From my second novel, Reluctant Martyr — Chechnya, as my main character experiences it during her pursuit of a Chechen terrorist.
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In the distance, Maggie saw the faint outlines of a city. Soon, the Skoda was bouncing over gaping potholes at the outskirts of Grozny. Minutes later, they passed the first of innumerable abandoned buildings whose skeletal remains were held together with pockmarked, concrete walls. Several structures were nothing but burned out shells with balcony railings hanging like broken limbs. On the side of the road, a dark-haired boy with serious eyes jumped from one large chunk of concrete to the next.
Maggie watched the boy disappear behind a partially collapsed wall. “I thought the Russians were rebuilding.”
“They are, in the city center,” Misha said. “But it is Potemkin village.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know what Potemkin village is, da?”
“Da.” As they drew closer to the center of the city, the change was stark. Several apartment buildings had new whitewashed façades, the road was smooth, and an outdoor market was crowded with women and children. “This is the Chechnya the Russians want the world to see,” she said as much to herself as to the men.
“Precisely,” Tamaz replied.
“And speaking of Russians, where are they?”
“I’ll show you in a moment.” Misha turned left just before the market.
Ahead was more devastation – buildings with blown-out windows and doors dangling precariously above uneven sidewalks. Trash skittered and danced along the dusty roadside. To the right, hundreds of Russian soldiers milled about the crater of a vacant lot. Chairs and tables lined the perimeter, serving as an outdoor dining hall for the dirty, haggard conscripts.
“There are encampments like this in many Chechen cities.” Tamaz gestured out the window. “And even more on the outskirts of the cities in case Moscow decides to start the shelling again.”
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