WE WON

He was tired. The legs were barely moving. The boys were ahead. He was walking behind them. Not walking, rather rolling. This was different. Two days had passed since the attack, but the brain was not resting. Three attacks in one night. The drone spotted 40-60 Azeris. In our position. Actually they were not Azeris, they a group of mercenaries called Yashma. The boys, with whom they shared bread a few days ago, kept the border, talked, laughed, were sad, happy … The comrades-in-arms remained in the position. They fought until the last bullet, until the last heartbeat. But the enemy came as a wolves pack — 40-60 people against seven. Or maybe more. One of our soldiers managed to retreat. They say he is wounded, but he will live. Six were killed.

… A few days ago, Azeris in Armenian military uniforms were spotted on the outskirts of Talish. Every house, every tree and every stone was in danger. But they succeeded. They reached their positions without being observed. The action was wonderfully structured. The Azerbaijanis would not have thought that the blow would come from behind. The large group could not slip back unnoticed. And it took a lot of effort to capture the heights (from where the villages of Talish and Mataghis seemed to be in your hands). Especially in the position of more than five dozen armed Azeris were waiting for the upcoming battle. But it would not occur to them that the Armenians would attack from behind with a group of several people. Just one detachment. His detachment under the command of battalion commander Artyom Gevorgyan.

… Azeris were scared. They lost their courage. Suddenly they realized that all their efforts had been erased, and the ratio of forces meant nothing more. And they fled. They simply fled, leaving several dozen corpses on the battlefield. He looked around and felt nothing. There was emptiness in his head, in his heart.

… Finally the building was noticed. A few more meters and they would get in. He will sleep. Sleep will clear the brain of nightmares. Did he fall asleep on his feet or was he really hit? Something exploded next to him, and a strong wave lifted his body like air, and plastered the stairs.

– Good job, my son, good job …

Who said it? Monte? Yes, of course it was Monte. Everyone was waiting for Monte in the military unit. “Monte will come to our military unit,” they glanced at each other. He was in the military unit every day. He even sometimes slept in the barracks with the soldiers. But that day he went to the military unit with special excitement. The father had told him about Monte the day before. It was like a fairy tale. Everyone was gathered around Monte.

“Hayk Sekhliyan. “I am.” It was not his voice. It was someone else. He looked; it was his grandfather. He was also Hayk Sekhlyan. An officer in the Soviet Army who fought in the Patriotic War and later served in the bases stationed in Armenia. He raised his hand and brought it closer to his forehead. He stretched. He saluted his grandfather. “Grandpa, we won.” “I know.” “Grandpa, my feet.” “Don’t relax.”

… He opened his eyes. The woman in the white robe was looking at him with a smile.

“Have my legs been amputated?” he asked.

“No,” said the woman, “they are there.”

“Why don’t I feel my feet?”

“Hold on”.

Suddenly he felt unbearable pain. It was as if they had stabbed him in the back. The pain spread throughout the body, came, and accumulated in the head.

“There is no air.”

“Morphine.”

“Prepare the operating room quickly.”

… Something flowed through the veins, clearing the pain. A happy sadness descended on him. The body was slipping light, weightless and painless…

By GAYANE POGHOSYAN