This story is about a boy Kost Limov who lived in a small town. He had a carefree life as a ten-year-old boy. The school year ended recently and the holidays began. The weekend was approaching. He was looking forward to it

sunday, as I was supposed to go fishing with my father.

But unexpected news changed plans not only for this weekend, but for the next four years.

The war began. Children over 18 went to the front.

And the younger ones stayed to help the adults during these difficult years.

After school, Kostya ran to the factory with his friends. There with

robbed mines. Children helped adults.

Fascists could not take the Brest Fortress by storm. We walked around her to the left, to the right. She remained with the enemies in the rear.

The fascists are advancing. The battles are going on near Minsk, near Riga, near Lvov, near Lutsk. And there, in the rear of the Nazis, the Brest Fortress is fighting.

Difficult for heroes. Bad with ammunition, bad with food, especially bad with water for the defenders of the fortress.

Water is all around - the Bug River, the Mukhovets River, branches, channels. There is water all around, but there is no water in the fortress. Water under fire. A sip of water is dearer than life here.

Water! - rushes over the fortress.

There was a daredevil, rushed to the river. He rushed and immediately collapsed. The soldier was killed by the enemies. Time passed, another brave one rushed forward. And he died. The third replaced the second. The third was also dead.

A machine gunner lay not far from this place. I was scribbling, scribbling a machine gun, and suddenly the line broke off. 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 cover was empty. I looked to where the Bug was, where the ducts were. Looked left, right.

Eh, it was not.

He crawled to the water. Crawling on his bellies, snake to the ground nestled. He is getting closer to the water, closer. Right next to the shore. The machine gunner grabbed his helmet. Scooped up, like a bucket, water. Again creeping back like a snake. Closer to our own, closer. That's right next to it. His friends picked him up.

Brought some water! Hero!

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

The machine-gunner looked at the soldiers, at his dry lips, at the heat in his eyes.

Come, - said the machine gunner.

The soldiers stepped forward, but suddenly ...

Brothers, it would not be for us, but for the wounded, ”a voice rang out.

The fighters stopped.

Of course, the wounded!

Right, take it to the basement!

Soldiers sent the soldier to the basement. He brought water to the basement where the wounded lay.

Brothers, - he said, - voditsa ...

Get it, - he handed the soldier a mug.

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

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

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

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

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

The guys are watching - there is water in the helmet.

Children rushed to the water, to the soldier.

The soldier took a mug and carefully poured it on the bottom. Looks at who to give. He sees a kid with a pea next to him.

On, - held out to the kid.

The kid looked at the fighter, at the water.

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

Drink, drink, - the soldier smiled.

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

And others refused after him.

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

The machine gunner looked at the water, then at the soldiers, at the soldiers, at his friends. He took the helmet and poured water into the metal casing. He revived, earned, shot a machine gun.

The machine gunner covered the soldiers with fire. The daredevils were found again. To the Bug, towards death, they crawled. The heroes returned with water. They gave the children and the wounded to drink.

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.

Fascists are waiting - just about, and people will ask for mercy. Just about, a white flag will appear.

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

The battles for the fortress did not stop for thirty-two days. “I am dying, but I am not giving up. Goodbye, Motherland! " - wrote on the wall with a bayonet one of its last defenders.

These were the 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 you freeze for a minute, reader. And you bow low to the heroes.

Feat at Dubosekov

Departure Dubosekovo. 118th kilometer from Moscow. Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama twists a little further. Here, on a hill, in an open field, the heroes from the division of General Panfilov blocked the way for the Nazis.

There were 28 of them. The fighters were headed by political instructor Klochkov.

The soldiers burst into the ground. We clung to the edges of the trenches.

Tanks rushed, motors hum. The soldiers counted:

Twenty pieces.

Klochkov chuckled:

Twenty tanks. So it turns out, less than one per person.

Less, - said Private Yemtsov.

Of course, less, - said Petrenko.

Field. Hills. Coppices. Lama twists a little further.

The heroes entered the battle.

Hooray! - echoed over the trenches.

It was the soldiers who hit the first tank.

"Hurray!" Is thundering again. This second stumbled, snorted with a motor, clanked armor and froze. And again "hurray!" And again. Fourteen tanks out of twenty were knocked out by the heroes. They moved away, the surviving six crawled away.

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

Eka, his tail is tucked in.

The soldiers rested. They see an avalanche coming again. They counted - thirty fascist tanks.

Political instructor Klochkov looked at the soldier. All froze. Quiet. Only an iron clang is heard. All the tanks are closer, closer.

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

The soldiers entered the battle. Fewer and fewer heroes are alive. Yemtsov and Petrenko fell. Bondarenko died. Trofimov died, Narsunbai Esebulatov was killed. Shopokov. Fewer and fewer soldiers and grenades.

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

The Panfilov heroes fought steadfastly. They proved that there is no limit to courage. They did not let the fascists pass.

Departure Dubosekovo. Field. Hills. Coppices. A Lama is winding somewhere nearby. Departure Dubosekovo is an expensive, sacred place for every Russian heart.

House

Aufvederseen! Farewell! - the fascists shout.
- Ford, - someone suggested, - ford, comrade general, across the river.
General Katukov looked - the Maglusha river meanders. Steep banks near Maglushi. Tanks cannot climb steep slopes.
The general pondered.
Suddenly a woman appeared at the tanks. A boy with her.
“Better there, near our house, comrade commander,” she turned to Katukov. - There is a river already. The rise is gentler.

The tanks moved forward after the woman. Here is a house in a hollow. Ascent from the river. The place is really better here. And yet ... The tankers are watching. General Katukov is watching. Tanks cannot 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! - burst out from the tankers.
The woman looked at the house, at the soldiers.
- Yes, that the house is a piece of wood. Either the people are losing ... Either to grieve about the house, - said the woman. - Really, Petya? - turned to the boy. Then again to the soldiers: - Disassemble it, dear ones.
The tankers do not dare to touch the house. The cold is in the yard. Winter is gathering strength. What about without a home at this time?
The woman understood:
- Yes, we are in the dugout somehow. - And again to the boy: - Really, Petya?
- True, mum, - Petya answered.
And yet the tankers are crumpled, standing.
Then the woman took the ax and went to the edge of the house. She hit the crown herself first.
“Well, thanks,” said General Katukov.
The tankers dismantled the house. They set up a crossing. They rushed after the fascists. Tanks are passing by the fresh bridge. A boy and a woman are waving their hands to them.

What is your name, dignity? - shouted the tankers. - Who can we remember with a kind word?
“Petenka and I are the Kuznetsovs,” the woman answers, blushing.
- And by name, first name, patronymic?
- Alexandra Grigorievna, Pyotr Ivanovich.
- 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 flashes died down. But the memory of human exploits did not erase. The feat at the Maglushi 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 Peter Ivanovich Kuznetsov for the feat accomplished during the Great Patriotic War."
The Maglusha river meanders. There is a house above Maglusha. With a veranda, a porch, carved patterns. The windows look at the kind world.

Novo-Petrovskoe, a place of exploit of the Kuznetsov family. On December 17, 1941, they gave their house to the tankmen of the 1st Guards Tank Brigade to build a bridge across the Maglusha River. Eleven-year-old Petya Kuznetsov led the tanks through a minefield, receiving a severe concussion. There is a memorial plaque on the Kuznetsovs' house.

Dovator

Dashing, sparkling in battle Dovator. Okay sitting in the saddle. Kubanka hat on the head.

General Dovator is in command of the Cossack Cavalry Corps. The villagers are looking at the general:

Our blood - Cossack!

General Lev Mikhailovich Dovator

Fighters argue where he comes from:

From the Kuban!

He is Tersky, Tersky.

Ural Cossack, from the Urals.

Transbaikal, Daurian, consider a Cossack.

The Cossacks did not agree. We contacted the Dovator:

Comrade corps commander, tell me which village are you from?

Dovator smiled:

You are not looking there, comrades. There is a village in the Belarusian forests.

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

Back in August - September, Dovator's equestrian group walked along the fascist rear. She smashed warehouses, headquarters, carts. Then the Nazis hit hard. There were rumors among the fascist soldiers - 100 thousand Soviet horsemen broke through to the rear. But in fact, there were only 3000 people in Dovator's equestrian group.

When the Soviet troops under Moscow went on the offensive, Dovator's Cossacks again broke through to the fascist rear.

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

Fascist generals appoint a reward for the capture of Dovator - 10 thousand German marks.

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

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

Dovator! - they shout. - Dovator!

Hear the blow of hooves.

Dovator! Dovator!

The fascists are raising the price. They appoint 50 thousand marks for Dovator. Like a dream, a myth for enemies Dovator.

Dovator is riding a horse. The legend follows him.

Fortress

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

Stalingrad is a fortress, the fascists say.

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

Stalingrad is a fortress, a fortress - they are trumpeting in Germany.

Generals scribble reports. Each line is the same:

“Stalingrad is a fortress. An impregnable fortress. Continuous fortified areas. Insurmountable 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.

And 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 got to the Soviet soldiers. The soldiers laughed: "Yeah, the Nazis do not write this because of an easy life." Then they carried it and showed the 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 are writing.

The commissioner read the leaflet.

Everything is correct, ”he said to the soldiers. - The fascists write the truth. But what about the fortress, of course.

The soldiers were embarrassed. Maybe so. The bosses always know better.

A fortress, ”Gurov repeated. - Of course, a fortress.

The soldiers looked at each other. You will not argue with the authorities!

Gurov smiled.

Your hearts and your courage - here it is, an impregnable fortress, here they are, irresistible borders and fortifications, walls and bastions.

Now the soldiers also smiled. The Commissioner said understandably. It's nice to listen to that.

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

Twelve poplars

Introduced 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 they joking, perhaps, there are soldiers above him?

Set aside, - said the regiment commander.

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

All Grigoryans too.

Now the regiment commander looked in surprise at the company commander - was the company commander joking?

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

Indeed, all twelve people in the department were Grigoryans.

Same names?

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

One of the battles for the Grigoryanov squad was especially difficult. The soldiers kept an important line. And suddenly an attack of fascist tanks. People converged on metal. Tanks and Grigoryans.

They climbed, climbed, tore apart the tanks with howling. They threw fire without counting. The Grigoryans survived the battle. We held the line before our arrival.

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

It was twelve, six left. The brave warriors continued to fight. They drove the fascists from the Caucasus, from the Kuban. Then they liberated the fields of Ukraine. Soldier's honor and family honor were brought to Berlin.

There is no war without death. There is no battle without death. Three died in battle. Bullets cut the lives of two. Only the youngest Aghasi Grigoryan returned from the battlefields alone unharmed.

Twelve poplars have been planted in their hometown of Leninakan in memory of the brave family and heroic soldiers.

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

Soldier Zhelobkovich walked with everyone. A soldier is walking along the Belarusian land, along the fatherland. Closer and closer to home. His village is Khatyn.

A soldier is marching towards his friends in combat in the company:

Don't know Khatyn? Khatyn, brother, a forest miracle!

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

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

The warrior was walking towards his Khatyn.

House remembered. Those who stayed in the house. He left his wife. The old woman's mother, her three-year-old daughter Marishka. A soldier is marching, Mariska is carrying a gift - a ribbon in her pigtail, a ribbon as red as fire.

Troops are marching fast. Soon the warrior will see the old woman's mother. Will embrace the old woman's mother. The soldier will say:

Soon the soldier will see his wife. The soldier will kiss his wife. The soldier will say:

He will take Marishka in his arms. Will throw the soldier Marishka. He will also tell her:

The soldier will take out a present:

Come on, Marishka!

The warrior was walking towards his Khatyn. I thought about friends and neighbors. Soon he will see all Zhelobkovichi. Will see the Yatskevichs, Rudakovs, Mironovichs. The soldier of Khatyn will smile. The soldier will say:

They went to Khatyn. Nearby, a kilometer from these places.

A soldier to the commander. Like, there is a village nearby. Here, they say, is a ravine, behind the ravine is a small forest. A little forest passed, and here is Khatyn. The company commander listened.

Well, - he said, - go.

A soldier is marching towards Khatyn. Here is the ravine. Here is the little forest. The huts are about to appear now. Now he will see his mother. Now he will hug his wife. Mariska will be given a gift. Will throw Marishka to the sun.

He went through the woods. I went out to the clearing. He went out and froze. He looks, does not believe - Khatyn is not in his place. Only burnt pipes stick out on the ashes.

A soldier stopped, shouted:

Where are people?! Where are people?!

People died in Khatyn. Adults, children, old women - everything. The fascists came here:

Partisans! Bandits! Forest robbers!

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

A soldier ran up to his father's house. Collapsed to ash. The soldier sobbed and groaned. Flew off, fell out of the hands of the gift. The ribbon fluttered, beat from the wind. Soared into a red flame above the ground.

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

Sea to the right, mountains to the left

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

You will 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 captured 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 allow the Nazis to reach Murmansk. Murmansk is not only the northernmost port, it is an ice-free port in the north. Ships can come here all year round, both in summer and in winter. Important military supplies came to us through Murmansk by sea. That is why Murmansk is so important for the Nazis. The fascists were torn, but did not break through. Our heroes kept Murmansk. And now the time has come to defeat the fascists here.

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

It was autumn. It was the month of October. The long polar night is about to 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 Command in Moscow with a request to provide KV tanks for the front. Their armor is thick, durable, powerful weapons. KB - good tanks. However, by this time they were outdated.

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

Why KV. We will highlight more advanced tanks for you.

No, please KB, says Meretskov.

We were surprised at the Headquarters:

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

Where the deer passes, Soviet tanks will also pass, - Meretskov replies. - Please CV.

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

The front received these tanks.

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

“Mountains, cliffs, rocks. Where to mess with heavy tanks here, ”they reasoned.

And suddenly Soviet tanks appeared, besides the KV.

Tanks ?! - the fascists are perplexed. - KB? What! How? Why? Where from ?! After all, only the deer will pass!

We went to the Nazis with Soviet tanks.

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

Of course, not only tanks played a major role here. The attack came from land. The attack came from the sea. On the left is the infantry, on the right was the Northern Fleet. Soviet pilots were beating from the air. In the general row, sailors, infantrymen, tankers and aviators fought here. The victory was common.

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

The last meters of the war counts

A soldier did not dream of such a thing. He is in Berlin. He's at the Reichstag. The soldier looks at the building. Columns, columns, columns. A glass dome crowns the top.

Soldiers broke through in battle. In the last attacks, in the last battles, the soldiers. The war is counting the last meters.

Gerasim Lykov was born in a shirt. Since the 41st he has been at war. He knew the retreats, he knew the surroundings, he went forward for two years. The fate of the soldier kept.

I'm lucky, the soldier joked. “A bullet has not been cast for me in this war. The shell is not machined for me.

And rightly so, they were not touched by the fate of the soldiers.

The wife and parents are waiting for a soldier in a distant Russian land. The soldier's children are waiting.

They are waiting for the winner. Are waiting!

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

The last clamor of the war.

Forward! Hooray! shouts the commander.

Hurray-ah! - Lykov repeats.

And suddenly a shell struck next to the soldier. He raised the earth with the ninth wave. She shot down a soldier. Soldiers covered with earth.

Who saw, only gasped:

This is how the bullet was not cast for him.

This is how the shell is not machined.

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

He should live and live. I would return to my wife and parents. Children are happy to kiss.

And suddenly the shell struck again. Near the first place. A little bit out of the way. This one also pulled with great force. He raised the earth with the ninth wave.

The soldiers are looking - they cannot believe their eyes.

The soldier was alive. I fell asleep - dumped his shell. After all, fate happens. Know, indeed, the bullet was not cast for him. The shell is not machined for him.

Victory Banner

I, Sergeant Yegorov.

Junior Sergeant Kantaria.

I am Junior Sergeant Kantaria.

Fighters were summoned by the commander. Soviet soldiers were entrusted with an honorable mission. They were presented with a battle banner. This banner was to be placed on the Reichstag building.

The fighters are gone. Many looked after them with envy. Everyone now wanted to be in their place.

The Reichstag is in battle.

Bending down, Egorov and Kantaria run across the square. Soviet soldiers are closely watching their every step. Suddenly the Nazis opened a furious fire, and the standard bearers had to lie down for cover. Then our soldiers begin to attack again. Egorov and Kantaria run on.

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

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

The battle is already underway on the second floor. Several minutes pass, and in one of the windows, not far from the central entrance, the Red Banner appears again. Appeared. Swung. And disappeared again.

The soldiers were worried. What about the comrades? Are they not killed ?!

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

And suddenly a cry of joy breaks out from hundreds of soldiers. Friends are alive. The banner is intact. Bending down, 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 to their comrades. Then they suddenly rush to the glazed dome that rises above the roof of the Reichstag, and carefully begin to climb even higher.

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

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

It was May 1945. Spring thundered. People and the land rejoiced. Moscow saluted the heroes. And joy soared into the sky like lights.

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 took part go far into history.
Fighting soldiers on the battlefield. In the rear, both young and old worked hard for the Great Victory.
And how many children have defended their homeland on a par with adults? What feats did they perform?
Tell and read stories, stories, books for children about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.
Our descendants should know who protected them from fascism. Know the truth about the terrible war.
On MAY 9, visit a monument or monument in your city, 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 getting smaller and smaller every year. Congratulate the veterans from the bottom of your heart 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.

"Nobody is forgotten and nothing is forgotten"

Dedicated to the Great Victory!

ANDsecond: Ilgiz Garayev

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

I see new houses being built, but I had no idea 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 ending a human life is as easy as a fun morning dream.

Fascist 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 battle, into a mortal battle 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 artillerymen, tankmen and pilots, sailors and signalmen - soldiers of many and many combat specialties, entire regiments, divisions of ships for the heroism of their soldiers were awarded with military orders, received honorary titles - fought and won in the war.

When the flames of war raged, together with the entire Soviet people they rose to defend the Motherland of the city and the village, the farm and the village. 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 the boundless courage and resilience of the Soviet people, loyalty to the Motherland.

"Everything for the front, everything for 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 the rooftops during air raids, gave concerts in front of wounded soldiers in hospitals. Fascist barbarians destroyed and burned 1,710 cities and more than 70 thousand villages and villages, destroyed 84 thousand schools, displaced 25 million people.

The death camps have become 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, in Auschwitz over 4 million people died.

If the memory of everyone who died in World War II was honored with a minute of silence, it would have taken 38 years.

The enemy did not spare either women or children.

May day 1945. Familiar and unfamiliar people 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 enjoying the colors, sounds, smells of life!

It was a common holiday for all our people, for all mankind. It was a holiday for every person. Because the victory over fascism marked the 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 deeper and deeper into history. But for those who fought, who drank with a full cup both the bitterness of retreat and the joy of our great victories, these events will never fade from memory, they will forever remain alive and close. It seemed that it was simply impossible to survive amidst a heavy fire, not to lose one's mind at the sight of the death of thousands of people and monstrous destruction.

But the strength 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.

66 years have passed since Victory Day. But we have not forgotten about those 1418 days and nights that the Great Patriotic War lasted.

She claimed almost 26 million Soviet lives. During these endlessly long four years, our long-suffering land was washed by streams of blood and tears. And if we could gather together the bitter maternal tears shed for the lost sons, then the sea of \u200b\u200bSorrow would form, and the river 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 the world, to fight so that people are not killed, shots do not rattle, human blood does not flow.

The sky should be blue, the sun should be bright, warm, kind and affectionate, 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 smart, silk, weekend.

Katya did not have time to update the gift. War broke out. The dress is left hanging in the closet. Katya thought: the war will end, so she will put on her 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 hairdressing salons - all this crashed into stones and mountains.

Sevastopol residents and two military factories were organized underground.

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

Everything was found in Sevastopol for such production: both explosives and metal for the case, even fuses were found. Only one is missing. The gunpowder, with the help of which the bombs were detonated, had to be poured into bags sewn from natural silk.

They began to look for silk for the 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?

Found it, - Katya answers.

Right, the girl has a package in her hands.

Unfolded Katya's package. Look: in the package - a dress. The same thing. Day off. Made from natural silk.

That's how Katya!

Thanks, Kate!

The dress was cut at the Katino factory. We sewed the bags. We filled up the gunpowder. They put bags in bombs. Bombs were sent 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 rise into the sky. Bombs hit the target exactly.

Bul-bul

The battles in Stalingrad are not abating. Fascists are torn to the Volga.

Sergeant Noskov was angered by some fascist. Our trenches and the Nazis passed here side by side. Speech is heard from the trench to the trench.

The fascist sits in his hiding place, shouts out:

Rus, tomorrow is a blast!

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 he clarifies: - Bul-bul at Volga.

This "bul-bul" gets on the nerves of Sergeant Noskov.

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

Eka, damn Fritz! Show yourself. Let me see you at least.

The Nazi just leaned out. Noskov looked, the other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears upright. The cap on the crown of the head miraculously keeps.

The fascist leaned out and again:

Boole-boole!

Some of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He threw up, took aim.

Don't touch! - Noskov said sternly.

The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. I put my rifle away.

Until the evening, the eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow bul-bul. Volga's tomorrow. "

By evening, the fascist soldier fell silent.

“I fell asleep,” they understood in our trenches. Our soldiers gradually began to doze off. Suddenly they see someone began to crawl out of the trench. They are watching - Sergeant Noskov. And behind him is his best friend, Private Turyanchik. 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 fascists? The soldiers are looking there, to the west, breaking their eyes in the dark. The soldiers began to worry.

But someone said:

Brothers, crawling back.

The second confirmed:

So it is, they are returning.

Soldiers peered - right. Friends are crawling huddled on the ground. Not two of them. Three. The fighters took a closer look: the third soldier was fascist, the same one - "bul-bul". Only he does not creep. Noskov and Turyanchik are dragging him. Soldier's mouth gag.

Friends brought the screamer into the trench. They rested and went on to the headquarters.

However, they fled to the Volga on the road. They grabbed the fascist by the arms, by the neck, and dunked him into the Volga.

Bul-bul, bul-bul! - shouts Turyanchik mischievously.

Bul-bul, - the fascist blows bubbles. Shakes like an aspen leaf.

Do not be afraid, do not be afraid, - said Noskov. - Russian does not hit a lying person.

The soldiers handed over the prisoner to the headquarters.

Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.

Bul-bul, - said Turyanchik saying goodbye.

Special assignment

The assignment was unusual. It was called special. The commander of the Marine Brigade, Colonel Gorpishchenko, said so:

The task is unusual. Special. - Then he asked: - Got it?

I see, Comrade Colonel, - answered the foreman-infantryman - the senior over the group of scouts.

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

Get ready. The task fell to us special.

However, what was special until the foreman spoke.

It was a new year, 1942. It is clear to the scouts: on such and such a night, of course, the task is super special. The scouts are following the foreman, talking:

Maybe a raid on the fascist headquarters?

Take it higher, - the foreman smiles.

Maybe we will capture the general?

Higher, higher, - the elder laughs.

The scouts crossed into the territory occupied by the Nazis at night and advanced inland. They walk carefully, stealthily.

Scouts again:

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

Maybe we will sabotage at the fascist airfield?

They look at the elder. Smiling senior.

Night. Darkness. Dumbness. Deafness. Scouts are walking in the fascist rear. Descended from the steep. We climbed the mountain. We entered a pine forest. Crimean pines grabbed the stones. It smelled pleasantly of pine needles. The soldiers remembered childhood.

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

Is it good?

Good, the scouts say.

I saw another nearby.

This one is better?

Surrenders, 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 a pine tree on his shoulders. - So we have completed the task.

Here are the ones, - burst out from the scouts.

The next day, the scouts were released to the city, for a New Year's tree to the children in a preschool underground kindergarten.

There was a pine tree. Slim. Fluffy. Balls, garlands, colorful lanterns are hanging on a pine tree.

You may ask: why a pine tree, not a tree? 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 from Colonel Gorpishchenko, but also in other units, the task for the scouts on that New Year's Eve was special.

Gardeners

It was not long before the Battle of Kursk. Replenishment arrived in the rifle unit.

The foreman walked around the fighters. Steps along the line. The corporal is walking by. 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 and shrugged.

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?

Have not tried it.

I didn't have to, but if necessary ...

Enough, said the foreman.

The fighters came forward. The soldier Anatoly Skurko was also in the ranks of those who can. The soldier Skurko wonders: where are they who know how? “It’s too late to plant potatoes. (Summer is already in full swing.) If you dig it, then it's very early in time. "

Soldier Skurko wonders. And other fighters are wondering:

To plant potatoes?

Sow carrots?

Cucumbers for the staff canteen?

The sergeant major looked at the soldier.

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

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

The soldier Skurko smiled. Other soldiers could not help smiling either.

The gardeners got down to business. Of course, not immediately, not at the same moment. Planting mines is not an easy task. The soldiers underwent special training.

For many kilometers to the north, to the south, to the west of Kursk, miners extended minefields and barriers. On the first day of the Battle of Kursk alone, more than a hundred Nazi tanks and self-propelled guns were blown up on these fields and screens.

Miners are coming.

Well, gardeners?

Complete order in everything.

Evil last name

The soldier was ashamed of his surname. He was unlucky at birth. Trusov is his name.

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 ... - drawn the recruiting office workers.

The fighter got into the company.

What's the last name?

Private Trusov.

How how?

Private Trusov.

Y-yes ... - drawled the commander.

The soldier took many troubles from the surname. All around jokes and jokes:

Looks like your ancestor was not a hero.

To the train with such a name!

Field mail will be brought. The soldiers will gather in a circle. The distribution of the letters arrived. Names are given:

Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!

It's okay. Soldiers come up, take their letters.

Will shout out:

Trusov!

The soldiers are laughing all around.

The surname does not fit with wartime somehow. Woe to the soldier with that last name.

As part of his 149th Separate Rifle Brigade, Private Trusov arrived at Stalingrad. The soldiers were transported across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade entered the battle.

Well, Trusov, let's see which one of you is a soldier, - said the squad leader.

Trusov does not want to disgrace himself. He tries. Soldiers are going to attack. Suddenly from the left an enemy machine gun shot down. Trusov turned around. From the machine he gave a turn 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 on the right. Trusov turned. I got close to the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist died down.

Hero! - said the squad leader.

The soldiers lay down. They are shooting with the Nazis. The fight is over. The soldiers of the killed enemies were counted. Twenty people turned out to be at the place from which Private Trusov was firing.

Oh! - burst out from the squad leader. - Well, brother, your evil surname. Wicked!

Trusov smiled.

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

The medal "For Courage" hangs on the hero's chest. Whoever meets them will squint their eyes at the award.

The first question for the soldier is now:

What was awarded for, hero?

No one will ask again for the surname. Nobody giggles now. With malice he will not quit.

From now on it is clear to the soldier: not in the name of the soldier's honor - the deeds of a person are beautiful.

Unusual operation

Mokapka Zyablov was amazed. Something incomprehensible was happening at their station. There lived a boy with his grandfather and grandmother near the town of Sudzhi in a small working village at the Lokinskaya station. He was the son of a hereditary railroad worker.

Mokapka loved to spin around the station for hours. Especially these days. Echelons come here one by one. Military equipment is brought up. Mokapka knows that our troops beat the Nazis near Kursk. Drive enemies west. Though small, but smart Mokapka sees - trains are coming here. He understands that it means that a further offensive is planned here, in these places.

Echelons are going, steam locomotives are puffing. Soldiers are unloading military cargo.

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

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden - whispers - tanks.

Really? - the grandmother threw up her hands. He rushed to his grandfather:

Wooden, grandfather, tanks. He raised his old eyes to his grandson. The boy rushed to the station. Looks: the train is going again. The composition stopped. Mokapka looked - the guns are on the platforms. A lot of. Not less than there were tanks.

Mokapka took a closer look - after all, the guns, too, are wooden! Instead of trunks - round timber sticking out.

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden, - whispers, - cannons.

Really? .. - the grandmother threw up her hands. He rushed to his grandfather:

Wooden, grandfather, guns.

Something new, - said the grandfather.

A lot of incomprehensible things were going on at the station then. Somehow boxes with shells arrived. Mountains have grown of these boxes. Satisfied with Mokapka:

Ours will give the fascists great!

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

And here is something completely incomprehensible. Troops are coming here. A lot of. The column hurries after the column. They walk openly, come before dark.

The boy has an easy character. I immediately got acquainted with the soldiers. Darkness was spinning around. In the morning he runs to the soldiers again. And then he finds out: the soldiers left these places at night.

Mokapka is standing, wondering again.

Mokapka did not know that ours used military cunning under Sudzha.

Fascists are conducting reconnaissance for Soviet troops from aircraft. They see: echelons come to the station, bring tanks, bring guns.

The fascists also notice the mountains of boxes with shells. They notice that troops are moving here. A lot of. There is a column behind the column. The Nazis see how the troops are approaching, but the enemies do not know that at night they are leaving unnoticed from here.

It is clear to the fascists: this is where a new Russian offensive is being prepared! Here, under the city of Suzha. They pulled the troops under the Suja, weakened their forces in other sectors. Just pulled it off - and then a blow! However, not under Suja. In another place, ours hit. Again they defeated the fascists. And soon they completely defeated them in the Battle of Kursk.

Vyazma

Free fields near Vyazma. Hills run towards the sky.

You couldn't throw out the words. 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 the front:

Surrounded?

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

Have you laid down your arms?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your arms?

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 in mid-sentence.

For several days, being surrounded, Soviet soldiers have been fighting stubborn battles. They chained the fascists. The fascist offensive is thwarted. Enemies got stuck near Vyazma.

Hitler calls again from Berlin:

Surrounded?

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

Have you laid down your arms?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your arms?

A terrible abuse rushed out of the tube.

I dare to report, my Fuhrer, - trying to say something that bold. - Our Frederick the Great also said ...

Days go by again. The battles near Vyazma do not cease. The enemies got stuck, got stuck near Vyazma.

Vyazma knits them, knits. I took it by the throat!

In a great anger Fuhrer. Another call from Berlin.

Have you laid down your arms?

The generals are silent.

Have laid down their arms ?!

No, - the brave is responsible for everyone.

A stream of bad words spattered again. The membrane danced in the tube.

The general was quiet. Waited out. Got a moment:

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

Listening to Hitler:

Well, well, what did our Frederick say?

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

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

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

Free fields near Vyazma. 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 feat of arms.

Remember!

Keep the bright memory of them!

General Zhukov

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

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

Fights are taking place near the town of Yukhnov, near Medyn, near Kaluga.

The officers find on the Yukhnov map.

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

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

The officers looked at each other. They look at Zhukov in surprise.

Here, here, exactly in this place. Do not 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 specifies on the map.

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

The staff officers again bent over the map. 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 equipment. Here at this moment they are standing.

No, - objected Zhukov. “They’re not in this place now. This is where the pieces are moved - and shows the new location on the map.

The staff officers were dumbfounded. They look at the new commander with undisguised surprise. Zhukov caught the mistrust in the eyes of the officers. He grinned.

Do not doubt. This is exactly how it is. You are great - you know the situation, Zhukov praised the staff officers. - But mine is more accurate.

It turns out that General Zhukov has already visited Yukhnov, Medyn, and Kaluga. Before going to headquarters, I went straight to the battlefield. That'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 Soviet troops defended Moscow from enemies. And then in stubborn battles and defeated the Nazis in the Great Moscow Battle.

Moscow sky

This was before the start of the Moscow battle.

Hitler was dreaming in Berlin. Wondering what to do with Moscow? Suffering to make such an unusual, original. I thought, I 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 die at once: 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, while the water comes running ..."

Wait ?!

No, he does not agree to wait long.

Destroy now! This very minute!

Hitler thought, and here's the order:

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

He threw his hand forward like a sword:

Destroy! Raise it to the ground!

That's right, to raze it 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 planes were sent to this raid by the Nazis. The motors are humming impudently.

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

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

The Nazis did not expect such a meeting. The formation of enemies was upset. Only a few planes then broke through to Moscow. And they were in a hurry. Throwing bombs wherever it is necessary, as soon as possible to drop them and escape from here.

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

Y-yes ... - drawled the fascist generals.

Thinking. Now they decided to send planes not all at once, not in a general heap, but in small groups.

The Bolsheviks will be punished!

The next day, 200 planes again fly to Moscow. They fly in small groups - three, four cars 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 sent planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were not stupid and inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. The planes must be sent in three tiers, they decided. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second is slightly higher. And the third - and at high altitude, and a little late. The first two groups will distract the attention of the defenders of the Moscow sky, the generals argue, and at this time, at a high altitude, the third group will approach the city imperceptibly, and the pilots will drop bombs right on target.

And here again fascist planes are in the sky. The pilots collapsed in their seats. The motors are humming. The bombs froze in the hatches.

There is a group. The second is behind her. And a little behind, at a high altitude, the third. The very last plane to fly is a special one, with cameras. He will take pictures of how the Nazi planes will be destroyed in Moscow, will bring them for show to the generals ...

The generals are waiting for news. So the first plane is returning. The motors died. The screws have stopped. The pilots came out. Pale, pale. They are barely on their feet.

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

The Moscow sky is inaccessible. It punishes its enemies severely. The insidious calculation of the fascists collapsed.

The fascists and their demoniac Fuhrer dreamed of destroying Moscow to the core, to the stone. What happened?

Red Square

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

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

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

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

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

And then Mitrokhin froze in the ranks. It stands in Red Square. And the troops are on his left. And the troops are on the right. Party leaders and members of the government at Lenin's Mausoleum. Everything is exactly like in the old peacetime.

Only a rarity for this day - the snow is white all around. The frost struck early today. Snow fell all night until morning. 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.

Chimes beat off time.

Minute. Everything was quiet. The parade commander issued 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 at first, quietly, and then louder and louder, the words of the Chairman of the State Defense Committee, Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the USSR Armed Forces, Comrade Stalin, are heard.

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

The words reach Mitrokhin at you, the whole world looks at you as 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. The face became more severe, more serious, more severe.

The war you are waging is a war of liberation, a just war. - And after that Stalin said: - May 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!

Bits are fascists. Moscow stands and blooms as before. It grows prettier from year to year.

The case at the crossing

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 clever mechanism hidden in this box! I would like to see ...

Please, - answered the accordionist. - I just have to glue the bellows.

And in front of everyone, he took apart the instrument.

Tyu-yu, - the soldier drawled in disappointment. - Empty, as in a spent cartridge case ...

Inside the button accordion, between two wooden boxes connected by leather accordion fur, it was really empty. Only on the side plates, where buttons-buttons are located outside, there were wide metal plates with holes of different sizes. A narrow copper petal strip is hidden behind each hole. As 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 a bass. If the musician stretches the bellows strongly, the records sound loud. If the air is pumped weakly, the records vibrate slightly, and the music is quiet, quiet. That's all miracles!

And the fingers of our accordion player were a real miracle. He played amazingly, you won’t say anything!

And this amazing skill has helped us more than once in a difficult life at the front.

Our accordion player will raise the mood in time, and warm it in the cold - it makes you dance, and it inspires cheerfulness in the depressed, and will make you remember your pre-war happy youth: your native land, 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 under any circumstances. On our way there was a not very wide, but deep river with a single ford, which we used. The commander and the radio operator remained on the other side, they were finishing the communication session. It was them that were cut off by the suddenly appeared 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 button accordion player, without saying a word, takes out his button accordion and starts playing "Katyusha".

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

But 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 left the ford without flares for several minutes.

The commander and the radio operator immediately realized why our accordion player had started a "musical" game with the Germans, and, without hesitation, slipped ford to the other side.

These are the cases that happened to our soldier-button accordion player and his friend button accordion, by the way, named in honor of the ancient Russian singer B on.

L. Kassil. By the chalkboard

About the teacher Ksenia Andreevna Kartashova they said that her hands were singing. Her movements were soft, unhurried, round, and when she explained the lesson in class, the children followed every wave of the teacher's hand, and the hand sang, the hand explained everything that remained incomprehensible in words. Ksenia Andreevna did not have to raise her voice to the students, she did not have to shout. They will make a noise in the class - she will raise her light hand, lead it - and the whole class seems to listen, immediately becomes quiet.

- Wow, we have it and strict! - the guys boasted. - Immediately notices everything ...

Ksenia Andreevna worked as a teacher in the village for thirty-two years. Village militiamen saluted her on the street and, trumpeting, said:

- Ksenia Andreevna, how does my Vanka move in your science? You are stronger there.

- Nothing, nothing, moving a little, - answered the teacher, - a good little boy. It's just sometimes lazy. Well, that happened to my father. Right?

The policeman was embarrassedly straightening his belt: once he himself sat at the desk and answered at the blackboard to Ksenia Andreevna, and he also heard to himself that he was not bad, but he was only lazy sometimes ... And the collective farm chairman was once a student of Ksenia Andreevna, and the director the machine-tractor station studied with her. Many people have passed through the class of Ksenia Andreevna in thirty-two years. She is known as a strict but fair person.

Ksenia Andreevna'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 gaze involuntarily cheered and began to think that, honestly, he was not such a bad person and was certainly worth living in the world. These are the eyes Ksenia Andreevna had!

And her gait was also light and melodious. The girls in high school tried to adopt her. No one has ever seen the teacher hurry, hurry. And at the same time, any work quickly argued and, too, seemed to sing in her skillful hands. When she wrote the conditions of the problem or examples from the grammar on the blackboard, the chalk didn’t knock, didn’t creak, didn’t 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 download, think hard first! " - Ksenia Andreevna said softly when the student began to get lost in the problem or in the sentence and, diligently inscribing and erasing what was written with a rag, swam in clouds of chalk smoke.

Ksenia Andreevna was not in a hurry this time either. As soon as the crackling of engines was heard, the teacher sternly looked around the sky and in a familiar voice told the children to go to the trench dug in the schoolyard. The school was located a little away from the village, on a hillock. The class windows overlooked a cliff over the river. Ksenia Andreevna lived at the school. There were no lessons. The front took place not far from 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 a nearby forest outside the village. The 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 guerrillas to the Red Army soldiers on the other side. Shura Kapustina herself once bandaged the wounds of two partisans who had been injured in battle - Ksenia Andreevna taught her this art. Even Senya Pichugin, a well-known quiet man, once spotted a German patrol outside the village and, having reconnoitred where he was going, managed to warn the detachment.

In the evening, the guys gathered at the school and told the teacher about everything. So it was this time, when the motors began to rumble very close. Fascist planes have repeatedly raided the village, dropped bombs, scoured the forest in search of partisans. Kostya Rozhkov once even had to lie for an hour in a swamp, hiding his head under wide sheets of water lilies. And quite close by, reeds fell into the water, hit by machine-gun bursts of the aircraft ... And the guys were already used to raids.

But now they were wrong. The planes weren't rumbling. The guys had not yet managed to hide in the crack, when three dusty Germans ran into the schoolyard, jumping over a low palisade. Flap-glass car goggles glittered on their helmets. They were scouts, motorcyclists. They left their cars in the bushes. From three different directions, but all at once they rushed to the schoolchildren and aimed their guns at them.

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

The guys were silent, involuntarily moving away from the barrel of the pistol, which the German stuck in their faces in turn.

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

- Schneller, Schneller, bistro! Shouted the fascist.

Ksenia Andreevna stepped forward directly at the German and covered the guys with her.

- What would you like? - asked the teacher and looked the German sternly in the eyes. Her blue and calm gaze embarrassed the involuntarily retreating fascist.

- Who is vi? Answer this minute ... I do something to speak Russian.

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

- Don't teach me! The scout hissed.

The other two Germans were looking around anxiously. One of them said something to the boss. He became worried, looked in the direction of the village and began to push the teacher and the children towards the school with the barrel 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 fascists remained to watch on the school porch. Another German and the boss drove the guys to their desks.

- Now I will give you a small exam, - said the chief. - Sit back!

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

- Sit down, guys, - Ksenia Andreevna said in her low and usual voice, as if the next lesson was beginning.

The guys sat down carefully. They sat in silence, not taking their eyes off the teacher. Out of habit, they sat down in their places, as they usually sat in class: Senya Pichugin and Shura Kapustina in front, and Kostya Rozhkov behind everyone, on the last desk. And, finding themselves in their familiar places, the guys calmed down a little.

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

It hurt the guys in the heart. Everything was wild, everything seemed disgusting to the customary order within these walls. And the guys seemed so dear to the familiar class, the desks on the lids of which dried ink streaks 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 boss demanded to be given a chair. None of the guys moved.

- Well! - shouted the fascist.

“Only me are obeyed here,” said Ksenia Andreevna. - Pichugin, please bring a chair from the corridor.

Quiet Senya Pichugin quietly slipped off the desk and went to fetch a 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 covered with black oilcloth. Without waiting for him to come closer, the German pulled out a chair from him, set it in front of him and sat down. Shura Kapustina raised her hand:

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

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

- Now everyone will listen to me! - said the chief.

And, distorting his words, the fascist began to tell the guys that there are red partisans hiding in the forest, and he knows it perfectly, and the guys also know it very well. German scouts more than once saw schoolchildren running back and forth into the forest. And now the guys have to tell the boss where the partisans are hiding. 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.

Then the guys realized what they wanted from them. They sat motionless, 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 lid of the desk. The short fingers of his hands were entwined. Kostya swayed slightly, staring at the desk. From the side it seemed that he was trying to disengage his hands, and some force was preventing him from doing it.

The guys sat in silence.

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

- Order them, - he said in German to Ksenia Andreevna, - that they 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 understand the Russian language and that you will tell the children ...

He went to the blackboard, took a chalk and quickly sketched a plan of the area - a river, a village, a school, a forest ... To make it clearer, he even drew a pipe on the school roof and scribbled curls of smoke.

“Maybe you’ll still think about it and tell me everything you need to do?” - The boss quietly asked the teacher in German, coming close to her. - 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 Ksenia Andreevna by the shoulders with his long arms, shook her roughly:

Ksenia Andreevna freed herself, took a step forward, went up to the desks, leaned both hands on the front hall 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! We went into the forest - and that's it.

- You are absolutely nasty students, - the German tried to joke, - you cannot answer such a simple question. Ay, ay ...

He looked around the classroom with feigned amusement, but did not meet a single smile. The guys sat strict and wary. It was quiet in

class, only sullenly sniffing at the first school desk Senya Pichugin.

The German approached him:

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

- I don't know, - Senya answered quietly.

- And what is this, you know? - M German jabbed the barrel of a pistol into Senya's lowered chin.

“I know that,” said Senya. - The automatic pistol of the Walther system ...

"Do you know how much he can kill such nasty students?"

- I do not know. Consider for yourself ... - Senya muttered.

- Who is! Cried the German. - 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 tell. I was starting to count! Time!..

He grabbed Ksenia Andreevna by the hand and pulled her against the classroom wall. Ksenia Andreevna did not utter a sound, but it seemed to the guys that her soft singing hands moaned themselves. And the class hummed. Another fascist immediately pointed his pistol at the guys.

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

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

The fascist began to raise the pistol, aiming at the teacher's head. On the front desk, Shura Kapustina was huddled in sobs.

- Shut up, Shura, shut up, - Ksenia Andreevna whispered, and her lips hardly moved. - Let everyone be silent, - she said slowly, looking around the class, - whoever is afraid, let him turn away. Don't look, guys. Farewell! Learn well. And remember this lesson of ours ...

- I'm going to say "three" now! - the fascist interrupted her.

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

“She really doesn't know!

- Who knows?

- I know ... - Kostya said loudly and clearly. - I went there myself and I know. But she was not and does not know.

- Well, show me, - said the chief.

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

“I’m telling the truth,” Kostya said stubbornly and harshly and looked the teacher in the eyes.

- Kostya ... - Ksenia Andreevna began.

But Rozhkov interrupted her:

- Ksenia Andreevna, I myself know ...

The teacher stood facing away from him,

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

- Here, look here, - he whispered, - I will show.

The German approached him and bent down to get a better look at what the boy was showing. And suddenly Kostya hit the black smooth surface of the board with all his might with both hands. This is done when, having covered one side, they are going to turn the board to the other. The board turned sharply in its frame, yelped and hit the fascist in the face with a swing. 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 face broken in blood, fired uselessly at the board, thrusting bullet after bullet into it.

In vain ... Behind the chalkboard was a window overlooking a cliff over the river. Kostya, without hesitation, jumped through the open window, rushed 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 pushed him aside, snatched the pistol from him, and aimed himself through the window. The guys jumped onto their desks. They no longer thought about the danger that threatened them themselves. Only Kostya worried them now. All they wanted now was for Kostya to get to that bank, so that the Germans would miss.

At this time, having heard firing in the village, partisans who were tracking down the 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 leaves, cutting off branches, a machine-gun fire whipped

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

It took no more than fifteen minutes, and the partisans brought three disarmed Germans into the classroom, where the agitated guys again rushed in. 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 grabbed the chair from him.

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

And in an instant he pulled another chair from the corridor, and this one pushed it behind the board. The commander of the partisan detachment sat down and summoned the head of the fascists to the table for interrogation. And the other two, rumpled and subdued, sat side by side on Senya Pichugin's and Shura Kapustina's desk, carefully and timidly placing their legs there.

“He almost killed Ksenia Andreyevna,” whispered Shura Kapustina to the commander, pointing at the fascist intelligence officer.

- Not exactly so, - muttered the German, - it's not me at all ...

- He, he! - shouted the quiet Senya Pichugin. - He still has a mark ... I ... when I was dragging the chair, I accidentally threw the ink on the oilcloth.

The commander leaned over the table, looked and grinned: an ink stain was dark on the back of the fascist's gray pants ...

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

- Stand up! The commander shouted at them. - In our classroom it is supposed to get up when the teacher enters. Apparently, you were not taught that!

And the two fascists obediently got up.

- May I continue our occupation, Ksenia Andreevna? The commander asked.

- Sit, sit, Shirokov.

- No, Ksenia Andreevna, take your rightful place, - objected Shirokov, pulling up a chair, - in this room you are our mistress. And I’m here, at that desk over there, I’ve got my head, and my daughter is here with you ... Sorry, Ksenia Andreevna, that I had to admit these ohalniks into our class. Well, since it happened so, so you yourself and ask them plainly. Help us: you know their way ...

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

- Stand right, - said Ksenia Andreevna, - why are you fidgeting? My guys do not hold that way. So ... Now take the trouble to answer my questions.

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

Arkady Gaidar "Hike"

Little story

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

In the morning, Alka got angry why they hadn't woken him up, and immediately announced that he wanted to go on a hike too. He probably would have screamed, cried. But quite unexpectedly, his mother allowed him to go on a campaign. And so, in order to gain strength before the road, Alka ate without a whim a full plate of porridge, drank milk. And then she and her mother sat down to prepare the camping equipment. His mother sewed pants for him, and he, sitting on the floor, cut his saber out of the board. And right there, at work, they practiced marching marches, because with such a song as "A Christmas tree was born in the forest", you can't go far. And the motive is not the same, and the words are not like that, in general, this melody is completely inappropriate for a fight.

But now it was time for the mother to go on duty at work, and they postponed their affairs until tomorrow.

And so day after day, Alcoy was prepared for a long journey. They sewed pants, shirts, banners, flags, knitted warm stockings, mittens. There were already seven wooden sabers on the wall next to the gun and the drum. And this reserve is not a problem, for in a hot battle the life of a ringing saber is even shorter than that of a rider.

And for a long time, perhaps, it would have been possible to go on a hike to Alke, 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 was patiently waiting for the warm sun. But then the sun came back. The melted snow turned black. And if only, just start getting ready, as the bell rang. And with heavy steps, the father, who had returned from the campaign, entered the room. His face was dark, chapped, and his lips were chapped, but his gray eyes looked merry.

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

Konstantin Paustovsky. Buoy

All day I had to walk along overgrown meadow roads.

Only in the evening did I go out to the river, to the hut of the buoy keeper Semyon.

The guardhouse was on the other side. I shouted to Semyon to give me the boat, and while Semyon was untiing it, rattling the chain and walking to fetch the oars, three boys approached the shore. Their hair, eyelashes and panties were straw-colored.

The boys sat down by the water, over the cliff. Immediately, swifts began to fly out from under the cliff with such a whistle, like 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 replied, and said that they were pioneers from a neighboring town, they came to the forest to work, they have been sawing firewood for three weeks now, and sometimes they come to the river to swim. Semyon transports them to the other side, to the sand.

“He’s only grumpy,” said the smallest boy. - Everything is not enough for him, everything is not enough. Do you know him?

- I know. Long.

- He is good?

- Very good.

- Only now everything is not enough for him, - the thin boy in a cap sadly confirmed. - Nothing will please him. Swears.

I wanted to ask the boys what, in the end, is not enough for Semyon, but at that time he himself rode up in the boat, got out, held out a rough hand to me and the boys and said:

- Good guys, but they don't understand much. You can 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, getting into the boat. - I told you!

Semyon rarely rowed, without haste, as always, buoy-keepers and carriers row on all our rivers. Such rowing does not interfere with speaking, and Semyon, an old man with many words, immediately started a conversation.

“Just don’t think,” he said to me. “They are not mad at me. I've got them so much into their heads - passion! How to cut a tree - you also need to know. Let's say which way it falls. Or how to hide, so that the butt does not kill. Now I suppose you know?

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

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

“Now we can,” said the youngest boy.

- Well, that's it! Only this science is not tricky. Empty science! This is not enough for a person. The other must be known.

- What? The third boy, all in freckles, asked anxiously.

- And the fact that now there is a war. You need to know about this.

- We know.

“You don’t know anything. The other day you brought me the newspaper, but what is written in it you cannot really define.

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

- I'll tell you now. Do you smoke?

We rolled the paper over a crumpled tobacco cigarette. 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 it right?

- Correctly.

- And what is it - love for the homeland? So ask them, boys. And to see that they do not know anything.

The boys were offended:

- We don’t know!

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

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

- Not enough of this. You can't live one free life.

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

“To my school,” said the boy in the cap. - And for their people.

“And for your people,” said the little boy. - So that he has a working and happy life.

“You’re all right,” said Semyon, “but this is not enough for me.

The boys looked at each other and frowned.

- Offended! - Semyon said. - Eh you, judges! And, say, you don't want to fight for a quail? Protect him from ruin, from death? AND?

The boys were silent.

“So I see that you don’t understand everything,” Semyon began. - And I must, old, explain to you. And I have enough of my own: to check the buoys, hang tags on the posts. I also have a delicate matter, a state matter. Because - this river is also trying to win, carries steamers on itself, and I'm kind of like a pestun with it, like a guardian, so that everything is in good working order. This is how it turns out that all this is correct - and freedom, and cities, and, say, rich factories, and schools, and people. So it is not for this alone that we love our native land. Not for one thing, is it?

- And for what else? The freckled boy asked.

- Listen. So you walked here from the Laskovsky forest along the broken road to Lake Tish, and from there through meadows to the Island and here to me, to the ferry. Wasn't he walking?

- Here you go. Did you look at your feet?

- I looked.

- And to see something and did not see. But we ought to have a look, but notice, and stop more often. Stop, bend over, pick any flower or grass - and move on.

- And then, that in every such grass and in every such flower there is great beauty. Take clover, for example. You call it Kashka. 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 her with a boot. And the lungwort? Or dream grass. She sleeps at night, bends her head, grows heavy with dew. Or bought. You probably don't know her. The leaf is wide, hard, and underneath the flowers are like white bells. You are about to touch - and they will ring. That's it! This plant is inflow. It heals the disease.

- What does supply mean? The boy in the cap asked.

- Well, medicinal or something. Our disease is bone aches. From dampness. The pain subsides from the purchase, you sleep better and work becomes easier. Or calamus. I sprinkle them on the floors in the gatehouse. Come to me - my air is Crimean. Yes! Here go, look, take note. There is a cloud over the river. You don't know it; and I hear - it pulls a rain from him. Mushroom rain - controversial, not very noisy. This rain is worth more than gold. From him the river warms up, the fish plays, he grows all our wealth. I often, in the late afternoon, sit at the gatehouse, weaving baskets, then I will look back and forget about all sorts of baskets - what is this! The cloud in the sky is made of hot gold, the sun has already left us, and there, above the earth, it still glows with warmth, glows with light. And it will go out, and the corncrake will begin to creak in the grasses, and the jerks will tug, and the quails will whistle, and then, you see, 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 morning - she looked, beauty, into the clear water. That's it, guys! You will look at all this and think: we have not enough life allotted, we have to live two hundred years - and that will not be enough. Our country is so lovely! For this charm, we also have to fight with the enemies, protect it, protect it, not let it be defiled. Am I correct? All make noise, "homeland", "homeland", but here it is, homeland, behind the haystacks!

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

- Eh, - said Semyon, - people go to war, but we, the old ones, have been forgotten! You shouldn't have forgotten, believe me. The old man is a strong, good soldier, he has a very serious blow. They would have let us, old people, - here the Germans would also scratch themselves. “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 people you will lose the last ports. This, brother, are you kidding! "

The boat hit its bow on the sandy shore. Little sandpipers hurriedly ran away from her along the water.

- That's it, guys, - said Semyon. - Again, I suppose you will complain about grandfather - everything is not enough for him. Some kind of incomprehensible grandfather.

The boys laughed.

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

- Is this for transportation or for something else? - Semyon asked and narrowed his eyes.

- For something else. And for the transportation.

- Well, that's it!

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

“I’m trying to teach them,” he said. - Teach respect to the native land. Without this, a person is not a person, but rubbish!

The Adventures of a Rhino Beetle (Soldier's Tale)

When Peter Terentyev left the village for the war, his little son Stepa did not know what to give his father goodbye, and finally gave him an old rhino beetle. He caught him in the garden and put him in a matchbox. The rhinoceros got angry, knocked, demanded to be released. But Styopa did not let him go, but slipped grass grasses into his box so that the beetle would not die of hunger. The rhinoceros gnawed at the grass, but still continued to knock and scold.

Stepa cut a small window in the box for fresh air flow. The beetle stuck out a shaggy paw in 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 began to hum so much with annoyance that Stepa Akulin's mother shouted:

- Let him out, devil! Zhundite and Zhundite all day, his head was swollen!

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

- Only you do not lose it, save it, - said Styopa.

“You can’t lose such gifts,” answered Peter. - I'll save it somehow.

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

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

- What the boy has thought of! And the beetle, you see, is fighting. Straight corporal, not a beetle.

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

Peter grinned in embarrassment, replied that you would give the beetle some spikelet - it eats for a week. How much does he need.

One night, Peter dozed off in the trench, dropped a box with a beetle from his bag. The beetle tossed and turned for a long time, parted the gap in the box, got out, moved its antennae, listened. Far off the ground thundered, yellow lightning flashed.

The beetle climbed onto an elderberry bush at the edge of the trench to get a better look. He had never seen such a thunderstorm. There were too many lightning bolts. The stars did not hang motionless in the sky, like a beetle in their homeland, in Petrova village, but took off from the ground, illuminated everything around with a bright light, smoked and extinguished. The thunder thundered continuously.

Some beetles whistled past. One of them hit the elderberry bush so hard that red berries fell from it. The old rhino 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 up 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 turned 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 a beetle and began to rummage around on the ground.

- What are you doing? - Asked a neighbor-fighter with such a tanned face that he could be mistaken for a negro.

- The beetle is gone, - Peter answered with chagrin. - What a problem!

“Found something to grieve about,” said the tanned fighter. - A beetle is a beetle, an insect. The soldier had never been of any use from him.

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

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

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

Sometimes, in his free time, Peter released a 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, arguing with the soldiers, said:

- My beetle switched to trophy food.

One evening, freshness, the smell of big water, blew into the bag from the gas mask, and the beetle climbed out of the bag to see where it had got to.

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

- Vistula! - said the soldiers, scooped up water in manners, drank, and some washed their dusty face in cool water. - So we drank water from the Don, Dnieper and Bug, and now we will also drink from the Vistula. The water in the Vistula is painfully sweet.

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

He woke up from a strong shaking. The bag shook, it jumped. The beetle quickly got out and looked around. Peter ran across the wheat field, and fighters ran nearby, shouting "hurray". It was getting a little light. Dew glistened on the soldiers' helmets.

At first, the beetle clung to the bag with all its paws, then realized that he still could not resist, opened its wings, took off, flew next to Peter and hummed, as if encouraging Peter.

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

The beetle flew after Peter, grabbed his shoulders and got down into the bag only when Peter fell to the ground and shouted to someone: “What a bad luck! It hit me in the leg! " At this time, people in dirty green uniforms were already running, looking around, and a thunderous "hurray" rolled on their heels.

Peter spent a month in the infirmary, and the beetle was given to a Polish boy for preservation. 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 burned and threw enormous black clouds from each valley. The sun was dim in the sky. The beetle must have been deafened by the thunder of the cannons and sat quietly in the bag, without moving.

But one morning he moved and got out. A warm wind blew, carrying the last streaks of smoke far to the south. The clear high sun sparkled in the deep blue sky. It was so quiet that the beetle heard the rustle of a leaf on the tree above it. All the leaves hung motionless, and only one trembled and made noise, as if he was happy about something and wanted to tell all the other leaves about it.

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

- Victory!

- Victory! - responded the soldiers who were sitting nearby.

- Eternal glory! The native land was hovering over our hands. Now we will make a garden out of it and we will live, brothers, free and happy.

Peter returned home shortly thereafter. Akulina screamed and cried with joy, and Styopa also cried and asked:

- Is the beetle alive?

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

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

The beetle sat for a long time, looked around, moved his mustache, then raised himself on his hind legs, opened his wings, folded them again, thought and suddenly took off with a loud buzz - he recognized his native place. He made a circle over a well, over a bed of dill in a vegetable garden and flew across the river into the forest, where the guys were buzzing around, picking mushrooms and wild raspberries. Styopa ran after him for a long time, waving his cap.

- Well, - said Peter, when Styopa returned, - now this scoundrel 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:

- Waking the boy to tell fairy tales. He really will believe.

- And let him believe, - answered Peter. - Not only children, but even fighters enjoy a fairy tale.

- Well, really! - Akulina agreed and threw pine cones into the samovar.

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

Leonid Panteleev. My heart is pain

However, not only on these days it sometimes completely takes over me.

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

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

That evening I walked like a brute. And although Lyonka, as I heard, died in the very first battle, perhaps not having time to kill even one German, and I stayed on the front line for about three years and participated in many battles, I felt somehow guilty and infinitely owed to this old woman , and to everyone 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 have tried not to catch the eye of this woman and, seeing her on the street - she lives in the next block, - I go around.

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 years old people come, but they don't drink wine, but tea with sweets, sand cake and apple pie - with what Petka loved most of all.

Everything is done as it was before the war, when in this room a big-headed, cheerful boy who was killed somewhere near Rostov and was not even buried in the confusion of a panicky retreat made noise, laughed and commanded. At the head of the table is Petkin's chair, his cup of fragrant tea and a plate, where his mother painstakingly puts nuts in sugar, the largest piece of cake with candied fruit and a pinch of apple pie. As if Petka can taste at least a bite and shout, as it happened, with all his throat: “What a delicious taste, brothers! Piled up! .. "

And I feel indebted to Petkin's old men; a feeling of some kind of awkwardness and guilt that here I am back, and Petka died, the whole evening does not leave me. In my reverie, I don't hear what they are talking about; I am already far, far away ... My heart claws painfully: I can see in my mind the whole of Russia, where in every second or third family someone has not returned ...

Leonid Panteleev. Handkerchief

Recently I met a very nice and nice man on a train. 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 doha, in white cloaks and in a fawn long-haired hat bursts in ...

I was already falling asleep when he burst in. But then, as he rumbled all over the car with his suitcases and baskets, I immediately woke up, opened my eyes and, I remember, even got scared.

“Fathers! - I think. - What kind of bear fell on my head ?! "

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

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

He threw off the doha - under the doha, a military tunic without shoulder straps, and on it, not in one or two, but in as many as four rows of order ribbons.

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

And I already look at him with respect. True, I did not open my eye, but I made slits and watched carefully.

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

I remember that even then I was surprised. I think: “Why does he need such a handkerchief? After all, such an uncle probably won't have enough of such a handkerchief for a full head ?! "

But he did not do anything with this handkerchief, but only smoothed it on his knee, rolled it into a tube and put it in another pocket. Then he sat down, thought and began to pull off the cloaks.

It was not interesting to me, and soon I was already really, and not fake, asleep.

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

The colonel was traveling that time from a business trip to Kazan, where he then worked and where his family was. He was in a hurry home, worried, every now and then went out into the corridor and inquired from the conductor if the train was late and whether there were still many stops before the change.

I remember asking if his family was big.

- But how to tell you ... Not very, perhaps, great. In general, you, yes I, yes we are with you.

- This is how much comes out?

- Four, I think.

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

- Well, - laughs. - If you've guessed right, there's nothing you can do. Really two.

He said this and, I see, he unbuttons a pocket on his tunic, puts two fingers in there and again pulls his little girlish scarf into the light of day.

I felt funny, I could not resist and say:

- Excuse me, Colonel, what is this handkerchief you have - ladies'?

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