Igor Gradov

"A good German is a dead German." alien war

Part one

German lieutenant's watch

M the little alchik was selling watches near the village store. « A typical village kid, ”Maxim thought. Ripped jeans, faded T-shirt, barefoot sandals. Only thin, the ribs stick out.

Max came to the grocery store - his wife left with her daughter for a few days in the city, and he did not like to cook. And he couldn't, to be honest. So I looked into the local outlet to buy something edible. Canned food, say, sausage, beer. Enough for the first time, and then the wife will return. She will show her daughter to the doctor - and immediately back to the dacha. To fresh air, fresh milk and healthy (straight from the garden!) Vegetables ...

There were no people in the store - it was midday, summer residents (more precisely, summer residents) had already stocked up, and the locals would come in the late afternoon, after work. Behind the counter, a portly saleswoman was lonely bored.

The aunt lazily fanned herself with a newspaper and looked with displeasure at the only buyer - what is she digging for? Maxim could not choose anything for a long time. The sausage in the window looked quite appetizing, but how old is it really? I don’t want to run to the toilet all night ... Finally, he decided:

- Give me, please, a couple of cans of stew, a white loaf and a pound of smoked sausage. And a big bottle of water.

The saleswoman unstuck from the counter and slowly swam to the scales. A minute later, Maxim went out onto the porch, behind him was a backpack with groceries. He did not take beer - in such heat it is better to do without.

He looked around - almost four kilometers to the dacha, but there was no one on the square. This means that you will have to dust yourself home on foot, you will not find a ride in this wilderness. The village of Broshki was in the middle of nowhere - Smolensk region. Far from Moscow - half a day by car to cut, the nearest city is Gagarin, the former Gzhatsk, a little further - Vyazma, to the north - Rzhev.

But there were some advantages in this - wonderful nature, fresh air, a cool river Gzhat with excellent fishing. And most importantly, there are practically no Muscovites, you can take a break from the intrusive and noisy metropolitan neighbors. So you want after the vain, twitchy, nervous Moscow of rural peace and quiet ...

The house in Broshki was inherited by his wife from her grandfather - he was born and raised in it. Marinka's grandfather, Ivan Belousov, worked all his life at the local collective farm and was buried in a cemetery outside the outskirts. Almost all of his family died during the war, and he himself, a fifteen-year-old boy, fled to the front and fought in these places. He was seriously wounded, shell-shocked, but after the hospital he returned to duty and continued to fight, ending the war already somewhere in Germany.

Honored man, front-line soldier, veteran. He enjoyed universal respect and honor, although he worked as a simple tractor driver. He raised children, raised grandchildren ... But after his death, and especially after the death of his wife, the woman Nyura, the relatives did not want to continue the village life and dispersed in all directions. Most moved to neighboring Vyazma, and the old house became useless to anyone. It was unprofitable to sell it - it was too far from Moscow, which is why it costs a penny.

So he stood, forgotten by everyone (live - I don’t want to), until Marina once invited Max to spend a vacation in it. At first he refused - wild wilderness, what to do there, but then gave up - the recently born Masha needed fresh air and a healthy garden and vegetable diet.

Let's go, put the house in relative order, lived a little. And unexpectedly, Max liked it - a calm, unhurried village life, a minimum of worries and unrest (what with his nervous work!), Daytime swimming in Gzhat and fishing (which he was a great hunter of) in the evening dawn ...

The next summer, he himself invited Marina to move to Broshki and spend the whole summer. Pleasant, useful business, and also very cheap: vegetables and berries cost a penny in the village, and there were practically no other expenses. Products were brought mainly from Moscow, and what was missing was purchased from a local farm. True, the store was located in the village of Pobednoe, which is five kilometers from Broshki, but by car - only ten minutes along a country road. Or half an hour under its own power straight through the collective farm field and the neighboring forest. In general, both Max and Marina, and, most importantly, Mashka liked the village life very much.

Therefore, in May, as soon as it got warmer, Max himself took his family to Broshki - for summer residence. Work has not yet let him go, but he regularly came on weekends and holidays - he brought food supplies and talked with his wife and daughter. And when the long-awaited vacation came, he quickly moved to the village. In order to relax in silence and relax…

But yesterday Marina left for Moscow to show her daughter to the doctor. The examination was difficult, we signed up for it in advance, so it was not possible to postpone it. In general, she took Max's car, put her daughter in, kissed her beloved husband on the cheek and drove off. But she promised to return as soon as they had a consultation with a doctor ...

So Max was left alone. Today, in order to kill time before fishing (not all the same, lying on the couch and staring at the TV), I decided to go to a rural store. Buy groceries and beer to eat with fried fish and new potatoes…

* * *

Maxim noticed a boy on the porch of the villager.

- Uncle, buy a watch! the boy said softly. - Good, German!

Max looked: in his hand the boy was clutching a small men's watch in a dull metal case. Faded dial, long, thin hands, unusual large numbers. They don't make them like that anymore, that's for sure.

He turned the watch in his hands and realized that the boy was not lying. It really was a German watch. On the dial, a Nazi eagle with a swastika in its clawed paws was clearly visible.

- As much as you want? he asked.

- A thousand! the boy blurted out.

- A thousand rubles? Max whistled. - Well, you, brother, give! I would give five hundred, and then out of the kindness of my soul.

In fact, Maxim did not need watches, he was never interested in such rarities, but in a month his friend Kostya was supposed to have a birthday. Here he just adored such things and actively collected them.

Kostya was directly turned on military trophies, he bought up everything he could get, and especially appreciated the "gansy swag": officer and soldier badges, medals, orders, flasks, daggers. He certainly didn't have any German watches in his collection, Max knew that. So, it was a great chance to give him a great gift, and inexpensive. Then a thought came to Max's mind:

“Did you by any chance steal them from the school museum?” he asked the boy.

I would not like to become a participant in a criminal case ...

“What are you, uncle,” the boy was offended, “found them!”

- And where is? Maxim frowned. - Were they lying on the road?

“So I told you,” the boy chuckled. - Places to know!

Max turned his watch over in his hands and pretended to think. The boy got nervous.

- Yes, you, uncle, do not think they are real! Just clean it up a bit and they'll be as good as new. Maybe even earn...

“A thousand rubles…” drawled Maxim. - Expensive! What do you need so much?

“I want to buy a mobile phone,” the boy shook his head, “but the cheapest one costs at least three thousand. I already found out ... I already have a thousand - my grandmother gave me for my birthday, my mother promised to give another five hundred. And if I sell these watches, then there will be nothing left to collect.

Maxim marveled at the boy's unchildish prudence and nodded:

- Okay, I'll buy a watch from you.

And held out a thousand dollar bill.

“The same number of ladies, if you show the place where you found it.”

The boy hesitated. Max took out two pieces of paper for five hundred rubles from his wallet.

– See? Yours will. You can buy a mobile phone today, and not some cheap one, but a better, more expensive model.

- Give me, you're not lying? The boy looked at him incredulously.

“Honest pioneering,” Max answered firmly. “Show me where you found it, and the money is yours.”

The boy made up his mind:

- Okay, let's get some money.

“Here’s five hundred rubles for you,” Max said, holding out one bill, “as a deposit, and you’ll get the rest when you bring me to the place.

The boy deftly hid the money in his pocket:

- Let's go!

They walked together along the dusty dirt road.

– What is your name? Maxim asked.

“But won’t your mother miss that she’s not at home?”

“No,” the boy shook his head, “she works late.” Now there is only one grandmother at home, but she is old, she does not care where I am.

They walked for quite some time. First they passed endless fields, then they passed through some kind of woods, and finally the boy waved his hand - here! We entered a small grove. Pashka turned onto a barely noticeable path and quickly walked along it.

“Grandma told me,” he began, “that during the war there were German trenches here. For two years there was a war between ours and the Fritz. The dead were lying on the fields - horror! They didn't even have time to bury. And the forest was full of dugouts and pillboxes studded. Our people do not go here - they say that the place is not good, many people died here. But I don’t care ... But there are a lot of mushrooms!

They walked along a narrow, winding path and descended into a swollen ravine. “Here, probably, there were German fortifications,” Maxim decided, “you can immediately see the trenches in full growth, there are still traces left ...”

“Ours were advancing from the other side,” Pashka explained, “because of Gzhat, and the Nazis were sitting here. They say they had a lot of guns, machine guns! But ours still knocked them out of here and drove them!

– Why do you come here? Max asked.

- I told you - for mushrooms, - Pashka shrugged his shoulders, - ours don’t come here, summer residents are also far away. And I'll collect it, and then I'll sell it on the highway. My income, legal.

A minute later they reached the place. Pashka pointed to an unremarkable mound overgrown with bushes.

“This is where I fell into a hole.

Maxim looked closely: at the base of the mound there was a black hole. Came and looked inside. Of course, I didn’t see anything - it was dark, I had to climb inside with a flashlight.

“I fell through to the very waist,” Pashka explained, “at first I was very frightened, and then I took a closer look - it seems like an old dugout. It became interesting to me. He bent down, climbed deeper, and there - a skeleton!

What skeleton? Maxim did not understand.

- Fascist! Pashka rolled his eyes. - It was covered with earth, but one arm and a skull are outside. I rummaged around, sort of groped for something, got out, I look - and this is a German watch, with an eagle! So I decided to sell...

Maxim thought. Most likely it was a German dugout, it was filled up with a shell or a bomb. Together with the German...

- I kept my word, give me money! Pasha demanded.

- Hold it, - Maxim held out the promised banknote, - earned it.

The boy nodded and ran back. Max was left alone. He lit a cigarette, looked again into the hole. I wonder what's inside? Should have gone to see...

* * *

He returned to the house, found a shovel, an electric flashlight, took another flask of water and cloth gloves. Although it was hot, I put on strong boots just in case (you never know what's inside) and tight trousers. On the head - a baseball cap, instead of a light T-shirt - a shirt with long sleeves. Everyone, now you can go.

Fortunately, it became cooler, the heat was not so pressing. But it was still stuffy in the forest, the air seemed somehow frozen, dead. He found the way to the dugout quickly - he had a good visual memory.

At the knoll, Max dropped his backpack and got to work. With a shovel slightly widened the hole, carefully climbed inside. There was a sharp smell of damp earth, like in a deep cellar. Max lit a flashlight, looked around. The walls of the dugout were very swollen, the miraculously preserved log ceilings seemed to be able to collapse at any second. Very, I will tell you, unpleasant sensations ...

In the corner, as Pashka had said, lay a German. More precisely, what was left of him. Yellowish human bones protruded from the ground, and a skull lay against the wall with the remains of hair. It can be seen that the fascist tried to get out, but could not. I freed my head and arm, but I didn’t have enough strength for the rest. Maybe he was wounded or badly shell-shocked ...

Max sat down next to the remains, carefully scraping the ground with a shovel. I saw part of a rotten uniform and insignia. Judging by them, it was a lieutenant of the Wehrmacht. Among the bones, he found a round medallion. Unusual - small and, it seems, gilded.

Max carefully peeled off the dull, yellow round, prying off the flat cap with a knife. Inside was a faded photograph, and on it was a young woman with a child, a girl of four or five years old.

“Almost like my Masha,” thought Max. The German, apparently, was young, perhaps even his age. Inside the medallion was a tiny note on thin paper. Maxim at first wanted to deploy it at home so as not to damage it, but curiosity got the better of it. He slowly unfolded the paper and began to make out the barely noticeable letters. Thanks to the native German special school - they learned the language. I read it: Lieutenant Peter Stauf asked that the medallion, in the event of his death, be given to his wife Elsa, who lives with her daughter Marta in Berlin at the address: Kronenstrasse, house twenty-five, apartment six.

Max sat, thought, then put the medallion in his pocket and got out of the dugout. In the air, he sat down on a mound and lit a cigarette. And he firmly decided that as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he would write to Berlin. If there are no relatives of Peter Stauff at this address (more than seventy years have passed!), He will try to find them using the archives. In Germany, as a rule, they are well preserved, the Germans are great pedants in this matter. It is necessary to give the medallion and the watch to the relatives. And then invite to Russia and show the place where Lieutenant Stauf died. In the meantime ... There was no point in leaving the dugout open, you never know. No need to disturb the peace of the dead, they have already won theirs. Both ours and those.

Max broke thick branches and laid a hole in the ground, and on top he also threw leaves. If you don't look closely, you can't see anything. Well, fine.

* * *

At home, Max took another look at the trophies. The medallion was in good condition - most likely Peter Stauf carefully carried it in his tunic pocket (the Germans are so sentimental!), so he survived. A small gilded case with a tight lid, fortunately, turned out to be impervious to water ...

The watch also did not suffer much from time - the glass is not broken, the dial is clean, the hands are not broken. The strap, of course, rotted a long time ago, and the case has faded, but this is fixable. Clean it up, fix it up, and it'll be like new. Peter's relatives will certainly be delighted with the finds. Still, the memory of the father-grandfather-great-grandfather. If, of course, he finds them. But it was definitely worth trying.

Stauf's daughter, if alive, already an elderly woman, is unlikely to be able to come to Russia to the place of her father's death, but grandchildren and great-grandchildren - for sure. It's interesting for them too. real story war. In Germany, as Max knew, there was now great interest in such rarities.

By the way, he had a close friend in Berlin - Borka Meer. After graduating from the institute, he went to Berlin, completed his master's degree and stayed in Germany forever. He got a job in a good company, married a German woman, became a real burgher. And he was kind of happy. At least he did not rush back to his homeland. Max often called him back - both on business and just like that, out of old friendship. Perhaps you can turn to Borka. Let him ask for archives, make inquiries, find out everything about the fate of Elsa and Marta Stauf. You can also connect newsmen with TV people - it is also interesting for them, an excellent plot, a lively topic.

Max put the watch and locket in a drawer and began to prepare himself a simple supper. Ate and watched TV. But the next series quickly got tired of him. The same mura about bandits and law enforcement officers almost indistinguishable from them. He did not want to sleep yet, and he did not particularly like to read. What to do?

He got up from his chair and walked over to the table. He opened the drawer, took the watch in his hands, looked. The metal case gleamed dully in the light of the desk lamp. Wow, almost no rust! Then a crazy thought came into Max's head. What if... He carefully pulled back the crown wheel and twirled it slightly. Once upon a time, he had almost the same watch - only Soviet. Also with a round dial and a white metal case. They were given to him by Uncle Misha, his father's brother.

The clock was a family heirloom. Grandfather, Maxim Petrovich, bought them at a flea market before the war, and then, leaving for the front, handed them over to his eldest son, Mishka. He saved that watch - even in difficult, hungry years, he did not exchange it for food or cigarettes, but neatly and carefully stored it in a desk drawer. Returning from the front, Maxim Petrovich gave them to his son forever - he already had other, German, captured ones.

Uncle Misha wore his father's watch for a long time, almost twenty years, and then gave it to his beloved nephew, Maximka (he had no children of his own) for his birthday - let him keep the family heirloom. Max scolded them a little, and then hid them in the table - they were old, shabby and, most importantly, out of fashion for a long time. Watches were no longer in short supply, they could easily be bought in a store. And any, even in a heavy gold case.

Uncle Misha was buried long ago in the Voronezh cemetery, but the clock remained. Max did not throw them away, but kept them as a memory of his heroic grandfather and beloved uncle. He himself wore a quartz watch, and then his wife presented a good birthday present - real Swiss clocks. Not the most expensive, of course, but also nothing ...

The grandfather clock was now kept by the mother. When Max moved to a new apartment, he left her as a keepsake along with all the old things. Don't take them with you! New flat although it was very spacious, but still not rubber. And now this watch suddenly came to mind...

“It would be nice to find them,” Max thought, “and fix them, because they are also a family heirloom.” He himself was named after his grandfather, Maxim Petrovich, who heroically went through the whole war ...

Max carefully wound up the German watch - of course, no reaction. That's right, so many years have passed ... Then he shook them a little - he always did this when it was necessary to bring old clocks to life. It usually worked, and it worked now - the big arrow unexpectedly trembled a little ...

* * *

"Peter, where are you going?"

A strong hand pulled him down. Max fell to the damp, cold ground and hit his elbow painfully on something hard. It turned out - a wooden box with German grenades. In the pale, flickering light of the flare, Max could clearly see dark green cylinders with characteristic long wooden handles. And above him hung an angry face:

- Completely, or something, you’ve gone crazy, you’re climbing right under the bullets! the face screamed. “Sit here and don't lean out until the shelling is over.

With the next rocket, Max was surprised to find that he was at the bottom of a long trench, and next to him was a man in military uniform. And in German. More precisely - in the fascist. Judging by the insignia, Oberleutnant of the Wehrmacht. There was a terrible roar outside - above them something exploded with a deafening roar, and there was also a disgusting smell of some sour, caustic rubbish. The chief lieutenant leaned over and shouted in Maxim's ear:

"Stay out, I said!" When the Russians climb in, then show your courage, but for now there is nothing here ... And order your guys to prepare more grenades - otherwise you won’t fight back. In general, hold on!

The senior lieutenant patted Max on the shoulder reassuringly and, crouching down, ran somewhere further. Max shook his head, trying to come to his senses, but for some reason the strange vision did not disappear. He looked to the right, then to the left - soldiers were sitting around. In the same greenish-gray German uniform as his own. In steel helmets and with carbines in their hands. And everyone diligently squeezed into the earthen wall, trying to hide from the fragments that from time to time flew into the trench. One of them handed Max a pack of cigarettes and said something reassuring.

Max couldn't hear what it was because of the rumble above his head. From above, clods of earth flew at him, his ears were constantly blocked. It was also impossible to breathe because of the nasty, heavy smoke. Max recognized the characteristic smell of explosives, which he remembered from military training ...

What exactly the German soldier said, Maxim did not hear, but clearly realized that it was said in German. He mechanically took the outstretched pack, took out a cigarette and thanked - of course, also in Deutsch. And he himself was surprised how easily and freely he did it - as if he spoke it from childhood, and not painfully crammed it in a German special school. The neighbor (judging by the epaulettes - a sergeant major) nodded in response and lit a match. Max inhaled with pleasure. The cigarette was cheap, wrinkled, but, alas, I didn’t have to choose ...

Meanwhile, the shelling began to gradually subside - it rumbled not so much and often, the gaps moved somewhere further, beyond the trench line. “Now the Ivans will climb, we will fight back,” said the same sergeant cheerfully, “command, Herr Lieutenant.”

Command? Who, why? And in general - what's going on here? Where the hell did he go? Should figure it out...

Max finished his cigarette in two puffs, got up and carefully looked out over the parapet. The darkness of the night was now and then torn apart by the pale light of rockets, and Max saw that a large black field lay ahead. Directly in front of the trenches, barbed wire was stretched (in many places, however, already torn), and then an open space began, dotted with black funnels. In some places, the remains of a burnt military equipment- looks like tanks or armored personnel carriers.

WITH opposite side the fields were heavily fired - short, sharp flashes of shots flickered. The dry crackle of rifles was now and then interrupted by the sharp, long crackle of machine-gun bursts. Cannons thumped together and heavily - their shells now and then with a nasty whistle swept overhead and burst somewhere behind. Max looked around - trenches snaked everywhere, in which, crouched, sat German soldiers.

- Well, Herr Lieutenant, - the familiar sergeant smiled, - it's time, they seem to be advancing. Hear - the commands are already shouting.

Exactly - through the roar of explosions, Max clearly heard the orders in Russian. "Forward, attack!" someone yelled about 300 meters away from him. Following the order, a discordant, unfriendly and somewhat uncertain “Hurray!” was heard, and black figures climbed out of the darkness. Crouching, scary, with long bayonets at the ready.

"To battle!" someone shouted to his right, and Max automatically repeated the command. She was immediately duplicated by the sergeant major. The soldiers reluctantly rose from the bottom and prepared to fire. The machine gunners took their places in the nests. So, now there will be a fight, Max realized, and he will have to fight. And attack him, apparently, the Red Army. Our Russians...

Max shook his head again, hoping that this nonsense would pass, but nothing changed: the trench remained in place, and he was in it too. Moreover, shots crackled to the right and left - it was the soldiers who started firing. Nervously, with choking, heavy machine guns hammered, the screeching sounds of mines were heard - the attackers were beaten from all types of weapons. Before the Red Army stood yellow-fiery pillars, they fell, rose and stubbornly continued to run. Here the first of them reached the barbed wire, fell, grenades flew into the air.

A strong explosion deafened Max. He covered his head with his hands and collapsed to the bottom of the trench, dry clods of earth hammered down his back. There was a heavy buzzing in my head, my ears were stuffed up again. The sergeant-major yelled something at him, but Max did not understand - he saw only a face distorted by a cry. The German helped Max get up and pointed to the right - obviously, something important was happening there.

Maxim could not move from his place - in general, he could hardly stand on his feet. He leaned his hand against the wall of the trench and shook his head, but the rumble did not pass. The sergeant leaned over and shouted in his ear. Max hardly understood: “The Russians broke through on the right flank, they will be here now! We must fight back, Herr Lieutenant!”

Max automatically groped for the holster with the pistol on his right side and undid it with stiff fingers. It seems to be the "Walther", the standard weapon of German officers. Kostya once told him that it was very easy to use it. You just need to remove the fuse and you can immediately shoot ...

With the next rocket, Max found a flag to the left of the shutter, pulled it up. It seems to be so, it seems ... We must check. He pointed the barrel of the pistol somewhere to the side and pulled the trigger. The shot turned out to be loud, the hand was thrown aside out of habit. “We’ll have to hold on harder,” Max decided, “as they taught at military training.” Then they, fourth-year students, were shown how to handle Makarov. We set up targets at twenty-five meters, handed each a pistol, and forward ...

Max was surprised by the heaviness of the seemingly small weapon, as well as the rather strong recoil. The lieutenant instructor advised to strain the arm more and aim from top to bottom - to make it easier to lead. Max hit the target three times - exactly on the "offset". And he soon forgot about his short military experience. He was not a fan of weapons and generally did not like anything army ...

He went to the military department for the same reasons as all his classmates - to avoid the army. I spent the prescribed hours in tedious, boring classes, passed tests and exams, and passed the summer military training camp. He liked to shoot from the Kalashnikov - short bursts nicely laid down on the target. He ran the cross-country well, completed the exercises in throwing grenades and even became an excellent student in materiel. In general, claims against him from military department was not, and after graduating from the institute he received his officer's card.

And he immediately shoved it deep into the table - so as not to remind him of the time wasted incompetently. The ticket came in handy only once - when I got my first job. Without him, they didn’t take anywhere, the personnel department in this sense was very strict. And now he had to remember all the past skills. And as quickly as possible.

The Germans so far held the defense and successfully repulsed the attack, but among them there were already many killed and wounded. The bodies were not removed - there was no time. But the situation suddenly changed dramatically: some loud screams were heard from the right - it is clear that the enemy nevertheless broke through the defenses, and hand-to-hand combat began. Max felt uneasy - to fight with his own?

How to be? Raise your hands and surrender? Like, Hitler is kaput and all that stuff ... So the Fritz will shoot the same. Look how the sergeant major is looking at him, you won’t understand - either he’s following, or he’s waiting for his command. Max spat angrily - hell, you can’t figure out who is here and who is a stranger. They seem to be attacking their own, the Russians, but they want to kill him, but strangers, the Germans, are defending ... That's the problem!

And another thought came to his mind: even if he surrenders, it is not certain that he will survive. Who will believe him? How to prove that he is from the future? He accidentally came from the twenty-first century ... He is wearing the uniform of a Wehrmacht lieutenant, and in the pocket of his tunic there is probably a German officer's book. They will listen, laugh and send you to the fool - they say, the Fritz went crazy with fear. Or shoot quickly, so as not to mess around. This doesn't seem to be the way...

Meanwhile, the screams intensified. The sergeant-major looked at him anxiously, waiting for a command. “Take the people,” shouted Max, “and blow on the right flank, fight back!” The sergeant nodded and with several subordinates ran to the right. But he didn’t have time - the Red Army men suddenly jumped out to meet them.

A short fierce battle ensued, in which the advantage was on the side of the Russians - they took it with pressure and force. A healthy, tall Red Army soldier with completely insane eyes in his pale face with one blow of the butt knocked down the sergeant who stood in his way and turned to Max. Another moment - and he will plunge a long, sharp bayonet into him ...

Max instinctively took two steps back, stumbled over a box of grenades and fell. Closing himself, he awkwardly put forward his right hand with a pistol and, without looking, pulled the trigger. Then again ... Shots rang out sharply, the Red Army soldier, twitching with his whole body, collapsed to the bottom of the trench.

Fortunately, help arrived in time - a lieutenant with two dozen soldiers. Just in time ... The situation was restored, the enemy was beaten off.

Are you alive, Peter? - asked, grinning, the lieutenant. - Well done! By the way, did you kill the Russian bear?

And he pointed to the Red Army soldier lying face down.

“That’s right, he,” said the sergeant-major who came from nowhere, “Mr. Lieutenant killed himself, I saw it.”

The sergeant-major was without a helmet, with a broken head, but still alive.

“Herr Lieutenant saved me,” he continued his story. - This bear, as it moved me with a butt on the head, so I immediately flew off to the side, I thought - that's it, the end has come to me. He fell, even dropped the carbine from his hands ... Just a second - and that's it, he would have finished me off. And the Herr Lieutenant took and shot him with a pistol! Twice, and both - on target!

“Excellent, Peter,” nodded the chief lieutenant, “I will definitely report your feat to the battalion commander. Not only did you personally participate in hand-to-hand combat, you also saved your sergeant major. For this it is necessary to award the Iron Cross. Right, Zagel?

"That's right," the sergeant smiled.

- All right, gather your people and restore order, - the Oberleutnant ordered. - And I ran on, I need to visit other platoons, see how it is.

He disappeared into the darkness, and the grateful Zagel rushed to lift Max:

- How are you, Herr Lieutenant, not injured? Something painfully pale...

Max shook his head - no, not wounded, but thought to himself: “You will be pale here when you were almost killed. And their own, the Russians. And he just shot a man. For the first time in my life…”

“It's all right,” Max repeated, getting up. “But you need to go to the hospital.” Your face is bleeding...

“Later, after the fight,” Zagel waved him off. - First you need to restore order ... Permission, Herr Lieutenant?

And he began to give orders, and Max got a little respite. He sat down heavily on the box, took out a wrinkled pack of cigarettes from his trousers pocket, and nervously lit a cigarette. That's because he got, God knows where he failed, and even have to fight with his own. Just like a movie, only it seems that this movie can't be stopped and rewound. And pause to go to the kitchen and make yourself some coffee.

Max tightly closed his eyes and began to repeat, like a spell: “I am sleeping, this is nothing and cannot be ...” But after a minute I realized that it was useless, the war had not gone away, moreover, it constantly reminded of itself. The explosions got closer, the firefight intensified...

Another wave of attackers fell on the trenches, and a grenade fell almost at the very feet of Max. He didn’t even have time to get scared, he just thought: “Everything, it seems, has won back.” There was an explosion, he was thrown to the bottom, covered with earth. At first, Max felt nothing, there was not even pain, but then some black, viscous darkness washed over him, and he lost consciousness.

Consciousness returned slowly, with some jerks. At first, Max heard voices, tried to open one eye and see who was nearby. What he saw did not please him - two people were standing near the bed, and both were in gray-green German uniforms. They were discussing something. So the nightmare seems to go on...

But he had a vague hope that everything that happened to him was an obsession, a haze, a hallucination. Max would even agree to a "squirrel", just to find himself again in his time and in his house. However, where was the “squirrel” to come from, if he is almost a non-drinker and usually does not drink anything stronger than beer? The maximum that he can afford is a couple of glasses of dry wine. From vodka and other serious drinks, he immediately began a terrible headache. Just like now...

Max tried to listen to what was being said. The first man (obviously a doctor) reported to the second:

- Lieutenant Stauf has a severe concussion, but it seems that there are no serious injuries.

“Peter was lucky,” stated the second, tall, gray-haired man with a hard, imperious face, “a Russian grenade exploded right at his feet. Two were crippled, but he is practically safe and sound.

“But he’s shell-shocked,” the doctor reminded him.

“Not fatal,” the gray-haired man waved him off. “Think of it, concussion!” After a couple of days, it sags. How many times I was shell-shocked, and nothing, alive!

Max tried to get up, but a wild pain pierced his head, and he fell back onto the pillow with a groan.

Noticing that the patient was awake, the doctor leaned over and asked:

- Well, how do you feel?

- Drink! – barely audibly asked Max.

The doctor made a sign, and a bony, middle-aged nurse handed him a mug of water. Max nodded his thanks and crouched to the edge. Nothing tastier, it seems, he never drank in his life, although it was the most ordinary water.

The doctor waited until the patient quenched his thirst, and said:

I need to examine you...

And with quick, precise movements he checked his reaction, his pupils, examined his head, then said with satisfaction:

“That’s right—a shell shock, but nothing else, it seems. He will lie down in the hospital for a while, get better - and back to the front line.

The gray-haired man leaned over to the bed, and Max noticed a silver twisted epaulette on his shoulder. So, Major of the Wehrmacht.

“You see, Peter, they didn’t say in vain that you were lucky with us,” the officer smiled. - From the platoon, more than half of the people died, and you, one might say, got off with nonsense. Lieutenant Neiman reported to me about your feat - how you saved Sergeant Major Zagel. He showed composure, restraint, shot that Russian ... By the way, I saw him - a real giant! It's a miracle you made it through. Neiman asks to introduce you to the award, and I, perhaps, will file a report - such cases should be encouraged. I will ask you to be awarded the Iron Cross.

Max didn't know what to say. He already realized that he was in a German hospital, but why, why? And who is this major?

By the way, he looked at him carefully:

- What's wrong with you, Peter? You don't seem to recognize me...

“No way, uh ... sir ... major,” Max squeezed out with difficulty.

The doctor immediately leaned over to him.

- Tell me, what do you remember the last?

“Well, there was an attack,” Max began to list, “the Russians broke through on the right flank. Suddenly, this healthy Red Army soldier appeared with a rifle ... And then - nothing. Grenade explosion - and darkness.

“I see,” the doctor nodded, “what if there is a more general answer?” Tell me what date is today?

Max shrugged, I don't know.

- Month year? the doctor began to inquire.

- I do not remember.

- Your part number?

Max pretended to try to remember, but then shook his head.

“Things are bad,” the doctor drawled ruefully, “much worse than I thought. The contusion apparently led to temporary amnesia...

- But Peter can return to duty? the major asked anxiously. - I would not want to lose such an excellent, promising officer.

“In a physiological sense, Lieutenant Stauf has no serious injuries,” the doctor answered after thinking. “He is, one might say, almost healthy, but I am afraid that a severe concussion will slow down his recovery. In addition, this amnesia ... However, we'll see. Temporary loss of memory during an explosion is not such a rare occurrence at the front, rather even common. A person, as a rule, comes to his senses and returns to duty, it takes two to three weeks, sometimes more - a month or two. Although there may be more complex cases. For example, last year I had one interesting patient ...

And the doctor began to talk about some Hauptmann Halze, who also lost his memory and did not recognize anyone. He didn't even remember his name. He suffered for three months, poor fellow, but then, thanks to timely assistance and proper care, he not only fully recovered, but continued his service and received a promotion - now he commands a battalion ...

Max pretended to feel bad - he closed his eyes and groaned slightly. The doctor immediately said:

- We will not disturb you, Lieutenant Stauf, sleep well, this is the best medicine. Tomorrow morning I will examine you again, and then we will decide what to do with you. I hope the results will be more positive.

The doctor and the major left. Max got up slightly and looked around the room. Tiny ward, four iron beds. To the left lay a young blond-haired guy, at the opposite wall - two more wounded. Everyone was asleep. The room was dimly lit by a kerosene lamp with a dark blue shade, and the window was heavily curtained. There was a nasty smell of medicines, camphor and urine - the usual smells of hospitals and hospitals. Outside the window, apparently, was the night.

The same old nurse came up to his bed and asked if he wanted anything. Max, a little embarrassed, asked for a duck. The metal vessel was immediately provided to him. Max waited for his sister to come out and did his job. And without forces fell on the bed - his head was splitting from pain. “I wonder,” he thought, “do the Germans have analgin or some other painkiller? In theory, it should be, but who knows. I should ask tomorrow...

With that thought, he fell into a heavy, restless sleep. He dreamed of his daughter - how they played in the dacha in Broshki. Max rocked Masha in his arms, and she laughed merrily and told him something. That's just - he then could not remember in any way ...

* * *

Max woke up with a wild headache and a rough dry mouth. On top of that, he was also throwing up, a sure sign of a concussion. Yes, it was great to put it on ... It was light in the ward - the curtains were parted, it shone in the window bright sun. From the hospital garden came the cheerful chirping of birds. So it's time to get up...

For a while, Max lay with his eyes closed, trying to figure out what to do next. It is clear that he somehow fell into the past and ended up at the front. And from the German side. But why? There were more questions than answers.

And it is also very interesting why he is called Lieutenant Stauf. And then a sudden thought burned his brain. Exactly, Lieutenant Peter Stauf! Max remembered everything: the boy at the village shop, and the German dugout, and the watch. So that's it!

Of course, yesterday's incident explained little, but at least it became clear where it came from. Obviously, this had something to do with the dead German lieutenant and his watch. And he, Maxim Sokolov, inexplicably ended up in his body.

In the body of Peter Stauf, who was killed more than seventy years ago. It turns out that now is the summer of 1942 and he is in a hospital in Gzhatsk. Max remembered: during the war, there was indeed a German hospital in the city, his wife Marinka told him about it. And that one was told by her grandfather, Ivan Belousov.

The hospital was located on the very outskirts of Gzhatsk, in a two-story brick mansion - by the way, well preserved to our time. Marinka showed him the house when they drove by one day. A typical merchant's mansion, surrounded by a large overgrown garden, in which the Germans buried their dead and those who died from wounds. After the war, the Nazi cemetery was destroyed so that nothing would remind of the occupation, it is now quite difficult to find it. A sports dispensary worked in the building for a long time, and then it was closed. When physical education became unnecessary. She's out of fashion now...

Today ... Max chuckled: this is a strange concept - "today", if you think about it. What is it for him? The present where he is, or the future where he failed? And where, perhaps, will never return? What is it - past, present or future? These thoughts made his head hurt even more, and Max decided to postpone these questions for later. In the meantime, there were more pressing problems. For example, I really wanted to drink ...

He looked around - the nurse was nowhere to be seen, but on the next bed sat a young guy with a bandaged right shoulder and smiled kindly at him.

– Good morning, Peter! – said the guy. - How do you feel? Did it get easier?

Max didn't answer. It's better to pretend you don't remember anything. Amnesia is a very useful thing. Sometimes.

- You will not know? - the guy was upset. – Dr. Miller told me that you have amnesia… Okay, let's get acquainted again: I'm Lieutenant Heinrich Roemer, commander of the first platoon of the second company. Your workmate, and now a roommate. See, I got hooked too...

And he pointed to his shoulder. Max held out his hand.

- Lieutenant Stauf. Peter Stauf...

- Wow! Henry laughed merrily. “I remember perfectly well who you are, thank God I don’t have amnesia. My shoulder only hurts... Dr. Miller cut a Russian bullet out of it yesterday and left it for me. Do you want me to show you?

And without waiting for an answer, he reached into the bedside table, from where he took out a long rifle bullet. Max shook it in his palm.

- Heavy...

“Yes,” Remer chuckled, “hit me so hard that I flew back a couple of meters. It's good that the bone is not hurt, otherwise I would have to cut the whole arm. And so it seems that it should heal soon ... When I'm on vacation, I will definitely show this bullet to my mother and sisters. Trophy!

Heinrich laughed merrily, showing excellent white teeth. Max also smiled and decided to keep the conversation going - what if he learns something interesting? First of all, it is necessary to clarify what date it is today and what the situation is at the front ...

“I would boast of something,” he said with visible regret, “but so far there is nothing ...

- Yes, you are our hero! Heinrich objected vehemently. “Major Hopman told me that you saved Sergeant Sagel…”

- The Major we had yesterday? Max stated.

Yes, he is the one. Klaus Hopman, our battalion commander. So, he said that you accomplished a feat. Which, however, did not surprise me at all - you are a real officer with us, brave, firm, self-confident. Great leader and great friend. Your platoon is considered the best in our battalion...

Max waved it off - you must be exaggerating!

- No, for sure, - Heinrich continued, - you are a good platoon commander, and your soldiers are skillful, brave. Too bad so many died yesterday...

By the way, how did the attack end? Max asked. I don't remember almost anything...

“We fought back somehow,” Heinrich sighed. “And thank God, otherwise we wouldn’t be here with you.” We would have been lying dead somewhere in a ravine or somewhere else ... Another minute, and the Russians crushed us. It came to hand-to-hand combat, and in this they are great masters, they do not need to take strength and skills. They fought like hell! Fortunately, Lieutenant Neiman arrived in time with his people ...

Max nodded - I remember this moment. A healthy Red Army man with crazy eyes and a long bayonet reappeared before his eyes. Max involuntarily shuddered: yes, they say the truth about the war - she has an unfeminine face. Rather masculine - cruel, terrible. And another thought came to his mind - he killed a man! That's horror! However, an excuse was immediately found - there was no other way out. Or you, or you. War, mother dear ...

Heinrich kept saying:

- It was hot for us too, but not like yours, the loss is a third of the personnel. There are many wounded, by the way, they are lying here on the first floor. There is also someone from your platoon... But you and I were placed here - it is believed that this is an officer's ward, with special amenities.

He smiled, and so did Max—obviously special amenities: bare yellowish-green walls, a skinny striped mattress with squeaky, sagging mesh, and gray linen. It's good that the window is open - it doesn't smell so bad. More precisely, it does not stink - the smells of suffering and death ...

The ward was designed for four people, but two adjacent beds in this moment they were empty - obviously, their owners went for a dressing or just went out to smoke. Max thought: "We should also chat with them, find out something ... Information is never superfluous."

He licked dry lips - he was terribly thirsty, and also smoking. Heinrich noticed, asked:

– Would you like a drink?

Max nodded. Heinrich got off the bed, right in his socks stomped to a metal tank in the corridor, scooped up water with a metal mug, brought it. Max drank to the bottom. Heinrich went again. Finally, Max quenched his thirst and felt a little lighter. Now to smoke more...

He knew for sure that he (or rather, Peter Stauff) had cigarettes - they remained in his trousers, but where are they now? And anyway - where are all his things? He lay on the bed in his underwear. We'll probably have to wait until they bring the form. Indeed, a Wehrmacht officer cannot walk around the hospital in his underpants? Kind of inappropriate...

* * *

Dr. Miller came in half an hour later. All the same neat, attentive and strict. He examined Max and began to question.

Max answered most of them in the same way - I don’t remember. Stubbornly (and, it seems, successfully) imitated amnesia. The doctor nodded - everything is correct, the diagnosis is confirmed. Max, in turn, tried to learn something important and useful for himself.

From the questions it turned out that his name was Peter Stauf (he guessed it anyway), he served as a lieutenant in the 342nd division of the Wehrmacht, commanded the first platoon in the first battalion of the 698th infantry regiment. The division is part of the 46th Tank Corps, which is now subordinate to the 9th Army of Colonel-General Model. On the calendar - June 15, 1942. The Russian campaign has been going on for almost a year now...

The 342nd Infantry Division takes up defenses not far from the regional center of Karmanovo, near Gzhatsk, covering the right flank of the Rzhev-Vyazemsky salient. For many months a stubborn struggle has been going on for this piece of Smolensk land. The Russians either advance, then retreat, then they try to pincer the 9th Army and defeat it in parts.

A couple of times they broke through with wedges into the rear, but each time the situation was restored. The losses in the German units were huge, the replenishment did not have time to arrive. In some companies, fifty or sixty people remained - instead of the listed one hundred and eighty ...

The Bolsheviks attacked with entire armies, with hundreds of tanks and self-propelled guns, but the German divisions, according to Miller, firmly held the blow, and sometimes even went over to the counteroffensive. After each such battle, his hospital was filled to capacity with the wounded, a whole German cemetery had already grown on the edge of the garden. And it was constantly replenished. However, the Red Army also had heavy losses ...

Four months ago, in February and March, the fighting was particularly heavy. The Bolsheviks threw three of their armies into the gap at once, and even several tank corps, the situation escalated. In some sectors of the front, the meat grinder was such that they did not have time to bury the dead (both from the one and the other side), the corpses lay in several layers. And in the spring, when the snow melted, the fields stank unbearably. And it still smells so that you won’t get closer than a few kilometers to the front line ...

But despite the terrible losses, the Rzhev bridgehead still remained with the Wehrmacht. Now there has come a temporary lull, the Bolsheviks, tired during the winter and spring, also seem to be resting and gaining strength. Or preparing for a new offensive. Sometimes they made attempts to break through the defenses in one place or another, but these attacks, as a rule, ended in nothing. One such attempt was witnessed the day before yesterday by Lieutenant Peter Stauf.

And today, the greatly thinned German battalions put themselves in order, sent the wounded to the rear and waited for the next replenishment. But, according to the doctor's caustic remark, it is unlikely to arrive. They say that in the south of Russia, near Kharkov, a new grandiose offensive began, and all available forces were allegedly thrown there. So we'll have to fight back ourselves, with what's left...

Max listened carefully and tried to figure out how to get out of this situation. It was clear that he had got himself into trouble, but he had to get out somehow! And don't just sit back. Going with the flow is not his position in life, he is used to managing his own destiny.

In the meantime, to buy time, he successfully played the role of a man who lost his memory. He asked again, clarified, diligently wrinkling his forehead, trying supposedly to remember something. Old Stanislavsky would have been pleased with him ... Miller patiently explained, explained, sometimes Heinrich Roemer supplemented his story - with those details that the doctor could not know.

Max soon found out everything that Peter Stauf graduated with honors from the infantry school in Potsdam, passed, as expected, all the army steps - from the fanenunker to the oberfenrich. He received a lieutenant only a year ago, at the front. He was considered an exemplary young officer in the regiment, he even went to the authorities in favorites. Colleagues appreciated him, the soldiers respected him. In general, career prospects were very bright. But Max did not want to serve in the Wehrmacht at all. Unlike the real Lieutenant Stauf...

When the doctor started talking about the family, he carefully wrinkled his forehead again - sorry, doctor, I don’t remember anything. Miller sighed and pulled the familiar medallion from his pocket. Max opened it: the photo was clear, new, obviously taken very recently.

- Who is this? Miller asked.

“I don’t know,” Max shrugged.

“This is your wife Elsa and daughter Marta,” the doctor said quietly.

Max looked at the photo for a long time, then said:

“Sorry, doctor, I can’t remember. Something flashes in my memory, but what exactly ...

Miller shook his head sadly.

You have severe memory loss, that's bad. The situation is even worse than expected. Okay, rest, I'll decide how to help you.

Soon the orderly on duty brought breakfast to the ward - pieces of gray bread with margarine, boiled eggs, ersatz coffee in metal mugs. Max swallowed food without any appetite, drank a coffee drink (a terrible muck, to tell the truth) and tried to get up, but it didn’t work out - everything was spinning before his eyes. I made another attempt, and with the help of Heinrich, it was a success. Holding on to the walls, he shuffled to the window, sat down on the wide, low windowsill, and looked out into the garden.

Apple trees approached the house itself, their branches rested against the walls. Max opened the window sashes wider, leaned out almost all - to get some fresh air. He could not get used to the pungent smell that stood in the hospital ...

The weather was great - warm, clear, sunny. “Now I would go to the Gzhatka River,” Max thought to sunbathe, swim, fish at dawn ... And he even closed his eyes from such pleasure, but immediately cut himself off rudely: “Don’t you dare think about it! Relax, loosen up and never get out of here. Then the end ... ”Heinrich came up to the window, settled down next to him.

- It’s good, just like we have in Erfurt, and there is also a lot of greenery ...

– Erfurt is in the southwest of Germany? Max stated. - In Thuringia? No wonder they were tormented by the geography of Germany at school!

“Exactly,” Heinrich nodded, “in the south. In the summer it is very good with us - the gardens are green, the streets are in flowers, the bell ringing floats over the city - this is in our cathedral for mass. Beauties!

“Yes, you are a poet,” Maxim chuckled.

- What are you, - Heinrich dismissed, - what is there! So, he wrote poems at school, but as soon as military school did, and immediately quit. You know, there is not before ...

- And who were you before? Max asked. “I mean before the war?”

“A schoolboy,” Heinrich shrugged his shoulders, “I didn’t have time to be anyone else. I wanted to go to university after graduation Faculty of Medicine but then changed his mind. It takes a long time to study as a doctor, for five whole years, and you also have to complete a residency. For several years to serve as an assistant to a doctor. Of course, this is a useful and necessary thing, but ... It will not be long before you are allowed to treat yourself! And you won’t have your own practice at all until fifteen or twenty years later, when you have proven yourself well. I need to feed my family...

Heinrich reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet. Took out a few photos and showed them. On one was a whole German family: a stately, imposing Frau with a stern face and five children. Four girls and one boy.

“My mother is with her sisters,” Heinrich said, “and I am with them. Friendly Remer family...

- And the father? Max asked.

“He died,” Heinrich sighed, “in thirty-eight. He had a severe wound in the lung, spitting blood for a long time. By the way, he also received it in Russia, however, back in that first war. My father often told me how he sat in the damp trenches, how he fought with the Russians, and then fraternized with them when they threw off their Tsar Nicholas. And they wounded him in the fifteenth year. The Russians then launched a big offensive, so he got a bayonet in the chest. I lay in hospitals for a long time, was treated, I thought that they would be commissioned cleanly, but it didn’t work out. They patched it up somehow and sent it back to the front - the soldiers were then very needed. He had to fight almost to the very end, until the eighteenth year. But nothing, he survived, was demobilized, returned home to Düsseldorf. And there was no work, relatives were starving, food cards were given only swede and black bread. In general, he moved to the south, where it is warmer and more satisfying. In Erfurt, he tripled as a carpenter at a construction site, and stayed there. I got used to it, found a good job, met my mother - she was the pastor's daughter. He got married and started his own business. Then we were born, five children, one after another. They lived well, happily, although not richly. My father was often ill, he could hardly walk, sometimes he could not get out of bed for two or three days. But he still worked - you can't live on a veteran's pension. And four years ago, in winter, he caught a bad cold, fell ill and died. Actually, that's why I wanted to go to the medical faculty. I saw how bad he was, so I thought: I will study to be a doctor, I will treat everyone. But it didn’t work out, I had to go to a military school ...

Heinrich looked sadly out the window, and then continued:

- After the death of his father, he had to live on something. The older sister, Helga, was already working, but it was hard for her to be alone. So I went to the school - firstly, state grubs and clothes, and secondly, the officers have a good salary. Every month I send part of the money home from my salary, I help my mother and sisters. And so it was at the front ...

Max nodded understandingly - a simple, typical story. Apparently, Heinrich is a good guy, honest, hardworking, it's a pity he was born at the wrong time.

“I do not regret my choice,” Heinrich finished the story. - As you can see, I'm already a lieutenant, maybe I'll go further.

“If we don't get killed here,” Max remarked gloomily.

“They won’t kill me,” Heinrich said confidently, “my mother and sisters pray for me every day.” See what they write to me...

The next half hour was devoted to reading messages from the Roemers. Heinrich took out a whole pack of student notebook sheets and began to read. Both his mother and sisters wrote to him, he received at least five or six letters a month. Max politely listened and nodded - he did not want to upset such a good, sympathetic guy. Cheerful, hardworking, caring - in short, a real German.

* * *

Soon the neighbors in the ward returned from dressing - a strong, almost square oberfeldwebel and the same, only a little taller and thicker, staff sergeant major. Max looked at them and thought: “What, are they making you a carbon copy? Just like siblings."

Jurgen Hein and Otto Bauer were from his own regiment, only from a different company. Max habitually referred to amnesia - sorry guys, but I don't remember you. The sergeants nodded knowingly - they heard about your trouble, Herr Lieutenant, so they introduced themselves in full.

Hein and Bauer ended up in the hospital after the same Russian attack - one with a shrapnel in the arm, the other in the foot. Fortunately, both escaped with minor wounds, they were quickly sewn up and promised to be sent back to the front line in a week. There is nothing to wallow in the hospital, places are needed for new patients. The war is on, it has no intermissions and breaks ...

Someone was constantly brought to the hospital - the fighting did not stop for a minute, although their intensity for Lately decreased markedly. The Russians were limited to only small sorties and skirmishes. Everyone rested and prepared for new battles.

* * *

Max had absolutely nothing to do in the pay, so he went out into the garden. Putting on, of course, his lieutenant's uniform, washed and even neatly ironed. It was brought in in the morning by the pretty nurse Brigitta, who replaced the old bony Gerda on duty. The girl smiled shyly and, looking down, said that she herself had put his tunic and trousers in order. It is indecent for Herr Lieutenant to walk around in such a dirty dress ...

“You will be dirty here,” thought Max, “when you lie at the bottom of the trench.” He politely thanked Sister Brigid and offered her money for a favor. Wallet, thank God, was found right there in the nightstand. As is the clock.

Max chuckled wryly as he picked them up. The watch was practically new and not in the least shabby - in a shiny metal case and with a black leather strap. On the white dial, an eagle with outstretched wings was clearly visible, clutching a Nazi swastika in its claws. They ticked regularly, counting the time, the hands moved. Max sighed heavily, twisted the winding wheel and put it on his hand. Came just right, on the wrist.

Brigitte refused the money, saying that she had washed the things of Mr. Lieutenant just like that, out of respect for the valiant German officer, and not for the sake of earning money. Then she blushed deeply and ran away.

Heinrich pushed Max in the side in a friendly way: “You don’t offer her money, but take her to the officers’ club. There is here in the city, on the main street. In the evenings there is music, everyone dances. You can sit with a girl, drink and eat. Brigitte has a crush on you, that's clear, do her a favor."

Max grimaced - before that now, the war! What the hell kind of girls… Heinrich shrugged his shoulders – why not? We only live once, so we need to seize the moment. Who knows what will happen next...

Max could not but agree with his arguments - in the war you really need to appreciate every moment, especially when it is connected with love ... And Brigitte seemed to be not bad - a good figure, a pretty face, sincere smile. Not to say that such a beauty, but there was something in her ...

"Damn, I'm a married man! Max immediately remembered. “And twice!” Two times, two families. He opened the medallion again and looked at the photograph. A young, pretty woman and an adorable blond girl. Indeed, it is very similar to his Masha. Now the resemblance is even clearer. However, many small children are similar to each other ...

Max slammed the lid shut and put the locket back in its place. I checked my wallet: almost two hundred Reichsmarks and some change. Also two photographs. On one, elderly Herr and Frau, apparently the parents of Peter Stauf. I wonder what's up with them? We ought to find out... On the other, a young girl in a white blouse with a black tie and a long dark skirt. It seems to be the uniform of the Hitler Youth. Who is she? Sister, just a friend? There were more and more questions.

Max shoved his wallet into his coat pocket and cautiously made his way down the creaky wooden stairs to the first floor. Orderlies busily scurried around the hospital, delivering the wounded, convalescents walking around. Loud groans were heard from the operating room - it seems that someone was being cut there. Max grimaced and tried to quickly get out into the street.

He walked down the porch, rounded a corner, and found himself in a cool, shady garden. Several soldiers were smoking on a bench under an old thick poplar tree. As he approached, they jumped up. Max waved his hand - sit down. And he himself sat down on a shaky bench nearby. But before he had time to get a pack of cigarettes, an old acquaintance, Sergeant Major Kurt Sagel, flew up to him. He smiled happily.

“Glad to see you in good health, Herr Lieutenant!”

"Thanks," Max nodded. - And how are you?

- Almost normal! Zagel blurted out. - Head bandaged, everything is in order. Great, then this Russian barbarian hit me, I almost broke my skull! But nothing, my head is strong, it will heal.

The sergeant-major lightly touched the bandages that were visible from under the gray cap, grimaced and turned to Max:

“May I ask, Herr Lieutenant, will you be returning to us soon?” And then a platoon without a commander is like a woman without a husband. It is necessary to keep in check ... I'm afraid that without you the guys will completely loosen up, discipline will fall.

“Nothing, there will be someone to keep it in check,” Maxim waved his hand nonchalantly. We are not the only ones fighting...

The sergeant-major looked at him strangely, and Max realized that he had said something wrong. He froze out obvious stupidity.

“I mean,” he amended quickly, “as soon as Dr. Miller lets me come back, right away.” But I'm afraid not soon. I have a severe contusion, and even partial amnesia ...

“That's how it is,” Zagel nodded understandingly. - Well, get well. However, Dr. Miller does not like to keep people at his place, he says there is nothing for you to occupy beds, your place is at the front. War heals faster than any medicine. And that's true - why lie on the bed? They mended you, put you on your feet - and forward to your own. Is that right, lieutenant?

- So, - Max agreed, - to his ...

“But where are they, their own?” he thought sadly, and then said:

- You, Kurt, keep an eye on the platoon, otherwise the guys will disband. I'll be back when I can. I will try, of course, as soon as possible, but I will not promise anything. You give orders for now, and then I'll come back and check everything!

Max tried to make his face stern and even stern, as befits a real German commander, Zagel liked it.

“That’s it, now I see that you are getting better!” he said. “Don't worry, Herr Lieutenant, I'll keep an eye on them. You are right, you cannot give concessions to the soldiers, otherwise the morale will fall. I already have them!

Zagel began to say something about the service, Max nodded and even answered, trying, however, not to go into details. He thought about how to quickly get rid of the overzealous sergeant major. Of course, so as not to arouse suspicion. He was still poorly versed in the realities of army service, especially German, more precisely, he knew practically nothing ... If only he didn’t burst out again!

Luckily, Sister Brigid soon came over.

- Lieutenant, Dr. Miller is waiting for you in the office.

Max immediately put out his cigarette and said goodbye to Zagel.

"I hope to see you soon," he nodded. Until then, keep the guys in check. Nobody and no favors!

Kurt stretched out in front, and Max calmly followed his sister Brigitte into the building. It seems that he managed to play his role well ... Peter Stauf, it turns out, was a great lover of discipline, we must take this into account. Well, yes, because Heinrich said: Lieutenant Stauf is an exemplary German officer. We have to maintain the image ...

* * *

Dr. Miller received him in his office, a small nook on the second floor. All free rooms in the hospital were converted into wards, even corridors, a basement and an attic. The doctor pointed to a wobbly chair at the table, while he himself began to look through some papers. Finally said:

“You, Lieutenant Stauf, have serious amnesia, I think it’s good for you to be at home. In the family, among relatives and friends, you will recover faster. Your memory loss appears to be temporary, nothing to worry about, however... I have already spoken to Major Hopman and he has agreed to grant you three weeks' leave for injury. Lie down with me for a couple of days, and then, when the documents are ready, to Berlin. I think this is enough time for you to fully recover.

Max was silent, not knowing what to answer, and in general - to rejoice or be sad. On the one hand, he was given a chance to escape from the front (albeit for a while) and forget about the war, but on the other hand, he had a meeting with the family of Peter Stauff, about which he also knows nothing.

Miller interpreted his silence in his own way:

- I understand that you can not wait to return to the front line, to your soldiers. I know that you are a responsible and brave officer, and you are eager to fight ... But still I insist on a vacation. Trust me it's better for you. A contusion is a very insidious thing, there can be the most unexpected consequences, including those related to the head ...

Miller tapped his forehead meaningfully.

Do you think I might go crazy? Maxim almost jumped in surprise.

- No, what are you! Miller waved his hands in protest. - You are an absolutely normal person, nothing threatens you. But it's better to be safe. You have memory lapses, that's a fact. And very sad. Staying at home will allow you to quickly rehabilitate and remember everything you need. And don't you yourself, Lieutenant Stauf, want to go home, see your relatives - your wife, daughter, parents?

“Of course I want to,” Max lied, “but the situation at the front is like this now ... I have no right to leave my soldiers, and at this difficult, crucial moment!”

“Come on,” Miller smiled slightly, “you’re not leaving for the rest of your life!” Stay in Berlin for a while and then come back. We still have enough officers, thank God, to temporarily replace you, so I can in good conscience send you to treatment. The Russian campaign is unlikely to end soon, you will still fight. We, I think, are stuck here for a long time, for another year - at least ...

“For two and a half,” Maxim corrected the doctor (of course, to himself), “only at the end of 1944 the territory Soviet Union will be completely liberated from the Nazis, and then the war will come to Poland and Germany. Yes, and in other countries too ... "

He knew history quite well, he always taught at school with pleasure and, of course, remembered all the main dates and moments. But it was still necessary to live up to the Victory ... And it would be desirable to wear the uniform of a lieutenant of the Red Army, and not the Wehrmacht, by that time. In general, to return home, in due time, and forget about this nightmare forever. And never again climb any dugouts and never buy any German watches ...

- Thank you, doctor, - Max thanked politely, - I really missed my family very much. Especially for my wife and daughter...

“That’s great,” Miller nodded, “go ahead.” I'm sure you'll thank me later. Always listen to your doctor, he will not advise you bad.

“Somewhere I have already heard this,” thought Max, “in my opinion, in our own district clinic. It seems like all doctors have the same sayings.” He once more heartily thanked Miller and returned to his room. He lay down on the creaky bed and decided to take a nap until dinner - his head hurt terribly.

“Damn, I completely forgot about analgin,” he thought belatedly, “however, it probably hasn’t been invented yet. But they must have some pills, right? They treat their patients with something!

It was boring to lie in the hospital, especially since it was summer outside. And, in fact, there was no special treatment - apart from the daily visits of Dr. Miller. But they passed early in the morning, and then Max was left to himself.

He was tired of wallowing in a stuffy ward, and he began to spend O most of the time in the garden, among new acquaintances. Firstly, more fun, and secondly, more useful - you can learn something new and important. At the same time, Max tried diligently to play the role of Lieutenant Peter Stauf, a simple guy, a good comrade and an excellent officer.

He soon realized that this military campaign was not very popular among his colleagues. Many soldiers and even officers were skeptical of Dr. Goebbels's statements about an imminent victory over the Bolsheviks and grunted in disbelief when some bastard began to foam at the mouth to prove that by winter the Russians would be completely defeated and the valiant German divisions would enter Moscow. “Well, they were already entering,” the old warriors grumbled, “they stood almost at the very Kremlin walls. And then they quickly ran back - when the Russians hit us. And I don’t want to go anymore…”

Experienced soldiers in the Wehrmacht were called "old hares". But not because they were cowardly - no, there was not the slightest hint of insult in this nickname. On the contrary, there was a tribute to their ability to survive and fight in any situation. These soldiers were well aware of all the tricks and tricks of the enemy, they could defend themselves and attack in any conditions. Reasonable caution and prudence were valued at the front much higher than insane courage and blind courage. A good soldier is a living soldier, the dead cannot fight...

Of course, they didn’t like cowards, they got rid of them as soon as possible - they were floated somewhere far away to the rear so that they would not infect others with their fear and hysteria, but the firmness and stamina inherent in old, experienced soldiers were highly valued.

The "old hares" often scolded the Fuhrer - but, of course, in an undertone and only among their own. Basically, they were dissatisfied with the fact that Hitler did not guess with the timing of the Eastern campaign. They thought that everything would end quickly, in a few months, but they were stuck in Russia until the very cold. And they had to experience all the delights of a harsh winter in their own skin.

The formidable "General Frost" has become more dangerous for many than tanks and guns. But duty was above all, and they continued to fight, to serve their Fuhrer and Germany. "Deutschland, Deutschland über alles, über alles in der Welt..." Germany above all...

Senior officers of the Wehrmacht, as noted by Max, most often came from families of hereditary military men, often with the prefix "von" in front of the surname. White bone, elite, salt of the Prussian land. Perfectly educated and superbly trained, they were the basis of the German army, its support and core. With subordinates, they behaved simply, in a comradely manner, with juniors in rank - in a friendly way, but, of course, they did not allow any familiarity.

Junior commanders came from simpler families, as they say, from the people. The same Heinrich Roemer, for example. His father is an ordinary carpenter, his mother is a pastor's daughter, a housewife, he himself entered the infantry school not by vocation or family tradition, but by circumstances. And the soldiers were generally from the most ordinary families - both peasants and the same workers ...

But who the army really did not like was the SS men. If some "black rank" accidentally appeared in the smoking room (the SS division "Das Reich" also took part in the battles on the Rzhev ledge), the conversations fell silent at once and the officers tried to disappear unnoticed.

“I don’t like these guys,” Heinrich frowned at the sight of them, “arrogant, arrogant. No, of course, they are excellent warriors, brave, skillful, well-armed, but ... It's one thing to fight the enemy, and quite another to fight against civilians. And even more so to carry out punitive operations among them ...

Max nodded - who would argue. They were told at school about the atrocities of the Nazis in the occupied territories. Executioners, monsters ... However, Max tried to keep his feelings to himself - so as not to blurt out something superfluous, not to give himself away. For the most part, he was generally silent and only listened.

He became very close with Heinrich, began to spend almost all his free time with him. He talked about his family, life in Germany, about studying at school. Max shook his mustache - it could come in handy. Moreover, all this was new to him ...

Conversations with Heinrich greatly brightened up the gray hospital days and helped to kill time. After all, being in the hospital is such a bore! Indeed, you yourself will ask for the front ...

* * *

On the third day of his stay, Max decided to shave - the stubble had already become indecent. He went through his personal belongings and found a shaving set - a cardboard pencil case with a sharp blade, an aluminum cup for foam and a shaving brush.

And he fell a little into a stupor. In that other life, he used only an electric razor, from his earliest youth, when fluff first appeared above his upper lip. And then ... Of course, he theoretically knew how to use it and even saw it in real life. But it is one thing to observe from the outside, and quite another to try it yourself. Helpful memory immediately showed a picture - here is Uncle Misha shaving ... He recognized only a dangerous blade - the sharpest German "solingen".

The uncle got the German razor from his father, Maxim Petrovich, Max's grandfather. He brought her back from the war as a trophy. Together with an expensive accordion, red velvet curtains and Singer sewing machine needles - a big shortage then. The curtains immediately went to grandma's ceremonial dress, the needles were exchanged at Tishinka for bread and margarine, and the accordion became Maxim Petrovich's favorite pastime.

He played it at all holidays, weddings and family celebrations, never refused anyone, he always sang his favorite folk songs and melodies with pleasure. But after his death, in the troubled post-perestroika years, the accordion had to be sold - there was nothing to live on. Moreover, none of the children and grandchildren have ever learned to play it ...

And the German razor was preserved. Grandfather used it for several years, and then presented it to his eldest son, Mishka. It was time for him to shave. Until the end of his life, Uncle Misha preferred the German apprehension to all electric shavers, contemptuously calling the latter "buzzers."

- Can you shave well with a machine? he asked ironically, running the sharpest Solingen steel across his soapy cheek. - This is nonsense, pampering. For a face to be truly clean, you need a real blade, dangerous. And best of all - German, it is sharper. Although ours seems to be nothing either ...

Max mentally saw: here Uncle Misha spreads foam in a metal cup with a thick, bristly brush, then he liberally applies it to his face, takes a guard in his right hand and begins to slowly, carefully drive it over his cheeks and neck, at the same time pulling the skin on his face with the fingers of his left hand. This procedure took him at least fifteen minutes, and the uncle strictly observed it. And he never went out to breakfast badly shaven.

After the end of the procedure, he slightly moistened the skin with cologne, as a rule, expensive "Shiprom". Max still remembered his slightly harsh, but pleasant smell.

Mom laughed at my uncle: "You're just a groom, you like to show off." To which he strictly answered her: “A real Soviet officer should look smart and smell good. To please women. And morning shaving for this is the very thing. Firstly, it gives cleanliness and neatness to the face, secondly, it invigorates, and thirdly, a pleasant smell remains. Yes, and the firmness of the hand develops, the accuracy of movements ... "

Uncle Misha was real Soviet officer. He went to serve early, at the age of seventeen he entered a military school. He trained as a signalman lieutenant, wandered around the distant garrisons for a long time. He never started a family - not every woman will agree to live in a wooden barrack on the very edge of the earth. But he was not sad about this and said that he already had a family - his beloved younger brother with his wife and nephew, Maximka.

And so the uncle squandered for thirty years through the barracks and government apartments, and in the early nineties, when he was finally turned out of the army, he became very homesick and washed down. And then he died. He did not accept the new Russian reality, did not fit into the market economy. Max got the Solingen razor, but he never used it - he preferred comfortable electric shavers, preferably imported ones. And now the razor was in the mother's apartment ...

Max thoughtfully rubbed his face and decided to start shaving anyway. It's easy, you'll get the hang of it somehow. Moreover, there was no other way out anyway: an exemplary German officer cannot walk with a three-day stubble on his face. Max poured a little into an aluminum cup. warm water, gently diluted the soap, applied foam to the cheeks. Well, be careful...

He ran the blade a couple of times on his left cheek and, of course, cut himself - blood came out. Damn it! So, one more time... After the third cut, he threw away the razor in his hearts - what a torment! And how is it being used? But then he pulled himself together and heroically brought the matter to an end. Is he an officer or not, after all? The quality of the shave, however, left much to be desired - thin cuts were visible here and there. Okay, for the first time it will do ...

By the way, when he first saw his face in a small round mirror, he was a little taken aback. What is this unshaven muzzle? Then he chuckled - it's his! More precisely, Peter Stauf. The muzzle, in general, turned out to be very personal - beautiful, courageous, with a strong-willed chin. It could have been much worse...

In general, he was very lucky with his appearance: Lieutenant Stauf turned out to be quite decent - blond hair, blue eyes, a tall, slender figure. A real Aryan, his mother….

Returning to the ward, Max explained to Heinrich about the cuts - the hand, they say, was shaking, that's the result. Damn concussion! He nodded understandingly and advised to turn to the army barber - there was one in the hospital, just for such cases. And he took inexpensive services - only half a mark. Max gladly took his advice. The next day, he looked just fine - his face shone like a polished copper basin, and his cheeks glowed with a freshly shaved blue. Beauty!

* * *

Max got used to the difficulties of army life quite easily. wash your face cold water? No problem. Brush your teeth with powder instead of the usual paste? Please! Use hard German newspaper instead of soft toilet paper? Easily. That's what it means to spend a month and a half at military training! True, then he had a good electric razor with him ...

But what was very annoying was the lack of information. What was going on at the front had to be judged only by rumors and reports from the "soldier's telegraph". No TV, no Internet. There were newspapers and magazines, but they came very late, only the party's Völkischen Beobachter regularly arrived. Max once ran it obliquely and decided that it was suitable for only one purpose - for the toilet. Where is it used most...

There was no radio in the hospital, but a couple of times they brought newsreel, played it after dinner in the dining room. But how could one believe Goebel's propaganda? Many of his colleagues were very ironic about what they said from the screen. “Another major victory for the German weapons… the heroic offensive of the victorious units of the Wehrmacht… the unbending will of the German soldiers… exceptional heroism and resilience… the complete defeat of the Bolsheviks… thousands of prisoners, hundreds of destroyed military equipment…”, the announcer happily announced. And, of course, not a word about losses.

The text was accompanied by flashing shots: here German soldiers are marching across Ukraine, unharvested wheat fields and village houses are blazing, broken tractors are turning black in the field ... And gray, endless columns of prisoners are stretching along dusty roads. The battles in Ukraine were heavy, bloody, and Stalingrad was already visible ahead ...

And the inevitable, terrible defeat of the 6th Army of General Paulus. But Max, of course, could not tell anyone (at least the same Heinrich Roemer) about this. Yes, I didn't want to. For what? Let everything go the way it goes...

Heinrich chuckled when the announcer called the number of defeated Russian divisions and the number of knocked out tanks: “According to Dr. Goebbels, then we completely destroyed the entire Red Army. And at least three times. Without exception, together with the rear and the militias. But the Russians are still holding out and do not seem to be going to capitulate. Yes, and they have a lot of new equipment, the same T-34s ... "

Heinrich spoke of Russian tanks with respect and even fear. “Nothing takes them, no anti-tank guns,” he said, “only 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns, our “akht-akht”. But where to get them in the right amount? And who will give them to an ordinary infantry company? Well, if there are a couple of pieces in the regiment, we will fight back, but if not? All, consider, the end. Grenades and “mallets” of the T-34 cannot be stopped ... "

The same opinion was shared by other colleagues of Roemer. Oberfeldwebel Jürgen Hein, in particular, said:

- I'm sitting somehow in a trench, and a Russian tank is rushing at me. And in our company there are only “beaters”, you know, completely useless against him. You slap one of them on the T-34, and for him - at least henna, no holes, no dents. It’s like knocking on a door with a wooden hammer, there is a sound, but there is no sense. I thought then - that's it, now they will grind me to dust with caterpillars. Well, our panzers managed to approach, fought back, otherwise ...

The Germans called the 37-mm anti-tank guns "mallets", which were really quite weak against the formidable "thirty-fours". Max's colleagues often talked about their military exploits, and especially about the past winter campaign. Staff sergeant major Otto Bauer, for example, was very proud of the fact that he could see the stars on the Kremlin towers through field glasses. He stood on the very outskirts of Moscow, on the Volokolamsk highway, where, in fact, his offensive ended - he ended up in the hospital after severe frostbite.

“General Frost killed more of our soldiers than the Russians,” he said confidently. - When the thermometer is minus thirty-five, and you have only one unlined summer overcoat and thin pants, what the hell is the service? Wouldn't take a breath! And boots, you know, with cardboard soles, fly off in a couple of days. In the cold, the legs are the main thing. If the snow accidentally gets into the boot or wets the feet - that's it, consider that the next morning you no longer have them. There is literally nowhere to dry. You can’t make fire in a trench - the Russians immediately notice and start shooting, so you sit, trembling like a hare’s tail ...

- How did you warm up? Max asked.

“They stuffed their boots with newspapers,” the staff sergeant sergeant grinned, “in winter, this is the first thing. Fortunately, the Völkischen Beobachter was always brought to us. So I went for warming ... Some more took off boots and warm socks from captured Russians. Of course, this is not according to the charter, even looting, but one wants to live! Here they were saved, as best they could. And Russian felt boots are the best winter shoes in the world, they are warm in any frost.

Oberfeldwebel Jürgen Hein nodded and added:

- Even lice ate us terribly, there was no rescue. Thank God, they adopted one method from the Russians - they arranged a brazier. You take an iron barrel, put it on fire, pour a little water on the bottom, and close it with a tight lid on top. Inside there are wooden shelves on which you put your underwear. And fry with lice. Yes carefully! Otherwise, there is no way to get rid of it. Sometimes we made a Russian bath, steamed, washed. But this was when it was completely calm, and during the fighting, you yourself know, you can’t wash and warm up. So they walked for several weeks - dirty, smelly, lousy. It was disgusting!

By the way, Jürgen Hein pronounced the word “banya” in Russian and laughed quite a lot - that's how he learned a foreign language! “Interesting,” thought Max, “can I speak Russian, has the knowledge of my native language disappeared? I should check…”

“They gave me “frozen meat” for that winter,” Hine said proudly and at the same time ironically.

- What? Max didn't understand.

- The medal "For the winter campaign in the East," the oberfeldwebel explained, "here ...

And he pointed to a small round on his chest. A dark red ribbon with a black and white stripe was casually threaded through the buttonhole of a grey-green tunic.

“We call it “frozen meat” because the ribbon is very similar in color to frozen beef,” Jürgen explained. “Or pork… Although, they say, red represents the blood that we shed on the battlefields…”

Max looked at the medal with interest. Eh, Kostya would be here, he would be delighted with such trophies ...

“These two white stripes,” the oberfeldwebel continued the explanation, “symbolize Russian snow near Moscow, and the black one between them symbolizes grief for our fallen comrades.

“We also call it “frozen meat”,” Jurgen Bauer interrupted him, “because they gave it for frostbitten asses. And other parts of the body...

And quite laughed. Laughter was picked up by other participants in the conversation - everyone who was in the smoking room. Max smiled condescendingly - let them joke ... He understood: the soldiers are trying to hide their fear behind laughter, no one wants to die in distant Russia, everyone wants to return to their home. Alive and preferably - in one piece.

“Only not everyone will succeed,” thought Max, “the war will last for a long time ...”

* * *

Thick morning fog filled the trenches. “Damn, you can’t see anything,” Max cursed to himself, “like walking through fresh milk.”

He almost ran into his sentry - Josef Ranke, who was hiding from the dampness under a gray cape. The corporal was shivering slightly - despite the summer, it was rather cold in the mornings. The Gzhatka River flowed close, and a ragged, sticky, nasty fog was creeping up from it, because of which it was impossible to make out anything more than two or three steps.

Max walked around his positions. Today, another attack was expected, and it was necessary to prepare for it. His main concern was machine guns - so that they worked like clockwork. Otherwise, do not fight back ...

There were four of them in a platoon - two light and two heavy, on tripods. As a matter of fact, only thanks to them it was possible to keep these positions. A ten-shot German carbine is, of course, a good thing (although it doesn’t pull against a Kalash, Max decided), but a machine gun is better. The trouble-free German machine mowed down the advancing like grass. Whole rows...

Max smiled sadly: wow, he calls the Russian soldiers "the enemy." And he fights, in fact, against his grandfathers, great-grandfathers. Moreover, he fights well, competently, businesslike, as befits an exemplary German officer. Max was deeply involved in the army service and diligently pulled the strap. Which was rather strange for him. He - and suddenly the army? incompatible concepts. He avoided military service and everything in the military. But here it was. As they say, the crow swore ...

If someone had said that he would wear a lieutenant's uniform, and even a German one ... I would never have believed it! But the fact remains - he is in the army, and even in the Wehrmacht. And there is no getting away from it. You have to serve, and diligently. As Oberfeldwebel Hein noted, war is the best teacher in the world, you learn everything quickly. The penalty for mistakes is death.

And being killed was not part of Max's plans. In his heart, he really hoped to return. And forever forget about the military nightmare! Why the hell did he buy that damn watch? Every morning, winding them up, Max swore to himself: if not for this stupidity, nothing would have happened. I would live happily now, fish, sunbathe, swim, wait for Marinka and Masha ...

I wonder how they are there? Surely Marinka will be very surprised when she returns and does not find him at home. He will start calling friends, acquaintances, asking everyone ... Maybe he will raise the police to their feet. Will search...

And at that time he was only a few kilometers from it, on the other side of Gzhatka. Only more than seventy years before that, in 1942. And you will not give any sign, you will not say that you are alive and well. The only thing left was to hope. Hope and wait.

Max never received leave for injury - the situation at the front deteriorated sharply, the Russians launched another offensive. Everyone who could hold a weapon was driven to the front line. First of all, officers, since in recent months a very significant loss has formed among them. And there was almost no replenishment ...

So Max ended up back in his "native" platoon. All his acquaintances returned to the place of service - Heinrich Roemer, Jürgen Hein, Otto Bauer. They also served next to him, in neighboring companies. Max sometimes visited them when there was a brief moment of calm.

Feldwebel Kurt Sagel was very happy with him: his beloved commander had finally arrived! So he beamed with happiness and began to repeat to everyone: “Wait a minute, Herr Lieutenant will restore order, teach you how to love your homeland!”

To them, fortunately, nevertheless, a small replenishment came, but what ... Young, unfired guys, fresh from infantry schools. Of course, in six months they were taught something: they knew weapons, they knew how to shoot, they even threw grenades quite well, but training is one thing, and real war is quite another. After the very first shelling, the majority, in the figurative expression of Zagel, put on their pants. They were frightened, confused, for a long time they could not come to their senses and take up arms. And the shelling was followed by Russian attacks, and they had to be repelled somehow ...

The enemy attacked, as a rule, early in the morning, according to the same pattern: first a powerful shelling, then the attack itself. The Red Army soldiers imperceptibly approached the trenches and at once, on command, jumped up and rushed into battle. Almost without bending down, with a loud "hurrah". And they were cut down by long bursts of machine guns and volleys from carbines. Mortars and artillerymen also contributed - they thoroughly plowed the battlefield. Then it was all strewn with corpses, and for a long time the cries of the wounded and the heavy groans of the dying could be heard ... But no one helped them.

Max sometimes wanted to shout to the advancing Red Army soldiers: “Who goes on the attack like that?” It is necessary to take short dashes, bending down, using the terrain and natural shelters. As taught at the military training camp. And it’s better to get close at night, in the dark, and strike suddenly. Silently, without noise ... Cut out the guards, throw machine-gun nests with grenades, seize the dugouts. This is how to fight!

Right now, for example, ideal conditions for an attack. The fog is so thick in places that you can't even see an outstretched hand. Why not hit? He would have done just that. In place of the red commanders, of course ...

Therefore, by the way, he went out to check the positions - are the guards sleeping, is there a suspicious noise somewhere? And then really - they will descend, throw grenades. Kill everyone, including him. And I really don’t want to die, especially for the Third Reich.

Max sighed and went to the left flank to watch the recruits. God forbid, fall asleep. Something painfully quiet there, the flares have not taken off for a long time. Although in the fog there is almost no benefit from them, but at least they create the appearance of vigilance. As the "old hares" said, a soldier in war should sleep with one eye. And the second - to watch ...

The fight began at eight in the morning. Max just had time to have breakfast (again, crappy ersatz coffee and boring sandwiches with margarine), shave (already decently and without anyone's help) and listen to Kurt Sagel's report.

The sergeant-major reported that nothing significant had happened during the night: the Russians slept like bears in dens, there was not even the usual disturbing shelling. Apparently, they were also tired after many days of fighting and decided to rest.

Max chuckled: this hardly looks like a rest, more like a covert preparation for an offensive. The conditions for this are already very good: there are significant losses in German companies, there are almost no experienced soldiers left, and recruits are not yet fired upon. And the Russians can't help but know about it...

Long and stubborn battles were not in vain for the Wehrmacht - the personnel melted like snow. People accumulated fatigue, appeared indifference, apathy, lethargy. Due to losses, one actually had to serve for two ... Moreover, the decline arose not only because of the battles, but also because of ordinary diseases, and especially dysentery. Drinking water had to be taken from a swampy stream, and no matter how you boil it, some kind of infection still remained. So the valiant soldiers of the Reich did not crawl out of the closet.

In the most difficult cases you have to send such "assholes" (as Sagel puts it) to the hospital. Everyone's mood was worse than ever, emotions were almost at zero, and then there were dank fogs and dreary rains. Everything was soaked - clothes, a blanket, a cape. No matter how dry you are, you still won’t get enough sleep in the wet. And still waiting for the coming...

It was very exhausting, it got on your nerves, some broke down and started randomly firing towards the enemy, who opened fire back. All this ended with new dead and wounded, and this further complicated the situation ...

Therefore, when the Russian attack began, Max was even delighted - the uncertainty was finally over, you can act. Waiting and catching up is nowhere worse, everyone knows that.

As expected, at first there was a powerful shelling, then the famous “Stalinist organs” entered the business. So the German soldiers called the Russian "Katyusha". Indeed, the mournful, drawn-out howl was very reminiscent of the sounds of a musical instrument. Max, by the way, once heard how they play a real organ when they were taken to the church. It was in Berlin, in the eighth grade, during his first trip to Germany.

Then he and other guys were sent for a week to the capital of Germany, on a tourist trip. Max found himself abroad for the first time, and even in Berlin, about which their teacher Gertrud Karlovna buzzed their ears. Natural, by the way, a German, the daughter of a former GDR party functionary.

Her father, even during the war, went over to the side of the Red Army, voluntarily surrendered to captivity near Moscow. He said that he was a convinced communist, an ardent opponent of Hitler and did not want to fight against Russian comrades. Karl Willer actively participated in the work of the anti-fascist committee, and after the war he became one of the party apparatchiks in the new Germany.

Back in the USSR, he married a Russian girl Tatyana, and his family lived happily ever after in the GDR. But then something went wrong with them, the wife and daughter returned home. But she did not lose touch with her ex-husband, she regularly visited Dresden, brought crystal chandeliers and jeans that were extremely fashionable then. Which she sold with great profit to her friends and acquaintances. With this money, in fact, the family lived in the USSR.

Gertrude of course German knew perfectly. After graduating from the Pedagogical Institute, she went to work as a teacher and began to make a successful career. At twenty-five, she was already the head teacher, and everyone predicted her to be director. But then Gertrude was very unlucky - her mother fell for speculation (one of her own passed), a scandal erupted, rumors, of course, reached educational institution. And she had to quit...

Gertrude Karlovna worked for several years in the district library, until everything calmed down, and then returned to school. But as an ordinary teacher... Long years she stubbornly pulled the pedagogical strap and was terribly offended at everyone and everything, and especially at her former students, many of which in post-perestroika times were able to “rise” quite well. Some went abroad and got jobs in good companies, others organized their own business and got rich ... And everyone forgot about their former teacher and did not help her in any way. Gertrude Karlovna led a very modest lifestyle, existed, in fact, on one salary. But she invested so much strength and talent in them, gave them so much!

Fortunately, not everyone turned out to be so ungrateful, one former student helped Gertrude Karlovna get into a prestigious special school. And she immediately came to life, perked up. She began to take students to Germany (those, of course, who could pay for the trip), organized classes in a summer language camp, in general, took up the teaching business. And no longer complained of poverty. Thanks to her, many guys from Max's special school (and himself) ended up in Germany and were able to practice Deutsch.

By the way, Max did not like Berlin at all: a gray, boring city with long, straight streets. Everything is too correct, boring, lined with a ruler, in the Prussian manner. Soulless, rational, but with great amenities for residents and tourists. Transport ran on schedule, it was possible to check the time by electric trains. Metro stations, where they got directly from the street, without any long escalators, were every half a kilometer, or even more often. Along the alleys of the most beautiful Tirgaten Park, young ladies with carriages walked sedately. Almost like in the movies.

Max was very surprised by East Berlin - until now there were bald spots left over from the war. For some reason, no one built them up - these vast wastelands and gaps between houses almost in the very center of the city. It seems that so many years have already passed, it's time to ...

In general, Max did not like the German capital, and if it were not for the Zoo with its funny animals and Kudamm with sparkling shops full of the most fashionable goods, then there would be nothing to see. Even the church with a real organ didn't really interest Max. And Bach's music seemed sad and dull, only howls. The only benefit of going to Berlin was that he learned Deutsche well and then had no problems with it until the very end of school.

By the way, his mother arranged for him in a special school - she dreamed that her son would receive a liberal arts education. It was not possible to get into the English, very prestigious, - all the places were already taken, but they took him to the German without any problems. Maximka was smart and well prepared - at the age of six he read freely, easily added and subtracted numbers up to one hundred, knew the multiplication table. He did not particularly strive to study foreign languages, he was more interested in technology, but since his mother said ... Father was not against it - knowledge foreign language hasn't bothered anyone yet.

Max did not have any special talents for linguistics - for example, average abilities, but he was assiduous and accurate, and therefore was always listed among the good and excellent students. It helped in his studies that Max from childhood was used to bringing things to the end, and his diligence and commitment were highly valued at school. By the way, he inherited these qualities from his father, a great pedant and neat man.

My father was a design engineer and loved technology, especially aircraft (he worked in one of the aviation design bureaus). He could spend hours explaining to Max how the liner works, what and how it works. Mom, a general practitioner, did not interfere with such communication (the boy is still), but secretly hoped that her son would go to medical school after graduation and become a surgeon. Or at least a general practitioner, like herself. Continuing the family tradition...

The father grunted skeptically at this - the boy has a clear interest in technology, let him go to aviation! Will be a designer, engineer, developer of new systems. Yes, and the competition technical university much lower than medical.

Max did not want to become either an engineer or a doctor, he was attracted by something else - live communication with people, organization and management. Therefore, after thinking, I chose management - a prestigious and fashionable profession then. The competition for the relevant faculty was great, but Max tensed up and entered - and without any cronyism. And even without tutors - he memorized everything and passed it. He honestly spent five years on the student bench, was considered a good student, passed all exams and tests on time. At the end of the fifth year, he wrote a good thesis and finally received the coveted document on education.

And went to get a job. Here it turned out that menagers like him are a dime a dozen. More precisely - like uncut dogs. And all with diplomas. Often even with cooler ones than his. Max had to run a lot before he got his first job. He basically refused the help of his father and mother - I can do it myself.

And I could - I found it, I got a job. I worked for several months, then I realized that I had to leave, it was a lonely place, there were no prospects. He moved to another company, but after a couple of months he quit again - the salary is rather low.

So jumped from place to place for several years, until he finally found his current job - a sales manager in a large computer company. The work is clean, prestigious and, most importantly, well paid. Max has earned the respect of his colleagues and understanding from his superiors. Over time, he hoped to take the place of deputy chief or even open his own business. Why not? He has experience, and a lot of it...

* * *

Yes, Max sighed, he had everything: a beautiful wife, a sweet daughter, and a house full of cups. What more could you want? And if it wasn't for this watch...

And now he is sitting in a trench, and his own Russians are firing at him. In ten or fifteen minutes they will finish playing on their "organs" and go on the attack. With a shout of "hurrah" and rifles at the ready. That's when he'll have to open fire...

Artillery did not cause much harm to his platoon, shells burst far behind, fragments almost did not fly into narrow, winding trenches, but the shelling acted fairly on the nerves. Especially piercing, soul-exhausting howls of "Stalin's organs".

Max chuckled: wow, he calls his native “Katyushas” in the German manner. They survived... The classic was right after all - a scoundrel gets used to everything, adapts to everything. You can probably adapt to this reality. To the German uniform, service in the Wehrmacht and war with all its dangers ... To the booming roar of explosions, the nasty trembling of the earth, sharp, hot pieces of metal flying into the trenches. And also to the feeling of complete helplessness in front of the fiery wall, inexorably advancing from the front.

It is true what they say: the worst minutes are before the attack, they last forever. During the shelling, Max usually sat next to Sergeant Sagel and smoked. Cheerful, talkative Kurt brightened up the expectation with his stories. His anecdotes and simple, uncomplicated jokes helped a lot to relax and forget about the upcoming fight for a while.

“Somehow two soldiers approached the sergeant major,” Kurt poisoned another anecdote, “they ask for a vacation. Marry, that is. But one wants to leave for two weeks, and the other - for a whole month. “Why are you asking for two more weeks?” the sergeant major asks the second. “And I still need to find a bride!” - he answers.

Everyone laughs, including Max himself. Zagel's humor was simple, military, but it worked well, soothingly. And the topic of conversation after that was right away - home, family, vacation. Everyone wanted to escape from the Russian hell for at least a couple of weeks, to visit Germany, but few were allowed to go. What kind of vacation is there when the Bolsheviks are on the move! So they sat in the trenches, preparing for the next battle ...

The shelling finally ended, Max got up, cautiously looked out. So, now wait for the offensive ... He took out binoculars, looked: it was true, five “thirty-fours” slowly crawled across the field to the right, and behind them, crouching, the infantry ran. “Though not in full growth this time,” he thought with satisfaction, “they don’t climb under the bullets. Tanks are more likely to survive ... "

Max put the binoculars back and ordered Kurt Sagel: "Arrows and machine gunners are in position." He duplicated the team, the soldiers took their places. They prepared carbines, laid out grenades, inserted long belts into machine guns ...

Max's duties, fortunately, did not include the fight against tanks, it was only necessary to cut off the Russian infantry. The "thirty-fours" were fought by regimental guns standing behind the company. They must stop the formidable Russian vehicles, and then help their panzers complete the rout. Four T-IIIs hid behind a low, gentle hill a couple of kilometers from the front line. They were waiting for their time.

He only had to let the Russian tanks through him and cut off the infantry of the advancing, not to let him get close to the trenches. And even more so do not let them capture and gain a foothold. And then you don't smoke. Artillery took the main blow, it destroyed tanks. The panzers were in reserve and intended for a counterattack.

When the Red Army retreated, they joined the battle. Under their cover, German companies were already moving forward. It was necessary to run to the enemy trenches as quickly as possible and capture trophies, preferably more. And then immediately back, until the Russians came to their senses and organized a new offensive. That's how they fought - back and forth, like a pendulum.

Among the German soldiers, Soviet PPShs were highly valued, which Max habitually called machine guns. The Shpagin submachine guns were simpler and more reliable than the German MP-38s, and the soldiers willingly used them. They even respectfully called the PPSh a “little machine gun”, although they complained that it was difficult and long to fill the disk. But cartridges - as many as seventy pieces! Russian sniper rifles were also highly valued - for their strength and accuracy, but they came across extremely rarely ...

Max was watching. Mines with a nasty champ burst in front of his trench, raising small fountains of earth, artillery was also connected to the shelling. German guns immediately responded ...

"Thirty-fours" went in zigzags, trying to get away from the dense fire, the Red Army lay down. Red and black explosions arose among them more and more often. Max's platoon fired heavily with machine guns, contributing to repulse the attack. The Russians hit them with tanks. The ringing hoot of the turret guns now and then blocked the sharp crack of the MP-38. The explosions plowed up the positions of the platoons. German soldiers crouched down and cursed fell to the bottom of the trenches...

Max made sure that no one panicked and ran. “One for all, all for one” - this motto of the French musketeers perfectly reflected the relationship in the company. Yes, and throughout the Wehrmacht, too. The soldiers and officers understood that only together can we resist a strong and well-armed enemy. Either everyone dies or everyone wins.

The soldiers respected their commanders, understood that they honestly received their shoulder straps, went through all the stages of service. They started as privates, sat, like themselves, in the trenches, fed lice, froze, starved. And only then, having served, proved themselves, deserved officer rank. Max was absolutely sure that if he was wounded, he would be carried from the battlefield and taken to the hospital. Instead of being left to die in a dirty crater...

It was a little gratifying. Kurt Sagel once said as they wearily smoked after another attack: “I respect you, Herr Lieutenant, because I see that you are the same type as me. Like everyone in our platoon ... Let you be more educated and smarter, but you are your own, soldier. And I will fight for you."

- Are you afraid of being killed? Max then asked.

Every day in their platoon someone was seriously wounded or died - Russian snipers were active.

“Life is complicated,” Kurt replied philosophically. - You can't escape fate. No matter how hard you try ... What to be, that cannot be avoided.

Fatalism was inherent in many German soldiers. And yet, as Max noted, his subordinates never talked about politics, but often and willingly scolded party bosses. “They are sitting there in Berlin, completely safe,” they said, “and we are rotting here in the trenches. And every minute we can be killed. Can these fat pigs understand us? These snickering party officials ... They should be here, to our front line, let them fight. However, all conversations were conducted, as a rule, before the next attack. To unwind and relax a bit...

* * *

Russian tanks fanned out and slowly crawled onto the German trenches. Max figured that the main blow would fall on the neighboring platoon, commanded by Oberfeldwebel Franz Furbach.

Max knew him well - he was a friend of Zagel and often visited them. Both of them were considered veterans, fought since 1939, went through the French and Polish campaigns, held each other tightly. Zagel and Furbach liked to smoke, chat over coffee, and even drink schnapps, if possible. They got pipe tobacco from home (both countrymen, from Westphalia) and preferred it to any German and even French cigarettes. Home parcels, as well as letters, warm clothes, chocolate and smoke received at Christmas, were the most valuable things at the front. Of course, after food, weapons and ammunition.

Max also received two letters from home. Of course, not him, but Lieutenant Peter Stauf. From Elsa's wife and mother. Max read both messages with a strange feeling. On the one hand, he was somehow embarrassed - after all, these letters were intended for another person, and on the other hand, this other person was himself. This is such a paradox...

Peter's mother asked why he had not written for a long time, if something had happened. She conveyed greetings from relatives and friends, including from her father and sister Inga. She was extremely proud of her older brother and dreamed of studying to be a nurse after school. Then to serve at the front, in the hospital. Inga, by the way, recently became the commander of the detachment ...

“So the girl in the photo is Peter's sister, Inga,” Max realized. - She is now finishing school and, of course, is a member of the Union of German Girls. The same Hitler Youth, only female.” One photo seems to be sorted out. It was logical to assume that the second depicts Peter's parents.

Now Max knew what the father, mother and sister of Lieutenant Stauf looked like, which was already good. Will not pass by, if that. Although everything could be attributed to amnesia ...

Max did not answer them - he did not know what and how Lieutenant Stauf usually writes, what words and expressions he uses. After all, letters to relatives and friends are special messages, very personal. If you write wrong, your relatives will immediately understand that this is a different person. And there may be questions...

For the same reason, he did not answer Elsa - who knows how Peter addressed her. Elsa asked if he was wounded, if he was shell-shocked, and also reported on Marta and her successes. She wrote almost nothing about herself, only briefly mentioned that everything was in order with her. Attached to the letter was a small drawing made by a child's hand - Martha did her best. A crooked house under the radiant sun, apple trees in the garden and a man in military uniform near him. Obviously, it is himself, Peter Stauff...

Ordinary children's doodles, but they reminded Max of Marina and Mashka. And again he yearned. He walked all day, as if lowered into the water, which everyone noticed. Kurt Sagel advised to send home a photo to prove that everything is fine with him, Max took this advice. For two marks I took a picture with the regimental photographer and sent it to Elsa.

In order not to arouse suspicion, the address was written in large block letters, and on the card itself, in a beautiful Gothic font (taught at school), he carefully deduced: “With love, your Peter.” You can't really go wrong...

That's just how to send a message, even the shortest one, to your own wife, Marinka? This problem remained unresolved.

“It’s good that the rod isn’t on me,” thought Max, looking at the tanks, “otherwise I would have to burrow into the ground up to my ears again.” And pray to fate that he does not fall asleep, like last time.

This had already happened to him: three days ago, one "thirty-four" broke through to his position, but instead of quickly slipping through the trench and rushing further, they suddenly turned around and began to iron him. Max barely had time to collapse to the bottom and hide in some kind of crack, he was covered with heavy layers of earth. Fortunately, their soldiers arrived in time, dug up, helped to get out. However, the feeling remained extremely unpleasant. It's like being buried alive...

“Own,” Max chuckled… The Germans, in a sense. Which, in theory, should be enemies. He is Russian, even Soviet... But in the three weeks that he spent in the trenches, a lot of things changed in his mind. He no longer perceived the Germans as enemies. Moreover, many became almost friends to him - comrades-in-arms, chamberlains. And they slept and ate together, together they beat off the attacks of the enemy. And they, by the way, every day became more and more stubborn and longer.

Like now, for example. Five Russian tanks and at least an infantry battalion, according to the most modest estimates, and all for one company. Oberleutnant Otto Neumann was behind his platoon, at his command post, and led the mortar fire. All hope remained on the artillery and panzers hidden behind the hill.

The regimental 75mm cannons behind the trenches could of course stop the Russian tanks, but the T-IIIs and T-IVs were better. Although the "thirty-fours" often won duels with them - thanks to their armor and speed. And they destroyed the regimental guns on the move ...

So it was this time. The tanks managed to get quite close to the German positions and even hit one of the guns. Max saw through binoculars how the artillery servants fussed, trying to put an inverted cannon on wheels. It was possible with great difficulty - the strong fire of the "thirty-fours" interfered. Tanks were hitting them closely...

The remaining cannon fired convulsively, sending one shell after another, but did no significant harm to the Russian vehicles. “Yes, things are not important,” thought Max, “five more minutes, and nothing will remain of our valiant artillery. And then they'll take care of them." There were only two guns in the company, and this turned out to be extremely small. And the "beaters" against the "thirty-fours" were generally ineffective.

Russian tanks immediately slipped through the trenches and came close to the gunners. “Well, that's all,” Max decided, “they will crush them with caterpillars, they will wipe them into fine dust. And those who do not have time to escape will be shot from machine guns.” Fortunately (although what kind of happiness is it, if you look at it?), a German all-terrain vehicle with an 88-mm anti-aircraft gun, “akht-akht”, quickly rolled out onto the hillock. The guns were nicknamed so for the sound made when firing. The calculation unhooked the cannon on the move, deployed it and pointed it at the nearest tank.

The effect of the shooting exceeded all expectations: the first shot managed to kill the caterpillar of the car. She spun in place, and then abruptly backed off, fell into some kind of ditch and froze. The crew managed to leave her a second before the second shell hit the turret. Bright snakes of flame ran across the armor, and then greasy, smoky smoke poured from inside. The crew of the other car was less fortunate - the hit turned out to be fatal. There was a terrible explosion, and the tower flew off to the side. It is unlikely that anyone survived ... The remaining tanks opened fire on anti-aircraft guns. She stood almost in the open and was an excellent target.

The firefight turned out to be short - a direct shot hit the target. The anti-aircraft gun and the calculation immediately covered, fragments of metal and pieces of human flesh flew in all directions ...

Max was horrified to see how a torn off leg in a soldier's boot flopped a meter away from him. The ground was immediately stained with blood. He shuddered involuntarily and felt a nasty metallic taste of fear in his mouth. My throat was dry and my tongue stuck to my palate. Like in some kind of nightmare… But it was a reality, and it was impossible to get away from it…

Anti-aircraft gunners saved the company from destruction: Russian tanks, having lost two vehicles, withdrew, and the infantry began to retreat behind them. It's time for a German counterattack. Max sighed and waited for the order "forward". And try not to do it...

Four panzers with crosses tumbled heavily through the German trenches and launched a retaliatory offensive. Lieutenant Neiman came running from the command post, ordered - to attack! Max sighed, pulled the Walther out of its holster and shouted: “Follow me!”

For the first hundred meters, he ran crouching, and then straightened up - the tanks drove the Red Army soldiers far back, there was no need to be afraid of an accidental bullet. But soon the Russian artillery will again enter the battle ... Max increased his pace: it's better not to break away from his tanks, to stay right behind him. Still, cover, it's safer ...

Most of his soldiers were of the same opinion. Together they ran ahead of the lieutenant, trying not to lean out either. Leading the attack, as always, was the loyal sergeant major Zagel. Max urged on his subordinates and made sure that no one fell behind and lay down.

I had to run in zigzags - the whole field was plowed up with shells. Fresh funnels reeked of a sour, suffocating smell, and rotten puddles stood in the old ones. There were corpses lying here and there, which they did not have time to remove, they also had to run around. At the very least, jump over. Some of the bodies were bloated from the heat and stank unbearably. What can you do, the usual smell of war. The smell of fear, blood, death and decay. And more burning - from the wrecked tanks ...

Max tried to breathe through his mouth, but he still almost threw up. A small battle ensued ahead - his soldiers reached the front line and engaged the enemy. Grenades rumbled, pistol and rifle shots snapped. Selective mat sounded mixed with German curses.

Max slowed down - let them figure it out themselves, without him. He took cover behind the broken “thirty-four” and waited until everything was over. Enough of his personal participation in hand-to-hand combat ...

Fortunately, the fight was short-lived - the Russians withdrew, the German soldiers occupied the trenches. Max ran up to them and jumped down. And he almost stumbled over a dead Red Army soldier. Young, fair-haired, twenty years old, no more. Dead eyes stared up into the clear blue sky with surprise and pain, and a drop of blood had caked on his lip. Max looked away and tried not to think about what had happened here just a minute ago.

He was not a brave man, on the contrary, he always, from early childhood, tried not to get involved in fights. He was not a ringleader, a leader, he did not strive to excel in everything and lead. You could say he was a coward. He also did not like scandals and showdowns, preferring, if possible, to resolve everything peacefully, without screaming and fighting. He was prudent, cautious, and therefore, as a rule, got along well with people and did not conflict with anyone.

Which helped a lot in the work, because the main things for the sales manager were a good relationship with clients. Sociability, complaisance, the ability to find a reasonable compromise - this helped to establish contact and quickly sell the goods. And with a decent profit. For this, he was appreciated by his superiors and even set as an example to the rest of the employees - that's how to work! They envied him and quietly hated him ...

These same qualities helped him build right relationship with Marina. He had no conflicts with her, only at the very beginning of the marriage, when they were just getting used to each other and getting used to each other, there were some misunderstandings and roughness. But Max easily smoothed them out. In disputes with his wife, he usually gave in, gave up, raised his paws up. But then, having cooled down, Marinka paid him love and gratitude. Especially in bed.

She, unlike him, was by nature a leader, a leader, a stubborn, wayward person. She loved to show herself and always stood her ground. Sometimes to stupid obstinacy ... Max had to take this into account. But he did not suffer from such a relationship. It was easier and easier for him to agree with Marinka than to argue and swear. Family conflicts did not lead to anything good, and a momentary victory in disputes was not worth frayed nerves and a spoiled mood.

And he had an excellent relationship with his mother-in-law, and right away. Lydia Vasilievna accepted him instantly and unconditionally. She repeatedly told Marinka how lucky she was with her husband. “Maksik is just gold, not a person,” she tirelessly repeated, “caring, gentle, attentive, knows how to listen and understand. This is such a rarity among today's young people! In addition, he hardly drinks, he doesn’t run around women, and the wind doesn’t throw money. On the contrary, everything is home, everything is in mink. In disputes, the mother-in-law, as a rule, took his side, which greatly contributed to the creation of strong family relationships. Marinka loved to show her character, she always tried to prove her case in everything, but her mother restrained her and smoothed out conflicts.

After the birth of Mashka, Lydia Vasilievna became simply indispensable for the family - she could always help, sit and take a walk with the baby. Marinka did not want to leave her job for a long time (she ran a column in a glamorous women's magazine), and therefore she often asked her mother to stay with her daughter. She willingly agreed. In general, in a sense, they had an idyll in the family. Or almost...

Here, at the front, other qualities were required of him. Peter Stauf, as it turned out, was a brave man, a desperate guy and always the first to attack. This interfered with Max - he was not at all eager to fight, did not seek to expose his head to bullets. But it was necessary to correspond to the image and also show courage. At least for looks...

And during the next attack, everything inside him was compressed and his hamstrings were literally shaking. When you run across an open field, and they hit you with tank guns ... But what to do, you had to diligently play your role. Don't say, "I'm sorry guys, but I'm a coward." They don't get it, to put it mildly...

Max was usually the first to get out of the trench and set an example for the rest, inspired, so to speak, to fight. But all this - gritting his teeth and closing his eyes in fear. The only thing he never did was not participate in hand-to-hand combat. The first experience remained forever in his memory, and he did not want to repeat it. Max slowed down in front of the enemy trenches, giving his subordinates the right to be the first to break into them. And only then appeared among the winners.

So it was this time. The battle was over, the soldiers knocked out the Red Army and now they were collecting captured weapons and ammunition - they would come in handy. The orderlies carried the dead and wounded to their trenches, and sergeant major Zagel put things in order. Everything went on as usual.

- Lieutenant, what to do with the boy? Non-commissioned officer Helfner turned to him.

A middle-aged non-commissioned officer was holding a boy of fourteen or fifteen by the collar. He was very frightened and slightly wounded - blood flowed profusely from a torn cheek.

The boy was dressed in a Red Army uniform, clearly too big for him. “Most likely the son of the regiment,” Max decided.

“I found him in the dugout,” Helfner explained, “he huddled in the very corner and sat there. I thought they probably wouldn't notice. Where is it, to the rest of the prisoners?

Max looked at the boy: he was skinny, skin and bones, if sent prisoner, he definitely would not survive. Max knew how prisoners of the Red Army were treated in the camp - they were not fed for several days. And if they give food, then a liquid gruel of rotten cabbage leaves. ABOUT medical care and there was no speech. Only a week later, those who survived were sent under escort to the rear. Something in Max's soul trembled, and his heart sank strangely...

"Wait," he said, "I'll interrogate the prisoner myself."

Unter nodded, of course. He left the boy in the care of Max, and he ran further - to install machine guns in case of a Russian counterattack. Max took the boy to one of the side branches of the trench, seated him on a broken wooden box and quietly asked in Russian: “What is your name?” The boy shuddered - obviously, he did not expect to hear his native speech from a German officer.

“Vanya… Belousov…” he answered just as quietly.

"Crap! Max thought. “Isn’t this Ivan Belousov, Marinka’s grandfather?” He knew for sure that the heroic ancestor of his wife had fled to the front as a kid and fought just in these places, at the same time - in the summer of 1942. This is hardly a coincidence ... But just in case, he clarified:

- Where are you from, boy, what village?

“I am from here, from Broshki. Near here...

“So, that's right, the same Ivan Belousov, Max realized. What to do with it? You can’t send him into captivity - he’ll probably die. So, then Marinka will not be born? And he won’t marry her, and Masha’s daughter won’t appear?

Max believed that any changes in the past will certainly affect the future, so he was afraid to do something wrong, to change something irreparably. For the same reason, he tried not to interfere in anything at all - let everything go as it should. The war will last four years and end in Berlin, the Soviet Union will definitely win. Third the reich will fall in May 1945, Grand Admiral Karl Dönitz signed an unconditional surrender. Everything is correct.

And here is the thing! The event was directly related to his own destiny. Max stood up, looked around cautiously: the soldiers were going about their business - someone was checking captured weapons, someone was collecting ammunition, someone was smoking or sharing their impressions of the recent attack. Convenient moment. Max ordered the boy: "Follow me!"

- Uncle, don't kill me! the boy whimpered, smearing tears on his cheeks with a dirty palm.

“I won’t kill you,” Max shook him to bring him to his senses, “on the contrary, I’ll let him go. Tell our... I mean, your...

What could he convey? That the Wehrmacht is pulling up reserves and will soon launch a big offensive against Stalingrad and North Caucasus? Or that in six months the Germans will have new tanks - "Tiger" and "Panther"? And that you should not believe the allies and their promise about the Second Front, which will open only in 1944? So after all, they will take it as an attempt at disinformation. And not very skillful...

“That’s it, now I see that you are getting better!” he said. “Don't worry, Herr Lieutenant, I'll keep an eye on them. You are right, you cannot give concessions to the soldiers, otherwise the morale will fall. I already have them!

Zagel began to say something about the service, Max nodded and even answered, trying, however, not to go into details. He thought about how to quickly get rid of the overzealous sergeant major. Of course, so as not to arouse suspicion. He was still poorly versed in the realities of army service, especially German, more precisely, he knew practically nothing ... If only he didn’t burst out again!

Luckily, Sister Brigid soon came over.

- Lieutenant, Dr. Miller is waiting for you in the office.

Max immediately put out his cigarette and said goodbye to Zagel.

"I hope to see you soon," he nodded. Until then, keep the guys in check. Nobody and no favors!

Kurt stretched out in front, and Max calmly followed his sister Brigitte into the building. It seems that he managed to play his role well ... Peter Stauf, it turns out, was a great lover of discipline, we must take this into account. Well, yes, because Heinrich said: Lieutenant Stauf is an exemplary German officer. We have to maintain the image ...

Dr. Miller received him in his office, a small nook on the second floor. All free rooms in the hospital were converted into wards, even corridors, a basement and an attic. The doctor pointed to a wobbly chair at the table, while he himself began to look through some papers. Finally said:

“You, Lieutenant Stauf, have serious amnesia, I think it’s good for you to be at home. In the family, among relatives and friends, you will recover faster. Your memory loss appears to be temporary, nothing to worry about, however... I have already spoken to Major Hopman and he has agreed to grant you three weeks' leave for injury. Lie down with me for a couple of days, and then, when the documents are ready, to Berlin. I think this is enough time for you to fully recover.

Max was silent, not knowing what to answer, and in general - to rejoice or be sad. On the one hand, he was given a chance to escape from the front (albeit for a while) and forget about the war, but on the other hand, he had a meeting with the family of Peter Stauff, about which he also knows nothing.

Miller interpreted his silence in his own way:

- I understand that you can not wait to return to the front line, to your soldiers. I know that you are a responsible and brave officer, and you are eager to fight ... But still I insist on a vacation. Trust me it's better for you. A contusion is a very insidious thing, there can be the most unexpected consequences, including those related to the head ...

Miller tapped his forehead meaningfully.

Do you think I might go crazy? Maxim almost jumped in surprise.

- No, what are you! Miller waved his hands in protest. - You are an absolutely normal person, nothing threatens you. But it's better to be safe. You have memory lapses, that's a fact. And very sad. Staying at home will allow you to quickly rehabilitate and remember everything you need. And don't you yourself, Lieutenant Stauf, want to go home, see your relatives - your wife, daughter, parents?

“Of course I want to,” Max lied, “but the situation at the front is like this now ... I have no right to leave my soldiers, and at this difficult, crucial moment!”

“Come on,” Miller smiled slightly, “you’re not leaving for the rest of your life!” Stay in Berlin for a while and then come back. We still have enough officers, thank God, to temporarily replace you, so I can in good conscience send you to treatment. The Russian campaign is unlikely to end soon, you will still fight. We, I think, are stuck here for a long time, for another year - at least ...

“For two and a half,” Maxim corrected the doctor (of course, to himself), “only at the end of 1944 the territory of the Soviet Union will be completely liberated from the Nazis, and then the war will come to Poland and Germany. Yes, and in other countries too ... "

He knew history quite well, he always taught at school with pleasure and, of course, remembered all the main dates and moments. But it was still necessary to live up to the Victory ... And it would be desirable to wear the uniform of a lieutenant of the Red Army, and not the Wehrmacht, by that time. In general, to return home, in due time, and forget about this nightmare forever. And never again climb any dugouts and never buy any German watches ...

- Thank you, doctor, - Max thanked politely, - I really missed my family very much. Especially for my wife and daughter...

“That’s great,” Miller nodded, “go ahead.” I'm sure you'll thank me later. Always listen to your doctor, he will not advise you bad.

“Somewhere I have already heard this,” thought Max, “in my opinion, in our own district clinic. It seems like all doctors have the same sayings.” He once more heartily thanked Miller and returned to his room. He lay down on the creaky bed and decided to take a nap until dinner - his head hurt terribly.

“Damn, I completely forgot about analgin,” he thought belatedly, “however, it probably hasn’t been invented yet. But they must have some pills, right? They treat their patients with something!

It was boring to lie in the hospital, especially since it was summer outside. And, in fact, there was no special treatment - apart from the daily visits of Dr. Miller. But they passed early in the morning, and then Max was left to himself.

He was tired of wallowing in a stuffy ward, and he began to spend O most of the time in the garden, among new acquaintances. Firstly, more fun, and secondly, more useful - you can learn something new and important. At the same time, Max tried diligently to play the role of Lieutenant Peter Stauf, a simple guy, a good comrade and an excellent officer.

He soon realized that this military campaign was not very popular among his colleagues. Many soldiers and even officers were skeptical of Dr. Goebbels's statements about an imminent victory over the Bolsheviks and grunted in disbelief when some bastard began to foam at the mouth to prove that by winter the Russians would be completely defeated and the valiant German divisions would enter Moscow. “Well, they were already entering,” the old warriors grumbled, “they stood almost at the very Kremlin walls. And then they quickly ran back - when the Russians hit us. And I don’t want to go anymore…”

Experienced soldiers in the Wehrmacht were called "old hares". But not because they were cowardly - no, there was not the slightest hint of insult in this nickname. On the contrary, there was a tribute to their ability to survive and fight in any situation. These soldiers were well aware of all the tricks and tricks of the enemy, they could defend themselves and attack in any conditions. Reasonable caution and prudence were valued at the front much higher than insane courage and blind courage. A good soldier is a living soldier, the dead cannot fight...

Of course, they didn’t like cowards, they got rid of them as soon as possible - they were floated somewhere far away to the rear so that they would not infect others with their fear and hysteria, but the firmness and stamina inherent in old, experienced soldiers were highly valued.

The "old hares" often scolded the Fuhrer - but, of course, in an undertone and only among their own. Basically, they were dissatisfied with the fact that Hitler did not guess with the timing of the Eastern campaign. They thought that everything would end quickly, in a few months, but they were stuck in Russia until the very cold. And they had to experience all the delights of a harsh winter in their own skin.

The formidable "General Frost" has become more dangerous for many than tanks and guns. But duty was above all, and they continued to fight, to serve their Fuhrer and Germany. "Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles, uber alles in der Welt..." Germany above all...

Senior officers of the Wehrmacht, as noted by Max, most often came from families of hereditary military men, often with the prefix "von" in front of the surname. White bone, elite, salt of the Prussian land. Perfectly educated and superbly trained, they were the basis of the German army, its support and core. With subordinates, they behaved simply, in a comradely manner, with juniors in rank - in a friendly way, but, of course, they did not allow any familiarity.

Junior commanders came from simpler families, as they say, from the people. The same Heinrich Roemer, for example. His father is an ordinary carpenter, his mother is a pastor's daughter, a housewife, he himself entered the infantry school not by vocation or family tradition, but by circumstances. And the soldiers were generally from the most ordinary families - both peasants and the same workers ...

But who the army really did not like was the SS men. If some "black rank" accidentally appeared in the smoking room (the SS division "Das Reich" also took part in the battles on the Rzhev ledge), the conversations fell silent at once and the officers tried to disappear unnoticed.

“I don’t like these guys,” Heinrich frowned at the sight of them, “arrogant, arrogant. No, of course, they are excellent warriors, brave, skillful, well-armed, but ... It's one thing to fight the enemy, and quite another to fight against civilians. And even more so to carry out punitive operations among them ...

Max nodded - who would argue. They were told at school about the atrocities of the Nazis in the occupied territories. Executioners, monsters ... However, Max tried to keep his feelings to himself - so as not to blurt out something superfluous, not to give himself away. For the most part, he was generally silent and only listened.

He became very close with Heinrich, began to spend almost all his free time with him. He talked about his family, life in Germany, about studying at school. Max shook his mustache - it could come in handy. Moreover, all this was new to him ...

Conversations with Heinrich greatly brightened up the gray hospital days and helped to kill time. After all, being in the hospital is such a bore! Indeed, you yourself will ask for the front ...

On the third day of his stay, Max decided to shave - the stubble had already become indecent. He went through his personal belongings and found a shaving set - a cardboard pencil case with a sharp blade, an aluminum cup for foam and a shaving brush.

And he fell a little into a stupor. In that other life, he used only an electric razor, from his earliest youth, when fluff first appeared above his upper lip. And then ... Of course, he theoretically knew how to use it and even saw it in real life. But it is one thing to observe from the outside, and quite another to try it yourself. Helpful memory immediately showed a picture - here is Uncle Misha shaving ... He recognized only a dangerous blade - the sharpest German "solingen".

The uncle got the German razor from his father, Maxim Petrovich, Max's grandfather. He brought her back from the war as a trophy. Together with an expensive accordion, red velvet curtains and Singer sewing machine needles - a big shortage then. The curtains immediately went to grandma's ceremonial dress, the needles were exchanged at Tishinka for bread and margarine, and the accordion became Maxim Petrovich's favorite pastime.

He played it at all holidays, weddings and family celebrations, never refused anyone, he always sang his favorite folk songs and melodies with pleasure. But after his death, in the troubled post-perestroika years, the accordion had to be sold - there was nothing to live on. Moreover, none of the children and grandchildren have ever learned to play it ...

And the German razor was preserved. Grandfather used it for several years, and then presented it to his eldest son, Mishka. It was time for him to shave. Until the end of his life, Uncle Misha preferred the German apprehension to all electric shavers, contemptuously calling the latter "buzzers."

- Can you shave well with a machine? he asked ironically, running the sharpest Solingen steel across his soapy cheek. - This is nonsense, pampering. For a face to be truly clean, you need a real blade, dangerous. And best of all - German, it is sharper. Although ours seems to be nothing either ...

Max mentally saw: here Uncle Misha spreads foam in a metal cup with a thick, bristly brush, then he liberally applies it to his face, takes a guard in his right hand and begins to slowly, carefully drive it over his cheeks and neck, at the same time pulling the skin on his face with the fingers of his left hand. This procedure took him at least fifteen minutes, and the uncle strictly observed it. And he never went out to breakfast badly shaven.

After the end of the procedure, he slightly moistened the skin with cologne, as a rule, expensive "Shiprom". Max still remembered his slightly harsh, but pleasant smell.

Mom laughed at my uncle: "You're just a groom, you like to show off." To which he strictly answered her: “A real Soviet officer should look smart and smell good. To please women. And morning shaving for this is the very thing. Firstly, it gives cleanliness and neatness to the face, secondly, it invigorates, and thirdly, a pleasant smell remains. Yes, and the firmness of the hand develops, the accuracy of movements ... "

Uncle Misha was a real Soviet officer. He went to serve early, at the age of seventeen he entered a military school. He trained as a signalman lieutenant, wandered around the distant garrisons for a long time. He never started a family - not every woman will agree to live in a wooden barrack on the very edge of the earth. But he was not sad about this and said that he already had a family - his beloved younger brother with his wife and nephew, Maximka.

And so the uncle squandered for thirty years through the barracks and government apartments, and in the early nineties, when he was finally turned out of the army, he became very homesick and washed down. And then he died. He did not accept the new Russian reality, did not fit into the market economy. Max got the Solingen razor, but he never used it - he preferred comfortable electric shavers, preferably imported ones. And now the razor was in the mother's apartment ...

Max thoughtfully rubbed his face and decided to start shaving anyway. It's easy, you'll get the hang of it somehow. Moreover, there was no other way out anyway: an exemplary German officer cannot walk with a three-day stubble on his face. Max poured some warm water into an aluminum cup, carefully diluted the soap, lathered his cheeks. Well, be careful...

He ran the blade a couple of times on his left cheek and, of course, cut himself - blood came out. Damn it! So, one more time... After the third cut, he threw away the razor in his hearts - what a torment! And how is it being used? But then he pulled himself together and heroically brought the matter to an end. Is he an officer or not, after all? The quality of the shave, however, left much to be desired - thin cuts were visible here and there. Okay, for the first time it will do ...

By the way, when he first saw his face in a small round mirror, he was a little taken aback. What is this unshaven muzzle? Then he chuckled - it's his! More precisely, Peter Stauf. The muzzle, in general, turned out to be very personal - beautiful, courageous, with a strong-willed chin. It could have been much worse...

In general, he was very lucky with his appearance: Lieutenant Stauf turned out to be quite decent - blond hair, blue eyes, a tall, slender figure. A real Aryan, his mother….

Returning to the ward, Max explained to Heinrich about the cuts - the hand, they say, was shaking, that's the result. Damn concussion! He nodded understandingly and advised to turn to the army barber - there was one in the hospital, just for such cases. And he took inexpensive services - only half a mark. Max gladly took his advice. The next day, he looked just fine - his face shone like a polished copper basin, and his cheeks glowed with a freshly shaved blue. Beauty!

Max got used to the difficulties of army life quite easily. Wash with cold water? No problem. Brush your teeth with powder instead of the usual paste? Please! Use hard German newspaper instead of soft toilet paper? Easily. That's what it means to spend a month and a half at military training! True, then he had a good electric razor with him ...

But what was very annoying was the lack of information. What was going on at the front had to be judged only by rumors and reports from the "soldier's telegraph". No TV, no Internet. There were newspapers and magazines, but they came very late, only the party's Völkischen Beobachter regularly arrived. Max once ran it obliquely and decided that it was suitable for only one purpose - for the toilet. Where is it used most...

There was no radio in the hospital, but a couple of times they brought newsreel, played it after dinner in the dining room. But how could one believe Goebel's propaganda? Many of his colleagues were very ironic about what they said from the screen. “Another major victory for the German weapons… the heroic offensive of the victorious units of the Wehrmacht… the unbending will of the German soldiers… exceptional heroism and resilience… the complete defeat of the Bolsheviks… thousands of prisoners, hundreds of destroyed military equipment…”, the announcer happily announced. And, of course, not a word about losses.

The text was accompanied by flashing shots: here German soldiers are marching across Ukraine, unharvested wheat fields and village houses are blazing, broken tractors are turning black in the field ... And gray, endless columns of prisoners are stretching along dusty roads. The battles in Ukraine were heavy, bloody, and Stalingrad was already visible ahead ...

And the inevitable, terrible defeat of the 6th Army of General Paulus. But Max, of course, could not tell anyone (at least the same Heinrich Roemer) about this. Yes, I didn't want to. For what? Let everything go the way it goes...

Heinrich chuckled when the announcer called the number of defeated Russian divisions and the number of knocked out tanks: “According to Dr. Goebbels, then we completely destroyed the entire Red Army. And at least three times. Without exception, together with the rear and the militias. But the Russians are still holding out and do not seem to be going to capitulate. Yes, and they have a lot of new equipment, the same T-34s ... "

Heinrich spoke of Russian tanks with respect and even fear. “Nothing takes them, no anti-tank guns,” he said, “only 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns, our “akht-akht”. But where to get them in the right amount? And who will give them to an ordinary infantry company? Well, if there are a couple of pieces in the regiment, we will fight back, but if not? All, consider, the end. Grenades and “mallets” of the T-34 cannot be stopped ... "

The same opinion was shared by other colleagues of Roemer. Oberfeldwebel Jürgen Hein, in particular, said:

- I'm sitting somehow in a trench, and a Russian tank is rushing at me. And in our company there are only “beaters”, you know, completely useless against him. You slap one of them on the T-34, and for him - at least henna, no holes, no dents. It’s like knocking on a door with a wooden hammer, there is a sound, but there is no sense. I thought then - that's it, now they will grind me to dust with caterpillars. Well, our panzers managed to approach, fought back, otherwise ...

The Germans called the 37-mm anti-tank guns "mallets", which were really quite weak against the formidable "thirty-fours". Max's colleagues often talked about their military exploits, and especially about the past winter campaign. Staff sergeant major Otto Bauer, for example, was very proud of the fact that he could see the stars on the Kremlin towers through field glasses. He stood on the very outskirts of Moscow, on the Volokolamsk highway, where, in fact, his offensive ended - he ended up in the hospital after severe frostbite.

“General Frost killed more of our soldiers than the Russians,” he said confidently. - When the thermometer is minus thirty-five, and you have only one unlined summer overcoat and thin pants, what the hell is the service? Wouldn't take a breath! And boots, you know, with cardboard soles, fly off in a couple of days. In the cold, the legs are the main thing. If the snow accidentally gets into the boot or wets the feet - that's it, consider that the next morning you no longer have them. There is literally nowhere to dry. You can’t make fire in a trench - the Russians immediately notice and start shooting, so you sit, trembling like a hare’s tail ...

- How did you warm up? Max asked.

“They stuffed their boots with newspapers,” the staff sergeant sergeant grinned, “in winter, this is the first thing. Fortunately, the Völkischen Beobachter was always brought to us. So I went for warming ... Some more took off boots and warm socks from captured Russians. Of course, this is not according to the charter, even looting, but one wants to live! Here they were saved, as best they could. And Russian felt boots are the best winter shoes in the world, they are warm in any frost.

Oberfeldwebel Jürgen Hein nodded and added:

- Even lice ate us terribly, there was no rescue. Thank God, they adopted one method from the Russians - they arranged a brazier. You take an iron barrel, put it on fire, pour a little water on the bottom, and close it with a tight lid on top. Inside there are wooden shelves on which you put your underwear. And fry with lice. Yes carefully! Otherwise, there is no way to get rid of it. Sometimes we made a Russian bath, steamed, washed. But this was when it was completely calm, and during the fighting, you yourself know, you can’t wash and warm up. So they walked for several weeks - dirty, smelly, lousy. It was disgusting!

By the way, Jürgen Hein pronounced the word “banya” in Russian and laughed quite a lot - that's how he learned a foreign language! “Interesting,” thought Max, “can I speak Russian, has the knowledge of my native language disappeared? I should check…”

“They gave me “frozen meat” for that winter,” Hine said proudly and at the same time ironically.

- What? Max didn't understand.

- The medal "For the winter campaign in the East," the oberfeldwebel explained, "here ...

And he pointed to a small round on his chest. A dark red ribbon with a black and white stripe was casually threaded through the buttonhole of a grey-green tunic.

“We call it “frozen meat” because the ribbon is very similar in color to frozen beef,” Jürgen explained. “Or pork… Although, they say, red represents the blood that we shed on the battlefields…”

Max looked at the medal with interest. Eh, Kostya would be here, he would be delighted with such trophies ...

“These two white stripes,” the oberfeldwebel continued the explanation, “symbolize Russian snow near Moscow, and the black one between them symbolizes grief for our fallen comrades.

“We also call it “frozen meat”,” Jurgen Bauer interrupted him, “because they gave it for frostbitten asses. And other parts of the body...

And quite laughed. Laughter was picked up by other participants in the conversation - everyone who was in the smoking room. Max smiled condescendingly - let them joke ... He understood: the soldiers are trying to hide their fear behind laughter, no one wants to die in distant Russia, everyone wants to return to their home. Alive and preferably - in one piece.

“Only not everyone will succeed,” thought Max, “the war will last for a long time ...”

Thick morning fog filled the trenches. “Damn, you can’t see anything,” Max cursed to himself, “like walking through fresh milk.”

He almost ran into his sentry - Josef Ranke, who was hiding from the dampness under a gray cape. The corporal was shivering slightly - despite the summer, it was rather cold in the mornings. The Gzhatka River flowed close, and a ragged, sticky, nasty fog was creeping up from it, because of which it was impossible to make out anything more than two or three steps.

Max walked around his positions. Today, another attack was expected, and it was necessary to prepare for it. His main concern was machine guns - so that they worked like clockwork. Otherwise, do not fight back ...

There were four of them in a platoon - two light and two heavy, on tripods. As a matter of fact, only thanks to them it was possible to keep these positions. A ten-shot German carbine is, of course, a good thing (although it doesn’t pull against a Kalash, Max decided), but a machine gun is better. The trouble-free German machine mowed down the advancing like grass. Whole rows...

Max smiled sadly: wow, he calls the Russian soldiers "the enemy." And he fights, in fact, against his grandfathers, great-grandfathers. Moreover, he fights well, competently, businesslike, as befits an exemplary German officer. Max was deeply involved in the army service and diligently pulled the strap. Which was rather strange for him. He - and suddenly the army? incompatible concepts. He avoided military service and, in general, everything in the army. But here it was. As they say, the crow swore ...

If someone had said that he would wear a lieutenant's uniform, and even a German one ... I would never have believed it! But the fact remains - he is in the army, and even in the Wehrmacht. And there is no getting away from it. You have to serve, and diligently. As Oberfeldwebel Hein noted, war is the best teacher in the world, you learn everything quickly. The penalty for mistakes is death.

And being killed was not part of Max's plans. In his heart, he really hoped to return. And forever forget about the military nightmare! Why the hell did he buy that damn watch? Every morning, winding them up, Max swore to himself: if not for this stupidity, nothing would have happened. I would live happily now, fish, sunbathe, swim, wait for Marinka and Masha ...

I wonder how they are there? Surely Marinka will be very surprised when she returns and does not find him at home. He will start calling friends, acquaintances, asking everyone ... Maybe he will raise the police to their feet. Will search...

And at that time he was only a few kilometers from it, on the other side of Gzhatka. Only more than seventy years before that, in 1942. And you will not give any sign, you will not say that you are alive and well. The only thing left was to hope. Hope and wait.

Max never received leave for injury - the situation at the front deteriorated sharply, the Russians launched another offensive. Everyone who could hold a weapon was driven to the front line. First of all, officers, since in recent months a very significant loss has formed among them. And there was almost no replenishment ...

So Max ended up back in his "native" platoon. All his acquaintances returned to the place of service - Heinrich Roemer, Jürgen Hein, Otto Bauer. They also served next to him, in neighboring companies. Max sometimes visited them when there was a brief moment of calm.

Feldwebel Kurt Sagel was very happy with him: his beloved commander had finally arrived! So he beamed with happiness and began to repeat to everyone: “Wait a minute, Herr Lieutenant will restore order, teach you how to love your homeland!”

To them, fortunately, nevertheless, a small replenishment came, but what ... Young, unfired guys, fresh from infantry schools. Of course, in six months they were taught something: they knew weapons, they knew how to shoot, they even threw grenades quite well, but training is one thing, and real war is quite another. After the very first shelling, the majority, in the figurative expression of Zagel, put on their pants. They were frightened, confused, for a long time they could not come to their senses and take up arms. And the shelling was followed by Russian attacks, and they had to be repelled somehow ...

The enemy attacked, as a rule, early in the morning, according to the same pattern: first a powerful shelling, then the attack itself. The Red Army soldiers imperceptibly approached the trenches and at once, on command, jumped up and rushed into battle. Almost without bending down, with a loud "hurrah". And they were cut down by long bursts of machine guns and volleys from carbines. Mortars and artillerymen also contributed - they thoroughly plowed the battlefield. Then it was all strewn with corpses, and for a long time the cries of the wounded and the heavy groans of the dying could be heard ... But no one helped them.

Max sometimes wanted to shout to the advancing Red Army soldiers: “Who goes on the attack like that?” It is necessary to take short dashes, bending down, using the terrain and natural shelters. As taught at the military training camp. And it’s better to get close at night, in the dark, and strike suddenly. Silently, without noise ... Cut out the guards, throw machine-gun nests with grenades, seize the dugouts. This is how to fight!

Right now, for example, ideal conditions for an attack. The fog is so thick in places that you can't even see an outstretched hand. Why not hit? He would have done just that. In place of the red commanders, of course ...

Therefore, by the way, he went out to check the positions - are the guards sleeping, is there a suspicious noise somewhere? And then really - they will descend, throw grenades. Kill everyone, including him. And I really don’t want to die, especially for the Third Reich.

Max sighed and went to the left flank to watch the recruits. God forbid, fall asleep. Something painfully quiet there, the flares have not taken off for a long time. Although in the fog there is almost no benefit from them, but at least they create the appearance of vigilance. As the "old hares" said, a soldier in war should sleep with one eye. And the second - to watch ...

The fight began at eight in the morning. Max just had time to have breakfast (again, crappy ersatz coffee and boring sandwiches with margarine), shave (already decently and without anyone's help) and listen to Kurt Sagel's report.

The sergeant-major reported that nothing significant had happened during the night: the Russians slept like bears in dens, there was not even the usual disturbing shelling. Apparently, they were also tired after many days of fighting and decided to rest.

Max chuckled: this hardly looks like a rest, more like a covert preparation for an offensive. The conditions for this are already very good: there are significant losses in German companies, there are almost no experienced soldiers left, and recruits are not yet fired upon. And the Russians can't help but know about it...

Long and stubborn battles were not in vain for the Wehrmacht - the personnel melted like snow. People accumulated fatigue, appeared indifference, apathy, lethargy. Due to losses, one actually had to serve for two ... Moreover, the decline arose not only because of the battles, but also because of ordinary diseases, and especially dysentery. Drinking water had to be taken from a swampy stream, and no matter how you boil it, some kind of infection still remained. So the valiant soldiers of the Reich did not crawl out of the closet.

In the most difficult cases, you have to send such "assholes" (to use Zagel's exact expression) to the hospital. Everyone's mood was worse than ever, emotions were almost at zero, and then there were dank fogs and dreary rains. Everything was soaked - clothes, a blanket, a cape. No matter how dry you are, you still won’t get enough sleep in the wet. And still waiting for the coming...

It was very exhausting, it got on your nerves, some broke down and started randomly firing towards the enemy, who opened fire back. All this ended with new dead and wounded, and this further complicated the situation ...

Therefore, when the Russian attack began, Max was even delighted - the uncertainty was finally over, you can act. Waiting and catching up is nowhere worse, everyone knows that.

As expected, at first there was a powerful shelling, then the famous "Stalin's organs" came into action. So the German soldiers called the Russian "Katyusha". Indeed, the mournful, drawn-out howl was very reminiscent of the sounds of a musical instrument. Max, by the way, once heard how they play a real organ when they were taken to the church. It was in Berlin, in the eighth grade, during his first trip to Germany.

Igor Gradov

"A good German is a dead German." alien war

PART ONE

German lieutenant's watch

The boy was selling watches near the village shop. "Typical village kid," thought Maxim. Ripped jeans, faded T-shirt, barefoot sandals. Only thin, the ribs stick out.

Max came to the grocery store - his wife left with her daughter for a few days in the city, and he did not like to cook. And he couldn't, to be honest. So I looked into the local outlet to buy something edible. Canned food, say, sausage, beer. Enough for the first time, and then the wife will return. She will show her daughter to the doctor - and immediately back to the dacha. To fresh air, fresh milk and healthy (straight from the garden!) Vegetables ...

There were no people in the store - it was midday, summer residents (more precisely, summer residents) had already stocked up, and the locals would come in the late afternoon, after work. Behind the counter, a portly saleswoman was lonely bored.

The aunt lazily fanned herself with a newspaper and looked with displeasure at the only buyer - what is she digging for? Maxim could not choose anything for a long time. The sausage in the window looked quite appetizing, but how old is it really? I don’t want to run to the toilet all night ... Finally, he decided:

Give me, please, a couple of cans of stew, a white loaf and a pound of smoked sausage. And a big bottle of water.

The saleswoman unstuck from the counter and slowly swam to the scales. A minute later, Maxim went out onto the porch, behind him was a backpack with groceries. He did not take beer - it is better to get along in such heat.

He looked around - almost four kilometers to the dacha, but there was no one on the square. This means that you will have to dust yourself home on foot, you will not find a ride in this wilderness. The village of Broshki was located in the very wilderness - the Smolensk region. Far from Moscow - half a day by car to cut, the nearest city - Gagarin, the former Gzhatsk, a little further - Vyazma, to the north - Rzhev.

But there were some pluses in this - wonderful nature, fresh air, a cool river Gzhat with excellent fishing. And most importantly, there are practically no Muscovites, you can take a break from the intrusive and noisy metropolitan neighbors. So you want after the vain, twitchy, nervous Moscow of rural peace and quiet ...

The house in Broshki was inherited by his wife from her grandfather - he was born and raised in it. Marinka's grandfather, Ivan Belousov, worked all his life at the local collective farm and was buried in a cemetery outside the outskirts. Almost all of his family died during the war, and he himself, a fifteen-year-old boy, fled to the front and fought in these places. He was seriously wounded, shell-shocked, but after the hospital he returned to duty and continued to fight, ending the war already somewhere in Germany.

Honored man, front-line soldier, veteran. He enjoyed universal respect and honor, although he worked as a simple tractor driver. He raised children, raised grandchildren ... But after his death, and especially after the death of his wife, the woman Nyura, the relatives did not want to continue the village life and dispersed in all directions. Most moved to neighboring Vyazma, and the old house became useless to anyone. It was unprofitable to sell it - it was too far from Moscow, which is why it costs a penny.

So he stood, forgotten by everyone (live - I don’t want to), until Marina once invited Max to spend a vacation in it. At first he refused - wild wilderness, what to do there, but then gave up - the recently born Masha needed fresh air and a healthy garden and vegetable diet.

Let's go, put the house in relative order, lived a little. And unexpectedly, Max liked it - a calm, unhurried village life, a minimum of worries and unrest (what with his nervous work!), Daytime swimming in Gzhat and fishing (which he was a great hunter of) in the evening dawn ...

The next summer, he himself invited Marina to move to Broshki and spend the whole summer. Pleasant, useful business, and also very cheap: vegetables and berries cost a penny in the village, and there were practically no other expenses. Products were brought mainly from Moscow, and what was missing was purchased from a local farm. True, the store was located in the village of Pobednoe, which is five kilometers from Broshki, but by car - only ten minutes along a country road. Or half an hour under its own power straight through the collective farm field and the neighboring forest. In general, both Max and Marina, and, most importantly, Mashka liked the village life very much.

Therefore, in May, as soon as it got warmer, Max himself took his family to Broshki - for summer residence. Work has not let him go yet, but he regularly came on weekends and holidays - he brought food supplies and talked with his wife and daughter. And when the long-awaited vacation came, he quickly moved to the village. In order to relax in silence and relax…

But yesterday Marina left for Moscow to show her daughter to the doctor. The examination was difficult, we signed up for it in advance, so it was not possible to postpone it. In general, she took Max's car, put her daughter in, kissed her beloved husband on the cheek and drove off. But she promised to return as soon as they had a consultation with a doctor ...

So Max was left alone. Today, in order to kill time before fishing (not all the same, lying on the couch and staring at the TV), I decided to go to a rural store. Buy groceries and beer to eat with fried fish and new potatoes…

* * *

Maxim noticed a boy on the porch of the villager.

Uncle, buy a watch! - quietly said the boy - Good, German!

Max looked: in his hand the boy was clutching a small men's watch in a dull metal case. Faded dial, long, thin hands, unusual large numbers. They don't make them like that anymore, that's for sure.

He turned the watch in his hands and realized that the boy was not lying. It really was a German watch. On the dial, a Nazi eagle with a swastika in its clawed paws was clearly visible.

As much as you want? he asked.

A thousand! - the boy blurted out.

A thousand rubles? Max whistled. - Well, you, brother, give! I would give five hundred, and then out of the kindness of my soul.

In fact, Maxim did not need watches, he was never interested in such rarities, but in a month his friend Kostya was supposed to have a birthday. Here he just adored such things and actively collected them.

Kostya was right on the war trophies, he bought everything he could get, and especially appreciated the "gansy swag": officer and soldier badges, medals, orders, flasks, daggers. He certainly didn't have any German watches in his collection, Max knew that. So, it was a great chance to give him a great gift, and inexpensive. Then a thought came to Max's mind:

Did you by any chance steal them from the school museum? he asked the boy.

I would not like to become a participant in a criminal case ...

What are you, uncle, - the boy was offended, - found them!

And where is? Maxim frowned. - Were they lying on the road?

So I told you, - the boy chuckled. - Places you need to know!

Max turned his watch over in his hands and pretended to think. The boy got nervous.

Yes, you, uncle, do not think they are real! Just clean it up a bit and they'll be as good as new. Maybe even earn...

A thousand rubles ... - Maxim drawled. - Expensive! What do you need so much?

I want to buy a mobile phone, - the boy shook his head, - and the cheapest one costs at least three thousand. I already found out ... I already have a thousand - my grandmother gave me for my birthday, my mother promised to give another five hundred. And if I sell these watches, then there will be nothing left to collect.

Maxim marveled at the boy's unchildish prudence and nodded:

Okay, I'll buy a watch from you.

And held out a thousand dollar bill.

The same number of ladies, if you show the place where you found it.

The boy hesitated. Max took out two pieces of paper for five hundred rubles from his wallet.

See? Yours will. You can buy a mobile phone today, and not some cheap one, but a better, more expensive model.

Give, do not lie? The boy looked at him incredulously.

Honest pioneering, - firmly answered Max. - Show me where you found it, and the money is yours.

The boy made up his mind:

Okay, let's get the money.

Here's five hundred rubles for you, - Max said, holding out one bill, - as a deposit, and you'll get the rest when you bring me to the place.

The boy deftly hid the money in his pocket:

They walked together along the dusty dirt road.

What is your name? - asked Maxim.

And the mother will not be enough that she is not at home?

No, - the boy shook his head, - she works late. Now there is only one grandmother at home, but she is old, she does not care where I am.

They walked for quite some time. First they passed endless fields, then they passed through some kind of woods, and finally the boy waved his hand - here! We entered a small grove. Pashka turned onto a barely noticeable path and quickly walked along it.

My grandmother told me, - he began, - that during the war there were German trenches here. For two years there was a war between ours and the Fritz. The dead lay on the fields - horror! They didn't even have time to bury. And the forest was full of dugouts and pillboxes studded. Our people don't go here - the place, they say, is not good, many people died here. But I don’t care ... But there are a lot of mushrooms!

They walked along a narrow, winding path and descended into a swollen ravine. “Here, probably, there were German fortifications,” Maxim decided, “you can immediately see - the trenches are full-length, there are still traces left ...”

Igor Gradov

"A good German is a dead German." alien war

Part one

German lieutenant's watch

M the little alchik was selling watches near the village store. « A typical village kid, ”Maxim thought. Ripped jeans, faded T-shirt, barefoot sandals. Only thin, the ribs stick out.

Max came to the grocery store - his wife left with her daughter for a few days in the city, and he did not like to cook. And he couldn't, to be honest. So I looked into the local outlet to buy something edible. Canned food, say, sausage, beer. Enough for the first time, and then the wife will return. She will show her daughter to the doctor - and immediately back to the dacha. To fresh air, fresh milk and healthy (straight from the garden!) Vegetables ...

There were no people in the store - it was midday, summer residents (more precisely, summer residents) had already stocked up, and the locals would come in the late afternoon, after work. Behind the counter, a portly saleswoman was lonely bored.

The aunt lazily fanned herself with a newspaper and looked with displeasure at the only buyer - what is she digging for? Maxim could not choose anything for a long time. The sausage in the window looked quite appetizing, but how old is it really? I don’t want to run to the toilet all night ... Finally, he decided:

Give me, please, a couple of cans of stew, a white loaf and a pound of smoked sausage. And a big bottle of water.

The saleswoman unstuck from the counter and slowly swam to the scales. A minute later, Maxim went out onto the porch, behind him was a backpack with groceries. He did not take beer - it is better to get along in such heat.

He looked around - almost four kilometers to the dacha, but there was no one on the square. This means that you will have to dust yourself home on foot, you will not find a ride in this wilderness. The village of Broshki was located in the very wilderness - the Smolensk region. Far from Moscow - half a day by car to cut, the nearest city - Gagarin, the former Gzhatsk, a little further - Vyazma, to the north - Rzhev.

But there were some pluses in this - wonderful nature, fresh air, a cool river Gzhat with excellent fishing. And most importantly, there are practically no Muscovites, you can take a break from the intrusive and noisy metropolitan neighbors. So you want after the vain, twitchy, nervous Moscow of rural peace and quiet ...

The house in Broshki was inherited by his wife from her grandfather - he was born and raised in it. Marinka's grandfather, Ivan Belousov, worked all his life at the local collective farm and was buried in a cemetery outside the outskirts. Almost all of his family died during the war, and he himself, a fifteen-year-old boy, fled to the front and fought in these places. He was seriously wounded, shell-shocked, but after the hospital he returned to duty and continued to fight, ending the war already somewhere in Germany.

Honored man, front-line soldier, veteran. He enjoyed universal respect and honor, although he worked as a simple tractor driver. He raised children, raised grandchildren ... But after his death, and especially after the death of his wife, the woman Nyura, the relatives did not want to continue the village life and dispersed in all directions. Most moved to neighboring Vyazma, and the old house became useless to anyone. It was unprofitable to sell it - it was too far from Moscow, which is why it costs a penny.

So he stood, forgotten by everyone (live - I don’t want to), until Marina once invited Max to spend a vacation in it. At first he refused - wild wilderness, what to do there, but then gave up - the recently born Masha needed fresh air and a healthy garden and vegetable diet.

Let's go, put the house in relative order, lived a little. And unexpectedly, Max liked it - a calm, unhurried village life, a minimum of worries and unrest (what with his nervous work!), Daytime swimming in Gzhat and fishing (which he was a great hunter of) in the evening dawn ...

The next summer, he himself invited Marina to move to Broshki and spend the whole summer. Pleasant, useful business, and also very cheap: vegetables and berries cost a penny in the village, and there were practically no other expenses. Products were brought mainly from Moscow, and what was missing was purchased from a local farm. True, the store was located in the village of Pobednoe, which is five kilometers from Broshki, but by car - only ten minutes along a country road. Or half an hour under its own power straight through the collective farm field and the neighboring forest. In general, both Max and Marina, and, most importantly, Mashka liked the village life very much.

Heinrich shrugged his shoulders as a schoolboy, “I didn’t have time to be anyone else. I wanted to enter the university after graduating from school, to the medical faculty, but then changed my mind. It takes a long time to study as a doctor, for five whole years, and you also have to complete a residency. For several years to serve as an assistant to a doctor. Of course, this is a useful and necessary thing, but ... It will not be long before you are allowed to treat yourself! And you won’t have your own practice at all until fifteen or twenty years later, when you have proven yourself well. I need to feed my family...

Heinrich reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet. Took out a few photos and showed them. On one was a whole German family: a stately, imposing Frau with a stern face and five children. Four girls and one boy.

My mother is with her sisters, - said Heinrich, - and I am with them. Friendly Remer family...

And the father? Max asked.

He died, - Heinrich sighed, - in the thirty-eighth. He had a severe wound in the lung, spitting blood for a long time. By the way, he also received it in Russia, however, back in that first war. My father often told me how he sat in the damp trenches, how he fought with the Russians, and then fraternized with them when they threw off their Tsar Nicholas. And they wounded him in the fifteenth year. The Russians then launched a big offensive, so he got a bayonet in the chest. I lay in hospitals for a long time, was treated, I thought that they would be commissioned cleanly, but it didn’t work out. They patched it up somehow and sent it to the front again - the soldiers were then very needed. He had to fight almost to the very end, until the eighteenth year. But nothing, he survived, was demobilized, returned home to Düsseldorf. And there was no work, relatives were starving, food cards were given only swede and black bread. In general, he moved to the south, where it is warmer and more satisfying. In Erfurt, he tripled as a carpenter at a construction site, and stayed there. I got used to it, found a good job, met my mother - she was the pastor's daughter. He got married and started his own business. Then we were born, five children, one after another. They lived well, happily, although not richly. My father was often ill, he could hardly walk, sometimes he could not get out of bed for two or three days. But he still worked - you can't live on a veteran's pension. And four years ago, in winter, he caught a bad cold, fell ill and died. Actually, that's why I wanted to go to the medical faculty. I saw how bad he was, so I thought: I will study to be a doctor, I will treat everyone. But it didn’t work out, I had to go to a military school ...

Heinrich looked sadly out the window, and then continued:

After the death of his father, he had to live on something. The older sister, Helga, was already working, but it was hard for her to be alone. So I went to the school - firstly, state grubs and clothes, and secondly, the officers have a good salary. Every month I send part of the money home from my salary, I help my mother and sisters. And so it was at the front ...

Max nodded knowingly - a simple, typical story. Apparently, Heinrich is a good guy, honest, hardworking, it's a pity he was born at the wrong time.

I do not regret my choice, - Heinrich finished the story. - As you can see, I'm already a lieutenant, maybe I'll go further.

If we don't get killed here, Max remarked grimly.

They won’t kill me,” Heinrich said confidently, “my mother and sisters pray for me every day. See what they write to me...

The next half hour was devoted to reading messages from the Roemers. Heinrich took out a whole pack of student notebook sheets and began to read. Both his mother and sisters wrote to him, he received at least five or six letters a month. Max politely listened and nodded - he did not want to upset such a good, sympathetic guy. Cheerful, hardworking, caring - in short, a real German.

Soon the neighbors in the ward returned from the dressing - a strong, almost square oberfeldwebel and the same, only a little taller and thicker, staff sergeant major. Max looked at them and thought: “What, are they making you a carbon copy? Just like siblings."

Jurgen Hein and Otto Bauer were from his own regiment, only from a different company. Max habitually referred to amnesia - sorry guys, but I don't remember you. The sergeants nodded knowingly - they heard about your trouble, Herr Lieutenant, so they introduced themselves in full.

Hein and Bauer ended up in the hospital after the same Russian attack - one with a shrapnel in his hand, the other in his foot. Fortunately, both escaped with minor wounds, they were quickly sewn up and promised to be sent back to the front line in a week. There is nothing to wallow in the hospital, places are needed for new patients. The war is on, it has no intermissions and breaks ...

Someone was constantly brought to the hospital - the fighting did not stop for a minute, although their intensity has noticeably decreased recently. The Russians were limited to only small sorties and skirmishes. Everyone rested and prepared for new battles.