Chapter 12 The third part 9-11

9 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.Why no feet?He was still flying just now, and he flew very well... "Let me see." The instructor said with some fear. This curiosity did not offend Alexei, nor did he feel insulted.On the contrary, he wanted to completely astonish this ridiculous, vivacious man, so he lifted both trouser legs at once with the motion of a circus magician. Standing on prosthetic feet made of leather and aluminum, the cadets stood gleefully watching the instructors, mechanics and people queuing up to fly. Naumov immediately understood the man's excitement, the peculiar expression on his face, the tears in his dark eyes and the urgency to prolong the flight.The student surprised him.Naumov ran up to him, shook his hand violently and said: "Honey, how could this be?...you...you don't even know, how amazing you are!" Now the crucial thing has been settled.The instructor's heart was captured.They met in the evening and worked out a training plan together.They all agreed on this: Alexei was in a tough place, and one small mistake could stop him from flying forever.Although now more than ever, he wants to fly a fighter jet as soon as possible to the place where the best soldiers in the country aspire to-that famous city on the Volga River-but he promises to accept comprehensive training patiently and step by step.He understands that in his situation, only success is allowed, not failure. 10 The late winter and early spring Milesyev spent in the training school.This is an old and orthodox air force school, the school has a beautiful airport, magnificent dormitory, gorgeous club.The touring troupe of the Moscow Theater often performs on the stage here.Although the school was also crowded, it strictly maintained the pre-war order, and even the subtleties of the military uniform had to be paid attention to.Because if the boots were not wiped clean, if a button was missing from the coat, or if the flight map bag was put on the belt hastily, according to the principal's order, there would be two hours of strict rectification. Alexey Milesyev's flying brigade was learning to fly the latest Soviet "La-5" fighter at that time.The training work is very strict: everyone has to study motors and machine parts, and learn technology.While listening to the lecture, Alexei was amazed at the rapid progress the Soviet Air Force had made during his short period of absence from the army.Those equipment that were considered the latest in the early days of the war are now outdated.The nimble "Feiyan" and the light "MiG", which were considered masterpieces at the beginning of the war and were suitable for high-altitude combat, are now retired.They were replaced by the newest models, the magnificent Yak, the stylish La-5' and the two-seat Iliu, developed and produced by Soviet factories in a very short time during the war. These flew close to the ground and could Aerial tanks, which fire bombs, bullets and shells directly at the enemy's heads, have earned a chilling nickname among enemy troops: "The Black Reaper". New technologies are making aerial combat more and more complex, requiring pilots to Not only must you be familiar with your own aircraft, have a decisive and strong will, but also have the ability to quickly judge the direction on the battlefield-divide the air combat into two parts that are independent and cooperate with each other, and have the courage to wait until the order is issued act alone. All of this is of great interest.But the offensive at the front was going on intensely and non-stop, so even though Alexey Milesyev was sitting in a spacious and bright classroom behind a comfortable black desk, he still felt the mood. repressed.He missed the front line even more, and was more eager to fight.He learned to live with physical pain.He can force himself to accomplish the impossible, but he can't bear the inexplicable annoyance caused by being forced to do nothing, and he sometimes wanders around the campus in a taciturn, absent-minded, and bad mood for weeks. Alexei was very lucky that Major Struchkov also studied at this school.When they met they were like old friends.Struchkov arrived at the school about two weeks late, but he immediately became acquainted with the unique daily life of the school, adapted to the school's unusually strict rules in wartime, and everyone regarded him as one of them.He immediately noticed that Milesyev was in a bad mood, so when they washed their faces at night and went back to their dormitories, he touched his waist and said: "Don't worry, boy, we have enough battles in this century for you. You see, there is still a long way to Berlin: step by step! We have a lot of battles to fight. We can fight as much as we want." During the two or three months that they had not seen each other, the major had visibly "transformed," according to the army, thinner and older. In the depths of winter, Milesyev and Struchkov's crew began flight practice.Prior to this, Milesyev was already very familiar with this kind of small gun.The "La-5" aircraft with very short wings and shaped like a small flying fish with wings.He often came to the airport to watch how these planes took off after a short start, how they soared into the sky suddenly, how they circled in the sky, and how their light blue fuselages shone in the sun. .From time to time he would approach the plane and observe it carefully, touching its wings and patting its fuselage, as if it were not an airplane but a well-maintained, handsome thoroughbred.Now that the whole team has come to the starting line, everyone is eager to try their own skills, and thus begins a very restrained quarrel.The instructor was the first to call Struchkov.The major's eyes sparkled, he smiled mischievously, and while fastening the straps of the parachute, he closed the cab while blowing a tune. Then the motor rumbled and the plane started, rolling across the airfield.The snow behind it is shining with colorful halos in the sun.Now the plane was in the air, its wings gleaming in the sun.Struchkov drew a sharp arc over the airfield, performed a few beautiful circles, performed a somersault with his wings, and performed a complete set of maneuvers with skill and beauty, and then went from People disappeared before their eyes.Suddenly it came out from behind the roof of the school again, the motor roared, and it flew past the airport quickly, almost touching the hats of the students waiting on the starting line.It disappeared again, then reappeared, and began to descend steadily, displaying the adept skill of the three-point landing.Struchkov jumped out of the cab with great excitement, almost ecstasy, like a naughty child. "It's not an airplane, it's a violin! My God, it's a violin!" he shouted, interrupting the instructor's reproach for his foolishness. "It can play Tchaikovsky with it... My God, it's so vivid Alyosha!" He hugged Milesyev tightly. The plane is really good, everyone agrees on that.It was Milesyev's turn to fly, and he strapped the prosthetic foot to the pedals.After the plane was in the air, he suddenly felt that this horse was too violent for him, who had lost both feet, and he needed to be more careful.After the plane left the ground, he didn't have the wonderful feeling of being one with the plane that brings joy to the pilot.This is a sophisticated aircraft.Not only can it feel every movement, but it can feel the tremor of the hand on the joystick, and immediately express it in the air through corresponding movements. For the sensitivity of the aircraft, it is indeed like a good quality aircraft violin.Only then did Alexey sensitively appreciate his irreparable loss and the dullness of his artificial foot.He understood that a prosthetic foot, not even the best, best-trained prosthetic foot, could be a substitute for a real, fleshy, feeling, springy foot when maneuvering an aircraft like this. The plane flew across the sky lightly and vigorously, obediently responding to every movement of the joystick.But Alexei was afraid of it.He found that when the plane circled sharply, his feet were always sluggish.He couldn't achieve the kind of coordination that every pilot develops and must have.This dullness can cause sensitive aircraft to spiral, with dire consequences.Alexei felt like a chained horse.He wasn't a coward, no, he didn't fear for his life, he didn't even check his parachute when he took off.But he feared that his smallest mistake would take him out of the Fighter Flying Corps for good, sealing off the path to the career he loved.He became extraordinarily cautious. When the plane landed, because of his restlessness and the slowness of the artificial foot, the plane was not stable at all, and it jumped up several times awkwardly on the snow. Alexei walked out of the cockpit with a gloomy expression without saying a word.The comrades-in-arms and even the instructor himself rushed to say insincere praise.This tolerant attitude made him even more sad.He waved and walked silently across the snow, limping, unsteadily shuffling toward the gray building of the school.Now, after flying a fighter jet, he felt so helpless that it was the most painful thing he had felt since that March morning when his downed plane crashed into the top of a pine forest.Alexey did not go to lunch or dinner.Although the school has strict rules and regulations, it is strictly forbidden to stay in the dormitory during the day, but he still wears shoes, rests on his arms, and lies on his back on the bed.Anyone, whether it is the school's staff on duty or the commander who passed by here, knows that he is not feeling well, so no one wants to come over and criticize him.Struchkov came to speak to him, but Alexey said nothing, and shook his head sympathetically and went away. As soon as Struchkov left, Lieutenant Colonel Kapuskin, the school's deputy instructor, walked into Milesyev's bedroom on heels.He was short and ugly, wearing high myopia glasses and an ill-fitting, fat and oversized military uniform.The students loved his international relations classes because the awkward-looking man could make the audience feel proud that they had participated in this great war.However, as a leader, he was not taken very seriously. Everyone treated him as a civilian who accidentally joined the flight crew and knew nothing about aircraft.Kapuskin ignored Milesyev, checked the room, smelled the air, and suddenly asked angrily: "What the hell is smoking here? Isn't there a smoking room? Comrade Captain, what's the matter?" "I don't smoke," replied Alexei coldly, without moving. "Then why are you lying on the bed? Don't you know the rules and regulations? Why don't you stand up when the officer comes in? ... Get up." It was not an order, on the contrary, the words were spoken in a friendly and casual way, but Milesyev obeyed listlessly and stood at attention by the bed. "That's right, Comrade Captain," Kapuskin praised. "Now sit down and we'll talk." "About what?" "What should we do to you? Let's leave here? I want to smoke, but you don't allow it here." They came to a dim corridor and stopped by the window, where the half-dark electric lights flickered with a faint blue light.Kapuskin's pipe hissed, and with each puff the pipe flared up, and his broad, pensive face immediately emerged from the gloom. "I am going to punish the instructor of your crew today." "why?" "Because he let you fly the plane into the air without the consent of the school headquarters...Hey, why do you always look at me like this? Actually, I should punish myself, because I haven't talked to you until now Let's talk. There is always no time, no time, but I always want to find you... Well. Now it seems that flying is not an easy thing for you, Milesyev, Indeed. I should criticize your instructors for that, too." Alexei said nothing.What kind of man was this man standing beside him smoking his pipe?Is it a bureaucrat who thinks someone has violated his authority by not reporting to him in time an extraordinary event at the school?Is it a petty bureaucrat who found out in the pilot selection regulations that the handicapped is prohibited from flying?Or an eccentric looking for an opportunity to show power?What is he going to do?Why is he here?Even if he didn't come, Alexei would have suffered enough. Milesyev was extremely nervous, and he barely controlled his emotions.Months of misfortune had taught him not to jump to hasty conclusions, and it was this ugly Kapuskin who had a subtle air about him, reminiscent of Commissar Vorobyov, a Kesha calls in his heart the real man.The sparks in the pipe flickered, and the instructor's broad face with bright eyes and a big nose flickered in the blue smoke. "Look, Milesyev, I don't mean to flatter you. But anyway, you are the only person in the world who has lost both feet and can fly a fighter plane. The only one!" He said in the dim light Looking at the small hole in the cigarette holder, he shook his head worriedly, and said, "I will not talk about your ambition to return to the combat unit, which is of course a good thing. In fact, there is nothing special about it. When everyone is doing their best to work towards victory...what's up with this nasty pipe?" He picked the cigarette holder again, as if concentrating on it.Alexei, on the other hand, was disturbed by an indefinable and inexplicable presentiment, so he waited impatiently for what he had to say to him.Kapuskin went on talking, picking at his pipe, not caring what effect his words might produce. "The problem is not with you, Captain Milesyev. The problem is that you have lost your feet but you have trained skills that are recognized in the world today as only very healthy people can achieve. Besides, such a person may not be able to do it in a hundred years. A. You are not only a citizen of Milesiev, but also a great experimenter ... Ha, finally dug through! What did I fill in? ... So we can't and have no right, you understand We have no right to treat you as an ordinary pilot! You have started an important attempt, and we have the responsibility to help you with all our strength. But how to help? Tell yourself, where do you need help?" Kapuskin refilled his pipe and started smoking again.The flickering red reflection in the pipe now revealed his broad, snouted face from the gloom, and now let it melt into the darkness. Kapuskin agreed to discuss with the principal, let him increase the number of flights of Milesyev, and suggested that Alexey himself also develop a training plan. "But I don't know how much gasoline will be consumed in this way!" Alexei said regretfully.He was amazed at the simplicity and practicality with which this small, ugly man solved his doubts. "Of course gasoline is an important thing, especially now, and we have to use it sparingly. But there are more precious things than gasoline." Kapuskin knocked the hot smoke out of his bent pipe with a hard blow on the heel. soot. From the next day, Milesyev started individual training.He worked not only with the tenacity of learning to walk, run, and dance, but with a genuine exhilaration.He worked hard to analyze and study flight technology, pondering all its details, breaking it down into small movements, and then specialized in studying each small movement.What he does now is what he understood spontaneously in his boyhood, what he acquires with wisdom what he previously acquired by experience and habit.He imagined breaking down the process of manipulating an airplane into basic actions, and then performing special skill training for each action, and raising the control feeling of the feet from the soles of the feet to the calves. This is hard, meticulous and patient work.At first it had little effect.But after repeated training, Alexey finally felt that the plane seemed to be more and more integrated with him, and he became more and more obedient. "Hello, Maestro, how is it going?" Kapuskin always asked him whenever we met. Milesyev gave a thumbs up.He didn't exaggerate. Although things were not going very smoothly, they were progressing steadily and solidly.Most importantly, after these exercises, Alexei no longer felt like a clumsy rider on a fast horse when he was sitting on the plane.He regained confidence in his flying skills.This confidence seemed to be passed on to the plane as well, and it became more obedient like a spiritual thing, like a steed that senses a good rider.The plane gradually showed Alexei all its flight capabilities. 11 The late winter and early spring Milesyev spent in the training school.This is an old and orthodox air force school, the school has a beautiful airport, magnificent dormitory, gorgeous club.The touring troupe of the Moscow Theater often performs on the stage here.Although the school was also crowded, it strictly maintained the pre-war order, and even the subtleties of the military uniform had to be paid attention to.Because if the boots were not wiped clean, if a button was missing from the coat, or if the flight map bag was put on the belt hastily, according to the principal's order, there would be two hours of strict rectification. Alexey Milesyev's flying brigade was learning to fly the latest Soviet "La-5" fighter at that time.The training work is very strict: everyone has to study motors and machine parts, and learn technology.While listening to the lecture, Alexei was amazed at the rapid progress the Soviet Air Force had made during his short period of absence from the army.Those equipment that were considered the latest in the early days of the war are now outdated.The nimble "Feiyan" and the light "MiG", which were considered masterpieces at the beginning of the war and were suitable for high-altitude combat, are now retired.They were replaced by the newest models, the magnificent Yak, the stylish La-5' and the two-seat Iliu, developed and produced by Soviet factories in a very short time during the war. These flew close to the ground and could Aerial tanks, which fire bombs, bullets and shells directly at the enemy's heads, have earned a chilling nickname among enemy troops: "The Black Reaper". New technologies are making aerial combat more and more complex, requiring pilots to Not only must you be familiar with your own aircraft, have a decisive and strong will, but also have the ability to quickly judge the direction on the battlefield-divide the air combat into two parts that are independent and cooperate with each other, and have the courage to wait until the order is issued act alone. All of this is of great interest.But the offensive at the front was going on intensely and non-stop, so even though Alexey Milesyev was sitting in a spacious and bright classroom behind a comfortable black desk, he still felt the mood. repressed.He missed the front line even more, and was more eager to fight.He learned to live with physical pain.He can force himself to accomplish the impossible, but he can't bear the inexplicable annoyance caused by being forced to do nothing, and he sometimes wanders around the campus in a taciturn, absent-minded, and bad mood for weeks. Alexei was very lucky that Major Struchkov also studied at this school.When they met they were like old friends.Struchkov arrived at the school about two weeks late, but he immediately became acquainted with the unique daily life of the school, adapted to the school's unusually strict rules in wartime, and everyone regarded him as one of them.He immediately noticed that Milesyev was in a bad mood, so when they washed their faces at night and went back to their dormitories, he touched his waist and said: "Don't worry, boy, we have enough battles in this century for you. You see, there is still a long way to Berlin: step by step! We have a lot of battles to fight. We can fight as much as we want." During the two or three months that they had not seen each other, the major had visibly "transformed," according to the army, thinner and older. In the depths of winter, Milesyev and Struchkov's crew began flight practice.Prior to this, Milesyev was already very familiar with this kind of small gun.The "La-5" aircraft with very short wings and shaped like a small flying fish with wings.He often came to the airport to watch how these planes took off after a short start, how they soared into the sky suddenly, how they circled in the sky, and how their light blue fuselages shone in the sun. .From time to time he would approach the plane and observe it carefully, touching its wings and patting its fuselage, as if it were not an airplane but a well-maintained, handsome thoroughbred.Now that the whole team has come to the starting line, everyone is eager to try their own skills, and thus begins a very restrained quarrel.The instructor was the first to call Struchkov.The major's eyes sparkled, he smiled mischievously, and while fastening the straps of the parachute, he closed the cab while blowing a tune. Then the motor rumbled and the plane started, rolling across the airfield.The snow behind it is shining with colorful halos in the sun.Now the plane was in the air, its wings gleaming in the sun.Struchkov drew a sharp arc over the airfield, performed a few beautiful circles, performed a somersault with his wings, and performed a complete set of maneuvers with skill and beauty, and then went from People disappeared before their eyes.Suddenly it came out from behind the roof of the school again, the motor roared, and it flew past the airport quickly, almost touching the hats of the students waiting on the starting line.It disappeared again, then reappeared, and began to descend steadily, displaying the adept skill of the three-point landing.Struchkov jumped out of the cab with great excitement, almost ecstasy, like a naughty child. "It's not an airplane, it's a violin! My God, it's a violin!" he shouted, interrupting the instructor's reproach for his foolishness. "It can play Tchaikovsky with it... My God, it's so vivid Alyosha!" He hugged Milesyev tightly. The plane is really good, everyone agrees on that.It was Milesyev's turn to fly, and he strapped the prosthetic foot to the pedals.After the plane was in the air, he suddenly felt that this horse was too violent for him, who had lost both feet, and he needed to be more careful.After the plane left the ground, he didn't have the wonderful feeling of being one with the plane that brings joy to the pilot.This is a sophisticated aircraft.Not only can it feel every movement, but it can feel the tremor of the hand on the joystick, and immediately express it in the air through corresponding movements. For the sensitivity of the aircraft, it is indeed like a good quality aircraft violin.Only then did Alexey sensitively appreciate his irreparable loss and the dullness of his artificial foot.He understood that a prosthetic foot, not even the best, best-trained prosthetic foot, could be a substitute for a real, fleshy, feeling, springy foot when maneuvering an aircraft like this. The plane flew across the sky lightly and vigorously, obediently responding to every movement of the joystick.But Alexei was afraid of it.He found that when the plane circled sharply, his feet were always sluggish.He couldn't achieve the kind of coordination that every pilot develops and must have.This dullness can cause sensitive aircraft to spiral, with dire consequences.Alexei felt like a chained horse.He wasn't a coward, no, he didn't fear for his life, he didn't even check his parachute when he took off.But he feared that his smallest mistake would take him out of the Fighter Flying Corps for good, sealing off the path to the career he loved.He became extraordinarily cautious. When the plane landed, because of his restlessness and the slowness of the artificial foot, the plane was not stable at all, and it jumped up several times awkwardly on the snow. Alexei walked out of the cockpit with a gloomy expression without saying a word.The comrades-in-arms and even the instructor himself rushed to say insincere praise.This tolerant attitude made him even more sad.He waved and walked silently across the snow, limping, unsteadily shuffling toward the gray building of the school.Now, after flying a fighter jet, he felt so helpless that it was the most painful thing he had felt since that March morning when his downed plane crashed into the top of a pine forest.Alexey did not go to lunch or dinner.Although the school has strict rules and regulations, it is strictly forbidden to stay in the dormitory during the day, but he still wears shoes, rests on his arms, and lies on his back on the bed.Anyone, whether it is the school's staff on duty or the commander who passed by here, knows that he is not feeling well, so no one wants to come over and criticize him.Struchkov came to speak to him, but Alexey said nothing, and shook his head sympathetically and went away. As soon as Struchkov left, Lieutenant Colonel Kapuskin, the school's deputy instructor, walked into Milesyev's bedroom on heels.He was short and ugly, wearing high myopia glasses and an ill-fitting, fat and oversized military uniform.The students loved his international relations classes because the awkward-looking man could make the audience feel proud that they had participated in this great war.However, as a leader, he was not taken very seriously. Everyone treated him as a civilian who accidentally joined the flight crew and knew nothing about aircraft.Kapuskin ignored Milesyev, checked the room, smelled the air, and suddenly asked angrily: "What the hell is smoking here? Isn't there a smoking room? Comrade Captain, what's the matter?" "I don't smoke," replied Alexei coldly, without moving. "Then why are you lying on the bed? Don't you know the rules and regulations? Why don't you stand up when the officer comes in? ... Get up." It was not an order, on the contrary, the words were spoken in a friendly and casual way, but Milesyev obeyed listlessly and stood at attention by the bed. "That's right, Comrade Captain," Kapuskin praised. "Now sit down and we'll talk." "About what?" "What should we do to you? Let's leave here? I want to smoke, but you don't allow it here." They came to a dim corridor and stopped by the window, where the half-dark electric lights flickered with a faint blue light.Kapuskin's pipe hissed, and with each puff the pipe flared up, and his broad, pensive face immediately emerged from the gloom. "I am going to punish the instructor of your crew today." "why?" "Because he let you fly the plane into the air without the consent of the school headquarters...Hey, why do you always look at me like this? Actually, I should punish myself, because I haven't talked to you until now Let's talk. There is always no time, no time, but I always want to find you... Well. Now it seems that flying is not an easy thing for you, Milesyev, Indeed. I should criticize your instructors for that, too." Alexei said nothing.What kind of man was this man standing beside him smoking his pipe?Is it a bureaucrat who thinks someone has violated his authority by not reporting to him in time an extraordinary event at the school?Is it a petty bureaucrat who found out in the pilot selection regulations that the handicapped is prohibited from flying?Or an eccentric looking for an opportunity to show power?What is he going to do?Why is he here?Even if he didn't come, Alexei would have suffered enough. Milesyev was extremely nervous, and he barely controlled his emotions.Months of misfortune had taught him not to jump to hasty conclusions, and it was this ugly Kapuskin who had a subtle air about him, reminiscent of Commissar Vorobyov, a Kesha calls in his heart the real man.The sparks in the pipe flickered, and the instructor's broad face with bright eyes and a big nose flickered in the blue smoke. "Look, Milesyev, I don't mean to flatter you. But anyway, you are the only person in the world who has lost both feet and can fly a fighter plane. The only one!" He said in the dim light Looking at the small hole in the cigarette holder, he shook his head worriedly, and said, "I will not talk about your ambition to return to the combat unit, which is of course a good thing. In fact, there is nothing special about it. When everyone is doing their best to work towards victory...what's up with this nasty pipe?" He picked the cigarette holder again, as if concentrating on it.Alexei, on the other hand, was disturbed by an indefinable and inexplicable presentiment, so he waited impatiently for what he had to say to him.Kapuskin went on talking, picking at his pipe, not caring what effect his words might produce. "The problem is not with you, Captain Milesyev. The problem is that you have lost your feet but you have trained skills that are recognized in the world today as only very healthy people can achieve. Besides, such a person may not be able to do it in a hundred years. A. You are not only a citizen of Milesiev, but also a great experimenter ... Ha, finally dug through! What did I fill in? ... So we can't and have no right, you understand We have no right to treat you as an ordinary pilot! You have started an important attempt, and we have the responsibility to help you with all our strength. But how to help? Tell yourself, where do you need help?" Kapuskin refilled his pipe and started smoking again.The flickering red reflection in the pipe now revealed his broad, snouted face from the gloom, and now let it melt into the darkness. Kapuskin agreed to discuss with the principal, let him increase the number of flights of Milesyev, and suggested that Alexey himself also develop a training plan. "But I don't know how much gasoline will be consumed in this way!" Alexei said regretfully.He was amazed at the simplicity and practicality with which this small, ugly man solved his doubts. "Of course gasoline is an important thing, especially now, and we have to use it sparingly. But there are more precious things than gasoline." Kapuskin knocked the hot smoke out of his bent pipe with a hard blow on the heel. soot. From the next day, Milesyev started individual training.He worked not only with the tenacity of learning to walk, run, and dance, but with a genuine exhilaration.He worked hard to analyze and study flight technology, pondering all its details, breaking it down into small movements, and then specialized in studying each small movement.What he does now is what he understood spontaneously in his boyhood, what he acquires with wisdom what he previously acquired by experience and habit.He imagined breaking down the process of manipulating an airplane into basic actions, and then performing special skill training for each action, and raising the control feeling of the feet from the soles of the feet to the calves. This is hard, meticulous and patient work.At first it had little effect.But after repeated training, Alexey finally felt that the plane seemed to be more and more integrated with him, and he became more and more obedient. "Hello, Maestro, how is it going?" Kapuskin always asked him whenever we met. Milesyev gave a thumbs up.He didn't exaggerate. Although things were not going very smoothly, they were progressing steadily and solidly.Most importantly, after these exercises, Alexei no longer felt like a clumsy rider on a fast horse when he was sitting on the plane.He regained confidence in his flying skills.This confidence seemed to be passed on to the plane as well, and it became more obedient like a spiritual thing, like a steed that senses a good rider.The plane gradually showed Alexei all its flight capabilities.