The Pilot - 1999

Glaz adjusts the throttle of his helicopter. Trying to see through the cracked windshield, but can barely see. Flashing and distant gunfire, as though someone were flickering the lights of a room. An almost endless seeming snow, white as though it was cocaine, are the only things he can make out. The cold winters that affront Chechnya are one of the things that he most remembers from his past time in the region. Below him, the resemblance of a city, yet, it is now indistinguishable, for the space once ruled by people, stores, now ruled by the distant sounds of gunfire, explosions, and incessant artillery barrages that make his heart jump a beat.

“So this is Grozny?” Asks a passenger, looking out a window, curious.

“Yes. We have sadly come to this, for the second time it seems” replies Glaz, in a cold tone. He knows this city is unforgiving, and will rip you apart if given the chance.

“Just remember the mission, this is just another training exercise. There should be a landing pad 3 blocks north of the Palace, you´ll drop us off there, and pick up-”

As the man was detailing the mission, the helicopter suddenly puzzles with sounds all of a sudden, Glaz looks down, and sees a flashing red light, an obnoxious sound emanating,

-Radar lock detected- it reads, he quickly redirects his view, -Missile launched- “Hold on tight!” Shouts Glaz.

 

He redirects his strength and focus, the veins on his wrists looking as though they were ready to burst. Hands around the flight controls and jerkingly changes flight path, deploying flares as he ever so slightly starts flying closer to the rubbled buildings. The sounds of gunfire prevailing throughout, the sounds of bullets hitting and ricocheting his helicopter scares the assistant pilot. Glaz, terrified, the potential danger he is in consumes him, his mind fidgets across his countless hours of training, he knows he is capable, yet, doubt, he doubts. He bogles at the courses of action he could take. His mind, however, cannot escape the thought of her. Flying the helicopter, he exits a high rise section, or what used to be, of the city and enters an open landscape, a park, now filled with craters caused by bombs and shells, in ruins, it gives him the opportunity to get ever so closer to the ground. The blades of the helicopter almost colliding with a nearby tree, as he does, he hears the whistling of the over passing missile. The 15 seconds felt like an eternity had passed.

“Fucking hell, aren’t you good” exclaims his co-pilot Petrov, mortified by the whole ordeal, looking as though he had been left to freeze outside for a week.

They soon arrive at the landing pad, the wheels touching down, the doors of the helicopter make way to a makeshift camp. “Spasibo” is the only thing Glaz hears, as the passengers disembark with their gear, the rustling of it and their bags is almost mute, he holds himself together, pondering at the thought of what could had happened, he got lucky this time, he thinks, but what about the next? His previously filled mind of thoughts, now empty, blank, dread, fear, and anxiety set in. He slaps himself, catching his breath, his lungs feeling as though they have collapsed, his breathing is strained. He slaps himself and comes to his senses.

“Are you okay Glaz?, hell of a move you pulled back there” asks Petrov. “Yes I'm- fine. I'm fine”.

But both men can barely catch a break, as a man approaches the helicopter, entering it, “This helicopter is to be filled with the wounded. Give us a hand will you? we´re short on staff” Glaz stands, gestures to Petrov to go help, and follows suit. As he exits the helicopter, the sun, clouds and sky all jump at him at once, as though he were exiting the cinema after a long movie, the sounds of people's voices and cars driven and honking, instead replaced with the sounds of aircraft and artillery roaring across. He quickly looks down, squints his eyes, and looks up, the clouds opening, giving way to a marveling sun. Glaz, Petrov, along with assisting medics board 20 wounded, laying them on the ground, sitting them accordingly, a mother, a daughter, a son, and 17 soldiers scattered across the helicopter, all in varying condition, two of the soldiers being in critical condition.

“They're all yours now, godspeed.”

Timur makes his way to the cockpit, he hears the groaning of the men, they all look miserable to him, he glances at the mother and her children. He imagines what his life could be. The blades of the helicopter start to rev.

One of the men asks him, “It says Yula - on your helicopter, who is this?”. The helicopter takes off.

“It says Yulia, you have read it wrong, she is my future wife - if she wants” “Why future, why is she not your wife?”

“I am yet to pop the question, I haven't found the right moment.”

“ How is it she has let you come here? Far from her, yet close to thousands of other women, all of whose husbands, brothers, and sons must want you dead?”

“I was here before this one. If they want me dead then they are doing a miserable job.” “Yet you have returned, you must be a veteran, you've accepted deployment”.

 

Silence floods Timur's mind. He thinks back to the moment he left his beloved.

 

“Why must you go off to fight another war, you've already done so much, please don't go, don't leave me” says Yulia.

“It is my duty, I must,” replies Timur.

“What about us, you have already been there, you've seen what kind of war it is, I fear it will take more of my Timur, or worse”.

“I cannot bear the thought of leaving my comrades, my duty is not only to them, but to you. If war were to reach us, I don't know what I would do then, it must be stopped now, I must stop it. I know you don't want me to leave, I know you believe it to be a fool’s war, I'd rather not too, but I have to. I will come back to you, in one piece, this I promise you”.

They embrace, as Yulia realizes that despite Timur's promise to her, this might be the last time he is with her.

“You must promise me to comeback, that this will be the last time, I tire from waiting for you to comeback, to wait for you to call me, to relief me from the pain and anguish that I experience from looking at the casualties reported, praying that I do not see your name on the lists”.

 

They soon arrive at the headquarters, the doors to the helicopter open, multiple medics, and soldiers rush aboard to take the wounded. The camp is full of large tents, soldiers roaming the camp, armored vehicles, helicopters, and tanks arriving and leaving the camp. A soldier makes his way inside the Mil Mi-8.

“Is anyone here Timur Glazkov?”, “I am, why?” replies Glaz.

“You have been ordered to meet with the section Colonel, he is waiting for you in the designated headquarters tent. He will brief you and your co-pilot on your next mission”. Both Glaz and Petrov exit the cockpit, and following the soldier, enter a tent. A group of analysts 

and soldiers speak and look over maps of Grozny, red and blue pins dot the maps, radio operators hunched over listening to their radios crackling with the voices of men. “Colonel Dmitry Pavlovich” said the soldier, as he raised his hand to salute.

“Captain Timur Glazkov and Lieutenant Nikolai Petrov are here”. Both Timur and Petrov raise their hands, saluting.

“At ease gentlemen” replies the Colonel.

“Colonel, you have asked to speak with us?” Glaz asks.

“Yes. For the past 2 days we've had elements of the 58th Guards Combined Arms Army attempt to flush out a pocket of resistance in Goragorsky. They have so far been unable to dislodge the estimated 200 remaining fighters. Attempts at pushing into the town with armored vehicles have proven unsuccessful. A request was sent forward from forwarded units for helicopter support. You, alongside five other helicopter crews will be assisting on the attack. As you are the senior most pilot among those chosen, you have been selected to command the squadron. Congratulations, you are now the commander of the 325th Independent Helicopter Regiment”

“What type of support have they requested?” asks Petrov.

“The forwarded units have requested for an air assault operation. The helicopters are to be armed, and dispense their ammunition at pre-designated targets. Your helicopter in particular will also relocate a Spetsnaz squadron that is in the vicinity after the attack”.

Glaz clenches a fist, he had not come back onto a battlefield to take lives, but to save them. Yet, silence, he keeps quiet.

“Colonel”, says Glaz, as he and Petrov salute. They leave the tent.

 

Night trickles in. An uneventful night compared to others. Reports of ambushes during the night on nearby camps and bases have frequented radio traffic past midnights and early mornings. Yet it seems this night is not one of them. The sun rises, casting a shadow over Glaz as he exits the tent to take in the sun. Today will be a tough day he foresees. The rest of the crew wake up, they all head to the mess hall for breakfast. The airmen eat well, a combination of sausages and hard boiled eggs satisfies their appetite, drinking coffee in between. They exit the mess hall. The 12 men make their way to their respective helicopters stationed on makeshift landing pads. The blades of the six helicopters one after the other start to rotate. Take off is imminent.

The squadron moves towards the town of Goragorsky. The squadron is 15 kilometers away.

13. 11. Glaz can feel his heart tighten. He dreads. Time flies as he does. 7 kilometers away. Petrov radioed over to the other helicopters.

“We are now 6 kilometers away, prepare to engage.”

As Petrov finished his sentence, they start nearing a heavily damaged two story house. One of the helicopter pilots radioed in.

“I think I see movement up ahead”.

An explosion is heard, one of the accompanying Mil Mi-24 is hit by a missile, downed. Another whistling is heard as a second Mil Mi-24 is hit, exploding. Debris from the helicopter going in every direction as it bursts into flames crashing. A piece of metal pierces the windshield of Glaz’s helicopter, lodging itself into Petrov’s shoulder. He screams out in pain. Petrov quickly grabs an already open medical kit, taking a syringe, and injecting himself with the contents of it. A third Mil Mi-24 is struck by an RPG, losing its tail rotor, and spinning out of control, crashing into a nearby apartment complex.

“Fire at that house ahead, give them a taste of their own hell!”

As soon as he radios over, the 3 remaining helicopters open fire. A mix of S-5K rockets and machine gun fire barrels towards the rubbled house. Damaging the house beyond recognition. Inhabitants of the house are seen running out, as though they were cockroaches on a kitchen floor. Flames begin to engulf part of the house. Glaz has just lost half his squadron. He looks unfazed, thinks Petrov, still in shock even after self administering morphine. But inside, Glaz is a wreck. Straight faced, but lost. His mind and heart stumble as to what has just transpired before him, which he was unable to stop.

“Push on. The troops need us” radios over Glaz, determined to complete the task at hand. The 3 remaining helicopters rush to the scene, and soon arrive. They start to unload their remaining payloads, with the forces on the ground cheering, support has arrived. One by one, in quick succession, the sounds of the rockets shooting out of their rocket pods and rocking the area, mask the shouting and screaming of the fighters, the cheers, and gun fire all join into an orchestra of sounds filling the space and time. Soon enough, the rockets stop, the screaming and anguished shouts of the remaining fighters are no longer, for only the moving of armored vehicles and victorious chants of the advancing soldiers on the ground are heard. Glaz’s heart sinks to the bottom of the Black Sea. His thoughts are cloudy, his hands are tense, strained, no thought or emotion. He feels defeated. He has betrayed himself. He leans over, his mind on autopilot, looking out the dented windshield.

“Glaz?” asks Petrov as he bumps him “Hello? Earth to Glaz. You there?” “What is it?”

“The mission? We need to go pick up the Osnaz”

“Right. Right, let’s go get it done then” answers Glaz, reluctantly with a bitter feeling of defeat.

The other two remaining helicopters turn back and head for headquarters, leaving Glaz and Petrov on their own. The pair soon near the pick up point, slowing down, and descending upon the grown, touching down. The doors at the back of the helicopter open, and 23 men board the helicopter. They all wear camouflage like uniforms, some displaying a patch, with the number 74854 on it. A man they boarded has his head covered over with a bag, he dawns a hodgepodge of clothing. The doors of the helicopter close.

“Let's roll!” Shouts one of the soldiers.

Glaz adjusts the throttle of his helicopter, snow begins to fall. The helicopter clears the ground. He sets the flight path for return back to headquarters. The cheers once loud and bustling get quieter and quieter as the blades of the helicopter turn, and their engine runs till they are not heard. An unremarkable trip back to base is what Glaz hopes for, he’s had enough for today.

Glaz looks down at the ground, a park, post office, and a standing hospital, along with damaged and destroyed houses and other recognizable buildings, with some blocks of the city leveled. Soldiers, tanks, cars, rubble, and bodies fill the streets, raging on, as snow continues to fall.

Unaware to either pilot, a man is positioned on a building in the trajectory of the Mil Mi-8. The man fires an RPG styled weapon at the helicopter, scraping across the belly of the helicopter, as though a train had just hit its brake, detonating just after clearing the bottom of the helicopter, damaging the helicopter's horizontal stabilizer and tail rotor. The explosion, rocking passengers and pilots alike. The helicopter begins to spiral down, crashing against

the ground and dragging itself against it, hitting cars and rubble left on the street. The helicopter stops. The blades crooked, damaged, bent and broken. Groaning is heard.

Glaz moves around, wiggling his body to check if he is hurt, stunned, dazed, and confused, glass is heard shuffling. He feels fine, but he may not be. He looks over to his right. Petrov lies there in his seat, a metal rebar sticking through his torso, his face bloodied, only his eyes sticking out in the sea of blood, Glaz leans over and shuts his eyes close. He unbuckles his seat belt, and tries to stand up, he crumbles back down onto his seat. A sharp piece of glass is embedded in his right leg. He rips from his seat the seat belt, and quickly takes out the piece of glass, wrapping the seat belt around his leg to stop any bleeding. The wound is not deadly, yet it's not shallow, it will impair his leg’s movement. He stands up, shakily at best, grabbing onto his seat and other parts of the wreckage, he makes his way over to check on the passengers, he only sees four of them, a large hole appears on the right side entering the helicopter. The other men went flying out during the crash. He goes to check on the men, one seems unresponsive, the other three are visibly dead, with parts of their bodies mangled, clothes dampened in a reddish hue. Heads, mouths and arms seeping copious amounts of blood.

Glaz sits down, resting against the helicopter. He wipes the blood off his face. He stands up and searches the bodies of his fallen comrades, with unwillingness to do so. Seeing the state in which the body’s of his peers are left in makes him sick, he feels vomit coming up his throat, he swallows. He rips the dog tags from the lifeless bodies of the men. He picks up an AS Val, with three magazines scattered on the floor for it, alongside an NR-2 survival knife.

He grabs some chocolate and granola bars, alongside a map. He heads for the hole in the aircraft, stumbling and watching where he steps as he does, grabbing onto the empty seats and walls of the cargo compartment.

He looks out. The sun is setting. Snow falls. It will be night soon. If his map reading is correct, headquarters is 5 kilometers out north-west. He has no time to waste. Limpingly, and in pain, he makes his way. He sticks to nearby buildings and rubble for cover, going through houses and buildings to better avoid detection, coming across the bodies of civilians, militants, and soldiers alike, all scattered across rubble, buildings, and streets. It's dark out now. Glaz hears something fall off a high place, the sound muffled by the snow, but he discerns it fell not too far from him. He quickly lays down on the ground. He quietly, against a pile of debris, aims his rifle, attempting to spot anything in the bottomless darkness. He waits. Patiently. Like a hunter stalking its prey, yet he is not the hunter, he is the hunted. He slowly crawls towards an abandoned car, laying himself underneath it, grabbing nearby scrap to cover his body. It's uncomfortable, but it will have to do. He sleeps through the night, roughly.

He wakes up, slowly and methodically moving the scrap and rubble covering him, so as to not draw attention. Glaz crawls out from underneath the car, walking in a low profile entering building through building. Gun fire sporadically ringing out in the area. Aiming through his Kobra sight mounted on his rifle, he makes his way, clearing corners and floors superficially so as to not be ambushed or spotted. His right leg wound, impairing his movement, the pain growing, but for now tolerable.

Entering a building, he hears sniper fire coming from the building, it is not faint. He goes to the staircase room of the building. Slowly going up floor by floor. Another shot rings out. Glaz reaches the last floor of the building before going to the roof, gently grabbing the door knob, and turning it, pushing the door open. He peeks through the slightly opened door, to get a look at what is on the other side. He sees a man hunched over, with a gun kit on the floor, open, aiming his sniper rifle over a windows ledge. Bullet casings sprawled over the floor.

Glaz opens the door completely. As the door stops moving, it creaks. The man jolts.

“Stop” says Glaz, in a soft, yet firm tone. The room in which both men find each other is not very big, it is empty, Glaz’s voice slightly echoes. The man stops.

“Put your hands up in the air” orders Glaz, “Stand up and turn around, back away from the window”. The man slightly raises his hands, standing up. He violently moves his hands towards his waist, taking out a pistol and throwing himself to the floor. Glaz aims his AS Val, tracking the man as he flies to the floor. The man gets a shot off. Glaz follows up firing in an instant an insatiable amount of bullets. Glaz’s rifle stops firing. Two separate thudding sounds give out.

Glaz bleeds. He drops his rifle, attempting to grab onto the door, grabbing the wall, and resting against it. His legs slipping against the floor as he struggles to maintain a coherent footing. He slouches against the wall, legs extended on the floor. He puts both of his hands on his chest wound. He looks over at the man who shot. He has bled out.

Glaz removes his bullet proof vest, his abdomen's skin is penetrated and bruised due to fragments from the vest and the bullet. His breathing struggles. His right leg and abdomen ache. He hears radio crackling coming from the window. He spots a two-way radio.

Exhausted, wounded, and considerably bleeding, he crawls towards the radio, unsure if his legs could support him. He reaches the window frame grabbing the radio. He changes the device's frequency. Glaz, looking up at the roof.

“This is Captain Timur Glazkov. Anybody on here? Over” says Glaz, catching his breath. “Captain Glazkov? Priyom "

“Yes this is Captain Timur Glazkov. Slushayu” “Please state your military ID. Over” “91021999. Priyom”

“Repeat. Priyom” “91021999”

“Understood. Go ahead. Priyom”

“I am wounded, requesting a medevac to my current location. Over”

“Prinyal. Medivac will be arriving at your current position soon. Are you seriously hurt? Is your life at risk? Priyom.”

“I'm not sure. I was shot but my vest stopped the bullet. I am in pain and bleeding. The area is bruised. Priyom”

“Help will be arriving soon. May god be with you Captain. Konets svyazi”

 

Glaz puts down the radio. He reaches for his back pocket. Taking out a wallet. He opens it, revealing a picture of him and Yulia embracing. He takes it out from the wallets compartment. Holding it in his hands. His sight begins to blur. Tears forming. He reminisces, the picture was from when they moved in together.

“I can't die now. There is still so much I need to do. I won't break our promise” he says,

cryingly. Tears stream down his face. He starts losing consciousness. The picture falls from his hand, wet. He blacks out.

Yulia is in a chair. She's half-asleep, tired. She has not been sleeping very well these past few nights. She rests her head on her hand, which is positioned in an upright position on the armrests. Rustling is heard. She looks up. Timur lays on a bed, he awakes. Yulia stands up and goes up to him. They lock eyes. She stands there. Timur still coming to his senses. She slaps him across the face, embracing him in a hug. Timur hugging her back.

Yulia rests on the bed, beside Timur. “What happened?” she asks.

Sighing, “I saw a lot of things”, he replies. “What kind of things?”

“The kind of things that make even a veteran's stomach revolt. The kind that would make the average person want to poke their eyes out. So as to never bear witness to such things again”

“Are you okay Timur? I was worried sick about you” replies Yulia, as she sits up and, although not too hard, yet still with strength, punches Timur in the shoulder out of frustration. “You should have called more. Ease my worries, you know?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Well there's always next time, I guess” replies Yulia

“There won't be a next time. I will ask for a transfer to a flight school after I'm discharged” replies Timur. “My time in the war has given me clarity in what I want in life. I realize I cannot run the risks I could before, not now, not with you. You are too important for me to lose”.

They both go quiet.

“Timur-”

“There something I want to ask you, Yulia. It seems to me there is no better time to ask this

but now.”

Yulia stays quiet. Looking into Timur’s eyes. She is not sure what Timur will ask her.

“I realized this now after my deployment, not a single moment did I go through in which I did not wish I could go back to you right then and there. I missed you. I don't want you to worry anymore about me in a warzone. I'd much rather you worry if I'm going to get home in time for dinner.”

Timur takes Yulia's hand. Both looking down at the joining of their hands. Timur looks up at Yulia. Yulia looks up at Timur.

“Yulia, I know we have both been through some hard times. And you have helped get through them all. I can't imagine my life, my future, without you in it. Going through these tough moments without you. Will you marry me?”

“What took you so long?” replies Yulia emotionally, overjoyed. They kiss.

 

End

IPDW