But it was the hopelessness of the prisoners, as much as the huge haul of arms, which excited Adam. Qasim, bubbling with good humour in spite of the exertions of the night, kept saying, ‘Guns, ammunition: now we’ll show them, Kara Kush!’
And Adam answered, ‘Qasim, arms are vital. But the Russians – did you see their faces? Did you look into their eyes? We’re going to beat them, Qasim, do you realize that? We’re going to beat them.’
2 ‘I thank the court for its clemency …’
Guerrilla Headquarters
The Eagle’s Nest
Paghman Mountains
North of Kabul
APRIL 29
Six days after the raid on the armoury, the monastery was humming with activity. Abundant arms and ammunition meant that the sixty-five men of the Whirlwind could start serious weapons training. A planning section under Qasim was in being; the trucks, well-camouflaged, had been overhauled; the captured supplies were stowed in the limitless tunnels.
Such was the improvement in morale that Adam was able to get the men working to clear a new secret entrance, formed by water rushing past the place from the melting snows. Now there were two completely concealed ways into the mountain, with the observation posts commanding the broad Paghman Valley which lay at its foot, between the Eagle’s Nest and the Russian occupiers’ domain.
The prisoners, who had been brought here blindfolded, were housed in the spacious chambers which, with their brightly coloured wall frescoes, were perhaps the Buddhist abbott’s luxurious apartments. They did not know where they were; and when they heard the roar of the Soviet search-planes, audible even in the caverns, they cowered into corners, convinced that they would be blasted into eternity at any moment.
For three days after the raid, Russian spotting, transport, attack, training and every other kind of aircraft – even tiny civilian crop-dusters – had whined and clattered above the area. The destruction of a major military installation, not to mention the loss of all its personnel and many of its arms, was no small matter. The Russians themselves did not know what really happened: but The Eagle had good intelligence contacts in Kabul, and he read their reports to the great amusement of the Whirlwind men.
‘Only a large and heavily-armed force, trained by professionals, probably American interventionists, could have carried out this raid’ claimed one ‘situation appreciation paper’, a grubby photocopy, made on a Russian machine out of office hours. The GRU, Military Security, had already interrogated Soviet combat, supply and logistics officers of high rank, to determine whether there had been treachery. More and more reports showed how everyone concerned was building up a case which, when reviewed in Moscow, would implicate someone else.
During the week the guerrillas had accumulated a vast amount of fascinating information about the Red Army from the prisoners. Adam had given copies of the Constitution and Fundamental Laws of Afghanistan to the Russian Colonel and his fellow-officers, and told them to prepare for a trial for atrocities and war crimes. In the meantime he collected any data which would help in the struggle against the invaders. To the Afghans south of the Hindu Kush anything connected with the USSR was a mystery, in spite of their shared border to the north. The Soviet Army was even more of an unknown quantity.
The more they learned, the more optimistic the guerrillas became. Socialism was not producing the desired effect. Either the Russians were poor material to begin with, or the regime had well and truly knocked the stuffing out of its captive people.
Food for the ordinary Soviet troops and NCOs was very poor. Porridge, noodles, bread, potatoes and a little fish formed the basis of an unvarying cycle of menus. Sometimes, the Russians said, they got meat, but not very often. In the cavern, the Russian soldiers sampled the officers’ rations and wolfed the superior food with delight, complaining only that there was no vodka, which seemed to obsess them. They explained that they made an illegal brew called samahonka, but they didn’t really like it. And they begged for tobacco or cigarettes.
The partisans saw that the unbalanced diet had caused many health problems. Lack of vitamins seemed to be at the root of the ulcers, boils and night-blindness so common among the men. They were grateful when they were given powdered milk, which they said was sometimes to be had in barracks at home in Russia, but could not be found in Afghanistan.
When The Eagle had asked them whether their poor diet was due to transport difficulties, they said that it was, on the whole, better than they got at home. One gunner claimed that the infra-red night-sighting equipment was not in use because vitamin deficiencies in food had so limited the night vision of ordinary soldiers that the invisible-light projectors and goggles were next to useless.
This close-up view of what had been trumpeted as the greatest army on earth provided facts which took time to absorb. The Eagle, having read and heard so much about the Russians as a military power, at first thought that the soldiers must be lying. Questioning them individually, however, he found that their accounts bore out one another.
A major preoccupation was their pay. On the equivalent of $2.50 a week, a private could not buy extra food or send any money home. Everything went on boot polish, tobacco, shaving soap and blades. And the soldiers had to pay the inflated prices of their canteens. A private’s entire pay bought no more than six packets of cigarettes a month. An Afghan conscript earned five times as much.
‘They’re all paranoid,’ Qasim said to Adam after one interrogation. ‘They believe that they are surrounded by enemies. They genuinely imagine that all Afghan guerrillas are organized and accompanied by CIA agents. I’m glad the CIA isn’t behind us, but in a way it’s a pity they aren’t, for then they’d get a picture of what the Russians are really like. See that one over there’ – he pointed to a sergeant – ‘he’s a gunner from an artillery regiment sent to the armoury to check the shells. He claims that twenty per cent of them are duds!’
The Russians, to the great surprise of the Muhjahidin, didn’t wash much. They said that this was because the army gave them little hot water and few opportunities to take a bath. The purpose of military service, they had been told, was to prepare men for war; and there would be no baths in combat conditions. The 170 prisoners had long ago become accustomed to their corporate smell, but they were an embarrassment to the guerrillas, who bathed every day.
The deserter Zelikov (he preferred to be called a ‘defector’) turned out to be a good cook and an even better barber. He was a conscript from Kiev and, being in the last couple of months of a two-year service period, was almost due for repatriation and discharge. When Adam asked him why he hadn’t waited another few weeks and gone home, he said, ‘Once I get back there, I’ll never get out again!’
He was delighted to be a guerrilla, though not anxious to see actual combat. He hated the Soviet system, although he knew no other, and insisted that a large proportion of the population in the USSR shared his dislike. This was specially true of the non-Russians, whom he said would soon be in a majority. The stupidity of the Soviet Army, in all its forms, was one of his favourite subjects: especially the remoteness of the officers from their men. According to Zelikov they thought about little except their own promotion. He also said that the officers stole supplies intended for the men. ‘Vor – thief!’ he would shout, pointing to one or another of them.
The prisoners were now left unshackled, but were kept hobbled, like horses, on ropes which allowed them to walk in their cave prisons, but not to run. It was a situation which needed some supervision but not much. They seemed to be men without hope and for the first two days of their captivity believed they were going to die. They had been told by official propaganda that the partisans tortured any Russians they captured and even skinned them alive. Many suffered from a strange depressive melancholy and others behaved like chronic worriers. Some were to be seen consoling others in quite a moving way. There was even, they said, a special army word, nastroemie, ‘mood’, for this sadness.
In the Darbar, the assembl
y-hall, as the main cavern had become known, The Eagle convened his court at eight o’clock in the morning on the sixth day after the Russians had been captured.
Mostly rather sullen men, they were unshaven for lack of razors, and of various ages, ranks and ethnic stocks. Two of the prisoners were Afghans, interpreters: a lieutenant and a sergeant. Both had been trained in the USSR.
In addition to the hundred and twenty-eight privates, there were seven majors, eight captains, sixteen lieutenants, ten NCOs and of course the Colonel. This was the usual very high ratio of officers to men in the Soviet Army. The charge was murder.
The huge, vaulted cavern’s roof soared like the nave of a Gothic cathedral. Hissing butane-gas lamps augmented the dim natural light. The prisoners were ranged to one side of the cave, sitting on blankets, while the guerrilla community, outnumbered by nearly three to one, sat opposite. On the third wall, facing the great oval gap hung with creepers which was the entrance, sat The Eagle and his henchmen.
The Eagle spoke, in Dari-Persian.
‘The legitimacy of the forces of the Muhjahidin, the Strugglers, is established by the Constitution of the Sovereign State of Afghanistan, promulgated on Mizan 9, 1343, which is equivalent to October 10, 1964 of the Christian Era, signed at the Gulkhana Palace by King Zahir Shah.’ He had been careful to include copies of the laws of free Afghanistan when stocking the fortress. ‘I refer to Title Three, Article Thirty-Nine, which runs as follows:’
He paused, and said to the captured Afghan lieutenant, ‘You will translate what I am saying, without deviation, into Russian; first saying that, according to the Constitution, there are only two official languages in this country: Dari-Persian and Pashtu. We are using Dari, but the prisoners may communicate, through you or directly, in either.’
When this had been conveyed to the Russians, the Colonel stood up. ‘I am Colonel Aleksandr Petrov, of the Red Army of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I demand that this farce be stopped and that I and my men be released immediately. Failure to comply will result in the most crushing consequences. You should realize that you will all be hanged if you do not obey, regardless of our own fate.’ A rest had restored some of the Colonel’s confidence.
As if on cue, or at a signal, one of the guerrilla lookouts came running into the cave and handed The Eagle several sheets of paper. He looked at them, smiled and said, ‘You Russians certainly do seem to think alike, Colonel! These are leaflets, supposedly from the Kabul Government, which are dropping like snow, all over the place. They are addressed to us. I shall read what they say:
‘“People of the mountains! Deceived Afghans, captives of the anachronistic clergy, the aristocrats, landlords and backward tribal chiefs! Misinformed bandits! This is an appeal from the legitimate, republican and socialist government of our beloved country. The imperialist-Zionists and their lackeys the Pakistanis and Iranians, as well as the Egyptians, the Chinese and other enemies of the revolution and of the people, have deceived you! Lay down your arms and join us in the building of a free, noble, progressive homeland! Kill the British, American, West German, French and all other agents and spies among you! Release the soldiers of the brotherly Soviet Army, here as peacemakers and at the invitation of the legitimate, progressive, benign and homeland-loving, Islam-believing, single and only Government of the Democratic Republic of Afghanistan! Know that the President, His Excellency Agha Babrak Karmal, has announced an amnesty. You will be free to return to your homes, to your crops and animals, to your wives and chidren. Accept the amnesty! Join the joyful New Day!”’
There was a roar of derisive laughter from the assembled Afghans.
The man on The Eagle’s left, Tirandaz the sharpshooter, grinned. ‘It is quite poetic, Eagle, but they have a long way to go before their poesy competes with that of the great Saadi, Hafiz or Rumi! But it’s nice to know that they are trying.’
The Eagle, when the leaflet had been translated to the Russians by the very uncomfortable interpreter, said, ‘Babrak Karmal’s airborne petition to the Muhjahidin, on behalf of the Russian prisoners and their friends, is dismissed. To continue:
‘In accordance with the Afghan Constitution, Title Three, Article Twenty-Six, Paragraph Two, I inform the prisoners of their rights. I quote: “Innocence is the original state: the accused is considered innocent unless found guilty by a final judgement in a court of law.”’
The Colonel shouted, ‘This isn’t a court of law!’
‘I hereby declare,’ continued The Eagle, ‘this assembly, composed of citizens of Afghanistan, to be a court of law under the Fundamental Law of Afghanistan. The charge against the accused is murder, direct murder or, alternatively, indirect by collusion, before or after the event. The penalty for murder in this country, as in Russia, is – and always has been – death.’
Pandemonium broke out among the Russians when they heard the translation of this charge. Some cried out, others tried to run forward and throw themselves on the ground in front of The Eagle and his companions. Only the Colonel remained calm, evidently trying to give an example to the rabble. The Afghans, unused to such excitable behaviour, leaned forward interestedly, eagerly pointing out to one another the more hysterical of the Russians, looking at the scuffles as the terrified men argued among themselves, and wondering what could be the subject of such disputes. All the Soviet prisoners, whether Slavs, Balts, Tartars or Tajiks, seemed equally affected.
Three shots rang out. ‘I haven’t got a gavel,’ The Eagle explained, putting his smoking revolver back into its holster, ‘but be careful that I don’t shoot someone by mistake. I might, if your restlessness makes me too excited.’
The shivering mob subsided, their eyes fixed on him. Some were wringing their hands in silence, others groaned, or repeated like a litany, ‘Lord have mercy …’
‘Eagle, this is going to take a year, why don’t we get on with it?’ Qasim was getting bored.
The Eagle turned to the prisoners. ‘You must listen, or we’ll make you listen. The Fundamental Law, while prescribing the death penalty, provides for mitigation. It states that, in a case of murder, the bereaved may relent, and accept compensation instead of revenge. If any of you are found guilty, I shall ask the assembled people here, the Afghans, who are accepted as the bereaved in the case of the massacre at Kalantut, to pronounce whether they will accept compensation – or whether they still insist upon execution of the death penalty, as is their right.’
The Colonel was still trying: ‘I demand liberty, and at once, for all of us!’ He shook his fist. The rest of the Russians again intoned, in a deep chorus, ‘Lord have mercy.’
The Eagle held up his hand for silence and looked at his copy of the Constitution. ‘The accused Aleksandr Petrov will take note of Title Three, Article Twenty-Six, Paragraph One of the Constitution, an abstract of which was furnished him yesterday, together with other relevant papers: “Liberty is the natural right of the human being. This right has no limitations except the liberty of others and public interest as defined by law”.’
He turned to the Colonel. ‘Aleksandr Petrov: you will recognize this court and allow us to continue, representing your associates yourself or nominating someone else, who may be anyone of your choice, or I shall immediately hand you over, for summary trial by consensus, to the Jirga, the assembly of the Afghans present today. The Adat, customary law, allows for this as an alternative to your accepting the authority of our court.’
This really interested the Afghan crowd. Cries of ‘People without honour’ and ‘Hand the murderers over to us, Eagle!’ filled the air. Turbans were unrolled and waved, and a group began to sing the national hymn:
‘… zindabad Qaum: Sar-buland bashad, bairaq-i-Afghan! Long Live the People, honoured, eminent be, the flag of the Afghan!’
The buglers were practising their own warcry, like a football crowd, shouting it out syllable by syllable: ‘The Trumpeters Are Here!’
When order was restored once more, the Colonel said, wearily, ‘I accept
the jurisdiction of the court.’
‘Petrov, Aleksandr, Citizen of the Soviet Union, are you guilty, directly or by association, of the murder of one or more of the people of Kalantut?’
‘I am not guilty, in either sense.’
‘Is any one, or are any number, of your associates, guilty in either sense?’
‘None of them is guilty in either sense.’
‘The court regards them as innocent, until guilt can be proved. Qasim Hashemi will now state the facts.’
Qasim rose. ‘Respected sir: the entire resident population of Kalantut village, Kabul Governorate, was seen by me and four others, dead, murdered according to a witness, by Russian troops from the Afghan Field Armoury occupied by elements of the USSR’s three hundred and sixtieth Motorized Rifle Division. The evidence of our eyes, Russian ammunition, and a witness attest to this, though the witness died of his wounds. Colonel Petrov has admitted the guilt of his men, to our Commander, when Battle-Group Kalantut was recapturing the Armoury in the national interest.’
The Colonel stood up. ‘President of the court! The witness has failed to add that I voluntarily said that I was about to punish the men who had committed the offence.’
‘Sit down,’ said The Eagle. ‘If an offence has been committed – and none disputes that – and if you say that you knew about it and were even going to punish its perpetrators, you cannot plead that your men are not guilty.’
One of The Eagle’s men, whispered to Qasim: ‘Is our Eagle a lawyer?’
‘No, he’s a professor of technology, in the Faculty of Science of the University of Kabul.’ The questioner looked awestruck at this answer.
The Colonel was on his feet again. ‘I was prevented from doing my duty.’
‘You mean that you would have tried the men for murder of innocent civilians, women and children?’
‘Gospodin President! The charges had not yet been framed. You led the attack which overwhelmed us, I had no time.’