Original subtitles

In Russia,

the snow and cold

seem endless.

Not a sound...

and not a soul.

Flicking through my journal, this is what I read:

"At the beginning of June,

"with a light heart, yet also with sadness,

"I quickly collected my things and left Russia."

In June,

Tadjikistan is already very hot.

Against all odds, I have arrived here.

A small military airfield.

Now I know that in a few hours,

I'll be at the border.

Before us, a flight by helicopter -

just a short flight.

Once we have landed,

we will have a long

and possibly dangerous journey through the mountains.

God help us all.

On my left, there is a precipice,

the River Panjsher

and Afghanistan.

I keep a sharp eye out on all sides:

There is a risk of ambush.

This is the only route to the frontier post.

Helicopters will not fly over this region.

They've been waiting for us.

They're discussing whether we should move forward

all in one group

or separately?

No point taking risks -

let's keep together.

On the mountainside

there are abandoned gardens and fields sown with crops.

No-one is going to come back here.

The wind is hot.

This young man

is in command of one of the Russian frontier posts.

How old is he?

22...

23?

It's very hot.

Give me the parcel.

Well,

we've arrived.

This is frontier post No.11.

We've arrived.

Everything seems dreamlike -

I put it down to exhaustion or excitement.

I look around me.

I am thirsty.