Military unit 45th regiment. Get to forty-five. Airborne Forces contract service reviews

A year ago, hearing soldiers of the 45th Separate Guards Regiment in a tent special purpose airborne troops song “To the Airborne Special Forces Scout”, I at first thought that it was performed by a professional musician, it sounded so good.

In response to a question about the author of the hit, the soldiers showed me a photo of a tall, strong man in a field uniform and a blue beret: “This is our intelligence officer, he served in a special detachment! Slava Korneev is his name, Leshy is his call sign. He is a holder of the Order of Courage, the medal of the Order of Merit for the Fatherland, II degree, and two medals for courage. Not disguised, not fake, real. And he sings about a matter that he truly knows.”

Intelligence veteran and singer-songwriter Vyacheslav Korneev talks about himself, his service, life and songs.

I was born on February 25, 1976 in the polar city of Kovdor, in the Murmansk region. My school years flew by, and in the spring of 1994 I was drafted into the army. Despite my passionate desire to serve in the airborne troops, they brought me to artillery training in Pargolovo, near St. Petersburg. Trained to be a crew commander anti-tank gun MT-12, was awarded the rank of junior sergeant and assigned to the 134th Guards Motorized Rifle Regiment of the 45th Motorized Rifle Regiment of the peacekeeping forces, which was based in the village of Kamenka, Vyborg District. The commander of our regiment was Guard Colonel Mikhail Yuryevich Malofeev. On January 17, 2000, he died in Grozny with the rank of major general and was posthumously awarded high rank Hero of Russia.

One night, I, the duty officer at the soldiers' canteen, introduced myself to a passing general and asked to be sent to the Caucasus. Was it reckless? Don't know. Only in response did I hear: “Which unit? Hand over the outfit, run and march to the location! And it started spinning! Obtaining equipment, food. Formation of personnel. The commander reads out the lists of those leaving, but my name is not on this list! Why? Seeing my inflexibility, the commander took the guy out of action, covered in tears, and I took his place. So I became deputy platoon commander leaving for the war.

First impressions

The next day, as part of the battalion, we flew to Mozdok and unloaded at the takeoff. Cold, dirt, crowds of armed people scurrying here and there. Seeing musician Yuri Shevchuk among the soldiers, he made his way to him and asked for an autograph. He did not refuse and signed the top deck of my guitar. We even sang a couple of verses from “The Last Autumn” with him.

We moved to a field next to the takeoff and spent the night. And look in the morning - our battalion is gone! And we, 22 soldiers in bulletproof vests and helmets, with weapons and equipment, were left alone, without officers. Used by no one, wanted by no one!

After holding out for three days without hot food or water, having managed to chew dry rations and burn all the gas masks, overcoats and felt boots, we got hold of cartridges and grenades. They just stood in some kind of formation receiving ammunition and received half a cap of ammunition! They didn’t ask us for our names or force us to sign anywhere. And we stole two boxes of grenades at night from an unguarded caponier, filled to the brim with this stuff.

One day we met a colonel who stopped us in a menacing voice: “Who are they? What kind of herd? I introduced myself and explained. The colonel ordered us to follow him and led us to the bathhouse. After washing, he sent us to the dining room. Clean and well-fed, we boarded the bus and went with the colonel, as it later turned out, to the city of Prokhladny, to the 135th motorized rifle brigade.

In the brigade we were fed, changed clothes, rearmed, and a day later we were sent in a convoy to Chechnya. We didn't drive long, often avoiding public roads and abandoning several broken down cars along the way. Here are the artillery positions... Howitzers and self-propelled guns are hitting deafeningly where our column is crawling, drowning in the mud.

Jumping from the Ural to the ground, I slipped. Taking a stable position, I realized that I was standing on a corpse rolled out in a road rut. Helping the others get out of the car, he warned them to be more careful. A mutilated corpse is what we saw first in Chechnya.
The task assigned to our unit led us to the central market of Grozny. The trucks were closely packed into the courtyard adjacent to the market building, and while we unloaded dry rations, duffel bags and sleeping bags from them, they sadly awaited their sad fate.

Some guy running past, hung with “Flies”, grenades, knives and pistols, nervously adjusting the sawed-off shotgun of a hunting rifle dangling on his hip, attacked me: “You... on... Why did you bring the equipment on... here, motherfucking...? They’ll burn it all.”

Our only armored personnel carrier, it turns out, was burned on the way. Having finished unloading and leaving Mikola Pitersky to guard the dry rations, I went on a reconnaissance tour of the market building. The personnel were dying of thirst, and I discovered deposits of jars of compote! The mines that occasionally pierced the roof were no longer frightening, but my soul was uneasy.

And then it began! One of the first mines flew into the dry rations, burying Mikola Pitersky in them! They dug it up. Alive! Meanwhile, our Urals were already blazing! It's a pity that the guitar burned in the cabin. Someone screams: “They shot down a tank there!” Let's run and look. We carefully look out of the windows. Here he is! Very close! Lit. And suddenly a deafening shot! A shell hits a five-story building. They say that at this time it was stormed by paratroopers. Then - like in a dream. Explosion! We are thrown on broken glass! When the dust settled, we saw that the tank was gone. Everlasting memory…

After sitting in the market building for a day, we finally received the task of capturing a high-rise building on Karl Liebknecht Street, adjacent to a small market square.

Our new platoon commander outlined the task to us in a very clear form: “Run quickly, without tripping over corpses. Stopping is death! Let’s run into the house and sort it out!”

Let's run. The first of the three nine-story buildings was already occupied by paratroopers, and we got the second one without a fight. No residents, no militants, empty.

My platoon was tasked with gaining a foothold on the sixth floor and preventing the enemy from entering the house through the roof of the neighboring five-story building.
The apartment, the windows of which overlooked the roof of this five-story building, was impressive; it was a very rich apartment.

We emptied the refrigerator and set an impromptu table in the hallway, but did not have time to raise it for the recent New Year and for a housewarming party, open cans of condensed milk, as something serious got into the house. The building shook and a fire started. The fire spread so quickly that we barely jumped out of the apartments into the entrance before they burned to the ground, and while the apartments were burning, we sat on the flights of stairs, choking in the smoke, because there was death on the street. There were “spirits” in the third nine-story building.

Sausage

The next day, the commander set the task: “Due to the enemy’s destruction of the entire food supply of the battalion, it is necessary to force our way to the market with the help of four volunteers and a miraculously surviving infantry fighting vehicle of unknown origin. Find there and then take out the maximum amount of food!”

I turned out to be the main volunteer. I decided to involve my squad commanders in this task. Good guys. Reliable. We went down and found an infantry fighting vehicle and even its driver in the ruins of the house. There was no one else in the crew, and the guy had no idea where his unit was located. After listening to the task, the mechanic nodded: “We’ll do it, but... the car doesn’t turn left. The cravings are broken! Let's waltz! Well, turn left, spinning 270 degrees to the right!”

We loaded into the landing force and took off. First turn to the left... spinning... scary. Forward! We're spinning around the second turn. There is no light in the car, we don’t know how to open the hatches from the inside, if anything, it’s creepy! And now, through the roar and clang of the tracks, bullets began to knock on the armor! And suddenly a blow! We crashed! "Everybody is alive? We’ve arrived!” - it was the mechanic who shouted. As it turned out, he rode in the “stowed” position all the way! Under bullets! Well it does! And he said to me: “Why? The triplexes are broken, you can’t see a damn thing!” Hero man!

We ran through the market. It’s empty, our troops have gone somewhere, and we don’t know what to expect. The products were found quickly. Sausage! There was a lot of it. Having filled their mouths with the Krakow soldiers and throwing their machine guns behind their backs, they quickly loaded the landing compartments of the infantry fighting vehicles and their own duffel bags and pockets with sausage. Childish greed played a cruel joke on me. Realizing that the loaded provisions for the battalion were not enough, I decided to leave my guys at the market and, climbing into the turret of the vehicle, personally deliver the cargo and return for the second batch. "Let's go!" - I yelled to the mechanic as soon as I reached the hatch. And he went. Surely so, with afterburner! And he didn’t know, didn’t know that behind his back I, in a bulletproof vest stuffed with sausage and with a plump duffel bag, was trying to get into the tower. By the time we got to the treasured house, I didn’t have a single whole store left! And I threw the empty ones onto the armor.
Having made three raids in a row, we completed the task. Thanks brother mechanic!

Storm

On Friday, January 13, my platoon received orders to occupy one of the houses on Rosa Luxemburg Street. It faced the presidential palace, and attempts to capture it have so far been unsuccessful. The paratroopers who held out to the last were squeezed in his basement, and “spirits” ruled the house.
We ran to our house through a vacant lot between five-story buildings and came under fire. There was nowhere to hide except behind the burnt BMP. The whole platoon crowded in for her, it was scary to go further. But it is necessary, otherwise they will put everyone on the flank. They rushed to the brick booth, a heating center with pipes and valves, and took refuge behind the wall.

We sat at the booth for over an hour, waiting for “Shilka”. She was supposed to cover us by shooting at the windows of the palace. Moreover, we had to run right under the barrage of her fire! Before our eyes, three soldiers from another unit jumped out from somewhere and rushed headlong towards our house! To our entrance! One of them fell a meter from the door, shot by a sniper, and two jumped inside. One threw a rope to the wounded man from the entrance door, but he could not cling to it, the bullets hit him one after another. The second fighter exchanged fire with the militants inside the house.

Suddenly, about twenty meters from us, a mine flies in with a characteristic whistle and explodes! One of ours was hit by shrapnel in the leg. Well, I think, bandaging the wounded, it began! He suggested that the commander position the platoon inside the house: “Probably the “spirits” are adjusting the fire of their mortar at this moment!” The platoon commander voiced the proposal to the battalion commander. The answer is bright: “No, wait, the team will come now! Better check this house for a sniper. Got it, bastard!

Well, we split into three groups, three people in each, ran around the house from the opposite side and jumped into the windows. Purely. When we were returning, we heard two strong explosions in a row on the second floor. About where we just left our platoon. Throw down! And there... Blood, smoke, groans! The squad commander Dan Zolotykh and his troika finished searching his entrance before us, came out, and he was covered - he was lying in blood! The commander, Stas Golda, was wounded. Later, doctors counted eighteen shrapnel wounds on his body, and the Motherland awarded him the Order of Courage.

Where is the signalman, is the station alive? Our P-159 on the chest of Mikola Pitersky took several fragments, but worked properly! “Cutter,” I shout. - “Freza-12”, I have “200” and “300”, I’m checking the quantity, and the commander is wounded! I ask for help in evacuating!” And the battalion commander calmly replies that the command has been given for the assault and that I must gather the healthy ones and complete the task. And he promises to evacuate the wounded, without even asking how many there are. The platoon is consolidated, it is unknown who was assigned and from where, we did not exchange addresses with everyone, we do not know the names of many of them. That's how they fought for their homeland.

Indeed, to the left of us, a Shilka came out for direct fire and roared with fire. I had no choice but to send “Freza” to hell and start helping the bleeding guys. I finally achieved their evacuation. And we completed the task assigned. Blood and sweat. So I became a platoon commander. A platoon of nine people. Minus thirteen!

Then everything went smoothly. Are you ready, Freza-12? Ready, I answer! "Forward!" - shout from the walkie-talkie. What is it like to storm a house with nine people, without smoke cover, not understanding where ours are and where the strangers are? Now I remember all this like a bad dream or scenes from a movie. Covered in blood, black with dirt and soot, behind my back there are seven machine guns left over from the evacuated guys, in the hands of the PKM, shredding the house from forty meters to which my guys are running! Tactics? What the hell are the tactics? We reached the fifth floor, throwing grenades at the doors as we went and sometimes shooting. We have gained a foothold. We counted. All.

Later, when we had to pull out the main forces, we cleared all the apartments in our entrance from top to bottom. Walking down the street at that time was bad manners, so the main forces pulled up to us through the wall, in which we punched a hole with the help of a grenade launcher, some mother and a sledgehammer that came from God knows where!

It was in this house, having “borrowed” his SVD from a friend Sashka Lyutin, on the butt of which there were already three cuts with a bayonet-knife, I became a sniper. He equipped a wonderful, tactically competent position. He settled down in the bathtub, on a stool. For emphasis - a previously emptied refrigerator. From there, through a small hole punched by a shell in the wall, an impressive section of the area in front of the house was shot through, namely, the annex to the presidential palace and part of the palace itself.

One day, marines ran into our house: two officers and a sailor. The sailor, as it turned out, was real, from a warship! Perhaps that's why he almost shot me when I changed position. But the Marines impressed me in other ways. Hunting for live bait! One, standing in the window opening, began to fan out the palace with tracers, and the second, in the back of the room, having prepared an RPG-18 for battle, waited. As an artilleryman, I understood that the guys were walking on a razor's edge, but they were stubbornly lucky. The bite on live bait was excellent, and soon I joined this “fishing team,” and the sailor made sure that none of the fighters came to my bullet while moving around the apartment.

Combat Commonwealth

There was a day when the company commander gave me the task of taking three volunteers and with them finding and evacuating from the street rubble the bodies of two dead - Sergei Les and Dima Strukov from the third platoon. They died a few days ago. Attempts to find them had already been made by the company sergeant major, warrant officer Purtov. Then the “spirits” squeezed him and the fighters behind a pilaster (this is a protrusion from a house the size of two bricks) and began to methodically destroy the shelter, firing incredibly dense fire at it from the house, which we then occupied with a platoon. Together with my fellow countryman Pomor, we pulled them out, covering the retreat with our fire. I will never forget how Warrant Officer Purtov, while running, stumbles, falls, and in the place where he had just been, a machine gun burst bites into the brick...

In general, the task is clear. I am a machine gun on my shoulder, a helmet on my head. I suggest one fighter go, the second, the third, and they - some with a stomach, some with a sudden headache, some from their post. They don’t want to take risks, no matter what. But when the search for volunteers reached the guys from Dagestan, they, without further ado, put their helmet on their cap and off they went, commander! But they didn’t know the dead for whom we had to go! And with this composition, I, two Dagestanis and a Kazakh went on a search.

We found Sergei's body quickly, brought it to that same booth, and then stop. The fire is so dense that it becomes clear that we won’t get through in daylight. Even smoking this damn area. We tried it. We managed to return to the house only in the morning, leaving Sergei in place, but placing the body so that it could be seen from our windows. They were able to pick up and transfer the body to the rear no earlier than a few days later, when the militants left the palace without a fight.

Once, at the height of the fighting in our sector, the battalion commander needed to go to the rear, and he took me with him for protection. The rear units were then located in Lenin Park. Left to my own devices for a while, I wandered around the park, wondering how they live here in tents? What if it's a mine? And suddenly something seemed strange to me. Everywhere I went, everyone froze, stopped preparing firewood, cleaning, and silently looked at me. And there was some kind of reverence in these views, respect mixed with compassion. “Look, look, there’s a guy from the front line!” - I heard and, as if waking up, looked around. Then invitations to warm up in the tents, questions, and congratulations on being alive poured in! "What's the matter?" I ask. “How do you know that I’m from the front line?” “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” - asks one. "Of course not! Where are the mirrors in the city from? Everything is burned and broken!” - I laugh. “Here, look! People like you are only brought to us dead!” - The soldier, embarrassed, handed me a mirror. Well, I took a look. He looked and got scared. A monster in a dirty, torn black cap with a black, sooty face, burnt stubble and eyebrows, and red, watery eyes looked at me from the mirror.

A little later, when the fighting for the city moved to other neighborhoods, we decided to visit the less damaged entrances to our house. Find something like mattresses. My platoon was lucky to have apartments that burned to the ground, and for the last week I slept on two VOG boxes, without a sleeping bag, of course. Having collected some junk, on the way back to our “temple” we saw an interesting picture: Dudayev’s palace was being dashingly stormed by guys in white camouflage suits and wearing unprecedented unloading gear. Special forces, no less, I thought angrily, a couple of days ago you would have been here!

A decade and a half later, while celebrating the 30th anniversary of the 901st OBSPN with my fellow soldiers, we were watching a Chechen chronicle, when suddenly... The end of our house and the hole made by a shell through which I once fired my first shot from an SVD flashed in the frame. So those guys in camouflage suits turned out to be my current friends! It's a small world!

Then our war began to wane. We stayed for a month in the village of Andreevskaya Dolina at the Central Budgetary Institution, then in Shali. In May, when the war moved into the mountainous regions, our battalion, which had lost more than half of its personnel, was taken to Khankala for rest and replenishment.

At the shooting range in the quarry I met fellow countryman Dima Koksharov. We started talking. He served in the 45th Airborne Regiment. And the tough guys who were lowering down into the quarry on ropes and performing tactical exercises that were incomprehensible to me at that time with “screw cutters” unprecedented in the infantry turned out to be his colleagues. Cool scouts, I thought, what do I care about them!

New life

In September the war ended for us. The battalion departed in a column to its permanent deployment point in Prokhladny. I was riding on the armor of the trailing infantry fighting vehicle, and all the way a broom tied to the armor was trailing behind us, never to return here. Sign!

Resigned to the reserve. I came to my parents in the Smolensk region. And there is darkness! A depressing impression from a dying village. Unemployment, alcoholism, drug addiction. The youth were engaged in stupid self-destruction.

The only right decision was to return to the army, seriously and for a long time. The commander of the 45th Special Operations Division, Colonel Viktor Kolygin, to whom I came for a relationship in 1996, told me: “We don’t take a contract from a civilian, sign up for the Tula division, and we’ll transfer you from there.”

In the 173rd separate reconnaissance company in Tula I heard something similar: “Let’s go to the regimental reconnaissance company first, and then we’ll see.” So, as a reconnaissance officer in the reconnaissance company of the 51st Parachute Regiment, I began my combat career in the Airborne Forces.

During my year of service, I managed to go on a three-month business trip to Abkhazia. For several years in Gudauta, paratroopers carried out a peacekeeping mission, and I made my small contribution to the restoration of peace on the southeastern coast of the Black Sea.

After Abkhazia, the assistant chief of intelligence of the division, Major Sergei Konchakovsky, paid close attention to me. He asked provocative questions, monitored my answers and actions. Soon Konchakovsky invited me to go to Sokolniki and talk with the commander special squad 45th Regiment, where I left, having secured the necessary recommendations.

Special Squad

Service in a new place captivated and absorbed me completely. I liked everything: the people, the equipment, the weapons, the technology, the approach to conducting training sessions.
When I arrived in Tula for the weekend with a whole backpack of special forces gadgets and in a fashionable padding polyester and told the officers about everything that I had seen and learned during my month of service in special intelligence intelligence, most of them were eager to transfer there. Which they soon did.

the appearance of my call sign - Leshy - is very funny. The commander of the reconnaissance group, Captain Stanislav Konoplyannikov, lined us up, young scouts, and ordered us to come up with call signs for ourselves. I came up with “Leshy”, but did not voice it, for fear of getting into an awkward situation, suspecting that the regiment already had such a call sign. And when the commander, walking around the formation and writing down the invented call signs, stopped in front of me, I told him: “I didn’t come up with it, Comrade Captain.” To which he replied: “Well, then you’ll be Leshy!” Since then, since 1998, I have been Leshy.

In September 1999, we flew to Dagestan, into the heat of the flaring war. They carried out various tasks to reconnaissance the area, search and destroy militant bases. In October, working in the interests of the 61st separate Kirkenes Red Banner Brigade Marines of the Northern Fleet were the first to reach the Terek.

October 14, having completed the task of conducting optical reconnaissance settlement S., our group moved to the evacuation area. They walked with increased attention. It always seemed that something was wrong to the left of the course, as if someone was looking at us.

And here comes the armor! It became calmer. Suddenly the radio station comes to life. An order follows that radically changed our plans, and for many, the destinies. We had to inspect the forester's house, which was located nearby, but in the opposite direction.

Our two armored personnel carriers (group commander Pavel Klyuev was the eldest in the first, V. was in the second) went along the narrow road along the Terek. The river bank is low, the places are overgrown, wild, beautiful. To the right of the road there are four-meter reeds, to the left there is a turn and thick greenery on a one and a half meter artificial bank.

At the entrance to the right turn, in front of a huge puddle, the car slowed down, and something made me turn back. It seemed that with my peripheral vision I caught something similar to a “grenade launcher” target. Three seconds passed before I realized - it really was a grenade launcher! Bearded, camouflaged by branches, he prepared to shoot from his knees, and it seemed that he was aiming straight at my forehead from some fifteen meters! I didn’t want to allow this, so with a shout: “There he is...!”, I turned the SVD in his direction. My next cry: “Attention! Left,” drowned in the roar of a shot and an explosion that killed the armored personnel carrier. I don’t remember how we ended up behind the armor; apparently, persistent tactical training took its toll. Due to excess pressure in the engine compartment, the power hatches vomited and lifted. I think this saved the lives of many of our group, because at least a dozen militants were shooting at our lifeless car point-blank from a roadside embankment, while their grenade launcher was preparing for the second shot. Having dropped off the store, the machine gunners lay down to reload, and the grenade launcher again planted a “flea” in the rear of our vehicle. And again lead rain! And so three times in a row. And all three times the grenade launcher hammered into the stern.

Hiding under the nose of the “box” with a rifle that was useless at a distance of 10–15 meters, I had no idea what was happening to the group. Are the guys alive? Near Novosel. What about the rest? Abrek crawled up to us from the side of the road and gestured upward to the armor, and there was Klyuev. He lay slumped over the bleeding Igor Salnikov - Gosha. Believing that we would save him, Abrek and I carefully pulled them off the armor. Gosha's head was broken, but signs of life gave us hope. I tried to find signs of life in the group commander, but, alas. “How’s Pasha?” - Abrek asked, bandaging Gosha. “No more Pasha!” - I answered, dropping the useless bandage. Gosha died a few days later, already in the hospital. On the day when Pasha was buried.

The “spirits” themselves suggested how to deal with their attack, starting to throw grenades at us. Abrek stayed with Gosha and Pasha, and I returned to Novosel under the nose of the armored personnel carrier, when suddenly an F-1 flies out from behind the shaft and falls onto the road five to seven meters from us! These were endlessly long seconds, as if in slow motion. I shout: “New settler, grenade!” “What grenade?” - he rolls his eyes. “In my opinion, efka!” - and I fall between Pasha and Gosha, covering my head with my hands. I extend my tightly clenched legs towards the center of the explosion and wait - where will the fragment fly to me? Explosion. It's gone! And a confident run back to where the damn grenade had just exploded.

We fall, take all our grenades out of unloading and calmly, methodically, with the pins fired, confidently throw them to the other side of the shaft! How do you like this, fighters?

It helped! Novosel guessed to climb into the armored personnel carrier and, using a mechanical release, empty the PKT box. There was a turning point in the combat situation, the shooting died down for a while, the groans of the wounded and the cracking of branches began to be heard. Vetok! This means that the militants were preparing for evacuation. Then a second armored personnel carrier rolled up, for some reason it was lagging behind, and its appearance forced the militants to speed up their retreat, covering it with active fire. So dense that two of our machine gunners, who had climbed onto the rampart, had to leave their positions and crawl down to the road. Then again, as in slow motion of an action movie: on the shaft in full height V. rises, raises his AKMS with a drum for 75 rounds, branches mown down by enemy bullets fall nearby, and he, as if under a spell, shoots at the brilliant green until the drum jams. Bark and shreds of leaves fly into his face, but he shoots without bending down!

V. is a man of unparalleled courage, will and uncompromisingness. A real Russian officer. I am glad that his numerous exploits were noticed, and by Decree of the President of Russia he was awarded the title of Hero of Russia. After few years.

The battle died down. "Who?" - V. asked briefly. “Pasha, Gosha,” Novosel and I answered. They also brought Vitya Nikolsky, a bullet went right through his thigh. We approached the guys lying on the ground. I squeezed the group commander’s wrist in my hand in the hope of feeling a pulse, and suddenly: there is! I shout: “Comrade Major! There is a pulse." V. touched Pasha’s neck and silently shook his head. It turns out that out of excitement I squeezed my hand too hard and felt my pulse.

An infantry fighting vehicle with scouts from the Stavropol regiment flew up to the battlefield. Having dismounted, they took up defensive positions around us, moving their heads in disbelief in search of the enemy. We’re probably tired, we’ve been evacuated and evacuated all day, but nothing happens. Here our second armored personnel carrier turned around and began to back up in order to pick up a damaged fellow on a trailer and drag it to the regiment’s location. The wheel of an armored personnel carrier drove into a puddle on the side of the road. There's a mine there. Knock powerful explosion, and the multi-ton machine jumped up. Everyone was thrown to different directions by the blast wave!

A moment, silence, I was lying in the middle of the road, looking in surprise at the black rubber snow - this wheel of an armored personnel carrier, split into rubbish by a mine explosion, slowly and sadly waltzed like small black snowflakes to the ground, settling on the faces of living and dead scouts. Thank you, I think, brother, driver of the first reservation, you listened to our advice not to run into puddles. If we had run over this mine first, there would have been no one left alive.

As soon as my hearing returned, I heard a painful groan through the ringing in my ears. Stavropol resident Minenkov was lying on the rampart. His leg is torn off, but he is conscious and even tries to apply a tourniquet. "How is your leg?" - asks. “It’s okay, you’ll walk!” - I answer, and I quietly move the severed leg, which lies next to his head, down. The blood was stopped and the man was saved.

I will add that by decree of the acting President of Russia dated January 17, 2000, Mikhail Minenkov was awarded the title of Hero of Russia.

Having removed the machine guns from the broken armored personnel carriers and shot the on-board radio stations, we decided to blow up the vehicles. We didn’t have the opportunity to get them out that day, and we couldn’t leave them to the militants. I was preparing our car for detonation, and tears flowed from my eyes. From that moment my other one began, adulthood. Life in the Airborne Special Forces.

The group that inspected the combat area and evacuated the armor found several more mines and landmines installed on the road. Apparently, the militants were preparing a powerful ambush, and we were not their target at all. It is very likely that that battle prevented a major tragedy, since a column of one of the parachute regiments was expected to pass along this road.

Well, we, a handful of scouts who remained relatively unharmed, shell-shocked and tired, with stern, gloomy faces, appeared before the menacing eye of Major General Popov, who personally met him at the side of the helicopter that took us to the Central Bureau of Investigation. His welcoming speech shocked the guys: “So, fighters, I, of course, understand everything, the war is on, but the dress code must be observed! Where are your caps, fellow scouts?

A few days later we gathered in our tent to remember our fallen friends. We were just informed that Gosha died in the hospital. When the third toast was raised in memory of the fallen brothers, the deputy commander of the 218th special forces battalion, Major Pyotr Yatsenko, picking up a guitar and putting a sheet of text in front of him, sang his new song about our group. While he sang, it seemed that we were reliving that short but brutal battle. Many furtively, turning away, wiped away a stingy male tear.

Pyotr Karlovich was sitting right opposite me, and when the song ended and everyone came to their senses, I asked him for a piece of paper with the lyrics to copy it into my notebook. I never had a chance to return Yatsenko’s sheet. On the next mission, which we went on in two groups, Pyotr Karlovich, commanding a special-purpose reconnaissance group, died a heroic death in battle with superior enemy forces. By decree of the President of Russia of March 24, 2000, Pyotr Yatsenko was awarded the title of Hero of Russia (posthumously).

The sheet with the song is now kept in the museum of military glory of the Special Forces of the 45th Special Forces of the Airborne Forces.

"Special forces sense"

There were many interesting tasks. In November we go out on an ambush. Two groups. Our guide. Two nights. We charged, checked the connection, and jumped. Command: “Head watch, forward!” Let's move. With the very first step, fear fades into the background, giving way to attention and caution, cold calculation and lightning-fast reaction. But fear does not disappear completely. Who said that a scout is not afraid of anything? Lies! How scary! But a real intelligence officer knows how to manage his fear, directing it in the right direction so that fear becomes caution. Let's go. As before, all five senses are clenched into a fist and working to the limit. But for some reason, it was precisely on this task that another, sixth sense was added to them - the so-called “special forces sense.” This is when you go out to a task and know in advance that something will happen, and sometimes you even understand at what exact moment. So it is this time.

Stumbling at every step, I walk and try to remain calm. Anyone who has walked through a mown corn field at night will understand what I mean. There are only six hundred meters to the edge of the forest covering the ridge through which we need to cross, but what meters were those?! We walked them for four hours! The feeling that someone was watching us did not leave me for a minute! And then I heard two blows metal object along the gas pipe that runs parallel to our route on the left, below. “Stop! Attention!" I report the strikes to the commander. He didn't hear any knocking. "Forward!" No sooner had we started moving than again: “bamm-bamm”...

Hurry to the saving forest! Having disappeared into the greenery, we got in touch, took a breath, and again: “Head patrol - forward!” The commander stubbornly did not want to walk along the night road, preferring rough terrain, namely, dense thickets of thorny acacia, through which two reconnaissance groups with artillery gunners and radio operators assigned from the Marine Corps and dressed in shaggy “Leshy” suits made their way with a deafening crash! But time was running out, and I still managed to convince the commander to follow the road!

Quickly, without unnecessary noise or adventure, we reached the desired edge and dispersed to our respective areas to organize ambushes. The main object of our attention turned out to be a dirt road about forty meters from the edge. It was on it that Mole installed the MON-50 mine. But for some reason on this day the “spirits” categorically did not want to use the roads and tactically competently walked along the edge of the forest, almost stepping on the trunk of my VSS! Conversing enthusiastically, one pair of militants with machine guns at the ready passed over me, and at an interval of fifty meters, the second. I managed to notice in the bag of one of them something round, reminiscent of an anti-tank mine.

Where is the command to work on the enemy? When the “spirits” walked above me, I covered the radio station with my hand and felt that they were saying something into it, but what? Having given the bandits a couple more minutes of life, we let them through to an ambush by another group. Of course, after warning the brothers that guests were rushing to them.

What if this is just a gang headache? What to do? Reflections were interrupted by fierce shooting in the area of ​​the second ambush! Let's get to work! To the left is the rumble of the engine! A handsome cherry-colored Grand Cherokee drove into the sector of our mine's destruction! Through the scope I clearly saw a healthy bearded guy. Clutching a machine gun in his hand, he looked forward with concentration. Explosion! The jeep was covered by a cloud of blowing up dust mixed with smoke, from which the car never left. The veil cleared, and my gaze fixed on the target. Well, I think you have arrived, Mr. Basayev, I shoot at the doors, I hear the sound of crumbling glass.

Looking to the right to see how our people were doing, I saw that the group had begun to retreat. How? For what? After all, in the car... One could only guess what and who could be found during the search of the jeep. But a departure is a departure. I give the command to the observers on the left and go to the extreme ones. The preliminary collection point is 200 meters to the rear. In front of me is Lekha the radio operator. Star is his call sign. Zvezda runs, adjusting his backpack with a radio station on one shoulder. Unexpectedly, well, very unexpectedly for us, RMB started working on the left side of the group! I prepared for battle, the Star to the right broke through the thorns and got stuck. The bush has already begun to crumble under a hail of bullets! Throw away that damn backpack, friend! Quit. Gone. God bless!

Somehow we gathered at the collection point. We count. All? There is only one missing - the Sentinel. We call the station - clicks in response. Clearly, it only works for reception, village food. Oriented. I was sent to meet him! I'm meeting you. I look - he’s running, but he’s not alone! Some villain with a machine gun has settled in behind him and is not far behind! Well, I think they decided to capture our Olezhka alive? We won't allow this! I take aim at the scoundrel, let him get closer, and set the speed to idle. Stop! Yes, this is ours, Ryazan! Eh, commander! Now everything is definitely assembled.

“Star, let’s get in touch!” - the commander growls. “What kind of a Star am I now, we don’t have a station anymore,” the radio operator answers dejectedly. Let us remember the radio operator of the Marine artillery gunner. Immediately before the task, I installed 300 grams of PVV-5 explosive with a ZTP-50 fuse on his Historian radio station and instructed: “In the event of a threat of the station falling into enemy hands, move the igniter pin to the firing position and pull out the ring, understand?” He understood, yeah! With the very first shot, the boy thought that all the Basmachi from the surrounding villages rushed to attack in order to take over his radio station, and he bravely blew it up as he retreated! Affairs!

Having reached the evacuation area, they somehow called the armor via radio stations intended for work within the group, and to increase the communication range the radio operator had to climb onto tall tree! And laughter and sin. It was a beautiful evacuation. With dashes and inevitable smokes. And the commander of the second group, as it turned out, was a very lazy person! Or very smart. He did not go to the evacuation area on foot, but flew into it in a comfortable Mi-8 helicopter! It’s more convenient this way, he explained, supervising the unloading of trophies and their former owners from the ship. By the way, that round thing in the bag, reminiscent of an anti-tank mine, turned out to be quite tasty pita bread.

But the task did not end there. The group's intelligence chief, who arrived on a helicopter, ordered the group to fly out with him and show the jeep destroyed in the battle. Eat. Flying over the ambush site, we discover that there is no trace of the car! We clearly see the angle of attack of our mine, plowed by the explosion, and that’s it! It turns out that the “spirits” dragged the car into the forest and carefully disguised it with branches. But we found it! When inspecting the jeep, I worked together with Anatoly Lebed, a legendary scout, future Hero of Russia, who absurdly died in 2012 in an accident. The commanders were satisfied with the results of the inspection: documents, radios, weapons and equipment. Listening to the broadcast helped us uncover ninety-two correspondents working in our intelligence area, and the identity of the field commander killed in battle. The magazine “Brother” wrote about this ambush in 1999 in a short news article: “November. As a result of search and ambush operations, the 45th separate special forces regiment of the Airborne Forces killed Salman Raduev’s closest associate with the call sign...”

The joy of victory and the pain of defeat

I remember the death of the signalman of the detachment, senior warrant officer Alexei Ryabkov.

We went to work near Kharachoy, in the Vedeno district, in two groups. One was thrown on helicopters far into the mountains, the second on a BMD rolled towards the paratroopers who had completed their task, providing them with an exit from the area of ​​​​operation.

Ryabkov was in the group on the armor. The serpentine road stretched along the mountain slopes. There were no more than five minutes left to reach the checkpoint when we came across a militant ambush. An explosion behind the lead vehicle of the column occurred suddenly, followed by automatic and machine gun fire. Alexey was hit in the neck by a bullet. He managed to empty the entire magazine from the machine gun before he fell, whispering that he was wounded.

The fight was short. The BMD guns turned towards the attackers fired a salvo. The soldiers' machine guns began to chatter. The “spirits” hastened to retreat.
In the Vedeno region, our special detachment gave good results in 2002 and 2005. We blew up several residential bases and destroyed militants of various hierarchies. Previous experience, knowledge of the geography of trails and the psychology of enemy behavior helped.

One day my non-standard appearance successfully used by security officers. I, shaved bald, but with a solid beard, looked like a Chechen, and the officers of group “A” of the TsSN FSB of Russia, having dressed me in civilian clothes appropriate for the place and hanging a pendant with the image of a mosque around my neck, released me into the street to conduct surveillance of the house in a private sector. The information provided by me was used by the security officers for their intended purpose - the leader of the local gangster underground was neutralized.

Creation

In 2005, immediately after returning from a business trip, I received injuries incompatible with service in special forces, and in 2007, having completed a course of treatment, I retired to the reserve. And now, without the opportunity to make parachute jumps or go on missions as part of a reconnaissance group, all I can do is write, sing, talk about special forces to the younger generation and collaborate with military-patriotic clubs.

He wrote his first poems in Chechnya back in 2004. Somehow, in the summer of 2005, my good friend, singer-songwriter Vitaly Leonov, was carried by a fair wind to our Khatuni concert. The joy from the meeting knew no bounds! Of course, the tent of our reconnaissance group was chosen for his accommodation. Leafing through my notebook, Vitaly shared his thoughts that my poems could make good songs. In the area of ​​the New Khatuni airport, Vitalya gave several concerts for fighters and even sang for reconnaissance groups leaving on the night of the mission. He had plenty of impressions from the trip, and soon after returning from the Caucasus, Vitaly came up with a wonderful song about reconnaissance with the same name. When I heard my poems that became a song, I thought: “Why not?” – and decided to try his hand at creativity himself.

I sincerely consider 10 years of service in the airborne special forces best years own life. The video for the song about the 45th Special Forces Regiment of the Airborne Forces was shot by my friend Igor Chernyshev, a former intelligence officer of a special special forces detachment. Many years ago, when it was time for Igor to leave the service, it was from him that I adopted the good old Vintorez. Now Igor is not only a wonderful cameraman and director, but also a talented theater and film actor.

I am very glad that my songs instilled in the hearts of listeners a love for the army and a desire to serve the Fatherland in the special forces of the Airborne Forces and other units of the Armed Forces. Remember, friends, it is not you who are giving years of your life to the army! It is the army that gives you the years that make you real men!

Sergeant of the 45th separate special purpose reconnaissance regiment of the Airborne Forces Valery K., grenade launcher of the 4th reconnaissance group of the 1st reconnaissance company of the 901st separate special forces battalion.

By the time I was drafted into the army (June 1994), I already had a sports rank in rock climbing and prizes at youth competitions in the city of Apatity, Murmansk region - I lived there until the mid-90s. That’s why they took me to the 45th regiment, I didn’t fit in height, they took guys with a height of 180 cm, but in those years there was a wild shortage of people, besides, I had already done several parachute jumps, we jumped in the winter of 1989 at the Murmashi airfield. In general, a kid came with jumping and rock climbing skills - practically a ready-made saboteur. The military commissar says to me: “You are not the right height, but with your athletic training, we can send you to special forces. Understand, it will be very difficult for you... Are you ready?” And in the parachute club where we trained, the instructors were Afghans, healthy, cheerful men in vests, some with military awards. Of course, I also wanted to be like them! I say: “Of course, I can handle it!” And from the very beginning, I was determined to go to a combat company, and not to support. That's how I ended up in the 45th Regiment.

901 SEPARATE SPECIAL PURPOSE BATTALION

The 45th regiment at that time consisted of two battalions - 218 separate battalion (commander - Major Andrei Anatolyevich Nepryakhin, future Hero of Russia) and 901 separate battalion (commander - Major Nikolai Sergeevich Nikulnikov), a three-company composition of 4 reconnaissance groups in each company. The regiment also included auxiliary units - a communications company (signalmen were scattered among reconnaissance groups), a special weapons company, an armored personnel carrier driver and gunner, and AGS crews. The reconnaissance company numbered 52-54 people, so a combined detachment of about 150 people operated in Grozny: 2nd company (commander - captain Andrei Vladimirovich Zelenkovsky) 218 ​​special forces, 1st (commander - senior lieutenant Vyacheslav Nikolaevich Nikolakhin) and 3rd ( commander - captain Cherdantsev) of company 901 special forces.

I can characterize all my immediate commanders as very professional, cruel and very cheerful people (such a complex combination). I am immensely grateful to them, and to this day, a quarter after the Grozny battles, I remember them. But this is never forgotten...

“Healthy, bald, with their appearance and habits they were more reminiscent of bandits than officers of the Red Army. It was not for nothing that at that time citizens in black Mercedes were constantly grazing at the checkpoint with offers to earn extra money - to kill someone in Moscow...” 1

I now understand that, by and large, all our officers were real Soviet officers, in the best sense of the word. One of my acquaintances served ten years later in 2005 in GRU intelligence, and he told how their company commander extorted money from personnel. So, in principle, this could not have happened here; the consciousness of people in that early post-Soviet period did not allow it.

Hazing was very cruel. Officers approached this phenomenon in different ways: some tried not to pay attention, others, as the company commander Bannikov, fought as best he could (in the evening he climbed into the window of his office on the first floor, and when after lights out they began to press the young people, he jumped out office with a rubber stick and dispersed the old-timers), some of the officers, on the contrary, tried to use this phenomenon to their service. Our commander of the 4th group, Captain Vladimir Vladimirovich Glukhovsky, was engaged in serious education, and he turned our group into a truly well-coordinated team.

“Army friends... All this is a myth, a fiction, do not believe anyone who says that only in the army can you find real friends. Who can you call a friend here? Mordvin Evdokimov, who before the army made a living robbing passers-by at Moscow train stations and fled to the army from prison? The psychotic Tatar Zimadeev, who is also a karateka? He knows how to somersault over a fence and at the same time shoot from a machine gun. He has one argument for all everyday disputes - a kick to the head. A Kazakh named Batyr, who speaks Russian with difficulty? Or my fellow countryman from St. Petersburg Kokorin, who spent his entire childhood in a special boarding school and at twenty years old did not know the multiplication table? They could not be my friends." 1

“In the unit, where they didn’t take guys less than one meter tall and where there was a cult of physical strength, they began to hate me immediately, simply because of my short stature.

As night fell, after lights out, the old-timers came up with the idea that it was I who should clean their boots and hem their collars. Of course, because it seemed to them that it was much easier to mentally break a person who was chest-high and thirty kilograms lighter.

All attempts to “agree” ended in a simple beating.

I didn’t say anything afterwards, I just walked up and hit back once, knowing that in a few seconds I would be looking at the interior of the barracks from some unusual angle, lying with my head turned between the bedside table and the bed.

But I had to take this shot over and over again.

They were a little discouraged by the fact that I packed the parachute faster than anyone else in the company, could accurately navigate the map, and could translate phrases into English language from the training manual for interrogating prisoners of war, he pulled himself up the most on the crossbar and never died on forced marches.

Who gave this little nerd a grenade launcher? Are you completely crazy? - officers from another battalion reacted to me. After all, in addition to the machine gun, I also had to carry a grenade launcher with ammunition.

Everything is fine! Are your grenade launchers dying on the march? - Lieutenant Shepherd protected me with the castle of our reconnaissance group.

Well, they die, the soldiers constantly carry them in their arms...

But ours won’t die! He is our only “undying” one! “The shepherd was the only one who believed in me, maybe because he was just as short and thoughtful.

I was stubborn and patient, and after a year even those who hated me began to respect me." 1

Hazing is a complex, reciprocal phenomenon in which not only old-timers are to blame, and not all forms are bad. And whoever has not seen this will never understand. Later, reconnaissance groups tried to form guys from the same conscription, but this did not always help.

“Being a soldier of the smallest stature, and even serving in the fourth reconnaissance group, means always and everywhere being last in line.

To the bathhouse, to the dining room, to receive uniforms.

And now, I stood in the central aisle in front of the storeroom, anxiously watching a stack of tattered pea coats melting away.

A year ago, our unit left Abkhazia, and the thrifty company commander took out a whole truckload of what seemed then unnecessary junk. These peacoats have come a long way and if they could talk they could tell a lot.

Are these bullet holes? - a colleague of my conscription, standing opposite the window, looked into the light at the mysterious holes in the pea coat he had just received.

What is this, blood?.. - he turned to us showing strange brown spots on the fabric.

I won't wear this!!

Take it! Don't wander around! - one of the “old men” said sternly - “it will get cold in the forest at night, put it on, and you will be glad!”

The first three-day reconnaissance mission awaited us, and since we were called up in June, we were not entitled to winter uniforms.

In the army everything is on schedule.

The transition to winter uniforms is scheduled for October 15, which means that until that moment everyone wears summer camouflage, and it doesn’t matter that it’s already the end of September and there are frosts in the mornings.

You're out of luck! - the company commander said cheerfully, pointing to the empty shelves of the rack; he issued these pea coats personally.

Maybe... maybe there was at least one shot left?

No more pea coats! Take a raincoat from OZK, it will be warmer for everyone to spend the night - he handed me a rubber package.

It was a very cold three days.

When I went to bed, I covered my head with this cloak and from breathing it became covered from the inside with perspiration, which by morning turned into frost.

On the third day of continuous trembling, I heard, I almost felt a strange click in my head, as if some kind of switch had been switched.

And with that click, I suddenly stopped shaking and felt warm.

I will only acquire the ability to freeze again only about seven years after leaving the army.” 2

"EVERYONE WAS READY THREE DAYS BEFORE DEPARTURE"

I remember very well how the deployment took place here in Kubinka, to the PPD battalion. On the twentieth of November 1994, on Saturday, we were in the garrison cinema on the territory of a tank unit. During the film show, a messenger came running and shouted into the audience: “First company, go out!”

We ran out and went to the company location. The training camp was already underway there. It was announced that a joint reconnaissance group was moving to Chechnya. The first reconnaissance group was assembled from us; they laid out the equipment in the central aisle for inspection. The mood before the departure was combative; they turned to the company commander with a request to include us in the combat formation. To which he replied: “Don’t worry, we’ll all fly there soon.” (One couple, however, got drunk. And the most pumped-up and bullish ones. Overnight they turned from centers into schmucks. But then no one condemned them. But they remained outcasts until the end of the service.) Then a new composition of the advanced detachment was formed, in which included our group. Before departure, everyone was ready three days in advance and slept on rolled-up mattresses. Bed sheets it was surrendered, and we lay with weapons on nothing but armored nets. Before departure, we wrote letters to our parents that we were going to Pskov for jumping. Maybe in Moscow (the 218th battalion was stationed in Sokolniki) there were parents at the checkpoint, but we had no one. On November 27 the departure took place. Upon arrival in Mozdok, we spent the night at the location of the VV unit. This night was very memorable because the BB guys in the barracks had a TV on the wall, and the singer Freddie Mercury was playing there. Then we moved to the checkpoint at the airfield, and soon everyone else arrived, and we moved to the boathouses near the takeoff. On the very first night, my grandfathers poked me a little with a knife in order to take away cash, but bad luck - I didn’t have any cash! Looking ahead, I will immediately say that during the hostilities in Grozny, hazing disappeared completely; in those conditions, hazing was impossible.

Upon arrival in Mozdok, they immediately went on guard to protect the personal train of Defense Minister P. Grachev, as well as his helicopter and the plane on which he flew to Moscow. So they changed constantly: to and from guard duty, to training, to shooting. In Grozny we operated with three companies, the other two were replacements, and one company was in reserve. Reserve companies guarded Grachev's train.

“Winter. Mozdok. Chill wind with sleet. We’ve been there for three days now. We can’t hide from it anywhere, because we’re at the airfield.

My friend and I are standing guard. There is no one to replace us, since our company is chasing a Chechen reconnaissance group through the forests.

The day before yesterday we guarded the plane of the Minister of Defense, yesterday we guarded the helicopter of the Minister of Defense, today we are guarding the mobile headquarters of the Minister of Defense.

We wait for the inspector to leave, take off our helmets and sit in them like in pots. Back to back. It's warmer this way. As I fall asleep, I think that a Chechen reconnaissance group will find us and cut our throats. “And then everything will end...” I think, even with some relief, and fall into sleep. The snow covers us with a wet blanket." 1

Of course, in addition to guarding facilities, the personnel of some reconnaissance groups carried out reconnaissance missions of the approaches to Grozny.

Once, my 4th reconnaissance group carried out a mission to search for an exposed Chechen reconnaissance group. True, they were not found.

On December 30, Captain Glukhovsky gave the order to prepare for a flight to mountainous areas, scheduled for tomorrow, December 31. In addition to the ammunition, we were each given a kilogram of forty different charges of explosives; it was assumed that we would have to start blowing up some bridges, the details were not specified. On the 31st we were ready to take off, and at approximately 14:15 a combined detachment of about 30 people boarded two Mi-8s. But an hour later, the takeoff was canceled, nevertheless, the order was given to be at the airfield. At about 17-18 the command came to load again, and this time we took off. We spent almost an hour in the air. We were covered by three Mi-24s. In the mountains, at the time of landing, the pilot discovered a Chechen armored personnel carrier standing in the bushes, and our helicopter took off sharply and left the landing point. The militants were apparently afraid of the Mi-24 and did not open fire. For a long time it was a mystery to me where they wanted to send us for the first time, and after 20 years, from some source, I learned that they were planning to land on the central stadium of Grozny, exactly where the reserve of Dudayev’s forces was located. We were very lucky that the flight was cancelled.

“There were about 20 of us left from the special operations department. Guys from the 45th reconnaissance regiment were supposed to act with us. They alerted us again and brought us to the airfield in Mozdok to deliver us by helicopter to the center of Grozny, to the stadium. It was then assumed that that we will take Dudayev’s palace in much the same way as we took Amin’s palace in December 1979.<...>We never flew to the center of Grozny. As they say, as above, so below. A terrible inconsistency in the actions of different types of troops was revealed. It turned out that the helicopters could not take off, because one helicopter pilot had not yet had lunch, another had not yet refueled, and the third was completely on duty. As a result, already on January 1 at 00 hours 10 minutes we were given the order: “Get to the cars!” - the city had to be entered by land.<...>By the evening of that day, having already entered the city with a tank column, we learned from our scouts that by the time of that failed landing, the stadium planned as a springboard for it was full of well-armed and at the same time not subordinate to anyone: it was on December 31 that the the weapons available in warehouses were also distributed there without restrictions to everyone who wanted to defend “free Ichkeria”. So our three helicopters would most likely have been burned over this stadium.” 3

The leadership developed a “brilliant plan”: when we start sending troops into the city from the north, the militants will “get scared” and run to the south, where pre-established ambushes will await them on the main roads. It was these ambushes that we had to organize, and this explains the distribution of 40 kilograms of explosives for each person.

We are celebrating the New Year near the boathouses after the failed landing in the mountains. Somewhere there in the dark in the ranks is me.

Returning to Mozdok on the evening of the 31st, we immediately stepped up to guard Grachev’s train. I celebrated the New Year guarding this train. There were BB posts across the field, and when the chimes struck, they opened fire with tracers in our direction, apparently believing that there could be no one in the field. My friend and I fell behind a thick poplar, branches cut down by bullets fell on us, he took out a can of beer stolen from an “officer’s” gift, and lying behind the poplar, we drank it in honor of the coming New Year.

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Here, by the way, is a very good video filmed by an officer from the 901st battalion. All our officers are here, almost all the guys from our group. I will comment on this video, summarizing the “peaceful” part of the service - from the PPD in Kubinka to the location in the boathouses at the Mozdok airfield. There were a lot of videos on the regiment on the Internet, but these videos disappear from time to time, perhaps the owners delete accounts.

Loading before departure on the battalion's central parade ground.

01:00. Battalion commander Nikulnikov and the commander of the 3rd company Cherdantsev stands with his back.

01:46. Senior Lieutenant Konoplyannikov, commander of the first reconnaissance group. On January 5, 1995, in the hospital, he will receive a bullet in the head, the Sphere will save him: the bullet will pierce steel, Kevlar, lining, all layers, and, having pierced the skin, will stick into the skull, but all the consequences will be a hefty bump.

01:53. A high officer - Major Cherushev, in my opinion he will later become a battalion commander after Nikulnikov.

14:21. Boxes with gifts from Menatep Bank. We called the black round hats “menatepovki”. Ironically, just before the storming of Grozny, they sent us gifts from “Menatep” - such cardboard boxes, they were brought on the 30th. The boxes were “officers” and “soldiers”. They all had writing materials: notebooks, pens, and also sweaters and hats like this. The "officer's" boxes also contained a bottle of champagne and a can of imported beer. Whoever compiled these kits had a very good understanding of what a soldier needed. Many years later, to be honest, I am stunned, knowing the arrogance of the current oligarchs: to send a gift to a soldier and also consult with a knowledgeable specialist about what exactly the soldier needs. This had to come down... The fact is that a fucking soldier's helmet only fits on the top of the head with a fur army earflap, and the whole point of the helmet disappears, but here they sent caps - the consultant clearly understood the situation.

So we ran around in these hats. In general, it turned out that all the uniforms and equipment were very poorly suited for active combat operations. Upon arrival at the PPD in Kubinka, these caps were taken to the warehouse by order.

A few years later, in the St. Petersburg metro, I saw a man wearing such a hat. I stood and looked at him for a long time, trying to understand whether he was in Grozny...

15:41. On the right in the frame is Lieutenant Andrei Gridnev, the future Hero of Russia. I remember how Gridnev just came to the unit from school as a young lieutenant, he was only 21 or 22 years old, he was assigned to our company as Konoplyannikov’s deputy, he was immediately very motivated to serve. From the first days, Gridnev was seriously involved in preparing and educating the guys from the group, they regularly ran with him, ran extra cross-country courses, and every evening he came and made them wet themselves ice water(actually, hot water We didn’t have it in our company at the time). They called it “Karbyshev’s bathhouse”. He gave the impression of a very tough person. But I remember when his wife arrived at the unit, when he had already settled into the officer’s dormitory, and we were helping him bring in furniture and things, he, secretly from his wife, took a box with jars of raspberry jam, and in the dark around the corner of the dormitory, he handed it to us, saying : “Here, guys, eat some jam!” I remember being very touched. After Konoplyannikov was wounded on January 5, Gridnev will take command of the reconnaissance group and will successfully lead it. The guys from the group recalled that he was very lively in battle, they laughed, saying: “The battle is being fought by Lieutenant Gridnev and ten of his squires,” because he was constantly running from one fighter to another, shooting from a grenade launcher, then from a machine gun, then He would take the rifle away from the sniper, the guys laughed that if they started giving him shells, he would throw shells at the militants’ positions even without a gun. And when I found out that he was given the Hero star, I was not surprised at all.

15:53. Company commander Nikolakhin and on the left in a winter hat and camouflage uniform are the deputy company commander and the commander of the combined group of snipers (included soldiers armed with SVD and VSS) Konstantin Mikhailovich Golubev, who will die on January 8, 1995. They were friends, and Nikolahin was very upset about his death.

16:11. Our political officer Bannikov waves his hand.

16:15. A big mustachioed guy is the battalion's main demolition bomber, I don't remember his name. When classes on subversive training were taking place, he said: “Explosives can be made from last year’s leaves; whoever stays for a contract, I’ll tell you how.” Behind him is a healthy guy - our machine gunner Yura Sannikov, from Siberia, a very kind guy, one of two in the company with a higher education.

The camera moves to the right, and we again see Gridnev and Lieutenant Gonta, a tough guy, on the second trip he will be the commander of a combined reconnaissance group, in which I will be, we will destroy the ambush at height 970 in the Serzhen-Yurt area under his leadership. Then I will have a good relationship with him. In Grozny he was the commander of the second reconnaissance group. At the very edge of the frame on the right is Dima T., a sergeant from our reconnaissance group, who transferred to the RMO after the assault on Grozny. Now in Europe he is a chef in one of the hotels.

17:20. Formation of officers of our 1st company. The tallest in the ranks is Glukhovsky! Vladimir Glukhovsky, at the age of 27 at that time, was already a very experienced officer, commanding a reconnaissance group in Transnistria in a separate 818th special forces company, subordinate directly to the commander of the 14th Army Lebed, which carried out complex combat missions, and was disbanded after the withdrawal from Transnistria. Glukhovsky was sent to our regiment, and it so happened that he, a captain, a former group commander, who was already wounded, fell under the subordination of the junior senior lieutenant Nikolakhin. Glukhovsky was a man of character, very energetic and treated war as a sport. I never saw him scared or tired, although he sometimes slept less than we did.

Behind Glukhovsky, the last one in the ranks is his deputy. Vadim Pastukh. On his second trip in the summer of 1995, Shepherd will be the commander of a group providing support for a detachment of drones. And the commander of this unit will be Sergei Makarov, the second in line. In the event of a drone being shot down by militants, Shepherd’s group was to ensure its search and return.

"THE CITY WAS DESTROYED, MANY HOUSES WERE BURNED"

I don’t remember exactly, but it seems that on January 1, 1995, on the Urals, we moved to Grozny with two companies: the 2nd 218th battalion and our 1st 901st battalion. The second company, under the leadership of Major Nepryakhin, entered first. The third company of our battalion entered Grozny one or two days later than us.

I always thought that they entered the city late in the evening on January 1st. The day before there was turmoil: departures, arrivals, train security... Perhaps one day (December 31, 1994) slipped out of my memory.

Before leaving for Grozny, near the boathouses, we tied the Urals with boxes of sand, and it was during the day, I remember exactly. The thaw began, and, by the way, they brought “sphere” helmets by car, which the officers immediately snapped up, but they brought few helmets, so not even all the officers had enough. Apparently, this happened on the afternoon of January 1, and we set out, accordingly, on the second, because on December 31 we were closely busy with these attempts to fly somewhere, and the Urals were not tied with boxes that day. But I was always sure that the entrance to the city took place on the first of January.

In the video there are metal trusses of a cannery; there were infantry machine gunners on all the platforms, who began firing bursts at any sound.

Then, if the 218th battalion reached the canned food facility approximately at the time indicated on the timer in the video frames of Lyubimov’s film, then it turns out that our company arrived at night after them. Nepryakhin says in the video that they entered with a fight. And then we, the first company of the 901st battalion, moved separately (our column was not large, just a few vehicles). Grozny is only about 100 kilometers from Mozdok.

We moved in a column behind the second company of the 218th battalion, already in the dark. The city was destroyed electric lighting there was none, but many houses were on fire. At one point, a mortar mine exploded in front of our Ural. The driver stopped, and immediately a second mine fell behind the car. I saw how Glukhovsky, who was sitting at the edge of the body, ran to the cabin and began banging on it with his fist, shouting: “Forward!” The driver drove off, and where we were standing, the third mine exploded. One of the mines hit a private house, which was located on the left side in the direction of travel. We entered the cannery late at night on January 1st. The company was located in a two-story building on the second floor. My friend and I were immediately put on guard to guard the Urals. The mortar shelling continued and several mines exploded nearby.

There were already infantry at the plant, the remnants of some units. In the darkness, we met a surviving warrant officer from the Maikop brigade, who told us about the death of their column, about how the Chechens shot the crews of the vehicles leaving the burning equipment. The cannery was generally a safe place, despite periodic shelling. All the stories about compote from this factory - however, we drank compote all the time, no one broke these cans (obviously referring to a scene from feature film A.G. Nevzorova “Purgatory”, 1997: “Why are you destroying banks, huh?”)

Over time, the plant became a kind of springboard where suitable units were pulled up.

“[The plant] was a series of barracks-type premises, but built very thoroughly. Some of them housed unit headquarters, others housed units withdrawn from battle and their armored vehicles. Some of the warehouses were still filled with canned juices and compotes. there was a constant stream of people carrying away the cans." 4

After entering the cannery, Glukhovsky ordered to find wooden pallets, and from these pallets to build a floor for sleeping in the two-story building where we were located. It must be said that Glukhovsky took the organization of everyday life very seriously and always forced as much as possible comfortable conditions create for sleep and relaxation. He immediately dispatched one of our soldiers to make lamps from shell casings. It turned out that this ancient, proven method of lighting has no alternative. Later, when the building is hit by a mortar, we will move to the basement, and there, too, our commander will force us to equip sleeping places, build a stove from a barrel, and make a dozen lamps from shell casings. This habit of making our locations as comfortable as possible will remain with us until the end of our service.

On the same day they will bring in a captured artillery spotter. Then there was a version about “a captain dressed in a uniform,” I don’t know if these are different people or not. But the spotter is not a myth, and I have seen it myself.

Officer 22 Special Special Forces Vyacheslav Dmitriev:"We've been pestered for some time mortar attack from which there was no escape. This continued until the spotter was caught. One of the sentries noticed a man of Slavic appearance in the uniform of a captain of the Russian army, who alone either entered or left the territory of the cannery. They checked him, the unit number in the documents did not coincide with any number of military units that entered Grozny, and the artillery compass and the Japanese radio station dispelled all doubts. During interrogation it turned out that he was a Ukrainian mercenary. His further fate is unknown. Some said that he was sent to Mozdok to a filtration point of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, others that he was shot here, behind the barracks. In those conditions, both could be true." 4

The captured spotter will boast: “Welcome to hell!” There were rumors that infantrymen took him on the roof of either a five-story building or a nine-story building nearby; he had a walkie-talkie with him, but this is also unlikely, rather he was “rummaging around” near the plant, and apparently lost his sense of smell from impunity. He was a Chechen with a big nose, unshaven, spoke with an accent, was dressed in black trousers and a long black leather jacket with pockets. Now I think it wasn’t a mercenary, but most likely one of the locals, such as a surveyor or a retired military man; you can’t teach a simple shepherd to use a compass so quickly. I'll see him the next day. The spotter was kept in the basement of the house where we lived at first. There, near the porch, the next morning I saw him and didn’t recognize him, his face was very badly damaged, he cried and said: “Don’t kill me, I’m a soldier like you!” A tall, thin general spoke to him gloomily.

It became psychologically difficult already on January 2: constant lack of sleep, knee-deep mud, shelling from mortars, snipers. Even to smoke - I had to hide.

On January 2, if I’m not mistaken, the first reconnaissance group received the task of moving to the Petropavlovskoye Highway area (but this is not accurate information). The fact is that troops were planned to approach the highway, and the militants set up ambushes there, and it was necessary to carry out counter-ambush measures.

Major Sergei Ivanovich Shavrin, FSK Special Operations Directorate:"The task of the corps commander (commander of the 8th Guards AK, Lieutenant General L.Ya. Rokhlin) entrusted us with a difficult task: to ensure the safety of the column tracks along which the Combat vehicles and troops. This is Lermontovskaya street (Lermontov Street, adjacent to Petropavlovskoye Highway). There are houses on one side there, private sector, and on the other, modern buildings. Militants in groups of 5-6 people made their way into houses and fired at the columns. And the street is completely clogged with combat vehicles, tankers, and vehicles with ammunition. In general, every shot results in a hit and a lot of damage and losses. From our joint team with special forces paratroopers, we formed four groups and cleared the neighborhood of bandits. They set up ambushes, and when they found militants, they entered into battle. The bandits are afraid of open battle and avoid it. They have one tactic: bite and run, bite and run... They soon realized that there were ambushes, there were special forces, there was danger. And the bandit raids stopped. Several blocks along the road were clear." 3

On one of the night outs, machine gunner Sergei Dmitruk, from the first reconnaissance group, died, number 3 or 4, I don’t remember exactly. The first loss in our company.

The mentioned cleansing of the private sector, where exactly, I don’t know exactly, maybe somewhere in the area of ​​the Petropavlovskoye Highway. The voice of the commander of the first reconnaissance group of our company, Konoplyannikov: “Slash to the right, Mustafa!” Mustafa is the nickname of a sniper from the VSS Radik Alkhamov from Bashkiria. Radik was very kind and very slow, but he was transformed in the ring at hand-to-hand combat competitions. He was small in stature, very sinewy, with prominent muscles, like Bruce Lee. Radik was a hand-to-hand champion in the battalion; they pitted huge guys against him and he defeated them all! When we jokingly asked: “Radik, why are you so slow?”, he drawled and answered: “The sniper must be slow!”

I remember in the morning I went on some errand to the plant, and saw a car trying to break through the bridge over the Sunzha at full speed - a white “six” with four men in it. I don’t know if they were militants, but this maneuver was tragic for them: it turns out that our tank was standing opposite the bridge behind a concrete fence in a caponier and with the first shot the hood with the engine was torn off the “six”, the driver and passenger in the front seat were killed, and two passengers They jumped out of the back seat and rushed back across the bridge. Immediately, heavy fire was opened from all the metal trusses of the plant on those escaping, and I saw how the bullets began to tear their clothes. I sat with my neck craned and looked over the fence, which wildly infuriated Glukhovsky: “Do you want a bullet in the head?!” - He hit me on the helmet with the butt of his helmet.

And the next moment a mine flew into the territory of the plant and a shrapnel cut off one of our Ural drivers, he fell as if he had been knocked down. The guys immediately grabbed him and carried him to the doctors. Only upon arrival in Kubinka did we learn that he had survived.

SOURCES

1. God comes himself.-M., Printing house "News", 2012.-112 p., ill. Page 107.

2. Valery K. “I can’t be an atheist,” story. Published in the author's edition.

In unit 28337 - 45 airborne special forces brigade (Kubinka). There are almost no conscripts recruited there, which is why the competition among them is extremely high. The division is relatively young, but has already proven itself well, and therefore is among the elite.

This resource is not an official website. All information about him is taken from open sources. Here you will not find state secrets, but you can learn about how to join the unit, what requirements are imposed on candidates and in what material and living conditions you will have to serve.

The 45th Airborne Special Forces Regiment was awarded the Orders of Alexander Nevsky and Kutuzov. It was created a few years after the collapse of the USSR. Located in the Moscow region. Throughout its existence, the regiment has undergone various changes.

The military personnel took part in military operations in the Chechen Republic and South Ossetia. The unit has guard status.

Service

Sports competitions are held in the military unit. Not only domestic, but also international. Military personnel perform at various events held in Moscow and the region in hand-to-hand combat and parachute jumping.

In addition to the traditional study of regulations and drill training (probably irrelevant for contract soldiers and intended only for conscripts), military personnel receive the theory of military affairs, practicing the acquired knowledge in practice.

Physical training is very important and has priority, so forced marches are frequent, carried out over different distances from different levels equipment.

Military personnel study different types weapons, acquire other military skills at training grounds.

Special attention is paid to practicing parachute jumps. On the territory of the military unit there is a complex designed to acquire the skills of safe separation from an aircraft, landing, and training in jumping with full ammunition. Jumps can be made at any time, regardless of weather conditions.

Accommodation

Military personnel live in a soldiers' dormitory; there is no barracks. The dormitory is of a block type, with 2 rooms, each of which is designed for approximately 5 people (plus or minus 1).

The dormitory equipment is traditional: showers, toilets, Gym, recreation room, classrooms for conducting classes.

Meals in the dining room. Cooking, cleaning and other kitchen functions are carried out by civilian employees. Additionally, groceries and other necessary items can be purchased at the store.

Contentment

Military personnel receive their salaries on a VTB card. The allowance is standard. Bonuses are possible for excellent physical fitness and special conditions of service. Separately and if necessary, you can open and send a Sberbank card to the soldier. There is no ATM in the unit; it is located outside it on Naro-Fominsk Highway, no. 5.

How to enlist under contract in the 45th Regiment

As noted above, young conscripts practically do not serve in the unit, and in the near future it will be completely transferred to a contract basis. Concluding a contract to serve in a unit is not easy; the candidate must meet a number of requirements relating to physical and moral stability and endurance, the ability to correctly and quickly assess the situation and take the right decision. And also a desire to serve.

The basic requirements apply to all men wishing to join the armed forces, and not just the 45th regiment:

• age not less than 18 and not more than 40 years;
• degree of suitability for service – A1;
• undergo an interview with the commander;
• pass a physical fitness test;
• write tests to determine psychological stability;
• write a report.

The unit accepts women to serve. They do not participate in combat operations, but occupy positions in the headquarters, medical unit, serve as radio operators and in other similar positions that do not involve active action. However, they undergo the same physical training as men, in accordance with the standards established for women. Living conditions for them are similar.

To find out about the availability of vacancies, you need to contact the unit directly or the military commissariat at your place of residence.

Phones

Calls are allowed in the evening. During training time, they are surrendered and are kept in the custody of the commander.

You can reach the unit at one of the following numbers:

• +7 495 592 24 16;
• +7 495 592 24 53;
• +7 495 592 24 97;
• + 7 495 591 44 74 – military registration and enlistment office;
• + 7 495 593 58 73 – duty officer at the military registration and enlistment office.

Addresses and mail

Postal address for parcels and letters: 1437, Moscow region. Odintsovo district, Kubinka-1, military station 28337, full name.

The post office is located in Kubinka, on Kolkhoznaya Street and is open every day except Monday and Sunday.

Postal items are collected from the post office once a week. It is recommended to check the contents of the parcel with the military personnel. Hygiene items, spare laces, warm insoles, and stationery will not be superfluous. Medicines are prohibited; please check further about the possibility of sending them and the list of permitted drugs.

Visit

If you are coming from regions far from the Moscow region, then you need to go to Moscow. From there there are several ways to get to Kubinka:

• By train from Belorussky railway station to Kubinka station. The current schedule is available online on the websites of the station and other similar ones (Yandex, tutu.ru). From there to minibus 27 or on foot;
• From Art. Kuntsevskaya metro station by minibus 59. Get off at the Armored Vehicles Museum stop.

Accommodation

It is recommended to stay in a hotel at the flying club. There are double and triple rooms available. On the territory of the town there is a regular dormitory and a dormitory for military personnel. There you can also get information about available places. Don’t forget about sites offering rental housing, such as Avito, Domofond. Social networks will also help you find an apartment.

The 45th separate special purpose reconnaissance regiment of the Airborne Forces (45th Special Purpose Reconnaissance Regiment of the Airborne Forces, military unit 28337), which was in the reserve of the Minister of Defense, consisted of about 450 people.3 According to other sources, 400 people entered the city of Grozny directly.4
There is also information that in December 1994, “exactly half of the entire regiment” was involved in guarding the “train of the Minister of Defense.” And that, supposedly, there was an order “not to involve those who are on security duty at combat exits.”5 Thus, the number of people entering Grozny can vary greatly.

The regiment commander was Colonel Viktor Dmitrievich Kolygin, but on the territory of the Chechen Republic his duties were performed by the chief of staff, Colonel Valery Nikolaevich Yuryev.6

Major Alexander Skobennikov from the 45th Special Forces Airborne Regiment: “Our unit was divided into two detachments. The one I was in was supposed to join the northern, “Rokhlina” group.”7 Unfortunately, it is not entirely clear what the author meant . There may be two battalions of the regiment: 218th (military unit 48427) and 901 (military unit 23372).

According to Major Sergei Ivanovich Shavrin from the USO FSK: “There were about 20 of us left from the special operations department. Guys from the 45th reconnaissance regiment were supposed to act with us. They alerted us again and brought us to the airfield in Mozdok to deliver us by helicopter to the center of Grozny, to the stadium. Then it was assumed that we would take Dudayev’s palace in much the same way as we took Amin’s palace in December 1979.<...>We never flew to the center of Grozny. As they say, as above, so below. A terrible inconsistency in the actions of different types of troops was revealed. It turned out that the helicopters could not take off, because one helicopter pilot had not yet had lunch, another had not yet refueled, and the third was completely on duty. As a result, already January 1 at 00 hours 10 minutes we were given the order: “Get in the cars!” - the city had to be entered by land.<...>By the evening of that day, having already entered the city with a tank column, we learned from our scouts that by the time of that failed landing, the stadium planned as a springboard for it was full of well-armed and at the same time not subordinate to anyone: it was on December 31 that the the weapons available in warehouses were also distributed there without restrictions to everyone who wanted to defend “free Ichkeria.” So our three helicopters would most likely have been burned over this stadium."8

January 1, 1995

Major Skobennikov: “In Tolstoy-Yurt we were assured that the route of our movement was absolutely safe and controlled by ours, we could move in a marching column. We entered, indeed, quite calmly. However, as it turned out, this part of the city was not controlled by anyone. That it was not controlled by ours - that's for sure."10

Major Shavrin: “The departure was unsuccessful. The guide from the corps, for unknown reasons, pressed the gas and disappeared around the corner, and we walked along Khmelnitsky street, Pervomaiskaya and drove out almost to the city center. They realized that they had driven in the wrong place, began to turn around, and on Khmelnitsky Square (probably Ordzhonikidze Square) they were fired upon from a nine-story building. The grenade hit the last armored vehicle, several people were wounded. But the group was taken out without losses."12 (judging by the fact that the next day 16 people from the USO FSK entered the city, there were 5 or 6 wounded)

Major Skobennikov: “While the column was turning towards one of our armored personnel carriers, a grenade launcher was fired from somewhere on the upper floors. We responded with a barrage of fire. The soldiers examined the surrounding buildings, but found no one. It turned out that the armored personnel carrier was damaged, and two of our guys were seriously wounded. New attempts to get in touch were again unsuccessful. We decided to return to Tolstoy-Yurt, spend the night, find a more intelligent guide and move to the city again at dawn."13

January 2, 1995

Meanwhile, "in ten o'clock in the morning on January 2 The command post (8th Guards AK) settled in the basement of the plant."15

Major Skobennikov: " In the morning We moved to the city along the same route.<...>After some time, our convoy was overtaken by cars with medicines. They also went to the cannery and knew the way. We went together, but we didn’t break in at random. The soldiers dismounted and walked along the sidewalks, looking at the neighboring windows. Already on the way to the plant, we had to engage in a short battle with the militants who did not have time to leave the area. We arrived, however, without losses."16

From the description of the actions of the battalion under the command of Major Nikolai Sergeevich Nikulnikov: “Nikulnikov’s battalion enters Grozny. Its location is allocated in one of the buildings of the former cannery. It would seem that ours are already there. You can advance in a column. And the battalion commander dismounted and organized long before the approaches to the city patrols, combat guards, reconnaissance. The motorized rifle commander, who got to Grozny with him, opened his mouth when he saw how the landing groups were making their way through the “peaceful open” area - sometimes crawling, sometimes running, from cover to cover."17 (interesting , what motorized rifle unit are we talking about? 74th Omsbr?)

IN documentary film A. Lyubimov's "Chechnya. The Beginning of the War" contains a video recording of Captain Igor Dementyev, filmed at a cannery. From the comments of senior lieutenant Vladimir Palkin it follows that the consolidated column in 13:35 was in a cannery. (Major Andrei Anatolyevich Nepryakhin and senior lieutenant Sergei Nikolaevich Romashenko, both from 218 about SpN18, were present in the frame)

Major Shavrin: “Soon they appeared before General Rokhlin and reported.<...>The corps commander entrusted us with a difficult task: to ensure the safety of the column routes along which military equipment and troops were moving forward. This is Lermontovskaya street ( Lermontov). There are houses and a private sector on one side, and high-rise buildings on the other. Militants in groups of 5-6 people made their way into houses and fired at the columns. And the street is completely clogged with combat vehicles, tankers, and vehicles with ammunition. In general, every shot results in a hit and a lot of damage and losses."19

According to Major Shavrin, the FSK USO also cleared the street. B. Khmelnitsky, although without specifying the date: “There were high-rise buildings on Bogdan Khmelnitsky Avenue - our petrochemists lived there: also Russians, Ukrainians, Tatars - Soviet Union, All in all. During the assault, the streets became deserted: some left, some hid in the basements. And this house also seemed to be empty. We cleared it out."20

It is likely that from that moment on, the 45th Airborne Special Forces Ordnance Unit began operating in two different directions, because according to Major Skobennikov: “We were given another task: to liberate, together with the SOBR, from the Dudayevites Petropavlovskoe highway. We chose night time for work; darkness, as you know, is a special forces soldier’s friend. Technically, it looked something like this: they spent the whole day watching the block that was to be “cleared,” tracking every smallest detail. At night, the sappers were the first to move forward, remove the Chechen "trip wires" and install their own, blocking possible ways Dudayev's retreat and the route of reinforcements. Then the group quietly infiltrated the building, most often through some “unusual” opening, like a hole in the wall. They quieted down for a while, trying to determine the location of the militants by sounds, then slowly began to move, destroying the “spirits” with the help of silent and bladed weapons.<...>. More often than not, the matter ended with the help of silent weapons. If necessary, then grenades and everything else were used in full. Behind two nights we cleared Peter and Paul Fortress." (night of January 2/3 and January 3/4)

According to Major Shavrin, it was joint groups that cleared the street. Lermontov: “From our team together with special forces paratroopers, we formed four groups and cleared the block of bandits. We set up ambushes, and when militants were found, we entered into battle. The bandits are afraid of open battle and avoid it. They have one tactic: bite-run, bite- run away... They soon realized that there were ambushes, there were special forces there, it was unsafe there. And the bandit raids stopped. Several blocks along the road were free."21

Major Skobennikov: “Sometimes they fired at our own people even after a warning, as happened on Lermontov Street. We notified everyone that we would be working. They advised us not to interfere under any circumstances. In one house it was not possible to work quietly, grenades were used. Here, out of nowhere, a tank - the explosion of its shell destroyed half a house. One of our soldiers was killed, one was wounded, another was shell-shocked."22 (it seems that what happened on January 4, 1995, when Private Sergei Alekseevich Dmitruk from 901 about SpN.23 died)

Major Shavrin: “How many lives we saved! We and the scouts of the 45th regiment. The Chechens didn’t fight at night. They didn’t have night vision devices. And the scouts and I went out at night, captured their lines and then met ours.”24

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

1 Mikhailov A. Chechen wheel. M., 2002. P. 71.
2 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18. (http://www.mosoblpress.ru/balashiha/show.shtml?d_id=915)
3 Maksimov A., Shurygin V. Airborne Forces. Chechnya. Nobody except us. M., 2004. P. 189.
4 Shurygin V. Give me Argun, give me Shawl! // Tomorrow. 1999. December 14. (http://zavtra.ru/cgi/veil/data/zavtra/99/315/21.html)
5 Shurygin V. Chechnya. War. "Special Forces" // Maksimov A., Shurygin V. Airborne Forces. Chechnya. Nobody except us. M., 2004. P. 211.
6 Shurygin V. Give me Argun, give me Shawl! // Tomorrow. 1999. December 14.
7 Skobennikov A. Grozny sacrifice // Soldier of fortune. 1999. No. 5. (http://www.duel.ru/199928/?28_6_1)
8 Dobromyslova O. Mission Impossible // Russian newspaper. 2005. December 16. (http://www.rg.ru/2005/12/16/chechnya.html)
9 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18.
10 Skobennikov A. Grozny sacrifice // Soldier of fortune. 1999. No. 5.
11 Skobennikov A. Betrayed and killed // Russian House. 1999. No. 3. (http://rd.rusk.ru/99/rd3/home3_4.htm)
12 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18.
13 Skobennikov A. Grozny sacrifice // Soldier of fortune. 1999. No. 5.
14 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18.
15 Antipov A. Lev Rokhlin. The life and death of a general. M., 1998. P. 155.
16 Skobennikov A. Grozny sacrifice // Soldier of fortune. 1999. No. 5.
17 Popov V. Professional // Gudok. 2002. December 12.
18 Lyubimov A. "Chechnya. The beginning of the war" - documentary footage filmed by servicemen of the Russian Army
19 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18.
20 Dobromyslova O. Mission Impossible // Russian newspaper. 2005. December 16.
21 Boltunov M. Everyone has their own war... // Fact. 2002. No. 3. January 18.
22 Skobennikov A. Grozny sacrifice // Soldier of fortune. 1999. No. 5.
23 Russian Airborne Forces. M., 2005. P. 378.
24 Dobromyslova O. Mission impossible // Russian newspaper. 2005. December 16.

(to be continued...)

Its full name is: 45th Separate Guards Order of Mikhail Kutuzov and Alexander Nevsky Special Purpose Reconnaissance Regiment of the Russian Airborne Forces. For those who are close to military topics, there is no need to explain anything here. Let us explain to the general reader:

• The 45th Regiment is the youngest unit in our airborne forces.
• The 45th Regiment was the only one in Russia to receive the rank of Guards in peacetime (after the end of the Great Patriotic War).
• The regiment simultaneously trains special forces, paratroopers and intelligence officers - there is no other unit like it in the country.
• The regiment is stationed in the city of Kubinka, Moscow region.
• The regiment's motto: “The strongest wins.” The mascot is a wolf.

Today - and this is a reason for pride - he serves in the elite unit 101 Belgorod residents. And in 2005, only one of our fellow countrymen left for the regiment - Alexey Krasovsky. And even then he might not have gone: he had flat feet of the third degree, his parents were disabled people of the second group... But he wanted to serve, and at the same time he decided for himself: either in the 45th, or nowhere. Alexey was helped by his sporting achievements (CCM in football, winner of numerous karate competitions) and the fact that he was the best conscript in the city in terms of physical and educational indicators. The reputation of his uncle, who previously served in an elite regiment and now works in the Alpha special forces, also played a role.

Krasovsky did not let down either his relative or his small homeland - he was demobilized with the rank of senior sergeant and was awarded the Margelov medal. He does not lose contact with the regiment - he always comes to the unit on Airborne Forces Day, and in the fall and spring he meets the commander of the special forces company, senior lieutenant Sergei Ishtuganov, in Belgorod.

“He visits all military registration and enlistment offices, studies in detail the personal files of conscripts, selects the most worthy, and forms a team from them,” says Alexey. – For several days the guys pass the standards. Moreover, physical training, although the most important, is not a decisive indicator. You don’t just need strength, you also need brains; a reed woodpecker won’t get through there. Therefore, candidates are tested on basic knowledge of the Russian language, mathematics, physics, geography and other basic subjects.”

Break into the elite armed forces Many people wish that the competition for the 45th Regiment is steeper than for admission to universities. Last summer, 300 Belgorod guys wanted to leave with Sergei Ishtuganov, but only 60 passed the selection. The commanders are happy with our conscripts - they send letters of gratitude to the governor and to DOSAAF. Belgorod residents have even earned an interesting carte blanche: those who, after successful service, express a desire to become an officer, can go to the Ryazan Higher Airborne Command School without competition - on the recommendation of the regiment command.

Knowledgeable people attribute the achievements of Belgorod residents to high-quality pre-conscription training. Most military-patriotic clubs (MPC) are in the field of airborne assault, and guys go into the army with a solid base of knowledge and skills.

“Many cadets of our clubs have 5-6 parachute jumps under their belts,” explains Deputy Chairman of the regional branch of DOSAAF Viktor Pogrebnyak. – And in the 45th regiment, as far as I know, according to the service program you have to make 12 jumps. There, of course, they jump not from the An-2, but from more serious aircraft, but when you have such experience, it is much easier to perform complex tasks.”

Last January, Viktor Alekseevich visited Kubinka to take the oath. Together with the leaders of two military-industrial complexes - “Rusichi” and “Fatherland” - he congratulated and gave farewell words to the recruits. He says that the conditions for living and serving in the regiment are excellent: comfortable beds, cabinets with individual keys, showers, tea rooms... In general, not a stereotypical army at all.

Do you want one? Get ready. We have obtained the minimum requirements of the 45th Regiment for you. Don’t want to or have already passed the military age? Just try what it's like to get into forty-five.