An ordinary story. Download audiobook Ivan Goncharov

The story "Ivan", published in 1958 in the magazine "Banner", brought the author recognition and success. Andrei Tarkovsky shot the famous film "Ivan's Childhood" based on the story. Tragic and truthful, in contrast to lisping works such as "The Son of the Regiment" by V. Kataev, the story of a scout boy who perishes at the hands of the Germans with full consciousness of his professional duty, immediately entered the classics of Soviet prose about the war.

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Vladimir Bogomolov
IVAN

1

That night I was going to check the outposts before dawn and, having ordered to wake me up at four o'clock, went to bed at nine o'clock.

They woke me up earlier: the hands on the luminous dial showed five o'clock.

Comrade Senior Lieutenant ... and Comrade Senior Lieutenant ... let me turn to you ... - They shook me violently by the shoulder. By the light of a trophy bowl flickering on the table, I made out Corporal Vasilyev from a platoon, which was in combat outposts. - One was detained here ... The junior lieutenant ordered to deliver to you ...

Light the lamp! - I commanded, mentally cursing: they could have figured it out without me.

Vasiliev lit the cartridge case flattened from above and, turning to me, reported:

Crawled in the water near the shore. Why - he does not say, he demands to be delivered to the headquarters. He does not answer questions: they say, I will only speak with the commander. It seems weakened, or maybe pretends. The junior lieutenant ordered ...

I got up, got my legs out from under the blanket and, rubbing my eyes, sat down on the bunk. Vasiliev, a fiery fellow, stood in front of me, dropping drops of water from a dark, wet raincoat.

The shell burst into flames, illuminating the spacious dugout - at the very door I saw a thin boy of about eleven years old, all blue from the cold and shivering; he was wearing a shirt and pants that were wet and stuck to his body; small bare feet were ankle-deep in mud; at the sight of him, a shiver went through me.

Go stand to the stove! - I told him. - Who are you?

He approached, examining me with a wary, concentrated gaze of large, unusually wide-set eyes. His face was high-cheekbone, dark gray from the dirt embedded in his skin. Her hair, wet of an indeterminate color, hung in tufts. In his gaze, in the expression of an exhausted face, with tightly compressed, blue lips, there was some kind of inner tension and, as it seemed to me, distrust and dislike.

Who are you? I repeated.

Let him come out, ”the boy said in a weak voice, kinking his teeth, pointing with a glance at Vasilyev.

Put some wood on and wait upstairs! - I ordered Vasiliev.

With a noisy sigh, he, without haste to prolong his stay in the warm dugout, straightened his firebrands, filled the stove with short logs and just left without haste. Meanwhile, I pulled on my boots and looked expectantly at the boy.

Well, why are you silent? Where are you from?

I’m Bondarev, ”he said quietly with such an intonation as if this surname could tell me something or explain everything at all. “Notify the fifty-first headquarters at once that I’m here.

Look you! - I could not help smiling. - Well, then?

Who are they? Which headquarters to report and who is the fifty-first?

To the army headquarters.

And who is this fifty-first?

He was silent.

Which army headquarters do you need?

Field mail at forty-nine five hundred and fifty ...

He gave the number of the field mail of our army headquarters without mistake. Stopping smiling, I looked at him in surprise and tried to comprehend everything.

A dirty shirt to the thighs and narrow short ports on it were old, canvas, as I determined, country tailoring and almost homespun; he spoke correctly, noticeably aka, as Muscovites and Belarusians mostly say; judging by the dialect, he was a native of the city.

He stood in front of me, glancing from under his brows warily and aloof, quietly sniffing, and was trembling all over.

Take everything off and rub it off. Alive! - I ordered, handing him a waffle towel, not the first freshness.

He pulled off his shirt, revealing a thin body with protruding ribs, dark with dirt, and hesitantly looked at the towel.

Take it, take it! It's dirty.

He began to rub his chest, back, hands.

And take off your pants! - I commanded. - Are you shy?

He also silently, fiddling with the swollen knot, not without difficulty untied the braid that replaced his belt, and threw off his trousers. He was still quite a child, narrow-shouldered, with thin legs and arms, apparently no more than ten or eleven years old, although in his face, sullen, not childishly concentrated, with wrinkles on his bulging forehead, he could be given, perhaps, that's all thirteen. Grabbing his shirt and trousers, he tossed them into the corner by the door.

And who will dry - uncle? - I asked.

They will bring everything to me.

Here's how! - I doubted. - Where are your clothes?

He said nothing. I was about to ask him where his documents were, but I realized in time that he was too small to have them.

I took out from under the bunks an old quilted jacket of an orderly who was in the medical battalion. The boy stood near the stove with his back to me - between the sharp shoulder blades protruding a large black mole, the size of a five-altyn one. Higher up, over the right shoulder blade, a scarred scar stood out, as I determined, from a bullet wound.

What do you have?

He glanced over his shoulder at me, but said nothing.

I'm asking you what is on your back? - Raising my voice, I asked, handing him a quilted jacket.

It does not concern you. And don't you dare shout! - He replied with dislike, brutally flashing green, like a cat's eyes, but took a quilted jacket. “It’s your business to report that I’m here. The rest does not concern you.

Don't teach me! - I shouted irritably at him. - You do not understand where you are and how to behave. Your last name doesn't tell me anything. Until you explain who you are, and where you are from, and why you got to the river, I won't lift a finger.

You will be responsible! - he declared with a clear threat.

Don't scare me - you're still small! You will not be able to play in silence with me! Speak plainly: where are you from?

He wrapped himself in a quilted jacket that reached almost to his ankles and was silent, turning his face to the side.

You will stay here for a day, three, five, but until you say who you are and where you are from, I will not report you anywhere! I announced decisively.

Looking at me coldly and distantly, he turned away and said nothing.

You will talk?

You must report to the 51st headquarters at once that I am here, ”he repeated stubbornly.

I don't owe you anything, ”I said irritably. - And until you explain who you are and where you are from, I will not do anything. Cut it on your nose! .. Who is this fifty-first?

He was silent, coming true, with concentration.

Where are you from? .. - With difficulty restraining myself, I asked. - Speak if you want me to report you!

After a long pause - intense reflection - he managed through his teeth:

From the other side.

From the other side? - I didn't believe it. - How did you get here? How can you prove that you are from the other side?

I will not prove it. - I won't say anything else. You dare not question me - you will answer! And don't say anything on the phone. Only the fifty-first knows that I am from the other side. You must tell him at once: Bondarev is with me. And that's it! They will come for me! he shouted with conviction.

Maybe you can still explain who you are, that they will come for you?

He was silent.

I looked at it for a while and thought. His surname didn't tell me exactly anything, but maybe they knew about him at the army headquarters? During the war, I got used to not being surprised at anything.

He looked miserable, exhausted, but he behaved independently, he spoke to me confidently and even imperiously: he did not ask, but demanded. Sullen, not childishly focused and alert, he made a very strange impression; his claim that he was from the other side seemed to me a clear lie.

It is clear that I was not going to report it directly to the army headquarters, but it was my duty to report it to the regiment. I thought that they would take him to themselves and figure out what was what; and I still sleep for two hours and go to check the security.

I twisted the knob of the telephone and, taking the receiver, called the regiment headquarters.

Comrade Captain, the eighth is reporting! I have Bondarev here. Bon da roar! He demands that the Volga be reported about him ...

Bondarev? .. - asked Maslov in surprise. - What Bondarev? Is it a major from the operative who believes? Where did he come from to you? - Maslov was bombarded with questions, as I felt, worried.

No, what kind of believer is there! - I don’t know who he is: he doesn’t speak. Demands that I report to the "Volga" 51st that he is with me.

And who is this fifty-first?

I thought you knew.

We do not have the callsign "Volga". Divisional only. And who is he by position, Bondarev, in what rank?

He has no rank, - I said involuntarily smiling. - This is a boy ... you know, a boy of about twelve ...

Are you laughing? .. Who are you having fun with ?! Maslov shouted into the phone. - To arrange a circus ?! I'll show you boy! I will report to the major! Have you drunk or have nothing to do? I ...

Comrade Captain! - I shouted, dumbfounded by this turn of affairs. Comrade captain, honestly, it's a boy! I thought you knew about him ...

I don’t know and I don’t want to know! shouted Maslov passionately. - And you do not go to me with trifles! I'm not your boy! My ears are swollen from work, and you ...

So I thought ...

Don't think!

Yes! .. Comrade captain, but what to do with him, with the boy?

What to do? .. And how did he get to you?

Detained on the shore by guards.

And how did he get to the shore?

As I understand it ... - I hesitated for a moment. - He says that from the other side.

"He's talking," Maslov mimicked. - On the flying carpet? He weaves you, and you hung your ears. Put a sentry on him! he ordered. - And if you can't figure it out yourself, tell Zotov. These are their functions - let him do it ...

You tell him: if he shouts and does not report to the fifty-first immediately, ”the boy suddenly uttered resolutely and loudly,“ he will answer! ..

But Maslov has already hung up. And I threw mine to the apparatus, annoyed with the boy and even more with Maslov.

The fact is that I was only temporarily acting as battalion commander, and everyone knew that I was “temporary”. In addition, I was only twenty-one years old, and, naturally, they treated me differently than other battalions. If the regiment commander and his deputies tried not to show this in any way, then Maslov - by the way, the youngest of my regimental commanders - did not hide the fact that he considered me a boy, and treated me accordingly, although I had fought since the first months of the war, had wounds and awards ...

Of course, Maslov would not have dared to talk in such a tone with the commander of the first or third battalion. And with me ... Without listening and not understanding properly, cry out ... I was sure that Maslov was wrong. Nevertheless, I said to the boy, not without gloating:

You asked me to report you - I did! Ordered to put you in a dugout, - I lied, - and put a guard. Satisfied?

I told you to report to the 51st army headquarters, and where did you call?

You "said"! .. I cannot go to the army headquarters myself.

Let me call you. - Instantly pulling his hand out from under the quilted jacket, he grabbed the telephone receiver.

Don't you dare! .. Who are you going to call? Who do you know at army headquarters?

He paused, however, without letting go of the pipe, and said gloomily:

Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.

Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov was the head of the intelligence department of the army; I knew him not only by hearsay, but also personally.

How do you know him?

Silence.

Who else do you know at army headquarters?

Again silence, a quick glance from under the brows - and through clenched teeth:

Captain Choline.

Kholin, an officer in the headquarters intelligence department, was also known to me.

How do you know them?

Now tell Gryaznov that I am here, ”the boy demanded without answering,“ or I'll call you myself!

Taking the pipe away from him, I thought for another half a minute, making up my mind, turned the handle, and I was again connected to Maslov.

The eighth is worried. Comrade captain, please listen to me, ”I said firmly, trying to suppress my excitement. - I’m talking about Bondarev again. He knows Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov and Captain Kholin.

How does he know them? Maslov asked wearily.

He does not speak. I consider it necessary to report it to Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.

If you think what is needed, report it, ”Maslov said with some indifference. - You generally consider it possible to go to the authorities with all sorts of nonsense. Personally, I see no reason to disturb the command, especially at night. It is undignified!

So will you let me call?

I don’t allow you anything, and you don’t involve me ... But by the way, you can call Dunaev - I’ve just talked to him, he’s not sleeping.

I contacted Major Dunaev, the division's intelligence chief, and said that Bondarev was at my place and that he was demanding that Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov be immediately reported about him ...

It's clear, - Dunaev interrupted me. - Wait - I will report.

About two minutes later the telephone zoomed sharply and demandingly.

Eighth? .. Talk to the Volga, - said the telephone operator.

Galtsev? .. Great, Galtsev! - I recognized the low, rude voice of Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov; I could not help but recognize him: Gryaznov until the summer was the chief of intelligence of our division, while at that time I was a communications officer and ran into him constantly. - Do you have Bondarev?

Here, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel!

Well done! - I did not immediately understand who this praise was referring to: to me or to the boy. - Listen carefully! Drive everyone out of the dugout so that they don't see him or pester him. No questions about him - no talk! Vnik? .. Say hello to him from me. Kholin leaves for him, I think you will have it in three hours. Until then, create all the conditions! Be more delicate, keep in mind: he is a guy with a temper. First of all, give him paper and ink or a pencil. What he will write in the packet and send it to the regiment headquarters with a reliable person. I will give the command, they will deliver it to me immediately. You will create all the conditions for him and do not bother with conversations. Give hot water to wash, feed, and let him sleep. This is our guy. Vnik?

Yes sir! I replied, although much was not clear to me.

* * *

Want to eat? - I asked first of all.

Then, - said the boy, without raising his eyes.

Then I put paper, envelopes and a pen on the table in front of him, put ink on, then, leaving the dugout, ordered Vasilyev to go to the post and, returning, locked the door on a hook.

The boy was sitting on the edge of a bench with his back to the red-hot stove; the wet ports he had thrown into the corner earlier lay at his feet. From the pinned pocket, he pulled out a dirty handkerchief, unrolled it, poured it on the table and laid out in separate piles grains of wheat and rye, sunflower seeds and needles - pine and spruce needles. Then, with the most concentrated air, he counted how much was in each pile, and wrote it down on paper.

When I approached the table, he quickly turned the sheet over and looked at me with an unpleasant look.

I won’t, I won’t watch, ”I hastily assured.

Having called the battalion headquarters, I ordered to immediately heat up two buckets of water and deliver them to the dugout along with a large cauldron. I caught the surprise in the sergeant's voice, repeating my order into the phone. I told him that I wanted to wash, and it was half past one in the night, and, probably, like Maslov, he thought that I had drunk or had nothing to do. I also ordered the preparation of the tsarist agile soldier from the fifth company - to be sent as a liaison to the regiment headquarters.

While talking on the phone, I was standing sideways to the table and out of the corner of my eye I saw that the boy had drawn a sheet of paper up and down and in the extreme left column he wrote vertically in large childish handwriting: "... 2 ... 4, 5 ..." I did not know and subsequently did not find out what these numbers meant and what he then wrote.

He wrote for a long time, about an hour, scratching the paper with his pen, puffing and covering the sheet with his sleeve; his fingers had shortly gnawed nails and abrasions; neck and ears - not washed for a long time. Stopping from time to time, he nervously bit his lips, thought or remembered, snored and wrote again. Hot and cold water had already been brought in — without letting anyone into the dugout, I myself brought the buckets and the cauldron — and it still creaked with a pen; just in case, I put a bucket of water on the stove.

When he finished, he folded the sheets of paper in half, stuck them in the envelope and, drooling, carefully taped them up. Then, taking a larger envelope, put the first one in it and sealed it just as carefully.

I brought the package to the messenger - he was waiting near the dugout - and ordered:

Take to regiment headquarters immediately. On alarm! Report to Kraev about the execution ...

Then I went back, diluted the water in one of the buckets, making it less hot. Throwing off the quilted jacket, the boy climbed into the cauldron and began to wash.

I felt guilty in front of him. He did not answer questions, undoubtedly acting in accordance with instructions, and I shouted at him, threatened him, trying to extort what I was not supposed to know: as you know, intelligence officers have secrets that are inaccessible even to senior staff officers.

Now I was ready to look after him like a nanny; I even wanted to wash it myself, but I didn’t dare: he didn’t look in my direction and, as if not noticing me, behaved as if there was no one else in the dugout except him.

Let me rub your back, - unable to bear it, I suggested hesitantly.

I myself! he snapped.

All I had to do was to stand by the stove, holding a clean towel and a coarse calico shirt - he had to put it on - and stir the supper, which I hadn't touched so by the way, in the kettle: millet porridge with meat.

After washing, he turned out to be fair-haired and white-skinned; only the face and hands were darker from the wind or from sunburn. His ears were small, pink, delicate and, as I noticed, asymmetrical: the right one was pressed back, the left protruded. Notable in his high cheekbones were his eyes, large, greenish, surprisingly wide apart; I have probably never seen eyes set so wide.

He wiped himself dry and, taking from my hands the shirt heated by the stove, put it on, neatly tucking up his sleeves, and sat down at the table. Alertness and aloofness were no longer visible in his face; he looked tired, was stern and thoughtful.

I expected that he would pounce on the food, but he hooked him with a spoon several times, chewed with no appetite, and put down the pot; then, in the same silence, he drank a mug of very sweet - I did not regret the sugar - tea with cookies from my supplement and got up, saying quietly:

Thanks.

In the meantime, I managed to take out a cauldron with dark-dark water, only greyish from soap on top, and fluffed up the pillow on the bunk. The boy climbed into my bed and lay face down to the wall with his palm under his cheek. He took all my actions for granted; I realized that it was not the first time he had returned from the “other side” and knew that as soon as it became known about his arrival at the headquarters of the army, the order would immediately be given to “create all the conditions” ... Having covered him with two blankets, I carefully tucked them in from all sides, as my mother once did for me ...

2

Trying not to make any noise, I got ready - put on a helmet, threw a raincoat over my overcoat, took a submachine gun - and quietly left the dugout, ordering the sentry not to let anyone into it without me.

The night was stormy. True, the rain had already stopped, but the north wind blew in gusts, it was dark and cold.

My dugout was in the undergrowth, about seven hundred meters from the Dnieper, which separated us from the Germans. The opposite, elevated bank was in command, and our leading edge was carried in depth, to a more advantageous line, while guarding units were posted directly to the river.

I made my way in the dark underbrush, focusing mainly on the distant flashes of missiles on the enemy coast - the missiles took off in one place or another along the entire line of the German defense. Every now and then the silence of the night was bursting with abrupt machine-gun bursts: at night the Germans methodically, as our regiment commander said, “for prophylaxis,” every few minutes fired at our coastal strip and the river itself.

Coming out to the Dnieper, I went to the trench, where the nearest post was located, and ordered to call the commander of the security platoon to me. When he appeared out of breath, I moved along with him along the coast. He immediately asked me about the "boy", perhaps deciding that my arrival was connected with the detention of the boy. Without answering, I immediately started a conversation about something else, but my thoughts involuntarily kept returning to the boy.

I peered into the half-kilometer stretch of the Dnieper, hidden by the darkness, and for some reason I could not believe that little Bondarev was from that bank. Who were the people who ferried it, and where are they? Where is the boat? Had the security posts looked over her? Or maybe it was lowered into the water at a considerable distance from the coast? And how did you decide to lower such a thin, weak-bodied boy into the cold autumn water? ..

Our division was preparing to cross the Dnieper. In the instruction I received, I taught him almost by heart, - in this instruction, designed for adults, healthy men, it was said: impossible. " This is if it is below + 15 °, and if about + 5 °?

No, undoubtedly, the boat was approaching close to the shore, but why then was it not noticed? Why, having dropped the boy, she left on the sly, and did not find herself? I was at a loss.

Meanwhile, the guards were awake. Only in one cell, brought out to the river itself, did we find a dozing soldier. He "Kemaril" standing, leaning against the wall of the trench, the helmet slid over his eyes. When we appeared, he grabbed the machine gun and, asleep, almost stitched us with a burst. I ordered to immediately replace him and punish him, before scolding him in an undertone and the commander of the squad.

In the trench on the right flank, after completing the detour, we sat down in a niche under the parapet and lit a cigarette with the soldiers. There were four of them in this large trench with a machine-gun platform.

Comrade senior lieutenant, how have you sorted it out with the ogolets? one asked me in a dull voice; he was on duty standing at the machine gun and did not smoke.

What is it? - I asked, getting worried.

So. I think it's not just that. On such a night, the last dog will not be driven out of the house, but he climbed into the river. What need? .. Was he whispering about the boat, wanted to go to the other side? Why? .. Dull ogolets - it is necessary to check it thoroughly! Press him tightly so that he speaks. To give the whole truth out of him.

Yes, there seems to be turbidity, - confirmed another not very confidently. - Silence and looks, they say, a wolf cub. And why is she stripped?

A boy from Novoselki, - I lied slowly, dragging on (Novoselki was a large, half-burnt village about four kilometers behind us). “The Germans have stolen his mother from him;

There it is! ..

The poor fellow is yearning, - the elderly soldier, who smoked, sighed knowingly, squatting opposite me; the light of the cigarette burner illuminated his broad, dark, stubbled face. - There is nothing more terrible than melancholy! And Yurlov thinks all bad things, seeks out everything nasty in people. You can't do that, ”he said softly and judiciously, addressing the soldier who was standing at the machine gun.

I am vigilant, - Yurlov stubbornly announced in a dull voice. - And you do not reproach me, you will not alter me! I hate the gullible and kind. Through this gullibility from the border to Moscow, the land is filled with blood! .. Enough! .. And you have kindness and trust to the eyeballs, I would lend the Germans a bit, anoint your souls! .. You, comrade senior lieutenant, tell me this: where is his clothes ? And what did he do in the water? All this is strange; I think - suspicious! ..

Look, he asks how from a subordinate, - the elderly man grinned. - This boy was given to you, as if they can't figure it out without you. You'd better ask what the command thinks about vodka. Coldness, I will not save, but there is nothing to keep warm. Will they start giving soon, ask. And they will deal with the boy without us ...

... After sitting with the soldiers for a while, I remembered that Kholin was to arrive soon, and, having said goodbye, set off on the way back. I forbade me to see myself off and soon regretted it; in the dark I got lost, as it turned out later, I took it to the right and wandered through the bushes for a long time, stopped by the sharp shouts of the sentries. Only thirty minutes later, freezing in the wind, I got to the dugout.

To my surprise, the boy was awake.

He was sitting in one shirt, his legs dangling from the bunk. The stove had gone out long ago, and it was rather cool in the dugout - light steam was coming from the mouth.

Haven't arrived yet? the boy asked point-blank.

No. Sleep, sleep. If they come, I'll wake you up.

Did he make it?

Who is he? - I did not understand.

Fighter. With package.

I did, ”I said, although I didn’t know: having sent the messenger, I forgot about him and the package.

For a few moments the boy looked thoughtfully at the light of the cartridge case and suddenly, as it seemed to me, asked worriedly:

Were you here when I was sleeping? I don’t talk in my sleep?

No, I haven't. And what?

So. Didn't speak before. Now I don’t know. I’m kind of nervous, ”he admitted sadly.

Soon Kholin arrived. A tall, dark-haired handsome man of about twenty-seven, he burst into the dugout with a large German suitcase in hand. Immediately thrusting a wet suitcase into me, he rushed to the boy:

At the sight of Kholin, the boy instantly perked up and smiled. He smiled for the first time, delighted, completely childish.

It was a meeting of great friends - undoubtedly, at that moment I was superfluous here. They hugged like adults; Kholin kissed the boy several times, stepped back a step and, squeezing his narrow, thin shoulders, looked at him with enthusiastic eyes and said:

- ... Katasonich is waiting for you with a boat at Dikovka, and you are here ...

In Dikovka of the Germans - you can't approach the shore, - said the boy, smiling apologetically. - I sailed from Sosnovka. You know, I got out in the middle, and even got a spasm - I thought the end ...

So are you swimming ?! - Kholin cried in amazement.

On a log. Don't swear - that's how it was. The boats are upstairs and everyone is guarded. Do you think it's easy to find your tuzik in such darkness? They'll be caught at once! You know, I got out, and the log spins, slips out, and another leg grabbed, well, I think: the edge! The current! .. It carried it, it carried it… I don’t know how it came out.

Sosnovka was a hamlet upstream, on that enemy bank - the boy had been carried nearly three kilometers away. It was just a miracle that on a rainy night, in the cold October water, so weak and small, he nevertheless swam ...

Kholin, turning around, thrust his muscular arm into me with an energetic jerk, then, taking the suitcase, easily put it on the bunk and, clicking the locks, asked:

Go get the car closer, we couldn't get there. And order the sentry not to let anyone in here and not to enter yourself - we don't need spies. Vnik? ..

This "penetration" of Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov took root not only in our division, but also in the army headquarters: the interrogative "Vnik?" and the imperative "Take heed!"

When I returned ten minutes later, not immediately finding the car and showing the driver how to get to the dugout, the boy was completely transformed.

He was wearing a small woolen tunic with the Order of the Patriotic War, a brand new medal "For Courage" and a snow-white collar, dark blue trousers and neat cowhide boots, sewn, apparently, specially for him. By his appearance, he now resembled a pupil - there were several of them in the regiment, only there were no shoulder straps on his tunic; and the pupils looked incomparably healthier and stronger.

Sitting ceremoniously on a stool, he talked to Holin. When I entered, they fell silent, and I even thought that Kholin had sent me to the car to talk without witnesses.

Well, where did you go? - however, he said, showing displeasure. - Give me another mug and sit down.

On the table, covered with a fresh newspaper, the food he had brought was already laid out: bacon, smoked sausage, two cans of canned food, a pack of cookies, two bags of some sort and a flask in a cloth case. On the bunk lay a boy's tanned sheepskin coat, brand new, very smart, and an officer's hat with earflaps.

Choline cut the bread into thin slices “in an intelligent way”, then poured vodka from a flask into three mugs: half for me and myself, and for the boy's finger.

With a date! - Kholin said cheerfully, with some daring, raising his mug.

For always returning, - said the boy thoughtfully.

Kholin, looking quickly at him, suggested:

For you to go to the Suvorov School and become an officer.

No, this is later! the boy protested. - In the meantime, the war is for me to always return! he repeated stubbornly.

Okay, let's not argue. For your future. For victory!

We clinked glasses and drank. The boy was not accustomed to vodka: after drinking, he choked, tears came into his eyes, he hastened to furtively brush them away. Like Kholin, he grabbed a piece of bread and smelled it for a long time, then ate it, chewing slowly.

Kholin nimbly made sandwiches and added them to the boy; he took one and ate listlessly, as if reluctantly.

You eat it, eat it! - said Kholin, eating himself with appetite.

Lost the habit of a lot, - the boy sighed. - I can not.

To Kholin, he addressed "you" and looked only at him, but it seemed that he did not notice me at all. After vodka on me and Kholin, as they say, "edun attacked" we energetically worked with our jaws; the boy, having eaten two small sandwiches, wiped his hands and mouth with a handkerchief, saying:

Then Kholin poured chocolates in multi-colored wrappers on the table in front of him. At the sight of the sweets, the boy's face did not liven up with joy, as is the case with children of his age. He took one, slowly, with such indifference, as if he ate plenty of chocolates every day, unfolded it, took a bite and, moving the sweets to the middle of the table, offered us:

Help yourself.

No, brother, said Kholin. - After vodka is not in color.

Then let's go, ”the boy said suddenly, getting up and no longer looking at the table. - The lieutenant colonel is waiting for me, why sit there? .. Let's go! he demanded.

Let's go now, ”said Kholin with some bewilderment. He had a flask in his hand, he was obviously going to pour some more for me and himself, but when he saw that the boy got up, he put the flask back. “We’ll go now,” he repeated gloomily and got up.

Meanwhile, the boy tried on a hat.

Damn, great!

There wasn’t less. - he chose, - as if justifying himself, explained Kholin. But we just have to get there, we'll think of something ...

He regretfully looked around the table, laden with snacks, lifted a flask, chatted with it, looked at me sadly and sighed:

How much good is lost, eh!

Leave it to him! - said the boy with an expression of displeasure and disdain. - Are you hungry?

Well, what are you! .. Just a flask - official property, - Kholin joked. - And he doesn't need sweets ...

Don't be a miser!

We'll have to ... Eh, where ours did not disappear, who did not cry from us! .. - Kholin sighed again and turned to me: - Get the sentry away from the dugout. And in general, look. So that no one sees us.

Throwing on my swollen raincoat, I went up to the boy. Fastening the hooks on his sheepskin coat, Kholin boasted:

And there is a whole heap of hay in the car! - I took blankets, pillows, now we will fill up - and to the very headquarters.

Well, Vanyusha, goodbye! - I held out my hand to the boy.

Not goodbye, but goodbye! - He sternly corrected, thrusting me a tiny narrow palm and giving me a glance from under his brows.

A reconnaissance Dodge with a raised awning stood ten paces from the dugout; I did not immediately see it.

Rodionov, - I quietly called the sentry.

I, Comrade Senior Lieutenant! - I heard very close, behind my back, a hoarse, cold voice.

Go to the headquarters dugout. - I'll call you soon.

I am listening! - The soldier disappeared into the darkness.

I walked around - no one was there. The Dodge chauffeur in a raincoat-tent, dressed over a sheepskin coat, was either asleep or dozing, leaning on the steering wheel.

He walked over to the dugout, groped the door and opened it.

Let's!

The boy and Kholin, suitcase in hand, slid to the car; the tarpaulin rustled, a short conversation was heard in an undertone - Kholin woke the driver, - the engine started, and the Dodge started.

3

Petty Officer Katasonov - the platoon commander from the division's reconnaissance company - came to me three days later.

He is over thirty, he is short and thin. The mouth is small, with a short upper lip, the nose is small, flattened, with tiny nostrils, the eyes are bluish-gray, lively. The Katason's cute, gentle face is like a rabbit. He is modest, quiet and inconspicuous. He speaks, lisping noticeably, maybe that's why he is shy and silent in public. Without knowing, it's hard to imagine that this is one of the best language hunters in our army. In the division his name is affectionately: "Katasonich".

When I see Katasonov, I again remember little Bondarev - these days I have thought about him more than once. And I decide on occasion to ask Katasonov about the boy: he must know. After all, it was he, Katasonov, who waited that night with a boat near Dikovka, where "there are so many Germans that you cannot approach the shore."

Entering the headquarters dugout, he, putting his palm to the cloth cap with crimson edging, quietly greets and stands at the door, without taking off his duffel bag and patiently waiting while I scold the clerks.

They sewed up, but I am angry and annoyed: I have just listened to Maslov's boring lesson on the phone. He calls me in the morning almost every day and all about one thing: he demands the timely and sometimes early submission of endless reports, reports, forms and diagrams. - I even suspect that some of the reporting is invented by him: he is a rare lover of writing.

After listening to him, you might think that if I submit all these papers to the regiment headquarters in a timely manner, the war will be successfully completed in the near future. The whole thing, it turns out, is in me. Maslov demands that I "personally put my heart and soul" into reporting. I try and, as it seems to me, "invest", but the battalion has no adjutants, and no experienced clerk: we are usually late, and it almost always turns out that we have messed up something. And once again I think that fighting is often easier than reporting, and I look forward to: when the real battalion commander will be sent - let him puff!

I scold the clerks, and Katasonov, holding the cap in his hand, stands quietly at the door and waits.

What are you, to me? - Turning to him, I finally ask, although I might not ask: Maslov warned me that Katasonov would come, ordered him to be admitted to the NP and provide assistance.

To you, - says Katasonov, smiling shyly. - I would like to see the German.

Well ... look, - having hesitated for the sake of importance, I approve in a gracious tone and order the messenger to escort Katasonov to the battalion's OP.

Two hours later, having sent a report to the regiment headquarters, I set off to take a sample in the battalion kitchen and make my way to the NP with bushes.

Katasonov "looks at the German" through the stereo tube. And I also look, although everything is familiar to me.

Behind the wide reach of the Dnieper - gloomy, chipped in the wind - is the enemy bank. Along the water's edge there is a narrow strip of sand; above it there is a terrace ledge with a height of at least a meter, and then a sloping, here and there, overgrown with bushes, clay bank; at night it is patrolled by patrols of the enemy escort. Still further, eight meters high, there is a steep, almost vertical cliff. The trenches of the enemy's front line of defense stretch along its top. Now only observers are on duty in them, while the rest are resting, hiding in dugouts. By nightfall, the Germans would crawl through the trenches, shoot into the darkness and fire flares until morning.

There are five corpses on the sandy strip of the other side of the water. Three of them, scattered separately in various positions, are undoubtedly touched by decay - I have been observing them for the second week. And two fresh ones are seated side by side, with their backs to the ledge, directly opposite the NP where I am. Both are naked and barefoot, one is wearing a vest, clearly distinguishable through the stereo tube.

Lyakhov and Moroz, - Katasonov says without looking up from the eyepieces.

It turns out that these are his comrades, sergeants from the division's reconnaissance company. As he continues to watch, he recounts in a low, lisping voice how it happened.

... Four days ago, a reconnaissance group - five people - went to the other bank for a control prisoner. We crossed the river downstream. They took the language without noise, but upon their return they were discovered by the Germans. Then three of them with the captured Fritz began to retreat to the boat, which they succeeded (though, on the way, one was killed, blown up by a mine, and the tongue was already in the boat wounded by a machine-gun burst). The same two Lyakhov (in a vest) and Moroz - lay down and, firing back, covered the retreat of their comrades.

They were killed in the depths of the enemy defense; the Germans, having undressed, dragged them to the river at night and sat them in plain sight, on our bank for edification.

It would be necessary to pick them up ... - Katasonov sighs after finishing his short story.

When we leave the dugout with him, I ask about little Bondarev.

Vanyushka? .. - Katasonov looks at me, and his face lights up with a gentle, unusually warm smile. - Wonderful kid! Only characteristic, trouble with him! Yesterday there was a battle.

What?

Is war really an occupation for him? .. They send him to school, to Suvorov's. Commander's order. And he rested and in any. One thing says: after the war. And now I will fight, they say, as a scout.

Well, if the order of the commander does not really fight.

Uh, can you hold him back! Hatred burns his soul! Already left once. - Sighing, Katasonov looks at his watch and realizes himself: - Well, I started talking completely. Do I go to the NP of the gunners like that? - pointing with his hand, he asks.

Moments later, deftly bending back branches and stepping noiselessly, he is already sliding underbrush.

* * *

From the observation posts of ours and the third battalion adjacent to the right, as well as from the OP of divisional artillerymen, Katasonov “looks at the German” for two days, making notes and scraps in a field notebook. They report to me that he spent the whole night at the NP near the stereo tube, where he is also in the morning, afternoon, and evening, and I involuntarily catch myself thinking: when is he sleeping?

On the third day in the morning Kholin arrives. He tumbles into the headquarters dugout and noisily greets everyone. Having said: "Hold on and do not say that it is not enough!" squeezes my hand so that the knuckles crunch and I bend in pain.

I need you! - he warns, then, picking up the phone, calls the third battalion and talks to its commander, Captain Ryabtsev.

- ... Katasonov will drive up to you - you will help him! .. He will explain himself ... And feed hot people for dinner! .. Listen further: if the gunners or someone else ask me, tell me that I will be at your headquarters after thirteen zero , - punishes Kholin. - And I need you too! Prepare a defense scheme and be in place ...

He says "you" to Ryabtsev, although Ryabtsev is ten years older than him. He addresses both Ryabtsev and me as subordinates, although he is not our boss. He has such a manner; he talks in exactly the same way with the officers at the division headquarters and with the commander of our regiment. Of course, for all of us he is a representative of the highest headquarters, but this is not the only point. Like many scouts, he feels convinced that intelligence is the most important thing in the military operations of the troops and therefore everyone is obliged to help him.

And now, having hung up the receiver, without even asking what I am going to do and whether I have any business at the headquarters, he says in an orderly tone:

Capture the defense scheme, and let's go see your troops ...

I do not like his imperative address, but I have heard a lot from scouts about him, about his fearlessness and resourcefulness, and I keep silent, forgiving him what I would not keep silent about. I have nothing urgent, but I deliberately declare that I must stay for a while at the headquarters, and he leaves the dugout, saying that he will wait for me at the car.

After about a quarter of an hour, after looking through the daily business and shooting cards, I go out. A reconnaissance Dodge with a tarpaulin-covered body stands not far away under the fir trees. A chauffeur with a machine gun on his shoulder is pacing to the side. Kholin sits at the wheel, unrolling a large-scale map on the steering wheel; next - Katasonov with a defense scheme in his hands. They are talking; when I approach, having stopped talking, they turn their heads in my direction. Katasonov hurriedly jumps out of the car and greets me, smiling shyly as usual.

Okay, come on! - says Kholin, folding the map and diagram, and also gets out. - Take a good look and rest! I'll be there in two or three hours ...

One of the many paths I lead Kholin to the front line. The Dodge drives off towards Third Battalion. Kholin is in high spirits, he walks, whistling merrily. Quiet cold day; so quiet that one can, it seems, forget about the war. But here she is, in front: along the edge of the forest, freshly dug trenches, and on the left, a descent into the course of the message - a trench of a full profile, blocked from above and carefully camouflaged with turf and bushes, leads to the bank itself. Its length is over one hundred meters.

With a shortage of personnel in the battalion, it was not so easy to open such a passage at night (and with the forces of only one company!). - I tell Kholin about this, expecting that he will appreciate our work, but he, with a glance, wonders where the battalion observation posts are located - the main and auxiliary ones. - showing.

What a silence! - not without surprise, he notices and, standing behind the bushes near the edge, through Zeiss binoculars examines the Dnieper and the banks - from here, from a small hillock, you can see everything as in a palm. My "troops" seem to be of little interest to him.

He looks, and I stand behind idle and, remembering, I ask:

And the boy that I had, who is he all the same? Where?

Boy? - Absentmindedly asks Kholin, thinking about something else. - Ah, Ivan! .. You will know a lot, you will soon grow old! - he laughs it off and offers: - Well, let's try your metro!

It's dark in the trench. In some places there are slits for light, but they are covered with branches. We move in the semi-darkness, step, bending down a little, and it seems that there will be no end to this damp, gloomy move. But now it’s dawning ahead, a little more - and we are in a trench of military outposts, fifteen meters from the Dnieper.

A young sergeant, the squad leader, reports to me, squinting at the broad-chested, personable Kholin.

The shore is sandy, but in a trench ankle-deep with liquid mud, it’s true, because the bottom of this trench is below the water level in the river.

I know that Kholin - in the mood - loves to talk and pamper. And now, having taken out a pack of "Belomor", he treats me and the soldiers with cigarettes and, lighting a cigarette himself, cheerfully remarks:

Well, your life! In the war, but it seems like it is not at all. Peace and quiet, God's grace! ..

Resort! - machine gunner Chupakhin, a lanky, stooped fighter in a wadded jacket and trousers, gloomily confirms. Pulling the helmet off his head, he puts it on the handle of the shovel and lifts it over the parapet. A few seconds pass, shots are heard from the other side, and bullets whistle thinly overhead.

Sniper? - asks Kholin.

A resort, - Chupakhin repeats gloomily. - Mud baths under the supervision of loving relatives ...

... We return to the NP by the same dark trench. Kholin did not like the fact that the Germans were vigilantly watching our front line. Although it is only natural for the enemy to be awake and on constant watch, Kholin suddenly becomes gloomy and silent.

At the NP, he examines the right bank through a stereoscopic tube for ten minutes, asks the observers a few questions, leafs through their journal and swears that they allegedly do not know anything, that the records are scarce and do not give an idea of ​​the regime and behavior of the enemy. I disagree with him, but I am silent.

Do you know who it is there in the vest? - he asks me, referring to the killed scouts on the other side.

And why can't you get them out? - he says with displeasure and contempt. - For an hour to do! Are you waiting for all the instructions from above?

We leave the dugout and I ask:

What are you and Katasonov looking out for? Are you searching for something?

Details in the posters! - Kholin throws gloomily, not looking at me, and is heading in the thicket towards the third battalion. I do not hesitate to follow him.

I do not need you anymore! - he suddenly announces, without turning around. And I stop, stare in confusion at his back and turn back to the headquarters.

"Well, wait! .." Kholin's arrogance irritated me. I am offended, angry and swear in an undertone. A soldier passing to the side, having greeted, turns around and looks at me in surprise.

And at the headquarters the clerk reports:

The major called twice. They ordered you to report ...

I'm calling the regiment commander.

How are you there? - first of all he asks in his slow, calm voice.

All right, Comrade Major.

Kholin will come to you there ... Do whatever is required and give him every assistance ...

“Be he wrong, that Kholin! ..” Meanwhile, the major, after a pause, adds:

This is an order from the Volga. The one hundred and first called me ...

"Volga" - army headquarters; "One hundred and first" - the commander of our division, Colonel Voronov. "Well, let! - I think. - And I will not run after Holin! What he asks - I will do! But walking after him and asking for it is, as they say, sorry, move over! "

And I go about my business, trying not to think about Choline.

After lunch, I go to the battalion first-aid post. He is stationed in two spacious dugouts on the right flank, next to the third battalion. This arrangement is very inconvenient, but the fact is that the dugouts and dugouts in which we are housed were dug and equipped by the Germans - it is clear that they least of all thought about us.

A new military assistant who arrived in the battalion ten days ago - a stately, twenty years old, beautiful blonde with bright blue eyes - in confusion puts his hand to ... a gauze kerchief, pulling together lush hair, and tries to report to me. This is not a report, but a timid, indistinct muttering; but I don’t tell her anything. Her predecessor, Senior Lieutenant Vostrikov, an old military assistant with asthma, died two weeks ago on the battlefield. He was experienced, courageous and quick. And she? .. While I am dissatisfied with her.

The military uniform - a wide belt strapped at the waist, an ironed tunic, a skirt that tightly fits strong hips, and chrome boots on slender legs - everything suits her very well: the military assistant is so good that I try not to look at her.

By the way, she is my countrywoman, also from Moscow. If there were no war, I, having met her, would probably fall in love and, if she reciprocated me, I would be happy without measure, would run on dates in the evening, dance with her in Gorky Park and kiss somewhere in Neskuchny ... But, alas , war! - I am acting as battalion commander, and for me she is only a military assistant. Moreover, he cannot cope with his duties.

And I tell her in an unfriendly tone that the companies are again in "uniform twenty", and the linen is not properly fried and the washing of the personnel has not yet been properly organized. - I present her with a number of complaints and demand that she not forget that she is a commander, that she would not undertake everything herself, but force the company medical instructors and orderlies to work.

She stands in front of me with her arms outstretched at the seams and her head bowed. In a quiet, intermittent voice he repeats endlessly: "I listen ... I listen ... I listen", assures me that he is trying and soon "everything will be fine."

She looks depressed and I feel sorry for her. But I must not give in to this feeling - I have no inclination to pity her. In defense, she is tolerant, but ahead of the crossing of the Dnieper and difficult offensive battles - there will be dozens of wounded in the battalion, and saving their lives will largely depend on this girl with the epaulettes of a medical service lieutenant.

In gloomy meditation, I leave the dugout, the military assistant followed.

To the right, about a hundred paces from us, there is a hillock in which the OP of divisional artillerymen is located. On the back side of the hillock, at the foot, there is a group of officers: Kholin, Ryabtsev, the battery commanders I know from the artillery regiment, the commander of the mortar company of the third battalion, and two more officers unknown to me. Kholin and two more have cards or diagrams in their hands. Obviously, as I guessed, a search is being prepared, and it will be carried out, apparently, in the sector of the third battalion.

Noticing us, the officers turn around and look in our direction. Ryabtsev, the gunners and the mortarman waving their hands to me; I answer in kind. I expect that Kholin will call, call me - after all, I have to "render him every assistance," but he stands sideways to me, showing the officers something on the map. And I turn to the military assistant.

I'll give you two days. Put the sanitary service in order and report!

She mutters something indistinctly under her breath. With a dry salute, I step aside, deciding at the first opportunity to seek her secondment. Let them send another paramedic. And definitely a man.

Until the evening I am in the companies: I examine the dugouts and dugouts, check the weapons, talk with the soldiers who have returned from the medical battalion, and kill the "goat" with them. Already at dusk I return to my dugout and find Kholin there. He sleeps lounging on my bed, in a tunic and trousers. There is a note on the table:

“Wake up at 18.30. Choline ".

I came just in time and wake him up. Opening his eyes, he sits down on the bunk, yawning, stretches and says:

Young, young, and your lip is not stupid!

What? - not understanding, I ask.

In broads, I say, you understand a lot. The paramedic is coming up! - Walking into the corner where the washstand is suspended, Kholin begins to wash. - If you put in earrings, then you can ... Only during the day you do not go to her, - he advises, - you will spoil your authority.

Go to hell! I scream, angry.

You are rude, Galtsev, - Kholin remarks complacently. He washes his face, snorting and splashing desperately. - You don’t understand a friendly trick ... And your towel is dirty, but you could wash it. There is no discipline!

After wiping his face with a "dirty" towel, he asks:

Nobody asked me?

I don’t know, I wasn’t there.

And you didn't get a call?

The regiment commander called at twelve o'clock.

I asked to help you.

He "asks" you? .. Look how! Choline grins. - Your business is well organized! - He gives me a mockingly disdainful look. - Eh, head - two ears! Well, what kind of assistance can there be from you? ..

Having lit a cigarette, he leaves the dugout, but soon returns and, rubbing his hands, satisfied, reports:

Oh, and the night will be - as if to order! .. Yet God is not without mercy. Tell me, do you believe in God? .. Where are you going to? he asks sternly. - No, don't go, you may still be needed ...

Sitting on the bunk, he hums thoughtfully, repeating the same words:

Eh, the night is dark

I'm afraid

Ah, spend

Me, Marusya ...

I am on the phone with the commander of the fourth company, and when I hang up, I hear the noise of a car pulling up. There is a soft knock on the door.

Sign in!

Katasonov, entering, closes the door and, putting his hand to the cap, reports:

Arrived, Comrade Captain!

Take the sentry away! - says Kholin to me, stopping humming and getting up briskly.

We leave after Katasonov. It is raining slightly. Near the dugout is a familiar car with an awning. After waiting for the sentry to hide in the dark, Kholin unfastens the tarp behind and calls in a whisper:

I, - a quiet child's voice is heard from under the awning, and after a moment a small figure, emerging from under the tarp, jumps to the ground.

4

Hello! the boy says to me as soon as we enter the dugout, and, smiling, with unexpected friendliness, stretches out his hand.

He looks refreshed and rejuvenated, his cheeks are flushed, Katasonov is shaking off the hay dust from his short fur coat, and Kholin carefully offers;

Maybe you will lie down and rest?

Yah! Sleep half a day and rest again?

Then get us something interesting, ”Kholin tells me. There is a magazine or something ... Only with pictures!

Katasonov helps the boy to undress, and I put several numbers of Ogonyok, Krasnoarmeytsa and Front illustrations on the table. It turns out that the boy has already seen some of the magazines - he puts them aside.

Today he is unrecognizable: talkative, every now and then smiles, looks at me affably and addresses me, like Kholin and Katasonov, to "you". And I have an unusually warm feeling for this white-headed boy. Remembering that I have a box of candies, I take it out, open it and put it in front of him, pour ryazhenka with chocolate froth into his mug, then sit down next to him and we look at magazines together.

Meanwhile, Kholin and Katasonov bring from the car a trophy suitcase, already familiar to me, a bulky bundle tied into a raincoat, two machine guns and a small plywood suitcase.

Tucking the bundle under the bunks, they sit behind us and talk. I hear Kholin say in an undertone to Katasonov about me:

- ... You should have listened to how he spits - like a Fritz! In the spring I recruited him as translators, and he, you see, is already in command of the battalion ...

It was. At one time, Kholin and Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov, after listening to how I, on the orders of the division commander, interrogated the prisoners, persuaded me to go to the intelligence department as an interpreter. But I didn’t want to, and I don’t regret it at all: I would willingly go to intelligence work, but only to operational work, and not as a translator.

Katasonov straightens the wood and sighs softly:

The night is painfully good! ..

He and Kholin talk in a half-whisper about the upcoming case, and I find out what they were preparing for the search. It becomes clear to me that tonight Kholin and Katasonov must transport the boy across the Dnieper to the rear to the Germans.

For this they brought a small inflatable boat "attack", but Katasonov persuades Kholin to take a punt from my battalion. "Cool tuziki!" he whispers.

Oh, the devils - they got it! There are five fishing punt in the battalion - we have been carrying them with us for the third month now. Moreover, so that they would not be taken to other battalions, where there is only one boat, I ordered them to be carefully camouflaged, to hide them under hay on the march, and in the reports on the available auxiliary ferry means I indicate only two boats, not five.

The boy is eating lollipops and looking at magazines. He does not listen to the conversation between Kholin and Katasonov. Having looked through the magazines, he puts one, where the story about the scouts is printed, and says to me:

I’ll read this. Listen, do you have a gramophone?

Yes, but the spring is broken.

You live poorly, - he notices and suddenly asks: - Can you move your ears?

Ears? .. No, I can't, - I smile. - And what?

And Choline can! - not without triumph he informs and turns around: - Kholin, show me - with your ears!

You're welcome! - Choline readily jumps and, standing in front of us, wiggles the ears; at the same time his face remains completely motionless.

The boy, contented, looks at me triumphantly.

You can not be upset, - says Kholin, - I will teach you to move your ears. It will be in time. Now let's go, show us the boats.

Will you take me with you? - unexpectedly for myself I ask.

Where with you?

To the other side.

You saw, - Kholin nods at me, - a hunter! Why do you need to go to the other shore? .. - And, measuring me with a glance, as if assessing, he asks: - Do you at least know how to swim?

Somehow! And I row and swim.

How do you swim - from top to bottom? vertically? - Kholin asks with the most serious look.

Yes, I think, in any case, not worse than you!

More specifically. Can you swim across the Dnieper?

Five times, I say. And that's true when you consider that I mean swimming light in the summer. - Free five times, back and forth!

Strong-en man! - Kholin suddenly laughs, and the three of them laugh. Rather, Kholin and the boy laugh, while Katasonov smiles shyly.

Suddenly, becoming serious, Kholin asks:

Aren't you playing with a gun?

Come on! .. - I am irritated, familiar with the trick of such a question.

You see, - Kholin points to me, - wound up with a half-turn! No endurance. The nerves are obviously rag, but they are asking for the other side. No, boy, it's better not to mess with you!

Then I won't give the boat.

Well, we’ll take the boat ourselves - don’t we have our hands? And if I call the divisional commander, you will pin her on your hump to the river!

Let it be for you, - the boy intercedes in a conciliatory manner. - He will give it anyway. Would you give it? - looking into my eyes, he asks.

Yes, we have to, - I say with a tight smile.

So let's go and see! - Kholin takes me by the sleeve. - And you stay here, he says to the boy. - Just don't mess around, but rest.

Katasonov, placing a plywood case on a stool, opens it - there are various tools, cans with something, rags, tow, bandages. Before putting on a quilted jacket, I fasten a fin with a typesetting handle to my belt.

Whoa and a knife! the boy exclaims in admiration, and his eyes light up. Show me!

I hold out the knife to him; turning it in his hands, he asks:

Listen, give it to me!

I would give it to you, but you know ... it's a gift.

I am not deceiving him. This knife is a gift and a memory of my best friend Kotka Kholodov. From the third grade we sat with Kotka on the same desk, went to the army together, went to school together and fought in the same division, and later in the same regiment.

... At dawn that September day, I was in a trench on the banks of the Desna. I saw how Kotka and his company - the first in our division - began to cross to the right bank. The rafts, bound from logs, poles and barrels, had already passed the middle of the river, when the Germans attacked the crossing with artillery and mortar fire. And then a white fountain of water flew up over the Kotka raft ... What happened next, I did not see - the receiver in the telephone operator's hand croaked: "Galtsev, go ahead! .." And I, and the whole company behind me - more than a hundred people - across the parapet, rushed to the water, to exactly the same rafts ... In half an hour we were already fighting hand-to-hand on the right bank ...

I haven’t decided yet what I’m going to do with the Finn: I’ll keep her for myself, or, after returning to Moscow after the war, I’ll come to a quiet side street on the Arbat and give the knife to the old Kotka’s old men, as the last memory of my son ...

I'll give you another one, - I promise the boy.

No, I want this one! - he says capriciously and looks into my eyes. Give it to me!

Do not be redneck, Galtsev, - Kholin throws disapprovingly from the side. He stands dressed, waiting for me and Katasonov. - Do not be a pimp!

I'll give you another one. Exactly like that! - I convince the boy.

You will have such a knife, - Katasonov promises him, having examined the Finn. - I'll get it.

Yes, I will, honestly! - I assure. - And this is a gift, you understand the memory!

Okay, - the boy finally agrees in a touchy voice. - And now leave him - play ...

Leave the knife and go, - Kholin urges me.

And why should I go with you? What joy? - buttoning a padded jacket, I argue aloud. “You don’t take me with you, but where the boats are, you know without me.

Let's go, let's go, - Kholin pushes me. “I'll take you,” he promises. Just not today.

We go out three of us and head to the right flank under the underbrush. A fine, cold rain is drizzling. It is dark, the sky is completely covered - not a star, not a gap.

Katasonov glides ahead with a suitcase, stepping without noise and so confidently, as if he walks this path every night. I again ask Kholin about the boy and find out that little Bondarev is from Gomel, but before the war he lived with his parents at an outpost somewhere in the Baltic States. His father, a border guard, died on the very first day of the war. A sister one and a half years old was killed in the arms of the boy during the retreat.

He's been through so much that we never dreamed of, - whispers Kholin. He was in the partisans, and in Trostyanets - in the death camp ... He has one thing in mind: to take revenge to the last! As he talks about the camp or remembers his father or sister, the whole thing is shaking. - I never thought that a child could hate so much ...

Choline is silent for a moment, then continues in a barely audible whisper:

We fought here for two days - we tried to persuade him to go to the Suvorov military school. The commander himself persuaded him: and in an amicable way and threatened. And in the end he allowed me to go with the condition: the last time! You see, not sending it - it can also go sideways. When he first came to us, we decided not to send! So he left himself. And on his return, ours - from the guard in the regiment at Shilin fired at him. They wounded him in the shoulder, and there was no one to blame: the night was dark, and no one knew anything! .. You see, what he does, and adults rarely succeed. He alone gives more than your intelligence. They climb in the battle formations of the Germans no further than the military rear. And a reconnaissance group cannot penetrate and legalize itself in the operational rear of the enemy and stay there, for example, for five to ten days. And an individual scout rarely succeeds. The fact is that an adult in any guise is suspicious. And a teenager, a homeless beggar - perhaps the best mask for reconnaissance in the operational rear ... If you knew him better - you can only dream of such a boy!

Why them and not you?

I would take it, - whispers Kholin, sighing, - but the lieutenant colonel is against it. He says that I still need to be educated! he admits with a grin.

I mentally agree with the lieutenant colonel. Choline is rude, and at times cheeky and cynical. True, with the boy he is holding back, it even seems to me that he is afraid of Ivan.

About a hundred and fifty meters from the shore, we turn into a bush, where punt are kept, littered with spruce trees. By my order, they are kept ready and poured with water every other day so that they do not dry out.

Using flashlights, Kholin and Katasonov inspect the boats, feel and tap the bottoms and sides. Then they turn each one over, sit down, and, having inserted the oars into the oarlocks, "row". Finally, they choose one, small, with a wide stern, for three or four people, no more.

Believe these to nothing. - Choline takes the chain and, like the owner, begins to twist the ring. - We'll do the rest on the shore. Let's try it on the water first ...

We lift the boat - Kholin by the bow, Katasonov and I by the stern - and take a few steps with it, wading through the bushes.

Come on to your mom! - Kholin suddenly curses quietly. - Give it! ..

We "give" - ​​he loads the boat with a flat bottom on his back, with his arms outstretched above his head, grasps the edges of the sides from both sides and, slightly bending down, stepping widely, follows Katasonov to the river.

At the coast, I overtake them - to warn the guard post, apparently, for this they needed me.

Choline with its burden slowly descends to the water and stops. The three of us carefully, so as not to make noise, lower the boat into the water.

Sit down!

We sit down. Kholin, pushing off, jumps up to the stern - the boat slides from the shore. Katasonov, moving the oars - one rowing, the other tabania, turns it to the right, then to the left. Then he and Kholin, as if aiming to turn the boat over, alternately fall on the left and then on the starboard side, so that the water will pour in, then, getting on all fours, feeling, they stroke the sides and bottom with their palms.

Cool ace! - Katasonov whispers approvingly.

It will, - agrees Kholin. - He, it turns out, really special boats to steal, shoddy does not take! Repent, Galtsev, how many owners have you deprived? ..

From the right bank every now and then, abrupt and echoing, machine-gun bursts knock over the water.

They sit in the light of day, like a pretty penny, - Katasonov, lisping, grins. They seem to be prudent and tight-fisted, but look - the very mismanagement! Well, what's the use of firing blindly? .. Comrade captain, maybe we'll get the guys out later in the morning, ”he hesitantly suggests to Kholin.

Not today. Just not today…

Katasonov rakes up easily. Having chafed, we get out onto the shore.

Well, we'll bandage the oarlocks, fill the nests with grease, and that's it! - Kholin whispers contentedly and turns to me:

Who do you have here in the trench?

Fighters, two.

Leave me alone. Reliable and knew how to be silent! Vnik? - I will drop in to him for a smoke - I will check! .. Warn the security platoon commander: after twenty-two zero-zero reconnaissance group, perhaps so tell him: it is possible! emphasizes Kholin - will go to the other side. By this time, that all posts have been warned. And let him be in the near large trench, where the machine gun. - Choline points downstream with his hand. “If they shoot us on our way back, I’ll break his head! .. Who will go, how and why — not a word about this! Consider: only you know about Ivan! I won't take subscriptions from you, but if you blurt it out, I'll ...

What are you scaring? I whisper indignantly. - What am I, little, or what?

I think so too. Don't be offended. He pats me on the shoulder. - I have to warn you ... Now act! ..

Katasonov is already fiddling with the oarlocks. Kholin, approaching the boat, also gets down to business. After standing for a minute, I walk along the coast.

The commander of the security platoon meets me nearby - he goes around the trenches, checking the posts. I instruct him, as Kholin said, and go to battalion headquarters. Having made some orders and signed the documents, I return to my dugout.

The boy is alone. He's all red, hot and excited. He has a Kot'kin knife in his hand, my binoculars are on his chest, his face is guilty. The dugout is a mess: the table is turned upside down and covered with a blanket on top, the legs of the stool stick out from under the bunk.

Listen, don't be angry, the boy asks me. - I inadvertently, honestly, unintentionally ...

Only then do I notice a large ink stain on the white-washed planks of the floor.

Are you angry at me? - looking into my eyes, he asks.

No, I say, although the mess in the dugout and the stain on the floor is not at all to my liking. - I silently set everything in place, the boy helps me, he looks at the stain and offers:

It is necessary to heat the water. And with soap ... - I'll wipe it off!

Come on, somehow without you ...

I got hungry and ordered by phone to bring dinner for six - I have no doubt that Kholin and Katasonov, having fiddled with the boat, were as hungry as I was.

Noticing a magazine with a story about scouts, I ask the boy:

Well, have you read it?

Yeah ... Worrying. But in truth it doesn't work that way. They will be caught immediately. And then they hung orders.

And what is your order for? - I am interested.

This is still in the partisans ...

Have you been in the partisans too? - as if hearing for the first time, I am surprised. - Why did you leave?

They blocked us in the forest, well, and me by plane to the mainland. To the boarding school. Only I soon blew up from there.

How did you blow it up?

Escaped. It's painful there, just unbearable. You live - you translate cereals. And know bison: fish are vertebrates ... Or the importance of herbivores in human life ...

So this is also necessary to know.

Necessary. But why do I need it now? Why? .. I endured for almost a month. Here I lie at night and think: why am I here? For what?..

Boarding is not that, - I agree. - You need something else. If you could get to the Suvorov School, it would be great!

Did Kholin teach you this? the boy asks quickly and looks at me warily.

What does Choline have to do with it? - I think so myself. You have already fought: both in partisans and in intelligence. You are a well-deserved person. Now what you need is to rest, study! Do you know what kind of officer you will make? ..

It was Kholin who taught you! - says the boy with conviction. - Only in vain! .. I still have time to become an officer. In the meantime, the war, the one from whom is of little use can rest.

This is true, but you are still small!

Little? .. Have you been to the death camp? he suddenly asks; his eyes flare up with fierce, childish hatred, his tiny upper lip twitches. - Why are you agitating me, what ?! he cries out excitedly. - You ... you don't know anything and don't bother! .. Vain efforts ...

Choline arrives a few minutes later. Sliding the plywood case under the bunks, he sits down on a stool and smokes greedily, inhaling deeply.

You smoke everything, - the boy remarks with displeasure. He admires the knife, pulls it out of its scabbard, puts it back in and outweighs it from right to left. - From smoking, the lungs are green.

Green? - Absentmindedly smiling, asks Kholin. - Well, let them be green. Who can see this?

I don’t want you to smoke! I have a headache.

Okay, I'll go out.

Kholin rises, looks at the boy with a smile; noticing a flushed face, he comes up, puts his hand to his forehead and, in turn, says with displeasure:

Fiddling again? .. This is no good! Lie down and rest. Lie down, lay down!

The boy obediently lies down on the bunk. Kholin, taking out another cigarette, lights a cigarette from his own butt and, throwing on his greatcoat, leaves the dugout. When he lights a cigarette, I notice that his hands are shaking slightly. I have "rag nerves", but he is also worried before the operation. I sensed in him some distraction or concern; for all his observation, he did not notice the ink stain on the floor, and he looks somehow strange. Or maybe it just seems to me.

He smokes in the air for ten minutes (obviously, more than one cigarette), comes back and says to me:

Let's go in an hour and a half. Let's have supper.

Where is Katasonich? the boy asks.

He was urgently summoned by the division commander. He left for the division.

How did you leave ?! - The boy rises briskly. - You left and didn't come in? Didn't wish me luck?

He could not! He was called on alarm, - explains Kholin. - I can't even imagine what happened there. They know that we need him, and suddenly they call ...

I could run. Also a friend ... - the boy says offended and excitedly. He's really upset. For half a minute he lies in silence, his face turned to the wall, then, turning around, asks:

So shall we, shall we go together?

No, three of us. He will come with us, - Kholin points to me with a quick nod.

I look at him in bewilderment and, deciding that he is joking, I smile.

Don't smile and don't look like a ram at a new gate. They tell you no fools, says Kholin. His face is serious and, perhaps, even worried.

I still do not believe and remain silent.

You wanted it yourself. After all, he asked! Now what, are you afraid? - he asks, looking at me intently, with contempt and dislike, so that I feel uncomfortable. And I suddenly feel, begin to understand, that he is not joking.

I’m not rubbing! I say firmly, trying to collect my thoughts. - Just unexpectedly somehow ...

Everything in life is unexpected, - says Kholin thoughtfully. - I would not take you, believe me: this is a necessity! Katasonich was summoned urgently, you know - by alarm! I can't imagine what happened there ... We'll be back in two hours, - assures Kholin. - Only you make your own decision. Myself! And don't blame me for anything. If it turns out that you unauthorizedly went to that shore, we will be warmed up on the first day. So why don't you whine: "Kholin said, Kholin asked, Kholin got me in! .." So that it doesn't happen! Consider: you asked for it yourself. After all, he asked? .. Of course, something will come to me, but you will not stay aside either! .. Whom do you think to leave for yourself? - after a short pause he asks busily.

Zampolita. Kolbasova, - after thinking, I say. - He's a fighting guy ...

He's a fighting guy. But it's better not to mess with him. Zampolites are a principled people; Even looking at it, we will get into a political report, then you will not get into trouble, ”explains Kholin, grinning, and rolls his eyes up. - God save us from such a misfortune!

Then Gushchin, the commander of the fifth company.

You know better, decide for yourself! - Kholin notices and advises: - You do not bring him up to date: that you will go to the other side, they will only know in the guards. Vnik? .. Considering that the enemy is holding the defense and no active actions are expected on his part, so what, in fact, can happen? .. Nothing! Plus, you leave your deputy and only go away for two hours. Where? .. Let's say, to the village, to the woman! I decided to make some fool happy - you are a living person, damn it! We'll be back in two, well, three hours at the most - you think it's a big deal! ..

... He shouldn't convince me. The matter, of course, is serious, and if the command finds out, you really won't get out of trouble. But I have already made up my mind and try not to think about troubles - my thoughts are all in the future ...

I have never had to go on a reconnaissance mission. True, about three months ago I and my company carried out - and very successfully - reconnaissance in force. But what is reconnaissance in force? .. This is, in essence, the same offensive battle, only it is waged with limited forces and short-term.

I have never had to go on reconnaissance, and, thinking about the future, I naturally cannot help but worry ...

5

Dinner is brought in. I go out and pick up the pots and kettle with hot tea myself. I also put a jar with fermented baked milk and a can of stew on the table. We are having supper: the boy and Kholin eat little, and my appetite has also disappeared. The boy's face is offended and a little sad. Apparently, he was deeply hurt that Katasonov did not come to wish him success. After eating, he goes back to rest on the bunk.

When the table is cleared, Choline unfolds the map and brings me up to date.

We cross to the other side of the three of us, and, leaving the boat in the bushes, we move along the edge of the coast upstream of about six hundred meters to the ravine - Kholin shows on the map.

Better, of course, would be to swim directly to this place, but there is a bare coast and nowhere to hide the boat, - he explains.

With this ravine, located opposite the battle formations of the third battalion, the boy must pass the leading edge of the German defense.

If he is noticed, Holin and I, being at the very water, must immediately find ourselves, firing red rockets - a signal to call for fire - to distract the attention of the Germans and at any cost to cover the boy's retreat to the boat. The last to leave is Kholin.

If the boy is found, at the signal of our missiles, "support assets" - two batteries of 76-mm guns, a battery of 120-mm mortars, two mortar and machine-gun companies - should blind and stun the enemy with an intensive artillery attack from the left bank, border with artillery and mortar fire from the German trenches on both sides of the ravine and further to the left, in order to prevent possible sorties of the Germans and ensure our retreat to the boat.

Choline communicates signals of interaction with the left bank, clarifies the details and asks:

Is everything clear to you?

Yes, as if everything.

After a pause, I talk about what worries me: will the boy lose his bearings during the passage, being left alone in such darkness, and if he might be injured in the event of shelling.

Kholin explains that "he" - a nod towards the boy - together with Katasonov from the location of the third battalion for several hours studied the enemy coast at the place of transition and knows every bush, every bump there. As for the artillery raid, the targets have been shot in advance and a "passage" up to seventy meters wide will be inserted.

I involuntarily think about how many unforeseen accidents there can be, but I do not say anything about it. The boy lies pensively, sad, with his gaze upward. His face is offended and, it seems to me, completely indifferent, as if our conversation did not concern him in the least.

I look at the blue lines on the map - the Germans' defenses echeloned in depth - and, imagining what it looks like in reality, I quietly ask:

Listen, is the place of the transition well chosen? Is there really no sector on the army front where the enemy's defense is not so dense? Is there really no "slack" in it, breaks, say, at the joints of the joints?

Kholin narrows his brown eyes and looks at me mockingly.

You can't see anything farther than your nose in the subdivisions! he declares with some disdain. - It still seems to you that the main forces of the enemy are against you, and in other areas there is weak cover, so, for visibility! Do you really think that we didn’t choose or think less than yours? .. But if you want to know, here the Germans have so many troops along the entire front that you never dreamed of! And behind the joints they look at both - do not look fools for yourself: the silly ones have died out! Deaf, dense defense for tens of kilometers, - Kholin sighs sadly. - An eccentric fisherman, everything has been thought out more than once. In such a case, they do not work from the end, mind you! ..

He gets up and, sitting down on the bunk next to the boy, in an undertone and, as I understand it, is not the first time instructing him:

- ... In the ravine, keep to the very edge. Remember: the entire bottom is mined ... Listen more often. Freeze and listen! .. Patrols are walking along the trenches, so you crawl up and wait! .. How the patrol will pass - through the trench and move on ...

I called the commander of the fifth company, Gushchin, and, having informed him that he was staying for me, I gave the necessary orders. After hanging up, I again hear Kholin's quiet voice:

“… You’ll wait in Fedorovka… don’t get on the rampage! Most importantly, be careful!

Do you think it's easy to be careful? the boy asks with barely perceptible irritation.

I know! But you be! And remember always: you are not alone! Remember: wherever you are, I think about you all the time. And the lieutenant colonel too ...

But Katasonich left and did not come in, - the boy says offensively with purely childish inconsistency.

I told you: he could not! He was summoned by alarm. Otherwise ... You know how he loves you! You know that he has no one and you are dearer to him than everyone else! Do you know?

I know, - sniffing, the boy agrees, his voice trembling. - But still I could run ...

Kholin lay down next to him, stroking his soft linen hair and whispering something to him. - I try not to listen. It turns out that I have a lot of things to do, I hurriedly fiddle around, but I really am not able to do anything and, spitting on everything, I sit down to write a letter to my mother: I know that scouts, before leaving on a mission, write letters to relatives and friends. However, I get nervous, my thoughts scatter, and, having written with a pencil from half a page, I tear everything up and throw it into the stove.

Time, - glancing at his watch, Kholin tells me and gets up. Putting the trophy suitcase on the bench, he pulls out the knot from under the bunk, unties it, and we begin to dress with it too.

Over the coarse linen, he puts on thin woolen underpants and a sweater, then a winter tunic and wide trousers and puts on a green camouflage robe. Looking at him, I dress the same way. Katasonov's woolen underpants are too small for me, they crack in my groin, and I look at Kholin in indecision.

Nothing, nothing, ”he encourages. - Be brave! If you break it, we will write out new ones.

The dressing gown almost fits me, however, the trousers are somewhat short. We put on German forged boots on our feet; they are heavy and unusual, but this, as Kholin explains, is a precaution: not to "inherit" on the other side. Kholin himself ties the laces of my camouflage coat.

Soon we are ready: Finns and F-1 grenades are suspended from waist belts (Kholin takes another weighty anti-tank one - RPG-40); pistols with cartridges driven into the chamber, tucked into the bosom; covered with camouflage sleeves, wearing compasses and watches with luminous dials; The flares have been examined, and Kholin checks the attachment of the disks in the machines.

We are already ready, and the boy is still lying with his palms under his head and not looking in our direction.

From a large German suitcase, a red-haired, tattered boy's jacket with cotton wool and dark gray, with patches, trousers, a shabby hat with earflaps and nondescript-looking teenage boots have already been taken out. On the edge of the bunks are laid out canvas underwear, old ones, all darned sweatshirts and woolen socks, a little greasy shoulder knapsack, footcloths and some kind of rags.

Kholin wraps the boy's groceries in a piece of ryadna: a small - about half a kilogram - a circle of sausage, two pieces of bacon, a crust, and several stale slices of rye and wheat bread. Home-made sausage, and the bacon is not our army's, but uneven, skinny, grayish-dark from dirty salt, and besides, the bread is not molded, but hearth - from the master's oven.

I look and think: how everything is provided, every little thing ...

The groceries are packed in a knapsack, and the boy still lies motionless, and Kholin, glancing at him furtively, without saying a word, begins to examine the rocket launcher and again checks the fastening of the disk.

Finally, the boy sits down on the bunk and, with leisurely movements, begins to take off his military uniform. Dark blue harem pants are stained at the knees and at the back.

Resin, he says. - Let them clean it up.

Or maybe they should go to the warehouse and write out new ones? - offers Choline.

No, let them clean them up.

The boy slowly puts on civilian clothes. Choline helps him, then examines him from all sides. And I look: neither give nor take a homeless rag, a refugee boy, of which we have met quite a few on the roads of the offensive.

In his pockets, the boy hides a homemade folding knife and worn-out pieces of paper: sixty or seventy German occupation stamps. And that's all.

We jumped, - says Kholin to me; checking, we jump several times. And the boy too, although what can he make noise?

According to an old Russian custom, we sit down and sit for a while in silence. The boy's face is again that expression of childish concentration and inner tension, just like six days ago, when he first appeared in my dugout.

* * *

After irradiating our eyes with the red light of signal lamps (to better see in the dark), we go to the boat: I am in front, the boy is fifteen paces behind me, and Kholin is even further away.

I must call out and speak to everyone who meets us on the trail, so that the boy will hide at this time: no one but us should see him now - Kholin warned me in the most decisive manner about this.

To the right, from the darkness, the quiet words of the command are heard: "Settlements - to their places! .. To battle! .." Bushes crackle, and an obscene whisper is heard - the calculations are made for guns and mortars scattered across the undergrowth in the battle formations of my and third battalions.

In addition to us, about two hundred people are participating in the operation. They are ready to cover us at any moment, storming down on the positions of the Germans with a barrage of fire. And none of them suspects that this is not a search at all, as Kholin was forced to tell the commanders of the supporting units.

There is a security post not far from the boat. He was a pair, but at the direction of Kholin, I ordered the commander of the guard to leave only one middle-aged, intelligent corporal Demin in the trench. As we approach the shore, Kholin suggests that I go and speak to the corporal - meanwhile he and the boy will slip unnoticed to the boat. All these precautions, in my opinion, are superfluous, but Kholin's conspiracy does not surprise me: I know that not only him - all intelligence officers are like that. - I'm going ahead.

Only no comment! - Kholin warns me in an impressive whisper. I’m tired of these warnings at every step: I’m not a boy, and I myself figure out what's what.

Demin, as expected, calls out to me at a distance; responding, I go up, jump into the trench and stand so that he, turning to me, turns his back to the path.

Light up, - I suggest, taking out cigarettes, and taking one for myself, shove the other for him.

We squat down, he strikes with damp matches, finally one lights up, he brings it to me and lights it himself. In the light of the match, I notice that someone is asleep in the under-burrowing niche on caked hay, and I manage to make out a strangely familiar cap with crimson piping. Greedily drawing on, I, without saying a word, turn on the flashlight and see that in the niche - Katasonov. He lies on his back, his face covered by a cap. I, not yet realizing, raise her, - gray, meek, like a rabbit's, face; there is a small neat hole above the left eye; bullet inlet ...

It turned out silly, - Demin mutters quietly next to me, his voice reaches me as if from afar. - We set up a boat, sat with me, smoked. The captain was standing here, talking to me, and this one began to crawl out and only, it means that he got up out of the trench and slipped down so quietly. Yes, we didn’t seem to hear the shots ... The captain rushed to him, shaking: "Kapitonych! .. Kapitonych! .."

So that's why Kholin seemed a little strange to me upon returning from the shore ...

No comments! - his imperious whisper is heard from the river. And I understand everything: the boy is leaving on a task and now in no case should he be upset - he should not know anything.

After getting out of the trench, I slowly descend to the water.

The boy is already in the boat, I sit down with him at the stern, taking the machine gun at the ready.

Sit down more evenly, - whispers Kholin, covering us with a raincoat-tent. - Make sure that there is no roll!

Pulling back the bow of the boat, he sits down himself and disassembles the oars. Looking at his watch, he waits a little longer and whistles softly: this is the signal for the start of the operation.

He was immediately answered: to the right from the darkness, where in a large machine-gun trench on the flank of the third battalion are the commanders of the supporting subunits and artillery observers, a rifle shot slams.

Having turned the boat around, Kholin begins to row - the shore immediately disappears. The gloom of a cold, rainy night embraces us.

6

I can feel the measured hot breath of Choline on my face. He drives the boat with strong strokes; you can hear the water quietly splashing under the blows of the oars. The boy froze, hiding under a raincoat next to me.

Ahead, on the right bank, the Germans, as usual, shoot and illuminate the leading edge with rockets - the flashes are not so bright because of the rain. And the wind is in our direction. The weather is clearly favorable for us.

From our bank, a line of tracer bullets flies up over the river. Such routes from the left flank of the third battalion will be given every five to seven minutes: they will serve as a guide for us when we return to our shore.

Sugar! - whispers Kholin.

We put two pieces of sugar in our mouths and suck them diligently: this should increase the sensitivity of our eyes and our hearing to the limit.

We are, probably, already somewhere in the middle of the reach, when a machine gun bangs in front of us - bullets whistle and, knocking out loud splashes, splash across the water quite nearby.

MG-34, - the boy unmistakably defines in a whisper, trustingly clinging to me.

Are you afraid?

A little, - he admits barely audibly. “I’m not getting used to it. Some kind of nervousness ... And I won't get used to begging either. Wow and sick!

I vividly imagine what it is like for him, proud and proud, to humiliate himself by begging.

Listen, - remembering, I whisper, - we have Bondarev in the battalion. And also Gomel. Not a relative by chance?

No. I have no relatives. One mother. And she don’t know where now ... His voice trembled. - And my surname is, in truth, Buslov, not Bondarev.

And the name is not Ivan?

No, call him Ivan. This is right.

Kholin begins to row more quietly, apparently in anticipation of the shore. I peer into the darkness with pain in my eyes: apart from the flashes of rockets dim behind a veil of rain, you will not see anything.

We barely move, another moment, and the bottom clings to the sand. Kholin, nimbly folding his oars, steps over the side and, standing in the water, quickly turns the boat stern to the shore.

For two minutes we listen intently. You can hear the raindrops softly splashing on the water, on the ground, on the already wet raincoat; I can hear Choline breathing evenly and I can hear my heart beating. But the suspicious - no noise, no talk, no rustle - we can not catch. And Kholin breathes into my very ear:

Ivan is there. And you get out and hold ... He dives into the darkness. I carefully get out from under my raincoat, step into the water on the coastal sand, adjust my machine gun and take the boat by the stern. I feel that the boy has risen and is standing in the boat next to me.

Sit down. And put on your raincoat, - feeling it with my hand, I whisper.

It's all the same now, ”he replies, barely audible.

Kholin appears unexpectedly and, coming up close, announces in a joyful whisper:

Order! Everything is hemmed, laced ...

It turns out that those bushes near the water, in which we have to leave the boat, are only thirty steps downstream.

A few minutes later the boat is hidden, and we, bending down, sneak along the coast, from time to time freezing and listening. When a rocket flares up nearby, we fall to the sand under the ledge and lie motionless like dead. Out of the corner of my eye I see a boy - his clothes have darkened from the rain. Kholin and I will return and change, and he ...

Kholin suddenly slows down and, taking the boy by the hand, steps to the right in the water. Ahead, something brightens in the sand. “The corpses of our scouts,” I guess.

What is it? the boy asks barely audibly.

Fritz, - Kholin whispers quickly and carries him forward. “This is a sniper from our bank.

Wow, you bastards! They even undress their own, - the boy mutters with hatred, looking around.

It seems to me that we have been moving for an eternity and should have reached it long ago. However, I remember that from the bushes, where the boat is hidden, to these corpses, three hundred and something meters. And to the ravine you need to walk about the same.

Soon we pass another corpse. He is completely decomposed - a sickening smell is felt from a distance. From the left bank, crashing into the rainy sky behind us, the track leaves again. The ravine is somewhere close; but we will not see it: it is not illuminated by rockets, it is true, because its entire bottom is mined, and the edges are bordered by continuous trenches and are patrolled. The Germans, apparently, are sure that no one will be poking around here.

This ravine is a good trap for anyone found in it. And all the hope is that the boy will slip by unnoticed.

Kholin finally stops and, having made a sign to us to sit down, himself goes ahead.

Soon he returns and barely audible commands:

Behind me!

We move forward another thirty paces and squat behind the ledge.

The ravine is in front of us, straight ahead! - Pulling back the sleeve of his camouflage coat, Kholin looks at the luminous dial and whispers to the boy: - We have four more minutes at our disposal. How are you feeling?

Order.

We listen to the darkness for a while. It smells of corpse and dampness. One of the corpses - it is visible on the sand about three meters to the right of us - obviously serves as a reference point for Kholin.

Well, I'll go, ”the boy says, barely audible.

I'll take you, - suddenly whispers Kholin. - Along the ravine. At least a little.

This is no longer according to plan!

No! - objects the boy. - I'll go alone! You're big - they'll get caught with you.

Maybe I should go? I offer hesitantly.

At least along the ravine, - begs Kholin in a whisper. - There is clay - you will inherit. I will carry you!

I said! - stubbornly and angrily declares the boy. - I myself!

He is standing next to me, small, thin, and, as it seems to me, is trembling all over in his old clothes. Or maybe it just seems to me ...

See you, - he hesitates, he whispers to Kholin.

See you! - I can feel them hugging and Kholin kisses him. - The main thing is to be careful! Take care! If we move, wait in Fedorovka!

See you soon, - the boy already addresses me.

Goodbye! - I whisper with excitement, looking for his small narrow palm in the dark and squeezing it tightly. I feel the urge to kiss him, but I hesitate right away. I am terribly worried at this moment.

Before that, I repeat to myself ten times: "Goodbye!" So as not to blurt out, like six days ago: "Goodbye!"

And before I dare to kiss him, he silently disappears into the darkness.

7

Kholin and I hid, squatting close to the ledge, so that its edge fell over our heads, and listened cautiously. The rain fell steadily and unhurriedly, cold, autumn rain, which, it seemed, would never end. The water felt damp with brain.

Four minutes passed, as we were left alone, and from the side where the boy had gone, footsteps and a quiet indistinct guttural voice were heard.

"Germans!.."

Kholin squeezed my shoulder, but I didn’t need to be warned - I might have heard him earlier and, sliding the safety knob on the machine, I was completely numb with a grenade in my hand.

The footsteps approached. Now it was possible to discern how mud squished under the feet of several people. My mouth was dry, my heart was pounding like mad.

Verfluchtes Wetter! Hohl es der Teufel ...

Halte "s Maul, Otto! .. Links halten! .. They passed very close, so that splashes of cold mud fell on my face. Moments later, with the flash of a rocket, we saw them, tall in a sparse shroud of rain (maybe it seemed to me so that I looked at them from below), in helmets with comforters and boots with wide tops exactly the same as on Kholin and me. with a holster, submachine guns hanging from their chests.

There were four of them - the guard patrol of the SS regiment, - the combat patrol of the German army, past which Ivan Buslov, a twelve-year-old boy from Gomel, who appeared in our intelligence documents under the name "Bondarev", had just slipped past.

When we saw them in the trembling light of the rocket, they stopped and were about to go down to the water about ten paces from us. In the dark they could be heard jumping on the sand and heading towards the bushes, where our boat was hidden.

It was harder for me than for Cholin. I was not a scout, but I had fought since the first months of the war, and at the sight of enemies, alive and with weapons, I was instantly seized by the usual, many times experienced excitement of a soldier at the moment of a battle. I felt a desire, or rather, a thirst, a need, a need to kill them immediately! I will fill them up as cute, in one burst! "Kill them!" - I probably didn't think about anything else, throwing up and turning the machine gun. But Kholin thought for me. Feeling my movement, he squeezed my forearm, as if in a vise, - having come to my senses, I lowered the machine gun.

They'll spot the boat! - rubbing my forearm, I whispered as soon as the steps were gone.

Kholin was silent.

We have to do something, - after a short pause, I whispered again in alarm. - If they find the boat ...

If! .. - Kholin breathed in fury in my face. I felt that he was able to strangle me. - And if the boy is caught ?! Are you thinking of leaving him alone? .. What are you: a skin, a bastard, or just a fool? ..

Fool, - thinking, I whispered.

You must be neurotic, ”said Kholin thoughtfully. - The war will end, you will have to be treated ...

I listened intently, expecting every moment to hear the exclamations of the Germans who had discovered our boat. To the left, a machine gun rattled abruptly, followed by another, directly above us, and again in the silence the measured noise of rain was heard. Rockets took off here and there along the entire coastline, flashing, sparkling, hissing and extinguishing, not having time to reach the ground.

For some reason, the sickening, cadaverous smell intensified. - spat and tried to breathe through his mouth, but it did not help much.

I felt an agonizing desire to light a cigarette. Never in my life have I so much wanted to smoke. But the only thing I could do was pull out a cigarette and sniff it, kneading it with my fingers.

We were soon drenched and shivering from the cold, and the rain continued unabated.

There is clay in the ravine, damn it! - suddenly whispered Kholin. - Now there would be a good downpour to wash away everything ...

His thoughts were with the boy all the time, and the clay ravine, where the footprints are well preserved, bothered him. I understood how deeply his concern was: if the Germans discovered fresh, unusually small footprints going from the coast through the front line, Ivan would surely be followed by a pursuit. Perhaps with the dogs. Where, where, and in the regiments of the SS there are enough dogs trained for hunting people.

I've already chewed a cigarette. It wasn't pleasant enough, but I chewed. Kholin, when he heard it, asked:

What are you?

I want to smoke - I'm dying! I sighed.

Don't you want to go to your mother? - asked Kholin sarcastically. - I personally want to go to my mother! Wouldn't be bad, huh?

We waited another twenty minutes, wet, shivering from the cold and listening intently. The shirt was wrapped around the back like an ice wrap. The rain gradually gave way to snow, soft, wet flakes fell, covering the sand with a white veil, and reluctantly melted.

Well, it seems, he passed, - finally Kholin sighed with relief and got up.

Bending down and keeping close to the very ledge, we moved to the boat, stopping every now and then, froze and listened. I was pretty sure the Germans had spotted the boat and ambushed the bushes. But Kholin did not dare to tell about this: I was afraid that he would laugh at me.

We crept in the darkness along the coast until we stumbled upon the corpses of our scouts. We took no more than five steps away from them when Kholin stopped and, pulling me to his sleeve, whispered in my ear:

You will stay here. I'll go get the boat. So that there is no chance for both of them. Swim up - you will call me in German. Quiet, quiet! .. If I run into it, there will be noise - swim to the other side. And if I'm not back in an hour, swim too. You can swim back and forth five times, right? he said mockingly.

Not your concern. Think less.

It is better to approach the boat not by the shore, but to swim from the side of the river, - I remarked not quite confidently. - I can, come on ...

Maybe I will do so ... But why don't you try to rock the boat! If anything happens to you, we will be warmed up on the first day. Vnik?

Yes. What if…

Without any "if"! .. You are a good guy, Galtsev, "Kholin suddenly whispered," but a neurasthenic. And this is the most terrible thing in our business ...

He went into the darkness, and I remained to wait. I don’t know how long this agonizing wait lasted: I was so cold and so worried that I didn’t even think to look at my watch. Trying not to make even the slightest noise, I vigorously moved my arms and squatted to get at least a little warm. From time to time I froze and listened.

Finally, catching a barely discernible splash of water, I put my palms to my mouth with a mouthpiece and whispered:

Halt ... Halt ...

Quiet, damn it! Go here…

Stepping carefully, I took a few steps, and cold water poured into my boots, embracing my legs in an icy embrace.

How is it near the ravine, is it quiet? - First of all, asked Kholin.

You see, and you were afraid! he whispered, pleased. - Sit down from the stern, taking the machine gun from me, he commanded, and as soon as I got into the boat, he began to row, taking it against the current.

Sitting at the stern, I pulled off my boots and poured the water out of them.

The snow poured down in shaggy flakes and melted, barely touching the river. From the left bank the route was again given. She passed right above us; it was necessary to turn, and Kholin continued to drive the boat upstream.

Where are you going? I asked, not understanding.

Without answering, he paddled vigorously.

Where are we sailing?

Here, get warm! - Leaving the oars, he thrust a small flat flask into my hand. With numb fingers unscrewing the cap with difficulty, I swallowed - the vodka burned my throat with a pleasant heat, it became warm inside, but the shiver still beat me.

Bottoms Up! - whispered Kholin, slightly moving the oars.

I'll have a drink on the beach. Will you treat?

I took another sip and, regretfully making sure that there was nothing in the flask, I put it in my pocket.

What if it hasn't passed yet? - said Kholin unexpectedly. - Suddenly lies, waiting ... How I would like to be with him now! ..

And it became clear to me why we are not returning. We were opposite the ravine, so that we could land on the enemy bank again and come to the aid of the boy. And from there, from the darkness, every now and then they poured down the river in long lines. I got goosebumps as the bullets whistled and slapped in the water next to the boat. In such a gloom, behind a wide curtain of wet snow, it was probably impossible to find us, but it's damn unpleasant to be under fire on the water, in an open place where you can't bury yourself in the ground and there is nothing behind which you could hide. Kholin, encouraging, whispered:

Only a fool or a coward can die from such stupid bullets! Consider! ..

Katasonov was not a fool or a coward. I had no doubt about it, but I didn't say anything to Kholin.

And you have nothing as a paramedic! - a little later he recalled, obviously wanting to somehow distract me.

Nothing, - knocking out a beat with my teeth, I agreed, least of all thinking about the paramedic; I imagined a warm dugout of a first-aid post and a stove. Wonderful cast-iron stove! ..

From the left, endlessly desired bank three more times they gave the route. She called us back, and we all dangled on the water closer to the right bank.

Well, it seems to have passed, - finally said Kholin and, hitting me with a roll, with a strong movement of the oars turned the boat.

He was surprisingly oriented and kept the direction in the dark. We sailed close to a large machine-gun trench on the right flank of my battalion, where the guard platoon leader was.

They were expecting us and immediately called out quietly, but imperiously: “Stop! Who is coming? .. ”I gave the password - they recognized me by my voice, and in a moment we stepped ashore.

I was completely exhausted and, although I drank two hundred grams of vodka, I still trembled and could hardly move my numb legs. Trying not to chatter, I ordered the boat to be pulled out and camouflaged, and we set off along the shore, accompanied by the squad leader Zuev, my favorite, a somewhat cheeky but reckless sergeant. He walked in front.

Comrade senior lieutenant, where is the language? - Turning around, he suddenly asked cheerfully.

What language?

So, they say, you went for the language.

Kholin, who was walking behind, pushed me away and stepped towards Zuev.

Your tongue is in your mouth! Vnik? - he said sharply, articulating every word distinctly. It seemed to me that he put his weighty hand on Zuev's shoulder, and maybe even took him by the collar: this Kholin was too straightforward and hot-tempered - he could do that.

Your tongue is in your mouth! he repeated threateningly. - And hold him by the teeth! It will be better for you! .. And now return to the post! ..

As soon as Zuev remained a few steps behind, Kholin announced sternly and deliberately loudly:

You have talkers in your battalion, Galtsev! And this is the most terrible thing in our business ...

In the darkness he took my arm and, squeezing it at the elbow, mockingly whispered:

And you are a little thing too! He threw a battalion, and he himself on the other side of the tongue! Hunter!

* * *

In the dugout, having quickly melted the stove with additional mortar charges, we stripped naked and rubbed ourselves with a towel.

Having changed into dry linen, Kholin threw his overcoat over, sat down at the table and, spreading out the map in front of him, studied it intently. Finding himself in the dugout, he immediately somehow wilted, he looked tired and worried.

I served a can of stewed meat, bacon, a pot of pickles, bread, fermented baked milk and a jar of vodka.

Oh, if only I knew what happened to him now! - Kholin exclaimed suddenly, getting up. - And what's the matter?

What?

This patrol - on the other side - was supposed to pass half an hour later. Do you understand? .. So, either the Germans changed the security regime, or we got something wrong. And the boy, in any case, can pay with his life. With us, everything was calculated in minutes.

But he passed. We waited how long - at least an hour - and everything was quiet.

What went through? Kholin asked irritably. “If you want to know, he has to walk more than fifty kilometers. Of these, about twenty he must do before dawn. And at every step you can run into. And how many all sorts of accidents! .. Well, all right, talking will not help! .. - He removed the card from the table. - Let's!

I poured vodka into two mugs.

We won't clink glasses, ”Kholin warned taking one.

We raised our mugs and sat in silence for a few moments.

Eh, Katasonich, Katasonich ... - Kholin sighed, frowning, and said in a broken voice: - What is it to you! And he saved my life ...

He drank it in one gulp and, sniffing a piece of black bread, demanded:

Having drunk myself, I poured a second time: myself a little, and to him to the brim. Taking a mug, he turned to the bunk, where the suitcase with the boy's things stood, and said in a low voice:

For you to come back and never leave. For your future!

We clinked glasses and, having drunk, began to eat. Undoubtedly, at that moment we were both thinking of the boy. The stove, standing on the sides and on top of an orange-red, breathed heat. We are back and are sitting warm and safe. And he, somewhere in an enemy position, sneaks through the snow and mist, side by side with death ...

I have never felt a special love for children, but this boy - although I met him only twice - was so close and dear to me that I could not think of him without heart-pinching excitement.

I didn't drink any more. Kholin, without any toasts, silently grabbed the third mug. Soon he became drunk and sat gloomy, gazing sullenly at me with reddened, excited eyes.

Have you been at war for the third year? .. - he asked, lighting a cigarette. - And I am the third ... And in the eyes of death - like Ivan! - we, perhaps, did not look in ... A battalion, a regiment, an entire army is behind you ... And he is alone! - suddenly irritated, Kholin shouted. - Child! .. And you still regretted the stinking knife!

8

"Sorry! .." No, I could not, I had no right to give anyone this knife, the only memory of a deceased friend, his only surviving personal thing.

But I kept my word. In the divisional artillery workshop there was a skilled locksmith, an elderly sergeant from the Urals. In the spring, he carved the handle of Kotka's knife, now I asked him to make exactly the same one and put it on the new landing knife, which I gave him. I not only asked, I brought him a box of trophy locksmith tools - vise, drills, chisels - I didn't need them, he was delighted with them like a child.

He made the handle conscientiously - the Finns could be distinguished, perhaps, only by the notches on Kotkina and the initials “K. X. ". I already imagined how the boy would be delighted to have a real landing knife with such a beautiful handle; I understood him: I myself was not so long ago as a teenager.

I wore this new Finnish woman on a belt, hoping at the first meeting with Kholin or with Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov: it would be foolish to think that I myself would have a chance to meet Ivan. Where is he now? - I could not even imagine, remembering him more than once.

And the days were hot: the divisions of our army crossed the Dnieper and, as reported in the reports of the Information Bureau, "fought successful battles to expand the bridgehead on the right bank ...".

I hardly used Fink; it is true, once in hand-to-hand combat I used her, and if not for her, the fat, overweight corporal from Hamburg would probably have planted my head with a spatula.

The Germans resisted desperately. After eight days of heavy offensive battles, we received the order to take up defensive positions, and then in early November, on a clear, cold day, just before the holiday, I met with Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov.

Of medium height, with a large head set on a dense body, in an overcoat and a hat with earflaps, he paced along the side of the highway, dragging his right leg slightly - it was killed in the Finnish campaign. I recognized him from afar, as soon as I went to the edge of the grove, where the remnants of my battalion were located. "Mine" - I could now say so with good reason: before the crossing, I was approved as a battalion commander.

It was quiet in the grove where we settled down, the leaves turned gray from frost covered the ground, and it smelled of dung and horse urine. On this site, the Guards Cossack corps entered the breakthrough, and the Cossacks made a halt in the grove. Since childhood, the smell of a horse and a cow has been associated with the smell of fresh milk and hot bread just taken out of the oven. And now I remembered my native village, where in childhood every summer I lived with my grandmother, a small, dry old woman who loved me beyond measure. All this seemed to be recent, but it seemed to me now far, distant and unique, like everything before the war ...

Childhood memories ended as soon as I went to the edge. Bolshak was packed with German cars, burnt, damaged and simply abandoned; killed Germans in various positions were lying on the road, in ditches; gray mounds of corpses were visible everywhere in the trenched field. On the road, about fifty meters from Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov, his driver and lieutenant-translator were busy in the back of a German headquarters armored personnel carrier. Four more - I could not make out their ranks - climbed in the trenches on the other side of the highway. The lieutenant colonel was shouting something to them - because of the wind I did not hear what.

At my approach, Gryaznov turned his dark, fleshy face pitted with pockmarks at me and exclaimed in a rude voice, half surprised, half delighted:

Are you alive, Galtsev ?!

Alive! Where am I going? - I smiled. - I wish you good health!

Hello! If you are alive - hello!

I shook the hand extended to me, looked around and, making sure that no one except Gryaznov would hear me, I said:

Comrade Lieutenant Colonel, let me know: is Ivan back?

Ivan? .. Which Ivan?

Well boy, Bondarev.

And what do you mean, is he back or not? Gryaznov asked discontentedly and, frowning, looked at me with sly black eyes.

I did ferry it, you know ...

You never know who forwarded whom! Everyone should know what he is supposed to. This is the law for the army, and especially for intelligence!

But I'm asking for business. Out of service, personal ... I have a request for you. I promised to give it to him, - unbuttoning my overcoat, I took the knife from my belt and handed it to the lieutenant colonel. - Please, pass it on. How he longed to have it, you only knew!

I know, Galtsev, I know, ”the lieutenant colonel sighed and, taking the finn, examined it. - Nothing. But there are better ones. He has a dozen of these knives, no less. I collected a whole chest ... What can you do - passion! This age. Well-known business boy! .. Well ... if I see, I will tell you.

So he ... didn't come back? - I said in excitement.

Was. And he left ... He left himself ...

How so?

The lieutenant colonel frowned and paused, fixing his gaze somewhere into the distance. Then he said in a low, hollow bass:

He was sent to school, and he agreed. In the morning they were supposed to draw up the documents, but at night he left ... And I can't blame him: I understand him. It takes a long time to explain, and there is nothing for you ...

He turned a large, pockmarked face to me, stern and pensive.

The hatred in him did not boil over. And there is no rest for him ... Maybe he will return, but most likely he will go to the partisans ... And you forget about him and for the future, keep in mind: you should not ask about zakordonniki. The less they talk about them and the fewer people know about them, the longer they live ... You met with him by chance, and you shouldn't be offended to know about him! So remember from now on: there was nothing, you do not know any Bondarev, you have not seen or heard anything. And you did not ferry anyone! And therefore there is nothing to ask. Vnik? ..

... And I didn't ask any more. And there was no one to ask. Kholin soon died during the search: in the pre-dawn semi-darkness, his reconnaissance group ran into an ambush by the Germans - Kholin's legs were broken with a machine-gun burst; ordering everyone to withdraw, he lay down and fired back to the last, and when they seized him, blew up an anti-tank grenade ... Lieutenant Colonel Gryaznov was transferred to another army, and I never met him again.

But I, of course, could not forget about Ivan - as the lieutenant colonel advised me. And remembering the little scout more than once, I never thought that I would ever meet him or learn anything about his fate.

9

In the battles near Kovel I was seriously wounded and became "of limited fitness": I was allowed to be used only in non-combatant positions in the headquarters of formations or in the rear service. I had to part with the battalion and my own division. For the last six months of the war, I worked as a translator for the corps reconnaissance department on the same 1st Belorussian Front, but in a different army.

When the fighting for Berlin began, I and two other officers were sent to one of the task forces created to seize German archives and documents.

Berlin surrendered on May 2 at three o'clock in the afternoon. At these historical moments, our task force was in the very center of the city, in a dilapidated building on the Prinz Albrechtstrasse, where the "Geheim-staats-police", the state secret police, was recently located.

As expected, the Germans managed to take out most of the documents or destroyed them. Only in the premises of the fourth - upper - floor, were they discovered as surviving filing cabinets and a huge filing cabinet. The submachine gunners who were the first to break into the building announced this with joyful shouts from the windows.

Comrade captain, there are papers in the car in the yard! - Running up to me, the soldier reported, a broad-shouldered, squat short man.

In the huge courtyard of the Gestapo, strewn with stones and fragments of bricks, there used to be a garage for dozens, maybe hundreds of cars; a few of them remained - damaged by explosions and faulty. I looked around: the bunker, the corpses, the bomb craters, in the corner of the yard there were sappers with a mine detector.

Not far from the gate stood a tall truck with gas generators. The tailgate was thrown back - in the back from under a tarp the corpse of an officer in a black SS uniform and thick files and folders tied in bundles were visible.

The soldier climbed awkwardly into the back and pulled the bundles to the very edge. I cut the ersatz rope with a fin.

These were the documents of the GUF - the secret field police - of the Army Group "Center", they belonged to the winter of 1943/44. Reports on punitive "actions" and intelligence developments, search requests and orientations, copies of various reports and special messages, they narrated about heroism and cowardice, about the executed and about the avengers, about the caught and the elusive. For me, these documents were of particular interest: Mozyr and Petrikov, Rechitsa and Pinsk - so familiar places of the Gomel region and Polesie, where our front was - stood in front of me.

In the cases there were a lot of registration cards - questionnaires with brief identification data of those whom the secret police were looking for, caught and pursued. Some of the cards had photographs glued to them.

Who is this? - standing in the back, the soldier, bending over, poked with a thick short finger and asked me: - Comrade Captain, who is this?

Without answering, I flipped through the papers in a kind of stupor, looked through folder after folder, not noticing the rain soaking us. Yes, on this majestic day of our victory in Berlin, it was drizzling, fine, cold, and it was cloudy. Only towards evening the sky cleared of clouds and the sun peeped through the smoke.

After ten days of fierce fighting, silence reigned, in some places broken by machine gun fire. Fires blazed in the center of the city, and if on the outskirts, where there are many gardens, the exuberant smell of lilac clogged everyone else, then here it smelled of burning; black smoke drifted over the ruins.

Bring everything into the building! I finally ordered the soldier, pointing to the bundles, and mechanically opened the folder I was holding in my hand. He looked - and my heart sank: Ivan Buslov was looking at me from the photo glued to the form ...

I recognized him immediately by his high-cheeked face and large, wide-set eyes - I had never seen eyes set so wide apart.

He looked sullenly, coming true, as then, at our first meeting in a dugout on the banks of the Dnieper. On the left cheek, below the cheekbone, there was a dark bruise.

The photograph was blank. With a sinking heart, I turned it over - a piece of paper with a typewritten text was pinned up from below: a copy of a special message from the head of the secret field police of the 2nd German Army.

No. …… mountains. Luninets. 12/26/43 Secret.

To the head of the field police of the "Center" group ...

“... On December 21 of this year, at the location of the 23rd Army Corps, in the restricted area near the railroad, an auxiliary police officer Efim Titkov noticed and after two hours of observation detained a Russian, a schoolboy of 10-12 years old, lying in the snow and observing the movement of trains on section Kalinkovichi - Klinsk.

During the arrest, an unknown person (as it was established, he called himself "Ivan" to a local resident of Semina Maria) fiercely resisted, bit Titkov's arm, and only with the help of a corporal who arrived in time, Vinz was taken to the field police ...

... it was established that "Ivan" was in the area of ​​the 23rd building for several days ... engaged in begging ... spent the night in an abandoned barn and sheds. His hands and toes were frostbitten and partially affected by gangrene ...

During the search of "Ivan" they found ... a handkerchief and 110 (one hundred and ten) occupation stamps in his pockets. No material evidence was found to convict him of belonging to partisans or espionage ... Special signs: in the middle of the back, on the line of the spine, a large birthmark, above the right shoulder blade - a scar of a tangential bullet wound ...

Interrogated thoroughly and with the utmost severity for four days by Major von Bissing, Chief Lieutenant Klammt and Feldwebel Stamer "Ivan" no testimony would help to establish his identity, as well as to clarify the motives of his stay in the restricted area and in the location of the 23rd Army Corps , did not give.

5

Damn weather! And what the hell ... - Hold your tongue, Otto! .. Take to the left! .. (German).

Books enlighten the soul, raise and strengthen a person, awaken the best aspirations in him, sharpen his mind and soften his heart.

William Thackeray, English satirist

The book is a tremendous force.

Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, Soviet revolutionary

Without books, we can now neither live, nor fight, nor suffer, nor rejoice and win, nor confidently move towards that reasonable and wonderful future in which we unshakably believe.

Many thousands of years ago, in the hands of the best representatives of mankind, the book became one of the main instruments of their struggle for truth and justice, and it was this instrument that gave these people terrible strength.

Nikolay Rubakin, Russian bibliologist, bibliographer.

The book is a tool of labor. But not only. It introduces people to the life and struggle of other people, makes it possible to understand their experiences, their thoughts, their aspirations; it makes it possible to compare, understand the environment and transform it.

Stanislav Strumilin, Academician of the USSR Academy of Sciences

There is no better means of refreshing the mind like reading the ancient classics; if you take one of them in your hands, although for half an hour, - now you feel refreshed, relieved and cleansed, lifted and strengthened - as if you had refreshed yourself by bathing in a pure spring.

Arthur Schopenhauer, German philosopher

Anyone who was not familiar with the creations of the ancients lived without knowing beauty.

Georg Hegel, German philosopher

No failures of history and dead spaces of time are able to destroy human thought, enshrined in hundreds, thousands and millions of manuscripts and books.

Konstantin Paustovsky, Russian Soviet writer

The book is a sorceress. The book has transformed the world. It contains the memory of the human race, it is the mouthpiece of human thought. A world without a book is a world of savages.

Nikolay Morozov, creator of modern scientific chronology

Books are a spiritual testament from one generation to another, advice from a dying old man to a young man who is beginning to live, an order given to a sentry going on vacation, to a sentry taking his place

Human life is empty without books. The book is not only our friend, but also our constant, eternal companion.

Demyan Bedny, Russian Soviet writer, poet, publicist

The book is a powerful instrument of communication, labor, struggle. It equips man with the experience of the life and struggle of mankind, pushes his horizon, gives him knowledge, with the help of which he can make the forces of nature serve him.

Nadezhda Krupskaya, Russian revolutionary, Soviet party, public and cultural figure.

Reading good books is a conversation with the best people of the past, and, moreover, such a conversation when they tell us only their best thoughts.

René Descartes, French philosopher, mathematician, physicist and physiologist

Reading is one of the origins of thinking and mental development.

Vasily Sukhomlinsky, an outstanding Soviet educator and innovator.

Reading is to the mind what physical exercise is to the body.

Joseph Addison, English poet and satirist

A good book is like a conversation with an intelligent person. The reader receives from her knowledge and generalization of reality, the ability to understand life.

Alexey Tolstoy, Russian Soviet writer and public figure

Remember, reading is the most colossal tool in multilateral education.

Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher

Without reading, there is no real education, there is no and there can be no taste, no word, no multilateral breadth of understanding; Goethe and Shakespeare are equal to the whole university. A person experiences reading for centuries.

Alexander Herzen, Russian publicist, writer, philosopher

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Play by Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov "Ivan Vasilievich" is the basis of the script for the famous film by Leonid Gaidai "Ivan Vasilyevich changes his profession", the plot of which is familiar to almost everyone. The original play is aimed primarily at ridiculing the morally decayed and degenerated Russian aristocracy and pre-revolutionary elite. In the play, Tsar Ivan the Terrible ends up in Moscow in the 1930s, when the play itself was written. And of course, the whole work is replete with details and jokes of that time, which makes the play unique and inimitable in its kind.

Acquaintance with the main characters begins in the apartment of the inventor Nikolai Timofeev, who set himself the task of creating a time machine. Fully immersed in his invention, Timofeev does not eat, does not sleep. Here he falls asleep in front of his apparatus. Suddenly his wife Zinaida returns - a beautiful, young actress who has arrived to inform her husband about her departure to her lover Yakin. Nikolay calmly lets go of Zina, with whom he lived for "whole" 11 months, and returns to his work.

In parallel with the actions in the apartment of the inventor Timofeev, behind the wall, in the apartment of Shpak, interesting events are also played out. Thief Miloslavsky infiltrates a neighbor and begins to analyze the contents of the apartment. As a result, his gaze stops on the gramophone, cigarette case and suit. While Miloslavsky is in charge of Shpak's apartment, Ivan Vasilyevich Bunsha comes to see Nikolai Ivanovich. The house manager is outraged that the inventor wastes a lot of electricity and lowers the culture of the house. Against the background of Bunshi's indignation, the inventor's apparatus begins to work intensively, the wall between Timofeev's and Shpak's apartments is erased. Miloslavsky with a glass and a book in his hand appears to the amazed residents of the house.

Miloslavsky moves to Timofeev's room and simply admires the scientist's invention. Bunsha at this time looks at the stranger with suspicion. At the next start of the car, the wall dissolves again, but the chambers of Ivan the Terrible are already on the other side, who panics. In the confusion, Ivan the Terrible finds himself in Moscow in the 1930s, while Bunsha and Miloslavsky find themselves in the royal chambers, meanwhile the "wall of time" is closed.

Timofeev and Ivan the Terrible are left alone. The scientist tells his drama with Zinaida, who left him for the director Yakin. Ivan the Terrible, in his usual manner, decides to impale his lover. Nikolai Ivanovich leaves the tsar alone and at this time Zina returns, who is pursued by the director. Hiding behind a screen, Ivan the Terrible becomes a witness of the scene in which Zinaida accuses Yakin of treason. The king appears and threatens Zina's lover. The director admires the acting, but Zina realizes that the real king is in front of them. Shpak appears, complaining about his fate and the theft of things.

The scene with Yakin, Zinaida and Ivan the Terrible ends with the director proposing to the young actress, the tsar letting them go. But Zina insists on making the monarch's appearance less visible. They dress him up in Miloslavsky's costume and everyone notices the striking resemblance between the tsar and the Bunsha. Zina leaves with her lover, and Ivan the Terrible meets with Shpak and Ulyana - Bunshi's wife. Both take the king for the house manager and appreciate his inappropriate behavior.

The similarity of the tsar and the manager of the house was used by Bunsha and Miloslavsky, who turned out to be in the past. Bunsha changed into Ivan the Terrible and for some time pretended to be a monarch. In the guise of a king, the impostors receive the Swedish ambassador, the patriarch, and eat. This clearly shows the degeneracy of the Russian intelligentsia in the 1930s. Bunsha in modern Moscow completely rejected his princely origin, assuring everyone that his mother gave birth to him from a coachman. But in ancient Moscow Bunsha is already convincing Miloslavsky that “blue blood” is still flowing in him. Ivan Vasilievich adapts to the circumstances depending on the benefits he can get. But, in spite of everything, the tsar's entourage understands that "the tsar is not real."

Rescues from death Bunshu and Miloslavsky suddenly opened wall. Timofeev repaired his apparatus, returns in due time Ivan the Terrible and the manager of the house with the thief. After all the events, Timofeev wakes up in the same position in which the dream found him at the beginning of the play. Zina returns, who has not gone anywhere and with anyone. Everything falls into place.

The play is thoroughly imbued with the "spirit of the era" - post-revolutionary Moscow. Much of the play did not make it into the famous film, and therefore everyone who wants to touch the classics needs to listen to the original. In addition, the work of Alexander Sinitsa, as always, is admirable. Talented voice acting is accompanied by music by Nikolai Andreevich Rimsky-Korsakov.

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Audiobook duration: 2 hours

The book is voiced by: Alexander Sinitsa

Recording quality of this audiobook: high

Ivan Ilyin "We believe in Russia!"

This audiobook is dedicated to the work of the great Russian thinker Ivan Alexandrovich Ilyin.

I. A. Ilyin belongs to the galaxy of outstanding Russian philosophers of the XIX-XX centuries, for whom the religious question was the fundamental issue. The main thing for them is not to build a "system", but to comprehend the place of man in the world created and saved by the Lord Jesus Christ. They saw themselves as missionaries of the spiritual space, leading to Christ more and more territories of spiritual and bodily activity of man, not directly captured by the Orthodox faith. For Ilyina Russia became such a space as a social organism requiring spiritual and physical healing.

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Ivan Ilyin "Singing Heart"

"The Book of Quiet Contemplations" - this is the subtitle of this book, the most intimate and heartfelt creation of the remarkable Russian philosopher.

Ilyin wrote: "It is dedicated not to theology, but to quiet philosophical glorification ... This is a simple, quiet philosophy ... born of the main organ of Orthodox Christianity - the contemplating heart."

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Ivan Ilyin "Collection of articles"

1. About Russia
2. National mission of Pushkin
3. Pushkin in life
4. Shmelev's art
5. The spiritual meaning of the tale
6. About demonism and satanism
7. Righteous people
8. Ekaterina Ivanovna
9. Medtner's music
10. About Medtner's music
11. Music and word
12. What is art

Audiobook

Ivan Ilyin "Fundamentals of Art"

“Art is service and joy ... joy is a spiritual state; she rejoices in creative exultation; she shines with God's rays. And real art is just such a joy. It satisfies the thirst for the perfect, the will for the artistic and the beautiful. "

I. Ilyin, "On the Perfect in Art"

Audiobook

Ivan Ilyin "On darkness and enlightenment"

“For a Russian person who has not weathered ... the Russian, classical tradition, but observed it live, in art it is not pleasure, not entertainment and not even just pleasure in life that is essential, but comprehension of the essence, penetration into wisdom and guiding service on the path of meditation. A service that does not directly have anyone in mind, but is addressed to its people ... "

I. Ilyin, "On darkness and enlightenment."

Audiobook

Ivan Ilyin "On Resistance to Evil by Force. The Main Moral Contradiction of War"

"An eye for an eye, an eye for an eye" - this proverb is more than one century. Many are guided by it as a postulate always and everywhere, without hesitation. And only a few write long philosophical treatises about the choice between good and evil, about what is good and what is evil, and whether good will remain good if it meets evil with a sword in hand. The book of the outstanding Russian thinker and philosopher is devoted to the latter problem. Ivan Alexandrovich Ilyin(1883-1954) "About resistance to evil by force", written by him in 1925, immediately after his expulsion from Russia for anti-communist activities on the "philosophical steamer."

About resistance to evil by force

1. Introduction
2. About self-surrender to evil
3. About good and evil
4. About coercion and violence
5. About mental compulsion
6. About physical coercion and suppression
7. About strength and evil
8. Statement of the problem
9. On the morality of flight
10. About sentimentality and pleasure
11. About Nihilism and Pity
12. About the world-denying religion
13. General basics
14. About the object of love
15. About the boundaries of love
16. About modifications of love
17. About the connectedness of people in good and evil
18. Justification of the opposing force
19.On the sword and righteousness
20. About false solutions to the problem
21. About spiritual compromise
22. On the purification of the soul

The main moral contradiction of the war

Audiobook

Ivan Ilyin "On Resistance to Evil by Force"

Can force be used to stop evil? Where is the line of justification for the use of force?

The great Russian philosopher patriot Ivan Aleksandrovich Ilyin offers his answer to this most difficult question. Since its publication (in 1925) this book has not become outdated at all and still causes a lot of controversy.

05/07/2017 Admin

“The River of Times” is an audiobook based on selected spiritual prose of Russian classic writers Ivan Shmelev and Boris Zaitsev.
Pure - like springs - Russian language. Transparency of images. Spirituality and depth of design. And - a rare combination - the harmony of the texts is complemented by an excellent reading by Ekaterina Krasnobaeva and a very organic musical arrangement.

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10/23/2015 Admin

“Light Page” is an audiobook based on a collection of stories and stories by the Russian writer, publicist and Orthodox thinker Ivan Shmelev.
The audiobook of the remarkable Russian Christian writer Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev “The Bright Page” contains his memoirs, written mainly in pre-revolutionary Russia and published in the children's magazines “Young Russia” and “Rodnik”. Getting to know an audiobook will tell you a lot. First of all, about a sensitive child's heart, acutely feeling the pain of others and capable of saving compassion.
Already in childhood, the future writer Ivan Shmelev fell in love with ordinary Russian people, whom he constantly met in the house of his father, a merchant-contractor. He realized that a large, noble heart could be hidden behind rough and poor clothes. And it is precisely this priceless treasure for man.
The audiobook of Ivan Shmelev "The Light Page" was superbly dubbed by Pyotr Markin. Happy listening to children and adults!

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12/22/2015 Admin

“Love Story” is an audiobook based on the novel by the Russian writer and publicist Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev.
The main plot of the novel is the struggle between good and evil, purity and sin, chastity and lust. The hero of the work of Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev, a fifteen-year-old high school student, “the poor knight,” enters this struggle. The young man sincerely loves his peer, the housekeeper Pasha, and at the same time secretly sighs for the beautiful neighbor. A drama is played out with an unexpected outcome.
The audiobook of Ivan Shmelev "Love Story" was wonderfully voiced by Vyacheslav Gerasimov.

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02/10/2015 Admin

“The Man from the Restaurant” is an audiobook based on the story of the Russian writer and publicist Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev.
The idea of ​​the story “The Man from the Restaurant”, written by Shmelev in 1911, according to the author himself, is to reveal the servant of the human, who, in his specific activity, seems to focus on the whole mass of servants on different paths of life. The characters in the story “The Man from the Restaurant” by Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev form a single social pyramid. And the closer you are to the top of this pyramid, the lower are the reasons for servility, which is already committed “from higher considerations”.
The audiobook of Ivan Shmelev “The Man from the Restaurant” was dubbed by Viktor Rudnichenko.

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01/17/2015 Admin

“The Lord's Summer. Sorrows ”is an audiobook based on the third part of the autobiographical novel“ The Lord's Summer ”by the Russian writer, publicist and Orthodox thinker Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev (1873-1950).
Written by Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev already in exile, the work "The Lord's Summer" paints for readers a detailed, reliable and vivid picture of the daily life of the bygone Russian Empire. In the novel, the author identifies three storylines: 1) the movement of the church year through all major holidays, 2) the story of the death of the father of the protagonist Vanya, 3) Vanya's spiritual maturation under the influence of the events of the first two storylines.
Audiobook by Ivan Shmelev “The Lord's Summer. Sorrows ”is presented in an excellent performance by Ekaterina Krasnobaeva.

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01/17/2015 Admin

“The Lord's Summer. Joy ”is an audiobook based on the second part of the autobiographical novel“ The Lord's Summer ”by the Russian writer, publicist and Orthodox thinker Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev.
“The Lord's Summer” is a wonderful book by Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev. The work on the novel took the writer about fourteen years. “In it,” Ivan Shmelev said about his book, “I show the face of Holy Russia, which I carry in my heart.”
Audiobook by Ivan Shmelev “The Lord's Summer. Joy ”was stunningly voiced by Ekaterina Krasnobaeva.

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01/17/2015 Admin

“The Lord's Summer. Holidays ”- an audiobook based on the first part of the novel“ Summer of the Lord ”by the Russian writer, publicist and Orthodox thinker Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev.
The "Summer of the Lord" trilogy is an autobiographical novel by Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev (1873-1950), which tells about the author's childhood impressions. The world through the eyes of a child: the fullness of joy, the presence of God and the good rhythm of the holidays.
Audiobook by Ivan Shmelev “The Lord's Summer. Holidays ”was superbly voiced by Ekaterina Krasnobaeva.

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12/01/2014 Admin

“Stories” is an audiobook based on a collection of stories by the Russian writer, publicist and Orthodox thinker Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev.
The stories of different years by the Russian writer Ivan Sergeevich Shmelev (1873-1950) are imbued with love for Russia, for its nature and folk customs, and raise moral topics that are very important for any person. The works of Ivan Shmelev breathe sincere love for the Russian village life and way of life, for the Russian people, for old Moscow. The audiobook of Ivan Shmelev “Stories” was dubbed by Ekaterina Krasnobaeva.