between humans and tigers in the Russian Far East than anything except
the attitude of the people who introduced it. Pionka had some of this
magic in the form of an SKS semiautomatic rifle, a gun that was invented
to kill humans, but which worked on tigers, and which gave those who
wielded it an unprecedented—one could say heroic—confidence.
In most places, including Russia, there is an inverted correlation
between the rise of firearms and the fall of traditional beliefs. Firearms,
especially those like the SKS, made certain kinds of shamanic
intervention obsolete, and they did so by functioning much as shamans do
—that is, by harnessing powerful natural forces and concentrating them
into a supernatural form, which can then be channeled through the hands
of a human being. It is no coincidence that the rifle combines the
elemental mastery of the shaman with the superhuman might of the hero.
Hunters and warriors have always dreamed of this and, in this sense, the
SKS was a dream come true. After making its debut in the Russian army
at the end of World War II, it was replaced by the simpler and more
versatile AK-47. However, the SKS remained available as military
surplus and, over time, it became the weapon of choice for serious
Russian hunters and game wardens; everyone in Field Group Taiga had
one, and the same went for Inspection Tiger. Armed with such a weapon,
any man could be an Uza.
On the night of December 16, there were eight armed men packed into the
back of Trush’s Kung. In addition to Schetinin, Trush, Lazurenko, and
Gorborukov were Vitaly Timchenko, an inspector from Vladivostok,
Andrei Kopayev, leader of the neighboring Kirovsky Inspection Tiger
unit, as well as Shibnev and Pionka from Field Group Taiga. Smirnov and
Gorunov had gone home for the night, as had Denis Burukhin. Lazurenko
cooked dinner on the Kung’s wood stove. With images from the
Pochepnya site roaming through their minds and conversation, they made
their plan of attack. “Everyone was quite agitated,” recalled Trush.