Afgantsy

by Rodric Braithwaite

  The soldiers knew well enough what they wanted from their officers: competence and fairness, personal courage, tactical skill, and a sense that their lives would not be sacrificed unnecessarily. What they did not want, but felt they got too often, were commanders more concerned with promoting their military careers than caring for their soldiers’ lives. These are the concerns of soldiers throughout the ages: Private Warren Olney, who fought for the Union in one of the first battles of the American Civil War, expressed himself in almost the same terms.37

  Long after they had served together in Bakharak, Alexander Gergel called on his company commander, Captain Yevgeni Konovalov, in retirement. ‘With his Cossack moustaches he was dashing in appearance, lively, full of joie de vivre in every word and movement… When I now look back over those past events, I am horrified to think what a difficult position the company commander found himself in: on the one hand, the oppressive commands of his superiors and on the other, the commands of his conscience, which prevented him from sacrificing his eighteen-year-old soldiers to promote the interests of a few careerists, who looked on the war as a way of getting on in the service more quickly. I greatly respected my commander when I was serving with him. But later I respected him even more when I understood how much he had really done to protect us, and to ensure that we got back safe and sound to our parents. Under Konovalov, our company was one of the best. But I think that he soon understood the pointlessness of the war, and was determined not to expose his people unnecessarily to hostile fire, or carry out stupid orders with too much zeal.’38

  ‘The main thing,’ said Alexander Kartsev about his time as an infantry lieutenant, ‘was to keep the men occupied with real work. After I… was sent to command a platoon at a guard post, I found that the senior soldiers (and the cronies of the deputy platoon commander) had got into the habit of making the new arrivals do sentry duty at the worst times: at night and before dawn. Since I had to sign the roster, it was not difficult to see what was going on. And if instead of sleeping you go round the sentries twice a night, you see and learn a great deal. We sorted out the problem within a week.

  ‘Then we made sure that the men were always busy, so that they did not have too much free time. In addition to the necessary business of strengthening our fortifications, I organised daily PT sessions. We had no radio or television, the newspapers arrived irregularly, and we were seriously short of information. So in the evening I got each soldier to talk about his home and his family, and those who could play the guitar or the harmonium would put on concerts.

  ‘And the platoon commander needed to know his men: not only his deputy, but the four sergeants, the Komsomol secretary, the medical orderly, the drivers, the gunners. That was already half of the platoon; and you got to know the rest by inspecting the sentries at night.

  ‘Of course, I was lucky. I didn’t go to Afghanistan immediately I had finished officer school, but did specialist training for another whole year. It could be difficult for the young lieutenants who went out to Afghanistan straight from their basic training. The sergeants were often more experienced than they were and they found it hard to establish their authority. Many of them were too arrogant to sleep in the same tents as the men, as I did; others became too familiar with the soldiers, and their authority was undermined. The trick was to find the golden mean.’39

  Russians and Afghans

  Russians later claimed that, despite all the brutalities of the war, on a human level they got on with the Afghan population rather well—better than the NATO soldiers who succeeded them.

  It is a large claim, but it may be justified. Because many Soviet soldiers came from poor rural backgrounds, they could relate to the Afghan peasants and the lives they lived. Andrei Ponomarev, who served in Bakharak, came from a village in the Kaluga province south of Moscow. For a while he was stationed at a zastava guarding a bridge across the river which was manned by Afghans as well as Soviet soldiers. The Afghans lived in dugouts interspersed with the Russian ones. Ponomarev got on well with the Afghan conscript soldiers, who were on the whole better fed than the Russians. In civilian life they were peasants like him: only the land they had to cultivate was much poorer than that in Kaluga. They were anxious to learn Russian, and he did what he could to teach them.40

  Ponomarev’s comrade Alexander Gergel put it like this: ‘I can’t answer for all of my fellow soldiers, but I myself never felt any hatred towards the Afghan people. Every now and again, when the conditions in which I was living became particularly unbearable, it seemed to me that it was the locals who were to blame for everything. I was irritated to the point when I wanted to mow down each and every one of them. But then I saw the people working in their barren fields and I felt sympathy for them all over again. Fury and hatred broke through only when I was in battle. When we fought we were often outnumbered by the enemy. And we rarely got air support. So one could say that we fought as equals: we had the better weapons, but they were better at tactics, fighting as they were in surroundings with which they were familiar.’41

  Quite junior Soviet commanders worked out their own deals with the local villages and mujahedin commanders, and especially of course with those who represented the regime—soldiers, policemen, the head of the village defence force. The relationship was a complex one. Fighting alternated with cooperation and compromise: an informal ceasefire, a willingness to turn a blind eye to smuggling provided weapons were not involved. The tiny detachments in the zastavas had little choice but to get on with the local villagers: they could not otherwise have survived. For that purpose they were supplied with goods for barter and bribe: canned food, sugar, cigarettes, soap, kerosene, matches, used clothing and shoes, and so on.

  The 2nd Battalion of the 345th Guards Independent Parachute Assault Regiment kept an eye on the lower reaches of the Pandsher Valley. Their headquarters was in a little fort in Anava. Their doctors would help with simple medicine where they could. They showed films to the villagers and exchanged visits with the local authorities. They tried to mediate in incomprehensible local conflicts. They provided the poorest families with flour, tinned food, vegetable oil, salt, sugar, and condensed milk. Their officers would be invited to dinner by the KhAD representative in Anava to meet the local worthies: the secretary of the party committee, the head of the local administration, the local doctor and teacher. There would be portraits of Lenin and Gorbachev on the wall, generous food, sweets from Pakistan served on delicate porcelain, meat, rice, potatoes, onions, against a background of popular Afghan music from a tape recorder. The mujahedin bombarded the fort in a desultory manner, usually on Sundays, and the Russians responded by shelling the local mountains. The mujahedin did try once to storm one of the battalion’s zastavas, but that was an exception: they were getting their own back because they had recently lost a caravan.42

  Much depended on the personality of the local commanders, both of the Soviet soldiers and of the mujahedin bands. Alexander Kartsev was on good terms with the locals. But the commander of the neighbouring zastava was not. His zastava was regularly attacked, while Kartsev and his people were on the whole left alone.

  Kartsev used his limited medical skills to improve his relationship with the villagers. Because they had had no contact with modern medicines they reacted well to aspirins, standard antibiotics, and so on. Kartsev’s reputation grew. On one occasion he was kidnapped while he was tending his patients in the local village. He feared the worst, but it turned out that the brother of the local mujahedin commander, Anwar, had accidentally shot himself and Kartsev was needed to cure him. Luckily for him, he succeeded in doing so.

  Some months later, two Afghan government BMPs arrived at his zastava carrying several local officials. They had come to negotiate a deal with Anwar. It was a trap: Anwar took them prisoner and threatened to kill them. Colonel Wahid, commanding the local KhAD, asked Kartsev to negotiate the release of the men and the vehicles. Kartsev was escorted to see Anwar, who told him that he would release the BMPs, but the
prisoners would be executed, because they were allies of the enemies of Islam. As a gesture to Kartsev, they would not be tortured. Kartsev argued that it was wrong to kill envoys and that reprisals would certainly be taken against the village and the crops. Many of the faithful would die. Anwar thought it over, consulted his colleagues, and let both the prisoners and the BMPs go.43

  The relationships worked in other complicated ways. In August 1984 an Afghan tank regiment was involved in a joint operation in Paktia province. One of the regiment’s tanks was blown up by a remote-controlled mine, rolled over and crushed a KhAD officer. A week later an old man and his four sons turned up in the office of the regiment’s Soviet adviser. The brothers were tall and powerful, festooned with weapons like a Christmas tree. They told the adviser that the dead KhAD officer was their brother. He had studied in the Soviet Union, but they were with the mujahedin. The adviser gave them tea, talked about the weather, then showed them on the map where the mine had gone off and gave them the name of the local rebel commander. They thanked him and went off to revenge themselves on the man who had placed the mine which killed their brother.44

  The Lion of Pandsher

  The most elaborate of these ambiguous relationships between the Russians and their enemies was that with Ahmad Shah Masud, who caught the imagination of Afghans and Russians alike with his gallant defence of the Pandsher Valley. Masud, whose name meant ‘the lucky one’, was an authentic and charismatic hero, the most competent and statesmanlike of all the rebel leaders. ‘Pandsher’ was supposed to mean ‘the Five Lions’ and Masud was widely called the ‘Lion of Pandsher’. General Ter-Grigoriants, who fought against him, called him ‘a very worthy opponent and a highly competent organiser of military operations. His opportunities for securing weapons and ammunition were extremely limited, and his equipment was distinctly inferior to that of the Soviet and government forces. But he was nevertheless able to organise the defence of the Pandsher in a way which made it very difficult for us to break through and to take control of the valley.’45

  Masud came from the kishlak of Jangalak in the Pandsher Valley. His father was a professional army officer from an influential local family. He studied engineering at the Polytechnic Institute in Kabul, where he was drawn towards the Islamic ideas of the fundamentalist Gulbeddin Hekmatyar and the more moderate Burhanuddin Rabbani, and joined the Muslim Youth organisation, which drew much of its inspiration from the Muslim Brothers in the Middle East. The Muslim Youth was not merely a study group. Its members attacked women they considered improperly dressed and brawled with their Maoist and Communist opponents. In the spring of 1973 the Muslim Youth split into the Islamic Party of Afghanistan (Hezbi-I Islami) under Hekmatyar and the Islamic Society of Afghanistan (Jamiat-I Islami) under Rabbani. Masud allied himself with the more moderate Rabbani; but when Hekmatyar bungled an army coup against Daud, he fled with the leading Islamists to Pakistan.

  He soon returned to the Pandsher to organise a rising against Daud. His men captured the main administrative centre at Rukha and other key villages. But he mishandled the politics: he failed to secure the support of the local inhabitants, and the criminals he released from the local prison went on the rampage. Once again he sought refuge in Pakistan. But he had learned an important lesson: success in guerrilla warfare depends on having the people on your side.

  Masud applied this lesson very carefully during the war against the Russians. He ensured that his people had a minimum of food and shelter, and during the Russian incursions he moved them away from the bombs and the soldiers into the side valleys or up into the high mountains. He stuck closely to the fundamental maxim that irregular fighters should always avoid direct confrontation with their enemies. Until the war against the Russians was over, he did his best to keep clear of the vicious internecine fighting which so often erupted between rival mujahedin forces. He systematically built up institutions of local government and administration, financed with taxes imposed on precious stones mined in the area, land, goods, and on Panshiris living in Kabul. It was always his eventual ambition to win power in Kabul itself and in 1984 he began military operations outside the valley. None of the other mujahedin commanders had the same broad ambitions and the same interest in institution building.46

  The vicious fighting in the Pandsher Valley in the first years of the war gave the Russians a healthy respect for Masud’s military skills and in January 1983 they negotiated a ceasefire with him which was more or less scrupulously observed by both sides until April 1984. The negotiator was a colonel in the GRU, Anatoli Tkachev, who had been unimpressed with the failure of successive operations in the Pandsher Valley. He spoke first to General Akhromeev, at that time still a member of the Ministry of Defence’s Operational Group in Kabul. ‘I told him that we ought to try to reach an agreement with Ahmad Shah on a ceasefire, since the peaceful population was being killed by artillery and air strikes, and soldiers were being killed by the mujahedin. He answered that all those old men, women, and children were relatives of the rebels, and as for the deaths of our soldiers, they were only doing their duty. If one was killed, ten more could be sent to take his place. Ahmad Shah should be brought to his knees and made to lay down his weapons.’

  Tkachev’s idea was, however, supported by the head of the GRU in Afghanistan, and by Akhromeev’s superior, Marshal Sokolov. In reply to a proposal for a meeting which Tkachev sent through agents among the Pansheri refugees in Kabul, Masud laid down the conditions. The meeting was to take place on New Year’s Eve 1983, in the Pandsher Valley on territory controlled by his men. Tkachev was to go to the meeting by night, unarmed, and without an escort.

  At nightfall on New Year’s Eve Tkachev set out with his interpreter for the meeting place. As soon as he got there he fired a rocket, the agreed signal, and a group of rebels emerged from the frozen darkness, led by the head of Masud’s counter-intelligence, Tajmudin. Tajmudin asked Tkachev if he would like to rest. ‘No,’ said Tkachev, ‘let’s get a move on. The business is the main thing.’ They marched through the night for about four hours until they reached Bazarak, the place where Tkachev was to meet Masud.

  ‘The attitude of the mujahedin was quite friendly. They put us up in a well-heated room. There was no electricity, but there was a kerosene lamp and a Soviet stove. The mujahedin looked at us carefully as we began to get undressed, in case we had explosives hidden under our clothes. Then they offered us tea, and brought in mattresses and clean bed linen—all army stuff, with official stamps on it. We went to bed at about four in the morning and slept in the same room as the mujahedin.

  ‘At breakfast the following morning, we were given all the traditional honours: we were the first to wash our hands and to dry them with a fresh towel, the first to break the bread, and the first to begin eating plov from the common bowl. We were consumed by curiosity as we waited to see Masud: after all, no Soviet officer had seen him before, even in photographs.

  ‘Exactly at the time laid down, three or four armed men came into the room. These were Masud’s bodyguards. Immediately behind them appeared a young and not very tall man. He was dark-haired, dressed in traditional Afghan costume, and the expression on his face was of concentration and openness: quite unlike the picture painted by our propaganda.

  ‘After a second’s confusion we exchanged traditional greetings and general conversation in the best Afghan style for about half an hour. Then we were left in the room alone. Masud suggested we get down to business. We began by discussing the history of friendly and traditionally good neighbourly relations between Afghanistan and the Soviet Union. Masud said sadly, “What a great pity that your forces invaded Afghanistan. The leaders of both countries made the greatest possible mistake. You could call it a crime against the Afghan and Soviet peoples.” But as for the Kabul regime, he was and would remain their implacable opponent: once the Soviet forces had left, they would have no future.

  ‘When we made the points which had been laid down by our superiors, he was a bit surprised that t
here were no ultimatums, no demands for capitulation. Our central proposal was for a mutual ceasefire in Pandsher and common measures to enable the local population to lead a normal life. We debated for most of the day and the end result was a genuine ceasefire. The civilian population returned to the Pandsher, the situation on the road between Salang and Kabul became very much more quiet, and there was no major military operation in the Pandsher Valley until April 1984.

  ‘However, this did not suit the Kabul regime, which continually insisted that the Soviet military should take offensive action against Masud. For this reason the ceasefire was broken by us more than once. For example, during one of my subsequent meetings with Masud we heard the sound of helicopters approaching. I said to Masud that as there was a ceasefire we need not worry about the helicopters, but he said that we should go to the shelter just in case. We had barely done that when the helicopters struck the house and half of it was destroyed. Masud pointed to the ruins and said, “International assistance in action.”

  ‘The next day I was shown an Afghan government intelligence report which said that there had been a strike the previous day, at one o’clock in the afternoon, on a kishlak where Masud and a number of other rebel leaders had been meeting. All had been killed. Masud’s arms had been torn off and his skull split. I said that I had been drinking tea with Masud six hours after the alleged strike: so I must have been drinking with a corpse.’47

  The Soldiers Off Duty

  Even on the larger posts the soldiers’ day was so filled with physical training, compulsory sports, weapons drill, guard duties, and domestic chores that many yearned to go out on operations to relieve the boredom. But some provision was made for them to relax. The bigger bases had, in addition to the ‘Lenin Room’, a library where the soldiers could borrow books and chat up the woman librarian. In the Voentorg military shop, the soldiers could use their exiguous pay to buy cigarettes, confectionery, and occasionally Japanese-made electronic gadgets. For Sergeant Fedorov the shop in the base of the 860th Independent Motor-rifle Regiment in Faisabad was a treasure house: ‘There were things in it that we could never have imagined in the Soviet Union… Eau-de-Cologne, lotion, and other products containing alcohol… were sold under strict control, because some people simply diluted them with water before they drank them; others were clever enough to distil them into proper drinks. Some goods, such as briefcases and sports clothes, were distributed by the political officers to the politically correct or to those who had distinguished themselves in battle. Electrical goods such as tape recorders were held back for the officers. The shortages, real or artificially created, simply led to corruption within the garrison. If you had cheques [military currency] you could get everything, even vodka and champagne.’48