There was a heavy silence. Bounine said, You mean the Dakota would land on the plateau?
Of course not. I mean you would jump, you idiot. You are paratroopers, are you not? You have jumped into action?
Yes, I have, Comrade, Bounine told him. And five of my comrades.
But I havent, Kurbsky said. And neither have six of my men. The demands for the war in the last year in Afghanistan meant that a lot of paratroopers didnt get jump training.
Well, thats just too bad, Chelek said calmly. My experts on staff say a pass over that plateau at four hundred feet will have you on the ground in a matter of seconds. The chutes are available, they rig an anchor line in the plane, you clip your static line on it, and you jump out. Its all automatic. You are the Black Tigers, are you not, and an elite unit?
Of course, Comrade, Kurbsky said. When would we go?
Tomorrow sometime. Ill arrange for a truck to pick you up from here during the next couple of hours or so. Ill see you at the airfield tomorrow.
He called to his men and walked out, and they followed. The Tigers were muttering among themselves, and young Kirov came forward.
Is it true, this business, Comrade, something about parachuting out of a plane? We couldnt hear it all. Ive never had parachute training, and neither have others here.
And neither have I, Kurbsky told him. But in case you hadnt noticed, this is the Russian Army, so if General Chelek tells you to jump out of a plane, you do it, even if you dont have a parachute. Sergeant Bounines the expert. You take over, Yuri?
He sat in the corner, thinking about it, fiddled in his right paratroopers boot and found his favorite knife in a secret pocket. It was very old, carved like a Madonna in some kind of bone, and at the press of a button, a blade jumped out, razor sharp. A gutting knife, used by some Caspian fishermen way back in the past. He checked that it was working to perfection, aware of the talk among the men, the anger, then closed the knife and sheathed it again in its secret place.
Bounine came, went behind the bar, got a bottle of vodka, and came back with two glasses. You might as well get drunk while were waiting for the truck, he announced. Itll help when you have to think that tomorrow at some time or other, youre going to be jumping from that Dakota.
He gave Kurbsky a glass. Vodka, Lieutenant?
What would I do without you? Kurbsky said.
THE AIRSTRIP WAS on a section of highway just outside the city, normal road traffic diverted elsewhere. A tented town had sprung up, mixed in with prefabricated buildings on what had originally been farmland. Planes were coming in and out all the time, mainly transport. Everything was makeshift, even what passed as air traffic control.
The pilot was an old hand named Bashir, a contract man brought in for the war. Hed flown in Afghanistan, old Dakotas bought from various Asian sources, workhorses that could fly anywhere. Hed dropped paratroopers during his time in Afghanistan, before helicopters became such an important part of that ill-fated campaign. However, he knew his stuff and had an anchor line rigged before Kurbsky and his men arrived.
He was squat and aging and badly in need of a shave. Theres nothing to it. You strap on the parachute, clip your static line to the anchor cable, and jump one after the other. Youre on the ground before you know it.
Have you ever jumped? Kirov demanded.
That isnt the point.
Bounine intervened. This is a waste of time. You wear a helmet and your usual uniform, and help each other to strap on the parachutes. Youll pack a canvas bag containing weapons and explosives, with a hanging strap clipped to your belt. It lands below you and thumps the ground, letting you know youre about to land. Very useful in the dark.
Only you wont be going in the dark-there will be some light, just a little, Kirov said.
And when does this happen? Kurbsky asked.
Well, according to my orders, about four-thirty in the morning. Youll certainly be there by five-thirty.
Tomorrow morning? Bounine asked.
Those are my orders. Now, I suggest we rig one of the men in all his gear, equipment bag, the lot, and have a demonstration. He turned to Kurbsky. Is that okay, Lieutenant?
Everybody had heard. Bounine turned to Kurbsky and said, To those of you who have never jumped before, I would say this: In the last war, all fliers in the air force carried a parachute in case their plane was shot down, but they didnt practice beforehand, they were just thankful it was there.
Why doesnt that comfort me in the slightest? Kurbsky asked.
BUT THEY WENT through everything several times to make sure everyone got the idea. Each grab bag contained a Stechkin pistol, an AK-47 with folding stock, fragmentation grenades, plastic explosive and pencil timers, and a field service medical kit including morphine ampules. They rested nervously in one of the tents and it rained and the tent leaked, but outside the war went on, planes of various types landing and taking off, and way in the distance there was the thump of artillery and fires in the city.
Its biblical. Bounine had brought a bottle of vodka from the hotel in his knapsack and sat drinking from the bottle occasionally, gazing out through the darkness to the flames of the city. Death on a Pale Horse, destruction everywhere.
What in the hell are you talking about? Kurbsky demanded.
Oh, humankind, Bounine said glumly. Thousands of years of civilization and we only succeed in butchering each other.
Yes, well, thats the way it is, nothing changes, so Im going to go and get my orders from Chelek and youd better come with me, so put the bottle back in your knapsack.
They found him in one of the prefabricated buildings that housed the command post, which seemed full of radio equipment and staff. A request to see him produced a suggestion that they take a seat. They were still there an hour later. Kurbsky approached the desk again. The young aide looked up inquiringly, but at that moment General Chelek emerged from his office and dropped a file on the desk.
So there you are, he said to Kurbsky. Ive been waiting. I want to get this show on the road.
Ive brought my sergeant, Comrade General.
Ive no objection. They went in, and he sat behind his desk. Youve sorted the parachuting out?
Yes, Comrade.
Excellent. This is a very simple operation, and thats the way I like things. The monastery at Kuba has been taken over by Basayev, the monks all kicked out. Hes there now with twenty men. I want you to wipe them out.
Youre absolutely sure they are there? Kurbsky asked.
Father Ramsan has always proved reliable in the past. He was allowed to move into a farm about a mile from the monastery when Basayev took over. He tells me of an old tunnel, long disused, which gives access to the monastery. He will act as your guide. He put a knapsack on his desk. Theres a radio in there, and all the instructions you need to contact Ramsan.
Kurbsky glanced at Bounine. Sergeant.
Bounine took the radio. Chelek said, Ive had a look at your record, Kurbsky-its remarkable for one so young. Decorated twice in Afghanistan. He smiled. I envy you your inevitable success.
Well try not to disappoint you, Comrade.
They went, pausing only at the entrance as the rain increased heavily. Ive often thought about this war and asked myself why any sane person would want this place, Bounine said.
Its a game, my friend, Kurbsky told him. People like Chelek move the pieces to suit themselves-its their particular vanity.
And the pieces are the people like us who do their bidding, Bounine said. I told you-its biblical.
Idiot, Kurbsky said. But lets get on with it. Maybe there could be a medal in it for you.
But Ive got a medal, Bounine said plaintively, and followed him, as Kurbsky ran out through the rain and back toward the tent and the others.
SO, IN THE darkness at four-thirty, they sat in a line on a bench seat in the Dakota, the anchor cable above them, each man fully kitted out, Bounine, as the most experienced, seated close to the door. Kurbsky, at the other end of the line, had his radio at the ready and the engines were already throbbing.
Bashir said, Right, Lieutenant, here we go.
The Dakota started to move, the roaring of the engines filled the plane, and then they were lifting and speeding away at low level to get away from Grozny as quickly as possible.
THE RAIN CONTINUED, hammering the aircraft, the wind howled, but Bashir held her steady, flying at four thousand feet, the mountains shrouded in cloud below. When he finally started his descent, they went into a kind of mist and then burst out of it and there was visibility, a gray predawn light infused with a kind of luminosity that covered the mountains. He was very low now, drifting through a wide canyon at a thousand feet, and spoke to Bounine over the radio.
Door open, Sergeant. A red light blinked on and off. Bounine called, Clip on and stand. They all did as they were told. The Dakota was at five hundred and there was much more light now in the flat expanse of the Kuba Plateau. Bashir made his pass at three hundred fifty feet, the red light turning to green, and Bounine tapped Kirov, the first in line, on the shoulder and yelled Go, which the boy did, followed by the others, tumbling out one after the other, Kurbsky last. Bounine yelled on his radio, All gone! clipped onto the anchor cable, and dived out.
Bashir started to climb up to four thousand, leveled out and switched to automatic pilot, got up, went back, and closed the door. He returned, took control again to ten thousand, leveled out, and turned back to Grozny. Well, Ill never see any of that lot again, he murmured. Madness. Bloody crazy.
KURBSKY, LOOKING DOWN, could see the rough moorland of the plateau below, outcrops of rock here and there, and it was all over in what seemed a flash, his supply bag thumping into the ground, followed by himself. He seemed to bounce and fell sideways, and a stiff wind billowed his canopy. He started to drag, grabbed at his quick-release buckle, and it opened and the wind in the parachute pulled it off him and blew it across the moor.