Kitabı oku: «Life and Freedom. The autobiography of the former president of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh», sayfa 7

Outside of town, we had restaurants where people went to eat kebobs and spend time talking and relaxing. We met in one of these restaurants. Kontsevenko said at once, "Guys, I didn't volunteer to come here. I don't want to work against you. I sympathize with you, and I am ready to help you." This is how our cooperation began – which, of course, we didn't advertise. Our friendship with Kontsevenko perhaps saved lives, maybe even mine.

* * *

We knew that the authorities were fed up with us and could take extreme measures against us. Provocations by Azerbaijan's security services became more frequent, and all the movement leaders began carrying weapons.

I was still under the cover of legislator immunity. At some point, I was even elected to the Presidium of Armenia's Supreme Council, which I never got to attend, but it had become harder to officially arrest me. Nevertheless, military personnel from the Commandant's Office routinely visited my home with summonses, and once, they even paid a visit to my wife at her workplace – the sanitary-epidemiological center – demanding her to immediately disclose my whereabouts. Never losing her composure, Bella acted surprised, saying, "Wow, I would like to know myself! I haven't seen him for several months. Please let me know if you find him."

At the time, Kontsevenko warned me, "Robert, be careful. A special group has come to see Polyanichko. They've been ordered to kill the movement's leaders. They have a list of names and a plan of operations. Corpses will be dumped on the Armenian border. Armenians will be blamed for eliminating the vicious extremists themselves. Your name is at the top of the list." We heard the warning, but continued to operate normally, taking extra precautions. I modified my movement routes so that no one could predict where I would be by studying my habits. My daily routine remained almost the same, but I changed the place where I would spend the night from time to time. I remember that Serzh Sargsian and I slept in my brother's garage for a couple of months. Once, I took my older son Sedrak there so we could spend at least some time together.

We were fearless. You get used to danger quickly: they hunt us, we hunt them – it is what it is. Besides, we knew that it would have been very hard for an outside group to organize our assassinations in our own town, which we controlled, and whose population supported us. So I think that, in the end, they simply didn't dare to do it.

* * *

The head of the Internal Affairs Administration, Vladimir Kovalev, sent in from Moscow, was a very interesting and complicated man. He was short and physically fit. He was energetic and brave – while the Organizational Committee hid behind a barbed wire fence, he drove his Niva around town alone. He ran laps at the stadium every morning, proving to everyone that he had nothing and no one to fear. There were rumors that he underwent some kind of special training during his service in Afghanistan.

He began to work with zeal as soon as he arrived in Stepanakert. This created new headaches for us. We tried to establish contact with him, at least to have a meeting as a start. But nothing worked – he categorically declined any communication with us.

So we had to change our tactics.

One day, when Kovalev was going somewhere in his Niva, a small truck started to follow him. It was a standard closed-body truck with gates in the back, so Kovalev didn't suspect anything. Near the stadium, the truck abruptly passed him on the bridge. Kovalev followed the truck at full speed, despite the truck's slowing down. When the distance between the vehicles reached 30 to 45 feet, the back gates suddenly opened, and a long burst of automatic gunfire hit the Niva's windshield at point blank range. Surviving something like that seemed absolutely impossible. But, not only did Kovalev survive, he wasn't even hit by a single bullet! His incredible reaction time, composure, and, presumably, his Afghanistan experience were what saved him. Short and nimble, as soon as he saw that the back gates of the truck had opened, he ducked and took cover down in the space under the steering wheel by the pedals. The car cleared the rest of the bridge, then swerved into a ditch and stalled.

Within several days, Kovalev himself asked for a meeting either through Kontsevenko or Krivipuskov; I can't recall. We agreed.

We arranged to meet at the Hamza restaurant, near Stepanakert. Once again proving his bravery, Kovalev came alone to a place that was unknown to him. Serzh Sargsian and I greeted him and invited him to share a meal. The meal wasn't incredibly lavish, but kebobs and mulberry vodka were served. To my surprise, Kovalev turned out to be a decent and reasonable man. He told us straightforwardly, "Guys, I am not the enemy. I was sent to serve here, and I will do so diligently. I have no intention of fighting you – this is your land." From what he told us, we understood that the repressions against Armenians were not his idea and that Polyanichko didn't like him too much because of his integrity and firmness of character – the very traits we appreciated in Kovalev. Overall, we had a good, honest conversation. Kovalev didn't touch the mulberry vodka, however – I think he wasn't a drinker in general. We concluded the meeting on an almost friendly note, exchanging sincere handshakes before parting.

Afterwards, he helped us many times. Thanks to him, we were able to free several of our most valuable fighters, who had been arrested by Azerbaijan's SPPU. Sadly, he died in a helicopter crash in November of 1991.

* * *

By then, we had formed armed detachments and demonstrated that – besides organizing public rallies – we were also able to blow up bridges and communications. The Karabakh people had made it clear that, in addition to making requests to the government, they were also ready to fight it, to assert their rights and freedom. The Karabakh people demonstrated that they could punish their enemies and had the means, and the will, to do so.

As a result of these actions, the number of those who wanted to fight us decreased substantially, making it easier for us to work with the Soviet military personnel. New commandants in the state of emergency zone contacted us immediately upon arrival – they knew the rules of the game from their predecessors. They also supplied us with special passes required to get around the oblast. We wrote our own names on the blank letterheads that were stamped and signed by the commandants.

Their motivation for cooperating with us was simple: When you are in charge of personnel in a military group, you want to avoid any incidents, have your men serve peacefully, and go back home safely. The most reliable way to make this happen is to establish good relations with those who could cause you headaches. I hope that dealing with us was pleasant for them as well – we became friends with some of the military men and continued our relations even after their tour of duty in Karabakh was over.

* * *

Good relationships with the officers of the Soviet internal troops and the national security service allowed us to soften the consequences of their actions to some extent. Whenever our people were arrested, we managed to have prisoners transferred to hospitals with the help of the Soviet security officers and to "evacuate" them later, at night. Often, our associates really needed medical attention – many of them were brutally beaten – but it was hard to get General Vladislav Safonov's⁵¹ (I will say more about him later) permission to be hospitalized. This was especially true when Safonov realized that no matter how good the guards were, the hospital room would be empty in the morning. No witnesses. No one saw anything – no one entered the hospital room, and no one walked out of the hospital…

There were instances when our fighters got caught by Azerbaijan's special police and Soviet special forces and were transferred to Baku's notorious Bailovo prison. In such cases, we could get them out only through a prisoner exchange. This meant that we needed to capture someone important enough so that Azerbaijan would be interested in exchanging prisoners.

That's how we freed Samvel Babayan, the future commander of our army.

Samvel was arrested on June 1, 1991, upon his return to Stepanakert from the Hadrut region, where he had been forming a battalion to liberate the village of Khandzadzor. Of course, it was our failure: he was captured in the town center, right under our noses. Samvel spent six months in different prisons – first in Shushi and then in Baku's Bailovo. After he was transferred to Shushi again, Azerbaijan's Deputy Prosecutor General, Shukyur Abbasov, visited Stepanakert on a working trip. We didn't have anything against him personally, and his colleagues from our prosecutor's office said that he was a decent man. But we needed someone important, and it was our only chance to get Samvel out of jail. Abbasov belonged to a prominent and influential family, so our chances for a successful prisoner exchange were high.

A young guy named Ashot – a member of the resistance and a friend of Samvel's brother, Karo – worked as a driver for our prosecutor, Robert Hayrapetian. Ashot told his friends about the arrival of a VIP. Within the hour, Karo's group had broken into the prosecutor's office headquarters, kidnapped Abbasov, and fled to a mountain village.

It took us almost two months to negotiate the exchange. By that time, Samvel had already played an essential role in forming and commanding our armed battalions, so I personally negotiated with the Soviet military officers. We presented them with an entire list of imprisoned Armenians so as not to reveal who was the most valuable to us among the prisoners. We finally agreed on the terms and set a date.

Usually, prisoner exchanges were facilitated by the Soviet military and took place in a cemetery on the border with Aghdam. It was getting dark by the time we got there in our military SUV. Two armored personnel carriers (APCs) – one on each side, about 100 yards apart – were already waiting at the prearranged location. I climbed onto one of them, then both APCs started to move and stopped as they got near each other.

With difficulty, the servicemen pulled a heavy man out of the second APC like a cork from a wine bottle. The stout man, who turned out to be the captive prosecutor's brother, had probably gotten stuck in the narrow hatch because he was also wearing a bulletproof vest. They approached us, peeked into the car to make sure that we had brought the right person, and suddenly began to complain:

"Wait, you want 10 of your men in exchange for one of ours?"

"Well, look at him, he is pretty chubby!" I joked. (Samvel's friends had fed Abbasov pretty well in the village.) "He's well over 300 pounds. Now look at our guys, they're emaciated and barely standing…"

"Alright, take your men," they said.

"Wait," I answered. "I also have to make sure that you brought the right men."

I climbed onto the APC and looked through the hatch. It was dark inside; the dome light was too dim, and I could hardly see anything inside the APC. I used my flashlight trying to find Samvel, and I didn't. I said, "Wait a minute, not everyone is here!"

Then one of the prisoners whispered into my ear, "Everything is ok, it's me, I'm here!"

It was indeed Samvel. I didn't recognize him at first – he had changed a lot in prison. He had lost weight and looked as if he'd been roughed up. But despite all that, he had held up pretty well. Samvel had lucked out – those who arrested him simply didn't realize who he was. Otherwise, we would never have seen him again.

* * *

Thanks to our relations with the heads of security agencies, run-ins with the Soviet military declined significantly. We were warned of impending raids, and it worked well for both sides. We had enough advance notice to get our people out of the danger zone and didn't have to plan release operations later. Moreover, they carried out their duties and looked good in front of their bosses.

Of course, we couldn't have constructive relations every time and with everyone. Some fought us very fiercely. I am sure that this fierceness was based on generous material support – money and gifts. The country was falling apart, there were shortages of goods everywhere, and the future didn't look all that bright. Under those conditions, not everyone had enough moral character to withstand temptation. We couldn't outbid Azerbaijan – we simply didn't have that kind of money. But we could vividly demonstrate the law of physics which states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. We showed that the zeal directed at us would not go unpunished, and that a lot more than money would be lost in the fight. I once read this phrase somewhere: "A bullet changes a lot in your head, even if it hits you in your rear end."

The second most hated person in Karabakh after Polyanichko was General Safonov. No one could stand him – even his fellow Soviet Commandants. Military men don't mince words; their mildest descriptions of Safonov were "scum" and "corrupt jackass." It was a miracle that he made it out of Karabakh alive. I don't know what happened to him afterwards or how he could have lived with himself after the things he had done. Luckily, there weren't many men like Safonov in the military.

When Safonov served his tour of duty and left, he was replaced by Kosolapov – a commandant whom I recall only by his last name. However, I remember General Nikolay Zhinkin (who replaced Kosolapov) very well. He turned out to be an interesting, charming, and likable person. We established a warm and trusting relationship with him. He was horrified by what was happening around him. He had a highly negative opinion of Polyanichko. He called him an "absolutely immoral character" and ignored the Organizational Committee's orders as much as he could.

* * *

I was asked once whether I had ever met Polyanichko. "I've never seen him, not even through a riflescope," I joked. The head of the Organizational Committee always had his office window curtains shut. We were after him for a long time. He survived several assassination attempts only because something would go wrong each time.

The third attempt was the boldest. Polyanichko was having a meeting at his office on the third floor, discussing "Operation Ring."⁵² The operation had recently been suspended, and the meeting participants discussed the way forward. Everyone responsible for the operation was there – the heads of all the security agencies were gathered at Polyanichko's office.

As the building was behind a barbed wire fence, guarded by Soviet Special Forces, the participants felt perfectly safe and engaged in a leisurely discussion sitting around the conference table. Then, right in the middle of that, they heard a loud rumble – a projectile flew into the room, shattering the window and exploding right above Polyanichko's head! It was a powerful blast. Plaster crumbled down, dust filled the room, and smoke engulfed it. Everyone in the office was left deafened, and many were shell-shocked.

Thanks to precise calculations, the grenade launcher had been fired right under the nose of the guards – about 15 yards away from the building's checkpoint. Karen, who made the shot, took advantage of the landscape: the Oblast Communist Party Committee building was at an elevation, and he sat on the low ground. The steep slope in front of the building hid him from the checkpoint, and he wasn't noticed until the very moment he fired. However, the choice of weapons and ammunition was limited in Karabakh, so we used what we had – a high-explosive anti-tank (HEAT) shell. These are effective against tanks and armored vehicles as their high-heat shaped charges cut through armor, but they don't produce a lot of shrapnel. The participants in the meeting lucked out – the shell had cut a hole in the ceiling immediately above Polyanichko's chair, and the rest of it dispersed without hitting anyone. Everyone was terrified, however. What if another shell was about to hit? No one knew what was going on. People crawled out of the room blind, unable to see anything in all the dust and smoke.

Soldiers rushed out of the checkpoint in total confusion: "What happened? Who fired the shot? From where?!" By then, Karen – who was physically fit – had already run down to his getaway car. No one pursued him – the Soviet soldiers hadn't really planned on risking their lives in a foreign war.

Two participants of that meeting, Kontsevenko and Kovalev, later described to me what had happened inside the room. They made jokes and chuckled, so even if they were upset with us at first, that quickly changed.

Polyanichko left us unscathed, but he made enemies wherever he went due to his excessive zeal and complete lack of moral character. After Karabakh, he went to the North Caucasus on a similar mission, where the locals finally got him.

Incidentally, not too long ago, I was reading a book about those years and came across summaries of Polyanichko's reports to Baku. I was amazed that, in one of his briefs, he proudly stated our willingness to make concessions – allegedly, we had made such a decision during the session of the Oblast Council of People's Deputies. It was a blatant lie – there had been no such decision, and there could not have been one. I guess, sitting behind the barbed wire, the head of the Organizational Committee simply lied to his superiors to demonstrate that he worked hard and even produced results.

Operation Ring

This operation, which was unprecedented in Soviet history, commenced at the end of April 1991. Essentially, it was the Azerbaijan Special Purpose Police Units' campaign to forcibly deport the Armenian population from Karabakh. Soviet troops aided in the campaign, and Soviet military hardware was used. Azerbaijan had decided that, by doing this, it could solve the "Armenian issue" once and for all. Judging by the subsequent developments and its scale, the operation had been implemented with the approval of Moscow, which had completely lost the ability to protect Armenian enclaves within Azerbaijan. Officially, of course, no one spoke of the deportations; the plan that Ayaz Mutallibov⁵³ presented to Moscow outlined "a large-scale operation to confiscate illegal firearms from the Armenian population of the NKAO and the adjacent regions." On April 27, he spoke on Azerbaijan's state television and urged them to "immediately solve Azerbaijan's Armenian population issue," and said that if Moscow was unable to do it, "the republic had enough capabilities and resources of its own."

The operation began in Northern Karabakh. Its first victims were the villages of Getashen and Martunashen. The aggressors used the following tactic: first, the Soviet troops would be withdrawn from the village so that they would not interfere with the punitive measures, and then Azerbaijan's special police attacked. Along with the military raids, electricity and phone service were cut to the targeted village to make life unbearable. The local self-defense unit repulsed the first attack on Getashen. After that, Azerbaijan began massively shelling the village with heavy artillery. The army entered the village on the following day and began deporting its population without any resistance. People were captured, thrown into buses, and taken to the Armenian border, where no one expected them. They were not allowed to take anything with them, not even clothes. Young males were treated differently – since every one of them was seen as a potential guerilla fighter, they were arrested and thrown into jail.

Several villages in Northern Karabakh – Manashid, Erkej, Buzlukh, the south of Hadrut – were ethnically cleansed in this way. In total, the populations of 26 Armenian villages and towns were deported, and their villages were pillaged by looters from nearby Azeri villages. Ten thousand Armenians were left homeless, more than 600 men were kept hostage, and more than 100 people lost their lives in the operation. I think that if the Soviet Union hadn't fallen, Azerbaijan would have been able to fully implement its plan, step by step.

We tried to stop the deportations in the region south of Hadrut, but failed. We weren't ready to engage in a direct confrontation with the army yet. In Northern Karabakh, the defense units of the Shahumian region took the full brunt of the attacks, but the forces were too unequal. The Soviet military units deployed in NKAO were not used in Operation Ring, so our contacts inside the military didn't help either.

Armenians tried to draw the maximum amount of attention to these events. In every issue of Literaturnaya Gazeta (a prominent Russian newspaper, published in Moscow and circulated nationally), Zori Balayan wrote of the genocide that was taking place in Karabakh. All of our journalist friends who supported us published articles. The People's Deputies, especially the democratic faction, tried to influence the situation through their channels. The Russian intelligentsia in Moscow – writers, journalists, scientists, and economists, who came together to help us – formed the Karabakh Committee of Russian Intelligentsia (KRIK – which also means "shout" in Russian). KRIK's main goal was to break the information blockade around Artsakh.

In mid-May, at Manezhnaya Square, the heart of Moscow, the Karabakh Committee organized a public rally protesting the violation of the rights of Armenians in Azerbaijan. In the end, we caused quite a stir, with foreign press and international organizations joining in, and the operation was halted. I think that Baku took a break to try to somehow justify the mayhem. Alternatively, they might have simply achieved their pre-coordinated goal with Moscow – to deport Armenians around the NKAO perimeter – and stopped.