Stories About Spies: Military Patrol on Savur-Mohyla

There was no better place for a military patrol. The hill, though not very high, rose with a hunchbacked back above the surrounding plain. As far as the eye could see, there was only a steppe, cut by shallow gullies and dotted with green islands of thorny shrubs.

For many days in a row, not a single living soul has been seen. Only steppe saigas and hares occasionally disturbed the slow passage of time, and falcons, catching  wind streams with their wings would smoothly circle in the sky, looking out for prey.

Watching the birds, Cossack Savur stretched out, face up, on the green grass carpet of the hill, well warmed up by the midday sun. Time seemed to have stopped in this languid contemplation of the vast sky. During the day, it attracted fascinatingly with its blueness, at night – with its incomprehensible depth. It seemed that someone majestic and inconspicuous each time sowed it with twinkling stars and created bizarre patterns in which the wild imagination saw the outlines of earthly creatures.

More than once Savur heard the elders say that one can forever look at the fire, which burns in many colors and voices, at the water which flows, splashes, rolls, bubbles, gurgles, or roars. In the same way, he could peer into the sky for hours. And then time would stop, and everything else would roll away into oblivion.

Suddenly the rustle of rocky soil on the steep slope made Savur startle. He jumped up impetuously and looked in that direction.

– Tatars, – he breathed out.

He said this quietly, as if he was afraid to show his presence and draw the attention of uninvited guests. But in a moment he pulled himself together and clearly understood what had happened.

– Tatars! Tatars!!! He shouted with all his might, as if he wanted to shout until he was heard at the main Cossack camp, deployed a few kilometers away.

Khartsyz and other comrades, who had also been lying in the sunshine, immediately jumped up. The Cossacks grabbed their sabers and went to battle. Lighting a signal fire was out of the question as they simply did not have time for that. “If you snooze, you lose”,  throbbed in Cossacks’ heads. With this disappointing thought, they rushed at the attackers, who took advantage of the languishing of  the guards and quietly crawled up to the hill, having attached branches of thorn bushes to their clothes for camouflage.

The forces were unequal, and the defenders understood that they would not last long. At the same time, they had to fulfill the main mission at all costs – to let know about the danger. But how to set fire to the tarred barrel?

And then Cossack Khartsyz picked up a long strand of the machula, which was always at hand, and shouted to Savur: “Distract them. I'll be right there!”

With one movement, he wrapped himself in the machula, well soaked in saltpeter, took out a firestone with a fire striker and began to strike sparks with all his might. The Horde saw this and tried to prevent it. But Savur desperately defended the approaches to his comrade. One after another, the Tatars were falling dead, mowed down by the Cossack’s saber. Savur was a skilled warrior. He had repeatedly successfully resisted several attackers alone. This time a whole pack was against him.

But even the few seconds he managed to win was enough for Khartsyz to strike out a sheaf of sparks and set fire to the machula. The flame quickly gained strength and was hugging the Cossack tighter and tighter with hot tongues. In a moment he rushed desperately to the tarred barrel, pushing away  the Horde warriors on his way, who instinctively were scattering away in surprise from the ball of this living fire. One more step – and the barrel was in the hot Cossack’s embrace. Deadly.

The Tatars rushed to extinguish the flames, which were gaining strength with every second. But Savur stood in their way. Only he was still on his feet and desperately fought off his enemies. At the same time, his soul was no longer too painfully tortured by the thought that he had let his comrades down, missed the danger, and did not inform about the attack in time. The blazing flames and the thick smoke should have been noticed in the distant Cossack camp. He only was sorry that he would not last long. But he was sure that the Tatars would pay dearly for his death.

The Tatars were furious, but they could not defeat him. Only with a whip did they manage to knock the Cossack down. Then they surrounded him and with anger and rage began to chop the young body with sabers. The blood gushed from deep wounds and was immediately absorbed into the thirsty earth. Suddenly, the unseen happened. The attackers fell on their knees in horror, covering their heads with their hands, as if hiding from the swift blow of the steppe falcon or someone else – invisible and omnipotent.

The earth hummed, trembled and rose up right before their eyes. In a moment, a lofty hill grew on the spot where Savur had fallen dead and where his blood had been spilled. The native land rose so that the signal fire could be seen in the distance. The noise reached the Cossack camp. The fire was also noticed.

At the alarm signal, the Cossacks gathered an army, rebuffed the enemy’s attack, and at the spot of the death of their comrades, they made a tall grave, bringing soil in their hats. Since then it has been known as Savur-mohyla.