Heroes of the Great Patriotic War

1. Ivan Timofeevich Lyubushkin (1918-1942)

In the autumn of 1941, fierce battles were going on in the area of ​​​​the city of Orel. Soviet tankers fought off the fierce attacks of the Nazis. At the beginning of the battle, Senior Sergeant Lyubushkin's tank was damaged by an enemy shell and could not move. The crew accepted an unequal battle with fascist tanks advancing from all sides. Courageous tankers destroyed five enemy vehicles! During the battle, another shell hit Lyubushkin's car, the crew was wounded.

The tank commander continued to fire on the advancing Nazis, ordered the driver to repair the damage. Soon Lyubushkin's tank was able to move and joined his column.

For courage and courage, I. T. Lyuboshkin was awarded the title of Hero on October 10, 1941 Soviet Union.

In one of the battles in June 1942, Lyubushkin died a heroic death.

2. Alexander Matveevich Matrosov (1924-1943)

On February 23, 1943, fierce battles unfolded in one of the sections of the Kalinin Front near the village of Chernushki, north of the city of Velikie Luki. The enemy turned the village into a heavily fortified stronghold. Several times the fighters attacked the Nazi fortifications, but the destructive fire from the bunker blocked their path. Then the private of the Matrosov guard, having made his way to the bunker, closed the embrasure with his body. Inspired by the feat of Matrosov, the soldiers went on the attack and drove the Germans out of the village.

For the feat, A. M. Matrosov was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

Today, the regiment in which Matrosov served bears the name of a hero forever enrolled in the lists of the unit.

3. Nelson Georgievich Stepanyan (1913-1944)

During the Great Patriotic War, the commander of the assault regiment Stepanyan made 293 successful sorties to attack and bombard enemy ships.

Stepanyan became famous for his high skill, suddenness and audacity of strikes against the enemy. One day, Colonel Stepanyan led a group of planes to bombard an enemy airfield. The stormtroopers dropped their bombs and began to leave. But Stepanyan saw that several fascist planes remained intact. Then he sent his plane back, and approaching the enemy airfield, released the landing gear. The enemy anti-aircraft artillery ceased fire, thinking that a Soviet plane was voluntarily landing on their airfield. At that moment, Stepanyan gave gas, retracted the landing gear and dropped the bombs. All three aircraft that survived the first raid blazed with torches. And Stepanyan's plane landed safely at its airfield.

On October 23, 1942, for the excellent performance of command assignments, the glorious son of the Armenian people was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. He was posthumously awarded the second Gold Star medal on March 6, 1945.

4. Vasily Georgievich Klochkov (1911-1941)

November 1941. Moscow is declared under a state of siege. In the Volokolamsk direction, in the area of ​​​​the Dubosekovo junction, 28 soldiers of the rifle division, Major General I.V. Panfilov, led by political instructor Klochkov, stood to death.

On November 16, the Nazis threw a company of submachine gunners against them. But all enemy attacks were repulsed. On the battlefield, the Nazis left about 70 corpses. After some time, the Nazis moved 50 tanks against 28 brave men. The fighters led by the political commissar courageously entered into an unequal battle. One after another, valiant warriors fell to the ground, slain by fascist bullets. When the cartridges ran out, and the grenades were running out, political instructor Klochkov gathered around him the surviving fighters and, with grenades in his hands, went to the enemy.

at the cost own life The Panfilovites did not let the enemy tanks rushing towards Moscow. 18 wrecked and burned cars were left by the Nazis on the battlefield.

For unparalleled heroism, courage and courage, political instructor V. G. Klochkov was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

After the war, a monument was erected to the Panfilov heroes at the Dubosekovo junction.

5. Alexander Mikhailovich Roditelev (1916-1966)

During the battles for Koenigsberg in April 1945, the commander of a sapper platoon, junior lieutenant Roditelev, with eight sappers, acted as part of an assault group.

With a swift throw, the assault group went to the artillery positions of the enemy. Wasting no time, Parents ordered to attack the gunners. In the ensuing hand-to-hand combat, he himself destroyed six fascists. Unable to withstand the onslaught of Soviet soldiers, 25 German soldiers surrendered, the rest fled, leaving behind 15 heavy guns. A few minutes later, the Nazis made an attempt to return the abandoned guns. The sappers repelled three counterattacks and held the artillery positions until the main forces marched. In this battle, a group of sappers under the command of Roditelev exterminated up to 40 Nazis and captured 15 serviceable heavy guns. The next day, April 8, Parents with twelve sappers blew up the enemy's bunker, cleared 6 blocks of the city from the Nazis and captured up to 200 soldiers and officers.

For courage and courage shown in battles with the German fascists, A. M. Roditelev was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

6. Vladimir Dmitrievich Lavrinenkov (Born 1919)

Fighter pilot Lavrinenkov spent his first battle near Stalingrad. Soon on his account there were already 16 destroyed enemy aircraft. With each flight, his skill grew and strengthened. In battle, he acted decisively and courageously. The number of enemy planes shot down increased. Together with his comrades, he covered attack aircraft and bombers, repelled enemy air raids, conducting air battles - lightning battles with the enemy, from which he always emerged victorious.

By the end of the war, the communist Lavrinenkov had 448 sorties, 134 air battles, in which he personally shot down 35 enemy planes and 11 as part of a group.

The motherland twice awarded V. D. Lavrinenkov with the Gold Star medals of the Hero of the Soviet Union.

7. Viktor Dmitrievich Kuskov (1924-1983)

The mechanic of the torpedo boat Kuskov fought throughout the war on the ships of the Red Banner Baltic Fleet. The boat on which he served participated in 42 combat operations, sank 3 enemy ships.

In one of the battles, a direct hit by an enemy shell in the engine compartment smashed the left engine and damaged the oil pipe of the second engine. Kuskov himself was severely shell-shocked. Overcoming the pain, he reached the motor and covered the hole in the oil line with his hands. Hot oil burned his hands, but he opened them only when the boat left the battle and broke away from the enemy.

In another battle, in June 1944, a fire broke out in the engine room from a direct hit by an enemy shell. Kuskov was seriously wounded, but continued to remain at his post, fighting the fire and the water that flooded the engine compartment. However, the ship could not be saved. Kuskov, together with foreman Matyukhin, on life belts, launched the crew members, and the seriously wounded boat commander and officer were kept in the water in their arms for two hours until our ships approached.

For fearlessness and selflessness, a high understanding of military duty and saving the life of the ship's commander, communist VD Kuskov was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union on July 22, 1944.

8. Rufina Sergeevna Gasheva (Born 1921)

A school, a pioneer detachment, three years of studies at Moscow State University - this ordinary biography was drastically changed by the war. 848 sorties are recorded in the summer book of Rufina Gasheva, navigator of the squadron of the 46th Guards Taman Light Bomber Regiment. More than once she had to get into the most difficult situations. In one of the battles in the Kuban, Gesheva's plane was shot down by a fascist fighter and fell behind the front line. For several days, the girl made her way through the enemy rear to her regiment, where she was already considered dead. Near Warsaw, jumping out of a burning plane with a parachute, she landed on a minefield.

In 1956, Rufina Sergeevna Gasheva was demobilized with the rank of major. She taught English at the Academy of Armored Forces named after R. Ya. Malinovsky, worked in the Military Publishing House. She has been retired in Moscow since 1972. For courage shown in battles with the enemy, Rufina Sergeevna Gasheva was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union on February 23, 1945.

10. Evgenia Maksimovna Rudneva (1921-1944)

In the first days of the Great Patriotic War, Zhenya Rudneva, a student at Moscow State University, volunteered for the front. On the courses, she mastered the art of navigation. And then there were successful bombardments of concentrations of enemy troops, enemy equipment in the Kuban, the North Caucasus, and in the Crimea. 645 sorties were made by the navigator of the Guards Bomber Aviation Regiment, Senior Lieutenant Rudneva. In April 1944, while performing another combat mission in the Kerch region, E. M. Rudneva died heroically. On October 26, 1944, the navigator of the Guards Bomber Regiment Evgenia Maksimovna Rudneva was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

12. Manshuk Zhiengalievna Mametova (1922-1943)

The best machine gunner of the 21st Guards Rifle Division was considered a Kazakh girl Manshuk Mametova. She was an example of valor and fearlessness, the pride of the fighters of the division.

On October 15, 1943, there was a fierce battle for the city of Nevel. Manshuk supported the offensive of her unit with machine-gun fire. She was wounded in the head. Gathering the last of her strength, the girl pulled out a machine gun to an open position and began to shoot the Nazis point-blank, clearing the way for her comrades. Even dead, Manshuk clutched the handles of the machine gun...

From all over our Motherland, letters were sent to Alma-Ata, where she lived, from where Manshuk left for a great feat. And in Nevel, near the walls of which the heroine died, there is a street named after her. The courageous machine gunner was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union on March 1, 1944.

13. Elena Fedorovna Kolesova (1921-1942)

On a frosty November night in 1941, near Moscow, a detachment of scout girls, headed by a twenty-year-old Muscovite Komsomol member Elena Kolesova, left behind enemy lines. For the exemplary performance of this task, Lelya Kolesova was awarded the Order of the Red Banner. Since April 1942, the Kolesova group has been operating in one of the districts of the Minsk region. Under the leadership of its brave commander, the group collected and transmitted information about the location of the Nazis, the transfer of enemy troops and military equipment, bypassed highways and railways, and blew up enemy trains and bridges. On September 11, 1942, in an unequal battle with punishers near the village of Vydritsa, Minsk Region, Elena Kolesova died. The name of the heroine was carried by the pioneer team of the Moscow school No. 47, where she worked as a pioneer leader and teacher. The glorious intelligence officer, who gave her life for the freedom and independence of our Motherland, was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union on February 21, 1944.

14. Anatoly Konstantinovich Avdeev, gunner fighter anti-tank artillery regiment, born in 1925.

On July 5, 1944, Avdeev's gun crew was ordered to prevent the breakthrough of fascist troops from the encirclement in the Volma region (Belarus). Having taken an open firing position, the fighters shot the Nazis point-blank. The battle lasted 13 hours. During this time, the gun crew repulsed 7 attacks. Almost all the shells ran out, and 5 people of the gun crew died with the death of the brave. The enemy is attacking again. With a direct hit by a projectile, Avdeev's gun breaks down, and the last soldier from the calculation dies. Left alone, Avdeev does not leave the battlefield, but continues to fight with a machine gun and grenades. But now all the cartridges and the last grenade have been used up. The Komsomol member grabs an ax lying nearby and destroys four more fascists.

Mission accomplished. The enemy did not pass, leaving up to 180 corpses of soldiers and officers, 2 self-propelled guns, a machine gun and 4 vehicles on the battlefield in front of Avdeev's gun.

By decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, the glorious son of the Russian people Avdeev was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

15. Vladimir Avramovich Alekseenko, deputy commander of an aviation regiment, born in 1923, Russian.

Attack aircraft pilot Alekseenko made 292 successful sorties during the war years. He stormed enemy batteries shelling Leningrad, smashed the enemy on the Karelian Isthmus, in the Baltic states and in East Prussia. Dozens of aircraft shot down and destroyed at airfields, 33 tanks, 118 vehicles, 53 railway cars, 85 wagons, 15 armored personnel carriers, 10 ammunition depots, 27 artillery pieces, 54 anti-aircraft guns, 12 mortars and hundreds of enemy soldiers and officers killed - such is the combat account of captain Alekseenko.

For 230 successful sorties for assault strikes against concentrations of enemy troops and equipment, for courage and courage, communist V. A. Alekseenko was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union on April 19, 1945. On June 29, 1945, for new military exploits at the front, he was awarded the second Gold Star medal.

16. Andrey Egorovich Borovykh, aviation squadron commander, born in 1921, Russian.

During the Great Patriotic War, fighter pilot Andrei Borovoykh fought on the Kalinin Front. His combat path ran through Orel and Kursk, Gomel and Brest, Lvov and Warsaw and ended near Berlin. He flew to intercept enemy aircraft, escorted our bombers behind enemy lines, and conducted aerial reconnaissance. Only in the first two years of the war, Major Borovoy made 328 successful sorties, participated in 55 air battles, in which he personally shot down 12 enemy aircraft.

In August 1943, the communist Borovoy was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. He was awarded the second Gold Star medal on February 23, 1945 for another 20 enemy aircraft shot down in the next 49 air battles.

In total, during the war years, Borovoy made about 600 successful sorties.

After the Great Patriotic War, A.E. Borovoykh was elected a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the RSFSR and a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR.

17. Boris Aleksandrovich Vladimirov , commander of a rifle division, born in 1905, Russian.

General Vladimirov especially distinguished himself in January 1945 in the Vistula-Oder operation. As a result of a well-thought-out and skillfully organized battle, on January 14-15, his division successfully broke through the German defense in depth at the turn of the Vistula River. Pursuing the enemy, the division fought from January 16 to January 28 for about 400 km, with minor losses in personnel and military equipment. The soldiers under the leadership of General Vladimirov were among the first to enter the territory of Nazi Germany and, having made a difficult maneuver in a wooded area, with the fierce resistance of the Nazis, pushed them back from the border and defeated the five thousandth garrison of the city of Schneidemühl. In the area of ​​​​the city of Schneidemuhl, the soldiers of the division captured huge trophies, including 30 echelons with military equipment, food and military equipment.

For the skillful leadership of the division in difficult battle conditions and the personal courage and heroism shown at the same time, communist B.A. Vladimirov was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

18. Alexander Borisovich Kazaev , commander of a rifle regiment, born in 1919, Ossetian.

On April 13, 1945, the rifle regiment under the command of Major Kazaev, conducting offensive battles against the fascist group on the Zemland Peninsula, approached the heavily fortified line of defense of the enemy. All attempts to break through the defenses from the front were unsuccessful. The offensive of the division was suspended. Then Major Kazaev, with a daring and unexpected maneuver, blocked the enemy's main stronghold with small forces, and with his main forces broke through the defenses from the flanks and ensured the successful offensive of the entire division.

During the offensive battles from April 13 to April 17, 1945, the regiment of Major Kazaev exterminated more than 400 and captured 600 Nazi soldiers and officers, captured 20 guns and freed 1,500 prisoners languishing in concentration camps.

For the skillful leadership of the regiment's combat operations and the shown courage, A.V. Kazaev was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

21. Ermalai Grigorievich Koberidze, rifle division commander, born in 1904, Georgian, communist.

Personnel soldier, Major General E. G. Koberidze on the fronts of the Great Patriotic War - since June 1941. He especially distinguished himself in battles in July 1944. On July 27, 1944, the division commander, General Koberidze, personally with the forward detachment of the division, went to the eastern bank of the Vistula and organized its forcing. Under heavy enemy fire, the fighters, inspired by the division commander, crossed to the western coast and seized a bridgehead there. Following the forward detachment, the entire division, fighting hard, within two days completely crossed to the western bank of the river and began to consolidate and expand the bridgehead.

For the skillful management of the division in the battles for the Vistula and the personal heroism and courage shown at the same time, E. G. Koberidze was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

22. Caesar Lvovich Kunikov , commander of the landing detachment of sailors of the Novorossiysk Naval Base Black Sea Fleet, Russian.

On the night of February 3-4, 1943, a landing detachment of sailors under the command of Major Kunikov landed on the enemy-occupied and heavily fortified coast near Novorossiysk. With a swift blow, the landing detachment knocked the Nazis out of their stronghold and firmly entrenched themselves in the captured bridgehead. At dawn a fierce battle broke out. The paratroopers repelled 18 enemy attacks during the day. By the end of the day, the ammunition was running out. The situation seemed hopeless. Then a detachment of Major Kunikov made a sudden raid on an enemy artillery battery. Having destroyed the gun crew and seized the guns, they opened fire from them on the attacking enemy soldiers.

For seven days, the paratroopers fought off the fierce attacks of the enemy and held the bridgehead until the main forces approached. During this period, the detachment destroyed over 200 Nazis. In one of the battles, Kunikov was mortally wounded.

For courage and courage, communist Ts. L. Kunikov was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

24. Kafur Nasyrovich Mammadov . On October 18, 1942, the battalion of the marines of the Black Sea Fleet, in which the sailor Mamedov also fought, fought a hard battle with superior enemy forces. The Nazi troops managed to break through and surround the command post of the company commander. Sailor Mammadov rushed to the rescue of the commander and covered him with his chest from the enemy zeros. The brave warrior saved the commander at the cost of his own life.

For courage, courage and self-sacrifice in the battle against the fascist invaders, the son of the Azerbaijani people, Komsomol member K. N. Mammadov, was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

29. Maguba Huseynovna Syrtlanova , deputy commander of a squadron of night bombers, born in 1912, Tatar, communist.

Guards senior lieutenant Syrtlanova fought in the North Caucasus, the Taman Peninsula, Crimea, Belarus, Poland and East Prussia during the Great Patriotic War. In battles, she showed exceptional courage, courage and courage, made 780 sorties. In the most difficult meteorological conditions Syrtlanova led groups of aircraft to the specified areas with great accuracy.

For the courage and courage of the Guards, Senior Lieutenant M. G. Syrtlanova was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

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 I must say that in the Brest Fortress, along with adult fighters, there were both 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.

The enemies of Liepaja were remembered for a long time. 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 convoy was moving under the plane below: tanks with fuel in the convoy, 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 - fascist planes will be filled with gasoline, tanks and vehicles will be filled; 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.

Many glorious feats were accomplished by Soviet soldiers during the Great Patriotic War - pilots, tankers, infantrymen, and artillerymen. 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 tankmen. 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 enemy vehicles, went out to the road and guarded 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

There is a war going on in Belarus. 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 Nazis became interested in a lonely 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 the Soviet fighters fell upon the enemies with a fiery starfall. 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. The 21st Soviet Army dealt a strong blow to the Nazis here. 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.

L. Kassil. At the blackboard

They said about the teacher Ksenia Andreevna Kartashova that her hands sing. Her movements were soft, unhurried, rounded, and when she explained the lesson in the class, the guys followed every wave of the teacher's hand, and the hand sang, the hand explained everything that remained incomprehensible in the words. Ksenia Andreevna did not have to raise her voice at the students, she did not have to shout. There will be a noise in the class - she will raise her light hand, lead it - and the whole class seems to be listening, it immediately becomes quiet.

- Wow, she is strict with us! The boys boasted. - He immediately notices everything ...

Ksenia Andreevna taught in the village for thirty-two years. The rural militiamen saluted her in the street and, saluting, said:

- Ksenia Andreevna, how is my Vanka doing in science? You make him stronger there.

“Nothing, nothing, he moves a little,” answered the teacher, “a good boy.” Lazy just sometimes. Well, that happened to my father too. Isn't it true?

The policeman straightened his belt in embarrassment: once he himself sat at a desk and answered at the blackboard of Ksenia Andreevna, and also heard to himself that he was not a bad fellow, but sometimes he was lazy ... And the chairman of the collective farm was once a student of Ksenia Andreevna, and the director studied at the machine and tractor station from her. Many people have gone through Xenia Andreevna's class in thirty-two years. She was a strict but fair person.

Ksenia Andreyevna's hair had long since turned white, but her eyes had not faded and were as blue and clear as in her youth. And anyone who met this even and bright look involuntarily cheered up and began to think that, honestly, he was not such a bad person and it was definitely worth living in the world. Such were the eyes of Ksenia Andreevna!

And her gait was also light and melodious. Girls from high school tried to adopt it. No one has ever seen a teacher in a hurry, in a hurry. And at the same time, any work quickly argued and also seemed to sing in her capable hands. When she wrote the terms of the problem or examples from grammar on the blackboard, the chalk did not knock, did not creak, did not crumble, and it seemed to the children that a white stream was easily and tasty squeezed out of the chalk, like from a tube, writing letters and numbers on the black smooth surface of the board. "Do not rush! Don't jump, think carefully first!" Ksenia Andreevna would say softly, when the student began to stray in a problem or a sentence, and, diligently writing and erasing what he had written with a rag, floated in clouds of chalk smoke.

Ksenia Andreevna was not in a hurry this time either. As soon as the rattle of motors was heard, the teacher looked sternly at the sky and in a familiar voice told the children that everyone should go to the trench dug in the school yard. The school stood a little away from the village, on a hillock. The windows of the classrooms overlooked the cliff above the river. Ksenia Andreevna lived at the school. There were no jobs. The front passed very close to the village. Fighting raged somewhere nearby. Parts of the Red Army withdrew across the river and fortified there. And the collective farmers gathered a partisan detachment and went into the nearby forest outside the village. Schoolchildren brought them food there, told them where and when the Germans were seen. Kostya Rozhkov - the best swimmer of the school - more than once delivered reports from the commander of the forest partisans to the other side of the Red Army. Shura Kapustina once bandaged the wounds of two partisans who had suffered in battle - this art was taught to her by Ksenia Andreevna. Even Senya Pichugin, a well-known quiet man, once spotted a German patrol outside the village and, having reconnoitered where he was going, managed to warn the detachment.

In the evening, the children gathered at the school and told the teacher about everything. So it was this time, when the engines purred very close. Fascist planes have already flown into the village more than once, throwing bombs, scouring the forest in search of partisans. Kostya Rozhkov once even had to lie in a swamp for an hour, hiding his head under wide sheets of water lilies. And very close, cut down by machine-gun bursts of the aircraft, reeds fell into the water ... And the guys were already used to the raids.

But now they are wrong. It wasn't the planes that rumbled. The guys had not yet managed to hide in the gap, when three dusty Germans ran into the schoolyard, jumping over a low palisade. Car-glasses with folded lenses glittered on their helmets. They were scouts-motorcyclists. They left their cars in the bushes. From three different sides, but all at once, they rushed to the schoolchildren and aimed their machine guns at them.

- Stop! shouted a thin, long-armed German with a short red mustache, probably the boss. - Pioneer? - he asked.

The guys were silent, involuntarily moving away from the muzzle of the pistol, which the German took turns thrusting into their faces.

But the hard, cold barrels of the other two machine guns pressed painfully from behind on the backs and necks of the schoolchildren.

— Schneller, Schneller, bistro! shouted the fascist.

Ksenia Andreevna stepped forward straight at the German and covered the guys with herself.

- What would you like? the teacher asked and looked sternly into the German's eyes. Her blue and calm look confused the involuntarily retreating fascist.

— Who is V? Answer this minute ... I can speak Russian with something.

“I understand German too,” the teacher answered quietly, “but I have nothing to talk about with you. These are my students, I am a teacher at a local school. You may lower your gun. What do you want? Why are you scaring the kids?

- Don't teach me! hissed the scout.

The other two Germans looked around anxiously. One of them said something to the boss. He got worried, looked towards the village and began to push the teacher and the children towards the school with the muzzle of a pistol.

“Well, well, hurry up,” he said, “we are in a hurry ...” He threatened with a pistol. Two little questions and everything will be all right.

The guys, along with Ksenia Andreevna, were pushed into the classroom. One of the Nazis remained on guard on the school porch. Another German and the boss drove the guys to their desks.

"Now I'm going to give you a little exam," said the chief. - Sit down!

But the children stood huddled in the aisle and looked, pale, at the teacher.

“Sit down, guys,” Ksenia Andreevna said in her quiet and ordinary voice, as if another lesson was beginning.

The boys sat down carefully. They sat in silence, not taking their eyes off the teacher. Out of habit, they sat down in their seats, as they usually did in the classroom: Senya Pichugin and Shura Kapustina in front, and Kostya Rozhkov at the back of everyone, in the last desk. And, finding themselves in their familiar places, the guys gradually calmed down.

Outside the windows of the classroom, on the glass of which protective strips were pasted, the sky was calmly blue, on the windowsill in jars and boxes were flowers grown by the children. On the glass cabinet, as always, hovered a hawk stuffed with sawdust. And the wall of the classroom was decorated with neatly pasted herbariums. The older German touched one of the pasted sheets with his shoulder, and dried daisies, fragile stems and twigs fell on the floor with a slight crunch.

It hurt the guys in the heart. Everything was wild, everything seemed contrary to the habitually established order within these walls. And the familiar class seemed so dear to the children, the desks, on the covers of which dried ink smudges were cast, like the wing of a bronze beetle.

And when one of the fascists approached the table, at which Ksenia Andreevna usually sat, and kicked him with his foot, the guys felt deeply offended.

The chief demanded that he be given a chair. None of the guys moved.

- Well! shouted the fascist.

“Here they listen only to me,” said Ksenia Andreevna. — Pichugin, please bring a chair from the corridor.

Quiet Senya Pichugin slipped inaudibly from the desk and followed the chair. He did not return for a long time.

- Pichugin, hurry up! the teacher called Senya.

He appeared a minute later, dragging a heavy chair with a seat upholstered in black oilcloth. Without waiting for him to come closer, the German snatched a chair from him, put it in front of him and sat down. Shura Kapustina raised her hand:

- Ksenia Andreevna ... can I leave the class?

- Sit down, Kapustina, sit down. - And, looking at the girl knowingly, Ksenia Andreevna added in a barely audible voice: - There is still a sentry there.

Now everyone will listen to me! the boss said.

And, distorting the words, the fascist began to tell the guys that the Red partisans were hiding in the forest, and he knows this very well, and the guys also know this very well. German scouts have seen schoolchildren running back and forth into the forest more than once. And now the guys must tell the chief where the partisans hid. If the guys say where the partisans are now, naturally, everything will be fine. If the guys don’t say, naturally, everything will be very bad.

“Now I will listen to everyone,” the German finished his speech.

Here the guys understood what they wanted from them. They sat without moving, only had time to look at each other and again froze on their desks.

A tear slowly crept down Shura Kapustina's face. Kostya Rozhkov was sitting, leaning forward, resting his strong elbows on the open desk top. The short fingers of his hands were entwined. Kostya swayed slightly, staring at the desk. From the outside, it seemed that he was trying to disengage his hands, and some kind of force was preventing him from doing this.

The guys sat in silence.

The chief called his assistant and took the map from him.

“Order them,” he said in German to Xenia Andreevna, “to show me this place on a map or on a plan. Well, live! Just look at me ... - He spoke again in Russian: - I warn you that I am understandable to the Russian language and that you will tell the children ...

He went to the board, took a piece of chalk and quickly sketched out a plan of the area - a river, a village, a school, a forest ... To make it clearer, he even drew a chimney on the school roof and scratched curls of smoke.

“Perhaps you will think about it and tell me everything you need yourself?” the chief quietly asked the teacher in German, coming close to her. The children won't understand, speak German.

“I already told you that I've never been there and I don't know where it is.

The fascist, grabbing Xenia Andreyevna by the shoulders with his long arms, roughly shook her:

Ksenia Andreevna freed herself, took a step forward, went up to the desks, leaned both hands on the front and said:

- Guys! This man wants us to tell him where our partisans are. I don't know where they are. I have never been there. And you don't know either. Truth?

“We don’t know, we don’t know!” the guys rustled. Who knows where they are! They went into the forest and that's it.

“You are really bad students,” the German tried to joke, “he cannot answer such a simple question. Hey, hey...

He looked around the class with mock gaiety, but did not meet a single smile. The guys were strict and wary. It was quiet in

class, only Senya Pichugin sniffed sullenly at the first desk.

The German approached him:

- Well, what's your name?.. You don't know either?

“I don’t know,” Senya answered quietly.

“And what is this, you know? The German jabbed the muzzle of his pistol at Senya's lowered chin.

“I know that,” Senya said. - Automatic pistol of the "Walter" system ...

“Do you know how much he can kill such bad students?”

- I do not know. Think for yourself…” Senya muttered.

— Who is! the German shouted. You said: count yourself! Very well! I'll count to three myself. And if no one tells me what I asked, I will shoot your stubborn teacher first. And then - anyone who does not say. I started counting! Once!..

He grabbed Xenia Andreevna by the arm and pulled her against the classroom wall. Ksenia Andreevna did not utter a sound, but it seemed to the guys that her soft, melodious hands groaned themselves. And the class buzzed. Another fascist immediately pointed his gun at the guys.

“Children, don’t,” Ksenia Andreevna said quietly and, out of habit, wanted to raise her hand, but the fascist hit her wrist with the barrel of a pistol, and her hand fell helplessly.

“Alzo, then, none of you know where the partisans are,” said the German. - Fine, let's count. "One" I already said, now it will be "two".

The fascist began to raise his pistol, aiming at the teacher's head. Shura Kapustina began to sob in the front desk.

“Be quiet, Shura, be quiet,” Ksenia Andreevna whispered, and her lips hardly moved. “Let everyone be silent,” she said slowly, looking around the class, “whoever is afraid, let her turn away.” You don't have to watch guys. Farewell! Learn well. And remember this lesson...

“I’m going to say three now!” the fascist interrupted her.

And suddenly Kostya Rozhkov got up at the back and raised his hand:

She really doesn't know!

- Who knows?

"I know..." Kostya said loudly and distinctly. “I went there myself and I know. She didn't, and she doesn't know.

“Well, show me,” said the chief.

Rozhkov, why are you telling lies? - said Ksenia Andreevna.

“I'm telling the truth,” Kostya said stubbornly and harshly, and looked into the teacher's eyes.

"Kostya..." Ksenia Andreevna began.

But Rozhkov interrupted her:

- Ksenia Andreevna, I myself know ...

The teacher stood facing away from him,

dropping his white head on his chest. Kostya went to the blackboard, at which he had answered the lesson so many times. He took the chalk. He stood indecisively, fingering the white, crumbling pieces. The fascist approached the blackboard and waited. Kostya raised his hand with the chalk.

“Here, look here,” he whispered, “I’ll show you.”

The German approached him and bent down to better see what the boy was showing. And suddenly Kostya hit the black surface of the board with all his might with both hands. This is done when, having written on one side, they are going to turn the board over to the other. The board turned sharply in its frame, screeched and hit the fascist in the face with a sweeping blow. He flew off to the side, and Kostya, jumping over the frame, instantly disappeared behind the board, as if behind a shield. The fascist, clutching his bloodied face, fired at the board to no avail, putting bullet after bullet into it.

In vain... Behind the chalkboard was a window overlooking a cliff above the river. Kostya, without hesitation, jumped through the open window, threw himself off the cliff into the river and swam to the other side.

The second fascist, pushing Ksenia Andreevna away, ran to the window and began to shoot at the boy with a pistol. The chief shoved him aside, snatched the pistol from him and took aim himself through the window. The guys jumped on the desks. They no longer thought about the danger that threatened them. Only Kostya worried them now. They wanted only one thing now - for Kostya to get to the other side, so that the Germans would miss.

At this time, having heard firing in the village, partisans stalking motorcyclists jumped out of the forest. Seeing them, the German guard on the porch fired into the air, shouted something to his comrades and rushed into the bushes where the motorcycles were hidden. But through the bushes, stitching the leaves, cutting off the branches, a machine-gun burst lashed

Red Army patrol that was on the other side ...

No more than fifteen minutes passed, and the partisans brought three disarmed Germans into the classroom, where the excited children again burst into. The commander of the partisan detachment took a heavy chair, moved it to the table and wanted to sit down, but Senya Pichugin suddenly rushed forward and snatched the chair from him.

- Don't, don't! I'll bring you another one now.

And in an instant he dragged another chair from the corridor, and pushed this one behind the board. The commander of the partisan detachment sat down and called the head of the fascists to the table for interrogation. And the other two, rumpled and hushed, sat side by side on the desks of Senya Pichugin and Shura Kapustina, diligently and timidly placing their feet there.

“He almost killed Ksenia Andreevna,” Shura Kapustina whispered to the commander, pointing to the Nazi intelligence officer.

“Not quite exactly like that,” the German muttered, “that’s right, not me at all ...

— He, he! shouted the quiet Senya Pichugin. - He still had a mark ... I ... when I was dragging a chair, I accidentally knocked over the ink on the oilcloth.

The commander leaned across the table, looked and grinned: an ink stain darkened on the back of the gray trousers of the fascist ...

Ksenia Andreevna entered the class. She went ashore to find out if Kostya Rozhkov had sailed safely. The Germans, who were sitting at the front desk, looked with surprise at the commander who jumped up.

- Get up! the commander shouted at them. In our class, we are supposed to get up when the teacher comes in. That's not what you, apparently, were taught!

And the two fascists obediently got up.

- Permission to continue our lesson, Ksenia Andreevna? the commander asked.

“Sit down, sit down, Shirokov.

“No, Ksenia Andreevna, take your rightful place,” Shirokov objected, pulling up a chair, “you are our mistress in this room. And I'm here, over there at that desk, I've worked my brains out, and my daughter is here with you ... Sorry, Ksenia Andreevna, that we had to allow these slackers into our class. Well, since it happened so, here you are and ask them properly. Help us: you know their language ...

And Ksenia Andreevna took her place at the table, from which she had learned many good people in thirty-two years. And now, in front of Ksenia Andreevna's table, next to a blackboard pierced by bullets, a long-armed, red-haired man was squirming, nervously adjusting his jacket, mumbling something and hiding his eyes from the blue, stern gaze of the old teacher.

“Stand properly,” said Ksenia Andreevna, “what are you fidgeting about?” My guys don't keep up. So... And now take the trouble to answer my questions.

And the lanky fascist, timid, stretched out in front of the teacher.

Arkady Gaidar "Campaign"

little story

At night, a Red Army soldier brought a summons. And at dawn, when Alka was still sleeping, his father kissed him warmly and went to war - on a campaign.

In the morning, Alka got angry why they didn’t wake him up, and immediately declared that he wanted to go camping too. He would probably scream, cry. But quite unexpectedly, his mother allowed him to go camping. And so, in order to gain strength before the road, Alka ate a full plate of porridge without a whim, and drank some milk. And then she and her mother sat down to prepare camping equipment. His mother sewed pants for him, and he, sitting on the floor, cut a saber out of the board. And right there, at work, they learned marching marches, because with such a song as “A Christmas tree was born in the forest”, you won’t walk far. And the motive is not the same, and the words are not the same, in general, this melody is completely inappropriate for a fight.

But now the time has come for the mother to go on duty to work, and they postponed their business until tomorrow.

And so, day after day, they prepared Alka for a long journey. They sewed pants, shirts, banners, flags, knitted warm stockings, mittens. Some wooden sabers next to the gun and the drum hung on the wall for seven pieces. And this reserve does not matter, because in a hot battle, a sonorous saber has an even shorter life than a rider.

And for a long time, perhaps, Alka could have gone on a campaign, but then a fierce winter came. And in such a frost, of course, it would not take long to catch a runny nose or a cold, and Alka patiently waited for the warm sun. But now the sun has returned. Blackened melted snow. And if only, just start to get ready, as the bell rang. And with heavy steps, the father, who had returned from the campaign, entered the room. His face was dark, weather-beaten, and his lips were chapped, but his gray eyes looked cheerful.

He, of course, hugged his mother. And she congratulated him on his victory. He, of course, kissed his son tightly. Then he examined all Alkino's camping equipment. And, smiling, he ordered his son: keep all these weapons and ammunition in perfect order, because there will be hard battles and dangerous campaigns and there are still many more ahead on this earth.

Konstantin Paustovsky. buoy man

All day I had to walk along overgrown meadow roads.

Only in the evening did I go out to the river, to Semyon's buoy-keeper's lodge.

The gatehouse was on the other side. I shouted to Semyon to give me a boat, and while Semyon was untying it, rattling the chain and walking behind the oars, three boys came up to the shore. Their hair, eyelashes and panties were burned to a straw color.

The boys sat down by the water, over the cliff. Immediately, swifts began to fly out from under the cliff with such a whistle as if shells from a small cannon; many swift nests were dug in the cliff. The boys laughed.

- Where are you from? I asked them.

“From the Laskovsky forest,” they answered and said that they were pioneers from a neighboring city, they had come to the forest to work, they had been sawing firewood for three weeks now, and sometimes they came to the river to swim. Semyon transports them to the other side, to the sand.

"He's only grouchy," said the most a little boy. Everything is not enough for him, everything is not enough. You know him?

- I know. For a long time.

- He is good?

- Very good.

“Only everything is not enough for him,” the thin boy in the cap confirmed sadly. “You can't please him. Swears.

I wanted to ask the boys what, after all, was not enough for Semyon, but at that moment he himself drove up in a boat, got out, extended his rough hand to me and the boys and said:

“Good guys, but they don’t understand much. You could say they don't understand anything. So it turns out that we, old brooms, are supposed to teach them. Am I right? Get on the boat. Go.

“Well, you see,” said the little boy, climbing into the boat. - I told you!

Semyon rowed rarely, without haste, as buoyers and carriers always row on all our rivers. Such rowing does not interfere with talking, and Semyon, a long-winded old man, immediately started a conversation.

“Just don’t think,” he said to me, “they are not offended by me. I have already injected so much into their heads - passion! How to cut a tree - you also need to know. Let's say which way it will fall. Or how to bury yourself so that the butt does not kill. Now do you know?

“We know, grandfather,” said the boy in the cap. - Thanks.

- Well, that's it! I suppose they didn’t know how to make a saw, wood splitters, workers!

“Now we can,” said the smallest boy.

- Well, that's it! Only this science is not cunning. Empty science! This is not enough for a person. Another thing to know.

- And what? a third boy, all freckled, asked anxiously.

“But now there is a war. Need to know about this.

— We know.

“You don't know anything. You brought me a newspaper the other day, but what is written in it you cannot really determine.

- What is written in it, Semyon? I asked.

- I'll tell you now. Is there smoking?

We rolled a shag cigarette from a crumpled newspaper. Semyon lit a cigarette and said, looking at the meadows:

- And it is written in it about love for the native land. From this love, one must think so, a person goes to fight. Did I say right?

- Correctly.

- And what is it - love for the motherland? So you ask them, boys. And it looks like they don't know anything.

The boys were offended

- We don't know!

- And if you know, then explain it to me, an old fool. Wait, don't jump out, let me finish. For example, you go into battle and think: "I'm going for my native land." So you say: what are you going for?

"I'm going for a free life," said the little boy.

- That's not enough. One free life will not live.

“For their cities and factories,” said the freckled boy.

“For my school,” said the boy in the cap. And for my people.

“And for my people,” said the little boy. - To have a working and happy life.

"You're all right," said Semyon, "only it's not enough for me."

The boys looked at each other and frowned.

- Offended! Simon said. — Oh, you judges! And, let's say, you don't want to fight for a quail? Protect it from ruin, from death? BUT?

The boys were silent.

“So I see that you don’t understand everything,” Semyon began. “And I, the old one, must explain to you. And I have enough things to do: check buoys, hang marks on poles. I also have a delicate matter, a state matter. Because this river is also trying to win, it carries steamboats, and I’m kind of like a nurse with it, like a guardian, so that everything is in good order. So it turns out that all this is right - and freedom, and cities, and, say, rich factories, and schools, and people. So not for this alone we love our native land. After all, not for one?

— And for what else? the freckled boy asked.

- And you listen. So you walked here from the Laskovsky forest along the beaten road to Lake Tish, and from there through the meadows to the Island and here to me, to the ferry. Did you go?

- Here you go. Have you looked at your feet?

- Looked.

“But I didn’t see anything.” And we should look, and notice, and stop more often. You stop, bend down, pick any flower or grass - and move on.

- And then, that in each such grass and in each such flower there is a great charm. Here, for example, clover. You call him porridge. You pick it up, smell it - it smells like a bee. From this smell, an evil person will smile. Or, say, chamomile. After all, it is a sin to crush with a boot. And the honeysuckle? Or sleep grass. She sleeps at night, bows her head, grows heavy from the dew. Or bought. Yes, you don't seem to know her. The leaf is wide, hard, and under it are flowers like white bells. You're about to touch - and they will ring. That's it! This plant is tributary. It heals the disease.

- What does inflow mean? asked the boy in the cap.

- Well, medical, or something. Our disease is an ache in the bones. From dampness. From kupena the pain is quiet, you sleep better and the work becomes easier. Or air. I sprinkle them on the floors in the gatehouse. You come to me - my air is Crimean. Yes! Here, go, look, notice. There is a cloud over the river. You don't know it; and I hear - it pulls from the rain. Mushroom rain - disputable, not very noisy. This rain is more valuable than gold. It makes the river warmer, the fish play, it grows all our wealth. Often, towards evening, I sit at the gatehouse, weaving baskets, then I look around and forget about all sorts of baskets - after all, what is it! A cloud in the sky is made of hot gold, the sun has already left us, and there, above the earth, it still radiates warmth, radiates light. And it will go out, and the corncrakes will begin to creak in the grasses, and the twitchers will pull, and the quail will whistle, otherwise, you look, how the nightingales will strike like thunder - on the vine, on the bushes! And the star will rise, stop over the river and stand until the morning - she looked, beauty, into clear water. So, guys! You look at all this and think: we have little life allotted, we need to live two hundred years - and that will not be enough. Our country is a beauty! For this charm, we must also fight with enemies, protect it, protect it, and not let it be defiled. Am I saying right? All make noise, "motherland", "motherland", but here it is, the motherland, behind the haystacks!

The boys were silent, thoughtful. Reflecting in the water, a heron slowly flew by.

“Oh,” said Semyon, “people go to war, but we, the old ones, have been forgotten!” Forgotten in vain, trust me. The old man is a strong, good soldier, his blow is very serious. If they let us old people in, the Germans would also scratch themselves here. “Uh-uh,” the Germans would say, “it’s not the way for us to fight with such old people! Not the point! With such old men you will lose the last ports. You're kidding, brother!"

The boat hit the sandy shore with its bow. Small waders hurriedly ran away from her along the water.

“That’s right, guys,” Simon said. - Again, I suppose you will complain about your grandfather - everything is not enough for him. An incomprehensible grandfather.

The boys laughed.

“No, understandable, quite understandable,” said the little boy. - Thank you, grandfather.

Is it for transportation or something else? Simon asked and narrowed his eyes.

- For something else. And for transportation.

- Well, that's it!

The boys ran to the sandy spit to swim. Semyon looked after them and sighed.

“I try to teach them,” he said. - Respect to teach to the native land. Without this, a person is not a person, but dust!

The Adventures of the Rhinoceros Beetle (Soldier's Tale)

When Pyotr Terentyev left the village for the war, his little son Styopa did not know what to give his father as a farewell gift, and finally presented an old rhinoceros beetle. He caught him in the garden and planted him in a matchbox. Rhino got angry, knocked, demanded to be released. But Styopa did not let him out, but slipped blades of grass into his box so that the beetle would not die of hunger. The rhinoceros gnawed at the blade of grass, but still continued to knock and scold.

Styopa cut a small window in the box to let in fresh air. The beetle stuck out a shaggy paw at the window and tried to grab Styopa by the finger - he must have wanted to scratch him out of anger. But Styopa did not give a finger. Then the beetle would begin to buzz with annoyance so that Styopa Akulina's mother would shout:

"Let him out, you goblin!" All day zhundit and zhundit, the head is swollen from it!

Pyotr Terentyev grinned at Stepin's present, stroked Styopa's head with his rough hand, and hid the box with the beetle in his gas mask bag.

“Just don’t lose him, save him,” Styopa said.

“Somehow you can lose such gifts,” Peter answered. - I'll save it somehow.

Either the beetle liked the smell of rubber, or Peter smelled pleasantly of an overcoat and black bread, but the beetle calmed down and drove with Peter to the very front.

At the front, the soldiers were surprised at the beetle, touched its strong horn with their fingers, listened to Peter's story about his son's gift, they said:

What was the boy thinking! And the beetle, you see, is combat. Just a corporal, not a beetle.

The fighters were interested in how long the beetle would last and how it was with food allowances - what Peter would feed and water him. Without water, although he is a beetle, he cannot live.

Peter smiled embarrassedly, answered that if you give a beetle some spikelet, it will eat for a week. Does he need a lot?

One night, Peter dozed off in the trenches, dropped the box with the beetle out of his bag. The beetle tossed and turned for a long time, opened the slot in the box, crawled out, wiggled its antennae, and listened. The earth rumbled in the distance, yellow lightning flashed.

The beetle climbed onto the elderberry bush at the edge of the trench to get a better look around. He has never seen such a storm. There were too many lightning. The stars did not hang motionless in the sky, like a beetle in their homeland, in Peter's Village, but took off from the earth, illuminated everything around with bright light, smoked and went out. Thunder rumbled continuously.

Some bugs whistled past. One of them hit the elder bush so hard that red berries fell from it. The old rhinoceros fell, pretended to be dead and was afraid to move for a long time. He realized that it was better not to mess with such beetles - there were too many of them whistling around.

So he lay until the morning, until the sun rose. The beetle opened one eye, looked at the sky. It was blue, warm, there was no such sky in his village.

Huge birds howling fell from this sky like kites. The beetle quickly rolled over, stood on its feet, crawled under the burdock - he was afraid that the kites would peck him to death.

In the morning, Peter missed the beetle, began to fumble around on the ground.

- What are you? - asked a neighbor-fighter with such a tanned face that he could be mistaken for a black man.

“The beetle has left,” Peter answered with chagrin. - That's the trouble!

“I found something to grieve about,” said the tanned fighter. - A beetle is a beetle, an insect. The soldier was of no use to him.

- It's not about usefulness, - Peter objected, - but about memory. My son gave it to me in the end. Here, brother, not an insect is expensive, memory is dear.

- That's for sure! agreed the tanned fighter. “That, of course, is a different matter. Only to find it is like a shag crumb in the ocean-sea. Gone, then the beetle.

Since then, Peter stopped putting the beetle in the box, but carried it right in his gas mask bag, and the soldiers were even more surprised: “You see, the beetle has become completely manual!”

Sometimes in free time Peter released the beetle, and the beetle crawled around, looking for some roots, chewing on the leaves. They were no longer the same as in the village.

Instead of birch leaves, there were many elm and poplar leaves. And Peter, reasoning with the soldiers, said:

— My beetle switched to trophy food.

One evening a fresh air blew into the gas mask bag, the smell of big water, and the bug crawled out of the bag to see where it was.

Peter stood with the soldiers on the ferry. The ferry floated across the wide bright river. Behind it, the golden sun was setting, willows stood along the banks, storks with red paws flew over them.

Wisla! - said the soldiers, scooped up water with bowls, drank, and some washed their dusty face in cool water. - We drank, then, water from the Don, Dnieper and Bug, and now we will drink from the Vistula. Painfully sweet water in the Vistula.

The beetle breathed the coolness of the river, moved its antennae, climbed into the bag, fell asleep.

He woke up from a strong shaking. The bag shook, she jumped. The beetle quickly got out, looked around. Peter ran across the wheat field, and the fighters ran nearby, shouting "Hurrah." A little light. Dew shone on the helmets of the fighters.

At first, the beetle clung to the bag with all its might, then realized that it still couldn’t resist, opened its wings, took off, flew next to Peter and buzzed, as if encouraging Peter.

A man in a dirty green uniform took aim at Pyotr with a rifle, but a beetle from a raid hit this man in the eye. The man staggered, dropped his rifle and ran.

The beetle flew after Peter, clung to his shoulders and climbed into the bag only when Peter fell to the ground and shouted to someone: “That's bad luck! It hit me in the leg!” At this time, people in dirty green uniforms were already running, looking around, and a thunderous “cheers” rolled on their heels.

Piotr spent a month in the infirmary, and the beetle was given to a Polish boy for safekeeping. This boy lived in the same courtyard where the infirmary was located.

From the infirmary, Peter again went to the front - his wound was light. He caught up with his part already in Germany. The smoke from heavy fighting was like

the earth itself was burning and throwing out huge black clouds from every hollow. The sun faded in the sky. The beetle must have gone deaf from the thunder of the cannons and sat quietly in the bag, not moving.

But one morning he moved and got out. A warm wind was blowing, blowing the last streaks of smoke far south. The pure high sun sparkled in the deep blue sky. It was so quiet that the beetle could hear the rustle of a leaf on the tree above it. All the leaves hung motionless, and only one trembled and rustled, as if rejoicing at something and wanting to tell all the other leaves about it.

Peter was sitting on the ground, drinking water from a flask. Drops trickled down his unshaven chin, playing in the sun. Having drunk, Peter laughed and said:

- Victory!

- Victory! the fighters who were sitting nearby responded.

- Eternal glory! Yearned for our hands motherland. Now we will make a garden out of it and live, brothers, free and happy.

Shortly thereafter, Peter returned home. Akulina screamed and wept for joy, but Styopa also wept and asked:

- Is the beetle alive?

“He is alive, my comrade,” answered Peter. The bullet didn't touch him. He returned to his native places with the winners. And we will release it with you, Styopa.

Peter took the beetle out of the bag and placed it in his palm.

The beetle sat for a long time, looked around, wiggled its whiskers, then rose up on its hind legs, opened its wings, folded them again, thought, and suddenly took off with a loud buzz - it recognized its native places. He made a circle over the well, over the dill bed in the garden, and flew across the river into the forest, where the guys called around, picked mushrooms and wild raspberries. Styopa ran after him for a long time, waving his cap.

- Well, - said Pyotr, when Styopa returned, - now this bug will tell his people about the war and about his heroic behavior. He will collect all the beetles under the juniper, bow in all directions and tell.

Styopa laughed, and Akulina said:

- Telling stories to the boy. He will truly believe.

“And let him believe,” Peter replied. - From the fairy tale, not only the guys, but even the fighters are a pleasure.

- Well, isn't it! Akulina agreed and threw pine cones into the samovar.

The samovar hummed like an old rhinoceros beetle. Blue smoke streamed from the samovar chimney, flew into the evening sky, where the young moon was already standing, was reflected in the lakes, in the river, looked down on our quiet land.

Leonid Panteleev. My heart is in pain

However, not only these days it sometimes completely takes possession of me.

One evening shortly after the war, in the noisy, brightly lit Gastronom, I met Lenka Zaitsev's mother. Standing in line, she thoughtfully looked in my direction, and I simply could not help but say hello to her. Then she took a closer look and, recognizing me, dropped her bag in surprise and suddenly burst into tears.

I stood there, unable to move or utter a word. Nobody understood; it was assumed that money was taken from her, and in response to questions, she only shouted hysterically: “Go away !!! Leave me alone!.."

That evening, I walked like a wreck. And although Lyonka, as I heard, died in the very first battle, perhaps not having managed to kill even one German, and I stayed on the front line for about three years and participated in many battles, I felt guilty about something and infinitely owed this old woman , and to all those who died - acquaintances and strangers - and their mothers, fathers, children and widows ...

I can’t even really explain to myself why, but since then I’ve been trying not to catch this woman’s eyes and, seeing her on the street - she lives in the next block - I bypass it.

And September 15 is the birthday of Petka Yudin; every year on this evening, his parents gather the surviving friends of his childhood.

Adult forty-year-old people come, but they do not drink wine, but tea with sweets, sand cake and apple pie - with what Petka loved most of all.

Everything is done as it was before the war, when in this room there was noise, laughing and commanding a big-headed, cheerful boy, who was killed somewhere near Rostov and was not even buried in the confusion of a panicky retreat. At the head of the table is Petya's chair, his cup of fragrant tea and a plate where the mother diligently puts nuts in sugar, the largest piece of cake with candied fruit and a crust of apple pie. As if Petka can taste at least a piece and scream, as it used to, at the top of his lungs: “What a delicious thing, brothers! Naval!..»

And before Petka's old men I feel indebted; a feeling of some kind of awkwardness and guilt that here I am back, and Petka is dead, does not leave me all evening. When I'm thinking, I don't hear what they're talking about; I’m already far, far away ... My heart is aching: I see in my mind all of Russia, where in every second or third family someone has not returned ...

Leonid Panteleev. Handkerchief

I recently met on a train with a very nice and a good man. I was driving from Krasnoyarsk to Moscow, and at night at some small, deaf station in a compartment, where until then there was no one but me, a huge red-faced uncle in a wide bear's fur coat, in white cloaks and a fawn long-eared hat tumbles in .

I was already falling asleep when he tumbled in. But then, as he rumbled all over the carriage with his suitcases and baskets, I immediately woke up, half-opened my eyes and, I remember, was even frightened.

“Fathers! - think. “What kind of bear is this that fell on my head?!”

And this giant slowly laid out his belongings on the shelves and began to undress.

He took off his hat, I see - his head is completely white, gray-haired.

He threw off his dokha - under the dokha there was a military tunic without shoulder straps, and on it not one or two, but four whole rows of sashes.

I think: “Wow! And the bear, it turns out, is really experienced!

And I already look at him with respect. True, I didn’t open my eye, and so I made slits and observe carefully.

And he sat down in a corner by the window, puffed, caught his breath, then unbuttoned the pocket on his tunic and, I see, took out a small, very small handkerchief. An ordinary handkerchief, which young girls wear in their purses.

I remember being surprised even then. I think: “Why does he need such a handkerchief? After all, such an uncle is probably not enough for such a handkerchief ?!

But he did nothing with this handkerchief, but only smoothed it on his knee, rolled it into a tube and put it in another pocket. Then he sat, thought, and began to pull off his cloaks.

I was not interested in this, and soon I was really, and not feignedly asleep.

Well, in the morning we got to know him, got into a conversation: who, where, and what business we were going on ... Half an hour later I already knew that my fellow traveler was a former tankman, a colonel, he fought throughout the war, was wounded eight or nine times, shell-shocked twice, drowned, escaped from a burning tank...

The colonel was driving at that time from a business trip to Kazan, where he then worked and where his family was. He was in a hurry to get home, he was worried, every now and then he went out into the corridor and asked the conductor if the train was late and how many more stops before the transfer.

I remember asking if he had a big family.

— Yes, how can I tell you ... Not very, perhaps, great. In general, you, yes I, yes we are with you.

- How much does it come out?

Four, I think.

“No,” I say. - As far as I understand, these are not four, but only two.

“Well, well,” he laughs. - If you guessed it, there's nothing you can do. Really two.

He said this and, I see, he unbuttons the pocket on his tunic, sticks two fingers in it, and again pulls his little, girlish handkerchief into the light of day.

I felt funny, I could not stand it and say:

“Excuse me, Colonel, why is that such a handkerchief you have - a lady's?”

He even seemed offended.

“Allow me,” he says. - Why did you decide that he was a lady?

I say:

- Small.

“Ah, how is it?” Small?

He folded the handkerchief, held it on his heroic palm and said:

“Do you know, by the way, what kind of handkerchief is this?”

I say:

- No, I do not know.

- In fact of the matter. But this handkerchief, if you want to know, is not simple.

- And what is he? - I speak. - Bewitched, right?

“Well, the bewitched one is not bewitched, but something like that... In general, if you wish, I can tell you.

I say:

- Please. Very interesting.

I can’t vouch for the interestingness, but only for me personally this story is of enormous importance. In a word, if there is nothing to do, listen. You have to start from afar. It was in 1943, at the very end of it, before new year holidays. I was then a major and commanded a tank regiment. Our unit was near Leningrad. Have you been to St. Petersburg during these years? Oh, they were, it turns out? Well, then you do not need to explain what Leningrad was like at that time. It's cold, hungry, bombs and shells are falling on the streets. Meanwhile, in the city they live, work, study ...

And in these very days, our unit took patronage over one of the Leningrad orphanages. Orphans were brought up in this house, whose fathers and mothers died either at the front, or from starvation in the city itself. How they lived there, it is not necessary to tell. The rations were reinforced, of course, in comparison with others, but still, you yourself understand, the guys did not go to bed full. Well, we were prosperous people, we were supplied in a front-line way, we didn’t spend money - we threw something at these guys. We gave them sugar, fats, canned food from our rations ... We bought and gave the orphanage two cows, a horse with a team, a pig with piglets, all kinds of birds: chickens, roosters, well, and everything else - clothes, toys, musical instruments... By the way, I remember, one hundred and twenty-five pairs of children's sleighs were presented to them: please, they say, ride, children, at the fear of enemies! ..

And under New Year arranged a Christmas tree for the children. Of course, they did their best here too: they got a Christmas tree, as they say, above the ceiling. Eight boxes of Christmas decorations alone were delivered.

And on the first of January, on the very holiday, they went to visit their patrons. They took gifts and went on two "jeeps" with a delegation to them on the Kirov Islands.

They met us - they almost knocked us off our feet. The whole camp poured out into the yard, laughing, shouting “cheers”, climbing to hug ...

We brought a personal gift for each of them. But they, too, you know, do not want to remain indebted to us. They also prepared a surprise for each of us. One has an embroidered pouch, the other has some kind of drawing, a notebook, a notepad, a flag with a sickle and a hammer ...

And a little white-haired girl runs up to me on fast legs, blushes like a poppy flower, looks frightened at my grandiose figure and says:

“Congratulations, military uncle. Here you are,” he says, “a present from me.”

And she holds out a pen, and in her little little little white bag tied with a green woolen thread.

I wanted to take a gift, and she blushed even more and said:

“Only you know what? You this bag, please do not untie now. Do you know when you will untie him?

I say:

"And then, when you take Berlin."

Did you see?! The time, I say, is the forty-fourth year, the very beginning of it, the Germans are still sitting in Detskoye Selo and near Pulkovo, shrapnel shells are falling on the streets, in their orphanage the day before the cook was wounded by shrapnel ...

And this girl, you see, is thinking about Berlin. And after all, she was sure, pigalya, did not doubt for a single minute that sooner or later our people would be in Berlin. How could it be, in fact, not to try hard and not take this accursed Berlin ?!

I then put her on my knee, kissed her and said:

“Okay, daughter. I promise you that I will visit Berlin, and I will defeat the Nazis, and that I will not open your gift before this hour.

And what do you think - he kept his word.

Have you really been to Berlin?

- And in Berlin, imagine, I had a chance to visit. And the main thing, after all, is that I really did not open this bag until Berlin. I carried it with me for a year and a half. Drowned with him. The tank caught fire twice. He was in hospitals. Three or four gymnasts changed during this time. A sachet

everything with me is inviolable. Of course, sometimes it was curious to see what lies there. But nothing can be done, he gave his word, and the soldier's word is strong.

Well, how long, how short, but finally we are in Berlin. Reclaimed. Broke the last enemy line.

They broke into the city. We go through the streets. I'm ahead, I'm going on the lead tank.

And now, I remember, standing at the gate, at the broken house, a German woman. Still young.

Skinny. Pale. Holding the girl's hand. The situation in Berlin, frankly, is not for children. There are fires all around, in some places shells are still falling, machine guns are knocking. And the girl, imagine, is standing, looking wide-eyed, smiling ... How! She must be interested: other people's uncles are driving cars, new, unfamiliar songs are sung ...

And now I don’t know why, but this little blond German girl suddenly reminded me of my Leningrad orphanage friend. And I remembered the bag.

“Well, I think now it is possible. Completed the task. Fascists defeated. Berlin took. I have every right to see what is there ... "

I reach into my pocket, into my tunic, and pull out the package. Of course, there are no traces left of its former splendor. He was all crumpled, torn, smoky, smelled of gunpowder ...

I unfold the bag, and there ... Yes, there, frankly, there is nothing special. It's just a handkerchief. An ordinary handkerchief with a red and green border. Garus, or something, tied. Or something else. I don't know, I'm not an expert in these matters. In a word, this very lady's handkerchief, as you called it.

And the colonel once again pulled out of his pocket and smoothed out on his knee his small handkerchief, hemmed in red and green herringbone.

This time, I looked at him with completely different eyes. After all, in fact, it was not an easy handkerchief.

I even touched it gently with my finger.

"Yes," continued the Colonel, smiling. - This very rag lay wrapped in checkered notebook paper. And a note was pinned to it. And on the note, in huge clumsy letters with incredible errors, scrawled:

“Happy New Year, dear uncle fighter! With new happiness! I give you a handkerchief. When you're in Berlin, wave it to me, please. And when I find out that our Berlins have been taken, I also look out the window and wave my hand to you. My mother gave me this handkerchief when she was alive. I only blew my nose into it once, but don't be shy, I washed it. I wish you good health! Hooray!!! Forward! To Berlin! Lida Gavrilova.

Well... I won't hide it, I cried. I didn’t cry from childhood, I had no idea what kind of tears such a thing was, I lost my wife and daughter during the war years, and then there were no tears, but here - on you, please! - the winner, I enter the defeated capital of the enemy, and the cursed tears run down my cheeks like that. Nerves, of course... After all, victory did not come into your own hands. I had to work before our tanks rumbled through the streets and lanes of Berlin ...

Two hours later I was at the Reichstag. By this time, our people had already hoisted the red Soviet banner over its ruins.

Of course, and I went up to the roof. The view from there is, I must say, scary. Everywhere fire, smoke, still shooting in some places is going on. And people have happy, festive faces, people hug, kiss ...

And then, on the roof of the Reichstag, I remembered Lidochkin's order.

“No, I think as you wish, but you must definitely do it if she asked.”

I ask some young officer:

“Listen,” I say, “lieutenant, where will the east be here?

“And who knows him,” he says. Here you can’t tell the right hand from the left, let alone ...

Fortunately, one of our watches turned out to have a compass. He showed me where the east is. And I turned in that direction and waved my white handkerchief there several times. And it seemed to me, you know, that far, far from Berlin, on the banks of the Neva, a little girl Lida is now standing and also waving her thin hand to me and also rejoicing at our great victory and the world we have conquered ...

The Colonel straightened his handkerchief on his knee, smiled and said:

- Here. And you say - ladies. No, you are wrong. This handkerchief is very dear to my soldier's heart. That's why I carry it with me like a talisman...

I sincerely apologized to my companion and asked if he knew where this girl Lida was now and what was the matter with her.

- Lida, you say, where now? Yes. I know a little. Lives in the city of Kazan. On Kirovskaya street. Studying in eighth grade. An excellent pupil. Komsomolskaya Pravda. Currently, hopefully, waiting for his father.

- How! Did she have a father?

- Yes. Found some...

What does "some" mean? Wait, where is he now?

Yes, he is sitting in front of you. Are you surprised? There is nothing surprising. In the summer of 1945, I adopted Lida. And not at all, you know, I do not repent. My daughter is lovely...

Modernity, with its measure of success in the form of monetary units, gives rise to much more heroes of scandalous gossip columns than true heroes, whose actions cause pride and admiration.

Sometimes it seems that real heroes are left only on the pages of books about the Great Patriotic War.

But at any time there are those who are ready to sacrifice the most precious thing in the name of their loved ones, in the name of the Motherland.

On Defender of the Fatherland Day, we will remember five of our contemporaries who accomplished feats. They did not seek glory and honors, but simply fulfilled their duty to the end.

Sergey Burnaev

Sergei Burnaev was born in Mordovia, in the village of Dubenki on January 15, 1982. When Seryozha was five years old, his parents moved to the Tula region.

The boy grew and matured, and the era around him changed. Peers rushed who into business, who into crime, and Sergei dreamed of a military career, he wanted to serve in the Airborne Forces. After graduating from school, he managed to work at a rubber shoe factory, and then was drafted into the army. He ended up, however, not in the landing, but in the Vityaz special forces detachment of the Airborne Forces.

Serious physical activity, training did not frighten the guy. The commanders immediately drew attention to Sergei - stubborn, with character, a real commando!

During two business trips to Chechnya in 2000-2002, Sergei proved himself to be a true professional, skillful and persistent.

On March 28, 2002, the detachment, in which Sergey Burnaev served, carried out a special operation in the city of Argun. The militants turned the local school into their fortification, placing an ammunition depot in it, as well as breaking through a whole system of underground passages under it. The special forces began to inspect the tunnels in search of militants who had taken refuge in them.

Sergey went first and ran into bandits. A battle ensued in the narrow and dark space of the dungeon. During the flash from the automatic fire, Sergei saw a grenade rolling on the floor, thrown by a militant towards the special forces. Several fighters who did not see this danger could suffer from the explosion.

The decision came in a split second. Sergei covered the grenade with his body, saving the rest of the fighters. He died on the spot, but averted the threat from his comrades.

A gang of 8 people in this battle was completely eliminated. All of Sergei's comrades in this battle survived.

For courage and heroism shown during the performance of a special task in conditions involving a risk to life, by decree of the President of the Russian Federation of September 16, 2002 No. 992, Sergeant Sergey Alexandrovich Burnaev was awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation (posthumously).

Sergeant Sergei Burnaev is forever enrolled in the lists of his military unit of the Internal Troops. In the city of Reutov, Moscow Region, on the Alley of Heroes of the military memorial complex "To all Reutovites who died for the Fatherland", a bronze bust of the hero was installed.

Denis Vetchinov

Denis Vetchinov was born on June 28, 1976 in the village of Shantobe, Tselinograd region of Kazakhstan. He spent the usual childhood of a schoolboy of the last Soviet generation.

How is a hero brought up? Probably no one knows this. But at the turn of the era, Denis chose the career of an officer, after enlisting in a military school. Maybe it also had an effect that the school he graduated from was named after Vladimir Komarov, a cosmonaut who died during a flight on the Soyuz-1 spacecraft.

After graduating from a college in Kazan in 2000, the newly-made officer did not run away from difficulties - he immediately ended up in Chechnya. Everyone who knew him repeats one thing - the officer did not bow to the bullets, he took care of the soldiers and was a real “father to the soldiers” not in words, but in fact.

In 2003 Chechen War for Captain Vetchinov is over. Until 2008, he served as deputy battalion commander for educational work in the 70th Guards Motorized Rifle Regiment, in 2005 he became a major.

An officer's life is not sugar, but Denis did not complain about anything. His wife Katya and daughter Masha were waiting for him at home.

Major Vetchinov was destined for a great future, general's shoulder straps. In 2008, he became deputy commander of the 135th motorized rifle regiment of the 19th motorized rifle division of the 58th army for educational work. In this position, he was caught by the war in South Ossetia.

On August 9, 2008, the marching column of the 58th Army, on the way to Tskhinval, was ambushed by Georgian special forces. Cars were shot from 10 points. The commander of the 58th Army, General Khrulev, was wounded.

Major Vetchinov, who was in the convoy, jumped off the armored personnel carrier and joined the battle. Having managed to prevent chaos, he organized a defense, suppressing Georgian firing points with return fire.

During the retreat, Denis Vetchinov was seriously wounded in the legs, however, overcoming pain, he continued the battle, covering his comrades and the journalists who were with the column with fire. Only a new severe wound to the head could stop the major.

In this battle, Major Vetchinov destroyed up to a dozen enemy special forces and saved the life of a war correspondent. Komsomolskaya Pravda» Alexander Kots, VGTRK special correspondent Alexander Sladkov and Moskovsky Komsomolets correspondent Viktor Sokirko.

The wounded major was sent to the hospital, but he died on the way.

On August 15, 2008, for the courage and heroism shown in the performance of military duty in the North Caucasus region, Major Denis Vetchinov was awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation (posthumously).

Aldar Tsydenzhapov

Aldar Tsydenzhapov was born on August 4, 1991 in the village of Aginskoye, in Buryatia. There were four children in the family, including the twin sister of Aldar Aryun.

Father worked in the police, mother as a nurse in a kindergarten - a simple family leading ordinary life inhabitants of the Russian hinterland. Aldar graduated from high school in his native village and was drafted into the army, ended up in the Pacific Fleet.

Sailor Tsydenzhapov served on the destroyer "Fast", was trusted by the command, was friends with colleagues. There was only a month left before the “demobilization”, when on September 24, 2010, Aldar took up duty as a boiler crew operator.

The destroyer was preparing for a military campaign from the base in Fokino in Primorye to Kamchatka. Suddenly, a fire broke out in the engine room of the ship due to a short circuit in the wiring at the time of the fuel line break. Aldar rushed to block the fuel leak. A monstrous flame raged around, in which the sailor spent 9 seconds, having managed to eliminate the leak. Despite the terrible burns, he got out of the compartment himself. As the commission subsequently established, the prompt actions of the sailor Tsydenzhapov led to the timely shutdown of the ship's power plant, which otherwise could have exploded. In this case, the destroyer itself and all 300 crew members would have died.

Aldar was taken to the hospital of the Pacific Fleet in Vladivostok in critical condition, where doctors fought for the hero's life for four days. Alas, he passed away on September 28.

By Decree of the President of Russia No. 1431 dated November 16, 2010, sailor Aldar Tsydenzhapov was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation.

Sergey Solnechnikov

Born on August 19, 1980 in Germany, in Potsdam, in a military family. Seryozha decided to continue the dynasty as a child, not looking back at all the difficulties of this path. After the 8th grade, he entered the cadet boarding school in Astrakhan region, then without exams he was admitted to the Kachin Military School. Here he was caught by another reform, after which the school was disbanded.

However, this did not turn Sergei away from a military career - he entered the Kemerovo Higher Military Command School of Communications, which he graduated in 2003.

A young officer served in Belogorsk, on Far East. “A good officer, real, honest,” friends and subordinates said about Sergei. They also gave him a nickname - "battalion commander the Sun."

I did not have time to start a family - too much time was spent on the service. The bride patiently waited - after all, it seemed that there was still a whole life ahead.

On March 28, 2012, at the training ground of the unit, the usual exercises for throwing the RGD-5 grenade, which are part of the training course for conscripts, took place.

19-year-old private Zhuravlev, excited, threw a grenade unsuccessfully - having hit the parapet, she flew back, where his colleagues were standing.

The confused boys looked with horror at death lying on the ground. The battalion commander Sun reacted instantly - throwing the soldier back, he closed the grenade with his body.

The wounded Sergei was taken to the hospital, but he died on the operating table from numerous injuries.

On April 3, 2012, by decree of the President of the Russian Federation, Major Sergei Solnechnikov was awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation (posthumously) for heroism, courage and selflessness in the performance of military duty.

Irina Yanina

"War has no female face"- a wise phrase. But it just so happened that in all the wars that Russia waged, women turned out to be next to men, enduring all the hardships and hardships along with them.

Born in Taldy-Kurgan of the Kazakh SSR on November 27, 1966, the girl Ira did not think that the war from the pages of books would enter her life. A school, a medical school, a position as a nurse in a tuberculosis dispensary, then in a maternity hospital - a purely peaceful biography.

Everything was turned upside down by the collapse of the Soviet Union. Russians in Kazakhstan suddenly became strangers, unnecessary. Like many, Irina and her family went to Russia, where there were enough problems of their own.

The husband of the beautiful Irina could not stand the difficulties, he left the family in search of an easier life. Ira was left alone with two children in her arms, without normal housing and a corner. And then another misfortune - my daughter was diagnosed with leukemia, from which she quickly died out.

From all these troubles, even men break down, go into a binge. Irina did not break down - after all, she still had her son Zhenya, the light in the window, for the sake of which she was ready to move mountains. In 1995, she entered the service of the Internal Troops. Not for the sake of exploits - they paid money there, they gave rations. The paradox of recent history is that in order to survive and raise her son, a woman was forced to go to Chechnya, into the very heat. Two business trips in 1996, three and a half months as a nurse under daily shelling, in blood and mud.

The nurse of the medical company of the operational brigade of the Russian Interior Ministry troops from the city of Kalach-on-Don - in this position, Sergeant Yanina got into her second war. Basayev's gangs rushed to Dagestan, where local Islamists were already waiting for them.

And again the battles, the wounded, the dead - the daily routine of the medical service in the war.

“Hello, my little, beloved, most beautiful son in the world!

I missed you very much. You write to me, how are you doing, how is school, with whom are you friends? Are you sick? Don't go late in the evenings - now there are a lot of bandits. Be near home. Don't go anywhere alone. Listen to everyone at home and know that I love you very much. Read more. You are already a big and independent boy, so do everything right so that you are not scolded.

Waiting for your letter. Listen to everyone.

Kiss. Mother. 08/21/99"

Irina sent this letter to her son 10 days before her last fight.

On August 31, 1999, the brigade of internal troops, in which Irina Yanina served, stormed the village of Karamakhi, which was turned by terrorists into an impregnable fortress.

On that day, Sergeant Yanina assisted 15 wounded soldiers under enemy fire. Then she went to the line of fire on an armored personnel carrier three times, taking another 28 seriously wounded from the battlefield. The fourth flight was fatal.

The armored personnel carrier came under heavy enemy fire. Irina began to cover the loading of the wounded with return fire from a machine gun. Finally, the car managed to move back, but the militants from grenade launchers set fire to the armored personnel carrier.

Sergeant Yanina, while she had enough strength, pulled the wounded out of the burning car. She did not have time to get out herself - ammunition began to explode in the armored personnel carrier.

On October 14, 1999, Medical Sergeant Irina Yanina was awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation (posthumously), she was forever included in the lists personnel his military unit. Irina Yanina became the first woman to be awarded the title of Hero of Russia for her military actions in the Caucasian wars.

Before the war, they were the most ordinary boys and girls. They studied, helped the elders, played, bred pigeons, sometimes even took part in fights. But the hour of severe trials has come and they proved how huge an ordinary little child's heart can become when a sacred love for the Motherland, pain for the fate of its people and hatred of enemies flares up in it. And no one expected that it was these boys and girls who were able to accomplish a great feat for the glory of the freedom and independence of their Motherland!

Children who remained in the destroyed cities and villages became homeless, doomed to starvation. It was terrible and difficult to stay in the territory occupied by the enemy. Children could be sent to a concentration camp, taken to work in Germany, turned into slaves, made donors for German soldiers, etc.

Here are the names of some of them: Volodya Kazmin, Yura Zhdanko, Lenya Golikov, Marat Kazei, Lara Mikheenko, Valya Kotik, Tanya Morozova, Vitya Korobkov, Zina Portnova. Many of them fought so hard that they earned military orders and medals, and four: Marat Kazei, Valya Kotik, Zina Portnova, Lenya Golikov, became Heroes of the Soviet Union.

From the first days of the occupation, the boys and girls began to act at their own peril and risk, which was really deadly.

"Fedya Samodurov. Fedya is 14 years old, he is a graduate of the motorized rifle unit, commanded by the guard captain A. Chernavin. Fedya was picked up in his homeland, in the ruined village of the Voronezh region. Together with a unit, he took part in the battles for Ternopil, with a machine-gun crew he kicked the Germans out of the city. When almost the entire crew died, the teenager, together with the surviving soldier, took up the machine gun, firing long and hard, and detained the enemy. Fedya was awarded the medal "For Courage".

Vanya Kozlov, 13 years old,he was left without relatives and has been in a motorized rifle unit for the second year. At the front, he delivers food, newspapers and letters to soldiers in the most difficult conditions.

Petya Zub. Petya Zub chose a no less difficult specialty. He had long ago decided to become a scout. His parents were killed, and he knows how to pay off the accursed German. Together with experienced scouts, he gets to the enemy, reports his location on the radio, and artillery fires at their orders, crushing the Nazis. "(Arguments and Facts, No. 25, 2010, p. 42).

A sixteen year old schoolgirl Olya Demesh with her younger sister Lida at the Orsha station in Belarus, on the instructions of the commander of the partisan brigade S. Zhulin, tanks with fuel were blown up using magnetic mines. Of course, the girls attracted much less attention of the German guards and policemen than teenage boys or adult men. But after all, it was just right for the girls to play with dolls, and they fought with Wehrmacht soldiers!

Thirteen-year-old Lida often took a basket or a bag and went to railways collect coal, extracting intelligence on German military echelons. If she was stopped by sentries, she explained that she was collecting coal to heat the room in which the Germans lived. The Nazis seized and shot Olya's mother and younger sister Lida, and Olya continued to fearlessly carry out the tasks of the partisans.

For the head of the young partisan Olya Demes, the Nazis promised a generous reward - land, a cow and 10,000 marks. Copies of her photograph were distributed and sent to all patrol services, policemen, elders and secret agents. Capture and deliver her alive - that was the order! But the girl could not be caught. Olga destroyed 20 German soldiers and officers, derailed 7 enemy echelons, conducted reconnaissance, participated in the "rail war", in the destruction of German punitive units.

Children of the Great Patriotic War

What happened to the children during this terrible time? During the war?

The guys worked for days at factories, factories and industries, standing behind the machines instead of the brothers and fathers who had gone to the front. Children also worked at defense enterprises: they made fuses for mines, fuses for hand grenades, smoke bombs, colored signal flares, and collected gas masks. They worked in agriculture, grew vegetables for hospitals.

In the school sewing workshops, the pioneers sewed underwear and tunics for the army. Girls knitted warm clothes for the front: mittens, socks, scarves, sewed pouches for tobacco. The guys helped the wounded in hospitals, wrote letters to their relatives under their dictation, put on performances for the wounded, arranged concerts, evoking a smile from war-torn adult men.

A number of objective reasons: the departure of teachers to the army, the evacuation of the population from the western regions to the eastern regions, the inclusion of students in labor activities in connection with the departure of family breadwinners to the war, the transfer of many schools to hospitals, etc., prevented the deployment in the USSR during the war of a universal seven-year compulsory education started in the 1930s. In the remaining educational institutions training was conducted in two or three, and sometimes four shifts.

At the same time, the children themselves were forced to store firewood for boiler houses. There were no textbooks, and because of the lack of paper, they wrote on old newspapers between the lines. Nevertheless, new schools were opened and additional classes were created. Boarding schools were created for evacuated children. For those young people who left school at the beginning of the war and were employed in industry or agriculture, schools for working and rural youth were organized in 1943.

There are still many little-known pages in the annals of the Great Patriotic War, for example, the fate of kindergartens. "It turns out that in December 1941 in besieged Moscowkindergartens worked in bomb shelters. When the enemy was driven back, they resumed their work faster than many universities. By the autumn of 1942, 258 kindergartens had opened in Moscow!

From the memories of the military childhood of Lydia Ivanovna Kostyleva:

“After the death of my grandmother, I was assigned to Kindergarten, older sister at school, mother at work. I went to kindergarten alone, by tram, when I was less than five years old. Somehow I got seriously ill with mumps, I was lying at home alone with a high temperature, there were no medicines, in my delirium I fancied a pig running under the table, but everything worked out.
I saw my mother in the evenings and on rare weekends. Children were brought up by the street, we were friendly and always hungry. From early spring, they ran to the mosses, the benefit of the forest and swamps nearby, picked berries, mushrooms, and various early grass. The bombings gradually stopped, allied residences were placed in our Arkhangelsk, this brought a certain color to life - we, the children, sometimes got warm clothes, some food. Basically, we ate black shangi, potatoes, seal meat, fish and fish oil, on holidays - seaweed marmalade, tinted with beets.

More than five hundred teachers and nannies in the fall of 1941 were digging trenches on the outskirts of the capital. Hundreds worked in logging. The teachers, who only yesterday led a round dance with the children, fought in the Moscow militia. Natasha Yanovskaya, a kindergarten teacher in the Bauman district, heroically died near Mozhaisk. The teachers who remained with the children did not perform feats. They just saved the kids, whose fathers fought, and their mothers stood at the machines.

Most of the kindergartens during the war became boarding schools, the children were there day and night. And in order to feed the children in the half-starved time, to protect them from the cold, to give them at least a modicum of comfort, to keep them occupied for the benefit of the mind and soul - such work required great love for children, deep decency and boundless patience. "(D. Shevarov " World of News”, No. 27, 2010, p. 27).

Children's games have changed, "... a new game has appeared - in the hospital. They played in the hospital before, but not like that. Now the wounded are for them - real people. But they play war less often, because no one wants to be a fascist. This role is played by trees. They shoot snowballs at them. We learned to help the injured - the fallen, the bruised."

From a letter from a boy to a front-line soldier: “We also often played war before, but now much less often - we are tired of the war, it would sooner end so that we could live well again ...” (Ibid.).

In connection with the death of parents, many homeless children appeared in the country. The Soviet state, despite the difficult wartime, still fulfilled its obligations to children left without parents. To combat neglect, a network of children's reception centers and orphanages was organized and opened, and employment for adolescents was organized.

Many families of Soviet citizens began to take in orphans to raisewhere they found new parents. Unfortunately, not all educators and heads of children's institutions were distinguished by honesty and decency. Here are some examples.

“In the autumn of 1942, in the Pochinkovsky district of the Gorky region, children dressed in rags were caught stealing potatoes and grain from collective farm fields. investigations, local police officers uncovered a criminal group, and, in fact, a gang consisting of employees of this institution.

In total, seven people were arrested in the case, including the director of the orphanage Novoseltsev, the accountant Sdobnov, the storekeeper Mukhina and others. During the searches, 14 children's coats, seven suits, 30 meters of cloth, 350 meters of manufactory and other misappropriated property, allocated by the state with great difficulty during this harsh wartime, were seized from them.

The investigation found that by not giving the due norm of bread and products, these criminals only during 1942 stole seven tons of bread, half a ton of meat, 380 kg of sugar, 180 kg of biscuits, 106 kg of fish, 121 kg of honey, etc. The orphanage workers sold all these scarce products in the market or simply ate them up themselves.

Only one comrade Novoseltsev received fifteen portions of breakfasts and lunches daily for himself and his family members. At the expense of the pupils, the rest of the staff also ate well. Children were fed "dishes" made from rot and vegetables, referring to the poor supply.

For the whole of 1942, they were only once given one candy for the 25th anniversary of the October Revolution ... And what is most surprising, the director of the orphanage Novoseltsev in the same 1942 received from the People's Commissariat of Education certificate of honor for excellent educational work. All these fascists were deservedly sentenced to long terms of imprisonment."

At such a time, the whole essence of a person is manifested .. Every day to face a choice - how to act .. And the war showed us examples of great mercy, great heroism and great cruelty, great meanness .. We must remember this !! For the sake of the future!!

And no time can heal the wounds of the war, especially those of children. “These years that were once, the bitterness of childhood does not allow to forget ...”