A soldier over time inevitably accumulates a lot of medals. There are easy ones; ones you get by definition for being around a long time, ones that are simply easy to get, ones that are simply gifts for patronage . . . but this one was special.
"I was in Lahore, in Pakistan. I suppose this was '65 or '66, because I was Sergeant by then. I was part of Platoon N. Our assignment was to get some mobile artillery to an advanced position and make it rain on an enemy encampment. A platoon has four sections. Section 1 and 2 were with the gun, Section 4 was guarding one entrence, and Section 3, that was my section, we were guarding another entrence."
The city was already a bombed ruin. Seven men made their way on foot through the wreckage, stepping over blasted brick and asphalt. They were harsh, silent men, dressed head-to-toe in brown camouflage, carrying guns and heavy packs. Off in the distance was the sound of machine-gun chatter and a bomb exploding.
"Our job was to rig the path up - there were only a few usable paths to the guns at Checkpoint K - to rig it up with mines and stop anybody who was going to try and traverse it. The artillery we had was packing 50 shells, and we had to spend all of them and get out of there. But as soon as they figured out where the shells were coming from, they'd send somebody round to stop it. So we had to be ready."
A machine-gun was set up in an abandoned building. Landmines were placed on the street - the rubble was so thick that there was no point covering them. Two men hid behind destroyed walls, pointing their rocket launchers at unseen enemies. Anastas, still with both eyes, was smoking a cigarette from a high perch, watching in the distance for the sight of moving vehicles.
"Once in position at Checkpoint M, we radio'd home and started the firing. We got off 10 shells before they shot back and blew our ammunition. 10 casualties, the wounded had to be left behind. Our mobile artillery was gone, scrap metal. We were to return to Checkpoint Y, which was five kilometers away. Then, as we started moving, we got the message that Checkpoint Y was gone, too - fallen to the Pakistanis. We were directed to return immediately to Checkpoint I, 15 kilometers away, and the only route that we knew was through a nest of enemies."
If the men were afraid, they didn't say anything. They officiously packed up their rocket launchers and their machine-gun and started walking back.
"But we barely were out of the building when we heard a great explosion. To this day, I have no idea why - maybe Avalokiteshvara was looking out for his kids - but an armored vehicle came roaring down the road. Probably to check on Checkpoint K, where the guns were. But it hit a landmine and turned over on its side. We rushed over, pulled out the crew, and got rid of them."
Gunfire rattles out. Men scream. The silent, humorless men survey their new motorized captive.
"Private Chimindorj thought we should ride it home. But there was no way to get home - we'd had to sweep for mines the whole way over, and it was certain that they'd had more waiting for us. We thought of surrendering. For a moment, I was tempted . . . though I would later spend some time in a POW camp, I hadn't yet. I don't intend to ever go back. I had a better idea."
All seven men got to one side of the vehicle and began to push. With a great groan, it righted itself.
"We were dead, or captives. The answer was simple. They probably hadn't arrived at Checkpoint K yet. We got back in the vehicle, got the engine going again - thankfully, it had just flipped over - and took off for Checkpoint Y, which they had overrun. Dead anyway, at least we could use our ordnance on them."
The vehicle roared down the miserable road. Inside, seven men were silent, seemingly uninterested in their own life or death. They were too weary, too dusty and worn-out. They thought only of the job. Anastas himself plugged the cables into his neck and drove.
"There were no guards on the north end, the rear end of Checkpoint Y. We cruised right inside, popped out of the hatch, and shot our rockets at the enemy's ammunition. The whole thing blew to hell."
Chaos. Anarchy. The explosion rocked the whole base, exploding vehicles like dominos. One vehicle drifting over the perimeter, a man in the porthole shooting off a rocket. Men running, dashing, shooting fruitlessly, dying fruitlessly. One man raises up a revolver to urge people forward - he was cut down by machine-gun fire from the turrets.
"We destroyed their whole ammunition dump. We killed their commanding officer, Colonel Rajput, and pretty much obliterated the checkpoint. We took back the checkpoint in the night and the moving of ammunition set up a chain effect that allowed us to move two points past Checkpoint Y."
It's night, and Anastas stands outside a canteen, smoking a cigarette and rubbing his neck. His trade is death, and today his practice was exemplary. He smiles. He's done a good job.
"We thought it was a sure death, and in the end it turned out to be the only way to get out safely. I suppose it was a leap of faith."
"I was in Lahore, in Pakistan. I suppose this was '65 or '66, because I was Sergeant by then. I was part of Platoon N. Our assignment was to get some mobile artillery to an advanced position and make it rain on an enemy encampment. A platoon has four sections. Section 1 and 2 were with the gun, Section 4 was guarding one entrence, and Section 3, that was my section, we were guarding another entrence."
The city was already a bombed ruin. Seven men made their way on foot through the wreckage, stepping over blasted brick and asphalt. They were harsh, silent men, dressed head-to-toe in brown camouflage, carrying guns and heavy packs. Off in the distance was the sound of machine-gun chatter and a bomb exploding.
"Our job was to rig the path up - there were only a few usable paths to the guns at Checkpoint K - to rig it up with mines and stop anybody who was going to try and traverse it. The artillery we had was packing 50 shells, and we had to spend all of them and get out of there. But as soon as they figured out where the shells were coming from, they'd send somebody round to stop it. So we had to be ready."
A machine-gun was set up in an abandoned building. Landmines were placed on the street - the rubble was so thick that there was no point covering them. Two men hid behind destroyed walls, pointing their rocket launchers at unseen enemies. Anastas, still with both eyes, was smoking a cigarette from a high perch, watching in the distance for the sight of moving vehicles.
"Once in position at Checkpoint M, we radio'd home and started the firing. We got off 10 shells before they shot back and blew our ammunition. 10 casualties, the wounded had to be left behind. Our mobile artillery was gone, scrap metal. We were to return to Checkpoint Y, which was five kilometers away. Then, as we started moving, we got the message that Checkpoint Y was gone, too - fallen to the Pakistanis. We were directed to return immediately to Checkpoint I, 15 kilometers away, and the only route that we knew was through a nest of enemies."
If the men were afraid, they didn't say anything. They officiously packed up their rocket launchers and their machine-gun and started walking back.
"But we barely were out of the building when we heard a great explosion. To this day, I have no idea why - maybe Avalokiteshvara was looking out for his kids - but an armored vehicle came roaring down the road. Probably to check on Checkpoint K, where the guns were. But it hit a landmine and turned over on its side. We rushed over, pulled out the crew, and got rid of them."
Gunfire rattles out. Men scream. The silent, humorless men survey their new motorized captive.
"Private Chimindorj thought we should ride it home. But there was no way to get home - we'd had to sweep for mines the whole way over, and it was certain that they'd had more waiting for us. We thought of surrendering. For a moment, I was tempted . . . though I would later spend some time in a POW camp, I hadn't yet. I don't intend to ever go back. I had a better idea."
All seven men got to one side of the vehicle and began to push. With a great groan, it righted itself.
"We were dead, or captives. The answer was simple. They probably hadn't arrived at Checkpoint K yet. We got back in the vehicle, got the engine going again - thankfully, it had just flipped over - and took off for Checkpoint Y, which they had overrun. Dead anyway, at least we could use our ordnance on them."
The vehicle roared down the miserable road. Inside, seven men were silent, seemingly uninterested in their own life or death. They were too weary, too dusty and worn-out. They thought only of the job. Anastas himself plugged the cables into his neck and drove.
"There were no guards on the north end, the rear end of Checkpoint Y. We cruised right inside, popped out of the hatch, and shot our rockets at the enemy's ammunition. The whole thing blew to hell."
Chaos. Anarchy. The explosion rocked the whole base, exploding vehicles like dominos. One vehicle drifting over the perimeter, a man in the porthole shooting off a rocket. Men running, dashing, shooting fruitlessly, dying fruitlessly. One man raises up a revolver to urge people forward - he was cut down by machine-gun fire from the turrets.
"We destroyed their whole ammunition dump. We killed their commanding officer, Colonel Rajput, and pretty much obliterated the checkpoint. We took back the checkpoint in the night and the moving of ammunition set up a chain effect that allowed us to move two points past Checkpoint Y."
It's night, and Anastas stands outside a canteen, smoking a cigarette and rubbing his neck. His trade is death, and today his practice was exemplary. He smiles. He's done a good job.
"We thought it was a sure death, and in the end it turned out to be the only way to get out safely. I suppose it was a leap of faith."