“July 11, 1941, we were escorted to the front. Everything was like everyone else: women cried, men swaggered. Veselchak Ezhikov with a very serious look promised to see off:“ Do not cry, babonki, I'll bring you Hitler in a bag! ” to him, one of the few! Even without the promised souvenir, but returned home.
In the city of Bereznyaki, the Molotov (now Perm) Region announced that they would have to learn from middle-level commanders. - Who does not agree to fail! Several people came out who wanted to go to the front immediately. The remaining for eight months became cadets of the Leningrad Red Banner Military Infantry School named after SM. Kirov.
At the end, depending on success in school, who got one by one, who got two lieutenant dice in his buttonholes. By the way, then we learned that those who were rushing to the front were sent ... to three-month courses for junior lieutenants.
After studying, I received two Kubars and was immediately appointed to the position of commander of a rifle platoon. And soon the regiment commander noted a platoon at the exercises and decided to appoint me as a regimental reconnaissance platoon commander.
So on my shoulders lay responsibility for the fate of fifty scouts and all fellow soldiers.After all, intelligence - the eyes and ears of the regiment. I had to learn again. Most of the subordinates are experienced gunmen. Sergeant Kudapin even had a medal "For Courage", received back in 1939 at Khalkhin Gol.
Front-line life began in June forty-second. Then, in the regiment there was a story that became a bitter lesson for everyone. My school mate, twenty-two-year-old deputy. the chief of staff for intelligence, having received vodka for the soldiers in the regiment, pretty drunk himself. He grabbed someone else's harmonica from a company of machine gunners, mounted his horse, and went to the scouts.
The company went after him after him. The accordion thief frightened the pursuer with a pistol shot. On the run, without aiming. But, according to the law of meanness, fell into his hand. And then, huddled in the dugout, wounded in the stomach of the regimental adjutant, his friend, who tried to take away his weapon.
According to the verdict of the tribunal, the perpetrator was shot. I, and so not a big fan of vodka, after such a disaster in general could not look at it. Platoon fighters gladly relieved the commander of his Narkomovskys ..
The platoon received baptism of fire on the Don, between the villages of Kazan and Migulinskaya. We got the task to cross over to the enemy shore, observe what the Germans are doing and try to capture the "language".Having sailed over the Don at night and hiding by the road, they fixed that the Germans were carrying logs, obviously preparing the crossing. We waited a long time for the opportunity to grab a fritz gape, but it didn't work out.
According to the law of intelligence, they returned by another route. And heard in the silence of the night "Halt!" ... Hit machine gun. We responded with fire. Suddenly, from the other side, someone shouted in Russian: "Wait, do not shoot!". Everyone froze, did they stumble upon their own?
But the rockets took off, illuminating everything around and pressing to the ground like partridges. The machine gun began to water again in bursts. I remembered well how the bullets snapped and how the simple thought oholonula: “Now I'm chicking in the forehead - and hello!”.
He gave the command to depart. When they gathered at the appointed place, one of the comrades was not counted. When he returned, he reported to the chief of intelligence regiment. The conversation was short: "Go search. The intelligence does not give up."
The next night again went through the Don. And they heard someone swimming towards. It turned out - the missing fighter. In the confusion of the night battle, he lost his orientation. But he realized to crawl away from the place that the Germans were combing in the morning, and wait out the day, hiding in high rye. I have a mountain from my shoulders.
Until December forty-two, we went for Don, "as if to work," from night to night. But each exit was unique. Once stumbled upon a telephone wire. Cut, ambushed. Luck smiled: a lone signalman appeared, however, an unusually large one. I almost scattered us.
He kicked until the fighter Sarajev, also a strong man, a great fan of wrestling, did not crack him with a grenade on the head. Dragged this scare, puffing and cursing to himself. One thing pleased: telecom operators - the people are very knowledgeable. And when they dragged to their own, they discovered that the German was already dead. Sarajev justified: "Yes, I did it lightly!". What is there ...
In another way I managed to steal the German sentry. He managed to shout. The Germans in the dugout near the alarmed, we threw grenades at them and hastily dragged the "tongue" to the river. He was quietly silent, but suddenly he was huddled in one area, he started screaming.
They listened: it seems like "Minen! Minen!". It turned out that they managed to climb over a minefield ... We got to the regiment. We were praised, and right there: "We need a" control "Fritz. Who knows, this one will lie ...".
It happened differently. It seems to be successfully passed into the enemy rear, took refuge on the outskirts of the forest and tracked down the German working team, the whole department.They lay, waiting for any of them to leave the forest. But, suddenly an alarm arose, we were bombarded with a sighting. True, he managed to escape, escaping with a slight wound of one fighter. And where the bobble happened - go and find out!
A resident of one of the frontline villages crossed over from the coast occupied by the enemy. He told that in their area policemen from local ones are especially outraged. We were ordered to go to the village and destroy one of the most cruel traitors.
The task was not easy, I had to go to the deep enemy rear. But, having reached the place, we learned that the policeman was not there. Either something has frightened him, or he has left in his hoolish affairs. This time, lucky Judas.
And soon the regiment conducted reconnaissance in force. It was necessary to draw off the forces that the Germans could transfer to break the Stalingrad boiler. And my eagles, who had thoroughly studied the German positions, immediately captured twelve prisoners in the dugout, having received for this an oral thanks to the regiment commander
They covered each other not only in battle, the fighter Nikolaenko served in the platoon, who at the beginning of the war was surrounded. Suddenly the order: to remove all "okruntsev" from intelligence. Just in case...An exception only for communists and Komsomol members. Scouts gathered, they thought. The guy is good, reliable. Admitted to the Komsomol, issued a protocol retroactively. And never later regretted their decision. In the offensive, they always went ahead, at least half an hour ahead of the main forces.
In winter, when the snow fell, we went skiing. And, somehow, rolling down the hill, they almost drove straight into the Fritz’s arms. After a hectic shootout, they flew back to the top, almost faster than they went down.
Once, an illumination flare stuck in the snow near the head itself. I lay flat near this firework and felt like a specially highlighted target in the dash. But it turned out the stray was a rocket. Did not notice.
For the time being, the platoon was lucky. Behind the front line did not lose anyone. There was only one case: "at home", in the location of the regiment a scout came out of the dugout to smoke. For sin, a shell hit close by, a fragment in the head took out a soldier ...
But that misfortune was balanced by fate. In the attack, the main part of the platoon spent the night in a large hut. In the morning they just got together, moved away from the place of the night, as a projectile flew in - and there was no hut, only a huge funnel began to smoke.
On February 9, 1943, under the city of Slavyansk, already on the territory of Ukraine, a platoon occupied the territory of a brick factory. From the cold wind and crazy death, they took refuge in huge kilns with thick brick vaults. With Sergeant Kudapin, I went to set up posts so that the Germans would not be taken by surprise.
And in time. A German tank headed for the plant, apparently also for reconnaissance. One tanker leaned out of the hatch, someone sent an automatic burst into it. Luke slammed shut, and the tank hurried away. Started shelling. I had to run back to the furnaces.
And at that moment behind the gap hit. I was thrown by a blast wave, flew about five meters. Hit the frozen ground. At first there was a feeling that the legs were lost. I tried to turn my head, look around. Here fighters ran up, took to a safe place. In the muscle of the left thigh - a huge hole, you can stick your fist. In the left hand, too, the pain grew, the sleeve was wet from blood.
- As a sergeant ?.
One little shard ... But definitely in the temple.
They operated on me at the frontline hospital in Millerovo. Despite the terrible appearance, the wound in the leg was less dangerous, the bone did not hurt. But the hand ...Shot steel so crushed the bones just above the elbow bend that their pieces then went out for eight years. A few more small fragments hit in the back. "- From the memoirs of Lieutenant of the 195th Division Div. I. Fadeev.
PS: According to the state 04/401 of April 5, 1941, a regimental intelligence platoon was headed by a platoon commander with the rank of lieutenant and political instructor; in the platoon there were 5 non-commissioned officers and 46 privates. The platoon was armed with 4 pistols, 14 submachine guns, 2 rifles, 30 self-loading rifles, 4 light machine guns; means of transport platoon was not supposed to.