Road to Palmyra: through blood, sand and rage
This week was truly successful for the troops of the Syrian Arab army - in the province of Homs, the offensive on Tadmor (Palmyra) was intensively developed, which later ended with the capture of the ancient city.
This day has finally come to pass - we again went to Tadmor. With the roar of artillery cannonade, the whistling of bullets and the wailing of the wounded was greeted by the Bride of the Desert (as it is called Palmyra in the Middle East). Even on the approaches to the city, when we had to take the prevailing height of 939 and storm the Citadel, it became clear - despite the statements of the leader DAISH (ISIL - banned in Russia) Abu Bakr about the retreat, the militants would not leave. Already from the first minutes of the attack on the height of our detachment of the national militia Sheikh Suleiman was greeted with dense fire from large-caliber machine guns.
The special forces assault group, which tried to circumvent the skyscraper and hit the flank to distract the attention of the militants, stumbled into a minefield and retreated with losses. Management requested support from the Syrian and Russian army aviation. Fortunately, the Russian pilots worked wonderfully - the enemy’s DShK were silent, which gave us the opportunity to get as close as possible to the positions of extremists who had not yet recovered from the air raid. A fire battle ensued. So habitually short and biting that time flies in it imperceptibly.
At this time, on the opposite flank, government special forces detachments, with the support of the people's militia forces, literally smoked out the militants from the Citadel. The matter remained for small - to gain a foothold at two strategic heights and to further develop the offensive towards the city. Attaching another shop to the machine, along with a group of comrades, opened fire, rushed into the decisive throw to the enemy fortifications. Prepared, if necessary, for close combat, put the knife in the sleeve of the jacket.
At the height it was empty. Only rare corpses of terrorists, who did not manage to withdraw the retreating, lay on the ground in the disfigured poses of death-waking convulsions. The boxes of ammunition, destroyed after an air raid, and a thin strip of dust were visible on the horizon, the enemy hastily retreated towards the city. After giving the “duty” line from the captured machine gun, we set about mate (tea that is popular among residents of the Middle East) - as they say, after that you can afford a minute weakness.
Regrouping the next morning, our detachments, with the support of artillery and the Russian VKS, slowly began to sneak up to the city. Meter by meter, step by step. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and the tank in front of him jerked nervously and caught fire. A battle ensued. Crew tank, having managed to leave the car, he tried to shoot back, but could not reach us - everyone was destroyed by machine gun fire ...
Having dispersed along the route, we snapped out of all that we had - memory, self-propelled guns, machine guns. Shot everything and everyone. In order not to get stuck on the very outskirts of the city, the leadership ordered us to move more intensively in order to “cling” to some city block and from there continue to develop the offensive.
Finally, having reached the mosque, from which there is not much left, we breathed a little and, by a good tradition, drank mate. Having counted the casualties of the wounded and killed, the commanders gathered for a meeting. There was a question: “How to be?”. Continue to move forward and beat off new houses and neighborhoods, or give the already tired soldiers a little rest. All the more beginning to get dark. After disputes and discussions, they decided to give people a well-deserved rest, and in the morning to go forward again. The night has come. A terrible and dark Palmyra night. Even though we set up posts with a guard, it was a little uncomfortable with the realization that there, behind the wall of a neighboring house, you might be waiting for a cold and cynical death. Death, not recognizing titles and regalia.
The battle began in the morning. This city fight. House by house, block by block, gnawing at the very core of Tadmor, suffering losses and causing serious damage to the militants, we turned the tide. The enemy began to retreat. Hastily, throwing the dead and wounded, rolling away to the area of the fortified Elevator (granary). The next day everything was quiet. Only short automatic turns said that the last pockets of resistance were eliminated. Brushing the dust from yesterday’s face, only now I was able to calmly look around: the city, compared with last year, looked like one solid hell - burning houses, remnants of remains, militant corpses and wild cats became permanent elements of this depressing city landscape.
For me, this is the second assault on Palmyra. Earlier, in March 2016, I was already here. It is difficult to compare the events of last year’s time, since during this time I had the opportunity to visit various alterations and lose loved ones, relatives and comrades. I remember the bitterness of the December retreat, the complexity of the current assault, and I can say one thing: this new road, the road to Tadmor went for each of us through the blood of our relatives, the poisonous sand of sandstorms and the fury of vengeance ...
This day has finally come to pass - we again went to Tadmor. With the roar of artillery cannonade, the whistling of bullets and the wailing of the wounded was greeted by the Bride of the Desert (as it is called Palmyra in the Middle East). Even on the approaches to the city, when we had to take the prevailing height of 939 and storm the Citadel, it became clear - despite the statements of the leader DAISH (ISIL - banned in Russia) Abu Bakr about the retreat, the militants would not leave. Already from the first minutes of the attack on the height of our detachment of the national militia Sheikh Suleiman was greeted with dense fire from large-caliber machine guns.
The special forces assault group, which tried to circumvent the skyscraper and hit the flank to distract the attention of the militants, stumbled into a minefield and retreated with losses. Management requested support from the Syrian and Russian army aviation. Fortunately, the Russian pilots worked wonderfully - the enemy’s DShK were silent, which gave us the opportunity to get as close as possible to the positions of extremists who had not yet recovered from the air raid. A fire battle ensued. So habitually short and biting that time flies in it imperceptibly.
At this time, on the opposite flank, government special forces detachments, with the support of the people's militia forces, literally smoked out the militants from the Citadel. The matter remained for small - to gain a foothold at two strategic heights and to further develop the offensive towards the city. Attaching another shop to the machine, along with a group of comrades, opened fire, rushed into the decisive throw to the enemy fortifications. Prepared, if necessary, for close combat, put the knife in the sleeve of the jacket.
At the height it was empty. Only rare corpses of terrorists, who did not manage to withdraw the retreating, lay on the ground in the disfigured poses of death-waking convulsions. The boxes of ammunition, destroyed after an air raid, and a thin strip of dust were visible on the horizon, the enemy hastily retreated towards the city. After giving the “duty” line from the captured machine gun, we set about mate (tea that is popular among residents of the Middle East) - as they say, after that you can afford a minute weakness.
Regrouping the next morning, our detachments, with the support of artillery and the Russian VKS, slowly began to sneak up to the city. Meter by meter, step by step. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and the tank in front of him jerked nervously and caught fire. A battle ensued. Crew tank, having managed to leave the car, he tried to shoot back, but could not reach us - everyone was destroyed by machine gun fire ...
Having dispersed along the route, we snapped out of all that we had - memory, self-propelled guns, machine guns. Shot everything and everyone. In order not to get stuck on the very outskirts of the city, the leadership ordered us to move more intensively in order to “cling” to some city block and from there continue to develop the offensive.
Finally, having reached the mosque, from which there is not much left, we breathed a little and, by a good tradition, drank mate. Having counted the casualties of the wounded and killed, the commanders gathered for a meeting. There was a question: “How to be?”. Continue to move forward and beat off new houses and neighborhoods, or give the already tired soldiers a little rest. All the more beginning to get dark. After disputes and discussions, they decided to give people a well-deserved rest, and in the morning to go forward again. The night has come. A terrible and dark Palmyra night. Even though we set up posts with a guard, it was a little uncomfortable with the realization that there, behind the wall of a neighboring house, you might be waiting for a cold and cynical death. Death, not recognizing titles and regalia.
The battle began in the morning. This city fight. House by house, block by block, gnawing at the very core of Tadmor, suffering losses and causing serious damage to the militants, we turned the tide. The enemy began to retreat. Hastily, throwing the dead and wounded, rolling away to the area of the fortified Elevator (granary). The next day everything was quiet. Only short automatic turns said that the last pockets of resistance were eliminated. Brushing the dust from yesterday’s face, only now I was able to calmly look around: the city, compared with last year, looked like one solid hell - burning houses, remnants of remains, militant corpses and wild cats became permanent elements of this depressing city landscape.
For me, this is the second assault on Palmyra. Earlier, in March 2016, I was already here. It is difficult to compare the events of last year’s time, since during this time I had the opportunity to visit various alterations and lose loved ones, relatives and comrades. I remember the bitterness of the December retreat, the complexity of the current assault, and I can say one thing: this new road, the road to Tadmor went for each of us through the blood of our relatives, the poisonous sand of sandstorms and the fury of vengeance ...
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