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 and started lighting his pipe. Then he shouted something to a boy playing next to him, who in a minute brought a wooden box. The old man began to carefully take out rewards wrapped in a rag. There were more than twenty rewards in all, and all of them were combat awards.
“Yeah! These are only given for real feats of arms,” said Nikita and then asked:
“What happened to your father after that?”
“He returned from the war, he was guarded by very strong spirits. Twenty-four of his fellow hunters did not return home. But thanks to each of them, hundreds of fascists also did not return to their homeland. Now few people remember that war! But even in our taiga, we have a monument to our lost brothers. It was made by young people right at the foot of the waterfall, not far from the Shaman Stone. I will show it to you later. In the meantime, come along with me,” and, getting up from his seat, The Shaman led us to the dogs tied to the pillar. “Come closer, Alexander,” he said to me.
For some reason, I did not want to do this, but with my friends watching me, I took a few steps towards the dogs. The dogs stiffened and, sniffing the air, began to rush at me.
“And now you, come here,” he pointed at Nikita, who approached calmly and began stroking the dogs. “We don’t have that much time, Alexander, tomorrow morning will perform the rite,” said the Shaman and went to his yurt.
Part V
Already very tired by the evening, we wandered to our home. There were two hours remaining until midnight when I mentally felt that she was calling me. Grabbing a backpack and a rifle, I stealthily stepped outside and went in the direction of my girlfriend who was calling me.
“Nothing keeps me here anymore.” With these thoughts, I went to the river, where my pack was waiting for me. As if rejoicing at my decision, they clustered around me and asked me to follow. The wolves were running much faster than me, looking around from time to time to see if I was managing to keep up with them. After spending some time running this way, I saw a cave. Entering it and looking around,