would really like you to know how your son served. Igor came to our company shortly before being sent to the North Caucasus, but immediately quickly and easily entered the team and won the respect of his comrades. His voice was one of the decisive ones in the opinion of the company; colleagues, sometimes even with a long service life, listened to him... You can be proud of such a son, man, citizen, warrior..."
What can I add? He treated us in such a way that the words “later”, “once”, “no” did not exist for his parents. He had a special friendship with his grandfather, a participant in the war. He knew where his grandfather fought, what he received awards for, how many times he burned in a tank. And like any boy, he was very proud of this friendship...”

15. Bugaev Vitaly Aleksandrovich, born in 1975, Vladivostok, sailor, radiotelegraph operator-machine gunner of the communications platoon of the 2nd battalion of the 165th Marine Regiment. Killed in action on April 26, 1995 at the heights of Goitein Court. He was buried in the cemetery of Dalnegorsk, Primorsky Territory.

Touches to the portrait.

From a letter from Ekaterina Platonovna’s mother:

“My son Vitaly Alexandrovich Bugaev was born on October 7, 1975 in Vladivostok. Then, for family reasons, we moved to Dalnerechensk, where we still live. The son completed eight years of school and entered SPTU, where he received a specialty as a gas-electric welder. In his free time from studying, he always worked - on the railway or at our factory, unloading cars. It wasn’t easy, because he grew up without a father...
Since childhood I wanted to serve in the army. After college, I passed the exams quickly, and on December 28, 1994, I accompanied my son to the service. I dreamed of serving as soon as possible and going to work to help my family. When the regiment was being recruited to Chechnya, it was included in the lists, I didn’t know about it. And from Chechnya he wrote letters to relatives, but he didn’t write to me, he was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to stand it...
Mom, Ekaterina Platonovna.”

16. Golubov Oleg Ivanovich, sailor, machine gunner of the 8th Marine Company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Died on April 8, 1995 near the village of Germenchuk. He was buried at the Gonzha station in the Magdagachinsky district of the Amur region.

Touches to the portrait.

From a letter from Nina Petrovna Golubova:

“...Oleg had to go to work early before the army, he decided to help me, since he was the eldest, and he had two more brothers. I raised them alone, my father died. He loved to draw, he drew very well. He drew me a picture and burned it, now it hangs on the wall. And he sent drawings from the army. He had one friend; he believed that there should be one friend, but a real one.
He helped me and my grandmother in everything and kept saying: when I return from the army, we will break out of this poverty...
I got married in 1994 - that’s what he wanted. And he really wanted him to have a sister. His wish came true, but he never saw her. She was born on January 23, 1995, and on April 8 he was killed.
Sorry for writing so haphazardly, I’m very worried, it’s hard for me to write...
How did he serve? Back in March, Oleg was awarded the medal “For Courage,” and his unit sent me letters of gratitude for such a son.
Are you asking if local authorities are helping? Yes, they helped us buy a house. And I don’t even want to talk about the military registration and enlistment office. I asked them to help with the monument and the fence, but they refused... It’s good that there is an organization of former Afghan soldiers in Blagoveshchensk, they help as best they can. There is a monument to the Afghans in Blagoveshchensk; our guys who died in Chechnya were also enrolled there...
That's all. Sorry, I can’t write more...”

NO PHOTO

17. Dedyukhin Igor Anatolyevich, born in 1976, rifleman of the 5th company of the 165th Marine Regiment. He died on April 15, 1995 at a checkpoint near the village of Belgotoy. He was buried in Angarsk, Irkutsk region.

Afterword.

He died absolutely ridiculously. In April, after the battles in Grozny, Syurin-Court and Goitein-Court, there was a respite, the Marines were waiting to be sent home. The 5th Company was located at checkpoints along the Argun - Gothein Court road. Senior Lieutenant Gordienko's platoon was blocking the Rostov-Baku highway. On April 15, a vehicle of internal troops was stopped at a checkpoint by means of warning fire. After checking the documents of the driver of the car, Gordienko sent it back without letting it pass along the route. After the car disappeared into the nearest copse, machine gun fire was heard from there, one of the bullets of which hit Igor. The investigation yielded no results.

Marine Corps checkpoint in the Goitein Court area

18. Dneprovsky Andrey Vladimirovich, born in 1971, ensign, commander of a grenade launcher and machine gun platoon of the 8th Marine Company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Killed in battle on March 21, 1995 at the foot of the Goitein-Court heights. Awarded the title Hero of Russia (posthumously). Buried in Vladikavkaz.

Afterword.

In the armed forces since May 1989, he remained after military service. He served on Russky Island and lived on Green Street. He flew to Chechnya as part of the 8th company of the 165th regiment.
On March 21, 1995, in conditions of dense fog, the company took the commanding heights of Goitein Court. While advancing along the eastern slope, he was the first to discover and destroy the militant, then a group of departing spirits was discovered, which, under fire from the Marines, fell into the grass near the oil pumping installation. Considering them dead, Dneprovsky, together with Sorokin and another sailor, went down to get weapons and check the results of the battle. Andrei was the first to notice that the militants were alive and managed to warn the others, which saved them from the fire, but he himself took it upon himself. With the help of Captain Barbaron's "Shilka", Dneprovsky's body was evacuated and the battle ended with the destruction of three militants.

19. Zhuk Anton Aleksandrovich, born in 1976, Vladivostok, sailor, senior gunner of the 9th company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on March 23, 1995 at the crossing of the Argun. He was buried at the Marine Cemetery in Vladivostok.

Afterword.

In the Book of Memory of the Primorsky Territory, the following fact is recorded in relation to Anton: he was twice included in the reports of the Vladivostok newspaper, the first time with a photograph of a smiling Anton posted with the headline “Mom! I'm alive". The second report was from the funeral...

20. Komkov Evgeniy Nikolaevich, born in 1975, Bryansk, senior sergeant, deputy platoon commander of the 4th Marine Company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Sent to Chechnya after a personal appeal to the commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Khmelnov, at his own request. Died on February 16, 1995 at a checkpoint near Nakhimov Street in Grozny. He was buried in Bryansk.

Afterword.

He served in Cam Ranh (Vietnam) in a security battalion. On January 5, during a visit to the base by Pacific Fleet commander Igor Khmelnov, Evgeniy turned to him with a request to send him to Chechnya with the 165th regiment leaving there.

21. Kuznetsov Andrey Nikolaevich, born in 1976, Moscow, sailor, grenade launcher of the 7th Marine Company of the 165th Marine Regiment. Killed in battle on January 31, 1995 while defending a bridge over the Sunzha River on the outskirts of Grozny from the explosion of a hand grenade thrown at him. Buried in Moscow.

Afterword.

From the memoirs of the deputy commander of the Pacific Fleet Marine Division, Colonel Kondratenko:

“...The platoon of the 7th company under the command of senior lieutenant Dolotov, in which Andrei Kuznetsov fought, held theost through Sunzha on the outskirts of Grozny. By holding this bridge, we did not allow the enemy to move freely and have communications between several suburban areas. On the night of January 30-31, the militants decided to attack and capture the bridge. At about 6 a.m. on January 31, counting on surprise, taking advantage of the darkness and fog and believing that the sailors were sleeping, several militants crossed above the bridge and began to covertly approach from the right flank. MainThe main group of attackers, hoping that the bridge's military guards would be destroyed by the advance group, prepared in front of the bridge to rush to the sailors' positions. At this time, sailor Kuznetsov was part of the guard. He was the first to discover the sneaking militants and opened fire on them with a machine gun - thereby thwarting the surprise of the attack. The attackers across the bridge were met with heavy fire. The sailors testify that when they opened fire on those running along the bridge, they heard one of the militants, apparently having received a bullet, shout: “Why are you timid, boys?...”.
During the ensuing battle, five of the six sailors who were in the combat guard were wounded, and the sixth, Andrei Kuznetsov, died from the explosion of a grenade thrown at him.
Sailor Andrei Kuznetsov is buried in Moscow.
But the tragedy did not end there. Six months after Andrei’s death, his mother, Nina Nikolaevna, died, and six months later, his father, Nikolai Petrovich...
They can also be considered victims of the Chechen war...”

. Lobachev Sergey Anatolyevich, born in 1976, Altai Territory, Aleysky District, Krasny Yar village, sailor, orderly-gunner of the 1st Airborne Assault Company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on April 11, 1995 from a mine explosion in the area of ​​the crossing of the Argun River. Buried in the village of Ashpatsk, Dzerzhinsky district, Krasnoyarsk Territory

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From a letter from Lyudmila Mikhailovna Kosobukova:

“...Sergei Lobachev’s aunt is writing to you. You will understand from the letter why I am writing.
The fact is that Sergei’s father, my brother, died when Sergei was three years old. I helped my mother raise him. He was born on January 6, 1976. I studied at school, after nine grades I went to work on a collective farm, then I was drafted into the army.
You ask about letters - yes, there were letters both from his commander and from Seryozha himself from Chechnya. But so much time has passed and I cannot find them. Seryozha was probably a good soldier, because by decree No. 3928 of April 10, 1995, he was awarded the medal “For Courage”, and by decree No. 8972 of February 3, 1996, he was posthumously awarded the Order of Courage.
Seryozha died on April 11, 1995, and was brought to us on April 22. They opened the coffin because they weren’t sure it was him. But everything turned out to be accurate.
After Serezha’s death, his mother became very ill and died six months later; they said it was lung cancer. Now the whole family lies nearby.
I am writing to you, and I have tears in my eyes, how cruelly fate dealt with them...
Please send me the Book of Memory, let at least something remain..."

23. Makunin Andrey Aleksandrovich, born in 1976, Magadan, sailor, cook of the logistics battalion of the 165th Marine Regiment. Died on February 9, 1995 near Beslan. He was buried in the town of Ingulets, Dnepropetrovsk region, Ukraine.

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From a letter from Ekaterina Feodorovna Dorokhina:

“...The mother of the soldier Andrei Makunin who died in Chechnya is writing to you. How difficult and painful it is to write this letter: remembering your son in the past tense, looking at photographs and documents. How many children were lost in vain! It’s good that at least someone besides us mothers remembers this, that they decided to publish a book of memory. I’m sending you a photo, it’s the only one and it’s very dear to me, please return it. There were no letters from Chechnya from my son, with the exception of one, which he began writing in Vladivostok and finished in Beslan. On the back of the letter, my son wrote addresses in Vladikavkaz, the villages of Sleptsovsk and Nesterovskaya - I was going to fly there to look for my son, but didn’t have time. The coffin arrived earlier... He turned out to be the first person to die in Chechnya from Magadan.
My son was cheerful by nature, an optimist, and never lost heart. Although his life from childhood was not very sad, for the first 12 years I raised him alone...
Andrei went into the army with desire, did not hide or hide, he believed that every man should go through this test. He was very proud that he joined the Navy, and when he was transferred to the Marine Corps, he was doubly proud. He even drew ships in his letters...
We buried him in Ukraine, where his grandmother lives and where he was born. The local military registration and enlistment office helped us a lot.
You ask about health - what can it be like after such a shock? I had a mini-stroke, now I’m holding on as best I can, because my daughters are 10 and 12 years old. And the soul is like one continuous wound that hurts and oozes - does not heal ... "

24. Meshkov Grigory Vasilyevich, born in 1951, colonel, chief of missile forces and artillery of the 55th Marine Division of the Pacific Fleet. Died on May 20, 1995 from a massive stroke. He was buried in Berdsk.

Afterword.

He died not in the war, but from its consequences. I spent the first two months with the 165th Regiment, during which Grigory Vasilyevich’s heart was playing havoc. It could no longer stand at home with the news of the May losses in the 106th regiment, which replaced the 165th.

25. Nikolai Nikolaevich Novoseltsev, born in 1976, Chernava village, Izmailovsky district, Lipetsk region, sailor, machine gunner of the 1st airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a night battle on March 13, 1995 at an altitude of 355.3 in the Syurin-Court mountain forest. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Chernava.

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From the memoirs of Marine Colonel Sergei Kondratenko:

« ... At the beginning of March 1995, at an altitude of 355, 3 of the Syurin-Court mountain-forest massif, a command observation post (COP) of the airborne assault battalion was equipped. Naturally, our activity could not help but attract the attention of the militants, especially since the distance from the KNP to the outskirts of Chechen-Aul in a straight line was less than one kilometer. And there were militants in Chechen-Aul at that time.
On the night of March 13-14, militants from the Chechen-Aul group, taking advantage of the cramped conditions and good knowledge of the terrain, quietly approached the battalion’s command post location. At this time, sailors Sukhorukov and Novoseltsev were on guard in one of the directions.
Sailor Novoseltsev managed to see the attackers literally at the last moment and opened fire on them from a machine gun. His shots served as a signal for both the combat guards and the entire KNP personnel. In response to Novoseltsev’s fire, the militants threw an F-1 grenade at him, the explosion of which killed the sailor on the spot.
A lively firefight ensued, during which sailor Sukhorukov was also killed. The outcome of the battle was decided by the fire of machine guns mounted on armored personnel carriers. That night, the militants tried several more times to attack the KNP from various directions, but the guards were on alert and successfully repelled these attacks.
Only thanks to the properly organized security and defense and the vigilance of the sailors standing in the combat guard, the militants were not able to take the KNP personnel by surprise and the battalion avoided major losses.”

26. Osipov Sergey Aleksandrovich, born in 1976, Bratsk, Irkutsk region, sailor, driver of the airborne engineering company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on April 13, 1995. Buried in his homeland in Bratsk.

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From a letter from Nadezhda Alexandrovna, Sergei’s mother:

“...You ask: what was he like before his service?
Was…
How painful and difficult it is. But apparently this is our fate...
In general, Sereda was a simple, ordinary guy: no different from the others. Maybe the only thing is that he was very sociable, he had a lot of friends around him, who even now, thank God, do not forget us.
I’m sending you a photo of Seryozha, although it’s small, and he was taken in civilian clothes, but we don’t have a photo in military uniform. He didn’t really like being photographed at all, and we still have a few of his photographs at home...
Are you asking if local authorities and the military registration and enlistment office are helping us? What can I say? If I write that no, then it will not be true. Every year before February 23, we, the parents of the dead children, are brought together, interested in our problems, and write down questions and requests. Sometimes we receive a small one-time cash benefit. That's all.
Maybe I don’t understand something correctly, but I think that this is my pain, this is my grief, and no one can repay or compensate for it in any way...
And thank you for not forgetting our guys.”

27. Pelmenev Vladimir Vladimirovich, born in 1975, Khabarovsk Territory, sailor, grenade launcher of the 3rd airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a street fight on January 27, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in the village of Novoe, Leninsky district, Khabarovsk Territory.

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From a letter from Vladimir’s sister:

“Ster Vladimir Pelmenev writes to you; Since our mother is very worried when writing a letter, she trusted me to write it. We have a big family. Volodya was one of the youngest, which means he was one of our favorites. But I was never spoiled. Our mother and father worked on the collective farm all their lives, so Volodya knew any village work, and he knew how to do everything around the house, he even cooked well...
And now... After Volodya’s death, my mother became very ill, and she lost her sight from the tears that she still sheds. My father is also not in good health, his heart is acting up and he is no longer the same age.
There is no help for us from the local authorities and the military registration and enlistment office.
And thank you for not forgetting our Volodya...”
From Vladimir’s letter to his family (still from Vladivostok):
“Hello, mom! I sat down to write you a letter. A little about yourself and your service. Everything seems to be fine with the service, I have no complaints.
I have little time left to serve, just four months - home. I was going to sign the contract, but I thought about it and decided: why do I need it? Here, for some reason, I began to miss my home.
Well, I don’t even know what else to write to you. Everything seems to be fine with me. Well, everyone, my family - mom, dad, and everyone else. I kiss you all. Your son Volodya. Waiting for an answer.
And further. I found a good wife in Vladivostok. I’ll probably come home with her and have a wedding. Your son Volodya."

28. Pleshakov Alexander Nikolaevich, born in 1976, the village of Bayevka, Nikolaevsky district, Ulyanovsk region, sailor, chemical defense platoon of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a street fight on February 19, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Bayevka.

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From a letter from the parents of Alexander Pleshakov:

“... Sasha was an extremely hardworking guy; at the age of 15 he began working at the Baevsky chalk plant - the same place where we work.
After being called up for military service, he joined the Pacific Fleet, first serving in Kamchatka. He often wrote home; we received letters from him twice a month. We received the last letter from him from Vladivostok. And when he got to Chechnya, we didn’t even know that he was there, and there were no more letters. Only Sasha wrote to his older sister that they were being sent to Chechnya, but asking her not to tell us about it so that we wouldn’t worry.
And only when the letters stopped coming did we begin to guess where he was. I ransacked the local military registration and enlistment office, called Moscow, but did not achieve any results. We learned about his death on Armed Forces Day, February 23, 1995, when the body was brought in... I won’t write about the funeral. You can imagine it yourself. It was the worst hell...
Sasha was posthumously awarded the Order of Courage. The military commissar handed it to us on July 15, 1997 - almost two and a half years after the death of his son.
We live in a small village, continue to work at the factory, and have two more young sons in our arms. We live mainly on our own farm, because wages, like everywhere else, are paid very rarely. There is no point in talking about the benefits you are asking about...
We have a request: please take a photo of the monument to the Marines with the name of our son, because we are unlikely to ever be able to visit Vladivostok.
We will wait for the Book of Memory..."

29. Sergey Mikhailovich Podvalnov, born in 1975, Kiryanovo village, Neftekamsk region, Bashkir Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, junior sergeant, squad commander of the 5th company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on January 30, 1995 from a sniper’s bullet in Grozny. He was buried in the village of Kiryanovo, Neftekamsk region of the Republic of Bashkortostan.

Afterword.

During the January battles for Grozny, Sergei was part of a platoon that held a strong point on the right flank of the 2nd Marine Battalion. The platoon held its defense on the territory of a small enterprise on the banks of the Sunzha, the width of which in this place was no more than 50 meters. The militants were no more than 100 meters away. The Marines' positions were heavily fortified and almost invulnerable, but Sergei's bullet still found him. The sniper shot through the gate, seeing the legs of an approaching sailor under it, the iron of the gate did not hold the bullet and it went towards Sergei. “I was hit...” - Podvalny’s last words.

30. Polozhiev Eduard Anatolyevich, born in 1975, Amur Region, junior sergeant, senior operator of an anti-tank platoon of the air assault battalion of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. On January 25, 1995, he received multiple shrapnel wounds. On the same day, without regaining consciousness, he died in a hospital in the rear area of ​​the group of troops. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Poyarkovo, Amur Region.

Afterword.

On January 25, Polozhiev was part of the 4th DSB checkpoint on Industrialnaya Street in Grozny. The observer discovered a man who was making his way from the direction of Andreevskaya Valley to the plant, which was located next to the checkpoint. A group of several officers and sergeants advanced to intercept. They tried to stop the unknown man, even opened warning fire from machine guns, but he managed to escape towards Andreevskaya Dolina and jumped into a brick house near the intersection. Soon, machine gun fire was opened on a group of Marines from this house. The firefight continued for some time, and then the Shilka came out from the direction of Andreevskaya Valley and opened fire on the Marines, despite the fact that green flares were fired towards the Shilka (an identification signal for friendly troops). While the Shilka crew sorted out the situation and made sure that they were on their own, the entire group received heavy damage: Lieutenant Kirillov was shell-shocked, Lieutenant Tsukanov had multiple shrapnel wounds. Polozhiev was also severely beaten by shrapnel, was unconscious, and on the same day, without regaining consciousness, he died in a hospital in the rear area of ​​the group.
As it turned out later, a group of marines “Shilka” of the 21st Stavropol Airborne Brigade was shot, and the unknown person with whom the fire was exchanged was from the same brigade...

31. Popov Vladimir Aleksandrovich, born in 1952, Ordzhenikidze, major, deputy commander of a separate reconnaissance battalion of the Pacific Fleet marine corps, performed a special task in the special detachment of the Rostov-on-Don hospital to identify the bodies of dead Pacific military personnel, prepare the relevant documents and ensuring their delivery to their homeland. He died in Rostov-on-Don from acute heart failure. He was buried in Novocherkassk.

Afterword.

One of the indirect, but still combat losses. He didn’t shoot, they didn’t shoot at him, but the war killed him. After the procedures for identifying the bodies of the dead sailors in the Rostov “refrigerators,” the officer’s heart could not stand it, or, to put it simply, it burst.

32. Rusakov Maxim Gennadievich, born in 1969, Yalutorovsk, Tyumen Region, senior lieutenant, platoon commander of an engineer company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on January 22, 1995 in the center of Grozny near the bridge over the river. Sunzha as a result of a direct hit from a grenade launcher. He was buried in his homeland in Yalutorovsk.

Afterword.

Maxim was the first Marine to die from the Pacific Fleet.

From the editorial of the Vladivostok newspaper:

“A Pacific warrior died in Chechnya”
“Tragic news from Chechnya: senior lieutenant Maxim Rusakov, commander of the Pacific Fleet Marine Corps platoon, died from a severe shrapnel wound received during another mortar attack. Three other Pacific warriors were injured and hospitalized. Unfortunately, the names of the wounded are not reported; it is only known that they are sergeants by rank.
The Pacific Fleet press center, which conveyed this sad news, also reported that by January 23, the Pacific Fleet marine corps unit, together with formations of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, began active actions to clear Grozny of “individual groups of gangs.” Previously reported. That one of the Pacific Fleet Marine Corps battalions is taking part in the battles for the most “hot spot” - the Grozny railway station.
Official recognition of the participation of the Pacific contingent in active hostilities means the possibility of new casualties. But the names of the next brave who died while defending the “territorial integrity of Russia” in Primorye will be learned with a long delay: the bodies will be delivered from Grozny for identification to Mozdok, and then to Rostov, where the command of the North Caucasus Military District is located. And only from there an officially confirmed funeral notice will be sent to the homeland of the victims.
No details have been provided about the circumstances of the death of Senior Lieutenant Maxim Rusakov.”

33. Alexey Vladimirovich Rusanov, born in 1975, Voskresenskoye village, Polovinsky district, Kurgan region, sailor, machine gunner of an anti-aircraft missile platoon of the 2nd battalion of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a street fight on February 8, 1995 in Grozny. He was buried in his homeland in the village of Voskresenskoye.

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From a letter from parents:

“...I’m sending you a photo of Alyosha, there aren’t many good ones; when he was buried, many friends came and asked for cards as a souvenir, apparently they took everything away...
I had five children, now two are gone, I buried both of the last ones. There are three left - all live in different places. When I was raising them, I didn’t have a lot of time to look after them, and there was no one to help us, and my father and I were always at work. But the kids grew up obedient. So Alyosha - no matter what you say, he will do everything.
When they escorted him to the army, he said goodbye to everyone as if he felt that he would never return home. Yes, and I cried so much, my heart was breaking so much that people said to me: why are you killing yourself like that?..
And the whole village saw him off to the cemetery...
There were no letters from him from Chechnya; the last one came from the Far East.
Our health, of course, has deteriorated, but we try to do everything ourselves at home, we manage the household. You won't get help from anyone. True, I wrote to Kurgan, to the committee of soldiers’ mothers, they are trying to harass the district administration from there.
Sorry for writing this..."

34. Skomorokhov Sergey Ivanovich, born in 1970, Blagoveshchensk, Amur Region, senior lieutenant, commander of a marine platoon of the 9th Marine Company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a night battle on March 23, 1995. He was buried in Blagoveshchensk, Amur Region.

Afterword.

According to the recollections of his colleagues and subordinates, he was an excellent specialist in both shooting and hand-to-hand combat. He drove his fighters until they worked up a sweat, knowing that at a critical moment this could save lives. But Sergei did not save his life, and as an officer in such a situation he should not have. Being wounded, he fought with several militants until help arrived, and then died.

NO PHOTO

35. Surin Vyacheslav Vladimirovich, born in 1973, Seversk, Tomsk region, sailor, assistant gunner of the grenade launcher of the 1st airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on March 13, 1995 during a multi-hour forced march in the Syurin-Court mountain-forest area. He was buried in the city of Seversk, Tomsk region.

Afterword.

The 1st company of the DSB made a 12-hour forced march in sub-zero temperatures, under snow and fog. The throw was almost exclusively uphill. By the end of the day, at a halt, during which the sailors fell into the snow and fell asleep, Vyacheslav died. Already at night, the Marines of the DSB with Surin’s body reached the height, the company completed the combat mission, in full force, Vyacheslav completed it too, but already dead.

36. Sukhorukov Yuri Anatolyevich, born in 1976, village of Krasny Yar, Aleysky district, Altai Territory, sailor, orderly-gunner of the 1st airborne assault company of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Killed in a night battle on March 13, 1995 at an altitude of 355.3 in the Syurin-Kort mountain-forest area near the village of Chechen-Aul.

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From a letter from Lyubov Alexandrovna and Anatoly Ivanovich Sukhorukov:

“...Our Yurochka was awarded the medal “For Courage” and the Order of Courage. We were presented with his awards after Yura’s death. Are you asking what our problems are? We have one problem - we don’t have a son...
We receive a pension for Yura - 281 rubles each, and they haven’t paid it for four months now; it’s barely enough for medicine. That is how we live…"

The circumstances of Yuri's death are described in the description of the death of Nikolai Novoseltsev.

37. Shudabaev Ruslan Zhalgaebaevich, born in 1974, p. Tamar-Utkul, Orenburg region, sailor, driver-traffic controller of the commandant platoon of the 165th Marine Regiment of the Pacific Fleet. Died on February 20, 1995. Buried in his homeland in the village. Tamar-Utkul.

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From a letter from Kalam Shudabaev:

“... Ruslan Shudabaev’s brother Kalam is writing to you. We received your letter, which again brought back to us the pain of loss and the bitterness of memories of our dear Ruslan.
In our large family, Ruslan was the youngest son and the last brother. Now you understand that we have lost our most precious and beloved.
Without exaggerating, I will say that since childhood, Ruslan was the life of the party. He stood out for his sharp thinking and physical development. He was involved in boxing, played the guitar well, and loved to sing Tsoi’s songs. By the way, he wrote that the army gave him a nickname - Tsoi. And even in Chechnya they called him that. After graduating from school, he left us for Orenburg, to a road transport technical school. He lived in a dormitory, and here the guys respectfully nicknamed him Babai - grandfather.
How we miss his loud, bassy laugh now!..
And how many friends he had... Many still come to us on his birthday. And on the day of his death...
Now about the parents. My mother is a disabled person of the second group and is very sick. The condition, which was already difficult, became even worse after the loss of her beloved son. And my father’s health is no better. After the death of his pet, he aged very much and became withdrawn into himself. Sick all the time.
As for the help of local authorities... Ruslan’s parents received insurance only three years later, having gone through all the authorities. And the survivor’s pension was achieved only through the courts...
We know that in Vladivostok you erected a monument to the marines who died in Chechnya. How I would like to look at him with at least one little eye..."

38. Shutkov Vladimir Viktorovich, born in 1975, Moscow, sailor, senior operator of the anti-tank platoon of the 2nd Marine Battalion. Killed in action on March 21, 1995 at the heights of Goitein Court. Buried in Moscow.

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From a letter from Vyacheslav Sumin to the authors-compilers of the Book of Memory:

“... First of all, thank you for not forgetting about our dead guys.
As for the death of Volodya Shutkov, I remember well how it happened. This happened on March 21 during the capture of Goitein_Court. There were five of us from my platoon - Volodya Shutkov, Sergei Rysakov, Viktor Antonov, Vyacheslav Nikolaev and me. There was very heavy fog that night. We moved along the road towards the oil barrels, where the 6th company control post was later located. The special forces were leading us. They found a dugout to the left of the road and told the commander of the 6th company, Kleese, that there was no one there. Cleese gave me orders to stay with my men, guard the dugout and cover the rear. Along the road, on the left, there was a trench about two meters long, and from it there was immediately an entrance to the dugout. Behind the dugout, as if continuing the trench, there was a fire ditch. I positioned the platoon behind the ditch. Volodya was lying facing the road opposite the entrance to the dugout. Vyacheslav Nikolaev lay with his back to the road, covering our rear. I lay down to the right of Shutkov, next to Sergei Rysakov, facing the road. To our right, in the fire ditch, was Viktor Antonov.
Soon, to our right, on the road, three shadows appeared. About 10 meters from the dugout they crouched down and began shouting something in Chechen. Without waiting for an answer, they stood up and moved towards the dugout. They passed us literally half a meter away. When they reached the entrance to the dugout, Shutkov opened fire on the first two, and I shot the last one in the head. The first two fell into the trench, and the third fell onto the road. We decided that they were all dead. I praised Volodya, turned on the radio and contacted Cleese. As I was talking, a grenade exploded next to Volodya Shutkov, followed by a second one a few seconds later. Rysakov immediately threw a grenade into the trench. I tried to call Cleese again, but a grenade flew at my voice. It exploded behind me, next to Nikolaev. Then Antonov and Rysakov blocked the entrance to the dugout, and I radioed for help. Volodya Yankov and five other people came running. While they were covering, I dragged Volodya and Vyacheslav over the road, about 30 meters from the dugout. The orderly took care of them, and we were the militants. It turns out that there was one “spirit” in the dugout and one of those whom Volodya shot was still alive. We killed them both.
I approached Volodya Shutkov and saw that he was dying. The orderly said it was a painful shock, but it was immediately obvious that it was death. We put Volodya and Vyacheslav on stretchers and carried them to the barrels, where a first-aid post was deployed. Volodya was brought in already dead. The chief medical officer took off his bulletproof vest and lifted up his camouflage. There was a wound from which Volodya died...
Nikolaev’s entire back and legs were covered in shrapnel. He recently came to see me. Disabled person of the 2nd group. I learned to walk again. And now he walks with a cane. Well, that's basically all. And the photograph is a small monument that we tried to build at the site of Volodya’s death.
Sincerely yours, Vyacheslav Sumin, nickname – Dad.”

Place of death of Vladimir

The following materials were used in preparing the article:
The basis was taken from information from http://dvkontingent.ru/, on which texts and photographs from the Book of Memory of the Primorsky Territory were superimposed.

Materials were taken from the site http://belostokskaya.ru