Chapter 11 The third part 6-8

6 The situation in the South became complicated.The fighting in the Don Valley has not been mentioned in the newspapers for a long time.Suddenly one day the names of some Cossack villages on the left bank of the Don River were mentioned in the battle report of the Soviet Intelligence Agency.These villages are on the way to the Volga and Stalingrad.Those who do not know the local geography will not know the meaning of these names.But Alexei had grown up there, and he knew that the Don Line had been breached and the fighting had moved to Stalingrad. Stalingrad!Although it hasn't been mentioned in the battle report yet, everyone is already talking about it. In the autumn of 1942, when people mentioned it, they felt uneasy and sad, as if they were not talking about a city, but a relative who was threatened with death.This was especially true for Milesiev, since Olya was just outside Stalingrad on the steppes.Who knows what kind of test she will face!Now he writes to her every day.But what was the point of his letters addressed to some field post office?She was in a panic retreat, in the fiercely fought Volga valley.

The nursing home where the pilot lived was like a trampled ant's nest, becoming unrest.All the usual pastimes of the people, such as checkers, chess, volleyball, siege games, front-line "goats" with a fixed style of play, and "blackjack" that thrill-seekers used to play furiously in the bushes by the lake "②, no one cares about it.Everyone is no longer interested in anything, but the first battle report broadcast on the radio at seven o'clock every morning attracts everyone. Even the laziest people have to get up an hour earlier to listen to it with everyone.If the combat exploits of the pilots were mentioned in the interjection of the battle report, everyone would become depressed, complain, find fault with the nurses, complain about the unreasonable system of the sanatorium, and the bad food. Instead of letting them go to fight on the grasslands outside Stalingrad, they would spend time basking in the sun by the mirror-like lake and recuperating in the silent forest.Finally, these convalescents announced that they had had enough rest and asked to return to the combat troops early.

① A kind of card game. ②A kind of card game. At dusk the Air Supply Committee arrived here.Several commanders wearing medical service epaulettes stepped out of the gray car.First-class military doctor Milo Woriski, a well-known doctor in the Air Force circle, also came.He leaned on the back of the chair and struggled to get down from the front seat.He was fat and bloated, but he had a fatherly affection for pilots, so he was loved by pilots.During dinner an announcement was made: tomorrow morning the committee will select those who have recovered, who do not want to recuperate, and who want to go to the army as soon as possible.

The next day, just after dawn, Milesyev got up and went to the woods, but instead of doing his usual exercise, he lingered there until breakfast.He skipped a mouthful of breakfast and was rude to the waitress who scolded him for leaving breakfast on his plate.When Struchkov accused him of scolding the girl—because she meant nothing but to wish him well—Alexey jumped up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria.In the corridor, beside the battle report of the Soviet intelligence service, stood Zina.Alexey walked past her, and she pretended not to see him, but shrugged angrily.But Alexey did not see her when he passed her, and the girl was so angry that she almost cried and stopped him.Alexey was very angry, and he turned around and said:

"Hey, what do you want to say? What do you need?" "Comrade Captain, why are you..." whispered the girl, blushing as red as her bronze hair. Alexei calmed down, but became depressed. "Today is the time to decide my fate," he said sullenly, "come, shake hands and bless me..." His limp was more pronounced than usual, and he went back to his room and locked the door. The committee is set up in the hall.Various instruments were brought into the hall—spirometers, ergometers, eye charts.All the pilots were gathered in the next room.Those who wish to leave early are almost all recuperators.They formed a long line there.Zinotchka handed out the note with the time to report to everyone and let them disperse.After the first batch of people were inspected, they all said that the inspection was very loose and not harsh.Indeed, the large-scale war on the Volga River is going on intensely and needs batch after batch of new forces. How can the committee be too harsh at this time?Alexey was sitting on a uniquely designed brick wall in front of the aisle, with his legs stretched. Whenever someone came out of the house, he seemed to ask indifferently:

"Hello, how are you doing?" "I'm going to fight!" The man who came out often buttoned up or wore a belt while walking, happily replied. Burnazyan entered before Milesyev.He put his cane in the doorway and walked in briskly, trying not to lean to the sides or make the short leg look more obvious.He was stranded for a long time.Towards the end, Alexei heard a few broken curse words through the open window.Then, Burnazyan rushed out of the door, his face was covered with sweat, he gave Alexei a hard look, and without looking back, he limped towards the park: "A bunch of bureaucrats, rear rats! What do they know about aviation? Is this a ballet for them? Short legs...and those nasty enemas and syringes!"

Alexei's heart suddenly turned cold, but he still walked into the hall happily and with a smile on his confident steps.The committee members sat behind a large table, and the fat body of Milovolsky, a first-class military doctor, stood in the middle.Behind a small desk next to a pile of personal resumes sat Zinotchka, petite and charming, in a starched white coat, with a lock of red hair peeping out from under the veil, especially charming.She handed Alexei a resume and shook his hand gently. "Hey, young man," said the doctor, squinting his eyes, "take off your clothes."

Alexey did not play sports in vain, nor did he bask in the sun for nothing.He was well built, with every muscle clearly visible under his dark skin, which the doctor admired. "A statue of David can be built in your stature," said one of the committee members, showing off his vast knowledge. ① Hebrew king. Milesyev passed all the checks with ease.His wrist strength more than doubled.When exhaling, the pointer of the instrument hits the limiter.Blood pressure was normal and neurological status was good.Finally he yanked the steel handle of the dynamometer and broke the instrument.

"Is it the pilot?" the doctor asked happily, lounging in the easy chair.He was ready to write comments on Captain A.P. Milesyev's resume. "It's the pilot." "Is it the fighter pilot?" "It's the fighter pilot." "Then go and kill the enemy planes. Now your comrades need you so much! ... But why are you in the hospital?" Alexei hesitated, and he suddenly felt a sense of failure.The doctor was already reading his bio, his kind face seemed to lengthen in surprise. "The feet were amputated... Nonsense! Is there a typo here? Yes, why don't you speak?"

"No, there is nothing wrong," said Alexei quietly and slowly, as if he was about to go to the guillotine. The doctor and all the committee members looked at this sturdy, well-developed, and agile young man in puzzlement, and they could not understand what was going on. "Please roll up your trouser legs!" The doctor couldn't help ordering. Alexey's face turned pale, he looked at Zinotchka helplessly, slowly raised his trouser legs, and stood before the table with his hands drooping dejectedly, revealing a pair of artificial leather feet. "My man, why are you fooling us? What a waste of time you've wasted. Do you want to be in the Air Force without feet?" said the doctor at last.

"I don't want to go, I must go!" Alexey whispered, his eyes flashed with a stubborn and challenging look, like a gypsy. "Are you crazy! You want to fly without your feet?" "Yes, no feet—but I want to fly," replied Milesyev, very calmly, no longer stubbornly, and then he reached into the pocket of an old Air Force lapel jacket and took out a A neatly folded magazine clipping, "Look, he can fly with one foot missing, why can't I do without both feet?" The doctor read the article and looked at the pilot with wonder and admiration: "But it takes a lot of training. You see, he's been training for ten years, and he's trained to use the artificial foot as well as the real one," he said mildly. Suddenly, Alexei's rescuers arrived: Zinotchka came out lightly from behind the table, her face was flushed, her hands were placed on her chest, as if praying, fine beads of sweat oozed from her temples.She muttered: "Comrade first-class military doctor, can you see how he dances? Better than all healthy people! Really." "How does he dance? What the hell!" The doctor shrugged and exchanged kindly glances with the other committee members. Alexey was satisfied with Zinotchka's idea; "You don't write 'yes' and you don't write 'no'. Come to our ball tonight. You'll believe I can fly." As Milesyev walked towards the door, he saw in the mirror that the committee members were discussing enthusiastically. Before lunch Zinotchka found Alexei in a grove in an empty park.After Alexey left, she said, the committee discussed it with him for a long time.The doctor said that Milesyev was a rare young man, who knows, maybe, he could really fly.There is nothing the Russians can't do!One commissioner countered that there was no such precedent in aviation history.The doctor immediately replied that there are many things that are not in the history of aviation, and that the Soviets will fill in many gaps for it in this war. On the eve of seeing off the selected pilots to return to the combat units - there were about two hundred such people - a grand ball was organized.A military band came here from Moscow in a truck.Wind music rattled the barred windows, passages and verandahs of the attic.Although the pilots were sweating from jumping, they still jumped tirelessly.In the crowd, the happy, quick and flexible Milesyev danced with his red-haired partner.This pair of dance partners cooperated very tacitly. Sitting by an open window with a cold beer in his hand, Milovolsky, a first-class military doctor, kept his eyes on Milesyev and his red-haired dance partner.He's a doctor, and a military doctor at that.Based on countless medical cases, he knew the difference between a fake foot and a real one. But now, as he watched the dark-skinned, muscular pilot dance gracefully with his petite, alluring partner, he couldn't shake the thought that it was all a complicated deception.Towards the end of the dance, Alexey yelled, slapped his thighs and cheeks with his palms, and danced a beautiful "lady's dance" in a circle of applauding crowds.Then he pushed forward, sweating and brisk, up to Milovorisky.Milovolsky shook the pilot's hand in admiration.Milesyev did not speak, but looked directly at the doctor, begging for an answer. "You should know that I have no right to send you directly to the troops. But I can tell you the diagnostic opinion we wrote to the Ministry. Our opinion is that with proper training you can fly. In short, in any In any case, you can think that I voted for you as 'yes'." The doctor replied. Milovolsky and the director of the sanatorium—also an experienced military doctor—went out of the hall arm in arm.Both of them were amazed and baffled at the same time.Before going to bed at night, the two of them still sat there with cigarettes in their mouths and discussed for a long time: As long as a Soviet really wants to do something, there is nothing he cannot do... The music below was playing, and the figures of dancing people flickered on the square ground illuminated by the light projected from the window.At this time, Alexey Milesyev locked himself in the bathroom upstairs, put his legs in the cold water, and bit his lips almost bleeding.When he soaked the large cuts and blue-blooded calluses on his legs caused by strenuous exercise, he almost lost consciousness in pain. An hour later Major Struchkov returned to his room.At this time, Milesyev had been washed clean and full of energy, and was combing his wet, wavy hair in front of the mirror. "Zinochka is still looking for you over there! At least let's go for a walk with her to say goodbye! Poor girl." "Let's go together, Pavel Ivanovich, hello, let's go together, how about it?" Milesyev repeatedly begged. The thought of being alone with this cute and ridiculous girl who was so serious about teaching him to dance didn't feel natural to him.Ever since he received Olya's letter, he had felt a heavy weight with her.So he begged Struchkov repeatedly to go with him, until Struchkov muttered and finally took up his cap. Zinotchka was waiting on the balcony.She held a bouquet of fallen flower bulbs in her hand, torn and shredded sepals and petals strewn all over the floor at her feet.As soon as she heard Alexei's footsteps, she leaned forward, but when she saw that he was not the only one coming out, she drew back listlessly. "Let's go and say goodbye to the forest!" Alexey suggested in a carefree tone. They walked silently arm in arm on the bodhi tree-lined avenue.The dark figures floated slowly beside their feet, on the ground dotted with silver light.The yellowing leaves here and there flickered like gold coins.The avenue came to an end.They came out of the park and walked along the wet gray grass towards the lake.Layers of thick fog floated like white sheepskin over the valley by the lake.At first, the fog floated close to the ground, and after a while it rose to their waists, shining magically in the cool moonlight.The air is humid, filled with the refreshing and pleasant atmosphere of autumn, which makes people feel cool for a while, even a little cold, and warm for a while, which makes people feel stuffy.As if in this foggy lake had its own springs, warm currents and cold currents... "Aren't we like giants flying in the clouds, huh?" Alexei said thoughtfully.At this moment the girl's little hand was clutching his arm tightly, which made him feel ashamed. "We're like fools, we get our feet wet, and maybe catch a cold on the road!" complained Struchkov, who was troubled by something unpleasant. "I have better conditions than you. My feet won't get wet and I won't catch a cold." Alexei said with a smile. Zinotchka led them towards the fog-shrouded lake. "Go, go, it must be very beautiful over there now." They almost fell into the water by mistake, until the black water of the lake appeared at their feet through wisps of soft mist, and they were startled and stopped.There are several small bridges around, and the black silhouette of a small boat is vaguely exposed beside the bridge.Zinotchka ran into the mist and came back with the oar in his hand.They fixed the oarlocks, Alexey sat down to row, and Zinotchka and the major sat abreast in the stern.The boat rowed forward slowly on the calm water, it got into the fog for a while, and got out again for a while.The smooth surface of the water shone like black silver under the moonlight.They were all lost in their own thoughts.The night is quiet, and the waves splashed by the oars are like drops of mercury, scattered heavily around.The oarlocks made a hoarse sound, the crakes squeaked, and the owl's mournful cry, up and down, could be faintly heard on the water in the distance. "It's unbelievable, there's a war going on nearby..." said Zinotchka softly. "Comrades, will you write to me? Like you, Alexey Petrovich, just write me a few words." That's fine too. Do you want my postcard with my address on it? Then you can simply write a few words: still alive and in good health. Greetings. Then put it in the mailbox, okay?" "No, brothers, I wish I could go too! Go to hell, that's enough, row, row!" cried Struchkov. Everyone was silent.The fine and soft waves slapped the side of the ship, making old noises, the water at the bottom of the ship was also slowly gurgling, and the waves at the stern were rolling.The fog cleared, and a flickering blue moonlight could already be clearly seen shooting from the lake to the boat, as well as dotted water lilies and lilies. "Let's sing a song! Huh?" suggested Zinotchka.Without waiting for an answer, she sang the song "Sorberry Tree." She sang the first stanza sadly by herself.Struchkov went on singing in his rich, resonant baritone voice.Alexei had never heard him sing before, so he even suspected that it was him who sang such a beautiful voice.So this deep and passionate song floated freely on the calm water.Two melodious voices, male and female, cooperated with each other and sang affectionate nostalgia.Alexey couldn't help thinking of the little pear tree outside his window bearing only a bunch of fruits, Olya with big eyes in his hometown, and then the lake, the charming moonlight, the boat, and the singer, Everything disappeared without a trace.In the silver-white fog he saw the girl from Kamyshin, not the Olya sitting among the wild chrysanthemums, but a strange girl he didn't know very well—she was so tired, her cheeks Sun-spotted, chapped lips, sweat-soaked uniform, shovel in hand, a typical girl on the steppes outside Stalingrad. He lowered his oars and joined them in the last verse of the song in harmony. 7 Milesyev was the first to go in for inspection.The tall and bloated first-class military doctor finally came back from a business trip, and he sat in the chairman's seat.He recognized Alexey immediately and even came out from behind the table to welcome him. "Why, didn't you accept it? Yes, my dear, your question is not easy to deal with. Because this is a violation of the regulations. But how is it a violation of the law?" He sympathized with kindness. They didn't even examine Alexei, and the military doctor wrote on his certificate with a red pencil: "To the cadres. I think he can be sent to the Air Force Training School for testing." Go see the chief of the cadre department.He wanted to see the general without permission.Milesyev was about to lose his temper, but when he saw the lively, kind, and friendly face of the general's adjutant, a well-built young captain with a black moustache, he could not tolerate the "archangel"① But Milesyev sat down at the small table and unexpectedly told the captain in detail what had happened to him.The ringing of the telephone often interrupted his narration.The captain also had to leave for a while, and ran to the chief's office for a while.But as soon as he came back, he immediately sat down opposite Milesyev, looked at him with those innocent eyes of a child, with curiosity, admiration, and even suspicion, and he urged: ① Refers to the adjutant in the head's reception room. "Hey, hello, hello, what happened next?" Or he suddenly spread his hands and asked in bewilderment: "To be honest, you are not lying! Ah! It's not easy." Although the captain looks young, in fact, he is quite expert in the affairs of the agency.When Milesyev told him about his visits to various offices, he exclaimed angrily: "Fuckers, they shouldn't have let you run around. You're a fine, oh, I don't know how to put it, oh, a fine young man! But they're right, what about losing your feet fly?" "It can fly,...it's not..." Milesyev took out magazine clippings, military doctor's approval note and dispatch certificate. "But how can you fly without your feet? You can't, geezer. As the saying goes, man, you can't be a dancer without your feet." If it had been anyone else, Milesyev would have lost his temper, perhaps would have lost his temper, and would have cursed at him.But the Captain's lively face was full of kindness, so Alexei not only did not do this, but jumped up from his chair and shouted with childlike enthusiasm: "Can't you?" suddenly danced in the reception room. The captain watched him dance with admiration, then without saying a word, grabbed his proof and ran into the office. He stayed in it for a long time.While listening to the two muffled echoes from the door, the pilot felt his whole body tense and his heart beat faster, as if he was flying a high-speed aircraft and making a sharp dive. The captain walked out of the office very satisfied with a smile on his face. "No," he said, "of course, the General didn't even listen to you being sent to the Flying Regiment. But he wrote it right away: Sent to the Ground Maintenance Battalion for service duty with the usual pay and supplies. Got it? As usual..." To the captain's surprise, what he saw on Alexei's face was not joy, but anger. "Working in a ground maintenance battalion? Not at any time!! You should understand: I'm not running around for food, or for military pay. I'm a pilot, do you understand? I want to fly, I want to fight... ...Why doesn't anyone understand this? It's the easiest thing to do." The captain was at a loss.What a weirdo, if it were someone else, it would be time to dance again, but this person... is really weird.But the captain liked this strange man more and more.He sympathized with him, and wanted to help him as much as he could in this extraordinary matter.Suddenly a thought flashed through his mind.He winked at Milesyev, beckoned him with his finger, looked back at the chief's office, and whispered in his ear: "The general has done what he can, and he can't decide anything else. To be honest, if a person who lost his feet is sent to the flight team, wouldn't he be regarded as a lunatic himself? It's better to go directly to Go to our Chief, only he can help." Half an hour later, Milesyev arrived at the chief's office relying on a pass obtained by his new acquaintance.He nervously paced back and forth on the carpet in the chief's reception room.Why didn't he think of it at the beginning?Yes, he should have come here, and right away, so that so much time would not be wasted.It's either success or failure... I heard that the chief himself is a top-notch pilot.He should understand!He wouldn't send a fighter pilot to work in a ground maintenance battalion. Several generals and colonels sat in the reception room with dignity.They were talking quietly, and a few others were clearly agitated and smoking a lot, and the captain was walking up and down the carpet by himself, with erratic steps and jumps.When all the visitors had gone in and it was Milesyev's turn, he walked quickly to the table of a cheerful, young, round-faced major. "Comrade Captain, are you looking for the chief?" "Yes, I have something very important to see him." "Perhaps you can let me know about you? Sit down, sit down. Do you smoke?" He handed Milesyev an open cigarette case. Alexey did not smoke, but for some reason he took one, played it in his hand for a while, and then put it on the table again.He suddenly poured out all his experiences like he did to the captain.On this day, he completely changed his view of the "Archangel" who was guarding the general's "bath and locker room".The Major was listening to him not just out of politeness, no, but in a very friendly, compassionate way.He read magazine clippings and read criticism.Inspired by his concern, Milesyev jumped to his feet, forgot where he was, and tried to perform his dance skills again... But at this moment, all previous efforts were almost in vain.The office door opened suddenly, and a thin, tall, dark-haired man came out.Alexey had seen his picture, so he knew immediately who he was.As the man walked, he buttoned his coat and gave instructions to the general who was walking behind him.He seemed to be preoccupied with something, and Alexey was not even aware of it. "I'm going to the Kremlin," he said to the major, glancing at his watch. "Book a six-passenger night flight to Stalingrad and land at Upper Poglomnaya." , left quickly, as fast as he came out. The major immediately booked the plane.He thought of Milesyev, spread out his hands, and said: "You're out of luck, we're flying away. You'll have to wait. Do you have a place to stay?" It seemed to the major that the swarthy face of this extraordinary visitor, which a minute earlier had shown obstinacy and obstinacy, now expressed deep disappointment and weariness.This forced him to change his decision. "Well... I know our chief, and he will do the same." He wrote a few words on official paper, put the note in an envelope, and wrote on the outside: "To the Chief of the Cadre Section." He handed the letter to Milesyev, holding him hand said: "I wish you success with all my heart!" The official document reads: "Captain A. Milesyev was received by the commander. Special attention should be paid to him. Do everything possible to help him return to the Air Force flight group." An hour later, the captain with a mustache led Milesiev into the general's office.The obese old general with hard and disheveled eyebrows looked at the official document, raised his light blue smiling eyes to the pilot, and said with a smile: "Already been there! . . . so fast, so fast! Looks like you're mad at me for sending you to work in ground maintenance battalion. Ha-ha-ha!" He roared with laughter. "Good job! Yes! I can see that you are a good pilot. The ground maintenance battalion is not going, it seems to be insulted... Interesting!... What can I do with you? Dancer, ah! If you fall to pieces. I It's time to move your head too. Why did I send you there, old man? But who knows you, our children are enough to amaze the whole world in this war...give me the papers." The general wrote carelessly on the official document with a blue pencil: "Sent to the training school." His handwriting was illegible and he did not finish every word, but Milesyev picked up the letter with trembling hands. official documents.He read it once at the desk, then on the landing in the stairwell, then below, by the sentinel checking passes at the entrance, in the streetcar, and finally standing on the sidewalk in the rain.Among all the people living on the earth, he is the only one who understands what these few casually written words mean to him and what value they have. On this day, Alexei happily sold his watch—a gift from the teacher—and bought various foods and a bottle of wine at the market, and called Anyuta, asking her to find a way to evacuate at the rear Changed shifts for an hour or two, invited the old couple, and threw a big feast in honor of his great victory. 8 The training school is located next to a small airfield of the Soviet Defense and Aviation Chemical Construction Promotion Association on the outskirts of Moscow.In those tumultuous years, life here was not easy, either. The Air Force had a lot to do in the Battle of Stalingrad.The sky above the Volga fortress is always shrouded in brown smoke from flames and explosions, and the sky gradually becomes an air combat arena for continuous huge battles.Both sides suffered heavy losses.Fighting Stalingrad is constantly asking for pilots, pilots, pilots... so the training school is extremely busy.Pilots who have just come out of the hospital need to be trained here, while pilots who have only flown civil aviation aircraft from the rear have to learn to fly new fighter jets here.Dragonfly-shaped "little ears" and "duckling" training planes filled the small airfield, just like flies landed on an uncleaned dining table.They buzz over the airfield from sunrise to sunset, and whenever you glance at the airport criss-crossed by planes, you can always see someone taking off or landing. The chief of staff of the training school was not tall, with a bright red face and a stocky body, his eyes were red from insomnia.He looked at Milesiev angrily, as if to say: "Which ghost sent you here? Don't you think there are too many things here?" Then he took the bag from Milesyev The official document with the dispatch certificate and the approval slip. "If he finds fault with my feet, he'll drive me away," thought Alexei, looking worriedly at the brown beard on the lieutenant colonel's broad face.They are curly from not being shaved for a long time.At this moment, there were two calls for the lieutenant colonel to answer at the same time.He shoved one receiver to his ear and muttered angrily into the other while his eyes flicked over Milesyev's papers.He probably only read one of the generals' comments, because without putting down the microphone, he immediately wrote on the certificate: "Third Training Brigade. Lieutenant Naumov. Please enter." Then he put down two The microphone asked feebly: "Where is the material certificate? What about the food certificate? No? No one has it. I know, I know these clichés. What kind of hospital is chaotic and I can't take care of it. Then how can I support you? Go write a report. Without the certificate, I will decide No orders." "Yes, write a report!" Milesyev stood at attention, gave a military salute, and replied happily and concisely, "Can we go?" "Let's go!" The lieutenant colonel waved listlessly.But suddenly he yelled fiercely again: "Stop! What is this?" He pointed to the heavy gold-clad walking stick, a gift from Vasily Vasilyevich.The agitated Milesyev left it in a corner as he walked out of the office. "What kind of dandy thing is that! Throw away the cane! It's not like an army, it's like a gypsy waif! Or like some city park: canes, walking sticks, and skating , Horsewhip again... It won't be long before I have to wear an amulet around my neck and bring the black cat into the cab. Don't let me see this useless thing again. Dude!" "Yes, Comrade Lieutenant Colonel!" Although there are so many difficulties and inconveniences ahead: to write a report and explain the loss of certificates to the bad-tempered lieutenant colonel; The food in the school was not good, and the students often wanted to have dinner immediately after lunch; although the pipes in the overcrowded middle school building temporarily converted to the third dormitory for the flight group were broken, and the room was extremely cold, Ariel Kexie spent the first night shivering under the covers and under his fur coat—but in all the fuss and inconveniences he felt like a smothered creature lying on the beach and washed back by the waves. Like fish in the sea.He liked everything here, and even the inconveniences of this camp-like residence reminded him that he was about to realize his ideal. Intimate surroundings, tanned, hoarse-voiced, friendly and jovial people in battered rough uniforms and war-faded fur coats and dog boots; smelling slightly sweet and pungent of aviation gasoline The smell, the roar of hot motors and the uniformity of flying planes are everywhere.The intimate atmosphere of the reassuring roar; the tired mechanic in his oil-stained overalls; the tanned, angry commander; the rosy-cheeked young girl in the weather booth; the command post The dark blue smoke on the small kang; the rattling of buzzers and the harsh ringing of telephones; the shortage of spoons in the cafeteria caused by people who went to the front line as souvenirs; Penciled caricatured "battle reports" of young men missing their girlfriends in the air; brown mud at airports criss-crossed by plane wheels and tails; cheerful conversations laced with wisecracks and aviation jargon—all of which So familiar, it will never change. Milesyev immediately became radiant and radiant.He had returned to him the joy that had seemed lost forever, and some of the nonchalant jovial instincts that are characteristic of every fighter pilot.When he answered the greetings from his subordinates, he always stood at attention in a happy mood, moved swiftly, and gracefully, and when greeting his superiors, he stood at attention quickly and saluted.As soon as he got a new uniform, he sent it to an old sergeant to have it remade.The old sergeant, who had worked as a seamstress in peacetime, was now ordering food at the Ground Maintenance Battalion.The sergeant earned a little extra money every night by "fitting" the official uniforms of the fussy lieutenants. On the first day Alexei found Lieutenant Naumov, the commander of his 3rd squadron, who was going to lead his 3rd squadron.Naumov was short, quick-moving, with a big head and long arms.While running in the "T" section, he looked at a very small "little ear" flying in the air, and cursed at the pilot: "Stupid... embroidered pillow... and said that he was a fighter pilot! Trying to deceive you?" Milesyev, the future instructor, simply waved his hand in reply to his formal military salute, pointing to the air and saying: "See? The 'fighter pilot', menacing in the air, wobbling...like a flower in an ice cellar..." Alexey liked the instructor very much.He likes this kind of person who is a little presumptuous in daily life and who loves his career very much.A capable and motivated person can easily find a common language with this kind of person.Alexey made some insightful comments based on the pilot's flight.The little lieutenant looked him over from head to toe and said: "To my squadron? What's your last name? What aircraft have you flown? Have you been in combat? How long has it been since you flew?" Alexei wondered if the lieutenant had heard his answer, because he raised his head again, shielded himself from the sun with his hand, and shook his fist and said: "Worthless guy . . . look at the way he turns! Like a hippopotamus circling in a living room." He asked Alexei to come to the airport the next morning and promised to let him "take a test flight" right away. "Now go and rest! It's good for a traveler. Have you eaten? Or we'll forget to let you in in our bustle. What the hell! Well, I'll show you as soon as he lands." The 'fighter pilot'!" Milesyev didn't go to rest, and he felt warmer in this dusty airport than in their "ninth grade class A" classroom with wooden beds.He found a shoemaker in the ground maintenance battalion, gave him his share of tobacco for a week, and asked him to sew two special straps with buckles from the commander's belt.With them he can securely attach the artificial feet to the pedals.Because of the short order and special workmanship, the shoemaker bargained for an extra half bottle of brandy, but promised to make the straps to his satisfaction.Milesyev went back to the airport to watch other people fly, and saw it was dark until the pilot drove the last plane to the parking line and tied it with a rope to the spiral cone screwed into the ground.As if this is not an ordinary training "crawl" in the airspace, but a super-level competition.He wasn't watching the flight, he was literally living by the atmosphere of the airport, immersed in the busy business of the airport-the endless roar of the motor, the muffled crackle of the flare gun, the smell of gasoline and oil.He was so excited and ecstatic that he didn't even think about whether the plane would obey his command tomorrow, whether it would lose control, or what accident would happen. Early in the morning, when he arrived at the airport, the flight field was still empty.Fiery motors screamed on the stop line, and the "Arctic" brand heating furnace ① breathed out flames nervously.The mechanics twirled the propellers while hopping away from them like dodging vipers.Then came the familiar answering voice in the early morning: ①It is used to heat the engine of the aircraft. "Ready to start!" "touch!" "Yes, contact!" Who knows why Alexei walked around the plane so early and scolded him a few words.He brushed it off with a smile, and kept repeating to himself the pleasant, somehow etched words: "Yes, touch. Yes, touch. Yes, touch." At last, by The plane, with the mechanic holding on to the wing, pitched, wobbled awkwardly, flapped its wings, and slowly crawled towards the starting line.Naumov had arrived, smoking a cigarette he had rolled.The cigarette was so short that he looked as if he was sucking it out of brown fingers that were clenched in little balls. "Are you here?" he asked, not responding to Alexei's formal military salute. "Okay, first come, first fly. Hey, you sit in the rear cab of aircraft No. 9 first, and I'll come right away." .I want to see what kind of a guy you are." He finished the extremely short butt quickly, and Alexey hurried to the plane, trying to get his feet fixed before the coach arrived.The coach is a very nice person, but who knows him: what if he really becomes stubborn, refuses to let him try the sea, and quarrels?Milesiev anxiously grabbed the side of the cab and climbed up the smooth wing.But he kept slipping off because of his inner excitement and his hands and feet, and he couldn't put a foot in the cab anyway, so that the sullen, thin-faced middle-aged mechanic looked at him in surprise, Thinking: "It must be a drunkard." Finally, Alexei put his stiff prosthetic foot into the cab, lifted the other with difficulty, and fell lumbering on the seat with a thud.He quickly fastened the artificial foot to the pedals with small leather straps.The straps are well constructed and hold the prosthetic foot firmly and securely to the control panel.He thought of the little straps as the well-fitting skates he had had as a child. The instructor stuck his head into the cab: "My friend, by the way, are you not drunk? Take a breath." Alexey exhaled.The instructor didn't smell that familiar smell.He made a menacing gesture with his fist at the mechanic. "Ready to take off!" "touch!" "Yes, contact!" The motor roared harshly, and then there was the distinct beat of the motor's small piston.Milesyev was so happy that he even yelled, and subconsciously pulled the throttle lever with his hand, but he immediately heard the instructor's angry scolding from the microphone: "Do you want to go to hell earlier than the priest!" The instructor personally stepped on the accelerator, the motor made a low rumbling sound and roared, the plane was bumping and entered a taxiing state.Naumov, who was driving subconsciously, pulled back on the joystick, and the small plane, shaped like a dragonfly, suddenly rose into the air.These aircraft were affectionately known as "Hunters" on the Northern Front, "Cabbage Planters" on the Central Front, and "Corn Planters" in the South.Everywhere he went, he was the subject of benevolent satire by warriors, while being respected everywhere like an eccentric, tried and true old comrade.This aircraft—the soldier's friend—is the plane that all pilots once learned to fly. The instructor saw the new student's face in the mirror tilted.How many of these faces had he observed for the first time after a long rest!He had seen the generous, kind smiles of good pilots, and the light in the eyes of passionate pilots when they felt their familiar surroundings again after spending so long in the hospital.He had seen how pale the faces, how tense the nerves, how tightly shut the lips of men who had been agitated in severe air crashes when they were in the air again.He has also observed the passionate curiosity of novices who take off the ground for the first time.But in Naumov's many years of coaching work, he has never once seen such a strange expression on the face of the beautiful dark young man in Jing Yuzhong, who is obviously not a novice pilot. A blotchy, very excited flush penetrated the novice's dark skin.His lips were slightly pale, but not from fear, no, but from some noble feeling that Naumoff could not understand.Who is he?What happened to him?Why did the mechanic think he was drunk?When the plane flew off the ground and rose into the air, the instructor saw that the student's stubborn, gypsy-like black eyes without protective glasses suddenly filled with tears, and the tears flowed down his cheeks. The oncoming air blows all over his face. "What a strange man! Be careful with him. Anything can happen!" thought Naumov.But something about the excited face seen in the square mirror caught the instructor's heart.He was surprised to feel that his throat was also a little choked, and the instrument in front of him became blurred. "I'll let you drive," he said, but instead of handing him the joystick, he relaxed and was ready to wrest it from the bewildering eccentric at any moment.According to the situation of each movement reflected by the changes in the instruments, Naumov felt that the newcomer not only had confidence in his hands, but also was very experienced. A word often said by the "old wolf in the air" who started flying. After the first lap, Naumov was no longer worried about the new student.The plane flew very stable and met the requirements.It seems strange that when the students are flying the plane in parallel, they always make a small turn to the right for a while, then make a small turn to the left for a while, make the plane make a small jump for a while, and let it go down again for a while. fly down.He seemed to be testing his strength.Naumov made up his mind that the University of Ming Dynasty can let this newcomer fly the plane alone, and after two or three flights, he can switch to the "Duckling" type——"Duckling-2" type The trainer is a small, plywood replica of a fighter. It was cold outside, and the thermometers on the wing mounts read minus twelve degrees.The cold wind blew into the cab and got into the soft-soled dog-skin boots, and the instructor's feet were frozen.It's time to return home. However, every time Naumov ordered "land" into the microphone, he could see in the mirror those passionate black eyes making a silent plea, not even a plea, but a demand, so he couldn't get off Determined to repeat the order.It was supposed to be a ten-minute flight, but they flew for nearly half an hour. After emerging from the cockpit, Naumov jumped up beside the plane, tapping his gloves and stamping his feet.The severe cold this morning was indeed unusual.The trainee lingered in the cab for a long time before he came out reluctantly and slowly. When he got to the ground, he leaned against the wing, his blushing face blushed due to the severe cold and excitement was filled with happiness. As if drunk. "Well, are you freezing? My soft-soled leather boots are blown through! But look at you, and you're still wearing waist shoes. Are your feet not frozen?" "I don't have feet," the trainee replied, smiling at his own thoughts. "Why don't you have feet? How do you understand this? Are your feet sick or something?" "No, anyway... it's a fake foot." Naumov was stunned for a while, as if he had been hit on the head by a hammer and nailed to the spot.Everything this strange man said to him was simply inexplicable.怎么没有脚？刚才他还飞行来着，而且飞得挺好…… “让我看看。”教官有些害怕地说道。 这种好奇心并未让阿列克谢感到气愤，也没有让他觉得受了侮辱。恰恰相反，他想彻底地让这位可笑的、活泼的人大吃一惊，于是他用马戏团魔术师般的动作一下子提起了两条裤腿。 学员用皮革和铝做的假脚站着，站在那里愉快地望着教官、机械师和排队等候飞行的人们。 那乌莫夫一下子明白了这个人激动的心情，明白了他脸上的特殊表情，明白了他乌黑的眼睛里的泪水和那种渴望延长飞行的迫切心情。这位学员令他大吃一惊。那乌莫夫向他奔了过来，猛烈地摇晃着他的手说： “亲爱的，怎么会是这样？……你……你甚至不知道，你是多么了不起！” 现在关键的事情已经解决了。教官的心被俘虏了。晚上他们见了面，一起制定了训练计划。他们都同意这点：阿列克谢的处境非常艰难，一个小小的失误都可能让他永远停止飞行。虽然他现在比以往任何时候都更想尽快地驾驶歼击机，飞向全国最优秀的军人向往的地方——伏尔加河上的那个著名的城市——但他答应要耐心地、循序渐进地接受全面的训练。他明白，处在他这种情况下只许成功，不许失败。