E. Minchenko says, based on the newspaper Versiya: “I don't remember where I wrote out the non-trivial idea that there are three people hidden in each of us: the one as perceived by other people; the way he perceives himself; and the very hidden, mystical and real, which really is.
Therefore, it is very important to treat yourself first of all as a great riddle … I think that everything that has been said, as best as possible, can serve as a kind of introduction to the story that I finally decided to tell, an incredible story and nevertheless happened in reality …
It happened on the eve of the New Year, 1943. In the Battle of Stalingrad, a radical change has already taken place: our troops went over to the offensive from defense. And, quite likely, the command constantly needed fresh intelligence about the enemy. In one of the raids behind enemy lines, a group of scouts, which included Anatoly M., lost a soldier.
Death is always stupid, but here it turned out to be even stupider. A blind bullet that came from nowhere, hit Kolya Ivanov right in the heart. In a blizzard that broke out in earnest, trying to knock the scouts off their feet and painfully slashing them across their faces, the soldiers began to dig a grave in the snow. Barely holding on from fatigue on their feet, the scouts could no longer gouge the frozen and ringing, like a shell, earth and buried their comrade right in a snowdrift.
And in the evening, when their strength was running out, they came across a fishing hut, leaning against a steep slope not far from the reed thickets on the banks of the Don. In the room they sat down on the floor, putting up their submachine guns and hugging each other, trying to warm up a little. And suddenly, there was a knock on the door, which the scouts pressed with a bench just in case. All four grabbed the machine guns. And then we clearly heard the voice of Nikolai Ivanov: - Well, you guys left me in a snowdrift. I'm cold. Let warm up …
The scouts, who had seen everything in their front line, got goosebumps. They suddenly felt hot. They are firmly convinced that their comrade is dead. They saw glazed eyes. And then his voice … The scouts rushed to the door. I discovered no one, only the howling of the wind throwing armfuls of snow.
They sat down. We lit a cigarette. And again, a knock on the door. And again, the voice of Ivanov. And again there was no one outside the door. Only wind and snow … And although the knocking was no longer repeated, until the morning, despite mortal fatigue, the scouts could no longer sleep. And only at dawn they seemed to be thrown into a dream that lasted only half an hour.
Having woken up, the soldiers carefully looked out of the hut. The wind has eased. Only a light drizzle was smoking. The scouts did not find any traces at their temporary refuge. Soon their white camouflage coats melted among the snowdrifts. The reconnaissance patrol continued its search …
Promotional video:
This story was told to me by a former colleague, the same Anatoly M., whom I have already mentioned here. “If you write, don't tell me my last name, otherwise the devil will think of me - they know what …”
Recently, retired colonel Anatoly M. died. They say that before his death, he kept calling some Nikolai …"
