style="font-size:15px;"> Zheka explained that he was in Moscow only for a few days and was just passing through. He served in a small parish where there were not enough clergy. The parish membership was increasing and many new churches were opening.
He had come here for church celebrations, meetings, and training. He had a fiancée – a god-fearing, honest, and faithful young woman.
After he was expelled from the institute, his resume, showing his education and work, were very poor. His own father didn't even want to help him, saying, "Go on now; serve in the army. I served; now it's your turn. So, you didn't want to study? The army will help you to learn." And even though his father could've bought his son a way out of serving at all, or set him up in a comfy job somewhere, he did nothing of the sort. He had pretty much soured on his son.
The Spring recruitment round[4] called up Zheka to serve. After his physical test, the Lieutenant-Colonel went up to Zheka and roughly addressed him, "So, you like to fight. You're a hot number, huh? What I'll tell you: let's just send you somewhere you'll get enough fighting and make good use of your talent. Do you want to be in the paratroopers? Not afraid?"
"No."
"Well, then, happy trails and God bless."
He was sent to join the Fergana paratrooper regiment in Turkistan. While they were on the train a few days later, they found out that most likely they would be sent to Afghanistan. In Fergana there was a boot camp and a regiment on active duty in Afghanistan.
Zheka had a terrible feeling about it all because – both in his home town as well as in Moscow – he knew a lot of people who had been wounded or killed, or who had lost someone in Afghanistan.
Newspapers weren't saying much about it, or if they did, they wrote articles of glory, and only people who could read between the lines in Soviet papers understood how badly things were going.
Chapter VI
Afghanistan
What awaited him in Fergana was an intensive boot camp,[5] where soldiers trained, studied, and prepared for about three months before being sent to Afghanistan. It was no way out of it; it was tough, not least because of the strict boot-camp instructors. Their sergeants meted out severe punishment for the slightest infraction. Soldiers and sergeants called the officers jackals because of their even higher demands. Yet their grueling discipline was fairly justified since all officers and sergeants had gone through many field operations in actual battle. They would fly in for new recruits to refresh their ranks. They knew what would wait these greenhorns.
They were trained in firearms, hand-to-hand combat, parachute jumping, a number of desert combat scenarios, and went through extreme physical training. Then they were sent for a few weeks to the mountains, where Zheka thought he would die from exhaustion. Sometimes they would hike for 20–30 km. in full battle gear while still carrying on various battle engagement scenarios and shooting practice. His feet ended up looking like one big callus of blood and pus however he would try to wind socks around them. They got a half canteen of water a day.
But the real hell and torture began three months later when they were sent to Afghanistan.
Arthur's notes didn't contain the exact names of all the cities or people. The only ones written down were Kabul, Kandahar, Zelenka, and most of all – Bagram. On the one hand, it was easier in Afghanistan because there weren't any combat drills pulled on them in the middle of the night. On the other hand, there was continual psychological tension combined with a backdrop of steady, heavy physical labor.
The first two months they were stationed at a large base. Their part of the camp was fired on from the neighboring mountains in the first week and two from the first company died and several were injured. This was their baptism by fire and he understood – it was no joke.
Zheka began praying to God with the first shots: "God protect me. Save me if you are there!" He had not expected this to be coming from him of all people. After all, he had only heard of God from his old grandmother, way back in his childhood. She hadn't really told him a lot, just general sorts of things – how to pray, to cross your heart, and who Jesus Christ was.
Few months later, he got severe intestinal pains and after a couple days in the hospital, he was sent to another battalion whose duty was to maintain security over a remote region. They had to hold several high ridges in their hands, guarantee the security of various convoys, and carry out reconnaissance raids.
These were tough times in every way. Even though it was fall, it was hot and dry and it became windier every day. In November, strong sand storms kicked in and the nights became colder and colder. But the hardest thing to get used to was the heavy losses to the Soviet army. Death, injury, and missing in action were commonplace.
The mujahedeen were getting more experienced, trained by American mercenaries who provided them the most modern weapons. 'Stingers' were the most dangerous – they easily shot down helicopters. Shooting on convoys or laying down punitive fire on the paratroopers' motorized brigades was now the norm, using American and captured Soviet rockets.
The hardest thing to take was that everyone understood the senselessness of the fighting and that the so-called 'international aid' was not what this country needed.
Planes returned to the USSR full of wounded or with 'load 200 , as the zinc caskets were called. When there wasn't room, the caskets sat under the hot sun for some time before take off.
Many soldiers in this battalion who had been on repeated tours of duty with only a month left to serve did whatever they could to be able to return home alive and in one piece. It was considered to be the worst thing to have served two years in this hell and to be injured or killed just before being sent home.
For the battalion, the last year was the hardest of the whole Afghan campaign. About half of them either died or were wounded and those that survived suffered from infections. As a result, a lot of new soldiers and officers were brought in who mostly hadn't seen battle yet.
Zheka had a year and a half left to serve. It seemed to last an eternity, as every day for him stretched out painfully and despairingly. As if things weren't bad enough, he fell asleep on sentry duty one night, which had extremely unpleasant consequences. The battalion's guard cussed him out roundly, and after he was dismissed, the sergeant gave him a professional knockout punch, telling him, "Because of people like you, whole companies get cut to pieces." In the morning the battalion commander roared at him, "So, you like to sleep on guard duty? We'll pack you off to Parkhomin's unit. You won't fall asleep there."
And so he was sent to join a hard-core marine unit under the command of Parkhomin. This lone platoon carried out the most difficult assignments and was always engaged in battle.
It was not hard for Zheka to remember meeting with the platoon commander – his demeanor lent itself to ready friendship. The lieutenant was sitting on his bed, reading the arrival papers of a new soldier to his command. He said in a warm, fatherly tone, "We're so glad you're here. Tell me something about yourself." That fatherly manner just about did Zheka in; he almost cried. No one had talked to him in that way for so long. His own father had been quite brusque with him when he sent him off to the army.
Zheka told him about himself, Parkhomin showed him where the mess hall was, and left him with some parting words: "Strive to serve well. We all depend on one another here and your little mistake could cost many their lives – your fellow soldiers and those we are trying to protect." He then gave him some important manuals and sent him off
The USSR held a draft into mandatory service in their armed forces twice a year.
The Course for Young Soldiers – CYS
