The Tuvan Communist government owed much to Comrade Stalin, so much so that on the same day, June 22, it declared war on Germany, and proclaimed through the Great Khural that 'The Tuvan people, led by the entire revolutionary party and government, not sparing their lives, are ready to participate with all their might and means in the struggle of the Soviet Union against the fascist aggressor until final victory over him'. How about that! And that's when I declared that I wanted to do it, too without sparing my life and with all my might!
I don't know what I did to convince the local security service, but they didn't seem to see me as a subversive person or a real spy after all. And what can you take from a Russian who is eager to fight for Comrade Stalin in a friendly Soviet Union? Why waste energy and time on him when you can let this naive young guy go to the USSR and thereby serve the mighty neighbor by throwing him some cannon fodder. People like me not in the sense of those who came out of the taiga without documents, but in the sense of the Russians who wanted to fight the fascist aggressors along with their Soviet brothers, there were an unexpectedly large number of them in Tuva.
In the end I was given a document that struck me as blatantly unclear and completely devoid of any means of protection against forgery. This paper stated that I was Pyotr Ivanovich Nagulin, born in 1921, Russian. And, in fact, that was it. No citizenship, no place of residence, no education, no occupation, not even a number nothing. In general, it was possible to understand the local officials who gave me this document. I claimed that I didn't even know exactly on whose territory my father's cabin was located. I only knew roughly where to go, but I walked for many days and came out of the forest in Tuva. I said that I really wanted to go to the Soviet Union and asked the local officials to help me. Where are my papers? There weren't any, in the taiga, well, either my father lost them or hid them somewhere so that I couldn't find them.
No one was going to leave me in Tuva, and the fate of a Russian who had asked to go to war to the Soviet Union was of no interest to them at all. They somehow lived without me until I came out of the taiga, and they will evidently be able to live on later, when I go to my ancestral homeland to gain military glory or, much more likely, a tin star on my future obelisk.
* * *
The train moved slowly, as if bowing to every pole, and getting stuck for a long time at inconspicuous tiny stations. The impact of the big war could be felt here too, but so far only by the tense faces of the locals and the abundance of men in uniform.
No matter how hard I tried, the bureaucratic machine was too slow to react to external stimuli, even to those as strong as the outbreak of war. The notion that 'the Red Army is the strongest', instilled in the Soviet people by official propaganda as an immutable truth, led Soviet officials, especially those in the rear, to realize the gravity of the situation far from immediately.
In general, the fighter Pyotr Nagulin, in my person, found himself in an echelon bound for the front only at the end of July. Already the border battles, in which the best-trained cadre of the Soviet army had been killed, were over, heavy fighting near Smolensk had been going on for two weeks, the battles for Kiev and Leningrad had already unfolded, and in the south the Germans and Romanians were coming to the outskirts of Odessa. And I was slowly dragged across the vast country in a goods van with three-story bunks, packed to the limit with guys like me, who were cheerfully and confidently talking about how they would beat the Nazis political propaganda worked here without fail.
Every few hours I closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep, and reviewed the images taken from orbit, projected onto the surface of the contact lenses. I didn't like what I saw. We were going to hell. With songs, laughter, and the reckless enthusiasm of youth.
Chapter 3
A tall guy with a round face and a perpetual smile on his lips flopped down on the bunk next to me. I've noticed him more than once the man couldn't sit still. In addition, a senior lieutenant of the NKVD (People's Commissariat for Internal Affairs), who accompanied the train, put him in charge of our van. One could sense that in peacetime he was an incorrigible optimist, and he dragged his easy-going attitude to everything that was going on here, in this wooden wagon, which was approaching the front with replenishment for the infantry divisions that had suffered huge losses in the fighting.
What are you so gloomy about, soldier? the boy asked, fidgeting and making himself comfortable.
War is no fun, I shrugged, trying to let my disturbing neighbor know that I was not in the mood for conversation.
You're afraid, aren't you? There was no negativity in his voice, but rather genuine surprise, My name is Boris and I am from Voronezh.
Pyotr, I introduced myself and shook the outstretched hand, Of course I'm afraid. It's foolish to underestimate your adversary.
Don't be afraid, Boris lowered his voice, but the smile never left his face, and keep your voice down, or better still, shut up than talk like that. If your words get through to the commissar, you'll get in trouble, and do you want that? The morale of the Red Army fighters is high and unshakable. And it should not be sapped.
Morale is important, I didn't argue, so we'll strengthen it.
No, Pyotr, you're not afraid, Boris looked at me carefully, That's what I thought at first when I heard you say that, but I guess I was wrong. You're very serious, and you seem to know something that we ordinary soldiers aren't supposed to know.
Is it really written all over my face? It's really not a long way to get into trouble if the first person I meet sees right into my mind
My father told me about World War I, I carefully answered my interlocutor, who turned out to be overly perspicacious, He did not go to war himself, but he talked to those who had been there. I wouldn't want to be in those trenches. Not many people came back from there.
So he was telling you about the imperialist war, grinned Boris, Well, that's another thing. The people there died for the interests of the bourgeoisie, and we are going to defend our socialist homeland. You have to understand the difference.
I'm not arguing, I decided not to escalate the discussion. I have attracted too much attention to my modest person, it's time to change the delicate subject, Do you know when we're going to get weapons? I feel uncomfortable the front is coming soon, and my hands are empty. I grew up in the taiga, you can't do without a gun there. Even now I feel like I'm naked.
In the taiga, you say? A hunter? Boris was interested. I noticed that the other neighbors in the van were beginning to listen to our conversation.
Of course I'm a hunter. In the taiga, all men are hunters.
And you must be a pretty good shot, with all that practice? asked the guy on the next bunk with the unruly frizz of hair which he kept trying unsuccessfully to smooth out.
My father was pleased, I answered evasively, but it's hard for me to judge, I have no one to compare it to. My skills were enough for a successful hunt.
I don't know about weapons, Boris remembered my question, they'll give them to us, don't worry. When we arrive, we'll be assigned to a combat unit, and then we'll get weapons.
Okay, if so I yawned in a pointed manner and leaned against the swaying wall of the wagon, I'm going to sleep for a while, I'm sleepy.
I closed my eyes and lightly tensed the right facial muscles, activating the interactive mode with the contact lenses. To begin with, where are we? Thus, the nearest major station is Khristinovka. This is 300 kilometers south of Kiev and 20 kilometers northwest of Uman. We'll be there in a couple of hours if we don't get stuck passing someone again, or if the Germans don't bomb the way.