A play by Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov "Ivan Vasilyevich" is the basis of the script for the famous film by Leonid Gaidai "Ivan Vasilyevich Changes His Profession", the plot of which is familiar to almost everyone. The original play is aimed primarily at ridiculing the morally decomposed and degenerated Russian aristocracy and the pre-revolutionary elite. In the play, Tsar Ivan the Terrible ends up in Moscow in the 1930s, when the play itself was written. And of course, the whole work is replete with details and jokes of that time, which makes the play unique and inimitable in its kind.
Acquaintance with the main characters begins in the apartment of the inventor Nikolai Timofeev, who set himself the task of creating a time machine. Completely immersed in his invention, Timofeev does not eat, does not sleep. Here he falls asleep in front of his apparatus. Suddenly, his wife Zinaida returns - a beautiful, young actress who arrived to inform her husband about her departure to her lover Yakin. Nikolai calmly releases Zina, with whom he lived for "whole" 11 months and returns to his work.
In parallel with the actions in the apartment of the inventor Timofeev, behind the wall, in Shpak's apartment, interesting events are also played out. Thief Miloslavsky penetrates to a neighbor and begins to analyze the contents of the apartment. As a result, his gaze stops at the gramophone, cigarette case and suit. While Miloslavsky is in charge of Shpak's apartment, Bunsha Ivan Vasilyevich comes to Nikolai Ivanovich. The house manager is indignant that the inventor spends a lot of electricity and lowers the culture of the house. Against the backdrop of Bunshi's indignation, the inventor's apparatus begins to work intensively, the wall between the apartments of Timofeev and Shpak is erased. Miloslavsky appears to the gaze of the astonished inhabitants of the house with a glass and a book in his hand.
Miloslavsky moves into Timofeev's room and simply admires the scientist's invention. Bunsha at this time is suspicious of the stranger. At the next start of the machine, the wall dissolves again, but on the other side there are already the chambers of Ivan the Terrible, who falls into a panic. In the turmoil, Ivan the Terrible finds himself in Moscow in the 1930s, and Bunsha and Miloslavsky end up in the royal chambers, meanwhile the "wall of time" is closing.
Timofeev and Ivan the Terrible are left alone. The scientist tells his drama with Zinaida, who left him for the director Yakin. Ivan the Terrible, in his characteristic manner, decides to impale his lover. Nikolai Ivanovich leaves the tsar alone and at that time Zina returns, pursued by the director. Hiding behind a screen, Ivan the Terrible witnesses a scene in which Zinaida accuses Yakin of treason. The tsar appears and threatens Zina's lover. The director admires acting, but Zina understands that they are in front of a real king. Shpak appears, complaining about his fate and the theft of things.
The scene with Yakin, Zinaida and Ivan the Terrible ends with the director proposing to the young actress, the tsar letting them go. But Zina insists on making the monarch look less noticeable. He is dressed in the costume of Miloslavsky and everyone notices the striking resemblance of the tsar to Bunsha. Zina leaves with her lover, and Ivan the Terrible meets with Shpak and Ulyana, Bunsha's wife. Both take the king for the house manager and appreciate his inappropriate behavior.
The similarity of the king and the house manager was used by Bunsha and Miloslavsky, who ended up in the past. Bunsha disguised himself as Ivan the Terrible and for some time posed as a monarch. In the image of the king, the impostors receive the Swedish ambassador, the patriarch, and have a meal. Here the degeneration of the Russian intelligentsia of the 1930s is clearly shown. Bunsha in modern Moscow completely rejected his princely origin, assuring everyone that his mother gave birth to a coachman. But in ancient Moscow, Bunsha is already convincing Miloslavsky that “blue blood” flows in him. Ivan Vasilyevich adapts to the circumstances, depending on the benefits that he can receive. But, in spite of everything, the royal entourage understands that "the king is not real."
Bunsha and Miloslavsky are saved from death by a suddenly opened wall. Timofeev repaired his apparatus, returns in due time Ivan the Terrible and the house manager with a thief. After all the events, Timofeev wakes up in the same position in which the dream found him at the beginning of the play. Zina returns, who has not left anywhere and with anyone. Everything falls into place.
The play is thoroughly saturated with the "spirit of the era" - post-revolutionary Moscow. Much of the play did not make it into the famous film, and therefore everyone who wants to touch the classics needs to listen to the original. In addition, the work of Alexander Sinitsa, as always, is admirable. Talented voice acting is accompanied by music by Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-Korsakov.
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Audiobook duration: 2 hours
Book voiced by: Alexander Sinitsa
Recording quality of this audiobook: high
Books enlighten the soul, uplift and strengthen a person, awaken the best aspirations in him, sharpen his mind and soften his heart.
William Thackeray, English satirist
The book is a great power.
Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, Soviet revolutionary
Without books, we now can neither live, nor fight, nor suffer, nor rejoice and win, nor confidently move towards that reasonable and wonderful future in which we unshakably believe.
Many thousands of years ago, in the hands of the best representatives of mankind, the book became one of the main weapons of their struggle for truth and justice, and it was this weapon that gave these people terrible strength.
Nikolai Rubakin, Russian bibliologist, bibliographer.
The book is a tool. But not only. It introduces people to the life and struggle of other people, makes it possible to understand their experiences, their thoughts, their aspirations; it makes it possible to compare, understand the environment and transform it.
Stanislav Strumilin, Academician of the USSR Academy of Sciences
There is no better remedy for refreshing the mind than reading the ancient classics; as soon as you take one of them in your hands, even if for half an hour, you immediately feel refreshed, lightened and cleansed, uplifted and strengthened, as if refreshed by bathing in a pure spring.
Arthur Schopenhauer, German philosopher
Those who were not familiar with the creations of the ancients lived without knowing beauty.
Georg Hegel, German philosopher
No failures of history and deaf spaces of time are able to destroy human thought, fixed in hundreds, thousands and millions of manuscripts and books.
Konstantin Paustovsky, Russian Soviet writer
The book is magical. The book changed the world. It contains the memory of the human race, it is the mouthpiece of human thought. A world without a book is a world of savages.
Nikolai Morozov, creator of modern scientific chronology
Books are the spiritual testament of one generation to another, the advice of a dying old man to a young man who begins to live, an order transmitted by sentries going on vacation to sentries who take his place.
Without books, human life is empty. The book is not only our friend, but also our constant, eternal companion.
Demyan Bedny, Russian Soviet writer, poet, publicist
The book is a powerful tool of communication, labor, struggle. It equips man with the experience of the life and struggle of mankind, expands his horizon, gives him knowledge with which he can make the forces of nature serve him.
Nadezhda Krupskaya, Russian revolutionary, Soviet party, public and cultural figure.
Reading good books is a conversation with the best people of the past, and, moreover, such a conversation when they tell us only their best thoughts.
René Descartes, French philosopher, mathematician, physicist and physiologist
Reading is one of the sources of thinking and mental development.
Vasily Sukhomlinsky, an outstanding Soviet teacher and innovator.
Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body.
Joseph Addison, English poet and satirist
A good book is like a conversation with an intelligent person. The reader receives from her knowledge and generalization of reality, the ability to understand life.
Alexei Tolstoy, Russian Soviet writer and public figure
Don't forget that the most colossal tool of all-round education is reading.
Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher
Without reading there is no real education, there is not and cannot be any taste, or a word, or a multilateral breadth of understanding; Goethe and Shakespeare are equal to the whole university. Reading man survives centuries.
Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher
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The story "Ivan", published in 1958 in the magazine "Znamya", brought recognition and success to the author. Andrei Tarkovsky, based on the story, made the famous film "Ivan's Childhood". Tragic and truthful, in contrast to lisping works such as V. Kataev's "Son of the Regiment", the story of a scout boy who dies at the hands of the Germans with full consciousness of his professional duty, immediately entered the classics of Soviet prose about the war.
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Vladimir Bogomolov
IVAN
1
That night, I was going to check the outposts before dawn and, having ordered to wake me up at four zero-zero, went to bed at nine o'clock.
I was awakened earlier: the hands on the luminous dial showed five minutes to one.
Comrade senior lieutenant... and comrade senior lieutenant... let me ask you... - They shook my shoulder with force. By the light of a trophy bowl that flickered on the table, I made out Corporal Vasiliev from the platoon, which was on guard. - Here they detained one ... The junior lieutenant ordered to deliver to you ...
Light the lamp! - I commanded, mentally swearing: they could figure it out without me.
Vasiliev ignited a cartridge case flattened at the top and, turning to me, reported:
Crawled in the water near the shore. Why - he does not say, he demands to be delivered to the headquarters. He does not answer questions: he says that I will only talk with the commander. It seems to be weakened, or maybe pretending to be. The junior lieutenant ordered...
I got up, pulled my legs out from under the blanket and, rubbing my eyes, sat down on the bunk. Vasiliev, the bright-eyed fellow, stood in front of me, dropping drops of water from a dark, wet raincoat.
The cartridge case flared up, illuminating the spacious dugout - at the very door I saw a thin boy of about eleven, all blue from the cold and trembling; he was wearing a wet shirt and trousers stuck to his body; her small bare feet were ankle-deep in mud; the sight of him gave me a shudder.
Come get to the stove! I told him. - Who are you?
He approached me, examining me with a wary, concentrated gaze of large, unusually wide-spaced eyes. His face was high cheekbones, dark gray with dirt ingrained in his skin. Wet hair of indeterminate color hung in tufts. In his eyes, in the expression of his exhausted face, with tightly compressed, blue lips, there was some kind of internal tension and, it seemed to me, distrust and hostility.
Who are you? I repeated.
Let him come out, - the boy said in a weak voice, clattering his teeth, pointing at Vasiliev with his eyes.
Add firewood and wait upstairs! - I ordered Vasiliev.
Sighing noisily, he, not hurrying to prolong his stay in the warm dugout, straightened the firebrands, filled the stove with short logs, and just as slowly went out. Meanwhile, I pulled on my boots and looked at the boy expectantly.
Well, why are you silent? Where are you from?
I am Bondarev, - he said quietly with such intonation as if this surname could tell me something or even explained everything. - Immediately inform the headquarters of the fifty-first that I am here.
Look you! - I couldn't help smiling. - Well, what's next?
Who is "they"? Which headquarters to report and who is the fifty-first?
At army headquarters.
And who is the fifty-first?
He was silent.
Which army headquarters do you need?
Field mail v-che forty-nine five hundred fifty ...
He gave the number of the field mail of the headquarters of our army without mistake. Stopping smiling, I looked at him in surprise and tried to comprehend everything.
The dirty shirt to the hips and the narrow short ports on it was old, linen, as I determined, rustic tailoring and almost homespun; he spoke correctly, noticeably what, as they say mostly Muscovites and Belarusians; judging by the dialect, he was a native of the city.
He stood in front of me, looking from under his brows, wary and aloof, quietly sniffing, and trembling all over.
Take it all off and loosen up. Alive! - I ordered, handing him a waffle towel not the first freshness.
He pulled off his shirt, revealing a thin, ribbed body, dark with dirt, and hesitantly looked at the towel.
Take it, take it! It's dirty.
He began to rub his chest, back, arms.
And take off your pants! I commanded. - Are you shy?
Just as silently, fiddling with the swollen knot, he untied, with some difficulty, the braid that replaced his belt, and threw off his trousers. He was still a child, narrow-shouldered, with thin legs and arms, no more than ten or eleven years old, although his face, sullen, not childishly concentrated, with wrinkles on his convex forehead, could give him, perhaps, everything. thirteen. Grabbing his shirt and trousers, he tossed them into the corner of the door.
And who will dry - uncle? I asked.
Everything will be brought to me.
That's how! I doubted. - Where are your clothes?
He said nothing. I was about to ask where his papers were, but I realized in time that he was too small to have them.
I took out from under the bunk an old padded jacket of an orderly who was in the medical battalion. The boy was standing near the stove with his back to me - between the sharp shoulder blades sticking out was a large black mole, the size of a five-kopeck piece. Higher up, above the right shoulder blade, a scar, as I determined, from a bullet wound, stood out in a purple scar.
What do you have?
He glanced at me over his shoulder but said nothing.
I ask you, what is that on your back? - raising my voice, I asked, holding out a padded jacket to him.
It does not concern you. And don't you dare scream! - he replied with hostility, flashing his green eyes like a cat's, but he took the padded jacket. - It's up to you to report that I'm here. The rest is none of your business.
Don't teach me! Annoyed, I yelled at him. You don't know where you are or how to behave. Your last name means nothing to me. Until you explain who you are, and where you are from, and why you got to the river, I won’t lift a finger.
You will be responsible! - with a clear threat he said.
Don't scare me - you're still small! You won't be able to play dumb with me! Speak plainly: where are you from?
He wrapped himself in a padded jacket that reached almost to his ankles and was silent, turning his face to the side.
You will sit here for a day, three, five, but until you say who you are and where you are from, I will not tell you anywhere! I announced decisively.
Looking at me coldly and aloofly, he turned away and remained silent.
You will talk?
You must immediately report to the headquarters of the fifty-first that I am here, ”he repeated stubbornly.
I don't owe you anything," I said irritably. - And until you explain who you are and where you come from, I won't do anything. Hack it on your nose! .. Who is this fifty-first?
He was silent, fulfilled, concentrated.
Where are you from? .. - I asked with difficulty restraining myself. “Speak up if you want me to report on you!”
After a long pause - intense reflection - he squeezed out through his teeth:
From that shore.
From that shore? - I didn't believe it. - How did you get here? How can you prove that you are from the other side?
I will not prove. - I won't say anything more. You do not dare to interrogate me - you will answer! And don't say anything on the phone. Only the fifty-first knows that I am from the other side. You must immediately inform him: Bondarev is with me. And that's it! They will come for me! he shouted with conviction.
Maybe you can still explain who you are, that they will come for you?
He was silent.
I looked at it for a while and thought. His last name told me absolutely nothing, but perhaps the army headquarters knew about him? During the war, I used to be surprised at nothing.
He looked miserable, exhausted, but he behaved independently, he spoke to me confidently and even authoritatively: he did not ask, but demanded. Gloomy, not childishly concentrated and alert, he made a very strange impression; his claim that he was from the other side seemed to me a clear lie.
Obviously, I did not intend to report it directly to the army headquarters, but it was my duty to report to the regiment. I thought that they would take him to their place and figure out for themselves what was what; and I'll still sleep for two hours and go to check the security.
I twisted the handle of the phone and, picking up the receiver, called the regimental headquarters.
Comrade Captain, the eighth reports! I have Bondarev here. Bon-da-roar! He demands to be reported to Volga...
Bondarev? .. - Maslov asked in surprise. - Which Bondarev? Major from the operational, believing, or what? Where did he come from to you? - Maslov fell asleep with questions, as I felt, worried.
No, what a believer! - I do not know who he is: he does not speak. Demands that I report to the "Volga" fifty-first that he is with me.
And who is the fifty-first?
I thought you know.
We do not have Volga callsigns. Divisional only. And who is he by position, Bondarev, in what rank?
He has no title, - I said smiling involuntarily. - This is a boy ... you know, a boy of about twelve ...
Are you laughing?.. Who are you having fun with?! Maslov yelled into the phone. - Organize a circus? I'll show you the boy! I'll tell the major! Are you drunk or do you have nothing to do? I to you...
Comrade Captain! I shouted, dumbfounded by this turn of events. Comrade Captain, honestly, it's a boy! I thought you knew about him...
I don't know and I don't want to know! shouted Maslov passionately. - And you do not go to me with trifles! I'm not your boy! My ears are swollen from work, and you ...
So I thought...
Don't you think!
I obey!.. Comrade Captain, but what to do with him, with the boy?
What to do?.. And how did he get to you?
Detained on the shore by guards.
And how did he get to the beach?
As I understand it ... - I hesitated for a moment. - He says that from the other side.
- "He says," Maslov mimicked. - On a flying carpet? He weaves you, and you hung your ears. Put a guard on him! he ordered. - And if you can't figure it out yourself, tell Zotov. These are their functions - let them do it ...
You tell him: if he yells and does not report immediately to the fifty-first, - the boy suddenly said resolutely and loudly, - he will answer! ..
But Maslov had already hung up. And I threw mine to the apparatus, annoyed with the boy and even more with Maslov.
The fact is that I only temporarily acted as a battalion commander, and everyone knew that I was “temporary”. In addition, I was only twenty-one years old, and, naturally, they treated me differently than other battalion commanders. If the regiment commander and his deputies tried not to show it in any way, then Maslov - by the way, the youngest of my regimental commanders - did not hide the fact that he considered me a boy, and treated me accordingly, although I fought from the first months of the war, had injuries and awards .
Maslov, of course, would not have dared to speak in such a tone with the commander of the first or third battalion. And with me... Without listening and not understanding properly, to shout... I was sure that Maslov was wrong. Nevertheless, I said to the boy not without gloating:
You asked me to report on you - I reported! It was ordered to put you in a dugout, - I lied, - and put guards on. Satisfied?
I told you to report to Army Headquarters 51, and where did you call?
You "said"!.. I can't apply to the army headquarters myself.
Let me call. - Instantly putting his hand out from under the quilted jacket, he grabbed the telephone receiver.
Don't you dare!.. Who are you going to call? Who do you know at the army headquarters?
He paused, but did not let go of the pipe from his hand, and said sullenly:
Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.
Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov was the head of the army intelligence department; I knew him not only by hearsay, but also personally.
How do you know him?
Silence.
Who else do you know at army headquarters?
Again silence, a quick glance from under your brows - and through your teeth:
Captain Kholin.
Kholin - an officer in the intelligence department of the headquarters - was also known to me.
How do you know them?
Now tell Gryaznov that I'm here, - the boy demanded without answering, - or I'll call myself!
Taking the phone away from him, I pondered for another half a minute, having made up my mind, twisted the knob, and I was connected to Maslov again.
Eighth worries. Comrade Captain, I ask you to listen to me, - I said firmly, trying to suppress my excitement. - I'm talking about Bondarev again. He knows Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov and Captain Kholin.
How does he know them? Maslov asked wearily.
He does not speak. I consider it necessary to report him to Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.
If you think it's necessary, report," said Maslov with some indifference. - You generally consider it possible to climb to the authorities with all sorts of nonsense. Personally, I see no reason to disturb the command, especially at night. It's undignified!
So let me call?
I won't let you do anything, and don't involve me... By the way, you can call Dunaev - you just talked to him, he's not sleeping.
I connected with Major Dunaev, the head of intelligence of the division, and said that Bondarev was with me and that he demanded that he be immediately reported to Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov ...
Clearly, Dunaev interrupted me. - Wait - I'll report.
Two minutes later, the phone buzzed sharply and demandingly.
Eighth? .. Talk to the "Volga", - said the telephone operator.
Galtsev?.. Hello, Galtsev! - I recognized the low, rough voice of Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov; I could not fail to recognize him: until the summer Gryaznov was the chief of intelligence of our division, but at that time I was a communications officer and ran into him constantly. - Do you have Bondarev?
Here, comrade lieutenant colonel!
Well done! - I did not immediately understand to whom this praise belonged: to me or to the boy. - Listen carefully! Drive everyone out of the dugout so that they don't see him and don't pester him. No questions and about him - no talk! Vnik?.. From me say hello to him. Kholin is leaving for him, I think you will be at your place in three hours. In the meantime, create all the conditions! Treat more delicately, keep in mind: he is a guy with a temper. First of all, give him papers and ink or a pencil. What he will write in the package and immediately send it to the headquarters of the regiment with a reliable person. I will give the command, they will immediately deliver to me. You will create all the conditions for him and do not meddle with conversations. Give hot water to wash, feed, and let him sleep. This is our guy. Vnik?
Yes sir! - I answered, although much was not clear to me.
* * *
Do you want to eat? I asked first of all.
Then, - said the boy, without raising his eyes.
Then I put paper, envelopes and a pen on the table in front of him, put ink, then, leaving the dugout, ordered Vasilyev to go to the post and, returning, locked the door with a hook.
The boy sat on the edge of the bench with his back to the red-hot stove; wet ports, thrown by him earlier in the corner, lay at his feet. From his pinned pocket he pulled out a dirty handkerchief, unfolded it, poured it out on the table and laid out in separate piles grains of wheat and rye, sunflower seeds and needles - pine and spruce needles. Then, with the most concentrated look, he counted how much was in each pile, and wrote it down on paper.
When I approached the table, he quickly turned over the sheet and looked at me with a hostile look.
Yes, I will not, I will not look, - I hastily assured.
Calling the battalion headquarters, I ordered two buckets of water to be immediately heated and delivered to the dugout along with a large cauldron. I caught the surprise in the sergeant's voice as he repeated my order into the receiver. I told him that I wanted to wash, but it was half past two in the morning, and, like Maslov, he probably thought that I had drunk or that I had nothing to do. I also ordered the preparation of the Tsarivny agile soldier from the fifth company - to be sent as a messenger to the headquarters of the regiment.
While talking on the phone, I stood sideways to the table and out of the corner of my eye I saw that the boy had scribbled a sheet of paper up and down and in the extreme left column vertically wrote in large children's handwriting: "... 2 ... 4, 5 ..." I did not know and subsequently did not know what these numbers meant and what he then wrote.
He wrote for a long time, for about an hour, scratching the paper with a pen, snuffling and covering the sheet with his sleeve; his fingers were with short gnawed nails, abrasions; neck and ears - not washed for a long time. Stopping from time to time, he nervously bit his lips, thought or remembered, sniffed and wrote again. Hot and cold water had already been brought in - without letting anyone into the dugout, I myself brought buckets and a cauldron - and he still creaked with a pen; just in case, I put a bucket of water on the stove.
When he had finished, he folded the pages he had written in half, put them in an envelope, and, after drooling, carefully sealed them. Then, taking a larger envelope, he put the first one in it and sealed it just as carefully.
I took out the package to the messenger - he was waiting near the dugout - and ordered:
Deliver immediately to regimental headquarters. On alert! Report to Kraev on execution...
Then I went back and diluted the water in one of the buckets, making it not so hot. Throwing off the padded jacket, the boy climbed into the cauldron and began to wash.
I felt guilty towards him. He did not answer questions, acting, no doubt, in accordance with the instructions, and I shouted at him, threatened, trying to find out what I was not supposed to know: as you know, intelligence officers have their own secrets that are inaccessible even to senior staff officers.
Now I was ready to take care of him like a nurse; I even wanted to wash him myself, but I did not dare: he did not look in my direction and, as if not noticing me, behaved as if there was no one else in the dugout except him.
Let me rub your back,” I suggested hesitantly, unable to stand it.
I myself! he snapped.
All I had to do was stand by the stove, holding a clean towel and a calico shirt in my hands - he had to put it on - and stir in the pot the supper that I had not touched so incidentally: millet porridge with meat.
After washing, he turned out to be fair-haired and white-skinned; only the face and hands were darker from the wind or sunburn. His ears were small, pink, delicate and, as I noticed, asymmetrical: the right was pressed down, while the left was protruding. Remarkable in his high cheekbones were his eyes, large, greenish, surprisingly widely spaced; I must have never seen eyes so wide apart.
He dried himself dry and, taking from my hands the shirt heated by the stove, put it on, neatly tucking up the sleeves, and sat down at the table. Wariness and aloofness were no longer visible in his face; he looked tired, was strict and thoughtful.
I expected him to pounce on the food, but he hit the spoon a few times, chewed like it was without appetite, and put the bowler down; then, just as silently, he drank a mug of very sweet - I did not spare sugar - tea with cookies from my extra ration and rose, saying quietly:
Thank you.
In the meantime, I managed to bring out a cauldron with dark, dark, only grayish water from the top with soap, and fluffed up a pillow on the bunk. The boy climbed into my bed and lay down facing the wall, putting his hand under his cheek. All my actions he took for granted; I realized that this was not the first time he had returned from the “other side” and knew that as soon as his arrival was known to the army headquarters, the order would immediately be given to “create all conditions” ... Having covered him with two blankets, I carefully tucked them up with all sides, as my mother once did for me ...
2
Trying not to make any noise, I got ready - put on a helmet, threw a raincoat over my overcoat, took a machine gun - and quietly left the dugout, ordering the sentry not to let anyone into it without me.
The night was rough. True, the rain had already stopped, but the north wind was blowing in gusts, it was dark and cold.
My dugout was in the undergrowth, seven hundred meters from the Dnieper, which separated us from the Germans. The opposite, elevated bank commanded, and our front line was carried in depth, to a more advantageous line, while guard units were posted directly to the river.
I made my way in the dark undergrowth, guided mainly by the distant flashes of rockets on the enemy shore - rockets took off in one place or another along the entire line of German defense. The silence of the night now and then splashed with jerky machine-gun bursts: at night the Germans methodically, - as our regiment commander said, “for prevention”, - fired at our coastal strip and the river itself every few minutes.
Coming out to the Dnieper, I went to the trench where the nearest post was located, and ordered the commander of the security platoon to be called to me. When he came out of breath, I followed him along the shore. He immediately asked me about the "boy", perhaps deciding that my arrival was connected with the detention of the boy. Without answering, I immediately started talking about something else, but my thoughts involuntarily returned to the boy all the time.
I peered into the half-kilometer stretch of the Dnieper hidden by darkness, and for some reason I could not believe that little Bondarev was from the other side. Who were the people who ferried him, and where are they? Where is the boat? Did the security guards overlook her? Or maybe it was lowered into the water at a considerable distance from the shore? And how did you decide to let such a thin, weak boy into the cold autumn water? ..
Our division was preparing to cross the Dnieper. In the instruction I received, I learned it almost by heart - in this instruction, designed for adult, healthy men, it was said: “... if the water temperature is below + 15 °, then swimming is extremely difficult even for a good swimmer, and through wide impossible." This is if it is below + 15 °, and if it is approximately + 5 °?
No, of course, the boat was coming close to the shore, but why then did they not notice it? Why, after dropping off the boy, did she leave quietly, without revealing herself? I was at a loss.
Meanwhile, the guards were awake. Only in one cell carried out to the river itself did we find a slumbering fighter. He "kemaril" standing, leaning against the wall of the trench, the helmet slipped over his eyes. When we appeared, he grabbed his machine gun and half-awake almost flashed us with a burst. I ordered him to be immediately replaced and punished, before that I scolded both himself and the squad leader in an undertone.
In the trench on the right flank, having finished our detour, we sat down in a niche under the parapet and lit a cigarette with the soldiers. There were four of them in this large trench with a machine-gun platform.
Comrade senior lieutenant, how is it with the naked, figured it out? one of them asked me in a muffled voice; he was on duty standing at the machine gun and did not smoke.
What is it? I asked, alarmed.
So. I don't think it's just that. On such a night, the last dog will not be kicked out of the house, but he climbed into the river. What is the need? .. Was he joking a boat, did he want to go to the other side? Why? Press him tighter to speak. To give the whole truth out of him.
Yes, there is some kind of turbidity, - the other confirmed not very confidently. - He is silent and looks, they say, like a wolf cub. And undressed why?
A boy from Novoselki,” I lied, taking a leisurely puff (Novoselki was a large, half-burnt village about four kilometers behind us). - The Germans stole his mother from him, he can’t find a place for himself ... Here you’ll climb into the river.
There it is!..
The poor fellow is yearning, - the elderly fighter who smoked knowingly sighed, squatting down against me; the light of the cigarette illuminated his broad, dark, stubbled face. - There is nothing worse than longing! And Yurlov thinks everything bad, looks for everything nasty in people. You can't do it like that, - he said softly and judiciously, referring to the soldier who was standing at the machine gun.
I'm vigilant, - Yurlov announced stubbornly in a dull voice. - And you do not reproach me, do not remake! I can't stand the gullible and kind. Through this credulity, from the border to Moscow, the earth is saturated with blood! .. Enough! .. And you have kindness and trust to the eyeballs, I would lend the Germans a little, anoint their souls! .. You, comrade senior lieutenant, say this: where are his clothes ? What was he doing in the water anyway? All this is strange; I think it's suspicious!
Look, he asks how it is with a subordinate, - the elderly man chuckled. - This boy was given to you, as if they would not figure it out without you. You'd better ask what the command thinks about vodka. Coldness, there is no rescue, but there is nothing to warm up. Will they start giving soon, ask. And they will figure it out with the boy without us ...
... After sitting with the fighters some more, I remembered that Kholin should arrive soon, and, having said goodbye, I set off on my way back. I forbade seeing myself off and soon regretted it; in the dark I got lost, as it turned out later, took it to the right and wandered through the bushes for a long time, stopped by the sharp shouts of sentries. Only about thirty minutes later, vegetating in the wind, I got to the dugout.
To my surprise, the boy did not sleep.
He was sitting in one shirt, his legs dangling from the bunk. The stove had long been extinguished, and it was rather cool in the dugout - a light steam came from the mouth.
Haven't arrived yet? - pointedly asked the boy.
No. You sleep, sleep. They will come - I will wake you up.
Did he come?
Who is he? - I did not understand.
Fighter. With package.
Got it, - I said, although I did not know: having sent a messenger, I forgot about him and the package.
For several moments the boy gazed thoughtfully at the light of the cartridge case, and unexpectedly, as it seemed to me, worriedly asked:
Were you here when I was sleeping? Am I talking in my sleep?
No, I didn't. And what?
So. Didn't speak before. And now I don't know. I'm kind of nervous," he admitted sadly.
Soon Kholin arrived. A tall, dark-haired handsome man of about twenty-seven, he stumbled into the dugout with a large German suitcase in his hand. Immediately shoving a wet suitcase at me, he rushed to the boy:
At the sight of Kholin, the boy instantly perked up and smiled. He smiled for the first time, joyfully, quite like a child.
It was a meeting of great friends - no doubt, at that moment I was superfluous here. They hugged like adults; Kholin kissed the boy several times, stepped back and, squeezing his narrow, thin shoulders, looked at him with enthusiastic eyes and said:
- ... Katasonych is waiting for you with a boat near Dikovka, and you are here ...
In Dikovka, the Germans - you won’t go to the shore, - the boy said, smiling guiltily. - I swam from Sosnovka. You know, I got out in the middle, and even got a cramp - I thought it was the end ...
So what are you, swimming?! Kholin exclaimed in astonishment.
On the field. You do not swear - so it was necessary. The boats are upstairs and everyone is guarded. And your ace in such darkness, you think, is easy to find? They get caught right away! You know, I got out, and the log is spinning, slipping out, and I also grabbed my leg, well, I think: the end! Current!
Sosnovka was a farm upstream, on that enemy bank - the boy was blown away for almost three kilometers. It was simply a miracle that on a rainy night, in the cold October water, so weak and small, he nevertheless swam out ...
Kholin, turning around, thrust his muscular arm with an energetic jerk, then, taking the suitcase, lightly placed it on the bunk and, clicking the locks, asked:
Go get the car closer, we couldn't get there. And order the sentry not to let anyone in here and not to go in yourself - we don't need spies. Vnik?..
This “understood” of Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov took root not only in our division, but also in the army headquarters: the interrogative “Vnik?” and imperative "Dig in!".
When ten minutes later, after not immediately finding the car and showing the driver how to drive up to the dugout, I returned, the boy had completely changed.
He was wearing a small woolen tunic with the Order of the Patriotic War, a brand new medal "For Courage" and a snow-white undercollar, sewn, apparently, specially for him, dark blue trousers and neat cowhide boots. By his appearance, he now resembled a pupil - there were several of them in the regiment, only there were no epaulettes on the tunic; and the pupils looked incomparably healthier and stronger.
Sitting decorously on a stool, he talked to Kholin. When I entered, they were silent, and I even thought that Kholin sent me to the car to talk without witnesses.
Well, where have you been? - However, he said, showing displeasure. - Give me another mug and sit down.
On the table, covered with a fresh newspaper, the food he had brought was already laid out: lard, smoked sausage, two cans of canned food, a pack of biscuits, two some kind of bags and a flask in a cloth case. On the bunk lay a tanned boy's short fur coat, brand new, very smart, and an officer's cap with earflaps.
Kholin cut the bread in an “intelligent way”, into thin slices, then poured vodka from a flask into three mugs: up to half for me and himself, and for the boy’s finger.
With a date! - Kholin said cheerfully, with some kind of daring, raising his mug.
So that I always come back, - the boy said thoughtfully.
Kholin, with a quick glance at him, suggested:
For you to go to the Suvorov military school and become an officer.
No, it's later! the boy protested. - In the meantime, the war - so that I always return! he repeated stubbornly.
Okay, let's not argue. For your future. For victory!
We clinked glasses and drank. The boy was not accustomed to vodka: after drinking, he choked, tears appeared in his eyes, he hastened to steal away them. Like Kholin, he grabbed a piece of bread and sniffed it for a long time, then ate it, chewing it slowly.
Kholin nimbly made sandwiches and served them to the boy; he took one and ate languidly, as if reluctantly.
You eat, come on, eat! said Kholin, biting himself with gusto.
I've lost the habit a lot, - the boy sighed. - I can not.
He addressed Kholin as “you” and looked only at him, but he seemed not to notice me at all. After vodka on me and Kholin, as they say, "Jedun attacked" we energetically worked with our jaws; the boy, having eaten two small sandwiches, wiped his hands and mouth with a handkerchief, saying:
Then Kholin poured chocolates in colorful wrappers on the table in front of him. At the sight of sweets, the boy's face did not perk up with joy, as children of his age do. He took one, slowly, with such indifference, as if he ate plenty of chocolates every day, unwrapped it, bit off a piece and, moving the sweets to the middle of the table, suggested to us:
Help yourself.
No, brother, Kholin refused. - After vodka is not in color.
Then let's go, - the boy suddenly said, getting up and no longer looking at the table. - The lieutenant colonel is waiting for me, why sit? .. Let's go! he demanded.
Let's go now, - Kholin said with some confusion. He had a flask in his hand, he was obviously going to pour more for me and himself, but, seeing that the boy got up, he put the flask back. "Let's go now," he repeated gloomily and got up.
Meanwhile, the boy tried on his hat.
Damn it's big!
There was no less. - he chose, - as if justifying himself, Kholin explained. But we just get there, we'll think of something ...
He glanced regretfully at the table laden with appetizers, picked up the flask, shook it around, looked at me distressedly, and sighed:
How much good is wasted, huh!
Leave it to him! - said the boy with an expression of discontent and disdain. - Are you hungry?
Well, what are you! .. Just a flask - a service property, - Kholin joked. And he doesn't need candy...
Don't be a jerk!
We'll have to... Oh, where ours didn't disappear, who didn't cry from us! .. - Kholin sighed again and turned to me: - Remove the sentry from the dugout. And generally look. So that no one can see us.
Throwing on a swollen raincoat, I approached the boy. Fastening the hooks on his sheepskin coat, Kholin boasted:
And in the hay machine - a whole shock! - I took blankets, pillows, now we will fill up - and all the way to the headquarters.
Well, Vanyusha, goodbye! I extended my hand to the boy.
Don't say goodbye, goodbye! he corrected severely, thrusting his tiny narrow hand at me and giving me a sidelong glance.
The reconnaissance Dodge, with its awning raised, stood about ten paces from the dugout; I didn't see it right away.
Rodionov, - I quietly called the sentry.
I, Comrade Senior Lieutenant! - I heard very close, behind my back, a hoarse, cold voice.
Go to the headquarters dugout. - I'll call you soon.
I obey! - The fighter disappeared into the darkness.
Walked around - no one was there. The driver of the Dodge, in a cape over a sheepskin coat, was either asleep or dozing, leaning on the steering wheel.
He approached the dugout, gropingly found the door and opened it a crack.
Let's!
The boy and Kholin, suitcase in hand, slid to the car; the tarpaulin rustled, there was a short conversation in an undertone - Kholin woke the driver - the engine started, and the Dodge started off.
3
Sergeant Major Katasonov, a platoon commander from the division's reconnaissance company, showed up at my place three days later.
He is in his thirties, short and thin. The mouth is small, with a short upper lip, the nose is small, flattened, with tiny nostrils, the eyes are bluish-gray, lively. With a cute, meek face, Katasonov looks like a rabbit. He is modest, quiet and inconspicuous. He says, visibly lisping, maybe that's why he is shy and silent in public. Without knowing it, it's hard to imagine that this is one of the best language hunters in our army. In the division, he is affectionately called: "Katasonich."
When I see Katasonov, I again remember little Bondarev - these days I have thought about him more than once. And I decide, on occasion, to ask Katasonov about the boy: he must know. After all, it was he, Katasonov, who that night was waiting with a boat near Dikovka, where "there are so many Germans that you can't go to the shore."
Entering the headquarters dugout, he, putting his hand to the cloth cap with a crimson edging, greets me quietly and stands at the door, without taking off his duffel bag and patiently waiting while I scold the clerks.
They were sewn up, and I was angry and irritated: I had just listened to Maslov's tedious lecture on the telephone. He calls me in the morning almost every day and all about the same thing: he demands timely, and sometimes early submission of endless reports, summaries, forms and diagrams. - I even suspect that part of the reporting is invented by him: he is a rare lover of writing.
After listening to him, one might think that if I submit all these papers to the regimental headquarters in a timely manner, the war will be successfully completed in the near future. The whole thing, it turns out, is in me. Maslov demands that I "personally put my soul" into reporting. I try and, it seems to me, “invest”, but there are no adjutants in the battalion, and there is no experienced clerk either: we, as a rule, are late, and almost always it turns out that we messed up something. And for the umpteenth time I think that it is often easier to fight than to report, and I look forward to: when they send a real battalion commander - let him take the rap!
I scold the clerks, but Katasonov, holding his cap in his hand, stands quietly at the door and waits.
What are you, to me? - Turning to him, I finally ask, although I could not have asked: Maslov warned me that Katasonov would come, ordered him to be admitted to the OP and to provide assistance.
To you, - says Katasonov, smiling shyly. - I would like to see a German.
Well ... look, - after a pause for the sake of importance, I allow in a gracious tone and order the messenger to escort Katasonov to the battalion's NP.
About two hours later, having sent a report to the headquarters of the regiment, I go to take a sample in the battalion kitchen and make my way through the bushes to the NP.
Katasonov "looks at a German" through a stereo tube. And I also look, although I know everything.
Behind the wide reach of the Dnieper - gloomy, chipped in the wind - is the enemy shore. Along the water's edge is a narrow strip of sand; above it is a terraced ledge no less than a meter high, and further on is a sloping clayey shore, in some places overgrown with bushes; at night it is patrolled by patrols of enemy guards. Even further, a steep, almost vertical cliff, about eight meters high. The trenches of the front line of the enemy's defenses stretch along its top. Now only observers are on duty in them, while the rest are resting, hiding in dugouts. By nightfall, the Germans would crawl into the trenches, shoot into the darkness, and fire flares until morning.
Near the water on the sandy strip of that shore - five corpses. Three of them, scattered apart in various positions, are undoubtedly touched by decay - I am watching them for the second week. And two fresh ones are seated side by side, with their backs to the ledge, directly opposite the NP where I am. Both are undressed and undressed, on one is a vest, clearly distinguishable through a stereo tube.
Lyakhov and Moroz, - without looking up from the eyepieces, says Katasonov.
It turns out that these are his comrades, sergeants from the division's reconnaissance company. As he continues to watch, he tells in a low, lisping voice how it happened.
... Four days ago, a reconnaissance group - five people - went to the other side for a control prisoner. They moved downstream. The language was taken without noise, but upon returning they were discovered by the Germans. Then the three with the captured Fritz began to retreat to the boat, which they succeeded (although one died on the way, blown up by a mine, and his tongue was already wounded in the boat by a machine-gun burst). The same two Lyakhov (in a vest) and Moroz - lay down and, firing back, covered the retreat of their comrades.
They were killed in the depths of the enemy defense; the Germans, having undressed, dragged them out to the river at night and seated them in plain sight, on our shore as a warning.
It would be necessary to pick them up ... - after finishing a laconic story, Katasonov sighs.
When we leave the dugout with him, I ask about little Bondarev.
Vanyushka something? .. - Katasonov looks at me, and his face lights up with a gentle, unusually warm smile. - Wonderful little boy! Only characteristic, trouble with him! There was a real battle yesterday.
What's happened?
But is war really an occupation for him? .. He is sent to school, to Suvorov. Commander's order. And he ran into nothing. One repeats: after the war. And now I will fight, they say, I will be a scout.
Well, if the order of the commander, not very much fight.
Hey, can you keep him! Hatred burns his soul! .. If they don't send him, he will leave. Already left once. - Sighing, Katasonov looks at his watch and catches himself: - Well, he was talking completely. Will I get through to the gunnery NP like that? - pointing with his hand, he asks.
Moments later, deftly bending back the branches and silently stepping, he is already gliding through the undergrowth.
* * *
From the observation posts of our and the third battalion next to the right, as well as from the NP of the divisional artillerymen, Katasonov “looks at the German” for two days, making notes and sketches in a field notebook. They report to me that he spent the whole night on the NP near the stereo tube, where he is in the morning, afternoon, and evening, and I involuntarily catch myself thinking: when does he sleep?
On the third day, Kholin arrives in the morning. He tumbles into the headquarters dugout and noisily greets everyone. Having said: "Hold on and do not say that it is not enough!" He squeezes my hand so that the knuckles of my fingers crackle and I arch in pain.
I need you! - he warns, then, picking up the phone, calls the third battalion and talks with its commander, Captain Ryabtsev.
- ... Katasonov will drive up to you - you will help him! .. He will explain himself ... And feed him hot at lunch! .. Listen further: if the gunners or anyone else asks me, tell me that I will be at your headquarters after thirteen , - punishes Kholin. And I need you too! Prepare a defense scheme and be in place ...
He says "you" to Ryabtsev, although Ryabtsev is ten years older than him. He addresses both Ryabtsev and me as subordinates, although he is not a boss for us. He has such a manner; he speaks in exactly the same way with the officers at the headquarters of the division, and with the commander of our regiment. Of course, for all of us he is a representative of the highest headquarters, but this is not the only thing. Like many intelligence officers, he seems to be convinced that intelligence is the most important thing in the combat operations of the troops and therefore everyone is obliged to help him.
And now, having hung up the phone, he, without even asking what I was going to do and whether I had anything to do at the headquarters, said in an orderly tone:
Grab the defense plan and let's go see your troops...
I do not like his imperious address, but I have heard a lot from scouts about him, about his fearlessness and resourcefulness, and I am silent, forgiving him that I would not be silent to another. I have nothing urgent, but I deliberately declare that I must stay for a while at the headquarters, and he leaves the dugout, saying that he will wait for me at the car.
About a quarter of an hour later, after reviewing the day's work and shooting cards, I go out. A reconnaissance Dodge with a body covered with a tarpaulin stands not far away under the fir trees. The driver with a machine gun on his shoulder paces to the side. Kholin is behind the wheel with a large-scale map spread out on the steering wheel; nearby - Katasonov with a defense scheme in his hands. They are talking; when I come up, they stop talking, turn their heads in my direction. Katasonov hurriedly jumps out of the car and greets me, smiling shyly as usual.
Okay, come on! - Kholin tells him, folding the map and diagram, and also gets out. - Look at everything well and relax! I'll be there in two or three hours...
One of the many paths I lead Kholin to the front lines. "Dodge" drives off towards the third battalion. Kholin's mood is upbeat, he walks, whistling merrily. Quiet cold day; so quiet that you can seem to forget about the war. But here it is, in front: along the edge of the freshly dug trenches, and on the left a descent into the course of communication - a full-profile trench, covered from above and carefully disguised with turf and shrubs, leads to the very shore. Its length is more than a hundred meters.
With a shortage of personnel in the battalion, it was not so easy to open such a passage at night (and with the forces of only one company!) It was not so easy. - I tell Kholin about this, expecting that he will appreciate our work, but he, glancing briefly, is interested in where the battalion observation posts are located - the main and auxiliary ones. - I show.
What silence! - he remarks, not without surprise, and, standing behind the bushes near the edge, he examines the Dnieper and the banks through Zeiss binoculars - from here, from a small hillock, you can see everything as if on the palm of your hand. My "troops" seem to be of little interest to him.
He looks, and I stand behind idle and, remembering, I ask:
And the boy that I had, who is he after all? Where?
Boy? Kholin asks absently, thinking of something else. - Ah, Ivan! .. You will know a lot, you will soon grow old! - he laughs it off and suggests: - Well, let's try out your metro!
The trench is dark. In some places there are gaps for light, but they are covered with branches. We move in the semi-darkness, we step, crouching a little, and it seems that there will be no end to this damp, gloomy move. But here it is dawning ahead, a little more - and we are in the trenches of military guards, about fifteen meters from the Dnieper.
A young sergeant, the squad leader, reports to me, sideways looking at the broad-chested, imposing Kholin.
The shore is sandy, but the trench is ankle-deep with liquid mud, probably because the bottom of this trench is below the water level in the river.
I know that Kholin - in the mood - likes to talk and joke. And now, having taken out a pack of Belomor, he treats me and the soldiers with cigarettes and, lighting a cigarette himself, cheerfully remarks:
Well, you have a life! In the war, but it seems that it doesn’t exist at all. Peace and quiet, God's grace! ..
Resort! - gloomily confirms the machine gunner Chupakhin, a lanky, round-shouldered fighter in a wadded jacket and trousers. Pulling off his helmet, he puts it on the handle of a shovel and lifts it over the parapet. A few seconds pass, shots are heard from the other side, and bullets whistle thinly overhead.
Sniper? Kholin asks.
Resort, Chupakhin repeats gloomily. - Mud baths under the supervision of loving relatives ...
... We return to the NP by the same dark trench. Kholin did not like the fact that the Germans were vigilantly watching our front line. Although it is quite natural for the enemy to be awake and constantly watching, Kholin suddenly becomes gloomy and silent.
On the OP, he examines the right bank through a stereo tube for about ten minutes, asks the observers several questions, leafs through their journal and swears that they allegedly do not know anything, that the records are scarce and do not give an idea of the regime and behavior of the enemy. I do not agree with him, but I am silent.
Do you know who it is there in the vest? he asks me, referring to the dead scouts on the other side.
And why can't you take them out? he says with displeasure and contempt. - Time to go! Are you waiting for instructions from above?
We leave the dugout, and I ask:
What are you and Katasonov looking out for? Search, are you ready?
Details on flyers! - Kholin throws gloomily, without looking at me, and heads through the thicket towards the third battalion. I follow him without hesitation.
I do not need you anymore! he suddenly announces without turning around. And I stop, look at his back in confusion and turn back to the headquarters.
"Well, wait a minute!.." Kholin's impertinence annoyed me. I am offended, angry and swear in an undertone. A fighter passing by to the side, having greeted me, turns around and looks at me in surprise.
And at the headquarters the clerk reports:
Major called twice. You have been asked to report...
I call the commander of the regiment.
How are you? he asks first of all in his slow, calm voice.
All right, Comrade Major.
There, Kholin will come to you ... Do whatever is required and render him every assistance ...
"Don't be alright, this Kholin! .." Meanwhile, the major, after a pause, adds:
This is the order of the Volga. The hundred and first called me ...
"Volga" - the headquarters of the army; "one hundred and first" - the commander of our division, Colonel Voronov. "Well, let! - I think. - And I will not run after Kholin! Whatever he asks, I will do! But to follow him and ask for it is, as they say, excuse me, move over!
And I go about my business, trying not to think about Kholin.
After lunch, I go to the battalion first-aid post. It is located in two spacious dugouts on the right flank, next to the third battalion. Such an arrangement is very inconvenient, but the fact is that both the dugouts and dugouts in which we are accommodated were dug out and equipped by the Germans - it is clear that they thought of us least of all.
The new military paramedic, who arrived in the battalion ten days ago - a stately, about twenty, beautiful blonde with bright blue eyes - in confusion puts her hand to ... a gauze scarf pulling her lush hair, and tries to report to me. This is not a report, but a timid, indistinct muttering; but I don't tell her. Her predecessor, senior lieutenant Vostrikov, an old military paramedic who suffered from asthma, died two weeks ago on the battlefield. He was experienced, bold and quick. And she? .. While I'm dissatisfied with her.
The military uniform - tied at the waist with a wide belt, an ironed tunic, a skirt tightly fitting strong hips, and chrome boots on slender legs - everything suits her very well: the military assistant is so good that I try not to look at her.
By the way, she is my countrywoman, also from Moscow. If there hadn't been a war, having met her, I would probably have fallen in love and, if she reciprocated, I would be happy beyond measure, I would run on dates in the evening, dance with her in Gorky Park and kiss somewhere in Neskuchny ... But, alas , war! - I am acting as a battalion commander, and for me she is just a military assistant. And not coping with their duties.
And I tell her in a hostile tone that there are “twenty uniforms” in the companies again, and the linen is not properly fried and the washing of personnel is still not properly organized. - I present a number of claims to her and demand that she does not forget that she is a commander, that she does not take on everything herself, but makes company medical instructors and orderlies work.
She stands in front of me with her arms at her sides and her head bowed. In a quiet, broken voice, he repeats endlessly: “I obey ... I obey ... I obey,” assures me that he is trying and soon “everything will be fine.”
She looks depressed, and I feel sorry for her. But I must not give in to this feeling - I have no reason to feel sorry for her. On the defensive, she is tolerant, but ahead is the crossing of the Dnieper and difficult offensive battles - there will be dozens of wounded in the battalion, and saving their lives will largely depend on this girl with shoulder straps of a lieutenant of the medical service.
In gloomy contemplation, I leave the dugout, the military paramedic follows.
To the right, about a hundred paces from us, a hillock in which the NP of divisional artillerymen is set up. On the back side of the mound, at the foot, there is a group of officers: Kholin, Ryabtsev, battery commanders from the artillery regiment I know, the commander of the mortar company of the third battalion, and two more officers unknown to me. Kholin and two others have maps or diagrams in their hands. Obviously, as I guessed, a search is being prepared, and it will be carried out, apparently, in the sector of the third battalion.
Noticing us, the officers turn around and look in our direction. Ryabtsev, the artillerymen, and the mortar man wave their hands at me in greeting; I answer the same. I expect that Kholin will call, call me - after all, I must "render him every assistance", but he is standing sideways to me, showing the officers something on the map. And I turn to the military assistant.
I give you two days. Put things in order in the sanitary service and report!
She mumbles something under her breath. Having dryly saluted, I depart, having decided at the first opportunity to seek her secondment. Let them send another paramedic. And definitely a man.
Until the evening, I am in the companies: I inspect the dugouts and dugouts, check the weapons, talk with the soldiers who returned from the medical battalion, and kill the "goat" with them. Already at dusk I return to my dugout and find Kholin there. He sleeps, lounging on my bed, in a tunic and trousers. There is a note on the table:
“Wake me up at 18.30. Holin".
I arrived just in time and wake him up. Opening his eyes, he sits down on the bunk, yawning, stretches and says:
Young, young, but your lip is not a fool!
What? - not understanding, I ask.
In broads, I say, you understand. The paramedic is coming! - Going to the corner where the washstand is hung, Kholin begins to wash. - If you put on earrings, then you can ... Just don’t go to her during the day, - he advises, - you will dampen your authority.
Go to hell! I shout, angry.
You are a rude man, Galtsev, - Kholin remarks complacently. He washes, snorting and splashing desperately. - You don’t understand friendly encouragement ... And your towel is dirty, but you could wash it. No discipline!
After wiping his face with a “dirty” towel, he asks:
Nobody asked me?
I don't know, I wasn't there.
And you didn't get a call?
The commander of the regiment called at twelve o'clock.
Asked to help you.
He “asks” you?.. Wow! Kholin grins. - You've done a great job! He gives me a mockingly disdainful look. - Oh, the head - two ears! Well, what kind of assistance can be from you? ..
Lighting a cigarette, he leaves the dugout, but soon returns and, rubbing his hands, satisfied, says:
Oh, and the night will be - as ordered! .. Yet the Lord is not without mercy. Tell me, do you believe in God?.. And where are you going? he asks sternly. - No, don't go, you might still be needed...
Sitting down on the bunk, he hums thoughtfully, repeating the same words:
Oh, the night is dark
And I'm afraid
Ah, spend
Me, Marusya...
I am talking on the phone with the commander of the fourth company and, when I hang up, I catch the noise of a car approaching. There is a soft knock on the door.
Sign in!
Katasonov, entering, closes the door and, putting his hand to the cap, reports:
Come, Comrade Captain!
Remove sentry! Kholin tells me, stopping humming and getting up quickly.
We leave after Katasonov. It is raining slightly. Near the dugout - a familiar car with an awning. After waiting for the sentry to disappear into the darkness, Kholin unzips the tarpaulin from behind and calls in a whisper:
I, - a quiet childish voice is heard from under the awning, and after a moment a small figure, emerging from under the tarpaulin, jumps to the ground.
4
Hello! - the boy says to me as soon as we enter the dugout, and, smiling, with unexpected friendliness, holds out his hand.
He looks refreshed and healthier, his cheeks blush, Katasonov shakes off hay dust from his short fur coat, and Kholin carefully offers;
Can you lay down and rest?
Yah! Sleep for half a day and rest again?
Then get us something interesting, Kholin tells me. A magazine there or something else ... Only with pictures!
Katasonov helps the boy undress, and I lay out several issues of Ogonyok, Krasnoarmeiets, and Frontline Illustrations on the table. It turns out that the boy has already seen some of the magazines - he puts them aside.
Today he is unrecognizable: he is talkative, smiles every now and then, looks at me kindly and addresses me, as well as Kholin and Katasonov, with “you”. And I have an unusually warm feeling for this white-headed boy. Remembering that I have a box of candies, I take it out and open it and put it in front of him, pour him a mug of fermented baked milk with chocolate foam, then sit down next to him and we look at magazines together.
In the meantime, Kholin and Katasonov bring from the car a trophy suitcase already familiar to me, a voluminous bundle tied into a raincoat, two machine guns and a small plywood suitcase.
Putting the bundle under the bunks, they sit down behind us and talk. I hear Kholin talking to Katasonov about me in an undertone:
- ... You should have listened to how he sprehat - like a Fritz! I recruited him as an interpreter in the spring, and, you see, he is already in command of a battalion ...
It was. At one time, Kholin and Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov, after listening to how I, on the orders of the divisional commander, questioned the prisoners, persuaded me to transfer to the intelligence department as an interpreter. But I didn’t want to, and I don’t regret it at all: I would gladly go to intelligence work, but only for operational work, and not as an interpreter.
Katasonov straightens the firewood and sighs softly:
The night is pretty good!
He and Kholin talk in a half-whisper about the upcoming case, and I find out what they were preparing for the search at all. It becomes clear to me that tonight Kholin and Katasonov are to smuggle the boy across the Dnieper to the rear of the Germans.
To do this, they brought a small inflatable boat "attack", but Katasonov persuades Kholin to take a punt from me in the battalion. "Cool Tuts!" he whispers.
Here are the devils - sniffed out! There are five fishing punts in the battalion - we have been carrying them with us for the third month already. Moreover, so that they would not be taken to other battalions, where there was only one boat each, I ordered them to be carefully camouflaged, to be hidden under hay on the march, and in reporting on the available auxiliary crossing facilities, I indicate only two boats, not five.
The boy nibbles on lollipops and looks at magazines. He does not listen to the conversation between Kholin and Katasonov. After looking through the magazines, he puts aside one, where the story about the scouts is printed, and tells me:
This is what I'll read. Listen, don't you have a gramophone?
Yes, but the spring is broken.
You live in poverty, - he notices and suddenly asks: - Can you move your ears?
Ears?.. No, I can't, - I smile. - And what?
But Kholin can! - not without triumph, he announces and turns around: - Kholin, come on, show me - with your ears!
You're welcome! - Kholin readily jumps up and, standing in front of us, moves his ears; his face remains completely motionless.
The boy, pleased, triumphantly looks at me.
You can not be upset, - Kholin tells me, - I will teach you to move your ears. It will succeed. Now let's go and show us the boats.
Will you take me with you? - I ask myself unexpectedly.
Where to go?
To that shore.
You see, - Kholin nods at me, - a hunter! And why do you need to go to the other side? .. - And, looking me over as if evaluating, he asks: - Do you even know how to swim?
Somehow! And rowing and swimming.
How do you swim from top to bottom? vertically? - with the most serious look interested in Kholin.
Yes, I think, at least not worse than you!
More specifically. Will you cross the Dnieper?
Five times, I say. And that's true, if you consider that I mean sailing light in the summer. - Free five times, back and forth!
Power-en man! Kholin suddenly laughs, and the three of them laugh. Or rather, Kholin and the boy are laughing, and Katasonov is smiling shyly.
Suddenly, becoming serious, Kholin asks:
Don't you play with a gun?
You go! .. - I am annoyed, familiar with the trick of such a question.
You see, - Kholin points to me, - wound up with half a turn! No endurance. The nerves are obviously rag, but it asks for the other side. No, boy, it's better not to mess with you!
Then I won't give you a boat.
Well, we'll take the boat ourselves - what do we have, no hands? And in case I call the divisional commander, so you will pripret her on your hump to the river!
Yes, it will be to you, - the boy intervenes conciliatingly. - He will give it. Will you give? he asks looking into my eyes.
Yes, I have to, - I say with a forced smile.
So let's go see! Kholin takes me by the sleeve. - And you stay here, he says to the boy. - Just do not mess around, but rest.
Katasonov, placing a plywood case on a stool, opens it - there are various tools, jars with something, rags, tow, bandages. Before putting on a padded jacket, I fasten a finca with a type-setting handle to my belt.
Ooh and a knife! the boy exclaims admiringly, and his eyes light up. Show me!
I hand him the knife; turning it over in his hands, he asks:
Listen, give it to me!
I would give it to you, but you know... it's a gift.
I don't deceive him. This knife is a gift and memory of my best friend Kotka Kholodov. From the third grade, Kotka and I sat on the same desk, went into the army together, went to school together and fought in the same division, and later in the same regiment.
... At the dawn of that September day, I was in a trench on the banks of the Desna. I saw how Kotka with his company - the first in our division - began to cross over to the right bank. Tied from logs, poles and barrels, the rafts had already passed the middle of the river, when the Germans attacked the crossing with artillery and mortar fire. And then a white fountain of water flew up over Kotkin's raft ... What happened next, I didn’t see - the receiver in the telephone operator’s hand croaked: “Galtsev, go ahead! ..” And I, and behind me the whole company - more than a hundred people - jumped through the parapet, rushed to the water, to exactly the same rafts ... Half an hour later we were already engaged in hand-to-hand combat on the right bank ...
I have not yet decided what I will do with the Finnish: I will keep it for myself or, returning to Moscow after the war, I will come to a quiet lane on the Arbat and give the knife to Kotka's old men as the last memory of my son ...
I'll give you another one, I promise the boy.
No, I want this one! - He says capriciously and looks into my eyes. Give it to me!
Don't be mean, Galtsev, - throws Kholin disapprovingly from the side. He is standing dressed, waiting for me and Katasonov. - Don't be a jerk!
I'll give you another one. Exactly like this! I reassure the boy.
You will have such a knife, - Katasonov promises him, having examined the Finn. - I'll get it.
Yes, I will, honestly! I assure. - And this is a gift, you understand the memory!
All right, - the boy finally agrees in a touchy voice. Now leave him to play...
Leave the knife and let's go, - Kholin hurries me.
And why should I go with you? What a joy? - fastening the padded jacket, I argue aloud. - You don’t take me with you, but where the boats are, you know without me.
Let's go, let's go, - Kholin pushes me. "I'll take you," he promises. Just not today.
The three of us go out and undergrowth head to the right flank. A fine, cold rain is drizzling. It is dark, the sky is completely overcast - no stars, no light.
Katasonov glides ahead with a suitcase, stepping noiselessly and so confidently, as if he walks this path every night. I ask Kholin again about the boy and find out that little Bondarev is from Gomel, but before the war he lived with his parents at an outpost somewhere in the Baltic. His father, a border guard, died on the very first day of the war. A sister of a year and a half was killed in the arms of a boy during the retreat.
He's been through so much we couldn't even dream of it," Kholin whispers. He was in the partisans, and in Trostyanets - in the death camp ... He has one thing on his mind: to take revenge to the last! As he talks about the camp or remembers his father, sister, he is shaking all over. - I never thought that a child could hate so much ...
Kholin pauses for a moment, then continues in a barely audible whisper:
We fought here for two days - we persuaded him to go to the Suvorov military school. The commander himself convinced him: and in a good way he threatened. And in the end he allowed me to go with the condition: the last time! You see, not sending it - it can also go sideways. When he first came to us, we decided not to send! So he himself left. And when we returned, ours - from the guards in the regiment at Shilin, fired at him. They wounded him in the shoulder, and there was no one to blame: the night was dark, and no one knew anything! .. You see, what he does, even adults rarely succeed. He alone gives more than your reconnaissance. They climb in the battle formations of the Germans no further than the military rear. And a reconnaissance group cannot penetrate and legalize in the operational rear of the enemy and stay there, say, for five to ten days. And an individual scout rarely succeeds. The fact is that an adult in any guise is suspicious. And a teenager, a homeless beggar - perhaps the best mask for reconnaissance in the operational rear ... If you knew him better - you can only dream of such a boy! .. It has already been decided that if a mother is not found after the war, Katasonich or a lieutenant colonel will adopt him ...
Why them and not you?
I would take it, - Kholin whispers, sighing, - but the lieutenant colonel is against it. He says that I still need to educate myself! He confesses with a laugh.
I mentally agree with the lieutenant colonel. Kholin is rude, and at times cheeky and cynical. True, in the presence of a boy he restrains himself, it even seems to me that he is afraid of Ivan.
About a hundred and fifty meters from the shore, we turn into a bush, where punts are stored, littered with spruce groves. At my command, they are kept ready and watered every other day so that they do not dry out.
Lighting with flashlights, Kholin and Katasonov inspect the boats, feel and tap the bottoms and sides. Then they turn each one over, sit down, and, having inserted the oars into the oarlocks, “row”. Finally, they choose one, small, with a wide stern, for three or four people, no more.
These chains are useless. - Kholin takes the chain and, like a master, begins to unscrew the ring. We'll do the rest on the beach. Let's try it on the water first...
We raise the boat - Kholin by the bow, Katasonov and I by the stern - and take a few steps with her, pushing through the bushes.
Well, you to your mother! Kholin suddenly swears softly. - Give it!..
We “serve” - he dumps the boat with a flat bottom on his back, with his arms extended above his head, grabs the edges of the sides from both sides and, bending slightly, stepping wide, follows Katasonov to the river.
At the shore, I overtake them - to warn the guard post, apparently, for this they needed me.
Kholin with his burden slowly descends to the water and stops. The three of us, carefully so as not to make a noise, lower the boat into the water.
Sit down!
We are seated. Kholin, pushing off, jumps up to the stern - the boat slides from the shore. Katasonov, moving the oars - rowing with one, taban with the other, turns it to the right, then to the left. Then he and Kholin, as if setting out to turn the boat over, lean alternately on the port side, then on the starboard side, so that water will be poured in, then, standing on all fours, feeling, stroking the sides and bottom with their palms.
Cool dick! - Katasonov whispers approvingly.
It will, - Kholin agrees. - It turns out that he really is a specialist in stealing boats, he doesn’t take crappy ones! Repent, Galtsev, how many owners have you dispossessed?..
From the right bank every now and then, jerky and booming, machine-gun bursts knock over the water.
They sit in God's light, like a pretty penny, - lisping, grins Katasonov. They seem to be prudent and tight-fisted, but look - mismanagement itself! Well, what's the point of firing blindly?.. Comrade Captain, maybe we'll get the guys out later in the morning, hesitantly suggests to Kholin.
Not today. Just not today…
Katasonov easily rakes. Podchalivsya, we get out on the shore.
Well, let's bandage the oarlocks, fill the nests with grease, and that's it! Kholin whispers contentedly and turns to me:
Who do you have here in the trench?
Fighters two.
Leave one. Reliable and able to keep silent! Vnik? - I’ll drop by to smoke it - I’ll check it! .. Warn the commander of the security platoon: after twenty-two zero-zero reconnaissance group, perhaps, tell him: it’s possible! emphasizes Kholin, - will go to the other side. By this time all posts have been alerted. And let him himself be in the near large trench, where the machine gun is. - Kholin points downstream with his hand. - If we are fired on when we return, I will turn his head off! Who will go, how and why, - not a word about it! Keep in mind: only you know about Ivan! I won’t take subscriptions from you, but if you blurt out, I’ll ...
What are you afraid of? I whisper indignantly. - What am I, a little one, or what?
I think so too. Don't be offended. He pats me on the shoulder. - I must warn you ... Now act! ..
Katasonov is already busy with the oarlocks. Kholin, approaching the boat, also gets down to business. After standing for a minute, I walk along the shore.
The commander of the security platoon meets me nearby - he bypasses the trenches, checking the posts. I instruct him, as Kholin said, and go to the battalion headquarters. Having made some orders and signed the documents, I return to my dugout.
The boy is alone. He's all red, hot and aroused. He has a Kotkin knife in his hand, my binoculars are on his chest, his face is guilty. There is a mess in the dugout: the table is turned upside down and covered with a blanket on top, the legs of the stool stick out from under the bunk.
Listen, don't be angry, the boy asks me. - I accidentally, honestly, accidentally ...
Only then do I notice a large ink stain on the whitewashed floorboards in the morning.
Are you angry at me? he asks looking into my eyes.
No, no, I answer, although the mess in the dugout and the stain on the floor are not at all to my liking. - I silently set everything in place, the boy helps me, he looks at the stain and offers:
We need to heat the water. And with soap ... - I will open it!
Okay, without you somehow ...
I was hungry and ordered by phone to bring dinner for six - I have no doubt that Kholin and Katasonov, after fiddling with the boat, were hungry no less than me.
Noticing a magazine with a story about scouts, I ask the boy:
Well, did you read it?
Yep... it's embarrassing. In truth, it just doesn't happen. They get caught right away. And then they were awarded orders.
What do you have an order for? - I'm interested.
This is still in the partisans ...
Were you in the partisans? - as if hearing for the first time, I'm surprised. - Why did he leave?
They blocked us in the forest, well, and me by plane to the mainland. To boarding school. Only I soon blew it up from there.
How did you blow it up?
Escaped. It is painful there, just unbearable. You live - you transfer cereals. And know bison: fish are vertebrates... Or the meaning of herbivores in human life...
So you need to know this too.
Need to. But why do I need it now? Why? .. I endured for almost a month. Here I lie at night and think: why am I here? For what?..
A boarding school is not that, I agree. - You need something else. You would like to get into the Suvorov School - it would be great!
Did Kholin teach you? the boy asks quickly and looks at me warily.
What's up with holin? - I think so myself. You have already fought: both in partisans and in intelligence. You are a deserving person. Now what you need is to relax, study! Do you know what kind of officer you will be? ..
It was Kholin who taught you! the boy says with conviction. - Only in vain! .. I still have time to become an officer. In the meantime, the war, the one from whom there is little use can rest.
That's right, but you're still small!
Small?.. Have you been to the death camp? he suddenly asks; his eyes flash with fierce, unchildish hatred, his tiny upper lip twitches. - Why are you agitating me, what?! he shouts excitedly. - You ... you don't know anything and don't interfere! .. Waste of trouble ...
A few minutes later, Kholin arrives. Slipping a plywood case under the bunk, he sits down on a stool and smokes greedily, inhaling deeply.
You all smoke, - the boy notices with displeasure. He admires the knife, pulls it out of its sheath, puts it back in and swings it from right to left side. - From smoking, the lungs are green.
Green? - Kholin asks with an absent-minded smile. - Well, let the green. Who can see it?
I don't want you to smoke! My head will hurt.
Okay, I'll get out.
Kholin rises, looks at the boy with a smile; noticing the flushed face, he comes up, puts his hand to his forehead and, in turn, says with displeasure:
Was he messing around again? .. This is no good! Lie down and rest. Get down, get down!
The boy obediently lays down on the bunk. Kholin, taking out another cigarette, lights a cigarette from his own cigarette butt and, throwing on his overcoat, leaves the dugout. When he lights up, I notice that his hands are trembling a little. I have "rag nerves", but he is also worried before the operation. I sensed some absent-mindedness or anxiety in him; for all his observation, he did not notice the ink stain on the floor, and it looks somehow strange. Or maybe it just seems to me.
He smokes in the air for about ten minutes (obviously, more than one cigarette), returns and says to me:
Let's go in an hour and a half. Let's have dinner.
And where is Katasonich? the boy asks.
He was urgently summoned by the division commander. He left for the division.
How did you leave?! - The boy is getting up. - Left and did not come? Did you wish me luck?
He could not! He was called on alarm, - explains Kholin. - I can't even imagine what happened there. They know that we need him, and suddenly they call ...
I could run. Also a friend ... - the boy says offended and excited. He's really upset. For half a minute he lies silently, his face turned to the wall, then, turning around, asks:
So, shall we go together?
No, three of us. He will come with us, - Kholin points at me with a quick nod.
I look at him in bewilderment and, deciding that he is joking, I smile.
You do not smile and do not look like a ram at a new gate. They tell you without fools, - says Kholin. His face is serious and, perhaps, even preoccupied.
I still do not believe and keep silent.
You yourself wanted. After all, he asked! Now what, are you a coward? he asks, looking at me intently, with contempt and dislike, so that I feel uneasy. And I suddenly feel, I begin to understand that he is not joking.
I'm not afraid! I say firmly, trying to collect my thoughts. - It's just kind of unexpected...
Everything in life is unexpected, - says Kholin thoughtfully. - I would not take you, believe me: this is a necessity! Katasonich was summoned urgently, you understand - on alarm! I can’t imagine what happened to them there ... We will be back in two hours, - assures Kholin. - Only you make your own decision. Myself! And chances are, don't blame me. If it turns out that you went to the other side without permission, we will be warmed up on the first day. So chances are, don’t whine: “Kholin said, Kholin asked, Kholin poisoned me! ..” To prevent this from happening! Remember: you asked for it. After all, he asked? he asks, after a short pause.
Political officer. Kolbasov, - thinking, I say. He's a fighting guy...
He is a fighting guy. But it's better not to mess with him. Political officers are a people of principle; looking at it, we’ll get into a political report, then you won’t get into trouble, ”Kholin explains, grinning, and rolls his eyes up. God save us from such misfortune!
Then Gushchin, commander of the fifth company.
You know better, decide for yourself! - notices Kholin and advises: - You do not bring him up to date: that you will go to the other side, they will know only in the guard. Got it?.. Considering that the enemy is on the defensive and no active actions are expected on his part, so what, in fact, can happen?.. Nothing! In addition, you leave the deputy and go away for only two hours. Where? .. Let's say, in the village, to the woman! I decided to make some fool happy - you're a living person, damn it! We'll be back in two, well, in a maximum of three hours - just think, it's a big deal! ..
... He convinces me in vain. The matter, of course, is serious, and if the command finds out, you really won’t get into trouble. But I have already made up my mind and I try not to think about troubles - I am all in the future with my thoughts ...
I never had to go to reconnaissance. True, about three months ago I conducted reconnaissance in force with my company - and very successfully. But what is reconnaissance in force?.. This is, in essence, the same offensive battle, only it is conducted by limited forces and in short order.
I have never had to go to reconnaissance, and, thinking about the future, I naturally cannot help but worry ...
5
They bring dinner. I go out and pick up the pots and the kettle of hot tea myself. I also put a pot with ryazhenka and a can of stew on the table. We have dinner: the boy and Kholin eat little, and I also lost my appetite. The boy's face is offended and a little sad. Apparently, he was deeply hurt that Katasonov did not come to wish him success. After eating, he again fits on the bunk.
When the table is cleared, Kholin lays out the map and brings me up to date.
The three of us crossed to the other side, and, leaving the boat in the bushes, we moved along the edge of the coast upstream six hundred meters to the ravine - Kholin shows on the map.
It would be better, of course, to swim right to this place, but there is a bare shore and there is nowhere to hide the boat, - he explains.
This ravine, located opposite the battle formations of the third battalion, the boy must go through the front line of the German defense.
If he is noticed, Kholin and I, being near the water, must immediately detect ourselves, launching red rockets - a signal to call for fire - divert the attention of the Germans and at any cost cover the boy's retreat to the boat. Kholin is the last to leave.
If the boy is discovered, at the signal of our missiles, “support means” - two batteries of 76-mm guns, a battery of 120-mm mortars, two mortar and machine-gun companies - should blind and stun the enemy with an intense artillery attack from the left bank, surround with artillery and mortar fire on the German trenches on both sides of the ravine and further to the left in order to prevent possible attacks by the Germans and ensure our withdrawal to the boat.
Kholin reports signals of interaction with the left bank, clarifies the details and asks:
Are you clear?
Yes, like everything.
After a pause, I talk about what worries me: and whether the boy will lose his bearings during the transition, left alone in such darkness, and whether he might suffer in the event of shelling.
Kholin explains that "he" - a nod towards the boy - together with Katasonov from the location of the third battalion, studied the enemy coast at the crossing point for several hours and knows every bush, every hillock there. As for the artillery raid, the targets have been shot in advance and a "passage" up to seventy meters wide will be inserted.
I involuntarily think about how many unforeseen accidents there may be, but I don’t say anything about it. The boy lies thoughtfully sad, looking up. His face is offended and, it seems to me, completely indifferent, as if our conversation does not concern him at all.
I examine the blue lines on the map - the German defense, echeloned in depth - and, imagining what it looks like in reality, I quietly ask:
Listen, is the place of transition well chosen? Is there really no sector on the front of the army where the enemy's defense is not so dense? Is there really no “weakness” in it, breaks, for example, at the junctions of connections?
Kholin narrows his brown eyes and looks at me mockingly.
You can’t see anything in the subdivisions beyond your nose! he says with some disdain. - It seems to you that the main enemy forces are against you, and in other areas there is a weak cover, just for visibility! Do you really think that we did not choose or think less than you? .. Yes, if you want to know, here the Germans have so many troops crammed along the entire front that you never dreamed of! And behind the joints they look both ways - don't look for yourself as a fool: the silly ones have gone extinct! Deaf, dense defense for tens of kilometers, - Kholin sighs sadly. - An eccentric fisherman, everything has been thought out more than once. In such a case, they don’t work with kondachka, mind you! ..
He gets up and, sitting down on the bunk next to the boy, in an undertone and, as I understand it, instructs him not for the first time:
- ... In the ravine, keep to the very edge. Remember: the whole bottom is mined... Listen more often. Freeze and listen! .. Patrols walk along the trenches, so you crawl and wait! .. As the patrol passes - through the trench and move on ...
I call the commander of the fifth company, Gushchin, and, having informed him that he remains behind me, I give the necessary orders. As I hang up the phone, I hear Kholin's quiet voice again:
- ... you will wait in Fedorovka ... Do not go on the rampage! Most importantly, be careful!
Do you think it's easy to be careful? the boy asks with barely perceptible annoyance.
I know! But you be! And always remember: you are not alone! Remember: wherever you are, I think about you all the time. And Lieutenant Colonel...
But Katasonich left and did not come in, - the boy says touchily with purely childish inconsistency.
I told you he couldn't! He was called on alert. Otherwise... You know how much he loves you! You know that he has no one and you are dearer to him than everyone else! Do you know?
I know, - the boy agrees with a sniff, his voice trembling. But he could still run...
Kholin lay down beside him, stroking his soft flaxen hair and whispering something to him. I try not to listen. It turns out that I have a lot of things to do, I hurriedly fuss, but I’m not really able to do anything and, spitting on everything, I sit down to write a letter to my mother: I know that scouts write letters to relatives and friends before leaving on a mission. However, I get nervous, my thoughts scatter, and, having written with a pencil from half a page, I tear everything up and throw it into the stove.
Time, - looking at the clock, Kholin tells me and rises. Putting a trophy suitcase on the bench, he pulls out a bundle from under the bunk, unties it, and we begin to dress with it.
Over coarse calico linen, he puts on thin woolen underpants and a sweater, then a winter tunic and trousers, and puts on a green camouflage coat. Looking at him, I dress the same way. Katasonov's woolen underpants are too small for me, they crackle in the groin, and I look at Kholin in indecision.
Nothing, nothing, he encourages. - Dare! You tear it up - we'll write out new ones.
The camouflage coat almost fits me, however, the trousers are somewhat short. We put on German forged boots on our feet; they are heavy and unusual, but this, as Kholin explains, is a precaution: so as not to “leave” on the other side. Kholin himself ties the laces of my cloak.
Soon we are ready: Finns and F-1 grenades are suspended from the waist belts (Kholin takes another weighty anti-tank - RPG-40); pistols with cartridges driven into the chambers, stuffed into the bosom; covered with camouflage sleeves, wearing compasses and watches with luminous dials; The rocket launchers have been inspected, and Kholin is checking the fastening of the disks in the machine guns.
We are ready, but the boy is still lying with his hands under his head and not looking in our direction.
Already taken out of a large German suitcase was a rusty, tattered boy's jacket with wadding and dark gray trousers with patches, a shabby hat with earflaps and plain-looking teenage boots. On the edge of the bunks linen underwear, old, all-darned jersey and woolen socks, a small greasy knapsack, footcloths and some rags are laid out.
Kholin wraps the food for the boy in a piece of linen: a small - half a kilogram - circle of sausage, two pieces of lard, kraukhu and several stale slices of rye and wheat bread. Home-made sausage, and lard is not our army, but uneven, thin, grayish-dark from dirty salt, and the bread is not molded, but hearth - from the master's oven.
I look and think: how everything is provided, every little thing ...
The food is packed into the knapsack, but the boy lies still, and Kholin, glancing furtively at him, without saying a word, begins to inspect the rocket launcher and again checks the fastening of the disc.
Finally, the boy sits down on the bunk and, with unhurried movements, begins to take off his military uniform. Dark blue bloomers stained at the knees and back.
Resin, he says. - Let them clean it up.
Or maybe put them in a warehouse and write out new ones? - offers Kholin.
No, let them clean them up.
The boy slowly puts on civilian clothes. Kholin helps him, then looks him over. And I look: for nothing, a homeless rascal, a refugee boy, of whom we have met many on the roads of advance.
In his pockets, the boy hides a homemade folding knife and worn pieces of paper: sixty or seventy German occupation marks. And that's it.
We jumped, - Kholin tells me; checking, we jump several times. And the boy, too, although what could make a noise with him?
According to the old Russian custom, we sit down and sit silently for a while. On the boy's face again that expression of unchildish concentration and internal tension, like six days ago, when he first appeared in my dugout.
* * *
Having irradiated our eyes with the red light of signal lanterns (in order to see better in the dark), we go to the boat: I am in front, the boy is fifteen steps behind me, Kholin is even further.
I must call and speak to everyone who we meet on the path so that the boy hides at this time: no one but us should see him now - Kholin warned me about this in the most decisive way.
To the right, from the darkness, the quiet words of the command are heard: “Calculations - in places! .. To battle! ..” The bushes crackle, and obscene whispers are heard - the calculations are made at guns and mortars scattered through the undergrowth in the battle formations of my and third battalions.
In addition to us, about two hundred people are involved in the operation. They are ready to cover us at any moment, with a flurry of fire falling on the positions of the Germans. And none of them suspect that it is not a search at all, as Kholin was forced to tell the commanders of the supporting units.
Not far from the boat is a guard post. He was a double, but on the instructions of Kholin, I ordered the guard commander to leave only one middle-aged intelligent corporal Demin in the trench. When we approach the shore, Kholin suggests that I go and talk to the corporal - in the meantime, he and the boy will slip unnoticed to the boat. All these precautions, in my opinion, are unnecessary, but Kholin's secrecy does not surprise me: I know that not only he - all intelligence officers are like that. - I go ahead.
Only without comments! Kholin warns me in an impressive whisper. I'm tired of these warnings at every step: I'm not a boy and I figure out what's what.
Demin, as expected, calls me from a distance; answering, I go up, jump into the trench and stand so that he, turning to me, turns his back on the path.
Light up, - I suggest, taking out cigarettes, and, taking one for myself, I thrust the other to him.
We squat down, he strikes damp matches, finally one lights up, he brings it to me and lights it himself. In the light of the match, I notice that someone is sleeping in the underbracket niche on the packed hay, I manage to make out a strangely familiar cap with crimson piping. Greedily puffing, without saying a word, I turn on the flashlight and see that Katasonov is in the niche. He lies on his back, his face is covered with a cap. I, not yet realizing, lift it up - a gray, meek, like a rabbit's face; above the left eye is a small neat hole; entry bullet hole...
It turned out silly, - Demin mutters quietly next to me, his voice reaches me as if from afar. - They fixed the boat, sat with me, smoked. The captain was standing here, talking to me, but this one began to crawl out and only, it means, got up from the trench and quietly, quietly, slides down like that. Yes, we didn’t seem to hear the shots ... The captain rushed to him, shaking: “Kapitonych! .. Kapitonich! ..” They looked - and he was on the spot! .. The captain ordered not to tell anyone ...
So that's why Kholin seemed a little strange to me upon returning from the shore ...
No comments! - his imperious whisper is heard from the side of the river. And I understand everything: the boy is leaving on a mission and now in no case should he be upset - he should not know anything.
Having got out of the trench, I slowly go down to the water.
The boy is already in the boat, I sit down with him in the stern, taking the machine gun at the ready.
Sit up straighter, - whispers Kholin, covering us with a cape. - Make sure that there is no roll!
Pulling back the bow of the boat, he sits down himself and disassembles the oars. Looking at his watch, he waits a little longer and whistles softly: this is the signal for the start of the operation.
He was immediately answered: to the right, from the darkness, where the commanders of the supporting units and artillery observers are located in a large machine-gun trench on the flank of the third battalion, a rifle shot pops.
Turning the boat around, Kholin starts rowing - the shore immediately disappears. The haze of a cold rainy night embraces us.
6
I feel Choline's measured hot breath on my face. He drives the boat with strong strokes; you can hear the water splashing quietly under the blows of the oars. The boy froze, crouching under the raincoat next to me.
Ahead, on the right bank, the Germans, as usual, shoot and illuminate the front line with rockets - the flashes are not so bright because of the rain. And the wind is in our direction. The weather is clearly in our favour.
From our shore, a line of tracer bullets flies over the river. Such routes from the left flank of the third battalion will be given every five to seven minutes: they will serve as a guide for us when returning to our coast.
Sugar! whispers Kholin.
We put two pieces of sugar in our mouths and suck them diligently: this should increase the sensitivity of our eyes and our hearing to the utmost.
We are probably already somewhere in the middle of the reach, when a machine gun abruptly knocks ahead - bullets whistle and, knocking out sonorous splashes, slap on the water not far away.
MG-34, - the boy unmistakably determines in a whisper, trustingly clinging to me.
Are you afraid?
A little, he admits, barely audibly. - I can't get used to it. Some kind of nervousness ... And begging - I also can’t get used to it. Ooh and boring!
I vividly imagine what it is like for him, proud and proud, to humiliate himself by begging.
Listen, - remembering, I whisper, - we have Bondarev in the battalion. And also Gomel. Not a relative by any chance?
No. I have no relatives. One mother. And she don't know where now... His voice trembled. - And my last name is, in truth, Buslov, not Bondarev.
And the name is not Ivan?
No, the name is Ivan. This is right.
Kholin begins to row more quietly, apparently waiting for the shore. I peer into the darkness to the pain in my eyes: except for the flashes of rockets dim behind the veil of rain, you can’t see anything.
We barely move, just a moment, and the bottom clings to the sand. Kholin, deftly folding the oars, steps over the side and, standing in the water, quickly turns the boat stern to the shore.
We listen intently for two minutes. You can hear the raindrops softly splashing on the water, on the ground, on the already wet raincoat; I hear Kholin's even breathing and I hear my heart beating. But suspicious - no noise, no conversation, no rustle - we can not catch. And Kholin breathes in my ear:
Ivan is right there. And you climb out and hold ... He dives into the darkness. I carefully get out from under the raincoat, step into the water on the coastal sand, adjust my machine gun and take the boat astern. I feel that the boy has risen and is standing in the boat next to me.
Sit down. And throw on a raincoat, - feeling it with my hand, I whisper.
It doesn't matter now, he replies in a barely audible voice.
Kholin appears unexpectedly and, coming close, in a joyful whisper says:
Order! Everything is stitched, laced...
It turns out that those bushes near the water, in which we must leave the boat, are only thirty paces downstream.
A few minutes later the boat is hidden, and we crouch along the shore, stopping and listening from time to time. When a rocket flares nearby, we fall to the sand under the ledge and lie as still as the dead. Out of the corner of my eye I see a boy - his clothes have darkened from the rain. Kholin and I will return and change clothes, and he ...
Kholin suddenly slows down and, taking the boy by the hand, steps to the right on the water. Ahead, something brightens on the sand. “The corpses of our scouts,” I guess.
What is this? the boy asks in a barely audible voice.
Fritz,” Kholin whispers quickly and pulls him forward. - This is a sniper from our shore.
Ooh, bastards! They even undress their own, - the boy mutters with hatred, looking around.
It seems to me that we have been moving for an eternity and should have reached it long ago. However, I remember that from the bushes where the boat is hidden, these corpses are three hundred and something meters away. And to the ravine you need to go about the same amount.
Soon we pass another corpse. It is completely decomposed - a sickening smell can be felt from a distance. From the left bank, crashing into the rainy sky behind us, the track leaves again. The ravine is somewhere close; but we will not see it: it is not illuminated by rockets, probably, because the entire bottom of it is mined, and the edges are bordered by continuous trenches and are patrolled. The Germans, apparently, are sure that no one will show up here.
This ravine is a good trap for whoever is found in it. And the whole expectation is that the boy will slip through unnoticed.
Kholin finally stops and, signing us to sit down, he himself moves forward.
Soon he returns and barely audibly commands:
Behind me!
We move forward another thirty paces and squat behind the ledge.
The ravine is right in front of us! - Pulling back the sleeve of his camouflage suit, Kholin looks at the luminous dial and whispers to the boy: - We have four more minutes at our disposal. How are you feeling?
Order.
For a while we listen to the darkness. It smells of corpse and dampness. One of the corpses - it is noticeable on the sand about three meters to the right of us - obviously serves as Kholin's guide.
Well, I'll go, - the boy says in a barely audible voice.
I'll see you off, - Kholin suddenly whispers. - Down the ravine. At least a little.
This is no longer the plan!
No! the boy objected. - I'll go alone! You're big - you get caught.
Maybe I should go? I suggest hesitantly.
At least along the ravine, - Kholin begs in a whisper. - There is clay - you will inherit. I will carry you!
I said! - the boy declares stubbornly and angrily. - I myself!
He is standing next to me, small, thin, and, it seems to me, is trembling all over in his old clothes. Or maybe I just think...
See you soon,” he whispers to Kholin after a pause.
See you! - I feel that they are hugging and Kholin is kissing him. - Most importantly, be careful! Take care of yourself! If we move, wait in Fedorovka!
Goodbye, - the boy is already addressing me.
Goodbye! I whisper excitedly, looking for his small narrow hand in the dark and squeezing it tightly. I feel the urge to kiss him, but I hesitate. I am terribly worried at this moment.
Before that, I repeat to myself ten times: “Goodbye!”, So as not to blurt out, as six days ago: “Farewell!”
And before I dare to kiss him, he silently disappears into the darkness.
7
Kholin and I hid, squatting close to the ledge, so that its edge was above our heads, and listened warily. The rain fell steadily and unhurriedly, a cold autumn rain that seemed to never end. The water reeked of dampness.
Four minutes passed since we were left alone, and from the direction where the boy had gone, steps and a quiet, indistinct guttural voice were heard.
"Germans!.."
Kholin squeezed my shoulder, but I did not need to be warned - I may have heard him earlier and, having shifted the safety knob on the machine, I was completely numb with a grenade clutched in my hand.
The steps were getting closer. Now it was possible to make out how the mud squelched under the feet of several people. My mouth was dry, my heart was pounding like crazy.
Verfluchtes Wetter! Hohl es der Teufel…
Halte's Maul, Otto! .. Links halten! .. They passed very close, so that splashes of cold mud hit my face. that I looked at them from below), in helmets with balaclavas and in exactly the same boots with wide tops as on Kholin and me. Three were in raincoats, the fourth was in a long raincoat shining from the rain, pulled together with a holster, machine guns hung on their chests.
There were four of them - the guard patrol of the SS regiment, the combat patrol of the German army, past which Ivan Buslov, a twelve-year-old boy from Gomel, who was listed in our intelligence documents under the name "Bondarev", had just slipped past.
When we saw them in the flickering light of the rocket, they stopped and were about to go down to the water about ten paces from us. In the darkness they could be heard jumping onto the sand and heading towards the bushes where our boat was hidden.
It was harder for me than for Kholin. I was not a scout, but I fought from the first months of the war, and at the sight of enemies, alive and with weapons, I was instantly seized by the familiar, many times experienced excitation of a fighter at the moment of a fight. I felt a desire, or rather, a thirst, a need, a need to kill them immediately! I'll fill them up like they're cute, in one burst! "Kill them!" - I, it’s true, didn’t think about anything else, throwing up and turning the machine gun. But Kholin thought for me. Feeling my movement, he, as if in a vise, squeezed my forearm - having come to my senses, I lowered the machine gun.
They will notice the boat! - Rubbing my forearm, I whispered, as soon as the steps left.
Kholin was silent.
We must do something, - after a short pause, I whispered again in alarm. - If they find the boat...
If! .. - Kholin breathed in fury in my face. I felt that he was able to strangle me. - And if the boy is caught ?! Are you thinking of leaving him alone?.. Are you a skin, a bastard, or just a fool?..
Fool, - I thought, whispered.
You must be a neurotic,” Kholin said thoughtfully. - The war will end, you will have to be treated ...
I listened intently, every moment expecting to hear the exclamations of the Germans who had discovered our boat. To the left, a machine gun rattled abruptly, followed by another, directly above us, and again in the silence the measured sound of rain was heard. Rockets took off here and there along the entire line of the coast, flashing, sparkling, hissing and extinguishing before they could reach the ground.
The nauseating cadaverous smell somehow intensified. He spat and tried to breathe through his mouth, but it didn't help much.
I desperately wanted to smoke. I have never wanted to smoke so much in my life. But the only thing I could do was to pull out a cigarette and sniff it, kneading it with my fingers.
We were soon soaked and shivering from the cold, but the rain did not let up.
Clay in the ravine, damn it! suddenly whispered Kholin. - Now it would be a good downpour to wash everything away ...
His thoughts were with the boy all the time, and the clay ravine, where the tracks would be well preserved, disturbed him. I understood how fundamental his concern was: if the Germans discovered fresh, unusually small footprints running from the coast through the front line, Ivan would certainly be chased. Maybe with dogs. Somewhere, where, but in the regiments of the SS there are enough dogs trained to hunt people.
I have already chewed a cigarette. It was not pleasant, but I chewed. Kholin, right, having heard, asked:
What are you?
I want to smoke - I'm dying! I sighed.
And you don't want to see your mom? asked Kholin caustically. - I personally want to see my mother! It would be nice, right?
We waited another twenty minutes, wet, shivering from the cold and listening. The shirt was wrapped around the back like an ice compress. The rain gradually changed to snow, soft, wet flakes fell, covering the sand with a white veil, and reluctantly melted.
Well, it seems to have passed, - Kholin finally sighed with relief and got up.
Bending down and keeping close to the ledge, we moved towards the boat, stopping now and then, froze and listened. I was almost certain that the Germans had found the boat and ambushed it in the bushes. But I did not dare to tell Kholin about this: I was afraid that he would ridicule me.
We crept along the shore in the darkness until we stumbled upon the corpses of our scouts. We took no more than five steps from them, when Kholin stopped and, pulling me by the sleeve, whispered in my ear:
Stay here. And I'll follow the boat. So that the case does not fall asleep to both. I'll swim up - call me in German. Quietly! .. If I run into, there will be noise - swim to the other side. And if I don't come back in an hour, swim too. Can you swim back and forth five times? he said mockingly.
Not your concern. Talk less.
It’s better to approach the boat not by the shore, but to swim up from the side of the river, - I noticed not quite confidently. I can, let's...
Maybe I'll do that ... And you, chances are, don't try to rock the boat! If something happens to you, we will be warmed up on the first day. Vnik?
Yes. And if…
Without any "ifs"!.. You're a good guy, Galtsev," Kholin suddenly whispered, "but a neurasthenic. And this is the most terrible thing in our business ...
He went into the darkness, and I remained to wait. I don’t know how long this agonizing wait lasted: I was so cold and so worried that I didn’t even think to look at my watch. Trying not to make even the slightest noise, I moved my arms vigorously and squatted to warm myself up a little. From time to time I stopped and listened.
Finally, catching a barely perceptible splash of water, I put my hands to my mouth with a mouthpiece and whispered:
Halt... Halt...
Quiet, damn! Come here…
Stepping carefully, I took a few steps, and cold water poured into my boots, embracing my legs in an icy embrace.
How is it at the ravine, is it quiet? - first of all asked Kholin.
You see, you were afraid! he whispered, pleased. - Sit down from the stern, taking my machine gun, he commanded, and as soon as I got into the boat, I began to row, taking it against the current.
Sitting down in the stern, I pulled off my boots and poured the water out of them.
The snow fell in fluffy flakes and melted as soon as it touched the river. From the left bank again gave the track. She passed right over us; it was necessary to turn, and Kholin continued to drive the boat upstream.
Where are you going? I asked, not understanding.
Without answering, he vigorously worked with oars.
Where are we sailing?
Here, warm up! - leaving the oars, he thrust a small flat flask into my hand. I unscrewed the cap with stiff fingers and took a sip - the vodka burned my throat with a pleasant heat, it became warm inside, but the trembling still beat me.
Bottoms Up! whispered Kholin, slightly moving the oars.
I'll drink on the beach. Will you treat me?
I took another sip and, regretfully ascertaining that there was nothing in the flask, slipped it into my pocket.
What if he hasn't passed yet? - suddenly said Kholin. - Suddenly lies, waits ... How I would like to be with him now! ..
And it became clear to me why we are not returning. We were opposite the ravine, so that the “sluch-what” would again land on the enemy shore and come to the aid of the boy. And from there, from the darkness, now and then poured down the river in long bursts. I got goosebumps as the bullets whistled and splashed in the water next to the boat. In such darkness, behind a wide curtain of wet snow, it was probably impossible to detect us, but it’s damn unpleasant to be under fire on the water, in an open place where you can’t dig into the ground and there is nothing to hide behind. Kholin, encouragingly, whispered:
Only a fool or a coward can perish from such stupid bullets! Learn!..
Katasonov was neither a fool nor a coward. I didn't doubt it, but I didn't say anything to Kholin.
And you have nothing to do with the paramedic! - a little later he remembered, obviously wanting to somehow distract me.
Nothing, - I agreed, knocking out a fraction with my teeth, least of all thinking about the paramedic; I imagined the warm dugout of the first-aid post and the stove. Great cast iron stove!
From the left, endlessly desired bank, the track was given three more times. She called us back, and we all hung out on the water closer to the right bank.
Well, it seems to have passed, ”Kholin finally said and, hitting me with a roll, turned the boat around with a strong movement of the oars.
He was amazingly oriented and kept the direction in the dark. We swam up not far from a large machine-gun trench on the right flank of my battalion, where the commander of the security platoon was located.
They expected us and immediately called out quietly, but authoritatively: “Stop! Who is coming?..” I gave the password - they recognized me by my voice, and in a moment we stepped ashore.
I was completely exhausted and, although I had drunk two hundred grams of vodka, I was still trembling and could hardly move my stiff legs. Trying not to chatter my teeth, I ordered the boat to be pulled out and disguised, and we moved along the shore, accompanied by the squad leader Zuev, my favorite, a somewhat cheeky, but reckless courage sergeant. He walked ahead.
Comrade senior lieutenant, where is the language? - Turning around, he suddenly asked cheerfully.
What language?
So, they say, you went for the language.
Kholin, who was walking behind me, pushed me aside and stepped towards Zuev.
Your tongue is in your mouth! Vnik? he said sharply, pronouncing every word distinctly. It seemed to me that he put his heavy hand on Zuev's shoulder, and maybe even took him by the collar: this Kholin was too direct and quick-tempered - he could do that.
Your tongue is in your mouth! he repeated menacingly. - And keep his mouth shut! It will be better for you!.. And now return to your post!..
As soon as Zuev remained a few steps behind, Kholin announced sternly and deliberately loudly:
Trepachi in your battalion, Galtsev! And this is the most terrible thing in our business ...
In the darkness, he took my arm and, squeezing it at the elbow, whispered mockingly:
And you are a thing too! He threw the battalion, and he himself went to the other side for the language! Hunter!
* * *
In the dugout, having quickly melted the stove with additional mortar charges, we stripped naked and rubbed ourselves with a towel.
Having changed into dry linen, Kholin threw an overcoat over it, sat down at the table and, spreading out the map in front of him, studied it intently. Once in the dugout, he immediately somehow wilted, he looked tired and preoccupied.
I served a can of stew, bacon, a pot of pickles, bread, fermented baked milk and a flask of vodka.
Oh, if only I knew what was happening to him now! Kholin suddenly exclaimed, rising. - And what's the matter?
What's happened?
This patrol - on the other side - was supposed to pass half an hour later. Do you understand? .. So, either the Germans changed the security regime, or we messed up something. And the boy in any case can pay with his life. We had everything calculated to the minute.
But he passed. We waited how long - at least an hour - and everything was quiet.
What passed? Kholin asked with irritation. - If you want to know, he needs to walk more than fifty kilometers. Of these, about twenty he must do before dawn. And at every step you can run into. And how many accidents! .. Well, talk will not help! .. - He removed the card from the table. - Let's!
I poured vodka into two mugs.
Let's not clink glasses," Kholin warned, taking one.
Raising our mugs, we sat for a few moments in silence.
Eh, Katasonich, Katasonich ... - Kholin sighed, frowning, and said in a breaking voice: - What do you care! And he saved my life...
He drank in one gulp and, sniffing a piece of black bread, demanded:
Having drunk myself, I poured a second drink: for myself a little, and for him to the brim. Taking the mug, he turned to the bunk, where there was a suitcase with the boy's things, and said in a low voice:
For you to come back and never leave. For your future!
We clinked glasses and, having drunk, began to have a snack. No doubt we were both thinking of the boy at that moment. The stove, becoming orange-red on the sides and top, breathed heat. We are back and sitting warm and safe. And he is somewhere in the enemy position sneaking through the snow and darkness side by side with death ...
I never felt much love for children, but this boy - although I met him only twice - was so close and dear to me that I could not think of him without heart-wrenching excitement.
I didn't drink anymore. Kholin, without any toast, silently grabbed the third mug. Soon he became drunk and sat gloomy, looking sullenly at me with reddened, excited eyes.
Are you fighting for the third year? .. - he asked, lighting a cigarette. - And I'm the third ... And in the eyes of death - like Ivan! - We may not have looked in... Behind you is a battalion, a regiment, an entire army... And he is alone! cried Kholin, suddenly irritated. - A child! .. And you spared him a stinking knife!
8
“I regretted it!..” No, I could not, I had no right to give this knife to anyone, the only memory of a dead friend, the only personal thing that survived.
But I kept my word. In the divisional art workshop there was a craftsman, an elderly sergeant from the Urals. In the spring, he carved the handle of the Kotkin Knife, now I asked him to make exactly the same one and put it on a brand new airborne Finnka, which I handed over to him. I not only asked, I brought him a box of captured locksmith tools - vices, drills, chisels - I did not need them, but he was delighted with them, like a child.
He made the handle to the conscience - the Finns could be distinguished, perhaps, only by the notches on Kotkina and the initials “K. X." I already imagined how happy the boy would be to have a real landing knife with such a beautiful handle; I understood him: after all, I myself was a teenager not so long ago.
I wore this new finka on my belt, hoping to hand it over to them at the first meeting with Kholin or with Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov: it would be foolish to believe that I myself would have a chance to meet Ivan. Where is he now? - I could not even imagine, more than once remembering him.
And the days were hot: the divisions of our army crossed the Dnieper and, as reported in the reports of the Information Bureau, "were successfully fighting to expand the bridgehead on the right bank ...".
I almost did not use the finca; True, once, in hand-to-hand combat, I set her in motion, and if it were not for her, a fat, overweight corporal from Hamburg, probably, would have planted my head with a spatula.
The Germans resisted fiercely. After eight days of heavy offensive fighting, we received the order to take up defensive positions, and it was then in early November, on a clear cold day, just before the holiday, that I met with Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.
Of medium height, with a large head set on a dense body, in an overcoat and a hat with earflaps, he paced along the side of the highway, slightly dragging his right leg - it was killed back in the Finnish campaign. I recognized him from afar, as soon as I came to the edge of the grove where the remnants of my battalion were stationed. "Mine" - I could now say so with every reason: before the crossing, I was approved as a battalion commander.
It was quiet in the grove where we settled down, the leaves turned gray from hoarfrost covered the ground, it smelled of droppings and horse urine. On this site, the guards Cossack corps entered the breakthrough, and the Cossacks made a halt in the grove. Since childhood, the smells of a horse and a cow have been associated with the smell of fresh milk and hot bread, just taken out of the oven. And now I remembered my native village, where in my childhood I lived every summer with my grandmother, a small, dry old woman who loved me beyond measure. All this was like recently, but now it seemed to me far, far away and unique, like everything before the war ...
Childhood memories ended as soon as I went to the edge of the forest. The Bolshak was crammed with German vehicles, burnt, knocked out and simply abandoned; dead Germans in various poses were lying on the road, in ditches; gray mounds of corpses could be seen everywhere on the trenched field. On the road, about fifty meters from Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov, his driver and lieutenant-translator were busy in the back of a German headquarters armored personnel carrier. Four more - I could not make out their ranks - climbed in trenches on the other side of the highway. The lieutenant colonel was shouting something to them - because of the wind I did not hear what.
At my approach, Gryaznov turned his pock-marked, swarthy, fleshy face towards me and exclaimed in a rough voice, half surprised, half delighted:
Are you alive, Galtsev?!
Alive! Where will I go? I smiled. - Hello!
Hello! If alive, hello!
I shook the hand extended to me, looked around and, making sure that no one but Gryaznov would hear me, I turned:
Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, let me know: is Ivan back?
Ivan?.. What Ivan?
Well boy, Bondarev.
What do you think, did he come back or not? - Gryaznov asked discontentedly and, frowning, looked at me with black cunning eyes.
I still sent it, you know ...
You never know who sent someone! Everyone should know what he is supposed to know. This is the law for the army, and especially for intelligence!
But I'm asking for business. Out of service, personal ... I have a request to you. I promised to give him a present, - unbuttoning my overcoat, I took a knife from my belt and handed it to the lieutenant colonel. - Please pass it on. How he wanted to have it, you would only know!
I know, Galtsev, I know, - the lieutenant colonel sighed and, taking a finka, examined it. - Nothing. But there are better. He has a dozen of these knives, no less. I collected a whole chest ... What can you do - passion! Such an age. A well-known case, the boy! .. Well ... if I see it, I will tell it.
So he didn't come back? I said excitedly.
Was. And he left ... He left ...
How so?
The lieutenant colonel frowned and paused, fixing his gaze somewhere in the distance. Then, in a low, muffled bass, he said softly:
He was sent to the school, and he agreed. In the morning they had to draw up documents, and at night he left ... And I can’t blame him: I understand him. It's a long time to explain, and there's nothing for you ...
He turned to me a large, pockmarked face, stern and thoughtful.
Hatred did not boil over in him. And he has no peace ... Maybe he will return, and most likely he will go to the partisans ... And you forget about him and take into account for the future: you should not ask about the zakordonniks. The less they talk about them and the less people know about them, the longer they live ... You met him by chance, and you are not supposed to know about him - don't be offended! So from now on, remember: there was nothing, you don’t know any Bondarev, you didn’t see or hear anything. And you didn't send anyone! And therefore there is nothing to ask. Vnik?..
…And I didn't ask again. And there was no one to ask. Kholin soon died during the search: in the predawn twilight, his reconnaissance group ran into an ambush of the Germans - Kholin's legs were broken by a machine-gun burst; ordering everyone to retreat, he lay down and fired back to the last, and when he was seized, he blew up an anti-tank grenade ... Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov was transferred to another army, and I never met him again.
But to forget about Ivan - as the lieutenant colonel advised me - I, of course, could not. And more than once remembering the little scout, I never thought that I would ever meet him or learn anything about his fate.
9
In the battles near Kovel, I was seriously wounded and became "limited fit": I was allowed to be used only in non-combat positions in the headquarters of formations or in the rear service. I had to part with the battalion and with my native division. For the last six months of the war, I worked as an interpreter for the intelligence department of the corps on the same 1st Belorussian Front, but in a different army.
When the battles for Berlin began, I and two other officers were sent to one of the operational groups created to seize German archives and documents.
Berlin capitulated on May 2 at three o'clock in the afternoon. In these historic moments, our task force was in the very center of the city, in a dilapidated building on Prinz-Albrechtstrasse, where the Geheime-staats-polizei, the state secret police, had recently been located.
As expected, the Germans managed to take out most of the documents or destroyed them. Only in the premises of the fourth - upper - floor were discovered who knows how to survive the cabinets with files and a huge file cabinet. This was announced by joyful cries from the windows of machine gunners, who were the first to burst into the building.
Comrade Captain, there's a paper machine in the yard! - Running up to me, the soldier reported, a broad-shouldered, squat short man.
In the huge courtyard of the Gestapo, strewn with stones and fragments of bricks, there used to be a garage for dozens, maybe hundreds of cars; Of these, a few remained - damaged by explosions and faulty. I looked around: a bunker, corpses, bomb craters, in the corner of the yard - sappers with a mine detector.
Not far from the gate stood a tall truck with gas generators. The tailgate was thrown back - in the body, from under the tarpaulin, one could see the corpse of an officer in a black SS uniform and thick files and folders tied into bundles.
The soldier awkwardly climbed into the back and dragged the bundles to the very edge. I cut the ersatz rope with a Finn.
These were the documents of the SFG - the secret field police - of the Army Group Center, they belonged to the winter of 1943/44. Reports on punitive "actions" and undercover developments, search requirements and orientations, copies of various reports and special messages, they told about heroism and cowardice, about those who were shot and about avengers, about those caught and elusive. For me, these documents were of particular interest: Mozyr and Petrikov, Rechitsa and Pinsk - such familiar places in the Gomel region and Polissya, where our front passed - stood before me.
There were many registration cards in the files - questionnaire forms with brief identification data of those who were searched for, caught and pursued by the secret police. Some of the cards had photographs attached to them.
Who is this? - standing in the back, the soldier, bending down, poked a thick short finger and asked me: - Comrade captain, who is this?
Without answering, I leafed through the papers in a kind of daze, looking through folder after folder, not noticing the rain that wet us. Yes, on this majestic day of our victory in Berlin, it was raining, fine, cold, and it was overcast. Only in the evening the sky cleared of clouds and the sun peeped through the smoke.
After a ten-day roar of fierce fighting, silence reigned, in some places broken by automatic bursts. Fires were blazing in the center of the city, and if on the outskirts, where there are many gardens, the lush smell of lilacs killed all the others, here it smelled of burning; black smoke billowed over the ruins.
Bring everything into the building! - I finally ordered the soldier, pointing to the bundles, and mechanically opened the folder that I held in my hand. I looked - and my heart sank: Ivan Buslov was looking at me from the photograph pasted to the form ...
I recognized him at once by his high cheekbones and large, widely spaced eyes - I have never seen eyes so widely spaced in anyone.
He looked from under his brows, coming true, as then, at our first meeting in a dugout on the banks of the Dnieper. On the left cheek, below the cheekbone, there was a dark bruise.
The form with the photo was not filled out. With a sinking heart, I turned it over - a piece of paper with a typewritten text was pinned up at the bottom: a copy of a special message from the head of the secret field police of the 2nd German army.
№…… mountains. Luninets. 12/26/43 Secret.
To the chief of the field police of the "Center" group ...
“... On December 21 of this year, at the location of the 23rd Army Corps, in a restricted area near the railway, a rank of auxiliary police Efim Titkov noticed and after two hours of observation a Russian, a schoolboy of 10-12 years old, was lying in the snow and watching the movement of trains on section Kalinkovichi - Klinsk.
During the arrest, an unknown person (as it was established, he called himself “Ivan” to a local resident of Semina Maria) put up fierce resistance, bit Titkov’s hand, and only with the help of a corporal who came to the rescue, Vints was taken to the field police ...
... it was established that "Ivan" was in the area where the 23rd corps was located for several days ... he was engaged in begging ... he spent the night in an abandoned barn and sheds. His hands and toes turned out to be frostbitten and partially affected by gangrene ...
During the search of "Ivan" were found ... in the pockets of a handkerchief and 110 (one hundred and ten) occupation stamps. No material evidence was found that would convict him of belonging to partisans or espionage ... Special signs: in the middle of the back, on the line of the spine, a large birthmark, over the right shoulder blade - a scar from a tangential bullet wound ...
Interrogated carefully and with all severity for four days by Major von Bissing, Lieutenant Klammt and Sergeant Major Stamer "Ivan" no evidence that would help establish his identity, as well as clarify the motives for his stay in the restricted zone and at the location of the 23rd Army Corps , did not give.
5
Damn weather! And what the hell ... - Hold your tongue, Otto! .. Take to the left! .. (German).
Ivan Ilyin "We believe in Russia!"
This audiobook is dedicated to the work of the great Russian thinker Ivan Alexandrovich Ilyin.
I.A. Ilyin belongs to a galaxy of outstanding Russian philosophers of the 19th-20th centuries, for whom the religious question was the fundamental issue. For them, the main thing is not to build a “system”, but to comprehend the place of man in the world created and saved by the Lord Jesus Christ. They saw themselves as, as it were, missionaries of the spiritual space, leading to Christ more and more new territories of spiritual and bodily human activity, not directly covered by the Orthodox dogma. For Ilyin such a space was Russia as a social organism requiring spiritual and bodily healing.
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "Singing Heart"
"The Book of Quiet Contemplations" - this is the subtitle of this book, the most intimate and penetrating creation of the remarkable Russian philosopher.
Ilyin wrote: “It is dedicated not to theology, but to quiet philosophical blasphemy… This is a simple, quiet philosophy… born from the main organ of Orthodox Christianity – the contemplative heart.”
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "Collection of articles"
- About Russia
- Pushkin National Mission
- Pushkin in life
- Shmelev's art
- The spiritual meaning of the fairy tale
- On Demonism and Satanism
- righteous people
- Ekaterina Ivanovna
- Music by Medtner
- About Medtner's music
- Music and word
- What is art
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "Fundamentals of Art"
“Art is service and joy… joy is a spiritual state; she exults with creative exultation; she shines with God's rays. And true art is just such joy. It satisfies the thirst for the perfect, the will for the artistic and the beautiful.
I. Ilyin, "On perfection in art"
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "On darkness and enlightenment"
“For a Russian person who has not weathered ... the Russian, classical tradition, but who has observed it live, in art, it is essential not pleasure, not entertainment, and not even just pleasure in life, but comprehension of the essence, penetration into wisdom and guiding service on the paths of meditation. A service that does not directly have anyone in mind, but is addressed to its people ... "
I. Ilyin, "On darkness and enlightenment."
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "On resistance to evil by force. The main moral contradiction of war"
"An eye for an eye, an eye for an eye" - this proverb has been around for centuries. Many are guided by it as a postulate always and everywhere, without hesitation. And only a few write long philosophical treatises about the choice between good and evil, about what is good and what is evil, and whether good will remain good if it meets evil with a sword in its hands. It is the last problem that the book of the outstanding Russian thinker and philosopher is devoted to. Ivan Alexandrovich Ilyin(1883-1954) "On resistance to evil by force", written by him in 1925 immediately after his expulsion from Russia for anti-communist activities on the "philosophical ship".
About resisting evil by force
1. Introduction
2. About self-surrender to evil
3. About good and evil
4. About coercion and violence
5. About mental compulsion
6. About physical coercion and suppression
7. About power and evil
8. Statement of the problem
9. On the morality of flight
10. About sentimentality and pleasure
11. About nihilism and pity
12. About the world-denying religion
13. General basics
14. About the subject of love
15. About the boundaries of love
16. About the modifications of love
17. About the bondage of people in good and evil
18. Justification of the resisting force
19. About the sword and righteousness
20. About false solutions to the problem
21. About spiritual compromise
22. About the purification of the soul
The main moral contradiction of war
audiobook
Ivan Ilyin "On resistance to evil by force"
Can force be used to stop evil? Where is the line of acceptable justification for the use of force?
The great Russian patriot philosopher Ivan Alexandrovich Ilyin offers his answer to this most difficult question. This book, since its publication (in 1925), has not become outdated at all and still causes a lot of controversy.
