The last Empire - Serguei Maksimishin

“In January of 2000, the village of Khankala, near the Grozny9 airport, became the main base of the Russian federal forces. I was there when they set up the first tents. The officials at the quarters, whom I’d met in the helicopter, warned me: “The commander doesn’t stand anyone with a beard. Sit inside the tent and don’t show your face!” I, regrettably, neglected the good advice.
When they landed, the day had gotten dark: the oil refinery was burning and the black smoke covering the sky created an absolutely surreal image. Four mortar projectiles were fired over our heads. Many soldiers were around, all of them busy with something. It wasn’t like in Mozdok10, where I had spent a week without taking a single picture. I had gone there to photograph!
Less than two hours went by until I bumped into the famous commander. “What is this bearded man doing here? Who let him in?” “The Army Chief of Staff”, I replied. “Get him out of here in the first helicopter”, the commander yelled.
I was taken to a tent and ordered to remain seated, in silence and without going anywhere, just waiting for the helicopter which should depart only the next morning. Late at night, I heard a powerful burst through the tent’s fabric. When I came out to inspect, an unfamiliar major-general was scolding a captain.
“Comrade-general, aren’t you from Ukraine?” “No, I’m from the Rostov region. And who are you?”
Thus I began talking with general Grigory Fomenko, future military commander of Chechnya. I complained about life, said I’d been idle for several days in Mozdok, told him I had been humiliated, reported the miserable outcome and made a request.
“All right, compatriot, tomorrow I’m bringing you to Grozny with me”, he promised. “But they’re going to take me in the first transport in the morning”, I said. “Go somewhere and I’ll find you”, he added. 

Keeping his word, the general came in the morning and we went to the Staropromyslovsky district, the only one in the Chechen capital that had been seized by the federal forces. But we couldn’t enter the city. Half a kilometer away from the Grozny high-rise buildings, on the other side of the road, soldiers hid behind an armored tank. We were told that a sniper was inside one of the buildings and shooting anything that moved along the roadway. A few minutes later a tank showed up, drove up to a certain distance and started firing at the nine-storey buildings. A brick-colored dust cloud rose up, allowing dwellers time to leave their homes. I ran towards the tank and took some photos. On my way back, I stumbled and fell on the mud, hitting hard against the camera hanging from my chest. No one allowed us through and we were forced to take a detour. We rode for about three hours, and I was able to take some much needed pictures thanks to general Fomenko. In Khankala they had already been searching for me, and two lieutenant-colonels accompanied me to a helicopter we boarded with the wounded to Mozdok. From time to time the vehicle took a sharp turn, and the stretchers carrying the injured were thrown all over the cabin. The next morning, I took the films to the only photo lab in town, located inside a department store. They had been partially damaged, and I found a boot mark on the image of the tumbling building. I didn’t retouch the scratches, for me they’re part of the composition.”