Dispatches from Afghanistan

And sure enough, it does -- both in reality and in his imagination. The clouds rushing across the Kabul sky are, for Borovik, the ghosts of helicopters that have been shot down. In 1987 the introduction of Stinger missiles, a gift from the U.S. to the Afghan mujahedin, "puts an end to our massive use of choppers," making it much more difficult for the Soviet military to quickly evacuate the wounded. "For nearly 50 years," Borovik writes, "we prepared for a global war, but in Afghanistan we've had to conduct small-scale warfare. We weren't prepared for it at all."

When extracts of "The Hidden War" were first published in Russia, exposing, as they did, the moral bankruptcy and strategic failure of the Soviet invasion, it caused enormous controversy, even though glasnost was in full swing. In the book's epilogue Borovik tells of getting the book manuscript back from government censors with 200 serious deletions that he protested over a period of three months before finally prevailing.

That, however, was just the beginning of his battle. Once "The Hidden War" was published, the military and nationalistic press attacked him through numerous articles, accusing him, among other things, of never having spent time in Afghanistan (some of the article titles: "What Artyom Borovik Neglects to Say," "The Hidden Heroism," "The Truth Does Not Tremble Before the Real State of Affairs"). And the Writers Union of the USSR refused him membership because, the organization claimed, "I had shamed the Soviet corps of generals." Nevertheless, "The Hidden War" was a popular success, both in Russia and abroad.

After "The Hidden War" was published, Borovik launched a media company, Top Secret, that published a newspaper, produced a weekly TV show and a weekly magazine, all of which focused on investigative journalism. Borovik's continuing commitment to digging up unpleasant truths about Russia's masters of war and commerce might have resulted in his early death, in his father's view. In an article, "From Russia, With Love for Freedom," written by Borovik's father, Genrikh Borovik, published on the International Press Institute Web site, the elder Borovik, also a journalist, contends that the Top Secret TV show was canceled in 1999 by the state-owned RTR TV "at a financial loss despite its broad popularity." He goes on to write, "Shortly after the cancellation by RTR, Mikhail Lesin, Russia's minister for press and information, took a trip to New York to meet with Artyom's American partners. At lunch he said that authorities would probably take 'necessary measures' against Top Secret in the near future ..."

"Three months later, in March 2000," continues Borovik's father, "Artyom took part in a popular talk show ... where he discussed attempts to strangle independent media. He mentioned unlawful economic pressure and continual threats. He spoke about authorities ambivalence toward material that vividly exposed cases of corruption in top echelons of power. Artyom's interview aroused great interest among the viewers, some of whom called the studio. The last phone call was chilling. Male voice: 'If you are so honest, why are you still alive?'"

Three days after his appearance on the TV show, Borovik's YAK-40 aircraft crashed on takeoff at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport, killing him and eight others. It's become a long and complex story with demands for an independent investigation, charges of intimidation of the independent press by the Putin government and countercharges of corruption in Russian media.

But apart from his own story, which is not likely to get untangled in the foreseeable future, Borovik left behind a classic work of war correspondence -- battle literature that is as affecting to read today as it was a decade ago, but for very different reasons.

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