REBELS WITHOUT A PAUSE

By FREDERICK PAINTON AND SALLY B. DONNELLY/GROZNY

FOR EIGHT MONTHS, RUSSIAN TROOPS and armor pounded the breakaway Chechen republic into rubble. Then for nearly four months an uneasy peace reigned, after Islamic rebels agreed to a truce on July 30 that few expected to last. Last week the doomsayers looked fairly prophetic, as huge bomb blasts wracked the capital of Grozny and narrowly missed killing Moscow's handpicked political leader.

Prime Minister Doku Zavgayev, 55, a former communist apparatchik installed by the Kremlin on Nov. 1, was being driven in a heavily guarded motorcade through the ruined capital of Grozny when his car was rocked by two powerful bomb blasts, then sprayed with automatic-weapons fire. Zavgayev and five others were only slightly wounded. It was another demonstration, if any more were needed, that despite Russia's overwhelming military power in the tattered Caucasian republic, the Kremlin is failing in its campaign to impose a peace settlement on the rebels.

In a further demonstration of the rebel power to use terrorism against Russians, Shamil Basayev, a Chechen military leader, directed a television-news crew in Moscow to a radioactive parcel buried in one of the city's public parks. He told journalists in a previously filmed interview, "People these days say we are always bluffing...but remember that we are completely prepared to commit acts of terrorism that will be tangible for Russia.'' Basayev has to be taken seriously: last June he led a Chechen raid on the Russian town of Budyonnovsk that left a score of local policemen dead.

Chechens have launched more than 1,000 attacks since the peace treaty was signed, and an estimated 60,000 Russian troops have responded with artillery barrages and air raids against villages throughout the republic. The bomb attacks in Grozny came in response to the endorsement by Zavgayev and his tame parliament of a Russian plan for elections Dec. 17 for a new Chechen leader. For the Chechens, the election plan is merely an attempt to give a gloss of democratic legitimacy to Moscow's rule. "No election will be held until the last Russian invader has left," declares a spokesman for rebel leader Jokhar Dudayev, who conducts his guerrilla campaign from a mountain hideout.

On the somber first anniversary this month of its war of independence, Chechnya is fragmented, impoverished and, from every sign, still indomitable. The Russians control the northern two-thirds of the country, but the southern, mountainous third remains a defiant redoubt. Neither side can claim a victory. After a heroic stand against Russian ground and air forces, Dudayev lost the battle for the capital, Grozny, in February, along with his heavy weapons and access to the country's oil refineries. Expert analysts estimate that Dudayev's hard-core forces may be down to around 2,000. Nonetheless, his separatist government managed to hold a full-fledged congress two months ago in the sleepy village of Roshni-Chu, an hour's drive south from Grozny.

Neither side observes the truce, which required the Russians to pull back troops and rebels to hand in their weapons. The Russians regularly shell villages they suspect of harboring resistance fighters, and only a few villages have disarmed. So far, tens of thousands of soldiers, rebels and civilians have been killed in this conflict, and the number, once again, is rising.

Desultory peace talks among representatives of the Russian government, the Moscow-installed Chechen government and General Dudayev were suspended last month after General Anatoly Romanov, commander of all Russian troops, was gravely wounded. His convoy was hit by two radio-controlled explosives as it went through an underpass in central Grozny. Romanov is still in a coma.

That attack prompted Yeltsin to consider declaring a state of emergency in Chechnya, which would have allowed Kremlin hard-liners to unleash a full-scale military offensive aimed at finishing off Dudayev. But for now, at least, Yeltsin has balked. He is already blamed for launching Russia's first post-Soviet war, at a cost of thousands of lives and billions of dollars, while undermining democratic ideals at home. Restarting the war could damage Yeltsin politically just before domestic Duma elections Dec. 17 and trigger another round of international condemnation.

The sense of wartime tension hangs heaviest over Grozny, a capital that only 18 months ago was a bright, bustling city of half a million people. Today it is a chaotic, rubble-strewn obstacle course of potholed streets and improvised market stalls patrolled by an occupying army. There is no heat, water or electricity for vast sections of the city, although local officials estimate that 275,000 residents have returned since the truce began. The city virtually shuts down by 6 p.m.; the nights are filled with the crackle of gunfire. "I dream about being able to take a break from this place,'' says Islam Abubakirov, a 20-year-old student. "Just a week somewhere quiet. Anywhere.''

The power vacuum encourages criminality in a city already notorious for its well-organized gangs. On Nov. 5 a female Russian soldier who rudely complained about the price of Polaroid film in the central market was shot to death by an offended Chechen. An armored personnel carrier has been seen roaring down the streets with masked Russian soldiers crouched on top carrying a sign that says get out of the way or we will run you over. Sighed one powerless policeman: "Grozny is a city out of control.''

For most of the Russian soldiers living in Chechnya, there is little sense of mission and considerable frustration. The makeshift hospital at Grozny's airport receives two dozen injured soldiers a week and is preparing more bed space. Misha, 27, an officer in the elite division of the Russian-controlled Ministry of the Interior, says what everybody thinks: "It's very likely the war could start again.'' In fact, the peace is a lot like the war already.