Likhanov Albert Anatolievich
Borya Tsarikov
Borya Tsarikov
A blizzard swirled around the city, a blizzard. The sun was burning from the sky, and the sky was calm and clear, and a cheerful poplar blizzard was circling above the earth, above the green grass, above the blue water, above the sparkling streams.
And through all this Borka ran and drove the wheel, the rusty iron hoop. The wheel was murmuring... And everything was spinning around: the sky, the poplars, the poplar snow, and the hoop. And it was so good all around, and everyone was laughing, and Borka’s legs were light...
Only all this was then... Not now...
And now.
Borka is running down the street, and his legs seem to be filled with lead, and he can’t breathe - he swallows hot, bitter air and runs like a blind man - at random. And there is a snowstorm outside, just like then. And the sun is hot as before. Only in the sky there are columns of smoke, and heavy thunder fills the ears, and everything freezes for a moment. Even a snowstorm, even fluffy white flakes hang in the sky at once. Something rattles in the air, like glass breaking.
“Where is that hoop,” Borka thinks as if in a dream... “Where is the hoop?..”
And everything around blurs at once, becomes cloudy, seems to move away. And Borka really can’t breathe.
A hoop... - he whispers, and in front of his face is a soldier in a tunic, red at the shoulder, bare-haired, with a black face. It was Borka who brought water and bread to him and the other soldiers who defended the city. And everyone thanked him. And Borka even became friends with the soldiers. And now…
Are you leaving?.. - asks Borka.
Borka,” says the soldier, “Borka Tsarikov,” and lowers his head, as if he were to blame for Borka. - Sorry, Borka, but we’ll be back!..
* * *The Germans appeared in the city unexpectedly.
First, tanks passed by, carefully moving their guns from side to side, as if sniffing the air, then huge trucks rolled in, and the city immediately became alien... The Germans were everywhere: jostling half-naked at the pumps, wandering in and out of houses, like market speculators, with bundles of all sorts of things. junk, and the grandmothers looked sadly after them with their whitish eyes and crossed themselves to the east.
The Germans did not come to the Tsarikovs. So what? Mom left with her brother for Saratov. And he, Borka, goes with his father into the forest, to join the partisans. Only the father before. First he, Borka, must go to his grandfather. That's what we agreed with my father. Borka went to the door and went out into the street.
He ran from house to house, hiding around corners so that the Germans would not see him. But they went about their business, and no one looked at Borka. Then he walked straight down the street, putting his hands in his pockets for independence. And my heart was beating anxiously. He walked through the whole of Gomel, and no one stopped him.
He went to the outskirts. Instead of houses, chimneys stuck out like crosses on graves. Behind the pipes, in the field, trenches began. Borka went to them, and again no one called out to him.
Firebrands smoked from many fires, and the grass that survived in some places swayed.
Looking around, Borka jumped into the trench. And at once everything in him froze, as if even his heart had stopped. At the bottom of the trench, with his arms uncomfortably outstretched, that soldier with a black face lay among the empty cartridges.
The soldier lay calmly, and his face was calm.
Nearby, neatly leaning against the wall, stood a rifle, and it seemed that the soldier was sleeping. He'll lie down for a while and get up, take his rifle and start shooting again.
Borka looked at the soldier, looked intently, memorizing him, then finally turned to move on, and next to him he saw another dead man. And further and further along the trench lay people who had recently, very recently been alive.
Trembling with his whole body, not making out the road, Borka went back. Everything swam before his eyes, he looked only at his feet, his head was buzzing, his ears were ringing, and he did not immediately hear that someone was screaming. Then he raised his head and saw a German in front of him.
The German smiled at him. He was in a uniform with rolled up sleeves, and on one hand, from his wrist to his elbow, was a watch. Watch…
The German said something, and Borka did not understand anything. And the German kept babbling and babbling. And Borka, without looking away, looked at his hand, at his hairy hand, hung with a clock.
Finally, the German turned, letting Borka through, and Borka, looking back at him, walked on, and the German kept laughing, and then raised his machine gun - and behind Borka, just a few steps away, dusty fountains splashed out.
Borka ran, the German laughed after him, and only then, at the same time as machine gun shots, Borka realized that the German had taken this watch from ours. From the dead.
It’s a strange thing - the trembling stopped beating him, and although he ran, and the German hooted after him, Borka realized that he was no longer afraid.
It was as if something had turned over in him. He didn’t remember how he found himself back in the city, near the school. Here it is - a school, but it is no longer a school - a German barracks. In Borka's classroom, on the windowsill, soldiers' underpants are drying. A German sits nearby, blissfully, with his cap pulled down over his nose and blowing into his harmonica.
Borka closed his eyes. He imagined a noise with many voices, iridescent laughter. Familiar laughter. Isn't Nadyushka from the second desk? He thought he heard a rare, copper ringing. It’s as if Ivanovna, the cleaning lady, is standing on the porch, calling for a lesson.
I opened my eyes - the German was squealing again, the Germans were walking around the school as if they had been living in Borka’s classes all their lives. But somewhere over there, on the brick wall, his name was scratched with a knife: “Borka!” That's just the inscription left from the school.
Borka looked at the school, saw how those damned bastards walked around in it, and his heart sank anxiously...
The streets, like small rivers, flowed into one another, becoming wider and wider. Borka ran with them and suddenly seemed to stumble... Ahead, in the middle of the ruins, stood tattered women, children - many, many. Shepherd dogs sat around in a round dance with their ears flattened. Between them, with machine guns at the ready, with their sleeves turned up, as if at a hot job, soldiers walked, chewing cigarettes.
And the women, defenseless women, crowded together randomly, and from there, from the crowd, moans were heard. Then suddenly something rumbled, trucks, many trucks, came out from behind the ruins, and the shepherd dogs stood up, baring their fangs: the Germans also began to move, urging the women and children with their rifle butts.
Among this crowd, Borka saw Nadyushka from the second desk, and Nadyushka’s mother, and the cleaning lady from the school, Ivanovna.
"What to do? How can I help them?
Borka leaned toward the pavement, grabbed a heavy cobblestone and, without realizing what he was doing, rushed forward.
He did not see how the shepherd turned in his direction and the soldier clicked the lock on its collar.
The dog walked, did not run, but went towards Borka, confident of an easy victory, and the German also turned away without any interest in what would happen there, behind him. But Borka ran and didn’t see anything.
Brave man, look for some. Despite his young age and short life, he accomplished quite a few military feats.
Boris Andreevich Tsarikov (October 31, 1926, Gomel - November 13, 1943) - participant in the Great Patriotic War, junior sergeant, reconnaissance officer of the 43rd Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division of the 65th Army of the Central Front, Hero of the Soviet Union (1943).
Boris Tsarikov was born in 1926 in Gomel into the family of an employee. Received secondary education. From 1938 to 1941 he studied at the Russian Incomplete Secondary School No. 25 of the Zheleznodorozhny District of the city of Gomel (now the State Educational Institution “Secondary School No. 25 of Gomel”).
At the end of September 1941, the Tsarikov family moved to Rtishchevo. They lived at the address: Serdobsky deadlock, house No. 153 (demolished).
In December 1941, the commander of the partisan special group, Colonel V.U. Boyko (“Batya”), stood in the Tsarikovs’ apartment. The partisan detachment “Bati” was formed in Rtishchevo. Having increased his age by one year, Boris persuaded Colonel Boyko to take him with him to the front.
On February 28, 1942, the “Bati” group of 55 people crossed the front line in the area of the village. Usvyaty, Vitebsk region. In one of the battles, Boris Tsarikov received a baptism of fire. During 2 months of partisan life, he became accustomed to the situation and became a scout and demolition officer.
In the spring and summer of 1942, as part of Boyko’s group, Tsarikov carried out several acts of sabotage on the railway. Thus, from May 10 to 12, the Vitebsk-Polotsk railway was blown up three times, and on May 28, a train carrying enemy equipment was blown up on the Vitebsk-Orsha railway. In July, a trainload of tanks was blown up and derailed on the Minsk-Orsha railway.
On October 7, 1942, an order was signed to award Boris Andreevich Tsarikov with the Order of the Red Banner.
In early October 1942, Boris was granted a short leave to travel home to Rtishchevo. In February 1943, he was sent to the 43rd Daursky Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division, which consisted of border guards of the Far East. At the end of August 1943, the division became part of the 65th Army of the Central Front.
On October 15, 1943, Boris Tsarikov and a group of miners were the first to cross the Dnieper River in the area of the urban village of Loyev, Gomel Region, Belarusian SSR, hoisting the Red Banner on the right bank, and for 5 days participated in battles to expand the bridgehead. He returned to the left bank several times with combat reports to headquarters.
In the award sheet for the foot reconnaissance scout, a brief summary of his feat is given by the regiment commander, Lieutenant Colonel Nikolaev: “In the battles for crossing the Dnieper River, Comrade Tsarikov showed courage and heroism. On October 15, 1943, together with a group of miners, he was the very first to cross the river. The Dnieper, and under heavy enemy fire, was the first to burst into enemy trenches with a machine gun and hand grenades, destroy the Nazis and thereby ensure the crossing of the 1st Rifle Battalion. On October 15, 1943, under enemy fire, he crossed the river 5 times. Dnepr, picked up more than 50 Red Army soldiers from different units, organized them into groups and brought them into battalion battle formations. In subsequent battles to expand the bridgehead on the right bank of the Dnieper, he acts heroically, always in the forefront, inspiring other fighters to feats of arms by his personal example. Worthy of being awarded the title “Hero of the Soviet Union.”
On October 16, 1943, Loev was liberated, and the entire 65th Army crossed over to the bridgehead in the following days.
By a decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR dated October 30, 1943, a large group of soldiers of the 65th Army who distinguished themselves during the crossing of the Dnieper was awarded the high title of Hero of the Soviet Union. Among them was Boris Tsarikov.
On November 13, 1943, the regiment received an order to recall from the units all privates and sergeants awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union, for their subsequent sending to military schools. Boris Tsarikov was preparing to leave, but these days something irreparable happened. He died from a sniper bullet.
Awards and titles:
- Hero of the Soviet Union (October 30, 1943);
- Order of Lenin (October 30, 1943);
- Order of the Red Banner (October 7, 1942).
The Germans appeared in the city unexpectedly.
First, tanks passed by, carefully moving their guns from side to side, as if sniffing the air, then huge trucks rolled in, and the city immediately became alien... The Germans were everywhere: jostling half-naked at the pumps, wandering in and out of houses, like market speculators, with bundles of all sorts of junk, and the grandmothers looked sadly after them with their white eyes and crossed themselves to the east.
The Germans did not come to the Tsarikovs. So what? Mom left with her brother for Saratov. And he, Borka, goes with his father into the forest, to join the partisans. Only the father before. First he, Borka, must go to his grandfather. That's what we agreed with my father. Borka went to the door and went out into the street.
He ran from house to house, hiding around corners so that the Germans would not see him. But they went about their business, and no one looked at Borka. Then he walked straight down the street, putting his hands in his pockets for independence. And my heart was beating anxiously. He walked through the whole of Gomel, and no one stopped him.
He went to the outskirts. Instead of houses, chimneys stuck out like crosses on graves. Behind the pipes, in the field, trenches began. Borka went to them, and again no one called out to him.
Firebrands smoked from many fires, and the grass that survived in some places swayed.
Looking around, Borka jumped into the trench. And at once everything in him froze, as if even his heart had stopped. At the bottom of the trench, with his arms uncomfortably outstretched, that soldier with a black face lay among the empty cartridges.
The soldier lay calmly, and his face was calm.
Nearby, neatly leaning against the wall, stood a rifle, and it seemed that the soldier was sleeping. He'll lie down for a while and get up, take his rifle and start shooting again.
Borka looked at the soldier, looked intently, memorizing him, then finally turned to move on, and next to him he saw another dead man. And further and further along the trench lay people who had recently, very recently been alive.
Trembling with his whole body, not making out the road, Borka went back. Everything swam before his eyes, he looked only at his feet, his head was buzzing, his ears were ringing, and he did not immediately hear that someone was screaming. Then he raised his head and saw a German in front of him.
The German smiled at him. He was in a uniform with rolled up sleeves, and on one hand, from his wrist to his elbow, was a watch. Watch...
The German said something, and Borka did not understand anything. And the German kept babbling and babbling. And Borka, without looking away, looked at his hand, at his hairy hand, hung with a clock.
Finally, the German turned, letting Borka through, and Borka, looking back at him, walked on, and the German kept laughing, and then raised his machine gun - and behind Borka, just a few steps away, dusty fountains splashed out.
Borka ran, the German laughed after him, and only then, at the same time as machine gun shots, Borka realized that the German had taken this watch from ours. From the dead.
It’s a strange thing - the trembling stopped beating him, and although he ran, and the German hooted after him, Borka realized that he was no longer afraid.
It was as if something had turned over in him. He didn’t remember how he found himself back in the city, near the school. Here it is - a school, but it is no longer a school - a German barracks. In Borka's classroom, on the windowsill, soldiers' underpants are drying. A German sits nearby, blissfully, with his cap pulled down over his nose and blowing into his harmonica.
Ahead, in the midst of the ruins, stood tattered women and children—many, many. Shepherd dogs sat around in a round dance with their ears flattened. Between them, with machine guns at the ready, with their sleeves turned up, as if at a hot job, soldiers walked, chewing cigarettes.
And the women, defenseless women, crowded together randomly, and from there, from the crowd, moans were heard. Then suddenly something rumbled, trucks, many trucks, came out from behind the ruins, and the shepherd dogs stood up, baring their fangs: the Germans also began to move, urging the women and children with their rifle butts.
Among this crowd, Borka saw Nadyushka from the second desk, and Nadyushka’s mother, and the cleaning lady from the school, Ivanovna.
"What to do? How can I help them?
Borka leaned toward the pavement, grabbed a heavy cobblestone and, without realizing what he was doing, rushed forward.
He did not see how the shepherd turned in his direction and the soldier clicked the lock on its collar.
The dog walked, did not run, but went towards Borka, confident of an easy victory, and the German also turned away without any interest in what would happen there, behind him. But Borka ran and didn’t see anything.
But Nadyushka’s mother and Ivanovna saw the dog. They shouted: “Dog! Dog!"
They screamed so much that the square even became quiet, and Borka turned and saw a shepherd dog. He ran. The dog also ran, provoking himself.
Borka ran faster than her, turned the corner, and at the moment when the shepherd dog turned after him, its owner turned around and laughed. The women screamed again. And their scream seemed to spur Borka on. Having contracted like a spring, he straightened up and flew up onto a pile of bricks and debris. Immediately turning around, he saw a shepherd dog.
Both the scream of the women and the dog’s muzzle with bared teeth seemed to fill Borka with terrible power. Looking once again desperately into the eyes of the dog, who was about to jump, Borka grabbed a rusty crowbar and, swinging briefly, pointed the crowbar towards the dog. The shepherd jumped, hit the bricks with a thud and fell silent.
Borka jumped down and, turning to the dead shepherd dog, the first enemy he had killed, ran again to the outskirts, beyond which a sparse bush began. It was crossed by the road to the village where my grandfather lived...
Leaning on his knee, the grandfather looked into the forge, into the dying fire.
- No, don’t listen to me, old one. Because strength differs from strength to strength, and the Germans cannot gain any strength against us...
Suddenly they turned around at the brightly flashing light of the unexpectedly open door and saw a German with a machine gun on his chest. The German's face was pink and his blue eyes were smiling. The Fritz stepped across the threshold and said something to his grandfather in his own way.
Grandfather shrugged.
The ruddy German repeated his words again, which sounded like barking. Grandfather shook his head.
The German looked at his grandfather with transparent eyes... And suddenly he fired the gun - and flame sprayed out of the barrel.
The grandfather saw Borka, if not at a German, no, at him, Borka, for the last time, slowly sagging, dropping the small hammer from his hands - a silver voice.
Grandfather was an ass and fell backwards. Borka turned around. The German stood in the doorway, smiled welcomingly, then turned and took a step...
There was no moment. Less. I found myself near the German Bork and heard the thick sound of a hammer on his helmet. He poked the German into the forge floor with his rosy face and smile. The machine gun jerked from his whitened hands. And I heard the German’s name:
- Schnell, Hans!.. Schnell!..
Borka jumped out of the forge, hastily pulling on his fur coat, looking at his grandfather’s face for the last time. Grandfather lay calm, as if he was sleeping... Another German was walking along the path to the forge.
Borka raised the machine gun, pointed it at the German, pulled the trigger - and the German, hurrying Hans, stumbled into the snow.
The commander was strict and loudly asked Borka everything meticulously. When Borka told him everything, “father” sat down on a round piece of wood that served as a table and ruffled his hair with his hands, staring at the floor. And so he sat silently, as if he had forgotten about Borka. Borka coughed into his fist, shifting from foot to foot, “dad” looked at him intently and said to the guy who brought Borka:
- Put it on allowance. Take him to your reconnaissance group. Well, and the weapon... - he walked up to Borka and quietly poked her in the side. — He brought weapons with him, like a real soldier...
The new task was special. As “father” himself told them, they need to cut an important road, like scissors, and stop the movement of trains. And it will be possible to blow up the train at the same time.
When it got dark, the scouts came closer to the road and lay down to cover Borka, if anything happened. And Seryozha hugged him and, before letting him go, looked into his eyes for a long time.
Borka crawled like a lizard, small and light, leaving almost no trace behind him. He stopped in front of the embankment, taking stock. “You can’t climb it by crawling—it’s too steep.” He waited, frozen, clutching the explosives and the knife, until the trolley flew overhead, until the sentry passed, and ran forward to the rails.
Looking around, he instantly dug out the snow. But further on there was frozen ground, and although Seryozhkin’s knife was as sharp as an awl, the frozen ground, like stone, barely gave way.
Then Borka put down the explosives and began digging with both hands.
Now we need to hide all the ground, every crumb, under the snow, but not to add too much, so that there is no slide, so that the sentry does not see it when he shines a flashlight. And compact it properly.
The trolley was already far away when Borka carefully slid down the embankment, covering the cord with snow. The trolley passed when he was already below, but Borka decided to take his time and wait for the sentry. Soon the German also passed by, passed without noticing anything, and Borka crawled towards the forest.
At the edge of the forest, strong hands picked him up, took the end of the cord, and Seryozha silently slapped him on the back: well done.
In the Kremlin, in the hall, Borka sat and looked around.
Finally everyone sat down, calmed down, and then I saw Borka. He didn’t even believe himself at first... Yes, there, in front, at the table with small boxes, stood Mikhail Ivanovich Kalinin...
He stood, looking through his glasses at the people, kind, bearded, just like in the pictures, and said someone’s name.
Borka heard the name out of excitement.
Mikhail Ivanovich called by last name, first name and patronymic, and Borka therefore did not immediately understand that it was about him.
“Boris Andreevich Tsarikov,” repeated Kalinin, “is awarded the Order of the Red Banner.”
And Borka jumped up and suddenly said from the hall in military style: “I am!”
Everyone laughed, and Kalinin laughed, and Borka, blushing to the top of his head, began to make his way along his row to the aisle.
Mikhail Ivanovich handed Borka a box, shook his hand like an adult, and suddenly hugged and kissed him three times, in Russian, as Borka’s father kissed him when he went to war, as his grandfather kissed him before the war...
Borka was about to leave, but Mikhail Ivanovich held him by the shoulder and said, addressing the audience:
- Look what a partisan is like! It’s not for nothing that they say: the spool is small, but expensive. Our Borya train blew up and destroyed 70 tanks!
And there was one more day in the life of Borka Tsarikov. A difficult and joyful day when he remembered his so quickly forgotten childhood, a poplar snowstorm in a warm city on an old street.
This was after the partisan detachment “Bati” united with the advancing troops and Borka became a corporal, a real military intelligence officer. This was after he made thirty notches on his machine gun, a brand new PPSh, with a sharp knife inherited from his partisan friend Seryozha - in memory of the thirty “tongues” that he took with his comrades.
This was the day when Borka’s unit approached the Dnieper and stopped opposite the town of Loeva, preparing to jump across the river.
This was in October 1943.
It was night again, water splashed on the coastal stones. Borka tied Seryozha's knife near his belt and stepped into the water, trying not to make any noise.
The water burned, and to warm up, he dived and there, under the water, made several strong strokes. He swam diagonally, not fighting the current, but using it, and his sign was the birch tree on the other side.
The Germans, as always, fired randomly, and the bullets splashed like small pebbles, littering the bottom with lead hailstones. The rockets melted the Dnieper blue, and in the moments when a new rocket floated over the river, Borka dived, trying to hold his breath longer.
In shorts, with a knife on a string, shivering from the cold, Borka crawled ashore. A German conversation could be heard not far away - the Germans were in the trench. Going further is dangerous: at night in the dark you can easily run into a German nose to nose, and a naked man is more noticeable in the dark.
Borka looked around. He aimed at the birch tree and swam out exactly to it. He scurried towards the tree like a mouse, climbed onto it, hiding in the branches.
It was dangerous to sit here. No, the German lines were lower, but ours occasionally snarled in response, and these shots could even hit a tree. Eh, if only I had known earlier, I could have warned.
Borka froze up there. The location was great. From the lights of cigarettes visible from above, from the voices, trenches, communication routes, trenches, dugouts were guessed.
The Germans were preparing to defend themselves, and the ground around them was dug into trenches. Pillboxes were piled up, hastily camouflaged.
Borka looked at the land spread out in front of him, and, like an experienced cartographer, he entered each point into the corners of his memory, so that when he returned, he could transfer it to the real map, which he studied for a long time before swimming, and now it was before his eyes, as if photographed by his memory.
Borkin’s unit began storming the Dnieper in the morning, immediately after the artillery barrage, during which they managed to destroy several powerful pillboxes discovered by reconnaissance. The rest of the enemy's losses could only be seen there, right on the battlefield, on the other side of the Dnieper, where the first squads had already crossed.
Borka sailed there with the battalion commander and was at the command post, following orders. Each time the order was the same: cross the Dnieper - deliver a package, bring a package.
The Dnieper was boiling with shell explosions and small fountains of bullets and shrapnel. Before Borka's eyes, the pontoon with the wounded was smashed to smithereens, and people were drowning right before their eyes, and nothing could be done to help them.
Several times Borka threw himself into the mess on the shore, looking for a boat to quickly deliver the package; he now knew what it meant to deliver the package on time, to carry it unharmed through this squall, through this boiling water, where the earth closed with the sky and water.
And then Borka had a birthday.
The battalion commander ordered the cook to even make pies. With stew.
The pies turned out great. And Borka ate them, although he was embarrassed by the battalion commander, and even more so by the regiment commander, who suddenly arrived in his “Jeep” in the midst of his name day.
Everyone around drank to Borka’s health.
When they clinked glasses, the regiment commander stood up. The flame of the smokehouse flickered. The others fell silent.
The regiment commander, a man not yet old, but gray-haired, said to Borka as if he knew, knew exactly what Borka was thinking about.
“Your father should have come here, Borka,” he said. - Yes, mom. Yes, your grandfather, a blacksmith. Yes, all your battle friends, living and dead... Eh, that would be nice!
The regiment commander sighed. Borka looked at the fire, thoughtful.
“Well, what’s not there is not there,” said the regiment commander. “You can’t revive the dead... But we will take revenge for the dead.” And so all of us,” he looked at the fighters, the sleds, the cook, “and all of us, adults, need to learn from this boy how to take revenge.
He reached across the table to Borka, clinked his mug with him, hugged Borka, and pressed him to him:
- Well, Borka, listen! You are now our hero. Hero of the Soviet Union.
Everyone jumped up from their seats, even the battalion commander, everyone started making noise, drank their alcohol, and hugged Borka.
And he kept thinking about what the regiment commander said. About his father, about the soldier with a face black from soot, about his mother and brother Tolik, and about Nadyushka and her mother, and about Ivanovna, about his grandfather, about his “father,” about Seryozha, about all the people he knew and loved. ..
Tears began to flow from his eyes.
And everyone thought that Borka was crying with joy.
Two weeks later, on November 13, 1943, a German sniper caught a Russian soldier at an intersection with his optical sight.
The bullet reached its target, and a small soldier fell to the bottom of the trench. And her cap fell nearby, exposing her brown hair.
Borya Tsarikov...
He died immediately, without suffering, without suffering. The bullet hit the heart.
The news of Borya’s death instantly spread around the battalion, and a wall of fire suddenly burst out of our trenches, unexpectedly not only for the Germans, but also for our commander. All the battalion's fire weapons fired. Machine guns and machine guns shook furiously, raining down on the Germans. The mortars fired. Carbines crackled.
Seeing the rage of the people, the battalion commander was the first to jump out of the trench, and the battalion went forward - to avenge the little soldier, for Borya Tsarikov.
I recommend to everyone
Borya Tsarikov
A blizzard swirled around the city, a blizzard. The sun was burning from the sky, and the sky was calm and clear, and a cheerful poplar blizzard was circling above the earth, above the green grass, above the blue water, above the sparkling streams.
And through all this Borka ran and drove the wheel, the rusty iron hoop. The wheel was murmuring... And everything was spinning around: the sky, the poplars, the poplar snow, and the hoop. And it was so good all around, and everyone was laughing, and Borka’s legs were light...
Only all this was then... Not now...
And now.
Borka is running down the street, and his legs seem to be filled with lead, and he can’t breathe - he swallows hot, bitter air and runs like a blind man - at random. And there is a snowstorm outside, just like then. And the sun is hot as before. Only in the sky there are columns of smoke, and heavy thunder fills the ears, and everything freezes for a moment. Even a snowstorm, even fluffy white flakes hang in the sky at once. Something rattles in the air, like glass breaking.
“Where is that hoop,” Borka thinks as if in a dream... “Where is the hoop?..”
And everything around blurs at once, becomes cloudy, seems to move away. And Borka really can’t breathe.
A hoop... - he whispers, and in front of his face is a soldier in a tunic, red at the shoulder, bare-haired, with a black face. It was Borka who brought water and bread to him and the other soldiers who defended the city. And everyone thanked him. And Borka even became friends with the soldiers. And now…
Are you leaving?.. - asks Borka.
Borka,” says the soldier, “Borka Tsarikov,” and lowers his head, as if he were to blame for Borka. - Sorry, Borka, but we’ll be back!..
The Germans appeared in the city unexpectedly.
First, tanks passed by, carefully moving their guns from side to side, as if sniffing the air, then huge trucks rolled in, and the city immediately became alien... The Germans were everywhere: jostling half-naked at the pumps, wandering in and out of houses, like market speculators, with bundles of all sorts of things. junk, and the grandmothers looked sadly after them with their whitish eyes and crossed themselves to the east.
The Germans did not come to the Tsarikovs. So what? Mom left with her brother for Saratov. And he, Borka, goes with his father into the forest, to join the partisans. Only the father before. First he, Borka, must go to his grandfather. That's what we agreed with my father. Borka went to the door and went out into the street.
He ran from house to house, hiding around corners so that the Germans would not see him. But they went about their business, and no one looked at Borka. Then he walked straight down the street, putting his hands in his pockets for independence. And my heart was beating anxiously. He walked through the whole of Gomel, and no one stopped him.
He went to the outskirts. Instead of houses, chimneys stuck out like crosses on graves. Behind the pipes, in the field, trenches began. Borka went to them, and again no one called out to him.
Firebrands smoked from many fires, and the grass that survived in some places swayed.
Looking around, Borka jumped into the trench. And at once everything in him froze, as if even his heart had stopped. At the bottom of the trench, with his arms uncomfortably outstretched, that soldier with a black face lay among the empty cartridges.
The soldier lay calmly, and his face was calm.
Nearby, neatly leaning against the wall, stood a rifle, and it seemed that the soldier was sleeping. He'll lie down for a while and get up, take his rifle and start shooting again.
Borka looked at the soldier, looked intently, memorizing him, then finally turned to move on, and next to him he saw another dead man. And further and further along the trench lay people who had recently, very recently been alive.
Trembling with his whole body, not making out the road, Borka went back. Everything swam before his eyes, he looked only at his feet, his head was buzzing, his ears were ringing, and he did not immediately hear that someone was screaming. Then he raised his head and saw a German in front of him.
The German smiled at him. He was in a uniform with rolled up sleeves, and on one hand, from his wrist to his elbow, was a watch. Watch…
The German said something, and Borka did not understand anything. And the German kept babbling and babbling. And Borka, without looking away, looked at his hand, at his hairy hand, hung with a clock.
Finally, the German turned, letting Borka through, and Borka, looking back at him, walked on, and the German kept laughing, and then raised his machine gun - and behind Borka, just a few steps away, dusty fountains splashed out.
Borka ran, the German laughed after him, and only then, at the same time as machine gun shots, Borka realized that the German had taken this watch from ours. From the dead.
It’s a strange thing - the trembling stopped beating him, and although he ran, and the German hooted after him, Borka realized that he was no longer afraid.
It was as if something had turned over in him. He didn’t remember how he found himself back in the city, near the school. Here it is - a school, but it is no longer a school - a German barracks. In Borka's classroom, on the windowsill, soldiers' underpants are drying. A German sits nearby, blissfully, with his cap pulled down over his nose and blowing into his harmonica.
Borka closed his eyes. He imagined a noise with many voices, iridescent laughter. Familiar laughter. Isn't Nadyushka from the second desk? He thought he heard a rare, copper ringing. It’s as if Ivanovna, the cleaning lady, is standing on the porch, calling for a lesson.
I opened my eyes - the German was squealing again, the Germans were walking around the school as if they had been living in Borka’s classes all their lives. But somewhere over there, on the brick wall, his name was scratched with a knife: “Borka!” That's just the inscription left from the school.
Borka looked at the school, saw how those damned bastards walked around in it, and his heart sank anxiously...
The streets, like small rivers, flowed into one another, becoming wider and wider. Borka ran with them and suddenly seemed to stumble... Ahead, in the middle of the ruins, stood tattered women, children - many, many. Shepherd dogs sat around in a round dance with their ears flattened. Between them, with machine guns at the ready, with their sleeves turned up, as if at a hot job, soldiers walked, chewing cigarettes.
And the women, defenseless women, crowded together randomly, and from there, from the crowd, moans were heard. Then suddenly something rumbled, trucks, many trucks, came out from behind the ruins, and the shepherd dogs stood up, baring their fangs: the Germans also began to move, urging the women and children with their rifle butts.
Among this crowd, Borka saw Nadyushka from the second desk, and Nadyushka’s mother, and the cleaning lady from the school, Ivanovna.
"What to do? How can I help them?
Borka leaned toward the pavement, grabbed a heavy cobblestone and, without realizing what he was doing, rushed forward.
He did not see how the shepherd turned in his direction and the soldier clicked the lock on its collar.
The dog walked, did not run, but went towards Borka, confident of an easy victory, and the German also turned away without any interest in what would happen there, behind him. But Borka ran and didn’t see anything.
But Nadyushka’s mother and Ivanovna saw the dog. They shouted: “Dog! Dog!"
They screamed so much that the square even became quiet, and Borka turned and saw a shepherd dog. He ran. The dog also ran, provoking himself.
Borka ran faster than her, turned the corner, and at the moment when the shepherd dog turned after him, its owner turned around and laughed. The women screamed again. And their scream seemed to spur Borka on. Having contracted like a spring, he straightened up and flew up onto a pile of bricks and debris. Immediately turning around, he saw a shepherd dog.
Both the scream of the women and the dog’s muzzle with bared teeth seemed to fill Borka with terrible power. Looking once again desperately into the eyes of the dog, who was about to jump, Borka grabbed a rusty crowbar and, swinging briefly, pointed the crowbar towards the dog. The shepherd jumped, hit the bricks with a thud and fell silent.
Borka jumped down and, turning to the dead shepherd dog, the first enemy he had killed, ran again to the outskirts, beyond which a sparse bush began. It was crossed by the road to the village where my grandfather lived...
They walked along a forest path, and their feet were buried in fog. As if from behind a curtain, the forge appeared. Grandfather unlocked the door, stepped forward, stopped, as if thinking, then looked around: at the cold furnace, at the black walls.
They lit a fire, and it began to flicker, merrily intertwining itself in red braids. The iron glowed in it, becoming white and fiery.
Grandfather looked into the fire, thoughtful.
They forged before, grandfather and grandson. Last summer, Borka and Tonic, his brother, lived in the village all summer, became proficient in his grandfather’s craft, loved it, and his grandfather rejoiced at it, and used to boast to his neighbors that a good farrier, the family master, was growing up in return for him.
The hammers pounded, the iron bent obediently.
And suddenly the grandfather stopped the hammer and said, nodding at the dying metal:
See... See, she's a force that bends iron...
Borka hit the bending iron with a hammer, thought about his grandfather’s words and remembered everything that could not be forgotten. Women and children, driven away to God knows where in cars with crosses... A hairy German with a watch up to his elbow and a pink, drooling, grin of a shepherd...
Leaning on his knee, the grandfather looked into the forge, into the dying fire.
No, don't listen to me, old one. Because strength differs from strength to strength, and the Germans cannot gain any strength against us...
Suddenly they turned around at the brightly flashing light of the unexpectedly open door and saw a German with a machine gun on his chest. The German's face was pink and his blue eyes were smiling. The Fritz stepped across the threshold and said something to his grandfather in his own way.
Grandfather shrugged.
The ruddy German repeated his words again, which sounded like barking. Grandfather shook his head.
The German looked at his grandfather with transparent eyes... And suddenly he fired the gun - and flame sprayed out of the barrel.
The grandfather saw Borka, if not at the German, no, at him, Borka, for the last time, slowly sagging, dropping the small hammer from his hands - a silver voice.
Grandfather was an ass and fell backwards. Borka turned around. The German stood in the doorway, smiled welcomingly, then turned and took a step...
There was no moment. Less. I found myself near the German Bork and heard the thick sound of a hammer on his helmet. He poked the German into the forge floor with his rosy face and smile. The machine gun jerked from his whitened hands. And I heard the German’s name:
Schnell, Hans!.. Schnell!..
Borka jumped out of the forge, hastily pulling on his fur coat, looking at his grandfather’s face for the last time. The grandfather lay calm, as if he was sleeping... Another German was walking along the path to the forge.
Borka raised the machine gun, pointed it at the German, pulled the trigger - and the German, hurrying Hans, stumbled into the snow.
Borka walked all day, exhausted, and spent the night in a black, cold bathhouse in the outskirts of some quiet village. As soon as it dawned, he went again, going further and further into the depths of the forest, trying to find the partisan detachment of the “bati”. He spent the second night in a spruce forest, shaking from the cold, but still survived and in the morning he walked again and again walked all day, and when he was completely exhausted, when orange circles floated before his eyes from hunger, the snow creaked behind him...
Borka turned around sharply, grabbing the machine gun more comfortably, and immediately sat down, weakening, in the snow: a young guy with a carbine in his hands and a red stripe on his earflaps was looking at him.
Borka woke up in the dugout. Strangers looked at him in surprise...
The commander was strict and loudly asked Borka everything meticulously. When Borka told him everything, “father” sat down on a round piece of wood that served as a table and ruffled his hair with his hands, staring at the floor. And so he sat silently, as if he had forgotten about Borka. Borka coughed into his fist, shifting from foot to foot, “dad” looked at him intently and said to the guy who brought Borka:
Put it on allowance. Take him to your reconnaissance group. Well, and the weapon... - he walked up to Borka and quietly poked him in the side. - He brought weapons with him, like a real soldier...
Seryozha, the same guy who found him in the forest, dragged him on his back to the partisans, and then stood next to him in front of his “father,” now became Borkin’s commander and began to teach him military affairs.
Borka was going to a village, to an unfamiliar village, to a stranger, and this person had to use only one password to take Borka to the station, to some woman. This woman was either godfather or mother-in-law to that man. She didn’t have to know about anything, she just had to feed him and give him water and say, if they asked, that Borka was the son of the man who was her son-in-law and to whom Borka went.
Three days were given to Borka, but on the fourth Seryozha would be waiting for him, and on the fifth, and even ten days later - they would be waiting for him, because the first time they entrusted him with a serious task.
Everything went according to plan. That night Borka tossed and turned in the rooms of a stranger, who let him in as soon as Borka told him the password. And in the morning they were already at the station...
“Mother-in-law” looked askance at Borka at first. She told him to come into the house unnoticed so that the neighbors would not see. But the “mother-in-law” lived on the outskirts, far from the neighbors, and everything was fine.
For three days Borka hovered around the station, trying not to catch the eye of the German guards, trying to get to the dead ends.
But the dead ends were heavily guarded, it was impossible to even get close, and Borka suffered, worrying that nothing was working out for him.
The time to complete the task had expired, and by the end of the third day Borka had learned nothing. “Mother-in-law,” sensing something was wrong, was also worried, talking dryly to Borka.
In order to somehow please her, Borka, when she was getting ready to get water, went with her. The pumps at the station were frozen, only one was working, and we had to go almost through the entire station to get water.
They walked back slowly, often stopping, catching their breath, with full buckets, when some old man caught up with them.
Oh, Mikhalych! - the “mother-in-law” cackled. - Are you working?
Don't talk, neighbor! - the old man shouted. - They forced you, Herods! The fireman ran away...
Borka became wary.
Anyway! - the old man shouted. - Okay, they don’t go on trips, everything is here, in the shunting rooms...
Uncle! - Borka said to the old man. - I’m free, if you want, I’ll help you tomorrow.
“Mother-in-law” looked at Borka in fear, but, having come to her senses, she spoke briskly and affectionately:
Take it, take it, Mikhalych! Look, what a grandson he was, but he didn’t ride on a steam locomotive.
The next day, early in the morning, she took Borka to the old man, and all day Borka, taking off his coat, waved a shovel, throwing coal into the red throat of the firebox. Sweat crawled into his eyes, his back ached, but Borka smiled. During the day, the train ran to dead ends more than once. All of them were packed with carriages. Heavy carriages, because, having picked up at least one, the old locomotive, before moving off, puffed for a long time, spun the wheels in place, sat down, and Borka had to quickly move the shovel. And that meant a lot. This meant that there were carriages with ammunition at the station, at a dead end. Warehouses on wheels…
Borka was worried all evening, waiting for the door to slam and his “father” to come in to take him back, closer to the forest.
By evening Borka got ready.
“Mother-in-law” looked at him in fear, slammed the latch and blocked the door.
No, she said. - I won’t let go of one.
At night, when the “mother-in-law” fell asleep, Borka quickly got dressed and disappeared, quietly opening the door.
He first wanted to go straight into the forest to the appointed place, but in the house of the “mother-in-law’s” relative the light was on, and he knocked on the window.
There was movement behind the door and the bolt clicked. Borka stepped forward, smiling, and a bright sheaf crumbled before his eyes.
It was as if he had fallen somewhere, everything had disappeared before him.
Borka came to his senses from a new blow. The thin lips of the policeman were almost right in front of him. And again everything was covered in red fog...
The snow sparkled in the sun, blinding with white splashes, and the sky was blue, blue, like a cornflower field. Something crashed in the distance, and Borka looked up at the sky in surprise: the front was still far away, and there were no thunderstorms in winter. And suddenly with all his being he felt, understood, suddenly realized that he was seeing the sun, these white splashes, and the blue sky for the last time.
This thought pierced him and shocked him. At that same moment thunder struck again, and Borka looked up at the sky again.
In the sky, very low above the ground, our attack aircraft were flying at low level. The whole link. And the stars sparkled on their wings.
He woke up when someone pushed him hard.
Borka turned around: “Father”?!
There were only two of them standing on the road. The Germans and policemen, running away from the road, plunged into the snowdrifts to escape the planes.
Stormtroopers roared overhead, and machine gun fire merged with this roar.
Bork did not hear how the bullets whistled next to him, how the Germans and policemen shouted, how the man whom he called “father” shouted for the last time.
The new task was special. As “father” himself told them, they need to cut an important road, like scissors, and stop the movement of trains. And it will be possible to blow up the train at the same time.
The scouts spent a long time choosing a place, now approaching, now moving away from the road.
Seryozha was gloomy and drove the detachment without smoking breaks. Railcars with machine gun mounts scurried along the rails every now and then and from time to time they fired long bursts through the forest. There were guards every half a kilometer, they were changed frequently, and there was no way to get close to the road. Therefore, Seryozha drove and drove the detachment, angry at the Germans.
Borka,” he said unexpectedly, “don’t come back like that... All our hope is in you.”
When it got dark, the scouts came closer to the road and lay down to cover Borka, if anything happened. And Seryozha hugged him and, before letting him go, looked into his eyes for a long time.
Borka crawled like a lizard, small and light, leaving almost no trace behind him. He stopped in front of the embankment, taking stock. “You can’t climb it by crawling - it’s too steep.” He waited, frozen, clutching the explosives and the knife, until the trolley flew overhead, until the sentry passed, and ran forward to the rails.
Looking around, he instantly dug out the snow. But further on there was frozen ground, and although Seryozhkin’s knife was as sharp as an awl, the frozen ground, like stone, barely gave way.
Then Borka put down the explosives and began digging with both hands.
Now we need to hide all the ground, every crumb, under the snow, but not to add too much, so that there is no slide, so that the sentry does not see it when he shines a flashlight. And compact it properly.
The trolley was already far away when Borka carefully slid down the embankment, covering the cord with snow. The trolley passed when he was already below, but Borka decided to take his time and wait for the sentry. Soon the German also passed by, passed without noticing anything, and Borka crawled towards the forest.
At the edge of the forest, strong hands picked him up, took the end of the cord, and Seryozha silently slapped him on the back: well done.
Somewhere in the distance an unclear noise was heard, then it intensified, and Seryozha put his hand on the contactor. Then the trolley rushed by, rattling machine guns at the tops of the fir trees, rushing by quickly, as if it was running away from someone. And a few minutes later a straight column of smoke appeared in the distance, turning into a black motionless stripe, and then the train itself. He walked at full speed, and from a distance Borka saw many tanks on the platforms.
He cowered all over, preparing for the main thing, all the scouts cowered, and at that moment, when the locomotive caught up with the sentry, Seryozha moved sharply.
Borka saw how the small figure of a sentry flew up, how the locomotive suddenly jumped and was filled with crimson light, how it tilted, smoothly going under the embankment, and the whole train obediently followed it. The platforms folded like an accordion, the iron rumbled and creaked, blooming with white lights, the soldiers screamed wildly.
Let's retreat! - Seryozha shouted cheerfully, and they ran into the depths of the forest, leaving one scout who was supposed to count the losses.
They walked noisily, without hiding, the Germans now had no time for them, and everyone was laughing and saying something excitedly, and suddenly Seryozha grabbed Borka under the arms, and the others helped him. And Borka flew up to the tops of the fir trees, illuminated by red reflections.
No one even heard the machine gun fire. With a distant hammer, she pierced a long, angry machine-gun burst somewhere on an embankment, and her leaden anger, weakening, scattered in vain throughout the forest. And only one bullet, a ridiculous bullet, reached the target...
Borka flew up again and was lowered, immediately turning away. Seryozha lay in the snow, gulping blue air, slightly pale, without a single scratch.
He lay there like a healthy, bright pine tree that had fallen for some unknown reason; the scouts, confused, bent over him.
Borka pushed them aside and took the hat off Seryozha’s head. A black spot appeared at his temple, blurring...
A scout, left to count the German losses, ran up, out of breath. A cheerful, impatient man ran up:
Seventy tanks, brothers!
But no one heard him. He silently took off his hat.
Seryozha... - Borka cried like a little boy, stroking Seryozha on the head, and whispered, as if begging him to wake up: - Seryozha!.. Seryozha!
Borka watched the thin wings shudder and bend as they cut through the clouds, and his heart felt both bitter and joyful.
He didn’t want to fly to Moscow, he didn’t want to fly to Moscow for anything. But “father” said goodbye:
You still fly. The war will not escape you, do not be afraid, but receive the order. Get it for yourself and for Seryozha...
Moscow turned out to be completely different from what Borka had previously seen in pictures. The people are increasingly military and hasty. From the airfield they took Borka to the hotel.
In the Kremlin, in the hall, Borka sat and looked around.
Finally everyone sat down, calmed down, and then I saw Borka. He didn’t even believe himself at first... Yes, there, in front, at the table with small boxes, stood Mikhail Ivanovich Kalinin...
He stood, looking through his glasses at the people, kind, bearded, just like in the pictures, and said someone’s name.
Borka heard the name out of excitement.
Mikhail Ivanovich called by last name, first name and patronymic, and Borka therefore did not immediately understand that it was about him.
Tsarikov Boris Andreevich, - repeated Kalinin, - is awarded the Order of the Red Banner.
And Borka jumped up and suddenly said from the hall in military style: “I am!”
Everyone laughed, and Kalinin laughed, and Borka, blushing to the top of his head, began to make his way along his row to the aisle.
Mikhail Ivanovich handed Borka a box, shook his hand like an adult, and suddenly hugged and kissed him three times, in Russian, as Borka’s father kissed him when he went to war, as his grandfather kissed him before the war...
Borka was about to leave, but Mikhail Ivanovich held him by the shoulder and said, addressing the audience:
Look what a partisan is like! It’s not for nothing that they say: the spool is small, but expensive. Our Borya train blew up and destroyed 70 tanks!
And they clapped for Borka a second time and clapped for so long until he, still the same as a red lobster, walked through the entire hall and sat down in his place.
And there was one more day in the life of Borka Tsarikov. A difficult and joyful day when he remembered his so quickly forgotten childhood, a poplar snowstorm in a warm city on an old street.
This was after the partisan detachment “Bati” united with the advancing troops and Borka became a corporal, a real military intelligence officer. This was after he made thirty notches on his machine gun, a brand new PPSh, with a sharp knife inherited from his partisan friend Seryozha - in memory of the thirty “tongues” that he took with his comrades.
This was the day when Borka’s unit approached the Dnieper and stopped opposite the town of Loeva, preparing to jump across the river.
This was in October 1943.
It was night again, water splashed on the coastal stones. Borka tied Seryozha's knife near his belt and stepped into the water, trying not to make any noise.
The water burned, and to warm up, he dived and there, under the water, made several strong strokes. He swam diagonally, not fighting the current, but using it, and his sign was the birch tree on the other side.
The Germans, as always, fired randomly, and the bullets splashed like small pebbles, littering the bottom with lead hailstones. The rockets melted the Dnieper blue, and in the moments when a new rocket floated over the river, Borka dived, trying to hold his breath longer.
In shorts, with a knife on a string, shivering from the cold, Borka crawled ashore. A German conversation could be heard not far away - the Germans were in the trench. Going further is dangerous: at night in the dark you can easily run into a German nose to nose, and a naked man is more noticeable in the dark.
Borka looked around. He aimed at the birch tree and swam out exactly to it. He scurried towards the tree like a mouse, climbed onto it, hiding in the branches.
It was dangerous to sit here. No, the German lines were lower, but ours occasionally snarled in response, and these shots could even hit a tree. Eh, if only I had known earlier, I could have warned.
Borka froze up there. The location was great. From the lights of cigarettes visible from above, from the voices, trenches, communication routes, trenches, dugouts were guessed.
The Germans were preparing to defend themselves, and the ground around them was dug into trenches. Pillboxes were piled up, hastily camouflaged.
Borka looked at the land spread out in front of him, and, like an experienced cartographer, he entered each point into the corners of his memory, so that when he returned, he could transfer it to the real map, which he studied for a long time before swimming, and now it was before his eyes, as if photographed by his memory.
Borkin’s unit began storming the Dnieper in the morning, immediately after the artillery barrage, during which they managed to destroy several powerful pillboxes discovered by reconnaissance. The rest of the enemy's losses could only be seen there, right on the battlefield, on the other side of the Dnieper, where the first squads had already crossed.
Borka sailed there with the battalion commander and was at the command post, following orders. Each time the order was the same: cross the Dnieper - deliver the package, bring the package.
The Dnieper was boiling with shell explosions and small fountains of bullets and shrapnel. Before Borka's eyes, the pontoon with the wounded was smashed to smithereens, and people were drowning right before their eyes, and nothing could be done to help them.
Several times Borka threw himself into the mess on the shore, looking for a boat to quickly deliver the package; he now knew what it meant to deliver the package on time, to carry it unharmed through this squall, through this boiling water, where the earth closed with the sky and water.
Borka looked for a boat and, not finding it, undressed as in the morning and swam again, miraculously remaining alive. Having found the boat, he loaded it with the wounded and rowed as hard as he could...
Towards the end of the day, when the battle began to recede and the Dnieper calmed down, Borka, having crossed the Dnieper for the eighth time, staggered from fatigue, and went to look for a camp kitchen. Having already seen her blue smoke, Borka sat down, glad that he had arrived, and fell asleep while sitting.
The scouts looked for his body on the banks of the Dnieper, walked along the current, walked around the bridgehead and already considered him dead when the battalion cook found Borka sleeping under a bush.
They didn’t wake him up, but as he slept, they carried him into the dugout. And Borka slept soundly, and dreamed of his hometown. And a poplar snowstorm in June. And the sunbeams that the girls make in the yard. And mother. In his dream, Borka smiled. People came and went into the dugout, talking loudly, but Borka did not hear anything.
And then Borka had a birthday.
The battalion commander ordered the cook to even make pies. With stew.
The pies turned out great. And Borka ate them, although he was embarrassed by the battalion commander, and even more so by the regiment commander, who suddenly arrived in his “Jeep” in the midst of his name day.
Everyone around drank to Borka’s health.
When they clinked glasses, the regiment commander stood up. The flame of the smokehouse flickered. The others fell silent.
The regiment commander, a man not yet old, but gray-haired, said to Borka as if he knew, knew exactly what Borka was thinking about.
Your father should come here, Borka,” he said. - Yes, mom. Yes, your grandfather, a blacksmith. Yes, all your battle friends, living and dead... Eh, that would be nice!
The regiment commander sighed. Borka looked at the fire, thoughtful.
“Well, what’s not there is not there,” said the regiment commander. - You can’t revive the dead... But we will take revenge for the dead. And so all of us,” he looked at the fighters, the sleds, the cook, “and all of us, adults, need to learn from this boy how to take revenge.
He reached across the table to Borka, clinked his mug with him, hugged Borka, and pressed him to him:
Well, Borka, listen! You are now our hero. Hero of the Soviet Union.
Everyone jumped up from their seats, even the battalion commander, everyone started making noise, drank their alcohol, and hugged Borka.
And he kept thinking about what the regiment commander said. About his father, about the soldier with a face black from soot, about his mother and brother Tolik, and about Nadyushka and her mother, and about Ivanovna, about his grandfather, about his “father,” about Seryozha, about all the people he knew, whom he loved...
Tears began to flow from his eyes.
And everyone thought that Borka was crying with joy.
Two weeks later, on November 13, 1943, a German sniper caught a Russian soldier at an intersection with his optical sight.
The bullet reached its target, and a small soldier fell to the bottom of the trench. And her cap fell nearby, exposing her brown hair.
Borya Tsarikov...
He died immediately, without suffering, without suffering. The bullet hit the heart.
The news of Borya’s death instantly spread around the battalion, and a wall of fire suddenly burst out of our trenches, unexpectedly not only for the Germans, but also for our commander. All the battalion's fire weapons fired. Machine guns and machine guns shook furiously, raining down on the Germans. The mortars fired. Carbines crackled.
Seeing the rage of the people, the battalion commander was the first to jump out of the trench, and the battalion went forward - to avenge the little soldier, for Borya Tsarikov.
By decree of the Council of Ministers of the RSFSR, one of the ships of the Soviet fleet was named after Bori Tsarikov.
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The cat left the book, but the smile remained author Danelia Georgy NikolaevichBORIA CHIZH - Borya Chizh is the second most important character in the film. He was played by Oleg Yankovsky. I am happy with him, but he is not with me. Oleg complained at meetings with the audience that in the first version of the script his role was much richer and more interesting, but I shortened it and ruined everything. Want
Fictional documentary story
Author Likhanov Albert Anatolyevich
Artist V. Yudin
A blizzard swirled around the city, a blizzard. The sun was burning from the sky, and the sky was calm and clear, and above the earth, above the green grass, above the blue water, above the sparkling streams, a cheerful poplar snowstorm was circling.
And through all this Borka ran and drove the wheel, the rusty iron hoop. The wheel was murmuring... And everything was spinning around: the sky, the poplars, the poplar snow, and the hoop. And it was so good all around, and everyone was laughing, and Borka’s legs were light...
Only all this was then... Not now...
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And now...
Borka is running down the street, and his legs seem to be filled with lead, and he can’t breathe - he swallows hot, bitter air and runs like a blind man - at random. And there is a snowstorm outside, just like then. And the sun is hot as before. Only in the sky there are pillars of smoke that fill your ears with heavy thunder, and everything freezes for a moment. Even a snowstorm, even fluffy white flakes hang in the sky at once. Something rattles in the air, like glass breaking.
“Where is this hoop,” Borka thinks as if in a dream... “Where is the hoop?..” And everything around blurs at once, becomes cloudy, seems to move away. And Borka really can’t breathe.
“It’s a hoop...” he whispers, and in front of his face is a soldier in a tunic, red at the shoulder, bare-haired, with a black face. It was Borka who brought water and bread to him and the other soldiers who defended the city. And everyone thanked him. And Borka even became friends with the soldiers. And now...
“Are you leaving?” asks Borka.
“Borka,” says the soldier, “Borka Tsarikov,” and lowers his head, as if he were to blame for Borka. - Sorry, Borka, but we’ll be back!..
The Germans appeared in the city unexpectedly.
First, carefully moving their guns, tanks passed from side to side, as if sniffing, then huge trucks rolled in, and the city immediately became alien... The Germans were everywhere: jostling half-naked at the pumps, wandering in and out of houses, like market speculators, with bundles of all sorts of junk, and the old women looked sadly after them with their whitish eyes and crossed themselves to the east.
The Germans did not come to the Tsarikovs. So what? Mom left with her brother for Saratov. And he, Borka, goes with his father into the forest, to join the partisans. Only the father before. First he, Borka, must go to his grandfather. That's what we agreed with my father.
Borka went to the door and went out into the street.
He ran from house to house, hiding around corners so that the Germans would not see him. But they went about their business, and no one looked at Borka. Then he walked straight down the street, putting his hands in his pockets for independence. And my heart was beating anxiously. He walked through the whole of Gomel, and no one stopped him.
He went to the outskirts. Instead of houses, chimneys stuck out like crosses on graves. Behind the pipes, in the field, trenches began. Borka went to them, and again no one called out to him.
Firebrands smoked from many fires, and the grass that survived in some places swayed.
Looking around, Borka jumped into the trench. And at once everything in him froze, as if even his heart had stopped. At the bottom of the trench, with his arms uncomfortably outstretched, lay that soldier with a black face among empty cartridges.
The soldier lay calmly, and his face was calm. Nearby, neatly leaning against the wall, stood a rifle, and it seemed that the soldier was sleeping. He'll lie down for a while and get up, pick up his rifle and start shooting again.
Borka looked at the soldier, looked intently, memorizing him, then finally turned to move on, and next to him he saw another dead man. And further and further along the trench lay people who had recently, very recently been alive.
Trembling with his whole body, not making out the road, Borka went back. Everything swam before his eyes, he looked only at his feet, his head was buzzing, his ears were ringing, and he did not immediately hear that someone was screaming. Then he raised his head and saw a German in front of him.
The German smiled at him. He was in a uniform with rolled up sleeves, and on one hand, from his wrist to his elbow, was a watch. Watch...
The German said something, and Borka did not understand anything. And the German kept babbling and babbling. And Borka, without looking away, looked at his hand, at his hairy hand, hung with a clock.
Finally, the German turned, letting Borka through, and Borka, looking back at him, walked on, and the German kept laughing, and then raised his machine gun - and behind Borka, just a few steps away, dusty fountains splashed.
Borka ran, the German laughed after him, and only then, at the same time as machine gun shots, Borka realized that the German had taken this watch from ours. From the dead.
It’s a strange thing - the trembling stopped beating him, and although he ran, and the German hooted after him, Borka realized that he was no longer afraid.
It was as if something had turned over in him.
He didn’t remember how he found himself back in the city, near the school. Here it is - a school, but it is no longer a school - a German barracks. In Borka's classroom, on the windowsill, soldiers' underpants are drying. A German sits nearby, blissfully, with his cap pulled down over his nose and blowing into his harmonica.
Borka closed his eyes. He imagined a noise with many voices, iridescent laughter. Familiar laughter. Isn't Nadyushka from the second desk? He thought he heard a rare, copper ringing. It’s as if Ivanovna, the cleaning lady, is standing on the porch, calling for a lesson.
I opened my eyes - the German was squealing again, the Germans were walking around the school as if they had been living in Borka’s classes all their lives. But somewhere over there, on the brick wall, his name was scratched with a knife: “Borka.” That's just the inscription left from the school.
Borka looked at the school, saw how those damned bastards walked around in it, and his heart sank anxiously...
The streets, like small rivers, flowed into one another, becoming wider and wider. Borka ran with them and suddenly seemed to stumble... Ahead, in the middle of the ruins, stood tattered women, children - many, many. Shepherd dogs sat around in a round dance with their ears flattened. Among them, soldiers with machine guns at the ready and their sleeves turned up, as if at a hot job, walked, chewing cigarettes.
And the women, defenseless women, crowded together randomly, and from there, from the crowd, moans were heard. Then suddenly something rattled, trucks drove out from behind the ruins, a lot of trucks, and the shepherd dogs stood up, baring their fangs; The Germans also began to stir, urging the women and children with rifle butts.
Among this crowd, Borka saw Nadyushka from the second desk, and Nadyushka’s mother, and the cleaning lady from the school, Ivanovna.
"What to do? How can I help them?
Borka leaned toward the pavement, grabbed a heavy cobblestone and, without realizing what he was doing, rushed forward.
He did not see how the shepherd turned in his direction and the soldier clicked the lock on its collar.
The dog walked, did not run, but went towards Borka, confident of an easy victory, and the German also turned away without any interest in what would happen there, behind him. But Borka ran and didn’t see anything.
But Nadyushka’s mother and Ivanovna saw the dog. They shouted: “Dog! Dog!"
They screamed so much that the square even became quiet, and Borka saw the shepherd dog. He turned and ran. The dog also ran, egging himself on, knowing that he had several strong jumps to reach his goal.
Borka rushed faster than her, turned the corner, and at the moment when the shepherd dog, the German, its owner, turned around and laughed. The women screamed again. And their scream seemed to spur Borka on. Having contracted like a spring, he straightened up and flew up onto a pile of bricks and debris. Immediately turning around, he saw a shepherd dog.
Both the scream of the women and the dog’s muzzle with bared teeth seemed to fill Borka with terrible power. Looking once again desperately into the eyes of the dog, who was about to jump, Borka grabbed a rusty crowbar, and, swinging briefly, put the crowbar towards the dog. The shepherd jumped, hit the bricks with a thud and fell silent.
Borka jumped down and, turning to the dead shepherd dog, the first enemy he had killed, ran again to the outskirts, beyond which a sparse bush began. I crossed the road to the village where my grandfather lived.
They walked along a forest path, and their feet were buried in fog. As if from behind a curtain, the forge appeared. Grandfather unlocked the door, stepped forward, stopped, as if thinking, then looked around: at the cold furnace, at the black walls. They lit a fire, and it began to flicker, merrily intertwining itself in red braids. The iron glowed in him, becoming white and bending.
Grandfather looked into the fire, thoughtful.
They forged before, grandfather and grandson. Last summer, Borka and Tolik, his brother, lived in the village all summer, became proficient in his grandfather’s craft, loved it, and his grandfather rejoiced at it, and used to boast to his neighbors that a good farrier, the family master, was growing up in return for him.
The hammers pounded, the iron bent obediently.
And suddenly the grandfather stopped the hammer and said, nodding at the dying metal:
- See... See, it’s strength that bends iron...
Borka hit the bending iron with a hammer, thought about his grandfather’s words and remembered everything that could not be forgotten. Women and children, driven away to God knows where in cars with crosses... A hairy German with a watch up to his elbow, and a pink, drooling, shepherd's grin...
Leaning on his knee, the grandfather looked into the forge, into the dying fire.
- No, don't listen to me, old man. Because strength differs from strength to strength, and the Germans cannot gain any strength against us...
Suddenly they turned around at the brightly flashing light of the unexpectedly open door and saw a German with a machine gun on his chest. The German's face was pink from the frost, and his blue eyes were smiling. The Fritz stepped across the threshold and said something to his grandfather in his own way.
Grandfather shrugged.
The ruddy German repeated his words again, which sounded like barking. Grandfather shook his head.
The German looked at his grandfather with transparent eyes... And suddenly he fired his gun - and flame sprayed out of the barrel. The grandfather saw Borka, if not at the German, no, at him, Borka, for the last time, slowly sagging, dropping the small hammer from his hands - a silver voice.
Grandfather was an ass and fell backwards. Borka turned around. The German stood in the doorway, smiled welcomingly, then turned and took a step...
There was no moment. Less. I found myself near the German Bork and heard the thick sound of a hammer on his helmet. He poked the German into the forge floor with his rosy face and smile. The machine gun jerked from his whitened hands. And I heard the German’s name.
- Schnell, Hans!.. Schnell!..
Borka jumped out of the forge, hastily pulling on his fur coat, looking at his grandfather’s face for the last time. Grandfather lay calm, as if he was sleeping... Another German was walking along the path to the forge.
Borka raised the machine gun, pointed it at the German, pulled the trigger - and the German, hurrying Hans, stumbled into the snow.
***
Borka walked all day, falling into deep snow, exhausted, and spent the night in a black, cold bathhouse in the back of some quiet village. As soon as it was light, he went again, going further and further into the depths of the forest, trying to find the partisan detachment of the “bati”. He spent the second night in a spruce forest, shaking from the cold, but still survived and in the morning he went again and walked again all day, and when he was completely exhausted, when orange circles floated before his eyes from hunger, the snow creaked behind him...
Borka turned around sharply, grabbing the machine gun more comfortably, and immediately sat down, weakening, in the snow: a young guy with a carbine in his hands and a red stripe on his earflaps was looking at him.
Borka woke up in the dugout. Strangers looked at him in surprise...
The commander was strict and loudly asked Borka everything meticulously. When Borka told about everything, “dad” sat down on a round piece of wood that replaced a chair, and ruffled his hair with his hands, staring at the floor. And so he sat silently, as if he had forgotten about Borka. Borka coughed into his fist, shifting from foot to foot, “dad” looked at him intently and said to the guy who brought Borka:
- Put it on allowance. Take him to your reconnaissance group. Well, and the weapon... - He walked up to Borka and quietly poked him in the side. - He brought weapons with him, like a real soldier...
Seryozha, the same guy who found him in the forest, dragged him on his back to the partisans, and then stood next to him in front of his “father,” now became Borkin’s commander and began to teach him military affairs.
Borka was going to a village, to an unfamiliar village, to a stranger, and this person had to use only one password to take Borka to the station, to some woman. This woman was either godfather or mother-in-law to that man. She should not have known about anything, she should have simply fed him and given him water, and said, if he asked, that Borka was the son of the man who was her son-in-law and to whom Borka was going.
Three days were given to Borka, but on the fourth Seryozha would have been waiting for him, and on the fifth, and even ten days later - they would have waited for him, because the first time they entrusted him with a serious task.
Everything went as planned. That night Borka tossed and turned in the rooms of a stranger, who let him in as soon as Borka told him the password. And in the morning they were already at the station...
“Mother-in-law” looked askance at Borka at first. She told him to come into the house unnoticed so that the neighbors would not see. But the “mother-in-law” lived on the outskirts, far from the neighbors, and everything was fine.
For three days Borka hovered around the station, trying not to catch the eye of the German guards, trying to get to the dead ends.
But the dead ends were heavily guarded, it was impossible to even get close, and Borka suffered, worrying that nothing was working out for him. The time to complete the task was running out, and by the end of the third day Borka had learned nothing.
“Mother-in-law,” sensing something was wrong, was also worried, talking dryly to Borka.
In order to somehow please her, Borka, when she was getting ready to get water, went with her. The pumps at the station were frozen, only one was working, and we had to go almost through the entire station to get water.
They walked back slowly, often stopping, catching their breath, with full buckets, when some old man caught up with them.
- Oh, Mikhalych! - the “mother-in-law” cackled. - Are you working?
- Don't talk, neighbor! - the old man shouted. “The Herods forced me!” The fireman ran away...
Borka became wary.
- Anyway! - the old man shouted. - Okay, they don’t go on trips, everyone is here, in the shunting rooms ...
-Uncle! - Borka said to the old man. “I’m free, if you want, I’ll help you tomorrow.”
“Mother-in-law” looked at Borka in fear, but, having come to her senses, she spoke briskly and affectionately:
- Take it, take it, Mikhalych! Look, what a grandson he was, but he didn’t ride on a steam locomotive.
The next day, early in the morning, she took Borka to the old man, and all day Borka, taking off his coat, waved a shovel, throwing coal into the red throat of the firebox. Sweat crawled into his eyes, his back ached, but Borka smiled. During the day, the train ran to dead ends more than once. All of them were packed with carriages. Heavy carriages, because, having picked up at least one, the old locomotive, before moving off, puffed for a long time, spun the wheels in place, sat down, and Borka had to quickly move the shovel. And that meant a lot. This meant that there were carriages with ammunition at the station, at a dead end. Warehouses on wheels...
Borka was worried all evening, waiting for the door to slam and “father” to come in to take him back, closer to the forest.
By evening Borka got ready.
The “mother-in-law” looked at him in fear, slammed the latch and blocked the door.
“No,” she said. - I won’t let go of one.
At night, when the “mother-in-law” fell asleep, Borka quickly got dressed and disappeared, quietly opening the door.
He first wanted to go straight into the forest to the appointed place, but in the house of the “mother-in-law’s” relative the light was dimly burning, and he knocked on the window.
There was a movement behind the door, the bolt clicked, Borka stepped forward, smiling, and a bright sheaf crumbled before his eyes.
It was as if he had fallen somewhere, everything had disappeared before him.
Borka came to his senses from another blow. The thin lips of the policeman were almost right in front of him. And again everything was covered in red fog...
The snow sparkled in the sun, blinding with white splashes, and the sky was blue, blue, like a cornflower field. Something crashed in the distance, and Borka looked at the sky in surprise: the front was still far away, and there were no thunderstorms in winter. And suddenly with all his being he felt, understood, suddenly realized that he was seeing the sun, these white splashes, and the blue sky for the last time.
This thought pierced him and shocked him. At that same moment thunder struck again, and Borka looked up at the sky again.
In the sky, very low above the ground, our attack aircraft were flying at low level. The whole link. And the stars sparkled on their wings.
He woke up when someone pushed him hard.
Borka turned around.
- Run!
There were only two of them standing on the road. The Germans and policemen, running away from the road, plunged into the snowdrifts to escape the planes.
- Run!
Stormtroopers roared overhead, and machine gun fire merged with this roar.
Bork did not hear how the bullets whistled next to him, how the Germans and policemen shouted, how the man whom he called “father” shouted for the last time.
The new task was special. As “father” himself told them, they need to cut an important road, like scissors, and stop the movement of trains. And it will be possible to blow up the train at the same time.
The scouts spent a long time choosing a place, now approaching, now moving away from the road.
Seryozha was gloomy and drove the detachment without smoking breaks. Railcars with machine gun mounts scurried along the rails every now and then and from time to time they fired long bursts through the forest. There were guards every half a kilometer, they were changed frequently, and there was no way to get close to the road. Therefore, Seryozha drove the detachment and drove it, angry at the Germans.
“Borka,” he said unexpectedly, “don’t come back like that... All our hope is in you.”
When it got dark, the scouts came closer to the road and lay down to cover Borka, if anything happened. And Seryozha hugged him and, before letting him go, looked into his eyes for a long time.
Borka crawled like a lizard, small and light, leaving almost no trace behind him. He stopped in front of the embankment, taking stock. “You can’t climb it by crawling - it’s too steep.” He waited, frozen, clutching the explosives and the knife, until the trolley flew overhead, until the sentry passed, and ran forward to the rails.
Looking around, he instantly dug out the snow. But further on there was frozen ground, and although Serezhkin’s knife was sharp as an awl, the frozen ground, like stone, barely gave way.
Then Borka put down the explosives and began digging with both hands.
Now we need to hide all the ground under the snow, down to the crumbs, but not to add too much, so that there is no slide, so that the sentry does not see it when he shines a flashlight on it. And compact it properly.
The trolley was not far away when Borka carefully slid down the embankment, covering the cord with snow. The trolley passed when he was already below, but Borka decided to take his time and wait for the sentry.
Soon the German passed by without noticing anything, and Borka crawled towards the forest.
At the edge of the forest, strong hands picked him up, took the end of the cord, and Seryozha silently slapped him on the back: well done.
Somewhere in the distance an unclear noise was heard, then it intensified, and Seryozha put his hand on the contactor. Then a trolley rushed by, rattling machine guns at the tops of the fir trees, quickly rushing by, as if it was running away from someone. And a few minutes later a straight column of smoke appeared in the distance, turning into a black motionless stripe, and then the train itself. He walked at full speed, and from a distance Borka saw many tanks on the platforms.
He cowered all over, preparing for the main thing, all the scouts cowered, and at that moment, when the locomotive caught up with the sentry, Seryozha moved sharply.
Borka saw how the small figure of a sentry took off, how the locomotive suddenly jumped and was filled with crimson light, how it tilted, smoothly going under the embankment, and the whole train obediently followed it. The platforms folded like an accordion, the iron rumbled and creaked, blooming with white lights, the soldiers screamed wildly.
- Let's retreat! - Seryozha shouted cheerfully, and they ran into the depths of the forest, leaving one scout who was supposed to count the losses.
They walked noisily, openly, the Germans now had no time for them, and everyone was laughing and saying something excitedly, and suddenly Seryozha grabbed Borka under the arms, and the others helped him. And Borka flew up to the tops of the fir trees, illuminated by red reflections.
No one even heard the machine gun fire. With a distant hammer she pierced a long, angry machine-gun burst somewhere on an embankment, and her leaden anger, weakening, scattered in vain throughout the forest. And only one bullet, a ridiculous bullet, reached the target...
Borka flew up again and was lowered, immediately turning away. Seryozha lay in the snow, gulping blue air, slightly pale, without a single scratch.
He lay there like a healthy, bright pine tree that had fallen for some unknown reason; the scouts, confused, bent over him.
Borka pushed them aside and took the hat off Seryozha’s head. A black spot appeared at his temple, blurring...
A scout, left to count the German losses, ran up, out of breath. He ran up cheerful and impatient.
- Seventy tanks, brothers!
But no one heard him. He silently took off his hat.
- Seryozha... - Borka cried like a little boy, stroking Seryozha on the head, and whispered, as if begging him to wake up: - Seryozha!.. Seryozha!
Borka watched the thin wings shuddering and bending as they cut through the clouds, and his heart felt both bitter and joyful.
He didn’t want to fly to Moscow, he didn’t want to fly to Moscow for anything. But “father” said goodbye:
- You still fly. The war will not escape you, do not be afraid, but receive the order. Get it for yourself and for Seryozha...
Moscow turned out to be completely different from what Borka had previously seen in pictures. The domes of the Kremlin cathedrals were not gilded, there were no crowds of people on the streets. The people are increasingly military and hasty.
From the airfield they took Borka to the hotel. When they entered it, Borka became timid. All the majors and colonels were walking around, their boots were shining, medals were clinking all over their chests, and he, some boy with Seryozha’s green bag, where the rations were.
In the Kremlin, he, along with a whole crowd of silent military men, was led into the hall.
Borka sat and looked around.
Finally everyone sat down, calmed down, and then I saw Borka. He didn’t even believe himself at first... Yes, there, in front, at the table with small boxes, stood Mikhail Ivanovich Kalinin...
He stood, looking through his glasses at the people, kind, bearded, just like in the pictures, and said someone’s name.
Borka heard his name out of excitement and clapped the longest, because Kalinin awarded this man, a tall major in a pilot’s uniform, the Gold Medal of the Hero of the Soviet Union.
Borka clapped and looked at the pilot lovingly. It suddenly seemed to him that, perhaps, this, yes, this pilot, had saved his life, then, on the road, when the Germans and policemen were leading him and his “father” to be shot.
Mikhail Ivanovich called by last name, first name and patronymic, and Borka therefore did not immediately understand that it was about him.
“Boris Andreevich Tsarikov,” repeated Kalinin, “is awarded the Order of the Red Banner.”
And Borka jumped up and suddenly said from the hall in military style: “I am!”
Everyone laughed, and Kalinin laughed, and Borka, blushing to the top of his head, began to make his way along his row to the aisle.
Mikhail Ivanovich handed Borka a box, shook his hand like an adult, and suddenly hugged and kissed him three times, in Russian, as Borka’s father kissed him when he went to war, as his grandfather kissed him before the war...
Borka was about to leave, but Mikhail Ivanovich held him by the shoulder and said, addressing the audience:
- Look what a partisan is like! It’s not for nothing that they say: the spool is small, but expensive. Our Borya train blew up and destroyed 70 tanks!
And they clapped for Borka a second time, like that hero-pilot, and they clapped for so long until he, still as red as a lobster, walked through the entire hall and sat down in his place.
And there was one more day in the life of Borka Tsarikov. A difficult and joyful day, when he remembered his so quickly forgotten childhood, a poplar snowstorm in a warm city on an old street.
This was after the partisan detachment “Bati” united with the advancing troops and Borka became a corporal, a real military intelligence officer.
This was after he made thirty notches on his machine gun, a brand new PPSh, with a sharp knife inherited from his partisan friend Seryozha - “in memory” of the thirty “tongues” that he took with his comrades.
This was the day when Borka’s unit approached the Dnieper and stopped opposite the town of Loeva, preparing to jump across the river.
This was in October 1943.
It was night again, water splashed on the coastal stones. Borka tied Serezhin's knife near his belt and stepped into the water, trying not to make any noise.
The water burned, and to warm up, he dived and there, under the water, made several strong strokes. He swam diagonally, not fighting the current, but using it, and his sign was the birch tree on the other side.
The Germans, as always, fired randomly, and the bullets splashed like small pebbles, littering the bottom with lead hailstones. The rockets melted the Dnieper blue, and in the moments when a new rocket floated over the river, Borka dived, trying to hold his breath longer.
In shorts, with a knife on a string, shivering from the cold, Borka crawled ashore. A German conversation could be heard nearby - the Germans were in the trench. Going further is dangerous: at night in the dark you can easily run into a German nose to nose, and a naked man is more noticeable in the dark.
Borka looked around. He aimed at the birch tree and swam out exactly to it. He scurried towards the tree like a mouse, climbed onto it, hiding in the branches.
It was dangerous to sit here. No, the German lines were lower, but ours occasionally snarled in response, and these shots could even hit a tree. Eh, if only I had known earlier, I could have warned.
Borka froze up there. The location was great. From the lights of cigarettes visible from above, from the voices, trenches, communication routes, trenches, dugouts were guessed.
The Germans were preparing to defend themselves, and the ground around them was dug into trenches. Pillboxes were piled up, hastily camouflaged.
Borka looked at the land spread out in front of him, and, like an experienced cartographer, he brought each point into the corners of his memory.so that, upon returning, he would transfer it to the real map, which he had studied for a long time before sailing, and now it was before his eyes, as if photographed by his memory.
Borkin’s unit began storming the Dnieper in the morning, immediately after the artillery barrage, during which they managed to destroy several powerful pillboxes discovered by reconnaissance. The rest of the enemy's losses could only be seen there, right on the battlefield, on the other side of the Dnieper, where the first squads had already crossed.
Borka sailed there with the battalion commander and was at the command post, following orders. Each time the order was the same: cross the Dnieper - deliver the package, bring the package.
The Dnieper was boiling with shell explosions, small fountains of bullets and shrapnel. Before Borka's eyes, the pontoon with the wounded was smashed to smithereens, and people were drowning right before their eyes, and nothing could be done to help them.
Several times Borka threw himself into the mess on the shore, looking for a boat to quickly deliver the package; he now knew what it meant to deliver the package on time, to carry it unharmed through this squall, through this boiling water, where the earth closed with the sky and water.
Borka looked for a boat and, not finding it, undressed as in the morning and swam again, miraculously remaining alive. Having found the boat, he loaded it with the wounded and rowed as hard as he could...
Towards the end of the day, when the battle began to recede and the Dnieper calmed down, Borka, having crossed the Dnieper for the eighth time, staggered from fatigue, and went to look for a camp kitchen. Having already seen her blue smoke, Borka sat down, glad that he had arrived, and fell asleep while sitting.
The scouts looked for his body on the banks of the Dnieper, walked along the current, walked around the bridgehead and already considered him dead when the battalion cook found Borka sleeping under a bush.
They didn’t wake him up, but as he slept, they carried him into the dugout. And Borka slept soundly, and dreamed of his hometown. And a poplar snowstorm in June. And the sunbeams that the girls make in the yard. And mother. In his dream, Borka smiled. People came and went into the dugout, talking loudly, but Borka did not hear anything.
And then Borka had a birthday.
The battalion commander ordered the cook to even make pies. With stew.
The pies turned out great. And Borka ate them, although he was embarrassed by the battalion commander, and even more so by the regiment commander, who suddenly arrived in his “Jeep” in the midst of his name day.
Everyone around drank to Borka’s health. When they clinked glasses, the regiment commander stood up. The flame of the smokehouse flickered. The others fell silent.
The regiment commander, a man not yet old, but gray-haired, said to Borka as if he knew, knew exactly what Borka was thinking about.
“Your father should have come here, Borka,” he said. - Yes, mom. Yes, your grandfather, a blacksmith. Yes, all your battle friends, living and dead... Eh, that would be nice!
The regiment commander sighed. Borka looked at the fire, thoughtful.
“Well, what’s not there is not there,” said the regiment commander. “You can’t revive the dead... But we will take revenge for the dead.”
“And so we all,” he looked at the fighters, the sleds, the cook, “and all of us, adults, need to learn from this boy how to take revenge.”
He reached across the table to Borka, clinked his mug with him, hugged Borka, and pressed him to him.
- Well, Borka, listen! You are now our hero. Hero of the Soviet Union.
Everyone jumped up from their seats, even the battalion commander, everyone started making noise, drank their alcohol, and hugged Borka.
And he kept thinking about what the regiment commander said about his father, about the soldier with a face black with soot, about his mother and brother Tolik, and about Nadyushka and her mother, and about Ivanovna, about his grandfather, about “father,” about Seryozha, about all the people he knew, whom he loved...
Tears began to flow from his eyes.
And everyone thought that Borka was crying with joy.
Two weeks later, on November 13, 1943, a German sniper caught a Russian soldier in the crossroads of his optical sight.
The bullet reached its target, and a small soldier fell to the bottom of the trench. And her cap fell nearby, exposing her brown hair.
Borya Tsarikov...
He died immediately, without suffering, without suffering. The bullet hit the heart.
The news of Borya’s death instantly spread around the battalion, and a wall of fire suddenly burst out of our trenches, unexpectedly not only for the Germans, but also for our commander. All the battalion's fire weapons fired. Machine guns and machine guns shook furiously, raining on the Germans. The mortars fired. Carbines crackled.
Seeing the rage of the people, the battalion commander was the first to jump out of the trench, and the battalion went forward to avenge the little soldier, for Borya Tsarikov.
| Children are heroes |
