Interdepartmental anti-terrorism exercises, known as «Blizzard», were held last week in the village of Ust-Ordynsky (near Irkutsk, East Siberia). From the outside they looked spectacular: the capture of buildings, snipers on the roofs, barricades and cordons. News editors, however, do not go for such news: morning play by children and an FSB training exercise do not have the same social significance, though they are simulations. This time it was different — representatives of the Federal Security Service (FSB) agreed to compromise with “Irkutsk Reporter” and agreed to show the underside of the exercise, or more precisely, allowed him to play the role of a hostage at a site captured by terrorists. Since these were games by grownup boys, the participants would take things very seriously. “They’ll go at it harshly,” we were promised. “And if something goes down, don’t take offense.”  ‘Irkutsk Reporter’ had his own interest: what does an ordinary person feel like in such a situation? Game or not, a hostage cannot really just get up and say, “I don’t want to play anymore, ‘bye.” That does not work. I hope that no one will have to find out the following in a real hostage situation for him or herself, but it is better to be aware of some aspects to this in advance.

Plot
For two days in late May Ust-Ordynsky lived on emergency mode at the will of the local law enforcement agencies and security services. The center of the village was cordoned off, and explosions and gunfire could be heard coming from the restricted area.

The plot of the exercise was a scenario reminiscent of a full-length blockbuster movie: a group of terrorists from some frightful place arrives in Ust-Ordynsky. It seems there were some hidden caches of weapons. They came for the weapons, but bad luck: on the road to Bozoi from Ust-Ordynsky some cops at a traffic post tried to stop the terrorists for some minor infraction, a burned out tail light or singing too loudly. The terrorists would not halt, but instead opened fire on the traffic officers. Then they turned back to Ust-Ordynsky and seized the House of Culture building, which at the time was holding classes in sewing and model airplane building. Thirty people were taken hostage, the kids being played by students from Interior Ministry academy.

Further, as stated in the press release from the operational headquarters, “forces and supplies were set up in the village to support an operational headquarters, and measures to minimize the consequences of the terrorist attack have begun…”

The demands put forward by the terrorists were so arrogant that the police would not even tell them to the reporters, just a vague outline: “The usual — a helicopter and a million dollars in small denominations.” To demonstrate the seriousness of their intentions, the thugs “shot” a hostage in front of the local press. Ust-Ordynsky journalist Yevgeniy Ochirov played the role of the press — he had had the misfortune of trying to get permission to report on the training, and was greatly puzzled by the rapidly unfolding events.

According to the fascinating press release: “During the night operational services were able to identify and neutralize accomplices of the terrorists, preventing a number of terrorist attacks, as well as finding caches of ammunition and equipment. By the next morning the situation in the occupied building deteriorated sharply. Gunfire could be heard, and information was received indicating a critical threat to the hostages. The operational headquarters decided to carry out an emergency assault.” But the press release did not reflect one change in the plot: two hours before the assault on the occupied building, commandos guarding the double cordon allowed two civilians inside, ‘Irkutsk Reporter’ and Klim Kulikov, a journalist from ‘Baikal TV’.

According to the changes made to the plot, one hostage was exchanged for the journalists who had volunteered to enter the occupied building. A few days after the events described in this article, ‘Irkutsk Reporter’ asked the FSB press service for instructions on how to behave during a hostage situation. The recommendations from the headquarters of the FSB Special Forces Center were interesting to compare with our own actual behavior.

Capture

“As demonstrated by developments during the ‘Nord-Ost’ and Beslan hostage situations, only at this moment is there any real opportunity to flee the scene,” so read the FSB instructions.

“If there is no terrorist nearby, and no possibility of being injured, do not just stand there — if at all possible, you need to flee the supposed scene of the capture.”

A commando brought us to the corner of the captured building, gently poked us in the back, and said: “That’s it, you're on your own from here on out.”

After the daily bustle of Ust-Ordynsky and businesslike activity of the security forces on the cordons, the total emptiness and silence in the blockaded area was slightly alarming. The door was open, and from bright daytime sun we enter into complete darkness, a long corridor that ended somewhere far ahead with a brightly lit hall.

“Halt!” A voice barked, and in the brightness the owner of the voice partially revealed himself: right arm, right leg, part of a head and the barrel of an assault rifle. “Kneel down. Unbutton your jackets. Remove and set aside your backpack. Hands behind your head. Lower your head and look down.”

The sound of footsteps, then an invisible hand conducted a hasty but thorough search. Grabbed by the arm, I am jerked to my feet. My body is bent at a right angle from my beltline. The voice commanded from afar: “Drop your head lower. Don’t look to the side. First one, go.”

“When in proximity to terrorists, it is necessary to establish a common psychological contact with them. In no case should you cry or express outrage or yell loudly, because very often terrorists are under the influence of drugs and are generally very excited. Therefore, weeping and yelling acts negatively on them and causes them to be unnecessarily aggressive. You must get used to the fact that you will be deprived of food, water and perhaps movement for an extended period of time.”

In my small field of view, which is all my eyes have when my head is but a meter from the ground and directed downwards, I understood that they were taking me into an auditorium meant for large events such as concerts or meetings. But just how many people were there, and how many of them were terrorists or hostages, was impossible to see.

The terrorist led me to my place — a chair by the right-hand aisle, and again he barked: “Sit! Don’t raise your head! Don’t look back! Put your hands and head on the back of the chair in front of you. Don’t put your hands together. Don’t move. We’ll beat you without any warning.”

On the one hand it seemed that the atmosphere was soothing and even somnolent — people were in sleeping postures, some snuffling, maybe even dozing. And here I was caught in the first wave of a panic attack. In a usual panic attack adrenal glands release adrenaline into the blood and a person becomes very ill at ease, and there is fear of something nonspecific. In this case, however, the panic attack was different — I was suddenly short of breath, and began to choke. All that I needed to do was to lean back in a chair, straighten my shoulders, and take a deep breath. But this was forbidden. It was not fear of some terrorist, but fear of suffocating in this cramped position in a little chair in this stuffy auditorium, the walls seemed to be moving inward and the ceiling lowering against the top of my head. Spelunkers who have been stuck in a narrow passage between caves understand this feeling. Catching your breath and calming down takes a very large amount of willpower, because behind every movement of my shoulder or change of position of my feet is followed by a shout: “Don’t move! Do you want the armrest?”

The armrest of a chair… Interesting, did they invent this uncomplicated torture right here, or was it something imported?

“If there is not much air in the room, you need to move less in order to conserve oxygen. If you are forbidden from moving around the building, you need to do some simple exercises. In addition, you must put your brain to work, not withdraw into yourself and lose psychological control. Try to recall the content of books, and pray.”

Boring prisoner

They say that a dying person will see their whole life pass before their eyes in an instant. I assure you that a hostage cam only dream of such entertainment. You can try to recite verses to yourself, but you very quickly get confused and give it up. You can reminisce about family, but it is just an annoyance. The whole time your thoughts are like a broken record repeating the same track: “When will it end? How long will I sit here? Are they going to rescue us, or what?” The fear quickly passed, and then it was time for irritation. It is forbidden to move. It is forbidden to even stir — and it turns out that these are two different things. I try to sleep, and so now I am angry with myself for dozing in the car on the way to this idiotic training, because now I cannot sleep. And then you realize that all that remains of your five senses are a little bit of vision and your basic hearing.

First, you start looking at your feet. I sat there and thought, “Darn, such beautiful shoes! What a soft texture this suede has.” And then it turned out that my legs were not the only ones here…

“If you are taken hostage, try to remember all the events that accompanied your capture. Remember what terrorists were saying to each other, what they looked like, who was their leader, what their plans were, what their roles were. This information will continue to be very important for us. Often terrorists try to escape, and so they dress up in clothes from hostages in an attempt to save their lives.”

I sat in the second seat from the aisle. They (the terrorists) went quietly about in their tennis shoes, but still they made sounds. At first a quiet metal tapping — while the terrorist was walking, a sling rattled against the barrel of his assault rifle. Then, into the narrow strip of my peripheral vision comes his shoes — blue, with a white, wavy outsole. And blue sweat pants with bright red and white stripes. For some reason I gave him the nickname ‘Adidas’ — probably for his bright stripes. He was calm and undemanding. He did not shout at the random movements of the hostages. He walked softly along the walkway.

The second one I nicknamed ‘Gray’. Every few minutes he relieved ‘Adidas’. He wore gray trousers and gray shoes without any markings. You catch sight of some nothing, just a swift gray spot: he walked quickly, moved nervously, and yelled at the hostages for any reason: “Sit still! Don’t move your hands — put them in the aisle and I’ll dock them! I’ll cut you to pieces!”

And suddenly there was something extraordinary: the third terrorist, ‘Commander’, who usually did not enter my field of vision, but instead sat on stage or was always going out somewhere. He came up to me. I heard rapid footsteps approaching, then a poke in the shoulder and a quiet, calm voice: “Hey, you! Give me your cell phone!”

I had forgotten about the mobile phone in my pocket, which was not found during the search. They had missed it! Pulling out my phone, I could not help but smile, imagining how I would call my wife and say to her: “I’m sorry, dear, I can’t talk, I’ve been taken hostage by terrorists…” He waited patiently, and paid no attention to my stupid smile. Seeing the phone held out to him, he did not take it, but ordered abruptly: “Shut it off.”

He was in a tracksuit, face hidden behind a black Balaclava. I furtively looked around with the corner of the eye. In the hall people were staggered chess style, separated from each other by few empty seats. There were, apparently, about two and a half dozen hostages left after exchanges and executions. Three terrorists, including ‘Commander’, were scattered around the room so as to be simultaneously at its different ends. Then, once again, I put my face into the back of the chair. Involuntarily, I thought: “If the terrorists during the assault try to pretend to be hostages, they’ll easy to identify by the absence of red blisters on their foreheads from the backs of the chairs, which the script dictates for us unfortunate hostages for the last two days.”

“You need to get used to the fact that you will not be released immediately. You need to mentally prepare yourself for a long stay with the terrorists. You should be very aware that negotiations with the terrorists are underway, and eventually you will be released.”

“That’s it, I’m sick of this,” said ‘Commander’ into his radio as he returned to the auditorium stage. “Give me two armored cars and I’ll leave with the hostages.”

“We’ll solve this, don’t worry,” came the answer.

And once again long seconds of waiting turn into infinity. A hostage to my left suddenly stretched out and, with a grunt, began to snore deeply and slowly. “Well, he’s asleep!” I guessed in amazement.

After irritation comes dumb indifference. I do not have the strength to remember books or to pray — in my head there is just an even “white noise” like an out of tune radio. All on my own I receive the ability to move and knead my limbs so as not to anger the guards. After they go by and stand with their backs to you, you have to make quick and short movements: change the position of your legs, change the angle of support of the “fifth point” (rear end), wave your elbows like wings, stretch your shoulders by putting your hands on the sides of your head at the back of the chair in front of you, as if your were even obeying an order for “hands up” while sitting down.

“Hey, how long am I supposed to wait?!” ‘Commander’ on stage speaks indignantly into his radio. “Where are my armored cars?”

“On the way right now. Getting gassed up. On the approach,” answers a phlegmatic voice from the other end of the world.

“What’s he peddling?" shouts Gray, the psychopath. “I saw in the window that they were right there! He’s playing for time, damn it! Tell them that we’re going to start slaughtering the hostages.”

Assault

I never got to see the most interesting thing, that for which the whole exercise was being performed. Apparently, a hostage’s reflexes rapidly penetrate deep into his subconscious, because hardly had several explosions rang out and the sound of rapid gunfire and muffled cries drawn close, that my neighbor to the left, without even waking up, collapsed into the aisle in one economical movement. The collective unconscious began working, and a split second later I was lying next to him, covering my head in my arms, closing my eyes and thinking indifferently: “Well, at last something new.”

“Once you realize that an assault has begun, it is important to take a position away from windows and doorways (during shooting shards of glass and pieces of the building can cause additional injury). You also need to stay away from the terrorists, because during the assault snipers will be working on them. There is no need for any personal bravado — most people do not have the special training, so do not grab a weapon — otherwise you will be confused with the terrorists. Simply fall to the floor, close your eyes, cover your head with your arms, and wait for members of the special units lead you from the building.”

Our rescuers were the biggest disappointment. SWAT did not “go at it harshly” as was promised in the beginning, but they were not delicate for that matter. First of all, they searched us: “Lay down on your right side. Hands on you head, don’t look at me, bitch! Lay on your left side!” I buried myself in the floor and did not move.

Then a new humiliation followed. The distrustful SWAT team members ordered: “So-called hostages! Crawl out the side aisles on all fours to the main passage so that it’s easier to keep track of you. On all fours, I said.” Hands behind our heads, keeping our heads bowed down, we crawled. And crawled. And lay there. We awaited individual identification.

You lie there and think resentfully: “Terrorists or rescuers, it’s always the same thing – ‘Hands behind your head, look down!’ No sympathy at all for the victims.”

The last exercises involved units from the Federal Security Service, Interior Ministry, armed forces of Ministry of the Interior for transportation, Emergencies Ministry, Federal Penitentiary Service, Information Center for the Federal Security Service, local law enforcement authorities, and emergency medical caregivers. None of the journalist-hostages was injured.

http://www.vsp.ru/social/2015/06/02/554572

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