Military Review

Girl, girl, woman mother

12
Girl, girl, woman mother



These three tiny stories, completely different in style and content, I dedicate to women. These three stories I heard at different times and from different people. The single unifying core in them is the female share, a silver thread firmly connecting the male relationship.

The basis of Lieutenant Colonel Vladimir Nikolaevich

Army service for lieutenant colonel Vladimir Nikolayevich Pukhov will always remain a great school of courage and heroism. He comes from a family of sailors. His father, Nikolai Nikiforovich, is a Soviet sailor of the "Stalin hardening". Mom, Nadezhda Ivanovna, is a senior sailor. Vladimir's parents were married in the army - the hero-city of Sevastopol. Then they returned "to the citizen" and went to explore the oil fields in the Far East, where Vladimir was born. Here the son went to the 1 class. As Vladimir admits, at school he was a frequent visitor to the head teacher, who constantly raised him. After graduating from 8 classes, he entered the Salsk Agricultural Technical School, where he studied for only six months. He returned home and got a job as a turner student at the Salsk Construction Works. Here he realized how difficult it is, how bread is earned, matured in a working-class family, and decided to resume his studies. Entered the Salsk vocational school-75 and graduated with good marks.

Serving in the army Volodya dreamed of since childhood. He was inspired by the feat of the Afghans, about whom they wrote little, but they were reluctant to tell something themselves after returning from that war.

- In November, 1991, I came to the military enlistment office and asked to join the army. In November of the same year he graduated from the paratroopers' courses in the city of Novocherkassk. In this school, we jumped from a plane with parachutes, engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

And December 16 of the same year, Vladimir was drafted into the ranks of the Soviet Army. I got into the internal troops, served in the Komi SSR.

“Hazing flourished in the army, but we had order in the company,” he continues. - The first time I applied for a military school in 1992, I wanted to become an officer and continue military service. He accidentally broke his arm and entered the following year only at the Vladikavkaz Higher Military School of the Red Banner Command School. CM. Kirov. Our training center was located five kilometers from the Ingush border in the village of Komgaron, where we underwent tactical training and learned how to perform combat missions.



I met my future wife Lena when I was on vacation, and a year later, 17 February 1998, we got married. My wife stayed at home, and I left to take exams. Before the exam on the theory of state and law, I was handed a telegram in which it was written that we had a daughter. Joy knew no bounds. When he graduated from college, he asked to serve in Makhachkala, was the commander of a platoon of 1 battalion 102 brigade. First from a friend, then allocated a room in a hotel. Based in the fall of 1998, he moved his family to Makhachkala. The wife was engaged in the child and bothered on the house. Alyonushka arranged her life in such a way that I came home, and my soul was resting from the army's tense everyday life. Army service is not only building on the parade ground. Work had to be done on rescuing people, parsing debris after explosions. And to participate in combat operations.



- At the end of July, 1999 sent his pregnant wife and daughter home. She did not want to leave. A week later, we were alerted and sent by helicopter to Dagestan in the Tsumadinsky district. We flew in a medical helicopter, and behind us flew a combat helicopter with paratroopers, and it turned out that we flew, and the "turntable" with paratroopers in the air fired at. They sat down in Botlikh, and they were moving us from there to the Tsumadinsky district, ”recalls the military operations Vladimir. - After us, in the same place, a military helicopter lands, and they again fire the paratroopers. Khattaby took us into the ring. A fight ensued, several fighters died. In the village of Agvali located on an abandoned border post. Here the soldiers equipped themselves with space and took up combat positions for the battle with the terrorists. It was getting dark. A UAZ vehicle and a truck in which militants were driving approached the outpost. Ensign Bertsinayev and two policemen stood on patrol near the road, they stopped these cars, a shootout began.

The servicemen took up combat positions and took all the fire on themselves, letting the main unit on the frontier post turn around and take the fight. In this battle, killed three of our guys. All heroism, victory is the merit of the soldiers, soldiers and sergeants.

Then there was a service in Astrakhan, Kamensk-Shakhtinsk, and then I was transferred to Chechnya - the city of Grozny.

For all the time the service received two contusions. My wife was very worried about me, the telephone connection with me was unavailable, and Lena came to me. Wherever I served, she always followed me. It so happened that once the commandant called my wife and me and said: “You have a very courageous wife. Not every woman will decide at such a time to come to her husband's hot spot for service. ” For all the years of my service, I am very grateful to my Lena, it was she who always supported me.

Girl Tonya from the farm Lipov Kust

Our young people often do not even suspect what trials have befallen the older generation - already their great-grandfathers, great-grandmothers, who went through grave trials during the Great Patriotic War, what incredible courage and resilience were shown not only by warriors, but also by women, young boys and girls , old men. Today, they are so old and frail, in need of support and care. And then on the battlefield and on the labor front, they defended their homeland from the enemy.

Antonina Ivanovna Medvedeva's family, then just girls Tony, lived happily in the farm Lipov Kust of the Verkhnedonsky district before the war. They grew up, children went to school. My father worked as head of the horse farm and was very fond of his work. In 1939, as a forerunner of production, he was delegated to the Exhibition of Achievements of the National Economy in Moscow, where he was rewarded for his work with a warm quilt. This blanket later, after the war, will be a good dowry for Tony’s daughter when she gets married.

In the meantime, Tonya, who was not able to let her mother go far away even to study, after seven classes went to work at the farm. It was a registrar, calf house. No one else knew what tests were waiting for them soon. Tonya and her friends went to the forest for strawberries that day, and when they came home, the mother, who had returned from the Kazan village, reported tragic news - the war began. Since then, the life of everyone - an adult, old and small - has been subordinated to one thing: the protection of the motherland, of his home. Men are drafted into the army. Women, young girls and boys, old men replaced them in collective farm production.

“Devchatko, it is necessary!” - the youngsters heard the pitiful request-order of the old man who was in charge of the farm. And Tonya with her friends on oxen in old clothes, at the risk of freezing in the steppes, frosting their faces, without complaint, because “they had to,” were sent to the snowstorm whirling to rickshaws, loaded the arba and delivered to the farm feed cattle

In the summer of 1942, collective farm cattle were ordered to be evacuated inland. Again, young people were involved, as the most mobile and enduring force. Guys on horses drove cows and young animals “for Hopper”. The girls rode on carts, carried simple supplies and two live pigs for food.

For two months in the steppes beyond Khoprom, they lived in huts and grazed cattle. Because it was necessary. In January, 1942 of the year, Tony's father went to the front and never returned. In the summer, the enemy, rushing to Stalingrad, took the right bank of the Don.

The bombing of Kazan and coastal farms began. Residents from the front line were evacuated. Mom Tony went to Shumilinskaya village with her children to go through the trouble.

In the evacuation in Shumilinka military training began to teach girls. Tonya, along with others, learned to fire a rifle, guarded German prisoners held in a stanitsa club, and took part in exercises to neutralize enemy troops.

And after the military training in Kazan, some girls were called up to serve in the army.

Boys and girls from the entire region in the Pridonskie farms of Bazkovskiy and Zaikinskiy who were on the defense line dug trenches in the winter cold, chipping away frozen clods of earth in the winter cold, threw them up with submersible shovels. Because it was necessary. It is necessary for our victory.

When the front went east, Tonya began to work on a collective farm farm again.
It was 1944 year, it was a hard time. From her father's pants, mother sewed Tone a skirt and gathered her daughter to study. A year later, Tonya received a degree in animal science, returned to her district and became a family breadwinner. After all, she as a specialist received a salary of as much 110 rubles! The collective farmers then charged workdays.

Soon the young specialist went on increasing: the chief zootechnician of the regional department of agriculture A.Artyomova and the chief veterinarian O.V. Voronin recommended Antonin to work as a zootechnician in the region.

Before moving to the district center in the life of Tony, there was another important event. After the victory, men began to return from the war. Here Tonya met her fate, the war veteran Semyon Medvedev, with whom they lived together, according to Antonina Ivanovna, exactly 60 years and three and a half days. The family had a daughter and son. Now four grandchildren of Antonina Ivanovna and Semyon Mikhailovich have become adults, four great-grandchildren have grown up.



Found a photo!

And finally, the third story about the female lobe. True, I already wrote about Grandma Klasch from the farm Mrykhovsky, who gave the retoucher for processing photos of her only husband. But I wanted to alter a bit differently the sad end of this story.

For twenty minutes, Baba Klasha traveled all over the village on her old bicycle, but she did not find the fellow photographer. And here he was, and there, and here, and there the red "Zaporozhets" was seen, and where he went, who knows. It was getting dark when she returned home. She did not find a photographer, he was no longer there. I rode the road over the forest, now birch, then pine, my heart was so heavy, even to cry. For some reason it seemed to her that the boy-photographer had lost a card to Grishin.

Grisha took a picture of himself, leaving the hospital, before going home, and since then for so many years the card has hung in the hut, framed under glass. She took care of her like the pupil of an eye, and suddenly she was so stupid: she gave into the wrong hands!

The old red-tailed rooster, having flown up on the table near the porch, where a big basin was upturned upside down, was filling up the corncob lying on the table.

She was filled with a rooster, pushing him to the ground, lifted the pelvis, under which she left the key to the hut, and was surprised, not knowing where the newspaper came from under the pelvis.

She removed the newspaper and was stunned: on the oilcloth lay a color portrait in a light cardboard frame, on top was Grisha's card, some note, and the key on it.

She suddenly began to fuss. She grabbed a portrait and a card with a note, carried it to the door. But then she promptly returned, put the portrait on the table, grabbed the key. And when rushing around like this, she kept saying all the time:

- Grinya, Grisha, Grishka my. Why did I sin on the boy?

She brought the portrait into the room. She pulled the handkerchief off her head, led them over the cellophane film covering the portrait, put it on the pile of pillows on the bed. She departed and stood looking at her husband. And he looked at her: young, thin, not strong after being wounded, in the very pillow she was trying on, with the medal “For Courage” on her chest. And then it was as if someone had pushed her hard in the back to the bed. She fell to her knees in front of the portrait and screamed for the whole hut:

- Oh, Grishechka you are my dear, you are my dear husband! Why did you get killed, poor? Oh, my grief, grief, my bitter bitterness!

While lamenting and weeping, she did not hear how a car drove up to the house, how the doors slammed in the car and how the son Sergey entered. He entered the room and, at once understanding of why mother was being killed in this way, began to pick her up from the floor: “Mama, little dove, calm down. Is it possible? You do not regret yourself. Well, there will be. Cry, and that's enough. "

She fell silent, ashamed that her son had found her the way he had never seen. He took her to a wooden couch, sat her in a corner, found a bottle of valerian in a cupboard, brought water from a kitchen from a kitchen, dripped valerian, and gave her a drink. He sat down beside her, wiped tears from his wrinkles from his face, stroked her gray head, asked:

- Calmed down a little, mom?

- There is a note on the table. Honor, Serge.

“Grandma Nazarchuk,” he read, “leave a portrait of your grandson. Send ten rubles to the city photo studio. ”

“What grandson?” - she was surprised.

Sergey lightly embraced her. Grinning, he said:

- You yourself say, mom, that I resemble my father, only the old one already. And our father, you see, remained young. The photographer thought he was your grandson.

“And that's true,” she agreed with her son. - Very young. Twenty-four years old total.

She was sitting in the corner of the couch, an old, with her shoulders bowed, a peasant woman from her grandfathers and great-great-grandfathers, who had worked in her time for ten good men, and was silently looking at her husband's portrait. Her face was sorrowful, and in the eyes shone tenderness. Nearby, hugging her by the shoulders, sat her beautiful son, a strong, broad-shouldered man in his prime and years old, no longer a peasant, a peasant who lived in peasant blood, and also silently, just studying, looked at the portrait of his father whom he had never seen alive.

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12 comments
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  1. Volga Cossack
    Volga Cossack 30 March 2016 06: 48
    +9
    Thank you Polina! Your Articles Intuitive !!!! CHEAPER !!! Good to you Girls of ours!
  2. parusnik
    parusnik 30 March 2016 07: 23
    +5
    Thank you, Polina .. a story about simple things ..
    1. siberalt
      siberalt 30 March 2016 11: 50
      +3
      "Silver chains" are everywhere, where women are among men. Almost everyone has their own example. It seems that the author transferred her experience into the image created by the director or took experience from it. This is how the world works. And thanks for the heart-moving article! We understand you.
  3. Mangel olys
    Mangel olys 30 March 2016 08: 29
    +5
    Painfully familiar events from my army life. What would we do without you, fighting friends. Thanks Pauline for the article.
  4. Pvi1206
    Pvi1206 30 March 2016 10: 25
    +4
    In modern Russia, the upbringing of children is hindered by TV, corrupting the body and soul of the younger generation.
    Until we clean it, good luck for us not to see in this field ...
    1. KRIG55
      KRIG55 30 March 2016 17: 21
      +2
      I would also add idiotic computer games and smartphones with tablets.
  5. EvgNik
    EvgNik 30 March 2016 13: 48
    +2
    Fates, fates ... Previously, the boys gathered and listened to how the old people remember the past. Now there is none. And young people are more and more with the Internet, or their companies. It's not interesting for them to listen to how they used to live. Not all, of course, not all.
    Thanks Pauline.
  6. Signaller
    Signaller 30 March 2016 16: 24
    +2
    Good wives know from a distance what happened and how the husband is doing. I don't know how, but probably telepathy. As it jumped for the first time from a parachute, jumped. All tip-top. Somewhere at 13-30. Then I come home, she is calm. Asks what time he jumped ??? Well I'm in this .... in .... She adds 13-30 .... Where from ???? And you say there is no telepathy. A good wife knows everything about her husband. And when he goes into battle and when he walks "to the left". ALL..
  7. Bredovich705
    Bredovich705 31 March 2016 00: 34
    +1
    Thank you from the bottom of my heart, I myself did not notice a tear on my cheek! Touched!
  8. cedar
    cedar 31 March 2016 12: 40
    +3
    Konstantin Simonov.

    "Open letter"


    I have to inform you,
    What did not reach the addressee
    The letter that the box is omitted
    You were not ashamed once.

    Your husband did not receive a letter,
    He was not wounded by a vulgar word,
    He did not flinch, he did not go insane,
    Do not curse everything that was in the past.

    When he raised fighters
    In the attack at the ruins of the station,
    Dumb rudeness of your words
    He, fortunately, did not torment.

    When he walked hard,
    Drawing a bloody rag wound,
    The letter from you still went on,
    Still, fortunately, it was early.

    When he fell on the stones
    And death cut off the breath,
    He still did not receive,
    Fortunately, your message.

    I can inform you that,
    That, wrapped in a raincoat,
    We are at night in the public garden
    He was buried after the fight.

    There is a star out of tin there
    And next to the poplar - for signs ...
    But however, I forgot that you,
    Probably, it does not matter.

    A letter was brought to us in the morning ...
    He, after the death of the addressee,
    Between ourselves we read aloud -
    Forgive us, soldiers.

    Perhaps, the memory is short
    You. By the common desire,
    On behalf of the whole regiment
    I will remind you of the contents.

    You wrote that for a year,
    How do you know the new husband.
    And the old one, if he comes,
    You will still be unnecessary.

    That you do not know the trouble,
    Live well. And by the way,
    Now you need no more
    Not in the lieutenant's certificate.

    To the letter he did not expect from you
    And you would not bother again ...
    That's it: "did not bother" ...
    You searched the words better.

    And that's all. And nothing more.
    We listed them patiently,
    All those words that are for him
    You have found the hour in your soul.

    "Do not bother." "Husband". "Certificate"...
    But where did you lose your soul?
    He was a soldier, a soldier!
    After all, we died for you with him.

    I do not want to be a judge,
    Not all partakes win,
    Not everyone is able to love a century, -
    Unfortunately, everything happens in life.
  9. cedar
    cedar 31 March 2016 12: 47
    +1
    But how could you, I don’t understand
    Become, without fear, the cause of death,
    So suddenly indifferent to the plague
    Send us an envelope to the front.

    Well, let's not love,
    Let it be no longer necessary to you,
    Let live you will be with another,
    God be with him, there with the husband, not with the husband.

    But after all the soldier is not guilty
    In the fact that he does not know leave,
    That the third year in a row,
    Defending you, it bothers you.

    Well, you could not write
    Let bitter words, but noble.
    They didn’t find them in their soul -
    So would take anywhere.

    In our homeland, fortunately, there is
    Many women's souls are high,
    They would honor you -
    You wrote these lines;

    They would have found words for you,
    To ease the anguish of others.
    From us they bow down to the earth,
    Bowing for their souls is great.

    It's not for you, but for women,
    From us, isolated war,
    We want to write about you,
    Let them know - you are to blame

    That their husbands are at the front, here,
    Sometimes in the soul struggling with himself,
    With involuntary anxiety await
    From the house of letters before the fight.

    We did not read your good,
    Now we are secretly tormented by bitterness:
    But what if you were the only one who could,
    Suddenly, someone else will receive?

    At the judgment of their distant wives
    We'll send you. You slandered
    On them. You doubt them
    We were given a reason for a moment.

    Let them put you at fault,
    What a bird you hid,
    What kind of woman, wife,
    They've given themselves away so long.


    And your ex-husband - he is killed.
    All is well. Live with the new.
    The dead man will not offend you
    The letter has long been an unnecessary word.

    Live without fear of guilt,
    He will not write, he will not answer
    And returning to the city from the war,
    With the other you do not meet with your arm.

    Only one thing to forgive
    You will have to have it - because
    Probably, with a month to bring
    You will also receive mail letters.

    Nothing to do here -
    The letter is slower than the bullet.
    To you letters in September will come,
    And he was killed in July.

    About you there is every line,
    You really dislike it,
    So I'm on behalf of the regiment
    I take his words back.

    Accept at the end of us
    Our contempt is goodbye.
    Disrespecting you
    The late fellow soldiers.
  10. cedar
    cedar 31 March 2016 13: 47
    +3
    Be sure to read a short story by Alexei Tolstoy "Russian character" http://www.litra.ru/fullwork/get/woid/00706671226308189270

    This story shows the very essence of the war of a Russian soldier with an enemy, which he wages either defending or liberating the Motherland - Mother!
    Mother Woman, and the stubbornness of the soldiers of the defenders of the Motherland, family and loved ones depends on how Russian women support themselves
    During World War II, German doctors examined Soviet girls stolen in Germany. Based on the survey, Hitler was presented with a report saying that 90% of girls are virgins! In conclusion, it was said that the war must be stopped in view of the high moral potential of the Soviet people!
    It is clear why today, the Western, demonic Kodla with such frenzy has piled on a woman, on a mother, on a family, on girls and girls. Corrupting and tearing down a woman, they knock out support from under the feet of Russian men. Who, until the last breath, will protect whores affected by anesthesia, sexual enlightenment, homosexual and other perversions?
    The enemy of Russia and the human race reckon on this!