Confession before the last fight

The stark truth about the beginning of the war, told in letters majestically Russian fighter

It has been 65 years since the war ended with Russian majestic, long already decayed remains of the fallen in the battle, but the soldiers were eternal triangles emails — small yellowed sheets of paper covered with conventional or chemical pencil hasty hand. They are invaluable witnesses of history and memory of loved ones who left and did not return from the war. More than 50 years have kept these letters my mother, and later gave them to me.

And it all began. In the first day of the war as the draft board called for older and younger brothers, my father — Dmitrii and Alexis. My father was offended that he was not taken along with them to the war, and the next day went to the military enlistment office. There, he was refused: uttered that reserved for the national economy as an employee of the district unit of communication. But after three and a half months, when German troops began coming to the Bryansk and Mozhaiskom directions and the country was in great danger, and he received a summons — signaller Chikov Maksymovych Matthew, born in 1911, native of the village Dedilovo Tula region.

Before leaving the house polurazvalyuhi father took from the cradle suspended from the ceiling born two weeks back my brother Valeri, giving lively little lump in the breast, and by removing from the face ascended on a tear, said: "Maroussia kept for the children. What would be with me no matter what happens, you have to bring up and educate them. And I will try to stay alive … "Later, he said goodbye to my grandmother, kissed her a couple of times, something she had read, but his words drowned out strong, heart-rending cries of my mother. When the father stepped across the threshold of the house, she wailed so that it seemed to her crying winced ground floor …

I'm sorry, my father left us further and further, often look back and raises his hand in farewell. Mother, covering her face with her hands continued to sob. It is, for sure, felt that sees wife for the last time.

But let's touch the yellowed by time and erased at the joints triangles.

So, the first letter of October 13, 1941:

"Hello, my dear Maroussia, Vova and Valerie!

Finally, I had the opportunity to write. In his excitement, even shake hands.

'm On a military course in Murom, learn to wage war. More precisely, I'm learning to kill, even though none of us have never thought that it would have to do. But the fate obliges us to this: we must protect the country from fascism own people, and if need be, to give their lives for their homeland. But in fact, as we read of an old campaigner instructor, who returned from the war disabled, die, die easy, but more difficult and more necessary to stay alive, as only bring alive the victory.

After three weeks of finishing courses sergeants mortar. When we will be sent to the front — it is not clear … "

Mom every day for a couple of times re-read this letter with tears in his eyes, and in the evening, after the hard work on the farm say what our father joyful and zealous, in the village all adored and appreciated it. I do not know what she wrote back, but the second triangle had to wait a long time. The letter was only on November 30, but what!

"My dear, beloved mother, Valerie, Vova and Maroussia!

I hear from you is still there, in Murom. If you knew, my dear wife, how much joy it brought me. Now, as given free time, so read your letter, together with Vasily Petrovich (countryman and friend of his father. — Author). Incidentally, he sends greetings to you and jealous of me that I've got a family — with Valery Vova you are.

Reply from Murom I did not have the time — were hastily fees to leave for the front. Later he was leaving. After courses in Murom I received the rank of sergeant and am between Moscow and Leningrad. As you can see, I got into the thick of the war — to the forefront. And already managed to test himself in the first fight. Strshnoe this show, Maroussia. God forbid behold my children and grandchildren! And whether they bolshennymi, I said to them, never believe also those who reads or writes in a newspaper that is not afraid of anything in the war. Each fighter has always hunt out of combat alive, but when he goes to attack, do not think about death. Who has ever walked on the attack, he always looked death in the face … "

Frank father's letter can cause distrust: as they say, it could be reached if there was censorship, as set out in the letter of bold statements about the war? And I wondered from time to time, but later everything fell into place: in the first months of the war censorship did not work.

And soon postwoman delivered to our house from the front of the first death notice: "Died heroically in battle for their country died at Leningrad" the younger brother of the father — Alex. After a certain number of days have brought us another terrible news: killed in the war's older brother — Dmitri. Their ancient mother — my grandmother Matrona — pulled out of the top drawer dresser photo dead sons and, holding a card Alexey and Dmitry, long time looking at them, and they — it. They were no longer in the world, but she could not believe it. My poor grandmother, it could realize, for nothing can compare to the pain and sorrow of mothers who lost their own sons in the war. Could not bear the grief of this bitter grandmother Matrona, when shown in the village saw the Nazis, murderers 2-her sons, her heart or from severe anger on them, or from a huge fright did not survive and she died.

Three Germans settled in our little tree house. But do it they found the rest: NIGHT MODE and days are in the cradle, suspended from the ceiling in a closet, often sobbed my brother two months. One of the Krauts got angry at him, pulled out of the holster Walther and headed for the baby. I do not know how it would all have ended if it were not for my mother. Hearing the click of the shutter from the kitchen, she rushed into the bright room with piercing and click pushed fascist, covering a cradle with a baby. Fritz put the gun back in its holster and went back to the cradle, took it off the hook, and uttering something in their own language, carried her into the cool unheated porch. Humble yourselves in the mother realized that we need to leave the house. And we have gone more than a week to live in the basement of a black neighbor's grandmother Katherine, hiding from the Germans.

From the cool basement we went back to his own house, but when the village was liberated cavalry General Belov. After the expulsion of the Germans is increasingly mom has to go on the road and stare — do not see if the postman with the letter. The mother is very awaited news from her father. But only after the New, in 1942 working again post. At Christmas we got the third in a letter:

"Hello, my dear children, and beloved little wife!

Happy New Year and Merry Christmas! God help us all God quickly defeat the fascists. In another we all Khan.

Dear Maroussia! Heart torn to pieces when I read your letter with a message that my brothers Alexey and Dmitry died, and his mother, unable to bear the grief, died. Kingdom of Heaven to all of them. I guess it's true when they say that God takes to discover the most best, young and beautiful. Well I, you know, has always been proud that I have such a wonderful and all the beloved brother Alex. It's sad that no one knows where
he is buried and Dima.

How much is still grief and misery brings people war! For the lovers of brothers, friends of the victims and for the destruction of the mother, and I vowed revenge Vasily reptiles-fascists. We will thrash them, not sparing himself. For me not to worry: a lively, healthy, fed, clothed, shod. And I assure you, Maroussia that own debt to the villagers and their babies I perform as expected. But I became more terrible for you. How are you one manage such malehankih babies? As we would like to transfer some of its own forces and for you to take some of your worries and anxieties over … "

After New Year's father had sent letters home often as allowed frontline setting. All of his "triangles", written in pencil, are intact. After 68 years of storage and multiple reading of certain lines, especially at the joints, it is hard to make out. There are those for whom the past is dark greasy ink pen military censor, or simply did not spare the time: no matter how we economized the news of his family, some letters written on papyrus paper, completely decayed or discolored.

But in April 1942 the father reports that letters from him will go occasionally, because:

"… We broke through the defenses and fled in coming. For four nights not sleeping, always persecuted Fritz west. Hurry to kill this fascist scum and return home. But is it true? Bane shepherds us every day and the hour, who knows, maybe writing for the last time.

War, Maroussia — is inhumanly hard work. Hard to count how many we've already dug trenches, trenches, dugouts and graves. How many fortifications made by our hands. And who can count how many suffered heavy weights on their own backs! Where had taken strength from our brother? If you saw me at the moment, do not be learned. Thin so that it all became great. My dream is to shave and wash, but the situation does not allow: NIGHT MODE no rest, no of days. All that I have experienced during this period of time, do not tell … That's all. I'm going to fight. Kiss me for my little boys and conserve them. How I would love to see one another with you even for an hour or so.

This letter was sent after the battle. If you get it, means I'm alive and well. But anything can happen.

Doskorogo Goodbye, my dear. "

And now it's the penultimate letter, dated May 15, 1942. It is crowded with spiritual pain and languid thoughts of future combat. He really wanted to stay alive. But the heart, of course, had a presentiment of evil:

"… We have at the moment is cold and damp. All around the swamps and forests, public places is still snow. Each day, and then an hour and heard bombs exploding, shells and mines. Fights are stubborn and ruthless. After not too long ago undertaken coming of the Leningrad and Volkhov fronts have a strong resistance to the Nazis, and therefore the end of April, we ran across the defense. Yesterday after the fight we were seven people. But the defense, we kept all the same. By evening, reinforcements came. On the next day, according to intelligence reports, the Nazis intensively preparing for battle. Because if I stay alive tomorrow, I will live a long time in spite all deaths. So far, I've never caught the German bullet. Who knows whether it will pass me tomorrow? '.

For us, it was not yet the last words of his father. At the end of June 1942 the mother received two letters at once in a thick envelope, one — from his father's friend and countryman VP Chikova with whom fate not to be separated from his youth, the other — from the father, as I realized in the event of it to his death. I bring both of them:

"Greetings from the active Red Army by Chikova VP!

Maria Tikhonovna, though hard for me, but I want to tell about the death of his own friend and your spouse Matthew.

It was like this: May 16 in the early afternoon there was an order "to fight!". So buzzed. Our hit by mortars and long-range artillery, and later, out of nowhere, there was a Nazi air force and began throwing bombs us. They tore the land and the forest in which we were hiding. After 10 minutes, the bombing ended. I'm wiping the face slap mucky, leaned out of the trench, and cried: "Matt, where are you? '. Hearing no response, I got up and went to find his own beloved friend … I look next to the bomb funnel lies motionless on the bushes thrown blast Matthew. I went up to him, say something, and he looked at me and said nothing, only in the sight of frozen surprise …

…We collected the remains, wrapped in a cape and, together with other dead soldiers buried in a bomb crater near the village of ZENINA. I have a close friend did it all as it should, as a Christian. Grave laid humus, put wood orthodox cross, and gave us a volley of machine … "

That fight was for Vasily Petrovich last. This was evidenced after a narrow, yellowish cardboard band funerals, brought his parents a little later than the thick envelope that was focused my mom. In it, as reported above, there were two letters: one — from VP Chikova, the content of which is already given, and here is another, written by the hand of my father, it was a posthumous message:

"My dear little son Valera and Vova!

When you grow up bolshennymi, read this letter. I write it on the front at a time when I feel that this may be the last time. If I do not return home, for you, my beloved little son will not have purple for papanku own, you can boldly and proudly read to his friends: "Our father died in the war, true to the oath and the homeland. " Remember that in mortal combat with the Nazis I own blood captured for you the right to life.

And since the war at some point come to an end, be sure that the world will get you a long one. Very wish that you loved and always listened to Mom. I wrote the word with great bukovkoy and wish that you wrote it just like that. Mom teaches you adore land, labor, and people. Adore because I loved it all.

And again, as if there was no life in you, always hold together, amicably and durable. In memory of me attending the school well, be unspotted in his own soul, brave and strong. And may you be peaceful life and more than good fortune.

But if, God forbid, will start to thicken again, the dark clouds of war, then would very much like you to be worthy of his father, would become quite good intercessors country.

Do not cry, Maroussia, about me. Means what God wants, so I gave their lives for our Russian land, for the liberation of the Nazi scum it, that you, my relatives were alive and free and to always remember those who defended our homeland with you. It's a pity that's just some fighting I do not much — only 220 days. Farewell, my beloved synochki, my dear little wife and my sisters family.

I kiss you firmly. Your father, spouse and brother Pins MM

May 14, 1942. "

And then came a death notice, it said laconically: "Your husband, Matthew Pins Maksimovic, true to his military oath, showing in a fight for the socialist motherland heroism and courage, was killed May 16, 1942 He was buried near the s. ZENINA.

The commander of the military unit 6010 Machulka.

Ml. politruk Borodenkin. "

But the mother had placed all hope and expect his father went out to the gate and long-smot RELA on the road. And always in a black dress and a dark blouse. From that time until this day or another some clothes and not counting the dark, my mother did not know. At 22, left a widow, she never complained about life, remained loyal to the man who is considered the best in the
world. And has for many decades, whenever I come to his home Dedilovo, I hear her soft voice: "If you knew, what was your father …"

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