Chronicle of the missing bomber
December 17 1939 at about 9.00-9.05, barely dawn, the flight commander 80 bomber bomber regiment senior lieutenant Georgi Vasilyevich Karalkina apparently in haste and urgency flew to the island airport berry in 17 km from Arkhangelsk on the Northern Dvina River. The rush was caused by the army offensive, which began on December 17 - the bomber power was necessary to destroy the Finnish fortifications. The Soviet-Finnish (Winter) War gave the first slip, and the bombers had to destroy the might of the Chukhon pillboxes ...History This one started twelve years ago. Two brother-hunters from Severodvinsk cleverly put their hut-forest over the river Syuzma. And the trick was that for the usual legs of a taiga person, the distance is ugh, but the water barrier is a significant obstacle for which to climb is problematic. Therefore, the hunting huts of the brothers, half a mile from the river bank, were securely hidden by the river and the taiga from an uninvited invasion. It is no secret that now the traditions of forest hospitality and the care of such cozy corners are lost: they burn houses or vilely rob, taking wretched belongings and doing other excremental vileness. Even here such wide Northern Russian swamps for gopoty are not a triumph ...
These places for another fifteen years were considered wild and almost unknown to man. The road to Arkhangelsk-Onega was made straightforward only recently, and the men of the Pomeranian villages of the Summer Coast of the White Sea did not enter here - far away! Primitive taiga - clean and bare, swamped by vegetation, wooded with hills, hilly hills and rivers, broken by impassable wilderness ... Bureloma knocked the traveler off the road, broke animal tracks, filled the glaciers, confusing the trail ... Late in autumn the silence of the deserts, where it is only the taiga devilry and the comic beast - the bear. Here they are full masters.
Brothers-hunters of this wilderness were not afraid, and with guns they walked and walked along the glades to the north. To their huts from the Onega highway there were ten to eleven miles of forest. With light rucksacks — sugar, tea and crackers — they reached their base in Syuzma and continued to scour the unsafe hunting grounds of the primitive Father-North ... We were not familiar with these people until one day the brothers were chasing wood-grouse, did not stumble upon a strange place in the forest.
At first, it seemed to them unusual among the coniferous taiga crown of the abundance of birch birch bark, shone through the prickly density of age-old firs. But coming closer, they saw another ... Then there was a note in the newspaper ... Then we got on the phone, found it and ... set off together towards the tragic secret of 17 December 1939 of the year ...
The road to truth turned out to be longer than the endless mounds of taiga wandering: from a random find to an obelisk on the mass grave of a bomber’s crew. And we went in October 1998 of the year by dark forests, wide swamps, wild fields ... A short daylight day and a tie for a rented vehicle gave a chance for quick reconnaissance of the find and return. The autumn floods of the Syuzma without reliable means of crossing also did not give peace of mind.
A video lover from Severodvinsk, a friend of fellow hunters, who were inclined to see in their find manifestation of unearthly forces and other Uphans. We treated this “desirable and real” issue with understanding, listening to the version of the elderly regarding the bomber crash.
К aviation they had nothing to do with it, but the indisputability in them grew stronger together with our stoic silence in the face of all the feral and feral versions of what happened. It makes little sense to bring them here so as not to overshadow the memory of generally good people. The path to the crash site was difficult. In the swampy swamps, a severe wind walked, smelling of cold and fast snow. In the thickets, the legs suddenly fell into streams hidden by mosses and decrepit windbreaks: the channels were covered with rotten wood flush with forest hummocks. He took two wrong steps - he broke both walkers. A couple of times I slipped and fell into a trap of rotten logs. I couldn’t get up under a heavy backpack on my own - they called me for a bacon. At the top of the taiga hills, choking on icy air, they joked: damn it, we didn’t engage in climbers ... The road was tear and drop: we took our luggage in an adult way, as we used to: minnows, sleeping bags, rubber air mattresses, a tent, a boat, a grub, shovels, probes, replaceable clothes, well, a kilo of 30 was no joke ... Our guide only shouted at it, they say, go so slowly urban, here I am ... I’ve been hanging around his shoulders size with a couple of heads of cabbage. Well, I wanted to show off - go ahead, and we - perl so that the steam fell down over each column. In short, he got it tight from the first steps with his admonitions ... They reached the hut safely. In some places, the old glade of the 50s was only guessed in the dark taiga, so they did not take their eyes off the compass - north, north! The river Suzmu was crossed on a fragile beach air bed. With such self-propelled weapons, we still risked going to distant distances. Already on the way back, when the snow fell, the little boat burst from a temperature difference, but it was already discovered in the midst of a desperate crossing ...
Otherwise, our crossing over small water obstacles occurred less dramatically. Even the boring rain, which we call sowing, could not darken the joyful mood of an early meeting with the taiga secret. We knew that the plane was found - unacked, with crew and documents. True, the hunters had already managed to profit from the cables and small gadgets and didn’t see anything wrong with that: after all, it was unowned ... The closer to the goal, the more cheerful our mood was.
Coming out of the next swamp from a wooded hill, we saw that the conductor gave a hand a sign: to the left! Having walked two hundred meters across the abbey, we plunged into the taut taiga that hid a twisting and deep canyon of the Chukcha forest river in two hundred year old spruces. On its shore through the green flashed white. Fifty more steps ... And - here: the tail of the fallen giant, the extinct stars in the black edging. We have reached. I remember a clear click in my head: edging! this is before the War ... It was canceled after the Khalkhingol confusions of identifications.
Well, how can you not shoot with a turret for joy? 30 rounds per second, 30 meters between flying bullets. The very same forest splash to cut the taiga on the vine! His Highness - ShKAS aviation machine gun in person. He lay in the fracture of the fuselage, which collapsed strictly along the technological joints ...
Inspection of the wreckage and the crash site allowed us to more or less accurately decompose the picture of the tragedy. A further investigation revealed the whole picture in detail. December 17 1939 at about 9.00-9.05, barely dawn, the flight commander 80 bomber bomber regiment senior lieutenant Georgi Vasilyevich Karalkina apparently in haste and urgency flew to the island airport berry in 17 km from Arkhangelsk on the Northern Dvina River. The rush was caused by the army offensive, which began on December 17 - the bomber power was necessary to destroy the Finnish fortifications. Soviet-Finnish or Winter - the war gave the first slip and the bombers were supposed to destroy the might of the Chukhon pillboxes. The need also showed that the weather was disgusting that day: 100 point low cloudiness, gusty wind 10-12 meters per second, air temperature 0 minus 2 degrees Celsius, snow cover reached 10-15 cm, in the evening began expected snowfall ... trash weather, fraught with a whore, the danger of piloting at low altitude, icing in the damp air.
A bomber with four crew members on board flew to Ukhta (now Kalevala) or to the village of Reboly, heading westward for war. In 9.22, on-board time, the plane crashed into a forest ...
Today it is difficult to clearly identify the cause of the death of the aircraft. Apparently, as usual: a set of circumstances that gave a fatal result when coinciding. Difficult meteorological conditions, piloting error, icing, perhaps, technical reasons ... Immutable fact: the SB-2 bomber with engines working on the nominal hit the tops of the forest on the high bank of the taiga river and was broken by trunks in place, like paper. Apart. In the rag. In the rag.
The spread of debris - 30 20 meters, no more. There is no characteristic impact funnel. All left to lie on the surface, doused with gasoline and oil. Broken car did not flash just a miracle. A bomber launched at the 22 plant in Kazan in August 1939 did not hit the war. In search of the missing crew, a squadron of TB-3 bombers from the same 80 BAP was made within two days of 25 sorties. But no trace of the Karalkin aircraft was found ... Four people and the Security Council sunk into the taiga of the Onega Peninsula.
At first glance, the crash site was laconic. It was clear that everyone who was aboard was killed here. But a close examination of the crash site allowed the restoration of the details of the disaster and the sequence of its stages to begin. October day is unbearably short for research. Before dark we should go back to the hut, and after spending the night - get to the highway, so as not to let the driver of the official "loaf" down ... We had to hurry up and inspect the debris scatter, with sporadic excavations, and with a set of trophies. Therefore, without delay, he cut down in the bulk of the wreckage of the cockpit the lamb horns of the wheel. The control cable was tight, the thickened lubricant from sixty years ago was sticking to the saw file ... Pilot Karalkin crumpled the steering wheel from the impact with his body, already flying through the metal of the meat grinder dead ...
I’m a trailblazer community, and then for this helm the whole baldness gnawed at me, and at the same time, for the time being, my habit of hauling from the forest everything that is heavier than air. After two decades, it became clear who dragged and dragged, and who so, played morale ... But each thing I rendered from the Front has its own story, short story, drama and tragedy. I don’t have to rummage in my memory - artifacts are streamlined by this very Memory ...
Parachute arrow radio operator lying in the fault of the fuselage. There they found and its owner. The skeletal remains of a person were covered with foliage and needles, which lay in a red layer on broken bones. Judging by the halved ribs, strangled cervical vertebrae, head pierced and other severe injuries, the gunner-radio operator senior sergeant Yan Grigorievich Komarichev was seriously, and in truth, mortally wounded. In addition, when attacking the gunner-radio operator, the entire technician of the link, flying at the very tail of the bomber - “behind the 16 frame”, also slammed ... On the panel of the rotted and wet parachute of the PL-3 with a crumpled frame, they found a stamp - 1938 year . Rags deployed and hung to dry on the wreckage of the fuselage. By the summer, it must be said, matter had gained a fortress and had become a worthy museum piece. But on that day the parachute looked like a creepy tripe turned inside the rounds of duralumin catacombs.
Those stars that turned out to be on the fragments facing the light were burned out in the sun. And those stars on the fuselage and wings that lay prone, preserved as if they were applied yesterday. And vehemently burned with the earnest scarlet flame of the insignia of the Air Force of the Red Army. Reason refused to believe that 60 years passed after the tragedy in the taiga.
In a white broken first-aid kit box made of plywood, a pair of such indpackets remained intact. They were fresh and bright in appearance, although they were actually under the open sky. Next to the main pile of debris lay a metal three-bladed screw bent into ram horns. So, well and regularly spun at the moment of impact. The force of impact on the forest is most clearly visible from this angle. Fucked - be healthy, no longer cough. Everything lay that way. No detail has been moved. We climb in the rubble, trying to understand the mechanics of the disaster. Chassis skis have already been found ... The angle of the encounter with the taiga for the bomber was irrevocable.
The first minute of contact with these fragments was clearly remembered: immediately, without argument, but very convincingly, a feeling arose - this is not the Great Patriotic War, this is before. A thin layer of green-brown moss on the metal was stained, as if very little time had happened since the tragedy. Around were the skeletons of trees and rotten trunks damaged by an aircraft ram. Inspection of the area showed: the car didn’t draw a little bit on the taiga hill — it turned out to be too high for her, losing height in search of land, in a disastrous icing armor. Further along the flight line the swamp extended ... Most likely, the pilot had no choice. Everything happened in seconds. A heavy bomber jacket crashed into the woods with a flying projectile. This SB of Senior Lieutenant Karalkin became one of the 12 non-combat losses 80 BAP in the Winter War ...
The rain drizzled more insistently than the bear drives through the wild boar forest. Darkness sneaked on trotpaws. To celebrate, after a successful reconnaissance, we ignited the flare: burn clear! The feeling of luck and the joy of an interesting, difficult search were invigorating: the secret of time was a worthy challenge for us. We had to pass this exam with excellent marks in our favorite subject of our life.
The can of condensed milk with sugar in 1939 was exactly the same design as in our burzhuinskoe present. The power of the aircraft NAZ burst from the blow. Hardly a condensed milk was eaten by a bear - everything around was filled with gasoline and oil. The beast did not even touch the corpses ...
Having a little polkovat with a spark, bite into fragments again, trying to find keys and master keys to mysterious catastrophe. Our "semiconductor fufologi" have already begun to explode dashing versions. They say that he flew to Finland on a special mission, three crew members and an agent reconnaissance, but after the departure, an order came to cancel the mission and the aircraft, when they could not return, the fighters shot down ... We silently dug without commenting on the nonsense.
Unbelievable: the debris was fresh, the paint was new, the paper was preserved under the open sky! As if at least half a century have bypassed this angle ...
The second screw was planted in the ground deeper. I had to rock the blade and tear out the hinge with all the aluminum roots. Aircraft instruments snapped up throughout the forest, along with Shkasov's ammunition and plexiglass glazing.
Aircraft hours from a bomber fixed the time of the crash to a minute. This artifact fell into the hands of our semiconductor fufologists and, as time passed, for whom the horse-radish was measured by a Geiger counter. The remnants of phosphorus on the dial, of course, gave cod: fonya! And since fufologists live in the city of nuclear shipbuilders of Severodvinsk, they immediately played a nuclear alarm and surrendered clocks for recycling to Sevmash. That is, consider, thrown in the trash ... To tell these older people in the face of who they really are, I do not have the heart even now.
Petlichki with senior lieutenant's tunic. Forms on board the aircraft were apparently enough - from blue tunics to leather raglans with fur. Bombers, because they are like tankers, they carry a bunch of junk on the plane. Digging, all the while waiting to stumble on the remnants of an accordion ... What ?!
Time hurried. Intelligence was successfully completed. We moved back. Winter came on our heels. As soon as they started off along the glade, two white swans passed quietly and sadly ... Our beach bag from the cold broke and the matter of the crossing almost ended in a swift bathing of our comrade in the icy water of the swift river. Our semiconductors found a piano in the bushes - cameras with boards on which they were usually transported. We swam safely without drowning and without drowning. On that day, the wilderness zazymok swamps, glaze our raw hair to the crunch. But we are happy and proud went to civilization, carrying on him bent shKASy.
We had winter and spring ahead to think hard about where and how to look for the aircraft crew. In the hut, fufologists handed us a flying tablet vtuguy packed with papers. The peasants found it earlier and decided to dry the raw mass at the stove, which as a result simply caked, shriveled together. I barely restrained myself from swearing, just complaining that this was by no means worth it. The documents could be considered lost ... I did not know yet that in my hands was the cherished key to the mystery of a bomber fallen from heaven, the key to the names of the four aviators.
More than half a year passed before the backpacks jumped onto our back again ...
Until now, it was all lyrics. Now it's physics time.
Returning from the reconnaissance to the wreckage of the Security Council, in the long winter evenings we began to ponder what was happening. They laid out the remains of the rifleman in my house on the homespun rug and carefully inspected all the damage. The skeleton on the floor looked pretty wild at home, but the survey did not take long and confirmed that the disaster was fatal for the entire crew — it was impossible to survive. We didn’t assume that we were somewhat mistaken in our initial conclusions, forgetting about the situation when “the living would envy the dead” ...
Suddenly, my colleagues on land also showed interest in the subject of the Security Council. On the one hand, it gave strength and led to success, but on the other hand - to the inconsolable conclusion: dig it yourself and with your team, so you don’t regret anything ...
So, following the results of the reconnaissance, we had the exact location of the SB2 bomber, the remains of one of the crew members, the dried tablet with documents, records and books, a detailed photo and video of the crash site.
The tablet was soaked in a water basin for three days. After their passage, it became clear that the papers survived ...
With a careful analysis of a paper bale that had become softer and smashed to the page-by-page condition, it became clear that we had a tablet of an aviation technician in front of us.
Removed the crust of the tablet that fell apart on the leather straps. He began to gradually divide the brown paper mass, washed from the lumps of humus, into some parts. In the hands were two books - a chrestomathy on the Russian language (the younger commanders before the Second World War handed over the so-called commander's minimum, which included a number of literary works: yes, yes, and Mumu too, please do not laugh!) And some other art general developing book, not related to the topic of aviation. In addition, in the tablet there was a notebook for records, in which the names of the pilots and technicians of the excursion were adjacent to the technical records of the SB aircraft and of the aircraft in general. But the main thing - the number of the regiment was discovered - the 80 bomber air regiment based at Kegostrov and Yagodnik airfields near Arkhangelsk. This dispersion of airfields is not surprising: within the Arkhangelsk air hub, by 1941, there were six full-fledged airfields with dirt and wooden runways ... In addition to these papers, there were some notes on separate sheets that did not give any binding.
The paper, fragile even in a sodden form and sandwiched by roots, had to be exfoliated with careful movements right in the water. Otherwise there was nothing to do. At times I took despair. I left this paper surgery and returned only when I calmed down. The matter gradually began to move on to the next attack of powerlessness. Rotten and rotten paper broke into pathetic pieces, irrevocably ruining the information enclosed in pencil strokes ...
In the picture, which is not related to the period being described, it is clear that it was a charade from a tablet of aircraft equipment of the SS link.
My team patiently waited for the end of this paper fuss. Sometimes we were going to paint a bomber fall scheme trying to find the force vector that threw the crew out of the plane. In emergency cases at TsAMO, we knew that the pilot, when he struck the ground in a dense forest, was sometimes thrown out with the seat on 150 meters. And this alignment brought us into a state of deep and vain reverie. My idea of digging the area where the towline fell on the squares and scratching the taiga all the way provoked healthy skepticism ... Nevertheless, we lived with the hope of finding flyers. Hurried days and drive months. The plane appeared to us in dreams. The names of the crew suddenly surfaced in these dreams, and we tried to see in them a certain sound grain. In short, raving bomber on the full program.
Once, when parsing a fragile notepad for records between pages, I found a blue envelope. A girl Sasha from the Orlov region in September 1939 wrote to her uncle Sergey Ivanovich Kiryushenkov in a Kislovodsk sanatorium. Now we have a clear foothold in the search for the names of the crew members. A little Ariadne named Sasha, from sixty years old, gave us her magic clue. And we went on a thread, pushing off from a clear understanding - look in the archive for traces of the rank of Lieutenant 2 technique, the 80 BAP link technician (who in the Winter War will become order-bearing). Since Igor Ivlev was an ace of archival work at that time in Arkhangelsk, he and his team came to grips with this difficult and troublesome task. We began to plan a big raid to the Security Council at the beginning of autumn, when there was no rain yet, the autumn was golden, and the midges disappeared. But the balance was different.
The work at TsAMO was huge. It turned out that there are no documents on the missing crew in the 80 fund. Traces of the poor fellows quite accidentally showed up in the historical form of the regiment, in the document, which has nothing to do with the accounting for losses. This is such a regimental legend in which the combat path of the unit is fixed. But only. But someone marked with a pencil in the margins: "17.12.1939 missing the crew of Karalkin. The commander of the senior lenant of the link commander Georgy Vasilievich Karalkin, the navigator of the link senior lieutenant Alexander Nikolaevich Safonov, the gunner radio operator junior squadron Yan Grigorievich Komarichyov, technician of the link senior senior Sergey Ivanovich Kiryushenkov ". The date of death of the latter in the alphabetical card file already knew - it was 17.12.1939. It all came together. It remained only to find the bodies of the rest of the crew and the relatives of all four Stalin falcons ... From the documents we understood that there was a war, haste and haste were terrible, they didn’t pay much attention to the little things, the records of the missing were disgusting, everything was subject to terms cost no more than a spent cartridge case.
With the relatives of Kiryushchenkov everything was simple and easy. I did not write long requests for Orlovschina in Navlya (the address was indicated in the letter of Sasha's niece) and just called the Navlinsky military enlistment office. The head of the RVK turned out to be a fighting man, an Afghan major, who later ONLY HOUR brought the relatives of Kiryushchenkov to me in the office and I had the honor to explain to them about the fate of their dearest Sergey Ivanovich ... Everything they knew about him: he went missing in Finnish campaign. And then he returned to his native land with the belated news, a name from a blue envelope, found in a pile of rotten paper among the wreckage of an airplane in the untrodden taiga.
Our anticipation of walking through the golden autumn along the taiga foliage and sun did not come true. Our Arkhangelsk and Severodvinsk search companions decided not to waste time, but to go and dig the plane on the fly. Of course, it was not pleasant to know. Well, do not impose the same copyright on a bunch of duralumin ?! My team was not ready for such a turn - people were busy with their main job, but they accepted the brazen decision stoically: let them be lucky, LOOKING FOR YES WILL HELL! It remained for me to do the most appropriate way: if you can’t prevent it, head it.
And on a hot July day, when the temperature was too high to plus 30 degrees, we arrived at the starting point of the path on the cherished kilometer of the Onega highway. And they spanked along with our semiconductor fufologists to the rubble, swallowing fat mosquitoes. Only together with the paranormals this time clairvoyant also became attached. I was not at all laughing ... Tell yourself - what’s so funny: a bunch of people obsessed with crazy people went to the taiga for bones ... Ospospodi! But all the jokes were still ahead.
Fool I was around. And besides, I loaded my backpack in such a way that I simply didn’t dream of reaching the place. Stupidly rearranged his legs, trying not to fall on the slimy derevyaga. The spirit was enough for twenty minutes to go, then with a western throat it fell “Yermak” to the nearest stump and rested without getting out of the straps. Mosquitoes are itchy with clouds! Things went by midnight, but the white nights are a non-going sun. The temperature still kept at a level plus 30 degrees. Sweat, flowing from the muzzle, squished in waders ... I went to the raid in the style of meat butchery - I carry everything with me, without a discount on distances and conditions. Here and ogrebku. Now I’ll remember that I was dragging loaves of bread with me, not crackers, so I’m not too lazy to twist my finger at my temple. (In the first campaign on the Front under the footbridge, my team also quite sincerely dragged, cracking their backs, a different swag, including stainless steel dishes of an armor-piercing thickness).
By 2 hours of the night we reached the hunt-brothers hunters. The river Suzyma again managed to hit us: it looked like a forest stream of an average spill. Ford crossed it with joy, smelling the lively coolness of cheerful water. Having thrown the backpacks, they immediately bathed and fell asleep in the open air - and why the hell did I drag the tent again?
The next morning, three hours later, we were again at the wreckage of the Security Council. Everything lay just like in the fall, only the taiga rang, wrapped in the sun and green.
In place of the tail bomber. In place of the twisted center section. The screws grind where the inertia of the catastrophe thrust them. Even the coals of the autumn campfire and those leschaks are not spread on tooth powder. The place in the pure sunlight looked somehow different. Here is the fuselage fracture, where our Komaricheva. But where is Kiryushchenkov himself, who has given us a call from eternity? Where is Karalkin and Safonov? The forest was silent, getting off with a cuckoo poklik and bird whistlers.
Soon the most tasty part of the right part of the car’s fall was carefully dug up. But no trace of the crew was found. I circled in front of the aircraft trash with a minak, realizing that the guys were most likely somewhere further along the crash of the car. They should have been thrown out of the bomber, like stones from a sling. Before the rubble, it was pointless to rummage around with rustling - the metal drowned out all hope and launched sapper shovels with braces as a digging tool.
Our clairvoyant made an attempt to detect human remains by paranormal methods. Her passes were filmed by our semiconductor fufologists. An adult woman with spells and howls rolled over the grass, spread her arms, made a shadow on the fence and generally got up the hell out of four people in a terrible place. Phrase like "the spirit of the forest, tell me where are they?" was one of the most portable ... Everything else was pure scam, vile quackery and narcissism, firmly screwed to a convenient occasion for self-promotion. This lady propiarized as politicians never dreamed of - naturally, on the carrion ... And having arranged this ugly performance, my aunt showed her hand in a certain direction: "THEY ARE THERE!" After that, she gathered with the operator in the opposite direction. Like, dig, I pointed out everything to you ... And she pointed in a completely ridiculous place. There was nothing on the mechanics of the scattering of debris and could not be - not a single rivet from the plane threw there ...
The case went to twilight, it was the second hour of the night outside, when all normal people were sleeping. The people of Sledopytsky., Having supped, nestled in the likeness of a log block made of dried fodder covered with a cloth. I circled and circled on the "edge" of debris, monotonously picking one piece after another - duralumin, hardware, cartridges, cables, plex ... Nothing like the remains of people or things close to the body of the aviator.
Hour, another, third ... Monotonous occupation with sweaty headphones on the ears, full of constant ringing. People snoring in the white night. I didn’t go to sleep in principle: I BORN AT LESS. Sometimes, guys, such a frenzy ... Ringing, probe - metal, not that ... Ringing, probe - metal - nonsense ... Ringing, probe - metal - garbage ... And so on for hours. And suddenly - a piece of leather raglan, from which I safely remove the bombing sight!
Raglan, heavy with moisture, was preserved very well - only the threads rotted. In it a practical navigator Safonov and wrapped an expensive device PBP for the duration of the flight to the war. This thing lay in the cabin next to the navigator, and, therefore, he must be somewhere nearby! I continued my monotonous routine circling between the firs, combing the forest meter by meter. The twilight light of the white night was enough to see the field of activity.
Then, at the terrible sound of the minak, he raised the pilot's armored seat! Without a doubt, I was close to solving! Needless to say, what was going on in the soul after so many months of deliberation, searches, doubts, trials, finds and disappointments. I felt like walking through the pagan labyrinth, but the right way in it was guessed not by me, but by the forest power leading me between ignorance and finding truth. At these moments I clearly understood that I myself did not decide anything - I was doing what I had to do when I came to this taiga.
I did not notice the time. He felled dug up mosses, like a bear in a nasty anthill. Half past morning, under the probe, it once again gnawed well. I ran my hands into the moss, pushing apart the fir roots and ... pulled out a piece of rag, then a handful of broken bones, a detail of a parachute frame ... It was a pilot! Bronespinka carried him out of a crashing plane, ramming a tidy, steering wheel, glazing and other metal. The person was disfigured in such a way that not a single whole bone remained in the body, and all the fragments were no longer than a matchbox and even then flattened by the force of the blow. Even the parachute straps burst from him. From the pilot, there is practically nothing left but a bloody mess ...
Half an hour later, feeling for the navigator two meters away from the pilot, I realized that he was also kneaded into the trash. It was not about the skeleton - it was a set of broken bones. Both Karalkin and Safonov lay in 8-10 meters from the plane, knocked out of it when the bomber hit the trees.
I shouted to the guys in the night, "FOUND !!!", sat down on a dead tree and began to cry. Burst through ...
The people woke up, pulled himself up, marveled and persuaded me to not dig more until full light. The matter, in fact, was done: the pilot and navigator were found, and the technician was somewhere here, near the wreckage. He climbed into the log cabin-hut and fell asleep tightly. And when bodily vigor opened my eyelids, the cop was in full swing and I didn’t get some wonderful things. Where are they now - do not ask me, I do not know. I have no relation to them.
Having dug out what was left of the pilot and navigator, they concentrated on the area near the debris and on themselves. Only there could the Kiryushchenkov link technician rest. Soon, the suburbs of the Security Council were carefully plowed up: the moss was rolled up and carried to the side, and the Zemmerka was excavated archaeologically, even if the potatoes were planted! They turned over the engines, moved large parts of the plane, pulled apart duralumin debris ... Nothing. Where are you, Sergey Ivanovich! Get ready for eternal peace, good at hide and seek to play ... In the middle of the business, a mushroom rain began to fall from the sky, loudly rattled angrily a couple of times, but the people were no longer appeased. BREAKED !!! As often happens, the missing man responded to our mental spells. Usually, in such difficult cases, the "offer" works smoothly: they say, come on, go out to the people, it's good to lie here, wait for you at home, otherwise you will remain in the forest mud ...
Sergey Kiryuschenkov was found here at this place, on the side, to the right of the fuselage. When the moss and the layer of rotten leaves were removed from the remains, they realized that the technician of the link after the catastrophe was still alive ...
Near the remains of Kiryushchenkov they found two cans of canned meat opened with a knife, two opened and unwound bandages from individual packets. The man remained alive after the fall of the bomber in the forest. The blow may have been mitigated by the fact that Kiryushchenkov, who was sitting in the tail of the Security Council, where the "passengers" were usually planted, flew into the body of the radio operator-gunner with his body. In any case, the technique had only a broken collarbone and a leg. These are not the injuries that die instantly ... For a while Sergey crawled among the wreckage of the plane filled with fuel and oil, found NAZ, bandaged, ate, waited for help ... The weather was tolerant by winter standards, the evening snow gently covered crash site ...
When Kiryushenkov died, it remains unknown. We found his remains in the rags of a technical jacket on "lightning" lying supine, arms outstretched with a cross. Sergey had a silver watch on his hand ... There is a belief that they stop at the moment of the death of their master. No one will tell about these last minutes of a doomed man lying injured in a wild forest without any hope of help.
Here, in fact, that's all.
Relatives could not be found only at navigator Safonov, a native of Yaroslavl Uglich. And we still do not know what he looked like, who was the first to die in a bomber.
The crew of the bomber was buried in June 2000 of the year at the Vologda cemetery in Arkhangelsk. At first, a wooden cross stood over the mass grave of the aviators, but a year later they erected a stone monument with a blade. Next to the tomb of the SB crew is the Entente cemetery and the Afghan-Chechen memorial. The place is crowded and memorable. In Arkhangelsk, it is called - Memory Square.
The complete data that was possible to establish for the crew of the Security Council from 80 BAP:
KARALKIN Georgy Vasilyevich (aircraft 2 SB). Born: Voroshilovgrad region, the city of Krasny Luch, station Kryndychka, railway, house 14, quarter 5. Senior Lieutenant, crew commander, flight commander, 2 and 80 air squadron of the mixed air regiment. Family: Karalkin Vasily, Ukrainian SSR, Voroshilovograd region, the city of Krasny Luch, Kryndychevka station, railway, house 14, quarter 5.
Archive: RGVA, 34980 Foundation, 5 inventory: 17.12.1939 missing.
Found: October 1998, Arkhangelsk Region, Severodvinsk district, not in the village of Syuzma. He was buried: 22.6.2000 g., Arkhangelsk region., Arkhangelsk, a memorial of soldiers at the Vologda cemetery. Relatives found.
SAFONOV Alexander Nikolaevich (aircraft SB-2). Born: 1913, Yaroslavl region., Uglich rn, B. Lyagolovsky s / s, d.Lyagotoevo (Lyagoshevo). Senior Lieutenant, Navigator, 2, I am an 80 squadron of the mixed air regiment. Family: Safonova Alexandra Pavlovna, Yaroslavl region, Uglichsky rn, B.Lyagolovsky s / s, d.Lyagoshevo (Lyagoshevo).
Archive: RGVA, 34980 Foundation, 5 inventory: 17.12.1939 missing.
Found: October 1998, Arkhangelsk Region, Severodvinsk district, not in the village of Syuzma. He was buried: 22.6.2000 g., Arkhangelsk region., Arkhangelsk, a memorial of soldiers at the Vologda cemetery. Relatives are not established.
KOMARICHEV Yan Grigorievich (aircraft SB-2). Born: Oryol Region., Yelets. Junior commander-in-command, gunner radio operator, 80 mixed air regiment. Family: Grigory Komarichev, Oryol Region, Yelets, Partizansky Lane, xNUMX Village.
Archive: RGVA, 34980 Foundation, 5 inventory: 17.12.1939 missing.
Found: October 1998, Arkhangelsk Region, Severodvinsk district, not in the village of Syuzma. He was buried: 22.6.2000 g., Arkhangelsk region., Arkhangelsk, a memorial of soldiers at the Vologda cemetery. Relatives found.
KIRYUSCHENKOV Sergey Ivanovich (aircraft 2 SB). Born: 1909, Orel Region, Navlinsky district, Altukhovo settlement. Military technician 1 rank, link technician, 80 mixed air regiment.
Archive: RGVA, 34980 Foundation, 5 inventory: 17.12.1939 missing.
Found: October 1998, Arkhangelsk Region, Severodvinsk district, not in the village of Syuzma. He was buried: 22.6.2000 g., Arkhangelsk region., Arkhangelsk, a memorial of soldiers at the Vologda cemetery. Relatives found.
December 17 our team traditionally gathers here, "from the pilots." We bring flowers, pay homage to the guys, drink a box of juice. They used to put bread to the monument and put a stoparik with the People's Commissars (whom the SB crew did not have time to find out), sprinkled with “belomorin”, but now only chocolate. Aviation, after all, is not some kind of tailored footwear ... This day is special for us - it connects us with a common memory of roads, trials, strains, memories of the unforgettable. This year marks the 70 anniversary of the death of "our pilots" ... I would like to put on this solemn and meaningful ottochie. But with the comfort of the ashes of the crew, the question of the wreckage of the aircraft remained open. Their safety was calling for new, already museum-exhibit dares. Something managed to pull in Severodvinsk in a search museum. But the Security Council itself had an evil and unfair share. In 2005, Lespromkhoz’s hands had already begun to be picked up at those places - they were sawing brutally, completely, leaving wooden deserts behind.
Having hired a loaf, I and my friend hurried to take out the unique stars from the wings and sides of the bomber. But already a few kilometers before the plane, it became clear that we were irreparably late.
Chainsaws and rumblers roared in the area. The wild landscape suddenly changed and became unrecognizable. Traces of heavy machinery led to the wreckage, among which lay a cross, fallen by aliens, set up by us in memory of the dead. Loggers rapaciously dismantled the aircraft for scrap. All right it! Having stumbled upon the Security Council, they did not even think to report the finding to the draft registration office ... It seems that they had nothing to think at all.
When the forest master saw us at the base, he decided to teach life for the invasion of the cutting area. I had to "pull such a bug on him" that the man was taken aback and took off his hat. For the first time in many years, I saw in front of me natural barbarians, thoughtless, empty, speaking in Russian, remembering what 9 is in our calendar on May.
And they were not hungry. Forest feeds! But the tail, breaking into pieces, was dragged into the metal, busily collected small fragments in bags, peeled the engines, sent the screws to the smelting ... Rage was cramped in a frantic soul.
We took with us red stars - symbols of the military aviation of our Motherland. Everything that could be carried away, everything that could be done at last for the memory of the missing crew, in memory of our slandered victory in the hard Winter War. Now they stand in my office ...
Recently, at the scene of the fall of the Security Council was one of my comrades. He said: there is no more bomber. Not a bit ...
I am an adult and balanced person who has drunk from the wisdom cups. But one say - eternal memory, and the other - you be damned ...
- Alexey Sukhanovsky, Arkhangelsk
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