This is a short story, in 910 words.
It was prompted by the above photo, sent to me by Mary Smith.
https://marysmithsplace.wordpress.com/
There was not much future for a boy without the academic or sporting skills to stand out. Oleg decided that the army was his best choice, and his parents agreed. Natasha was different of course. Older, confident, and good at science, she would definitely be chosen for better things. Her destiny was to go to the Institute in Kiev, admired and loved by their parents. The same parents who thought their young son would be better off in uniform, being told what to do.
His departure was an anticlimax. Poppa was at work, and Mummy was in a rush to get to a party meeting. As he waited for the train, Oleg felt a little empty, sure that they were only too pleased to be rid of their awkward boy, with his dull manner.
Training was a nightmare. The sergeant not only bullied them, he stole their money, beat them for the slightest infringement, and worked them with pointless chores until they could hardly stand. Oleg wondered how this was supposed to inspire fighting spirit in the country’s troops. But he said nothing. He took it all, ate the terrible food, and suddenly began to realise that he was harder, stronger, and tougher than he had ever been. By the time he was nineteen, he started to understand why it had all been so bad up to then.
War would be a holiday, compared to this, and he was ready for anything he could imagine.
Before his posting came through, the camp was filling up with conscripts. There was talk that the regiment would go to Chechnya, and the horror stories were abundant. Fighting those bandits was considered to be the worst thing possible, and the life expectancy in that region was getting to be pitiful for new recruits. They promoted him to corporal, and he got to boss the new entrants around. Not that he was that harsh, as he still remembered how shitty they had been to him.
When the Captain came to address the company he smiled, as if it was good news. “Boys, great news! We are going to Afghanistan to help the government there. We are going to kick some Mujaheddin arse! Urrah! The responding ‘Urrah’ sounded like water draining down a plughole. They knew little or nothing about Afghanistan, save that most came home from there in a tin coffin.
The journey was so tiring. Days and days on a train, packed tightly into smelly sleeper compartments. Filthy toilets at each end of the corridor, and a scramble for soup and bread twice a day. The long train seemed to be standing still more often than it was moving, and when he tried to stretch his legs by walking along the carriages, they were crammed with soldiers leaning out of the windows to smoke.
When it finally stopped and they were ordered out, he gazed at the surrounding mountains, surprised that it felt so cold there. He had imagined it to be like India. Hot, sultry, and overcrowded. But other than his comrades, the place was empty. They gathered for a briefing, close to a village that looked like something from Biblical Times. Mud walls, dry fields, and the ever present halo of mountain peaks. The men were separated into groups, then given the news of their destination. Oleg was going to Camp Kalinin, five hours north. At least they were travelling in armoured personnel carriers, and not having to walk.
The men destined to march as infantry shook their heads, and shouted warnings. “Iron death traps for you, boys!” “Watch out for the land mines, fools!”.
The journey took more like ten hours than five. Half the vehicles broke down, and had to be repaired at the roadside. Then they had to stop to refuel, from cans carried on the top. Everyone had to deploy when that happened, scanning the horizon for the enemy, but seeing nothing but goats and sheep, accompanied by little boys. It was after dark when they arrived to relieve the garrison. Boys who looked like old men, dark circles under their eyes, and a stare that sent chills through Oleg.
They almost snatched the vehicles from them, as the fresh troops moved into their inadequate dugout, and started to live in the stink. Flares illuminated the ground ahead, but showed nothing except stones and rocks. If the mujaheddin were out there, Oleg certainly couldn’t see them.
Three days went by, and three nervous nights. He was beginning to wonder if the enemy existed at all, when the first rocket hit the camp. Chugunkin was gone in an instant, and Bebrov was clutching his torn-open belly, screaming for his mother. The Captain fired a flare into the night sky, and Oleg finally saw the enemy. Lots of them.
After a journey lasting over nine hours, the weary recruits eventually arrived at Camp Kalinin. One young wag grinned. “Well, they could have tidied up before they left”. He surveyed the scene before him, little more than a deep scrape in the ground of the hilltop, perhaps sixty feet across, and forty deep. Littered with shell cases, spent cartridge cases, and rubbish of all kinds, it overlooked the large Afghan village in the valley below. He shook his head. “What a tip! Sergeant, what happened to the guys who were here before?” The Siberian screwed up his face, and turned to the cocky youngster.
“Gone, boy. All gone.”
Wow, your story was chilling. It is so well written and vivid. I love how your depictions of war was so detailed. Wow, this was so impactful, yet so concise.
I also recently wrote a short story, I would love to hear your feedback on it. You can find it on: https://iamgayatriblog.wordpress.com/
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Thanks for reading, and leaving a comment.
I have left a comment on your post. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Another excellent war experience story, Pete!
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Thanks, Liz. Whatever the war, I am guessing the experience for the men has hardly changed in centuries.
Best wishes, Pete.
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I suspect you’re right.
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So sad, but also very real, i think. Wars are never a good thing for humans. Thank you for this very impressive story, Pete! Hope you survived the two storms, and Ollie stood in the house too. Michael
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We have the second storm tonight, Michael. I anticipate surviving them. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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Oh, the aisle under storms again. Maybe the result of the “Meghxit”?;-) Good luck, be safe, and care for Ollie too, Pete! Best wishes, Michael
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So sad. You paint a detailed picture, Pete. Well done!
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Thanks, Jennie. I used to watch a lot of news reports about the hapless Soviets in Afghanistan. It seemed like Vietnam, all over again.
Best wishes, Pete.
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It does. Best to you, Pete.
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3 rules of war: 1) Never go into Afghanistan anytime 2) Never go into Russia in the winter 3) Turn your swords into plows
Again, another excellent story
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Thanks, Don. They are three good rules indeed.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Showing the cost of war.
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Thanks, GP. Some things never change, sadly.
Best wishes, Pete.
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No they sure don’t!
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Amazing grasp of time place and characters.
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Thanks, Lucinda.
I was once on a sleeper train in a station in Soviet Central Asia. A troop train pulled up next to us, going in the other direction. I have never forgotten the faces of those young men pressed against the windows.
Best wishes, Pete.
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A devastating story, Pete, although some of the comments had me laughing out loud. Great image from Mary as well. Have a good week!
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Thanks, Olga. David likes to pun these fiction stories, and his humour helps to lighten the often serious tone.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Well penned…the futility of war
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We learned nothing from the Soviet fiasco in Afghanistan. Just went out there to repeat the same mistakes.
Thanks, Sue.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Mankind’s ever repeating folly….
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A country that engages in wars too long loses not just a lot of money but the youth and energy and people’s patriotism
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The worst part is that when civilians get the news, it is just the number of soldiers lost. It hardly occurs to us that each one was a son, a father, a brother, a friend…so many grieving people left behind. Also, each at the prime of their lives. So many lost opportunities and dreams…
Also, the so-called honour of being in army is beaten out of them on the first day at the training where they hear obscenities thrown at them by their seniors.
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In many cases, young soldiers die or get horribly wounded on their first day in action. They have experienced so little of life before losing it.
Thanks, Shaily.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Glad I never joined up, and if I was thinking about it this would put me off.
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It was a long time ago, but I doubt it has changed much.
Thanks, Eddy.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Amazing writing, once again.
War is hell and your story shows that.
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You are very kind to my stories, Margie, and I appreciate you reading and commenting.
Best wishes, Pete. x
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For anyone who thinks going into the military will be glamorous, they should read this.
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Thanks very much for that, Pete.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Wow Pete – what a story!
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Thanks, John. The world seems to have already forgotten about the long war fought by the Soviets in Afghanistan.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Very well done Pete, I couldn’t make much sense of the photo until I read the story.
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It could well be a mujaheddin position, FR. Mary was out there during that time. But I decided to make it an overrun Soviet base instead.
Best wishes, Pete.
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The memory of Russia fighting in Afghanistan has almost been obliterated by all that’s happened since. We should have learned from their experience.
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It seems we are always doomed to ignore history, Janet.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Great, Pete. You captured the whole pointlessness of the war in Afghanistan perfectly.
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Thanks, Mary. You photo made me think of those abandoned Soviet positions I used to see on the news.
Best wishes, Pete.
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My husband took this photo on his first trip to Afghanistan, the year before I went. He was with a mujahideen patrol and some of the translators checking to see if it had indeed been abandoned. He was really worried it hadn’t been, especially as he could hear crackling sounds, which seemed to get louder the closer they got. It was only when they stopped for a rest and he took off his backpack he discovered his transistor radio had turned itself on and was crackling off station.
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Thanks for adding that background, Mary. Seems to confirm my impression from the photo. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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(1) He may not have any sporting skills, but Oleg can hop on one leg.
(2) After he was promoted to corporal, Oleg engaged in corporal punishment of the new recruits. No wonder they were dying to get out of the army!
(3) “He took it all, ate the terrible food, and suddenly began to realise that he was harder, stronger, and tougher than he had ever been. By the time he was nineteen, he started to understand why” he’d gotten married. Oh, wrong story?
(4) “We are going to kick some Mujahedin arse!” They’ll need an arsenal to do that.
(5) “Half the vehicles broke down…” I’m betting it’s the front half where the engine is located.
(6) The carriages “were crammed with soldiers leaning out of the windows to smoke.” If the Mujahedin don’t get you, the Marlboros most certainly will.
(7) “Iron death traps for you, boys!” Are you sure this story isn’t about marriage?
(8) “Bebrov was clutching his torn-open belly.” Yep, bad food alright! (There’s always McDonald’s.)
(9) “Littered with shell cases, spent cartridge cases, and rubbish of all kinds…” That’s my garage! (“Okay, hon, I’ll tidy it up after the football game.”)
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9) It was inspired by your garage, but you were not supposed to guess that. 🙂
Best wishes, Pete.
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I m thinking of taking offense at point 7. But i m busy laughing.
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Sigh. You really have a knack for bringing the horror of war to life and making the reader experience it personally Pete.
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Thanks very much, Kim. Luckily for me, I never had to face that terror first hand.
Best wishes, Pete.
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You have captured the pointlessness of war. Urrah indeed! Warmest regards, Theo
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Thanks, Theo. Those young recruits in Afghanistan were very badly prepared for what faced them.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Gruelling and so tragic.
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Thanks, Lorraine. It was a sad war. But then they all are.
Best wishes, Pete.
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Indeed they are. Best wishes to you too x
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Gruelling and so tragic.
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