Soviet troops (height): 115,000
Afghan troops (height): 55,000
Mujahideen troops (height): 200,000–250,000
Soviet forces casualties: 14,453 Afghan forces casualties: 18,000
Mujahideen forces casualties: 75,000–90,000
Afghan civilians casualties:850,000–1,500,000
Afghanistan refugees that fled the country: 5 million
By the late 1970s, the Cold War's winner was becoming unmistakable. The United States had secured economic, political, and social dominance. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union—once a symbol of revolutionary zeal—was buckling under its contradictions. Yet Afghanistan, a rugged crossroads of empires and trade routes, remained trapped in perpetual strife. Its mountainous terrain had defied invaders for centuries, from Alexander the Great to the British Empire, and despite gaining independence in 1919, it teetered on the edge of chaos.
Leonid Brezhnev, the Soviet Premier, saw Afghanistan as both a threat and an opportunity. The Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979 had sent shockwaves through the region, threatening Soviet influence. A similar uprising in the Muslim-majority Soviet republics—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and others—could shatter Moscow's grip on Central Asia. Brezhnev believed the solution lay in propping up Afghanistan's faltering socialist regime. The cost? A calculated invasion.
On Christmas Eve, 1979, Soviet Mi-24 Hind gunships roared through Afghanistan's skies. Backed by T-62 tanks and BMP-1 armored personnel carriers, columns of the 40th Army rolled toward Kabul. The operation's goal was swift and brutal: eliminate Hafizullah Amin, the erratic Afghan leader, and replace him with the pliable Babrak Karmal. Within days, Spetsnaz commandos stormed Amin's palace, eliminating resistance with AK-74 rifles and RGD-5 grenades. By dawn, Karmal stood as the new head of state—a puppet tethered to Moscow.
But what the Soviets labeled as "fraternal assistance" sparked outrage worldwide. Western governments and Islamic nations alike condemned the invasion as an act of aggression. The United Nations debated, but action faltered. Afghanistan's tribal leaders, however, took decisive steps. Driven into the mountains, they united under the banner of Jihad.
The Mujahedeen, a coalition of tribal warriors and religious zealots, found their voice in figures like Ahmad Shah Massoud. Known as the "Lion of Panjshir," Massoud commanded a formidable resistance force armed with Lee-Enfield rifles, RPG-7s, and unyielding resolve. His guerrilla tactics turned Afghanistan's jagged peaks into a killing field for Soviet troops.
The United States saw an opportunity. Through Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), the CIA funneled billions of dollars in arms to the Mujahedeen. M16 rifles, Stinger missiles, and other advanced weapons poured across the border. The goal was clear: make Afghanistan the Soviet Union's Vietnam.
Among the foreign fighters who joined the cause was a wealthy Saudi named Osama bin Laden. Bin Laden's charisma and deep pockets bolstered the Mujahedeen's ranks, bringing unity and fanaticism to the fight.
The Soviets soon realized they had underestimated their enemy. The rugged Afghan terrain, coupled with the Mujahedeen's hit-and-run tactics, nullified the Red Army's technological superiority. Search-and-destroy missions, executed with Mi-24 helicopters and ZSU-23-4 Shilka anti-aircraft guns, failed to root out the insurgents. Even victories felt hollow; for every village secured, two more erupted in rebellion.
By 1985, the war had become a political albatross. Mikhail Gorbachev, the Soviet Union's new leader, faced mounting domestic pressure. "We must get out of Afghanistan," he declared, marking a stark departure from his predecessors. The introduction of U.S.-supplied Stinger missiles in 1986 sealed the Soviets' fate. These shoulder-fired weapons devastated the Mi-24 fleet, rendering Soviet air support increasingly ineffective.
Desperate to offload the war, Gorbachev replaced Karmal with Mohammed Najibullah, a more challenging, pragmatic leader. The plan was clear: build an Afghan army capable of standing alone. But the cracks were already too deep. In 1988, the Geneva Accords brokered a fragile peace. The Soviets agreed to withdraw, while the U.S. and Pakistan pledged to cease their support for the Mujahedeen.
On February 15, 1989, the last Soviet soldier crossed the Friendship Bridge into Uzbekistan. The Soviet-Afghan War had ended, leaving behind a shattered Afghanistan and a humiliated USSR.
The war's legacy proved as destructive as the conflict itself. Decades of violence left Afghanistan in ruins, a patchwork of warring factions and warlords. The Mujahedeen's victory gave way to internecine conflict, sowing the seeds for the Taliban's rise and the global chaos that followed.
For the Soviets, the war accelerated their decline. The financial and moral toll fractured their empire, hastening the Cold War's end. Yet, the global community's failure to stabilize Afghanistan ensured that its people would remain ensnared in a cycle of poverty and extremism—a tragic reminder of the costs of power struggles played out on the backs of the powerless.
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5. Joes, A. (2010). Afghanistan: End of the Red Empire. In Victorious Insurgencies: Four Rebellions That Shaped Our World (pp. 167-229).
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