Volodya did not have a walkie-talkie, there were no new “bells and whistles” in the form of dry alcohol, drinking straws and other junk. There was not even unloading; he did not take the bulletproof vest himself. Volodya had only his grandfather’s old hunting carbine with captured German optics, 30 rounds of ammunition, a flask of water and cookies in his quilted jacket pocket. Yes, the hat with ear flaps was shabby. The boots, however, were good; after last year’s fishing, he bought them at a fair in Yakutsk, right on the rafting trip to Lena from some visiting traders.

This is how he fought for the third day. A sable hunter, an 18-year-old Yakut from a distant reindeer camp. It had to happen that I came to Yakutsk for salt and ammunition, and accidentally saw in the dining room on TV piles of corpses of Russian soldiers on the streets of Grozny, smoking tanks and some words about “Dudaev’s snipers.” This got into Volodya’s head, so much so that the hunter returned to the camp, took his earned money, and sold the little gold he had found. He took his grandfather’s rifle and all the cartridges, put the icon of St. Nicholas the Saint in his bosom and went to fight the Yakuts for the Russian cause.

It’s better not to remember how I was driving, how I sat in the bullpen three times, how many times my rifle was taken away. But, nevertheless, a month later the Yakut Volodya arrived in Grozny.

Volodya had only heard about one general who was regularly fighting in Chechnya, and he began to look for him in the February mudslide. Finally, the Yakut was lucky and reached the headquarters of General Rokhlin.

The only document besides his passport was a handwritten certificate from the military commissar stating that Vladimir Kolotov, a hunter by profession, was heading to war, signed by the military commissar. The piece of paper, which had become frayed on the road, had saved his life more than once.
Rokhlin, surprised that someone came to the war of his own free will, ordered the Yakut to be allowed to come to him.

Volodya, squinting at the dim lights blinking from the generator, causing his slanted eyes to blur even more, like a bear, walked sideways into the basement of the old building, which temporarily housed the general’s headquarters.

Excuse me, please, are you that General Rokhlya? - Volodya asked respectfully.
“Yes, I’m Rokhlin,” answered the tired general, who peered inquisitively at a short man dressed in a frayed padded jacket, with a backpack and a rifle on his back.

Would you like some tea, hunter?
- Thank you, Comrade General. I haven't had a hot drink for three days. I won't refuse.
Volodya took his iron mug out of his backpack and handed it to the general. Rokhlin himself poured him tea to the brim.

I was told that you came to the war on your own. For what purpose, Kolotov?
- I saw on TV how the Chechens were killing our people with snipers. I can't stand this, Comrade General. It's a shame, though. So I came to bring them down. You don't need money, you don't need anything. I, Comrade General Rokhlya, will go hunting at night myself. Let them show me the place where they will put the cartridges and food, and I will do the rest myself. If I get tired, I’ll come back in a week, sleep in the warmth for a day and go again. You don't need a walkie-talkie or anything like that... it's hard.
Surprised, Rokhlin nodded his head.

Take, Volodya, at least a new SVDashka. Give him a rifle!
- No need, Comrade General, I’m going out into the field with my scythe. Just give me some ammo, I only have 30 left now...

So Volodya began his war, the sniper war.
He slept for a day in the headquarters cabins, despite the mine shelling and terrible artillery fire. I took ammunition, food, water and went on my first “hunt”. They forgot about him at headquarters. Only reconnaissance regularly brought cartridges, food and, most importantly, water to the appointed place every three days. Each time I was convinced that the parcel had disappeared.

The first person to remember Volodya at the headquarters meeting was the “interceptor” radio operator.
- Lev Yakovlevich, the “Czechs” are in panic on the radio. They say that the Russians, that is, we, have a certain black sniper who works at night, boldly walks through their territory and shamelessly cuts down their personnel. Maskhadov even put a price of 30 thousand dollars on his head. His handwriting is like this - this fellow hits Chechens right in the eye. Why only by sight - the dog knows him...
And then the staff remembered about the Yakut Volodya.

He regularly takes food and ammunition from the cache,” the intelligence chief reported.
“And so we didn’t exchange a word with him, we didn’t even see him even once.” Well, how did he leave you on the other side...

One way or another, the report noted that our snipers also give their snipers a light. Because Volodin’s work gave such results - from 16 to 30 people were killed by the fisherman with a shot in the eye.
The Chechens realized that a Russian fisherman had appeared on Minutka Square. And since all the events of those terrible days took place in this square, a whole detachment of Chechen volunteers came out to catch the sniper.

Then, in February 1995, at Minutka, the “federals,” thanks to Rokhlin’s cunning plan, had already crushed Shamil Basayev’s “Abkhaz” battalion by almost three-quarters of its personnel. Volodya’s Yakut carbine also played a significant role here. Basayev promised a golden Chechen star to the one who brought the corpse of the Russian sniper. But the nights passed in unsuccessful searches. Five volunteers walked along the front line in search of Volodya’s “beds”, placing tripwires wherever he could appear in the direct line of sight of their positions. However, this was a time when groups from both sides broke through the enemy’s defenses and penetrated deeply into its territory. Sometimes it was so deep that there was no longer any chance to break out to our own people. But Volodya slept during the day under the roofs and in the basements of houses. The corpses of Chechens - the night "work" of a sniper - were buried the next day.

Then, tired of losing 20 people every night, Basayev called from the reserves in the mountains a master of his craft, a teacher from the camp for training young shooters, the Arab sniper Abubakar. Volodya and Abubakar could not help but meet in a night battle, such are the laws of sniper warfare.
And they met two weeks later. More precisely, Abubakar hit Volodya with a drill rifle. A powerful bullet, which once killed Soviet paratroopers right through in Afghanistan at a distance of one and a half kilometers, pierced the padded jacket and slightly caught the arm, just below the shoulder. Volodya, feeling the rush of a hot wave of oozing blood, realized that the hunt had finally begun for him.
The buildings on the opposite side of the square, or rather their ruins, merged into a single line in Volodya's optics. “What sparkled, the optics?” thought the hunter, and he knew cases when a sable saw a sight glinting in the sun and went away. The place he chose was located under the roof of a five-story residential building. Snipers always like to be on top so they can see everything. And he lay under the roof - under a sheet of old tin, the wet snow rain, which kept coming and then stopping, did not wet it.

Abubakar tracked down Volodya only on the fifth night - he tracked him down by his pants. The fact is that the Yakuts had ordinary, cotton pants. This is an American camouflage worn by the Chechens, impregnated with a special composition, in which the uniform was invisible in night vision devices, and the domestic one glowed with a bright light green light. So Abubakar “identified” the Yakut into the powerful night optics of his “Bur”, custom-made by English gunsmiths back in the 70s.
One bullet was enough, Volodya rolled out from under the roof and fell painfully with his back on the steps of the stairs. “The main thing is that I didn’t break the rifle,” thought the sniper.
- Well, that means a duel, yes, Mr. Chechen sniper! - the Yakut said to himself mentally without emotion.
Volodya specifically stopped shredding the “Chechen order.” The neat row of 200s with his sniper “autograph” on the eye stopped. “Let them believe that I was killed,” Volodya decided.
All he did was look out for where the enemy sniper got to him from.
Two days later, already during the day, he found Abubakar’s “bed”. He also lay under the roof, under a half-bent roofing sheet on the other side of the square. Volodya would not have noticed him if the Arab sniper had not been betrayed by a bad habit - he was smoking marijuana. Once every two hours, Volodya caught in his optics a light bluish haze that rose above the roofing sheet and was immediately carried away by the wind.

“So I found you, abrek! You can’t live without drugs! Good...” the Yakut hunter thought triumphantly; he did not know that he was dealing with an Arab sniper who had passed through both Abkhazia and Karabakh. But Volodya did not want to kill him just like that, by shooting through the roofing sheet. This was not the case with snipers, and even less so with fur hunters.
“Okay, you smoke while lying down, but you’ll have to get up to go to the toilet,” Volodya decided calmly and began to wait.

Only three days later did he figure out that Abubakar was crawling out from under the leaf to the right side, and not to the left, quickly did the job and returned to the “bed”. To “get” the enemy, Volodya had to change the shooting point at night. He couldn't do anything anew; any new roofing sheet would immediately give away a new sniper position. But Volodya found two fallen logs from the rafters with a piece of tin a little to the right, about fifty meters from his point. The place was excellent for shooting, but very inconvenient for a “bed”. For two more days Volodya looked out for the sniper, but he did not show up. Volodya had already decided that the enemy had left for good, when the next morning he suddenly saw that he had “opened up”. Three seconds of aiming with a slight exhalation, and the bullet hit the target. Abubakar was struck on the spot in the right eye. For some reason, against the impact of the bullet, he fell flat from the roof onto the street. A large, greasy stain of blood spread across the mud in the square of Dudayev’s palace, where an Arab sniper was killed on the spot by one hunter’s bullet.

“Well, I got you,” Volodya thought without any enthusiasm or joy. He realized that he had to continue his fight, showing his characteristic style. To prove that he is alive and that the enemy did not kill him a few days ago.

Volodya peered through his optics at the motionless body of the slain enemy. Nearby he saw a “Bur”, which he did not recognize, since he had never seen such rifles before. In a word, a hunter from the deep taiga!

And then he was surprised: the Chechens began to crawl out into the open to take the sniper’s body. Volodya took aim. Three people came out and bent over the body.
“Let them pick you up and carry you, then I’ll start shooting!” - Volodya triumphed.
The three Chechens actually lifted the body. Three shots were fired. Three bodies fell on top of the dead Abubakar.

Four more Chechen volunteers jumped out of the ruins and, throwing away the bodies of their comrades, tried to pull out the sniper. A Russian machine gun started working from the side, but the bursts fell a little higher, without causing harm to the hunched Chechens.

“Oh, mabuta infantry! You’re just wasting ammunition...” thought Volodya.
Four more shots sounded, almost merging into one. Four more corpses had already formed a pile.

Volodya killed 16 militants that morning. He did not know that Basayev had given the order to get the Arab’s body at all costs before it began to get dark. He had to be sent to the mountains to be buried there before sunrise, as an important and respectable Mujahid.

A day later, Volodya returned to Rokhlin’s headquarters. The general immediately received him as a dear guest. The news of the duel between two snipers had already spread throughout the army.

Well, how are you, Volodya, tired? Do you want to go home?
Volodya warmed his hands at the stove.
- That’s it, Comrade General, I’ve done my job, it’s time to go home. Spring work at the camp begins. The military commissar only released me for two months. My two younger brothers worked for me all this time. It's time to know...

Rokhlin nodded his head in understanding.
- Take a good rifle, my chief of staff will draw up the documents...
- Why, I have my grandfather’s. - Volodya lovingly hugged the old carbine.

The general did not dare to ask the question for a long time. But curiosity got the better of me.
- How many enemies did you defeat, did you count? They say that more than a hundred... Chechens were talking to each other.
Volodya lowered his eyes.
- 362 people, Comrade General. Rokhlin, silently, patted the Yakut on the shoulder.
- Go home, we can handle it ourselves now...
- Comrade General, if anything happens, call me again, I’ll sort out the work and come a second time!
Volodya’s face showed frank concern for the entire Russian Army.

By God, I'll come!

The Order of Courage found Volodya Kolotov six months later. On this occasion, the entire collective farm celebrated, and the military commissar allowed the sniper to go to Yakutsk to buy new boots - the old ones had become worn out in Chechnya. A hunter stepped on some pieces of iron.

On the day when the whole country learned about the death of General Lev Rokhlin, Volodya also heard about what happened on the radio. He drank alcohol on the premises for three days. He was found drunk in a temporary hut by other hunters returning from hunting.

Volodya kept repeating drunk:
- It’s okay, Comrade General Rokhlya, if necessary we will come, just tell me...
He was sobered up in a nearby stream, but from then on Volodya no longer wore his Order of Courage in public.

18-year-old Yakut Volodya from a distant deer camp was a sable hunter. It had to happen that I came to Yakutsk for salt and ammunition, and accidentally saw in the dining room on TV piles of corpses of Russian soldiers on the streets of Grozny, smoking tanks and some words about “Dudaev’s snipers.” This got into Volodya’s head, so much so that the hunter returned to the camp, took his earned money, and sold the little gold he had found. He took his grandfather’s rifle and all the cartridges, put the icon of St. Nicholas the Saint in his bosom and went to fight.

It’s better not to remember how I was driving, how I sat in the bullpen, how many times my rifle was taken away. But, nevertheless, a month later the Yakut Volodya arrived in Grozny.
Volodya had only heard about one general who was regularly fighting in Chechnya, and he began to look for him in the February mudslide. Finally, the Yakut was lucky and reached the headquarters of General Rokhlin.

The only document besides his passport was a handwritten certificate from the military commissar stating that Vladimir Kolotov, a hunter by profession, was heading to war, signed by the military commissar. The piece of paper, which had become frayed on the road, had saved his life more than once.

Rokhlin, surprised that someone came to the war of his own free will, ordered the Yakut to be allowed to come to him.
- Excuse me, please, are you that General Rokhlya? – Volodya asked respectfully.
“Yes, I’m Rokhlin,” answered the tired general, who peered inquisitively at a short man dressed in a frayed padded jacket, with a backpack and a rifle on his back.
– I was told that you arrived at the war on your own. For what purpose, Kolotov?
“I saw on TV how the Chechens were killing our people with snipers. I can't stand this, Comrade General. It's a shame, though. So I came to bring them down. You don't need money, you don't need anything. I, Comrade General Rokhlya, will go hunting at night myself. Let them show me the place where they will put the cartridges and food, and I will do the rest myself. If I get tired, I’ll come back in a week, sleep in the warmth for a day, and go again. You don't need a walkie-talkie or anything like that... it's hard.

Surprised, Rokhlin nodded his head.
- Take, Volodya, at least a new SVDashka. Give him a rifle!
“No need, Comrade General, I’m going out into the field with my scythe.” Just give me some ammo, I only have 30 left now...

So Volodya began his war, the sniper war.

He slept for a day in the headquarters cabins, despite the mine shelling and terrible artillery fire. I took ammunition, food, water and went on my first “hunt”. They forgot about him at headquarters. Only reconnaissance regularly brought cartridges, food and, most importantly, water to the appointed place every three days. Each time I was convinced that the parcel had disappeared.

The first person to remember Volodya at the headquarters meeting was the “interceptor” radio operator.
– Lev Yakovlevich, the “Czechs” are in panic on the radio. They say that the Russians, that is, we, have a certain black sniper who works at night, boldly walks through their territory and shamelessly cuts down their personnel. Maskhadov even put a price of 30 thousand dollars on his head. His handwriting is like this – this fellow hits Chechens right in the eye. Why only by sight - the dog knows him...

And then the staff remembered about the Yakut Volodya.
“He regularly takes food and ammunition from the cache,” the intelligence chief reported.

“And so we didn’t exchange a word with him, we didn’t even see him even once.” Well, how did he leave you on the other side...

One way or another, the report noted that our snipers also give their snipers a light. Because Volodin’s work gave such results - from 16 to 30 people were killed by the fisherman with a shot in the eye.

The Chechens figured out that the federals had a commercial hunter on Minutka Square. And since the main events of those terrible days took place in this square, a whole detachment of Chechen volunteers came out to catch the sniper.

Then, in February 1995, at Minutka, thanks to Rokhlin’s cunning plan, our troops had already reduced almost three-quarters of the personnel of the so-called “Abkhaz” battalion of Shamil Basayev. Volodya’s Yakut carbine also played a significant role here. Basayev promised a golden Chechen star to anyone who would bring the body of a Russian sniper. But the nights passed in unsuccessful searches. Five volunteers walked along the front line in search of Volodya’s “beds”, placing tripwires wherever he could appear in the direct line of sight of their positions. However, this was a time when groups from both sides broke through the enemy’s defenses and penetrated deeply into its territory. Sometimes it was so deep that there was no longer any chance to break out to our own people. But Volodya slept during the day under the roofs and in the basements of houses. The corpses of Chechens - the night "work" of a sniper - were buried the next day.

Then, tired of losing 20 people every night, Basayev called from the reserves in the mountains a master of his craft, a teacher from a camp for training young shooters, the Arab sniper Abubakar. Volodya and Abubakar could not help but meet in a night battle, such are the laws of sniper warfare.

And they met two weeks later. More precisely, Abubakar hit Volodya with a drill rifle. A powerful bullet, which once killed Soviet paratroopers right through in Afghanistan at a distance of one and a half kilometers, pierced the padded jacket and slightly caught the arm, just below the shoulder. Volodya, feeling the rush of a hot wave of oozing blood, realized that the hunt had finally begun for him.

The buildings on the opposite side of the square, or rather their ruins, merged into a single line in Volodya's optics. “What flashed, the optics?” thought the hunter, and he knew cases when a sable saw a sight flashing in the sun and went away. The place he chose was located under the roof of a five-story residential building. Snipers always like to be on top so they can see everything. And he lay under the roof - under a sheet of old tin, the wet snow rain, which kept coming and then stopping, did not wet it.

Abubakar tracked down Volodya only on the fifth night - he tracked him down by his pants. The fact is that the Yakuts had ordinary, cotton pants. This is an American camouflage, which was often worn by Chechens, impregnated with a special composition, in which the uniform was indistinctly visible in night vision devices, and the domestic uniform glowed with a bright light green light. So Abubakar “identified” the Yakut into the powerful night optics of his “Bur”, custom-made by English gunsmiths back in the 70s.

One bullet was enough, Volodya rolled out from under the roof and fell painfully with his back on the steps of the stairs. “The main thing is that I didn’t break the rifle,” thought the sniper.
- Well, that means a duel, yes, Mr. Chechen sniper! - the Yakut said to himself mentally without emotion.

Volodya specifically stopped shredding the “Chechen order.” The neat row of 200s with his sniper “autograph” on the eye stopped. “Let them believe that I was killed,” Volodya decided.

All he did was look out for where the enemy sniper got to him from.
Two days later, already in the afternoon, he found Abubakar’s “bed”. He also lay under the roof, under a half-bent roofing sheet on the other side of the square. Volodya would not have noticed him if the Arab sniper had not been betrayed by a bad habit - he was smoking marijuana. Once every two hours, Volodya caught a light bluish haze through his optics, rising above the roofing sheet and immediately being carried away by the wind.

“So I found you, abrek! You can’t live without drugs! Good...” the Yakut hunter thought triumphantly; he did not know that he was dealing with an Arab sniper who had passed through both Abkhazia and Karabakh. But Volodya did not want to kill him just like that, by shooting through the roofing sheet. This was not the case with snipers, and even less so with fur hunters.
“Okay, you smoke while lying down, but you’ll have to get up to go to the toilet,” Volodya decided calmly and began to wait.

Only three days later did he figure out that Abubakar was crawling out from under the leaf to the right side, and not to the left, quickly did the job and returned to the “bed”. To “get” the enemy, Volodya had to change his position at night. He couldn't do anything anew, because any new roofing sheet would immediately give away his new location. But Volodya found two fallen logs from the rafters with a piece of tin a little to the right, about fifty meters from his point. The place was excellent for shooting, but very inconvenient for a “bed”. For two more days Volodya looked out for the sniper, but he did not show up. Volodya had already decided that the enemy had left for good, when the next morning he suddenly saw that he had “opened up.” Three seconds of aiming with a slight exhalation, and the bullet hit the target. Abubakar was struck on the spot in the right eye. For some reason, against the impact of the bullet, he fell flat from the roof onto the street. A large, greasy stain of blood spread across the mud in the square of Dudayev’s palace, where an Arab sniper was killed on the spot by one hunter’s bullet.

“Well, I got you,” Volodya thought without any enthusiasm or joy. He realized that he had to continue his fight, showing his characteristic style. To prove that he is alive and that the enemy did not kill him a few days ago.

Volodya peered through his optics at the motionless body of the slain enemy. Nearby he saw a “Bur”, which he did not recognize, since he had never seen such rifles before. In a word, a hunter from the deep taiga!

And then he was surprised: the Chechens began to crawl out into the open to take the sniper’s body. Volodya took aim. Three people came out and bent over the body.
“Let them pick you up and carry you, then I’ll start shooting!” - Volodya triumphed.

The three of the Chechens actually lifted the body. Three shots were fired. Three bodies fell on top of the dead Abubakar.

Four more Chechen volunteers jumped out of the ruins and, throwing away the bodies of their comrades, tried to pull out the sniper. A Russian machine gun started working from the side, but the bursts fell a little higher, without causing harm to the hunched Chechens.

Four more shots rang out, almost merging into one. Four more corpses had already formed a pile.

Volodya killed 16 militants that morning. He did not know that Basayev had given the order to get the Arab’s body at all costs before it began to get dark. He had to be sent to the mountains to be buried there before sunrise, as an important and respectable Mujahid.

A day later, Volodya returned to Rokhlin’s headquarters. The general immediately received him as a dear guest. The news of the duel between two snipers had already spread throughout the army.
- Well, how are you, Volodya, tired? Do you want to go home?

Volodya warmed his hands at the stove.
“That’s it, Comrade General, I’ve done my job, it’s time to go home.” Spring work at the camp begins. The military commissar only released me for two months. My two younger brothers worked for me all this time. It's time to know...

Rokhlin nodded his head in understanding.
- Take a good rifle, my chief of staff will draw up the documents...
- Why, I have my grandfather’s. – Volodya lovingly hugged the old carbine.

The general did not dare to ask the question for a long time. But curiosity got the better of me.
– How many enemies did you defeat, did you count? They say that more than a hundred... Chechens were talking to each other.

Volodya lowered his eyes.
– 362 militants, Comrade General.
- Well, go home, now we can handle it ourselves...
- Comrade General, if anything happens, call me again, I’ll sort out the work and come a second time!

Volodya’s face showed frank concern for the entire Russian Army.
- By God, I’ll come!

The Order of Courage found Volodya Kolotov six months later. On this occasion, the entire collective farm celebrated, and the military commissar allowed the sniper to go to Yakutsk to buy new boots - the old ones had become worn out in Chechnya. A hunter stepped on some pieces of iron.

On the day when the whole country learned about the death of General Lev Rokhlin, Volodya also heard about what happened on the radio. He drank alcohol on the premises for three days. He was found drunk in a temporary hut by other hunters returning from hunting. Volodya kept repeating drunk:
- It’s okay, Comrade General Rokhlya, if necessary we will come, just tell me...

After Vladimir Kolotov left for his homeland, scum in officer uniform sold his information to Chechen terrorists, who he was, where he came from, where he went, etc. The Yakut Sniper inflicted too many losses on the evil spirits.

Vladimir was killed by a shot from 9 mm. pistol in his yard while he was chopping wood. The criminal case was never solved.

The first Chechen war. How it all started.
***
For the first time I heard the legend of Volodya the sniper, or as he was also called - Yakut (and the nickname is so textured that it even migrated to the famous television series about those days). They told it in different ways, along with legends about the Eternal Tank, the Death Girl and other army folklore. Moreover, the most amazing thing is that in the story about Volodya the sniper, an almost letter-by-word similarity with the great Zaitsev, who killed Hans, a major, the head of the Berlin sniper school, was amazingly traced. To be honest, I then perceived it as... well, let's say, like folklore - at a rest stop - and it was believed and not believed. Then there was a lot of things, as, indeed, in any war, which you won’t believe, but turns out to be TRUE. Life is generally more complex and unexpected than any fiction.

Later, in 2003-2004, one of my friends and comrades told me that he personally knew this guy, and that indeed HE WAS. Whether there was that same duel with Abubakar, and whether the Czechs actually had such a super sniper, to be honest, I don’t know, they had enough serious snipers, and especially in the First Campaign. And it was serious, including South African SSVs, and cereals (including prototypes of the B-94, which were just entering pre-series, the spirits already had, and with numbers in the first hundred - Pakhomych will not let you lie.
How they ended up with them is a separate story, but nevertheless, the Czechs had such trunks. And they themselves made semi-handicraft SCVs near Grozny.)

Volodya the Yakut really worked alone, he worked exactly as described - by eye. And the rifle he had was exactly the one described - an old Mosin three-line rifle of pre-revolutionary production, with a faceted breech and a long barrel - an infantry model of 1891.

The real name of Volodya-Yakut is Vladimir Maksimovich Kolotov, originally from the village of Iengra in Yakutia. However, he himself is not a Yakut, but an Evenk.

At the end of the First Campaign, he was patched up in the hospital, and since he was officially a nobody and there was no way to call him, he simply went home.

By the way, his combat score is most likely not exaggerated, but understated... Moreover, no one kept an accurate account, and the sniper himself did not particularly brag about it.

Rokhlin, Lev Yakovlevich

From December 1, 1994 to February 1995, he headed the 8th Guards Army Corps in Chechnya. Under his leadership, a number of areas of Grozny were captured, including the presidential palace. On January 17, 1995, generals Lev Rokhlin and Ivan Babichev were appointed by the military command to contact the Chechen field commanders with the aim of a ceasefire.

Murder of a General

On the night of July 2-3, 1998, he was found murdered at his own dacha in the village of Klokovo, Naro-Fominsk district, Moscow region. According to the official version, his wife, Tamara Rokhlina, shot at the sleeping Rokhlin; the reason was given as a family quarrel.

In November 2000, the Naro-Fominsk City Court found Tamara Rokhlina guilty of the premeditated murder of her husband. In 2005, Tamara Rokhlina appealed to the ECHR, complaining about the long period of pre-trial detention and the delay in the trial. The complaint was upheld and monetary compensation was awarded (EUR 8,000). After a new consideration of the case, on November 29, 2005, the Naro-Fominsk City Court for the second time found Rokhlina guilty of murdering her husband and sentenced her to four years of suspended imprisonment, also assigning her a probationary period of 2.5 years.

During the investigation of the murder, three charred corpses were found in a forested area near the crime scene. According to the official version, their death occurred shortly before the assassination of the general, and has nothing to do with him. However, many of Rokhlin’s associates believed that they were real murderers who were eliminated by the Kremlin’s special services, “covering their tracks”

For his participation in the Chechen campaign, he was nominated for the highest honorary title of Hero of the Russian Federation, but refused to accept this title, stating that he “has no moral right to receive this award for military operations on the territory of his own country.”

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Story
Historical figures, Army history

Volodya Kolosov. Yakut sniper. Call sign "Yakut". (hero of the first Chechen war)

Volodya did not have a walkie-talkie, there were no new “bells and whistles” in the form of dry alcohol, drinking straws and other junk. There was not even unloading; he did not take the bulletproof vest himself. Volodya had only his grandfather’s old hunting carbine with captured German optics, 30 rounds of ammunition, a flask of water and cookies in his quilted jacket pocket. Yes, the hat with ear flaps was shabby. The boots, however, were good; after last year’s fishing, he bought them at a fair in Yakutsk, right on the rafting trip to Lena from some visiting traders.

This is how he fought for the third day.

A sable hunter, an 18-year-old Yakut from a distant reindeer camp. It had to happen that I came to Yakutsk for salt and ammunition, and accidentally saw in the dining room on TV piles of corpses of Russian soldiers on the streets of Grozny, smoking tanks and some words about “Dudaev’s snipers.” This got into Volodya’s head, so much so that the hunter returned to the camp, took his earned money, and sold the little gold he had found. He took his grandfather’s rifle and all the cartridges, put the icon of St. Nicholas the Saint in his bosom and went to fight the Yakuts for the Russian cause.

It’s better not to remember how I was driving, how I sat in the bullpen three times, how many times my rifle was taken away. But, nevertheless, a month later the Yakut Volodya arrived in Grozny.

Volodya had only heard about one general who was regularly fighting in Chechnya, and he began to look for him in the February mudslide. Finally, the Yakut was lucky and reached the headquarters of General Rokhlin.

the photo is off topic - but the ceremonial portrait of the general is not ice at all

The only document besides his passport was a handwritten certificate from the military commissar stating that Vladimir Kolotov, a hunter by profession, was heading to war, signed by the military commissar. The piece of paper, which had become frayed on the road, had saved his life more than once.

Rokhlin, surprised that someone came to the war of his own free will, ordered the Yakut to be allowed to come to him.

Volodya, squinting at the dim lights blinking from the generator, causing his slanted eyes to blur even more, like a bear, walked sideways into the basement of the old building, which temporarily housed the general’s headquarters.

- Excuse me, please, are you that General Rokhlya? – Volodya asked respectfully.

“Yes, I’m Rokhlin,” answered the tired general, who peered inquisitively at a short man dressed in a frayed padded jacket, with a backpack and a rifle on his back.

- Would you like some tea, hunter?

- Thank you, Comrade General. I haven't had a hot drink for three days. I won't refuse.

Volodya took his iron mug out of his backpack and handed it to the general. Rokhlin himself poured him tea to the brim.

– I was told that you arrived at the war on your own. For what purpose, Kolotov?

“I saw on TV how the Chechens were killing our people with snipers. I can't stand this, Comrade General. It's a shame, though. So I came to bring them down. You don't need money, you don't need anything. I, Comrade General Rokhlya, will go hunting at night myself. Let them show me the place where they will put the cartridges and food, and I will do the rest myself. If I get tired, I’ll come back in a week, sleep in the warmth for a day, and go again. You don't need a walkie-talkie or anything like that... it's hard.

Surprised, Rokhlin nodded his head.

- Take, Volodya, at least a new SVDashka. Give him a rifle!

“No need, Comrade General, I’m going out into the field with my scythe.” Just give me some ammo, I only have 30 left now...

So Volodya began his war, the sniper war.

He slept for a day in the headquarters cabins, despite the mine shelling and terrible artillery fire. I took ammunition, food, water and went on my first “hunt”. They forgot about him at headquarters. Only reconnaissance regularly brought cartridges, food and, most importantly, water to the appointed place every three days. Each time I was convinced that the parcel had disappeared.

The first person to remember Volodya at the headquarters meeting was the “interceptor” radio operator.

– Lev Yakovlevich, the “Czechs” are in panic on the radio. They say that the Russians, that is, we, have a certain black sniper who works at night, boldly walks through their territory and shamelessly cuts down their personnel. Maskhadov even put a price of 30 thousand dollars on his head. His handwriting is like this – this fellow hits Chechens right in the eye. Why only by sight - the dog knows him...

And then the staff remembered about the Yakut Volodya.

“He regularly takes food and ammunition from the cache,” the intelligence chief reported.

“And so we didn’t exchange a word with him, we didn’t even see him even once.” Well, how did he leave you on the other side...

One way or another, the report noted that our snipers also give their snipers a light. Because Volodin’s work gave such results - from 16 to 30 people per night were killed by the fisherman with a shot in the eye.

The Chechens realized that a Russian fisherman had appeared on Minutka Square. And since all the events of those terrible days took place in this square, a whole detachment of Chechen volunteers came out to catch the sniper.

Then, in February 1995, at Minutka, the “federals,” thanks to Rokhlin’s cunning plan, had already crushed Shamil Basayev’s “Abkhaz” battalion by almost three-quarters of its personnel. Volodya’s Yakut carbine also played a significant role here.

Basayev promised a golden Chechen star to the one who brought the corpse of the Russian sniper. But the nights passed in unsuccessful searches. Five volunteers walked along the front line in search of Volodya’s “beds”, placing tripwires wherever he could appear in the direct line of sight of their positions. However, this was a time when groups from both sides broke through the enemy’s defenses and penetrated deeply into its territory. Sometimes it was so deep that there was no longer any chance to break out to our own people. But Volodya slept during the day under the roofs and in the basements of houses. The corpses of Chechens - the night "work" of a sniper - were buried the next day.

Then, tired of losing 20 people every night, Basayev called from the reserves in the mountains a master of his craft, a teacher from the camp for training young shooters, the Arab sniper Abubakar. Volodya and Abubakar could not help but meet in a night battle, such are the laws of sniper warfare.

And they met two weeks later. More precisely, Abubakar hit Volodya with a drill rifle. A powerful bullet, which once killed Soviet paratroopers right through in Afghanistan at a distance of one and a half kilometers, pierced the padded jacket and slightly caught the arm, just below the shoulder. Volodya, feeling the rush of a hot wave of oozing blood, realized that the hunt had finally begun for him.

The buildings on the opposite side of the square, or rather their ruins, merged into a single line in Volodya's optics.

“What sparkled, the optics?” thought the hunter, and he knew cases when a sable saw a sight glinting in the sun and went away. The place he chose was located under the roof of a five-story residential building.

Snipers always like to be on top so they can see everything. And he lay under the roof - under a sheet of old tin, the wet snow rain, which kept coming and then stopping, did not wet it.

Abubakar tracked down Volodya only on the fifth night - he tracked him down by his pants. The fact is that the Yakuts had ordinary, cotton pants. This is an American camouflage worn by the Chechens, impregnated with a special composition, in which the uniform was invisible in night vision devices, and the domestic one glowed with a bright light green light. So Abubakar “identified” the Yakut into the powerful night optics of his “Bur”, custom-made by English gunsmiths back in the 70s.

One bullet was enough, Volodya rolled out from under the roof and fell painfully with his back on the steps of the stairs. “The main thing is that I didn’t break the rifle,” thought the sniper.

- Well, that means a duel, yes, Mr. Chechen sniper! - the Yakut said to himself mentally without emotion.

Volodya specifically stopped shredding the “Chechen order.”

The neat row of 200s with his sniper “autograph” on the eye stopped.

“Let them believe that I was killed,” Volodya decided.

All he did was look out for where the enemy sniper got to him from.

Two days later, already during the day, he found Abubakar’s “bed”. He also lay under the roof, under a half-bent roofing sheet on the other side of the square. Volodya would not have noticed him if the Arab sniper had not been betrayed by a bad habit - he was smoking marijuana. Once every two hours, Volodya caught in his optics a light bluish haze that rose above the roofing sheet and was immediately carried away by the wind.

“So I found you, abrek! You can’t live without drugs! Good...” the Yakut hunter thought triumphantly; he did not know that he was dealing with an Arab sniper who had passed through both Abkhazia and Karabakh. But Volodya did not want to kill him just like that, by shooting through the roofing sheet. This was not the case with snipers, and even less so with fur hunters.

“Okay, you smoke while lying down, but you’ll have to get up to go to the toilet,” Volodya decided calmly and began to wait.

Only three days later did he figure out that Abubakar was crawling out from under the leaf to the right side, and not to the left, quickly did the job and returned to the “bed”. To “get” the enemy, Volodya had to change the shooting point at night. He couldn't do anything anew; any new roofing sheet would immediately give away a new sniper position.

But Volodya found two fallen logs from the rafters with a piece of tin a little to the right, about fifty meters from his point. The place was excellent for shooting, but very inconvenient for a “bed”. For two more days Volodya looked out for the sniper, but he did not show up. Volodya had already decided that the enemy had left for good, when the next morning he suddenly saw that he had “opened up”.

Three seconds of aiming with a slight exhalation, and the bullet hit the target.

Http://www.sovsekretno.ru/arti...

Abubakar was struck on the spot in the right eye. For some reason, against the impact of the bullet, he fell flat from the roof onto the street. A large, greasy stain of blood spread across the mud in the square of Dudayev’s palace, where an Arab sniper was killed on the spot by one hunter’s bullet.

“Well, I got you,” Volodya thought without any enthusiasm or joy. He realized that he had to continue his fight, showing his characteristic style. To prove that he is alive and that the enemy did not kill him a few days ago.

Volodya peered through his optics at the motionless body of the slain enemy. Nearby he saw a “Bur”, which he did not recognize, since he had never seen such rifles before. In a word, a hunter from the deep taiga!

And then he was surprised: the Chechens began to crawl out into the open to take the sniper’s body. Volodya took aim. Three people came out and bent over the body.

“Let them pick you up and carry you, then I’ll start shooting!” - Volodya triumphed.

The three Chechens actually lifted the body. Three shots were fired. Three bodies fell on top of the dead Abubakar.

Four more Chechen volunteers jumped out of the ruins and, throwing away the bodies of their comrades, tried to pull out the sniper. A Russian machine gun started working from the side, but the bursts fell a little higher, without causing harm to the hunched Chechens.

“Oh, mabuta infantry! You’re just wasting ammunition...” thought Volodya.

Four more shots sounded, almost merging into one. Four more corpses had already formed a pile.

Volodya killed 16 militants that morning. He did not know that Basayev had given the order to get the Arab’s body at all costs before it began to get dark. He had to be sent to the mountains to be buried there before sunrise, as an important and respectable Mujahid.

A day later, Volodya returned to Rokhlin’s headquarters. The general immediately received him as a dear guest. The news of the duel between two snipers had already spread throughout the army.

- Well, how are you, Volodya, tired? Do you want to go home?

Volodya warmed his hands at the stove.

“That’s it, Comrade General, I’ve done my job, it’s time to go home.” Spring work at the camp begins. The military commissar only released me for two months. My two younger brothers worked for me all this time. It's time to know...

Rokhlin nodded his head in understanding.

- Take a good rifle, my chief of staff will draw up the documents...

- Why, I have my grandfather’s. – Volodya lovingly hugged the old carbine.

* Volodya had an upper one - with an old-style faceted breech with a long barrel, an “infantry rifle” of 1891

The general did not dare to ask the question for a long time. But curiosity got the better of me.

– How many enemies did you defeat, did you count? They say that more than a hundred... Chechens were talking to each other.

Volodya lowered his eyes.

– 362 people, Comrade General. Rokhlin, silently, patted the Yakut on the shoulder.

- Go home, we can handle it ourselves now...

- Comrade General, if anything happens, call me again, I’ll sort out the work and come a second time!

Volodya’s face showed frank concern for the entire Russian Army.

- By God, I’ll come!

The Order of Courage found Volodya Kolotov six months later. On this occasion, the entire collective farm celebrated, and the military commissar allowed the sniper to go to Yakutsk to buy new boots - the old ones had worn out in Chechnya. A hunter stepped on some pieces of iron.

On the day when the whole country learned about the death of General Lev Rokhlin, Volodya also heard about what happened on the radio. He drank alcohol on the premises for three days. He was found drunk in a temporary hut by other hunters returning from hunting. Volodya kept repeating drunk:

- It’s okay, Comrade General Rokhlya, if necessary we will come, just tell me...

He was sobered up in a nearby stream, but from then on Volodya no longer wore his Order of Courage in public.

The basis is taken here:

Everyone else is blatantly copy-pasting, adding their own.

Http://russiahousenews.info/ou...
Moreover, the most amazing thing is that in the story about Volodya the sniper, an almost letter-by-word similarity was surprisingly traced with the story of the great Zaitsev, who killed Hans, a major, the head of the Berlin sniper school in Stalingrad. To be honest, I then perceived it as... well, let's say, like folklore - at a rest stop - and it was believed and not believed.

Then there was a lot of things, as, indeed, in any war, which you won’t believe, but turns out to be TRUE. Life is generally more complex and unexpected than any fiction.

Later, in 2003-2004, one of my friends and comrades told me that he personally knew this guy, and that indeed HE WAS. Whether there was that same duel with Abubakar, and whether the Czechs actually had such a super-sniper, to be honest, I don’t know, they had enough serious snipers, and especially in the First Campaign. And there were serious weapons, including South African SSVs, and cereals (including prototypes of the B-94, which were just entering pre-series, the spirits already had, and with numbers in the first hundred - Pakhomych will not let you lie.

How they ended up with them is a separate story, but nevertheless, the Czechs had such trunks. And they themselves made semi-handicraft SCVs near Grozny.)

Volodya the Yakut really worked alone, he worked exactly as described - by eye. And the rifle he had was exactly the one described - an old Mosin three-line rifle of pre-revolutionary production, with a faceted breech and a long barrel - an infantry model of 1891.

The real name of Volodya-Yakut is Vladimir Maksimovich Kolotov, originally from the village of Iengra in Yakutia. However, he himself is not a Yakut, but an Evenk.

18-year-old Yakut Volodya from a distant deer camp was a hunter - a sable hunter. It had to happen that I came to Yakutsk for salt and ammunition, and accidentally saw in the dining room on TV piles of corpses of Russian soldiers on the streets of Grozny, smoking tanks and some words about “Dudaev’s Snipers.” This got into Volodya’s head, so much so that the hunter returned to the camp, took his earned money, and sold the little gold he had found.
. He took his grandfather’s rifle and all the cartridges, put the icon of Nicholas the Saint in his bosom and went to fight.

It’s better not to remember how I was driving, how I sat in the bullpen, how many times my rifle was taken away. But, nevertheless, a month later the Yakut Volodya arrived in Grozny.
Volodya had only heard about one general who was fighting regularly, and he began to look for him in the February thaw. Finally, the Yakut was lucky and reached the headquarters of General Rokhlin.

The only document besides his passport was a handwritten certificate from the military commissar stating that Vladimir Kolotov, a hunter by profession, was heading to war, signed by the military commissar. The piece of paper, which had become frayed on the road, had saved his life more than once.

Rokhlin, surprised that someone came to the war of his own free will, ordered the Yakut to be allowed to come to him.
- Excuse me, please, are you that weakling general? - Volodya asked respectfully.
“Yes, I’m Rokhlin,” answered the tired general, who peered inquisitively at a short man dressed in a frayed padded jacket, with a backpack and a rifle on his back.
- I was told that you came to the war on your own. For what purpose, stabs?
“I saw on TV how terrorists were killing ours with snipers. I can't stand this, Comrade General. It's a shame, though. So I came to bring them down. You don't need money, you don't need anything. I, Comrade General Rokhlya, will go hunting at night myself. Let them show me the place where they will put the cartridges and food, and I will do the rest myself. If I get tired, I’ll come back in a week, sleep in the warmth for a day and go again. You don’t need a walkie-talkie or anything like that... it’s hard.

Surprised, Rokhlin nodded his head.
- Take, Volodya, at least a new stamp. Give him a rifle!
- No need, Comrade General, I’m going out into the field with my scythe. Just give me some ammunition, I only have 30 left now...

So Volodya began his war, the sniper war.

He slept for a day in the headquarters cabins, despite the mine shelling and terrible artillery fire. I took ammunition, food, water and went on the first “Hunt”. They forgot about him at headquarters. Only reconnaissance regularly brought cartridges, food and, most importantly, water to the appointed place every three days. Each time I was convinced that the parcel had disappeared.

The first person to remember Volodya at the headquarters meeting was the “interceptor” radio operator.
- Lev Yakovlevich, the enemy is panicking on the radio. They say that we have a certain black sniper who works at night, boldly walks through their territory and shamelessly cuts down their personnel. Maskhadov even put a price of 30 thousand dollars on his head. His handwriting is like this - this fellow hits bandits right in the eye. Why, attention, only by sight - the dog knows him....

And then the staff remembered about the Yakut Volodya.
“He regularly takes food and ammunition from the cache,” the intelligence chief reported.
“And so we didn’t exchange a word with him, we didn’t even see him even once.” Well, how did he leave you on the other side...

One way or another, the report noted that our snipers also give their snipers a light. Because Volodin’s work gave such results - from 16 to 30 people were killed by the fisherman with a shot in the eye.

The terrorists realized that the feds had a hunter in the square for a moment. And since the main events of those terrible days took place in this square, a whole detachment of volunteers came out to catch the sniper.

Then, in February 1995, in a minute, thanks to Rokhlin’s cunning plan, our troops had already reduced almost three-quarters of the so-called personnel. "Abkhazian" battalion of Shamil Basayev. Volodya’s Yakut carbine also played a significant role here. Basayev promised a golden Chechen star to anyone who would bring the body of a Russian sniper. But the nights passed in unsuccessful searches. Five volunteers walked along the front line in search of Volodya’s “Beds”, placing tripwires wherever he could appear in direct visibility of their positions. However, this was a time when groups from both sides broke through the enemy’s defenses and penetrated deeply into its territory. Sometimes it was so deep that there was no longer any chance to break out to our own people. But Volodya slept during the day under the roofs and in the basements of houses. The corpses of the terrorists - the sniper's night "Work" - were buried the next day.

Then, tired of losing 20 people every night, Basayev called from the reserves in the mountains a master of his craft, a teacher from a camp for training young shooters, and a sniper - Arab Abubakar. Volodya and Abubakar could not help but meet in a night battle, such are the laws of sniper warfare.

And they met two weeks later. More precisely, Abubakar hit Volodya with a drill rifle. A powerful bullet, which once killed Soviet paratroopers right through in Afghanistan at a distance of one and a half kilometers, pierced the padded jacket and slightly caught the arm, just below the shoulder. Volodya, feeling the rush of a hot wave of oozing blood, realized that the hunt had finally begun for him.

The buildings on the opposite side of the square, or rather their ruins, merged into a single line in Volodya's optics. “What flashed, the optics?” the hunter thought, and he knew cases when a sable saw a sight flashing in the sun and went away. The place he chose was located under the roof of a five-story residential building. Snipers always like to be on top so they can see everything. And he lay under the roof - under a sheet of old tin, the wet snow rain, which kept coming and then stopping, did not wet it.

Abubakar tracked down Volodya only on the fifth night - he tracked him down by his pants. The fact is that the Yakuts had ordinary, cotton pants. This is an American camouflage, which was often worn by terrorists, impregnated with a special composition, in which the uniform was indistinctly visible in night vision devices, and the domestic uniform glowed with a bright light green light. So Abubakar “figured out” the Yakut through the powerful night optics of his “drill,” custom-made by English gunsmiths back in the 70s.

One bullet was enough, Volodya rolled out from under the roof and fell painfully with his back on the steps of the stairs. “The main thing is that I didn’t break the rifle,” thought the sniper.
- Well, that means a duel, yes, Mr. Sniper! - The Yakut said to himself mentally without emotion.

Volodya specifically stopped cutting up terrorists. The neat row of 200s with his sniper "Autograph" on the eye stopped. “Let them believe that I was killed,” Volodya decided.

All he did was look out for where the enemy sniper got to him from.
Two days later, already in the afternoon, he found Abubakar’s “Bed”. He also lay under the roof, under a half-bent roofing sheet on the other side of the square. Volodya would not have noticed him if the Arab sniper had not been betrayed by a bad habit - he was smoking marijuana. Once every two hours, Volodya caught a light bluish haze through his optics, rising above the roofing sheet and immediately being carried away by the wind.

“So I found you! You can’t live without drugs! Well...” the Yakut hunter thought triumphantly; he did not know that he was dealing with an Arab sniper who had passed through both Abkhazia and Karabakh. But Volodya did not want to kill him just like that, by shooting through the roofing sheet. This was not the case with snipers, and even less so with fur hunters.
“Okay, you smoke while lying down, but you’ll have to get up to go to the toilet,” Volodya decided calmly and began to wait.

Only three days later did he figure out that Abubakar was crawling out from under the leaf to the right side, and not to the left, quickly did the job and returned to the “Lezhanka”. In order to “get” the enemy, Volodya had to change his position at night. He couldn't do anything anew, because any new roofing sheet would immediately give away his new location. But Volodya found two fallen logs from the rafters with a piece of tin a little to the right, about fifty meters from his point. The place was excellent for shooting, but very inconvenient for “Lezhanka”. For two more days Volodya looked out for the sniper, but he did not show up. Volodya had already decided that the enemy had left for good, when the next morning he suddenly saw that he had “Opened”. Three seconds of aiming with a slight exhalation, and the bullet hit the target. Abubakar was struck on the spot in the right eye. For some reason, against the impact of the bullet, he fell flat from the roof onto the street. A large, greasy stain of blood spread across the mud in the square of Dudayev’s palace, where an Arab sniper was killed on the spot by one hunter’s bullet.

“Well, I got you,” Volodya thought without any enthusiasm or joy. He realized that he had to continue his fight, showing his characteristic style. To prove that he is alive and that the enemy did not kill him a few days ago.

Volodya peered through his optics at the motionless body of the slain enemy. Nearby he saw a “Bur”, which he did not recognize, since he had never seen such rifles before. In a word, a hunter from the deep taiga!

And then he was surprised: the militants began to crawl out into the open to take the sniper’s body. Volodya took aim. Three people came out and bent over the body.
“Let them pick you up and carry you, then I’ll start shooting!” - Volodya triumphed.

The three of the militants actually lifted the body. Three shots were fired. Three bodies fell on top of the dead Abubakar.

Four more militants jumped out of the ruins and, throwing away the bodies of their comrades, tried to pull out the sniper. A Russian machine gun started working from the side, but the bursts fell a little higher, without causing harm to the hunched over bandits.

Four more shots rang out, almost merging into one. Four more corpses had already formed a pile.

Volodya killed 16 militants that morning. He did not know that Basayev had given the order to get the Arab’s body at all costs before it began to get dark. He had to be sent to the mountains to be buried there before sunrise, as an important and respectable Mujahid.

A day later, Volodya returned to Rokhlin’s headquarters. The general immediately received him as a dear guest. The news of the duel between two snipers had already spread throughout the army.
- Well, how are you, Volodya, tired? Do you want to go home?

Volodya warmed his hands at the potbelly stove.
- That’s it, Comrade General, I’ve done my job, it’s time to go home. Spring work at the camp begins. The military commissar only released me for two months. My two younger brothers worked for me all this time. It's time and honor... to know.

Rokhlin nodded his head in understanding.
- Take a good rifle, my chief of staff will draw up the documents...
- Why, I have my grandfather’s. - Volodya lovingly hugged the old carbine.

The general did not dare to ask the question for a long time. But curiosity took over.
- How many enemies did you defeat, did you count? They say more than a hundred... militants were talking...

Volodya lowered his eyes.
- 362 militants, Comrade General.
- Well, go home, we can handle it ourselves now...
- Comrade General, if anything happens, call me again, I’ll sort out the work and come a second time!

Volodya’s face showed frank concern for the entire Russian army.
- By God, I’ll come!

The Order of Courage found Volodya Kolotov six months later. On this occasion, the entire collective farm celebrated, and the military commissar allowed the sniper to go to Yakutsk to buy new boots - the old ones had worn out in Grozny. The hunter stepped on some pieces of iron.

On the day when the whole country learned about the death of General Lev Rokhlin, Volodya also heard about what happened on the radio. He drank alcohol on the premises for three days. He was found drunk in a temporary hut by other hunters returning from hunting. Volodya kept repeating drunk:
- It’s okay, Comrade General the weakling, if necessary we will come, just tell me….

Volodya's real name is a Yakut - Vladimir Maksimovich Kolotov, originally from the village of Iengra in Yakutia. However, he himself is not a Yakut, but an Evenk.

At the end of the first campaign, he was patched up in the hospital, and since he was officially a nobody and there was no way to call him, he simply went home.

By the way, his combat score is most likely not exaggerated, but understated... especially since no one kept an accurate account, and the sniper himself did not particularly brag about it.

After Vladimir Kolotov left for his homeland, the scum in officer's uniform sold his data to the terrorists, who he was, where he was from, where he went, etc. The Yakut sniper inflicted too many losses on the evil spirits. Vladimir was killed by a shot from a 9 mm pistol in his yard, while he was chopping wood. The criminal case was never solved..."

Grozny during the First Chechen War (in the background is the Presidential Palace)

Volodya-Yakut is a fictional Russian sniper, the hero of the urban legend of the same name about the First Chechen War, who became famous for his high performance. The alleged real name is Vladimir Maksimovich Kolotov, although in the legend he is called Volodya. By profession, he is a commercial hunter from Yakutia (Yakut or Evenk by nationality, known under the call sign “Yakut”).

According to legend, 18-year-old Vladimir Kolotov arrived at the beginning of the war in Chechnya to meet General L.Ya. Rokhlin and expressed his desire to go to Chechnya as a volunteer, providing a passport and a certificate from the military registration and enlistment office. As a weapon, Vladimir chose an old Mosin rifle with an optical sight from the German Mauser 98k, refusing the more powerful SVD and asking the soldiers to only regularly leave him ammunition, food supplies and water in a cache. From subsequent radio intercepts, Russian radio operators learned that Kolotov was operating in Grozny on Minutka Square, killing from 16 to 30 people per day, and all the dead had fatal hits to the eye. Shamil Basayev promised to award the Order of the ChRI to the one who kills Kolotov, and Aslan Maskhadov also offered a monetary reward. However, the volunteers, despite searching for the sniper, died from his shots: thus, Kolotov was credited with the liquidation of almost the entire personnel of Basayev’s “Abkhaz battalion”.

Soon, Basayev called for help from the training camp of the Arab mercenary Abubakar, a rifle instructor who participated in the Georgian-Abkhaz and Karabakh wars. During one of the night skirmishes, Abubakar, armed with a British Lee-Enfield rifle, wounded Kolotov in the arm, having tracked him down in a night vision device (allegedly Russian camouflage was visible in night vision devices, but Chechen camouflage was not, since the Chechens impregnated it with some kind of secret composition) . The wounded Kolotov decided to mislead the Chechens about his death and stop shooting the militants, simultaneously starting a search for Abubakar. A week later, Vladimir destroyed Abubakar near the Presidential Palace of Grozny and then killed 16 more people who were trying to take away the Arab’s body and bury him before sunset. The next day he returned to headquarters and reported to Rokhlin that he had to return home on time (the military commissar only released him for two months). In a conversation with Rokhlin, Kolotov mentioned 362 militants he killed. Six months after returning to his homeland in Yakutia, Kolotov was awarded the Order of Courage.

According to the “official” version, the legend ends with a mention of the message about the murder of Rokhlin and the subsequent binge of Kolotov, from which he hardly emerged, even temporarily losing his mind, but since then he has refused to wear the Order of Courage. There are also two other endings: according to one version, Kolotov was killed in 2000 by an unknown person (probably a former Chechen militant) to whom someone sold Kolotov’s personal information; according to another, he remained to work as a hunter-commercial and allegedly received a meeting with the President of the Russian Federation D.A. Medvedev in 2009.

The story entitled “Volodya the Sniper” was published in the collection of stories “I am a Russian Warrior” by Alexei Voronin in March 1995, and in September 2011 it was published in the newspaper “Orthodox Cross”. The urban legend was popular in the 1990s among the military and took its place in the list of “horror stories” and other works of army folklore, but it began to actively spread on the Internet in 2011 and 2012, continuing to be published in subsequent years on various sites.

The fact of the existence of Vladimir Kolotov, who actually fought in Chechnya (as well as the existence of the Arab mercenary Abubakar) is not confirmed by any sources (including photographs depicting, at best, historical reenactors), and no documents have been found on Kolotov’s awarding the Order of Courage . There are photographs on the Internet described as a fragment of a meeting between Vladimir Kolotov and Russian President Dmitry Medvedev in 2009, but such photographs depict a resident of Yakutia, Vladimir Maksimov; Another photograph shows a representative of one of the peoples of Siberia holding an SVD rifle, who turned out to be not Vladimir Kolotov, but a certain “Batokha from Buryatia, from the 21st Sofrinsky brigade”

Brief summary of the series “Sniper 2: Tungus”:

The military action film “Sniper 2: Tungus (mini-series)” takes place in 1943. The Soviet sabotage group faces a responsible task - to seize important documents. To do this, scouts are sent behind enemy lines. Cover for them is provided by a group of female snipers, led by former hunter Mikhail Kononov, nicknamed Tungus. While carrying out the operation, the scouts stumbled upon an enemy ambush and were destroyed, and the snipers were captured. The Nazis release the girls and organize a real hunt in their tracks. They do not know that at this time the marksman Tungus begins to hunt them.

Today the story will be about the famous knife of the northern peoples of the Sakha Republic.

Yakut knife

The history of the Yakut knife is hidden in the darkness of centuries; there is no written or any significant evidence of the emergence of this interesting and original tool. No explanation has been preserved why its shape is not similar to the shape of similar knives or tools of other peoples.

Archaeological excavations carried out on the territory of modern Yakutia show that samples of knives recovered from early burial grounds and sites of ancient people have an undoubted resemblance to Yakut knives. This is truly an ancient knife.

What was this Northern knife like?

And it was completely different due to its wide functionality. Yakutsk knives have a very wide range of sizes - from the smallest to the very large. According to the style of production and application, they are divided into 12 varieties. If you do not dive into all the subtleties of these forms, then you can conditionally divide the Yakuts into 3 categories:

Bykhycha is a small knife with a blade length of 8 to 11 cm; such a knife is made for children and women. However, there are a number of tasks that are easier to solve with a knife with a small blade, so it can conditionally be classified as household.

The next category is Bychakh - the most common universal knife, with a blade length from 11 to 17 cm.

In the third category is Yakut called Khotonokh - this guy has a blade length above 17 cm, which makes him a combat weapon. Such things are made quite rarely now, since in our time it is difficult for them to find use.

In the classification of the Yakut knife, the width of the blade also plays a role.

If it is narrow, then it is classified as a tundra knife. This makes it easier to cut something or make a hole in something, which is primarily necessary in tundra conditions.

A knife with a wider blade is called Taiga. This Yakut is intended for cutting trophies or livestock, as well as for processing wood.

According to long-standing traditions, installation of Yakut is done like this:

The blade's shank is set into a birch suveli handle and firmly secured using two wooden wedges without the use of any sealants. And additionally, a tie is made of oxtail on the knife, which, when the additional one dries, tightens the handle. The scabbard is made of wood like the handle and is also covered with oxtail.

By the way, traditionally the sheath is worn on the belt in front, and the blade is placed in it with the cutting edge up.

Another interesting thing is that just a few years ago in Yakutsk, few people were interested in knives, and even among sophisticated knife lovers they were not particularly popular. But at one point, about the same thing happened to them as with spinners - everyone started talking about them.

Okay, everything was a little different)

Over time, these knives began to gain popularity very, very quickly, and today more and more craftsmen are devoting almost all their efforts to the production of just such Yakut knives. About the same thing happened with the NKVD Finns

But nevertheless, let's figure out why this rather strange Yakut knife is so good.

It’s just that this is the knife that the northern peoples invented at one time. And for them it became the main tool of survival; this knife was used for fishing, hunting and in general as a tool for working with wood and for any household tasks. We can say that this is the Yakut vision of a universal knife for bushcraft.

True, at that time such words, of course, did not yet exist.

In general, Yakut is an everyday hard worker

The most interesting and unusual thing about this knife is, of course, the blade - it is asymmetrical, the spine is straight and even, and the blade is sharp. But the Yakut knife is sharpened only on one side.

And here there are some disagreements - as various Internet sources say, the knife is sharpened from the lens side, but the craftsmen who make Yakuts in accordance with ancient traditions explain that it is necessary to sharpen from the fuller side.

First of all, it's much easier. And secondly, if you sharpen the sides of the lens, the sharpening will eventually reach the notch in the blade and the knife will no longer be fully functional.

In any case, the Yakut could easily sharpen itself with any pebble in field conditions - this was undoubtedly a fundamental factor.

On the right side there is a dol.

For left-handed people they made a knife with a fuller on the other side.

It can have a wide variety of shapes; some craftsmen prefer a notch that covers almost the entire area of ​​the blade, leaving a small edge near the butt. And some limit themselves to a small groove that is shifted closer to the handle, this Notch is called Yos.

It is not known for certain why it was made and there are many disputes and hypotheses

According to one version, this knife was inherited from its ancestors made of bone. In a bone cut in half, the filler remained from the bone marrow and was present on all knives made according to this principle.

According to another version, such a dol appeared as a result of the old forging technique used by the northern peoples.

According to the third version, such a debt made it possible to significantly save metal of which there was not so much. And many more versions.

But the main feature of such a knife is that, having a one-sided sharpening, it is incredibly good at planing wood, making planing, skinning animals and other everyday tasks of that time.

And what’s most interesting is that this is perhaps the first knife in which the dol actually served as a bloodstream

When cutting a carcass, due to the large fuller, the contact of the knife with the meat was minimal, which made it possible to work much faster, and the blood falling on the knife flowed down the fuller. How true this is is unknown, but they say that this is exactly what happened.

Among other things, the gutter significantly reduces the weight of the knife, and this was achieved so that a knife that fell into the water would not sink to the bottom

Still, the knife was a very valuable item at that time, which was used for survival every day and I really didn’t want to lose it.

In conclusion, it can be noted that in Yakut families, a child at the age of 5 received his first knife and the mother was not afraid that the child might get hurt. After all, a small wound and a little blood taught the child to be careful and careful, and therefore rational. And the first knife was made specifically for a child’s hand.

This is the real story

Video Forgotten hero, Volodya Yakut black sniper the Chechen thunderstorm

Since leaving for the sniper position, no news has been received from Vladimir Kolotov to the location of the Russian army. Thanks to the efforts of the scouts, he was regularly replenished with food and ammunition, but no one caught sight of him. They even managed to forget about the strange guy from the Yakut village.

News about Volodya came not from himself, but from the enemy. Some time later, thanks to intercepted negotiations at the Russian headquarters, it became known that the militants were in commotion. For the Chechens in the Minutka Square area, their quiet life is over. Now the night time has turned into absolute hell. It was after this that the Russian military remembered the Evenk hunter. It was Vladimir Kolotov who caused the panic of the Chechens. The sniper was distinguished by his special handwriting - he shot in the eye. Reports of the deaths of militants were received on a constant basis; on average, about 15-30 people died every night at the hands of a young hunter from a Yakut village.

In an effort to eliminate the dangerous sniper, the leadership of the Chechen militants promised their fighters a lot of money and high rewards. So, at Maskhadov’s headquarters they gave 30,000 dollars for Volodya’s head. Shamil Basayev, in turn, promised to give a gold star to the one who was lucky enough to kill a marksman. This was due to the fact that the strength of the battalion of one of the leaders of the Chechen militants, Vladimir Maksimovich Kolotov, was significantly reduced. The sniper caused enormous damage to manpower every night. An entire detachment was sent to neutralize the Evenk hunter, but their efforts were ineffective.

There are heroes in every war. During the first Chechen war, one of them was the sniper Volodya-Yakut, who chalked up the lives of hundreds of militants. His own life was cut short not by war, but by human betrayal.

Sniper Volodya-Yakut: Devoted Hero

Magazine: World of Crime No. 6, March 2018
Category: Unsolved crimes

18-year-old Vladimir Kolotov was forced to go to distant Yakutsk from the deer camp by necessity - there was no salt in the house. While staying with relatives, he accidentally saw the news about the storming of Grozny. The journalist described the corpses of soldiers lying on the streets as the work of Chechen snipers. A couple of hours later the guy was already standing at the local military registration and enlistment office.

“I want revenge!”

The military commissar was very surprised when a representative of the northern people came with a request to send him to war. It was not easy to find a conscript Yakut or Evenk in the tundra, but this one showed up himself, and even brought a three-line Mosin rifle with him.
“I want to go and serve with General Rokhla,” the volunteer repeated. - Give me the paper so they can let me in to see him.
Smiling at such naivety, the officer nevertheless wrote the paper and even stamped it. Soon Volodya went to the Caucasus with his rifle. When the commander of the 8th Guards Corps, General Rokhlin, was informed that a Yakut had arrived to him.
he was surprised, but ordered a volunteer to be released.
In front of him, the general saw a short boy with slanted eyes wearing an old quilted jacket.
- You were looking for me?!
- If you are General Rokhlya, then yes - I was looking.
- For what?!
Kolotov hesitated a little, not knowing how to start.
- I saw on TV that Chechen snipers killed many of our guys. So I decided to help our people. I have a rifle, I have a scope, I have eyes - I want to fight. I don’t need money, just give me food...
-Where did you even come from?! - Rokhlin was surprised.
Volodya handed over the paper from the military registration and enlistment office.
- So you want to serve?!
- I want to take revenge... I don’t care how you frame me.
Kolotov was assigned to the regiment, but they haven’t started registering it yet - they’ll kill the boy, and then there’ll be a lot of paperwork involved. Moreover, the next night the Yakut disappeared somewhere. When the scouts returned from the city in the morning, the senior group asked the commander:
- Comrade Colonel, why didn’t the sniper coordinate his actions with us?
- What sniper?! They all slept today.
The scout just grinned:
- He took off five spirits. And everyone was like a carbon copy - a shot in the eye.
Then the regiment commander remembered about the slanted recruit. And soon he himself appeared - tired and hungry. Everything was as the scouts said. After such a start, Volodya was offered an SVD, but he refused - preferring his grandfather’s Mosin carbine, with a German, still trophy sight. Every night he went on a free hunt, and scouts brought him ammunition, food and water to a certain place.
A week later, Rokhlin was reported about the Yakut.
- Comrade General, by radio interception, the militants are warning each other - they are afraid of our sniper. Almost thirty people in six days. All are shot in the eye. Maskhadov even put a reward on his head - 30 thousand dollars.
Rokhlin looked up from the map, thought and smiled.
- I didn’t deceive you, that means...

In Abubakar's sights

In February 1995, the famous “Abkhaz” battalion of Shamil Basayev Rokhlin destroyed almost 70%. Volodya the Yakut, whom the militants called “Black Death,” also contributed to this. His bullets took the lives of separatists almost every night. Considering that the guy had a signature handwriting - a shot in the eye, no one doubted that this was a top-class professional working. Field commander Shamil Basayev promised anyone who “takes down” the Russian shooter will be nominated for the highest award in Ichkeria. By the way, two almost got it. But when the “Black Death” went hunting again, it turned out that if they killed someone, it was not a Yakut.
Tired of losing people, Basayev asked for help from Arab curators. A week later, a veteran of the Afghan war, the Arab sniper Abubakar, arrived in Chechnya. He understood that a pro had appeared in Grozny, but he himself was one. In addition, the Arab had one advantage - his counterpart did not know about his existence. From the militants, Abubakar learned Volodya's typical hiding places - the attics of five-story buildings, which were ideal for shooting. As soon as a Yakut killed one of the militants, the data was immediately transmitted to Abubakar and he hurried to the shooting area. In the end, such a hunt yielded results - the Arab noticed a figure with a weapon in the attic. Russian camouflage reflected well in night vision devices, while the militants impregnated theirs with a special solution that blurred the contours. Hurrying before the enemy left, Abubakar took aim and fired. The bullet burned the Yakut's shoulder, and he immediately fell to the floor. Then he began to crawl away so as not to finish him off. It was not easy to apply a bandage with one hand, and Volodya lost enough blood. And Abubakar was already telling the militants on the radio where they needed to go to pick up the Russian’s corpse.
But instead of Volodya, the Chechens found only bloody stains. Abubakar swore, but decided that the shuravi could not go far. The bullet from the American Barrett sniper rifle was too large in caliber to survive its “kiss.”
Yakut was also pleased with this version. His hand was patched up in the hospital, and the fighter lay in the ward for several days. Meanwhile, news came to the hospital that Abubakar had become a real threat. They fired from tanks and artillery at the places where he lay down, but he quickly changed his position and was out of reach. “This means,” Kolotov decided, “I will have to take revenge not only for myself.”
Having been discharged from the hospital, Volodya did not delay his response, but, taking ammunition and provisions, went hunting in the evening. For three days, the Yakut did not touch ordinary militants, looking out for Abubakar. Finally, under the roofing sheet, he saw a small bluish smoke.

Death of a Hero

Since his youth, Abubakar loved to take a puff of marijuana, believing that it helped concentrate thoughts and vision. Yakut could flash through the leaf and kill the smoker, but he still did not understand whether it was the right person. But soon a shot was heard from under the roof, and a Russian soldier fell below. "It is he!" - Kolotov decided. But now he wanted not just to kill the Arab, but to leave his mark on him. To do this, it was necessary to wait for the mercenary to relax and show himself. This happened only two days later, when the Arab decided to inspect the area through the dormer window and boldly leaned out to his waist. Only this time Volodya made a slight mistake - the bullet entered not the eye, but the bridge of the nose. Abubakar lost his balance and fell down.
When the militants saw the Arab covered in blood, they immediately rushed to him. Volodya shot them as if in a shooting range. But Basayev ordered the body to be retrieved at all costs, because it had to be buried by sunset. He promised five thousand dollars to the one who pulled out the corpse. Soon there was already a pile of corpses lying next to the mercenary’s body. There are 16 people in total. Only late at night, when the Yakut left for the regiment, were the militants able to take Abubakar’s body.
After sleeping in an army kung, Volodya decided that he had had enough of war, and again went to Rokhlin. The general was in a good mood, and when he found out who wanted to talk to him, he willingly invited him into the tent.
- Well, what about Kolotov?! Well done! - the general began. - How many victories do you have?
“Three hundred and sixty-two,” Volodya said proudly. - However, it’s time for me to go home, the deer will soon be in rut - the brothers won’t be able to cope.
Rokhlin poured tea for himself and the soldier and, after a pause, said:
- You fought well. I won’t detain you, but I won’t let you go without a reward.
At first, the general offered the hunter a modern rifle with documents, but Volodya refused. He remembered how the police constantly stopped him with a weapon. Then the general promised the Yakut the Order of Courage.
“Your award will arrive at the military registration and enlistment office,” Rokhlin added.
And indeed, six months later Kolotov was awarded the order.
Volodya learned about the murder of Lev Rokhlin in 1998 on the radio. He no longer shot squirrels, but often took a drink from the glass. His brother sent him to the camp to graze deer, but even there Volodya managed to find alcohol. And now there was a reason - General Rokhlya was killed. Volodya greeted the unfamiliar man who came to him with a liter of vodka warmly. He said that he also fought in Chechnya. True, he didn’t say who. And Volodya simply told his story. It seemed that this was all the stranger wanted to hear. Seizing the moment, he pulled out a knife and hit the hero. He cut the throat of an already dead man.
But the killer miscalculated - before he had time to move away from the plague, Kolotov’s brothers arrived at the camp. Seeing his dead brother, one of them shot the killer, and only then they decided to call the police. The stranger did not have any documents, and fingerprints also did not clear up the picture. The local prosecutor's office reasonably believed that Kolotov was a victim of revenge - but who and how tracked him down in the Yakut outback remained a mystery.