This is yet another Russian dash cam video where the lack of context is largely outweighed by the "WTF" of it all. According to bad Russian translations, this appears to be some sort of Russian supercop holding on to a car at what we're told is approximately 40 mph.

Meet the cop that can't be stopped.

The other reading of this is that the Russian supercop isn't so much using his super strength to hold onto the car, but is instead stuck to the vehicle and being pulled/dragged by it. This isn't as fun, nor as Russian.

Here's our better, more Russian version of the story:

Sgt. Nikolai's seen it all. From the early days of Communism's fall, when he had to yank a drunk Boris Yeltsin out of a tank in Red Square, to today. Oligarchs in Benzes with their stupid flashing blue lights. No one knew who the real authority was.


Sgt. Nikolai knew. He was the authority. At least, he carried a gun and wore a uniform. Something tangible. He wasn't any secret police. He was the public kind. The kind that walked a beat, flashed a badge, and knew his neighborhood.

So when he saw that same silver Lada leaving the "на здоровье Cafe" he knew something was up. It was that damn Viktor again. Always ordering "another" round for the boys, but drinking more for himself. Viktor, who just last year crashed into Sgt. Nikolai's cherry GAZ.

Not this time, thought the Sgt. Not this time.

Sgt. Nikolai didn't even need to look at the oncoming cars. He'd seen it a million times before. Walked the bridge so long the traffic patterns were embedded in his brain like the vinyl grooves on a record. He jumped out across four lanes, instinctively dodging a Mazda and grabbing onto the back door of Viktor's dusty Lada.


"Stop, you asshole," Nikolai screamed as he grasped onto the open back window. Drunks were typically slow drivers and the Lada was barely going 11 mph when he grabbed on. This wasn't the first time Nikolai had snagged a drunk's car. That had a pattern, too.

But then something changed. Nikolai caught Viktor's worried stare in the driver's side mirror. Viktor wasn't drunk. Viktor was scared. But of what?

As they crossed the bridge they must have been going over 40 mph, but Nikolai wasn't going to let go. Something was up and the policeman in Sgt. Nikolai had to know what. Yes, it was his job. But it was also his compulsion.


As they reached the bottom of the bridge Viktor, white knuckled and panting, took a second to look behind him and realized who it was.

"Nikolai, you crazy fool, why are you holding onto my car?" he asked, a mixture of scared and surprised with just a hint of mischievous curiosity.

"I'm stopping your drunk ass so you don't kill anybody or yourself."

"I'm not drunk! I'm running!" Viktor explained.

"I don't care, just stop the car."

With that Viktor put all his force on the Lada's worn brakes, sending Sgt. Nikolai forward into the front seat. Upside down.


"That hurt," said Sgt. Nikolai, calmly. "What are you running from you fool?"

"The Russian mafia, who else? They think I'm informing on them."

"Are you?"

"Yes. And they're going to kill me and the guy I was informing to, they said," Viktor explained, nervously looking behind him for the sign of the black Land Rover that meant certain death.


"Who are you informing to?"

"It doesn't matter, they just saw you get into this car. In your uniform. They think it's you now. We're both dead."

Sgt. Nikolai pondered this for a moment. He had no one in Russia he loved. No reason to stay. Maybe this wasn't a problem. Maybe this was an opportunity. A chance to start anew somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Just so long as they could get out of Russia in one piece.


"Switch places with, I'm driving," Nikolai said.

"Where are we going?" Viktor asked while immediately ceding his position.

Nikolai shifted the Lada into gear.


(Hat tip to Greg!)