"Behind Enemy Lines: The Capture of a Red Army Soldier"

For a "Tongue"

Iustin Romaniko
(From the Combat Life of the Siberian Cossack Regiment of Yermak Timofeyev)

The patrol, descending winding paths along the hillside, emerged from the forest. Suddenly, right in front of them, a deep, uneven valley opened up, where peasant huts clung in clusters, half-hidden in thickets of hemp, goosefoot, and weeds—like sparrows on birch trees in a warm, quiet summer evening.

The Cossacks spread out and disappeared back into the dense forest. At a silent signal, the Siberians gathered around their commander—alert. A searching, stern gaze swept over the Cossacks, causing a stinging sensation that stirred the blood and made their hearts beat faster. The star-like spark in his eyes agitated the soul and burned it with a painfully pleasant heat; reflexively, the muscles in their arms tensed, and their hands gripped their saber hilts tightly.

The Cossacks understood the commander without a word and rode up with the entire platoon.
"Not all... three will be enough," he said, and gave the order: recon the village where the Red Army men were hiding and bring back a "tongue"—a Red Army soldier, or if that was impossible, a peasant.

After a short pause, the Cossacks descended into the valley through ravines, ditches, and low shrubs.

Close now... only vegetable gardens separated them from the village. From a nearby yard came the sounds of people shouting—it seemed like a fight or a quarrel. Russian words mixed with foreign ones, women and children cried, a chain rattled, and a dog barked madly.

The village streets were empty and lifeless, like during a winter blizzard. A grubby boy ran out after a piglet that had escaped the yard—he glanced around nervously, saw the Cossacks, and immediately darted back through the gate.

A clear sign the Reds were present—but where were they?

The Cossacks crept fox-like along a wattle fence, concealed on both sides by tall, bushy green hemp. A fence, then a hut, another... They had to forget their own lives and make a sudden rush at the first Red Army man they encountered.

The silence was suspicious. The horses perked up their ears, shivered, and slowed their pace, as if their legs were bound by ropes or tangled in grass.

There was a dull metallic clink behind the fence—then, suddenly, machine guns "barked" from two positions. A storm of bullets flew over the Cossacks’ heads, filling the air with a sinister, whistling melody. Then the lead bees slapped into the ground, puffing up dust, knocked a cap off one Cossack, and hit some of the saddles. Two horses reared wildly and immediately collapsed to the ground; fountains of blood streamed from small bullet holes, soaking the grass and road dust.

The fences had concealed cutouts for machine guns, hidden by tall, thick weeds, and a bit further back, Red Army trenches stretched out.

The Reds burst onto the street, about twenty of them ran to flank the Cossacks. Rifles cracked.

The Cossacks dashed into a gully that twisted from the village almost to the forest.

Semyonov’s horse was still alive, and its groans—eerily human-like—held the Cossack in place like a spell. The horse raised its head, looked at its master with pained eyes, and tried to neigh, but only its lips trembled helplessly.

Semyonov aimed his rifle at his four-legged friend—but a wave of pity pierced his entire being. He lowered the weapon, and large tears rolled from his eyes.

Maybe he would have tried to help the horse up or bandage its wounds, if not for the voices that snapped him out of it:
"One here..."
"Grab him, guys..."

The Cossack shot out of the village like a bullet, a pack of Reds chasing close behind. He threw a grenade. It exploded with a harsh thump right in front of them, scattering the group and halting the chase. Screams were heard.

The Reds realized they couldn’t catch the Cossack by hand—they left it to their rifles and machine guns and opened heavy fire up the hillside all the way to the forest.

They kept shooting at the Cossack long after he was already in the safe zone; they didn’t capture him—but they had revealed their position and, nearly in detail, the number of rifles and machine guns.

There was no longer any need for a "tongue."