On 21 December Magometov summoned Kolesnik and Khalbaev, the commander of the Muslim Battalion, and ordered them to draw up a plan for the defence of the Taj Bek Palace in cooperation with Amin’s Presidential Guard. He told them nothing of any more dramatic plans. Kolesnik and Khalbaev accordingly went to call on Major Jandad, the commander of Amin’s Guard. They quickly agreed on where the companies of the Muslim Battalion were to be placed and on the construction of a bridge across an irrigation ditch which formed an obstacle on the approaches to Taj Bek. Jandad gave the Russians a small Japanese radio so that they could communicate directly. The two Soviet officers reconnoitred the approach routes to the palace and the positions of the Afghan units surrounding it, and began drawing up their plans.
Soviet troops continued to arrive in Kabul, including another special forces detachment, code-named Grom. This consisted of another thirty men from Alfa, the KGB’s anti-terror force, put together at one day’s notice under the command of Major Mikhail Romanov. The men told their families that they were going for winter training to Yaroslavl, north of Moscow, and would therefore miss the New Year celebrations. They had no idea that they were about to be involved in some real fighting. As they were getting ready to leave Moscow in Andropov’s personal Tu-134, someone photographed them boarding the plane; he was forced to expose his film.
On arrival in Kabul, they were briefly accommodated in the embassy before moving up to join the soldiers of the Muslim Battalion near the Taj Bek Palace. Here they zeroed in their weapons and were given Afghan uniforms—too small for many of them. They sewed pockets on their uniforms to take extra grenades and magazines; and on their sleeves they sewed white armbands as a recognition signal.
But the scenario for the deployment of Soviet troops in Kabul was about to change drastically. On 23 December Kolesnik and Khalbaev went to the embassy to explain their plan for defending the palace to General Magometov and General Ivanov. Out of the blue Ivanov suggested that they should consider an alternative plan, not to defend the palace, but to seize it by force. For that purpose Kolesnik would be given the two special forces groups Grom and Zenit, a company of the Muslim Battalion, and a company of paratroopers from the 345th Guards Independent Parachute Assault Regiment at Bagram commanded by Senior Lieutenant Vostrotin. Three members of the Gang of Four, Watanjar, Gulabzoi, and Sarwari, would take part in the assault to make it appear that it was not wholly a Soviet operation.22
Given the number of the Afghan troops defending the palace, even this enlarged contingent could hardly hope to prevail by force alone. Surprise and deception would be needed as well. Kolesnik and his colleagues spent the whole night planning. He reported back to Magometov the following morning that the success of the mission could only be assured if the whole of the Muslim Battalion was employed.
Kolesnik’s plan was approved, with the additional forces he had requested. He was appointed to command the operation, which was code-named Storm 333. The plan was for two Shilka mobile anti-aircraft guns to bombard the palace. Vostrotin’s paratroopers and two companies of the Muslim Battalion would prevent reinforcements from coming to the aid of the defenders. An anti-tank platoon under Captain Satarov would take out the three Afghan tanks guarding the palace. One company of the Muslim Battalion and the special forces groups Zenit and Grom would then mount the assault on the palace itself. The operation was originally planned for 25 December, but was postponed until 27 December.
At General Ivanov’s request, Colonel Boyarinov was attached to the operation at the last minute to coordinate the actions of the two KGB groups. He had only returned to Kabul the previous day and was not yet familiar with either the situation or the people.23
To lull the suspicions of the Afghan guards, the Russian troops around the palace spent their time manoeuvring around their positions, firing flares, and starting up their vehicles. When the flares went off for the first time, the Afghans were naturally suspicious. They illuminated the Soviet positions with searchlights and Major Jandad came to find out what was going on. The Russians explained that they were simply engaged in normal training. The flares were intended to light up the approaches to the palace to guard against surprise attack. The vehicles’ engines had to be kept running so that they did not freeze up. The Afghans’ suspicions were eventually assuaged, though they complained that the noise of the engines was keeping Amin awake. These deceptive manoeuvres continued throughout the next three days.
On 26 December the officers of the Muslim Battalion invited their colleagues from the Presidential Guard to a party. The cooks prepared the pilaff, and the KGB provided the vodka, cognac, caviar, and other delicacies. Fifteen Afghan officers attended, including Major Jandad, the Guard commander, and Lieutenant Ruzi, who had murdered Taraki on his orders. Many toasts were drunk to Soviet–Afghan friendship. The Soviet waiters carefully served generous portions of vodka to the Afghans, but only water to the Russians. In a remarkable fit of indiscretion, Ruzi told one of the Russians that Taraki had been suffocated on Amin’s orders. Jandad had the man taken away, telling the Russians that he was drunk and talking rubbish. The evening passed off without further incident.
The Russians still did not have good information about the internal layout of the palace. The next day therefore—the day planned for the actual assault—Drozdov persuaded the chief KGB adviser to Amin’s personal guard, Yuri Kutepov, to take him, Kolesnik, and Khalbaev to look round. Drozdov was able to draw a sketch plan of each storey of the building. The Russians asked Jandad if his KGB advisers might take that evening off to attend a birthday party in honour of one of the Soviet officers. He agreed—which probably saved their lives.
Major Romanov and Major Semenov, the commanders of Grom and Zenit, set out separately to familiarise themselves with the terrain over which they would have to lead their men. Their expedition ended in farce and almost frustrated the whole operation. Not far from the palace was a smart restaurant much frequented by Afghan officers, from which there was a first-class view of Taj Bek, the approaches to it, and its defensive arrangements. It was closed, but they found the owner and told him that they were looking for somewhere to celebrate New Year’s Eve with their officers. After observing what they needed, the two officers set off for their base. But on the way they were detained at an Afghan security post. The Afghan soldiers found their documents unconvincing and attempted to disarm them. After four hours and the consumption of a great deal of tea, they managed to persuade the Afghans to let them go. But for a moment it had looked as if their men might have had to go into action without their commanders.
Despite all these comings and goings, those Afghans who survived the assault said later that they had not believed that the Soviets were preparing an assault.
To facilitate the seizure of the palace and the other objectives in the centre of Kabul, and paralyse any Afghan response, the Russians planned to sabotage the government communications system. All the main cables ran through a single conduit just outside the communications centre in the middle of Kabul. The conduit was covered with a heavy slab of concrete. Specialists from Zenit reconnoitred the surroundings and laid their explosive charges. The sound of the explosion itself would be the signal to begin the assault.
Drozdov and Kolesnik gathered their commanders for a briefing on the second floor of the barracks where the Muslim Battalion was based. They told them that Amin had betrayed the April Revolution. Thousands of innocent people had been killed on his orders. He was in contact with the CIA. He therefore had to be eliminated.
Each group was then given its specific mission, its call signs, and its recognition signals. Each soldier handed in his personal documents for security reasons and was given the traditional hundred grams of vodka, and some sausage and bread. Most were too keyed up to eat.
No one questioned the orders. But some of the more perceptive—or cynical—wondered why, if Amin had gone over to the Americans, he had invited Soviet rather than American forces to protect him. Some said that the plan was cr
azy: they would all be killed. Boyarinov was still not entirely familiar with the operational plans and he was visibly nervous.24 Almost none of the others had ever been in action. Some drank vodka to calm their nerves, others took valerian, but it did not help. Some left their cumbersome flak jackets behind so that they could move more freely.
Poison
The KGB had hankered after an alternative to the use of military force: assassination. Attempts had been made, but they had been abortive. KGB snipers had planned to kill Amin on his way to work, but they were frustrated when the Afghans changed their security measures. On 13 December the KGB tried to poison Amin with doctored Pepsi-Cola. Amin was unaffected.25 His nephew Asadullah, the head of the counter-intelligence service, did fall ill. He was sent to Moscow with what the doctors thought was serious hepatitis. There he was arrested and imprisoned in the prison of Matrosskaya Tishina. The Russians returned him to Kabul after the overthrow of Amin. He was interrogated, tortured, and executed.
The KGB did not abandon their attempts to get rid of Amin quietly right up to the very last minute. Hours before the assault was due to begin, Amin organised a lunch party for members of his Politburo, ministers, and their families, in order to show them his splendid new palace and to celebrate the return from Moscow of Politburo member Panjshiri. Amin was in a state of euphoria. He told his colleagues that the Soviets were at last sending troops to support him. They had accepted his version of the death of Taraki and the change in the country’s leadership. Panjshiri’s visit had further strengthened the relationship. ‘Soviet divisions are already on their way here,’ he boasted. ‘Paratroopers are landing in Kabul. Everything is going very well. I am always on the telephone with Comrade Gromyko and we are working together on the line to take with the outside world.’26
But in the course of the meal Amin and several of the guests lost consciousness. Jandad telephoned the Central Military Hospital and the Soviet Embassy polyclinic to get help. The food was sent for analysis and the Afghan cooks were arrested.
It so happened that a delegation of senior Soviet military doctors led by Colonel Alekseev was in Kabul at the time. Colonel Alekseev and Colonel Kuznechkov, a doctor from the embassy’s polyclinic, had been invited to the palace among other things to attend to Amin’s daughter, who had just had a baby.27 They arrived at about two o’clock in the afternoon, accompanied by a woman doctor and a nurse from Kabul. They were subjected to an unusually rigorous search when they arrived, and understood why when they saw people sitting and lying in the vestibule, on the stairs, and in the rooms. Those who had recovered consciousness were doubled up in pain. They had evidently been poisoned, allegedly by a long-standing KGB agent, Mikhail Talybov, who had been infiltrated into Amin’s entourage as a cook. Kryuchkov subsequently maintained that the substance administered was no more than a powerful sleeping draught. If so, they seem to have got the dose wrong.28
The Soviet doctors were summoned to Amin. He was dressed only in his underpants, with his jaw hanging and his eyes rolling. He was in a deep coma and his pulse was very weak. He looked as if he were dying. The doctors immediately set to work to save him and by six o’clock they had succeeded. When he opened his eyes, he asked, ‘What happened? Was it an accident, or was it sabotage?’
Alexander Shkirando, who had been working as a Soviet military interpreter in Afghanistan since September 1978, was also at the palace that day. He too ate whatever it was that had been used to poison Amin and his colleagues. He was taken severely ill, spent six weeks in an Afghan military hospital, and was then evacuated to hospital in Moscow. He did not go back to the military, but returned on many occasions to Afghanistan as a journalist.29
The doctors realised that something very odd was going on, so they sent the nurse and the woman doctor back to Kabul, out of harm’s way. They did not know, of course, that they had frustrated a plan to simplify the whole Soviet military operation by putting Amin out of action before it began.
The Storm
Jandad was greatly disturbed by the incident. He posted additional guards inside and outside the palace and put the Afghan tank brigade on alert.
The time for the assault was altered several times during the day. But at about 6 p.m. Magometov ordered Kolesnik to begin the operation as soon as possible, without waiting for the explosion that was to destroy the communications centre. Twenty minutes later an assault group under Captain Satarov quietly moved out to neutralise the three entrenched Afghan tanks commanding the approaches to the palace. The men covered the last part of the approach on foot through snow up to their waists. The Afghan sentries were rapidly killed by snipers. The tank crews were in their barracks, too far away to get to their vehicles, and the tanks were soon secured.
Now two red rockets were fired to signal the beginning of the assault. It was by then about 7.15 p.m. The palace was fully illuminated inside and out, and the Afghans were sweeping the surroundings with their searchlights. The Soviet Shilka anti-aircraft guns opened fire. The palace walls were so solid that most of the shells simply bounced off, scattering splinters of granite but causing little serious damage.
The 1st company of the Muslim Battalion then moved forward in their armoured fighting vehicles. The KGB special forces groups under the command of Boyarinov travelled with them. They had orders to take no prisoners, and not to stop to aid wounded comrades: their task was to secure the building whatever the odds.
Almost as soon as they started, one of the BMPs (infantry fighting vehicles) from the Muslim Battalion stopped. The driver had lost his nerve, jumped out of the vehicle, and fled. He returned almost immediately: things were even more frightening outside the vehicle.30 The vehicles crashed through the first barrier, crushing the Afghan sentry. They continued under heavy fire, and for the first time the crews heard the unfamiliar, almost unreal, sound of bullets rattling against the armour of their vehicles. They fired back with everything they had and soon the gun smoke inside the vehicles made it almost impossible for the crews to breathe. The safety glass in the vehicles was shot out. A vehicle was hit and caught fire; some of the crew were wounded when they bailed out. One man slipped as he jumped and his legs were crushed under the vehicle. Another vehicle fell off the bridge which the Russians had constructed across the irrigation ditch and the crew were trapped inside. Their commander called for help by radio, and in doing so managed to block the radio link, paralysing the communications of the whole battalion.
The assault force drove as near as they could to the palace walls, disembarked, and threw themselves at the doors and windows of the ground floor. Confusion was increasing by the minute. Unified command had broken down and the soldiers were having to act in small groups on their own initiative. They were pinned down by fire from the defenders of the palace which the artillery had failed to neutralise. There was a moment of panic, and they froze for perhaps five minutes. Then a Shilka destroyed the machine gun which had been firing down from one of the palace windows, and the men picked themselves up and moved forward with their assault ladders.
They burst into the palace in ones and twos. Boyarinov was among them. The entrance hall was brightly lit, and the defenders were shooting and lobbing grenades from the first-floor gallery. The Russians shot out all the light bulbs they could, but some remained burning. They fought their way up the staircase and began to clear the rooms on the first floor with automatic fire and grenades. They heard the crying of women and children. One woman was calling out for Amin. A grenade cut the power supply and the remaining lights went out. Many Russians had already been wounded, including Boyarinov.
The Russians’ distinctive white armbands were by now barely visible under a layer of grime and soot. To make matters worse, Amin’s personal guards were also wearing white armbands. But in the excitement, the Russians were swearing horribly, using the choicest works in the Russian lexicon; and it was this that enabled them to identify one another in the darkness. It also meant that the defenders, many of whom had trained in the Soviet airborne
school in Ryazan, now realised for the first time that they were fighting Soviet troops, not Afghan mutineers as they had thought. They began to surrender, and despite the order not to take prisoners, most of them were spared.
‘Suddenly the shooting stopped,’ one Zenit officer remembered. ‘I reported to General Drozdov by radio that the palace had been taken, that there were many dead and wounded, and that the main thing was ended.’31
During the fighting, Colonel Alekseev and Colonel Kuznechkov, the two Soviet doctors, had hidden as best they could in the ballroom. There they caught sight of Amin, walking painfully along the corridor in white shorts and a T-shirt, illuminated by the fires that had broken out, covered with tubes and holding up his arms to which the bottles of medical solution were still attached, ‘looking like grenades’. Alekseev left his shelter and removed the tubes and the bottles, pressing the veins with his fingers to stem the blood. He then took Amin to the bar. A child emerged from one of the side doors, crying and rubbing his eyes with his fists. It was Amin’s five-year-old son. Amin and the small boy both sat down by the wall.
Amin still not realise what was happening. He told his adjutant to telephone the Soviet military advisers: ‘The Soviets will help.’ The adjutant said that it was the Soviets who were doing the firing. Amin threw an ashtray at him in a fury and accused him of lying. But after he himself had tried and failed to get through to the Chief of the Afghan General Staff he quietly muttered, ‘I guessed it. It’s all true.’32
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