When Cossacks and Turks Clash There are No Prisoners

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Issue 46, 10 March 1937, Page 12

When Cossacks and Turks Clash There are No Prisoners

Commander Tells of Bitter Campaign of 1915

i LYA Petrushenko Js big, and stalwart. Though he has reached the age of 46, he can lift a hundred-pound weight with his left hand (writes Phillip Nesbitt in

the San Prancisco Ohronicle). His early life at the military academy in St. Petersburg was rigorous and hard. He learned to ride a horse, to lead men, to know war and the art of extermin^ting the enemy, whatever he might be", so that he himseif Gould enjoy the days following the war.. Ilya, who is quiet now, after these years, passed unwounded through the Great War. He fought with probably a little more intelligence and brilliance than the ayerag® compiander. He saved his own skin and killed his thousands. We were talki'ng to eqch other. Here is the tale he told, as nearly as possible, in the manner given. His English was not very good:— I was on the Turkish frontier in 1915. It rain very ha,rd, the horses slip in the deep, icy mud and crash into each other. The rain came down steadily. We had come flfty miles since morning. My men, in their high fur papahas, were wet and cold. We were chasing tlie Tiirks. Commanded Cossacks. "rrou see, I was commander of a Cossack squadron. My men were fine and courageous. Utterly fearless. Because I was commander I carried no lance, but had a gabre and a pistpl. The Turkish cavalry turned to attaek us. I saw them coming across a wet meadow. I turn and shout to my lancers to charge. We have— what do you call it— a "skirmish?" Very flerce, very quick. I find myself getting drunk with the fever of battle. I do not care what happens to me; all I wish to do is tp kill Turks. It is like that in a battle, If it were not for this into^ication of kiliing every man would run far away from fight. That is bravery! Well, the battle or skirmish is going on fast. Every man, Turk and Cossack, shout at the top of his lungs. Terrible, funny, awful cries to frighten the enemy, The Turks are fine men, too; good flghters. -They kfiow there is no quarter given. They know that no man becomes a prisoner. It was about six o'clock. The sun was getting in a red sky. Big puddles of mud refiected it. Everything looked pink red. My men were shouting and kiliing Turks. ^ Good lancers, the Cossacks. They had good aim. When the Thrkish fiorsemen came too close my men pierce them In the chest.

tfhen the Turks are ready for battle they form what is called in Cossack language a kare. Circles of fighting men. We shattered their kare. It was a nightmare of slaughter. It was night time. The temperature began to drop. Little icicles were on my beard. I began to wonder how the night would be spent. The ground stood two inches deep with rain water and ice. I saw some of my men dragging halfrdead Turks into piles of six. Turkish mattresses. The men slept on top of these Turks. There was no choice. It was the only way to keep from freezing. Do yoii blame them? Ilya's Dream. T, being in command of the Cossack squadron, had a tent in which to sleep. My soldiers came and tied the strings from the outside and I was ready to turn in. It was terribly cold. Cold and weariness are a bad combination, yes? I took some paper which I had in my kit. I set fire to it. The quick hot flames make the air in the tent so warm that I am able to undress and climb between the fur robes of my sleeping bag. Thep I get warm. I had dreams of fighting. I killed thousands of Turks. I fight all night long in my dreams. I myself decided to help in the search for hiding Turks. I like to see hiding Turks. I can always get angry at them. I stopped at a very nice-looking house with a balcony, where there were some pretty flowers. It was evidently that of a rich man— a rich Turk. Loud Bang. TT was a long time before anyone answered my ringing of the little bronze bell they had there. After a bit I made a loud bang with the hand of Fatima, which is door knocker. I did not blame them for not coming to open the door, They were terribly frightened. I was a Cossack. Soon a servant opened a door. How polite the Turks can be when they want to. The women in the house had heard of the Cossacks, you bet. After a while I leave this nice house. I stop in a Turkish drinklng place and have spme vodka. Finally I empty the vodka bottle and throw it at the proprietor. My aim was poor. Too bad? The nipe big Turkish mirror fall with a crash. The proprietor sadly bring me another bottle of vodka, which I drink. I wake up feeling very cool. My sergeant is gently pouring water on my hrow. He tells ma then a message waitg me from my Generah

• It said: "Stay in ? — until further orders. Billet your men." This is very nice news. I picked out a house which suited me, for I had m idea. Always h have wanted a harem like a Turkish man. Several months passed. During this time it seemed that I lived many lives. Though the front was only ten miles away our lives were like those of monks in monasteries; but we were, what dp you call it, Rabelaisian monks. Suddenly rumour came that Russian troops had successfully occupied the closest Turkish station, called Sara Kamash. This station was twelve miles from where I was in my peaceful captured town. I have a fine intuition. Something tell me that I should verlfy this report. So I take half my squadron and start out at dusk. Qur horses move without sound in deep snow. We go twelve miles. In the distance through my binoculars I am aware of the Turkish station where victorious Russian troops are supposed to be. All is quiet. We ride carefully to within three hundred yards of the station ' and dismount. The Reconnoitre. t send two men forward In darknesa. They disappear like black ants against dim starlit snow, crawling on belly. I wonder what my two men are seeing all this time. After a while they come back, very excited. to tell me that they saw Russian soldiers in station. Everything seems all right, perhaps, except my two spies say Russians in station are so quiet. They whisper instead of shout and bawl. They walk, about on tiptoes and do not drinl? vodka. My two soldiers tell me they hp-ve moustaches very much up in the German manner instead of straight out or dxooping down, as is Russian fashion. I kpew then they could not be Cpssacks. Ip seems ipy two spies jump on straying Russian^ German soldier and hit him on head and bring him back. I gave orders that he be brought to me, I spoke to him in Russian. I ask how he dare wear Cossack uniform, Instead pf answering me he cry out loud in German, "Please don't kill me. I am just German soldier. I only act on orders., They (the men at the station) are aU Germans. There $,re three platoons, We wear uniforjns, pf Russian prisoner." ... ! I walk out into snov? to think. I rea- ! lised with great excitement what a fine opportunity this was, Soon I api giving orders for one of our famous attacks and we kill all the Gerrpans there. Poor fellows —but that is war.