Afgantsy
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The garrison from Jalalabad was the first to leave. A tribunal was hastily erected on the parade ground for the benefit of the senior Soviet officers and Afghan local politicians. A group of uncommunicative UN military observers was there to ensure that the Geneva Agreements were properly carried out. Behind the tribunal was a buffet loaded with ham, sausage, cheese—things the garrison never normally saw. At dawn the armoured vehicles were drawn up on the square, their crews beside them. Their faces were grim, unsmiling, exhausted, as they listened to the endless speeches. Their officers congratulated them on having fulfilled their ‘international duty’. Crowds of Afghans gathered to wave them goodbye. They threw bouquets of flowers at the departing troops. Among the flowers were other small gifts: stones and pieces of camel dung.33 Then the orchestra played the traditional march, ‘The Slav Girl’s Farewell’, and the column started on the hundred mile journey to Kabul, through the passes where the British Army of the Indus had been wiped out in January 1842. The battle helicopters clattered overhead to protect it from attack, turning aside to investigate when little puffs of gun smoke from the mountainsides revealed the presence of snipers.
‘All along the way,’ wrote David Gai, a Soviet journalist who accompanied the column, ‘was what remained of the roadside kishlaks. Not one was undamaged: the walls were overturned, the houses were smashed, the trees were twisted. The fields were bare and uncultivated, the irrigation systems had been turned into marsh. And who had gained from the way everything had been reduced to useless collapse? How much effort would have to be put into restoring life to that dead space? The futility of those 3,200 (or however many it was) days of war made one’s eyes burn with shame… The only good thing was that the boys were going home.’34
Soviet long-range bombers continued to strike mujahedin positions around Kandahar and Jalalabad after the troops had left.35
The 860th Independent Motor-rifle Regiment also left Afghanistan as part of the first wave. By then Alexander Gergel had long returned home. He got the story of his battalion’s last days in Bakharak from Anastas Lizauskas, whom he tracked down on the Internet in 2005.
The fighting went on to the last. The rumour spread among the soldiers that a foreign film maker, who had made one film about the Russians destroying peaceful villages, now wanted to make another about the destruction of a Soviet battalion. He encouraged the mujahedin to attack. The Russians and the mujahedin bombarded one another inconclusively for a week. As an Afghan general came to take over the fort the soldiers, furious at leaving with their tails between their legs after nine years of war, erupted in an orgy of destruction. They put shells down the lavatories, destroyed the sports facilities, set fire to the sleeping quarters, knocked down the memorials in the Alley of Glory, and destroyed the vehicles while the Afghan soldiers looked on in silent rage. As a final gesture, someone fired a signal rocket into the canteen. Then the soldiers, each with his personal weapon and as much loot as he could squeeze into a sack, hurried to the helicopters. The mujahedin were already closing in from the mountains. A week later the Afghan soldiers handed the fort over to the mujahedin. It was destroyed in subsequent months by a series of strikes by Soviet and Afghan government aircraft.36
The Second Phase of the Withdrawal: Winter 1988–9
The second phase of the withdrawal was supposed to begin in November, before the heavy snows settled. This timetable was disrupted by the mujahedin, by Najibullah’s government, and by conflicts within the Soviet administration both in Kabul and in Moscow.
The mujahedin were still receiving arms and other supplies from the Pakistanis and the Americans. According to Soviet figures, 172 large caravans arrived in September and October alone.37 By now Najibullah was deeply worried that his interests and those of the Soviet Union were rapidly diverging. In early September he told Varennikov with remarkable frankness that he was doing everything he could to slow the departure of the Soviet forces so as to offset American and Pakistani violations of the Geneva Agreements. Varennikov told Najibullah firmly that both Soviet and international opinion would be incensed if the Soviet troops did not leave on time.38 Najibullah returned to the charge in October, when he met the senior Soviet representatives in Kabul. Masud was the main problem, he said, and would have to be dealt with by military means if negotiation failed. He claimed for good measure that Masud was plotting with the CIA to let in the Americans.39
There was sympathy for Najibullah both in Moscow and among the senior Russians in Kabul: they had put him in place and they could not with honour abandon him. For them, too, the main problem was Masud; but they disagreed among themselves on what should be done. Once it was clear that the Soviets were indeed going to withdraw, Masud’s men had been careful to avoid provocation, especially along the Salang Highway. But government forces were continuing to fire upon the neighbouring villages, and Masud warned that if this did not stop, he would take counter-measures. Varennikov helped negotiate a temporary ceasefire: by now it had become normal for Soviet commanders of all levels to make such arrangements with the elders of nearby kishlaks and the commanders of rebel groupings as a way of reducing losses.40 But the practice was not appreciated or understood by the Afghan government leaders, who believed that the Russians were intriguing with the opposition because they did not want to fight.
Varennikov believed that the Russians had an interest in remaining on reasonable terms with Masud. Masud was highly effective militarily, he commanded unequalled authority among the people, he had ordered his men not to attack the Soviet forces, and he was being obeyed. Although he remained a determined opponent of the government, in accordance with the Policy of National Reconciliation his forces fired only if they were fired on. Varennikov pointed out to Moscow that if the Russians did what Najibullah wanted, and resumed military action against Masud, the 40th Army would suffer heavy losses, the withdrawal timetable would be disrupted, the Soviet Union would be in breach of the Geneva Agreements, and domestic opinion would be outraged. Masud was of course the main threat to the Kabul regime, and would probably step up his military activity once the Soviets had left. But in the long run he could become a major political figure in post-war Afghanistan, someone with whom the Soviet Union could cooperate. It was better to have him as an ally than an enemy. The Soviets should get into direct contact with him through intelligence channels.41
At this point a new player arrived on the scene: Yuli Vorontsov, Yegorychev’s replacement as ambassador in Kabul, and one of the Soviet Union’s most experienced diplomats. Vorontsov had already had some direct dealings with the mujahedin. On 6 December he met Rabbani and other representatives of the Alliance of Seven in Saudi Arabia.42 The meeting got off to an awkward start until Rabbani decided that he could after all shake hands with the representative of the enemy. Vorontsov said that the Soviets would leave as they had promised. Rabbani clearly thought he was lying and said, ‘What do you mean, you’re leaving? You have put so much into Afghanistan. So many of your people have died there. You’re not going to leave. Stop talking rubbish!’ Vorontsov replied that from now on Afghans like Rabbani were going to have to be responsible for their own country. Once the Soviets left, Afghanistan could expect no more assistance from them. He repeated the message when he met the mujahedin again in Islamabad. The Russians did not want to leave in a welter of blood, said Vorontsov, and appealed to them to respond in kind. They replied, ‘If you really leave, then we won’t shoot at you.’ They more or less kept their promise.43
On 18 December Varennikov wrote to Masud direct. He suggested that representatives from both sides should meet within a week. He made concrete proposals for managing the highway from Kabul to Khairaton to ensure that food and other goods continued to flow. If Masud was willing to guard the highway, the necessary agreements should be signed with the local authorities along the road. If not, the Soviet and Afghan forces would set up their own posts; and would take appropriate measures if Masud’s men fired on them.
Lyakhovski drew up a list of po
litical propositions to be discussed with Masud. These included the creation of an autonomous Tajik region in the north, with its own armed forces operating under the general authority of the Afghan military; a centrally backed plan for economic development; representation in the organs of central government; direct trade and economic and cultural links between the autonomous Tajik region and their cousins in Soviet Tajikistan. These ideas were approved by Varennikov, Vorontsov, and, rather surprisingly, the Afghan leadership.
They did not, however, survive the strong pressure for military action against Masud which had now developed in Moscow. Yazov, Kryuchkov, and Shevardnadze all favoured it, and accused Varennikov of conspiring behind the backs of his superiors and refusing to carry out their orders and the requests of the Afghan government.44 Yazov rang Gromov direct to ask why Masud had not yet been dealt with. When Gromov objected that the operation would be bloody and pointless, Yazov said, ‘Get on with it, and smash him.’
The military caved, and launched air strikes against Masud’s men deployed around the lapis lazuli mines outside the Pandsher itself. Masud was told that the strikes were a deliberate warning. Inevitably he regarded them as a serious breach of faith by the Russians. His reply was swift and conclusive. He wrote on 26 December: ‘I was already wanting to go to meet the Soviet representatives when I got your last letter. I will speak quite plainly. We have already had to bear this war and your invasion for ten years. God willing, we will manage to stick it out for a few more days. But if you take military action, we will resist appropriately. That is all I have to say! From today we will put our detachments and groups on full military alert.’
That was the last attempt by the Soviet military to negotiate with Masud. But there was to be one more military action against him. In the middle of January Shevardnadze visited Kabul. Najibullah asked that Soviet troops should remain—temporarily—to guard the Salang Highway; and that Soviet bombers should be on permanent alert at bases close to Afghanistan to strike the rebels if necessary. He complained that no major operation had been mounted against Masud for four whole years. As long as Masud survived, it would be impossible to get supplies through to the capital. That was the key to whether the present regime lived or died. Shevardnadze pointed out the international implications: Najibullah’s proposal would bring the Soviet Union into conflict with the USA and Pakistan. But he promised to look into the matter and told the senior Soviet representatives in Kabul that, to prevent a blockade of the capital, Soviet forces should remain, perhaps indefinitely, to guard Kabul airport and the road across the Salang. He instructed the embassy to work out a plan to leave twelve thousand soldiers behind, either under UN auspices or as ‘volunteers’.
Varennikov and his colleagues were furious at what they saw as yet another betrayal of the military by Shevardnadze and the other politicians to serve Najibullah’s political ambitions. Gritting their teeth, they put the withdrawal on hold while they planned for what they called, perhaps with deliberate irony, Operation Typhoon, the code name which the Germans had given to their offensive against Moscow in 1941. The operation was due to begin on 24 January. Najibullah appealed to the population along the road to move out for the time being. Heavy artillery and rocket launchers were put in place.
Meanwhile Shevardnadze forwarded to Moscow another proposal from Najibullah that the Soviets should send a brigade to lift the blockade of Kandahar and protect arms convoys to the city. When he heard of it, Chernyaev exploded. ‘Has he gone off his head? Doesn’t he see Najibullah is laying a trap to ensure we don’t leave, and to embroil us with the Americans and the whole of the rest of the world? Or hasn’t he got the guts to produce the counter-arguments?’ Najibullah’s regime was finished anyway: all the Soviets could now do was save his skin. Chernyaev listened in as Gorbachev phoned Shevardnadze. Shevardnadze started to blame the military. Chernyaev interrupted: ‘All the military have done is to work out the technicalities of the political plan which you’ve agreed with Najibullah. But that plan is clean contrary to our whole policy, and to plain common sense, without mentioning the losses to which you will be exposing our boys.’
‘You’ve not been there,’ replied Shevardnadze angrily. ‘You’ve no idea all the things we have done there in the past ten years!’
‘But why should we compound our crimes! What’s the logic in that? We’re not going to be able to save Najibullah anyway…’
‘But he says that if he can hold out for a year after we leave, he will be able to survive indefinitely…’
‘And you believe that? And for that you’re ready to sacrifice our boys and break the engagement we gave in Geneva?’45
The Politburo met on 24 January. Shevardnadze insisted that the Soviet Union could not be indifferent to the fate of Najibullah’s regime. Ten to fifteen thousand Soviet troops should be left behind, not least because they would be guarding the roads along which the army would withdraw. Once again he was supported by Kryuchkov. But Gorbachev summed up against him. The Soviet Union had a moral obligation towards Najibullah: everything should be done to help him survive as long as he could. But there were only twenty days left and the withdrawal was to be completed on time.
Operation Typhoon
The Politburo decision came too late to halt Typhoon. Yazov had already ordered Varennikov to begin the operation a day early, on 23 January. It lasted for two days.46 The morale of the troops was by now at rock bottom. Why, the soldiers wondered, should they risk their lives yet again, on the eve of departure for a homeland where, they knew, the war was seen as unjust, no better than the American performance in Vietnam. One young officer asked his superior on the eve of the operation, ‘Why does there have to be more bloodshed?… I will try to encourage the men in my battalion. But I tell you frankly, that if I am ordered to shoot, I will carry out the order, but I will hate myself.’47
Fighter bombers and heavy bombers from bases inside the Soviet Union launched more than a thousand sorties against the rebel bases. More than four hundred strikes were carried out by rocket and conventional artillery. At times the bombardment resembled the massive storm of artillery which preceded the Red Army’s great offensives in the Second World War.48 After it was over, the staff of the 40th Army reported that six hundred rebels had been killed. The survivors were demoralised, and continued air and artillery strikes were preventing them from regrouping and bringing up reinforcements. A tented camp had been put up for the civilian refugees, and army political officers were busy explaining to them that what had happened was the consequence of Masud’s ‘criminal position’. The Soviets lost three dead and five wounded. They did not try to count the civilian dead.
Masud’s reaction was swift and bitter. Nothing, he wrote to Vorontsov, had been changed by the ‘cruel and shameful actions’ of the Russians. Ten years of a horrible war should have taught the Soviets that the Afghan people could not be brought to their knees by force and threats. Instead the Russians were continuing to support ‘a handful of hirelings, who have betrayed themselves and for whom there is no place in the future of the country’. He hoped that the new Soviet leadership would understand that they could not impose a dying regime on a Muslim people, and that they would gather the courage to act in accordance with reality and with their own convictions.49
The judgement of the Soviet military was just as bitter. General Sotskov, who was the Chief Soviet Military Adviser in Kabul in 1988 and 1989, wrote of Operation Typhoon, ‘Almost ten years of the war were reflected as if in a mirror in three days and three nights: political cynicism and military cruelty, the absolute defencelessness of some and the pathological need to kill and destroy of others. Three awful days absorbed in themselves ten years of bloodletting.’50
Once Operation Typhoon was over, the Soviet withdrawal resumed on 27 January. Civilians and soldiers had been pulling out since the New Year—the families had left earlier. The weather conditions were exceptionally difficult, with snow, fog, and icy roads especially on the Salang Pass. Avalanches formed obst
acles of snow and stone for many miles which had to be cleared by the engineers. But the work was done, and the long columns of armoured vehicles and lorries continued to move north according to the timetable set by the generals and the Geneva Agreements.51
The Soviet aircraft based in Bagram flew out between 30 January and 3 February. By 4 February the last troops had left Kabul. As they moved north the guard battalions placed to secure their passage folded seamlessly in behind them. In these two last weeks of the war the Russians lost thirty-nine more men. One of them was Igor Lakhovich, of the 345th Guards Independent Parachute Assault Regiment, who was shot by a sniper and left Afghanistan wrapped in a groundsheet and bound to the deck of a BMP, according to legend the last Soviet soldier to be killed in the war.
General Sebrov, who had entered Afghanistan with the 103rd Division in 1979, was not impressed by the official speeches, the crowds, and the flowers. He summed it up bitterly: ‘The country we had been helping in every possible way for ten years now lay in ruins. Everyone had contributed to the destruction… but a significant part of the blame lay on us. It was impossible not to be struck by the change in people’s attitude to our army and our soldiers. We were greeted with sympathy and friendship when we came in. Now the ordinary Afghans threatened and insulted us as we departed.’52
Crossing the Bridge
General Gromov, the commander of the 40th Army, woke up as usual, and in a good mood, at half past six on 14 February 1989 in Tashkurgan, about an hour’s drive from the frontier. Once upon a time Tashkurgan boasted an ancient and famously beautiful market, but that was destroyed in the fighting. For much of the war it was the base of a motor-rifle regiment, and since January it had been the last headquarters of the 40th Army. Now the Afghans were wandering around the place as if they owned it, working out the value of the buildings of which they were soon to take possession. At ten o’clock Gromov’s small column, the Reconnaissance Battalion of the 201st Division, set out for Khairaton, the transit base on the Afghan side of the river.