War stories short print. Stories about the Great Patriotic War
This is a touching and tragic date for every family of our great nation.
The cruel and terrible events in which our grandfathers and great-grandfathers participated go far into history.
Fighting soldiers on the battlefield. In the rear, they spared no effort to work for Great Victory both old and young.
And how many children stood up to defend their homeland on a par with adults? What feats did they perform?
Tell and read stories, stories, books to children about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.
Our descendants must know who protected them from fascism. Know the truth about the terrible war.
On the holiday of May 9, visit a monument or monument that is in your city, lay flowers. It will be touching if you and your child mark the event with a moment of silence.
Pay your child's attention to the awards of war veterans, which are becoming less and less every year. From the bottom of my heart, congratulate the veterans on the Great Victory Day.
It is important to remember that each of their gray hairs keeps all the horror and wounds of this terrible war.
"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten"
Dedicated to the Great Victory!
BUTsecond: Ilgiz Garayev
I was born and raised in a peaceful land. I know well how noisy spring thunderstorms are, but I have never heard the thunder of guns.
I see how new houses are being built, but I did not suspect how easily houses are destroyed under a hail of bombs and shells.
I know how dreams end but I find it hard to believe that human life breaking off is as easy as a cheerful morning dream.
Nazi Germany, violating the non-aggression pact, invaded the territory of the Soviet Union.
And in order not to end up in fascist slavery, for the sake of saving the Motherland, the people entered the fray, in deadly fight with an insidious, cruel and merciless enemy.
Then the Great Patriotic War for the honor and independence of our Motherland began.
Millions of people rose to defend the country.
Infantrymen and gunners, tankers and pilots, sailors and signalmen fought and won in the war - soldiers of many and many military specialties, entire regiments, divisions, ships for the heroism of their soldiers were awarded military orders, received honorary titles.
When the flames of war raged, together with the entire Soviet people, cities and villages, farms and auls rose to defend their homeland. Anger and hatred for the vile enemy, an indomitable desire to do everything to defeat him filled the hearts of people.
Every day of the Great Patriotic War at the front and in the rear is a feat of boundless courage and steadfastness of the Soviet people, loyalty to the Motherland.
"Everything for the front, everything for the Victory!"
In the harsh days of the war, children stood next to the adults. Schoolchildren earned money for the defense fund, collected warm clothes for front-line soldiers, were on duty on rooftops during air raids, gave concerts in front of wounded soldiers in hospitals. Fascist barbarians destroyed and burned 1710 cities and more than 70 thousand villages and villages, destroyed 84 thousand schools, displaced 25 million people from their homes.
Concentration death camps have become an ominous symbol of the bestial appearance of fascism.
In Buchenwald, 56 thousand people were killed, in Dachau - 70 thousand, in Mauthausen - more than 122 thousand, in Majdanek - the number of victims was about 1 million 500 thousand people, in Auschwitz more than 4 million people died.
If the memory of every person who died in the Second World War was honored with a minute of silence, it would take 38 years.
The enemy spared neither women nor children.
May Day 1945. Acquaintances and strangers hugged each other, gave flowers, sang and danced right on the streets. It seemed that for the first time millions of adults and children raised their eyes to the sun, for the first time enjoyed the colors, sounds, smells of life!
It was a common holiday of all our people, all mankind. It was a holiday for everyone. Because the victory over fascism marked a victory over death, reason over madness, happiness over suffering.
In almost every family, someone died, went missing, died of wounds.
Every year, the events of the Great Patriotic War go further into the depths of history. But for those who fought, who drank the bitterness of retreat and the joy of our great victories with a full cup, these events will never be erased from memory, they will forever remain alive and close. It seemed that it was simply impossible to survive in the midst of heavy fire, not to lose one's mind at the sight of the death of thousands of people and the monstrous destruction.
But the power of the human spirit turned out to be stronger than metal and fire.
That is why, with such deepest respect and admiration, we look at those who went through the hell of war and retained the best human qualities - kindness, compassion and mercy.
It's been 66 years since Victory Day. But we have not forgotten about those 1418 days and nights that the Great Patriotic War continued.
It claimed almost 26 million lives of Soviet people. During these endlessly long four years, our long-suffering land was washed by streams of blood and tears. And if we could gather together the bitter motherly tears shed on dead sons, then the Sea of Sorrow would form, and the rivers of Suffering would flow from it to all corners of the planet.
Us, modern generation, dear future of the planet. Our task is to protect the world, to fight so that people are not killed, shots are not fired, human blood is not shed.
The sky should be blue, the sun should be bright, warm, kind and gentle, people's lives should be safe and happy.
party dress
This was before the start of the war with the Nazis.
Katya Izvekova was given a new dress by her parents. The dress is elegant, silk, weekend.
Katya did not have time to update the gift. The war broke out. The dress is left hanging in the closet. Katya thought: the war will end, so she will put on her evening dress.
Nazi planes bombed Sevastopol from the air without ceasing.
Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.
Military warehouses, headquarters, schools, kindergartens, hospitals, repair shops, even a cinema, even hairdressers - all this crashed into stones, into mountains.
Sevastopol residents also organized two military factories underground.
Katya Izvekova began to work on one of them. The plant produced mortars, mines, grenades. Then he began to master the production aircraft bombs for Sevastopol pilots.
Everything was found in Sevastopol for such production: both explosives and metal for the hull, even fuses were found. There isn't just one. Gunpowder, with which the bombs were blown up, had to be poured into bags made of natural silk.
They began to look for silk for bags. We went to various warehouses.
For one:
There is no natural silk.
On the second:
There is no natural silk.
Went to the third, fourth, fifth.
There is no natural silk anywhere.
And suddenly... Katya appears. Ask Katya:
Well, did you find it?
Found, - answers Katya.
That's right, the girl has a bundle in her hands.
Unfolded Katya's package. They look: in a bundle - a dress. The same. Day off. Made from natural silk.
That's it Katya!
Thanks, Kate!
They cut Katino's dress at the factory. Sewed bags. They poured gunpowder. They put bags in bombs. They sent bombs to the pilots at the airfield.
Following Katya, other workers brought their weekend dresses to the factory. Now there are no interruptions in the work of the plant. The bomb is ready for the bomb.
Pilots take to the skies. Like the bombs are on target.
bul bul
Fighting in Stalingrad does not subside. The Nazis are rushing to the Volga.
Some fascist pissed off Sergeant Noskov. The trenches of ours and the Nazis here passed side by side. Speech is heard from trench to trench.
The fascist sits in his shelter, shouting:
Rus, tomorrow bul-bul!
That is, he wants to say that tomorrow the Nazis will break through to the Volga, throw the defenders of Stalingrad into the Volga.
Rus, tomorrow bul-bul. - And clarifies: - Bul-bul at Volga.
This "boom-boo" is getting on the nerves of Sergeant Noskov.
Others are calm. Some of the soldiers even chuckle. And Noskov:
Eka, damn Fritz! Yes, show yourself. Let me take a look at you.
The Hitlerite just leaned out. Noskov looked, other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears up. The cap on the crown miraculously holds.
The fascist leaned out and again:
Bool-boo!
One of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He jumped up and took aim.
Don't touch! Noskov said sternly.
The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. Pulled out the rifle.
Until the very evening, the eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow bul-bul. Tomorrow at Volga.
By evening, the fascist soldier fell silent.
“He fell asleep,” they understood in our trenches. Gradually, our soldiers began to doze. Suddenly they see someone starting to crawl out of the trench. They look - Sergeant Noskov. And behind him is his best friend, Private Turyanchik. My friends-friends got out of the trench, clung to the ground, crawled to the German trench.
The soldiers woke up. They are perplexed. Why did Noskov and Turyanchik suddenly go to visit the Nazis? The soldiers look there, to the west, their eyes break in the dark. The soldiers began to worry.
But someone said:
Brothers, crawl back.
The second confirmed:
That's right, they're coming back.
The soldiers peered - right. Creep, hugging the ground, friends. Just not two of them. Three. The fighters took a closer look: the third fascist soldier, the same one - "bul-bul". He just doesn't crawl. Noskov and Turyanchik drag him. A gag in the soldier's mouth.
Friends of the screamer were dragged into the trench. We rested and went on to the headquarters.
However, the road fled to the Volga. They grabbed the fascist by the hands, by the neck, they dipped him into the Volga.
Bool bool, bool bool! - shouts mischievously Turyanchik.
Bul-bool, - the fascist blows bubbles. Shaking like an aspen leaf.
Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, - said Noskov. - Russian does not beat a lying person.
The soldiers handed over the prisoner to the headquarters.
He waved goodbye to the fascist Noskov.
Bull-bull, - said Turyanchik, saying goodbye.
Special mission
The assignment was unusual. It was called special. The commander of the marine brigade, Colonel Gorpischenko, said:
The task is unusual. Special. - Then he asked again: - Do you understand?
I understand, Comrade Colonel, - answered the foreman-infantryman - senior over the group of scouts.
He was called to the colonel alone. He returned to his comrades. He chose two to help, said:
Get ready. We had a special task.
However, what kind of special, while the foreman did not say.
It was a new one, 1942. It is clear to scouts: on such and such a night, of course, the task is super-special. Scouts go for the foreman, talking:
Maybe a raid on the Nazi headquarters?
Take it higher, - the foreman smiles.
Maybe we'll capture the general?
Higher, higher, - the elder laughs.
Scouts crossed at night to the territory occupied by the Nazis, moved inland. They walk carefully, stealthily.
Scouts again:
Maybe the bridge, like partisans, are going to blow up?
Maybe we will carry out a sabotage at the fascist airfield?
Look at the elder. The elder smiles.
Night. Darkness. Silence. Deafness. Scouts are coming in the fascist rear. They went down the slope. They climbed the mountain. entered into Pine forest. Crimean pines clung to the stones. It smelled nice of pine. The soldiers remembered their childhood.
The foreman approached one of the pines. I walked around, looked, even felt the branches with my hand.
Good?
Good, say the scouts.
I saw another one nearby.
This one is better?
It seems better, - the scouts nodded.
Fluffy?
Fluffy.
Slim?
Slim!
Well, to the point, - said the foreman. He took out an ax and cut down a pine tree. "That's all," said the foreman. He put the pine tree on his shoulders. - Here we are done with the task.
Here they are, - escaped from the scouts.
The next day, the scouts were released into the city, to the New Year tree to the children in the children's preschool underground garden.
There was a pine. Slim. Fluffy. Balls, garlands hang on a pine tree, multi-colored lanterns burn.
You ask: why is it a pine, not a Christmas tree? Christmas trees do not grow in those latitudes. And in order to get a pine tree, it was necessary to get to the rear of the Nazis.
Not only here, but also in other places of Sevastopol, New Year trees were lit in that difficult year for children.
Apparently, not only in the brigade of marines under Colonel Gorpischenko, but also in other units, the task for scouts on that New Year's eve was special.
gardeners
It was not long before Battle of Kursk. Reinforcements arrived in the infantry unit.
The foreman walked around the fighters. Walks along the line. Next comes the corporal. Holds a pencil and notebook in his hands.
The foreman looked at the first of the fighters:
Can you plant potatoes?
The fighter was embarrassed, shrugged his shoulders.
Can you plant potatoes?
I can! the soldier said loudly.
Two steps forward.
The soldier is out of order.
Write to the gardeners, - said the foreman to the corporal.
Can you plant potatoes?
Haven't tried.
Didn't have to, but if needed...
Enough, said the sergeant.
The fighters stepped forward. Anatoliy Skurko found himself in the ranks of able-bodied soldiers. The soldier Skurko wonders: where are they who know how? “To plant potatoes is so late in time. (Summer has already begun to play with might and main.) If you dig it, then it’s very early in time.
The soldier Skurko is guessing. And other fighters wonder:
Plant potatoes?
Sow carrots?
Cucumbers for the staff canteen?
The foreman looked at the soldier.
Well, then, said the foreman. - From now on, you will be in the miners, - and hands mines to the soldiers.
The dashing foreman noticed that the one who knows how to plant potatoes puts mines faster and more reliably.
Soldier Skurko chuckled. Other soldiers could not help but smile.
The gardeners got to work. Of course, not immediately, not at the same moment. Planting mines is not an easy task. Special training soldiers passed.
Miners extended minefields and barriers for many kilometers to the north, south, west of Kursk. On the first day of the Battle of Kursk alone, more than a hundred fascist tanks and self-propelled guns were blown up in these fields and barriers.
The miners are coming.
How are you, gardeners?
Complete order in everything.
Evil last name
The soldier of his surname was shy. He was unlucky at birth. His surname is Trusov.
Military time. Surname catchy.
Already in the military registration and enlistment office, when a soldier was drafted into the army, the first question was:
Surname?
Trusov.
How how?
Trusov.
Y-yes ... - drawled the employees of the military registration and enlistment office.
The fighter got into the company.
What's the last name?
Private Trusov.
How how?
Private Trusov.
Y-yes ... - the commander drawled.
A soldier took on a lot of troubles from the surname. All around jokes and jokes:
Looks like your ancestor was not a hero.
In a wagon train with such a surname!
Will bring field mail. The soldiers will gather in a circle. Letters are being distributed. Names are called:
Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!
Everything is fine. Soldiers approach, take their letters.
Shout out:
Cowards!
Soldiers laugh all around.
The surname somehow does not fit with wartime. Woe to the soldier with this surname.
As part of his 149th separate rifle brigade, Private Trusov arrived near Stalingrad. The fighters were transported across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade went into action.
Well, Trusov, let's see what kind of soldier you are, - said the squad leader.
Trusov does not want to disgrace himself. Tries. Soldiers go on the attack. Suddenly, an enemy machine gun fired from the left. Trusov turned around. From the machine gave a turn. The enemy machine gun fell silent.
Well done! - praised the fighter squad leader.
The soldiers ran a few more steps. The machine gun fires again.
Now to the right. Trusov turned. I approached the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist subsided.
Hero! the squad leader said.
The soldiers lay down. They are shooting with the Nazis. The fight is over. The soldiers of the killed enemies were counted. Twenty people ended up at the place where Private Trusov was firing.
Oh-oh! - broke out from the squad leader. - Well, brother, your surname is evil. Evil!
Trusov smiled.
For courage and determination in battle, Private Trusov was awarded a medal.
The medal "For Courage" hangs on the hero's chest. Whoever meets it will squint its eyes at the reward.
The first question for the soldier is now:
What is the award for, hero?
No one will ask again the name now. No one will giggle now. With malice, the word will not leave.
From now on, it is clear to the fighter: the honor of a soldier is not in the surname - the deeds of a person are painted.
Unusual operation
Mokapka Zyablov was amazed. Something strange was going on at the station. The boy lived with his grandfather and grandmother near the town of Sudzhi in a small workers' settlement at the Lokinskaya station. He was the son of a hereditary railway worker.
Mokapka liked to hang around the station for hours. Especially these days. One by one trains come here. Give a ride military equipment. Mokapka knows that our troops beat the Nazis near Kursk. Chasing enemies to the west. Although small, but with the mind of Mokapka, he sees that trains are coming here. He understands: it means that here, in these places, a further offensive is planned.
Trains are coming, locomotives are puffing. Soldiers unload military cargo.
Mokapka was spinning somehow near the tracks. He sees: a new echelon has arrived. Tanks are on platforms. A lot of. The boy began to count the tanks. Looked closely - and they are wooden. How to fight them?!
The boy rushed to his grandmother.
Wooden, - whispers, - tanks.
Really? Grandma threw up her hands. Rushed to grandfather:
Wooden, grandfather, tanks. Raised the old eyes on the grandson. The boy ran to the station. Looks: the train is coming again. The composition stopped. Mokapka looked - the guns are on the platforms. A lot of. No less than there were tanks.
Mokapka took a closer look - after all, the guns are also, in any way, wooden! Instead of trunks - round timbers stick out.
The boy rushed to his grandmother.
Wooden, - whispers, - guns.
Really? .. - Grandma threw up her hands. Rushed to grandfather:
Wooden, grandfather, guns.
Something new, - said the grandfather.
A lot of incomprehensible things were going on at the station then. Arrived somehow boxes with shells. Mountains have grown of these boxes. Satisfied Mockup:
Great pour our fascists!
And suddenly he finds out: empty boxes at the station. “Why such-and-such and whole mountains?!” - guesses the boy.
And here is something completely incomprehensible. Troops are coming. A lot of. The column hurries after the column. They go in the open, they come in the dark.
The boy has an easy temper. I got to know the soldiers right away. Until dark, everything was spinning around. In the morning he again runs to the soldiers. And then he finds out: the soldiers left these places at night.
Mockapka is standing, guessing again.
Mokapka did not know that ours used a military trick under Sudzha.
The Nazis are conducting reconnaissance from aircraft for the Soviet troops. They see: trains come to the station, they bring tanks, they bring guns.
The Nazis also notice mountains of boxes with shells. They detect that troops are moving here. A lot of. A column follows a column. The Nazis see how the troops are approaching, but the enemy does not know that they are leaving unnoticed from here at night.
It is clear to the fascists: this is where a new Russian offensive is being prepared! Here, under the city of Sudzha. They pulled troops under Suju, weakened their forces in other areas. They just pulled it off - and then a blow! However, not under Suja. Ours struck elsewhere. Again they defeated the Nazis. And soon they completely defeated them in the Battle of Kursk.
Vyazma
The fields near Vyazma are free. Hills run to the sky.
Words from were not thrown out. Under the city of Vyazma large group Soviet troops got to the enemy in the environment. Satisfied fascists.
Hitler himself, the leader of the Nazis, calls the front:
Surrounded?
That's right, our Fuhrer, - the fascist generals report.
Did you lay down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Did you lay down your weapons?
Here's a brave one.
No. I dare to report, my Fuhrer ... - The General wanted to say something.
However, Hitler was distracted by something. The speech broke off in mid-sentence.
For several days now, being surrounded, Soviet soldiers have been waging stubborn battles. They shackled the fascists. The fascist offensive breaks down. Enemies got stuck near Vyazma.
Again Hitler calls from Berlin:
Surrounded?
That's right, our Fuhrer, the fascist generals report.
Did you lay down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Did you lay down your weapons?
Terrible abuse rushed from the tube.
I dare to report, my Fuhrer, - the brave one is trying to say something. - Our Frederick the Great also said...
Days pass again. Fighting near Vyazma does not subside. Stuck, stuck enemies near Vyazma.
Vyazma knits them, knits them. Grabbed by the throat!
In anger the great Fuhrer. Another call from Berlin.
Did you lay down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Have you laid down your weapons?
No, the brave is responsible for all.
Again, a stream of bad words sprayed out. The membrane in the tube danced.
Shut up the general. Waited it out. Caught a moment:
I dare to report, my Fuhrer, our great, our wise King Friedrich also said ...
Listening to Hitler:
Well, well, what did our Friedrich say?
Frederick the Great said, repeated the general, Russians must be shot twice. And then another push, my Fuhrer, so that they fall.
The Fuhrer muttered something indistinct into the receiver. Berlin wire disconnected.
For a whole week, the fighting did not subside near Vyazma. The week was invaluable for Moscow. During these days, the defenders of Moscow managed to gather their strength and prepared convenient lines for defense.
The fields near Vyazma are free. Hills run to the sky. Here in the fields, on the hills near Vyazma, hundreds of heroes lie. Here, defending Moscow, the Soviet people accomplished a great feat of arms.
Remember!
Keep the bright memory of them!
General Zhukov
Army General Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov was appointed commander of the Western Front - the front, which included most of the troops defending Moscow.
Zhukov arrived on the Western Front. The staff officers report the combat situation to him.
Fighting is going on near the city of Yukhnov, near Medyn, near Kaluga.
Officers are found on the map of Yukhnov.
Here, - they report, - near Yukhnov, west of the city ... - and they report where and how the fascist troops are located near the city of Yukhnov.
No, no, they are not here, but here, - Zhukov corrects the officers and himself indicates the places where the Nazis are at this time.
The officers exchanged glances. They look at Zhukov in surprise.
Here, here, right here in this place. Don't hesitate, says Zhukov.
The officers continue to report the situation.
Here, - they find the city of Medyn on the map, - to the north-west of the city, the enemy concentrated large forces, - and they list what forces: tanks, artillery, mechanized divisions ...
So, so, right, - says Zhukov. “Only the forces are not here, but here,” Zhukov clarifies on the map.
Again the officers look at Zhukov in surprise. They forgot about the further report, about the map.
The staff officers bent over the map again. They report to Zhukov what the combat situation is near the city of Kaluga.
Here, - the officers say, - south of Kaluga, the enemy pulled up the motorized unit. Here they are at this moment.
No, Zhukov objected. - Not in this place they are now. That's where the pieces moved - and shows the new location on the map.
Staff officers were dumbfounded. They look at the new commander with undisguised surprise. Zhukov caught the distrust in the eyes of the officers. He chuckled.
Do not doubt. Everything is exactly like that. You are great - you know the situation, Zhukov praised the staff officers. - But I'm more precise.
It turns out that General Zhukov has already visited Yukhnov, and Medyn, and Kaluga. Before going to headquarters, I went straight to the battlefield. Here's where the exact information comes from.
General and then Marshal of the Soviet Union Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, an outstanding Soviet commander, hero of the Great Patriotic War, took part in many battles. It was under his leadership and under the leadership of other Soviet generals that the Soviet troops defended Moscow from enemies. And then, in stubborn battles, they defeated the Nazis in the Great Battle of Moscow.
Moscow sky
It was before the start of the Moscow battle.
Hitler dreamed in Berlin. Guessing: what to do with Moscow? He suffers - to make such an unusual, original. Thought, thought...
Hitler came up with this. Decided to flood Moscow with water. Build huge dams around Moscow. Pour water over the city and all living things.
Everything will perish at once: people, houses and the Moscow Kremlin!
He closed his eyes. He sees: in the place of Moscow, the bottomless sea splashes!
Descendants will remember me!
Then I thought: “Uh, until the water runs…”
Wait?!
No, he does not agree to wait a long time.
Destroy now! This minute!
Hitler thought, and here is the order:
Bomb Moscow! Destroy! Shells! Bombs! Send squadrons! Send armada! Leave no stone unturned! Flatten to the ground!
He threw his hand forward like a sword:
Destroy! Flatten to the ground!
So for sure, raze to the ground, - the fascist generals froze in readiness.
On July 22, 1941, exactly one month after the start of the war, the Nazis made the first air raid on Moscow.
Immediately 200 aircraft were sent to this raid by the Nazis. The engines hum.
The pilots collapsed in their seats. Moscow is getting closer, getting closer. Fascist pilots reached out to the bomb levers.
But what is it?! Powerful searchlights crossed in the sky with knives-swords. Red-star Soviet fighters rose to meet the air robbers.
The Nazis did not expect such a meeting. The ranks of the enemies were disorganized. Only a few planes then broke through to Moscow. Yes, they were in a hurry. They threw bombs wherever they had to, as soon as possible to drop them and run away from here.
Harsh Moscow sky. The uninvited guest is severely punished. 22 aircraft shot down.
Y-yes ... - stretched out the fascist generals.
Thought. We decided now to send planes not all at once, not in a bunch, but in small groups.
The Bolsheviks will be punished!
The next day, again 200 aircraft fly to Moscow. They fly in small groups - three or four cars in each.
And again they were met by Soviet anti-aircraft gunners, again they were driven off by red star fighters.
For the third time, the Nazis send planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were not stupid, inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. It is necessary to send planes in three tiers, they decided. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second is a little higher. And the third - and at high altitude, and a little late. The first two groups will divert the attention of the defenders of the Moscow sky, the generals argue, and at this time, at a high altitude, the third group will quietly approach the city, and the pilots will drop bombs exactly on target.
And here again, fascist planes are in the sky. The pilots collapsed in their seats. Motors hum. The bombs froze in the hatches.
A group is coming. Behind her is the second. And a little behind, at a high altitude, the third. The very last plane flies a special one, with cameras. He will take a picture of how the fascist planes are destroyed in Moscow, he will bring it for show to the generals ...
The generals are waiting for news. Here comes the first plane. Motors stalled. The screws have stopped. The pilots got out. Pale-pale. Barely on their feet.
Fifty planes were lost that day by the Nazis. The photographer did not return either. They killed him on the way.
The Moscow sky is impregnable. It severely punishes enemies. The insidious calculation of the Nazis collapsed.
The Nazis and their possessed Fuhrer dreamed of destroying Moscow to the ground, to the stone. And what happened?
the Red Square
The enemy is nearby. Soviet troops left Volokolamsk and Mozhaisk. In some sectors of the front, the Nazis approached Moscow even closer. Fights are going on at Naro-Fominsk, Serpukhov and Tarusa.
But as always, on this dear day for all citizens of the Soviet Union, in Moscow, on Red Square, a military parade was held in honor of the great holiday.
When the soldier Mitrokhin was told that the unit in which he serves would take part in the parade on Red Square, the soldier did not believe at first. He decided that he was mistaken, misheard, misunderstood something.
Parade! - the commander explains to him. - Solemn, on Red Square.
That's right, the parade, - Mitrokhin answers. However, in the eyes of disbelief.
And now Mitrokhin froze in the ranks. It stands on Red Square. And to the left are the troops. And on the right are the troops. Party leaders and members of the government at the Lenin Mausoleum. Everything is exactly the same as in the old peacetime.
Only a rarity for this day - from the snow it is white all around. The frost hit early today. It snowed all night until morning. He whitewashed the Mausoleum, lay down on the walls of the Kremlin, on the square.
8 am. The hands of the clock on the Kremlin tower converged.
The chimes struck time.
Minute. Everything is quiet. The parade commander gave the traditional report. The host of the parade congratulates the troops on the anniversary of the Great October Revolution. Everything was quiet again. Another minute. And at first quietly, and then louder and louder the words of the Chairman sound State Committee Defense, Supreme Commander Armed Forces USSR Comrade Stalin.
Stalin says that this is not the first time that enemies have attacked us. What were in the history of the young Soviet Republic and more Hard times. That we celebrated the first anniversary of the Great October Revolution surrounded on all sides by invaders. That 14 capitalist states fought against us then and we lost three-quarters of our territory. But the Soviet people believed in victory. And they won. They will win now.
The whole world is looking at you, - the words reach Mitrokhin, as at a force capable of destroying the predatory hordes of German invaders.
The soldiers froze in the ranks.
The great liberation mission fell to your lot - words fly through the frost. - Be worthy of this mission!
Mitrokhin pulled himself up. His face became more severe, more serious, stricter.
The war you are waging is a liberation war, a just war. - And after that, Stalin said: - Let the courageous image of our great ancestors - Alexander Nevsky, Dmitry Donskoy, Kuzma Minin, Dmitry Pozharsky, Alexander Suvorov, Mikhail Kutuzov inspire you in this war! May the victorious banner of the great Lenin overshadow you!
Beats fascists. Moscow stands and blooms as before. Gets better from year to year.
Crossing case
We had one soldier in our company. Before the war, he studied at a music institute and played the button accordion so wonderfully that one of the fighters once said:
Brothers, this is an incomprehensible deception! There must be some kind of clever mechanism hidden in this box! Here to see...
Please, - answered the accordion player. - It's time for me to glue the bellows.
And in front of everyone, he dismantled the instrument.
Chu-yu, - the fighter drawled disappointedly. - Empty, like in a spent cartridge case ...
Inside the button accordion, between two wooden boxes connected by a leather accordion fur, it was really empty. Only on the side plates, where the button-buttons are located on the outside, were wide metal plates with holes of different sizes. Behind each hole is a narrow copper strip-petal. When the fur is stretched, air passes through the holes and vibrates the copper petals. And they sound. Thin - high. Thicker - lower, and thick petals seem to sing in bass. If the musician stretches the bellows too much, the records sound loud. If the air is blown weakly, the plates vibrate a little, and the music turns out to be quiet, quiet. That's all miracles!
And the fingers of our accordionist were a real miracle. Surprisingly played, do not say anything!
And this amazing ability has helped us more than once in difficult front-line life.
Our accordion player will raise your mood in time, and warms you in the cold - makes you dance, and inspires courage in the despondent, and makes you remember your pre-war happy youth: native lands, mothers and loved ones. And one day...
One evening, by order of the command, we changed combat positions. It was ordered not to engage in battle with the Germans in any case. On our way, a not very wide, but deep river flowed with a single ford, which we used. The commander and radio operator remained on the other side, they were finishing the communication session. They were cut off by the suddenly descending fascist submachine gunners. And although the Germans did not know that ours were on their shore, they kept the crossing under fire, and there was no way to cross the ford. And when night fell, the Germans began to illuminate the ford with rockets. Needless to say, the situation seemed hopeless.
Suddenly, our accordion player, without saying a word, takes out his button accordion and starts playing "Katyusha".
The Germans were taken aback at first. Then they came to their senses and brought down heavy fire on our shore. And the accordion player suddenly broke off the chord and fell silent. The Germans stopped firing. One of them yelled happily: “Rus, Rus, kaput, boyan!”
And no kaput happened to the accordion player. Luring the Germans, he crawled along the coast away from the crossing and again began to play the fervent "Katyusha".
The Germans accepted this challenge. They began to pursue the musician, and therefore left the ford without lighting rockets for several minutes.
The commander and the radio operator immediately realized why our button accordion player started a “musical” game with the Germans, and, without delay, slipped through the ford to the other side.
These are the cases that happened with our bayanist soldier and his friend the button accordion, by the way, named after the ancient Russian singer Boyan.
Olga Pirozhkova
No matter how much time has passed since the day of the Victory, the events of the forties of the twentieth century are still fresh in the memory of the people, and the works of writers play an important role in this. What are books about war for children preschool age Would you recommend it for preschool teachers?
Of course, the most interesting for them will be those works whose heroes are their peers. What did their peers experience? How did you behave in difficult situations?
Children's literature about the Second World War can be divided into two large parts: poetry and prose. Stories about the Great Patriotic War for preschool children tell about children and teenagers who participated in the fight against the invaders, introduce modern children to the exploits of their grandparents. These works are filled with an informational component that requires a lot of preliminary work by both children and teachers themselves. Preschoolers empathize with the characters of A. Gaidar, L. Kassil, A. Mityaev, they are worried; for the first time realize the cruelty and ruthlessness of war to ordinary people, horrified by the beasts of fascism, attacks on civilians.
Rules for reading literature about the war to preschoolers:
Be sure to pre-read the work, if necessary, retell it to the children, reading only a small piece of the work of art.
Carry out the mandatory preliminary work, revealing all the necessary information points.
Pick up works of art by age of children Additional information tell in your own words).
Be sure to read the works several times, especially if the children ask for it.
You can start reading books on military topics already younger preschoolers. Of course, it will be difficult for them to understand large genre forms - stories, novels, but short stories written specifically for children are quite accessible even to children 3-5 years old. Before introducing a child to works about the war, it is necessary to prepare him for the perception of the topic: give a little information from history, focusing not on dates, numbers (children at this age do not yet perceive them, but on the moral aspect of the war. Tell young readers about how bravely soldiers defended their homeland, how old people, women and children died, how innocent people were captured. stories about this hardest time in the history of the country:
Junior group:
Orlov Vladimir "My brother goes to the Army."
"The Tale of the Loud Drum" publishing house "Children's Literature", 1985
Memorizing poems about the army, courage, friendship.
Middle group:
Georgievskaya S. "Galina's mother"
Mityaev Anatoly "Why the Army is dear"
"Taiga Gift".
Poetry reading: Mother Earth» I'm Abidov, "Forever remember" M. Isakovsky
Reading poems: “Common Graves” by V. Vysotsky, “Soviet Warrior”,
Reading the story "Father's Field" by V. Krupin,
Reading poems: “The war ended with victory” by T. Trutnev,
L. Kassil "Your defenders". Mityaeva A. "Grandfather's Order"
When children get older (5-7 years old), adults constantly remind them that they are “no longer small.” The war did not give children time to grow up - they immediately became adults! Girls and boys, left orphans, were forced to survive in the most difficult wartime conditions.The works that tell about the fate of children who have lost all their loved ones do not leave indifferent any of the readers: it is impossible to read them without tears.These war books for children will help the younger generation learn to truly love their family, appreciate all that is good, what is in their life.Preschoolers of senior preschool age can be offered the following literary works:
Senior group:
Kim Selikhov, Yuri Deryugin "Parade on Red Square", 1980
Sobolev Leonid "Battalion of four"
Alekseev Sergey "Orlovich-Voronovich", "Overcoat" by E. Blaginin, 1975
Reading the works of S. P. Alekseev "Brest Fortress".
Y. Dlugolensky "What can soldiers"
O. Vysotskaya "My brother went to the border"
Reading A. Gaidar's story "War and Children"
U. Brazhnin "Overcoat"
Cherkashin "Doll"
Preparatory group:
L. Kassil "Main army", 1987
Mityaev Anatoly "Dugout"
Lavrenev B. "Big Heart"
Zotov Boris "The fate of the commander Mironov", 1991
"Stories about the war" (K. Simonov, A. Tolstoy, M. Sholokhov, L. Kassil, A. Mityaev, V. Oseeva)
L. Kassil "Monument to a Soldier", "Your Defenders"
S. Baruzdin "Stories about the war"
S. Mikhalkov "Victory Day"
S. P. Alekseev "Brest Fortress".
Ya. Taits "A cycle of stories about the war."
retelling of L. Kassil's story "Sister"
About how fragile peace can be and how an enemy invasion can turn a person's whole life upside down, the guys will learn by listening to books about the Second World War. The war does not end in one day - its echoes resound in the hearts of people for decades. It is thanks to the works of authors - contemporaries of the terrible wartime, that today's youth can imagine the events of those years, learn about tragic destinies people, about the courage and heroism shown by the defenders of the Fatherland. And, of course, best books about the war instill in young readers the spirit of patriotism; give a holistic view of the Great Patriotic War; teach to appreciate the world and love home, family, loved ones. No matter how far the past is, the memory of it is important: the guys, having become adults, must do everything in order to tragic pages history never repeats itself in the life of the people.
We have collected for you the most best stories about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. First-person stories, not invented, living memories of front-line soldiers and witnesses of the war.
A story about the war from the book of the priest Alexander Dyachenko "Overcoming"
I was not always old and infirm, I lived in a Belarusian village, I had a family, very good husband. But the Germans came, my husband, like other men, went to the partisans, he was their commander. We women supported our men in any way we could. The Germans became aware of this. They arrived at the village early in the morning. They drove everyone out of their houses and, like cattle, drove to the station in a neighboring town. The wagons were already waiting for us there. People were stuffed into carts so that we could only stand. We drove with stops for two days, we were not given water or food. When we were finally unloaded from the wagons, some of us were no longer able to move. Then the guards began to drop them to the ground and finish them off with rifle butts. And then they showed us the direction to the gate and said: "Run." As soon as we ran half the distance, the dogs were released. The strongest ones ran to the gate. Then the dogs were driven away, all who remained were lined up in a column and led through the gate, on which it was written in German: "To each his own." Since then, boy, I can't look at the tall chimneys.
She bared her hand and showed me a tattoo of a row of numbers on inside hands, closer to the elbow. I knew it was a tattoo, my dad had a tank inked on his chest because he was a tanker, but why inject numbers?
I remember that she also talked about how our tankers liberated them and how lucky she was to live to this day. About the camp itself and what happened in it, she did not tell me anything, probably, she felt sorry for my childish head.
I learned about Auschwitz only later. I learned and understood why my neighbor could not look at the pipes of our boiler room.
My father also ended up in the occupied territory during the war. They got it from the Germans, oh, how they got it. And when ours drove the Germans, those, realizing that the grown-up boys were tomorrow's soldiers, decided to shoot them. They gathered everyone and took them to the log, and then our plane saw a crowd of people and gave a queue nearby. The Germans are on the ground, and the boys are in all directions. My dad was lucky, he ran away, shot through his hand, but he ran away. Not everyone was lucky then.
My father entered Germany as a tanker. Them tank brigade distinguished herself near Berlin on the Seelow Heights. I saw pictures of these guys. Youth, and the whole chest in orders, several people -. Many, like my dad, were drafted into the army from the occupied lands, and many had something to avenge on the Germans. Therefore, perhaps, they fought so desperately bravely.
They marched across Europe, liberated the prisoners of concentration camps and beat the enemy, finishing off mercilessly. “We rushed into Germany itself, we dreamed of how we would smear it with the tracks of our tank tracks. We had a special part, even the uniform was black. We still laughed, no matter how they confused us with the SS men.
Immediately after the end of the war, my father's brigade was stationed in one of the small German towns. Or rather, in the ruins that were left of him. They themselves somehow settled in the basements of buildings, but there was no room for a dining room. And the commander of the brigade, a young colonel, ordered to knock down tables from shields and set up a temporary dining room right on the square of the town.
“And here is our first peaceful dinner. Field kitchens, cooks, everything is as usual, but the soldiers are not sitting on the ground or on the tank, but, as expected, at the tables. They had just begun to dine, and suddenly German children began to crawl out of all these ruins, cellars, cracks like cockroaches. Someone is standing, and someone is already unable to stand from hunger. They stand and look at us like dogs. And I don’t know how it happened, but I took the bread with my shot hand and put it in my pocket, I look quietly, and all our guys, without raising their eyes from each other, do the same.
And then they fed the German children, gave away everything that could somehow be hidden from dinner, the very children of yesterday, who quite recently, without flinching, were raped, burned, shot by the fathers of these German children on our land they captured.
The brigade commander, Hero of the Soviet Union, a Jew by nationality, whose parents, like all other Jews of a small Belarusian town, were buried alive by the punishers, had every right, both moral and military, to drive away the German "geeks" from their tankers with volleys. They ate his soldiers, lowered their combat effectiveness, many of these children were also sick and could spread the infection among the personnel.
But the colonel, instead of firing, ordered an increase in the rate of consumption of products. And German children, on the orders of a Jew, were fed along with his soldiers.
Do you think what kind of phenomenon is this - Russian Soldier? Where does such mercy come from? Why didn't they take revenge? It seems that it is beyond any strength to find out that all your relatives were buried alive, perhaps by the fathers of these same children, to see concentration camps with many bodies of tortured people. And instead of "breaking away" on the children and wives of the enemy, they, on the contrary, saved them, fed them, treated them.
Several years have passed since the events described, and my dad, having graduated from a military school in the fifties, again passed military service in Germany, but already an officer. Once, on the street of one city, a young German called him. He ran up to my father, grabbed his hand and asked:
Don't you recognize me? Yes, of course, now it’s hard to recognize in me that hungry ragged boy. But I remember you, how you then fed us among the ruins. Believe us, we will never forget this.
This is how we made friends in the West, by force of arms and the all-conquering power of Christian love.
Alive. We will endure. We will win.
THE TRUTH ABOUT WAR
It should be noted that the speech of V. M. Molotov on the first day of the war did not make a convincing impression on everyone, and the final phrase aroused irony among some soldiers. When we, doctors, asked them how things were at the front, and we lived only for this, we often heard the answer: “We are draping. Victory is ours… that is, the Germans!”
I can't say that JV Stalin's speech had a positive effect on everyone, although the majority felt warm from him. But in the darkness of a long line for water in the basement of the house where the Yakovlevs lived, I once heard: “Here! Brothers, sisters became! I forgot how I was put in jail for being late. The rat squeaked when the tail was pressed! The people remained silent. Approximately similar statements I heard repeatedly.
Two other factors contributed to the rise of patriotism. Firstly, these are the atrocities of the Nazis on our territory. Newspaper reports that in Katyn near Smolensk the Germans shot tens of thousands of Poles captured by us, and not us during the retreat, as the Germans assured, were perceived without malice. Everything could be. “We couldn’t leave them to the Germans,” some argued. But the population could not forgive the murder of our people.
In February 1942, my senior operating nurse A.P. Pavlova received a letter from the liberated banks of Seliger, which told how, after the explosion of hand fans in the German headquarters hut, they hanged almost all the men, including Pavlova's brother. They hung him on a birch near his native hut, and he hung for almost two months in front of his wife and three children. The mood of this news in the entire hospital became formidable for the Germans: Pavlova was loved by both the staff and the wounded soldiers ... I made sure that the original letter was read in all the wards, and Pavlova's face, yellowed from tears, was in the dressing room before everyone's eyes ...
The second thing that made everyone happy was reconciliation with the church. The Orthodox Church showed true patriotism in its preparations for the war, and it was appreciated. On the patriarch and the clergy showered government awards. With these funds, air squadrons and tank divisions with the names "Alexander Nevsky" and "Dmitry Donskoy" were created. They showed a film where a priest with the chairman of the district executive committee, a partisan, destroys atrocious fascists. The film ended with the old bell ringer climbing the bell tower and sounding the alarm, before that he crossed himself widely. It sounded directly: “Autumn yourself with the sign of the cross, Russian people!” The wounded spectators and the staff had tears in their eyes when the lights were turned on.
On the contrary, the huge sums of money contributed by the chairman of the collective farm, it seems, Ferapont Golovaty, evoked malicious smiles. “Look how he stole from hungry collective farmers,” said the wounded peasants.
The activities of the fifth column, that is, internal enemies, also caused enormous indignation among the population. I myself saw how many of them there were: German planes were signaled from the windows even with multi-colored rockets. In November 1941, in the hospital of the Neurosurgical Institute, they signaled from the window in Morse code. The doctor on duty, Malm, who was completely drunk and declassed, said that the alarm came from the window of the operating room where my wife was on duty. The head of the hospital, Bondarchuk, said at a five-minute morning meeting that he vouched for Kudrin, and two days later they took the signalmen, and Malm himself disappeared forever.
My violin teacher Yu. A. Aleksandrov, a communist, although a secretly religious, consumptive person, worked as a fire chief of the Red Army House on the corner of Liteiny and Kirovskaya. He was chasing the rocket launcher, obviously an employee of the House of the Red Army, but he could not see him in the dark and did not catch up, but he threw the rocket launcher at Alexandrov's feet.
Life at the institute gradually improved. The central heating began to work better, the electric light became almost constant, there was water in the plumbing. We went to the movies. Films such as "Two Soldiers", "Once upon a time there was a girl" and others were watched with an undisguised feeling.
At "Two Fighters" the nurse was able to get tickets to the cinema "October" for a session later than we expected. When we arrived at the next screening, we learned that a shell hit the courtyard of this cinema, where visitors from the previous screening were let out, and many were killed and wounded.
The summer of 1942 passed through the hearts of the townsfolk very sadly. The encirclement and defeat of our troops near Kharkov, which greatly increased the number of our prisoners in Germany, brought great despondency to everyone. The new offensive of the Germans to the Volga, to Stalingrad, was very hard for everyone to experience. The mortality of the population, especially increased in the spring months, despite some improvement in nutrition, as a result of dystrophy, as well as the death of people from air bombs and artillery shelling, was felt by everyone.
In mid-May, my wife and her ration cards were stolen from my wife, which is why we were again very hungry. And it was necessary to prepare for the winter.
We not only cultivated and planted vegetable gardens in Rybatsky and Murzinka, but received a fair amount of land in the garden at Winter Palace which was given to our hospital. It was excellent land. Other Leningraders cultivated other gardens, squares, the Field of Mars. We planted even a dozen or two potato eyes with an adjacent piece of husk, as well as cabbage, rutabaga, carrots, onion seedlings, and especially a lot of turnips. Planted wherever there was a piece of land.
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The wife, fearing a lack of protein food, collected slugs from vegetables and pickled them in two large jars. However, they were not useful, and in the spring of 1943 they were thrown away.
The coming winter of 1942/43 was mild. Transport no longer stopped, all the wooden houses on the outskirts of Leningrad, including the houses in Murzinka, were demolished for fuel and stocked up for the winter. The rooms had electric lights. Soon, scientists were given special letter rations. As a candidate of science, I was given a letter ration of group B. It included 2 kg of sugar, 2 kg of cereals, 2 kg of meat, 2 kg of flour, 0.5 kg of butter and 10 packs of Belomorkanal cigarettes every month. It was luxurious and it saved us.
My fainting has stopped. I even easily kept watch with my wife all night, guarding the garden at the Winter Palace in turn, three times during the summer. However, despite the guards, every single head of cabbage was stolen.
Art was of great importance. We began to read more, to go to the cinema more often, to watch film programs in the hospital, to go to amateur concerts and to the artists who came to visit us. Once my wife and I were at a concert of D. Oistrakh and L. Oborin who arrived in Leningrad. When D. Oistrakh played and L. Oborin accompanied, it was cold in the hall. Suddenly a voice said softly, “Air raid, air raid! Those who wish can go down to the bomb shelter!” In the crowded hall, no one moved, Oistrakh smiled gratefully and understandingly at us all with his eyes alone and continued to play, not for a moment stumbling. Although the explosions pushed at my feet and I could hear their sounds and the yelping of anti-aircraft guns, the music absorbed everything. Since then, these two musicians have become my biggest favorites and fighting friends without knowing each other.
By the autumn of 1942, Leningrad was very empty, which also facilitated its supply. By the time the blockade began, up to 7 million cards were being issued in a city overflowing with refugees. In the spring of 1942, only 900 thousand of them were issued.
Many were evacuated, including part of the 2nd Medical Institute. All other universities left. But still, they believe that about two million people were able to leave Leningrad along the Road of Life. So about four million died (According to official data in besieged Leningrad about 600 thousand people died, according to others - about 1 million. - ed.) figure much higher than the official one. Not all the dead ended up in the cemetery. The huge ditch between the Saratov colony and the forest leading to Koltushi and Vsevolozhskaya took in hundreds of thousands of the dead and was leveled to the ground. Now there is a suburban vegetable garden, and there are no traces left. But the rustling tops and cheerful voices of the harvesters are no less happiness for the dead than the mournful music of the Piskarevsky cemetery.
A little about children. Their fate was terrible. Almost nothing was given on children's cards. I remember two cases particularly vividly.
In the most severe part of the winter of 1941/42, I wandered from Bekhterevka to Pestel Street to my hospital. His swollen legs barely moved, his head was spinning, each cautious step pursued one goal: to move forward and not fall at the same time. On Staronevsky I wanted to go to the bakery to buy two of our cards and warm up at least a little. The frost cut to the bone. I stood in line and noticed that a boy of seven or eight years old was standing near the counter. He leaned over and seemed to shrink. Suddenly he snatched a piece of bread from the woman who had just received it, fell down, huddled up in a bag with his back up, like a hedgehog, and began to greedily tear the bread with his teeth. The woman who lost her bread screamed wildly: probably, a hungry family was waiting impatiently at home. The line got mixed up. Many rushed to beat and trample the boy, who continued to eat, a padded jacket and a hat protected him. "The male! If only you could help,” someone called out to me, apparently because I was the only man in the bakery. I was shaken, my head was spinning. “You beasts, beasts,” I croaked and, staggering, went out into the cold. I couldn't save the child. A slight push was enough, and I would certainly have been taken by angry people for an accomplice, and I would have fallen.
Yes, I am a layman. I did not rush to save this boy. “Do not turn into a werewolf, a beast,” our beloved Olga Berggolts wrote these days. Wonderful woman! She helped many to endure the blockade and preserved in us the necessary humanity.
On behalf of them, I will send a telegram abroad:
“Alive. We will endure. We'll win."
But the unwillingness to share the fate of a beaten child forever remained a notch on my conscience ...
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The second incident happened later. We had just received, but already for the second time, a letter ration, and together with my wife we carried it along Liteiny, heading home. Snowdrifts were quite high in the second blockade winter. Almost opposite the house of N. A. Nekrasov, from where he admired the main entrance, clinging to the grate immersed in snow, a child of four or five years old was walking. He moved his legs with difficulty, huge eyes on a withered old face peered with horror at the world around him. His legs were tangled. Tamara pulled out a large, double, lump of sugar and handed it to him. At first he didn’t understand and shrunk all over, and then he suddenly grabbed this sugar with a jerk, pressed it to his chest and froze in fear that everything that had happened was either a dream or a lie ... We moved on. Well, what more could barely wandering inhabitants do?
BREAKTHROUGH THE BLOCCADE
All Leningraders spoke daily about breaking the blockade, about the upcoming victory, peaceful life and the restoration of the country, the second front, that is, about the active inclusion of the allies in the war. On the allies, however, little hope. “The plan has already been drawn, but there are no Roosevelts,” the Leningraders joked. They also recalled the Indian wisdom: "I have three friends: the first is my friend, the second is the friend of my friend and the third is the enemy of my enemy." Everyone believed that the third degree of friendship only unites us with our allies. (So, by the way, it turned out that the second front appeared only when it became clear that we could liberate the whole of Europe alone.)
Rarely did anyone talk about other outcomes. There were people who believed that Leningrad after the war should become a free city. But everyone immediately cut them off, recalling both “Window to Europe” and “ Bronze Horseman", and historical meaning for Russia exit to Baltic Sea. But they talked about breaking the blockade every day and everywhere: at work, on duty on the roofs, when they “fought off planes with shovels”, extinguishing lighters, for meager food, getting into a cold bed and during unwise self-service in those days. Waiting, hoping. Long and hard. They talked either about Fedyuninsky and his mustache, then about Kulik, then about Meretskov.
In the draft commissions, almost everyone was taken to the front. I was sent there from the hospital. I remember that I gave liberation only to a two-armed man, surprised by the wonderful prostheses that hid his defect. “Don't be afraid, take it with a stomach ulcer, tuberculous. After all, all of them will have to be at the front for no more than a week. If they don’t kill them, they will wound them, and they will end up in the hospital,” the military commissar of the Dzerzhinsky district told us.
Indeed, the war went on with great bloodshed. When trying to break through to communication with the mainland, piles of bodies remained under Krasny Bor, especially along the embankments. "Nevsky Piglet" and Sinyavinsky swamps did not leave the tongue. Leningraders fought furiously. Everyone knew that behind his back his own family was dying of hunger. But all attempts to break the blockade did not lead to success, only our hospitals were filled with crippled and dying.
With horror, we learned about the death of an entire army and the betrayal of Vlasov. This had to be believed. After all, when they read to us about Pavlov and other executed generals Western front, no one believed that they were traitors and "enemies of the people", as we were convinced of this. They remembered that the same was said about Yakir, Tukhachevsky, Uborevich, even Blucher.
The summer campaign of 1942 began, as I wrote, extremely unsuccessfully and depressingly, but already in the fall they began to talk a lot about our stubbornness at Stalingrad. The fighting dragged on, winter approached, and in it we hoped for our Russian strength and Russian endurance. Good news about the counter-offensive near Stalingrad, the encirclement of Paulus with his 6th Army, Manstein's failures in trying to break through this encirclement gave Leningraders new hope on New Year's Eve, 1943.
I met New Year together with my wife, having returned by 11 o’clock to the closet where we lived at the hospital, from the bypass of the evacuation hospitals. There was a glass of diluted alcohol, two slices of bacon, a piece of bread 200 grams and hot tea with a piece of sugar! A whole feast!
Events were not long in coming. Almost all of the wounded were discharged: some were commissioned, some were sent to convalescent battalions, some were taken to mainland. But we did not long wander around the empty hospital after the bustle of unloading it. A stream of fresh wounded went straight from their positions, dirty, often bandaged with an individual bag over their overcoat, bleeding. We were both a medical battalion, a field hospital, and a front-line hospital. Some began to sort, others - to operating tables for permanent operation. There was no time to eat, and there was no time for food.
It was not the first time that such streams came to us, but this one was too painful and tiring. All the time, the hardest combination of physical work with mental, moral human experiences with the clarity of the dry work of a surgeon was required.
On the third day, the men could no longer stand it. They were given 100 grams of diluted alcohol and sent to sleep for three hours, although the emergency room was littered with the wounded in need of urgent operations. Otherwise, they began to operate badly, half-asleep. Well done women! Not only did they endure the hardships of the blockade many times better than men, they died much less often from dystrophy, but they also worked without complaining of fatigue and clearly fulfilling their duties.
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In our operating room, they went on three tables: behind each - a doctor and a nurse, on all three tables - another nurse replacing the operating room. Personnel operating and dressing nurses all assisted in operations. The habit of working for many nights in a row in Bekhterevka, the hospital. On October 25, she helped me out on the ambulance. I passed this test, I can proudly say, like women.
On the night of January 18, a wounded woman was brought to us. On this day, her husband was killed, and she was seriously wounded in the brain, in the left temporal lobe. A shard with fragments of bones penetrated into the depths, completely paralyzing her both right limbs and depriving her of the ability to speak, but while maintaining the understanding of someone else's speech. Female fighters came to us, but not often. I took it to my table, laid it on my right, paralyzed side, anesthetized the skin and very successfully removed the metal fragment and bone fragments that had penetrated into the brain. “My dear,” I said, finishing the operation and getting ready for the next one, “everything will be fine. I took out the shard, and speech will return to you, and the paralysis will completely disappear. You will make a full recovery!"
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Suddenly, my wounded free hand from above began to beckon me to her. I knew that she would not soon begin to speak, and I thought that she would whisper something to me, although it seemed incredible. And suddenly, wounded with her healthy naked, but strong hand of a fighter, she grabbed my neck, pressed my face to her lips and kissed me hard. I couldn't take it. I did not sleep for the fourth day, almost did not eat, and only occasionally, holding a cigarette with a forceps, smoked. Everything went haywire in my head, and, like a man possessed, I ran out into the corridor in order to at least for one minute come to my senses. After all, there is a terrible injustice in the fact that women - the continuers of the family and softening the morals of the beginning in humanity, are also killed. And at that moment, our loudspeaker spoke, announcing the breaking of the blockade and the connection of the Leningrad Front with the Volkhovsky.
It was a deep night, but what started here! I was standing bloodied after the operation, completely stunned by what I had experienced and heard, and sisters, nurses, soldiers ran towards me ... Some with a hand on an “airplane”, that is, on a splint that abducted a bent arm, some on crutches, some still bleeding through a recently applied bandage . And so began the endless kissing. Everyone kissed me, despite my frightening appearance from spilled blood. And I stood, missed 15 minutes of the precious time for operating on other wounded in need, enduring these countless hugs and kisses.
The story of the Great Patriotic War of a front-line soldier
1 year ago, on this day, a war began that divided the history of not only our country, but the whole world into before and after. The participant of the Great Patriotic War Mark Pavlovich Ivanikhin, chairman of the Council of Veterans of War, Labor, Armed Forces and law enforcement Eastern Administrative District.
– – this is the day when our life was broken in half. It was a good, bright Sunday, and suddenly war was declared, the first bombings. Everyone understood that they would have to endure a lot, 280 divisions went to our country. I have a military family, my father was a lieutenant colonel. A car immediately came for him, he took his “alarming” suitcase (this is a suitcase in which the essentials were always ready), and we went to the school together, I as a cadet, and my father as a teacher.
Everything changed immediately, it became clear to everyone that this war would be for a long time. Disturbing news plunged into another life, they said that the Germans were constantly moving forward. That day was clear and sunny, and in the evening mobilization had already begun.
These are my memories, boys of 18 years old. My father was 43 years old, he worked as a senior teacher at the first Moscow Artillery School named after Krasin, where I also studied. It was the first school that released officers who fought on the Katyusha into the war. I fought in the Katyusha throughout the war.
- Young inexperienced guys went under the bullets. Was it certain death?
“We still did a lot. Even at school, we all needed to pass the standard for the TRP badge (ready for work and defense). They trained almost like in the army: they had to run, crawl, swim, and they also taught how to bandage wounds, apply splints for fractures, and so on. Although we were a little ready to defend our Motherland.
I fought at the front from October 6, 1941 to April 1945. I took part in the battles for Stalingrad, and from Kursk Bulge through Ukraine and Poland reached Berlin.
War is a terrible ordeal. It is a constant death that is near you and threatens you. Shells are exploding at your feet, enemy tanks are coming at you, flocks of German aircraft are aiming at you from above, artillery is firing. It seems that the earth turns into a small place where you have nowhere to go.
I was a commander, I had 60 people under my command. All these people need to be held accountable. And, despite the planes and tanks that are looking for your death, you need to control yourself and keep soldiers, sergeants and officers in the hands. This is difficult to do.
I can't forget the Majdanek concentration camp. We liberated this death camp, we saw emaciated people: skin and bones. And I especially remember the kids with cut hands, they took blood all the time. We saw bags of human scalps. We saw the chambers of torture and experiments. What to hide, it caused hatred for the enemy.
I still remember that we went into a recaptured village, saw a church, and the Germans set up a stable in it. I had soldiers from all cities Soviet Union, even from Siberia, many fathers died in the war. And these guys said: “We will reach Germany, we will kill the Fritz families, and we will burn their houses.” And so we entered the first German city, the soldiers broke into the house of a German pilot, saw a Frau and four small children. Do you think someone touched them? None of the soldiers did anything bad to them. The Russian person is outgoing.
All the German cities that we passed remained intact, with the exception of Berlin, where there was strong resistance.
I have four orders. Order of Alexander Nevsky, which he received for Berlin; Order of the Patriotic War of the 1st degree, two Orders of the Patriotic War of the 2nd degree. Also a medal for military merit, a medal for the victory over Germany, for the defense of Moscow, for the defense of Stalingrad, for the liberation of Warsaw and for the capture of Berlin. These are the main medals, and there are about fifty of them in total. All of us who survived the war years want one thing - peace. And so that the people who won the victory were valuable.
Photo by Yulia Makoveychuk
During the Great Patriotic War, not only adults, but also children experienced suffering and grief. You will learn about one such boy by reading the story of Sergei Alekseev. Learn about the kind heart of a Soviet soldier.
GENNADY STALINGRADOVICH
In the fighting Stalingrad, in the midst of the fighting, among the smoke, metal, fire and ruins, the soldiers picked up the boy. A tiny boy, a bead boy.
- What is your name?
— How old are you?
“Five,” the boy answered importantly.
The soldiers warmed, fed, sheltered the boy. They took the bead to headquarters. He ended up at the command post of General Chuikov.
The boy was smart. Only a day had passed, and he already remembered almost all the commanders. Not only did he not confuse his face, he knew the names of everyone and even, imagine, he could call everyone by their first and middle names.
The baby knows that the commander of the army, Lieutenant General Chuikov, is Vasily Ivanovich. Chief of Staff of the Army, Major General Krylov - Nikolai Ivanovich. Member of the Military Council of the Army Divisional Commissar Gurov - Kuzma Akimovich. Artillery Commander General Pozharsky - Nikolai Mitrofanovich. Boss armored forces Army Weinrub - Matvey Grigorievich.
The boy was amazing. Bold. I immediately sniffed out where the warehouse was, where the kitchen was, how the staff cook Glinka was called by his first name and patronymic, how to call adjutants, messengers, messengers. Walks importantly, greets everyone:
- Hello, Pavel Vasilyevich! ..
- Hello, Atkar Ibrahimovic! ..
- I wish you good health, Semyon Nikodimovich! ..
- Greetings to you, Kayum Kalimulinovich! ..
And the generals, and officers, and privates - everyone fell in love with the boy. They also began to call the baby by name and patronymic. Someone first said:
— Stalingradovich!
And so it went. Meet the little bead boy:
- We wish you good health, Gennady Stalingradovich! Satisfied boy. Pouts lips:
- Thanks to!
War is raging all around. No place in hell for a boy.
- To the left bank of it! To the left! The soldiers began to say goodbye to the boy:
— Good road to you, Stalingradovich!
- Gain strength!
- Take care of honor from a young age, Stalingradovich! He left with a passing boat. A boy is standing on the side. Waving his hand to the soldiers.
The soldiers escorted the bead and again to their military affairs. As if there was no boy, as if a dream had been dreamed.
TITAEV
November. Zavyuzhilo. Snow.
The unenviable life of signalmen. Snow, bad weather, mud, planes are bombing from the sky, shells are raising the ground, bullets are spreading death - be ready for the campaign, signalman. The wiring was damaged by a bomb, the wire was cut off by a shell, the fascist intelligence agent destroyed the connection - get ready, soldier, on the road.
In November, battles began for Mamaev Kurgan.
In the midst of the battle, the telephone connection with the command post of the division was interrupted. From the command post, it was the gunners who were given commands to fire at targets. The teams are broken now. Artillery fire ceased.
Signalman Titaev came out to repair the damage.
Titaev crawls along the wire, looking for where the break occurred. Low clouds hang over Titaev. The snow is blowing. To the left are enemy trenches. Mortars are firing. Machine guns chirp. The battle rages.
Titaev is crawling, staring at the wire, looking for the end of the cliff. Bullets whistle over the soldier. Leads astray.
“En, you won’t shoot down! ..” the blizzard soldier shouted. - En, you won't take it! .. - Titaev shouted to the bullets.
The soldier is crawling. And there, on the mound, the battle rumbles. And artillery fire is needed like air. Titaev understands this. Hurry up. Thirty meters ahead, a funnel from an explosion appeared. That's where it is, damage. Ten meters left. Five. Crawled to the funnel soldiers. Here he is at the edge. Here lies a wire cut with a steel fragment. Titaev picked up one end. Pulls faster second...
Silent, silent phone on command post and suddenly it worked. The commander breathed a sigh of relief.
“Well done,” he praised the signalers.
“So this is Titaev,” someone answered. - The first article of the soldier.
They know Titaev. They love in the division. They are waiting in the liaison company for when Titaev will return. The fighter is not returning. Two soldiers went in search of the signalman. They follow the same path. Low clouds hang above them. The wind sweeps the snow. To the left are enemy trenches. The machine guns are still firing. Machine guns chirp. The battle rages. Earned Soviet artillery. Covers the noise of battle, pleases the soldier's ear. Crawling, looking forward soldiers. They see a funnel. Titaev was recognized at the edge of the funnel. The fighter pressed to the ground.
— Titaev!
— Titaev!
Titaev is silent.
The soldiers crept closer. They looked - dead, motionless Titaev.
In war, soldiers are used to many things. You will not surprise them in battle with a feat. But here...
It turned out that at the moment when Titaev, having discovered a broken wire, was trying to connect its ends, a deadly bullet overtook the soldier. The soldier does not have the strength to repair the damage. But, saying goodbye to life, losing consciousness, at the last second the soldier managed to bring the wires to his mouth. Clamped, as in a vise, with his teeth.
- Fire! Fire! - the team is rushing along the wire.
And here is the answer:
- There is fire. How is the connection, how is the connection?
- Communication works great.
- Fire! Fire!
We crushed our enemy troops. And there, closing the funnels, lay a soldier. No, he did not lie - he stood at the post of a soldier.
He was on duty as a soldier.
Chapter first
THE END OF THE BLitzkrieg
BREST FORTRESS
The Brest Fortress stands on the border. The Nazis attacked it on the very first day of the war.
The Nazis could not take the Brest Fortress by storm. Passed her left and right. She remained with the enemies in the rear.
The Nazis are coming. Fights are going on near Minsk, near Riga, near Lvov, near Lutsk. And there, in the rear of the Nazis, he does not give up, the Brest Fortress is fighting.
It's hard for heroes. Bad with ammunition, bad with food, especially bad with water for the defenders of the fortress.
Around the water - the Bug River, the Mukhovets River, branches, channels. There is water all around, but there is no water in the fortress. Under fire water. A sip of water here dearer than life.
- Water! - rushes over the fortress.
There was a daredevil, rushed to the river. Rushed and immediately collapsed. The enemies of the soldier were killed. Time passed, another brave rushed forward. And he died. The third replaced the second. The third one did not survive.
A machine gunner lay not far from this place. He scribbled, scribbled a machine gun, and suddenly the line broke off. The machine gun overheated in battle. And the machine gun needs water.
The machine gunner looked - the water evaporated from the hot battle, the machine gun casing was empty. He looked to where the Bug, where the channels are. Looked left, right.
- Oh, it wasn't.
He crawled towards the water. He crawled in a plastunsky way, snuggled up to the ground like a snake. He is closer to the water, closer. It's right next to the coast. The machine gunner grabbed his helmet. He scooped up water like a bucket. Snake crawls back again. Closer to their own, closer. It's quite close. His friends took over.
- Bring water! Hero!
The soldiers are looking at the helmet, at the water. From thirst in the eyes of muddied. They do not know that the machine gunner brought water for the machine gun. They are waiting, and suddenly a soldier will treat them now - at least a sip.
The machine gunner looked at the fighters, at the withered lips, at the heat in his eyes.
“Come on,” said the machine gunner.
The fighters stepped forward, but suddenly ...
“Brothers, it would not be for us, but for the wounded,” someone’s voice rang out.
The soldiers stopped.
- Of course, the wounded!
- That's right, drag it to the basement!
The soldiers of the fighter were detached to the basement. He brought water to the basement where the wounded lay.
“Brothers,” he said, “voditsa ...
“Take it,” he handed the mug to the soldier.
The soldier reached for the water. I already took a mug, but suddenly:
“No, not for me,” said the soldier. - Not for me. Bring the children, dear.
The fighter carried water to the children. And it must be said that Brest Fortress along with adult fighters were women and children - the wives and children of military personnel.
The soldier went down to the basement where the children were.
“Well, come on,” the fighter turned to the guys. “Come, stand,” and, like a magician, he takes out his helmet from behind his back.
The guys look - there is water in the helmet.
The children rushed to the water, to the soldier.
The fighter took a mug, carefully poured it on the bottom. See who to give. He sees a baby with a pea next to him.
“Here,” he said to the kid.
The kid looked at the fighter, at the water.
“Papka,” said the kid. He's there, he's shooting.
- Yes, drink, drink, - the fighter smiled.
“No,” the boy shook his head. - Folder. “I never took a sip of water.
And others refused him.
The fighter returned to his own. He told about the children, about the wounded. He gave the water helmet to the machine gunner.
The machine gunner looked at the water, then at the soldiers, at the fighters, at his friends. He took a helmet, poured water into the metal casing. Came to life, earned, zastrochit machine gun.
The machine gunner covered the fighters with fire. The daredevils have been found again. To the Bug, towards death, they crawled. The heroes returned with water. Drink the children and the wounded.
The defenders of the Brest Fortress fought bravely. But there were fewer and fewer of them. Bombed them from the sky. Cannons fired direct fire. From flamethrowers.
The fascists are waiting - just about, and people will ask for mercy. That's it, and the white flag will appear.
They waited and waited - the flag was not visible. Nobody asks for mercy.
For thirty-two days the battles for the fortress did not cease. “I am dying, but I do not give up. Farewell, Motherland! one of her last defenders wrote on the wall with a bayonet.
These were words of goodbye. But it was also an oath. The soldiers kept their oath. They did not surrender to the enemy.
The country bowed to the heroes for this. And stop for a minute, reader. And you bow low to the heroes.
LIEPAYA
The war is on fire. The earth is on fire. A grandiose battle with the Nazis unfolded over a vast area from the Baltic to the Black Sea.
The Nazis attacked in three directions at once: Moscow, Leningrad and Kyiv. Unleashed the deadly fan.
The city of Liepaja is a port of the Latvian Soviet Republic. Here, on Liepaja, one of the fascist strikes was directed. Enemies believe in easy success:
Liepaja is in our hands!
The Nazis are coming from the south. They go along the sea - a straight road. The fascists are coming. Here is the village of Rutsava. Here is Lake Papes. Here is the river Barta. The city is getting closer and closer.
Liepaja is in our hands!
They're coming. Suddenly a terrible fire blocked the road. The Nazis stopped. The Nazis entered the battle.
They fight, they fight, they never break through. Enemies from the south cannot break through to Liepaja.
The Nazis then changed direction. Bypass the city now from the east. Bypassed. Here the city smokes in the distance.
Liepaja is in our hands!
As soon as they went on the attack, Liepaja bristled again with a flurry of fire. Sailors came to the aid of the soldiers. Workers came to the aid of the military. They took up arms. Together with the fighters in the same row.
The Nazis stopped. The Nazis entered the battle.
They fight, they fight, they never break through. The Nazis will not advance here, from the east either.
Liepaja is in our hands!
However, even here, in the north, the brave defenders of Liepaja blocked the way for the Nazis. Fights with the enemy Liepaja.
Days go by.
The second pass.
Third. Fourth is out.
Don't give up, keep Liepaja!
Only when the shells ran out, there were no cartridges - the defenders of Liepaja retreated.
The Nazis entered the city.
Liepaja is in our hands!
But the Soviet people did not reconcile. Gone underground. They went to the partisans. A bullet awaits the Nazis at every step. A whole division is held by the Nazis in the city.
Liepaja fights.
Liepaja was remembered for a long time by the enemies. If they failed in something, they said:
- Liepaja!
We did not forget Liepaja either. If someone steadfastly stood in battle, if someone fought with enemies with great courage, and the fighters wanted to celebrate this, they said:
- Liepaja!
Even having fallen into slavery to the Nazis, she remained in combat formation - our Soviet Liepaja.
CAPTAIN GASTELLO
It was the fifth day of the war. Pilot Captain Nikolai Frantsevich Gastello with his crew led the aircraft on a combat mission. The plane was large, twin-engine. Bomber.
The plane left for the intended target. Bombed off. Completed the mission. Turned around. Started going home.
And suddenly a shell burst from behind. It was the Nazis who opened fire on the Soviet pilot. The most terrible thing happened, the shell pierced the gas tank. The bomber caught fire. Flames ran along the wings, along the fuselage.
Captain Gastello tried to put out the fire. He banked the plane sharply on its wing. Made the car seem to fall on its side. This position of the aircraft is called slip. The pilot thought he would go astray, the flames would subside. However, the car continued to burn. Dumped Gastello bomber on the second wing. The fire does not disappear. The plane is on fire, losing altitude.
At this time, a fascist motorcade was moving under the plane below: tanks with fuel in the column, motor vehicles. The Nazis raised their heads, watching the Soviet bomber.
The Nazis saw how a shell hit the plane, how a flame immediately broke out. How the pilot began to fight the fire, throwing the car from side to side.
Fascists triumph.
- Less than one communist has become!
The Nazis laugh. And suddenly…
I tried, tried Captain Gastello to knock down the flames from the plane. He threw a car from wing to wing. Clearly - do not bring down the fire. The earth runs towards the plane with terrible speed. Gastello looked at the ground. I saw the Nazis below, a convoy, fuel tanks, trucks.
And this means: tanks will arrive at the target - they will be filled with gasoline fascist planes, tanks and vehicles will be refueled; fascist planes will rush to our cities and villages, fascist tanks will attack our fighters, cars will rush, fascist soldiers and military supplies will be transported.
Captain Gastello could leave the burning plane and jump out with a parachute.
But Captain Gastello did not use the parachute. He gripped the steering wheel tighter in his hands. He aimed a bomber at a fascist convoy.
The Nazis are standing, looking at the Soviet aircraft. Happy fascists. We are pleased that their anti-aircraft gunners shot down our plane. And suddenly they understand: a plane is rushing right at them, at the tanks.
The Nazis rushed in different directions. Not everyone managed to escape. The plane crashed into a fascist convoy. There was a terrible explosion. Dozens of fascist vehicles with fuel flew into the air.
Performed many glorious deeds soviet soldiers during the Great Patriotic War - and pilots, and tankers, and infantrymen, and gunners. Lots of unforgettable adventures. One of the first in this series of immortals was the feat of Captain Gastello.
Captain Gastello is dead. But the memory remains. Everlasting memory. Eternal glory.
Audacity
It happened in Ukraine. Not far from the city of Lutsk.
In these places, near Lutsk, near Lvov, near Brody, Dubno, big tank battles broke out with the Nazis.
Night. A column of fascist tanks changed their positions. They go one by one. Fill the area with motor rumble.
The commander of one of the Nazi tanks, Lieutenant Kurt Wieder, threw back the turret hatch, climbed out of the tank to the waist, admiring the night view.
Summer stars from the sky calmly look. To the right, a forest stretches in a narrow strip. On the left, the field runs into a lowland. A stream rushed like a silver ribbon. The road veered, took a little uphill. Night. They go one by one.
And suddenly. Wieder does not believe his eyes. A shot rang out in front of the tank. Wieder sees: the tank that went ahead of Wider fired. But what is? The tank hit its own tank! The downed one flared up, enveloped in flames.
Wieder's thoughts flashed, rushed one by one:
- Accident?!
– Oversight?!
- Are you crazy?!
– Crazy?!
But at that second, a shot was fired from behind. Then a third, fourth, fifth. Wieder turned. Tanks fire at tanks. Going behind those that go ahead.
Veeder sank faster into the hatch. He does not know what command to give to the tankers. Looks to the left, looks to the right, and rightly so: what command to give?
While he was thinking, another shot rang out. It resounded nearby, and immediately shuddered the tank in which Wieder was. He shuddered, clanged and flared up with a candle.
Wieder jumped to the ground. He darted into the ditch.
What happened?
The day before, in one of the battles, Soviet soldiers recaptured fifteen tanks from the Nazis. Thirteen of them turned out to be completely serviceable.
This is where we decided to use our fascist tanks against the fascists themselves. The Soviet tankers got into the enemy vehicles, went out to the road and waited for one of the fascist tank columns. When the column approached, the tankers imperceptibly joined it. Then we slowly reorganized so that a tank with our tankers would follow behind each fascist tank.
There is a column. Relax fascists. All tanks have black crosses. We approached the slope. And here - our column of fascist tanks was shot.
Wieder rose from the ground to his feet. I looked at the tanks. They burn like coals. His gaze shifted to the sky. Stars from the sky prick like needles.
Ours returned to us with a victory, with trophies.
- Well, how is it in order?
- Consider it full!
Tankers are standing.
Smiles glow. Courage in the eyes. Insolence on the faces.
SPIRIOUS WORD
On Belarusian soil there is a war. They rise behind the fire of the conflagration.
The fascists are marching. And here in front of them is the Berezina - the beauty of the Belarusian fields.
Berezina runs. Either it will spill over into a wide floodplain, then it will suddenly narrow to a canal, it will break through swamps, through swells, it will rumble along the forest, along the forest, along the field, it will rush to good huts at its feet, smile at bridges, cities and villages.
The Nazis came to the Berezina. One of the detachments to the village of Studyanka. Battles rumbled near Studyanka. Satisfied fascists. Another new frontier has been captured.
The places near Studyanka are hilly. The hump here is both the right and left banks. The Berezina here flows in a lowland. The Nazis went up the hill. As in the palm of your hand lies the district. Leaves fields and forest to the sky. The fascists are marching.
- Song! an officer in command.
The soldiers sang a song.
The Nazis are walking, suddenly they see a monument. At the top of the hill, by the road, stands an obelisk. The inscription at the bottom of the monument.
The Nazis stopped, they stopped bawling a song. They look at the obelisk, at the inscription. They do not understand Russian. However, it is interesting what is written here. Addressing one another:
What is it about, Kurt?
What is it about, Carl?
Kurt, Karl, Fritz, Franz, Adolf, Hans are standing, looking at the inscription.
And then there was one who read in Russian.
“Here, in this place…” the soldier began to read. And further about the fact that here, on the Berezina, near the village of Studyanka, in 1812, the Russian army under the command of Field Marshal Mikhail Illarionovich Kutuzov finally defeated the hordes of the French Emperor Napoleon I, who dreamed of conquering our country, and expelled the invaders from Russia.
Yes, it was in this place. Here, on the Berezina, near the village of Studyanka.
The soldier read the inscription on the monument to the end. I looked at my neighbors. Kurt whistled. Carl whistled. Fritz chuckled. Franz smiled. The other soldiers murmured:
- So when was it?
“Napoleon didn’t have that strength then!
Just what is it? The song is no longer a song. Quieter and quieter song.
- Louder, louder! an officer in command.
Nothing gets louder. This is where the song stops.
Soldiers are walking, remembering the year 1812, about the obelisk, about the inscription on the monument. Although it had been true for a long time, although Napoleon’s strength was not the same, but the mood of the fascist soldiers suddenly deteriorated somehow. They go and repeat:
- Berezina!
The word suddenly turned out to be prickly.
ESTATE
Enemies are marching across Ukraine. The fascists are rushing forward.
Good Ukraine. The air is fragrant like grass. The earth is fat as butter. The generous sun is shining.
Hitler promised the soldiers that after the war, after the victory, they would receive estates in Ukraine.
Walking soldier Hans Muttervater, picking up his estate.
He liked the place. The river gurgles. Rockets. Meadow next to the river. Stork.
- Good. Grace! This is where I will probably stay after the war. Here I will build a house by the river.
He closed his eyes. A handsome house has grown. And next to the house there is a stable, barns, sheds, a cowshed, a pigsty.
The soldier Muttervater broke into a smile.
- Excellent! Wonderful! Let's remember the place.
- Perfect place!
Admired.
This is where I will probably stay after the war. Here, on a hillock, I will build a house. He closed his eyes. A handsome house has grown. And next to the house there are other services: a stable, barns, sheds, a cowshed, a pigsty.
Stop again.
The steppe lay open spaces. There is no end to them. The field lies like velvet. The rooks are walking across the field like princes.
Captured by a soldier boundless expanse. He looks at the steppes, at the earth - the soul plays.
“Here I am, here I will stay forever.
He closed his eyes: the field was earing wheat. There are scythes nearby. This is his field. This is in the field of his scythes. And cows graze nearby. These are his cows. And the turkeys are pecking nearby. These are his turkeys. And his pigs, and chickens. And his geese, and ducks. Both his sheep and his goats. And here is the beautiful house.
Muttervater decided firmly. Here he will take the estate. No other place is needed.
- Zer Gut! - said the fascist. “I will stay here forever.
Good Ukraine. Generous Ukraine. What Muttervater dreamed about so much came true. Hans Muttervater remained here forever when the partisans opened the battle. And it is necessary - right there, right on his estate.
Lies Muttervater in his estate. And there are others walking by. They also choose these estates for themselves. Who is on the hill, and who is under the hill. Who is in the forest, and who is in the field. Who is at the pond, and who is at the river.
The partisans look at them:
- Don't crowd. Take your time. Great Ukraine. Generous Ukraine. Enough space for anyone.
TWO TANKS
In one of the battles, a Soviet KB tank (KB is a tank brand) rammed a fascist one. The Nazi tank was destroyed. However, ours also suffered. The impact stalled the engine.
The driver-mechanic Ustinov leaned over to the engine, trying to start it. The motor is silent.
The tank stopped. However, the tankers did not stop the fight. They opened fire on the Nazis with cannons and machine guns.
The tankers are shooting, listening to see if the engine is running. Fumbling with the motor Ustinov. The motor is silent.
The fight was long and hard. And now our tank ran out of ammunition. The tank was now completely helpless. Lonely, silently stands on the field.
The fascists got interested alone standing tank. Come up. We looked - outwardly the whole car. They got on the tank. They beat with forged boots on the manhole cover.
- Hey, Russian!
- Come out, Russian!
They listened. No answer.
- Hey, Russian!
No answer.
“The tankers died,” the Nazis thought. They decided to drag the tank away like a trophy. We drove our tank to the Soviet tank. Got the rope. Attached. The rope was pulled. Pulled the colossus colossus.
“Bad things,” our tankers understand. We leaned towards the engine, towards Ustinov:
- Well, look here.
- Well, pick here.
Where did the spark go?
Ustinov is puffing at the engine.
- Oh, you stubborn!
- Oh, you, your steel soul!
And suddenly he snorted, the tank engine started. Ustinov grabbed the levers. Quickly engaged the clutch. Gave more gas. The caterpillars moved at the tank. The Soviet tank rested.
The Nazis see, a Soviet tank rested. They are amazed: he was motionless - and came to life. Turned on the strongest power. They cannot move a Soviet tank. Roaring motors. Tanks pull each other in different directions. Caterpillars bite into the ground. The earth flies from under the caterpillars.
- Vasya, press! shout the tankers to Ustinov. - Vasya!
Pushed to the limit Ustinov. And then the Soviet tank overpowered. Pulled a fascist. The fascists have changed and now our roles. Not ours, but the fascist tank is now in trophies.
The Nazis rushed about, opened the hatches. They started jumping out of the tank.
The heroes dragged the enemy tank to their own. The soldiers are watching
- Fascist!
- Completely intact!
The tankers told about the last battle and what happened.
- Overpowered, then - the soldiers laugh.
- Pulled!
- Ours, it turns out, is stronger in the shoulders.
“Stronger, stronger,” the soldiers laugh. - Give time - whether it will be, brothers, Fritz.
What can you say?
- Shall we move?
- Let's move!
There will be battles. Be victorious. But it's not all at once. These battles are ahead.
FULL-FULL
The battle with the Nazis went on the banks of the Dnieper. The Nazis went to the Dnieper. Among others, the village of Buchak was captured. The Nazis were there. There are many of them - about a thousand. Installed a mortar battery. The coast is high. The Nazis can see far from the slope. The fascist battery is hitting ours.
The defense on the left, opposite bank of the Dnieper was held by a regiment commanded by Major Muzagik Khairetdinov. Khairetdinov decided to teach the fascists and the fascist battery a lesson. He gave the order to carry out a night attack on the right bank.
The Soviet soldiers began to prepare for the crossing. They got boats from the inhabitants. Oars, poles got. We plunged. Pushed off the left bank. The soldiers went into the darkness.
The Nazis did not expect an attack from the left bank. The village on a steeper slope from ours is covered by Dnieper water. Relax fascists. And suddenly collapsed in a fiery starfall Soviet soldiers on enemies. Crushed. Squeezed. They were thrown off the steep Dnieper. They destroyed both the fascist soldiers and the fascist battery.
The fighters returned with a victory to the left bank.
In the morning, new fascist forces approached the village of Buchak. The Nazis were accompanied by a young lieutenant. The lieutenant tells the soldiers about the Dnieper, about the Dnieper steeps, about the village of Buchak.
- There are plenty of us!
He clarifies - they say that the mortar battery is on a steeper slope, the entire left bank is visible from the steep, the Nazis are covered from the Russians by the Dnieper water, like a wall, and the soldiers in Buchak are located, like in Christ's bosom.
Fascists approach the village. Something is quiet around, silently. Empty all around, deserted.
The lieutenant is surprised:
- Yes, it was full of ours!
The Nazis entered the village. We went to the steep Dnieper. They see that the dead are lying on the steep. Looked to the left, looked to the right - and right, full.
Not only for the village of Buchak - in many places on the Dnieper at that time stubborn battles began with the Nazis. Swipe the fascists were struck here by the 21st Soviet army. The army crossed the Dnieper, attacked the Nazis, the Soviet soldiers liberated the cities of Rogachev and Zhlobin, headed for Bobruisk.
Fascists were alarmed:
- Rogachev is lost!
- Lost Zhlobin!
- The enemy is moving towards Bobruisk!
The Nazis had to urgently withdraw their troops from other sectors. They drove a huge force near Bobruisk. The Nazis barely held Bobruisk.
The blow of the 21st Army was not the only one. And in other places on the Dnieper, the fascists then got a hard time.