Petrov

Two weeks earlier, Petrov had been a farmer. He was a simple man, young enough to not yet be married, but old enough to be looking for a wife. He grew sugar beets on his father's land, but in two years time he would likely have land of his own. The war called all this into question. There were always wars, that much was sure, but until the well-dressed officer came into town, his pockets heavy and clinking with coin, Petrov had never entertained the notion of becoming a solider. When the officer finished his speech in the crowded beer hall, Petrov surprised himself by being among the first to step forward.

His parents wept for him, even after he assured them that he would hardly be gone long enough for them to notice he was missing.

The well-dressed officer was never seen again. He had gone off to some other town, in order to charm more of the farmers and miners around Kəlbəcər. The fresh recruits, men of various ages, builds, and fitness for the military, were brought to another officer. This other man was heavy-set, with a scar that showed from under his collar and presumably descended across his chest.

They didn't march, as they weren't really an army at all. Their new officer, the fat one, didn't even give them orders. They followed him though, having nothing better to do, and thinking mostly about the promised pay that came at the end of service. Petrov didn't talk much with them, mostly because the older men seemed to have already settled into a pattern of jokes and stories without him. They would gather around the campfires, eating food donated from local farms, and Petrov would listen, adding nothing to the conversation.

If you asked an Azerbaijani, you would hear that Petrov never entered into Armenian territory at all. To use neutral terms: Petrov crossed into contested territory in his second week of military service. Their fat officer didn't even mention the transition, but it became clear one night when they stopped near a farmhouse and the farmer refused them resources.

Petrov never saw what happened, and only bore witness to screams of the farmer's wife and daughters as they were raped. He felt bad about it, but ate the chickens they had taken anyway. When they left the farm, Petrov didn't see any blood, just a farmhouse with people inside it, indistinguishable from the thousand others that dotted the countryside. It was almost eirie how things like that could happen and look so normal so soon afterwards.

Their small band entered into Susha after most of the looting had already started. There weren't just soliders making a mess of things, but normal people too. Windows were smashed in, dead bodies lay in the streets, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and sweat. Later on, when Petrov was forced into telling this story by his children, he would say that it was a nationalist fervor, that only some of the people were acting like animals.

I apologize for how historically inaccurate this probably is.