http://rt.com/politics/press/izvestiya/military-karabakh-nagorno-karabakh-army/en/
Published: 5 July, 2011, 07:13
Edited: 5 July, 2011, 07:28
Shots are being fired on the border with Azerbaijan, but even under gunfire Armenians are growing wheat Yury Snegirev
There is no peace between Nagorno-Karabakh and Azerbaijan – for which mutual distrust and fear of another war are to blame. In military textbooks it is written: “Grad strikes at a distance of 21 km, Smerch – more than 60 km. Armenians say that precisely in order to protect Stepanakert, the capital of the independent and unrecognized Karabakh, from gunfire, the Defense Army of Nagorno-Karabakh occupied seven adjacent Azeri districts so as to ensure that the rival’s artillery does not strike against the ‘holy land of Artsakh’.”
Speaking with us on this subject is Defense Army Deputy Commander Maj.-Gen. Andranik Makaryan: except that he calls the occupied territories a buffer zone.
The Karabakh generals don’t drive Mercedes. Andranik Makaryan uses the UAZ army jeep. Every spare penny is spent on weapons and the support of combat-readiness.
“Here, take a look,” sighs the general while flipping through a summary report. “In one week alone, our positions were fired at 600 times. In the last 24 hours there were 36 shootings! Grenade launchers, DShK, Dragunov sniper rifles, PK machine guns, AKMs, and other small arms are used.”
“And what do you do?”
“We respond! What else?”
“How much larger is the Azerbaijani army than your contingent?”
The general understands that I am trying to uncover a military secret, and answers floridly: “We do not, and will not, have the need to shoot at an empty space. Of course, some are talking about the superiority of the other side’s troops or military equipment. But we excel in something else. The most important thing is moral courage. One can defeat an army. But you cannot defeat a nation. We don’t have another choice – to live or to die.”
I look at the map of Nagorno-Karabakh. The frontline, or as it is diplomatically referred to “the line of contact of the armed forces” is drawn with a thick marker and instead of following the administrative borders it is drawn along the natural barriers: dams, rivers, and slopes. I travel to the site to see what is going on, how the small army of Karabakh has been able to stand against the Azerbaijani divisions, which are armed to NATO standards.
As soon as we find ourselves outside Karabakh, our UAZ begins jolting over the bumps on the road. The buffer zone is a no man’s land. There isn’t anyone to fix the roads. Here and there, there are palisades around Muslim headstones. Here, they are disdainfully called “skis” due to the resemblance to the sporting gear. But no one will destroy the graves. Over the decades they have become covered with shrubs, and it is practically impossible to get access to them.
Next to a dried-up dam there are two rusty Niva combine harvesters gathering wheat. Beyond the dam starts the frontline. It is about 200 meters away from the Azerbaijani trenches.
“Are you not afraid to work?” I ask Vazgen.
“No, we have the dam here, it covers us from bullets,” says the grime-covered combine operator. “Last year, we were shot at in that field, where the dam ends. Now we do not plant wheat where there is no cover.”
I, of course, understand that I was brought to the most peaceful section of the frontline. But even here, under the dam, no one can feel completely safe. In addition to snipers, there are also grenade launchers that will strike through any dam. Therefore, as a first order of business, the soldiers put me into an armor vest and a helmet.
The detachment takes a break from service under an awning. Some play chess in deep thought. Others feed doves. Yes, in addition to the dog named Rizhyk, two white doves live on the frontline. This immediately calls to mind Picasso’s “Dove of Peace”. Lieutenant Edmon Saribekyan takes care of the birds. Especially for the journalist, he sends the two beautiful birds into the sky. But they immediately land on a billboard that reads: “Strong-spirited peoples shall not be conquered! Garegin Njdeh, royal general.”
“Are they afraid of snipers?” I point to the dam.
“The red-footed falcon! It’s a raptor of the falcon family. You can’t hunt here, as you could accidentally raise the alarm. So now the red-footed falcon has grown in number. We did have three doves at first…” the lieutenant explains.
Although standard trenches have been dug out and lined with concrete columns, I do not sense a state of full combat-readiness, as it is portrayed in the movies, from the ruined vineyard (nearby is the exhausted Agdam district, home of the famous port wine). I share my concerns with the lieutenant.
“Is that so?” he says and issues a sharp command in Armenian.
Suddenly, the sleepy trenches turn into a bustling bazaar. Soldiers in armor vests and helmets start moving quickly and in just seconds take their places at the gun-slots. Reports follow. Satisfied, the lieutenant clicks the timer: “In three seconds we exceeded the standard. That’s how we do things!”
I approach the gun-slots. Behind rows of barbed wire with attached tin cans (frontline alarm system) stand permanent firing positions. Trenches are laid toward them. Between the Armenian and Azerbaijani fortifications is barren land. Neither there, nor here does anyone want to die.
Nearby, machine gunner Ashot Abramov stands in thought. His mother is from these territories. Ashot was born here. His father is from the Dinskoy District in the Krasnodar region. Then, the Abramovs moved to Russia. But Ashot came back to serve here, on the frontline, leaving his girlfriend, Natasha, school, and friends behind, and coming to bullets and shrapnel.
“You see, I could not have done otherwise,” explains Ashot. “It would be embarrassing for me to stay home while the motherland is in danger.”
I think I have figured out the main military secret of the Karabakh people. Their strength lies in the fact that they harvest wheat under gunfire.
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