Eduard Kazakevich star summary. Heroic-romantic story E

Emmanuil Kazakevich

Once Louis Aragon said that the best of what he had read about the war was Leo Tolstoy's "Sevastopol Tales" and the story "The Star" by Emmanuil Kazakevich. And although this assessment is subjective, the reason why it is expressed is obvious: written with the authenticity of a historical document clothed in an artistic form, both works are distinguished by sincerity and deep knowledge of the subject - war. That special knowledge that is acquired only by one's own experience. However, there is nothing surprising in this, because their authors have gone the way of military officers: one is an artilleryman, the other is a reconnaissance officer. But if in the family of Counts Tolstoy the military profession was passed down from generation to generation, then no one could foresee the transformation of a purely civilian short-sighted person into a fearless intelligence commander.

E.G. Kazakevich was born in Ukraine, in Kremenchug, in the family of a national teacher who became a prominent Jewish journalist after the revolution. Then there were years of study in Kharkov, graduating from a seven-year school and a mechanical engineering college, moving to the Far East. Just at that time, the Jewish Autonomous Region was being created there. From the former Pale of Settlement, from Ukraine and Belarus, echelons of frightened Jewish settlers, poorly adapted to the harsh climate, were transported to the Amur. And Kazakevich, who was then barely twenty years old, actively helped the confused people to establish life in a new place: he headed the collective farm, supervised the construction, organized the first theater in the region, worked in the radio committee.

Kazakevich wrote poetry from childhood. Among young Jewish poets, he was considered one of the most talented. Before the war, two of his poetry collections in Yiddish were published. Kazakevich went to the front as a volunteer, as part of the writers' militia, contrary to the decision of the medical commission that rejected his vision. After heavy fighting in the autumn of 1941, he was sent to a training regiment, and then to the editorial office of an army newspaper published in the rear. From there, he "deserted": fled to the front line. By the way, a similar situation was repeated later, after being wounded, when Emmanuil Genrikhovich was released from the hospital to the reserve unit. Again there was an “escape”, a consequence of a military tribunal and an “amnesty” after clarification of all the circumstances of the incident.

Kazakevich went from an ordinary infantryman to the commander of a reconnaissance company, and then to the head of reconnaissance of a division. He repeatedly led groups sent behind enemy lines, personally took the "language". Only one who himself experienced all this could write lines in which the essence and meaning of the existence of a military intelligence officer: “Having put on a camouflage robe, tightly tying all the laces - at the ankles, on the stomach, under the chin and on the back of the head, the intelligence officer renounces worldly vanity, from the great and from the small. The scout no longer belongs to himself, or to his superiors, or to his memories. He ties grenades and a knife to his belt and puts a pistol in his bosom. So he renounces all human institutions, puts himself outside the law, relying from now on only on himself. He gives the foreman all his documents, letters, photographs, orders and medals... So he renounces his past and future, keeping all this only in his heart. It does not have a name, like a forest bird. He could well have given up on articulate speech, limiting himself to bird whistling to give signals to his comrades. It grows together with fields, forests, ravines, becomes the spirit of these spaces - a dangerous spirit, lying in wait, in the depths of its brain nurturing one thought: its task. Thus begins an ancient game in which there are only two actors: man and death.

The action of Zvezda also takes place in places familiar to the writer firsthand: in the story, Lieutenant Travkin’s group discovers the secret relocation of the Viking SS Panzer Division to the Kovel region, where in the spring and summer of 1944 on the path of this very SS divisions were part of the 47th Army, in which Captain Kazakevich served.

"Zvezda" was written by Kazakevich shortly after demobilization, in the winter of 1946-47, in Moscow, in a poorly heated room on the second floor of a barracks house in Khamovniki. For him it was a "test of the pen" - the first work in Russian. His wife, Galina Osipovna, immediately retyped what was written on a trophy typewriter with a replaced font. Fellow soldiers who came to visit became listeners. Kazakevich told them about his plan: the story was conceived as an adventure, with an intriguing title "Green Ghosts". The name caused controversy: for example, one of the colleagues proposed his own version - "Night search in the enemy's divisional rear." The decision came unexpectedly. A front-line friend, writer Daniil Danin, recalled how Kazakevich came to his house and offered to read the manuscript he had just completed: “We settled in my room full of books. He began to read - unspeakably simply, swiftly, sadly and anxiously. Behind a thin partition, my wife (Sofya Dmitrievna Razumovskaya, literary editor at the then Znamya) caught the music of the sounding text and quietly entered. She listened, sitting behind him. He read without noticing. And I looked at him with all my eyes, speechless with amazement and not daring to light a cigarette. It lasted more than two hours and ended in a minute of complete silence. Kazakevich swallowed the excitement that surged over him and put on his glasses for an unnecessarily long time. Then we all three spoke. I remember the voice of Sofya Dmitrievna: “What an adventure story! This will be printed in the Banner. You leave me the manuscript and listen to me!” And I remember my voice: “Green Ghosts is good for a detective, but not for your thing. Yearning Katya calls Travkin: "Star", "Star" ... These call signs are the best name. This will be your star! So I was lucky to become the godfather of Zvezda.

In the next issue of Znamya, out of order, the story was printed. In the same year, she received the Stalin Prize of the second degree.

The Bibliochronicle presents the first separate edition of Zvezda, which was published in the summer of 1947 by the publishing house Moskovsky Rabochiy, with a dedication by Kazakevich to the editor-in-chief of the publishing house N.M. Yakovlev: “To Nikolai Mikhailovich, friend and first publisher. Although the first pancake is lumpy, but I know that you are not to blame for this. Therefore, you personally are beyond my claims. Em. Kazakevich 13.8.47. The words "the first pancake - lumpy" refer, first of all, to the poor quality newsprint on which the book is printed, and to its faded design. However, for Kazakevich there was another serious reason for frustration.

The edition was edited by Sofia Dmitrievna Razumovskaya (1904-1981). At that time, the first trends of the beginning campaign against the “rootless cosmopolitans” were already in the air, and therefore, in the imprint, the name of Razumovskaya was considered best not to be indicated, and G. Korenev was named editor instead.

A copy of this edition of Zvezda has been preserved with a handwritten dedication of the author to Sofya Dmitrievna, “a friend and accomplice”, where the name of the impostor editor is crossed out, and on top there is a postscript in Kazakevich’s handwriting: “Not G. Korenev, namely S.D. Razumovskaya. (For more on this, see the article by E.P. Kazandzhan "The Best Literary Taste of Moscow": editor Sofya Razumovskaya" in the almanac "Bibliophiles of Russia". Volume 1. Moscow, 2004.)

Emmanuil Genrikhovich Kazakevich

CHAPTER ONE

The division, advancing, went deep into the endless forests, and they swallowed it up.

What neither the German tanks, nor the German aviation, nor the bandit gangs raging here managed to do, these vast forest spaces with roads broken by war and blurred by spring thaw managed to do. Trucks loaded with ammunition and provisions were stuck in the distant forest edges. Ambulance buses bogged down in farms lost among the forests. On the banks of nameless rivers, left without fuel, an artillery regiment scattered its cannons. All this with every hour disastrously moved away from the infantry. And the infantry, all alone, nevertheless continued to move forward, cutting down on the ration and trembling over each cartridge. Then she started giving up. Its pressure became weaker, more uncertain, and, taking advantage of this, the Germans got out of the blow and hastily retreated to the west.

The enemy has disappeared.

The infantrymen, even left without an enemy, continue to do the thing for which they exist: they occupy the territory conquered from the enemy. But there is nothing bleaker than the spectacle of scouts torn off from the enemy. As if having lost the meaning of existence, they walk along the sides of the road, like bodies deprived of a soul.

One such group was caught up on his "jeep" by the division commander, Colonel Serbichenko. He slowly got out of the car and stopped in the middle of a dirty, broken road, hands on hips and a mocking smile.

The scouts, seeing the divisional commander, stopped.

Well, - he asked, - lost the enemy, eagles? Where is the enemy, what is he doing?

He recognized Lieutenant Travkin in the scout walking ahead (the division commander remembered all his officers by sight) and shook his head reproachfully:

And you, Travkin? - And he continued caustically: - A merry war, there is nothing to say - to drink milk in the villages and to roam among the women ... So you will reach Germany and you will not see the enemy with you. And it would be nice, right? he asked unexpectedly cheerfully.

The chief of staff of the division, Lieutenant Colonel Galiev, who was sitting in the car, smiled tiredly, surprised at the unexpected change in the colonel's mood. A minute before, the colonel mercilessly scolded him for indiscipline, and Galiev was silent with a stricken air.

The division commander's mood changed at the sight of the scouts. Colonel Serbichenko began his service in 1915 as a scout on foot. In scouts, he received a baptism of fire and earned the St. George Cross. Scouts remained his weakness forever. His heart played at the sight of their green cloaks, tanned faces and silent steps. Relentlessly, they follow each other along the side of the road, ready to disappear at any moment, to dissolve in the silence of the forests, in the unevenness of the soil, in the shimmering shadows of twilight.

However, the commander's reproaches were serious reproaches. Let the enemy go, or - as they say in the solemn language of military regulations - give him break away - this is a big nuisance for scouts, almost a shame.

In the words of the colonel one could feel his oppressive anxiety for the fate of the division. He was afraid of meeting the enemy because the division was drained of blood, and the rear fell behind. And at the same time, he wanted to finally meet this disappeared enemy, to grapple with him, to find out what he wants, what he is capable of. And besides, it was just time to stop, put the people and the economy in order. Of course, he did not even want to admit to himself that his desire was contrary to the passionate impulse of the whole country, but he dreamed that the offensive would stop. These are the secrets of the craft.

And the scouts stood in silence, shifting from foot to foot. They looked rather miserable.

Here they are, your eyes and ears, - the division commander said dismissively to the chief of staff and got into the car. "Willis" started.

The scouts stood for another minute, then Travkin slowly moved on, and the rest followed him.

Out of habit, listening to every rustle, Travkin thought about his platoon.

Like the divisional commander, the lieutenant both desired and feared a meeting with the enemy. He wanted it because his duty commanded him to do so, and also because the days of forced inactivity are detrimental to the scouts, entangling them in a dangerous web of laziness and carelessness. He was afraid because of the eighteen people he had at the beginning of the offensive, only twelve remained. True, among them are Anikanov, known to the entire division, the fearless Marchenko, the dashing Mamochkin and the tried old scouts - Brazhnikov and Bykov. However, the rest were in the majority yesterday's riflemen, recruited from units during the offensive. So far, these people really like to walk in scouts, to follow each other in small groups, taking advantage of the freedom that is unthinkable in an infantry unit. They are surrounded by honor and respect. This, of course, cannot but flatter them, and they look like eagles, but what they will be like in action is unknown.

Now Travkin realized that it was precisely these reasons that made him take his time. He was upset by the division commander's reproaches, especially since he knew Serbichenko's weakness for scouts. The green eyes of the colonel looked at him with the sly look of an old, experienced intelligence officer of the last war, non-commissioned officer Serbichenko, who, from the years and fates that separated them, seemed to say searchingly: “Well, let's see what you, young, are against me, the old one.”

Meanwhile, the platoon entered the village. It was an ordinary Western Ukrainian village, scattered like a farm. From a huge, three human height, cross, the crucified Jesus looked at the soldiers. The streets were deserted, and only the barking of dogs in the yards and the barely perceptible movement of homespun canvas curtains on the windows showed that people, intimidated by bandit gangs, were carefully watching the soldiers passing through the village.

Travkin led his detachment to a lonely house on a hillock. The door was opened by an old woman. She drove the big dog away and leisurely looked at the soldiers with deep-set eyes from under thick grayish eyebrows.

Hello, - said Travkin, - we are here to rest for an hour.

The scouts followed her into a clean room with a painted floor and many icons. Icons, as the soldiers noticed more than once in these parts, were not the same as in Russia - without riza, with candy-beautiful faces of saints. As for the grandmother, she looked exactly like Ukrainian old women from near Kyiv or Chernigov, in countless linen skirts, with dry, sinewy hands, and differed from them only in the unkind light of her prickly eyes.

However, in spite of her sullen, almost hostile reticence, she served the passing soldiers fresh bread, milk as thick as cream, pickles, and iron-full potatoes. But all this - with such unfriendliness that a piece did not climb into the throat.

Here is the bandit mother! one of the scouts grumbled.

He guessed half. The youngest son of the old woman really went along the bandit forest path. The eldest joined the red partisans. And while the mother of the bandit was hostilely silent, the mother of the partisan hospitably opened the door of her hut to the fighters. Having served the scouts a snack of fried lard and kvass in an earthenware jug, the partisan's mother gave way to the bandit's mother, who, with a gloomy look, sat down at the loom, which occupied half the room.

Sergeant Ivan Anikanov, a calm man with a broad, rustic face and small eyes of great insight, said to her:

Why are you silent, like a dumb grandmother? She would sit down with us, or something, but tell something.

Sergeant Mamochkin, stooped, thin, nervous, muttered mockingly:

Well, this Anikanov is a cavalier! He wants to chat with the old woman! ..

Travkin, preoccupied with his own thoughts, left the house and stopped near the porch. The village was dozing. Harnessed peasant horses walked along the slope. It was completely quiet, as only a village can be quiet after the swift passage of two warring armies.

Our lieutenant thought, - Anikanov spoke when Travkin left. - As the commander said? Fun war? Drink milk and roam around the women ...

Mamochkin boiled up:

What the commander said there is his business. And what are you doing? If you don't want milk, don't drink, there's water in a tub. It's none of your business, but the lieutenant's. He is responsible to the top management. You want to be a nanny with the lieutenant. And who are you? Hillbilly. If you caught me in Kerch, I would undress you in five minutes, take off your clothes and sell you to fish for lunch.

Anikanov laughed without malice:

It's right. Undress, undress - this is your part. Well, about dinners, you're a master. This is what the commander was talking about.

So what? - Mamochkin jumped up, as always wounded by Anikanov's calmness. - And you can have lunch. A scout with a head dine better than a general. Dinner adds courage and ingenuity. Understandably?

The rosy-cheeked, flaxen-haired Brazhnikov, the chubby, freckled Bykov, the seventeen-year-old boy Yura Golubovsky, whom everyone called "Dove", the tall, handsome Feoktistov and the rest, smiling, listened to Mamochkin's hot southern patter and Anikanov's calm, smooth speech. Only Marchenko - broad-shouldered, white-toothed, dark-skinned - all the time stood near the old woman at the loom and repeated with the naive surprise of a city man, looking at her small withered hands:

It's a whole factory!

In the disputes between Mamochkin and Anikanov, there are sometimes cheerful, sometimes furious disputes on any occasion: about the advantages of the Kerch herring over the Irkutsk omul, about the comparative qualities of German and Soviet machine guns, about whether Hitler is crazy or just a bastard, and about the timing of the opening of a second front - Mamochkin was the attacking side, and Anikanov, slyly screwing up his clever little eyes, good-naturedly but caustically defended himself, plunging Mamochkin into a rage with his calmness.

Mamochkin, with his unrestrained buzzer and neurasthenic, was irritated by Anikanov's rural solidity and good nature. Irritation was mixed with a feeling of secret envy. Anikanov had an order, but he only had a medal; the commander treated Anikanov almost as an equal, and treated him almost like everyone else. All this stung Mamochkin. He consoled himself with the fact that Anikanov was a Party member and therefore, they say, enjoyed special confidence, but in his heart he himself admired Anikanov's cold-blooded courage. Mamochkin's courage was often posturing, in need of constant spurring of pride, and he understood this. Mamochkin had more than enough self-esteem, the glory of a good scout was established behind him, and he really participated in many glorious deeds, where Anikanov still played the first role.

But in the breaks between combat missions, Mamochkin knew how to show the goods with his face. Young scouts, who were not yet in business, admired him. He flaunted in wide trousers and chrome yellow boots, the collar of his tunic was always unbuttoned, and his black forelock arbitrarily knocked out from under a cuban with a bright green top. Where was the massive, broad-faced and rustic Anikanov before him!

The origin and pre-war existence of each of them - the collective farm grip of the Siberian Anikanov, the sharpness and accurate calculation of the metalworker Marchenko, the port recklessness of Mamochkin - all this left its mark on their behavior and temper, but the past already seemed extremely distant. Not knowing how long the war would last, they plunged headlong into it. The war has become a way of life for them and this platoon is the only family.

Family! It was a strange family whose members did not enjoy life together for too long. Some went to the hospital, others went even further, to a place where no one comes back. She had her own small but bright story, passed down from “generation” to “generation”. Some people remembered how Anikanov first appeared in the platoon. For a long time he did not participate in the case - none of the elders dared to take him with them. True, the enormous physical strength of the Siberian was a great advantage - he could freely scoop up and strangle, if necessary, even two. However, Anikanov was so huge and heavy that the scouts were afraid: what if he was killed or wounded? Try to get this one out of the fire. In vain he begged and swore that if he was wounded, he would crawl himself, and they would kill him: “To hell with you, leave me, what will a dead German do to me!” And only relatively recently, when a new commander, Lieutenant Travkin, who replaced the wounded Lieutenant Skvortsov, came to them, the situation changed.

Travkin took Anikanov with him on his first search. And "this hulk" grabbed the hefty German so deftly that the rest of the scouts did not even have time to gasp. He moved quickly and silently, like a huge cat. Even Travkin could hardly believe that a half-strangled German was beating in Anikanov's cape, the "tongue", the division's dream for a whole month.

On another occasion, Anikanov, together with Sergeant Marchenko, captured a German captain, while Marchenko was wounded in the leg, and Anikanov had to drag the German and Marchenko together, gently pressing comrade and enemy to each other and fearing to damage both equally.

Tales of the exploits of highly experienced scouts were the main topic of long nightly conversations, they excited the imagination of beginners, nourished in them a proud sense of the exclusivity of their craft. Now, during a period of long inactivity, far from the enemy, people have grown lazy.

After a hearty meal and a sweet puff of shag, Mamochkin expressed a desire to stay in the village for the night and get moonshine. Marchenko said vaguely:

Yes, there is nothing to rush here ... We won’t catch up anyway. The German is doing well.

At that moment the door opened, Travkin came in and, pointing out the window at the hobbled horses, asked the hostess:

Grandma, whose horses are these?

One of the horses, a large bay mare with a white spot on her forehead, belonged to an old woman, the rest belonged to neighbors. Twenty minutes later these neighbors were summoned to the old woman's hut, and Travkin, hurriedly scribbling a receipt, said:

If you like, send one of your guys with us, he will bring the horses back.

The peasants liked this proposal. Each of them knew perfectly well that only thanks to the rapid advance of the Soviet troops, the German did not have time to steal all the cattle and burn the village. They did not create obstacles for Travkin and immediately allocated a shepherd who was supposed to go with the detachment. A sixteen-year-old boy in a sheepskin coat was both proud and frightened by the responsible task entrusted to him. Having untangled the horses and bridled them, and then having drunk from the well, he soon announced that it was possible to move.

A few minutes later, a detachment of cavalry set off at a large trot to the west. Anikanov rode up to Travkin and, looking askance at the boy galloping next to him, quietly asked:

Why don't you get burned, comrade lieutenant, for such a requisition?

Yes, - answered Travkin, after thinking, - he might get burned. But we still catch up with the Germans.

They smiled knowingly at each other.

Driving his horse, Travkin peered into the silent distance of the ancient forests. The wind blew fiercely in his face, and the horses looked like birds. The west lit up with a bloody sunset, and, as if catching up with this sunset, horsemen rushed to the west.

CHAPTER TWO

The headquarters of the division settled down for the night in a vast forest, in the center of the regiments forgotten by a restless sleep. The bonfires were not lit: German planes were annoyingly humming over the forests at high altitude, groping for the passing troops. The sappers sent ahead worked here for half a day and built a beautiful green hut town with straight alleys, clear pointer arrows and neat huts covered with needles. How many such short-lived "amusing" towns were built during the war years by the sappers of the division!

The commander of the sapper company, Lieutenant Bugorkov, was waiting for an appointment with the chief of staff. The lieutenant colonel did not take his eyes off the map. Its green spaces with the position of the division's units marked on them looked very strange. The usual lines drawn in blue pencil and denoting the enemy were not at all. The rear was God knows where. The regiments seemed menacingly alone in the never-ending greenery of the forests.

The forest in which the division stopped for the night had the shape of a question mark. This green question mark seemed to tease Lieutenant Colonel Galiev with the mocking voice of the commander: “Well, how? This is not the North-Western Front, where you sat in your seat for half a war and the German artillery fired at the clock! Maneuvering war, sir!

Galiev, who had not slept for that night, wrapped himself in a cloak. Lifting his eyes at last from the map, he noticed Bugorkov.

What do you need?

Lieutenant Bugorkov, not without pleasure, looked around the excellent hut he had built.

I came to find out where the headquarters will be located tomorrow, comrade lieutenant colonel, ”he answered. I'll send a platoon there at dawn.

He really wanted the division to linger in this forest for at least another day. The cheerful hut town would have been at least a little settled, and at least someone would have praised Bugorkov for this miracle of hut construction. And even before you have time to look back, the brand new huts will be abandoned and the spring wind will begin to host them. Bugorkov was the son and grandson of famous carpenters and masons, the unsatisfied pride of the builder spoke in him.

The Lieutenant Colonel briefly said:

Give me your card.

And he drew a flag on Bugorkov's map - on the edge of some other forest, forty kilometers from the current parking lot. Bugorkov suppressed a sigh and headed for the exit, but at that moment the raincoat covering the entrance parted, and Captain Barashkin, head of intelligence, entered the hut. Lieutenant Colonel Galiev met him very unfriendly:

The division commander is dissatisfied with intelligence. Today we met Lieutenant Travkin with his people. What a sight! Unfilled, overgrown. What are you thinking about?

The lieutenant-colonel was silent for a moment and suddenly shouted out in a desperate voice:

And be kind, captain, tell me at last, where is the enemy?

Lieutenant Bugorkov slipped out of the hut and went to prepare a platoon of sappers for the upcoming performance. He decided to find Travkin along the way in order to warn him about what he had heard. “Let him urgently cut his hair and shave the scouts,” Bugorkov thought benevolently, “otherwise he will have a healthy nahlobuchka.”

Bugorkov loved Travkin, his Volzhanian countryman. A renowned scout, Travkin remained the same quiet and modest young man that he had been at their first meeting. True, they met quite rarely - each had enough of his own official concerns - but it was sometimes pleasant to remember that here, somewhere nearby, a friend and countryman Volodya Travkin, a modest, serious, loyal person, was walking. He walks forever in full view of death, closest to her ...

Bugorkov could not find Travkin. He poked himself into Barashkin's hut, but he was still out of his mind after the scolding he had received, and answered Bugorkov's question with a hail of curses:

God knows where he is! I want to get comments for him ...

Captain Barashkin was famous in the division as foul-mouthed and lazy. Knowing that the authorities treated him badly, and every day expecting that he would be suspended from work, he stopped doing anything at all. Where his scouts were and what they were doing, he did not really know during the entire offensive. He himself rode in a staff truck and "twisted an affair" with the newly arrived new radio operator Katya, a fair-haired, thoughtful soldier girl with beautiful eyes.

Bugorkov left Barashkin and found himself in the very center of the short-lived human nest he had built. Wandering along the straight alleys, he thought that it would be good to finally put an end to this war, go to his native city and do his job there again: build new houses, inhale the sweet smell of planed boards and, climbing the scaffolding, discuss with bearded artisans intricate drawings on rumpled blue.

At dawn, Bugorkov, having put shovels, picks and other tools on the wagon, set off at the head of his sappers.

The chatter of the first birds carried through the forest, which closed over the narrow road of the crowns of old trees. On the sides of the road, in raincoats thrown over their overcoats, sentries who had chilled during the night walked. Trenches were dug along the road and around the parking lot, and sleepy machine gunners were on duty in them at their machine guns. The soldiers slept on the ground on the spruce branches, huddled close to each other. The morning cold woke people, and they rushed to collect cones and branches for fires.

“Here it is, the war,” thought Bugorkov, shivering, “the great homelessness of hundreds and thousands of people.”

After walking ten kilometers, the sappers saw the figures of three horsemen quickly approaching from the west. Bugorkov was alarmed: he knew that there was not a single Red Army soldier ahead. The horsemen galloped, and soon Bugorkov was relieved to recognize Travkin in one of them.

Without getting off his horse, Travkin said:

The Germans are not far away, with artillery and self-propelled guns.

On the map of Bugorkov, he showed the location of the German defense, which passed just along the edge of the forest where Bugorkov was going to build another hut town.

And two German armored cars and a self-propelled gun are standing here, probably in an ambush ... - Finally, Travkin said: - You see ... Anikanov ... was wounded in a skirmish with the Germans.

Anikanov sat awkwardly on his horse, smiling guiltily, as if by negligence he had caused everyone a great deal of trouble.

Bugorkov asked in bewilderment:

What should I do?

It was agreed that the sappers would wait here, Travkin would report to the chief of staff, and then pass Galiev's order to Bugorkov. Travkin lashed a large bay horse with a white spot on its forehead and started galloping again.

In the middle of the hut town, near his "jeep", stood Colonel Serbichenko, regiment commanders, lieutenant colonels and majors gathered around, and a little further away - adjutants and orderlies. Travkin abruptly stopped the horse, dismounted, and, limping after an unusually long ride, reported:

Comrade division commander, the Germans are not far away.

He was surrounded, and he briefly told that German positions were located on the nearby river in the form of a continuous trench. He saw artillery positions and six self-propelled guns there. The trenches are occupied by German infantry. Twenty kilometers away, two armored cars and a self-propelled gun are in ambush.

The divisional commander noted Travkin's data on the map; a slight commotion began; the regimental commanders and staff officers also took out their cards, Lieutenant Colonel Galiev threw his cloak from his shoulders to the ground, suddenly ceasing to feel cold, and the head of the political department went to collect political workers.

So you think the defense is serious? the divisional commander finally asked, drawing the last line with a blue pencil on a map unfolded along the hood of the Jeep.

Yes sir.

And have you seen self-propelled guns?

Yes sir.

And you don't compose troshki? - the colonel unexpectedly concluded his questions, throwing up his greenish-gray narrowed eyes at Travkin.

No, I don’t compose,” Travkin answered.

Don’t be offended,” the division commander said in a conciliatory tone, “I’m asking this to be sure, because I know, Cossacks, that scouts love to lie.

I'm not lying, Travkin repeated.

Somewhere they were already giving the command “to fire”, the forest rustled dully. It was the units that were rising.

The division commander, looking at the map, ordered:

The regiments are in marching order, as before. The vanguard regiment sends forward a reinforced battalion as a forward detachment. Regimental artillery follows with infantry. Scouts and machine gunners are thrown onto the flanks. Having reached a height of 108.1, the advanced regiment is deployed in battle formation. His command post is height 108.1. I am at the western edge of this forest, near the forester's house. Galiev, prepare a combat order. Report to the body. - And suddenly he said quietly: - Look, comrade chiefs! The artillery regiment lagged behind. There are few shells and ammunition. We are at a disadvantage. Let's do our duty honestly.

The officers quickly went about their business, and only the divisional commander, Galiev and Travkin remained at the car. Colonel Serbichenko looked at Travkin and his lathered horse and, grinning, said:

Good goat.

I have Anikanov wounded, - embarrassed, told Colonel Travkin for no reason at all.

The divisional commander did not answer, gave the last orders to Galiyev and left for the regiments.

Staff officers ran around Galiev. He was unrecognizable. Cheerful, noisy, he suddenly became like the mischievous Baku boy he was about thirty years ago. “Galiev smells the German,” they said about him at such moments.

Go to your people! Follow the German and send messengers! he shouted to Travkin.

There is! - Travkin shouted in response and again jumped on his horse.

Meanwhile, the scout who accompanied him handed over Anikanov to the medical instructor and, leading a horse without a rider, joined the lieutenant.

Travkin found Bugorkov in the same place, anxiously waiting. He dismounted, absently drank the vodka offered by Bugorkov, and showed him on the map the location of the division headquarters.

So, the war is starting again, - said Bugorkov and looked into Travkin's serious eyes.

The scouts spurred their horses and galloped towards the unknown.

And the sappers set off, quietly arguing that the fighting would begin again and there would be no end to these battles. There is no end to these fights. Bugorkov said:

Well, guys, now instead of a shalashstroy we will have a dugout.

Travkin soon joined his men, who were waiting for him on a wooded hill, not far from the nameless river, beyond which the Germans had dug in.

Marchenko, who was watching the Germans from the top of the tree, tears and reported to the lieutenant:

These Germans in armored cars and self-propelled guns circled here for half an hour, then they turned and crossed the river, which means they got out to their own. The river is small, I saw it. The water reached the armored cars to the middle.

The scouts crawled to the river and lay down in the bushes. Travkin sent the boy with the horses home.

Drive straight down this road. You won't take all the horses, two will stay with me for another day, I'll send them tomorrow, otherwise there's nothing to send reports on.

Then Travkin crawled up to his people and began to observe the German defense. The trench was dug recently and is not finished yet. It barely reached the shoulders of the Germans running across it. Ahead of the trench is a wire fence with two stakes. The scouts were separated from the Germans by a narrow river overgrown with reeds. A full-length man stood on the parapet of the trench and looked at the eastern shore through binoculars.

Now I will send him to Hitler's mother, - Mamochkin whispered.

Don't be stupid, - said Travkin.

He looked at the German defense, assessing it. Yes, that indistinct gray strip of land is the second trench. The Germans chose a good place for defense - the western coast is much higher than the eastern one and is densely overgrown with forest. The height near the scattered houses of the farm is command, on the map it is indicated by the number 161.3. There are many Germans in the trench. On the eastern outskirts of the farm there is a self-propelled gun.

Travkin suddenly remembered Anikanov, but he remembered somehow casually, vaguely. This is how they remember a passenger who got off the train at night, who was not among the rest for a long time and who disappeared to no one knows where.

Mamochkin whispered:

Look, Comrade Lieutenant. Fritz go on a tour.

About thirty Germans left the forest and moved towards the river. Here they dispersed and, peering warily at the opposite shore, entered the muddy water.

Travkin said to the best shooter of the platoon - Marchenko:

Scare them.

A long burst of machine gun fire followed, fountains bouncing from bullet strikes. The Germans jumped out of the river back to their bank and, looking around fussily and cackling like geese, lay down. There was agitation in the trench, they ran, a guttural command was heard, bullets whistled. The self-propelled cannon, which was standing on the outskirts of the farm, suddenly shook, squealed and fired three shells one after the other. A second later the German guns hit. There were at least a dozen of them, and for three or four minutes they beat on the hillock. The shells furiously blasted the ground, deafening the silent forests with a strange shriek.

The rumble of an artillery raid was heard by the forward detachment of the division - a reinforced battalion. People stopped. The battalion commander, Captain Mushtakov, and the battery commander, Captain Gurevich, froze on their horses. Mushtakov said:

That's what weaned means ... I haven't heard this music for more than a month.

Explosions followed evenly, one after another.

After standing for a minute, the reinforced battalion moved on. At the turn, the soldiers saw a boy in a sheepskin coat, with horses. He sat hunched over on horseback and, with his neck stretched out, listened to the powerful roar of the guns.

The battalion commander, coming abreast of him, asked:

What are you doing here?

Sleep, - the boy said in a frightened whisper. - There, on the rich, the Germans are rich, rich, and the scouts are twelve people ...

CHAPTER THREE

What in military language is called the transition to the defensive, happens like this.

Units deploy and try to break through the enemy front on the move. But people are exhausted by the continuous offensive, there is not enough artillery and ammunition. An attempt to attack is not successful. The infantry remains lying on the wet ground under enemy fire and spring rain interspersed with snow. Telephone operators listen to furious orders and swearing from senior commanders: “Break through! Raise the infantry and overturn the Fritz! After the second unsuccessful attack, the order comes: "Dig in."

The war turns into a huge shrew. Earthworks are carried out at night, illuminated by multi-colored German rockets and the fire of nearby villages lit by German artillery. An intricate labyrinth of animal burrows and minks grows in the ground. Soon the whole area is transformed. This is no longer a wooded bank of a small river overgrown with reeds and algae, but a “front edge” ulcerated with fragments and ruptures, divided into belts, like Dante’s hell, bald, dug up, impersonal and blown by an unearthly wind.

Scouts, sitting at night on the former bank of the river (now called the no man's land), listen to the sound of German axes and the voices of German sappers, who are also strengthening their front line.

Meanwhile, there is no evil without good. Little by little, the rear is pulled up, shells, cartridges, bread, hay, and canned food are brought in on creaking wagons. We finally drove up and stopped somewhere nearby, disguised in the nearby forests, a medical battalion, a field post office, an exchange office, a veterinary infirmary.

End of free trial.

The division, advancing, went deep into the endless forests, and they swallowed it up.

The enemy has disappeared.

The scouts, seeing the divisional commander, stopped.

- Well, - he asked, - lost the enemy, eagles? Where is the enemy, what is he doing?

He recognized Lieutenant Travkin in the scout walking ahead (the division commander remembered all his officers by sight) and shook his head reproachfully:

- And you, Travkin? - And he continued caustically: - A merry war, there is nothing to say - drinking milk in the villages and roaming among the women ... So you will reach Germany and you will not see the enemy with you. And it would be nice, right? he asked unexpectedly cheerfully.

And the scouts stood in silence, shifting from foot to foot. They looked rather miserable.

“Here they are, your eyes and ears,” the division commander said dismissively to the chief of staff and got into the car. "Willis" started.

The scouts stood for another minute, then Travkin slowly moved on, and the rest followed him.

Out of habit, listening to every rustle, Travkin thought about his platoon.

"Hello," said Travkin, "we'll come to you to rest for an hour."

- That's a bandit mother! one of the scouts grumbled.

Sergeant Ivan Anikanov, a calm man with a broad, rustic face and small eyes of great insight, said to her:

- Why are you silent, like a dumb grandmother? She would sit down with us, or something, but tell something.

Sergeant Mamochkin, stooped, thin, nervous, muttered mockingly:

- Well, this Anikanov is a cavalier! He wants to chat with the old woman! ..

“Our lieutenant was thinking,” Anikanov spoke when Travkin left. - As the commander said? Fun war? Drink milk and roam around the women ...

Emmanuil Kazakevich. Star

CHAPTER ONE

The division, advancing, went deep into the endless forests, and they swallowed it up.

The enemy has disappeared.

The scouts, seeing the divisional commander, stopped.

“Well,” he asked, “have you lost your enemy, eagles?” Where is the enemy, what is he doing?

He recognized Lieutenant Travkin in the scout walking ahead (the division commander remembered all his officers by sight) and shook his head reproachfully:

- And you, Travkin? - And he continued caustically: - A merry war, there is nothing to say - to drink milk in the villages and roam around the women ... So you will reach Germany and you will not see the enemy with you. And it would be nice, right? he asked unexpectedly cheerfully.

And the scouts stood in silence, shifting from foot to foot. They looked rather miserable.

“Here they are, your eyes and ears,” the division commander said dismissively to the chief of staff and got into the car. "Willis" started.

The scouts stood for another minute, then Travkin slowly moved on, and the rest followed him.

Out of habit, listening to every rustle, Travkin thought about his platoon.

"Hello," said Travkin, "we'll come to you to rest for an hour."

- That's a bandit mother! one of the scouts grumbled.

The scouts crawled through the cut wire, went through the German trench ... an hour later they went deep into the forest.

Meshchersky and the commander of the sapper company peered intently into the darkness. Every now and then other officers approached them - to find out about those who went on the raid. But the red rocket - the signal "detected, retreat" - did not appear. So they passed.

The forests where the group was walking were teeming with Germans and German equipment. Some German, shining a pocket torch, came close to Travkin, but waking up noticed nothing. He sat down to recover, grunting and sighing.

For a kilometer and a half they crawled almost over the sleeping Germans, at dawn they finally got out of the forest, and something terrible happened at the edge. They literally ran into three sleepless Germans lying in the truck, one of them, accidentally glancing at the edge, was dumbfounded: seven shadows in green robes were walking along the path quite silently.

Travkin was saved by composure. He realized that he couldn't run. They walked past the Germans with an even, unhurried step, entered the grove, quickly ran across this grove and meadow and went deeper into the next wood. After making sure that there were no Germans here, Travkin transmitted the first radiogram.

We decided to move on, adhering to swamps and forests, and at the western edge of the grove we immediately saw a detachment of SS men. Soon the scouts came out to the lake, on the opposite bank of which stood a large house, from which either groans or screams were heard from time to time. A little later, Travkin saw a German leaving the house with a white bandage on his arm and realized that the house served as a hospital. This German was discharged and goes to his unit - no one will look for him.

The German gave valuable testimony. And, despite the fact that he turned out to be a worker, he had to be killed. Now they knew that the SS Viking Panzer Division was concentrating here. Travkin decided, in order not to reveal himself prematurely, not to take "languages" yet. Only a well-informed German is needed, and he will have to be obtained after reconnaissance of the railway station. But prone to dashing Black Sea Mamochkin violated the ban - a hefty SS man kicked him into the forest right at him. When the Hauptscharführer was thrown into the lake, Travkin contacted the "Earth" and handed over everything he had established. From the voices from the "Earth" he realized that there his message was accepted as something unexpected and very important.

Anikanov and Mamochkin took the well-informed German, as they had planned, at the station. The pigeon had died by then. The scouts went back. Brazhnikov died on the way, Semyonov and Anikanov were wounded. The radio station hanging on Bykov's back was flattened by bullets. She saved his life, but she was no longer fit for work.

The detachment was moving, and around it the loop of a huge round-up was already tightening. The reconnaissance detachment of the Viking division, the forward companies of the 342nd Grenadier Division and the rear units of the 131st Infantry Division were raised in pursuit.

The Supreme High Command, having received the information obtained by Travkin, immediately realized that something more serious was hidden behind this: the Germans wanted to avert a breakthrough of our troops to Poland with a counterattack. And the order was given to strengthen the left flank of the front and transfer several units there.

And the good girl Katya, a signalman, who was in love with Travkin, sent call signs day and night:

"Star". "Star". "Star".

No one was waiting, but she was waiting. And no one dared to remove the radio from reception until the offensive began.

Emmanuil Genrikhovich Kazakevich 1913-1962

Star Tale (1946)

Despite the high rates of industrialization, Japan until the Second World War remained a country of average development, in which the national income per capita was approximately 2.5-3 times less than in Western Europe, and 3.5-4 times less. than in the USA. The bombing of Japanese territory, the senseless waste of enormous material and human resources during the war, the defeat and subsequent occupation by the US armed forces plunged the Japanese economy into chaos, into a state of almost complete paralysis, after which a slow recovery that lasted about 10 years began. At the same time, the first post-war years were marked by serious socio-political reforms, which, as has been noted more than once in Marxist studies, in their nature and consequences for Japan turned out to be tantamount to the final stage of the bourgeois-democratic revolution.
The agrarian reform liquidated the landlord class, the most reactionary class in Japanese society. The disarmament and elimination of the samurai military freed the country from the heavy burden of militarism for a long time. Under the conditions of the rapid upsurge of the democratic movement, the bourgeois-parliamentary system was recreated and strengthened, democratic parties, trade unions and other organizations of the democratic opposition were legalized, and the conditions for the struggle of the working people against capitalist exploitation were improved.
Among the post-war reforms, an important role was played by decartelization measures that undermined the strength and influence of the largest Japanese monopolies - the zaibatsu. The original goal of the reform carried out by the American occupation authorities was to neutralize the dangerous rivals and competitors of American capital, but its real consequences went beyond these goals. The reform created a rare situation in the history of monopoly capitalism - the revival and strengthening of competition within the country, which further contributed to economic growth. In addition, Japan, having not yet completed its post-war reconstruction, was forced to enter into a sharp struggle for foreign markets and sources of raw materials, without which its economy cannot exist. The fundamental change in comparison with the past was that this struggle could no longer be waged by military means and that economic competition in the world markets for goods and capital came to the fore. The success of competition was facilitated by the fact that the growth of labor productivity in Japan outpaced the growth of wages, as a result of which exploitation increased, and opportunities for capital accumulation expanded.