A short story about the war in Belarusian. True stories about war
Stories about the battles of the Great Patriotic War for Stalingrad. Interesting and good war stories.
Glug-glug.
Some fascist made Sergeant Noskov angry. Our trenches and those of the Nazis ran side by side here. Speech can be heard from trench to trench.
The fascist sits in his hiding place and shouts:
- Rus, tomorrow glug-glug!
That is, he wants to say that tomorrow the Nazis will break through to the Volga and throw the defenders of Stalingrad into the Volga.
- Rus, tomorrow glug-glug. - And he clarifies: - Bul-gur at Volga.
This “glug-glug” gets on Sergeant Noskov’s nerves.
Others are calm. Some of the soldiers even chuckle. A Noskov:
- Well, damned Fritz! Show yourself. Let me at least look at you.
The Hitlerite just leaned out. Noskov looked, and other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears stick out. The cap on the crown miraculously stays on.
The fascist leaned out and again:
- Bul-bull!
One of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He raised it and took aim.
- Don't touch it! - Noskov said sternly.
The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. He took the rifle away.
Until the evening, the long-eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow glug-glug. Tomorrow at Volga's."
By evening the fascist soldier fell silent.
“He fell asleep,” they understood in our trenches. Our soldiers gradually began to doze off. Suddenly they see someone starting to crawl out of the trench. They look - Sergeant Noskov. And behind him is his best friend, Private Turyanchik. The friends got out of the trench, hugged the ground, and crawled towards the German trench.
The soldiers woke up. They are perplexed. Why did Noskov and Turyanchik suddenly go to visit the Nazis? The soldiers look there, to the west, breaking their eyes in the darkness. The soldiers began to worry.
But someone said:
- Brothers, they are crawling back.
The second confirmed:
- That’s right, they’re coming back.
The soldiers looked closely - right. Friends are crawling, hugging the ground. Just not two of them. Three. The soldiers took a closer look: the third fascist soldier, the same one - “glug-glug”. He just doesn't crawl. Noskov and Turyanchik are dragging him. A soldier is gagged.
The screamer's friends dragged him into the trench. We rested and continued to headquarters.
However, they fled along the road to the Volga. They grabbed the fascist by the hands, by the neck, and dunked him into the Volga.
- Glug-glug, glug-glug! - Turyanchik shouts mischievously.
“Bul-bull,” the fascist blows bubbles. Shaking like an aspen leaf.
“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” said Noskov. — Russians don’t hit someone who is down.
The soldiers handed over the prisoner to headquarters.
Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.
“Bul-bull,” said Turyanchik, saying goodbye.
Evil surname. Author: Sergey Alekseev
The soldier was embarrassed by his last name. He was unlucky at birth. Trusov is his last name.
It's war time. The surname is catchy.
Already at the military registration and enlistment office, when a soldier was drafted into the army, the first question was:
- Surname?
- Trusov.
- How how?
- Trusov.
“Y-yes...” the military registration and enlistment office workers drawled.
A soldier got into the company.
- What's your last name?
- Private Trusov.
- How how?
- Private Trusov.
“Y-yes...” the commander drawled.
The soldier suffered a lot of troubles from his last name. There are jokes and jokes all around:
- Apparently, your ancestor was not a hero.
- In the convoy with such a surname!
Field mail will be delivered. The soldiers will gather in a circle. Incoming letters are being distributed. Names given:
- Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!
Everything is fine. The soldiers come up and take their letters.
Shout out:
- Cowards!
The soldiers are laughing all around.
Somehow the surname does not fit with wartime. Woe to the soldier with this surname.
As part of his 149th separate rifle brigade, Private Trusov arrived at Stalingrad. They transported the soldiers across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade entered the battle.
“Well, Trusov, let’s see what kind of soldier you are,” said the squad leader.
Trusov doesn’t want to disgrace himself. Trying. The soldiers are going on the attack. Suddenly an enemy machine gun started firing from the left. Trusov turned around. He fired a burst from the machine gun. The enemy machine gun fell silent.
- Well done! — the squad leader praised the soldier.
The soldiers ran a few more steps. The machine gun hits again.
Now it's on the right. Trusov turned around. I got close to the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist calmed down.
- Hero! - said the squad leader.
The soldiers lay down. They are skirmishing with the Nazis. The battle is over. The soldiers counted the killed enemies. Twenty people turned out to be at the place from which Private Trusov was firing.
- Oh! - the squad commander burst out. - Well, brother, your last name is evil. Evil!
Trusov smiled.
For courage and determination in battle, Private Trusov was awarded a medal.
The medal “For Courage” hangs on the hero’s chest. Whoever meets you will squint at the reward.
The first question for the soldier now is:
- What was it awarded for, hero?
No one will ask for your last name now. No one will giggle now. He won’t drop a word with malice.
From now on it is clear to the soldier: the honor of a soldier is not in the surname - a person’s deeds are beautiful.
We have collected for you the best stories about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. First-person stories, not made up, living memories of front-line soldiers and witnesses of the war.
A story about the war from the book of priest Alexander Dyachenko “Overcoming”
I was not always old and frail, I lived in a Belarusian village, I had a family, a very good husband. But the Germans came, my husband, like other men, joined the partisans, he was their commander. We women supported our men in any way we could. The Germans became aware of this. They arrived in the village early in the morning. They kicked everyone out of their houses and drove them like cattle to the station in a neighboring town. The carriages were already waiting for us there. People were packed into the heated vehicles so that we could only stand. We drove with stops for two days, they gave us no water or food. When we were finally unloaded from the carriages, some were no longer able to move. Then the guards began throwing them to the ground and finishing them off with the butts of their carbines. And then they showed us the direction to the gate and said: “Run.” As soon as we had run half the distance, the dogs were released. The strongest reached the gate. Then the dogs were driven away, everyone who remained was lined up in a column and led through the gate, on which it was written in German: “To each his own.” Since then, boy, I can't look at tall chimneys.
She exposed her arm and showed me a tattoo of a row of numbers on the inside of her arm, closer to the elbow. I knew it was a tattoo, my dad had a tank tattooed on his chest because he is a tanker, but why put numbers on it?
I remember that she also talked about how our tankers liberated them and how lucky she was to live to see this day. She didn’t tell me anything about the camp itself and what was happening in it; she probably pitied my childish head.
I learned about Auschwitz only later. I found out and understood why my neighbor couldn’t look at the pipes of our boiler room.
During the war, my father also ended up in occupied territory. They got it from the Germans, oh, how they got it. And when ours drove a little, they, realizing that the grown-up boys were tomorrow’s soldiers, decided to shoot them. They gathered everyone and took them to the log, and then our airplane saw a crowd of people and started a line nearby. The Germans are on the ground, and the boys are scattered. My dad was lucky, he escaped with a shot in his hand, but he escaped. Not everyone was lucky then.
My father was a tank driver in Germany. Their tank brigade distinguished itself near Berlin on the Seelow Heights. I've seen photos of these guys. Young people, and all their chests are in orders, several people - . Many, like my dad, were drafted into the active army from occupied lands, and many had something to take revenge on the Germans for. That may be why they fought so desperately and bravely.
They walked across Europe, liberated concentration camp prisoners and beat the enemy, finishing them off mercilessly. “We were eager to go to Germany itself, we dreamed of how we would smear it with the caterpillar tracks of our tanks. We had a special unit, even the uniform was black. We still laughed, as if they wouldn’t confuse us with the SS men.”
Immediately after the end of the war, my father’s brigade was stationed in one of the small German towns. Or rather, in the ruins that remained of it. They somehow settled down in the basements of the buildings, but there was no room for a dining room. And the brigade commander, a young colonel, ordered the tables to be knocked down from shields and a temporary canteen to be set up right in the town square.
“And here is our first peaceful dinner. Field kitchens, cooks, everything is as usual, but the soldiers do not sit on the ground or on a tank, but, as expected, at tables. We had just started having lunch, and suddenly German children began crawling out of all these ruins, basements, and crevices like cockroaches. Some are standing, but others can no longer stand from hunger. They stand and look at us like dogs. And I don’t know how it happened, but I took the bread with my shot hand and put it in my pocket, I looked quietly, and all our guys, without raising their eyes to each other, did the same.”
And then they fed the German children, gave away everything that could somehow be hidden from dinner, just yesterday’s children themselves, who very recently, without flinching, were raped, burned, shot by the fathers of these German children on our land they had captured.
The brigade commander, Hero of the Soviet Union, a Jew by nationality, whose parents, like all other Jews of a small Belarusian town, were buried alive by punitive forces, had every right, both moral and military, to drive away the German “geeks” from his tank crews with volleys. They ate his soldiers, reduced their combat effectiveness, many of these children were also sick and could spread the infection among the personnel.
But the colonel, instead of shooting, ordered an increase in the food consumption rate. And German children, on the orders of the Jew, were fed along with his soldiers.
What kind of phenomenon do you think this is - the Russian Soldier? Where does this mercy come from? Why didn't they take revenge? It seems beyond anyone’s strength to find out that all your relatives were buried alive, perhaps by the fathers of these same children, to see concentration camps with many bodies of tortured people. And instead of “taking it easy” on the children and wives of the enemy, they, on the contrary, saved them, fed them, and treated them.
Several years have passed since the events described, and my dad, having graduated from military school in the fifties, again served in Germany, but as an officer. Once on the street of one city a young German called out to him. He ran up to my father, grabbed his hand and asked:
Don't you recognize me? Yes, of course, now it’s hard to recognize that hungry, ragged boy in me. But I remember you, how you fed us then among the ruins. Believe me, we will never forget this.
This is how we made friends in the West, by force of arms and the all-conquering power of Christian love.
Alive. We'll endure it. We will win.
THE TRUTH ABOUT WAR
It should be noted that not everyone was convincingly impressed by V. M. Molotov’s speech on the first day of the war, and the final phrase caused irony among some soldiers. When we, doctors, asked them how things were at the front, and we lived only for this, we often heard the answer: “We are scuttling. Victory is ours... that is, the Germans!”
I can’t say that J.V. Stalin’s speech had a positive effect on everyone, although most of them felt warm from it. But in the darkness of a long line for water in the basement of the house where the Yakovlevs lived, I once heard: “Here! They became brothers and sisters! I forgot how I went to jail for being late. The rat squeaked when the tail was pressed!” The people were silent at the same time. I have heard similar statements more than once.
Two other factors contributed to the rise of patriotism. Firstly, these are the atrocities of the fascists on our territory. Newspaper reports that in Katyn near Smolensk the Germans shot tens of thousands of Poles we captured, and that it was not us during the retreat, as the Germans assured, that were perceived without malice. Anything could have happened. “We couldn’t leave them to the Germans,” some reasoned. But the population could not forgive the murder of our people.
In February 1942, my senior operating nurse A.P. Pavlova received a letter from the liberated banks of the Seliger River, which told how, after the explosion of a hand fan in the German headquarters hut, they hanged almost all the men, including Pavlova’s brother. They hung him on a birch tree near his native hut, and he hung for almost two months in front of his wife and three children. The mood of the entire hospital from this news became menacing for the Germans: both the staff and the wounded soldiers loved Pavlova... I ensured that the original letter was read in all the wards, and Pavlova’s face, yellowed from tears, was in the dressing room before everyone’s eyes...
The second thing that made everyone happy was the reconciliation with the church. The Orthodox Church showed true patriotism in its preparations for the war, and it was appreciated. Government awards showered on the patriarch and clergy. These funds were used to create air squadrons and tank divisions with the names “Alexander Nevsky” and “Dmitry Donskoy”. They showed a film where a priest with the chairman of the district executive committee, a partisan, destroys atrocious fascists. The film ended with the old bell ringer climbing the bell tower and ringing the alarm, crossing himself widely before doing so. It sounded directly: “Fall yourself with the sign of the cross, Russian people!” The wounded spectators and the staff had tears in their eyes when the lights came on.
On the contrary, the huge money contributed by the chairman of the collective farm, it seems, Ferapont Golovaty, caused evil smiles. “Look how I stole from the hungry collective farmers,” said the wounded peasants.
The activities of the fifth column, that is, internal enemies, also caused enormous indignation among the population. I myself saw how many of them there were: German planes were even signaled from the windows with multi-colored flares. In November 1941, at the Neurosurgical Institute hospital, they signaled from the window in Morse code. The doctor on duty, Malm, a completely drunken and declassed man, said that the alarm was coming from the window of the operating room where my wife was on duty. The head of the hospital, Bondarchuk, said at the morning five-minute meeting that he vouched for Kudrina, and two days later the signalmen were taken, and Malm himself disappeared forever.
My violin teacher Yu. A. Aleksandrov, a communist, although a secretly religious, consumptive man, worked as the fire chief of the House of the Red Army on the corner of Liteiny and Kirovskaya. He was chasing the rocket launcher, obviously an employee of the House of the Red Army, but could not see him in the darkness and did not catch up, but he threw the rocket launcher at Alexandrov’s feet.
Life at the institute gradually improved. The central heating began to work better, the electric light became almost constant, and water appeared in the water supply. We went to the movies. Films such as “Two Fighters”, “Once Upon a Time There Was a Girl” and others were watched with undisguised feeling.
For “Two Fighters,” the nurse was able to get tickets to the “October” cinema for a show later than we expected. Arriving at the next show, we learned that a shell hit the courtyard of this cinema, where visitors to the previous show were being released, and many were killed and wounded.
The summer of 1942 passed through the hearts of ordinary people very sadly. The encirclement and defeat of our troops near Kharkov, which greatly increased the number of our prisoners in Germany, brought great despondency to everyone. The new German offensive to the Volga, to Stalingrad, was very difficult for everyone. The mortality rate of the population, especially increased in the spring months, despite some improvement in nutrition, as a result of dystrophy, as well as the death of people from air bombs and artillery shelling, was felt by everyone.
My wife’s food cards and hers were stolen in mid-May, which made us very hungry again. And we had to prepare for winter.
We not only cultivated and planted vegetable gardens in Rybatskoe and Murzinka, but received a fair strip of land in the garden near the Winter Palace, which was given to our hospital. It was excellent land. Other Leningraders cultivated other gardens, squares, and the Field of Mars. We even planted about two dozen potato eyes with an adjacent piece of husk, as well as cabbage, rutabaga, carrots, onion seedlings, and especially a lot of turnips. They planted them wherever there was a piece of land.
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The wife, fearing a lack of protein food, collected slugs from vegetables and pickled them in two large jars. However, they were not useful, and in the spring of 1943 they were thrown away.
The ensuing winter of 1942/43 was mild. Transport no longer stopped; all wooden houses on the outskirts of Leningrad, including houses in Murzinka, were demolished for fuel and stocked up for the winter. There was electric light in the rooms. Soon the scientists were given special letter rations. As a candidate of science, I was given a group B ration. It included monthly 2 kg of sugar, 2 kg of cereal, 2 kg of meat, 2 kg of flour, 0.5 kg of butter and 10 packs of Belomorkanal cigarettes. It was luxurious and it saved us.
My fainting stopped. I even easily stayed on duty all night with my wife, guarding the vegetable garden near the Winter Palace in turns, three times during the summer. However, despite the security, every single head of cabbage was stolen.
Art was of great importance. We began to read more, go to the cinema more often, watch film programs in the hospital, go to amateur concerts and artists who came to us. Once my wife and I were at a concert of D. Oistrakh and L. Oborin who came to Leningrad. When D. Oistrakh played and L. Oborin accompanied, it was a little cold in the hall. Suddenly a voice said quietly: “Air raid, air alert! Those who wish can go down to the bomb shelter!” In the crowded hall, no one moved, Oistrakh smiled gratefully and understandingly at us all with one eye and continued to play, without stumbling for a moment. Although the explosions shook my legs and I could hear their sounds and the barking of anti-aircraft guns, the music absorbed everything. Since then, these two musicians have become my biggest favorites and fighting friends without knowing each other.
By the autumn of 1942, Leningrad was greatly deserted, which also facilitated its supply. By the time the blockade began, up to 7 million cards were issued in a city overcrowded with refugees. In the spring of 1942, only 900 thousand were issued.
Many were evacuated, including part of the 2nd Medical Institute. The rest of the universities have all left. But they still believe that about two million were able to leave Leningrad along the Road of Life. So about four million died (According to official data, about 600 thousand people died in besieged Leningrad, according to others - about 1 million. - ed.) a figure significantly higher than the official one. Not all the dead ended up in the cemetery. The huge ditch between the Saratov colony and the forest leading to Koltushi and Vsevolozhskaya took in hundreds of thousands of dead people and was razed to the ground. Now there is a suburban vegetable garden there, and there are no traces left. But the rustling tops and cheerful voices of those harvesting the harvest are no less happiness for the dead than the mournful music of the Piskarevsky cemetery.
A little about children. Their fate was terrible. They gave almost nothing on children's cards. I remember two cases especially vividly.
During the harshest part of the winter of 1941/42, I walked from Bekhterevka to Pestel Street to my hospital. My swollen legs almost couldn’t walk, my head was spinning, each careful step pursued one goal: to move forward without falling. On Staronevsky I wanted to go to a bakery to buy two of our cards and warm up at least a little. The frost penetrated to the bones. I stood in line and noticed that a boy of seven or eight years old was standing near the counter. He bent down and seemed to shrink all over. Suddenly he snatched a piece of bread from the woman who had just received it, fell, huddled in a ball with his back up, like a hedgehog, and began greedily tearing the bread with his teeth. The woman who had lost her bread screamed wildly: probably a hungry family was impatiently waiting for her at home. The queue got mixed up. Many rushed to beat and trample the boy, who continued to eat, his quilted jacket and hat protecting him. "Man! If only you could help,” someone shouted to me, obviously because I was the only man in the bakery. I started shaking and felt very dizzy. “You are beasts, beasts,” I wheezed and, staggering, went out into the cold. I couldn't save the child. A slight push would have been enough, and the angry people would certainly have mistaken me for an accomplice, and I would have fallen.
Yes, I'm a layman. I didn't rush to save this boy. “Don’t turn into a werewolf, a beast,” our beloved Olga Berggolts wrote these days. Wonderful woman! She helped many to endure the blockade and preserved the necessary humanity in us.
On their behalf I will send a telegram abroad:
“Alive. We'll endure it. We will win."
But my unwillingness to share the fate of a beaten child forever remained a notch on my conscience...
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The second incident happened later. We had just received, but for the second time, a standard ration and my wife and I carried it along Liteiny, heading home. The snowdrifts were quite high in the second winter of the blockade. Almost opposite the house of N.A. Nekrasov, from where he admired the front entrance, clinging to the lattice immersed in the snow, a child of four or five years old was walking. He could hardly move his legs, his huge eyes on his withered old face peered with horror at the world around him. His legs were tangled. Tamara pulled out a large, double piece of sugar and handed it to him. At first he didn’t understand and shrank all over, and then suddenly grabbed this sugar with a jerk, pressed it to his chest and froze with fear that everything that had happened was either a dream or not true... We moved on. Well, what more could the barely wandering ordinary people do?
BREAKING THE BLOCKADE
All Leningraders talked every day about breaking the blockade, about the upcoming victory, peaceful life and restoration of the country, the second front, that is, about the active inclusion of the allies in the war. However, there was little hope for allies. “The plan has already been drawn up, but there are no Roosevelts,” the Leningraders joked. They also remembered the Indian wisdom: “I have three friends: the first is my friend, the second is the friend of my friend and the third is the enemy of my enemy.” Everyone believed that the third degree of friendship was the only thing that united us with our allies. (This is how it turned out, by the way: the second front appeared only when it became clear that we could liberate all of Europe alone.)
Rarely did anyone talk about other outcomes. There were people who believed that Leningrad should become a free city after the war. But everyone immediately cut them off, remembering “Window to Europe”, and “The Bronze Horseman”, and the historical significance for Russia of access to the Baltic Sea. But they talked about breaking the blockade every day and everywhere: at work, on duty on the roofs, when they were “fighting off airplanes with shovels,” extinguishing lighters, while eating meager food, going to bed in a cold bed, and during unwise self-care in those days. We waited and hoped. Long and hard. They talked about Fedyuninsky and his mustache, then about Kulik, then about Meretskov.
The draft commissions took almost everyone to the front. I was sent there from the hospital. I remember that I gave liberation to only the two-armed man, being surprised at the wonderful prosthetics that hid his handicap. “Don’t be afraid, take those with stomach ulcers or tuberculosis. After all, they will all have to be at the front for no more than a week. If they don’t kill them, they will wound them, and they will end up in the hospital,” the military commissar of the Dzerzhinsky district told us.
And indeed, the war involved a lot of blood. When trying to get in touch with the mainland, piles of bodies were left under Krasny Bor, especially along the embankments. “Nevsky Piglet” and Sinyavinsky swamps never left the lips. Leningraders fought furiously. Everyone knew that behind his back his own family was dying of hunger. But all attempts to break the blockade did not lead to success; only our hospitals were filled with the crippled and dying.
With horror we learned about the death of an entire army and Vlasov’s betrayal. I had to believe this. After all, when they read to us about Pavlov and other executed generals of the Western Front, no one believed that they were traitors and “enemies of the people,” as we were convinced of this. They remembered that the same was said about Yakir, Tukhachevsky, Uborevich, even about Blucher.
The summer campaign of 1942 began, as I wrote, extremely unsuccessfully and depressingly, but already in the fall they began to talk a lot about our tenacity at Stalingrad. The fighting dragged on, winter was approaching, and in it we relied on our Russian strength and Russian endurance. The good news about the counteroffensive at Stalingrad, the encirclement of Paulus with his 6th Army, and Manstein’s failures in trying to break through this encirclement gave the Leningraders new hope on New Year’s Eve 1943.
I celebrated the New Year with my wife alone, having returned around 11 o’clock to the closet where we lived at the hospital, from a tour of evacuation hospitals. There was a glass of diluted alcohol, two slices of lard, a 200 gram piece of bread and hot tea with a lump of sugar! A whole feast!
Events were not long in coming. Almost all of the wounded were discharged: some were commissioned, some were sent to convalescent battalions, some were taken to the mainland. But we didn’t wander around the empty hospital for long after the bustle of unloading it. Fresh wounded came in a stream straight from the positions, dirty, often bandaged in individual bags over their overcoats, and bleeding. We were a medical battalion, a field hospital, and a front-line hospital. Some went to the triage, others went to the operating tables for continuous operation. There was no time to eat, and there was no time to eat.
This was not the first time such streams came to us, but this one was too painful and tiring. All the time, a difficult combination of physical work with mental, moral human experiences with the precision of the dry work of a surgeon was required.
On the third day, the men could no longer stand it. They were given 100 grams of diluted alcohol and sent to sleep for three hours, although the emergency room was filled with wounded people in need of urgent operations. Otherwise, they began to operate poorly, half asleep. Well done women! Not only did they endure the hardships of the siege many times better than men, they died much less often from dystrophy, but they also worked without complaining of fatigue and accurately fulfilled their duties.
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In our operating room, operations were performed on three tables: at each table there was a doctor and a nurse, and on all three tables there was another nurse, replacing the operating room. Staff operating room and dressing nurses, every one of them, assisted in the operations. The habit of working many nights in a row in Bekhterevka, the hospital named after. On October 25, she helped me out in the ambulance. I passed this test, I can proudly say, as a woman.
On the night of January 18, they brought us a wounded woman. On this day, her husband was killed, and she was seriously wounded in the brain, in the left temporal lobe. A fragment with fragments of bones penetrated into the depths, completely paralyzing both of her right limbs and depriving her of the ability to speak, but while maintaining the understanding of someone else's speech. Women fighters came to us, but not often. I took her to my table, laid her on her right, paralyzed side, numbed her skin and very successfully removed the metal fragment and bone fragments embedded in the brain. “My dear,” I said, finishing the operation and preparing for the next one, “everything will be fine. I took out the fragment, and your speech will return, and the paralysis will completely disappear. You will make a full recovery!”
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Suddenly my wounded one with her free hand lying on top began to beckon me to her. I knew that she would not start talking any time soon, and I thought that she would whisper something to me, although it seemed incredible. And suddenly the wounded woman, with her healthy naked but strong hand of a fighter, grabbed my neck, pressed my face to her lips and kissed me deeply. I couldn't stand it. I didn’t sleep for four days, barely ate, and only occasionally, holding a cigarette with a forceps, smoked. Everything went hazy in my head, and, like a man possessed, I ran out into the corridor to come to my senses at least for one minute. After all, there is a terrible injustice in the fact that women, who continue the family line and soften the morals of humanity, are also killed. And at that moment our loudspeaker spoke, announcing the breaking of the blockade and the connection of the Leningrad Front with the Volkhov Front.
It was deep night, but what started here! I stood bleeding after the operation, completely stunned by what I had experienced and heard, and nurses, nurses, soldiers were running towards me... Some with their arm on an “airplane”, that is, on a splint that abducts the bent arm, some on crutches, some still bleeding through a recently applied bandage . And then the endless kisses began. Everyone kissed me, despite my frightening appearance from the spilled blood. And I stood there, missing 15 minutes of precious time for operating on other wounded in need, enduring these countless hugs and kisses.
A story about the Great Patriotic War by a front-line soldier
1 year ago on this day, a war began that divided the history of not only our country, but the whole world into before And after. The story is told by Mark Pavlovich Ivanikhin, a participant in the Great Patriotic War, Chairman of the Council of War Veterans, Labor Veterans, Armed Forces and Law Enforcement Agencies of the Eastern Administrative District.
– – this is the day when our lives were broken in half. It was a nice, bright Sunday, and suddenly they announced war, the first bombings. Everyone understood that they would have to endure a lot, 280 divisions went to our country. I have a military family, my father was a lieutenant colonel. A car immediately came for him, he took his “alarm” suitcase (this is a suitcase in which the most necessary things were always ready), and we went to the school together, me as a cadet, and my father as a teacher.
Immediately everything changed, it became clear to everyone that this war would last for a long time. Alarming news plunged us into another life; they said that the Germans were constantly moving forward. This day was clear and sunny, and in the evening mobilization had already begun.
These are my memories as an 18-year-old boy. My father was 43 years old, he worked as a senior teacher at the first Moscow Artillery School named after Krasin, where I also studied. This was the first school that graduated officers who fought on Katyushas into the war. I fought on Katyushas throughout the war.
“Young, inexperienced guys walked under bullets. Was it certain death?
– We still knew how to do a lot. Back in school, we all had to pass the standard for the GTO badge (ready for work and defense). They trained almost like in the army: they had to run, crawl, swim, and also learned how to bandage wounds, apply splints for fractures, and so on. At least we were a little ready to defend our Motherland.
I fought at the front from October 6, 1941 to April 1945. I took part in the battles for Stalingrad, and from the Kursk Bulge through Ukraine and Poland I reached Berlin.
War is a terrible experience. It is a constant death that is near you and threatens you. Shells are exploding at your feet, enemy tanks are coming at you, flocks of German planes are aiming at you from above, artillery is firing. It seems like the earth turns into a small place where you have nowhere to go.
I was a commander, I had 60 people subordinate to me. We must answer for all these people. And, despite the planes and tanks that are looking for your death, you need to control yourself and the soldiers, sergeants and officers. This is difficult to accomplish.
I can’t forget the Majdanek concentration camp. We liberated this death camp and saw emaciated people: skin and bones. And I especially remember the children with their hands cut open; their blood was taken all the time. We saw bags of human scalps. We saw torture and experiment chambers. To be honest, this caused hatred towards the enemy.
I also remember that we went into a recaptured village, saw a church, and the Germans had set up a stable in it. I had soldiers from all the cities of the Soviet Union, even from Siberia; many had fathers who died in the war. And these guys said: “We’ll get to Germany, we’ll kill the Kraut families, and we’ll burn their houses.” And so we entered the first German city, the soldiers burst into the house of a German pilot, saw Frau and four small children. Do you think someone touched them? None of the soldiers did anything bad to them. Russian people are quick-witted.
All the German cities we passed through remained intact, with the exception of Berlin, where there was strong resistance.
I have four orders. Order of Alexander Nevsky, which he received for Berlin; Order of the Patriotic War, 1st degree, two Orders of the Patriotic War, 2nd degree. Also a medal for military merit, a medal for the victory over Germany, for the defense of Moscow, for the defense of Stalingrad, for the liberation of Warsaw and for the capture of Berlin. These are the main medals, and there are about fifty of them in total. All of us who survived the war years want one thing - peace. And so that the people who won are valuable.
Photo by Yulia Makoveychuk
Stories for schoolchildren about the war. Stories by Sergei Alekseev. Story: Dubosekov's feat; Exam. Stories about the great Moscow battle.
DUBOSEKOV'S FEAT
In mid-November 1941, the Nazis resumed their attack on Moscow. One of the main enemy tank attacks hit General Panfilov’s division.
Dubosekovo crossing. 118th kilometer from Moscow. Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama meanders a little further away. Here on a hill, in an open field, heroes from General Panfilov’s division blocked the Nazis’ path.
There were 28 of them. The fighters were led by political instructor (there was such a position in those years) Klochkov. The soldiers dug into the ground. They clung to the edges of the trenches.
The tanks rushed forward, their engines humming. The soldiers counted:
- Fathers, twenty pieces!
Klochkov grinned:
— Twenty tanks. So this turns out to be less than one per person.
“Less,” said Private Yemtsov.
“Of course, less,” said Petrenko.
Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama meanders a little further away.
The heroes entered the battle.
- Hooray! - echoed over the trenches.
It was the soldiers who first knocked out the tank.
“Hurray!” thunders again. It was the second one who stumbled, snorted with his engine, clanged his armor and froze. And again “Hurray!” And again. Fourteen out of twenty tanks were knocked out by the heroes. The six survivors retreated and crawled away.
Sergeant Petrenko laughed:
“He choked, apparently, the robber.”
- Hey, he has his tail between his legs.
The soldiers took a breath. They see that there is an avalanche again. They counted - thirty fascist tanks.
Political instructor Klochkov looked at the soldiers. Everyone froze. They became quiet. All you can hear is the clang of iron. The tanks are getting closer, closer.
“Friends,” said Klochkov, “Russia is great, but there is nowhere to retreat.” Moscow is behind.
“I see, comrade political instructor,” the soldiers answered.
- Moscow!
The soldiers entered the battle. There are fewer and fewer living heroes. Yemtsov and Petrenko fell. Bondarenko died. Trofimov died. Narsunbai Yesebulatov was killed. Shopokov. There are fewer and fewer soldiers and grenades.
Klochkov himself was wounded. He rose towards the tank. Threw a grenade. A fascist tank was blown up. The joy of victory lit up Klochkov’s face. And at that very second the hero was struck down by a bullet. Political instructor Klochkov fell.
Panfilov's heroes fought steadfastly. They proved that courage has no limits. They did not let the Nazis through.
Dubosekovo crossing. Field. Hills. Coppices. Somewhere nearby a Lama is meandering. The Dubosekovo crossing is a dear, holy place for every Russian heart.
EXAM
Lieutenant Zhulin was unlucky.
All friends are in combat regiments. Zhulin serves in a training company.
A militia lieutenant trains. Thousands of volunteers rose to defend Moscow. Companies, regiments and even entire divisions of people's militia were created.
The militias have little military knowledge. Where the trigger on a rifle is and where the firing pin is is often confused.
Zhulin trains militias in target shooting. Teaches how to stab bags with a bayonet.
The young officer is burdened by his position. Fighting is taking place near Moscow itself. The enemy envelops the Soviet capital in a huge semi-ring. Bursting from the north, bursting from the south. Attacks head on. Dmitrov, Klin, Istra are in the hands of the Nazis. The fighting is taking place just forty kilometers from Moscow, near the village of Kryukovo.
Zhulin is eager to join his friends at the front. Submits a report to superiors.
I applied once and they refused.
I submitted two and they refused.
I applied three times and they refused.
“Go to your militia,” the authorities answer him.
It ended with Zhulin’s superiors threatening to come to him with an inspection. He will give both him and the fighters an exam.
And rightly so. A day or two passed. Zhulin looked - the authorities had arrived. In addition, the highest authorities are the general himself in the car.
On this day, the lieutenant conducted training with the soldiers in the forest, in a forest clearing, not far from the village of Nakhabino. The soldiers dug trenches. They were shooting at targets.
Quiet, grace all around. Pine trees stand and spruce trees.
Zhulin rushed to meet the general and raised his hand to his cap.
“Comrade General, Lieutenant Zhulin’s company...” Zhulin began to report. Suddenly he hears the drone of an airplane right above his head. Zhulin raised his eyes - an airplane. He sees: not ours - fascist.
The lieutenant stopped his report and turned to the soldiers.
- To battle! - gave the command.
Meanwhile, the fascist plane turned around and opened fire on the clearing. It’s good that the soldiers dug trenches, they took cover from the bullets.
- Fire at the fascist! — Zhulin commands.
The militia opened fire.
A second, two - and suddenly an enemy plane burst into flames. Another second - the pilot jumped out. The parachute opened and landed at the very edge of the clearing.
The soldiers ran and took the fascist prisoner.
Zhulin is happy. He straightened his cap and straightened his tunic. He stepped towards the general again. Trumped. Standing at attention.
— Comrade General, Lieutenant Zhulin’s company is conducting training sessions.
The general smiled and turned to the militia:
- Thank you for your service, comrades!
“We serve the Soviet Union,” the militia answered unanimously, exactly according to the regulations.
“At ease,” said the general. He looked at Zhulin approvingly.
Two majors also arrived with the general.
“Comrade General,” the majors whisper, “let me begin the exam.”
- Why? - said the general. — I think the exam has been passed.
He came up and firmly shook Lieutenant Zhulin’s hand. And then the order was sent to Zhulin. Zhulin - an order. Soldiers - medals.
An important matter is to prepare troops for battle. In many places: near Moscow, in the Urals, in Siberia, in Central Asia, in the Far East, troops are completing their training. A little time will pass, and new forces will stand here, near Moscow, on the path of the Nazis.
Time marches on and on. The clocks are not counting in favor of the Nazis.
During the Great Patriotic War, not only adults, but also children experienced suffering and grief. You will learn about one such boy by reading the story of Sergei Alekseev. You will learn about the kind heart of the Soviet soldier.
GENNADY STALINGRADOVICH
In the fighting of Stalingrad, in the midst of the fighting, among smoke, metal, fire and ruins, soldiers picked up a boy. The boy is tiny, a beady boy.
- What is your name?
- How old are you?
“Five,” the boy answered importantly.
The soldiers warmed, fed, and sheltered the boy. They took the bead to headquarters. He ended up at the command post of General Chuikov.
The boy was smart. Only a day has passed, but he already remembers almost all the commanders. Not only did he not mix things up by sight, he knew everyone’s last name and even, imagine, he could call everyone by their first and patronymic names.
The little one knows that the commander of the army, Lieutenant General Chuikov, is Vasily Ivanovich. Chief of Army Staff, Major General Krylov - Nikolai Ivanovich. Member of the Military Council of the Army, Divisional Commissar Gurov - Kuzma Akimovich. The commander of the artillery, General Pozharsky, is Nikolai Mitrofanovich. The head of the armored forces of the Vainrub army is Matvey Grigorievich.
The boy was amazing. Brave. I immediately noticed where the warehouse was, where the kitchen was, what the staff cook Glinka was called by his first name and patronymic, what to call the adjutants, messengers, messengers. He walks around with dignity and greets everyone:
— Hello, Pavel Vasilievich!..
— Hello, Atkar Ibrahimovic!..
— I wish you good health, Semyon Nikodimovich!..
- Hello, Kayum Kalimulinovich!..
Generals, officers, and privates all fell in love with the boy. They also began to call the baby by his first and patronymic names. Someone was the first to say:
- Stalingradovich!
And so it went. They will meet a bead boy:
— We wish you good health, Gennady Stalingradovich! The boy is happy. Pouts lips:
- Thank you!
War is raging all around. There is no place in hell for a boy.
- To the left bank of it! To the left! The soldiers began to say goodbye to the boy:
- Good journey to you, Stalingradovich!
- Gain strength!
- Take care of your honor from a young age, Stalingradovich! He left with a passing boat. A boy is standing at the side. He waves his little hand to the soldiers.
The soldiers escorted the bead and returned to their military duties. It was as if the boy did not exist, as if he had just dreamed.
TITAEV
November. It started to get windy. Snow.
An unenviable life for signalmen. Snow, bad weather, mud, planes are bombing from the sky, shells are raising the ground, bullets are spreading death - be ready for the campaign, signalman. The wiring was damaged by a bomb, the wire was torn off by a shell, the fascist intelligence officer destroyed the connection - get ready, soldier, to hit the road.
In November, battles began for Mamayev Kurgan.
In the midst of the battle, telephone communication with the division command post was interrupted. From the command post, the artillerymen were given orders to fire at targets. The teams are now broken. The artillery fire stopped.
Signalman Titaev came out to fix the damage.
Titaev crawls along the wire, looking for where the break occurred. Low clouds hang over Titaev. The snow is blowing. On the left are enemy trenches. Mortars are hitting. Machine guns are firing. The battle rumbles.
Titaev crawls, his eyes fixed on the wire, looking for the end of the cliff. Bullets whistle over the soldier. The drifting snow leads astray.
“En, you won’t hit me!” the blizzard soldier shouted. “En, you won’t take it!” Titaev shouted to the bullets.
A soldier is crawling. And there, on the mound, the battle rumbles. And artillery fire is needed like air. Titaev understands this. He's in a hurry. An explosion crater appeared about thirty meters ahead. That's where the damage is. Ten meters left. Five. The soldier crawled to the crater. Here he is at the very edge. Here lies a wire cut by a steel fragment. Titaev picked up one end. The second one pulls faster...
The telephone at the command post was silent and silent, and suddenly it started working. The commander sighed with relief.
“Well done,” he praised the signalmen.
“So this is Titaev,” someone answered. - The first article of the soldier.
They know Titaev. They love it in the division. They are waiting in the communications company for when Titaev will return. The fighter is not coming back. Two soldiers went in search of the signalman. They crawl in the same direction. Low clouds hang above them. The wind is sweeping the snow. On the left are enemy trenches. Machine guns still fire. Machine guns are knocking. The battle rumbles. Soviet artillery started working. Covers the noise of battle and pleases the soldier's ears. The soldiers are crawling and looking forward. They see a funnel. At the edge of the crater, Titaev was recognized. The fighter pressed himself to the ground.
- Titaev!
- Titaev!
Titaev is silent.
The soldiers crawled closer. They looked - Titaev was dead, motionless.
In war, soldiers got used to many things. You won’t surprise them with a feat in battle. But here...
It turned out that at the moment when Titaev, having discovered a broken wire, tried to connect its ends, a fatal bullet overtook the soldier. The soldier does not have the strength to repair the damage. But, saying goodbye to life, losing consciousness, at the last second the soldier managed to bring the wires to his mouth. He clamped it like a vice with his teeth.
- Fire! Fire! - the team rushes along the wire.
And then the answer:
- There is fire. How is the connection, how is the connection?
— The connection works great.
- Fire! Fire!
Our enemy troops were crushed. And there, covering the edge of the crater, lay a soldier. No, he wasn’t lying down—he was a soldier standing at his post.
A soldier stood at his post.
WILL NOT FORGET ANYONE
Stories of Belarusian children from the days of the Vyalikay Aichyn war
FALL TO DEATH
We lived in the village of Usokhi Byagomlsk district. Here I was with us - six souls: father, mother, sisters Zhenya and Lida, brother Vitsia and I. We lived peacefully and calmly, but the Germans drilled everything out. It was like that.
In 1943, the Germans blocked our district. All the zhykhars were gathered at the ball. The Germans drove to the village of Usokha in a car, but no one was there. Yana loved one lady from another age, Runi, and they said that if all the people left the ballet and returned home to the last hour of the evening, otherwise they would all be published. They loved the Germans and didn’t let them know from the balot. Yana said:
Kali let's go home, so they'll interrupt us.
And the next day, people from the village of Hantsavich disappeared and left the ballet. As soon as they arrived home, the Germans drove them to the caravan and set them on fire. Those who squealed, those who were killed. Then a great number of people burned. We found ourselves at the ball.
The Germans, as soon as they burned people, went to the Balots to look for the dead. Eight Germans fell and began to fight. Here they killed Chabatar Palyuta and four of his men. All the people rushed to go somewhere. I ran away. The Germans fired at us, but did not trap us. So we ran away from the rivers. The river this past month was wide and deep, and it was very difficult to cross. Then we ran away to the Kalya coast, and then the Germans chased us and began to fight us for the assault. Mother and father got sick, two sisters got sick, and my brother was wounded in the right side. He closed and grabbed the wok with his hand. Through my fingers the blood flowed. I ran away and began to dig a hole out of the hole. About an hour the German fell and shot out: the brother fell and then died. And the German kept cutting and wounding me on my left shoulder, and the other bullet hit my right hand, but the helmet didn’t close. A long bag of sap covered my back. I worked hard, and I fell, and the German fell - he thought I was dead. Geta was a wound, gadzin u dzesyats.
I spent the entire day lying around with my family. And one day, Volka, from the village of Smalyarova, was slightly wounded, tired and hurt me. Yana fell for me, and we fell. Last month we moved straight to Cancer ўbrod. On this year, we sustrelі dzed Yanul, who will lead us to his place. Yan gave me everything, but I didn’t eat anything for four days, I just drank water. Then the egg was eaten. Here the dacha of Maygo Dzyadzka Aliseya Alai, Marusya, knew me.
There was no way to lie down for a long time. The Germans were bombarding, shooting, and we know we had a good time hanging around the balot. I became so weak, and they took me away. They killed the rapists on sticks, sent out messages and carried them like that. I was carried by two men, Dziadzka and Gerasimovich Ivan, and two Dzyadzka’s dachas, Marusya and Nina, carried the mentor’s son, Genya. 3 myane tsely zen tsyakla kroў. Then Marusya bandaged my wounds. And in May the relatives lay in bed.
In Kali, the Germans left the village, people began to leave the marsh. The father of the people, they dug a hole in the east and plowed their relatives. I didn’t muggle hadzits and didn’t know what they were like.
My mother had two sisters who lived in hell for us for tens of kilometers. Yany complained that the Germans had killed our relatives, that I was caught in hell, and they left for me. Hell, daughter Pruzyna, married me and herself. There was no doctor anywhere, and the little lady was giving me her medicines. I was ill for a long time, but the woman cured me, and I am still healthy, cheerful, and I’m shaking my hands.
TANYA ALAY (1933)
Byagomlsky district, Mstsizhsky village council, v. Ram.
YOURSELFVACHYMA
Luty 1943. It was a quiet and clear night. In the evening one could hear the distant arrows of harmata and the explosions of projectiles. Get was shot at by our artillery.
At night I wash my clothes in hell of a lot of noise. The Khatse had all the residents of the island. I jumped out into the yard, but the German would come back to me. I'm wondering if I've been given a bad gift. There are flocks of German patrols outside the leather hut and they never let anyone out into the yard.
Kali was now in disarray, the Germans were driving down their cars and laying the load on their people. They didn’t give anything away to take care of themselves. They drove our family away from one of the cars. 3 We were two little boys of the eldest sister Katsi. Yana was ill in typhus and was in a special house where the Germans collected all those with typhus. Having decided to take people out, she rushed to look for us. I ran home, but I didn’t know anyone there. We have already been for a long time. The cars just fell asleep. The sister fucked and ran away from us. Zagudze's motor, the truck would be ready to go. Ale ўўўўі yana paspela dabegchi. We put it on the car. The sister became angry and became nervous.
Katya! - I closed, but I didn’t agree. Apuscious galls, we stood over her with our arms. “How can I get my sister out?” - I think. Ale dapamagchi nelga. I don’t have anything, and I can’t ride in the snow.
The trucks fell asleep at the nearby iron station. I jump out of the car, collect snow from the jar, melt the berries and give the sisters some water. Yana felt apprehensive.
We were loaded with all sorts of bread. We spent two days with him. The next day I saw a fallen train, and we were told to leave the carriages.
The yard where we knew each other was abgarodzhany to barbed darts. The German gendarmes with badges on their breasts stood at the tall gates. The Yans were allowed to go to hell. They didn’t allow anything to be taken out. Kali ў what would be for the dancing klunachak, yago adrazali. They took the mothers' breasts from their arms and threw them into the snow.
Now we are so overwhelmed. So many people were herded into the carriage that there was no way to get to the station. The doors shut down and that night they took us to unknown places. All the boys told us that we were heading to certain death.
There was an unbearable smell outside the carriage. People were tormented by smaga, but there was no water. The assemblage was moving around the dzetsyam. In our carriage, several small children were not washed out and died, the mucus, they were suffocated by the hell of the heavy wind. Kali tsarpets became non-magnetic, the men began to lose the inflexible adtulina. Everyone was glad that they could still breathe in the fresh wind.
I eight echelon stav. People wanted to jump out of the carriage to get some water from the snow. The German canal is so formidable to the people that no one cares about it. Then they took us there. The cyagnik is overtamed, it moves forward and backward, and often sleeps. At the hellish station, the Germans allowed us to collect water. The fierce weather is ending, the snow is melting and the meadows are clearing up. The water was cloudy and tasteless. Ale people were happy and so.
“We’ll wet our throats,” the Yans said.
Just a few minutes later the whistle blew and we were herded into the carriages. I know the doors are blocked and they are transported farther.
The cyagnik sleeps for yakogastsi balota. People were unloaded from the carriage and driven forward. All in all, it was clear that there used to be people here just like us. There were various rivers and chalavka corpses lying all over the place.
The hell and hunger of people became so weak that the ice was collapsing. If anyone knew and could not, the plaintiffs, so the German sewers were dug by dogs.
They threw us at a burned-out treehouse. Yana was slammed with stinging darts. There were towers at the edges. They knew the German Wartava, which is a good place to be, if no one is killed. They stretched out in the snow, but there were no surprises. Zvaryts stravu taksama was not dze. People curled up in the cold, screamed and cried.
Sister Katsya is tormented. Yana rushed and began. Matsi paisla shukat bolshy zatsishna mesa. Kalya adnago khlyava yana knew a bunch of pus. We hutch began to dig up the yago. There were chains at the bottom, and steam came out of it. They sent out the coon, killed the sister and two small jets and covered the animal with a lahman.
We spent three days in the open sky. On the first day of the sun, they made plans to gather. The infantry were driven further. Daroze had the pleasure of seeing the sheer number of crazy little ones. Eight of them are a young woman with a daughter, and a little granny with her. The Germans handed her over to the granny and took away the uterus. The other mother didn’t want to add it, but they immediately died. There were such attacks. Whenever the woman knew and sat down, the damned people forgot about it, and they put the money on the road and the snow. We once grew up like varons with such a lively dzitsyatsi.
I'm getting dirty and I'm going crazy. Yes, there were three hells, as the canvair tskava for dogs. The dog vomits at me and bites my legs. Around this, I used several sticks. I think that when I leave the country, I will fall and then I will be thrown away from the road to a terrible death.
We were driven into the balot, behind the scalding agaroo. It was just like the first month: there were various rivers and slaughtered people lying around. We've been here for a long time. Adsul drove us further in cars. It was neither hot nor weighty.
They wished us a blessing. Katya is already not a magla plaintiff. I would have a slight fever. Yana was talking anyhow. At one time the Germans abandoned the other sick people and drove us further on foot.
We walked for twenty-five kilometers, hungry and cold. Many fell and did not get up. At night they jumped into the forest. We grazed the ground.
We've arrived, but what happened to Katsyai? - Mom said crying. We moved - we all had to ask our sister.
At night I fell and took Katsya and his guards to the camp. We were very happy when we learned. Yana Lez was stretching on her naked legs - the illness was not at its height. There were small buds and palazhys and their sisters and daughters. Themselves lay down in the kala budana. We were so tired that, despite the cold, we fell asleep.
I woke up early and couldn’t tell: we were being showered with snow. I'll get out anyway. I got out and astana.
Run, son, plow the dry land. “Let’s light the fire and warm ourselves,” said my mother.
I'm just wondering. I’m walking and walking - two hellish people are lying there, there’s a chatsvera. As the adversaries lay down, they did not fall. A lot of people froze on this fucking night.
We didn’t choke on ale pagrezza. The Germans did not allow the flames to be ignited. Damn the flower that the agent laid out, the German stabbed it with a bayonet. Other “samavolshchiks” were shot for automats. Many people didn’t have a clear answer, but they settled down. They have arms, legs, and ears.
The days of hard captivity began to drag on. Unexpected packages and items came to our attention.
Other times, the Germans lined us up at the sharengu and just threw bread to the agaroja. People grabbed berries. Whoever succeeded, they lost. Often they worked like that. Let the people go to sleep, the Germans will instruct me, and put bread on me. As soon as they lost bread and food, the mine was exploding, and the people were in trouble.
People died like flies. They were thrown out into ditches and pits.
Last night the Germans ran around and cracked riddles. They would look shady. Then the camps of the former German communications specialists, who unwound the cable. It was clear that they were going to advance.
That night we fell asleep, and in the early hours of the night we saw no German. Everyone quickly rushed to the other side to gather wood. Ale the road was replaced. Several people fell for mines.
In the afternoon, five of our reconnaissance troops left the camp. What a joy it was when we trained our warriors - we called the target! People sucked them and kissed them.
The intelligence officers looked at the agaroo and said: no one can escape, since everything has been completely replaced.
Just some time before removing the mineral and distributing the food and the camp. The miners said to the dachshunds that the plows are spinning machines. Alas, people didn’t eat cars and went everywhere. Kozhnamu khatzelasya khutchey dabrazza da svaikh. You, who are not magicians, were caught. There are a great number of such people. The Azaryk camps have known death for several tens of thousands of people.
Those who were caught were measured on scales. We were given military rations: crackers, canned food, tsukar, tlushchi. Just a few days have been ruled in their areas, and we know we have returned home - but not all of them.
MISHA DZYATLA (1930)
Veska Zmyayoka, Gomel region.
DAROGAЎ ATRAD
Our veska Yagadka melted into the forest. As the Germans were advancing, a heavy armor was found there as they grazed the battle. I’m thinking about recruiting for the party. It was scary for Adnam the slave geta. I will tell my intentions to my neighbor’s boy Marat Dobush, who is with me.
In the evening of the same day we took out the bags and got ready for “work”. The former agarods - and the forest. We slept, listened and moved on. For courage, we tried to publish adzin la adnago. Unluckily, we came across a pile of grenades, which lay under a small spreading fir tree. We were already in awe: we’ve never been so bright as hell!
What will we be her slave? - Marat tests.
You need to grab it, I say.
Then we knew we fell and searched. In the same month, the best easel kulyamets were known, when the slaughtered chalaveks lay buried in the ground of the creatures. La pravaga vuha yago the little dzirachka became enchanted. The blood, like a wound from the wound, dried up. There were tons of cartridges lying around the gun. Apparently, the bullet and the cartridge shooter are in the fire and like a hero, I will die in the fight against the Germans. We punished Dzed Sidarovich Prakop. He took the slave's trumpet and carried it into the forest. We dug a hole, dug a magila, and plowed the hero-kula-thrower. There were no documents about them, and we did not know what kind of nickname and education they gave birth to.
We jumped on the mountain and buried the dirt of our hut in the old crypt. Then they found a hand-held punch, tol, and a cord. All the geta were brought there. The hutka, our crypt, is being converted into an armory warehouse.
The partisans started jumping around the place. They really wanted to know who had the problem.
One day they arrived at night and started knocking at the door. Matsi began to panic: I thought it was fingers.
What do you need? - Yana tried.
Dze is your Shura?
Spіts...
Pabudzice jago.
Kamisar will be glad if you give me a pomegranate, the elders will say.
Geta is possible, yana is possible.
Let's get them here.
And why are you their carrier? - I experience.
We're panicking on our own.
You don't have any strength.
Why are there so many of them? - Yana has arrived.
A lot, - I’m right and I’m digging holes.
Have you collected so many of them?
Malaychyna! - the elders praised and told the two partisans to go to the pasture and take the horse. You walked and the hut came out of the water. Loading grenades onto the cart, the elders are trying to rapt, which is what I have. I’ll say that I don’t have enough of them right now, otherwise I might give it up. Yon paprasiў abavyazkova will give it up, for the yans are great patrabny.
I won’t you pack it for yourself?
Not. What about navoshta yana for us?
And what is it?..
Well then, adda, so adda. Ale dze we will take fuses?
The police forces, as soon as the Levanovichs entered the field, we rushed to reconnaissance. We circled around the houses with such looks, we were looking for something that had been ruined and was still looking for something. Over the past few years, we have realized that in the last few months of the earth there was a sky-high connection. I take a tosser and start tossing around with them. Hutka yon zastukaў ab neshta tsverdae. Geta was a skrank.
We returned home happy and began to finish the evening. As soon as I began to cry, Marat and I crawled away from Levanovich’s hut, and as soon as they left the secret, they left us. Just one day the partisans arrived and took it away. At the geta's arrival we added them and kulyamets. The partisans punished our souls to hell for our help.
Just a few hours later the Germans launched a raid on the village. The Yans grabbed our fathers. We understood that the Germans were aware of our connection with the partisans. My brother Tolya and I took care of the people. They ran into the forest as if they were immediately behind the gardens. For the last few months we have already lost Marat. As we climbed onto the roof, we began to see what the truth was. We watched as our father's father was taken away and the timber plant fell into the woods. We knew each other nearby and didn’t know anything. The hell of the night was very secret and painful, and we cried. Fathers, of course, didn’t give anything away to the German cats. We heard about the terrible things that our father and many other people were suffering from.
I, Tolya and Marat became orphans. The situation was unsafe - we were captured and destroyed. We had an adna daroga - among the partisans. I all three of us fell in Berazhnev’s garden.
SHURA NYAMIRKA (1932)
g/p Byarezina.
VYBUKH ON VYSHTSY
We lived in the village of Raunapolle, Kalya Rudzensk. The end of our entire life ends with the chugunka itself. We used to love going for walks at Chyguntsy. The Germans arrived and gave us trouble. And at the end of the troubles in which the partisans appeared in the area, the Germans built up the most dangerous pillboxes and towers. And such a tower was just like ours. On that day and night, two Germans met with guns. 3 ours and the house was seen, as they were pilna pasiral navacol.
3 others on the side of hell in the forest. They often had partisans for the “For Radzima” campaign. I know the name, kali hadzіў u yagada. Kamandzir atrad Gancharov, taught me the first time, I’m trying to find out who I am and the devil. I will tell you that Sirata, I live in the family of Pelageya, and I live with Yagada. She respectfully listens to me and experiences that most Germans have.
No, - I say. - Only two to sit at the top.
Do you have anything bad?
I have no idea, but you can know.
In the forest we often came across the forest. Some boys took it on their own, some simply knew, and started to eat it. When I conveyed the commander’s request, I was given hundreds of grenades, three rifles and Dzegtsiarov’s hand-guns. When I pass this on to the kamanjiru, he kindly says:
I thank you, Vitsia, for helping me.
The Germans often began to attack the village. The Yans took away the fire, back again, lard, chicken, the dashentu burned the weights of Rybtsy right away from people, Lutsishchy, Zazerka and others. The Germans killed our neighbors Luke. I remember when I was at the house, they were lying, spread out on the bed. or cold goosebumps.
I'm a little guy and ran out of the house.
At night people wandered into the forest and the partisans. I’m such a paranoid person myself.
Officer of the department Valodzia Osipchyk, young lad, test me:
What kind of shit do you have?
Come on, I say.
You are yashche small.
Could you please fix the tower for us? Padumai. Try to get to know the Germans, and then move on.
Pan, give me a cigarette!
Give me an egg,” said the Yans and Adzin’s voice.
Gut, kinder!
When the day comes, I know the past and theirs. The youngest flocks are cooking fire, and the oldest are burning stoves. I'm going to smoke a cigarette. The elders would give him a cigarette and tell him in Lamanai Russian that I brought a pit of wood.
I climbed down from the tower, picked up a bunch of dogs that were lying around, and brought them to them.
Gut! - the elders said.
It’s a good idea, he said.
And tsaper iji. You have fulfilled the task - you owe us, - Osipchyk and Pavedam said, they will continue to work for me.
I am a padish and a gypsy. Here you know how to work and work with your hands. Gather wood and stand on the tower. At the end of the day, I’ll take care of the school, I’ll stick the hook around my handles and soak it so that it doesn’t fall out. Then I took the firewood and put it in the stove. The Germans rejoiced and gave a cigarette. You smokers, I'm starting to descend. Sertsa my motsna was rocking, but I’m trying to shake myself in my hands. Paired with a handle, I have a small weight and a German cigarette cord. The hut is going down, because I’m afraid that I won’t get caught earlier, which is what I’m looking after from the tower.
Having grown up on the ground, I follow the roughest steps, and then I can’t stand it and give up running. I run and think: “What if it’s not uzarvezza?” If I couldn’t keep up with them, I was driven and driven, as a terrible bulge was heard. I'm staring and laughing, as the fire became aware of the black smoke and the pile of wood. I am in great fear, and I run into the forest with all my strength. Adtul pashoў y paselak Baravyya, kіlametraў for five hell chygunki, dze chakalі partisans. I am tired, out of breath and praised, Osipchyk experience:
Uzarva tower?
“Uzarva,” I say.
Of good. “Let’s come with us,” he said and the commander of the company, who knows the leaders of Prystan.
That’s the guy who destroyed the tower, I say Osipchyk.
Malaychyna! You will always be with us, with the Atradze, - and you will make a wish for me to leave Osipchyk.
VITSIA PISKUN (1931)
Veska Raunapolle, Rudzenski district.
MAN
At the beginning of the war, we left Minsk and grazed in the Vyzhary village of Smilavitsky village, Rudzenskaya district. Many partisan families lived here.
At the navakol forests of the zeinichau partisan atrads of Zelnikava. My mother kept in touch with him, they gave her leaflets, and I and my friends distributed them on a rack.
Once we got out of the woods and started walking “at the partisans’.” At the hour of the party, the cotton boy Vitsya jumped and said to me:
Fields, yarn, I'll give it to you. The fingers took your mother.
Where did you take me?
“I don’t know,” said the granny. “The Yans didn’t say anything.”
Just a few days later the snow started to fall on the streets. I looked up. Yes, the house fell, the sleigh rode. At the end of the day, my fingers. I was so happy, I touched my fingers as soon as I left. I rushed and left. There were no tears. Rebna ad miane.
“Sadze, and let’s die,” the elders riddled.
Where to? - I asked.
Not yours on the right, shchanyo! - the elders shouted threateningly. - Wherever we tie, there we go.
I was taken to Smilavichy and passed by my mother. I was very happy, I did it. 3 I was not at all afraid of her.
The hut groaned and we lay down on the bunks. Ale couldn't sleep. Mom grabbed me by the neck and taught me how I was a slave and what a Gavarian needed. “Admonish such torture,” gavarilayana, “that is possible.” Why are you a partisan partisan, so you didn’t feel or know anything. May there be a future, don’t cry and cry. Please, make sure you’re not a crybaby.” I said, if only my mother wasn’t freaking out: I’m a little girl, but I don’t know what’s going on.
The next day they tortured us: mother, pottymyan. My fingers have been damaged by data, departments, how many of them, where is the headquarters, what is selected and others. I said the same thing:
I don't know. The partisans didn’t have any.
Manish! - the boss closed his fingers and hit me with a bison. I clenched my teeth and shook. Maya tsarplivastsya knotted the yago.
What a womb, such a mother, he asked and made a sign for me from the pack.
Things will be different for you there.
“Adsul to us, dacha, it’s a shame that you chose,” said the mother and the little girl sighed. “If it didn’t matter to us, we’ll just finish it.” Well, you know, why don’t you lie down and bend us down?
Our Russians are chalavek, and let’s say to the Germans. What a mess! How agіdna na yago glance. Tsiaper will not miss the Shybenitsy, Abavyazkova will hand us over.
Nadzeya was not there when she was called. We began to chat about our future. Mom often said: “Hutchey would have died all the same.”
Come from the next cell and let the evil wings descend upon us. I started tsking and fell into tears. The lids were covered with yashche matsney. The scene is real, and it was a school. I shook off my fear and cried and cried. What I fucked forced me to vomit all over. The cell had a guard: a German officer, a transfer bar and two canvases. Please give me a flock of young lads. The look is terrible: the weight of the roof, the fall of bruises, instead of matting the hell out of the hands. The ruffled woollaces and skeins hung over the forehead. Behind Iago’s back, on the door of the cell, was a pyatskantsov’s stare. In order to demonstrate this vigilance, the afficer of the transporter is trying:
Are you working on this yet?
Mr. Aficer, - the prime minister, - these bastards don’t want to say. Let's see what she says, if there is such a star on the back.
Kali is all gone, I knew I looked at the school. Ladder, the greatest strength, jumps on his hands and says so loudly, as if, apparently, I was suffering from other sick people in the neighboring cells: “Come on, comrades, I’m dying for Radzima! Please help me..."
The canvas fell from the berries, were pulled out into the yard and thrown into the ditch that was behind the barracks.
Today the covers of the camera on the other side have become damaged. I taught just such a schoolgirl that my grandmother was tortured for eight decades. German in Lamanai Russian language Gavari:
Fifteen weeks were left. Budzesh adkazvat?
There are dozens of stories left. Budzesh adkazvat?
It's been five weeks...
It took one hell of a second. Budzesh adkazvat?
Know it!
I didn’t look at the Muggle, but only looked at the old granny. Kalina was dead, they threw her into a ditch, where an unknown lad lay.
One day they released us. When they told us that we could sue at home, we didn’t trust our ears. We were drinking death, but it seemed to us:
Please let me know.
Vernuўshysya ў atrad, we paid da kamandzira. Mom told everything about the hole and the crowd started barking greetings to Sazonav. The director of the meeting will say:
Durhamna laesh yago.
Chamu Durhamna? - Mom was upset.
Your happiness, that there would be Sazonau.
What are you talking about? - my mother said hello.
Kamandzir calmly rastlumachiy:
Sazonau is not a good day. Yong padpolshchyk. I gotta yong so I called you.
We understand everything. Mama Vinavata said:
And I cursed Iago so much...
Well, well, hell won’t stop at all,” the kamandzir said.
We found ourselves in Atradze. Just a few days ago, the Germans executed the Polish Sazonav. Mom and I were generously stocking up on berries.
FIELDS NIKALAEV (1933)
G. Minsk, st. Ivanauskaya, 36.
