Burning Hell

After the final struggle, Grozny found itself completely surrounded. No matter how many Western weapons the defenders held, the Soviet army encircled the city from all sides—cutting off hope and escape.

With victory nearly in hand, the high command issued a strict order: the armored forces were to halt their advance. Though some soldiers grumbled, they obeyed, forming a tight ring of encirclement around Grozny.

In the Chechen tongue, Grozny means "terrible" or "cruel." Built in 1918 as a fortress city, its dense network of strongholds formed a spider web of defenses—easy to hold, hard to break. Yanayev would not repeat Yeltsin's mistakes.

From Engels Air Base, nearly fifteen strategic bombers were readied for a brutal operation dubbed "Black Friday." They loaded nearly 170 gasoline-oil bombs, intending to reduce Grozny to ashes.

The fierce fighting paused briefly. Both sides rested and prepared. Even amid war's savagery, the devout Muslims knelt in prayer, prostrating themselves toward Mecca, murmuring sacred verses.

Nearby, CIA-backed mercenaries crouched, eyes sharp and wary, watching the empty streets. The bodies of Wahhabi Chechen militants lay scattered, left uncollected. No one dared step outside—Soviet snipers watched every movement, ready to shoot any living thing.

Wild dogs tore at the fallen, while the soldiers prayed on, seemingly indifferent to the carnage outside. Even the mercenaries found this resilience unnerving. If not for their fat paychecks from the Chechen government and CIA, none would have stayed a day.

"The Wahhabis are a cancer on civilization," muttered one mercenary, a former Navy SEAL. "They spread extremist religion by war and chaos. They imprison minds, refuse tolerance of any faith—even their own factions. To them, anyone outside their sect is a pagan—worthy only of death."

He recalled words from an intelligence officer: "If they can be used as pawns against the socialist camp, no matter how vile, they're our allies."

The mercenary scoffed and loaded another magazine. "Guess that proves it." He dreamed of retiring, opening a quiet bar in rural California with the $300,000 he'd earned here.

But whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the children executed by Chechen soldiers days ago for belonging to the Sufi sect—innocent eyes staring, heads hung on telephone poles. He had wanted to intervene but was stopped. "This is Chechnya, not America," his companion said.

Guilt haunted him, especially in dreams.

Suddenly, a faint buzzing stirred his senses. Tiny black dots appeared in the sky—bombers, by the sound.

"What's that noise?" his companion whispered, nudging him.

"The Soviets. Bombers coming to flatten the city."

"Should we warn the Chechens?" panicked the companion, nodding at the praying soldiers nearby.

"No. Just the two of us know. There are anti-aircraft defenses beneath this building. Let's act like nothing's wrong and sneak there."

"But they're allies, right? Isn't this harsh?" the companion asked, frowning.

"Harsh, yes. They deserve no mercy." The mercenary's voice was cold. He despised these Chechens and wished them all dead.

Feigning calm, they slipped into the air defense bunker, closing the heavy door behind them.

More than a dozen Tu-95 bombers darkened Grozny's skies. The spider-web city might hold against tanks, but not against Soviet air power.

One by one, the bombers released their incendiary cargo—gelled gasoline bombs that ignited upon impact.

The fortress walls and buildings couldn't withstand the inferno. The dry air fed the flames, turning Grozny into a blazing furnace.

When the fireballs exploded, the praying soldiers realized the attack began on Friday—their holy day.

They scrambled for the air defense shelters, but the gates were locked tight—closed by mercenaries who had arrived first.

Wherever the sticky bombs touched, flames erupted into seas of fire. Those drenched in gel fuel burned alive, skin blistering and charring to blackened charcoal.

Many who survived the blasts writhed in agony, trapped in the flames—a living hell. As scripture foretells, sinners suffered eternal punishment in the fire.

Entire districts were engulfed. Thick smoke choked the air, suffocating those trapped inside.

Only a few, lucky enough to hide underground, escaped the flames. The last to enter the shelters looked back in horror at the burning bodies crawling toward safety.

Grozny was no longer a city; it was hell on earth.

The firestorm's glow lit the night sky for miles, a grim beacon of the Soviet resolve.

All who followed the extremist Chechen doctrines saw their faith consumed in fire.