Chapter 13 Part Four 1-3

1 On a hot summer day in 1943, a dilapidated truck raced across a barren field covered with tall crimson tall weeds, along the path blazed by an attacking Red Army division convoy.The truck rocked slightly, bouncing over the potholes, rattling the rickety wooden carriage.A few white bars and the words "Battlefield Post" can still be barely seen on the battered and dusty compartment panels.A long gray dragon spewed out from under the wheels, trailed behind, and spread slowly into the sultry, windless air. In the wagon full of letters, among the packs of fresh newspapers sat two soldiers in summer military shirts and military caps with light blue hoops, bouncing and rocking with all the cargo .One of the younger of them—as you could tell by the pristine, unpressed epaulettes—was an air force sergeant.His hair was light yellow, and he was handsome and well-proportioned. His face was as delicate as a girl's, as if blood could be seen through his fair skin.In appearance, he was only about nineteen years old, although he tried his best to look like an experienced soldier-spitting through his teeth, cursing hoarsely, rolling his cigarettes as thick as his fingers, Pretending to be indifferent to everything - but it was obvious that he was on the front line for the first time, and he was very excited.Everything around—whether it’s a shattered cannon with its barrel stuck into the ground by the side of the road, or a Soviet tank with a turret sticking out of the weeds; The fragments of German tanks, or the bullet craters that have grown overgrown with grass; whether it is the piles of anti-tank mines dug out by soldiers and placed on the edge of the new ferry, or the birch wood crosses of German soldiers' graves shining in the grass in the distance —these traces after the battle, and the traces that the eyes of the soldiers at the front did not pay attention to—all made young people feel novelty and shock.To him it was all grand and significant and very interesting.

On the contrary, from the young man's companion, a captain, one could unmistakably infer that he was an experienced front-line fighter.At first glance, you may think that he is only twenty-three or twenty-four years old, but if you look closely at his dark, sun-baked face, the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, forehead, and mouth, look at those pensive, tired eyes. The black eyes can add another ten years to him.His eyes glanced around indifferently.Whether it's the warped rust of weapons here and there, the lifeless streets of burned-out villages as trucks rumble past, or even the pieces of wreckage from Soviet planes - a small pile of gray, broken aluminum piled up a little farther away. Chips, broken motors, a piece of tail with a red star and number—all these sights that made the young man blush and tremble did not surprise him.

The officer made himself a comfortable easy chair out of bundles of newspapers.He dozed off with his chin resting on the strange, heavy ebony cane, inlaid with gold letters.Sometimes he seemed to wake up from a doze, looked around happily, and greedily breathed the hot and fragrant air with his whole chest.Suddenly, he found two small black spots that were barely visible in the distance above the sea-like luxuriant red weeds beside the road. Looking carefully, it turned out that they were two planes flying unhurriedly in the air, as if they were flying towards each other. Chasing the plane, his spirit suddenly lifted.His eyes were shining, and the nostrils under the bridge of his delicate and straight nose were twitching.Then, staring intently at the two barely visible black spots, he knocked on the roof of the driver's cab and shouted:

"Spot the enemy plane! Turn!" He stood up, and while estimating the terrain with his experienced eyes, he pointed to the driver the clay valley beside the creek. The valley was covered with gray and rough roots of wintergrass and golden carnations. . The young man smiled contemptuously.The planes flipped recklessly in the distance, seemingly oblivious to the single truck kicking up a huge cloud of dust across the desolate and empty field.However, before he could object, the driver had already turned the corner from the road.Then the body of the truck creaked and drove quickly towards the valley.

The captain immediately climbed out of the carriage, crouched on the grass, and watched the road vigilantly. "What's wrong with you, really..." The young man looked at him mockingly and said. Just then the captain threw himself on the grass, and cried out sharply: "Get down!" Then there was the deafening roar of the motor, and two huge black figures vibrated the air, roaring horribly, and galloped close to their heads.All this did not strike the young man as terribly frightening: two ordinary planes, perhaps their own.He looked around and suddenly saw a rusty truck parked on the side of the road overturned, smoking and burning rapidly.

"Look, they're throwing incendiary bombs." The driver smiled, and looked at the damaged carriage that was already on fire. "They're designed to blow up cars." "It's a reconnaissance plane," said the captain calmly, sprawled out on the grass. "We'll have to wait, they'll be back in no time. They're sweeping the roads. Drive your car as fast as you can, my friend." Go farther, and drive under that birch tree." He said these words with such calm and confidence, as if the German pilot had just informed him of his plan.There was another girl with me in the car—a military postman.Pale, with a bewildered smile on her dusty lips, she looked in horror at the calm sky.Bright summer white clouds flowed, swirled, and floated in the sky.Because of this, although the Shangtu was very embarrassed, he said casually:

"Better go. Why waste time? He who is destined to be hanged will not be drowned." Chewing the stalk calmly, the captain glanced at the young man.There was an almost imperceptible hint of good-natured sneer in his dark angry eyes. "I said, my friend, forget this stupid proverb as soon as possible. And, comrade sergeant, you should listen to your superiors on the front line. Get down when you are ordered to get down." He found a gnarly sorrel in the grass, peeled off its fibrous skin with his nails, and chewed it with relish.At this time there was the faint roar of the motor again, and then the two planes just flew close to the road and shook their wings-and flew so close that their tawny eyes could be clearly seen. The wings and black and white crosses, and even the "Ace of spades" painted on the fuselage of the closer plane can be clearly seen.The captain picked a few cockscomb grass lazily, looked at his watch, and then ordered to the driver:

"Let's go! You can go now. My friend, let's get out of this place as quickly as possible." The driver honked the horn, and the postwoman ran out of the valley.She brought a few pink strawberries hanging on the branches and handed them to the captain. "Strawberries are coming... We don't feel like summer is here," he said, sniffing the strawberries before slipping them like a flower arranging into the buttonhole of his military shirt pocket. "How do you know they won't come now and we can go?" asked the young man.The captain was silent, his body shaking rhythmically with the truck bouncing up and down in the pothole.

"It's not that esoteric. It's a Michela, a Mi-109. They only have enough gasoline to fly for forty-five minutes. They've run out of gasoline. Now go fill up." He explained all this lightly, as if it was incomprehensible, how could such a simple thing not be known.The young man began to observe the sky carefully.He wanted to be the first to spot Michela in flight.But the air was clean and full of rich, lush scents of flowers and grass, of dust and of the sun-warmed earth, and the grasshoppers in the grass were chirping cheerfully and powerfully, and a skylark soared over the desolate, overgrown land. They sang loudly, so that the young people forgot about the German planes and the danger, and began to sing the song that was very popular at the front with a pleasant and clear voice, reflecting a soldier's longing for the war in the cave dwelling. Songs of lovers far away.

"Can you sing the song 'Sorberry Tree'?" his companion interrupted suddenly. The young man nodded and sang the old song obediently.A melancholy cast took over the captain's tired, dusty face. "That's not how it's sung, old man. You know, it's not a pop ballad, it's a real song. It's supposed to be sung with the heart." So he followed softly with a noise that wasn't very high, but very accurate. sang. In an instant, the car slowed down, and the female postman jumped out of the cab.As the truck was moving, she nimbly grabbed the truck's barrier, tightened it with both hands, jumped onto it, and rolled into the compartment.There a pair of kind and strong hands grasped her.

"I came to you, I heard you singing..." Amidst the jingling of trucks and the chirping of grasshoppers, the three of them began to sing in chorus. The young man walked aside and took out a large harmonica from his backpack. He played the harmonica for a while, sang in chorus for a while, and used it to conduct and lead the song.The song wafts loud and melancholy on the road to the front that is bleak and desolate, as if whipped through the dusty fields of tall weeds.It is so old and yet so young, just like the scorching heat of the summer field, like the song of the grasshopper in the warm and fragrant grass, like the song of the skylark in the bright summer sky, Like this high and deep sky. They were so engrossed in singing that they almost fell off the pile of newspapers when the car braked suddenly.The car stopped in the middle of the road, and beside it was a bombed three-ton car overturned in a ditch, its gray tires turned over.The young man paled, while his companion quickly stepped across the deck and hurried towards the overturned car.His steps were strange and awkward, like dancing.After a while, the driver dragged out a bloody quartermaster captain from the shattered cab.His face must have hit the glass, scratched it, scarred it, and turned it gray. The captain opened his closed eyelids. "He's dead," he said, taking off his military cap. "Is there anyone else in there?" "Yes. There is another driver." The driver replied. "Hey! Why are you standing there? Help me!" the captain yelled at the bewildered young man. "Have you ever seen blood? You have to get used to it. You have to see it later... It must have been done by those two reconnaissance planes." The driver is still alive.He closed his eyes and grunted softly now and then, so he couldn't see his wound, but it was clear that his chest hit the steering wheel when the full-speed car that was hit by the shell was thrown into the ditch, and The debris from the cab pinned him against the steering wheel again.The captain ordered him to be carried into the carriage.He spread his new, beautiful, never-worn military overcoat under the wounded body.He always wrapped this army coat in white cotton cloth and carried it carefully with him.He sat himself on the floor of the carriage, and put the wounded man's head on his knees. "Go as fast as you can!" he ordered the driver. He held the wounded man's head carefully, and smiled at his own whimsical thoughts. When the truck drove into the street of a small village, it was already night, and experienced eyes could deduce that this was the command post of a small air force.A few wires ran from the branches of the gray plum trees and the small dry apple trees growing in the fence, around the well's water boom and the posts of the wooden fence.Near the house there were always farm wagons, and under the straw sheds piled with rakes, there were now wrecked Emochkas and Willis cars.Behind the dim glass of the small window, soldiers wearing light blue military caps with hoops can be seen shaking everywhere, typewriters are crackling, and the rhythmic beeping of telegraphs can be heard in a small room with dense wires. Voice. The hamlet at the intersection of roads and roads is bleak, overgrown and uninhabited, preserved as if it were a nature reserve.This is enough to show how beautiful and regular life was in this area before the Germans invaded. Even the small pond covered with pale yellow duckweed was filled with clean water.It shines like a cool speck in the shade of a row of old weeping willows, and a pair of red-billed white geese are grooming their feathers, brushing away the clumps of duckweed, and swimming in the water. The wounded were carried into a wooden house hung with a red flag.Then the truck went through the small village and stopped in front of a neat building in the country school.From the wires in the shattered windows and a soldier with a submachine gun hanging on his chest in the foyer, it can be guessed that this is the command post. "I'm looking for the regimental commander," said the captain to the orderly.The orderly was standing at the open window solving a crossword puzzle in Red Army Soldier. The young man following him noticed that at the gate of the headquarters the captain mechanically arranged his military shirt, held the part below the belt with his thumbs, and buttoned up the collar, and he followed suit.Now, in every respect, he tried to imitate his taciturn and beloved companion. "The colonel is not available," replied the orderly. "Please report that I have brought an urgent letter from the Air Force Headquarters Staff." "Please wait a moment, he is listening to the report of the aerial reconnaissance unit. He ordered not to disturb him. Please sit in the small garden in front of the house for a while." The orderly went back to solving the crossword puzzle.The visitor walked into the small garden and sat down on an old-fashioned chair on the well-built brick flower bed.The flower beds are now barren and overgrown with weeds.It was the place where old schoolmistresses would sit and rest after work on such a still summer night before the war.Two voices came distinctly from the open window, and a hoarse voice reported excitedly: "On the road leading to Veliko Lakhovo and the Klestavozdvizhensky church, a dense convoy of trucks is rushing forward, and it seems that they are all heading in one direction-towards the front. Right at this place, in the valley near the church, there are many tanks and trucks... I think there is a large army assembled..." "Why do you think that?" interposed a baritone. "We encountered a very strong blockade and managed to escape. There was nothing here yesterday, only some kitchens were smoking. I flew over close to the roof and shot a shot to scare them. Ding is there today But it's terrible! The artillery fire is fierce...it is obviously going to the front line." "So what's going on in the 'le' area?" "There is also a march here, but the movement is less. There are a large number of tank columns marching near the grove. There are about a hundred tanks, extending echelon after echelon, which is a full five kilometers long. Marching like this in broad daylight No cover. It could have been a camouflage march too... Here, here. Later the artillery position was determined there, just off the forward position. There were also many ammunition depots, all covered with firewood. Yesterday these were all No... just some big warehouses." "Is it finished?" "That's all, Comrade Colonel. Would you like me to write the report?" "What more report! Report to the military headquarters immediately! Do you know what this means? . . . Hey, orderly, call my 'Willis'! Send the captain to the Air Force Command." The head office is located in a spacious classroom.In a room made of bare logs, there was only one desk. On the desk were several leather phone cases, a flying leather bag with a map, and a red pencil.The Colonel was a short, swift, and well-built man.He walked up and down the room with his hands behind his back, along the walls.Thinking about it, he walked past the pilots who were standing upright twice, and then suddenly stopped in front of them, raising his thin and resolute face questioningly. "Captain Alexey Milesyev," the dark-skinned officer stood at attention, gave a military salute, and introduced himself, "Come to listen to your command." "Alexander Petrov, Shangtu," reported the young man.He tried to straighten himself up more, banging his high military boots on the floor more loudly. "Colonel Ivanov, commander," muttered the master, "where is the letter?" Milesyev swiftly took out the letter from his bag and handed it to the colonel.The colonel glanced cursorily at the letter that had arrived, and then looked quickly at the person coming. "Okay, it's just in time. It's just why they sent so few?"——then suddenly remembered something, and a trace of surprise flashed across his face: "Excuse me, are you Milesyev? The Air Force Command The Chief of Staff telephoned me about your situation. He told me that you..." "It's not important, Comrade Colonel." Alexei interrupted him with some impoliteness. "Will you allow me to carry out combat missions?" The colonel looked at the captain curiously, then smiled approvingly, nodded and said: "Yes! . . . Orderly, send them to the Chief of Staff, make arrangements in my name, give them rations, arrange accommodation for them. And tell the Chief of Staff to put them in the immediate vicinity of Captain Cheslov. Guards Aviation Battalion. Go and execute." Petrov felt that the head of the regiment was a little too busy.Milesyev liked him.Those who act quickly, who understand everything immediately and easily, who can think accurately and make decisive decisions are very to Alexey's taste.The report from the Air Force scout they had overheard in the little garden still lingered in his mind.Judging from the signs that a soldier can understand: according to the fact that the roads they took after they came out of the military headquarters were blocked, and they could only move forward from one car to another by raising their hands; The sentry on the road at night strictly requires the car to obey the hidden order, threatening those who violate it to shoot through the tires; according to the fact that a large number of tanks, trucks and human artillery have gathered in the small birch forest on the other side of the road away from the front line, it becomes noisy According to the fact that they are being attacked by German reconnaissance planes even on the deserted field roads today - Milesyev understands that the temporary calm on the front is drawing to a close, and that in this area the Germans are trying to Make a new attack, which will happen shortly.The Red Army command knew this and was ready to respond appropriately. 2 The impatient captain refused to let Petrov wait in the cafeteria until the second course was served, so they jumped on the oil truck that was on the way and rushed to the airport in the forest clearing outside the village.Here, the newcomers met Captain Cheslov, Captain of the Guards Flying Battalion.He was a melancholy, taciturn man, but he was perhaps very generous.They didn't talk much, and he led them to the earth-built, grass-covered horseshoe-shaped aircraft shelter, where two brand-new "La-5" aircraft shining with light blue varnish were parked. Eleven and Twelve were written on the lever.Newcomers are already imagining how to fly them.In the fragrant birch forest, even the high-pitched chorus of birds could not drown out the roar of the engine.The newcomers spent their evening leisure time by the plane, talking to their new mechanics and getting acquainted with life in the regiment. They were so engaged that by the time the last truck returned to the small village it was already dark and Ba had missed dinner.This did not terribly upset them, for they still had a few rations allotted for the road in their knapsacks.The trouble is the accommodation problem.There was a small oasis in this dead, overgrown wasteland, but it was packed with the crews of the two flying regiments stationed here and the entire staff of the headquarters.The captain of the garrison ran for a long time among the crowded farmhouses, arguing angrily with the residents who did not want to take in the newcomers, and said to himself, it is a pity that the house is not made of rubber, and it cannot grow like a god.He then pushed the newcomer into the room he first encountered. "You spend the night here first, and we'll make arrangements tomorrow." There are already nine people crowded in this hut.The pilots had already packed up and went to sleep.Kerosene lamps made of flattened cartridge casings—called Katyushas in the early days of the war, and Stalingrad Dkas after the Battle of Stalingrad—dimly illuminate sleeping figures. blurred silhouette.Some of them slept on bunks, others on benches, and others slept side by side on the floor in haystacks covered with raincoats.In addition to the nine occupants, the farmhouse was occupied by the owners, an old woman and her grown daughter, who slept on the large Russian stove because of the overcrowding. The newcomers stood for a moment on the threshold, not knowing how to step over these sleeping bodies.The angry old lady on the hearth shouted to them: "There's no room, there's no room! Look, it's packed. Do you want to sleep on the ceiling?" Petrov hesitated at the door in embarrassment, intending to return to the street, but Milesyev had already walked carefully across the room to the table, trying not to step on the sleeping man. "We just want to find a place to eat, old mother, we haven't eaten all day. Can you lend us a plate and two teacups? As for the overnight stay, we can live in the yard, and we won't be crowded. It's summer." But from the depths of the stove, from the back of the nagging old lady, a pair of bare feet have been exposed.A thin and light figure quietly slipped down from the stove, swiftly stepped over the sleeping person, and then disappeared into the aisle, and immediately carried the plate and wrapped two teacups of different shapes with his slender fingers came back.At first Petrov thought it was a little girl. "When she walked to the table, and the yellow light emitting oily smoke illuminated her face from the hazy darkness, he saw that this was a girl, and she was a beautiful girl in her prime. Only the brown blouse, the sackcloth skirt, and the worn scarf, crossed across the bosom and tucked behind the back like an old lady's, did much to detract from her beauty. "Marina, Marina, come here, you bastard!" said the old lady on the stove venomously. But the girl didn't care.She quickly spread a clean newspaper on the table, put the cutlery on it, set the fork, and cast a quick sidelong glance at Petrov. "Please eat whatever you want. Perhaps, cut something for you, or warm it up? It will be ready in a while. Only the captain of the garrison does not allow tripods in the yard." "Marinka, come here!" cried the old lady. ① Marina's pet name. "Don't bother with her: she's like that, she's a bit out of order, the Germans scare her. At night when she sees soldiers, she tries to protect me. Don't be mad at her. She's only like that at night, during the day. All right." Milesyev found sausages and cans in his backpack, as well as two dry herrings with salt on their belly and a military bread brick.Petrov didn't seem to be good at stocking things up in time: all he had was meat and rusks.Marinka's pair cut these things deftly, and then placed them on the plate very temptingly.Under her long eyelashes was a pair of watery eyes, and her eyes flicked across Petroda's face from time to time, and Petrov secretly looked at her from time to time.When their eyes met, they both blushed and turned away from frowning, and they talked only through Milesyev, not themselves.Alexey looked at them both amused, with a touch of sadness: they were so young—compared to them he felt old, tired, and weather-beaten. "And, by the way, Marina, do you have any gherkins?" he asked. "Exactly." The girl smiled slightly and replied. "Can you find boiled potatoes, even two?" "As long as you tell, you can find it." She disappeared in the room again, swift and light, stepping over the sleeping man soundlessly, like a small butterfly. "Comrade Captain, how can you treat her like this? A girl you don't know, and you call her 'you', ask for cucumbers, and..." Milesyev laughed and said: "Old man, where are you supposed to be? Do you think this is the front line or where?...Old mother, stop nagging, come here, how about we have dinner together?" Still talking to herself angrily, the old woman climbed down from the stove moaning, and immediately began to gobble up the sausages.It seems that she is a person who loves sausages in peacetime. The four of them sat down at the table and ate a delicious supper amidst the snores and murmurs of the sleeping people.Alexey chattered non-stop, joking with the old woman, and making Malinka giggle.He felt he was finally back in the familiar surroundings of camp life, and he enjoyed it to the fullest, feeling as if he had returned to his own home after a long wandering in a foreign land. When they were about to finish dinner, the two learned that the village was preserved because it used to be the German headquarters.When the Red Army began to attack, the headquarters quickly withdrew without having time to destroy the village.The Hitlerites raped the eldest daughter in front of the old woman.Her eldest daughter committed suicide in a pond, and the old lady became insane.During the eight months that the Germans came to the area, Malinka lived out of sight in an empty barn in the backyard.The barn doors were blocked with straw and junk.Every evening her mother brought her something to eat and drink, and handed it to her through the window.The more Alexey talked to the girl, the more she looked at Petrov, and there was unconcealed joy in her passionate, shy eyes. Dinner was over before I knew it.Malinka packed the rest frugally and stuffed them into Milesyev's knapsack: generally speaking, soldiers need everything.Then she discussed with her mother in a low voice, and said firmly: "Well: since the captain of the garrison sent you here, you will live here. You go to sleep on the stove, and my mother and I will live in the barn. Just rest, the journey must be very tiring. I will see you tomorrow." Find a place." Still barefoot, she stepped gently over the sleeping man, brought a bunch of straw harvested in summer from the yard, spread it generously on the spacious stove, and put a few clothes on one side as a pillow.She did it all quickly, lightly, noiselessly, and with feline grace. "Old man, what a beautiful girl!" said Alexei.He stretched out and lay comfortably on the straw, making his joints creak. "I don't think so," replied Petrov, with an assumed indifference. "And looking at you like that..." "Tell me, so what! But she's been talking to you..." After a while, he could already hear the sound of his even breathing in his dream.Milesyev was not asleep.He stretched out and lay down on the cool, rich-smelling straw.He saw Marina come in from the hallway and looked around the room, looking for something.From time to time she secretly looked at the stove.She picked out the wick on the table, looked back at the stove, and then tiptoed over the sleeping people to the door.The appearance of this slender, pretty girl in coarse cloth somehow filled Alexey with melancholy and peace.They finally settled down in the room.Tomorrow morning he was designated for the first combat flight with Petrov.He, Milesyev, was the lead pilot and Petrov was the wingman.What will be the result?The lad looks so cute!Otherwise, why did Malinka fall in love with him at first sight.Well, sleep and sleep! Milesyev turned sideways, tossed on the straw for a while, closed his eyes, and then fell into a deep sleep. He woke up with a terrible feeling.He didn't immediately understand what was going on, but soldierly habit made him jump to his feet and grab the pistol.He didn't know where he was, what happened to him.A pungent, garlicky smoke enveloped everything.After the four thick smokes were blown away, Alexei was surprised to see huge stars shining brightly above his head.The surrounding area was as bright as daylight, and it was possible to see the logs of the farmhouse scattered like matches, the crooked roof with beams exposed, and the messy things burned not far away.He heard groans, a low, wavy roar overhead, and that familiar, hateful, bone-piercing screech of a falling bomb. "Get down!" he called to Petrov.Petrov was kneeling on the hearth towering over the ruins, looking around dumbfounded. They fell on the bricks, clinging to them.Just then a chunk of shrapnel tore down the chimney, and a whiff of red dust and skunks hit them. "Don't move, lie on your stomach!" Milesyev ordered.He fought back the irrepressible desire to jump up and run, to go anywhere, as long as he could move a little--a desire that people always experience during night bombing. No bombers were seen.It turned out that they were hovering in the darkness above the dropped flares.But in the off-white light, black bombs can be seen rushing into the illuminated airspace, swooping down, and quickly appear in front of the eyes, and then they can see the red plowed land burning violently in the summer night.The earth seemed to be split into pieces, and there was a continuous rumbling sound. The pilots lay flat on the stove, which shook and quivered with each explosion.Their whole bodies—cheeks and thighs—close to the stove, instinctively pushing hard into the bricks, wishing they could squeeze into the cracks of the bricks.Then the rumble of the motor faded away, and immediately the hiss of the flares hanging under the parachute as they were about to burn out as they descended, and the muffled sound of flames burning on the ruins at the other end of the street "Hey, we're cool this time," said Milesyev, shaking the straw and gray-brown dust off his military shirt and trousers with the utmost calmness. "But what about the people sleeping in the house?" Petrov asked in horror, trying to suppress the nervous twitching of his jaw and the tormenting hiccups. "Where is Malinka?" They got down from the stove, and Milesyev found a shaded lamp.They photographed the floors of the bombed-out cabins, which were piled high with planks and logs.There was no one on it.It became clear later that after hearing the alarm, the pilots ran to the yard in time and hid in the air-raid shelter.Petrov and Milesyev searched the entire ruins, but Malinka and the old lady were nowhere to be found, and no one answered their cries.Where did they go?Did they run away?Is there time to escape? Garrison patrols kept order in the streets.Sappers put out fires, cleared debris, removed dead bodies, and rescued the wounded.The orderlies shuttled back and forth in the darkness, calling loudly the names of the crew members.The team quickly moved to the new location.All the pilots gathered at the airport, ready to fly away at dawn.According to preliminary statistics, the loss of personnel is generally not large.One pilot was wounded, two mechanics and several sentries who had stood guard during the raid died.It is estimated that there were many casualties among local residents, but due to the darkness and chaotic situation at night, it is difficult to ascertain how many people died. Early in the morning, as Milesyev and Petrov headed to the airport, they stopped involuntarily at the ruins of the small house where they had spent the night.The sappers lifted a stretcher out of the tangle of logs and veneers, on which lay a man covered with a bloodstained sheet. "Who are you carrying?" Petrov asked.A sense of foreboding made him pale and weak. A steady moustachioed sapper—Mlesiev thought he looked like Stepan Ivanovitch—carried the front of the stretcher and answered at length: "No, I don't know whose family's old lady and a little girl were picked up from the basement. They were hit by a stone and died at that time. I can't figure out whether it is a little girl or a girl. They are so young. She looked pretty. She got hit in the chest with a stone. She was so beautiful, like a lovely child." ... After attacking the Soviet base that night, the Germans turned to their last major offensive, beginning the battle in the Kursk arc.The battle resulted in the destruction of the German army. 3 太阳还没有升起来，这是短促的夏夜最黑暗的时刻，可是野战机场上加热的马达已经吼叫起来。大尉切斯洛夫把地图摆在有露水的草地上，给飞行大队的飞行员们指示着飞行路线和新阵地的位置。 “注意两侧。不要失去看得见的协同动作。机场紧挨前线。” 新位置——在地图上用蓝色铅笔标出来——确实伸到了德军控制的舌形部位。飞机不是向后飞，而是往前飞。飞行员们高兴的是：尽管德国人怎样重新掌握了主动权，但是红军不仅没有打算撤退，而且还准备进攻。 天刚放亮，田野上还飘浮着一阵阵粉红色雾气的时候，第二飞行大队跟着指挥员起飞了。飞机彼此之间保持着看得见的距离，向南飞去。 密列西耶夫和彼得罗夫在他们第一次共同的飞行中就相互配合得非常默契。在空中他们度过的短短几分钟里，彼得罗夫就非常欣赏他的长机驾驶员充满自信的、真正精湛的飞行技巧；而密列西耶夫也故意在飞行中做出几个出其不意的陡急盘旋。他也观察到僚机驾驶员目光敏锐，机智灵活，意志坚强，而且最主要的是：他虽然不太自信，然而飞行技巧却很好。 新机场位于步兵团的后方。如果德国人发现了它，他们就会用小口径炮，甚至用大型迫击炮轰炸它。但是他们已顾不上这个出现在他们鼻子底下的飞机场，还在黑暗中他们就把在整个春天集结在这里的所有的大炮对着苏军基地开起火来。在防守区域的上空高高地升起了红色的跳动着的火光。爆炸顷刻吞没了一切，好像瞬间升起了一片浓密的黑色森林。以致当太阳升起的时候，地上也没有变得明亮起来。在轰鸣怒吼震颤不上的昏暗中，什么都难以分辨，只有太阳高挂在空中，像一块昏暗的，脏兮兮的红色薄饼。 然而在这之前的一个月里，苏军飞机没有白白地在德军阵地上空盘旋。德军司令部的企图早就被揭穿了，德军的阵地和集结点都被标在了地图上，每一个标记都被仔细研究过了。德国人按他们的惯例集中全部兵力想逞一下威风，把尖刀刺入做着晨梦的熟睡的对手肩上。可是对手只是装成熟睡而已。它抓住偷袭者拿着刀子的手，于是这只手就被它那钢铁般大力士的手指紧握着，发出咯咯的断裂声。在几十公里长的前线上疯狂猛烈的炮火轰击声还没有平静下去，可是那些被自己的炮声震聋了耳朵，被笼罩着他们阵地的火药烟熏得睁不开眼睛的德军，已在自己的战壕里看到了一团团爆炸的火球。苏军的大炮打得特别准。他们不像德国人那样对着射击地域乱射，而是对准目标，对着炮台，对着炮兵连队，对着已经集结在阵地上的大批的坦克和步兵，对着桥梁，对着地下弹药库，对着掩蔽所和指挥部开炮。 德国人的炮轰变成了强大的炮火对抗，双方都有几万门各种口径的大炮投入战斗。当切斯洛夫大尉的飞行大队的机群在机场着陆的时候，大地在飞行员们的脚下颤抖着，爆炸声不停地轰鸣着，连成一片绵延不断的沸腾的喧闹声，仿佛有一列巨大的火车沿着铁桥缓缓地行驶着。火车开啊，开啊，开啊，一边鸣着汽笛，一边轰轰隆隆地开着，可就是开不过去。一团团猛烈升起的烟尘遮住了整个地平线。轰炸机一会儿一架接一架地，一会儿排成雁阵，一会儿又展开了队形在团队的小飞机场上空飞来飞去；它们投下的炸弹爆炸时发出的低沉的隆隆声与均匀的炮战轰鸣声显得截然不同。 各个飞行大队都宣布进入二级战备状态。这意味着：飞行员不能离开自己飞机的驾驶室，以便在发出第一颗信号弹时就能驾机升空。飞机撤到了白桦树林的边上，用树枝遮盖起来了。树林里散发出潮气，凉爽而芬芳，带着蘑菇的气味。在战斗的轰鸣声中无声无息的蚊子肆无忌惮地向驾驶员的脸上、手上和脖子上进攻。 密列西耶夫摘下飞行帽，懒洋洋地赶着蚊子。他若有所思地坐着，享受着早晨森林里浓郁的芳香。旁边的飞机掩体里停着他的僚机。彼得罗夫不时地从座位上跳起来，甚至站到上面望着战场的方向，或者目送着轰炸机的离去。他忍不住想快点飞向空中，平生第一次迎战真正的敌人，把弹仓里锋利密集的子弹射向真正的敌机，真实而敏捷的敌机，而不是射向用绳子抱在“P—5”型飞机后面被风吹鼓的麻袋里。也许，今天用炸弹炸死那位削瘦漂亮，做着美梦的姑娘的那个人就坐在那架敌机中，现在却像蜗牛躲在贝壳里一样。 密列西耶夫看到他的僚机驾驶员忙碌而激动的样子，想道：从年龄上看他们几乎是同龄人——彼得罗夫十九岁，而密列西耶夫二十三岁。对于男人来说，三四岁的差别算什么呢？但是跟僚机驾驶员在一起他觉得自己像个老头，富有经验，沉着而疲惫。这不，现在彼得罗夫在驾驶室里坐立不安，搓着手，笑着，对磨磨蹭蹭的“伊尔”喊着什么。而阿列克谢则伸开四肢舒服地倒在飞机的皮椅上。他很平静。他没有脚，飞行对他来说要比世上的任何飞行员都困难得多。但是，即使这一点也没有令他不安。他清楚自己的飞行技术，而且相信自己那双残废的脚。 团队就这样直到晚上都处于二级战备状态。团队不知道为什么被编入了预备队，看来是不想过早暴露自己的位置。 过夜的时候拨给了他们一些还是德国人建的小窑洞。这些窑洞德国人居住过，木板的上面糊着马粪纸和发黄的包装纸。墙上甚至还保留着一些张着贪婪大嘴的电影明星的明信片和德国一些城市的彩色风景画。 炮战仍在继续，大地震颤着。干燥的沙子撒到纸上，于是整个窑洞就发出令人讨厌的沙沙声，好像有千百只昆虫在蠕动着。 密列西耶夫和彼得罗夫决定睡在外面，睡在铺开的雨衣上。命令下达了：要穿着衣服睡觉。密列西耶夫只是松了一下假脚上的皮带就仰面躺下了。他望着天空，天空好像在爆炸的微红色闪光中颤抖着。彼得罗夫一会儿就睡着了。在睡梦中他打着鼾声，嘟哝着什么，咀嚼着，吧嗒着嘴，像个婴儿一样蜷成一团。密列西耶夫把自己的军大衣盖在他身上。他觉得自己睡不着，就站了起来，由于潮湿他微微弓着身子，为了暖和暖和身体，他又做了几节剧烈的体操，然后就坐到了一个小树墩上。 疯狂的轰炸已经停息了。只是炮兵连偶尔在这儿，偶尔在那儿毫无目标地放几个连珠炮。几枚偶然飞来的炮弹从头顶嗖嗖飞过，然后在机场附近的什么地方爆炸了。在战争中这种所谓的冷弹吓不着任何人。阿列克谢甚至对爆炸瞧也不瞧。他在观察战线。在黑暗中可以看得非常清楚，甚至现在，在夜深人静的时候，战线上仍然进行着不停的，紧张严酷的战斗。在熟睡的大地上燃遍了整个地平线的红色火光也证明了这一点。战线上方闪烁的是信号弹的火光：微蓝的闪着磷光的是德国人的，而有些发黄的是我方的。不是在那儿，就是在这儿，一股急速的火苗飞驰而来，一瞬间在大地的上空掀开了夜幕，接着就传来一阵沉重的爆炸声。 这时听到了夜间轰炸机的嗡嗡声。整个战线马上被曳光弹五颜六色的珍珠般的亮光照得通明。速射高射炮的连射就像一滴滴血珠一样突然迸发开去。大地又一次颤抖着，鸣响着，呻吟着。然而这一切并没有惊吓住在白桦树底下嗡嗡叫着的金龟子。在树林深处猫头鹰用人类一样的声音尖叫着灾祸的来临；在下面的山谷里，在灌木丛中，一只夜莺从白天的恐惧中恢复了常态，它先是胆怯地，好像是在试着嗓音或者是在调着乐器，然后放开歌喉，使出全身力气啼唱着，唱得上气不接下气。其他的夜莺同它鸣和着。于是，这片紧靠前线的整个树林都鸣叫起来，充满了从四面八方传来的悦耳的歌声。库尔斯克夜莺确实名不虚传，驰名全世界。 现在夜莺在树林里发狂地叫着。阿列克谢听着夜驾的啼叫，他无法入睡。明天他面临的不是委员会的考验，而是死亡的考验。但是他想的不是明天，不是临近的战斗，不是可能的死亡，而是在卡梅欣郊外曾经为他们唱歌的那只遥远的夜驾，“他们的”夜莺，想着奥丽雅和故乡的小城。 东方的天空已经发白了。炮火的轰鸣渐渐淹没了夜莺的啼叫。一轮巨大血红的太阳勉强穿过射击和爆炸形成的烟云，慢吞吞地在战场上空升了起来。