Vladimir Maslachenko: "For Nikolai Petrovich, Spartak was a small candle factory." Young guard

Oleg Yakovlevich Babak

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Biography

On April 7, 1991, having received a message about the murder of a resident of the Azerbaijani village of Yukhara Jibikli, located near the Goris-Kafan highway, Lieutenant Babak arrived at the scene with a group of servicemen, where he was attacked by an armed detachment of up to seventy Armenians.

Being surrounded by Armenian militants, the brave officer fired back to the last bullet and died. As a result of his selfless actions, the lives of his subordinates were saved and the massacre of civilians was prevented ... He was buried in his native village.

Awards

By the Decree of the President of the USSR of September 17, 1991, for the courage and heroism shown in the performance of military duty, Oleg Yakovlevich Babak, Lieutenant of the Internal Troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union (posthumously).
Awarded the Order of Lenin.

Memory

By order of the Minister of Internal Affairs of the USSR, Hero of the Soviet Union O.Ya. Babak is forever enrolled in the lists of personnel of the 21st Sofrino Special Purpose Brigade.
In October 2010, a monument to Oleg Babak was opened in the park near the Ashukinskaya platform in the Pushkinsky district (Moscow region).
The name of the hero was given to the Victorian rural school, where Oleg Babak studied.

In the Moscow region, the street of one of the villages was solemnly named after the last Hero of the Soviet Union. The settlement of Ashukino is located near the 21st Sofrino brigade of internal troops, where Lieutenant Oleg Babak served in the early 90s. As a deputy commander, he was sent to Nagorno-Karabakh at the height of the conflict. At the cost of his life, the officer saved a hundred civilians from an attack by an armed detachment. The memorial ceremony was held with military honors.

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An excerpt characterizing Babak, Oleg Yakovlevich (Hero of the Soviet Union)

- Well, it depends on which one, Isidora! Karaffa smiled. – Again, there is “family” and FAMILY... And yours, unfortunately, belongs to the second category... You are too strong and valuable to just live without paying for your opportunities. Remember, my "great Witch", everything in this life has its price, and you have to pay for everything, whether you like it or not ... And you, unfortunately, will have to pay very dearly. But let's not talk about the bad today! You had a wonderful time, didn't you? See you later, madonna. I promise you, she will be very soon.
I froze ... How familiar were these words to me! indeed, it was true that everyone had to pay, but not everyone agreed to it voluntarily ... And sometimes this payment was too expensive ...
Stella stared in surprise at my face, apparently noticing my strange confusion. But I immediately showed her that “everything is in order, everything is fine,” and, silent for a moment, Isidora continued her interrupted story.
Caraffa left, taking away my dear baby. The world faded, and my devastated heart, drop by drop, slowly filled with black, hopeless longing. The future seemed ominous. There was no hope in him, there was no habitual confidence that, no matter how difficult it is now, but in the end everything will somehow work out, and everything will definitely be fine.
I knew perfectly well that it would not be good... We will never have a "fairy tale with a happy ending"...
Without even noticing that it was already evening, I was still sitting by the window, watching the sparrows fussing on the roof and thinking my sad thoughts. There was no exit. Caraffa conducted this "performance", and it was HE who decided when someone's life would end. I was unable to resist his machinations, even if I could now foresee them with Anna's help. The present frightened me and made me even more furiously look for at least the slightest way out of the situation in order to somehow break this terrible “trap” that had caught our tormented lives.
Suddenly, right in front of me, the air blazed with a greenish light. I was alert, expecting a new "surprise" by Caraffa ... But nothing bad seemed to happen. The green energy thickened, little by little turning into a tall human figure. A few seconds later, in front of me stood a very pleasant, young stranger... He was dressed in a strange, snow-white "tunic", girded with a bright red wide belt. Grey eyes the stranger shone with kindness and invited to believe him, even without knowing him yet. And I believed... Feeling this, the man spoke.
Hello, Isidora. My name is Sever. I know you don't remember me.
– Who are you, Sever?.. And why should I remember you? Does this mean that I met you?
The feeling was very strange - as if you were trying to remember something that had never happened ... but you felt that you knew all this very well from somewhere.
You were too young to remember me. Your father once brought you to us. I'm from Meteora...
But I've never been there! Or do you want to say that he just never told me about it?! .. - I exclaimed in surprise.
The stranger smiled, and for some reason, his smile suddenly made me very warm and calm, as if I had suddenly found my long-lost good old friend... I believed him. Everything, no matter what he says.
– You must leave, Isidora! He will destroy you. You cannot resist him. He is stronger. Rather, what he received is stronger. It was a long time ago.
“You mean more than just protection?” Who could give him this?
Gray eyes drooped...
We didn't give. Given by our guest. He was not from here. And, unfortunately, it turned out to be "black" ...
- But you are in and d and t e !!! How could you let this happen?! How could you accept him into your "sacred circle"?..
- He found us. Just like Caraffa found us. We do not refuse those who are able to find us. But usually it was never "dangerous"... We made a mistake.
– Do you know what a terrible price people pay for your “mistake”?!.. Do you know how many lives have gone into oblivion in savage torment, and how many more will go away?.. Answer, Sever!
I was blown away - they just called it a mistake!!! The mysterious "gift" to Caraffe was a "mistake" that made him almost invulnerable! And helpless people had to pay for it! My poor husband, and maybe even my dear baby, had to pay for it!.. And they thought it was just a MISTAKE???
“I beg you, do not be angry with Isidora. That won't help now... This happened sometimes. We are not gods, we are people... And we also have the right to make mistakes. I understand your pain and your bitterness... My family also died because of someone else's mistake. Even simpler than this one. It's just that this time someone's "gift" fell into very dangerous hands. We will try to fix it somehow. But we can't yet. You must leave. You have no right to die.

) - deputy commander of the 11th (currently Commandant's) company for the political part of the 21st operational brigade of the internal troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR, lieutenant of the internal troops, Hero of the Soviet Union.

Biography

From 1974 to 1982 he studied at the Victorian rural school, and then at the neighboring Teplovskaya.

Awards

By the Decree of the President of the USSR of September 17, 1991, for the courage and heroism shown in the performance of military duty, Oleg Yakovlevich Babak, Lieutenant of the Internal Troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs, was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union (posthumously);

On September 17, 1991, Gorbachev, who is most directly involved in the unleashing of the Karabakh conflict, awarded him the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Assigned, alas, posthumously. This was the last decree on the assignment of the Hero of the Soviet Union. After him, no one else was honored with this title.

Oleg Babak was the only one who, after the Great Patriotic War, received this title in the ranks of the Internal Troops, and the only Hero of the Soviet Union who was awarded this title when resolving ethnic conflicts. Speaking of the Karabakh conflict...
Oleg Babak served in the Sofrino Brigade of the Internal Troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs as a deputy company commander for political affairs. For a year and a half of officer service, he spent 385 days in hot spots. He was sent to Vilnius, Yerevan, Baku, Sumgayit... He was awarded the medal "For excellent service in the protection of public order".

His life was cut short in the village of Yukhari Jibikli, Gubadli region of Azerbaijan, and it happened on April 7, 1991.
As it became known later (many Soviet media wrote about this), the unit where Oleg served received a request for help from local residents. Five people headed by Lieutenant Babak got into the ambulance. The latter, it should be noted, was very fond of the local Azerbaijani residents. They loved him for his justice, for understanding the situation, for the desire to always fight for truth, honor and conscience. Babak was even affectionately called "Babak" behind his back.

So on that ill-fated day, without a moment's hesitation after receiving a request from local residents, Oleg ordered to quickly get together. According to his colleagues, he believed until the very end that the Armenians would not be able to violate the most holy commandment "Thou shalt not kill" on Holy Sunday of Christ. But, alas, Oleg, even after long months of service, apparently still did not know well the manners, orders and principles of the Dashnaks ...
Oleg, his comrades and several civilians came under fire from Armenian militants. The lieutenant didn't hesitate. He ordered everyone to retreat, only asking them to leave him cartridges. "Leave the ammo to me, and retreat yourself!".

It was the lieutenant's last order. After some time, the militants, among whom, as it became known later, were mercenaries, surrounded the young officer. 80 militants were never able to cope with him in battle. They killed the Soviet officer like a jackal, with a shot in the back.
Later it became known that during the skirmish, the militants offered Babak and his comrades to leave on their own, leaving only an Azerbaijani policeman, wounded, but continuing to shoot back, and peaceful Azerbaijani residents on the battlefield. But Babak, of course, did not even consider such an option. Having ordered his colleagues to retreat along with civilians, he single-handedly decided to cover them and took the whole blow.

He could not give, exchange or abandon these people, whom he considered to be the highest justice in this war unleashed by the devils of perestroika. From the letters that Babak sent home, it became known that he spoke very warmly about the locals, and was literally in love with Azerbaijani nature, land...

He single-handedly fought an equal battle with 80 militants. He fought to the last bullet ... Lieutenant Babak lay without a bulletproof vest, without a machine gun. Unable to defeat the officer in battle, he, unarmed, was vilely killed when he rose to his full height to stop the bloodshed.

In Nagorno-Karabakh, he had one month to serve. In May, he was going to return to his native village and play a wedding ...

By Decree of the President of the USSR No. UP-2574 of September 17, 1991, for courage, heroism and selfless actions shown in the performance of military duty, Lieutenant Babak Oleg Yakovlevich was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union (posthumously). His family was awarded the Order of Lenin and the Gold Star medal. Awarded the Order of Lenin (posthumously).

By order of the Minister of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR, he was forever enrolled in the lists of personnel of the 21st Sofrino Special Purpose Brigade.
In October 2010, in the urban settlement of Ashukino (Moscow Region), on the initiative of the rector of the churches of the Passion Icon of the Mother of God in the village of Artemovo, the Savior Not Made by Hands in the Muranovo Estate Museum named after F.I. Tyutchev and the Alexander Nevsky Church, Abbot Feofan (Zamesov) on collected by the residents of the parishes and the military personnel of the brigade, a monument to the hero was erected near the railway platform.

In June 2012, at a meeting of the Council of Deputies of the Ashukino urban settlement, it was decided to name the new street after the Hero of the Soviet Union, Lieutenant Oleg Babak. In 2013, the military-historical club "Patriot" of the comprehensive school No. 2 in the village of Sofrino was named after him.

***
Oleg Yakovlevich Babak (February 25, 1967 - April 7, 1991) - deputy commander of the 11th company for the political part of the 21st operational brigade, lieutenant of the internal troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs. Hero of the Soviet Union (posthumously).

***
In the village of Victoria, far from Azerbaijan, in the Piryatinsky district of the Poltava region of Ukraine, residents honor the memory of Oleg Yakovlevich Babak. Lieutenant of the Soviet army, who died at the age of 24. The Ukrainian lad, alone defending the civilians of the village of Yukhari Jibikli, Gubadli region of Azerbaijan, was struck down by a vile bullet in the back by Armenian murderers Dashnaks. It happened on April 7, 1991, on the day of the Holy Resurrection. Armenian bandits on Christ's Resurrection violated the most holy commandment "Thou shalt not kill". Oleg alone fought an unequal battle with 80 Armenian militants, among whom were mercenaries, dozens of them were killed by a fearless lieutenant. He fought to the last bullet. These nonhuman antichrists were never able to defeat Oleg. They killed him like a jackal, with a shot in the back. An unarmed officer of the Soviet army ...
On September 17, 1991, the President of the USSR Mikhail Gorbachev, who is most directly related to the unleashing of the Karabakh conflict, awarded him the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Assigned, alas, posthumously. This was the last decree on the assignment of the Hero of the Soviet Union. After him, no one else was awarded this title.
As it became known later (many Soviet media wrote about this), the unit where Oleg served received a request for help from local residents. Five people headed by Lieutenant Babak got into the ambulance. The latter, it should be noted, was very fond of the local Azerbaijani residents. They loved him for his justice, for understanding the situation and the foundations of the conflict, for the desire to always fight for truth, honor and conscience. Babak was even affectionately called "Babak" behind his back - (The name of the legendary hero of the Azerbaijani people)

Oleg, his comrades and several civilians came under fire from Armenian militants. The lieutenant didn't hesitate. He ordered everyone to retreat, only asking them to leave him cartridges. "Leave the ammo to me, and retreat yourself!".

Later it became known that during the skirmish, the militants offered Babak and his comrades to leave on their own, leaving only an Azerbaijani policeman, wounded, but continuing to shoot back, and peaceful Azerbaijani residents on the battlefield. But Babak, of course, did not even consider such an option. Having ordered his colleagues to retreat along with civilians, he single-handedly decided to cover them and took the whole blow.
Oleg could not give, exchange or abandon the Azerbaijanis, whom he considered to be the highest justice in the war unleashed not by us - the Azerbaijanis. From the letters that Babak sent home, it became known that he spoke very warmly about the locals, and was literally in love with Azerbaijani nature, land ...
He would have turned 50 today. Almost 26 years have passed since his death. All this time, Azerbaijan remembers this wonderful young officer. I am sure that many generations of Azerbaijanis will not forget the courageous and brave deed of a real officer, a man who considered it his duty to protect the peaceful Azerbaijani population, even at the cost of his own life...

***
You are alive in the soul of the Azerbaijani people,
I am related to my Motherland forever,
As a native son defended her freedom,
You served Truth and Goodness impeccably.

You lived your life with unfading glory,
Like a true warrior without fear and reproach,
Without flinching, he accepted the bloody battle,
From the Dashnaks - these cruel evil spirits.

One, against a pack of bloody executioners,
You saved the inhabitants of a peaceful village,
Old people, mothers, brides and children -
Spring flowed with bloody tears.

In an unequal battle he killed dozens of assassins,
The bandits of the Hero could not overcome,
He did not let them drown the village in blood,
The officer did not leave the battlefield ...

The last Hero of the Soviet Union,
He entered the galaxy of martyrs of my country,
He was killed vilely, in the back, on the Bright Resurrection of Jesus,
From the hands of antichrists from the Armenian side.

Reviews

Karabakh is just a resort
fresh air and mountains
and the beginning of the collapse of the Union is a shame
and a harbinger of it a year earlier
and hero posthumously eSeSeSeer
locksmith VV Olezhka Babak
was the last - Gorbachev managed
sign the decree and everything was like that
when they went to Stepanokert without weapons
companies with him just to say goodbye
then six months in the Supreme they decided
how can they get rid of him
he is an officer, it is his duty
fall under the bullets
sorry for Oleg - saved the lives of others
and died because of you - tyrants!
you destroyed the USSR later
and GKChP - on TV ballet
and burning later - the White House
Well, the truth was not - as it is not!

Hero of the Soviet Union lieutenant BABAK Oleg Yakovlevich

Born on February 25, 1967 in the village of Victoria, Poltava region of Ukraine. After graduating from the Leningrad Higher Political School, he served in the Sofrino brigade of the internal troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs as a deputy company commander for political affairs.
For a year and a half of officer service, he spent 385 days in hot spots. He was awarded the medal "For excellent service in the protection of public order."
The title of Hero of the Soviet Union was awarded by Decree of the President of the USSR of September 17, 1991.

"HELLO, my dear granny, mom and dad!
I wrote you a letter from Moscow, they were supposed to send it.
We flew in from Vilnius on Thursday night and flew to Karabakh on Sunday. The road tortured, flight after flight. On the 7th (March 1991 - Ed.) I sent a telegram to you. And on the 8th in the morning we went to the service for 7 days, we will return on the 15th. I am writing you a letter at the outpost. What is it, now I will tell you.
This is an old abandoned house in a far, far away mountain village. At 1.5-2 kilometers, the border with Armenia passes, right across the road, there is a road along the pass. Around the forest, already Armenian. This outpost is the furthest for me. The car barely crawled, and even a kilometer and a half walked.
Outpost high in the mountains. But one thing is good here - it's quiet and no one bothers. We have a potbelly stove here - we chop wood and heat it. We cook ourselves - there is a stove with a cylinder. True, the gas is already barely burning. But you can live like this. There was only one problem - there was no electricity for four days. They heated the lard and made kaganets on the stove until they found kerosene. And today the light appeared, I don’t know for how long.
For three days such a blizzard blew - waist-deep snow in the mountains. And today it was so hot - we sunbathed in the snow. It’s high here, there’s a lot of ultraviolet radiation, everything got burned.
There are still two days left. I don’t know how they will change us - everything has skidded, and now, when everything melts, no one will break through to us. But let's see. Come back, I'll send you a letter. There is such beauty here. In the morning donkeys scream like alarm clocks. On the 17th we will hold a referendum, and then they will be released for the weekend. I have to come in the first batch. But how it will be, I can not say for sure. We'll see".
On March 17, a referendum was held on the question of whether or not to be the Soviet Union. Outwardly, it passed in a festive way, as elections to the Soviets of People's Deputies always took place - scarlet red, cheerful melodies from the speakers, a morning rise without a harsh foreman's team, in a free way. And the Slavic warriors gave their votes for the preservation of their native sovereign Union as usual, without worrying at all about the final result. Well, tell me, who, if in their right mind, if not a bastard, not a traitor to the Motherland, can speak out, even voting secretly, quietly, anonymously, for the collapse of a mighty country? That would be a crime against our own people!
These military men, who have not taken off their field uniforms for a year, have more than once managed to cling tightly to nationalists, separatists, just bandits and marauders who profit from someone else's grief for the state interests of the Indestructible Union. Soldiers and officers of the Sofrino Special Purpose Brigade of the Internal Troops of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs have already managed to visit Fergana, Baku, Tbilisi, and Vilnius.
He, Oleg Babak, was still a cadet in both Baku and Yerevan. Now it's sunbathing here, on the border between the warring republics, which were previously called fraternal.
He does not grumble at his marching fate. He, the political officer of the company, never needed special surveys and analyzes public opinion in order to know in advance for sure - all his colleagues will stand for the preservation of the Union. "What are we fighting for?" - how often this question remains unanswered, hangs in the air like weightless bitter ashes. For Oleg, this question has never been rhetorical. He always knew what military duty is, what the internal troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, law enforcement troops are intended for.
Once, while still a cadet, he wrote to a girl he knew:
“If you were a man, I would throw down the glove (I would send it in a parcel post). You insulted me terribly, damn it! Not even me, but the troops of the “iron” Felix, who went their glorious and difficult path from the Cheka to the VV of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR ( Lenin is an honorary Red Army soldier of one of our units here.) For your information, in the internal troops they do not wipe their trousers, but carry out military service, regardless - in peacetime or wartime.
And every time when you are already sleeping, like a mouse, a soldier, stepping on the post, adjoins a store equipped with live ammunition. And this means that not every war is visible. And in this one, too, life and death stand side by side. I will not say anything more - I have no right. But I would like you to be ashamed..."
His girlfriend, for the time being, a part-time student, comes from an intelligent family. She herself studied at the Institute of Culture, dreaming of becoming a director. The circle of her interests is high poetry, clever prose, fashionable theatrical performances, foreign languages, painting. Their postal romance began somehow by accident, out of nothing to do, for fun, when high school students wrote letters to the military school, each to "the most beautiful cadet." So far, she playfully practiced in the epistolary genre. He, a solid rural guy in everything, who decided to become an officer, was seriously carried away by his new acquaintance. Finding in her a clever interlocutor, he wrote letters both playful and joking and seriously thoughtful, he argued vividly on a variety of issues that young people have so many on the threshold of the coming independent life.
Rich in soul, an ardent young man diligently hid in his correspondence only the most tender, purely intimate experiences, not trusting them, like some kind of witness, even a blank sheet of paper. But when the honor and dignity of a military uniform were hurt (although this often happened without malice, without the desire to offend or offend, but only out of polemical young enthusiasm), Oleg was ready to give a decisive rebuff. From the first day at the school, he was a staunch ideological fighter who took the oath once and for all. military life he loved not recklessly - for all his ardor and official passion, he saw not only black and white, he knew how to analyze, soberly evaluate the environment and those around him.
The girl, also a sensitive nature, soon realized that she had met an extraordinary personality in Oleg. That is why I saved these letters for many years.
“You wrote about the program “Visiting a Fairy Tale” and “Madhouse.” Why is that? If I knew exactly what they told you ... But still I will try to explain more or less clearly. The program “I Serve the Soviet Union!” I I don't like it either and I quite agree - it's a parade. War is different. And the army is completely different. This is all for stupid tenth-graders and sentimental old people. You write that you have a good half of your last name - the military. They probably get good money. Believe me - not in vain. And perhaps, the nerves are fooling around with someone. Maybe this is not noticeable outwardly, but it's true. This is a very hard and dirty work. And ungrateful for everything (I mean material reward). Everything happens in life in a different way than in movies and books, to our regret... Well, these are already social problems.
About bad reviews. Believe me, please, that it is very difficult to explain to a person who sold his honor for imported clothes, who despises his own culture, art, who walked with a painted head (there are a lot of them, even too much), what is duty to the Motherland, what is the Oath And what does "should" mean? Who doesn't want to live at 19?
Unfortunately, it has now become quite acceptable, not shameful, not to serve in the army. Why, if there is an opportunity not to serve? But before, it was a matter of honor for a man! After all, this psychology has evolved over the years.
Living for yourself has become fashionable and prestigious. You look around at your peers, see how they live and what they breathe. Go outside in the evening, look around at the disco, go to a concert of some rock band. But they all go here. And the worst thing is that the school and even parents hope that the army will also take on the function of re-education, since they already come there educated - badly or well.
And there are a hundred problems. And do not believe those who, having come from the army, beat their chests and yell at every step: "I trampled the Afghan steppe!" Today, reinforcements (soldiers' battalion) have come to our supply battalion. They were led into the dining room, all shaved. They didn’t even have time to change clothes - everyone was in jeans and with a twinkle of arrogance in their eyes. So, today they will wash themselves for the first time in a soldier's bath and put on boots, and the light will go out.
KMB - the course of a young fighter - they have nonsense. But you can’t believe your eyes, when the most greyhound lets out snot along with a tear, please excuse me. And if you, girls, could see your "heroes", maybe someone would not have shaken hands. You ask your relatives what hazing is, where it comes from and how cattle grows out of an intellectual student, and this is not rude.
There is another side of the coin. There are different officers, there are those who cripple people morally. Bad business is easy. And we pay for our mistakes with great blood and have already paid ...
I want you to know that there are costs in educating personnel. But the next time they tell you something like that, ask or ask, or rather, let them start with themselves. And I am grateful to this "madhouse" for teaching me to appreciate everything real. And out of them, brats, he makes men capable of something. And bald, of course, is much more pleasant than tearing the veins. So I'm writing to you, but I have to go to the "race", but I'm reluctant ... Like this.
Oleg, like a commissar, stubbornly laundered the army and his long-suffering troops from dirt and spitting. And to his relatives, and classmates, fellow villagers, and his distant girlfriend, he simply told the truth about the service, about life, which he knew firsthand. Pacifists-purples, who were given free rein, permissiveness, are accustomed to seeing in the military entirely martinets, dorks and ignoramuses. Oleg, on the other hand, met at the school kind, sympathetic comrades, smart, strict and fair teachers, tough and caring commanders. When in the summer of 1989 they were given lieutenant epaulettes, the joy of the long-awaited officership interfered with the sadness of parting.
“I found such friends here! Those who were starving with me died in sweat, whose feet froze to their boots, and he gave a torn glove to his friend’s frostbitten fingers. 3 o'clock in the morning to Aguzarov and passed his pack of "Belomor" around. And everyone smoked - smokers and not. I can't forget that. I found this. And what have I lost? How many times I ask myself this question. I can’t answer ...
My father wanted to come to me for 3 days, received a letter today. And just in these three days I will overcome a hundred-kilometer march. It's a pity! As always".
“Today we passed the test for the FIZO. For the first time in my life, I ran a forced march for 6 km so badly. I wore my comrades two machine guns myself, and today at the third kilometer I lost my breath, wheezing for about 10 minutes in the literal sense. You know, today I understood what is the hand of a close friend. Of course, they didn’t carry the machine gun to me, I couldn’t allow this, but they ran with me together and said: “Let's have a rest!” I ran “excellent” with a margin of 3 minutes ... "

The cadets of the internal troops at the end of the perestroika and skirmishing 80s perfectly understood what they had to be prepared for. The former taiga convoy was already receding into the background for them. The country was on fire in the ruins. Young cadets also became rescuers and saviors. He had no doubts about the correctness of the life path chosen once and for all. And after military internships in areas of emergency, which began to be referred to by the usual common term "hot spots", he firmly established himself in the idea that without internal troops the country would be completely tight.
“I have already become a certain specialist in solving the national question. Oh, my beloved Yerevan! I slept for eight hours in three days. Today is the first day when we rest like a human being. We serve at night, and during the day the rest, which usually ends as soon as We dangle like damned.
Yesterday they guarded the railway bridge and the path between the two settlements, Armenian and Azerbaijani, with a barrier of 10 people. One shift stood at posts, the other slept. Near the fire, I was busy with the station - I was a radio operator. You know, a strange feeling: everything is quiet, only the branches are crackling, the guys are sleeping right on the ground, wrapped in raincoats. Someone coughs from the smoke and swears, and again it's quiet. A train passes by, a military man stands in some window, the wind ruffles his tie through the open window. He will show: "Guys, no fluff ..." - and melt.
And for the first time, I learned how the wind can howl, pulling the machine gun out of my hands. Our fire crumbled into small stars. The rest was filled with rain. Everyone, fleeing from the wind, lay down on the ground. Wet in two minutes. Only the radio operator tried to shout something into the air.
At five in the morning we were relieved. Everyone walked in silence, occasionally raising their eyes to the beam of the border searchlight and to the lights of the American base on Greater Ararat in Turkey.
That's how we live. An order was announced to postpone the vacation to September. It’s okay for me, but some have weddings in August - they tear and toss. But our general promised us that if we return even in the twenties, he will try to get us a vacation for August ... To be honest, I'm tired, and I'm not alone.
I have a wild desire to take a shower, shave like a human and put on clean clothes - my cotton can be used as a radioactive element. I don't even know what I want... For a week home. Somehow the army molded me, remade me. This morning I looked in the mirror on the way to my "barracks" and did not even recognize myself. In all seriousness, I didn’t even understand what was going on. I almost sang, falling on the political officer's shoulder: "Mom, take me home."
Oleg never liked to relax over a glass, even during the holidays. Yakov Andreevich, father, once was very surprised when his son asked for a hundred of "vodka". Seeing bewilderment in his father's eyes, Oleg explained: "Volodka Akopov, my comrade, from our school, died in Abkhazia. Come on, dad, remember ..."
When, back in the eighth grade, Alla Boyko arranged a kind of survey of her classmates, they were all asked the question: "What is life?" Oleg Babak then replied: "I'll tell it in my ear before I die." In one of Oleg's notebooks, a line suddenly appeared: "We go to the cemetery to visit friends on a date ..." Maybe this was written after the tragic death of his friend Sergei Komlev? Seryoga drowned while swimming. Oleg was very worried about the first loss ...
Alexander Nakonechny, another fellow villager, fought in Afghanistan. In war, death is constantly on its bloody hunt. Sashko, thank God, returned alive. The reckless rural boy became a brave sergeant in the war, on his chest - the Order of the Red Star and the medal "For Courage". The war was rarely talked about. Alexander, listening to Oleg’s stories about his special missions to areas of interethnic conflicts, was perplexed about the fact that the VVs must account for each expended cartridge, that they serve in the same mountain outposts as in Afghanistan, surrounded by the same armed bandits, but not they have neither grenade launchers, nor "good" machine guns, nor even hand grenades.
The comparison of "our pocket Afghanistan" has already been launched in relation to Karabakh, Soviet soldiers have already died there, people's dissatisfaction has already been expressed either with complete inaction or with half-measures taken by the country's supreme authorities against the national separatists.
When troops were withdrawn from Afghanistan in February 1989, Oleg was in his senior year. In one of the letters to his native Victoria, he enclosed a leaflet:
"To my friend Sasha Nakonechny.
"In connection with the withdrawal of our troops from Afghanistan, I experience a feeling of deep sorrow and relief. Relief from the fact that our sons will no longer die, sorrow for the dead. And today, on the last day of the withdrawal of our troops, at the request of the parishioners of our parish there will be A thanksgiving service was served for the end of hostilities.

G. Logvinenko, priest of the Kursk-Belgorod diocese
Russian Orthodox Church".

Communist Oleg Babak shared the thoughts and feelings of an Orthodox priest...

***
HE ENTERED a political school consciously, preparing to become a commissar. The image of the political commissar was already painted over by the dishonest rewriters of national history in their desire to make it an odious symbol of "totalitarian Bolshevism" and even "Stalin's lawlessness." Oleg Babak knew how to adequately respond to detractors-slanderers...
In the Teplovsky secondary school, which bears the name of the Hero of the Soviet Union A. Bidnenko, he often stayed after school for all kinds of social work: they played "Zarnitsa" (and he was a platoon commander in the lessons of elementary military training), organized subbotniks, amateur concerts. Nikolai Fedorovich, a historian, watched with satisfaction the disputes that flared up spontaneously, in the development of some topic covered in social science or history. There was some talk of communism. Valya Teslya, an inveterate debater, said:
- Communism is an illusion, a utopia. "City of the Sun" we can not build. And that "to each according to his needs" is unlikely. Now everyone uses his abilities only for himself ...
Nadya Vlasenko supported her friend. And Oleg directly boiled:
- What are you doing! Look at how labor productivity is rising, how the standard of living is rising.
- Is the level of consciousness also growing? Something is not noticeable. The girls stood their ground. - No, Olezhka, nothing will come of us with communism.
- With such thoughts, of course, nothing will come of you!
Oleg betrayed the apostates in full. While school. In a few years, ideological disputes will continue. This time, both Oleg himself and his student interlocutor will theoretically be more savvy. But Oleg, in addition, saw with his own eyes the tragic results of the "political somersaults" of those in power. He and his comrades have already had to clear up the bloody mess of perestroika, brewed by those who not only betrayed their own convictions, but also betrayed their people...
“You ask how I feel about being a communist at the present time. In March my term as a candidate expires, and I think that in March I will already be a member of the CPSU.
And the party does not need to rehabilitate itself. Beria, Stalin, Brezhnev - this is not a party. Tukhachevsky, Kirov, Frunze, and many others died precisely because they were communists. And a subjectivist assessment and such an approach to history does not shed light, but only gives grounds for making judgments about such things too easy for people who are afraid or who lack the strength and courage to dig and look at those problems that go beyond their own well-being and necessarily disturb the calm flow life. Why do they need a party, what does it give? Just pay dues? Where are the ideas? There are no ideas! This is such a complex topic, I just don’t want to go deep now ... "
The future political worker was not a blinkered retrograde, a cracker and a grumbler. Nothing human was alien to him - he read a lot, sang with the guitar, loved a cheerful company. The girls liked him, and he never allowed himself the slightest lie, insincerity, rudeness towards them. He was witty, knew how to keep up the conversation, although at times he was very embarrassed by attention to himself.
“I was at the Pushkin Theater, I watched Kutuzov. A student from the textile institute was sitting next to me (I found out during the intermission). She covered me with every shot on stage just in case from a stray bullet. I endured for a long time. Then I said: “Dear girl , you better fall on the floor - it’s more reliable, and my sleeve will be the targets. "She replied that she prefers this method of protection, because not only bullets will bounce off me, the cores will bounce off. her even to the subway.
Then I was "beaten" by my friend for my joke. He said that he would not set foot in such places with me again. He said that I was an idiot and that not a single fool would marry me as long as I was like that ... Further, there were explanations in a harsh style. I agreed with everything ... They laughed until the very checkpoint ...
I was at the Scorpio concert. It was something! They no longer squealed, excuse me for the simplicity of my soul, they undressed. I didn't know where to look. This must be seen - the "metal" girls gave gas. How I got back alive, I don't know. He came, lay down in his most affectionate, tender and beloved bed, shouted "Heavy metal!" three times! and fell asleep..."
He chose the play "Kutuzov" in the repertoire not by chance. Oleg said to his classmates at the school: "Mikhailo Illarionych and I, one might say, are fellow countrymen - after all, he was still a captain in my Piryatin." The guys joked: "So you should be a field marshal, cadet Babak." Jokes are jokes, and the personality of the great Russian commander was seriously interested in Oleg since his school years. The novel by L. Rakovsky "Kutuzov" was almost a reference book. Oleg carefully studied any mention of Field Marshal, made extracts and quotes. When they started talking about Kutuzov with that student during the intermission of the performance, when she made another compliment to her pretty friend, the brave cadet, not without some panache and pathos, said: "Dear lady, I try not to forget the testament of old Kutuzov, who told us, the military:" Your iron chest fears neither the severity of the weather, nor the anger of your enemies: it is the reliable wall of the fatherland, against which everything is lamenting. "That's right! On that we stand!"
Of course, rock concerts and performances in his cadet life were rare holidays. Everyday life - classes in the classroom and in the field, guards (as one of the best, Oleg Babak served as a sentry at the Battle Banner of the school), internships, business trips. In addition, he was also a Komsomol leader and a member of the party committee.
“Recently, we had a meeting of the Komsomol activists of the school. There were people! - this is understandable, guests from the district committees, and ... I led it. It was the first time I had a chance to stand in front of such an audience. I don’t even remember the first ten minutes, but the rest of the time my shirt is only I raised the question about one of these guys, for whom ranks and offices are already ready. You know, I started to worry after. When the clarifications began. It became insulting and bitter. Tomorrow I will go and speak out, I will fight. At least my conscience mine will be clean...
Newly minted lieutenants, full of ambitious plans, were leaving for the troops. The personal files of young officers went to the unit by special mail. Blue calico folders with the inscription "Secret" have so far kept only a few leaves. In the attestation for conferring the first officer rank to Oleg Babak, we read:
"During the period of study at the Higher Political School named after the 60th anniversary of the Komsomol, the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the USSR has established himself as a disciplined, executive cadet. He masters the curriculum as "good" and "excellent." He has a broad outlook, reads a lot. Active participation in the social life of the unit. He was the secretary of the bureau of the Komsomol company. Party committee member.
He is accommodating in a team, tactful with his comrades, always ready to help, enjoys authority. He is principled, openly speaks about the shortcomings of his and his comrades. By nature, calm, restrained, balanced. Sociable. Has a large circle of friends. He reacts correctly to the criticism of his comrades and the comments of the commanders.
He is not afraid of the difficulties of military service. He completed his military internship as a deputy company commander for political affairs with excellent marks. He showed high moral, moral-fighting qualities. Confidently owns the forms of agitation and mass work. Pays special attention to individual educational work. He has high leadership qualities. Received good reviews for my work.

During the execution of a government assignment in the Transcaucasus, he showed himself on the positive side. He is well oriented in a difficult environment, makes the right decisions, acts clearly.
He knows and fulfills general military regulations. Well developed physically. In combat terms, tightened up. The entrusted weapon knows, owns it confidently. He knows how to keep military and state secrets."
This characterization is by no means a formal document written as a blueprint. It was assured with their signatures by people who not only passed through school corridors and training grounds next to their pupils, but also performed service and combat tasks in the emergency areas. The company commander, Captain Krivov, battalion commander, Colonel Tarasov, head of the faculty, Colonel Nazarenko, head of the school, Colonel Smirnov, and the head of the school, Major General Pryanikov, knew Oleg Babak very well. He never showed off in front of his superiors, did not fawn in anticipation of promotions, he simply conscientiously comprehended the harsh science of winning ...

***
- ... THE HERMIT, he calmly, like everything he did in life, raised his cross for Russia and blessed Dimitri Donskoy for that battle, Kulikovo, which for us will forever take on a symbolic, mysterious connotation. In the duel between Russia and the Khan, the name of Sergius is forever connected with the creation of Russia.
Yes, Sergius was not only a contemplative, but also a doer. A just cause - that's how it was understood for five centuries. Everyone who visited the Lavra venerated the relics of the Monk, always felt the image of the greatest goodness, simplicity, truth, holiness, resting here. Life is untalented without a hero. The heroic spirit of the Middle Ages, which gave birth to so much holiness, gave its brilliant manifestation here. - The fragile girl-guide preached easily, quoting with inspiration the lines of the wonderful Russian writer Boris Zaitsev about Sergius of Radonezh. She preached, sincerely believing, it was easy to read in her eyes.
And this faith flowed into those who listened with their souls in a passionate desire to comprehend the moral background of the solemn and festive splendor of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra.
- It would be nice to bring all our fighters here, - Oleg Babak gave his comrades the idea when the sightseers left the temple on a sunny day.
“Then you, comrade commissar, will have to be ordained,” Igor Mityakov joked. - Regimental priest - a normal position, approximately lieutenant colonel, something like the deputy head of the political department.
- Well, they died, - Sasha Yatsura entered the conversation. - Our Olezhka and suddenly - a saint! I don't believe in anything!
But the Mockingbirds immediately fell silent when they stepped under the vaults of another temple, where candles flickered, where the blissful smell of incense, where the faces of the saints looked at the hushed laity, inquiringly sternly and at the same time mercifully.
-... Under construction. They go to death. Sadness and fate - and inevitability. Clearly there is no return...
A shiver ran at that moment through a large strong body. Oleg looked around to see if any of his comrades noticed his sudden confusion, when blood rushed to his head, and his heart sank uncomfortably. But the comrade lieutenants, mingled with the motley crowd of sightseers, were thoughtful and quiet, and the voice of a very young seer-preacher sounded even and inevitable, telling about the life of St. Sergius of Radonezh, the patron saint of the Russian land, the confessor of the Russian army, the righteous:
- Martial arts of the Kulikovo field went beyond the historical dimensions. Created a legend. It also has something absurd. Let the details disappear, but, of course, the myth feels the soul of the event better than the official of historical science. It is possible to reject the news that Demetrius gave away the mantle of the grand duke, and he himself fought as a simple warrior, that, wounded, he was found at the edge of the forest after a thirty-verst persecution. It is unlikely that we know how many troops Mamai had, how many Dimitri had. But of course, the battle was special and with the stamp of rock - a clash of worlds ...
The tour of the Lavra is over. The blue-eyed guide to the holy places left for a new batch of Zagorsk pilgrims. The lieutenants of the special forces, for once wearing civilian clothes, rejoiced in life carelessly and recklessly, like children, forgetting or simply not wanting to think that in an hour the nimble green snake-electric train would return them to "position", and the golden domes of Sergiev Posad would run away, and the world will again become more crowded, closed in by barracks and a concrete fence, and multicoloredness will disappear, leaving only the protective shades of camouflage uniforms in the lieutenant's abode.
Fellow soldiers exchanged opinions about the "Canons" and "Nikons", which were clicked by gray-haired sightseers-foreign nationals, did not ignore the dignity of young sightseers-compatriots. And Oleg somehow shut himself up, peered intently into the faces of the bearded blacks passing by and still very young seminarians, also in black, who silently and thoughtfully paced in the little garden, holding heavy folios in their hands. What feeds them, how do they live? ..
That trip to Orthodox shrines awakened in Oleg something deeply hidden, which for the time being he thought only occasionally and in passing. "Life is untalented without a hero" - simple and deep words sunk into the soul. He thought about the invisible, intangible line between life and death more than once as a schoolboy. Now, a military man who sniffed gunpowder in an evil, sometimes merciless reality, more and more often, and not only in political conversations with soldiers, but also to himself, he uttered the words "hero" and "feat."
Upon learning that his friend had gathered with a student detachment in the area of the Spitak earthquake, he wrote to her:
“You know, when I received your letter that you were flying to Armenia, I somehow involuntarily smiled over the words “we throw warmth, comfort” and thought that you would understand all this a little later, and there would be no such words later, upon return if, God forbid, you have to go there or somewhere else a second time.
Our guys have been there for more than two months. Now they send the 1st course. You write about the newspapers that they are not talking about. Do not know. But I have some ability to see more behind the mean lines. Already used to. Do you know how funny it is to read some of the late comments on events. When you suddenly find out that you and your friend and platoon commander imagined all the military outfits at some kind of rally, big and stupid, and thought about your armor: "My good, golden ..." But the newspaper still prefers not an outfit of three "kamikaze" and outfits.
You just get the ability to see some subtext over time. And most of all, it kills that there are people who start squabbling again. Such grief all around. I have a very simple view of such people."
About unkind people, however, he spoke exactly as much as they deserve - not enough. About friends and comrades he could talk endlessly, excitedly:
"I looked at photographs ... I look at the tanned faces of my friends, at faces that are painfully familiar. And so I wanted something like this, you know ... I would like for them, you know ... Well, at least like this: "Guys, leave, I'll cover!" Thank God, don't do that."
Thoughts and feelings entrusted to a sheet of paper, expressed to a loved one - a premonition of fate? Fate foretold a feat, prepared for the lofty and tragic mission of the hero...

***
- THIS is how we live, yoldash lieutenant. - The owner of the house, the old rural teacher Hasai-muellim, put on the table his hands, knotted like the roots of an old tree, dark from the sunburn of years. - It got really bad. There is no one to work: those who are younger try to leave for the regional center of Kubatly or for Baku. Some live in Russia. Gulam Nazarov has two sons - officers: Gasan serves in the Soviet Army, and Zahid - in your troops, internal, in Arkhangelsk, like you - political officer of the company.
Of course, they worry a lot about us - after all, the war is going on here. Can you tell me what happened to people? I don't understand at all! Previously, our children went to school in Shurnukh, there, on the highway. Armenians and ours studied together. Now there are militants in Shurnukh, " the bats"What? On this road, Kafan - Goris, everyone used to travel calmly, but now this is the border. How many villages around have become completely empty - Mazra, Gadilli, Eyvazly, Seytas, Davudlu ... People are fleeing from bandits. Bandits go there they burn houses, shoot at them, steal cattle. Recently, five cows were also stolen from us. What to feed the children, huh?
Lieutenant Oleg Babak, at these words, almost choked on the meager treat that an elderly Azerbaijani put up from the heart - lavash, curdled milk, green onion arrows. For them, he is a big man, a boss, a yoldash, a comrade, which means a lieutenant. And the locals also found out that the military themselves call Babak Babak. There was such an Azerbaijani hero of the national liberation struggle, a character in many works. Oleg-Babek was completely respected by ordinary peasants. His soldiers help keep life in the tiny village of Yukhar Dzhibikli. "Yukhary" means "Upper". The upper ones are for sure: the height here is one and a half thousand meters. On the one hand, it seems to be utter wilderness. And if you look from the other side - a piece of paradise: crystal air, springs. The gardens and orchards of every peasant are well-groomed. The mountain pastures are excellent. Primordial forests - and firewood for you, and berries, nuts, and birds sing, and animals are found ...
Animals... The pastoral-idyllic picture suddenly disappeared, as if a colorful landscape slide was abruptly replaced by a frame of a black-and-white front-line chronicle - burned houses, mangled by explosions and car shots, corpses. The two-legged beast now roams these parts, preventing people from living on the beautiful land.
- We will not leave, Hasai-muellim. - The lieutenant shook hands with the old man, thanked for the treat. He went up to his outpost, habitually wary peering into the darkening mountain range on the left. There passes the same route Goris - Kafan. They used to call it the dear life, but now...
I didn’t want to think about the bad - I didn’t want to make melancholy for myself, and even more so for my boys. Gray ran out of the twilight - the outpost dog, recognizing it, yelped affably, began to caress, jump around.
- Well, well, it's good to spoil, - Oleg patted the dog on the shaggy neck, - let's go to the post, guard, work out the rations!
From the side of the highway, a thick measured rumble was heard - an Armenian column was coming. Oleg hurried to the outpost - you need to look who is driving, what is lucky. Cursing for the umpteenth time due to the lack of binoculars at the outpost, the officer quickly disconnected the sniper sight, began to observe the "front line" through the eyepiece crossed out by the scale: in front was a military bomber, then covered KamAZ trucks, some red tanks like fuel trucks, a truck with militants, a convoy closed UAZ. It is behind him that an eye and an eye is needed: often it is their last car that stops, the militants give several bursts in the direction of the village - they say, know ours - and quickly leave.
There were no shots fired today. Maybe they were tired of firing themselves, maybe the head of the military guard of the Armenians was reasonable, did not want to provoke the military to return fire, all the more so since there were, apparently, tankers with fuel in the convoy. "Well, thank God," thought the lieutenant, threw a winter jacket over his steep shoulders and sat down on the parapet of the post closest to the outpost.
A cold night with cold stars descended on the mountains. They seemed prickly in the lifeless black space, and a glance turned to them did not arouse thoughts about the infinity of the Universe and the immortality of the soul. On the contrary, to the point of aching in the temples from the blood rushing to them, the lieutenant wanted to be at home, in warmth and comfort. The same stars are there when you look at them from the flat land of Poltava, warmer and closer, and do not prick your heart, but fill it with even light and joy of life.
Here ... "Beyond the mountains, burn, gloomy, shine with grief, shed blood" - this is how Taras Shevchenko wrote in his "Caucasus". This great poet was Oleg's idol, his portrait was pasted into Babak's cadet notebook, his volumes were always at hand. Quite recently, in one of his letters to his mother and father, he confessed: “I’m reading Kobzar now, my heart hurts. Tomike, don't they make your heart ache? God knows...
And today is Easter night, Oleg remembered. There, far away, there are Easter cakes in huts, lined all around with colorful krashenkas. And tomorrow there will be a Bright Resurrection, and people will be smiling, kind to everyone, friendly to everyone and joyful with their whole life, despite sorrows and misfortunes, and will be filled with faith and peace. In his native Victoria, guys, his friends and comrades will kiss and kiss beautiful girls with cheerful mischief ...
And then people kill people. Why? Is it really in their nature, in their blood? Just recently, Muslims celebrated their main holiday of the year - Navruz Bayram. On this day, as the locals explained, the most fierce enemies should reconcile, forget strife and grievances. But just on this holiday in Khojaly they fired at the car of the NKAR prosecutor, our medical battalion, the guard at the checkpoint. Or what - the holy commandments do not apply to the Gentiles? It turns out like this: both sides convince us of the peacefulness of their faith, and they fire at each other day and night. Easter tomorrow...
At the outpost during these days I re-read all the few books and magazines, I got to the old one, for some long past year, with half-torn leaves. I read there a pathetic phrase of one of the writers: “Christ has risen for all!
Hopelessly bitterly sighed: "If only!.."
There was very little time left before midnight. Casting a glance at the starry worlds, the head of the outpost got up to go around the posts once more...

***
SUNDAY only at first turned out to be bright, sunny ...
A kilometer and a half from the village, local residents discovered the corpse of a forester Shahin Mammadov. His cousin Garib Nazarov is missing. Azerbaijanis, naturally, came to the military for help. And where else can they go, if there is only one district policeman among the representatives of the authorities?
Meanwhile, the information about the two missing Azerbaijanis went "in a big circle", since the same picturesque mountains that "gloomy poviti" interfered with direct communication with the battalion. As if on a broken phone, Major Viktor Burdukov was informed: "Two soldiers disappeared on the 16th." Although the phone was damaged, it was not a child's game, the battalion commander felt something unkind, he decided to send a maneuver group to the outpost. Cars, as always, are in short supply. Fortunately, a "tablet" was on duty that day - an ambulance UAZ-452. Who to send? We need reliable people who are able to make intelligent decisions in the most difficult environment, away from the base. There are many such people in the battalion, but all of them are involved, scattered around the outposts, checkpoints. One word - tense.
The crew of the combat vehicle was made up of the chief of staff of the battalion, Captain Igor Shapovalov, the chief medical officer of the brigade, "Afghan", colonel of the medical service Vladimir Lukyanov, the most experienced senior sergeants, two Alekseys - the deputy platoon commander Bochkov and the foreman of the Loginov company. Private Alexander Lizogub was driving the tablet. Gathered quickly - in full combat.
In the Berkushad hotel in the district center of Kubatly, where the battalion of the Sofrins was quartered, the slogan "Perform the task. Return home safe and sound" was written on a kumach. Such is the frank visual propaganda. It seems like at many civilian car depots, where a painted baby reminds drivers leaving for a flight: "Dad, we are waiting for you from work."
The dogodyaga-"pill", either hysterically wheezing, or sneezing pitifully, clambered along the clay zigzags. The road to the "sixteenth" is nowhere worse. In spring, it is a common thing - gullies from snow melting in the mountains, scree. You go around them - the wheels almost hang over the cliff. The squiggles on this "donkey path" are such that even a small
"UAZ" cube fits tightly. The mood of the military is also bad: in bulletproof vests, helmets, with weapons, during the mountain rally, all the sides and soft spots were beaten, and even hungry in order, because they rushed on alarm without lunch. But the main thing - the questions sat like a splinter: "What happened? Who was missing?" One and a half hours, during which they overcame twenty-two kilometers of mountain serpentine, seemed like an eternity ...
Lunch was offered to them in Ayin - the village was on the way, there was also a Sofri outpost. But they didn’t linger, they only knocked with fellow Slavs with Easter eggs, boiled for lack of other colors with onion peel.
Having made the last spurt to the ill-fated Upper Djibicles, they breathed a sigh of relief, having clarified the situation. The main thing is that all of our people at the outpost are alive and well. And the fact that the corpse of a local resident was found and the second Azerbaijani disappeared is disappointing, of course, but this has already happened, the commandant's offices of the neighboring regions, the Armenian Goris and Azerbaijani Kubatly, let them figure it out together.
While the officers were analyzing the chaotic information that the locals vied with each other, the soldiers decided to have lunch. Two Alekseevs - Loginov and Bochkov - the soldiers did not know where to seat, what to treat. And the reason is not only and not so much in their "hazing", seniority, demobilization privileges - at the outpost, especially the most distant one, guests are always welcome.
But the guys barely had time to bring the spoons to their mouths, when Lieutenant Babak ordered: "Guys, stop eating, otherwise everything will climb back - we'll carry the corpse. Let's go."
The demobilized people had to tighten their belts again and put on armor ...
At the outpost, meanwhile, passions ran high. The women screamed heart-rendingly and, as usual here, tore their hair in a frenzy and scratched their faces. It seemed to the soldiers that they were scratching their souls. A few children looked pathetic and hunted. The gray-haired aksakals poked their fingers in the direction of Armenia and vying with each other shouted curses. They grabbed the sleeves of the lieutenant, demanding: "Yoldash Babek, please help us!"
We had to go to the scene - the military is used to responding to the first call for help. Captain Shapovalov remained at the outpost. Lieutenant Babak, who knows the way, led the alarm group.
(In subsequent clashes, some high officials reproached the actors of those events for "ill-conceived decisions and haste of actions." They say, if they had not gone after the corpse of the murdered forester, then ... Say, let the Azerbaijanis themselves take it out.
With this rational military officer, the battalion officers are ready to put forward their "if": if there was an armored personnel carrier at the outpost, if there were hand grenades, binoculars ... And even if we take into account the treachery of the bandits, which, during the three years of the war, the gullible Slavs did not get used to. Yes, if they had forgotten on both sides of the border the word "revenge", which rzhoy corroded human souls. If...)
The "tablet" climbed up the mountain slope again and soon stopped near a group of people. District police lieutenant Huseynov, the fiancee of the murdered man, his sister and several other local men did not dare to go down the cliff, they were waiting for the military.
It's hard to drag a dead body up a steep almost hundred-meter cliff. Under the worn tread of soldiers' boots, small pebbles crumbled, then loam slipped, covered with a layer of last year's rotten foliage, through which thin arrows-blades of grass made their way on sun-warmed patches ... But the military was not up to the charms of the spring forest. Bochkov and Loginov were sweating a lot. The corpse strove to slip out, in its bloody insides smashed by bullets, it grumbled and squelched disgustingly. Several terrible, fatal wounds left no doubt that the forester was shot almost point-blank.
The body began to be put on a stretcher when a white Niva appeared on the Goris - Kafan road ... Grandfather, a hardened "Afghan" Colonel Lukyanov, calmly and distinctly said: "Look, Oleg, now they will wet us." And he took his machine gun at the ready ... Azerbaijani aksakals sparkled in their eyes: "Ermeni! It was they who killed! Yoldash Babek, give us a machine gun! We ourselves ..."
- Themselves, themselves ... Themselves with a mustache! - Babak only managed to swear to himself and even shout to the peaceful: - Hide! Run home!
The bandits hit at once from several trunks. Having ambushed the Azerbaijanis, they saw that they arrived accompanied by soldiers of the internal troops. But, apparently, the wolves did not want to leave without prey. They also clearly saw a red cross in a white circle on board the car - and one of the bullets hit it. A 5.45mm submachine gun rips through metal. Even more so human flesh. The militants could not get trained dexterous military men; in response, they gave a short queue while standing, as if warning: "You shouldn't joke with us." But they also fired from the track to defeat, not to fright. Ours were released one more turn - already from the knee, and when they realized that the matter was taking a serious turn, they lay down. But the bandits knocked down the Azerbaijanis with the very first shots, as in a shooting range. Neither the men, nor even the women, in confusion, managed to even sensibly hide, but only crawled on all fours under the fire of the Armenians.

Militia lieutenant Huseynov's hip was torn apart. So he could not fulfill the commands of Lieutenant Babak: "Take your people away, we will cover!" Now you can only rely on yourself.
Some of the wounded were pushed into the "tablet", where the forester's corpse had already been loaded, and two more locals went with them. Grandfather Lukyanov, covering the retreat, fired from his hand directly from the cockpit, dexterously, without throwing back the butt. The colonel was without a bulletproof vest, but he fought boldly, did not try to hide even in his battered tin with a red cross. He rushed to the outpost, deciding to take some of the civilians out of the fire and immediately return with reinforcements and ammunition. At first, Babak had five stores, but he gave one to the colonel to ensure the withdrawal (Grandfather shot two of his horns in the battle near the road). The cartridges from four magazines per brother, taken with them by the sergeants, also melted.
Lieutenant Babak, realizing that it would not be possible to quickly leave with the remaining wounded Azerbaijanis, took up defense. With him were reliable guys, two senior sergeants, two Alexei - Loginov and Bochkov. He believed in them...
Fifteen militants who started fighting against the military - that's all right. A strong trio could hold them down for a while. But some minutes later, from the direction of Kafan, along the highway in three covered trucks - these were Urals or ZILs - a cloud drove up, sixty or seventy people. It became clear that we had to leave: until the car returned with help, anything could happen. But now it was not easy to retreat either - police lieutenant Huseynov was seriously wounded. True, he was still shooting back from his machine gun, but he could no longer move independently. It was also hard for the wounded girl, it’s good that she managed to hide in relative calm.
The fire was so dense that you couldn't raise your head.
Babak followed the movement of the Armenians, and his thoughts were short and clear, like automatic bursts of two cartridges: "Pull out the locals... Punish the jackals... Don't set yourself up..."
While his sergeants were nearby, they talked to each other, consulted.
- Maybe the "turntables" will come?
- What "turntables"! They're in Stepan, and you'll hear the hell out of there... A dead thing!
- Sergeant major, go to the outpost!
- I won't go, I'm with you!
Loginov crawled away about thirty meters, stretching the militants along the front, distracting them. To himself, he already said goodbye to his mother, and to everyone. He fought his battle. Babak with Bochkov - his own. They recognized each other only by the voice of the automata.
Now only the lieutenant from the castle platoon was talking.
- Lyosha, if they get around, we're finished! Let's go if you can.
- What are you?! We came together, we will leave together!
- Then try to take off on the slope!
And the slope begins with a loose ledge - how can you jump on it in heavy armor under fire? Bochkov was already preparing to make such a desperate spurt, but he barely moved, grouping for a jump, when literally centimeters from him they hit him from a machine gun. Bullets slammed so close that clods of earth showered on his head and shoulders. They have already been taken for a fork.
- No, we won't. - Babak did not want to give the initiative of the battle to the enemy. - You cover my back, and I - you. You can't be surrounded.
They moved towards each other. They got even closer.
- Lyokha, if we get out today, I will be fine, today is Easter! Wait, there will be "turntables" soon!
- What are you, Oleg, what "turntables"! All hope is for the outpost, and there are sixteen people with us - where to meddle with the company.
Instead of our helicopters, a bandit armored personnel carrier appeared on the highway. Bochkov sinfully thought that his namesake was no longer there - Loginov's machine gun was silent, and on that patch where the foreman was spinning, last year's dry grass, set on fire by tracers, was already burning with might and main.
But Loginov, a handsome man, still managed to crawl away, pulling half of the militants onto himself and taking the fire of a heavy machine gun from their armored personnel carrier.
Pauses in the shootout were up to five minutes. We had the last horn of cartridges left. The militants did not dare to meddle, having already lost several people.
Bochkov crawled out onto a rut. Now he was the closest of the three to the militants. But the sun prevented him - right in the eyes. When a cloud came up, he fired aimingly. When the sun was blinding, he fired short bursts at the sound.
He and the lieutenant crawled back another ten or two meters. Bochkov hears:
- Everyone, Lech, we were bypassed! Close your back - we'll hold on here!
Now they have slid off the road to the side of the road. The political officer closed Bochkov's back from the side of the slope, along which the militants had already deployed in a chain. It turned out that the two of them took up a circular defense.
From that patch it was possible to leave only along the road, on one side of which there was a gaping cliff, on the other, a slope already occupied by militants. Every inch of the road was shot through.
Bochkov suddenly heard:
- Hey, soldiers! Drop your weapons and wow.....those, give five minutes!
Obviously, the Russian fought on the side of the Armenians - the swearing was classic, there was no accent. Then another voice, with an accent:
- Soldiers, leave! Leave weapons and Azeris!
Bochkov heard how the militants were talking in chains, making their way along the slope around. The snipers correctly pointed out targets to their submachine gunners - tracers whistled a few centimeters from Babak and Bochkov.
- Leave! - ordered the political officer to Bochkov.
He didn't follow the order. For another ten minutes they lay under the bullets, answering with single shots, so that the enemy would understand that the military would not let him in.
- Go away, they're coming!
Bochkov was now lying on his back, half turned to the slope, about one and a half meters below the roadbed. Babak suddenly got up - Bochkov saw his head, shoulders, up to the shoulder blades approximately. The last thing I heard:
- Wait! Do not shoot! I'm alone!
Bochkov was frightened: "Why did you get up? We don't have grenades, nothing for close combat!" Then he realized: "Takes away from me. Gives me one last chance."
A bearded man in a sweater with a long barrel, it seems, with a carbine, began to run behind the lieutenant. Bochkov feverishly thinks what to do. You can’t shoot at all: the lieutenant is alone among the bandits. If you cut down one of them, the rest will immediately shoot Oleg point-blank.
The one with the carbine was shouting something to his people in Armenian. Then, seeing Azerbaijanis hiding in the bushes, he ran to them. Bochkov and the wounded policeman fired at the same time in a short burst - they failed. Immediately, the militants transferred heavy fire in their direction ...
Bochkov managed to change his place in the mess, slipped about five meters. Quiet. Cartridges in the horn - two or three, no more. As they say, last resort...
Then I heard a familiar voice: "Lech, Lech!" It was Sergeant Mitkovsky. Help came from the outpost. The car had to be left a little further away, around the corner, where the Armenians could no longer get it. Grandfather Lukyanov crawled to retirement on his belly under bandit bullets. He would have to stay at the outpost, and he, up to the elbow in blood, bandaged, pulling out the wounded from under the fire. He reproached himself for having taken one automatic horn from Babak during the first skirmish. But now he was reassured by the fact that he seemed to be in time - Sergeant Edik Mitkovsky and Private Zhenya Nebsky were already supporting the lieutenant and Bochkov with fire, and Corporal Alexei Dubina and Private Alexei Durasov cut off the bandits from Loginov. Sergeant Andrey Medvedev and Private Eduard Kulagin opened zinc with cartridges, equipped magazines.
Everyone began to pull themselves up to the "pill", near which the chief medical officer wound bandages on the wounded policeman and the girl, pricked them with promedol. Bochkov reported to him, as the eldest, exhaled:
The lieutenant has been taken prisoner!
- Oh, uh...!
Then, scrolling through the options in my head, not at all menacingly, but as if persuading:
- Riabyata, let's get in the car, I have no right to risk you! We'll take him out! The important thing is to be alive...
A wounded policeman and a girl were dragged into the car. The fighters grabbed the openings of broken windows. Loginov and Dubina took off their bulletproof vests to cover the driver from the direction of fire: one armor plate was hung on the door, the second behind his back. Ah, these golden boys! In battle, they thought not about themselves - about a comrade. So, firing back, and rushed to the outpost ...
They barely had time to catch their breath when they saw the long-awaited armored personnel carrier. The reserve group was led by Lieutenant Vasily Atamas.
Bochkov, who had seen Babak last only half an hour ago, suggested to the battalion chief of staff:
- If they managed to take him away, we go out to the track, we take any car with hostages. Let them try not to give Babak away...

***
- A DEADLY place, - Lieutenant Vasily Atamas will later say about the surroundings of the village of Yukhar Dzhibikli. For a long hour and another twenty-five minutes, their armored personnel carrier moved to the battlefield from Kubatly. Atamas knew only one thing so far - his friend Oleg needed help, with whom they ate more than one pood of salt both in the school and in the brigade. He knew that he had to hurry, but he did not urge his driver. Sergeant Edik Safronov, a young man, understood everything himself. That mountain road is actually impassable for an armored personnel carrier. That raid was, by and large, an unthinkable gamble. But they did pass!
When the armored personnel carrier entered the battlefield, moving its barrels and triplexes, one thought drilled into Atamas' brain: "Where is Oleg?" Vasily was not afraid of militants.
Lieutenant Babak was lying without a bulletproof vest, without a machine gun. Unable to defeat the officer in battle, he, unarmed, was vilely killed when he rose to his full height to stop the bloodshed ...
The lieutenant and his guys did their duty with honor - they did not allow the bandits to commit reprisals against peaceful peasants. It was not they, the soldiers of the internal troops, who started that unequal battle. They led him with dignity. All the evil was vented by the bandits on the lieutenant with monstrous cruelty - a bullet in the back, at close range.
As soon as the hatches of the armored personnel carrier opened, bullets pounded like peas on the armor. But Vasily Atamas could not leave his friend on the battlefield. He ordered to process the slope from all available weapons. The militants did not admit their losses in that battle. And they did not believe that an officer with two sergeants held out against their company for several hours ...

***
OLEG Babak was buried in his native village of Victoria. There are many flowers on the grave of the last Hero of the Soviet Union. Bring them good people- brother-soldiers on memorial days, schoolchildren - on Victory Day, newlyweds - on wedding days. When, in October 1991, Nadezhda Ivanovna and Yakov Andreevich were awarded the Order of Lenin and the Gold Star medal in the village club, Oleg's brothers-in-arms, holders of the Order "For Personal Courage" reserve sergeant Aleksey Loginov and Aleksey Bochkov, one of the Smolensk region, the second from Omsk. Over the grave of their political officer, both of them sincerely said: "We owe our lives to Oleg ..." That's right - there's nothing to add or subtract. Never lie on a friend's grave...

The Central Museum of Internal Troops has the last letter from the last Hero of the Soviet Union. There are only a few lines on a crumpled page torn from a school notebook. But how many thoughts they give birth to in us! When and in connection with what did Oleg decide to write these words? He used to write down a dream he had just had. Sometimes he was carried away by dreams of the future. Often my heart sank at the thought of a distant native home, where I had not been for a long time.
The guide brings visitors to the stand, on which there is a portrait of a handsome young officer, his awards, a school diploma and this piece of paper in a box with mysterious, mystical lines.
"My dear mom and dad!
My family, don't worry. I'm fine. Everything is fine, as usual. How I want to see you! Hug and kiss tightly. Crawl, as in childhood, under your arm, fall asleep on your shoulder, a folder, hiding from all these hardships, fuss, from these vile troubles. I want to huddle under a warm, quilted blanket laid by your gentle hand, dear mother.
I want to hide from them. And they get it, get it, damn it!"
Such a short message, begun nostalgically, tenderly, and in the last uneven lines breaking into a desperate cry. Oleg wrote it this time in Russian, but the last word still came out in Ukrainian...
This short, only twenty-four years, life is a bitter, tragic symbol of a troubled time. The Ukrainian lad, who served near Moscow in the allied internal troops, was struck down by a vile bullet in a bloody duel between the tribes fighting for Karabakh.
They got him, damned, on his last Bright Resurrection ...

Boris KARPOV