Case at the border

I had to serve in the border troops in the late 1980s. I served at the border of Karelia and Finland. It was the eighth month of service, and so I was already an elephant. He served with me for six months older than I was by calling (already “chepper”) my countrymen, Sergeant Andrei Iliev, by the name of Bulgarian. Because of his landscape, he took over me the chief, so I had to constantly listen to boring stories about his arrivals in our hometown of Saransk. How cleverly he carried the girls there, drunk and raided the local "metallogues" and "nephars".
The only kind of service and work, especially in the young man - "elephants" - and "spirits", like us, was the outfit - bypassing the state border, he is also a guard, on the site entrusted to our plots about 15 kilometers. Grandparents also went to watch, but rarely, mostly closing. At the same time, the rest of the grandfathers peacefully existed in the barracks, watched the telecast, cut into a "stitch", prepared Dembel's kittles and albums, dreamingly told each other who would do something at the citizenship.
The guard consisted of three people: a cinologist with a dog, a connector and a closing guard, he is also a senior guard, usually a sergeant or grandfather. I was a filmologist, and I had a dedicated service dog, a shepherd named Dick.
At one of the border crossing, this happened. We go on our path, on our route. Suddenly, Dick started laughing, trying to captivate me for himself. I did not give up, took a sharp lead and let the dog keep silent. We have stopped. The Bulgarian got the binoculars and began to scratch his eyes on the nearest area. And the terrain, it is necessary to pay tribute, just for a glance: pine trees, berries, goats, streams and small streams with clean water...
After some time his gaze stopped, he removed the binoculars from his neck and with a pleasant smile of the school-huligan called me with a gesture. I approached. The Bulgarian handed over the binoculars and pointed to the side where Dick was lying a few minutes ago. I took the optics and directed it to a small hole in the slope, where he was pointing, and walked. On the slope were engaged in eye... breeding two strange beasts, something intermediate between a bear and a bear.
I have to admit that I have never been strong in species biology and have not understood what beasts are ahead of me. I looked at Andrew, and he said, “Look, Ivory, the rossomaches wear up!” he said this, of course, in a more rough, but therefore no less understandable form.
After that, he dropped the machine from his shoulder with a light movement of his hand, turned over the curtain, targeted and fired a single shot in the direction of the beasts captured by passion.
The gunman, it must be said, was brilliant, and from the only ammunition hit the male right in the neck. The animal did not suffer for long. When we approached, and the distance to the “target” was not more than 100 meters, he already made pre-death sounds. Dick began to laugh again, but I didn't let him go to the beast - it's too likely to catch plague, rabies or any other disease, which the forest creatures themselves do not get sick, but are often their carriers.
The female was quite quickly washed in the bushes, and, apparently, the Bulgarian had to spend a second ammunition, for which he would then have to report, there was no desire. He picked up the ammunition he was shooting and put it in the store.
He looked at the victim, but did not touch her. And to the confusing question, which I wanted to ask, but did not dare, as if having read my thoughts, he replied: "Because it is not easy to arrange all kinds of shame here!"
And we hurried forward. The probability that someone heard the gunshot was zero, but a hot dinner and evening TV were already waiting for us in the barracks.
On the way, of course, I thought about everything that happened, but I did not dare to blame the Bulgarian for his immoral deed. It was a pity for the beast, but what to do if the soldier is sad?
Days went by, a week replaced another. Ten months have passed since the accident. The Bulgarian became a grandfather, less often went to dress. With sadistic pleasure, he perforated the “loose” of newly arrived spirits every morning and asked them how much he had left before the dembel.
70, 45, 30, 20 days... The time went slowly, but the Bulgarian already anticipated the future: an ambulance home, a sea of alcohol, a favorite motorcycle and bustling complacent girls from the surrounding colleges who came to Saransk to master the profession of motorcyclist. And also a joyful future without early rises at 6 a.m., without the devil's seat and bikes, without the drunken deputy who suffered from the "Afghan syndrome", which constantly tormented us at night, announcing buildings, and exhausted by physical exertion - pumping.
And three days before the dembel, according to the old tradition of the Borderlands (and the traditions and unconstitutional rites of the Soviet army were still observed at the time, with the indulgence of the deputy politicians and commanders), our dembel Bulgarian went to his last watch.
It was early May morning, it seemed as if all living things were silent in the usually noisy forest. And only the wind slightly stronger than usual made the leaves whisper.
We passed almost half the route, passing by the slope on which the remains of the failed father, the male rosomaha, once melted, until they were finally swallowed and melted by the local predators and fallers, leaving only the skull and a few bones.
Bulgarian, contrary to the statute, was not the last, but the second, spinning a hat on the back of the head according to the Dembel tradition and smoking a cigarette of the brand "Opal". This morning, however, and in most cases, we broke the statute and walked not the necessary distance of 30-50 meters, but only 5-7 meters to hear each other when talking. Behind us, about 20 meters from us, was a communicator, my call.
We discussed no longer remember what, some nonsense, as suddenly I heard the sound of falling. and turned. In front of me lay the body of a Bulgarian, but without a head. The head rolled next to him, a meter from him, and a little more to the right stood the rosemaker and looked straight into my eyes...
It only lasted for a moment. The beast turned to the side of the bushes and gave a dirt. It took me a few seconds to recover. Surprisingly, Dick not only didn’t cuddle, but didn’t make a sound at all, he hid behind me, pressing his ears.
I dropped the helmet, dropped the machine and dropped the whole rod into the direction of the fugitive beast. As the investigation later found out, no bullet hit him. The messenger rushed and began to scream that he had seen everything.
I saw something rushing from the tree under which the sergeant passed, and with a single movement of his leg, like a cabbage cochrane, separated the head of the Bulgarian from his neck, after which he took one step and fell.
I bowed to the Bulgarian’s head. His eyes were open and they expressed inhuman horror. I remembered them all my life.
The sergeant's body was first taken to the commander's office, and then, four days later, in a sealed zinc tomb, sent home from the unit accompanied by an eternally drunk senior and two "elephants".

The commanders and military investigators, of course, at first did not believe our history. We were forced to take urine tests for drugs. My husband and I were questioned for a long time.
The investigation attracted local hunters and hunters. From their stories it followed that the rosemaker is a very clever and cautious beast. Not every hunter could see him. And she also has a unique smell, by which she could remember her offender, and then pursue.

Again, as the investigation showed, judging by the nails, wool and spotting on the tree, the rosomaha came to this place many times in anticipation of her victim.
The case was closed in three months. The official version is an accident, the sergeant was cut off the head by a bear. The rest of the service I spent in the unit, walking in the suit, then in the dining room, then working with dogs.

Since then, 18 years have passed. In the woods I sometimes walk on mushrooms and often look at the sides. It still seems to me that this damn crap is hiding somewhere nearby.

Evgeny Belosudtsev, DMB 1989