I remember that in school, during literature lessons, teachers forced me to read the works of Belarusian writers. Not everyone obeyed the school curriculum and read the assigned material, missing out on so many useful and new things for themselves. Probably the reason was age, or maybe other interests prevailed.
Time has passed, but the works of literary classics have not disappeared anywhere. the site invites you to remember and read the best Belarusian books.
Yakub Kolas “New Land”
Date of writing: 1911 – 1923
The poem “New Land”, written by the national poet Yakub Kolas, is the first Belarusian major epic work. This book should be in the library of everyone who considers themselves Belarusian. This is the first national poem, which is rightly called an encyclopedia of the life of the Belarusian peasantry, a classic work of our literature, and simply beautiful poetry. The author himself considered “New Land” to be the main poem in the entire history of his work.
Yakub Kolas began writing the book in 1911, while he was in prison for three years for participating in the revolutionary movement of 1905-1906. Many critics consider Simon's Music to be a continuation of the book.
Vladimir Korotkevich “Ears of corn under your sickle”
Date of writing: 1965
One of the most significant and telling novels of Belarusian literature. The work, written in two parts, is dedicated to the events on the eve of the uprising of 1863-1864 in Belarus. The first book tells the story of the emergence of discontent, which resulted in a river of anger and the struggle for the independence of Belarus. Reading the novel, you are completely immersed in the events of that time and see in front of you the boy Oles Zagorsky and his friends. The main revolutionary Kastus Kalinowski is also mentioned on the pages of the novel. The book tells how the worldview of Belarusians changed and what sacrifices they made to build the future for the country.
The Belarusfilm film studio planned to film the book by Vladimir Korotkevich; they approved the script, but at the last moment they abandoned the idea. The reason for the cancellation of filming was stated to be a poor-quality script.
Vasily Bykov “Alpine ballad”
Date of writing: 1963
It is not for nothing that “Alpine Ballad” occupies a central place on the bookshelf for many. The name of Vasily Bykov is known throughout the world.
In his book, Vasily Bykov tells the story of the fate of two prisoners of war who managed to escape from an Austrian camp. The whole truth about the war, which the Belarusian author told in his books, was not only amazing, it burned. His profound works about people faced with the horrors of war are unparalleled in Russian literature.
Based on the story “The Alpine Ballad,” a film of the same name was made. The book was filmed in 1965 by the director of the Belarusfilm film studio Boris Stepanov.
Ivan Melezh "People in the swamp"
Date of writing: 1961
The novel “People in the Swamp” by Ivan Melezh is one of the pinnacles of Belarusian literature, an example of post-war works. In many ways, the lyrical novel tells about the inhabitants of the remote village of Kureni, which is cut off from the outside world by impenetrable Polesie swamps. Ivan Melezh showed with almost ethnographic precision the life of the Belarusian population using the example of the daily life of village residents. The novel shows national traditions, legends, games with songs, and Christmas fortune-telling by the Poleshuks. Using the example of the main characters of the book, the author described the fate and drama of the life of the Belarusian people.
People in the Swamp" is one of the few Belarusian works that appeared on television as a multi-part film.
Yanka Mavr "Polessye Robinsons"
Date of writing: 1932
The Belarusian Jules Verne - Yanka Mavr, who primarily wrote for young readers, can be considered the founder of the adventure genre in Belarusian literature.
The work, which today is called a bestseller, is one of the most beloved books among many generations of schoolchildren - “Polessye Robinsons”. Yanka Mavr showed that not only foreign countries can be interesting to travel, but also in their native places there is a lot of exciting and unusual things. The author writes so convincingly about travels and adventures that the reader has no room for doubt: Yanka Mavr was there and saw everything with his own eyes.
The adventures of Polesie Robinsons were shown on the big screen by the Belgoskino film studio in 1934. In 2014, Belarusfilm, based on the story, released the film “Miracle Island, or Polesie Robinsons.”
Yanka Kupala “Scattered Nest”
Date of writing: 1913
The work “Scattered Nest” was written as a play in five acts. The drama of the Zyablik family, whose fate is revealed by Yanka Kupala in her book, was the drama of the Belarusian people. Events take place during the 1905 revolution.
The play is based on facts from the life of a family from which Prince Radziwill took away their land and house. Understanding the family tragedy as a national one, Yanka Kupala showed in his work the difficult path of the Belarusian peasantry in search of their lost homeland, land and freedom.
Today the play “Scattered Nest” is performed in Minsk theaters.
Kondrat Krapiva – “Who Laughs Last”
Date of writing: 1913
Folk humor, self-irony and sarcasm give Belarusian literature a national peculiarity. Among the authors of this genre, it is worth remembering Kondrat Krapiva, whose works are still read with pleasure. In the center of the plot is the image of the false scientist Gorlokhvatsky and his accomplices.
Nettle reveals in his work not only specific political problems, but also universal ones, such as sycophancy, bribery, betrayal. The author wrote about all this.
In 1954, more films were added to the collection of films produced by the Belarusfilm film studio. A film adaptation of Kondrat Krapiva’s play “Who Laughs Last” has been released.
Zmitrok Byadulya – Yazep Kruszynski
Date of writing: 1929 – 1932
A novel written in two parts about the life of Belarusian residents during collectivization. The main character of the book is the wealthy farmer Jazep Kruszynski, behind whose actions Biadulya hides the essence of the class struggle and the desire to show how the worst enemy can be hidden behind external integrity.
Critics interpret the novel “Jazep Kruszynski” as one of the most important works in the writer’s work.
Yan Borshchevsky. Shlyakhtych Zavalnya
Date of writing: 1844 – 1846
This book can certainly be called an encyclopedia of the life of the Belarusian people, their folklore and traditions. In a simple and sometimes witty form, the author talks about the culture of Belarusians, their desire for a better life and the lot of the unfortunate.
The author's phenomenal imagination and talent turned into one of the most mysterious and fascinating Belarusian works - “Nobleman Zavalnya, or Belarus in fantastic stories.” The book used Belarusian folk tales, legends and traditions.
Svetlana Alexievich “War does not have a woman’s face”
Date of writing: 1985
As for modern books by Belarusian writers, one of the most famous works in the world about a terrible bloody time is “War does not have a woman’s face.” The author of the book, Svetlana Alexievich, won the Nobel Prize in 2015 “For polyphonic creativity - a monument to suffering and courage in our time.”
The book contains stories written down from the words of 800 women who went through the war. The work “War Doesn’t Have a Woman’s Face” has been translated into more than 20 languages.
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Stories for schoolchildren about the war. Stories by Sergei Alekseev. Story: Dubosekov's feat; Exam. Stories about the great Moscow battle.
DUBOSEKOV'S FEAT
In mid-November 1941, the Nazis resumed their attack on Moscow. One of the main enemy tank attacks hit General Panfilov’s division.
Dubosekovo crossing. 118th kilometer from Moscow. Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama meanders a little further away. Here on a hill, in an open field, heroes from General Panfilov’s division blocked the Nazis’ path.
There were 28 of them. The fighters were led by political instructor (there was such a position in those years) Klochkov. The soldiers dug into the ground. They clung to the edges of the trenches.
The tanks rushed forward, their engines humming. The soldiers counted:
- Fathers, twenty pieces!
Klochkov grinned:
— Twenty tanks. So this turns out to be less than one per person.
“Less,” said Private Yemtsov.
“Of course, less,” said Petrenko.
Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama meanders a little further away.
The heroes entered the battle.
- Hooray! - echoed over the trenches.
It was the soldiers who first knocked out the tank.
“Hurray!” thunders again. It was the second one who stumbled, snorted with his engine, clanged his armor and froze. And again “Hurray!” And again. Fourteen out of twenty tanks were knocked out by the heroes. The six survivors retreated and crawled away.
Sergeant Petrenko laughed:
“He choked, apparently, the robber.”
- Hey, he has his tail between his legs.
The soldiers took a breath. They see that there is an avalanche again. They counted - thirty fascist tanks.
Political instructor Klochkov looked at the soldiers. Everyone froze. They became quiet. All you can hear is the clang of iron. The tanks are getting closer, closer.
“Friends,” said Klochkov, “Russia is great, but there is nowhere to retreat.” Moscow is behind.
“I see, comrade political instructor,” the soldiers answered.
- Moscow!
The soldiers entered the battle. There are fewer and fewer living heroes. Yemtsov and Petrenko fell. Bondarenko died. Trofimov died. Narsunbai Yesebulatov was killed. Shopokov. There are fewer and fewer soldiers and grenades.
Klochkov himself was wounded. He rose towards the tank. Threw a grenade. A fascist tank was blown up. The joy of victory lit up Klochkov’s face. And at that very second the hero was struck down by a bullet. Political instructor Klochkov fell.
Panfilov's heroes fought steadfastly. They proved that courage has no limits. They did not let the Nazis through.
Dubosekovo crossing. Field. Hills. Coppices. Somewhere nearby a Lama is meandering. The Dubosekovo crossing is a dear, holy place for every Russian heart.
EXAM
Lieutenant Zhulin was unlucky.
All friends are in combat regiments. Zhulin serves in a training company.
A militia lieutenant trains. Thousands of volunteers rose to defend Moscow. Companies, regiments and even entire divisions of people's militia were created.
The militias have little military knowledge. Where the trigger on a rifle is and where the firing pin is is often confused.
Zhulin trains militias in target shooting. Teaches how to stab bags with a bayonet.
The young officer is burdened by his position. Fighting is taking place near Moscow itself. The enemy envelops the Soviet capital in a huge semi-ring. Bursting from the north, bursting from the south. Attacks head on. Dmitrov, Klin, Istra are in the hands of the Nazis. The fighting is taking place just forty kilometers from Moscow, near the village of Kryukovo.
Zhulin is eager to join his friends at the front. Submits a report to superiors.
I applied once and they refused.
I submitted two and they refused.
I applied three times and they refused.
“Go to your militia,” the authorities answer him.
It ended with Zhulin’s superiors threatening to come to him with an inspection. He will give both him and the fighters an exam.
And rightly so. A day or two passed. Zhulin looked - the authorities had arrived. In addition, the highest authorities are the general himself in the car.
On this day, the lieutenant conducted training with the soldiers in the forest, in a forest clearing, not far from the village of Nakhabino. The soldiers dug trenches. They were shooting at targets.
Quiet, grace all around. Pine trees stand and spruce trees.
Zhulin rushed to meet the general and raised his hand to his cap.
“Comrade General, Lieutenant Zhulin’s company...” Zhulin began to report. Suddenly he hears the drone of an airplane right above his head. Zhulin raised his eyes - an airplane. He sees: not ours - fascist.
The lieutenant stopped his report and turned to the soldiers.
- To battle! - gave the command.
Meanwhile, the fascist plane turned around and opened fire on the clearing. It’s good that the soldiers dug trenches, they took cover from the bullets.
- Fire at the fascist! — Zhulin commands.
The militia opened fire.
A second, two - and suddenly an enemy plane burst into flames. Another second - the pilot jumped out. The parachute opened and landed at the very edge of the clearing.
The soldiers ran and took the fascist prisoner.
Zhulin is happy. He straightened his cap and straightened his tunic. He stepped towards the general again. Trumped. Standing at attention.
— Comrade General, Lieutenant Zhulin’s company is conducting training sessions.
The general smiled and turned to the militia:
- Thank you for your service, comrades!
“We serve the Soviet Union,” the militia answered unanimously, exactly according to the regulations.
“At ease,” said the general. He looked at Zhulin approvingly.
Two majors also arrived with the general.
“Comrade General,” the majors whisper, “let me begin the exam.”
- Why? - said the general. — I think the exam has been passed.
He came up and firmly shook Lieutenant Zhulin’s hand. And then the order was sent to Zhulin. Zhulin - an order. Soldiers - medals.
An important matter is to prepare troops for battle. In many places: near Moscow, in the Urals, in Siberia, in Central Asia, in the Far East, troops are completing their training. A little time will pass, and new forces will stand here, near Moscow, on the path of the Nazis.
Time marches on and on. The clocks are not counting in favor of the Nazis.
The village of Dvorishche, where the Yakutovich family lived before the war, was located seven kilometers from Minsk. There are five children in the family. Sergei is the oldest: he was 12 years old. The youngest was born in May 1941. My father worked as a mechanic at the Minsk Car Repair Plant. Mom is a milkmaid on a collective farm. The tornado of war uprooted peaceful life from the family. The Germans shot the parents for contacting the partisans. Sergei and his brother Lenya joined the partisan detachment and became fighters in a sabotage and subversive group. And the younger brothers were sheltered by kind people.
At the age of fourteen, Sergei Yakutovich faced so many trials that they would have been more than enough for a hundred human lives... After serving in the army, Sergei Antonovich worked at MAZ. Then - at the machine tool plant named after the October Revolution. He devoted 35 years of his life to the decorative and construction workshop of the Belarusfilm film studio. And the years of hard times live in his memory. Like everything he experienced - in stories about the war...
Wounded
It was the fifth or sixth day of the war. The roar of guns outside the city suddenly ceased in the morning. Only the engines howled in the sky. German fighters were chasing our "hawk". Having swooped down sharply, the “hawk” moves away from its pursuers close to the ground. The machine gun fire did not reach him. But tracer bullets set thatched roofs in the village of Ozertso on fire. Black clouds of smoke poured into the sky. We abandoned our calves and, without saying a word, rushed towards the burning village. As we ran through the collective farm garden, we heard a scream. Someone was calling for help. In the lilac bushes a wounded Red Army soldier lay on his overcoat. Next to him is a PPD machine gun and a pistol in a holster. The knee is bandaged with a dirty bandage. The face, overgrown with stubble, is tormented by pain. However, the soldier did not lose his presence of mind. “Hello, eagles! Are there any Germans nearby? “What Germans!” - we were indignant. None of us believed that they would appear here. “Well, guys,” the Red Army soldier asked us, “bring me clean rags, iodine or vodka. If the wound is not treated, I’m finished...” We consulted about who would go. The choice fell on me. And I ran towards the house. A kilometer and a half is nothing for a barefoot boy. When I ran across the road leading to Minsk, I saw three motorcycles gathering dust in my direction. “That’s good,” I thought. “They will take the wounded man.” I raised my hand and waited. The first motorcycle stopped next to me. The two rear ones are further away. The soldiers jumped out of them and lay down by the road. Faces gray with dust. Only the glasses sparkle in the sun. But... the uniforms they are wearing are unfamiliar, alien. Motorcycles and machine guns are not like ours... “Germans!” - it came to me. And I jumped into the thick rye that grew near the road. After running a few steps, he got confused and fell. The German grabbed me by the hair and, muttering angrily, dragged me to the motorcycle. Another, sitting in a stroller, twirled his finger at his temple. I thought that they would hit me with a bullet here... The motorcycle driver, pointing his finger at the map, repeated several times: “Malinofka, Malinofka...” From the place where we stood, the gardens of Malinovka were visible. I indicated which direction they should go...
But we did not abandon the wounded Red Army soldier. They brought him food for a whole month. And whatever medicines they could get. When the wound allowed him to move, he went into the forest.
"We will be back…"
The Germans, like locusts, filled all the villages around Minsk. And in the forest, in the thickets of bushes and even in the rye, the Red Army soldiers who were surrounded were hiding. A reconnaissance plane was circling above the forest, almost touching the treetops with its wheels, over a grain field. Having discovered the fighters, the pilot sprayed them with a machine gun and threw grenades. The sun was already setting behind the forest when a commander with a group of soldiers approached me and my brother Lenya, who was grazing calves. There were about 30 of them. I explained to the commander how to get to the village of Volchkovichi. And then move along the Ptich River. “Listen, guy, take us to these Volchkovichi,” the commander asked. “It will soon get dark, and you’re at home...” I agreed. In the forest we came across a group of Red Army soldiers. About 20 people with full weapons. While the commander was checking their documents, I realized with horror that I had lost my landmark in the forest. I was only once in these places with my father. But so much time has passed since then... The chain of fighters stretched for hundreds of meters. And my legs are shaking from fear. I don’t know where we are going... We came to a highway along which a column of German vehicles was moving. “Where have you taken us, son of a bitch?!” - the commander jumps up to me. -Where is your bridge? Where is the river? The face is twisted with rage. A revolver dances in his hands. A second or two - and he will put a bullet in my forehead... I feverishly think: if Minsk is in this direction, then that means we need to go in the opposite direction. In order not to lose our way, we decided to walk along the highway, making our way through impenetrable bushes. Every step was a curse. But then the forest ended, and we found ourselves on a hill where cows were grazing. The outskirts of the village were visible. And below there is a river, a bridge... My heart was relieved: “Thank God! We’ve arrived!” Near the bridge there are two burnt German tanks. Smoke smokes over the ruins of the building... The commander asks the old shepherd whether there are Germans in the village, whether it is possible to find a doctor - we have wounded... “There were Herods,” says the old man. - And they did a dirty deed. When they saw the destroyed tanks and the corpses of the tankers, in retaliation they propped open the doors of the Rest House (and it was full of wounded) and set it on fire. Inhumans! Burn helpless people in the fire... As soon as the earth bears them!” - the old man lamented. The Red Army soldiers ran across the highway and disappeared into the dense bush. The last to leave were the commander and two machine gunners. Right at the highway, the commander turned around and waved his hand to me: “We’ll be back, guy! We will definitely come back!”
It was the third day of the occupation.
Mortar
For the summer, my brother Lenya, who is two years younger than me, and I agreed to herd the collective farm calves. Oh, we had a lot of fun with them! But what to do now? When there are Germans in the village, there is no collective farm and the calves are unknown...
“The cattle are not to blame. Just as you grazed the calves, so graze them,” the mother said decisively. - Look at me, don’t touch the weapon! And God forbid you bring anything home..."
We heard the roar of hungry calves from afar. There was a cart at the door of the barn. Two Germans were dragging a dead calf towards her. They threw him onto the cart and wiped his bloody hands on calf hair. And went for another...
With difficulty we drove the calves out into the meadow. But they immediately ran away, frightened by the reconnaissance plane. I could clearly see the pilot's face wearing glasses. And even his grin. Oh, I wish I could shoot a rifle at that impudent face! My hands itched with the desire to take a weapon. And nothing will stop me: neither the German orders to shoot, nor the prohibitions of my parents... I turn onto a path trampled in the rye. And here it is, the rifle! It's like he's waiting for me. I take it in my hands and feel twice as strong. Of course, it must be hidden. I choose a place where the rye is thicker, and I come across a whole arsenal of weapons: 8 rifles, cartridges, bags with gas masks... While I was looking at all this, a plane flew overhead. The pilot saw both the weapon and me. Now he will turn around and give a burst... I ran with all my might towards the forest. I hid myself in the bushes and then unexpectedly discovered a mortar. Brand new, shimmering with black paint. In an open box there are four mines with caps on the nose. “Not today, tomorrow,” I thought, “our people will return. I will hand over the mortar to the Red Army and receive an order or a Kirov watch for this. But where to hide it? In the forest? They can find it. Homes are safer." The stove is heavy. One can't do it alone. I persuaded my brother to help me. In broad daylight, somewhere on my belly, where on all fours I dragged a mortar along the potato furrows. And behind me Lenya was dragging a box of mines. But here we are at home. We take cover behind the wall of the barn. We caught our breath and set up the mortar. My brother immediately began studying infantry artillery. He figured it out quickly. No wonder he had the nickname Talent at school. Raising the barrel almost vertically, Lenya took the mine, unscrewed the cap and handed it to me: “Put it down with the tail down. And then we’ll see...” I did just that. A dull shot rang out. The mine, miraculously not hitting my hand, soared into the sky. Happened! Captivated by the excitement, we forgot about everything in the world. Following the first mine, three more were sent. The black dots instantly melted into the sky. And suddenly - explosions. In sequence. And closer, closer to us. "Let's run!" - I shouted to my brother and rushed around the corner of the barn. He stopped at the gate. My brother was not with me. “We must go to the calves,” I thought. But it was too late. Three Germans were approaching the house. One looked into the yard, and two went to the barn. Machine guns crackled. “Lenka was killed!” - flashed through my mind. A mother came out of the house with her little brother in her arms. “And now they will finish us all off. And all because of me!” And such horror gripped my heart that it seemed that it could not stand it and would burst from pain... The Germans came out from behind the barn. One, the healthier one, carried our mortar on his shoulders... And Lenka hid in the hayloft. My parents never found out that our family could have died on the third day of the German occupation.
Father's death
My father, who worked as a mechanic at the Minsk Carriage Repair Plant before the war, had golden hands. So he became a blacksmith. People came to Anton Grigorievich with orders from all the surrounding villages. My father was a master at making sickles from bayonet knives. He riveted buckets. Could repair the most hopeless mechanism. In a word - master. The neighbors respected my father for his straightforwardness and honesty. He felt neither shyness nor fear of anyone. He could stand up for the weak and fight back against arrogant force. This is why Elder Ivantsevich hated him. There were no traitors in the village of Dvorishche. Ivantsevich is an outsider. He came to our village with his family
on the eve of the war. And he curried favor with the Germans so much that, as a sign of special trust, he received the right to bear arms. His two eldest sons served in the police. He also had an adult daughter and a son a couple of years older than me. The headman brought a lot of evil to people. My father got it from him too. He allocated us the most impoverished, most waste land. How much effort my father, and my mother and I, put into processing it, but when it comes to the harvest, there is nothing to collect. The forge saved the family. The father riveted a bucket - get a bucket of flour for it. This is the calculation. The partisans shot the headman. And his family decided that his father was to blame. None of them doubted that he was connected with the partisans. Sometimes in the middle of the night I woke up from a strange knocking on the window glass (later I realized: they were hitting the glass with a cartridge). Father got up and went out into the yard. He clearly did something for the partisans. But who will initiate a boy into such matters?..
This happened in August 1943. The bread was removed. The sheaves were taken to the threshing floor and they decided to collect the grain. Father drank well. And when at night there was a familiar knock on the window, I was fast asleep. Mom came out into the yard. Quite a bit of time passed, and the light of car headlights slid along the wall. A car stopped at our house. They rattled the door with rifle butts. The Germans burst in and, shining their flashlights, began searching in all corners. One approached the pram and pulled the mattress. The brother hit his head on the edge and started screaming. Waking up from the child's crying, the father rushed towards the Germans. But what could he do with his bare hands? They grabbed him and dragged him into the yard. I grabbed my father's clothes and followed them. The headman’s son was standing by the car... That night three more villagers were taken. Mom looked for father in all prisons. And he and his fellow villagers were kept in Schemyslitsa. And a week later they shot me. The translator's son learned from his father how it was. And he told me...
They were brought to be shot and each was given a shovel. They ordered to dig a grave not far from the birch trees. The father snatched the shovels from his fellow villagers, threw them aside and shouted: “You can’t wait, you bastards!” “And you, it turns out, are a hero? Well, we’ll reward you with a red star for your courage,” said the senior policeman, one of the locals, smiling. “Tie him to a tree!” When the father was tied to a birch tree, the officer ordered the soldiers to carve a star on his back. None of them moved. “Then I will do it myself, and you will be punished,” the policeman threatened his men. Father died standing...
Revenge
I made a vow to myself to avenge my father. The headman's son was watching our house. He reported to the Germans that he had seen partisans. Because of him, his father was executed...
I had a revolver and a TT pistol. My brother and I wielded weapons like the Voroshilov shooters. The rifles were safely hidden, but carbines were fired frequently. Let's climb into the forest, where it's thicker, set up some kind of target and hit one by one. One day we were caught doing this by partisan scouts. The carbines were taken away. However, this did not upset us at all. And when they began to ask what and how, I said that I know who betrayed my father. “Take a traitor, lead him to the New Yard. There is someone there to sort it out,” the partisans advised. They helped me take revenge...
I don't go into the house. I'm shaking all over. Lenya comes out of the hut. He looks at me with fear. “What happened? You have such a face...” - “Give me an honest pioneer’s face that you won’t tell anyone.” - “I give.” But speak up!” - “I avenged my father...” “What have you done, Seryozha?! They will kill us all!” - and rushed into the house with a scream.
A minute later my mother came out. The face is pale, the lips are trembling. Doesn't look at me. She brought out the horse and harnessed it to the cart. I abandoned the bundles of clothes. I sat my three brothers down. “We’ll go to our relatives in Ozertso. And now you have only one path - to join the partisans.”
The road to the detachment
We spent the night in the forest. They broke the spruce branches - here is the bed under the tree. We were in such a hurry to leave the house that we didn’t bring warm clothes. They didn't even take bread with them. And it's autumn outside. We pressed ourselves back to back and were pounding from the cold. What kind of dream is this... Shots were still ringing in my ears. Before my eyes, the headman’s son collapsed face first into the ground from my bullet... Yes, I avenged my father. But at what cost... The sun rose above the forest, and the gold of the foliage burst into flames. Need to go. Hunger also drove us on. I really wanted to eat. The forest suddenly ended, and we came to a farm. “Let's ask for some food,” I tell my brother. “I am not a beggar. Go, if you want, yourself...” I approach the house. The unusually high foundation caught my eye. The house stood in a hollow. Apparently it floods here in the spring. The big dog is flooded. The hostess came out onto the porch. Still a young and rather pretty woman. I asked her for bread. She didn’t have time to say anything: boots rattled on the porch and a man came down the wooden steps. Tall, red face. It's obvious he's drunk. "Who it? Documentation!" I have a pistol in my pocket and a second one in my belt. A policeman without a weapon. It is impossible to miss in two steps. But I was paralyzed by fear. “Come on, let’s go into the house!” A hand reaches out to grab me by the collar. I rushed towards the forest. Follow me. Caught up with. Hit me in the back of the head. I'm falling. He steps on my throat with his foot: “Gotcha, you bastard! I’ll hand you over to the Germans and I’ll still get a reward.” “You won’t get it, you bastard!” I grab a revolver from my belt and shoot point-blank...
I knew from my mother that in Novy Dvor there was a partisan contact, Nadya Rebitskaya. She brought us to the Budyonny detachment. After some time, my brother and I became fighters in a sabotage and subversive group. I was 14 years old, and Lena was 12.
Last date with mom
When I hear discussions about the origins of patriotism, about the motivation for heroic deeds, I think that my mother Lyubov Vasilievna did not even know about the existence of such words. But she showed heroism. Silently, quietly. Without counting on gratitude or rewards. But risking every hour both their lives and the lives of their children. Mom carried out partisan missions even after she lost her home and was forced to wander around strange corners with her three children. Through our squad’s contact person, I arranged a meeting with my mother.
...Quiet in the forest. The gray March day is approaching evening. Dusk is about to fall on the melted snow. The figure of a woman flashed among the trees. Mom's coat, mom's walk. But something was holding me back from rushing towards her. The woman's face is completely unfamiliar. Scary, black... I stand still. I do not know what to do. “Seryozha! It’s me,” mother’s voice. “What did they do to you, mom?!” Who calls you this way?..” - “I couldn’t restrain myself, son. You shouldn't have told me that. That’s what I got from the Germans...” In the village of Dvorishche, German soldiers from the front settled down to rest. There were plenty of them in our empty house. Mom knew about this, but still risked entering the barn. Warm clothes were stored there in the attic. She began to climb the stairs - then the German grabbed her. He took me to the house. German soldiers were feasting at the table. They stared at mom. One of them speaks in Russian: “Are you the mistress? Have a drink with us." And pours half a glass of vodka. "Thank you. I do not drink". - “Well, if you don’t drink, then wash our clothes.” He took a stick and began to stir up a pile of dirty laundry piled in the corner. He pulled out his soiled underpants. The Germans laughed in unison. And then my mother couldn’t stand it: “Warriors! You’re probably escaping from Stalingrad itself!” The German took a log and hit my mother in the face with all his might. She collapsed unconscious. By some miracle, my mother remained alive, and she even managed to leave...
My date with her was unhappy. Something inexplicably alarming and oppressive pressed on my heart. I said that for safety, it was better for her and the children to go to Nalibokskaya Pushcha, where our detachment was based. Mom agreed. And a week later, Vera Vasilievna, my mother’s sister, came running to our forest crying. “Seryozha! They killed your mother...” - “How did they kill?! I recently saw her. She had to leave...” - “On the way to the Pushcha, two people on horses caught up with us. They ask: “Which of you is Lyuba Yakutovich?” Lyuba responded. They pulled her out of the sleigh and took her into the house. They interrogated and tortured me all night. And in the morning they shot me. I still have the children...” We harnessed the horse to the sleigh and galloped. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the worst has already happened... Mom, in her father’s casing, was lying in a hollow not far from the road. There is a bloody stain on the back. I fell on my knees in front of her and began to ask for forgiveness. For my sins. For not defending. Which didn’t save you from a bullet. The night was in my eyes. And the snow seemed black...
They buried my mother in a cemetery near the village of Novy Dvor. Only three months remained before liberation... Our people were already in Gomel...
Why didn't I go to the partisan parade?
The partisan detachment named after the 25th anniversary of the BSSR goes to Minsk for a parade. There are still 297 days and nights until Victory. We celebrate our partisan victory. We celebrate the liberation of our native land. We celebrate a life that could have ended at any moment. But despite everything, we survived...
We passed Ivenets. Out of nowhere - two Germans. Crouching, they run towards the forest. One has a rifle in his hands, the other has a machine gun. “Who will take them?” - asks the commander. "I will take!" - I answer him. “Come on, Yakutovich. Just don't stick your head out in vain. And catch up with us." The squad left. I'm with the Germans. Sometimes crawling, sometimes in short runs. And the grass is tall. The boots get tangled in it and get in the way. I threw them off, chasing them barefoot. I took the warrior and disarmed him. I'm leading to the road. And I’m thinking: where should I put them? I see a column of prisoners gathering dust along the road. Fritz 200, perhaps. I'm going to the guard: take two more. He stopped the column. He asks who I am. He told me and remembered his father. “Why are you barefoot?” I'll explain. “Well, brother, going to the parade barefoot makes people laugh. Wait, we’ll think of something...” He brings me boots: “Put on your shoes.” I thanked him and just took a few steps - the guard called me. He searched my prisoners. The younger one had a pistol and a full cauldron of gold teeth and crowns... “Are you saying that your father was shot? Take this flayer, take him to the bushes and spank him.” I took the prisoner away from the road, took the machine gun from my shoulder... The German fell to his knees, tears flowing down his dirty face: “Nicht shissen! Nicht shissen!” Something flared up inside me and immediately went out. I pulled the trigger... Near the German himself, the bullets mowed down the grass and entered the ground. The German jumped to his feet and disappeared into the column of prisoners of war. The guard looked at me and silently shook my hand...
I didn’t catch up with my squad and didn’t make it to the partisan parade. I regret this all my life.
This is a touching and tragic date for every family of our great people.
The cruel and terrible events in which our grandfathers and great-grandfathers participated go deep into history.
Soldiers fighting on the battlefield. In the rear, both old and young worked hard for the Great Victory.
How many children stood up to defend their Motherland on an equal basis 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 memorial that is located in your city and lay flowers. It will be touching if you and your child mark the event with a minute of silence.
Draw your child's attention to the awards of war veterans, which are becoming fewer and fewer every year. Congratulate the veterans with all your heart on Great Victory Day.
It is important to remember that every gray hair contains 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 spring thunderstorms make noise, but I have never heard gunfire.
I see how new houses are being built, but I did not realize how easily houses are destroyed under a hail of bombs and shells.
I know how dreams end, but it’s hard for me to believe that ending a human life is as easy as a cheerful morning dream.
Nazi Germany, violating the non-aggression pact, invaded the territory of the Soviet Union.
And, in order not to end up in fascist slavery, for the sake of saving the Motherland, the people entered into battle, into mortal combat with an insidious, cruel and merciless enemy.
Then the Great Patriotic War began for the honor and independence of our Motherland.
Millions of people rose to defend the country.
In the war, infantrymen and artillerymen, tank crews and pilots, sailors and signalmen - soldiers of many, many military specialties, entire regiments, divisions, ships, and ships were awarded military orders and received honorary titles for the heroism of their soldiers.
When the flames of war raged, together with the entire Soviet people, cities and villages, farmsteads and villages rose to defend the Motherland. Anger and hatred towards the vile enemy, the 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 fortitude of the Soviet people, loyalty to the Motherland.
“Everything for the front, everything for Victory!”
During the harsh days of the war, children stood next to adults. Schoolchildren earned money for the defense fund, collected warm clothes for front-line soldiers, stood guard on the roofs of houses during air raids, performed concerts in front of wounded soldiers in hospitals. The fascist barbarians destroyed and burned 1,710 cities and more than 70 thousand villages and hamlets, destroyed 84 thousand schools, 25 million people were made homeless.
Concentration death camps became an ominous symbol of the bestial appearance of fascism.
In Buchenwald, 56 thousand people were killed, in Dachau - 70 thousand, in Mauthausen - more than 122 thousand, in Majdanek - the number of victims was about 1 million 500 thousand people, over 4 million people died in Auschwitz.
If the memory of every person killed 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 in the streets. It seemed that for the first time millions of adults and children raised their eyes to the sun, for the first time they enjoyed the colors, sounds, and smells of life!
It was a common holiday for all our people, all humanity. It was a holiday for every person. Because victory over fascism signified victory over death, reason over madness, happiness over suffering.
In almost every family, someone died, went missing, or died from wounds.
Every year the events of the Great Patriotic War recede further into the depths of history. But for those who fought, who drank the full cup of both the bitterness of retreat and the joy of our great victories, 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 and not lose your mind at the sight of the death of thousands of people and monstrous destruction.
But the power of the human spirit turned out to be stronger than metal and fire.
That is why with such deep respect and admiration we look at those who went through the hell of war and retained the best human qualities - kindness, compassion and mercy.
66 years have passed since Victory Day. But we have not forgotten about those 1418 days and nights that the Great Patriotic War lasted.
It claimed almost 26 million lives of Soviet people. During these endlessly long four years, our long-suffering land was washed with streams of blood and tears. And if we were to collect together the bitter maternal tears shed for our lost sons, a Sea of Sorrow would form, and rivers of Suffering would flow from it to all corners of the planet.
The future of the planet is dear to us, the modern generation. Our task is to protect peace, to fight so that people are not killed, shots are not fired, and human blood is not shed.
The sky should be blue, the sun should be bright, warm, kind and affectionate, people's lives should be safe and happy.
Weekend dress
This happened even before the start of the war with the Nazis.
Katya Izvekova's parents gave her a new dress. The dress is elegant, silk, weekend.
Katya didn’t have time to renew the gift. War broke out. The dress was left hanging in the closet. Katya thought: the war will end, so she will put on her evening dress.
Fascist planes continuously bombed Sevastopol from the air.
Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.
Military warehouses, headquarters, schools, kindergartens, hospitals, repair shops, even a cinema, even hairdressers - all of this crashed into stones, into mountains.
Sevastopol residents also set up two military factories underground.
Katya Izvekova began working on one of them. The plant produced mortars, mines, and grenades. Then he began to master the production of aerial bombs for Sevastopol pilots.
Everything was found in Sevastopol for such production: explosives, metal for the body, even fuses were found. There is only one. The gunpowder used to detonate bombs had to be poured into bags made of natural silk.
They began to look for silk for bags. We contacted various warehouses.
For one:
No natural silk.
On the second:
No natural silk.
We went to the third, fourth, fifth.
There is no natural silk anywhere.
And suddenly... Katya appears. They ask Katya:
Well, did you find it?
“I found it,” Katya answers.
That's right, the girl has a package in her hands.
They unwrapped Katya's package. They look: there is a dress in the package. Same thing. Day off. Made from natural silk.
That's it Katya!
Thanks, Kate!
Katino's dress was cut at the factory. We sewed the bags. Gunpowder was added. They put the bags in the bombs. They sent bombs to the pilots at the airfield.
Following Katya, other workers brought their weekend dresses to the factory. There are now no interruptions in the operation of the plant. Behind the bomb is a bomb ready.
Pilots take to the skies. The bombs hit the target exactly.
Bul-bul
The fighting in Stalingrad continues unabated. The Nazis are rushing to the Volga.
Some fascist made Sergeant Noskov angry. Our trenches and those of the Nazis ran side by side here. Speech can be heard from trench to trench.
The fascist sits in his hiding place and shouts:
Rus, tomorrow glug-glug!
That is, he wants to say that tomorrow the Nazis will break through to the Volga and throw the defenders of Stalingrad into the Volga.
Rus, tomorrow gurg-glug. - And he clarifies: - Bul-gur at Volga.
This “glug-glug” gets on Sergeant Noskov’s nerves.
Others are calm. Some of the soldiers even chuckle. A Noskov:
Eka, damned Fritz! Show yourself. Let me at least look at you.
The Hitlerite just leaned out. Noskov looked, and other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears stick out. The cap on the crown miraculously stays on.
The fascist leaned out and again:
Glug-glug!
One of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He raised it and took aim.
Don't touch! - Noskov said sternly.
The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. He took the rifle away.
Until the evening, the long-eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow glug-glug. Tomorrow at Volga's."
By evening the fascist soldier fell silent.
“He fell asleep,” they understood in our trenches. Our soldiers gradually began to doze off. Suddenly they see someone starting to crawl out of the trench. They look - Sergeant Noskov. And behind him is his best friend, Private Turyanchik. The friends got out of the trench, hugged the ground, and crawled towards the German trench.
The soldiers woke up. They are perplexed. Why did Noskov and Turyanchik suddenly go to visit the Nazis? The soldiers look there, to the west, breaking their eyes in the darkness. The soldiers began to worry.
But someone said:
Brothers, they are crawling back.
The second confirmed:
That's right, they are coming back.
The soldiers looked closely - right. Friends are crawling, hugging the ground. Just not two of them. Three. The soldiers took a closer look: the third fascist soldier, the same one - “glug-glug”. He just doesn't crawl. Noskov and Turyanchik are dragging him. A soldier is gagged.
The screamer's friends dragged him into the trench. We rested and continued to headquarters.
However, they fled along the road to the Volga. They grabbed the fascist by the hands, by the neck, and dunked him into the Volga.
Glug-glug, glug-glug! - Turyanchik shouts mischievously.
Bubble-bulb, - the fascist blows bubbles. Shaking like an aspen leaf.
“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” Noskov said. - Russians don’t hit someone who is down.
The soldiers handed over the prisoner to headquarters.
Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.
“Bul-bull,” said Turyanchik, saying goodbye.
Special task
The task was unusual. It was called special. The commander of the marine brigade, Colonel Gorpishchenko, said this:
The task is unusual. Special. - Then he asked again: - Is that clear?
“I see, Comrade Colonel,” answered the infantry sergeant-major, the senior leader over the group of reconnaissance officers.
He was summoned to the colonel alone. He returned to his comrades. He chose two to help and said:
Get ready. We had a special task.
However, what kind of special thing the foreman did not say yet.
It was New Year's Eve, 1942. It is clear to the scouts: on such and such a night, of course, the task is extremely special. The scouts follow the foreman, talking to each other:
Maybe a raid on the fascist headquarters?
Take it higher,” the foreman smiles.
Maybe we can capture the general?
Higher, higher,” the elder laughs.
The scouts crossed at night to the territory occupied by the Nazis and advanced deeper. They walk carefully, stealthily.
Scouts again:
Maybe we’ll go blow up the bridge like the partisans?
Maybe we can carry out sabotage at the fascist airfield?
They look at the elder. The elder smiles.
Night. Darkness. Dumbness. Deafness. Scouts are walking in the fascist rear. We went down the steep slope. They climbed the mountain. We entered the pine forest. Crimean pines clung to the stones. It smelled pleasantly of pine. The soldiers remembered their childhood.
The foreman approached one of the pine trees. He walked around, looked, and even felt the branches with his 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, let’s get down to business,” 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. - So we completed the task.
“Here they are,” the scouts burst out.
The next day, the scouts were released into the city, to visit the children in the underground preschool kindergarten for the New Year tree.
There was a pine tree. Slim. Fluffy. Balls, garlands hang on the pine tree, and multi-colored lanterns are lit.
You may ask: why pine and not Christmas tree? Christmas trees do not grow in those latitudes. And in order to get pine, it was necessary to get to the rear of the Nazis.
Not only here, but also in other places in Sevastopol, New Year trees were lit during that difficult year for children.
Apparently, not only in Colonel Gorpishchenko’s marine brigade, but also in other units, the task for the scouts on that New Year’s Eve was special.
Gardeners
This happened shortly before the Battle of Kursk. Reinforcements have arrived at the rifle unit.
The foreman walked around the fighters. Walks along the line. A corporal is walking nearby. Holds a pencil and notepad in his hands.
The foreman looked at the first of the soldiers:
Do you know how to plant potatoes?
The fighter was embarrassed and shrugged.
Do you know how to plant potatoes?
I can! - the soldier said loudly.
Two steps forward.
The soldier is out of action.
Write to the gardeners,” said the sergeant major to the corporal.
Do you know how to plant potatoes?
I haven't tried it.
I didn't have to, but if necessary...
That’s enough,” said the foreman.
The fighters came forward. Anatoly Skurko found himself in the ranks of skilled soldiers. Soldier Skurko wonders: where are they going to go, those who know how? “It’s too late to plant potatoes. (Summer is already in full swing.) If you dig it, it’s very early in time.”
Soldier Skurko tells fortunes. And other fighters are wondering:
Plant potatoes?
Sow carrots?
Cucumbers for the headquarters canteen?
The foreman looked at the soldiers.
“Well,” said the foreman. “From now on, you will be among the miners,” and hands the mines to the soldiers.
The dashing foreman noticed that those who know how to plant potatoes lay mines faster and more reliably.
Soldier Skurko grinned. The other soldiers couldn't hold back their smiles either.
The gardeners got down to business. Of course, not immediately, not at the same moment. Laying mines is not such a simple matter. The soldiers underwent special training.
Minefields and barriers stretched for many kilometers to the north, south, and 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 on these fields and barriers.
The miners are coming.
How are you, gardeners?
Everything is in perfect order.
Evil surname
The soldier was embarrassed by his last name. He was unlucky at birth. Trusov is his last name.
It's war time. The surname is catchy.
Already at the military registration and enlistment office, when a soldier was drafted into the army, the first question was:
Surname?
Trusov.
How how?
Trusov.
Y-yes... - the military registration and enlistment office workers drawled.
A soldier got into the company.
What's the last name?
Private Trusov.
How how?
Private Trusov.
Y-yes... - the commander drawled.
The soldier suffered a lot of troubles from his last name. There are jokes and jokes all around:
Apparently, your ancestor was not a hero.
In a convoy with such a surname!
Field mail will be delivered. The soldiers will gather in a circle. Incoming letters are being distributed. Names given:
Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!
Everything is fine. The soldiers come up and take their letters.
Shout out:
Cowards!
The soldiers are laughing all around.
Somehow the surname does not fit with wartime. Woe to the soldier with this surname.
As part of his 149th separate rifle brigade, Private Trusov arrived at Stalingrad. They transported the soldiers across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade entered the battle.
Well, Trusov, let’s see what kind of soldier you are,” said the squad leader.
Trusov doesn’t want to disgrace himself. Trying. The soldiers are going on the attack. Suddenly an enemy machine gun started firing from the left. Trusov turned around. He fired a burst from the machine gun. The enemy machine gun fell silent.
Well done! - the squad leader praised the soldier.
The soldiers ran a few more steps. The machine gun hits again.
Now it's on the right. Trusov turned around. I got close to the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist calmed down.
Hero! - said the squad leader.
The soldiers lay down. They are skirmishing with the Nazis. The battle is over. The soldiers counted the killed enemies. Twenty people turned out to be at the place from which Private Trusov was firing.
Ooh! - the squad commander burst out. - Well, brother, your last name is evil. Evil!
Trusov smiled.
For courage and determination in battle, Private Trusov was awarded a medal.
The medal “For Courage” hangs on the hero’s chest. Whoever meets you will squint his eyes at the reward.
The first question for the soldier now is:
What was he awarded for, hero?
No one will ask for your last name now. No one will giggle now. He won’t drop a word with malice.
From now on it is clear to the soldier: the honor of a soldier is not in the surname - a person’s deeds are beautiful.
Unusual operation
Mokapka Zyablov was amazed. Something incomprehensible was happening at their station. A boy lived with his grandfather and grandmother near the town of Sudzhi in a small working-class village at the Lokinskaya station. He was the son of a hereditary railway worker.
Mokapka loved to hang around the station for hours. Especially these days. One by one the echelons come here. They are bringing in military equipment. Mokapka knows that our troops defeated the Nazis near Kursk. They are driving the enemies to the west. Although small, but smart, Mokapka sees that the echelons are coming here. He understands: this means that here, in these places, a further offensive is planned.
The trains are coming, the locomotives are chugging. Soldiers unload military cargo.
Mokapka was spinning around somewhere near the tracks. He sees: a new train has arrived. Tanks stand on platforms. A lot of. The boy began to count the tanks. I looked closer and they were wooden. How can we fight against them?!
The boy rushed to his grandmother.
Wooden,” he whispers, “tanks.”
Really? - the grandmother clasped her hands. He rushed to his grandfather:
Wooden, grandfather, tanks. The old man raised his eyes to his grandson. The boy rushed to the station. He looks: the train is coming again. The train stopped. Mokapka looked - the guns were on platforms. A lot of. No less than there were tanks.
Mokapka took a closer look - after all, the guns were also wooden! Instead of trunks there are round timbers sticking out.
The boy rushed to his grandmother.
Wooden, he whispers, guns.
Really?.. - the grandmother clasped her hands. He rushed to his grandfather:
Wooden, grandfather, guns.
“Something new,” said the grandfather.
A lot of strange things were going on at the station back then. Somehow boxes with shells arrived. Mountains grew of these boxes. Happy Mockup:
Our fascists will have a blast!
And suddenly he finds out: there are empty boxes at the station. “Why are there whole mountains of such and such?!” - the boy wonders.
But here’s something completely incomprehensible. The troops are coming here. A lot of. The column hurries after the column. They go openly, they arrive before dark.
The boy has an easy character. I immediately met the soldiers. Until dark, he kept spinning around. In the morning he runs to the soldiers again. And then he finds out: the soldiers left these places at night.
Mokapka stands there, wondering again.
Mokapka did not know that our people used military stratagem near Sudzha.
The Nazis are conducting reconnaissance of Soviet troops from airplanes. They see: trains arrive at the station, bring tanks, bring guns.
The Nazis also notice mountains of boxes with shells. They notice that troops are moving here. A lot of. Behind the column comes a column. The fascists see the troops approaching, but the enemies do not know that they are leaving unnoticed from here at night.
It is clear to the fascists: this is where a new Russian offensive is being prepared! Here, near the city of Sudzha. They gathered troops near Sudzha, but weakened their forces in other areas. They just pulled it off - and then there was a blow! However, not under Sudzha. Ours struck in another place. They defeated the Nazis again. And soon they were completely defeated in the Battle of Kursk.
Vyazma
The fields near Vyazma are free. The hills run towards the sky.
You can’t erase the words from there. Near the city of Vyazma, a large group of Soviet troops was surrounded by the enemy. The fascists are happy.
Hitler himself, the leader of the Nazis, calls to the front:
Surrounded?
“That’s right, our Fuhrer,” the fascist generals report.
Have you laid down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Have you laid down your weapons?
Here is a brave one found.
No. I dare to report, my Fuhrer... - The General wanted to say something.
However, Hitler was distracted by something. The speech was interrupted mid-sentence.
For several days now, being surrounded, Soviet soldiers have been fighting stubbornly. They shackled the fascists. The fascist offensive breaks down. Enemies are stuck near Vyazma.
Again Hitler calls from Berlin:
Surrounded?
“That’s right, our Fuhrer,” the fascist generals report.
Have you laid down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Have you laid down your weapons?
A terrible curse came 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. The fighting near Vyazma continues. The enemies were stuck near Vyazma.
Vyazma knits them, knits them. She grabbed me by the throat!
The great Fuhrer is angry. Another call from Berlin.
Have you laid down your weapons?
The generals are silent.
Have you laid down your weapons?!
No, the brave man is responsible for everyone.
A stream of bad words poured out again. The membrane in the tube began to dance.
The general fell silent. I waited it out. I caught the moment:
I dare to report that my Fuhrer, our great, our wise King Frederick also said...
Hitler listens:
Well, well, what did our Friedrich say?
Frederick the Great said, the general repeated, the Russians must be shot twice. And then push, my Fuhrer, so that they fall.
The Fuhrer muttered something incomprehensible into the phone. The Berlin wire has become disconnected.
For a whole week the fighting continued 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. The hills run towards the sky. Here in the fields, on the hills near Vyazma, hundreds of heroes lie. Here, defending Moscow, the Soviet people performed a great military feat.
Remember!
Keep the bright memory of them!
General Zhukov
Army General Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov was appointed commander of the Western Front, the front that included most of the troops defending Moscow.
Zhukov arrived on the Western Front. Staff officers report to him the combat situation.
Fighting is taking place near the city of Yukhnov, near Medyn, near Kaluga.
Officers find Yukhnov on the map.
Here, they report, near Yukhnov, to the 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 points out the places where the Nazis are at this time.
The officers looked at each other. They look at Zhukov in surprise.
Here, here, in this exact place. Don’t doubt it, says Zhukov.
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 has concentrated large forces - and they list what forces: tanks, artillery, mechanized divisions ...
Yes, yes, right,” says Zhukov. “Only the forces are not here, but here,” Zhukov clarifies from 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 motorized mechanized units. This is where they are standing at this moment.
No, Zhukov objects. - They are not in this place now. This is where the parts have been moved, and shows the new location on the map.
The staff officers were dumbfounded. They look at the new commander with undisguised surprise. Zhukov sensed distrust in the eyes of the officers. He grinned.
Do not doubt. That's exactly how it is. “You guys are great - you know the situation,” Zhukov praised the staff officers. - But mine is more precise.
It turns out that General Zhukov had already visited Yukhnov, Medyn, and Kaluga. Before going to headquarters, I went straight to the battlefield. This is where the accurate 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 Soviet troops defended Moscow from its enemies. And then, in stubborn battles, they defeated the Nazis in the Great Moscow Battle.
Moscow sky
This happened even before the start of the Moscow Battle.
Hitler was daydreaming in Berlin. Wondering: what to do with Moscow? He suffers to make something so unusual and original. I thought and thought...
Hitler came up with this. I decided to flood Moscow with water. Build huge dams around Moscow. Fill the city and all living things with water.
Everything will perish immediately: people, houses and the Moscow Kremlin!
He closed his eyes. He sees: in place of Moscow, a bottomless sea splashes!
Descendants will remember me!
Then I thought: “Uh, until the water comes in...”
Wait?!
No, he doesn’t agree to wait long.
Destroy now! This very minute!
Hitler thought, and here is the order:
Bomb Moscow! Destroy! With shells! Bombs! Send squadrons! Send armadas! Leave no stone unturned! Raze it to the ground!
He threw his hand forward like a sword:
Destroy! Raze it to the ground!
That’s right, raze it to the ground,” the fascist generals froze in readiness.
On July 22, 1941, exactly a month after the start of the war, the Nazis carried out their first air raid on Moscow.
The Nazis immediately sent 200 planes on this raid. The engines hum impudently.
The pilots lounged in their seats. Moscow is getting closer, getting closer. The fascist pilots reached for the bomb levers.
But what is it?! Powerful searchlights crossed sword-knives in the sky. Red-star Soviet fighters rose to meet the air robbers.
The Nazis did not expect such a meeting. The enemy formation has become disordered. Only a few planes broke through to Moscow then. And they were in a hurry. They threw bombs wherever they had to, they would quickly drop them and run away from here.
The Moscow sky is harsh. The uninvited guest is severely punished. 22 planes were shot down.
Well... - the fascist generals drawled.
We thought about it. We now decided to send planes not all at once, not in a mass, but in small groups.
The Bolsheviks will be punished!
The next day, again 200 planes 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 away by red star fighters.
For the third time, the Nazis are sending planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were intelligent and inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. They decided to send the planes in three tiers. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second one is a little higher. And the third - both at a high altitude and a little late. The first two groups will distract the attention of the defenders of the Moscow sky, the generals reason, and at this time, at a high altitude, the third group will quietly approach the city, and the pilots will drop bombs exactly on the target.
And now there are fascist planes in the sky again. The pilots lounged in their seats. The engines are humming. The bombs froze in the hatches.
There's a group coming. The second one is behind her. And a little behind, at a high altitude, the third. The very last one to fly was a special plane, with cameras. He will take photographs of how fascist planes destroy Moscow and bring them for display to the generals...
The generals are waiting for news. The first plane is returning. The engines stalled. The screws stopped. The pilots came out. Pale, pale. They can barely stand on their feet.
The Nazis lost fifty aircraft that day. The photographer did not return either. They shot him down on the way.
The Moscow sky is inaccessible. It strictly punishes enemies. The insidious calculation of the fascists collapsed.
The fascists and their possessed Fuhrer dreamed of destroying Moscow to its foundations, to the stone. What happened?
Red Square
The enemy is nearby. Soviet troops abandoned Volokolamsk and Mozhaisk. In some sections of the front, the Nazis came even closer to Moscow. Fighting is taking place near Naro-Fominsk, Serpukhov and Tarusa.
But as always, on this day dear to all citizens of the Soviet Union, a military parade took place in Moscow, on Red Square, in honor of the great holiday.
When 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 it at first. I decided that I had made a mistake, that I had misheard, that I had misunderstood something.
Parade! - the commander explains to him. - Solemn, on Red Square.
That’s right, a parade,” Mitrokhin answers. However, there is disbelief in the eyes.
And then Mitrokhin froze in the ranks. It stands on Red Square. And to his left are troops. And there are troops on the right. Party leaders and government members at the Lenin Mausoleum. Everything is exactly like in the old peacetime.
It’s just a rarity for this day - it’s white all around from the snow. The frost hit early today. Snow fell all night until morning. He whitewashed the Mausoleum, laid it on the walls of the Kremlin, on the square.
8 am. The clock hands on the Kremlin tower converged.
The chimes struck the time.
Minute. Everything was quiet. The parade commander gave the traditional report. The host parade congratulates the troops on the anniversary of the Great October Revolution. Everything was quiet again. One more minute. And so, at first, quietly, and then louder and louder, the words of the Chairman of the State Defense Committee, Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the USSR, Comrade Stalin, sound.
Stalin says that this is not the first time that our enemies have attacked us. That there were more difficult times in the history of the young Soviet Republic. 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 a force capable of destroying the predatory hordes of German invaders.”
The soldiers stood frozen in line.
A great liberation mission has fallen to your lot,” the words fly through the frost. - Be worthy of this mission!
Mitrokhin pulled himself up. His face became stern, more serious, stricter.
The war you are waging is a war of liberation, a just war. - And after this, 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! Let the victorious banner of the great Lenin overshadow you!
The beats are fascists. Moscow stands and blooms as before. Getting better from year to year.
Incident at the crossing
There was 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 cunning mechanism hidden in this box! I'd like to see...
Please,” the accordion player answered. “It’s just time for me to glue the bellows.”
And in front of everyone, he dismantled the instrument.
"Oh, no," the soldier said disappointedly. "It's empty, like a spent cartridge case..."
Inside the button accordion, between two wooden boxes connected by a leather accordion bellows, it was indeed empty. Only on the side plates, where the buttons are located on the outside, were there wide metal plates with holes of different sizes. Hidden behind each hole is a narrow copper petal strip. When the fur is stretched, air passes through the holes and causes the copper petals to vibrate. And they sound. Thin - high. Thicker - lower, and the thick petals seem to sing in a bass voice. If a musician stretches the bellows too much, the records sound loud. If the air is pumped weakly, the records vibrate a little, and the music turns out to be quiet, quiet. That's all miracles!
And the real miracle were the fingers of our accordion player. Amazingly played, to say the least!
And this amazing skill more than once helped us in difficult life at the front.
Our accordion player will lift your mood in time, and warm you up in the cold - makes you dance, and instills cheerfulness in the depressed, and will make you remember your happy pre-war youth: your native land, mothers and loved ones. And one day...
One evening, by order of the command, we changed combat positions. We were ordered not to engage in battle with the Germans under any circumstances. On our way there flowed a not very wide, but deep river with a single ford, which we took advantage of. The commander and radio operator remained on the other side; they were finishing the communication session. They were cut off by the suddenly arriving fascist machine gunners. And although the Germans did not know that ours were on their bank, the crossing was kept 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 begins to play “Katyusha”.
The Germans were at first taken aback. 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 shooting. One of them shouted joyfully: “Rus, Rus, kaput, boyan!”
But nothing happened to the accordion player. Luring the Germans, he crawled along the shore away from the crossing and again began playing the perky “Katyusha”.
The Germans accepted this challenge. They began to pursue the musician, and therefore left the ford for several minutes without flares.
The commander and radio operator immediately realized why our accordion player started a “musical” game with the Germans, and, without hesitation, they forded to the other bank.
These are the kinds of incidents that happened to our soldier accordion player and his friend accordion, by the way, named after the ancient Russian singer Boyan.
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