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Platonov military stories. From Platonov to Kataev: the best books about the war

Platonov Andrey

The night wind roared over the faded autumn nature. He stirred the puddles and did not let the mud cool down. A good narrow highway led up the hill, and on the sides of the road there was that deserted, gloomy wilderness, such as happens in a Russian district. The day was not quite over yet, but the wild wind made me sleepy and melancholy.

Therefore, a fire was already burning in the estate on the hill - this is a weapon of warmth and comfort against the damp darkness driven by the wind from the sea.

A small car "Tatra" drove along the highway. There was a lone person in it. He casually held the steering wheel with his left hand, and waved his right to the beat of his reasoning. He probably forgot to step on the gas with his foot. The car was quiet. That is the only reason why she did not fall into the gutter, since a person sometimes left hand removed from the steering wheel, with a sharp gesture - with both hands - confirming his invisible thought.

The illuminated windows of a large mansion grew to meet the engine, and from half the hill one could see damp fields, farms, factory chimneys - a whole country now occupied by mournful bad weather.

The passenger of the car drove right into the open garage and knocked down a bucket of water with the running board of the car.

After extinguishing the car, the man went to the house and began to call. No one came out to open the door for him, because the door was open, but the bell did not work.

Yes, sir! - said the man and guessed to enter through the unlocked door.

Large rooms lived empty, but all were strongly lit. Therefore, the purpose of the house could not be determined: either it was a winter room for learning to ride a bicycle, or a family lived here that was not equipped to live in such a solid mansion.

The last door through which the visitor entered led to the living room. She was smaller than the others and smelled like a man. However, there was also a lack of furniture: only a table and chairs around it. But the hostess was sitting at the table - a young blond woman, and on the table was luxurious, even unnecessary food. So, as a rule, a poor person begins to feed himself after long years poor nutrition.

The woman was waiting for the visitor. She did not even begin to eat these dishes, only slightly nibbling from them. She wanted to wait for her husband and share the pleasure of a hearty meal with him. It was a good feeling of former poverty: to divide each piece in half.

The woman rose and touched her wet husband.

Sergey, I was waiting for you before! - she said.

Yes, but I arrived later! - inattentively answered the husband.

The rushing rain with the wind hit the gloomy solid glass of the huge window.

What is this? the woman cringed.

Pure water! - the husband explained and swallowed something from the plate.

Do you want lobster? - the wife suggested.

No, give me a salted cabbage!

The woman looked sadly at her husband - she was bored with this silent man, but she loved him and was doomed to patience. She asked quietly to distract herself:

What did the ministry tell you?

Nothing! - said the husband. - Geneva failed: the Americans swept aside any balance in armament. This is clear: equilibrium is beneficial to the weak, not to the strong.

Why? - did not understand the wife.

Because America is richer than us and wants to be stronger! And will be! It is important for us now to qualitatively get ahead of her ...

The woman did not understand anything, but did not insist on questions: she knew that her husband could then completely shut up.

The rain was raging and tossed torrents blocked by the window. At such moments, a woman felt sorry for the people scattered all over the earth, and she remembered her distant homeland more sadly - so big and so defenseless from her size.

And how is the quality, Seryozha? Arm yourself with quality, right?

The husband smiled. He felt pity for his wife at the timid tone of her question.

Qualitatively - this means that England should not produce armadillos and submarines, and not even airplanes - this is too expensive, and America will always be ahead of us. She has more money. This means that America will crush us quantitatively. And we need to introduce into the means of war other forces, more elegant and cheap, so to speak, but more caustic and destructive. We just have to discover new combat means, stronger than the old ones in terms of their destructive quality... Is it clear to you now, Mashenka?

Yes, quite clearly, Seryozha! But what will it be?

What? Let's say, a universal gas that transforms with the same speed and force - both a person, and the earth, and metal, and even the air itself - into a kind of emptiness, into the very thing that the whole universe is full of - into the ether. Well, this force may still be what is now called superelectricity. This is how you say? - special currents with a very high pulse rate ...

The woman was silent. The husband wanted to hug her, but he restrained himself and continued:

Do you remember Professor Feit came to visit us? Here he is working on superelectricity for the War Department...

Is that a red-haired sweaty old man? the wife asked. - Wow, such a nasty one! What did he do?

While able to chop stones at a distance of a kilometer. Probably going further...

The couple separated. The husband went to the laboratory, which occupied the entire lower semi-basement, and the woman sat down to the telephone to talk with her London friends. From the estate to London - 22 kilometers by car meter.

The equipment of the laboratory indicated that a chemist and an electrical engineer could work here. The one whom the woman upstairs called Sergei, here turned into engineer Serdenko - a name unknown to anyone, even to specialists.

If earlier an engineer made a discovery, then fame found him. With Serdenko, the opposite happened - with each new invention, his name became more oblivious and inglorious. Not a single printed leaflet ever mentioned the work of engineer Serdenko, only cold people from the War Ministry more and more willingly signed assignments from secret funds for him. Moreover, two or three highly qualified experts, doomed to eternal silence, occasionally gave opinions on Serdenko's inventions.

Serdenko's soul consisted of a gloomy silent love for his wife and adoration for Russia - a poor and luxurious rye country. It was the imagination of thatched huts on a flat area as vast as the sky that reassured Serdenko.

I will see you again! - he said to himself - and with this hope he drove away the night fatigue.<…>

He was given very tight short deadlines for completing tasks, so he managed to complete them only by reducing sleep.

Today, too, Serdenko was not going to sleep. The deserted halls of the laboratory were inhabited by wild creatures of precise and expensive devices.

Serdenko sat down at a huge table, picked up a newspaper and began to think. He believed that it was possible to develop a gas that would be a universal destroyer. Then America, with its billions, will become powerless. History, with its road to labor collectivism, will turn into a fantasy. Finally, all seething innumerable insane humanity can be immediately reduced to one denominator - and, moreover, to such a denominator as the owner or producer of universal gas wants.

Andrey Platonov. little soldier

Not far from the front line, inside the surviving railway station, the Red Army men who fell asleep on the floor were sweetly snoring; the happiness of rest was imprinted on their weary faces.

On the second track, the boiler of the hot steam locomotive on duty hissed softly, as if singing a monotonous, soothing voice from a long-abandoned house. But in one corner of the station building, where a kerosene lamp burned, people occasionally whispered soothing words to each other, and then they fell into silence.

There stood two majors, similar to each other not in outward signs, but in the general goodness of their wrinkled, tanned faces; each of them held the boy's hand in his hand, and the child looked imploringly at the commanders. The child did not let go of the hand of one major, then clinging his face to it, and carefully tried to free himself from the hand of the other. The child looked about ten years old, and he was dressed like an experienced fighter - in a gray overcoat, worn and pressed against his body, in a cap and in boots, sewn, apparently, to measure for a child's foot. His small face, thin, weathered, but not exhausted, adapted and already accustomed to life, was now addressed to one major; the bright eyes of the child clearly revealed his sadness, as if they were the living surface of his heart; he longed to be separated from his father or an older friend, who must have been the major to him.

The second major drew the child by the hand to him and caressed him, comforting him, but the boy, without removing his hand, remained indifferent to him. The first major was also saddened, and he whispered to the child that he would soon take him to him and they would meet again for an inseparable life, and now they parted for a short time. The boy believed him, however, the truth itself could not console his heart, attached to only one person and wanting to be with him constantly and near, and not far away. The child already knew what the distance and the time of war are - it is difficult for people from there to return to each other, so he did not want separation, and his heart could not be alone, it was afraid that, left alone, it would die. And in his last request and hope, the boy looked at the major, who should leave him with a stranger.

“Well, Seryozha, goodbye for now,” said the major whom the child loved. “You don’t really try to fight, grow up, then you will.” Do not climb on the German and take care of yourself, so that I can find you alive, whole. Well, what are you, what are you - hold on, soldier!

Sergei cried. The major lifted him into his arms and kissed his face several times. Then the major went with the child to the exit, and the second major also followed them, instructing me to guard the things left behind.

The child returned in the arms of another major; he looked strangely and timidly at the commander, although this major persuaded him with gentle words and attracted him to himself as best he could.

The major, who replaced the departed one, exhorted the silent child for a long time, but he, faithful to one feeling and one person, remained aloof.

Not far from the station, anti-aircraft guns began to hit. The boy listened to their booming dead sounds, and excited interest appeared in his eyes.

"Their scout is coming!" he said quietly, as if to himself. - It goes high, and the anti-aircraft guns will not take it, you need to send a fighter there.

"They'll send," said the major. - They're looking at us.

The train we needed was expected only the next day, and all three of us went to the hostel for the night. There the Major fed the child from his heavily loaded sack. “How tired of him for the war, this bag,” said the major, “and how grateful I am to him!” The boy fell asleep after eating, and Major Bakhichev told me about his fate.

Sergei Labkov was the son of a colonel and a military doctor. His father and mother served in the same regiment, so they took their only son to live with them and grow up in the army. Seryozha was now in his tenth year; he took the war and his father's cause close to his heart and had already begun to truly understand what war was for. And then one day he heard his father talking in the dugout with one officer and taking care that the Germans, when retreating, would definitely blow up the ammunition of his regiment. The regiment had previously left the German coverage, well, with haste, of course, and left its ammunition depot with the Germans, and now the regiment had to go ahead and return the lost land and its property on it, and the ammunition, too, which was needed. “They’ve probably already failed the wire to our warehouse - they know that they will have to move away,” the colonel, Seryozha’s father, said then. Sergey listened attentively and realized what his father cared about. The boy knew the location of the regiment before the retreat, and here he is, small, thin, cunning, crawled at night to our warehouse, cut the explosive closing wire and remained there for another whole day, guarding that the Germans did not fix the damage, and if they fix it, then so that again cut the wire. Then the colonel drove the Germans out of there, and the whole warehouse passed into his possession.

Soon this little boy made his way further behind enemy lines; there he recognized by signs where the command post of the regiment or battalion was, walked around three batteries at a distance, remembered everything exactly - the memory was not corrupted in any way - and when he returned home, he showed his father on the map how it is and where it is. The father thought, gave his son to the orderly for inseparable observation of him and opened fire on these points. Everything turned out right, the son gave him the right serifs. He is small, this Seryozhka, the enemy took him for a gopher in the grass: let him, they say, move. And Seryozhka, probably, did not move the grass, he walked without a sigh.

The boy also deceived the orderly, or, so to speak, seduced him: since he led him somewhere, and together they killed the German - it is not known which of them - and Sergey found the position.

So he lived in the regiment with his father, mother and soldiers. The mother, seeing such a son, could no longer endure his uncomfortable situation and decided

send him to the rear. But Sergei could no longer leave the army, his character was drawn into the war. And he told that major, father's deputy, Savelyev, who had just left, that he would not go to the rear, but rather hide in captivity to the Germans, learn from them everything that was needed, and again return to his father's unit when his mother get bored. And he would probably do so, because he has a military character.

And then grief happened, and there was no time to send the boy to the rear. His father, a colonel, was seriously wounded, although the battle, they say, was weak, and he died two days later in a field hospital. The mother also fell ill, became tired - she had previously been maimed by two shrapnel wounds, one was in the cavity - and a month after her husband she also died; maybe she still missed her husband ... Sergey was left an orphan.

Major Savelyev took command of the regiment, he took the boy to him and became him instead of his father and mother, instead of relatives - the whole person. The boy answered him, too, with all his heart.

- And I'm not from their part, I'm from another. But I know Volodya Savelyev from a long time ago. And so we met here with him at the headquarters of the front. Volodya was sent to refresher courses, and I was there on another matter, and now I'm going back to my unit. Volodya Savelyev told me to take care of the boy until he comes back ... And when else will Volodya return and where will he be sent! Well, you'll see it there...

Major Bakhichev dozed off and fell asleep. Seryozha Labkov snored in his sleep like an adult, an elderly person, and his face, now moving away from sorrow and memories, became calm and innocently happy, showing the image of a holy childhood, from where the war had taken him away. I also fell asleep, taking advantage of unnecessary time so that it would not pass in vain.

We woke up at dusk, at the very end of a long June day. Now there were two of us in three beds - Major Bakhichev and I, but Seryozha Labkov was not there. The major was worried, but then he decided that the boy had gone somewhere for a short time. Later, we went with him to the station and visited the military commandant, but no one noticed the little soldier in the rear of the war.

The next morning, Seryozha Labkov also did not return to us, and God knows where he went, tormented by the feeling of his childish heart for the man who left him - maybe after him, maybe back to his father's regiment, where the graves of his father and mother were.

Vladimir Zheleznikov. In an old tank

He was already about to leave this city, did his business and was about to leave, but on the way to the station he suddenly came across a small square.

An old tank stood in the middle of the square. He approached the tank, touched the dents from enemy shells - it was evident that it was a battle tank, and therefore he did not want to immediately leave it. I put the suitcase near the caterpillar, climbed onto the tank, tried the turret hatch to see if it opens. The hatch opened easily.

Then he climbed inside and sat in the driver's seat. It was a narrow, cramped place, he could hardly get through without getting used to it, and even when he climbed, he scratched his hand.

He pressed the gas pedal, touched the handles of the levers, looked through the viewing slot and saw a narrow strip of the street.

For the first time in his life he was sitting in a tank, and it was all so unusual for him that he did not even hear someone approach the tank, climb on it and bend over the turret. And then he raised his head, because the one above blocked the light for him.

It was a boy. His hair looked almost blue in the light. They looked at each other in silence for a full minute. For the boy, the meeting was unexpected: he thought to find one of his comrades here with whom he could play, and here you are, an adult stranger man.

The boy was about to say something sharp to him, saying that there was nothing to get into someone else's tank, but then he saw the man's eyes and saw that his fingers trembled a little when he raised a cigarette to his lips, and said nothing.

But it is impossible to remain silent forever, and the boy asked:

- Why are you here?

“Nothing,” he replied. I decided to sit. And what not?

"Yes," said the boy. - Only this tank is ours.

- Whose is yours? - he asked.

“Children of our yard,” said the boy.

They were silent again.

- How long will you stay here? the boy asked.

- I'll be leaving soon. He looked at his watch. I'm leaving your city in an hour.

“Look, it’s raining,” said the boy.

- Well, let's crawl in here and close the hatch. Let's wait out the rain and I'll go.

It's good that it started to rain, otherwise I would have to leave. And he still could not leave, something kept him in this tank.

The little boy snuggled up next to him. They sat very close to each other, and this neighborhood was somehow surprising and unexpected.

He even felt the boy's breath, and every time he looked up, he saw his neighbor turn away swiftly.

“Actually, old, front-line tanks are my weakness,” he said.

- This tank - a good thing. The boy patted his armor knowingly. “They say he liberated our city.

“My father was a tanker in the war,” he said.

- And now? the boy asked.

“And now he’s gone,” he replied. — Did not return from the front. In forty-three, he went missing.

The tank was almost dark. A thin strip made its way through a narrow viewing slot, and then the sky was covered with a thundercloud, and it completely darkened.

- And how is it - "missing"? the boy asked.

- He went missing, which means he went, for example, to reconnaissance behind enemy lines and did not return. It is not known how he died.

“Is it even impossible to know? the boy was surprised. “He wasn't alone there.

“Sometimes it doesn’t work,” he said. — And the tankers are brave guys. Here, for example, some guy was sitting here during the battle: the light is nothing at all, you can see the whole world only through this gap. And enemy shells hit the armor. I saw what potholes! From the impact of these shells on the tank, the head could burst.

Somewhere in the sky thunder struck, and the tank rang dully. The boy shuddered.

— Are you afraid? - he asked.

“No,” the boy replied. - It's out of surprise.

“Recently I read in the newspaper about a tankman,” he said. - That was a man! You listen. This tanker was captured by the Nazis: maybe he was wounded or shell-shocked, or maybe he jumped out of a burning tank and they grabbed him. In short, he was captured. And suddenly one day they put him in a car and bring him to an artillery range. At first, the tanker did not understand anything: he sees a brand new T-34, and in the distance a group of German officers. They took him to the officers. And then one of them says:

“Here, they say, you have a tank, you will have to go through the entire range on it, sixteen kilometers, and our soldiers will shoot at you from cannons. If you see the tank through to the end, then you will live, and personally I will give you freedom. Well, if you don't, then you die. In general, in war as in war.

And he, our tanker, is still quite young. Well, maybe he was twenty-two. Now these guys go to college! And he stood in front of the general, an old, thin, long as a stick, fascist general, who didn’t give a damn about this tanker and didn’t give a damn that he had lived so little, that his mother was waiting for him somewhere - they didn’t give a damn about anything. It's just that this fascist really liked the game that he came up with with this Soviet one: he decided to test a new aiming device on anti-tank guns on a Soviet tank.

"Chorus?" the general asked.

The tanker didn’t answer, turned around and went to the tank... And when he got into the tank, when he climbed into this place and pulled the control levers, and when they easily and freely went towards him, when he breathed in the familiar, familiar smell of engine oil, his head was spinning with happiness. And believe me, he cried. He wept with joy, he never dreamed of getting into his favorite tank again. That again he will be on a small patch, on a small island of his native, dear Soviet land.

For a moment, the tanker bowed his head and closed his eyes: he remembered the distant Volga and the high city on the Volga. But then he was given a signal: they launched a rocket. It means: go ahead. He took his time, carefully looked through the viewing slot. No one, the officers hid in the moat. He carefully pressed the gas pedal to the end, and the tank slowly moved forward. And then the first battery hit - the Nazis, of course, hit him in the back. He immediately gathered all his strength and made his famous turn: one lever forward to failure, the second back, full throttle, and suddenly the tank spun like crazy in one hundred and eighty degrees - for this maneuver he always got a five at the school - and unexpectedly quickly rushed towards the hurricane fire of this battery.

“In war as in war! he suddenly shouted to himself. "That's what your general seems to have said."

He jumped like a tank on these enemy cannons and scattered them in different directions.

Not a bad start, he thought. “Not bad at all.”

Here they are, the Nazis, very close, but he is protected by armor forged by skilled blacksmiths in the Urals. No, they can't take it now. In war as in war!

He again made his famous turn and clung to the viewing gap: the second battery fired a volley at the tank. And the tanker threw the car aside; making turns to the right and to the left, he rushed forward. And again, the entire battery was destroyed. And the tank was already rushing on, and the guns, forgetting all the order, began to whip shells at the tank. But the tank was like a mad one: it turned like a top on one or the other caterpillar, changed direction and crushed these enemy guns. It was a glorious fight, a very fair fight. And the tanker himself, when he went into the last frontal attack, opened the driver's hatch, and all the gunners saw his face, and they all saw that he was laughing and shouting something to them.

And then the tank jumped out onto the highway and went east at high speed. He was followed by German rockets, demanding to stop. The tanker didn't notice anything. Only to the east, his path lay to the east. Only to the east, at least a few meters, at least a few tens of meters towards the distant, dear, dear land ...

"And he wasn't caught?" the boy asked.

The man looked at the boy and wanted to lie, suddenly he really wanted to lie that everything ended well and he, this glorious, heroic tanker, was not caught. And the boy will then be so happy about it! But he did not lie, he simply decided that in such cases it was impossible to lie for anything.

“Caught,” the man said. The tank ran out of fuel and was caught. And then they brought me to the general who came up with this whole game. He was led along the training ground to a group of officers by two submachine gunners. The gymnast on him was torn. He walked along green grass polygon and saw a field daisy underfoot. He bent down and tore it off. And that's when all the fear really went away. He suddenly became himself: a simple Volga boy, small in stature, well, like our astronauts. The general shouted something in German, and a single shot rang out.

“Maybe it was your father?” the boy asked.

“Who knows, it would be nice,” the man replied. But my father is missing.

They got out of the tank. The rain is over.

“Goodbye, friend,” the man said.

- Goodbye...

The boy wanted to add that he would now make every effort to find out who this tanker was, and maybe it really would be his father. He will raise his whole yard for this cause, and what’s the yard - his entire class, and what’s the class - his entire school!

They parted in different directions.

The boy ran to the children. I ran and thought about this tanker and thought that he would find out everything and everything about him, and then he would write to this man ...

And then the boy remembered that he did not know either the name or the address of this person, and he almost burst into tears from resentment. Well, what can you do...

And the man walked with a wide step, waving his suitcase as he went. He did not notice anyone and nothing, he walked and thought about his father and about the words of the boy. Now, when he remembers his father, he will always think about this tanker. Now for him it will be the story of his father.

So good, so infinitely good that he finally had this story. He will often remember her: at night, when he does not sleep well, or when it rains, and he becomes sad, or when he will be very, very fun.

It's so good that he got this story, and this old tank, and this boy...

Vladimir Zheleznikov. girl in the military

Almost whole week went well for me, but on Saturday I got two deuces at once: in Russian and in arithmetic.

When I came home, my mother asked:

- Well, did they call you today?

“No, they didn’t,” I lied. — Lately I don't get called at all.

And on Sunday morning everything opened. Mom climbed into my briefcase, took the diary and saw deuces.

"Yuri," she said. - What does it mean?

"That's by accident," I replied. - The teacher called me at the last lesson, when Sunday had almost begun ...

- You're just a liar! Mom said angrily.

And then dad went to his friend and did not return for a long time. And my mother was waiting for him, and her mood was very bad. I sat in my room and didn't know what to do. Suddenly my mother came in, dressed in a festive way, and said:

- When dad comes, feed him lunch.

- Will you be back soon?

- Don't know.

Mom left, and I sighed heavily and took out my arithmetic book. But before I could open it, someone called.

I thought my dad had finally arrived. But on the threshold stood a tall, broad-shouldered unfamiliar man.

Does Nina Vasilievna live here? - he asked.

“Here,” I replied. “Mom isn’t at home.”

- May I wait? - He held out his hand to me: - Sukhov, your mother's friend.

Sukhov went into the room, leaning heavily on his right leg.

"It's a pity Nina is gone," said Sukhov. - How does she look? Is everything the same?

It was unusual for me that a stranger called my mother Nina and asked if she was the same or not. What else could she be?

We were silent.

And I brought her a photograph. Promised for a long time, but brought just now. Sukhov reached into his pocket.

In the photo there was a girl in a military suit: in soldier's boots, in a tunic and skirt, but without a weapon.

“Sergeant Major,” I said.

- Yes. Staff Sergeant medical service. Didn't have to meet?

- No. First time I see.

— Is that how? Sukhov was surprised. “And this, my brother, is not an ordinary person. If not for her, I would not be sitting with you now ...

We had been silent for ten minutes now, and I felt uncomfortable. I noticed that adults always offer tea when they have nothing to say. I said:

- Do you want tea?

- Tea? No. I'd rather tell you a story. It's good for you to know.

- About this girl? I guessed.

- Yes. About this girl. - And Sukhov began to tell: - It was in the war. I was severely wounded in the leg and stomach. When you get hurt in the stomach, it hurts especially. It's scary to even move. I was dragged from the battlefield and taken to the hospital in a bus.

And then the enemy began to bomb the road. The driver in the front car was wounded, and all the cars stopped. When the fascist planes left, this very girl got on the bus, - Sukhov pointed to the photograph, - and said: "Comrades, get out of the car."

All the wounded rose to their feet and began to leave, helping each other, in a hurry, because somewhere not far away the roar of returning bombers was already heard.

Alone, I was left lying on the lower hanging bunk.

“What are you doing lying down? Get up now! - she said. “Listen, the enemy bombers are returning!”

“Don't you see? I am badly wounded and cannot get up,” I replied. "Get out of here as fast as you can."

And then the bombing started again. They bombed with special bombs, with a siren. I closed my eyes and pulled a blanket over my head so that the windows of the bus, which were shattered by explosions, would not be hurt. In the end, the blast wave overturned the bus on its side and something heavy hit me on the shoulder. At the same moment, the howl of falling bombs and explosions stopped.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" I heard and opened my eyes.

A girl was squatting in front of me.

“Our driver was killed,” she said. - We need to get out. They say the Nazis broke through the front. Everyone has already left on foot. We are the only ones left."

She pulled me out of the car and laid me on the grass. She got up and looked around.

"No one?" I asked.

“No one,” she replied. Then she lay down next to her, face down. “Now try turning on your side.”

I turned around and felt very sick from the pain in my stomach.

"Lie down on your back again," the girl said.

I turned, and my back lay firmly on her back. It seemed to me that she would not even be able to move, but she slowly crawled forward, carrying me on her.

“Tired,” she said. The girl stood up and looked back. “No one, like in the desert.”

At this time, a plane emerged from behind the forest, flew low over us and fired a burst.

I saw a gray stream of dust from bullets ten meters away from us. She went over my head.

"Run! I shouted. "He's about to turn around."

The plane was coming towards us again. The girl fell. Phew, whew, whistle whistled again next to us. The girl raised her head, but I said:

“Don't move! Let him think he killed us."

The fascist flew right over me. I closed my eyes. I was afraid that he would see that my eyes were open. Only left a small slit in one eye.

The fascist turned on one wing. He gave another burst, missed again and flew away.

“Flew,” I said. - Mazila.

“Here, brother, what girls are like,” said Sukhov. “One wounded man took a picture of her for me as a keepsake. And we parted ways. I go to the rear, she goes back to the front.

I took a photo and began to look. And suddenly I recognized in this girl in a military suit my mother: mother's eyes, mother's nose. Only my mother was not the same as now, but just a girl.

- Is that mom? I asked. “Did my mother save you?”

"Exactly," replied Sukhov. - Your mother.

Dad came back and interrupted our conversation.

— Nina! Nina! Dad shouted from the hallway. He loved when his mother met him.

“Mom is not at home,” I said.

“Where is she?”

I don't know, she's gone somewhere.

“Strange,” Dad said. “Looks like I was in a hurry.

“And a front-line comrade is waiting for my mother,” I said.

Dad walked into the room. Sukhov rose heavily to meet him.

They looked at each other carefully and shook hands.

Sit down, be quiet.

- And Comrade Sukhov told me how he and his mother were at the front.

- Yes? Papa looked at Sukhov. “Sorry, Nina is gone. Now I would feed you lunch.

"Dinner is nonsense," answered Sukhov. - And that Nina is not there, it's a pity.

For some reason, dad's conversation with Sukhov did not work out. Sukhov soon got up and left, promising to come back another time.

- Are you going to have lunch? I asked dad. Mom said to have dinner, she will not come soon.

“I won’t dine without my mother,” my father got angry. — I could sit at home on Sunday!

I turned and went into another room. Ten minutes later, my father came to me.

- Don't know. Dressed up for the holidays and left. Maybe go to the theatre, I said, or get a job. She said for a long time that she was tired of sitting at home and taking care of us. We still don't appreciate it.

“Nonsense,” said Dad. - Firstly, there are no performances in the theater at this time. And secondly, they don't get a job on Sunday. And then, she would have warned me.

“But I didn’t warn you,” I replied.

After that, I took from the table my mother's photograph, which Sukhov had left, and began to look at it.

“So, so, in a festive way,” dad repeated sadly. - What is your photo? - he asked. - Yes, it's mom!

“That's right, Mom. This Comrade Sukhov left. Mom pulled him out from under the bombing.

— Sukhova? Our mother? Dad shrugged. “But he is twice as tall as his mother and three times as heavy.

Sukhov himself told me. “And I repeated to my father the story of this mother’s photograph.

— Yes, Yurka, we have a wonderful mother. And we don't appreciate it.

“I appreciate it,” I said. It just happens to me sometimes...

- So I don't appreciate it? Dad asked.

“No, you appreciate it too,” I said. “But sometimes you too…”

Dad walked around the rooms, opened several times front door and listened to see if my mother was coming back.

Then he took the photograph again, turned it over and read aloud:

“To the dear Medical Sergeant on her birthday. From fellow soldier Andrei Sukhov. Wait, wait, said dad. - What is the date today?

- Twenty first!

- Twenty first! Mom's birthday. This was not enough! Dad clutched his head. How did I forget? She, of course, got offended and left. And you're good - I forgot too!

I got two deuces. She doesn't talk to me.

- Nice present! You and I are just pigs,” said dad. You know what, go to the store and buy your mom a cake.

But on the way to the store, running past our square, I saw my mother. She was sitting on a bench under a linden tree and talking to some old woman.

I immediately guessed that my mother had not gone anywhere.

She just got offended with dad and me for her birthday and left.

I ran home and shouted:

- Dad, I saw mom! She sits in our park and talks to an unfamiliar old woman.

— Aren't you wrong? Dad said. - Quickly pull the razor, I'll shave. Get out my new suit and clean my boots. No matter how she left, dad was worried.

“Of course,” I replied. - And you sat down to shave.

"What do you think I should go unshaven?" Dad waved his hand. - You do not understand anything.

I also took and put on a new jacket, which my mother did not allow me to wear yet.

- Yurka! dad shouted. Have you seen that they don't sell flowers on the street?

"I didn't see it," I replied.

“It's amazing,” said Dad, “you never notice anything.

It’s strange for dad: I found mom and I don’t notice anything. Finally we got out. Dad walked so fast that I had to run. So we walked all the way to the park. But when dad saw mom, he immediately slowed down.

“You know, Yurka,” said dad, “for some reason I get worried and feel guilty.

“Why worry?” I replied. “Let’s ask mom for forgiveness, that’s all.

- How easy it is for you. - Dad took a deep breath, as if he was about to lift some kind of weight, and said: - Well, go ahead!

We entered the square, stepping toe to toe. We approached our mother.

She looked up and said:

- Well, finally.

The old woman who was sitting with mother looked at us, and mother added:

These are my men.

Vasil Bykov "Katyusha"

The shelling lasted all night - then weakening, as if even stopping for a few minutes, then suddenly flaring up with renewed vigor. Mostly mortars fired. Their mines cut the air at the very zenith of the sky with a piercing squeal, the screeching gaining maximum strength and breaking off with a sharp, deafening explosion in the distance. They mostly hit the rear, in the nearby village, it was there that the screech of mines rushed in the sky, and there the reflections of explosions flared up every now and then. Right there, on the grassy hillock, where machine gunners had dug in since the evening, it was a little quieter. But this is probably because, thought the platoon commander Matyukhin, that the machine gunners occupied this hillock, consider it at dusk, and the Germans had not yet found them here. However, they will find out that their eyes are keen, the optics too. Until midnight, Matyukhin went from one submachine gunner to another, forcing them to dig in. The submachine gunners, however, did not put much effort on their shoulder blades - they had run in during the day and now, having adjusted the collars of their overcoats, they were preparing to camouflage. But it looks like they've run away. The offensive seemed to be fizzling out, yesterday they took only a smashed, burned village to the ground and sat down on this hillock. The authorities also stopped urging them on: no one visited them at night - neither from the headquarters, nor from the political department - during the week of the offensive, they were also probably exhausted. But the main thing is that the artillery fell silent: either they transferred it somewhere, or the ammunition ran out. Yesterday the regimental mortars fired for a short time and fell silent. In the autumn field and the sky covered with dense clouds, only squealing in all voices, with a crackling gasp, German mines, from a distance, from the fishing line, their machine guns fired. From the site of the neighboring battalion, our "maxims" sometimes answered them. The machine gunners were silent. Firstly, it was far away, and secondly, they took care of the cartridges, which God knows how many also remained. The hottest ones have one disk per machine. The platoon commander hoped that they would bring him up at night, but they didn’t, probably they fell behind, lost their way or got drunk on the rear, so now all hope remained on themselves. And what will happen tomorrow - only God knows. Suddenly the German will trample - what to do then? Suvorov-style to fight back with a bayonet and butt? But where is the bayonet of machine gunners, and the butt is too short.

Overcoming the autumn cold, in the morning, Matyukhin, the assistant platoon commander, kimarnul in his hole-trench. I didn't want to, but I couldn't resist. After Lieutenant Klimovsky was taken to the rear, he commanded a platoon. The lieutenant was very unlucky in last fight: a fragment of a German mine did a good job of shredding him across his stomach; the intestines fell out, it is not known whether the lieutenant will be saved in the hospital. Last summer, Matyukhin was also wounded in the stomach, but not by shrapnel, but by a bullet. He also suffered pain and fear, but somehow dodged the koschava. In general, then he was lucky, because he was wounded next to the road along which empty cars were going, he was thrown into the body, and an hour later he was already in the medical battalion. And if like this, with guts falling out, dragged across the field, now and then falling under the gaps ... The poor lieutenant had not lived even twenty years.

That is why Matyukhin is so restless; Nevertheless, fatigue overcame anxiety and all worries, the senior sergeant dozed off under the screech and explosions of mines. It’s good that the young energetic submachine gunner Kozyra managed to dig in nearby, to whom the platoon commander ordered to observe and listen, to sleep - in no case, otherwise it’s a disaster. The Germans are also nimble not only during the day, but also at night. During the two years of the war, Matyukhin had seen enough of everyone.

Falling asleep imperceptibly, Matyukhin saw himself as if at home, as if he had dozed off on a mound from some strange fatigue, and as if the neighbor's pig was poking his shoulder with its cold snout - if he intended to grab him with his teeth. I woke up from the unpleasant sensation of the platoon commander and immediately felt that someone was really shaking him by the shoulder, probably waking him up.

- What's happened?

- Look, comrade of the platoon commander!

In the gray dawn sky, Kozyra's narrow-shouldered silhouette leaned over the trench. The submachine gunner looked, however, not in the direction of the Germans, but in the rear, obviously interested in something there. Habitually shaking off the morning sleepy chill, Matyukhin got up on his knees. On a hillock nearby, the bulky silhouette of a car with an obliquely set top was dark, near which people were silently fussing.

- "Katyusha"?

Matyukhin understood everything and cursed silently to himself: it was the Katyusha preparing for a salvo. And where did it come from? To his machine gunners?

“From now on they’ll give you a dumbass!” From ask! Kozyra rejoiced like a child.

Other fighters from the nearby trenches, also, apparently, interested in an unexpected neighborhood, crawled to the surface. Everyone watched with interest as gunners fussed near the car, it seemed, setting up their famous volley. "Damn them, with their volley!" - the platoon commander became nervous, already knowing well the price of these volleys. Who knows what’s the use, you won’t see much beyond the field in the forest, but, look, alarms will set in ... Meanwhile, over the field and the forest that darkened ahead, it gradually began to get light. The gloomy sky above cleared up, a fresh autumn wind was blowing, apparently, it was going to rain. The platoon commander knew that if the Katyushas worked, it would definitely rain. Finally, there, near the car, the fuss seemed to subside, everyone seemed to freeze; several people ran away, behind the car, and heard the muffled words of the artillery team. And suddenly, in the air overhead, there was a sharp squeal, a roar, a grunt, fiery tails crashed behind the car into the ground, rockets jumped over the heads of submachine gunners and disappeared into the distance. Clouds of dust and smoke, swirling in a tight white whirlwind, enveloped the Katyusha, part of the nearby trenches, and began to spread along the slope of the hillock. The buzzing in my ears had not yet subsided, as they had already commanded - this time loudly, without hiding, with an evil military determination. People rushed to the car, metal clinked, some jumped on its steps, and through the rest of the dust that had not yet settled, it crawled down from the hillock towards the village. At the same time ahead, beyond the field and the woods, there was a menacing roar—a series of rolling, drawn-out echoes shook the space for a minute. Puffs of black smoke slowly rose into the sky above the forest.

- Oh, give, oh give the damned nemchure! Kozyr's submachine gunner beamed with his young snub-nosed face. Others, too, having climbed to the surface or stood up in the trenches, watched with admiration the unprecedented spectacle beyond the field. Only the platoon commander Matyukhin, as if petrified, was on his knees in a shallow trench, and as soon as the rumble behind the field broke off, he shouted with all his might:

- In cover! In hiding, your mother! Kozyra, what are you...

He even jumped to his feet to get out of the trench, but did not have time. It was heard how a single explosion or shot clicked somewhere behind the forest, and a discordant howl and crackle in the sky ... Sensing danger, machine gunners, like peas from the table, poured into their trenches. The sky howled, shook, rumbled. The first volley of German six-barreled mortars fell with a flight, closer to the village, the other - closer to the hillock. And then everything around was mixed up in a continuous dusty mess of gaps. Some of the mines were torn closer, others further, in front, behind and between the trenches. The whole hillock turned into a fiery-smoky volcano, which was diligently pushed, dug, shoveled German mines. Stunned, covered with earth, Matyukhin writhed in his trench, fearfully waiting for when ... When, when? But this was when everything did not come, and the explosions gouged, shook the earth, which seemed to be about to split to the full depth, collapsing itself and dragging everything else with it.

But somehow everything gradually calmed down ...

Matyukhin peeped out apprehensively—first forward, into the field—are they coming? No, it looks like they haven't gone there yet. Then he looked to the side, at the recent line of his platoon of submachine gunners, and did not see him. The whole hillock gaped with funnel holes between a heap of clay blocks, clods of earth; sand and earth covered the grass around, as if it had never been here. Not far away, the long body of Kozyra sprawled, which, apparently, did not have time to reach his saving trench. The head and upper part of his torso were covered with earth, his legs as well, only polished metal joints shone on the heels of his shoes that had not yet been trampled down ...

- Well, she helped, they say, - said Matyukhin and did not hear his voice. A trickle of blood trickled down his dirty cheek from his right ear.

Do you like the works of Andrey Platonov? I've only read stories so far. I like it very much.
Attitude to the fight is an important component of victory. Here's the story (at least for me).
Inanimate Enemy(story written in 1943)
A person, if he lives at least twenty years, is sure to be close to death many times or even crosses the threshold of his death, but returns back to life. A person remembers some cases of his proximity to death, but more often he forgets them or leaves them completely unnoticed. Death in general does not come to a person once, not once in our life does it become a close companion of our existence - but only once does it manage to inseparably take possession of a person who so often over the course of his short life - sometimes with careless courage - overcame it and distanced himself from himself into the future. Death is victorious—at least it has to be defeated several times before it can win once. Death is vanquishable, because the living being, in defending itself, becomes death for that hostile force that brings him death. And this supreme moment of life, when it unites with death in order to overcome it, is usually not remembered, although this moment is pure, spiritualized joy.
Recently, death approached me in a war: by an air wave from
high-explosive shell burst I was lifted into the air, the last breath
it was suppressed in me, and the world stopped for me, like a silent, distant cry.
Then I was thrown back to the earth and buried on top of its ruined ashes.
But life was preserved in me; she left my heart and left dark mine
consciousness, but she took refuge in some secret, perhaps the last, refuge
in my body and from there, timidly and slowly, it spread again in me with warmth and
a sense of the familiar happiness of existence.
I warmed myself underground and began to realize my position. The soldier comes alive
quickly, because he is stingy with his life, and with this small opportunity he already
exists again; it is a pity for him to leave not only all the highest and sacred that
to eat on earth and for which he kept a weapon, but even hearty food in his stomach,
which he ate before the battle and which did not have time to be digested in him and
to benefit. I tried to get off the ground and get out; But
my exhausted body was now disobedient, and I was left lying in weakness and
in the dark; it seemed to me that my insides were shaken by the impact of the explosive
waves and were unstable - they now need rest, so that they grow
back from the inside to the body; now it hurt me to do even the smallest
movement; even in order to breathe, one had to suffer and endure
pain, as if broken sharp bones each time dug into the flesh of my
hearts. The air for breathing reached me freely through the wells in
crumbled dust of the earth; however, to live long in the position of the buried was
difficult and not good for a living soldier, so I kept trying
turn on your stomach and crawl out into the light. I didn't have a rifle with me, her
he must have knocked the air out of my hands during the concussion—that means I’m completely
defenseless and useless fighter. Artillery buzzed not far from that scree
the dust in which I was buried; I understood by the sound when our cannons were fired and
enemy guns, and my future fate now depended on. who will take this
ruined, sepulchral ground in which I lie almost exhausted. If this land
occupied by the Germans, then I won’t have to leave here, I won’t have to
look at White light and for cute Russian field.
I got used to it, grabbed the spine of some kind of blade of grass with my hand, turned
body on his stomach and crawled in the dry crumbled earth a step or a half, and then
again lay face down in the dust, left without strength. After lying down for a while, I again
he got up to crawl a little further into the light. I sighed loudly
gathering his strength, and at the same time he heard the close sigh of another person.
I reached out my hand into the clods and rubbish of the earth and felt for the button and breast
an unknown person, just as buried in this earth as I am, and in the same way,
probably exhausted. He lay almost next to me, half a meter away,
and his face was turned towards me - I established this by warm light waves
his breath reaching me. I asked a stranger in Russian who he was
such and in what part it serves. The stranger was silent. Then I repeated mine
a question in German, and an unknown person answered me in German that his name is
Rudolf Oskar Waltz that he is a non-commissioned officer of the 3rd company of submachine gunners from the battalion
motorized infantry. Then he asked me the same question, who am I and why am I here. I
answered him that I was a Russian ordinary shooter and that I was attacking the Germans,
until he fell unconscious. Rudolf Oskar Waltz fell silent; he seems to be something
pondered, then moved sharply, tried the place around him with his hand, and
calmed down again.
Are you looking for your machine? I asked the German.
- Yes, - said Waltz. - Where is he?
“I don’t know, it’s dark here,” I said, “and we are covered with earth. Gun
the fire outside became rare and stopped altogether, but the shooting from
rifles, submachine guns and machine guns.
We listened to the fight; each of us tried to understand whose power takes
the advantage is Russian or German, and which of us will be saved and which will be destroyed.
But the battle, judging by the shots, stood still and only grew fiercer and thundered all the time.
more violently, without moving closer to his decision. We were probably in
the intermediate space of the battle, because the sounds of the shots of both
sides reached us with equal force, and the escaping fury of the German
machine guns were extinguished by the precise, intense work of Russian machine guns. German
Waltz again tossed and turned in the ground; he felt around him with his hands, looking for
your lost gun.
Why do you need weapons now? .- I asked him.
- For the war with you, - Waltz told me. - And where is your rifle?
- A landmine vomited out of my hands, - I answered. - Let's fight hand-to-hand. We
moved one to the other, and I grabbed him by the shoulders, and he grabbed me by the throat.
Each of us wanted to kill or harm the other, but, breathing in the earthen
rubbish, constrained by the soil that had fallen on us, we quickly became exhausted from
lack of air, which we needed for frequent breathing in the fight, and
frozen in weakness. Recovering my breath, I touched the German to see if he had moved away from
me, and he also touched me with his hand to check. The battle of Russians with the Nazis
continued close to us, but Rudolf Waltz and I no longer delved into it;
each of us listened to the breath of the other, fearing that he would secretly crawl away
into the distance, into the dark land, and then it will be difficult to overtake him in order to kill him.
I tried to rest as soon as possible, catch my breath and survive the weakness
his body, broken by the blow of an air wave; I wanted to then grab
fascist, breathing next to me, and interrupt his life with his hands, overcome
forever it strange creature who was born somewhere far away, but came here,
to ruin me. Shooting outside and the rustle of the earth settling around us
prevented me from listening to the breathing of Rudolf Waltz, and he could, without my noticing
retire. I sniffed the air and realized that Waltz smelled different from
Russian soldier—his clothes smelled of disinfection—and some kind of clean,
but inanimate chemistry; the overcoat of a Russian soldier usually smelled of bread and habitable
sheepskin. But even that German smell of Waltz could not help me all the time
to feel the enemy that he is here if he wants to leave, because when
you lie in the earth, it smells of many things that are born and stored in it, - and
rye roots, and smoldering obsolete grasses, and scorched seeds that conceived new
blades of grass - and therefore the chemical dead smell German soldier dissolved
in the general thick breath of the living earth.
Then I began to talk to the German in order to hear him.
- Why did you come here? - I asked Rudolf Waltz. - Why are you lying
in our land?
“This is our land now. We Germans organize eternal happiness here,
contentment, order, food and warmth for the German people, with a distinct
Waltz answered with precision and speed.
- Where will we be? I asked. Waltz immediately answered me:
"The Russian people will be killed," he said with conviction. -- Who
remains, we will drive him to Siberia, into the snow and into the ice, and whoever is meek will
recognizes in Hitler the son of God, let him work for us all his life and pray
forgiveness on the graves of German soldiers until he dies, and after death we
dispose of his corpse in the industry and forgive him, because more than him
will not be.
All this was approximately known to me, in their desires the Nazis were
brave, but in battle their body was covered with goosebumps, and, dying, they
fell with their lips to the puddles, quenching the heart, drying up with fear ... It's me
I saw it myself more than once.
What were you doing in Germany before the war? I asked Waltz further. And he
willingly told me:
“I was a clerk at the Alfred Kreutzman & Son brickworks. A
now I am a soldier of the Fuhrer, now I am a warrior who is entrusted with the fate of the whole world and
salvation of mankind.
What will be the salvation of mankind? I asked my enemy.
After a pause, he replied: “One Fuhrer knows this.
-- And you? I asked the lying man. - I don't know anything, I don't
I must know, I am the sword in the hand of the Fuhrer, creating a new world for a thousand years. He
spoke smoothly and unmistakably like a gramophone record, but his voice was
indifferent. And he was calm, because he was freed from consciousness and from
efforts of one's own thought. I asked him again: “Are you sure yourself that
will it be fine then? What if they deceive you?
The German replied:
“All my faith, all my life belongs to Hitler.
“If you gave everything to your Hitler, but you don’t think anything, you don’t
know and feel nothing, then it doesn't matter to you - what to live, what not to live,
- I said to Rudolf Waltz and took him out with my hand in order to fight him again
and overcome him.
Above us, over the loose earth in which we lay, a cannon
cannonade. Hugging each other, the fascist and I tossed and turned in close quarters.
lumpy ground crushing us. I wanted to kill Waltz, but I had nowhere to go
swing, and, weakened by my efforts, I left the enemy; he muttered to me
something and punched me in the stomach, but I did not feel any pain from it.
While we tossed and turned in the struggle, we crumpled the damp earth around us, and we
turned out to be a small comfortable cave, similar to both a dwelling and a grave, and I
lay next to the enemy. Artillery fire outside again
changed; now only submachine guns and machine guns fired again; fight, apparently
stood still without a decision, he drilled, as they said
red army miners.
It was now impossible for me to get out of the ground and crawl to my own people, only
for nothing you will be wounded or killed. But lying here during the battle is useless -
For me it was shameful and inappropriate. However, I had a German at hand, I
took him by the collar, pulled the enemy closer to him and told him.
How dare you fight with us? Who are you and why are you
such?
The German was not afraid of my strength because I was weak, but he understood my
seriousness and began to tremble. I did not let him go and forcibly kept him with me; He
leaned towards me and said softly:
-- I don't know...
- Speak, no matter what! How do you not know, since you live in the world and us
come to kill! Look, you magician! Speak - maybe both of us will be killed and
will fill up here - I want to know! The battle on top of us went on with unhurried uniformity
work: both sides fired patiently; feeling each other for
crushing blow.
“I don’t know,” Waltz repeated. “I’m afraid. I'll get out now. I will go to
my own, otherwise they will shoot me: the chief lieutenant will say that I hid in
fight time.
- You're not going anywhere! - I warned Waltz - You are in my captivity!
- A German is in captivity temporarily and for a short time, but with us all peoples
will be in captivity forever! - Waltz informed me clearly and quickly - Hostile
peoples, take care and honor the captured German soldiers! he exclaimed.
in addition, it was as if he was addressing thousands of people.
“Speak,” I ordered the German, “speak why you are so different from
man, why are you non-Russian.
- I am non-Russian because I was born for power and domination under
Hitler's leadership! - with the same quickness and learned conviction
muttered Waltz; but there was a strange indifference in his even voice, as if
he himself was not happy with his faith in a future victory and in the dominance of
the whole world. In the underground darkness, I did not see the face of Rudolf Waltz, and I thought,
that perhaps he does not exist, that it only seems to me that Waltz exists—on
in fact, he is one of those fake, fictional people in whom we
played in childhood and whom we inspired with our lives, realizing that they are in
our power and live only on purpose. So I put my hand to my face
Waltz, wanting to test its existence; Waltz's face was warm, which means
this person was really close to me.
“That’s all Hitler scared and taught you,” I said to the enemy. -- A
what are you on your own? I heard Waltz shudder and stretch out his legs --
strictly, as in the ranks.
“I am not by myself, I am all at the will of the Fuhrer!” - Rudolf reported to me
Waltz.
- And you would live according to your will, and not the Fuhrer! I said to the enemy.
then you would have lived at home until old age, and would not have gone to the grave in Russian
earth.
- It is impossible, unacceptable, forbidden, punishable by law! -- exclaimed
German. I disagreed:
- So, what are you - you are a rag, you are a rag in the wind, and not
Human!
-- Not a human! Waltz readily agreed. - The man is Hitler, and I
No. I'm that one; whom the Fuhrer will appoint me to be! The fight immediately stopped
the surface of the earth, and we, listening to the silence, fell silent. Everything became quiet
as if the fighting people dispersed in different directions and left the battlefield empty
forever. I became alert because I was afraid now; before me
I constantly heard the firing of my machine guns and rifles, and I felt
underground calmly, as if the shooting of our side was for me
soothing hum of familiar, native voices. And now these voices suddenly
immediately fell silent.
It was time for me to make my way to my own, but first I had to
destroy the enemy that I held with my hand.
- Speak quickly! I said to Rudolf Waltz. - I don't have time to be here.
with you.
He understood me that I should kill him, and clung to me, leaning his face
to my chest. And quietly, but instantly, he put his cold, thin hands on
down my throat and squeezed my breath. I am not accustomed to this manner of fighting, and I
didn't like it. So I hit the German in the chin, he moved away from
me and shut up.
"Why are you acting so impudently!" - I declared to the enemy. - You are at war
now, you're supposed to be a soldier, and you're a hooligan. I told you that you are
captivity - that means you won’t leave, and don’t: scratch!
“I’m afraid of the chief lieutenant,” whispered the enemy. -- Let me in,
let me go quickly - I will go into battle, otherwise the chief lieutenant will not believe me, he
He will say - I was hiding, and orders to kill me. Let me go, I'm family. To me
one Russian needs to be killed.
I took the enemy by the collar with my hand and drew him back to me.
"And if you don't kill the Russian?" “I’ll kill you,” said Waltz. “I need
kill to live. And if I don't kill, they'll kill me myself
or put in jail. there, too, you will die of hunger and sorrow, or on
hard labor will be condemned - there you will soon become exhausted, grow old and also
you will die.
“So they frighten you with three deaths from behind, so that you won’t be alone in front
I was afraid,” I said to Rudolf Waltz.
"Three deaths in the back, a fourth death in front!" counted the German. --
I don't want a fourth, I myself will kill, I myself will live! cried Waltz.
He was afraid of me now, knowing that I was unarmed, just like him.
- Where, where will you live? I asked the enemy. Hitler is chasing you
forward with the fear of three deaths, so that you are not afraid of the one fourth. How long have you
live between your three deaths and our one?
Waltz was silent; maybe he thought about it. But I was wrong - he did not think.
“A long time,” he said. - The Fuhrer knows everything, he thought - we will kill ahead
Russian people, there will be no fourth death for us.
“But what if she’s the only one for you?” - I put a bad enemy. - Then
how will you manage?
- Heil Hitler! Waltz exclaimed. He won't leave my family
he will give bread to his wife and children at least one hundred grams per mouth.
- And you are willing to perish for a hundred grams per eater?
“A hundred grams is also possible to live quietly, economically,” said the recumbent
German.
“You are a fool, an idiot and a lackey,” I told the enemy. - You and the children
I agree to doom my people to starvation for the sake of Hitler.
“I quite agree,” said Rudolf Waltz willingly and clearly. -- My
children will then receive eternal gratitude and glory of the fatherland.
"You're quite stupid," I said to the German. - the whole world will spin
around one corporal?
“Yes,” said Waltz, “it will spin because it will
afraid.
- You, what? I asked the enemy.
“Me,” Waltz answered confidently.
"He won't be afraid of you," I said to the enemy. - Why are you like this?
vile?
-- Because the Fuhrer Hitler theoretically said that man is
a sinner and a bastard from birth. And as the Fuhrer cannot be wrong, then so am I.
must be a bastard.
The German suddenly hugged me and asked me to die.
“All the same, you will be killed in the war,” Waltz told me. - We you
win, and you will not live. And I have three children at home and a blind mother. I
must be brave in war to be fed there. I need to kill you
then the chief lieutenant will come and he will give good information about me. Die
Please. You don't have to live anyway, you're not supposed to. I have
a penknife, give it to me, I finished school, I'm saving it ... Just come on
rather - I miss Russia, I want to go to my holy fatherland, I want
home to your family, and you will never return home ...
I was silent; then I answered:
- I won't die for you
- You will! - said Waltz. - The Fuhrer said: Russian - death. How
you won't!
We will not die! - I said to the enemy, and with the unconsciousness of hatred,
revived the power of my heart, I grabbed and squeezed the body of Rudolf Waltz in
their hands. Then, in the struggle, we imperceptibly passed loose soil and fell out
outside, under the light of the stars. I saw this light, but Waltz was already looking at them.
unblinking eyes: he was dead, and I did not remember how I killed him, in
how long the body of Rudolf Waltz became inanimate. We both lay, for sure
falling into the abyss great mountain flying a fearful height space
silent and unconscious.
A small midnight mosquito sat on the forehead of the dead man and began to
suck a man. It gave me satisfaction, because the mosquito
more soul and reason than in Rudolf Waltz - alive or dead, it doesn't matter;
the mosquito lives by its effort and its thought, no matter how insignificant it may be in
him, the mosquito has no Hitler, and he does not allow him to be. I understood that and
a mosquito, and a worm, and any blade of grass - these are more spiritual, useful and
kinder beings than the living Rudolf Waltz that just existed. That's why
let these creatures chew, suck and crumble the fascist: they will commit
the work of inspiring the world with your meek life.
But I am Russian soviet soldier, was the first and decisive force that
stopped the movement of death in the world; I have become my own death
inanimate enemy and turned him into a corpse so that the forces of wildlife
ground his body to dust so that the caustic pus of his being soaked into the ground,
cleared there, illumined and became ordinary moisture, irrigating the roots of the grass.

During the years of the Great Patriotic War as a correspondent for the Krasnaya Zvezda newspaper, Platonov visited Rzhev, Kursk Bulge, Ukraine and Belarus. His first war story was published in September 1942. It was called "Armor" and told about a sailor busy inventing the composition of heavy-duty armor. After his death, it becomes clear that armor, “new metal”, “hard and viscous, resilient and rigid” is the character of the people. D. Ortenberg, editor-in-chief of Krasnaya Zvezda, recalled: “He was fascinated not so much by the operational affairs of the army and navy as by people. He absorbed everything he saw and heard through the eyes of an artist.”

The main genres of Platonov's prose during the war years were the essay and the story, which, as you remember, is generally characteristic of the literature of those years. The "Red Star" published "Worker of War", "Breakthrough to the West", "Road to Mogilev", "In Mogilev", etc. The themes of Platonov's military works are military labor and the feat of the Russian soldier, the image of the anti-human essence of fascism. These themes form the main content of prose collections - "Under the skies of the Motherland" (1942), "Stories about the Motherland" (1943), "Armor" (1943), "In the direction of sunset" (1945), "Soldier's heart" (1946) . Platonov was primarily interested in the nature of the soldier's feat, internal state, a moment of thought and feeling of the hero before the feat itself. In the story “Spiritual People” (1942) - about the heroism of the marines in the battle near Sevastopol - the author writes about the enemies: “They could fight with any, even the most terrible enemy. But they did not know how to accept the battle with almighty people who blow themselves up in order to destroy their enemy.

Reflections on life and death, which Platonov always worried about, became even deeper during the war years. He wrote: "What is a feat - death in war, if not the highest manifestation of love for one's people, bequeathed to us as a spiritual inheritance?" The story "The Inanimate Enemy" (1943) is noteworthy. His idea is expressed in reflections on death and victory over it: “Death is victorious, because a living being, defending itself, becomes death for that hostile force that brings death to it. And this is the highest moment of life, when it unites with death in order to overcome it ... "

In 1946, the Novy Mir magazine published A. Platonov's story "The Ivanov Family" (later called "The Return") - about a soldier who came from the war. In it, the writer told about the tragedy of the people, about those families who experienced drama after the war, because yesterday's soldiers came fierce, changed, with difficulty returning to normal life. The truth of life, according to Platonov, was seen by children who alone understood the true value of a family.

This story was severely condemned by critics. The author was accused of slandering reality, of distorting the image of a warrior, Soviet man. Critic V. Yermilov called his review “The slanderous story of A. Platonov” (in 1964 he admitted in the press that he had made a mistake in assessing “The Ivanov Family”). After the devastating criticism of Platonov, they finally stopped publishing.

The writer returned from the war with a severe form of tuberculosis. IN last years he was bedridden for life. And yet, in the late 1940s, he was preparing transcriptions of folk tales, writing a play about Pushkin. Three collections of folk tales processed by the writer are published: "Finist - a clear falcon", "Bashkir folk tales”, “Magic Ring” (edited by M.A. Sholokhov). In 1950, he began to write a new work - the play "Noah's Ark", but the work remained unfinished. Andrei Platonovich Platonov died on January 5, 1951 and was buried at the Armenian cemetery in Moscow.

Therefore, a fire was already burning in the estate on the hill - this is a weapon of warmth and comfort against the damp darkness driven by the wind from the sea.

A small car "Tatra" drove along the highway. There was a lone person in it. He casually held the steering wheel with his left hand, and waved his right to the beat of his reasoning. He probably forgot to step on the gas with his foot. The car was quiet. That is the only reason why she did not fall into the gutter, since a person sometimes took his left hand off the steering wheel, with a sharp gesture - with both hands - confirming his invisible thought.

The illuminated windows of a large mansion grew to meet the engine, and from half the hill one could see damp fields, farms, factory chimneys - a whole country now occupied by mournful bad weather.

The passenger of the car drove right into the open garage and knocked down a bucket of water with the running board of the car.

After extinguishing the car, the man went to the house and began to call. No one came out to open the door for him, because the door was open, but the bell did not work.

Yes, sir! - said the man and guessed to enter through the unlocked door.

The last door through which the visitor entered led to the living room. She was smaller than the others and smelled like a man. However, there was also a lack of furniture: only a table and chairs around it. But the hostess was sitting at the table - a young blond woman, and on the table was luxurious, even unnecessary food. Thus, as a rule, a poor person begins to feed himself after long years of poor nutrition.

The woman rose and touched her wet husband.

Sergey, I was waiting for you before! - she said.

Yes, but I arrived later! - inattentively answered the husband.

The rushing rain with the wind hit the gloomy solid glass of the huge window.

What is this? the woman cringed.

Pure water! - the husband explained and swallowed something from the plate.

Do you want lobster? - the wife suggested.

No, give me a salted cabbage!

The woman looked sadly at her husband - she was bored with this silent man, but she loved him and was doomed to patience. She asked quietly to distract herself:

What did the ministry tell you?

Nothing! - said the husband. - Geneva failed: the Americans swept aside any balance in armament. This is clear: equilibrium is beneficial to the weak, not to the strong.

Why? - did not understand the wife.

Because America is richer than us and wants to be stronger! And will be! It is important for us now to qualitatively get ahead of her ...

The woman did not understand anything, but did not insist on questions: she knew that her husband could then completely shut up.

And how is the quality, Seryozha? Arm yourself with quality, right?

The husband smiled. He felt pity for his wife at the timid tone of her question.

Yes, quite clearly, Seryozha! But what will it be?

The woman was silent. The husband wanted to hug her, but he restrained himself and continued:

Do you remember Professor Feit came to visit us? Here he is working on superelectricity for the War Department...

Is that a red-haired sweaty old man? the wife asked. - Wow, such a nasty one! What did he do?

While able to chop stones at a distance of a kilometer. Probably going further...

I will see you again! - he said to himself - and with this hope he drove away the night fatigue.

He was given very tight short deadlines for completing tasks, so he managed to complete them only by reducing sleep.

Today, too, Serdenko was not going to sleep. The deserted halls of the laboratory were inhabited by wild creatures of precise and expensive devices.

Serdenko felt a straining delight in his heart, and between the execution of ordinary inventions, constantly and tirelessly thought about his main goal.

What is the poison compound he tested a month ago? Water sources will be poisoned, people will begin to die of thirst, but an antidote is also possible - a reverse active substance! And Serdenko already knows his composition.

Here Professor Veit can satisfactorily demagnetize the magnetos of airplanes from the ground. So what - the magneto of the motors can be protected from the action of demagnetizing waves!

No! This is a steeplechase, not a stop before the ideal! Serdenko, on the other hand, was thinking about something else - about a combat weapon that has no enemy, for which you will not find an antidote in nature during the first ten years. And in ten years you can finally humble the world.

The wind in the yard turned into a whirlwind and stormed the defenseless night land.

The engineer's wife slept upstairs on a narrow sofa.

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