The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone. Ivan Rasskazov

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СКАЧАТЬ came to him at the stop was asking for, and then, recognizing in him the very shaman who helped him to assemble a detachment of future scout snipers, he decided to listen to him carefully.

      “You know, commander,” speaking in a roundabout way and realizing that, and realizing that if he tells the truth, the communist political instructor would never believe him, my father decided to go for a trick. “Look, commander, a lot of soldiers have crosses on their chests and icons in their backpacks and nobody tries to hit the icons! Now imagine that the wolves that run after us at night are also our icons or our own kind of spirits, so please put a ban on trying to shoot them, commander. Otherwise, my soldiers (my father had sergeant insignia on the tabs) would start to get sick.

      And he invited him to his wagon to take a look at the soldier who, while being a wolf, was wounded at night from a rifle. The wound was not very serious, but still he was confined to bed.

      “You see, a soldier got sick, commander, because his spirit was being shot at,” my father said.

      The officer shook his head and, without saying anything, went along the train. He had all kinds of freaks in his submission: Orthodox Christians, Muslims, Buryat Buddhists and now also shamans with their spirits! But according to the internal instruction, saying that political officers and commanders were not recommended to ban soldiers from worship in the war, so as not to reduce their morale, Ivan Pavlovich, seeing the head of the echelon guard, forbade shooting at wolves at night. Knowing that he was informing the secret agents about everything and to disperse any doubts, he told him:

      “Captain, we have every cartridge counted, and you squander ammunition. Do wolves attack you personally or do you want to reduce the combat effectiveness of our army?” he asked.

      Realizing where the enlistment officer was heading, and fearing any charges against him, the captain, up to this point pretty confident because of his ties with the Special Forces, sprang and said:

      “Yes, Comrade Officer, we’ll do everything,” he said and rushed like a bullet, holding his belly, huge from stealing rations from his soldiers, while thinking to himself: the damned political instructor spoiled everything, taking away all the fun (every night this overfed, like a wild boar, security guard, taking a rifle from the watch, would shoot at the wolves running next to the steam locomotive just for amusement). And the only thing that saved the Tofalars was that he was a storekeeper before being enlisted and could not shoot at all. Having achieved cunningly what he wanted to from the enlistment officer, my father, gathering his fellow countrymen, suggested that they ask to be put in the same detachment at the front, claiming that their knowledge of the Russian language was poor.

      “Otherwise, you all understand how bad it will be. We will be shot by friendly fire on the first night! And there will be no discussion! And this way, we will have twenty people who performed the rite and the same number of those who didn’t. For others, we all look alike. This will give us an opportunity to keep our secret.”

      Part IV

      Upon arrival, the soldiers were assigned to platoons, battalions, and regiments. My father and his comrades were lucky, as a separate platoon of sniper-scouts was created especially for them, and the commander was their old acquaintance, officer Ivan Pavlovich. Over time, he learned the Tofalar secret, keeping it until the end of the war. The ability of hunters to turn into wolves at night helped to solve seemingly impossible tasks, and at war, one must always comply with an order. You can even turn into the devil, but it must be beneficial for the command. In order to understand how the Tofalars fought, I will tell you about one case. Before the offensive, Ivan Pavlovich received an order to take the prisoner not from the front line, but from the rear, located a hundred kilometers from the front line. No one asked how he would do it, giving two days for the whole operation. The command was only interested in the result. It was just not possible for a man to walk such a distance on foot and return back unnoticed with a captured prisoner. For a wolf, though, covering the distance was a matter of maybe four hours. My father and three soldiers set off on the mission. Having turned into wolves at night, five hours later they were in the city occupied by Germans. Hiding at the road guarded by a patrol that went by every hour, they began to wait for a convenient moment to attack it. They needed weapons. There was an hour left until dawn, this time was quite enough. Among them was a wolf whose father was a shepherd, and therefore he strongly resembled a large dog, which they took advantage of. Seeing the patrol from afar, the wolf sat on the side of the road and, pressing his ears against his head and making a touching face, wagged his tail, just like a dog would.

      “Look, Hans, a dog! Just like my shepherd!” one German said to another.

      “Come here, I’ll give you a pat,” another German said.

      The wolf, wagging its tail with increasing intensity, on half-bent paws, was getting closer and closer to them. A quick jump – and sharp fangs closed on the neck of the enemy. The second German fell next, his throat cut as if with a razor. Clutching their teeth tightly over the clothes of the dead soldiers, the wolves dragged them into the bushes about twenty meters from the road. Returning to his human form, my father praised his comrade:

      “Cunning stunt, eh?” he said. Everybody smiled amicably and started waiting for the needed car. The Germans are very punctual people, so, appearing exactly five minutes later, the German driver could not drive over a huge dead dog lying on the road. All attempts to go around it on a narrow road failed, and the man, getting out of the car and wrapping up his sleeves, grabbed the animal by the hair, trying to pull him out of the way. Suddenly, the hair in his hands turned into air, and he received a strong blow to the head. The last thing he saw in his life was the terrible transformation of a dog into a man! At this moment, in the passenger compartment of the car, two scouts were rounding up a clueless German colonel. Immobilizing and gagging him, they led him to the front line through the forest. Having traveled more than half the way, they decided to have a rest in the dense woods. Having pulled a gag out of the mouth of a heavily breathing Colonel, they heard his words spoken in good Russian:

      “Russians, they’ll get you. If you untie me, I guarantee your life,” said the Colonel.

      “Fuck you,” – my father told him and they started waiting for the night to come. The Colonel listened, turning his head in all directions, apparently thinking that he would be found. He even tried to scream, confusing the sound of a running boar with his liberators. But, having received a good kick in the butt, he shut up! The hunters knew that a dog would never follow a wolf’s trail. The German shepherds, trained on concentration camp prisoners, cowardly pursuing their tails, refused to take a wolf track, leading their owners in a circle. As the night closed in, the scouts made drags from the trees, tied a shaking Colonel to them, and, having made two collars on each side of the belts, became wolves, got into harness and pulled the drags to the front line. With each meter, it became increasingly dangerous as, pushing themselves against the ground, they approached the neutral strip. Having almost reached a safe place, they heard the German "heil"! “What should I do now?” my father thought for an instance. And again it was their friend who saved the situation: barking, twisting his tail, and with an ingratiating face, he ran to the two Germans standing at the machine-gun post. One of them, stroking the wolf on the head, threw a stick, the wolf brought it and sat down, as if asking for rewards.

      “What a smart dog,” – he said and went to the dugout shelter to get some bread. Emerging from the shed in two minutes – enough to drag the prisoner to the positions of scouts – the German saw his comrade lying with his throat cut. Screaming:

      “Russians!” he rushed to the machine gun but it was too late.

      The Colonel turned out to be very valuable prey for the command. All the scouts participating in the operation were awarded the Order of the Red Star, and my father – the Order of the Red Banner.

      Having said this, the old Shaman fell silent СКАЧАТЬ