Who wrote stories about the war. Stories for children about the Great Patriotic War

These are stories about the exploits of ordinary soldiers during the Great Patriotic War, about the exploits of pilots. Stories for home reading. Stories to read at school.

Gorovets. Author: Sergey Alekseev

A squadron of Soviet fighters was completing a sortie. Pilots covered our ground units south of Kursk from the air. And now they were returning to their base.

Lieutenant Alexander Gorovets was the last to fly in the ranks. Things are good. The motor is running properly. The arrows of the instruments froze at the right marks. Gorovets is flying. He knows that there is only a moment's rest ahead. Landing. Refueling. And again in the air. Not easy aviation these days. The battle is not only thundering on the ground - it has risen floors into the air.

Gorovets is flying, he will look at the sky, he will check the earth with his eyes. Suddenly he sees - planes are flying: a little behind, a little to the side. I looked closely - fascist bombers.

The pilot began to shout to his own. None of us answered. The pilot spat in annoyance. Angrily looked at the radio. Does not work, the radio is silent.

Fascist bombers are heading towards our ground positions. There they will bring down a deadly load.

Lieutenant Gorovets thought for a second. Then he turned the plane and rushed towards the enemies.

The pilot crashed into the fascist system. The first attack went to the leader. The blow was swift. Second. Second. Hooray! The leader flared up with a candle.

Lieutenant Gorovets turned around, rushed at the second fascist. Hooray! And this one collapsed.

Rushed to the third. The third falls.

The fascist system was upset. Attacks enemies Gorovets. Again entry and again.

The fourth fell fascist.

A fifth popped up.

The fascists are leaving.

But that's not all. Do not let go of enemies Gorovets. Rushed after. Here is the eighth plane in sight. Here he smoked like a torch. Second. Second. And the ninth plane was shot down.

The fight of the pilot Gorovets was unique, unrepeatable. Many feats were accomplished by Soviet pilots in the sky. They shot down three, four, five and even six fascists in one flight. But to nine! No. There was no such thing. Not to Gorovets. Not after. Neither we. None of the other warring armies. Lieutenant Gorovets became a Hero Soviet Union.

Lieutenant Alexander Konstantinovich Gorovets did not return from the flight. Already on the way back to the airfield, four fascist fighters attacked the hero.

Lieutenant Gorovets died.

But the feat lives on. And stories about him go like a true story, like a fairy tale.

Three feats.

In the spring of 1942, in heavy battles on the North-Western Front in dogfight one of the Soviet pilots was seriously wounded, and his plane was shot down. The pilot landed on the territory occupied by the enemy. He was alone in the wilderness. The pilot became facing east and began to make his way to his own. He walked through snowdrifts, alone, without people, without food.

The sun was setting and rising.

And he walked and walked.

Wounds hurt. But he overcame the pain.

He walked and walked.

When his strength left, he continued to crawl.

Meter by meter. Centimeter by centimeter.

He didn't give up.

The sun rose and set.

And he walked and walked.

He accomplished a feat and reached his own.

On the eighteenth day, exhausted and frostbitten, he was picked up by partisans. He was taken by plane to the hospital. And here the most terrible thing is the inexorable verdict of the doctors: an operation is necessary. The pilot is frozen.

The pilot lost his legs.

But the pilot wanted to fly. I wanted to continue to beat the hated enemy.

And now he accomplishes his second feat. The pilot was given prostheses. He started training to walk with crutches, and then... without crutches.

Now he begged the doctors to let him get on the plane. He was persistent, and the doctors gave in. The pilot is back on the airfield. Here he is in the cockpit. He's up in the air again.

And again training, training, countless training.

It was checked by the most captious examiners and allowed to fly.

“Only in the rear,” they said to the pilot.

The pilot begged to be sent to the front.

The pilot begged to entrust him with a fighter.

He arrived at Kursk shortly before the start of the Battle of Kursk. At the first alarm, he took to the air.

Here, near Kursk, he accomplished his third feat. In the first battles, he shot down three enemy aircraft.

This pilot is known throughout the country. His name is Alexey Petrovich Maresyev. He is a Hero of the Soviet Union. A wonderful book has been written about him. Its author is the writer Boris Polevoy. "The Tale of a Real Man" is the title of this book.

Only from fragments of letters and from the recollections of soldiers can we imagine how the Germans fed Russian children, how they actually treated the Jews, how they were buried alive in the ground and how they were called nothing more than “geeks”. Only by short stories veterans, which, alas, are becoming less and less every year, we can imagine what impression Molotov's speech made on the first day of the war on Soviet citizens, how our grandfathers and great-grandfathers perceived Stalin's speech. Only from stories (whether they are small or large) can we imagine how Leningraders day and night dreamed of breaking the blockade, Victory and the imminent restoration of the country.

An artistic story about the war can give a modern young man the opportunity, at least in his head, to draw what our people had to endure.

Stories about the heroes of the Great Patriotic War

In war, everyone is a hero. And it's not the number of stars on shoulder straps and not the rank. It's just that every schoolboy who picks up a shovel and goes to dig trenches is a hero. Most of the guys and girls went to the front from graduation. They weren't afraid to wear military uniform and look the enemy in the eye, so they are heroes.

In fact, a big Victory consists of small victories of individuals: a soldier, a partisan, a tanker, a sniper, a nurse, orphans; all participants in the war. Each of them contributed to the common Victory.

Remembering the works about the war, the following works immediately come to mind: “The Dawns Here Are Quiet” by Boris Vasilyev about the girls at the front who did not allow the Kirovskaya to be blown up railway, "Not listed" by the same author about the defender Brest Fortress Nikolai Pluzhnikov, "Survive Until Dawn" by Vasily Bykov about Lieutenant Igor Ivanovsky, who blew himself up with a grenade to save his comrades, "The war does not female face» Svetlana Aleksievich about the role of women in the war and many other books. These are not stories, but large novels and novellas, so reading them is even more difficult. Everything that is written in them is probably remembered by someone's grandfather, a veteran.

On our site "Literary Salon" there are a lot of works about the war by modern authors. They write emotionally, poignantly, complexly, relying on the same letters and eyewitness accounts, on films, on the legendary Katyusha and Cranes. If you like some verse or story on our portal, you can always comment on it, ask a question about the plot and communicate directly with the author. In addition, we try to keep up with the times, so we have organized several unique sections on our resource. For example, we have a format of literary fights. These are such battles of authors on different topics. Now the topic of the Great Patriotic War is the most relevant. There are "competitions" called "Memory of the Victory" (prose), "What do we know about the war?" (prose), "Song of Victory" (poetry), "Long World War II" (poetry), "Short stories about the war for children" (prose), etc.

The second interesting format, which is presented on our website, is implemented in the "Places" section. Thanks to this section, the communication of writers can be taken beyond the Internet. The site has a map where you can select your area and see which of the authors is near you. If you are interested in someone's thoughts, you can meet him in a cafe to drink delicious coffee and talk about your literary preferences. You can also subscribe to a newsletter about new authors who appear on the site.

Stories about the Great Patriotic War for children

If driven into search engine query “stories about the Great Patriotic War for schoolchildren” we will get a lot of different results - texts aimed at different ages. It is necessary to talk with schoolchildren about the war as early as possible. Teachers today agreed that it is possible to start introducing stories about the Second World War into the program already in the first grade. Of course, these texts should be written in a simple and understandable language on topics that are understandable to the child. Stories for children should not deal with the cruelty of the concentration camps or such complex psychological aspects as the crippled fate of disabled soldiers and their wives. In fact, there are a lot of so-called taboo topics here, since war is the most cruel thing that mankind has ever seen.

Teenagers in high school can try to show popular Soviet films about the war. For example, “The Dawns Here Are Quiet”, “The Fate of a Man”, etc. But returning to the kids, it is worth noting that the stories about the war for them should be based on an accessible description of the main battles. So, literature in this version will be combined with history and a short story will give the child a lot of new knowledge.

The site "Literary Salon" has a lot of children's stories about the war from contemporary authors. These texts are very interesting, informative and at the same time adapted for understanding by children. Come to our impromptu literary salon, choose the desired topic and evaluate the quality yourself children's stories about the Great Patriotic War.

L. Kassil. At the blackboard

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Schneller, Schneller, bistro! shouted the fascist.

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

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

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

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

- Don't teach me! hissed the scout.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Well! shouted the fascist.

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

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

- Pichugin, hurry up! the teacher called Senya.

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

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

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

Now everyone will listen to me! the chief said.

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

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

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

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

The guys sat in silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The German approached him:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She really doesn't know!

- Who knows?

"I know..." Kostya said loudly and distinctly. “I went there myself and I know. She hasn't been and doesn't know.

“Well, show me,” said the chief.

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

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

“Kostya…” began Ksenia Andreevna.

But Rozhkov interrupted her:

- Ksenia Andreevna, I know myself ...

The teacher stood facing away from him,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the two fascists obediently got up.

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

“Sit down, sit down, Shirokov.

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

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

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

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

Arkady Gaidar "Campaign"

little story

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

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

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

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

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

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

Konstantin Paustovsky. buoy man

All day I had to walk along overgrown meadow roads.

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

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

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

- Where are you from? I asked them.

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

"He's only grouchy," said the smallest boy. Everything is not enough for him, everything is not enough. Do you know him?

- I know. For a long time.

- He is good?

- Very good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now we can,” said the smallest boy.

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

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

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

— We know.

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

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

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

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

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

- Right.

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

The boys were offended

- We don't know!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boys looked at each other and frowned.

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

The boys were silent.

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

— And for what else? the freckled boy asked.

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

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

- Looked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boys laughed.

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

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

- For something else. And for transportation.

- Well, that's it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— My beetle switched to trophy food.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- Victory!

- Victory! the fighters who were sitting nearby responded.

- Eternal glory! Our native land yearned for our hands. Now we will make a garden out of it and live, brothers, free and happy.

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

- Is the beetle alive?

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

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

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

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

Styopa laughed, and Akulina said:

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

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

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

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

Leonid Panteleev. My heart is in pain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leonid Panteleev. Handkerchief

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remember asking if he had a big family.

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

- How much does it come out?

Four, I think.

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

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

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

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

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

He even seemed offended.

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

I say:

- Little.

“Ah, how is it?” Little?

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

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

I say:

- No, I do not know.

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

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

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

I say:

- You are welcome. Very interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I say:

"And then, when you take Berlin."

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

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

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

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

And what do you think - he kept his word.

Have you really been to Berlin?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I even touched it gently with my finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I ask some young officer:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- How! Did she have a father?

- Yes. Found some...

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

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

The Brest fortress stands on the border. The Nazis attacked it on the very first day of the war.

The Nazis could not take the Brest Fortress by storm. Passed her left and right. She remained with the enemies in the rear.

The Nazis are coming. Fights are going on near Minsk, near Riga, near Lvov, near Lutsk. And there, in the rear of the Nazis, he does not give up, the Brest Fortress is fighting.

It's hard for heroes. Bad with ammunition, bad with food, especially bad with water for the defenders of the fortress.

Around the water - the Bug River, the Mukhovets River, branches, channels. There is water all around, but there is no water in the fortress. Under fire water. A sip of water here is more valuable than life.

Water! - rushes over the fortress.

There was a daredevil, rushed to the river. Rushed and immediately collapsed. The enemies of the soldier were killed. Time passed, another brave rushed forward. And he died. The third replaced the second. The third one did not survive.

A machine gunner lay not far from this place. He scribbled, scribbled a machine gun, and suddenly the line broke off. The machine gun overheated in battle. And the machine gun needs water.

The machine gunner looked - the water evaporated from the hot battle, the machine gun casing was empty. He looked to where the Bug, where the channels are. Looked left, right.

Eh, it wasn't.

He crawled towards the water. He crawled in a plastunsky way, snuggled up to the ground like a snake. He is closer to the water, closer. It's right next to the coast. The machine gunner grabbed his helmet. He scooped up water like a bucket. Snake crawls back again. Closer to their own, closer. It's quite close. His friends took over.

I brought water! Hero!

The soldiers are looking at the helmet, at the water. From thirst in the eyes of muddied. They do not know that the machine gunner brought water for the machine gun. They are waiting, and suddenly a soldier will treat them now - at least a sip.

The machine gunner looked at the fighters, at the withered lips, at the heat in his eyes.

Come on, said the machine gunner.

The fighters stepped forward, but suddenly ...

Brothers, it would not be for us, but for the wounded, - someone's voice was heard.

The soldiers stopped.

Of course, the wounded!

That's right, take it to the basement!

The soldiers of the fighter were detached to the basement. He brought water to the basement where the wounded lay.

Brothers, - he said, - water ...

Take it, - he handed the soldier a mug.

The soldier reached for the water. I already took a mug, but suddenly:

No, not me, - said the soldier. - Not for me. Bring the children, dear.

The fighter carried water to the children. And I must say that in the Brest Fortress, along with adult fighters, there were women and children - the wives and children of military personnel.

The soldier went down to the basement where the children were.

Well, come on, - the fighter turned to the guys. - Come, stand, - and, like a magician, he takes out a helmet from behind his back.

The guys look - there is water in the helmet.

The children rushed to the water, to the soldier.

The fighter took a mug, carefully poured it on the bottom. See who to give. He sees a baby with a pea next to him.

On, - handed the baby.

The kid looked at the fighter, at the water.

Folder, - said the kid. - He's there, he shoots.

Yes, drink, drink, - the fighter smiled.

No, the boy shook his head. - Folder. - I never took a sip of water.

And others refused him.

The fighter returned to his own. He told about the children, about the wounded. He gave the water helmet to the machine gunner.

The machine gunner looked at the water, then at the soldiers, at the fighters, at his friends. He took a helmet, poured water into the metal casing. Came to life, earned, zastrochit machine gun.

The machine gunner covered the fighters with fire. The daredevils have been found again. To the Bug, towards death, they crawled. The heroes returned with water. Drink the children and the wounded.

The defenders of the Brest Fortress fought bravely. But there were fewer and fewer of them. Bombed them from the sky. Cannons fired direct fire. From flamethrowers.

The Nazis are waiting - just about, and people will ask for mercy. That's it, and the white flag will appear.

Waited, waited - the flag is not visible. Nobody asks for mercy.

For thirty-two days the battles for the fortress did not cease. “I am dying, but I do not give up. Farewell, Motherland! - one of her last defenders wrote on the wall with a bayonet.

These were words of goodbye. But it was also an oath. The soldiers kept their oath. They did not surrender to the enemy.

The country bowed to the heroes for this. And stop for a minute, reader. And you bow low to the heroes.

The feat at Dubosekov

In mid-November 1941, the Nazis resumed their attack on Moscow. One of the main tank attacks of the enemy fell on the division of General Panfilov.

Passage Dubosekovo. 118th kilometer from Moscow. Field. Hills. Coppices. A little further away, Lama winds. Here, on a hill, in an open field, heroes from the division of General Panfilov blocked the path of the Nazis.

There were 28 of them. Political instructor Klochkov led the fighters.

Soldiers dug into the ground. They clung to the edges of the trenches.

Tanks rushed, motors roar. The soldiers counted

Twenty pieces.

Klochkov chuckled.

twenty tanks. So this, it turns out, is less than one per person.

Less, - said Private Yemtsov.

Of course, less, - said Petrenko.

Field. Hills. Coppices. A little further away, Lama winds.

The heroes entered the battle.

Hooray! - spread over the trenches.

It was the soldiers who first knocked out the tank.

Again thunders "hurrah!". It was the second one who stumbled, snorted his engine, clanged his armor and froze. And again "hurrah!". And again. Fourteen of the twenty tanks were destroyed by the heroes. Withdrew, the surviving six crawled away.

He choked, you see, a robber, - said Sergeant Petrenko.

Eka, the tail is tucked.

The soldiers took a breath. They see - again there is an avalanche. Counted - thirty fascist tanks.

Political instructor Klochkov looked at the soldier. All froze. Silenced. Only iron clang is heard. Closer all the tanks, closer.

Friends, - said Klochkov, - Russia is great, but there is nowhere to retreat. Behind Moscow.

The soldiers entered the battle. Fewer and fewer living heroes. Paly Yemtsov and Petrenko. Bondarenko died. Trofimov died, Narsunbai Yesebulatov was killed. Shopokov. Fewer and fewer soldiers and grenades.

Here Klochkov himself was wounded. I went up to the tank. Threw a grenade. A fascist tank was blown up. The joy of victory lit up Klochkov's face. And at the same moment the hero was struck down by a bullet. Political instructor Klochkov fell.

Panfilov's heroes fought steadfastly. Proved that courage knows no bounds. They did not miss the Nazis.

Passage Dubosekovo. Field. Hills. Coppices. Somewhere nearby, a Lama is winding. Dubosekovo junction is a dear, holy place for every Russian heart.

House

The Soviet troops were advancing rapidly. On one of the sectors of the front, a tank brigade of Major General Katukov operated. Tankers overtook the enemy.
And suddenly stop. The blown up bridge in front of the tanks. It happened on the way to Volokolamsk in the village of Novopetrovsk. The tankers turned off their engines. The fascists are leaving before their eyes. Someone shot at the fascist column from a cannon, only the shells were fired into the wind.

Aufwiederseen! Farewell! shout the Nazis.
- A ford, - someone suggested, - a ford, comrade general, across the river.
General Katukov looked - the river Maglusha winds. Steep coast near Maglusha. Do not climb the slopes of the tanks.
The general thought.
Suddenly a woman appeared at the tanks. She has a boy with her.
“It’s better there, near our house, Comrade Commander,” she turned to Katukov. - There is a river. Get up.

The tanks moved forward behind the woman. Here is the house in the hollow. Rise from the river. The place is really better. And yet ... The tankers are watching. Watching General Katukov. Tanks can't pass here without a bridge.
“We need a bridge,” the tankers say. - Logs are needed.
“There are logs,” the woman replied.
The tankers looked around: where are the logs?
- Yes, here they are, here, - the woman says and points to her house.
- It's a house! - escaped from the tankers.
The woman looked at the house, at the soldiers.
- Yes, what a house - pieces of wood, poles. Whether the people are losing ... About the house now, is it sad, - said the woman. - Really, Petya? - turned to the boy. Then again to the soldiers: - Take it apart, dear ones.
The tankers do not dare to touch the house. The cold is in the yard. Winter is gaining momentum. How can you be homeless at this time?
The woman understood
- Yes, we are in a dugout somehow. - And again to the boy: - Really, Petya?
- True, mother, - answered Petya.
And yet they crumple, there are tankers.
Then the woman took an ax and went to the edge of the house. She hit the crown first.
- Well, thank you, - said General Katukov.
The tankers dismantled the house. Made a crossing. Rushed after the Nazis. Pass tanks on a fresh bridge. A boy and a woman are waving their hands.

What is your name? shout the tankers. - With a kind word, whom should we remember?
“Petenka and I are Kuznetsovs,” the woman replies, blushing.
- And by name, first name and patronymic?
- Alexandra Grigorievna, Pyotr Ivanovich.
- A low bow to you, Alexandra Grigorievna. Become a hero, Pyotr Ivanovich.
The tanks then caught up with the enemy column. They crushed the fascists. Then we went west.

The war has died down. She danced with death and misfortune. Her tremors subsided. But did not erase the memory of human exploits. The feat at the Maglusha River is not forgotten either. Go to the village of Novopetrovskoe. In the same hollow, in the same place, a new house flaunts. The inscription on the house: "Alexandra Grigorievna and Pyotr Ivanovich Kuznetsov for the feat accomplished during the Great Patriotic War."
Winding river Maglusha. There is a house above Maglusha. With a veranda, with a porch, in carved patterns. Windows look at the good world.

Novo-Petrovskoye, the place of the feat of the Kuznetsov family. On 12/17/1941, they gave their house to the tankers of the 1st Guards Tank Brigade for the construction of a bridge across the Maglusha River. Eleven-year-old Petya Kuznetsov led tanks through a minefield, receiving a severe concussion in the process. There is a memorial plaque on the Kuznetsovs' house.

Dovator

In the battles near Moscow, along with other troops, Cossacks also took part: Don, Kuban, Terek ...

Dashing, sparkling in battle Dovator. Well sits in the saddle. Kuban cap on the head.

Commanded by General Dovator cavalry Cossack corps. The villagers look at the general:

Our blood - Cossack!

General Lev Mikhailovich Dovator

The fighters argue where he comes from:

From Kuban!

He is Tersky, Tersky.

Ural Cossack, from the Urals.

Transbaikalian, Dahurian, consider a Cossack.

The Cossacks did not agree. We contacted the Dovator:

Comrade commander, tell me, what village are you from?

Dovator smiled:

Not there, comrades, you are looking for. Village in the Belarusian forests.

And right. Not a Cossack Dovator at all. He is Belarusian. In the village of Khotyn, in the north of Belarus, not far from the city of Polotsk, this is where commander Dovator was born.

Back in August - September, the Dovator cavalry group went around the fascist rear. She smashed warehouses, headquarters, convoys. Then the Nazis got it badly. Rumors spread among the Nazi soldiers - 100 thousand Soviet horsemen broke through to the rear. But in fact, there were only 3,000 people in the Dovator equestrian group.

When the Soviet troops near Moscow went on the offensive, the Cossacks of Dovator again broke through to the fascist rear.

The Nazis are afraid of Soviet horsemen. Behind every bush they see a Cossack...

The fascist generals set a reward for the capture of Dovator - 10,000 German marks.

Like a thunderstorm, like spring thunder, Dovator goes through the fascist rear.

Throws fascists in a shiver. Wake up, hearing the whistle of the wind.

Dovator! - they shout. - Dovator!

They hear the thump of hooves.

Dovator! Dovator!

Raise the price of the Nazis. They appoint 50 thousand marks for Dovator. Like a dream, a myth for the enemies of Dovator.

Rides a horse Dovator. The legend follows him.

Fortress

The Nazis cannot take Stalingrad. They began to assert that Stalingrad was an impregnable fortress: they say, impenetrable ditches surround the city, they say, ramparts and embankments have risen around Stalingrad. Every step - then powerful defensive structures and fortifications, various engineering tricks and traps.

The Nazis do not call city blocks quarters, they write - fortified areas. They do not call houses houses, they write - forts and bastions.

Stalingrad is a fortress, the Nazis repeat.

German soldiers and officers write about this in letters to their homes. Reading letters in Germany.

Stalingrad is a fortress, a fortress, they trumpet in Germany.

Generals scribble reports. Each line is the same:

“Stalingrad is a fortress. An impregnable fortress. Solid fortified areas. Irresistible bastions.

Fascist newspapers publish articles. And these articles are all about the same:

"Our soldiers are storming the fortress."

"Stalingrad is the strongest fortress in Russia."

"Fortress, fortress!" the newspapers shout. Even front-line leaflets write about it.

But Stalingrad was never a fortress. There are no special fortifications in it. The city is like a city. Houses, factories.

One of the fascist leaflets came to the Soviet soldiers. The soldiers laughed: “Yeah, it’s not from an easy life that the Nazis write this.” Then they carried it, showed a leaflet to a member of the Military Council of the 62nd Army, divisional commissar Kuzma Akimovich Gurov; they say, look, comrade commissar, what fables the fascists write.

The commissioner read the leaflet.

Everything is right here, - he told the soldiers. - The fascists write the truth. And, of course, the fortress.

The soldiers were confused. Maybe it is. The bosses always know best.

A fortress, Gurov repeated. - Of course, the fortress.

The soldiers looked at each other. Don't argue with your boss!

Gurov smiled.

Your hearts and your courage - here it is, an impregnable fortress, here they are, insurmountable frontiers and fortified areas, walls and bastions.

The soldiers smiled too. The commissar said clearly. It's nice to hear that.

Kuzma Akimovich Gurov is right. About the courage of Soviet soldiers - these are the walls against which the Nazis broke their necks in Stalingrad.

twelve poplars

There were stubborn battles in the Kuban. Once the commander of one of the regiments visited the rifle department. Twelve fighters in the department. The soldiers froze in the ranks. They stand in a row, one to one.

Presented to the commander:

Private Grigoryan.

Private Grigoryan.

Private Grigoryan.

Private Grigoryan.

What is it, the regiment commander is amazed. The soldiers continue their report:

Private Grigoryan.

Private Grigoryan.

Private Grigoryan.

The regiment commander does not know what to do - are the soldiers joking with him?

Set aside, - said the regiment commander.

Seven fighters introduced themselves. Five are unnamed. The company commander leaned over to the regiment commander, pointed to the others, and said quietly:

Also all Grigoryans.

Now the regiment commander looked in surprise at the company commander - is the company commander not joking?

All Grigorians. All twelve,” said the company commander.

Indeed, all twelve people in the department were Grigoryans.

namesakes?

Twelve Grigoryans, from the elder Barsegh Grigoryan to the younger Aghasi Grigoryan, were relatives, members of the same family. They went to the front together. Together they fought, together they defended their native Caucasus.

One of the battles for the Grigoryans' squad was especially difficult. The soldiers held an important line. And suddenly the attack of fascist tanks. People got along with metal. Tanks and Grigoryans.

They climbed, climbed, tore the tanks howling around. They threw fire without counting. The Grigoryans withstood the battle. We held the line until ours arrived.

Victory comes at a heavy price. There is no war without death. There is no fight without death. Six Grigoryans dropped out of the department in that terrible battle with the Nazis.

There were twelve, there are six. The brave warriors continued to fight. They drove the Nazis from the Caucasus, from the Kuban. Then the fields of Ukraine were liberated. Soldier's honor and family honor were brought to Berlin.

There is no war without death. There is no fight without death. Three died in the fighting. The lives of two were shortened by bullets. Only the youngest Aghasi Grigoryan returned unharmed from the battlefields.

In memory of a brave family, of warriors-heroes in their hometown Twelve poplars were planted in Leninakan.

Now the poplars have grown. From meter-long seedlings they became giants. They stand in a row, one to one, like fighters in the ranks - a whole squad.

Soldier Zhelobkovich walked with everyone. On the Belarusian land, along the father's land, a soldier is walking. Getting closer and closer to home. His village is Khatyn.

A soldier walks to friends fighting in a company:

Do you know Khatyn? Khatyn, brother, forest miracle!

And the soldier begins the story. The village stands on a clearing, on a hillock. The forest parted here, gave free rein to the sun. Like, thirty houses in Khatyn. Houses ran across the clearing. Wells slid into the ground. The road darted through the fir trees. And where the road pressed against the forest, where the fir trees rested their trunks against the sky, on the very hillock, on the highest edge of Khatyn, he lives - Ivan Zhelobkovich.

Zhelobkovich lives opposite. And Zhelobkovich lives on the left. And Zhelobkovich lives on the right. There are a dime a dozen of them, Zhelobkovichs, in this Khatyn, as they say.

There was a warrior to his Khatyn.

House remembered. The ones who stayed in the house. He left his wife. An old mother, a three-year-old daughter Marishka. A soldier is walking, Mariska is carrying a gift - a ribbon in her pigtail, a ribbon red like fire.

Troops are moving fast. Soon the warrior will see the old woman's mother. Hug the old woman's mother. The soldier will say:

Soon the soldier will see his wife. Kiss the soldier's wife. The soldier will say:

Take Mariska in her arms. The soldier will throw Mariska. He will tell her:

The soldier will take out a gift:

Get it, Mariska!

There was a warrior to his Khatyn. I thought about friends and neighbors. Soon he will see all the Zhelobkoviches. He will see Yatskeviches, Rudakovs, Mironoviches. The soldier of Khatyn will smile. The soldier will say:

They went to Khatyn. Very close, a kilometer away from these places.

Soldier to commander. Like, near the village. Here, they say, is a ravine, beyond the ravine there is a forest. A forest passed, and here is Khatyn. The company commander listened.

Well then, he said, go.

A soldier walks towards Khatyn. Here is the ravine. Here is the forest. That's it, the huts will now appear. Now he sees his mother. Now he will hug his wife. Mariska will give a gift. Throw Mariska up to the sun.

He passed through the forest. Went out to the field. Came out and froze. He looks, does not believe - there is no Khatyn in his place. On the ashes, burnt pipes stick out alone.

The soldier stopped and shouted:

Where are people?! Where are people?!

People died in Khatyn. Adults, children, old women - everyone. The Nazis came here

Partisans! Bandits! Forest robbers!

The fascists drove the inhabitants into the barn. They burned all the people in the barn.

The soldier ran up to his father's house. Crashed to ashes. The soldier sobbed and moaned. Flew off, fell out of the hands of the hotel. The ribbon trembled and fluttered in the wind. Soared red flames above the ground.

Khatyn is not alone. There were many such Khatyns on Belarusian soil.

Sea on the right, mountains on the left

Extreme Soviet North. Kola Peninsula. Barents Sea. Polar circle.

And here, beyond the Arctic Circle, there are battles. The Karelian Front is fighting.

You turn here to face the front - the mountains on the left, the sea on the right. There, further, behind the front line, lies the state of Norway. The Nazis took over the country of Norway.

In 1941, the Nazis broke into the Soviet Arctic. They tried to capture the city of Murmansk - our northernmost seaport.

Our troops did not let the Nazis to Murmansk. Murmansk is not only the northernmost port, it is an ice-free port in the north. All year round, both in summer and in winter, ships can come here. Important military cargoes came to us through Murmansk by sea. That is why Murmansk is so important to the Nazis. The Nazis were torn, but did not break through. Our heroes kept Murmansk. And now the time has come to defeat the Nazis here too.

The places here for combat are extremely difficult. The mountains. Cliffs. Rocks. Chilling winds. The sea is always pounding on the shore. There are many places here where only a deer will pass.

It was autumn. It was October. Just about - and the long polar night will come.

Preparing to defeat the enemies in the north, the commander of the Karelian Front, General of the Army Kirill Afanasyevich Meretskov, turned to the Headquarters of the Supreme High Command in Moscow with a request to allocate KV tanks for the front. Their armor is thick, durable, powerful weapons. KB are good tanks. However, by this time they were outdated.

General Meretskov asks at Headquarters KB, and they tell him:

Why KV. We will provide you with more advanced tanks.

No, please KB, says Meretskov.

Surprised at Headquarters:

Why is KB in the North? There in many places only deer will pass.

Where the deer passes, Soviet tanks will pass there too, Meretskov replies. - Please KV.

Well, look - after all, you are the commander! - said in Headquarters.

Got the front these tanks.

The Nazis did not bring tanks or heavy weapons to the Far North.

“Mountains, cliffs, rocks. Where is the trouble with heavy tanks here, ”they reasoned.

And suddenly there were Soviet tanks, besides, also KV.

Tanks?! - Fascists are perplexed. - KB? What's happened! How? Why? Where?! Here, after all, only a deer will pass!

Soviet tanks went to the Nazis.

On October 7, 1941, the offensive of the Soviet troops in the Far North began. Our troops quickly broke through the fascist defenses. Break through, go ahead.

Of course, not only tanks are here leading role played. The attack came from land. The attack came from the sea. On the left - infantry, on the right acted Northern Fleet. They hit from the air Soviet pilots. Sailors, infantrymen, tankers, and aviators fought here in the general row. The overall victory was.

The year 1944 ended with battles for the liberation of the Soviet Arctic - a military and decisive year. 1945 was approaching - a victorious year.

The last meters of the war counts

The assault on the Reichstag began. Together with everyone in the attack, Gerasim Lykov.

The soldier never dreamed of such a thing. He is in Berlin. He is at the Reichstag. The soldier looks at the building. Columns, columns, columns. A glass dome crowns the top.

The soldiers broke through here with a fight. In the last attacks, in the last battles, soldiers. last meters war counts.

Gerasim Lykov was born in a shirt. He has been fighting since the 41st. He knew the retreat, he knew the environment, he has been moving forward for two years. Stored the fate of a soldier.

I'm lucky, the soldier joked. - In this war, a bullet is not cast for me. The shell is not machined for me.

And it is true that the soldiers are not touched by the fate.

A wife and parents are waiting for a soldier in a distant Russian region. Soldier's children are waiting.

Waiting for the winner. Are waiting!

In the attack, in a fit of dashing soldiers. The war counts the last meters. Does not hide the joy of his soldiers. The soldier looks at the Reichstag, at the building. Columns, columns, columns. A glass dome crowns the top.

The last peal of the war.

Forward! Hooray! - shouts the commander.

Hooray! - Lykov repeats.

And suddenly, next to the soldier, a shell hit. He raised the earth with the ninth wave. She killed a soldier. Soldier covered with earth.

Who saw, only gasped:

That's how the bullet was not cast for him.

This is how the projectile is not machined.

Everyone in Lykov's company knows - an excellent comrade, an exemplary soldier.

He should live and live. To return to his wife, to his parents. Kiss children happily.

And suddenly the shell hit again. Near the place that the first. Slightly out of the way. Ran this one too huge force. He raised the earth with the ninth wave.

The soldiers are watching - they do not believe their eyes.

The soldier was alive. He fell asleep - he poured out his projectile. That's where fate happens. To know, indeed, a bullet was not cast for him. The shell for him is not machined.

Banner of Victory

- Sergeant Egorov!

I am Sergeant Yegorov.

Junior Sergeant Kantaria.

I, junior sergeant Kantaria.

The commander called the fighters to him. Soviet soldiers were entrusted with an honorable task. They were given a battle flag. This banner had to be installed on the Reichstag building.

The fighters left. Many looked at them with envy. Everyone now wanted to be in their place.

The Reichstag is fighting.

Bending down, Yegorov and Kantaria run across the square. Soviet soldiers closely follow their every step. Suddenly, the Nazis opened furious fire, and the standard-bearers had to lie down behind cover. Then our fighters begin the attack again. Yegorov and Kantaria run on.

Here they are on the stairs. We ran up to the columns supporting the entrance to the building. Kantaria gives Yegorov a lift, and he tries to attach a banner at the entrance to the Reichstag.

"Oh, higher!" - breaks out from the fighters. And, as if having heard their comrades, Yegorov and Kantaria take off the banner and run on. They burst into the Reichstag and disappear behind its doors.

The fight is already on the second floor. A few minutes pass, and in one of the windows, not far from the main entrance, the Red Banner reappears. Appeared. It swayed. And disappeared again.

The soldiers were worried. What about comrades? Haven't they been killed?

A minute passes, two minutes, ten. The soldiers are getting more and more anxious. Another thirty minutes pass.

And suddenly a cry of joy breaks out from hundreds of fighters. Friends are alive. The banner is intact. Crouching, they run at the very top of the building - along the roof. So they straightened up to their full height, holding the banner in their hands and waving greetings to their comrades. Then they suddenly rush to the glazed dome, which rises above the roof of the Reichstag, and carefully begin to climb even higher.

Fighting was still going on on the square and in the building, and on the roof of the Reichstag, at the very top, in the spring sky over defeated Berlin, the Banner of Victory was already fluttering confidently. Two Soviet soldiers, the Russian worker Mikhail Yegorov and the Georgian youth Militon Kantaria, and with them thousands of other fighters of different nationalities, brought him here through the war, to the very fascist lair, and set him at the fear of the enemies, as a symbol of the invincibility of Soviet weapons.

Several days passed, and the fascist generals recognized themselves as finally defeated. Nazi Germany was completely defeated. The great liberation war of the Soviet people against fascism ended in our complete victory.

It was May 1945. Thundered spring. The people and the earth rejoiced. Moscow saluted the heroes. And joy soared into the sky with lights.

This is a touching and tragic date for every family of our great nation.

The cruel and terrible events in which our grandfathers and great-grandfathers participated go far into history.
Fighting soldiers on the battlefield. In the rear, they spared no effort to work for Great Victory both old and young.
And how many children stood up to defend their homeland on a par with adults? What feats did they perform?
Tell and read stories, stories, books to children about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.
Our descendants must know who protected them from fascism. Know the truth about the terrible war.
On the holiday of May 9, visit a monument or monument that is in your city, lay flowers. It will be touching if you and your child mark the event with a moment of silence.
Pay your child's attention to the awards of war veterans, which are becoming less and less every year. From the bottom of my heart, congratulate the veterans on the Great Victory Day.
It is important to remember that each of their gray hairs keeps all the horror and wounds of this terrible war.

"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten"

Dedicated to the Great Victory!

Asecond: Ilgiz Garayev

I was born and raised in a peaceful land. I know well how noisy spring thunderstorms are, but I have never heard the thunder of guns.

I see how new houses are being built, but I did not suspect how easily houses are destroyed under a hail of bombs and shells.

I know how dreams end, but I find it hard to believe that a human life is as easy to end as a cheerful morning dream.

Nazi Germany, violating the non-aggression pact, invaded the territory of the Soviet Union.

And in order not to end up in fascist slavery, for the sake of saving the Motherland, the people entered into a fight, a mortal fight with an insidious, cruel and merciless enemy.

Then the Great Patriotic War for the honor and independence of our Motherland began.

Millions of people rose to defend the country.

Infantrymen and gunners, tankers and pilots, sailors and signalmen fought and won in the war - soldiers of many and many military specialties, entire regiments, divisions, ships for the heroism of their soldiers were awarded military orders, received honorary titles.

When the flames of war raged, along with everything Soviet people cities and villages, farms and auls rose to defend their homeland. Anger and hatred for the vile enemy, an indomitable desire to do everything to defeat him filled the hearts of people.

Every day of the Great Patriotic War at the front and in the rear is a feat of boundless courage and steadfastness of the Soviet people, loyalty to the Motherland.

"Everything for the front, everything for the Victory!"

In the harsh days of the war, children stood next to the adults. Schoolchildren earned money for the defense fund, collected warm clothes for front-line soldiers, were on duty on rooftops during air raids, gave concerts in front of wounded soldiers in hospitals. Fascist barbarians destroyed and burned 1710 cities and more than 70 thousand villages and villages, destroyed 84 thousand schools, displaced 25 million people from their homes.

An ominous symbol of the bestial appearance of fascism has become concentration camps of death.

In Buchenwald, 56 thousand people were killed, in Dachau - 70 thousand, in Mauthausen - more than 122 thousand, in Majdanek - the number of victims was about 1 million 500 thousand people, in Auschwitz more than 4 million people died.

If the memory of every person who died in the Second World War was honored with a minute of silence, it would take 38 years.

The enemy spared neither women nor children.

May Day 1945. Acquaintances and strangers hugged each other, gave flowers, sang and danced right on the streets. It seemed that for the first time millions of adults and children raised their eyes to the sun, for the first time enjoyed the colors, sounds, smells of life!

It was a common holiday of all our people, all mankind. It was a holiday for everyone. Because the victory over fascism marked a victory over death, reason over madness, happiness over suffering.

In almost every family, someone died, went missing, died of wounds.

Every year, the events of the Great Patriotic War go further into the depths of history. But for those who fought, who drank the bitterness of retreat and the joy of our great victories with a full cup, these events will never be erased from memory, they will forever remain alive and close. It seemed that it was simply impossible to survive in the midst of heavy fire, not to lose one's mind at the sight of the death of thousands of people and the monstrous destruction.

But the power of the human spirit turned out to be stronger than metal and fire.

That is why, with such deepest respect and admiration, we look at those who went through the hell of war and retained the best human qualities- kindness, compassion and mercy.

It's been 66 years since Victory Day. But we have not forgotten about those 1418 days and nights that the Great Patriotic War continued.

It claimed almost 26 million lives of Soviet people. During these endlessly long four years, our long-suffering land was washed by streams of blood and tears. And if we were to gather together the bitter motherly tears shed over the dead sons, then the Sea of ​​Sorrow would form, and the rivers of Suffering would flow from it to all corners of the planet.

We, the modern generation, value the future of the planet. Our task is to protect the world, to fight so that people are not killed, shots are not fired, human blood is not shed.

The sky should be blue, the sun should be bright, warm, kind and gentle, people's lives should be safe and happy.

party dress

This was before the start of the war with the Nazis.

Katya Izvekova was given a new dress by her parents. The dress is elegant, silk, weekend.

Katya did not have time to update the gift. The war broke out. The dress is left hanging in the closet. Katya thought: the war will end, so she will put on her evening dress.

Nazi planes bombed Sevastopol from the air without ceasing.

Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.

Military warehouses, headquarters, schools, kindergartens, hospitals, repair shops, even a cinema, even hairdressers - all this crashed into stones, into mountains.

Sevastopol residents also organized two military factories underground.

Katya Izvekova began to work on one of them. The plant produced mortars, mines, grenades. Then he began to master the production of aerial bombs for Sevastopol pilots.

Everything was found in Sevastopol for such production: both explosives and metal for the hull, even fuses were found. There isn't just one. Gunpowder, with which the bombs were blown up, had to be poured into bags made of natural silk.

They began to look for silk for bags. We went to various warehouses.

For one:

There is no natural silk.

On the second:

There is no natural silk.

Went to the third, fourth, fifth.

There is no natural silk anywhere.

And suddenly... Katya appears. Ask Katya:

Well, did you find it?

Found, - answers Katya.

That's right, the girl has a bundle in her hands.

Unfolded Katya's package. They look: in a bundle - a dress. The same. Day off. Made from natural silk.

That's it Katya!

Thanks, Kate!

They cut Katino's dress at the factory. Sewed bags. They poured gunpowder. They put bags in bombs. They sent bombs to the pilots at the airfield.

Following Katya, other workers brought their weekend dresses to the factory. Now there are no interruptions in the work of the plant. The bomb is ready for the bomb.

Pilots take to the skies. Like the bombs are on target.

bul bul

Fighting in Stalingrad does not subside. The Nazis are rushing to the Volga.

Some fascist pissed off Sergeant Noskov. Our trenches and the Nazis here passed side by side. Speech is heard from trench to trench.

The fascist sits in his shelter, shouting:

Rus, tomorrow bul-bul!

That is, he wants to say that tomorrow the Nazis will break through to the Volga, throw the defenders of Stalingrad into the Volga.

Rus, tomorrow bul-bul. - And clarifies: - Bul-bul at Volga.

This "boom-boo" is getting on the nerves of Sergeant Noskov.

Others are calm. Some of the soldiers even chuckle. And Noskov:

Eka, damn Fritz! Yes, show yourself. Let me take a look at you.

The Hitlerite just leaned out. Noskov looked, other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears up. The cap on the crown miraculously holds.

The fascist leaned out and again:

Bool-boo!

One of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He jumped up and took aim.

Don't touch! Noskov said sternly.

The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. Pulled out the rifle.

Until the very evening, the eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow bul-bul. Tomorrow at Volga.

By evening, the fascist soldier fell silent.

“He fell asleep,” they understood in our trenches. Gradually, our soldiers began to doze. Suddenly they see someone starting to crawl out of the trench. They look - Sergeant Noskov. And behind him is his best friend, Private Turyanchik. My friends-friends got out of the trench, clung to the ground, crawled to the German trench.

The soldiers woke up. They are perplexed. Why did Noskov and Turyanchik suddenly go to visit the Nazis? The soldiers look there, to the west, their eyes break in the dark. The soldiers began to worry.

But someone said:

Brothers, crawl back.

The second confirmed:

That's right, they're coming back.

The soldiers peered - right. Creep, hugging the ground, friends. Just not two of them. Three. The fighters took a closer look: the third fascist soldier, the same one - "bul-bul". He just doesn't crawl. Noskov and Turyanchik drag him. A gag in the soldier's mouth.

Friends of the screamer were dragged into the trench. We rested and went on to the headquarters.

However, the road fled to the Volga. They grabbed the fascist by the hands, by the neck, they dipped him into the Volga.

Bool bool, bool bool! - shouts mischievously Turyanchik.

Bul-bool, - the fascist blows bubbles. Shaking like an aspen leaf.

Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, - said Noskov. - Russian does not beat a lying person.

The soldiers handed over the prisoner to the headquarters.

He waved goodbye to the fascist Noskov.

Bull-bull, - said Turyanchik, saying goodbye.

Special mission

The assignment was unusual. It was called special. The commander of the marine brigade, Colonel Gorpischenko, said:

The task is unusual. Special. - Then he asked again: - Do you understand?

It's clear, Comrade Colonel, - answered the foreman-infantryman - senior over the group of scouts.

He was called to the colonel alone. He returned to his comrades. He chose two to help, said:

Get ready. We had a special task.

However, what kind of special, while the foreman did not say.

It was a new one, 1942. It is clear to scouts: on such and such a night, of course, the task is super-special. Scouts go for the foreman, talking:

Maybe a raid on the Nazi headquarters?

Take it higher, - the foreman smiles.

Maybe we'll capture the general?

Higher, higher, - the elder laughs.

Scouts crossed at night to the territory occupied by the Nazis, moved inland. They walk carefully, stealthily.

Scouts again:

Maybe the bridge, like partisans, are going to blow up?

Maybe we will carry out a sabotage at the fascist airfield?

Look at the elder. The elder smiles.

Night. Darkness. Silence. Deafness. Scouts are coming in the fascist rear. They went down the slope. They climbed the mountain. We entered the pine forest. Crimean pines clung to the stones. It smelled nice of pine. The soldiers remembered their childhood.

The foreman approached one of the pines. I walked around, looked, even felt the branches with my hand.

Good?

Good, say the scouts.

I saw another one nearby.

This one is better?

It seems better, - the scouts nodded.

Fluffy?

Fluffy.

Slim?

Slim!

Well, to the point, - said the foreman. He took out an ax and cut down a pine tree. "That's all," said the foreman. He put the pine tree on his shoulders. - Here we are done with the task.

Here they are, - escaped from the scouts.

The next day, the scouts were released into the city, to the New Year tree to the children in the preschool underground garden.

There was a pine. Slim. Fluffy. Balls, garlands hang on a pine tree, multi-colored lanterns burn.

You ask: why is it a pine, not a Christmas tree? Christmas trees do not grow in those latitudes. And in order to get a pine tree, it was necessary to get to the rear of the Nazis.

Not only here, but also in other places of Sevastopol, New Year trees were lit in that difficult year for children.

Apparently, not only in the brigade of marines under Colonel Gorpischenko, but also in other units, the task for scouts on that New Year's eve was special.

gardeners

It was shortly before the Battle of Kursk. Reinforcements arrived in the infantry unit.

The foreman walked around the fighters. Walks along the line. Next comes the corporal. Holds a pencil and notebook in his hands.

The foreman looked at the first of the fighters:

Can you plant potatoes?

The fighter was embarrassed, shrugged his shoulders.

Can you plant potatoes?

I can! the soldier said loudly.

Two steps forward.

The soldier is out of order.

Write to the gardeners, - said the foreman to the corporal.

Can you plant potatoes?

Haven't tried.

Didn't have to, but if needed...

Enough, said the sergeant.

The fighters stepped forward. Anatoliy Skurko found himself in the ranks of able-bodied soldiers. The soldier Skurko wonders: where are they who know how? “To plant potatoes is so late in time. (Summer has already begun to play with might and main.) If you dig it, then it’s very early in time.

The soldier Skurko is guessing. And other fighters wonder:

Plant potatoes?

Sow carrots?

Cucumbers for the staff canteen?

The foreman looked at the soldier.

Well, then, said the foreman. - From now on, you will be in the miners, - and hands mines to the soldiers.

The dashing foreman noticed that the one who knows how to plant potatoes puts mines faster and more reliably.

Soldier Skurko chuckled. Other soldiers could not help but smile.

The gardeners got to work. Of course, not immediately, not at the same moment. Planting mines is not an easy task. Special training soldiers passed.

Miners extended minefields and barriers for many kilometers to the north, south, west of Kursk. On the first day of the Battle of Kursk alone, more than a hundred fascist tanks and self-propelled guns were blown up in these fields and barriers.

The miners are coming.

How are you, gardeners?

Complete order in everything.

Evil last name

The soldier of his surname was shy. He was unlucky at birth. His surname is Trusov.

Military time. Surname catchy.

Already in the military registration and enlistment office, when a soldier was drafted into the army, the first question was:

Surname?

Trusov.

How how?

Trusov.

Y-yes ... - drawled the employees of the military registration and enlistment office.

The fighter got into the company.

What's the last name?

Private Trusov.

How how?

Private Trusov.

Y-yes ... - the commander drawled.

A soldier took on a lot of troubles from the surname. All around jokes and jokes:

Looks like your ancestor was not a hero.

In a wagon train with such a surname!

Will bring field mail. The soldiers will gather in a circle. Letters are being distributed. Names are called:

Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!

Everything is fine. Soldiers approach, take their letters.

Shout out:

Cowards!

Soldiers laugh all around.

The surname somehow does not fit with wartime. Woe to the soldier with this surname.

As part of his 149th separate rifle brigade, Private Trusov arrived near Stalingrad. The fighters were transported across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade went into action.

Well, Trusov, let's see what kind of soldier you are, - said the squad leader.

Trusov does not want to disgrace himself. Tries. Soldiers go on the attack. Suddenly, an enemy machine gun fired from the left. Trusov turned around. From the machine gave a turn. The enemy machine gun fell silent.

Well done! - praised the fighter squad leader.

The soldiers ran a few more steps. The machine gun fires again.

Now to the right. Trusov turned. I approached the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist subsided.

Hero! the squad leader said.

The soldiers lay down. They are shooting with the Nazis. The fight is over. The soldiers of the killed enemies were counted. Twenty people ended up at the place where Private Trusov was firing.

Oh-oh! - broke out from the squad leader. - Well, brother, your surname is evil. Evil!

Trusov smiled.

For courage and determination in battle, Private Trusov was awarded a medal.

The medal "For Courage" hangs on the hero's chest. Whoever meets it will squint its eyes at the reward.

The first question for the soldier is now:

What is the award for, hero?

No one will ask again the name now. No one will giggle now. With malice, the word will not leave.

From now on, it is clear to the fighter: the honor of a soldier is not in the surname - the deeds of a person are painted.

Unusual operation

Mokapka Zyablov was amazed. Something strange was going on at the station. The boy lived with his grandfather and grandmother near the town of Sudzhi in a small workers' settlement at the Lokinskaya station. He was the son of a hereditary railway worker.

Mokapka liked to hang around the station for hours. Especially these days. One by one trains come here. Bringing military equipment. Mokapka knows that our troops beat the Nazis near Kursk. Chasing enemies to the west. Although small, but with the mind of Mokapka, he sees that trains are coming here. He understands: it means that here, in these places, a further offensive is planned.

Trains are coming, locomotives are puffing. Soldiers unload military cargo.

Mokapka was spinning somehow near the tracks. He sees: a new echelon has arrived. Tanks are on platforms. Lot. The boy began to count the tanks. Looked closely - and they are wooden. How to fight them?!

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden, - whispers, - tanks.

Really? Grandma threw up her hands. Rushed to grandfather:

Wooden, grandfather, tanks. Raised the old eyes on the grandson. The boy ran to the station. Looks: the train is coming again. The composition stopped. Mokapka looked - the guns are on the platforms. Lot. No less than there were tanks.

Mokapka took a closer look - after all, the guns are also, in any way, wooden! Instead of trunks - round timbers stick out.

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden, - whispers, - guns.

Really? .. - Grandma threw up her hands. Rushed to grandfather:

Wooden, grandfather, guns.

Something new, - said the grandfather.

A lot of incomprehensible things were going on at the station then. Arrived somehow boxes with shells. Mountains have grown of these boxes. Satisfied Mockup:

Great pour our fascists!

And suddenly he finds out: empty boxes at the station. “Why such-and-such and whole mountains?!” - guesses the boy.

And here is something completely incomprehensible. Troops are coming. Lot. The column hurries after the column. They go in the open, they come in the dark.

The boy has an easy temper. I got to know the soldiers right away. Until dark, everything was spinning around. In the morning he again runs to the soldiers. And then he finds out: the soldiers left these places at night.

Mockapka is standing, guessing again.

Mokapka did not know that ours used a military trick under Sudzha.

The Nazis are conducting reconnaissance from aircraft for the Soviet troops. They see: trains come to the station, they bring tanks, they bring guns.

The Nazis also notice mountains of boxes with shells. They detect that troops are moving here. Lot. A column follows a column. The fascists see how the troops are approaching, but the fact that at night they leave unnoticed from here, the enemies do not know about it.

It is clear to the fascists: this is where a new Russian offensive is being prepared! Here, under the city of Sudzha. They pulled troops under Suju, weakened their forces in other areas. They just pulled it off - and then a blow! However, not under Suja. Ours struck elsewhere. Again they defeated the Nazis. And soon they completely defeated them in the Battle of Kursk.

Vyazma

The fields near Vyazma are free. Hills run to the sky.

Words from were not thrown out. Near the city of Vyazma, a large group of Soviet troops was surrounded by the enemy. Satisfied fascists.

Hitler himself, the leader of the Nazis, calls the front:

Surrounded?

That's right, our Fuhrer, - the fascist generals report.

Did you lay down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Did you lay down your weapons?

Here's a brave one.

No. I dare to report, my Fuhrer ... - The General wanted to say something.

However, Hitler was distracted by something. The speech broke off in mid-sentence.

For several days now, being surrounded, soviet soldiers are stubbornly fighting. They shackled the fascists. The fascist offensive breaks down. Enemies got stuck near Vyazma.

Again Hitler calls from Berlin:

Surrounded?

That's right, our Fuhrer, the fascist generals report.

Did you lay down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Did you lay down your weapons?

Terrible abuse rushed from the tube.

I dare to report, my Fuhrer, - the brave one is trying to say something. - Our Frederick the Great also said...

Days pass again. Fighting near Vyazma does not subside. Stuck, stuck enemies near Vyazma.

Vyazma knits them, knits them. Grabbed by the throat!

In anger the great Fuhrer. Another call from Berlin.

Did you lay down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?

No, the brave is responsible for all.

Again, a stream of bad words sprayed out. The membrane in the tube danced.

Shut up the general. Waited it out. Caught a moment:

I dare to report, my Fuhrer, our great, our wise King Friedrich also said ...

Listening to Hitler:

Well, well, what did our Friedrich say?

Frederick the Great said, repeated the general, Russians must be shot twice. And then another push, my Fuhrer, so that they fall.

The Fuhrer muttered something indistinct into the receiver. Berlin wire disconnected.

For a whole week, the fighting did not subside near Vyazma. The week was invaluable for Moscow. During these days, the defenders of Moscow managed to gather their strength and prepared convenient lines for defense.

The fields near Vyazma are free. Hills run to the sky. Here in the fields, on the hills near Vyazma, hundreds of heroes lie. Here, defending Moscow, the Soviet people accomplished a great feat of arms.

Remember!

Keep the bright memory of them!

General Zhukov

Army General Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov was appointed commander of the Western Front - the front, which included most of the troops defending Moscow.

Zhukov arrived at Western Front. The staff officers report the combat situation to him.

Fighting is going on near the city of Yukhnov, near Medyn, near Kaluga.

Officers are found on the map of Yukhnov.

Here, - they report, - near Yukhnov, west of the city ... - and they report where and how the fascist troops are located near the city of Yukhnov.

No, no, they are not here, but here, - Zhukov corrects the officers and himself indicates the places where the Nazis are at this time.

The officers exchanged glances. They look at Zhukov in surprise.

Here, here, right here in this place. Don't hesitate, says Zhukov.

The officers continue to report the situation.

Here, - they find the city of Medyn on the map, - to the north-west of the city, the enemy concentrated large forces, - and they list what forces: tanks, artillery, mechanized divisions ...

So, so, right, - says Zhukov. “Only the forces are not here, but here,” Zhukov clarifies on the map.

Again the officers look at Zhukov in surprise. They forgot about the further report, about the map.

The staff officers bent over the map again. They report to Zhukov what the combat situation is near the city of Kaluga.

Here, - the officers say, - south of Kaluga, the enemy pulled up the motorized unit. Here they are at this moment.

No, Zhukov objected. - Not in this place they are now. That's where the pieces moved - and shows the new location on the map.

Staff officers were dumbfounded. They look at the new commander with undisguised surprise. Zhukov caught the distrust in the eyes of the officers. He chuckled.

Do not doubt. Everything is exactly like that. You are great - you know the situation, Zhukov praised the staff officers. - But I'm more precise.

It turns out that General Zhukov has already visited Yukhnov, and Medyn, and Kaluga. Before going to headquarters, I went straight to the battlefield. Here's where the exact information comes from.

General and then Marshal of the Soviet Union Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov, an outstanding Soviet commander, hero of the Great Patriotic War, took part in many battles. It was under his leadership and under the leadership of other Soviet generals that the Soviet troops defended Moscow from enemies. And then, in stubborn battles, they defeated the Nazis in the Great Battle of Moscow.

Moscow sky

It was before the start of the Moscow battle.

Hitler dreamed in Berlin. Guessing: what to do with Moscow? He suffers - to make such an unusual, original. Thought, thought...

Hitler came up with this. Decided to flood Moscow with water. Build huge dams around Moscow. Pour water over the city and all living things.

Everything will perish at once: people, houses and the Moscow Kremlin!

He closed his eyes. He sees: in the place of Moscow, the bottomless sea splashes!

Descendants will remember me!

Then I thought: “Uh, until the water runs…”

Wait?!

No, he does not agree to wait a long time.

Destroy now! This minute!

Hitler thought, and here is the order:

Bomb Moscow! Destroy! Shells! Bombs! Send squadrons! Send armada! Leave no stone unturned! Flatten to the ground!

He threw his hand forward like a sword:

Destroy! Flatten to the ground!

So for sure, raze to the ground, - the fascist generals froze in readiness.

On July 22, 1941, exactly one month after the start of the war, the Nazis made the first air raid on Moscow.

Immediately 200 aircraft were sent to this raid by the Nazis. The engines hum.

The pilots collapsed in their seats. Moscow is getting closer, getting closer. Fascist pilots reached out to the bomb levers.

But what is it?! Powerful searchlights crossed in the sky with knives-swords. Red-star Soviet fighters rose to meet the air robbers.

The Nazis did not expect such a meeting. The ranks of the enemies were disorganized. Only a few planes then broke through to Moscow. Yes, they were in a hurry. They threw bombs wherever they had to, as soon as possible to drop them and run away from here.

Harsh Moscow sky. The uninvited guest is severely punished. 22 aircraft shot down.

Y-yes ... - stretched out the fascist generals.

Thought. We decided now to send planes not all at once, not in a bunch, but in small groups.

The Bolsheviks will be punished!

The next day, again 200 aircraft fly to Moscow. They fly in small groups - three or four cars in each.

And again they were met by Soviet anti-aircraft gunners, again they were driven off by red star fighters.

For the third time, the Nazis send planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were not stupid, inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. It is necessary to send planes in three tiers, they decided. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second is a little higher. And the third - and at high altitude, and a little late. The first two groups will divert the attention of the defenders of the Moscow sky, the generals argue, and at this time, at a high altitude, the third group will quietly approach the city, and the pilots will drop bombs exactly on target.

And here again, fascist planes are in the sky. The pilots collapsed in their seats. Motors hum. The bombs froze in the hatches.

A group is coming. Behind her is the second. And a little behind, at a high altitude, the third. The very last plane flies a special one, with cameras. He will take a picture of how the fascist planes are destroyed in Moscow, he will bring it for show to the generals ...

The generals are waiting for news. Here comes the first plane. Motors stalled. The screws have stopped. The pilots got out. Pale-pale. Barely on their feet.

Fifty planes were lost that day by the Nazis. The photographer did not return either. They killed him on the way.

The Moscow sky is impregnable. It severely punishes enemies. The insidious calculation of the Nazis collapsed.

The Nazis and their possessed Fuhrer dreamed of destroying Moscow to the ground, to the stone. And what happened?

the Red Square

The enemy is nearby. Soviet troops left Volokolamsk and Mozhaisk. In some sectors of the front, the Nazis approached Moscow even closer. Fights are going on at Naro-Fominsk, Serpukhov and Tarusa.

But as always, on this day dear to all citizens of the Soviet Union, in Moscow, on Red Square, a military parade was held in honor of the great holiday.

When the soldier Mitrokhin was told that the unit in which he serves would take part in the parade on Red Square, the soldier did not believe at first. He decided that he was mistaken, misheard, misunderstood something.

Parade! - the commander explains to him. - Solemn, on Red Square.

That's right, the parade, - Mitrokhin answers. However, in the eyes of disbelief.

And now Mitrokhin froze in the ranks. It stands on Red Square. And to the left are the troops. And on the right are the troops. Party leaders and members of the government at the Lenin Mausoleum. Everything is exactly the same as in the old peacetime.

Only a rarity for this day - from the snow it is white all around. The frost hit early today. It snowed all night until morning. He whitewashed the Mausoleum, lay down on the walls of the Kremlin, on the square.

8 am. The hands of the clock on the Kremlin tower converged.

The chimes struck time.

Minute. Everything is quiet. The parade commander gave the traditional report. The host of the parade congratulates the troops on the anniversary of the Great October Revolution. Everything was quiet again. Another minute. And now, quietly at first, and then louder and louder are the words of the Chairman of the State Defense Committee, the Supreme Commander Armed Forces USSR Comrade Stalin.

Stalin says that this is not the first time that enemies have attacked us. What were in the history of the young Soviet Republic and more difficult times. That we celebrated the first anniversary of the Great October Revolution surrounded on all sides by invaders. That 14 capitalist states fought against us then and we lost three-quarters of our territory. But the Soviet people believed in victory. And they won. They will win now.

The whole world is looking at you, - the words reach Mitrokhin, as at a force capable of destroying the predatory hordes of German invaders.

The soldiers froze in the ranks.

The great liberation mission fell to your lot - words fly through the frost. - Be worthy of this mission!

Mitrokhin pulled himself up. His face became more severe, more serious, stricter.

The war you are waging is a liberation war, a just war. - And after that, Stalin said: - Let the courageous image of our great ancestors - Alexander Nevsky, Dmitry Donskoy, Kuzma Minin, Dmitry Pozharsky, Alexander Suvorov, Mikhail Kutuzov inspire you in this war! May the victorious banner of the great Lenin overshadow you!

Beats fascists. Moscow stands and blooms as before. Gets better from year to year.

Crossing case

We had one soldier in our company. Before the war, he studied at a music institute and played the button accordion so wonderfully that one of the fighters once said:

Brothers, this is an incomprehensible deception! There must be some kind of clever mechanism hidden in this box! Here to see...

Please, - answered the accordion player. - It's time for me to glue the bellows.

And in front of everyone, he dismantled the instrument.

Chu-yu, - the fighter drawled disappointedly. - Empty, like in a spent cartridge case ...

Inside the button accordion, between two wooden boxes connected by a leather accordion fur, it was really empty. Only on the side plates, where the button-buttons are located on the outside, were wide metal plates with holes of different sizes. Behind each hole is a narrow copper strip-petal. When the fur is stretched, air passes through the holes and vibrates the copper petals. And they sound. Thin - high. Thicker - lower, and thick petals seem to sing in bass. If the musician stretches the bellows too much, the records sound loud. If the air is blown weakly, the plates vibrate a little, and the music turns out to be quiet, quiet. That's all miracles!

And the fingers of our accordionist were a real miracle. Surprisingly played, do not say anything!

And this amazing ability has helped us more than once in difficult front-line life.

Our accordion player will raise your mood in time, and warms you in the cold - makes you dance, and inspires courage in the depressed, and makes you remember your pre-war happy youth: native lands, mothers and loved ones. And one day...

One evening, by order of the command, we changed combat positions. It was ordered not to engage in battle with the Germans in any case. On our way, a not very wide, but deep river flowed with a single ford, which we used. The commander and radio operator remained on the other side, they were finishing the communication session. They were cut off by the suddenly descending fascist submachine gunners. And although the Germans did not know that ours were on their shore, they kept the crossing under fire, and there was no way to cross the ford. And when night fell, the Germans began to illuminate the ford with rockets. Needless to say, the situation seemed hopeless.

Suddenly, our accordion player, without saying a word, takes out his button accordion and starts playing "Katyusha".

The Germans were taken aback at first. Then they came to their senses and brought down heavy fire on our shore. And the accordion player suddenly broke off the chord and fell silent. The Germans stopped firing. One of them yelled happily: “Rus, Rus, kaput, boyan!”

And no kaput happened to the accordion player. Luring the Germans, he crawled along the coast away from the crossing and again played the perky "Katyusha".

The Germans accepted this challenge. They began to pursue the musician, and therefore for several minutes they left the ford without lighting rockets.

The commander and radio operator immediately realized why our button accordion player started a “musical” game with the Germans, and, without delay, slipped through the ford to the other side.

These are the cases that happened with our bayanist soldier and his friend the button accordion, by the way, named after the ancient Russian singer Boyan.