You Don't Wanna Steppe To This

In the early 1600s, the Dzungar tribe of Western Mongolia sought to unify the neighboring tribal kingdoms under their rule.  The nearby Torghut and Dörbet, however, felt that to be "totally uncool, bro" and "a bit of a dick move," so they followed the example of other steppe nomads, and migrated.  Specifically, they headed all the way across Central Asia, and arrived at a patch of grazing land along the Volga River, just North of the Caspian.  Once there, they formed the Kalmyk Khanate.

The land that they settled was nominally under the control the Russian Empire.  The Kalmyks, who were Buddhists, were seen as a buffer against neighboring Muslim states, so the Russians were quite happy to let them stay - under nominal Russian authority, of course.  They even established trade agreements, and recruited Kalmyk horsemen for the Russian military.

As time went on, however, the Russians wanted to make that authority a little less nominal, and began chipping away at the Kalmyk autonomy.  By 1770, the head of Kalmyks, Ubashi Khan, decided that he was sick of Russia's crap, and said "Screw you guys, I'm going home".  After sending an emissary to Tibet to consult the Dalai Lama for approval and selection of an auspicious date of departure, Ubashi Khan set out in January 1771 with 200,000 of his countrymen (and an estimated 6 million herd animals) on a long walk back to Mongolia.  It was intended to bring the entire tribe, but an early melting of the Volga left some groups stranded on the Western side of the river.

Those left behind were probably fortunate, as the journey was not an easy one.  The Kalmyks had made enemies among the tribes across the steppe, and the Russians were not pleased with the departure.  Over half of the population was lost along the way, either to skirmishes with these enemies, or to starvation and exposure in the Siberian winter.

Those who remained in Russia lost their autonomy, but maintained many of their traditions, including Tibetan Buddhism and much of their nomadic lifestyle.  Neither of these sat well with Soviet authorities after the Russian revolution, and the Kalmyks saw their temples destroyed and their monks attacked.  Because of this harsh treatment, when the Nazis occupied Kalmykia during World War II, they found many willing to fight against the Soviets.  When the Soviets retook the area in 1943, they decided to forcibly deport the entire Kalmyk population, over 100,000 people, to Siberia as punishment.  Over half of those deported died in Siberia before being allowed to return in 1957.  Luckily, the Kalmyk people have experience with deadly migrations, forced or otherwise, and persevered.  Today, the Republic of Kalmykia within the Russian Federation is the only region of Europe in which Buddhism is the dominant religion.

Pop Pop!

In World War I, we didn't have fancy satellites and drones to keep tabs on enemy positions.  That work had to be done by a dude with binoculars and a radio sitting somewhere high up.  In many instances, this meant putting him in a basket and strapping it to a giant hydrogen-filled balloon so he could float above the battlefield and report what he saw.

Just as there were guys whose job it was to sit in the balloon, there were guys on the enemy side whose job it was to stop them.  These 'balloon busters' would fly in low in biplanes and attempt to shoot down the observation balloons with incendiary rounds.  While it might sound like a dude in a wicker basket beneath a giant stationary balloon filled with explosive gas would be a pretty easy target for a fighter plane with specialized ammunition, the task was actually quite dangerous for the balloon busters.  Observation balloons were valuable assets, and their owners would devote significant resources to their defense, including ground-based anti-air installations and fighter plane escorts.

The greatest of these balloon busters was the Belgian Willy Coppens, who shot down a whopping 35 German balloons (as well as two enemy airplanes) between April and October of 1918.  In one of his most remarkable attacks, the balloon he was targeting was loosed from its moorings, and rose up beneath his plane.  He shut off his propeller to avoid tangling it in the fabric of the of damaged balloon, and sat parked on top of it until his plane slid off and he could fly away to safety.

As he racked up more victories, Willy became a prime target for the Germans, who set up special traps to take him out.  In one instance, they booby-trapped a balloon with explosives, so that when he shot it down, the resulting explosion would be enough to take his plane down with it.  He narrowly escaped, of course, because he was a badass.

In October 1918, less than a month before the end of the war, he was severely wounded when an incendiary round hit him in the leg as he secured his final balloon destruction.  He managed to crash land behind friendly lines, but his leg had to be amputated, ending his career as a pilot.  He died in 1986 at the age of 94.  As an old man, he probably went around to children's birthday parties and popped their balloons with a pea shooter.