Yuri Bondarev is often called a writer of the military generation, a front-line writer: in August of the distant 1942, he, an eighteen-year-old boy, volunteered for the front. From the Volga to the border of the Czech Republic, through Ukraine and Poland, its long military road artillery officer, the road of hard battles and joyful victories, the road of gains and losses, the road of a lifetime. And so the theme of war became the main one in his work.
Yuri Bondarev is known as the author of wonderful stories and novels about the Great Patriotic war; it is enough to recall such works of his as “Battalions ask for fire”, “Last volleys”, “Hot snow”. This theme became one of the main ones in his later works - the novels "Coast", "Choice". It can be said that the war passed through the writer's heart and remained forever in it.
Many modern authors have written, are writing and will continue to write about the Great Patriotic War. This topic is inexhaustible, because everyone writes about his own, only he saw the war. The memory of the war lives in the hearts of people, including in the hearts of writers: prose writers, poets, playwrights ... Let us recall the works of Konstantin Simonov, Alexander Tvardovsky, Boris Vasilyev, Vasil Bykov, Vitaly Zakrutkin, Anatoly Ananyev, Alexander Beck and many, many others . Each of them has his own idea of war, his own truth of war.
But the works of Yuri Bondarev cannot be confused with any other work. Bondarev managed to say his own word about the war and the feat of the people, unlike those already said before him. His stories and novels are works not only and not so much about the feat of the people, but about the feat of a Man, a Soldier who defended the country with his chest. The war is shown to them through the perception of a simple participant in the battles: a private, a sergeant, a lieutenant ... This is a view from the front line, from a trench, and this makes the described events especially reliable.
Among the many bright, beautiful works of Yuri Bondarev great impression produces the story "Battalions ask for fire." This is one of the very first works of the writer devoted to the theme of war, in it the war is shown with the utmost truthfulness, it captures all the bitter truth of the war: we see the war as the sharpened vision of the writer sees it, and we see it not from an observation post far from the battlefield, but directly from the front line, from a firing position, from a trench. The reader, together with the characters, takes part in the battle, wipes the sweat from his face smoked with gunpowder, inspects his overcoat pierced by bullets, recalls in the evening a crazy attack, burning German tanks, dead comrades ...
The title of the story is very simple - it is a common phrase of one of the heroes of the work. But in the choice of its name lies deep meaning: this everyday statement hides the author's position - to show not the front side of the war, but its inner essence: the everyday, everyday feat of Russian soldiers.
The plot of the story is outwardly extremely simple: two battalions of the division commanded by Colonel Iverzev. it is necessary to break through the defenses south of the city of Dneprov, occupy the villages of Novo-Mikhailovka and Belokhatka and, holding them, give the Germans the impression that the main blow of the division will be delivered in this direction, while in reality its main forces were aimed north of the Dnieper. The artillery regiment of the division should support the battalions of Major Bulbanyuk and Captain Maksimov with fire, but during the fighting the situation developed in such a way that all the artillery of the regiment had to be transferred to the northern bridgehead, where constant German counterattacks threatened to disrupt the entire planned operation, and the battalions on the southern bridgehead were left without fire support. They fought to the last bullet, fought heroically, but were surrounded and almost completely died in an unequal battle.
It would seem that there is nothing particularly entertaining in this story: this is one of the usual episodes great war, of which there were thousands and thousands over four long years ... But it is precisely in this choice that main feature creativity of the writer: he is able to see the great in the ordinary, the heroic in the everyday. Bondarev never embellishes, does not glorify the war, he shows it exactly as it really was. He is a realist in depicting the war, and the realism of the writer is somewhat reminiscent of the realism of Leo Tolstoy in his depiction of the Battle of Borodino.
Just like the heroes of Tolstoy, the main characters of Yuri Bondarev's story are “little great people”. Major Bulbanyuk, Captain Ermakov, Senior Lieutenant Orlov, Lieutenant Kondratiev, Sergeant Kravchuk, Private Sklyar never utter big words, never take heroic poses and do not strive to get on the tablets of History. They are just doing their job - protecting the Motherland. They just do their job every day - the hard, dirty, bloody work of a soldier. And at the same time, they do not notice that this is a real feat, because the hero is not only the one who fearlessly rushes into the attack and dies beautifully, but also the one who daily, hourly brings victory closer. This truth, ingeniously simple and eternal, was convincingly proved by Leo Tolstoy on the pages of the novel “War and Peace”.
The heroes of Bondarev's story, it seems to me, have a lot in common with the heroes of Tolstoy. First of all, it is the "hidden warmth of patriotism." And Captain Boris Ermakov, main character story, and all the other heroes of the novel never think about the question of what patriotism is. For them, the Motherland is a concept, as it were, taken for granted, they absorbed the feeling of love for the Motherland along with mother's milk. And when it became necessary, they went to protect her without hesitation.
Loyalty to duty, the oath also unites these people, so different in appearance, but so similar inwardly. When Bulbanyuk's battalion was surrounded and was literally crushed by caterpillars German tanks, none of the fighters thought about personal salvation or surrender. Everyone understood: the fate of the entire operation now depends on them, on their courage and steadfastness. And the fighters of the battalion fulfilled their duty to the end, paying the most precious thing that a person has - with their lives.
But with this internal similarity in love for the Motherland, Bondarev's heroes are completely different people. Each of them has his own past, each has only his own inherent character traits, individual characteristics Even the speech of the characters is different in many ways. We see the unhurried, judicious, peasant-like solid Bulbanyuk. dashing and reckless Zhorka Vitkovsky, romantic and naive lieutenant Yeroshin, strong-willed and determined captain Ermakov, charming Shurochka, cowardly Tsigichko. These heroes become close and understandable to us.
The heroes of Bondarev go through a whole series of tests, including the main test - the test in combat. And it is in battle, on the verge of life and death, that the true essence of each person is revealed. All heroes go through this test with honor. But Captain Ermakov and Colonel Iverzev have different attitudes towards the death of battalions. It is between them that the main conflict of the story arises. We can say that the work shows two truths - the truth of Ermakov and the truth of Iverzev.
Boris Ermakov accuses the divisional commander of the death of the battalions, and his accusations sound justified: indeed, the battalions left without the support of regimental artillery were doomed to death. Ermakov considers Iverzev a stupid martinet, ready to senselessly send people to certain death in order to fulfill an order, ready to sacrifice hundreds of lives for the sake of his career.
Yes, Colonel Iverzev does not make the most favorable impression on us at first. He seems unnecessarily tough towards his subordinates, even cruel, callous mentally. But we know what made him make such a decision - to transfer all the artillery to the northern bridgehead, and therefore we have a more complex attitude towards this hero. We understand that with all the subjective honesty, Yermakov objectively turns out to be right not in everything. We see how Iverzev is tormented internally. realizing the harsh necessity of his orders, but at the same time realizing that with these orders he dooms the battalions of Bulbanyuk and Maksimov to death. Iverzev knows that he cannot but fulfill the order of the army commander - to take the Dnieper at all costs. And therefore, when the attacking battalion lay down under the dagger fire of a German machine gun, he himself raises it to the attack, thinking at that moment not about mortal danger, but about the need to take this line of defense.
The theme of love occupies an important place in the story. Love and war are two concepts that seem to be incompatible. But life gets harder simple concepts. As long as a person lives, he can and must love. Love in the story is a symbol of life, and therefore it is stronger than death. The love of Shurochka and Boris Ermakov illuminates the harsh military reality with a romantic light. The complex relationship between Lieutenant Kondratiev, Shurochka and Ermakov allows us to better understand these heroes.
I would like to finish the story about the story with the fact that people will always remember with gratitude the soldiers who defended our Motherland in the distant years of the war; to them they owe their lives and their future. And Yuri Bondarev wrote about these soldiers in the story “Battalions ask for fire”, which is a favorite book of many readers.

Yuri Vasilievich Bondarev

"Battalions ask for fire"

Yu. Bondarev's story takes us back to the times of the Great Patriotic War at its turning point in 1943. An order was given to the battalions of Captain Maximov and Major Bulbanyuk to create the appearance of an offensive. Soviet troops south of the city of Dnipro. While the battle was going on in this direction, the command was concentrating the main forces north of the city for the main attack on the fascist fortifications.

The battalions were supposed to support the divisional artillery regiment, but at the last moment it was transferred to the north. Privates and officers had to fight the invaders without artillery fire support. Ordinary people, they showed resourcefulness and courage.

And in war there is a place for love. Kondratiev and Ermakov are in love with Shurochka. But who will she prefer when blood is shed all around? She is flattered by the attention of officers who, in difficult conditions, show courage and dedication.

Crossing the Dnieper is an almost impossible task. Under the constant shelling of the Nazis, who are firmly entrenched on the other side, the soldiers cannot even raise their heads. It is necessary to transport not only people, but also horses, fodder, ammunition and two artillery pieces. Falling on the wet river sand with each flash of flares, the soldiers built rafts, prepared for the offensive. It was not possible to cross unnoticed. The losses were heavy, but the battalions were able to land on the other side of the Dniester.

After the crossing, it is necessary to occupy two villages, fortify and hold positions while the main troops are preparing for the main attack. The depleted battalions are fighting hard until last man. The promised help from the division never came. This was not in the plans of the command.

Only a few people from two battalions and two artillery crews survived. Ermakov accuses Iverzev, the division commander, of the deaths. Meanwhile, the main troops successfully crossed the river and launched an offensive north of the city of Dnieper.

Compositions

Bondarev's story "Battalions ask for fire" Problems of the story The Great Patriotic War in Bondarev's story "Battalions ask for fire" The theme of war in Y. Bondarev's story "Battalions ask for fire"

In this article we will consider the work "Battalions ask for fire." Summary it, as well as the analysis will be presented below. Vasilyevich created a story about the feat and valor of a Russian soldier, about the harsh everyday life of the war, as well as about everyone's love for the Motherland. The work "Battalions ask for fire", a summary and analysis of which we are interested in, was written in 1957.

Weapons can't be salvaged

The bombardment lasted forty minutes. Everything crackled, tore and burned on the tracks. Gulyaev, a colonel, sends Zhorka Bitkovsky, his driver, to find the station commandant. The head of logistics could not explain to Iverzev, the division commander, why the wagons could not be unloaded in time. But they had weapons. Iverzev sends officers in a rage to unload the survivors of the fire. Gulyaev sends the head of the rear for the locomotive in order to disengage the cars. Boris Ermakov, the captain, appears during this turmoil. He came here from the hospital.

Ermakov and Gulyaev

Gulyaev tells him that Ermakov's battery crossed the Dnieper at night under the leadership of Kondratiev. Ermakov approves the choice of the leader. "Willis" with Ermakov and Gulyaev rounded the column of cars. Tanks were crossing over. The sky fell like fire on them. Belated shots were heard from the depths of the forest at the planes of anti-aircraft guns. Again "Willis" rushed along the road to the Dnieper. Stupid, accidental death was afraid of Ermakov.

She seemed humiliating to him. Gulyaev did not let him go to the battery, taking him to his "household". Six-barreled mortars were flying over the river. Playing on the right side. It was cold, damp, windy on an autumn night.

Shurochka's relationship with Kondratiev and Ermakov

Under a tarpaulin, 150 meters from the shore, a fire smoldered in a bomb crater. Several gunners lay beside him. Bobkov joins them, whom Sergeant Kravchuk scolds for leaving his post. However, he was replaced by Kondratiev, a senior lieutenant who sits on shells with Shurochka, according to Bobkov. Sklyar is sent by Kondratiev to look for the foreman in order to deliver the kitchen. Kondratyev himself is sitting in a wet overcoat. Shurochka clings to the lieutenant, for which he condemned her, because he knew about the relationship of this girl with Captain Ermakov. Kondratiev doubts that they will be able to cross over tonight. In two hours, the sappers "mowed down" eight people. He went to find out how things were with the ferry. There, ten more people are asked from him by the sapper captain.

Ermakov, near the fire, learns from Kondratiev that, in fact, his battery is gone. At first, the captain refuses, after which he sends foreman Tsygichko to the sappers, as well as five riders. He himself goes for a walk with Shurochka, asking her if she has fallen out of love with him. She is sure that Ermakov treats her like any woman. Here Zhorka takes the captain: he is called to the division headquarters. For the guys, Sklyar is given a bag of biscuits that were found in a German car.

When Colonel Gulyaev finished interrogating the prisoners, Yermakov joined them. We learned from one of the Germans that the defense stretched several kilometers deep into several echelons. Artillery and tanks blocked the way to the Dnieper. Order german army- Not one step back. The Germans retreated to the river - it was a tactical move. The prisoners are sure that the Dnieper will be the turning point of the war. Gulyaev and Yermakov, after interrogation, are sent to the division headquarters.

The decision of Iverzev, division commander

Iverzev, the division commander, was more hasty and cruel compared to General Ostroukhov, the former commander. The next task that he sets for everyone is described by Yuri Bondarev ("Battalions ask for fire"). By 5 o'clock in the morning, two battalions of the 85th regiment were concentrated in the forest area (Maximov's battalion) and the village of Zolotushkino (Bulbanyuka). Two guns are sent to help Bulbanyuk, commanded by Captain Ermakov. Maximov is assisted by Lieutenant Zharov's battery. The purpose of the battalions is to divert the attention of the Germans to themselves, holding bridgeheads in the villages. At this moment, the division will strike in order to occupy a wide bridgehead south of the Dnieper, on the right bank. The battalions should be signaled: "Give fire" (hence the title of the work - "Battalions ask for fire").

A brief summary of the following further events. The note handed over to Boris Ermakov by Gulyaev attracts Iverzev's attention. It says that Boris does not have two guns on the island (two of the four are on the bridgehead, the other two - at the crossing - are broken). Alekseev tells Ermakov that two guns are placed under his order, along with crews.

Preparation for crossing the Dnieper

Boris sends Zhorka to send people to Zolotushino, and he himself arrives at the artillery regiment. Here he takes guns, but does not want to take Lieutenant Proshin. But he went with his platoon: the captain drove him at a trot. Ermakov enters the headquarters of the battalion, where Orlov suffered with his teeth. Major Bulbanyuk joined them. He said that at night it was decided to cross the Dnieper, and during the day you should not show yourself to anyone on the shore. Ermakov, having checked the combat readiness of the people, gave up.

Iverzev's plan

So, the order was given to the battalions of Balbanyuk and Maximov to create the appearance that the Soviet troops were advancing south of the Dnieper. While the battle was going in this direction, the command was concentrating the main forces to the north in order to inflict a decisive blow on the fascist fortifications. The divisional artillery regiment was supposed to support the battalions. However, he was transferred at the last moment to the north. Officers and privates had to fight the invaders without the support of artillery fire. They showed courage and resourcefulness.

There is a place for love in war. Ermakov and Kondratiev are in love with Shurochka. She is flattered

Practically impossible task - crossing the Dnieper. The soldiers cannot even raise their heads under the shelling of the Nazis from the other side. It is required to transport not only people, but also ammunition, fodder, horses, and also two soldiers built rafts for the offensive. It was not possible to cross unnoticed. The losses were heavy, but the battalion was still able to land on the other side.

Further events of the work "Battalions ask for fire"

The book continues with a description of the following events. It was now necessary to occupy two villages and hold positions until the main troops were prepared for the main attack. Heavy fighting is carried out by thinned battalions. So the help from the division does not come.

Only a few people remain alive. Ermakov accuses Iverzev of the death of people. Meanwhile, the main troops successfully crossed the river, advancing north of the Dnieper. Thus ends the work "Battalions ask for fire", a summary of which we have described.

Analysis of the work

This is the second work about the war by Y. Bondarev, but the first story in which the writer's talent manifested itself so clearly. In his work, he combined the understanding of philosophical problems with the analysis of the human soul. Also, the story "Battalions ask for fire" (Bondarev) is the most daring and the very first work of those years, in which there were no patriotic cries. There was only the naked truth about the war. For the first time, the writer raised the question of the means by which victory was achieved.

Main problem

The main problem of the story "Battalions ask for fire" is the contradiction between the fate of the operation and the fate of specific people. Is it permissible to sacrifice the lives of people for the sake of a common goal? Can such a sacrifice be justified?

At the level of the conflict between Iverzev and Ermakov, Bondarev tries to solve these problems in the work "Battalions ask for fire". You can add here and Gulyaev. Understanding perfectly well the position of Iverzev, since they were both colonels, he still fully takes the side of Ermakov, his friend. In battalions, divisions, he sees, first of all, individual soldiers, their tragedies and lives. But in disapproving Iverzev, this hero does not reach an open conflict, like Ermakov. He restrains himself, realizing that he cannot judge them.

In the story "Battalions ask for fire" the writer does not give answers to the questions posed. The conflict remains unresolved between common goal and the means of its fulfillment, that is, the lives of people. "Battalions ask for fire" - a story that reveals the psychology of the characters. War tests each of them, turns their souls inside out. At the same time, none of Bondarev's characters turns out to be a traitor.

Let's end this short description works "Battalions ask for fire". Its analysis can be continued, but we have highlighted the main points.

The bombing lasted forty minutes. In the sky black to the zenith, awkwardly lining up, with a tight rumble, German planes left. They walked low over the forests to the west, towards the cloudy red orb of the sun that pulsed in the swirling darkness.

Everything burned, torn, cracked on the tracks, and where until recently there had been an old, sooty water pump behind the warehouse, now a mountain of charred bricks smoked among the rails; wisps of hot ash fell in the heated air.

Colonel Gulyaev, wincing at the ringing in his ears, carefully rubbed his burned neck, then climbed out to the edge of the ditch and shouted hoarsely:

- Zhorka! Well, where are you? Quickly to me!

Zhorka Vitkovsky, Gulyaev's chauffeur and adjutant, walked out of the station garden with a flexible, independent gait, gnawing an apple. His boyish impudent face was calm, a German machine gun was casually thrown over his shoulder, spare pencil cases protruded from wide tops in different directions.

He sank down beside Gulyaev on his haunches, gnawed an apple with appetizing crackling, smiled cheerfully with plump lips.

- Here are the tramps! he said, glancing up at the cloudy sky, and added innocently: “Eat an Antonovka, Comrade Colonel, we haven’t dined…”

This frivolous calmness of the boy, the sight of the flaming wagons, the pain in his burned neck, and this apple in Zhorka's hand suddenly aroused angry irritation in Gulyaev.

- Have you already used it? Did you score trophies? The Colonel pushed the adjutant's hand away and gloomily stood up, brushing off the ashes from his epaulettes. - Well, look for the station commandant! Where the hell is he!

Zhorka sighed and, holding his machine gun, slowly moved along the station fence.

- Run! shouted the Colonel.

What was burning now at this Dnieper station, bursting, exploding and flying out of the cars with crimson lightning, and what was covered on the platforms with smoldering covers - all this seemed to be the property of Gulyaev, all this arrived in the army and was supposed to enter division, to his regiment, and support in the impending breakthrough. Everything perished, disappeared in the fire, charred, shot without a target after more than half an hour of bombing.

"Stupid, fools! - Gulyaev thought angrily about the commandant of the station and the head of the rear of the division, heavily striding over broken glass towards the station. - There are not enough sons of bitches on trial! Both!” People were already starting to appear at the station: soldiers with sweaty faces, tankers in dusty helmets and dirty overalls were running towards us. Everyone looked depressedly at the smoky horizon, and a puny short tank lieutenant, needlessly clutching at his holster, darted between them along the platform, yelling in a breaking voice:

- Get the logs! To the tanks! To the tanks!

And, stumbled with a bewildered glance at Gulyaev, he only twisted his thin mouth.

Ahead, about fifty meters from the platform, under the cover of the stone walls of the railway station that miraculously survived, stood a group of officers, muffled voices could be heard. In the middle of this crowd, the commander of the division Iverzev, a young, ruddy colonel, in an open steel-colored cloak, with new field epaulettes, stood out on his head.

One cheek was redder than the other, blue eyes exuded cold contempt and anger.

- You ruined everything! Pa-adlet! Do you understand what you've done? Y-you!.. Do you understand?..

He briefly, awkwardly raised his hand, and the man who was standing near, as if in anticipation of a blow, involuntarily threw his head up - Colonel Gulyaev saw the white face of an elderly major, the head of the rear of the division, trembling with flabby folds, his eyelids swollen from a sleepless night, gray disheveled hair. The untidy, baggy tunic that hung on rounded shoulders, the unclean undercollar, the dirt that stuck to the rumpled major's epaulettes caught my eye; the storekeeper, apparently working before the war as a business executive, "daddy and summer resident" ... Pulling his head into his shoulders, the head of the rear of the division looked blankly at Iverzev's chest.

Why didn't they unload the train? Do you understand what you've done? How will the division shoot at the Germans? Why didn't they unload?

- Comrade Colonel... I didn't have time...

- Ma-alchite! The Germans did it!

Iverzev took a step towards the major, and he again threw up his soft chin, the corners of his lips twitched slightly, he wept in impotence; the officers standing nearby averted their eyes.

Shells were exploding in the nearest carriages; one, apparently armor-piercing, snorting hard, crashed into the stone side wall of the station. The plaster crumbled, flying in pieces at the feet of the officers. But no one moved from their place, they only looked at Iverzev: a dense blush filled his other cheek.

Gulyaev, adjusting his tunic, approached with alacrity; but this unrestrained anger of the division commander, this tired, exhausted face of the chief of logistics, it was now already unpleasant for him to see. He frowned displeasedly, squinting at the flaming carriages, and said in a hollow voice:

- Before we lose everything, Comrade Colonel, it is necessary to disengage and disperse the cars. Where have you been, my dear? - Involuntarily succumbing to Iverzev's contemptuous tone, Gulyaev turned to the head of the rear of the division, looking at him with that painfully compassionate expression with which they look at a tormented animal.

The major, indifferently lowering his head, was silent; his grey, matted hair bulged at his temples in untidy pigtails.

- Act! Do it! Y-you rear bungler! Iverzev shouted furiously. - March! Comrade officers, everyone to work! Colonel Gulyaev, unloading ammunition is your responsibility!

- I obey, - answered Gulyaev.

Iverzev understood that this muffled “obedience” still did not solve anything, and, barely restraining himself, turned his attention to the station commandant - a lean, narrow-shouldered lieutenant colonel, smoking in a closed way near the station fence, - and added more quietly:

- And you, comrade lieutenant colonel, will answer to the army commander for everything at once! ..

The lieutenant colonel did not answer, and without waiting for an answer, Iverzev turned around - the officers made way for him - and walked with large steps towards the "jeep", accompanied by a young, also, as it were, angry adjutant, smartly tightened in new belts.

“He will leave for the division,” Gulyaev thought without condemnation, but with some hostility, because from the experience of his long service in the army he knew very well that in any circumstances the highest authorities are free to lay responsibility on subordinate officers. He knew this from his own experience and therefore did not condemn Iverzev. The hostility was explained mainly by the fact that Iverzev appointed him in charge, a trouble-free hard worker of the front, as he sometimes called himself, and no one else.

“Comrade officers, please come to me!”

Gulyaev saw the station commandant up close just now; the chalky pallor of his face, the trembling thin fingers holding the cigarette, made it possible to guess what this man had just experienced. “They will be taken to court. And for the cause, ”Gulyaev thought, and nodded dryly to the lieutenant colonel, meeting his searching gaze.

- Well, let's act, commandant!

When, a few minutes later, the commandant of the station and Gulyaev gave orders to the officers and to the burning trains, hissing ferry, a shunting engine with a frightened driver leaned out, and heavy tanks began, roaring dully, to slide from the smoldering platforms to the colonel, coughing, choking, blinking their watery eyes , the head of the rear of the division ran up, shaking his gray head.

“We won’t save ammunition with one locomotive!” Let's destroy the locomotive, people, Comrade Colonel! ..

"Oh, my brother," Gulyaev said angrily. - Do you want to serve in the army? Where did you lose your cap?

The Major smiled sadly.

“I’ll try… I’ll do my best…” the major began pleadingly. - The commandant said: the echelon has arrived. From Zaitsev. Behind the semaphore. I'm behind the steam locomotive now. Allow me?

- Instantly! Gulyaev ordered. - One leg is here ... And, for God's sake, do not trump. Raise your hand like a snag, damn you! And without a cap! ..

The major backed away in embarrassment, trotted to the platform, awkwardly swaying his shoulders, bouncing, bumping into tankmen; they cursed irritably. His baggy tunic and disheveled head flickered for the last time at the end of the platform, in the bluish-orange smoke near the outer carriages, where shells burst with a crash, with a screech of fragments.

- Zhorka! Well, for the major! Help! And then he wears it ... see? Chasing death! Gulyaev said. Zhorka smiled and answered casually:

- Yes, - and followed the major with his tenacious, sliding gait.

Colonel Gulyaev walked around the station, looked at the flaming cars with rearing roofs, realizing that only a miracle could save everything engulfed in fire here. He thought that this fire, destroying ammunition and equipment not only for the division, exhausted in battles, but also for the army, laid bare his regiment, whose battalions had pulled up to the Dnieper during the previous night. And no matter how smart Gulyaev's orders were now, no matter how he shouted, or stirred up people, all this now did not save the situation, did not solve the matter.

He saw how the shunting engine ran into the smoke and again emerged in the gaps of the fire, whistling, rushing along the tracks with a coupler stuck to the buffer, disconnecting the cars mangled by fragments, deafening with the clang of iron, pushing them to a dead end. Tanks collapsed over the edges of the platform onto logs, rolled down to the ground; roaring with displeasure, like scorched animals, crawled away to the forest behind the station building.

A tall lieutenant colonel ran past the station, his face was embittered, all in dark spots of burning, he did not notice Gulyaev.

- Lieutenant Colonel! - Gulyaev called loudly, slightly picking up his fat belly, as he always did, preparing to give an order.

- What do you want? The tanker stopped. “I am not under your command!”

- How many tanks failed?

- Not counted!

- Then that's it! People will be released - send them to uncouple the cars! Now the steam locomotive is coming...

“I don’t intend to throw people around, Comrade Colonel!” How will I fight without people?

- And how will the division fight? A? Whole division? Gulyaev asked, feeling that he was again falling into Iverzev's tone, and getting annoyed with himself for this. The inflamed eyelids of the tankman stubbornly narrowed.

- I can not! I'm responsible for my people, Colonel!

In the nearest carriage, several shells exploded with a roar, the roof flew up, and a burning heat breathed out. The faces got hot. For a moment they both turned away, they were shrouded in smoke; the tanker coughed.

- Comrade Colonel, may I address you? - a mocking voice was heard at that moment behind Gulyaev's back.

- Wait a minute! - coldly, without turning around, Gulyaev said and added harshly: - I will demand ... I will demand execution, tankman!

- Comrade Colonel, may I address you?

– Who else is here? - Gulyaev, grimacing, turned abruptly and exclaimed in surprise: - Captain Ermakov? Boris? Where the hell did they bring you from?

“Good morning, Comrade Colonel.

A captain of medium height in a burnt-out summer tunic with dark traces of a harness stood beside him; the shadow of the visor fell on half of the swarthy face, brown, bold eyes, white teeth gleamed in a delighted smile.

“Well, you won’t know, Comrade Colonel! he repeated briskly. - What, you don't believe me? Submit, right?

“Where the hell did they bring you from?” - Gulyaev said again, at first he frowned, then he laughed, rudely squeezed the captain in his arms and immediately pushed him away, squinting over his shoulder.

“Go on,” he muttered to the tanker. - Go.

“Let’s eat, Colonel!” I haven't eaten for four days! said the captain, smiling. - I'm a day without smoke allowance! ..

– Where are you from?.. Report!

- From the hospital. Waiting on the way, when you run out here. Then Zhorka appears with the major, well, and ... they rolled on a steam locomotive.

- Frivolity? Are you all kidding? - muttered Gulyaev, peering into the darned sleeve of the captain's tunic, and turned a deep crimson. - I didn’t write from the hospital, you cinchona soul! A? Be silent, uhar-merchant!

- I want not to eat, but to eat! replied the captain, laughing. - Give me some bread! I don't ask for vodka.

- Zhorka! shouted the Colonel. - Escort Captain Ermakov to the car!

Zhorka, who had previously modestly stood aside, brightened his face, winked conspiratorially at the captain with his blue innocent eye:

- It's in the woods. Near.

Everything that could be done under the circumstances was done. The wagons driven into dead ends burned out tiredly; with the last, as if reluctant crack, shells burst belatedly. The fire has subsided. And only now it became clear that it was a warm, serene day of late Indian summer. A clear shining sky with a glassy high blue unfolded over the forest station. And only in the west silent anti-aircraft bursts elusively shone in its bottomless depth.

The reddened, autumn-touched forests of the Dnieper River, surrounding the black ashes of the tracks, were clearly identified, as through binoculars.

Colonel Gulyaev, sweaty and languishing, not without enjoyment having kicked off his hot boots from his tired legs, stretched his legs out to the sun and unbuttoned his tunic on his hairy puffy chest, lay in the station garden under an overgrown apple tree. Here everything has faded and thinned out like autumn, everywhere there is a dim brilliance of the sun, everywhere there is a fragile transparent silence, around there is a slight rustle of fallen leaves, a little bit of fresh air was drawn from the north.

Captain Ermakov was lying next to him, also without boots, without a belt or cap. The colonel, frowning, examined his emaciated, pale face, straight eyebrows from the side; black hair fell to his temple, moving in the wind.

“So-so,” said Gulyaev. - No way, did you come running ahead of time? What, couldn't stand it, couldn't stand it?

Ermakov turned over a fallen apple leaf and squinted thoughtfully at it.

“Changing a hospital bed for this… was worth it, honestly,” he answered, blew the sheet from his palm, and said semi-seriously: “You’ve grown fat, Colonel. Are you on the defensive?

“Don’t screw me up,” Gulyaev interrupted with displeasure. I ask why did you come running?

Ermakov reached out to the apple tree, plucked a bare twig, examined it carefully, and said:

- Here, I tore off this branch - and it died. Right? Okay, let's leave the lyrics. How is my battery, is it alive? - And, smiling slightly, he repeated: - Alive?

- Your battery crossed the Dnieper at night. Clear? - Gulyaev fiddled around, fidgeting with his stomach on the yellow grass, on dry leaves, asked: - What other questions?

Who is in charge of the battery?

- Kondratiev.

- This is good.

- What well?

- Kondratiev.

- Here's what, - Gulyaev said rudely and decisively, - I want to warn you, and without jokes, my dear. If you foolishly, like a donkey, catch bullets with your chest, show courage - I’ll write off to the damn grandmother in a reserve regiment! And that's it! I'll sleep - and that's it! Kill the fool! What?

“Sure,” said the captain. - All clear.

The colonel's weather-beaten, large face, noticeable by a sloping wrinkled forehead, slowly let go of an expression of displeasure, something resembling a smile touched his lips slightly, and he said with sad amusement:

- Broken branch! Tell! Philosopher, there is no one to flog you!

Lying on his back, Yermakov was still looking thoughtfully into the chilly blue of the sky, and Gulyaev thought that this young, healthy officer did not care much for his words, for frank anxiety, not provided for by any charter - they knew each other from Stalingrad. The colonel was lonely, widowed, childless, and he would definitely see his youth in Yermakov and forgive him a lot, as sometimes happens with many living and not entirely happy single people.

They lay silent for a long time. The empty garden, tangled with cobwebs, was pierced through and through by the golden sun. Leaves glided in the warm air, silently banging against branches, clinging to cobwebs on apple trees. Into the silence came the distant hum of tanks from the forest, the subtle hiss of a shunting engine on the tracks, the echoes of life.

A dry leaf fell on the Colonel's shoulder. He slowly crushed it in his fist and squinted at Yermakov.

We'll break through the defenses. Hard nut on the right bank. Why did you stop speaking?

- I think so. And I don’t know what about myself,” said Ermakov.

From the direction of the station, approaching, voices were heard that seemed strange here - female voices, sonorous and as if glassy in the quiet air of a half-flewed garden. Colonel Gulyaev, awkwardly turning his burned neck, grunted in pain, looking around in bewilderment, asked:

– What is this?

Two women were moving along the path to the left of the station, through the garden, carrying a huge chest bound with ropes. One, young, barefoot, in a faded blouse, carelessly tucked into a skirt, walked bent over, straining her strong calves, the other, older, was in a man's padded jacket, in boots, her swarthy face was haggard, her hair was tousled, and the sun, beating from behind, shone through them.

- Is it far, beauties? shouted Gulyaev and, groaning, sat up and rubbed his knees.

The women lowered the chest; the young woman straightened up, looked unashamedly at Gulyaev's bulky figure, slid a playfully defiant glance over Ermakov's face, and suddenly snorted and laughed.

- Help, Comrade Colonel, our things are painfully heavy! Seriously…

Ermakov asked with obvious interest:

- Do you live nearby? Local?

The young one smiled, stuck out her breasts, adjusted her kerchief over her thin eyebrows with deft fingers, while the older one, in a quilted jacket, lowered her eyes and blushed darkly. The young briskly said:

- We're right here. There is a village in the forest... We are alone! Just alone. Would you help?

- Let's go to? - Yermakov said semi-questioningly. "Ah, Comrade Colonel?"

- Yes, what are you? - Gulyaev stopped him in a fierce whisper and waved his large hand in protest. - We are not in shape, beauties, barefoot, you see? Our business is military, babonki, we have no time! Go, go yourself!

A little later, when the women had disappeared at the end of the garden, the colonel, wrinkling his brow in concern, hurried on, began to put on his woolen socks, saying:

- It's over. Go. Enough.

Yermakov jokingly told him:

"Maybe let's go?" We should help.

- Yes, what are you? - Gulyaev, turning purple, fiercely drove his foot into a narrow boot, sharply pulled his tunic on his stomach. - There is nothing for us here. Stale. Case on the throat!

The shaggy cool sun was setting in the woods.

Chapter 2

Night found them on the road, a cold, starry October night. Noise, movement, human voices filled the forest darkness. From time to time Zhorka turned on the headlights, and in the white corridor one could see the grinning muzzle of a horse, then the side of a truck covered with mud, then the kitchen, spraying hot coals along the way, then the shield of the gun and the shaggy backs of the riders, then the sleepless faces of the soldiers. All this moved, walked, rode, swarmed, galloped in the darkness to where the Dnieper flowed behind the forests.

- Gasy! Turn off the lights, you devil! - a shout rushed from the wagon bouncing in front, the white face of the driver slid past, and a whip lashed tin on the side of the "jeep".

“We should stretch you over your back,” the colonel muttered grumpily. - Well, turn it off. And stop chewing, okay?

Frowningly sinking his head into his shoulders, Gulyaev looked through the windshield at the road; Zhorka lazily nibbled on a cracker, held the steering wheel with one hand, occasionally glancing upwards, where the shimmering cold sky was flowing.

- That's a tramp! - he said and put the cracker in his pocket. “Look, Comrade Colonel, the lanterns have been hung up again.

A gloomy yellow light blossomed in the sky: four illuminating bombs, dropping sparks, hung high above the forest among the stars. They flew slowly, obliquely and silently descending. Above, the bare tops of the trees emerged from the darkness. The forest immediately came to life, the black shadows of the bushes crawled, moved on the road, intermingling with the shadows of people, cars, carts; Tanks roared furiously ahead, someone loudly gave a command from the depths of the column:

- Hundred!

Zhorka raised one eyebrow questioningly; the colonel spoke into his collar:

- Drive around.

The "Willis" rounded a column of cars, closely crowded wagons, guns, rushed very close to the forest, branches swept over, hammered along the sides, elastically tossed up on rhizomes. The trees parted, it became daylight. Overhead, flaring, floated "lanterns". Ahead, a double flame rushed with thunder, and gasped in the forest, thundered, as in empty corridors.

- Where? Where are you going under the bombs? Can't you see? someone shouted in a desperate voice, and a human figure darted in front of the radiator. - Wow?..

- Stop! - Gulyaev commanded, taking his leg out of the car.

The Willys braked on the move, and Yermakov would have hit the back of the front seat if he hadn't buckled his arms. The colonel got out, went forward to the column of tanks twilightly illuminated by "lanterns"; the motors fired with sharp exhausts, the tanks jogged their way towards the mattly gleaming water. There, in the passageway formed by carts and kitchens that had pulled over to the side of the road, they hummed their way onto the swaying pontoon bridge.

- Dnepr? Ermakov asked, bending over to Zhorka's ear.

Muffled by the rumble of tank engines, screams at the crossing, the neighing of horses, new piercing, air-tearing sounds arose in the sky. The sky has collapsed; blinding, hissing comets splashed, blazed with fire in the eyes; The Jeep was pushed back with force. Ermakov, experiencing a cold-tickling sense of danger, blunted in the hospital, looked at the explosions, then saw Zhorka’s face turned to him for a moment in the chaos of bursting flashes, his voice broke through the roar:

- Lie down, comrade captain! Dive!

And Ermakov, excited, with a constricted heart, - weaned, weaned! - making measured movements, got out of the car and, feeling the stupidity of what he was doing, forced himself not to lie down, but to stand, watching the road.

At the same moment, the metallic growing roar of the engine began to press on the ears. From the whitish sky a heavy shadow was rapidly falling on the crossing, grinning with machine-gun flashes. And he hurriedly lay down beside the car. Red short lightnings, raising the wind, rushed vertically along the column. She fell, thrashed in the shafts, the horse neighed. “Oh-oh, oh-oh,” was heard from the forest; something slapped on the wet sand around Yermakov's head, and he involuntarily felt and threw away the hot large-caliber cartridge case.

Y. Bondarev's story takes us back to the time of the Great Patriotic War at its turning point in 1943. An order was given to the battalions of Captain Maksimov and Major Bulbanyuk to create the appearance of an offensive by Soviet troops south of the city of Dnieper. While the battle was going on in this direction, the command was concentrating the main forces north of the city for the main attack on the fascist fortifications.

The battalions were supposed to support the divisional artillery regiment, but at the last moment it was transferred to the north. Privates and officers had to fight

With invaders without artillery fire support. Ordinary people, they showed resourcefulness and courage.

River sand at every flash of flares, the soldiers built rafts, prepared for the offensive. It was not possible to cross unnoticed. The losses were heavy, but the battalions were able to land on the other side of the Dniester.

After the crossing, it is necessary to occupy two villages, fortify and hold positions while the main troops are preparing for the main attack. The depleted battalions are fighting hard to the last man. The promised help from the division never came. This was not in the plans of the command.

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Essay on literature on the topic: Summary Battalions ask for fire Bondarev

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Yuri Bondarev is often called a writer of the military generation, a front-line writer: in August of the distant 1942, he, an eighteen-year-old boy, volunteered for the front. From the Volga to the border of the Czech Republic, through Ukraine and Poland, his long military road as an artillery officer, the road of heavy fighting and Read More ......
“Battalions Ask for Fire” is Y. Bondarev’s second work about the war, but his first story, in which the writer’s talent was so clearly manifested, combining in his works the analysis of the human soul and the understanding of philosophical problems. This is also the very first and Read More ......
Writers can rightly be called confidants of History, custodians of human memory. In his works, each in his own way managed to convey those "moments" of the war, those deep processes that take place in the minds of people, which determine whether a person is able to remain a person in inhuman circumstances. Paying tribute Read More ......
Every real artist cares about his own, deep problem, what pours out from the very soul. Two concepts - fate and happiness - varying, deepening, turning in different facets, determine the essence of Yuri Bondarev's search. The multidimensionality of the picture of life, recreated by the artist, is due to the multi-conflict nature of his works. Opening Read More ......
arrangement actors quite definite and fraught with conflict, as if personified in the images of Iverzev and Ermakov. Other critics adhered to just such a view, not noticing that this simplifies the whole meaning of the story. We will be convinced of this in the course of the analysis of events, the heroes Read More ......
“The battalions are asking for fire” - the story of the Patriotic War, about the overwhelming and tragic feat of soldiers, did not appear immediately, according to the author. Bondarev, as we know, was convinced of his unpreparedness for a great literary form and doubted whether he, an “ordinary mortal”, Read More ......
In the story “Battalions ask for fire”, Y. Bondarev poses the problem of responsibility for a person. The main conflict is connected with the order of the command to several battalions to cross the Dnieper in one of the sections. But the rapidly changing situation made adjustments to the plans of the command. The order had to be cancelled. Only two Read More ......
We can safely talk about the true discovery of the author of the story “The Battalions Ask for Fire”: the wartime in the life of the captain appeared here not as a line of biography, but as the beginning of the fate of a whole generation. Hence such a heightened interest in ethical issues, the desire to reveal the moral origins of Read More ......

Summary Battalions ask for fire Bondarev