20.09.2019

War stories for children read the story. At the chalkboard. The Great Patriotic War

A collection of articles and materials dedicated to the village of Lyuboshch and the places surrounding it

SMALL STORIES 0 BIG WAR

The world has died down long ago,
not one, even two world ones.
But, closing the textbooks,
I grieve not for the dead, but for the living.

I believe a medical genius can handle it
with cancer, with any pestilence.
But will someone write a textbook?
after the third world war?

Much, much has been written about the war. Much has been written against war. But the wars continue. Maybe because they continue in our hearts, in our thoughts?

In any war, one way or another, everyone is always involved. Especially during world wars. Especially in the last second world war, most of all has been written about the Second World War. Many children of this war are still alive. It still continues in them, in their deep memory. It continues within me. I dedicate these little stories to the children of World War II.

Oryol region. An occupation. Places that we associate with the Battle of Oryol-Kursk. Big village. She's gone now. It was not destroyed by invaders, it was destroyed by Russian reformers of the 60s - 80s. I am 5 years old. Our house is the last one. It stands on a large (so it seemed in childhood) mountain. The hut is made of two halves, on one the animals, on the other - us. Doors (through) in the middle of the hut. I am returning in the afternoon from somewhere under the mountain. I approach the hut from the human side. U front door the German is standing. He raises his rifle. And he's aiming at me. Now he will shoot. In a second. And I won't be there anymore. I'm running away. I turn the corner and exit from the opposite side of the hut. The German is already standing there and is aiming at me again. If he aims, he will shoot. I have no choice. End! But there is no shot. I run downhill and huddle under the mountain into a deep dark hole where they took clay from. And before my eyes there is a German aiming at me... I don’t remember how long I sat in this clay pit without moving. Grandfather found me there already after dark.

When this picture pops up in my memory, I always think - how many children there were at whom all the guns and weapons of war were aimed back then! And how many triggers were pulled! And how many murder weapons are now aimed at children! In principle, it is aimed at the childhood of humanity, because humanity begins with childhood. Kill childhood - kill humanity! How many children are killed every day now? Are there such statistics? Maybe the UN knows these statistics? They kill someone’s childhood, which means they kill me too. I get killed every day. They continue to kill the childhood in me.

I'm walking through a summer meadow. If you only knew how beautiful the meadows in the Oryol region are during the grass season. What many grasses, many colors, what smells, what colors! I'm walking through this beautiful meadow. I'm a happy-go-lucky kid. Childhood is characterized by carelessness, that is, freedom, lack of concern. Childhood always turns its attention primarily to beauty, to the beautiful things around it. It's so natural.

I walk, carefree, through a beautiful meadow. And then from somewhere, from some celestial space, a plane appears. First there is the sound of this plane. Already in this very sound there is hostility. I turn around. The plane is flying low. He is approaching me. He's above me. In the entire expanse of sky and meadow there are two of us - the plane and me. The plane needs me. My whole being understands why the plane needs me. And it fills me with horror. The plane is so big, and I am so small, helpless. I run to the mountain in which a bomb shelter has been dug. It is my salvation. I run as hard as I can, but it seems that I remain in place, as happens in a dream. And above me is an airplane. It covers me. He roars. It seems that the plane is right over the top of my head. I run as hard as I can. And I don’t remember anything else. I'm just alive...

When I watch TV and I constantly see how modern aircraft different bombs beautiful countries, then I feel like I’m running through the meadow again, and above me there are planes (many, many of them) with their deadly cargo. And there is nowhere for me to hide.

Already during the battle on the Oryol-Kursk Bulge, the entire village: old people, women, children were loaded into freight cars at the Komarichi station along with all our village belongings, even horses and carts, and taken away. Where? Did I know then where? This I know now - we were taken to Ukraine to work in the cadet farms being created there. The carriages were moving, and from time to time planes roared over the carriages, as they once did above me running through the meadow, but, I remember, they never bombed. We were brought to the station in the city of Smolensk. There we were supposed to be overloaded.

We settled down with our entire village camp right next to the station. It was summer. We went to sleep under the carts. The horses were tied to carts. And at night the station began to be bombed. At the same time, our camp. Our Russian bombers bombed. “I don’t know my own.” The bombing, as it seemed then, took a long time and was scary. It was the worst thing in my life. Dark night. Sudden columns of fire. In sequence. Right next to you. The horse rears up and breaks. Everything around is torn and groaning. Everything in me is torn and groaning. Inside I have one burning desire: to jump up and run without looking back, run, run, run. But my grandmother lay down on me and pressed me with her senile, also defenseless body to the ground. And that made it even worse...

This night crushed me. In the morning, when it dawned, the vision was devastating: everything was torn apart. And among this devastated chaos wandered those who were still people yesterday. Half of the village remained forever at the station of the city of Smolensk.

When I think of Hell, I remember this night and this morning. Hell is not somewhere out there, far away, it is here on Earth, it is next to us, it is in us. We, people, gave birth to this earthly Hell...

We are not only children of war, we are children of Hell.

Then we, the survivors, were taken to the right place. And then we were liberated by our advancing army. More precisely, we ourselves freed ourselves. During the battle, obviously by agreement, with bullets whistling around us and shells exploding, we ran across, or rather, we ran over to our people. We were transported on our old-fashioned ancient-pre-ancient carts. We (we are grandfather, grandmother and I) had a gig, a cart with two wheels. And a handsome horse, a shiny black horse named Voronok. I don't know how fast we were flying. And when they flew over some railways, one wheel of our gig fell apart. But Voronok did not stop. and couldn't stop. Grandfather whipped our beautiful Funnel without ceasing... One wheel was spinning, and a fragment of the other was furrowing, plowing the ground. When we stopped, already freed, Voronok was covered in soap. He became white and white. This is how people turn gray in an instant or overnight...

Do you know how many gray-haired children there are in the world?

Son of the regiment

And then the entire remaining village returned on its own to their native places. Unforgettable pictures: on both sides of the road there are broken and abandoned military equipment, trenches, corpses that have not been removed here and there, the smell of gunpowder and some kind of burning. The empty bucket tied to the back of the cart rattled. And it was very empty around. And my stomach is empty.

We passed through some villages. I remember a well on one of the streets. Well with a crane. A fence around the well and the inscription: “Mined!” As grandfather read it.

Sometimes they stopped to rest. I remember parking in pine forest. I remember it for its beauty. An extraordinary warmth emanated from the pines. Some kind of love was spilled in the pine forest and filled the body and soul... There were many, many pine cones on the ground, and warmth emanated from them too. They looked like little living hedgehogs.

And there, apparently, some tank unit was also camped there to rest. And there was a girl there, very beautiful, slim, in shape. She liked me. And she asked my grandparents to give me to her. So that I become the son of the regiment. But they didn’t give me away. Whether I now regret that I was not given as a son of the regiment, I don’t know. I only know that on that day I experienced my first love: for the sun, for the pine trees, for the pine cones, for this unknown girl...

After the war, I went countless times with my peers to see the film “Son of the Regiment” based on the story by Valentin Kataev. And each time we lived the same life with Vanya Solntsev, participating with all our being in that big war.

And then I studied at the technical school with a real ex-son shelf. And we were friends for a very long time.

This is very short story. One day we stopped somewhere right in an open field. And somewhere in the middle of our caravan, a boy named Vanechka, Vanechka Shcherbakov, was sitting on a cart. He was younger than me, very small. And that’s why everyone affectionately called him Vanechka-Snotty. And Vanechka saw something attractive and shiny on the side of the road. And he asked that it be served to him. It was an egg, but not a simple one, but... a toy one. And they gave it to Vanechka. Vanechka was delighted with the unexpected toy. And he began to play with her. And there was an explosion. And Vanechka passed away. Childhood ended as soon as it began.

And then we rode alone in our gig, falling further and further behind everyone else. This is why it happened. We always rode ahead of our cart convoy. One day we were driving through the forest. And some people came out of the forest. They said that they were partisans. And they took Voronka from us. But they took pity on us and gave us some kind of starved horse in return. So we ended up at the tail of the caravan, and then completely lagged behind. But it was already close to their native places. Here is the city of Orel. All in ruins, in ruins. The bridge over the Orlik River was blown up. It was restored. And we moved to the other side along a temporary pontoon bridge. We also moved. We climbed to the high bank. Grandfather stopped the horse. He saw a well nearby, untied the bucket and went to it. And from the bridge being restored they began to shout: “It’s mined!” They waved their arms and shouted and shouted. And grandfather walked, he was deaf. We heard and saw it all, me and my grandmother. They were shouting from the bridge, my grandmother was screaming, my grandfather was walking towards a mined well, and I was numb. There was already an explosion inside me. And my grandfather was no longer there. The end of everything. And already some kind of endless sobbing was rising in me, and was ready to break through. And grandfather was already next to the well... But, just one step short of the well, he stopped. I looked around. I saw people screaming and waving from the bridge. He probably understood everything and returned. I don’t know what force stopped him. I often remember this terrible situation, and lines from a poem by Alexander Blok come to mind:

Go through dangerous years.
They are waiting for you everywhere.
But if you come out safe - then
You will finally believe a miracle.

Ivan Kosoy

And here we are - at home. We arrived in the afternoon. And in the evening the horse, which grandfather, I remember, called Gray, died. They say about the horse - it died. But Gray died. He took us and died. Like a man who has done his duty well.

And then there was a hungry autumn. And a hungry winter. And an even hungrier spring. In the spring we planted potatoes. And in the fall, my grandfather and I were already harvesting this life-saving harvest. I still remember this great miracle: digging out of the ground a beautiful potato bush, the roots of which were thickly covered with potatoes. All potatoes are alive, resembling some kind of fairy creatures, with a head, torso, arms and legs. And all potatoes are different. Like people. I have never seen such wonderful potatoes anywhere...

Grandpa and I are digging potatoes. And Ivan Zaitsev comes up to us. He is a year older than me, but in childhood the difference of one year is very noticeable. Ivan was the leader in all our childish affairs. The Zaitsevs' hut is not far from ours. Ivan has something in his hands. He shows this to his grandfather and says: “Now I found an airplane.” Grandfather immediately understood what kind of toy it was: “It’s not an airplane, Vanechka, it’s a mine.” Before grandfather had time to do anything, Ivan, frightened, turned away from us and threw this terrible toy to the ground. And a column of fire shot up. And, perhaps, a second before the explosion, grandfather knocked me to the ground and fell on top of me, covering me with himself. And when the explosion occurred, Ivan turned to us. His face was covered in blood. It seemed to me that he was covered in blood. They later called him in the village - Ivan Kosoy. His eye was knocked out by fragments of a mine, one fragment pierced his lung, another touched internal organs; and there were many small wounds on the body.

I’m reading the magazine “Ecology and Life” (No. 5, 2002): “According to experts, there are more than 100 million anti-personnel mines in the ground all over the planet” (p. 64). And how many mines exploded! And behind every mine I see a boy who looks like Ivan Kosoy. And those who fill the earth with mines are child-haters, child killers!

The story is not the last

And peaceful life began. But it was not peaceful. Cows were blown up by mines, tractors were blown up. The war continued. It continued in our children's games. We found a lot of live ammunition. My favorite pastime was to light a fire, quickly throw cartridges into the fire and quickly take cover, lie down behind a hillock. And with a sinking heart, hear shots and the whistle of bullets. Like in a war. A lot of linear gunpowder was left everywhere. We wrapped it in paper, stapled it and set one end on fire. It turned out to be a small rocket - a snake, it flew through the air in unpredictable ways, plopped down on the ground, took off again, and we dodged it.

And homemade pistols! Primitive, wooden. The trigger is a rubber band and a nail striker. One of these pistols exploded in the hands of my friend.

But the biggest tragedy happened in the summer, before Vanya Zaitsev found the mine. The boys found a warehouse with shells in one of the large dens. The adults were not told about this. Someone came up with the idea of unscrewing the heads from all the shells, pouring the gunpowder into one pile and setting it on fire. It was late in the evening. I was watering the lower garden and was in a hurry to run to the kids to play. And suddenly there was a powerful explosion from the den where the boys were fiddling with the shells. The whole village rushed there... None of the boys were alive, the relatives collected theirs piece by piece, recognizing them by some signs. My cousin also died in this ravine...

When I was writing this, a message was heard on the radio: the guys found a live grenade, it exploded, two boys were killed, eight were wounded. The war continues. What has man produced most on earth? Bread, potatoes, apples, boots, hats? Most of all weapons on earth, the most varied - from gas pistols to more and more modern weapons mass destruction. Back in the 60s of the 20th century, the following figure was announced: so many weapons have been accumulated on earth that they can hit every living thing on the planet 10 times. How long is it now?..

Go to children's stores, what kind of toys are there most of all? Weapons! The war continues! Any war is a war against childhood. I can’t help but remember two films by the great American director Stanley Kramer: “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad World” and “On the Farthest Shore.”

But childhood is always childhood. Childhood is characterized by joy. A child is given joy, or he finds it himself, invents it, or joy itself finds the child. And our wartime childhood had its joys, small and big, of course. I will end my little story with a story about one such joy...

In the first year after returning from Ukraine, we were in great poverty. They were just begging. My grandmother and I walked around the surrounding villages, near and far cities and begged for alms. We went a lot. A lot of memories remained in my heart. But one thing stood out in particular and was remembered forever. After several unsuccessful trips, my grandmother decided to go begging to the neighboring Bryansk region. There, in one of the villages, her old good friend lived.

We left early in the morning. And at lunchtime they came to that village. Grandma's friend greeted us cordially. She fed me soup. It was a great joy to eat real soup, which I had heard something about, but didn’t know the taste... However, the greatest joy was ahead. After lunch, my grandmother’s friend’s granddaughter and I were sent to the yard to play in the garden. The garden was big. And there were many apple trees in the garden. It seemed as if the whole sky was filled with apples. The beauty of these apples was amazing; they looked like magic, with different shades of blush on their sides. The girl was my age, somehow unusually clean, light, airy. A kind of warmth and kindness emanated from her. This was so new after my grandmother and I spent many months of humiliating wanderings in search of a piece of bread.

I don’t remember what we did in this Garden of Eden, what we played. I only remember very well the feeling of happiness. And I wanted it not to end... And when we left this hospitable house, the girl filled our knapsack with apples, these same heavenly apples. I carried this bag of apples like my greatest treasure and secret.

At home, I put the apples in a large ammunition box. Several times a day I opened the magic box and admired the apples. And I kept seeing this girl in front of me. I never ate a single apple; I couldn’t even think that such apples could be eaten.

V.A. Zhilkin

S.V. Kochevykh, 2011

Stories by Sergei Alekseev about the Great Patriotic War. Interesting, educational and unusual stories about the behavior of soldiers and fighters during the war.

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?

- I can! - the soldier said loudly.

- Two steps forward.

The soldier is out of action.

“Write to the gardeners,” said the sergeant major to the corporal.

— Do you know how to plant potatoes?

- I haven’t tried it.

- I didn’t have to, but if necessary...

“That’s enough,” said the foreman.

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

Soldier Skurko tells fortunes. And other fighters are wondering:

— Should I 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.

Miners stretched for many kilometers to the north, south, and west of Kursk minefields and screens. 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.

UNUSUAL OPERATION

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

Mokapka loved to hang around the station for hours. Especially these days. One by one the echelons come here. They give you a ride 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 took a closer look and they were made of wood. 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, “cannons.”

“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.

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 they spared no effort and worked for Great Victory both old and young.
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 I find it hard to believe that human life ending it is as easy as a cheerful morning dream.

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

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

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

Millions of people rose to defend the country.

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

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

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

“Everything for the front, everything for Victory!”

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

The ominous symbol of the bestial appearance of fascism became concentration camps of death.

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

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

The enemy spared neither women nor children.

May day 1945. Acquaintances and strangers they 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 over dead sons, then the Sea of Sorrow would form, and rivers of Suffering would flow from it to all corners of the planet.

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

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

Weekend dress

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

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

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

Fascist planes continuously bombed Sevastopol from the air.

Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.

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

Sevastopol residents also set up two military factories underground.

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

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

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

For one:

No natural silk.

On the second:

No natural silk.

We went to the third, fourth, fifth.

There is no natural silk anywhere.

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

Well, did you find it?

“I found it,” Katya answers.

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

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

That's it Katya!

Thanks, Kate!

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

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

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

Bul-bul

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

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

The fascist sits in his hiding place and shouts:

Rus, tomorrow glug-glug!

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fascist leaned out and again:

Glug-glug!

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

Don't touch! - Noskov said sternly.

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

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

By evening the fascist soldier fell silent.

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

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

But someone said:

Brothers, they are crawling back.

The second confirmed:

That's right, they are coming back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soldiers handed over the prisoner to headquarters.

Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.

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

Special task

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

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

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

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

Get ready. We had a special task.

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

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

Maybe a raid on the fascist headquarters?

Take it higher,” the foreman smiles.

Maybe we can capture the general?

Higher, higher,” the elder laughs.

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

Scouts again:

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

Maybe we can carry out sabotage at the fascist airfield?

They look at the elder. The elder smiles.

Night. Darkness. Dumbness. Deafness. Go to fascist rear scouts. We went down the steep slope. They climbed the mountain. Joined Pine forest. Crimean pines clung to the stones. It smelled pleasantly of pine. The soldiers remembered their childhood.

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

Good?

Good, say the scouts.

I saw another one nearby.

This one is better?

It seems better,” the scouts nodded.

Fluffy?

Fluffy.

Slim?

Slim!

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

“Here they are,” the scouts burst out.

The next day the scouts were released into the city, Christmas tree to children in the children's preschool underground garden.

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

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

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

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

Gardeners

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

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

The foreman looked at the first of the soldiers:

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

The fighter was embarrassed and shrugged.

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I can! - the soldier said loudly.

Two steps forward.

The soldier is out of action.

Write to the gardeners,” said the sergeant major to the corporal.

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I haven't tried it.

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

That’s enough,” said the foreman.

Soldier Skurko tells fortunes. And other fighters are wondering:

Plant potatoes?

Sow carrots?

Cucumbers for the headquarters canteen?

The foreman looked at the soldiers.

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

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

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

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

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

The miners are coming.

How are you, gardeners?

Everything is in perfect order.

Evil surname

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

It's war time. The surname is catchy.

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

Surname?

Trusov.

How how?

Trusov.

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

A soldier got into the company.

What's the last name?

Private Trusov.

How how?

Private Trusov.

Y-yes... - the commander drawled.

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

Apparently, your ancestor was not a hero.

In a convoy with such a surname!

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

Kozlov! Sizov! Smirnov!

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

Shout out:

Cowards!

The soldiers are laughing all around.

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

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

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

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

Well done! - the squad leader praised the soldier.

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

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

Hero! - said the squad leader.

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

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

Trusov smiled.

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

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

The first question for the soldier now is:

What was he awarded for, hero?

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

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

Unusual operation

Mokapka 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.

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.

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 large group Soviet troops were 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 are fighting stubbornly. They shackled the fascists. The fascist offensive breaks down. Enemies are stuck near Vyazma.

Again Hitler calls from Berlin:

Surrounded?

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

Have you laid down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?

A terrible curse came from the tube.

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

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

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

The great Fuhrer is angry. Another call from Berlin.

Have you laid down your weapons?

The generals are silent.

Have you laid down your weapons?!

No, the brave man is responsible for everyone.

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

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

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

Hitler listens:

Well, well, what did our Friedrich say?

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

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

For a whole week the fighting continued near Vyazma. The week was invaluable for Moscow. During these days, the defenders of Moscow managed to gather their strength and prepared convenient lines for defense.

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

Remember!

Keep the bright memory of them!

General Zhukov

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

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

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

Officers find Yukhnov on the map.

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

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

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

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

Officers continue to report the situation.

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

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

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

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

Here, the officers say, south of Kaluga, the enemy pulled up motorized mechanized units. This is where they are standing at this moment.

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

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

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

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

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

Moscow sky

This happened even before the start of the Moscow Battle.

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

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

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

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

Descendants will remember me!

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

Wait?!

No, he doesn’t agree to wait long.

Destroy now! This very minute!

Hitler thought, and here is the order:

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

He threw his hand forward like a sword:

Destroy! Raze it to the ground!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well... - the fascist generals drawled.

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

The Bolsheviks will be punished!

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

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

For the third time, the Nazis are sending planes to Moscow. Hitler's generals were intelligent and inventive. The generals came up with a new plan. They decided to send the planes in three tiers. Let one group of planes fly low from the ground. The second one is a little higher. And the third - and on 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 left 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 sound State Committee Defense, Supreme Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of the USSR, Comrade Stalin.

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

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

The soldiers stood frozen in line.

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

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

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

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

Incident at the crossing

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

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

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

And in front of everyone, he dismantled the instrument.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten"

Dedicated to the Great Victory!

Asecond: Ilgiz Garayev

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

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

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

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

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

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

Millions of people rose to defend the country.

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!”

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend dress

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

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

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

Fascist planes continuously bombed Sevastopol from the air.

Sevastopol went underground, into the rocks.

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

Sevastopol residents also set up two military factories underground.

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

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.

But someone said:

Brothers, they are crawling back.

The second confirmed:

That's right, they are coming back.

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

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

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

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

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

The soldiers handed over the prisoner to headquarters.

Noskov waved goodbye to the fascist.

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

Special task

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

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

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

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

Get ready. We had a special task.

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

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

Maybe a raid on the fascist headquarters?

Take it higher,” the foreman smiles.

Maybe we can capture the general?

Higher, higher,” the elder laughs.

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

Scouts again:

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

Maybe we can carry out sabotage at the fascist airfield?

They look at the elder. The elder smiles.

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

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

Good?

Good, say the scouts.

I saw another one nearby.

This one is better?

It seems better,” the scouts nodded.

Fluffy?

Fluffy.

Slim?

Slim!

“Here they are,” the scouts burst out.

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

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

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

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

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

Gardeners

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

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

The foreman looked at the first of the soldiers:

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

The fighter was embarrassed and shrugged.

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I can! - the soldier said loudly.

Two steps forward.

The soldier is out of action.

Write to the gardeners,” said the sergeant major to the corporal.

Do you know how to plant potatoes?

I haven't tried it.

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

That’s enough,” said the foreman.

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.

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.

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.

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

Trusov smiled.

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

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

The first question for the soldier now is:

What was he awarded for, hero?

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

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

Unusual operation

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

The boy rushed to his grandmother.

Wooden,” he whispers, “tanks.”

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

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.

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.

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.

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 ...