Letter tankman
A quarter of a century after the war, a BT tank with a clearly visible tactical number 12 was found ingrown into the ground in a deep forest near Vyazma. The hatches were battened down, there was a gap in the board. When the car was opened, the remains of a junior tank lieutenant were found at the place of the driver. He had a scuffle with one patron and a tablet, and in the tablet he had a map, a photo of his girlfriend and not sent letters.25th of October 1941
Hello, my cooking!
No, we will not meet with you.
Yesterday, at noon, we smashed another Hitler column. The fascist shell struck the side armor and exploded inside. While I was driving the car to the forest, Vasily died. My wound is cruel.
I buried Vasily Orlov in a birch grove. It was light. Vasily died, without having managed to say a single word to me, did not convey anything to his beautiful Zoya and white-haired Masha, who looked like a dandelion in the fluff.
This is how one of the three tankers remained.
In the sunshine I rode into the forest. The night passed in agony, a lot of blood was lost. Now, for some reason, the pain that burns through the whole chest has subsided and is quiet on the soul.
It's a shame that we have not done everything. But we did everything we could. Our comrades will chase the enemy, who should not walk in our fields and forests. I would never have lived this life if it were not for you, Varya. You have always helped me: at Khalkhin Gol and here.
Probably, after all, who loves is kinder to people. Thank you, dear! A person is aging, and the sky is always young, like your eyes, which you can only look at and admire. They will never age, do not fade.
It will take time, people will heal wounds, people will build new cities, grow new gardens. Another life will come, other songs will be sung. But never forget the song about us, about the three tankers.
You will grow beautiful children, you will still love.
And I am happy to leave you with great love for you.
Your Ivan Kolosov
No, we will not meet with you.
Yesterday, at noon, we smashed another Hitler column. The fascist shell struck the side armor and exploded inside. While I was driving the car to the forest, Vasily died. My wound is cruel.
I buried Vasily Orlov in a birch grove. It was light. Vasily died, without having managed to say a single word to me, did not convey anything to his beautiful Zoya and white-haired Masha, who looked like a dandelion in the fluff.
This is how one of the three tankers remained.
In the sunshine I rode into the forest. The night passed in agony, a lot of blood was lost. Now, for some reason, the pain that burns through the whole chest has subsided and is quiet on the soul.
It's a shame that we have not done everything. But we did everything we could. Our comrades will chase the enemy, who should not walk in our fields and forests. I would never have lived this life if it were not for you, Varya. You have always helped me: at Khalkhin Gol and here.
Probably, after all, who loves is kinder to people. Thank you, dear! A person is aging, and the sky is always young, like your eyes, which you can only look at and admire. They will never age, do not fade.
It will take time, people will heal wounds, people will build new cities, grow new gardens. Another life will come, other songs will be sung. But never forget the song about us, about the three tankers.
You will grow beautiful children, you will still love.
And I am happy to leave you with great love for you.
Your Ivan Kolosov
In the Smolensk region, on one of the roads, a Soviet tank with a tail number 12 towers on a pedestal. On this machine, during the first months of the war, Junior Lieutenant Ivan Sidorovich Kolosov fought - a personnel tanker, who began his combat career from Khalkhin Gol.
The crew — commander Ivan Kolosov, mechanic Pavel Rudov, and Vasily Orlov loader — seemed to be the best of the characters of a song about three tank crews that was popular before the war:
Three tankmen, three merry friends
- crew of a combat vehicle ...
The battles with the Nazis were fierce. The enemy for every kilometer of Soviet land paid hundreds of corpses of their soldiers and officers, tens destroyed tanks, guns, machine guns. But the ranks of our fighters also melted. At the beginning of October 1941, eight of our tanks froze at once on the approaches to Vyazma. The tank of Ivan Kolosov was also damaged. Pavel Rudov died, Kolosov himself was shell-shocked. But the enemy was stopped.
With the onset of darkness, it was possible to start the engine, and the tank with the number 12 disappeared into the forest. They collected shells from the wrecked tanks, prepared for a new battle. In the morning we learned that the fascists, having rounded this sector of the front, nevertheless advanced eastward.
What to do? To fight alone? Or throw a wrecked car and make your way to yours? The commander consulted with the loader and decided to squeeze everything possible out of the tank and fight here, already in the rear, until the last shell, to the last drop of fuel.
October 12 tank number 12 escaped from an ambush, suddenly at full speed flew at the enemy convoy and scatter it. On that day, about a hundred Nazis were destroyed.
Then with the battles moved east. On the way, tankers repeatedly attacked the enemy’s columns and carts, and once crushed an “Opel-captain” in which some fascist bosses rode.
The October 24 has come - the day of the last fight. Ivan Kolosov told his bride about him. He had a habit of regularly writing letters to Varé Zhuravleva, who lived in the village of Ivanovka, near Smolensk. She lived before the war ...
In the deaf and remote from the villages, the moor forest once stumbled upon a rusted tank, covered with thick paws of spruce and half gone to the ground. Three dents on the frontal armor, a torn hole on the side, a noticeable number 12. Luke tightly battened down. When the tank was opened, they saw the remains of a man at the arms - that was Ivan Sidorovich Kolosov, with a revolver with one cartridge and a tablet with a card, a photo of his beloved and several letters to it ...
This history on the pages of the newspaper "Pravda" told E. Maximov 23 February 1971 of the year. They found Varvara Petrovna Zhuravlev and handed her letters written by Ivan Sidorovich Kolosov in October 1941.
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