He was hard-pressed to explain whom he hated more -- the Chechen guerrillas or his own generals.

"I have been here for five months and seven of my soldiers have died under my watch," the 22-year-old, who agreed to identify himself as Andrei, said at one of the pulverized Chechen capital's well-fortified Russian military bases.

"And every time the mothers ask me exactly the same question: Why are you still alive when my son is dead," Andrei said, burying his face in his hands, his body shaking.

"What can I possibly tell them?" the soldier, trained to become an Olympic gymnast and with a wife and daughter waiting for him in his home town, asked in a whisper.

With broad public support, President Vladimir Putin launched the latest Caucasus war four years ago and has since proclaimed it over and won. Western governments, at first strongly critical, have toned down their opposition to Moscow's own "war on terror."

Putin staged weekend Chechen presidential elections which the Kremlin's preferred candidate, the widely unpopular Akhmad Kadyrov, won overwhelmingly -- a poll aimed at showing that life was getting back on track.

Russian soldiers who remain trapped in Chechnya by the tens of thousands appear crippled by fear, though they mask it with bravado which spills over into the violent beatings they inflict on those under their command -- the rituals known as "dedovshina."

With Andrei trembling after telling his tales, one his fellow commanders, a burly bare-chested man named Dmitry, telephoned a young recruit and ordered him to bring more vodka at three o'clock in the morning to calm Andrei's nerves.

There is a rule that alcohol is not to be consumed on the base, but no one seems to have heard of it.

"Are you tired of me breaking your nose," Dmitry demanded of the recruit after he crawled into the barracks through an open window with the required liquid refreshment.

The recruit apologized for taking so long and laid his hand on the table, waiting for punishment.

"I am not going to break it this time," Dmitry replied as he smashed the recruit's arm with his fist.

"You have to teach them to respect the law," Dmitry said casually. The recruit said nothing and smiled.

After more shots of vodka, the three men began to rage against the enemy -- not the Chechen rebels, but Russian generals and the state.

Putin's declaration that the war is over means that soldiers here no longer get bonuses for taking action in live combat when they roll their tanks across Chechnya.

"The war isn't over, but the pay is," Dmitry snarled.

Some said that generals have banned telephone calls to loved ones out of fear that the troops might complain about their state.

Reporters with satellite phones on the base are hugely popular among soldiers dying to call home no matter their age. Even men in their 40s are fighting back the tears after a minute's call.

Andrei said his legitimate demands for vacation time have been brushed aside. He receives only about 10 dollars in cash out of a monthly salary of 100 dollars, he said. "The rest disappears -- it goes for spare military parts and building up this base."

But minutes later he added urgently: "Don't believe them when they say the war is over. We are dying. We are all afraid."

Official figures say 5,000 Russian troops have died in the war. Rights groups say the number is probably closer to 15,000 and that tens of thousands of civilians have been killed.

But while troops here are growing increasingly frustrated with what they see as blatant lies and cheating by the state and their commanders, they seem to have no feelings to spare for the Chechens.

"I'm sitting here, but what I'm waiting for is the chance to go back into the mountains and tear a few of their legs off," Dmitry said of the Chechen rebels.

"We are here to serve the state," he said. Andrei nodded in agreement.

WAR.WIRE