Children's stories about war. Heroes of the Great Patriotic War and their exploits (briefly)

“MONUMENT TO THE SOVIET SOLDIER”

L. Kassil

The war went on for a long time.
Our troops began to advance on enemy soil. The fascists have nowhere to run anymore. They settled in the main German city of Berlin.
Our troops attacked Berlin. The last battle of the war has begun. No matter how the Nazis fought back, they could not resist. The soldiers of the Soviet Army in Berlin began to take street by street, house by house. But the fascists still don’t give up.
And suddenly one of our soldiers, a kind soul, saw a little German girl on the street during a battle. Apparently, she has fallen behind her own people. And in their fright, they forgot about her... The poor thing was left alone in the middle of the street. And she has nowhere to go. There is a battle going on all around. Fire is blazing from all the windows, bombs are exploding, houses are collapsing, bullets are whistling from all sides. He’s about to crush you with a stone, or kill you with a shrapnel... Our soldier sees that a girl is disappearing... “Oh, you bastard, where has this taken you, you wicked thing!..”
The soldier rushed across the street right under the bullets, picked up the German girl in his arms, shielded her from the fire with his shoulder and carried her out of the battle.
And soon our soldiers had already raised the red flag over the most important house in the German capital.
The Nazis surrendered. And the war ended. We won. The world has begun.
And now they have built a huge monument in the city of Berlin. High above the houses, on a green hill, stands a hero made of stone - a soldier of the Soviet Army. In one hand he has a heavy sword, with which he defeated the fascist enemies, and in the other - a little girl. She pressed herself against the broad shoulder of a Soviet soldier. The soldier saved her from death, saved all the children in the world from the Nazis, and today he looks menacingly from above to see if the evil enemies are going to start a war again and disrupt the peace.

"FIRST COLUMN"

S. Alekseev

(stories by Sergei Alekseev about Leningraders and the feat of Leningrad).
In 1941, the Nazis blockaded Leningrad. The city was cut off from the entire country. It was possible to get to Leningrad only by water, along Lake Ladoga.
In November frosts set in. The water road froze and stopped.
The road stopped - that means there will be no supply of food, that means there will be no supply of fuel, there will be no supply of ammunition. Leningrad needs a road like air, like oxygen.
- There will be a road! - said the people.
Lake Ladoga will freeze, and Ladoga (as Lake Ladoga is called for short) will be covered with strong ice. The road will go on the ice.
Not everyone believed in such a path. Ladoga is restless and capricious. Blizzards will rage, a piercing wind will blow over the lake, and cracks and gullies will appear on the ice of the lake. Ladoga breaks its ice armor. Even the most severe frosts cannot completely freeze Lake Ladoga.
Capricious, treacherous Lake Ladoga. And yet there is no other way out. There are fascists all around. Only here, along Lake Ladoga, can the road go to Leningrad.
The most difficult days in Leningrad. Communication with Leningrad stopped. People are waiting for the ice on Lake Ladoga to become strong enough. And this is not a day, not two. They look at the ice, at the lake. The thickness is measured by ice. Old-time fishermen also monitor the lake. How is the ice on Ladoga?
- It's growing.
- It's growing.
- Takes strength.
People are worried and rushing for time.
“Faster, faster,” they shout to Ladoga. - Hey, don’t be lazy, frost!
Hydrologists (those who study water and ice) arrived at Lake Ladoga, builders and army commanders arrived. We were the first to decide to walk on the fragile ice.
The hydrologists passed through and the ice survived.
The builders passed by and withstood the ice.
Major Mozhaev, commander of the road maintenance regiment, rode on horseback and withstood the ice.
The horse train walked across the ice. The sleigh survived the journey.
General Lagunov, one of the commanders of the Leningrad Front, drove across the ice in a passenger car. The ice crackled, creaked, became angry, but let the car through.
On November 22, 1941, the first automobile convoy set off across the still-unhardened ice of Lake Ladoga. There were 60 trucks in the convoy. From here, from the western bank, from the side of Leningrad, trucks left for cargo to the eastern bank.
Ahead is not a kilometer, not two - twenty-seven kilometers of icy road. They are waiting on the western Leningrad coast for the return of people and convoys.
- Will they come back? Will you get stuck? Will they come back? Will you get stuck?
A day has passed. And so:
- They're coming!
That's right, the cars are coming, the convoy is returning. There are three or four bags of flour in the back of each car. Haven't taken any more yet. The ice is not strong. True, the cars were towed by sleighs. There were also sacks of flour in the sleigh, two and three at a time.
From that day on, constant movement on the ice of Lake Ladoga began. Soon severe frosts struck. The ice has strengthened. Now each truck took 20, 30 bags of flour. They also transported other heavy loads across the ice.
The road was not easy. There was not always luck here. The ice broke under the pressure of the wind. Sometimes cars sank. Fascist planes bombed the columns from the air. And again ours suffered losses. The engines froze along the way. The drivers froze on the ice. And yet, neither day nor night, nor in a snowstorm, nor in the most severe frost, the ice road across Lake Ladoga did not stop working.
These were the most difficult days of Leningrad. Stop the road - death to Leningrad.
The road did not stop. Leningraders called it “The Road of Life”.

"TANYA SAVICHEVA"

S. Alekseev

Hunger is spreading deathly through the city. Leningrad cemeteries cannot accommodate the dead. People died at the machines. They died on the streets. They went to bed at night and didn’t wake up in the morning. More than 600 thousand people died of hunger in Leningrad.
This house also rose among the Leningrad houses. This is the Savichevs' house. A girl was bending over the pages of a notebook. Her name is Tanya. Tanya Savicheva keeps a diary.
Notebook with alphabet. Tanya opens a page with the letter “F”. Writes:
“Zhenya died on December 28 at 12.30 p.m. morning. 1941."
Zhenya is Tanya's sister.
Soon Tanya sits down again to her diary. Opens a page with the letter “B”. Writes:
“Grandmother died on January 25th. at 3 o’clock in the afternoon 1942.” A new page from Tanya's diary. Page starting with the letter "L". We read:
“Leka died on March 17 at 5 a.m. 1942.” Leka is Tanya's brother.
Another page from Tanya's diary. Page starting with the letter "B". We read:
“Uncle Vasya died on April 13. at 2 am. 1942." One more page. Also with the letter "L". But it is written on the back of the sheet: “Uncle Lyosha. May 10 at 4 p.m. 1942.” Here is the page with the letter "M". We read: “Mom May 13 at 7:30 am. morning 1942." Tanya sits over the diary for a long time. Then he opens the page with the letter “C”. He writes: “The Savichevs have died.”
Opens a page starting with the letter “U”. He clarifies: “Everyone died.”
I sat. I looked at the diary. I opened the page to the letter “O”. She wrote: “Tanya is the only one left.”
Tanya was saved from starvation. They took the girl out of Leningrad.
But Tanya did not live long. Her health was undermined by hunger, cold, and the loss of loved ones. Tanya Savicheva also passed away. Tanya died. The diary remains. "Death to the Nazis!" - the diary screams.

"FUR COAT"

S. Alekseev

A group of Leningrad children were taken out of Leningrad, besieged by the Nazis, along the “Dear Life”. The car set off.
January. Freezing. The cold wind whips. Driver Koryakov is sitting behind the steering wheel. It drives the lorry exactly.
The children huddled together in the car. Girl, girl, girl again. Boy, girl, boy again. And here's another one. The smallest, most frail. All the guys are thin, like thin children's books. And this one is completely skinny, like a page from this book.
Guys gathered from different places. Some from Okhta, some from Narvskaya, some from the Vyborg side, some from Kirovsky Island, some from Vasilievsky. And this one, imagine, from Nevsky Prospekt. Nevsky Prospekt is the central, main street of Leningrad. The boy lived here with his father and mother. A shell hit and my parents died. Yes, and others, those who are now traveling in the car, were also left without mothers, without fathers. Their parents also died. Some died of hunger, some fell under a fascist bomb, some were crushed by a collapsed house, whose lives were cut short by a shell. The boys were left completely alone. Aunt Olya accompanies them. Aunt Olya is a teenager herself. Less than fifteen years old.
The guys are coming. They clung to each other. Girl, girl, girl again. Boy, girl, boy again. In the very heart is a baby. The guys are coming. January. Freezing. Blows the children in the wind. Aunt Olya wrapped her arms around them. These warm hands make everyone feel warmer.
A lorry is walking on the January ice. Ladoga froze to the right and left. The frost over Ladoga is getting stronger and stronger. The children's backs are stiff. It's not children sitting - icicles.
I wish I had a fur coat now.
And suddenly... The truck slowed down and stopped. The driver Koryakov got out of the cab. He took off his warm soldier's sheepskin coat. He tossed Ole up and shouted: . - Catch!
Olya picked up the sheepskin coat:
- How about you... Yes, really, we...
- Take it, take it! - Koryakov shouted and jumped into his cabin.
The guys look - a fur coat! Just the sight of it makes it warmer.
The driver sat down in his driver's seat. The car started moving again. Aunt Olya covered the boys with a sheepskin coat. The children huddled even closer to each other. Girl, girl, girl again. Boy, girl, boy again. In the very heart is a baby. The sheepskin coat turned out to be big and kind. Warmth ran down the children's backs.
Koryakov took the guys to the eastern shore of Lake Ladoga and delivered them to the village of Kobona. From here, from Kobona, they still had a long, long journey ahead of them. Koryakov said goodbye to Aunt Olya. I started saying goodbye to the guys. Holds a sheepskin coat in his hands. He looks at the sheepskin coat and at the guys. Oh, the guys would like a sheepskin coat for the road... But it’s a government-issued sheepskin coat, not your own. The authorities will immediately take off their heads. The driver looks at the guys, at the sheepskin coat. And suddenly...
- Eh, it was not! - Koryakov waved his hand.
I went further with the sheepskin sheepskin coat.
His superiors did not scold him. They gave me a new fur coat.

"BEAR"

S. Alekseev

In those days when the division was sent to the front, the soldiers of one of the Siberian divisions were given a small bear cub by their fellow countrymen. Mishka has gotten comfortable with the soldier's heated vehicle. It’s important to go to the front.
Toptygin arrived at the front. The little bear turned out to be extremely smart. And most importantly, from birth he had a heroic character. I wasn't afraid of bombings. Didn't hide in corners during artillery shelling. He only rumbled dissatisfiedly if shells exploded very close.
Mishka visited the Southwestern Front, and then was part of the troops that defeated the Nazis at Stalingrad. Then for some time he was with the troops in the rear, in the front reserve. Then he ended up as part of the 303rd Infantry Division on the Voronezh Front, then on the Central Front, and again on the Voronezh Front. He was in the armies of generals Managarov, Chernyakhovsky, and again Managarov. The bear cub grew up during this time. There was a sound in the shoulders. The bass cut through. It became a boyar fur coat.
The bear distinguished himself in the battles near Kharkov. At the crossings, he walked with the convoy in the economic convoy. It was the same this time. There were heavy, bloody battles. One day, an economic convoy came under heavy attack from the Nazis. The Nazis surrounded the column. Unequal forces are difficult for us. The soldiers took up defensive positions. Only the defense is weak. The Soviet soldiers would not have left.
But suddenly the Nazis hear some kind of terrible roar! “What would it be?” - the fascists wonder. We listened and took a closer look.
- Ber! Ber! Bear! - someone shouted.
That's right - Mishka stood up on his hind legs, growled and went towards the Nazis. The Nazis didn’t expect it and rushed to the side. And ours struck at that moment. We escaped from the encirclement.
The bear walked like a hero.
“He should be a reward,” the soldiers laughed.
He received a reward: a plate of fragrant honey. He ate and purred. He licked the plate until it was shiny and shiny. Added honey. Added again. Eat, fill up, hero. Toptygin!
Soon the Voronezh Front was renamed the 1st Ukrainian Front. Together with the front troops, Mishka went to the Dnieper.
Mishka has grown up. Quite a giant. Where can soldiers tinker with such a huge thing during a war? The soldiers decided: if we come to Kyiv, we’ll put him in the zoo. We will write on the cage: the bear is an honored veteran and participant in a great battle.
However, the road to Kyiv passed. Their division passed by. There was no bear left in the menagerie. Even the soldiers are happy now.
From Ukraine Mishka came to Belarus. He took part in the battles near Bobruisk, then ended up in the army that marched to Belovezhskaya Pushcha.
Belovezhskaya Pushcha is a paradise for animals and birds. The best place on the entire planet. The soldiers decided: this is where we’ll leave Mishka.
- That's right: under his pine trees. Under the spruce.
- This is where he finds freedom.
Our troops liberated the area of ​​Belovezhskaya Pushcha. And now the hour of separation has come. The fighters and the bear are standing in a forest clearing.
- Goodbye, Toptygin!
- Walk free!
- Live, start a family!
Mishka stood in the clearing. He stood up on his hind legs. I looked at the green thickets. I smelled the forest smell through my nose.
He walked with a roller gait into the forest. From paw to paw. From paw to paw. The soldiers look after:
- Be happy, Mikhail Mikhalych!
And suddenly a terrible explosion thundered in the clearing. The soldiers ran towards the explosion - Toptygin was dead and motionless.
A bear stepped on a fascist mine. We checked - there are a lot of them in Belovezhskaya Pushcha.
The war moved further west. But for a long time, wild boars, handsome elk, and giant bison exploded on mines here, in Belovezhskaya Pushcha.
The war marches on without pity. War has no weariness.

"STING"

S. Alekseev

Our troops liberated Moldova. They pushed the Nazis beyond the Dnieper, beyond Reut. They took Floresti, Tiraspol, Orhei. We approached the capital of Moldova, the city of Chisinau.
Here two of our fronts were attacking at once - the 2nd Ukrainian and 3rd Ukrainian. Near Chisinau, Soviet troops were supposed to surround a large fascist group. Carry out the front directions of the Headquarters. The 2nd Ukrainian Front advances north and west of Chisinau. To the east and south is the 3rd Ukrainian Front. Generals Malinovsky and Tolbukhin stood at the head of the fronts.
“Fyodor Ivanovich,” General Malinovsky calls General Tolbukhin, “how is the offensive developing?”
“Everything is going according to plan, Rodion Yakovlevich,” General Tolbukhin answers General Malinovsky.
The troops are marching forward. They bypass the enemy. The pincers begin to squeeze.
“Rodion Yakovlevich,” General Tolbukhin calls General Malinovsky, “how is the environment developing?”
“The encirclement is going well, Fyodor Ivanovich,” General Malinovsky answers General Tolbukhin and clarifies: “Exactly according to plan, on time.”
And then the giant pincers closed in. There were eighteen fascist divisions in a huge bag near Chisinau. Our troops began to defeat the fascists who were caught in the bag.
The Soviet soldiers are happy:
“The animal will be caught again with a trap.”
There was talk: the fascist is no longer scary, even if you take it with your bare hands.
However, soldier Igoshin had a different opinion:
- A fascist is a fascist. A serpentine character is a serpentine character. A wolf is a wolf in a trap.
The soldiers laugh:
- So what time was it!
- Nowadays the price for a fascist is different.
“A fascist is a fascist,” Igoshin said again about himself.
That's a bad character!
It’s getting more and more difficult for the fascists in the bag. They began to surrender. They also surrendered in the sector of the 68th Guards Rifle Division. Igoshin served in one of its battalions.
A group of fascists came out of the forest. Everything is as it should be: hands up, a white flag thrown over the group.
- It’s clear - they’re going to give up.
The soldiers perked up and shouted to the fascists:
- Please, please! It is high time!
The soldiers turned to Igoshin:
- Well, why is your fascist scary?
Soldiers are crowding around, looking at the Nazis coming to surrender. There are newcomers to the battalion. This is the first time that the Nazis have been seen so close. And they, newcomers, are also not at all afraid of the Nazis - after all, they are going to surrender.
The Nazis are getting closer, closer. Very close. And suddenly a burst of machine gun fire rang out. The Nazis started shooting.
A lot of our people would have died. Yes, thanks to Igoshin. He kept his weapon ready. Immediately the response opened fire. Then others helped.
The firing on the field died down. The soldiers approached Igoshin:
- Thank you brother. And the fascist, look, actually has a snake-like sting.
The Chisinau “cauldron” caused a lot of trouble for our soldiers. The fascists rushed about. They rushed in different directions. They resorted to deception and meanness. They tried to leave. But in vain. The soldiers squeezed them with a heroic hand. Pinched. Squeezed. The snake's sting was pulled out.

"A BAG OF OATMEAL"
A.V. Mityaev

That autumn there were long, cold rains. The ground was saturated with water, the roads were muddy. On the country roads, stuck up to their axles in mud, stood military trucks. The supply of food became very bad. In the soldier's kitchen, the cook cooked only soup from crackers every day: he poured cracker crumbs into hot water and seasoned with salt.
On such and such hungry days, soldier Lukashuk found a bag of oatmeal. He wasn't looking for anything, he just leaned his shoulder against the wall of the trench. A block of damp sand collapsed, and everyone saw the edge of a green duffel bag in the hole.
What a find! the soldiers rejoiced. There will be a feast on the mountain. Let's cook porridge!
One ran with a bucket for water, others began to look for firewood, and still others had already prepared spoons.
But when they managed to fan the fire and it was already hitting the bottom of the bucket, an unfamiliar soldier jumped into the trench. He was thin and red-haired. The eyebrows above the blue eyes are also red. The overcoat is worn out and short. There are windings and trampled shoes on my feet.
-Hey, bro! - he shouted in a hoarse, cold voice. - Give me the bag here! Don't put it down, don't take it.
He simply stunned everyone with his appearance, and they gave him the bag right away.
And how could you not give it away? According to front-line law, it was necessary to give it up. Soldiers hid duffel bags in trenches when they went on the attack. To make it easier. Of course, there were bags left without an owner: either it was impossible to return for them (this is if the attack was successful and it was necessary to drive out the Nazis), or the soldier died. But since the owner has arrived, the conversation will be short.
The soldiers watched silently as the red-haired man carried away the precious bag on his shoulder. Only Lukashuk could not stand it and sarcastically:
-He’s so skinny! They gave him extra rations. Let him eat. If it doesn't burst, it might get fatter.
It's getting cold. Snow. The earth froze and became hard. Delivery has improved. The cook was cooking cabbage soup with meat and pea soup with ham in the kitchen on wheels. Everyone forgot about the red soldier and his porridge.

A big offensive was being prepared.
Long lines of infantry battalions walked along hidden forest roads and along ravines. At night, tractors dragged guns to the front line, and tanks moved.
Lukashuk and his comrades were also preparing for the offensive. It was still dark when the cannons opened fire. The planes began to hum in the sky.
They threw bombs at fascist dugouts and fired machine guns at enemy trenches.
The planes took off. Then the tanks began to rumble. The infantrymen rushed after them to attack. Lukashuk and his comrades also ran and fired from a machine gun. He threw a grenade into a German trench, wanted to throw more, but didn’t have time: the bullet hit him in the chest. And he fell. Lukashuk lay in the snow and did not feel that the snow was cold. Some time passed and he stopped hearing the roar of battle. Then he stopped seeing the light, it seemed to him that a dark, quiet night had come.
When Lukashuk regained consciousness, he saw an orderly. The orderly bandaged the wound and put Lukashuk in a small plywood sled. The sled slid and swayed in the snow. This quiet swaying made Lukashuk feel dizzy. But he didn’t want his head to spin, he wanted to remember where he saw this orderly, red-haired and thin, in a worn out overcoat.
-Hold on, brother! Don’t live in timidity!.. he heard the orderly’s words.
It seemed to Lukashuk that he had known this voice for a long time. But where and when I heard it before, I could no longer remember.
Lukashuk regained consciousness when he was transferred from the boat onto a stretcher to be taken to a large tent under the pine trees: here, in the forest, a military doctor was pulling bullets and shrapnel from the wounded.
Lying on a stretcher, Lukashuk saw a sled-boat on which he was being transported to the hospital. Three dogs were tied to the sled with straps. They were lying in the snow. Icicles froze on the fur. The muzzles were covered with frost, the dogs' eyes were half-closed.
The orderly approached the dogs. In his hands he had a helmet full of oatmeal. Steam was pouring out of her. The orderly stuck his helmet into the snow to tap the dogs because it was dangerously hot. The orderly was thin and red-haired. And then Lukashuk remembered where he had seen him. It was he who then jumped into the trench and took a bag of oatmeal from them.
Lukashuk smiled at the orderly with just his lips and, coughing and choking, said:
-And you, redhead, haven’t gained weight. One of them ate a bag of oatmeal, but he was still thin.
The orderly also smiled and, stroking the nearest dog, answered:
-They ate the oatmeal. But they got you there on time. And I recognized you immediately. As soon as I saw it in the snow, I recognized it.
And he added with conviction: You will live! Don't be timid!

"TANKIST'S STORY"

A. Tvardovsky

It was a difficult fight. Everything now is as if from sleep,


What’s his name, I forgot to ask him.
About ten or twelve years old. Bedovy,
Of those who are the leaders of children,
From those in the front-line towns
They greet us like dear guests.
The car is surrounded in parking lots,
Carrying water to them in buckets is not difficult,
Bring soap and towel to the tank
And unripe plums are put in...
There was a battle going on outside. The enemy fire was terrible,
We made our way forward to the square.
And he nails - you can’t look out of the towers, -
And the devil will understand where he’s hitting from.
Here, guess which house is behind
He sat down - there were so many holes,
And suddenly a boy ran up to the car:
- Comrade commander, comrade commander!
I know where their gun is. I scouted...
I crawled up, they were over there in the garden...
- But where, where?.. - Let me go
On the tank with you. I'll give it straight away.
Well, no fight awaits. - Get in here, buddy! -
And so the four of us roll to the place.
The boy is standing - mines, bullets whistling,
And only the shirt has a bubble.
We've arrived. - Here. - And from a turn
We go to the rear and give full throttle.
And this gun, along with the crew,
We sank into loose, greasy black soil.
I wiped off the sweat. Smothered by fumes and soot:
There was a big fire going from house to house.
And I remember I said: “Thank you, lad!” -
And he shook hands like a comrade...
It was a difficult fight. Everything now is as if from sleep,
And I just can’t forgive myself:
From thousands of faces I would recognize the boy,
But what’s his name, I forgot to ask him.

"The Adventures of the Rhinoceros Beetle"
(A Soldier's Tale)
K. G. Paustovsky

When Pyotr Terentyev left the village to go to war, his little son Styopa
didn’t know what to give my father as a farewell gift, and finally gave him an old one
rhinoceros beetle. He caught him in the garden and put him in a matchbox. Rhinoceros
angry, knocking, demanding to be let out. But Styopa didn’t let him go, but
I slipped blades of grass into the box so that the beetle would not die of hunger. Rhinoceros
He chewed blades of grass, but still continued to knock and curse.
Styopa cut a small window in the box for fresh air. Bug
he stuck his furry paw out the window and tried to grab Styopa’s finger - he wanted to
must have scratched from anger. But Styopa didn’t give a finger. Then the beetle began
Buzzing so loudly out of annoyance that Styopa Akulina’s mother shouted:
- Let him out, damn it! All day long he's buzzing and buzzing, he's making me dizzy
swollen!
Pyotr Terentyev grinned at Styopa’s gift and stroked Styopa’s head.
with a rough hand and hid the box with the beetle in his gas mask bag.
“Just don’t lose it, take care of it,” said Styopa.
“It’s okay to lose such gifts,” answered Peter. - Somehow
I'll save it.
Either the beetle liked the smell of rubber, or Peter smelled pleasantly of his overcoat and
black bread, but the beetle calmed down and rode with Peter all the way to the front.
At the front, the soldiers marveled at the beetle, touched its strong horn with their fingers,
They listened to Peter’s story about his son’s gift and said:
- What did the boy come up with! And the beetle, apparently, is a fighting one. Just a corporal, not
bug.
The fighters wondered how long the beetle would last and how it was doing with
food allowance - what Peter will feed and water him with. Although he is without water
beetle, but it won’t be able to live.
Peter smiled embarrassedly and replied that if you give a beetle a spikelet, he
and eats for a week. How much does he need?
One night, Peter dozed off in a trench and dropped the box with the beetle from his bag. Bug
He tossed and turned for a long time, opened a crack in the box, climbed out, moved his antennae,
listened. In the distance the earth rumbled and yellow lightning flashed.
The beetle climbed onto an elderberry bush at the edge of the trench to get a better look around. Such
he had not yet seen a thunderstorm. There was too much lightning. The stars didn't hang still
in the sky, like a beetle in its homeland, in Petrova Village, but took off from the ground,
illuminated everything around with a bright light, smoked and went out. Thunder roared continuously.
Some beetles whizzed past. One of them hit the bush like that
elderberry, that red berries fell from it. The old rhinoceros fell, pretended
dead and was afraid to move for a long time. He realized that it was better not to deal with such beetles.
get in touch - there were too many of them whistling around.
So he lay there until the morning, until the sun rose.

In 1943 my grandmother was 12 years old. Since her mother had nothing to feed the children, she took her grandmother, a sled and fabric and they went to the neighboring area to sell it all. During the day they sold everything, and since it was winter, it got dark early and they were already walking back in the dark. They walk, the great-grandmother pulls the sled, and the grandmother pushes... She turns, and behind her, in the field, there are many, many lights. The great-grandmother did not say then what it was, but she ordered them to go silently and quickly... When they were already approaching their village, they almost ran, because the hungry lights - wolves - had already begun to surround and howl.

My great-grandfather is Jewish. During the war, his family was led to execution. He managed to escape and hid in the rosehip. The Germans didn’t bother to catch up, they just fired a couple of shots and thought he was dead. The bullets missed my ear. He was only 15, he infiltrated the regiment by deception, and went through the entire war. He changed his last name, became the first Komsomol member, met my great-grandmother, seven children were born, and my mother was taken into care. But the saddest thing is that in peacetime he went for milk and did not return. Hit by a bus...

Great-grandmother and great-grandfather met a year before the war. In the summer, having gone to the front, her great-grandfather made her promise to wait for him. But six months later the “triangle” came (the news of the death of my great-grandfather). The great-grandmother gathered her courage and also went to the front, as a field nurse. And upon returning home, her great-grandfather was waiting for her, safe and sound, who had reached Berlin and was an honored colonel.

My family has a Red Shirt story. Grandfather was born in 1927. At the age of 14, he helped his family, worked in the fields and helped dig trenches, and was the only son among 7 children of his mother. And so, as a reward for her work, the mother was given a piece of red calico (fabric). She made a shirt for her son. And that day my grandfather was just wearing this shirt when they started bombing the city. Everyone was urgently evacuated, and he ran home to his mother and sisters. I'm late. Several days have passed. And then one of the soldiers saw a boy in a red shirt. Having called out to him, he said that the woman asked everyone who saw the boy in the red shirt to say that they were alive and were waiting for him at the crossing. So, the red shirt helped the grandfather find his family. Still alive. He just loses his mind.

My great-grandmother survived the siege of Leningrad. It so happened that she, as the youngest in the family, received a ticket to travel along the Road of Life. She gave this ticket to her sister, and she remained to defend the city. She didn’t fight herself, but she cut off contact with the Germans, for which she received the order. And it’s terrible: looking at photographs of a young woman after the war and seeing her aged 20 years and completely gray. I don't want anyone to see this.

Grandmother was 12 when the war began. She lived in a small town in Siberia. There was nothing to eat, nothing to wear. The great-grandmother herself made shoes for them from a piece of canvas and wood, and in these shoes the grandmother went to work in 40-degree frost, to the meat processing plant, where on the night shift the children, under the guidance of one disabled person, rolled minced meat, cooked sausage and sent it all to the front. They waited for spring, when quinoa grass appeared and it was possible to collect it and eat it. In the fall, teenagers ran to the collective farm fields to collect the remains of rotten potatoes, but this was very dangerous, since the guards did not spare the children and fired salt at them. But if you managed to bring a couple of potatoes, then there was a feast - the great-grandmother baked cakes from them. When my grandmother got sick, her older sister brought a piece of bacon from work, and at that time a neighbor ran in and reported it. My grandmother's sister was imprisoned for 10 years. I don’t know how they survived, but my grandmother lived to be 87 years old and didn’t see victory this year...

My great-grandfather saved a German boy of about 10 years old during the First World War. During the Second World War, my great-grandfather no longer fought due to injury. The Germans took my great-grandfather’s sister to Germany to work. The living conditions were terrible. They ate anything, they treated it like cattle. When the Germans entered the village where my great-grandfather lived, one of them ran up to his grandfather shouting: “Alyosha!” The great-grandfather recognized him as the very boy he had saved. Great-grandfather told him about his sister. This German wrote to his family in Germany and they found his sister in one of the labor camps. His family took her to their home, where she lived in good conditions until the end of the war.

My great-grandfather reached Berlin... When he returned home, to the Altai Territory, he was sitting on the porch and smoking, my grandmother ran up to him and asked: “Why did a neighbor come from Berlin, bringing fabrics and gifts, but you didn’t bring us any gifts?” And the great-grandfather began to cry and said to the grandmother: “Daughter, he took these fabrics from people like us, there are children there too, there is also a war there, only for everyone it is their own, their own war!” As my grandmother said, he often cried when talking about the front. And he always said that those who really fought remained on the battlefields...

We sat and discussed the topic of war with my grandfather. Further, from the words of my grandfather: “We lived in the post-war period and my mother told me that a woman lived near our house, in a high-rise building. She salted children. She didn’t kill them, but found them dead, salted them and ate them. But at some point the KGB arrived and they took her away. In general, it was a terrible time."

My great-grandfather died in battles in Latvia in 1944. Our family did not know where he was buried or whether he was buried at all. Several years ago, my family and I were traveling by car in those places and passed by a small town where fighting took place during the Second World War. We asked the locals if there was any mass grave nearby to somehow commemorate our great-grandfather. We were directed to the local cemetery and a MIRACLE! We found HIS grave: first name, last name, patronymic, year of birth - all HIS, 70 years later! Special thanks to the local residents, all the graves of Soviet soldiers were well-groomed and cleaned. This was the first and last time I saw my grandfather and father cry.

My great-grandmother ended up in Auschwitz, but she didn’t say anything about life there and never mentioned anything. Until one day, when I was 5, I found her in tears. She cried very bitter tears, holding one old photograph in her hand. I asked why she was crying, did anyone offend her? And she began her story... The story is not about how they were humiliated there, not about terrible hunger and cold, but about how they were deprived of everything. When she and her daughter arrived at the camp, it was decided to send the great-grandmother to the camp, and immediately send the little daughter to the gas chamber. She prayed for a long time that her daughter’s fate would be changed, that she would be allowed to live, and then her daughter was shot right before her eyes. And the great-grandmother herself was beaten and threatened that one more offense and she would immediately end up in the oven... After all this, I myself began to cry, and the great-grandmother finished her story. In that photo she was with her little daughter. We already cried together and with very bitter tears. I would never wish anyone to go through what people went through during that terrible time...

My grandmother lived in Leningrad all her life, including the war years. At the beginning of the war, her husband went to the front, leaving his wife with two small children. Soon the funeral came for him. She stayed with her son and daughter in besieged Leningrad. The city was regularly bombed. Grandma worked in the laundry. And so, she’s at work, and they tell her: “Go home, it looks like there was a bomb in your wing.” She goes home and sees that a shell flew through the open window of her house, hit the wall and it crumbled, and on the other side her children, 2 and 4 years old, were sleeping in the crib. Both died. During that war, my grandmother met another man who became her husband - my grandfather. He was 10 years younger, and in appearance they were very similar, like brother and sister, they even had the same middle name. But a funeral came for him too. My grandmother was already pregnant with my father at that moment. She went out of grief to have an abortion, but the woman she came to for this purpose fed her pies and dissuaded her. Dad was born 10 days before the victory. And soon grandfather returned from the war - the funeral turned out to be a mistake. This is how, in four years, the whole life of one little woman (the grandmother was thin and short), so much grief on her shoulders. She talked a lot about the blockade. She told how people threw themselves out of windows, how when they fell, exhausted from hunger, they asked for a hand to get up, and she understood that if she helped, she herself would fall and never get up. Once she came to the neighbors, and there the whole family was eating mustard with spoons, they found a whole bowl somewhere, and they ate straight from it. They offered it to her, but she refused. And the next morning all the members of that family died from what they had eaten. She told how her brother was dying of starvation, she came to him, he lay there and said: “Bend over, I want to tell you something.” She said: “I see his eyes are crazy and I didn’t bend over, I was afraid.” But the brother survived and later confessed that he wanted to bite her nose off out of hunger. It was a terrible time. Scary. I want to say thank you to everyone who lived at that time, not only the front, but also the rear and everyone. Because our Victory lies like scars on the hearts of each of them, on their destinies. It was their pain and suffering that led us to Victory, and we are indebted to each of them.

Grandma, born in 1938, doesn’t say anything about the war, she only remembers her first New Year. The children were gathered, lined up, and given a small yellow piece of sugar covered in soil. New Year's gift. She ran home as fast as she could to share with her brothers and sisters. They were a couple of years older and considered adults. She says she has never eaten anything tastier in her life.

My great-grandmother, nine months pregnant, took part in the evacuation of Leningrad orphanages to the Urals. She rode with them on the train, donated her food, looked after the sick and wounded, although she herself could barely stand on her feet. I became friends with the director of one of the orphanages, who left her entire life to take care of her pupils. A day before arrival, my great-grandmother went into labor. A new friend saved her and persuaded the driver to stop for five minutes in some nearby village, although according to the instructions it was impossible. There, the great-grandmother was loaded into a cart - and to the hospital! In the snow and bad roads at full speed... We barely made it. The doctor later said that in another 15 minutes there would have been no one to save... So, on a cold October day in 1941, in a small village near the railway, my grandmother was born.

During the war, my great-grandmother worked at a bakery and everyone was checked. It was impossible to take out either bread or flour. After her shift, my great-grandmother swept the floor with the remaining flour and took it home. At home I sifted through garbage and baked bread from this flour to feed 5 children.

My cousin is a siege survivor. He told how they boiled the belts and ate them. The Germans also bombed the starch and molasses factory - first people ate molasses from the ground, then earth soaked in sugar, and then just earth...

During the war, my grandfather was a boy. He didn’t fight, but at the age of 12 he started working on a lathe at a factory. He worked by standing on a box because he couldn’t reach it. The daily ration given out at the factory was shared with his younger brothers and sisters. They gave us fish broth and herring heads. It was a hungry time. He said that he stole to feed the younger ones. He stole apples from the orchards of one of the nearby villages of the city, put them in his bosom, and swam to the house, swam past the sentries under water, breathing through a straw. An acquaintance of my great-grandfather, who was at the front, carried bread. Bread was sold by weight. They weighed the empty cart on scales, then loaded it with bread, also by weight. All this happened behind the fence. There are sentries with weapons on the towers. My grandfather’s task was to attach himself to the bottom of the cart and weigh himself with it when it was empty... Then he had to unhook himself unnoticed and jump over the fence so that the guards would not see (they could shoot him on the spot). The bread was then shared, and the grandfather could feed the younger ones.

My great-grandmother was a resident of besieged Leningrad. She spent three years of the war there, digging trenches and rescuing the wounded. She told me what the famine was like and how she and her sister escaped from the cannibals. In those years, she promised herself that if she survived and everything was fine, then she would always have sweets at home and she kept her promise. I remember how she treated me to candy and said that a child’s life should be sweet, just like this candy called me “Darling.” She gave me her jewelry and a cross before her death. She said that this is a strong cross and it will save me. I keep my great-grandmother’s things and sometimes talk to her. She passed away in 2005 (89 years old), but her great-grandfather lives on, runs several times a week, plants a garden and cooks delicious food. Doesn't put away grandma's things. Just like grandma arranged everything on the chest of drawers - everything is untouched and standing, already covered in dust, but that’s okay)

In 1941, my great-grandfather was drafted into the army. There is a wife and a small two-year-old son left at home. In the very first battles, my great-grandfather was captured. Since he was tall and strong-built, he, along with other prisoners of war, was forced into carriages and taken to work in Germany. Twice along the way, together with others, he tried to escape. But they were tracked down by sniffer dogs, put back in wagons and taken to Germany. Upon arrival, they were forced to work in the mines. Even from there he made an attempt to escape. But he was captured and severely beaten. My grandmother, his daughter, said that there were huge scars left on his back from the blows. To us little ones, my grandmother retold the stories that my father told her: “The mother of one of the German guards on holidays passed a sandwich through her son to a Russian prisoner of war, saying that he was the same person as us. The woman told her son with hope that if he had been captured, perhaps he, too, would have been fed by the mother of a Russian soldier. The warden threw this sandwich unnoticed on the ground or passed it on, sitting on a log with his back to each other, fearing that he might be sent to the front for helping a prisoner of war. Not all Germans were fascists; many were simply afraid and were forced to obey. They were victims of their circumstances. That's how it happens, it's a double-edged sword. It is important to remain human at all times and in any conditions.” And yes, my family also keeps the memory of this kind woman, thanks to whom my great-grandfather did not die of hunger, thanks to whom we now live. My great-grandfather remained in captivity until the end of the war, and then he was freed by Soviet troops.

My grandmother told me how she was a child during the war. Once she, her mother, cousins ​​and aunt were on the river, there were many other people there. Suddenly a plane flew over them, from which they began to throw toys into the water. Grandma was older, so she didn’t rush after them, but her brothers did. In general, in front of her and the mother of these boys, the children were torn apart. The toys turned out to be mined. Grandmother's aunt turned completely gray in an instant.

After the Germans captured the city of Pushkin, the grandmother’s mother and children, following a denunciation, were arrested as the family of an officer and sent to prison. Among the motley crowd of prisoners, one person especially stood out. Despite the cold, a lightly dressed man was wrapping something in warm rags. I clutched this bundle to myself and protected it from the rain as best I could. The kids were exhausted with curiosity. One night they were taken to spend the night in the city bathhouse. It was not heated, it was cold, everyone went to sleep on the floor. The man curled up protecting his burden. So he remained lying there in the morning when the others got up. The soldiers arrived, removed the body, and one of them disgustedly kicked the package away. When the filthy rags were unwrapped, there was a violin in them.

Great-grandfather was a doctor in a Soviet concentration camp. Very often, prisoners asked to give letters to their relatives. Great-grandfather passed it on until the same prisoners handed him over. He was sent far to Siberia. At the end of 1942, they offered the prisoners: either stay in prison, or go to the front, and then be pardoned. Great-grandfather went. But everyone who went was given neither clothing nor food. So they walked to the front line in the snow, whoever was in what, it came to cannibalism. Often I had to steal along the way in the nearest villages, sometimes people themselves helped in any way they could. I met my great-grandmother at the front. She was a sniper in the war. She herself was also sent to fight from a concentration camp, imprisoned for having abortions during wartime. After the war, my great-grandfather became the manager of the hospital, protected his wife and did not let her work. Both did not talk about the war for a long time, they took care of their children. We raised 3 sons. My great-grandfather died before I was born, and my great-grandmother lived until my fifth birthday. I still remember her baked goods and her kind, loving face.

In 1942, when my grandfather (guard captain) was sending the wounded and killed home, a very young guy with a slight wound approached him and tearfully begged his grandfather to send him home, since there was an old mother and a pregnant wife at home. With his injury, he should have been sent further to the front, but my great-grandfather decided to send him home and this guy returned to his family, and my grandfather had already forgotten about this incident. After the end of the war, my grandfather was returning home by train and stepped onto the platform while stopping at a nondescript station near a village. Then a man approaches him and, with tears in his eyes, asks if his grandfather recognizes him. During the war, so many faces were seen that the great-grandfather did not recognize the rescued guy. He matured and became stronger, and said that he had a son, and it was only thanks to my grandfather that he was alive and happy, that when he returned home and told how he returned, the whole village prayed for my grandfather, that everything would be fine with him. By the way, my grandfather did not receive a single injury, but only developed stomach problems and loss of sensation in his toes. Such was the fate of meeting this man at a station in the wilderness and learning about the happy life of the rescued guy...

A Jewish family lived next door to my grandmother. There were many children and fairly wealthy parents. When the Germans occupied the village, they began to take away food. But in the neighboring family, the children always had candy, which at that time was unheard of in the occupied land. Grandma, like a little girl, really wanted at least one piece of candy, and the neighbor’s boy, in turn, saw this and sometimes stole candy from the house for grandma and other children. One day he didn’t come: the Nazis shot the whole family. Soon after the liberation of the village, my grandmother and mother were evacuated, like many others. They were sent to Kamchatka, where it seemed to be safer. Grandmother, 70 years later, said that she never forgot the taste of those sweets, which clearly appeared in that family, but became hope for the best, and Kamchatka crabs, huge for a child’s imagination, from which they prepared everything, because there was not enough food for all the evacuees .

My great-grandfather told me that the Nazis abused prisoners of war. They were kept in a small barn, starved, and at night sacks of raw potatoes were brought to the barn. Whoever of the prisoners went out to get potatoes, although he probably even crawled out, was shot...

My grandmother worked in a mental hospital during the war. She told me how the violent and the quiet were brought from the front. The quiet ones are worse - they sit quietly, then they kill just as quietly. The wild ones were bred by healthy Siberian men. How they didn’t go crazy themselves is a mystery. I lived with this for many years. On May 15th the blow struck. She died quickly. In 60 years. After the war.

I knew many old people. Not only her many relatives, she communicated with many during her student internship in remote villages of the Russian north. There was one informant, a grandmother born in 1929. Her family lived in Leningrad. When the war began, the men went to the front, the women remained to work in the rear, and they tried to evacuate the children (as we remember, not all of them succeeded). That grandmother went to evacuation. On the way, the train was bombed. Many children died, and those who survived were resettled right where it happened, in nearby villages. When news of the train reached the city, the women abandoned their machines and went to look for their children. Her mother found our grandmother. So they lived in the village where 75 years later I met her. There was another grandmother-informant, born in 1919. She was a magician, and some of her fellow villagers, twenty years younger, did not like her. “Shurka,” they said, “why did she live so well? [She was 97 that summer] She spent her whole life in the accounting department, she didn’t know a real job!” For some reason they didn’t want to take into account that when they were still children, that Shurka was starving and felled the forest. There is a lot of Shurka and Alexandra Grigorievna left on my recorder. She read us a lot of prayers, spells, sang four old songs, and during the breaks, of course, a lot of “for life” was said. “Here you come to me, I live in poverty, and I’m treating you. You can always find some candy for a guest. You always need to give a treat. Just, girls, don’t give birth prematurely! Don’t give birth. You’ll spend your whole life repenting for yourself. then, to you. Be kind, be good! So that you can live well... Okay, remember your grandmother.” In general, if you think about it in retrospect, it was terribly difficult psychologically in practice. These old women now live on a meager pension, without basic amenities, without a pharmacy or clinic, continuing to physically work around the house, often with their sons, over-aged alcoholics, on their necks. And this is the best time of their life. I really wanted to talk to them not about whether they had anyone in the forest, how they told fortunes, and what songs they sang, but simply about life. I really wanted to help, to do something for these people. After all, the war experienced at a young age was only the beginning of their life's trials.

My family knew a woman. She went through the entire war. She told me personally: We are sitting in a trench. Me and the boy. Both are 18 years old. He says to her: “Listen, have you ever been with a man?” - No. What are you, a fool?! - Maybe let's do it? Still, we can be killed at any moment. - I won’t! I didn’t agree. And the next morning he was gone.

Dad's older sister was a nurse at the hospital. In addition to her duties, she also donated blood for the wounded. In the hospital where she served, Vatutin was treated, the girls were afraid to give him injections, the marshal still did, but the aunt was a determined woman, she was not afraid of anything, and they sent the marshal to inject her. In general, she was very kind, everyone’s favorite, and they only called her Varechka. I reached Berlin. Her photos are kept at home by the Reichstag. I really didn’t like Okudzhava’s song from the film “Belorussky Station”, for the words: “And that means we need victory, one for all, we won’t build it at a price”... It was precisely for this price that people were not spared at all.. .

My grandfather worked on the staff of the district party committee, he had a reservation. Refusing his armor, he volunteered to go to the front. I served in Kalininsky, but my grandmother and five young children remained at home, who had nothing to eat, and what to eat - there was nothing to heat the stove with. Once they came from the district committee to see how the families of front-line soldiers lived, and the house was full of smoke - they drowned it with wormwood. Of the five children, two survived; the grandfather was discharged due to being wounded with a severe concussion at the end of the war.

My great-great-grandfather was shot by the Germans at the entrance to the village. Then he just sat on the bench...

My great-grandmother was a woman with an iron character. During the war, they lived in a hospital city, and food, like throughout the country, was scarce. It was lunch time, and my seven-year-old daughter was running in the yard. The great-grandmother called twice, and then divided her portion among those who were at home. My daughter came home hungry, but there was nothing to eat. This never happened again; the lesson was learned. I don’t know if I could have done this in her place, but I am very proud of my great-grandmother and proudly remember the stories from her life.

My great-grandfather was 48 years old when he received the summons. He had no relatives, times were hard, and he had a pregnant young wife with two children. He told her that he would not return alive, and that she should have an abortion, because she could not bear three children alone. And so it happened - he went to the front in November 1942, and six months later he died near Leningrad. Great-grandmother did not have an abortion. She did everything to raise her children - she exchanged her entire dowry for a handful of carrot and beet seeds, planted a vegetable garden, guarded it for days, sewed to order, two of the three children survived, my grandmother and her sister. In the archives I found details of the death of my great-grandfather, and that the cartridge case with his data is now kept in the museum of military glory near St. Petersburg.

When the war began, my great-grandmother was only 18 years old. She worked as a nurse in a hospital. And most often she talked about the very last day of the war. When victory was announced, there was a changeover. She ran around the wards, shouting: “We won!” Everyone cried, laughed, danced. It was a moment of universal rejoicing! All the people ran out into the street and helped the wounded to get out. And they danced until the evening! We rejoiced and cried!

My great-grandfather was a purebred German, his name was Paul Joseph Onckel. Lived in Berlin, worked as a pharmacist. But then, after some time, a crisis began, unemployment began, and in the end it so happened that he moved to the USSR, and specifically to Russia. I married a Russian woman here, they lived in perfect harmony, and my grandfather was born to them. And in the end, when the war began, naturally, my great-grandfather went to fight. At that time, my grandfather was only seven years old. And here are the words of my grandfather: “The only thing I remember about my dad is how he took me in his arms, looked at me with his big blue eyes and said: “I’m going away for a long time, but I’ll come back, and we’ll all be together again.” . I’m leaving to protect our Motherland from the enemy, but you’ll see, we will win, I promise.” Indeed, thank God, we won. But my great-grandfather never returned, he died during the battles for the liberation of Stalingrad.

My great-grandfather was very young when the war began. He was sent to serve at sea, in the navy in Sevastopol. Basically, almost always, the task was the same: to clear mines. We coped successfully; there were no demolition ships. We often stopped at ports. During one of these stops, my great-grandfather met his future wife. In just a few days they fell in love, exchanged addresses and tried to deliver letters to each other. It was hard, but after the war my great-grandfather finally found her. On one of the voyages, they were informed that a passenger ship with food for nearby cities should pass along the way. There were so many mines in the sea that the sailors were afraid that they would not make it in time and the ship would be blown up, which could not be allowed to happen. When all the sailors were gathered and two of them were chosen for the boat to test the water, my great-grandfather was called. Before he had time to leave, a volunteer was found in the ranks, who then told him that no one was waiting for him at home, and he had nothing to lose. The boat blew up. The ship passed unharmed, and those sailors disappeared forever at sea. My great-grandfather had tears in his eyes every time he remembered the guy who volunteered for him.

My great-grandfather’s first wife died before the war, leaving six children. The eldest was 10 years old, and the youngest was two years old. He married a second time just before the war. The great-grandmother accepted his children as her own. Great-grandfather went to war. And she waited for him throughout the war and raised the children. Great-grandfather was wounded and captured in 1942. They were released in 1945. Then there was a Soviet camp, he returned home in 1947. All the children grew up and became worthy people.

During the initial period of the war, my great-grandfather worked as a foreman on a collective farm near Novosibirsk. He was a very good specialist; they didn’t send you to the front because they gave you a reservation, saying you were more needed here. He had four daughters, and my grandmother was the youngest. One day, padded jackets for milkmaids were brought to the collective farm. And the management of the collective farm, taking advantage of their official position, stole these padded jackets for themselves, their families, relatives, and so on. In general, the padded jackets did not reach the milkmaids. When my great-grandfather found out about this, he went and punched the collective farm chairman in the face. Anyone from Siberia will understand: back then they only gave out felt boots for three people. In general, my great-grandfather’s reservation was canceled. They were sent to the Belarusian front. Commander of an anti-tank gun. Reached Western Belarus, two wounds. When I received the second one, a shrapnel wound in the stomach, I was admitted to the hospital. They strictly forbade him to get out of bed, but he disobeyed. He got up, got a complication and died. When a funeral with medals came home to Siberia, the great-grandmother, in hysterics, threw the medals into the river with the words: “Why do I need these trinkets, I need a husband.” Left without a husband, she raised four daughters alone, being illiterate herself, she taught them. And she raised an Honored Teacher of the USSR, an economist, a librarian and a ventilation systems engineer (my grandmother).

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

The cruel and terrible events in which our grandfathers and great-grandfathers participated go deep into history.
Soldiers fighting on the battlefield. In the rear, both old and young worked hard for the Great Victory.
How many children stood up to defend their Motherland on an equal basis with adults? What feats did they perform?
Tell and read stories, stories, books to children about the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945.
Our descendants must know who protected them from fascism. Know the truth about the terrible war.
On the holiday of MAY 9, visit a monument or memorial that is located in your city and lay flowers. It will be touching if you and your child mark the event with a minute of silence.
Draw your child's attention to the awards of war veterans, which are becoming fewer and fewer every year. Congratulate the veterans with all your heart on Great Victory Day.
It is important to remember that every gray hair contains all the horror and wounds of this terrible war.

"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten"

Dedicated to the Great Victory!

Asecond: Ilgiz Garayev

I was born and raised in a peaceful land. I know well how spring thunderstorms make noise, but I have never heard gunfire.

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

I know how dreams end, but it’s hard for me to believe that ending a human life is as easy as a cheerful morning dream.

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

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

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

Millions of people rose to defend the country.

In the war, infantrymen and artillerymen, tank crews and pilots, sailors and signalmen - warriors of many, many military specialties, entire regiments, divisions, ships, were awarded military orders and received honorary names for the heroism of their soldiers.

When the flames of war raged, together with the entire Soviet people, cities and villages, farmsteads and villages rose to defend the Motherland. Anger and hatred towards the vile enemy, the indomitable desire to do everything to defeat him filled the hearts of people.

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

“Everything for the front, everything for Victory!”

During the harsh days of the war, children stood next to adults. Schoolchildren earned money for the defense fund, collected warm clothes for front-line soldiers, stood guard on the roofs of houses during air raids, performed concerts in front of wounded soldiers in hospitals. The fascist barbarians destroyed and burned 1,710 cities and more than 70 thousand villages, destroyed 84 thousand schools, 25 million people were made homeless.

Concentration death camps became an ominous symbol of the bestial appearance of fascism.

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

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

The enemy spared neither women nor children.

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

It was a common holiday for all our people, all humanity. It was a holiday for every person. Because victory over fascism signified victory over death, reason over madness, happiness over suffering.

In almost every family, someone died, went missing, or died from wounds.

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

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

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

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

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

The future of the planet is dear to us, the modern generation. Our task is to protect peace, to fight so that people are not killed, shots are not fired, and human blood is not shed.

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

Weekend dress

This happened even before the start of the war with the Nazis.

Katya Izvekova's parents gave her a new dress. The dress is elegant, silk, weekend.

Katya didn’t have time to renew the gift. War broke out. The dress was left hanging in the closet. Katya thought: the war will end, so she will put on her evening dress.

Fascist planes continuously bombed Sevastopol from the air.

Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.

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

Sevastopol residents also organized two military factories underground.

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

Everything was found in Sevastopol for such production: explosives, metal for the body, even fuses were found. There is only one. The gunpowder used to detonate the bombs had to be poured into bags made of natural silk.

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

For one:

No natural silk.

On the second:

No natural silk.

We went to the third, fourth, fifth.

There is no natural silk anywhere.

And suddenly... Katya appears. They ask Katya:

Well, did you find it?

“I found it,” Katya answers.

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

They unwrapped Katya's package. They look: there is a dress in the package. Same thing. Day off. Made from natural silk.

That's it Katya!

Thanks, Kate!

Katino's dress was cut at the factory. We sewed the bags. Gunpowder was added. They put the bags in the bombs. They sent bombs to the pilots at the airfield.

Following Katya, other workers brought their weekend dresses to the factory. There are now no interruptions in the operation of the plant. Behind the bomb is a bomb ready.

Pilots take to the skies. The bombs hit the target exactly.

Bul-bul

The fighting in Stalingrad continues unabated. The Nazis are rushing to the Volga.

Some fascist made Sergeant Noskov angry. Our trenches and those of the Nazis ran side by side here. Speech can be heard from trench to trench.

The fascist sits in his hiding place and shouts:

Rus, tomorrow glug-glug!

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

Rus, tomorrow gurg-glug. - And he clarifies: - Bul-gur at Volga.

This “glug-glug” gets on Sergeant Noskov’s nerves.

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

Eka, damned Fritz! Show yourself. Let me at least look at you.

The Hitlerite just leaned out. Noskov looked, and other soldiers looked. Reddish. Ospovat. Ears stick out. The cap on the crown miraculously stays on.

The fascist leaned out and again:

Glug-glug!

One of our soldiers grabbed a rifle. He raised it and took aim.

Don't touch! - Noskov said sternly.

The soldier looked at Noskov in surprise. Shrugged. He took the rifle away.

Until the evening, the long-eared German croaked: “Rus, tomorrow glug-glug. Tomorrow at Volga's."

By evening the fascist soldier fell silent.

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

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

But someone said:

Brothers, they are crawling back.

The second confirmed:

That's right, they are coming back.

The soldiers looked closely - right. Friends are crawling, hugging the ground. Just not two of them. Three. The soldiers took a closer look: the third fascist soldier, the same one - “glug-glug”. He just doesn't crawl. Noskov and Turyanchik are dragging him. A soldier is gagged.

The screamer's friends dragged him into the trench. We rested and continued to headquarters.

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

Glug-glug, glug-glug! - Turyanchik shouts mischievously.

Bubble-bulb, - the fascist blows bubbles. Shaking like an aspen leaf.

“Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid,” Noskov said. - Russians don’t hit someone who is down.

The soldiers handed over the prisoner to headquarters.

Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.

“Bul-bul,” said Turyanchik, saying goodbye.

Special task

The task was unusual. It was called special. The commander of the marine brigade, Colonel Gorpishchenko, said this:

The task is unusual. Special. - Then he asked again: - Is that clear?

“I see, Comrade Colonel,” answered the infantry sergeant-major, the senior leader over the group of reconnaissance officers.

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

Get ready. We had a special task.

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

It was New Year's Eve, 1942. It is clear to the scouts: on such and such a night, of course, the task is extremely special. The scouts follow the foreman, talking to each other:

Maybe a raid on the fascist headquarters?

Take it higher,” the foreman smiles.

Maybe we can capture the general?

Higher, higher,” the elder laughs.

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

Scouts again:

Maybe we’ll go blow up the bridge like the partisans?

Maybe we can carry out sabotage at the fascist airfield?

They look at the elder. The elder smiles.

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

The foreman approached one of the pine trees. He walked around, looked, and even felt the branches with his hand.

Good?

Good, say the scouts.

I saw another one nearby.

This one is better?

It seems better,” the scouts nodded.

Fluffy?

Fluffy.

Slim?

Slim!

“Well, let’s get down to business,” said the foreman. He took out an ax and cut down a pine tree. “That’s all,” said the foreman. He put the pine tree on his shoulders. - So we completed the task.

“Here they are,” the scouts burst out.

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

There was a pine tree. Slim. Fluffy. Balls, garlands hang on the pine tree, and multi-colored lanterns are lit.

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

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

Apparently, not only in Colonel Gorpishchenko’s marine brigade, but also in other units, the task for the scouts on that New Year’s Eve was special.

Gardeners

This happened shortly before the Battle of Kursk. Reinforcements have arrived at the rifle unit.

The foreman walked around the fighters. Walks along the line. A corporal is walking nearby. Holds a pencil and notepad in his hands.

The foreman looked at the first of the soldiers:

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

The fighter was embarrassed and shrugged.

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I can! - the soldier said loudly.

Two steps forward.

The soldier is out of action.

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

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I haven't tried it.

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

That’s enough,” said the foreman.

The fighters came forward. Anatoly Skurko found himself in the ranks of skilled soldiers. Soldier Skurko wonders: where are they going to go, those who know how? “It’s too late to plant potatoes. (Summer is already in full swing.) If you dig it, it’s very early in time.”

Soldier Skurko tells fortunes. And other fighters are wondering:

Plant potatoes?

Sow carrots?

Cucumbers for the headquarters canteen?

The foreman looked at the soldiers.

“Well,” said the foreman. “From now on, you will be among the miners,” and hands the mines to the soldiers.

The dashing foreman noticed that those who know how to plant potatoes lay mines faster and more reliably.

Soldier Skurko grinned. The other soldiers couldn't hold back their smiles either.

The gardeners got down to business. Of course, not immediately, not at the same moment. Laying mines is not such a simple matter. The soldiers underwent special training.

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

The miners are coming.

How are you, gardeners?

Everything is in perfect order.

Evil surname

The soldier was embarrassed by his last name. He was unlucky at birth. Trusov is his last name.

It's war time. The surname is catchy.

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

Surname?

Trusov.

How how?

Trusov.

Y-yes... - the military registration and enlistment office workers drawled.

A soldier got into the company.

What's the last name?

Private Trusov.

How how?

Private Trusov.

Y-yes... - the commander drawled.

The soldier suffered a lot of troubles from his last name. There are jokes and jokes all around:

Apparently, your ancestor was not a hero.

In a convoy with such a surname!

Field mail will be delivered. The soldiers will gather in a circle. Incoming letters are being distributed. Names given:

Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!

Everything is fine. The soldiers come up and take their letters.

Shout out:

Cowards!

The soldiers are laughing all around.

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

As part of his 149th separate rifle brigade, Private Trusov arrived at Stalingrad. They transported the soldiers across the Volga to the right bank. The brigade entered the battle.

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

Trusov doesn’t want to disgrace himself. Trying. The soldiers are going on the attack. Suddenly an enemy machine gun started firing from the left. Trusov turned around. He fired a burst from the machine gun. The enemy machine gun fell silent.

Well done! - the squad leader praised the soldier.

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

Now it's on the right. Trusov turned around. I got close to the machine gunner. Threw a grenade. And this fascist calmed down.

Hero! - said the squad leader.

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

Ooh! - the squad commander burst out. - Well, brother, your last name is evil. Evil!

Trusov smiled.

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

The medal “For Courage” hangs on the hero’s chest. Whoever meets you will squint at the reward.

The first question for the soldier now is:

What was he awarded for, hero?

No one will ask for your last name now. No one will giggle now. He won’t drop a word with malice.

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

Unusual operation

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

Mokapka loved to hang around the station for hours. Especially these days. One by one the echelons come here. They are bringing in military equipment. Mokapka knows that our troops defeated the Nazis near Kursk. They are driving the enemies to the west. Although small, but smart, Mokapka sees that the echelons are coming here. He understands: this means that here, in these places, a further offensive is planned.

The trains are coming, the locomotives are chugging. Soldiers unload military cargo.

Mokapka was spinning around somewhere near the tracks. He sees: a new train has arrived. Tanks stand on platforms. A lot of. The boy began to count the tanks. I looked closer and they were wooden. How can we fight against them?!

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden,” he whispers, “tanks.”

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

Wooden, grandfather, tanks. The old man raised his eyes to his grandson. The boy rushed to the station. He looks: the train is coming again. The train stopped. Mokapka looked - the guns were on platforms. A lot of. No less than there were tanks.

Mokapka took a closer look - after all, the guns were also wooden! Instead of trunks there are round timbers sticking out.

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden, he whispers, guns.

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

Wooden, grandfather, guns.

“Something new,” said the grandfather.

A lot of strange things were going on at the station back then. Somehow boxes with shells arrived. Mountains grew of these boxes. Happy Mockup:

Our fascists will have a blast!

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

But here’s something completely incomprehensible. The troops are coming here. A lot of. The column hurries after the column. They go openly, they arrive before dark.

The boy has an easy character. I immediately met the soldiers. Until dark, he kept spinning around. In the morning he runs to the soldiers again. And then he finds out: the soldiers left these places at night.

Mokapka stands there, wondering again.

Mokapka did not know that our people used military stratagem near Sudzha.

The Nazis are conducting reconnaissance of Soviet troops from airplanes. They see: trains arrive at the station, bring tanks, bring guns.

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

It is clear to the fascists: this is where a new Russian offensive is being prepared! Here, near the city of Sudzha. They gathered troops near Sudzha, but weakened their forces in other areas. They just pulled it off - and then there was a blow! However, not under Sudzha. Ours struck in another place. They defeated the Nazis again. And soon they were completely defeated in the Battle of Kursk.

Vyazma

The fields near Vyazma are free. The hills run towards the sky.

You can’t erase the words from there. Near the city of Vyazma, a large group of Soviet troops was surrounded by the enemy. The fascists are happy.

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

Surrounded?

“That’s right, our Fuhrer,” the fascist generals report.

Have you laid down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?

Here is a brave one found.

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

However, Hitler was distracted by something. The speech was interrupted mid-sentence.

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

Again Hitler calls from Berlin:

Surrounded?

“That’s right, our Fuhrer,” the fascist generals report.

Have you laid down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?

A terrible curse came from the tube.

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

Days pass again. The fighting near Vyazma continues. The enemies were stuck near Vyazma.

Vyazma knits them, knits them. She grabbed me by the throat!

The great Fuhrer is angry. Another call from Berlin.

Have you laid down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?!

No, the brave man is responsible for everyone.

A stream of bad words poured out again. The membrane in the tube began to dance.

The general fell silent. I waited it out. I caught the moment:

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

Hitler listens:

Well, well, what did our Friedrich say?

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

The Fuhrer muttered something incomprehensible into the phone. The Berlin wire has become disconnected.

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

The fields near Vyazma are free. The hills run towards the sky. Here in the fields, on the hills near Vyazma, hundreds of heroes lie. Here, defending Moscow, the Soviet people performed a great military feat.

Remember!

Keep the bright memory of them!

General Zhukov

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

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

Fighting is taking place near the city of Yukhnov, near Medyn, near Kaluga.

Officers find Yukhnov on the map.

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

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

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

Here, here, in this exact place. Don’t doubt it, says Zhukov.

Officers continue to report the situation.

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

“Yes, yes, right,” says Zhukov. “Only the forces are not here, but here,” Zhukov clarifies from the map.

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

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

Here, the officers say, south of Kaluga, the enemy pulled up motorized mechanized units. Here they are standing right now.

No, Zhukov objects. - They are not in this place now. This is where the parts have been moved, and shows the new location on the map.

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

Do not doubt. That's exactly how it is. You guys are great - you know the situation, Zhukov praised the staff officers. - But mine is more precise.

It turns out that General Zhukov had already visited Yukhnov, Medyn, and Kaluga. Before going to headquarters, I went straight to the battlefield. This is where the accurate information comes from.

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

Moscow sky

This happened even before the start of the Moscow Battle.

Hitler was daydreaming in Berlin. Wondering: what to do with Moscow? He suffers to make something so unusual and original. I thought and thought...

Hitler came up with this. I decided to flood Moscow with water. Build huge dams around Moscow. Fill the city and all living things with water.

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

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

Descendants will remember me!

Then I thought: “Uh, until the water comes in...”

Wait?!

No, he doesn’t agree to wait long.

Destroy now! This very minute!

Hitler thought, and here is the order:

Bomb Moscow! Destroy! With shells! Bombs! Send squadrons! Send armadas! Leave no stone unturned! Raze it to the ground!

He threw his hand forward like a sword:

Destroy! Raze it to the ground!

That’s right, raze it to the ground,” the fascist generals froze in readiness.

On July 22, 1941, exactly a month after the start of the war, the Nazis carried out their first air raid on Moscow.

The Nazis immediately sent 200 planes on this raid. The engines hum impudently.

The pilots lounged in their seats. Moscow is getting closer, getting closer. The fascist pilots reached for the bomb levers.

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

The Nazis did not expect such a meeting. The enemy formation was upset. Only a few planes broke through to Moscow then. And they were in a hurry. They threw bombs wherever they had to, they would quickly drop them and run away from here.

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

Well... - the fascist generals drawled.

We thought about it. We now decided to send planes not all at once, not in a mass, but in small groups.

The Bolsheviks will be punished!

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

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

For the third time, the Nazis are sending planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were intelligent and inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. They decided to send the planes in three tiers. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second one is a little higher. And the third - both at a high altitude and a little late. The first two groups will distract the attention of the defenders of the Moscow sky, the generals reason, and at this time, at a high altitude, the third group will quietly approach the city, and the pilots will drop bombs exactly on the target.

And now there are fascist planes in the sky again. The pilots lounged in their seats. The engines are humming. The bombs froze in the hatches.

There's a group coming. The second one is behind her. And a little behind, at a high altitude, the third. The very last one to fly was a special plane, with cameras. He will take photographs of how fascist planes destroy Moscow and bring them for display to the generals...

The generals are waiting for news. The first plane is returning. The engines stalled. The screws stopped. The pilots came out. Pale, pale. They can barely stand on their feet.

The Nazis lost fifty aircraft that day. The photographer did not return either. They shot him down on the way.

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

The fascists and their possessed Fuhrer dreamed of destroying Moscow to its foundations, to the stone. What happened?

Red Square

The enemy is nearby. Soviet troops abandoned Volokolamsk and Mozhaisk. In some sections of the front, the Nazis came even closer to Moscow. Fighting is taking place near Naro-Fominsk, Serpukhov and Tarusa.

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

When soldier Mitrokhin was told that the unit in which he serves would take part in the parade on Red Square, the soldier did not believe it at first. I decided that I had made a mistake, that I had misheard, that I had misunderstood something.

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

That’s right, a parade,” Mitrokhin answers. However, there is disbelief in the eyes.

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

It’s just a rarity for this day - it’s white all around from the snow. The frost hit early today. Snow fell all night until morning. He whitewashed the Mausoleum, laid it on the walls of the Kremlin, on the square.

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

The chimes struck the time.

Minute. Everything was quiet. The parade commander gave the traditional report. The host parade congratulates the troops on the anniversary of the Great October Revolution. Everything was quiet again. One more minute. And so, at first, quietly, and then louder and louder, the words of the Chairman of the State Defense Committee, Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the USSR, Comrade Stalin, sound.

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

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

The soldiers stood frozen in line.

A great liberation mission has fallen to your lot,” the words fly through the frost. - Be worthy of this mission!

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

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

The beats are fascists. Moscow stands and blooms as before. Getting better from year to year.

Incident at the crossing

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

Brothers, this is an incomprehensible deception! There must be some kind of cunning mechanism hidden in this box! I'd like to see...

Please,” the accordion player answered. “It’s just time for me to glue the bellows.”

And in front of everyone, he dismantled the instrument.

"Oh, no," the soldier said disappointedly. "It's empty, like a spent cartridge case..."

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

And the real miracle were the fingers of our accordion player. Amazingly played, to say the least!

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

Our accordion player will lift your mood in time, and warm you up in the cold - makes you dance, and instills cheerfulness in the depressed, and will make you remember your happy pre-war youth: your native land, mothers and loved ones. And one day...

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

Suddenly our accordion player, without saying a word, takes out his button accordion and begins to play “Katyusha”.

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

But nothing happened to the accordion player. Luring the Germans, he crawled along the shore away from the crossing and again began playing the perky “Katyusha”.

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

The commander and radio operator immediately realized why our accordion player started a “musical” game with the Germans, and, without hesitation, they forded to the other bank.

These are the kinds of incidents that happened to our soldier accordion player and his friend accordion, by the way, named after the ancient Russian singer Boyan.

Great battles and the fates of ordinary heroes are described in many works of fiction, but there are books that cannot be passed by and which cannot be forgotten. They make the reader think about the present and the past, about life and death, about peace and war. AiF.ru has prepared a list of ten books dedicated to the events of the Great Patriotic War that are worth re-reading during the holidays.

“And the dawns here are quiet...” Boris Vasiliev

“And the Dawns Here Are Quiet...” is a warning book that forces you to answer the question: “What am I ready for for the sake of my Motherland?” The plot of Boris Vasiliev's story is based on a truly accomplished feat during the Great Patriotic War: seven selfless soldiers did not allow a German sabotage group to blow up the Kirov railway, along which equipment and troops were delivered to Murmansk. After the battle, only one group commander remained alive. Already while working on the work, the author decided to replace the images of fighters with female ones in order to make the story more dramatic. The result is a book about female heroes that amazes readers with the truthfulness of the narrative. The prototypes of the five volunteer girls who enter into an unequal battle with a group of fascist saboteurs are peers from the school of the front-line writer; they also reveal the features of radio operators, nurses, and intelligence officers whom Vasiliev met during the war.

“The Living and the Dead” Konstantin Simonov

Konstantin Simonov is better known to a wide circle of readers as a poet. His poem “Wait for Me” is known and remembered by heart not only by veterans. However, the prose of the front-line soldier is in no way inferior to his poetry. One of the writer’s most powerful novels is considered to be the epic “The Living and the Dead,” consisting of the books “The Living and the Dead,” “Soldiers Are Not Born,” and “The Last Summer.” This is not just a novel about the war: the first part of the trilogy practically reproduces the personal front-line diary of the writer, who, as a correspondent, visited all fronts, walked through the lands of Romania, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Poland and Germany, and witnessed the last battles for Berlin. On the pages of the book, the author recreates the struggle of the Soviet people against the fascist invaders from the very first months of the terrible war to the famous “last summer”. Simonov's unique view, the talent of a poet and publicist - all this made “The Living and the Dead” one of the best works of art in its genre.

“The Fate of Man” Mikhail Sholokhov

The story “The Fate of a Man” is based on a real story that happened to the author. In 1946, Mikhail Sholokhov accidentally met a former soldier who told the writer about his life. The fate of the man struck Sholokhov so much that he decided to capture it on the pages of the book. In the story, the author introduces the reader to Andrei Sokolov, who managed to maintain his fortitude despite difficult trials: injury, captivity, escape, death of his family and, finally, the death of his son on the happiest day, May 9, 1945. After the war, the hero finds the strength to start a new life and give hope to another person - he adopts an orphaned boy Vanya. In “The Fate of a Man,” a personal story against the backdrop of terrible events shows the fate of an entire people and the strength of the Russian character, which can be called a symbol of the victory of Soviet troops over the Nazis.

“Cursed and Killed” Viktor Astafiev

Viktor Astafiev volunteered for the front in 1942 and was awarded the Order of the Red Star and the medal “For Courage”. But in the novel “Cursed and Killed,” the author does not glorify the events of the war; he speaks of it as a “crime against reason.” Based on personal impressions, the front-line writer described the historical events in the USSR that preceded the Great Patriotic War, the process of preparing reinforcements, the life of soldiers and officers, their relationships with each other and their commanders, and military operations. Astafiev reveals all the dirt and horrors of the terrible years, thereby showing that he does not see the point in the enormous human sacrifices that befell people during the terrible war years.

"Vasily Terkin" Alexander Tvardovsky

Tvardovsky’s poem “Vasily Terkin” received national recognition back in 1942, when its first chapters were published in the Western Front newspaper “Krasnoarmeyskaya Pravda”. The soldiers immediately recognized the main character of the work as a role model. Vasily Terkin is an ordinary Russian guy who sincerely loves his Motherland and his people, perceives any hardships of life with humor and finds a way out of even the most difficult situations. Some saw him as a comrade in the trenches, some as an old friend, and others saw themselves in his features. Readers loved the image of the folk hero so much that even after the war they did not want to part with him. That is why a huge number of imitations and “sequences” of “Vasily Terkin” were written, created by other authors.

“War does not have a woman’s face” Svetlana Alexievich

“War Doesn’t Have a Woman’s Face” is one of the most famous books about the Great Patriotic War, where the war is shown through the eyes of a woman. The novel was written in 1983, but was not published for a long time, as its author was accused of pacifism, naturalism, and of debunking the heroic image of the Soviet woman. However, Svetlana Alexievich wrote about something completely different: she showed that girls and war are incompatible concepts, if only because a woman gives life, while any war first of all kills. In her novel, Alexievich collected stories from front-line soldiers to show what they were like, girls of forty-one, and how they went to the front. The author took readers along the terrible, cruel, unfeminine path of war.

“The Tale of a Real Man” Boris Polevoy

“The Tale of a Real Man” was created by a writer who went through the entire Great Patriotic War as a correspondent for the newspaper Pravda. During these terrible years, he managed to visit partisan detachments behind enemy lines, participated in the Battle of Stalingrad, and in the battle on the Kursk Bulge. But Polevoy’s world fame was brought not by military reports, but by a work of fiction written on the basis of documentary materials. The prototype of the hero of his “Tale of a Real Man” was the Soviet pilot Alexei Maresyev, who was shot down in 1942 during an offensive operation of the Red Army. The fighter lost both legs, but found the strength to return to the ranks of active pilots and destroyed many more fascist planes. The work was written in the difficult post-war years and immediately fell in love with the reader, because it proved that in life there is always a place for heroism.

Stories of War

65 years have passed since the victory of Soviet troops over Nazi Germany. Modern schoolchildren have an idea of ​​the Great Patriotic War not from the stories of their great-grandfathers

and great-grandmothers, and from the works they read and the films they watched: time moves inexorably forward. The students of grade 4 “A” (teacher T.I. Zubareva) reflected their vision of those terrible events on the pages of the stories they invented, very similar to the real ones.