The bitter hour of farewell was getting closer. Shabalin sat in the headquarters preparing the marching orders. Cholopov stood on the steps and looked sadly at his friends jumping down off the SPGs in the yard. He had come a long way with these vehicles, hit the enemy and made some difficult journeys. Now he was to be separated from all of this. Ivan Ivanovitch breathed in deeply and drew nervously on a cigarette. Gorodenzev went up to him and gave him two cans of meat. ‘Take them for the journey. I have nothing else to give you.’
‘Thank-you, my friend.’ Cholopov took the rucksack off his shoulders, stuffed in the cans and stammered: ‘Difficult to leave you. What happiness and bitterness we have experienced together! How often did one’s life hang on a thread? When will we ever see each other again?’
Gorodenzev sighed. Ivan Ivanovitch took his cigarette case from his pocket and held it out to Gorodenzev: ‘Keep this as a souvenir. I have not been separated from it throughout the whole war.’
I climbed on the steps. Mussatov’s company marched past me for the last time singing my favourite song, ‘You fight like heroes’.
Suddenly Yura appeared. He was visibly thinner. Shabalin put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Now Yura, take your document. From now on you are a Suvorov Scholar.’
The boy hid his face in his hands.
‘What have we here? A soldier – and crying!’
‘Off you go, youngster. Remain as you were in the regiment, brave and honourable.’
A car drove into the yard. The driver reported: ‘Comrade Commander, the regiment is paraded.’
I took one last look at the SPGs. Goodbye, steel friends.
Minutes later we were driving through the Olympic Village. Then we came to the railway station. The troops were standing on the square in front. On their uniforms flashed orders and medals. Our Guard’s standard waved on the right flank.
‘Attention!’
The band played a march. I marched across the front of the unit, looking into the familiar faces of my comrades. The stood like simple Soviet men, but what wonderful heroes! They had not only defended their fatherland but rescued many peoples from Fascism. How proud their grandchildren and great-grandchildren would be of them.
I believe that it was only at this parting that I realised what strong bonds I had with my regimental colleagues. Now they were breaking. Previously we had all had the same fate, the same aim, but now we would go our separate ways. I slowed my pace, wanting to extend the unrepeatable moment and stopped in front of Staff-Sergeant Tartartshuk. How self-sacrificingly he had repaired our SPG under the heaviest fire. The staff-sergeant looked smart in his new tunic with its snow-white collar, but also a little sad.
I went on. There stood Lieutenant Poteiev, wearing a head bandage. Next to him stood Senior-Sergeant-Major Kossarev. He too had returned to the regiment after his recovery.
Then I went past the front of the machine-pistol infantry. I spoke to Yuri Golovatshiov. The youngster had fought with distinction and wore the Order of Fame on his tunic.
‘May I have your permission to make a request?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I have honourably fought right through the whole war,’ he replied. ‘Now that I am too young to be demobilised, I go on serving. But perhaps I could have some leave to see my mother again?’
‘You can go home, ten days,’ I said and beckoned to Shabilin. ‘Prepare his leave pass. Liubov Vassilievna will be delighted to see such an eagle of a son again. And the girls of Kemerovo will also be delighted to see him too.’
Then I saw the smiling face of our supply officer Komar. He had survived the third war alive and well, as if that was no ground for celebration!
Beside him stood our wonderful girls Minogian Yegorova, Ania Ashurina, Fisa Motshalova. They had already changed into civilian clothes. They were wearing colourful clothing but had not set aside their berets and star insignia.
I addressed the troops for the last time:
Dear comrades! The regiment is once more in the condition in which it fought the hated enemy. Many comrades have fallen in the fighting. Eternal fame is theirs! The memories of the deeds of Salichov, Chorushenko, Korotkov, Goldman, Vinogradov, Axianov, Tsherniatiev, Babaian and other fallen heroes will always remain in our hearts. You have left behind you a hard fighting time and fulfilled your duty honourably for the motherland. My heartiest thanks for this. The regimental command has agreed that all those demobilised will voluntarily return to work exactly as they fought at the front. But you will maintain your fighting ability in case an aggressor dares to attack us.
Cholopov spoke on behalf of those being demobilised. ‘For me today is more difficult than being in the most stressful battle: I must say farewell to you, my colleagues.’ Ivan Ivanovitch’s voice trembled. He could hold back his tears only with difficulty. ‘I have driven the enemy from Moscow to Berlin. But if someone attacks our homeland again, I’ll find my regiment and take my place in the SPG once more.’ He looked for Gorodenzev: ‘My SPG and my machine-pistol I hand over today to a younger man, my comrade Gorodenzev, who will look after them well.’
Gorodenzev left the ranks, received the machine-pistol from Ivan Ivanovitch, clasped him by the hands and formally promised: ‘I will fulfil your role exactly, Ivan Ivanovitch, as I did your orders in battle.’
Then ‘Hero of the Soviet Union’ Boldyrev came forward with the regimental banner. Bending his knee, the warrior kissed the regiment’s holy relic.
The locomotive in the station gave a shrill whistle and the order was given: ‘All aboard!’
Near me were Mussatov, Boldyrev, Korosteliov, Ivanov and Postnikov. They asked me not to forget them and at least to write often.
Shura went past crying. Pavlov followed me with a bag. ‘Don’t cry, Shurotshka, when I have done my time, I will come and find you.’
‘I’ll wait for you.’
‘Close the doors!’
I hugged my friends – and shook the hands of many, many soldiers and NCOs.
Chapter 6
Years in Tanks
By General David Abramovitch Dragunski
Dragunski came from the village of Achmatov near Kalinin. His military career began in the 4th Rifle Regiment. In 1933 he was sent to Saratov for a three-year course on tanks and was then assigned to the 32nd Independent Tank Battalion equipped with the T-26 tank. He first saw action as a tank company commander against the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1936. Dragunski, by then a senior lieutenant, started the course at the Frunze Academy in the spring of 1939 and was in his final year as a student and participating in field exercises at the Ossovez Fortress on the western frontier when the Germans invaded the Soviet Union in 1941. By the beginning of 1945 he was a not yet fully recovered thrice-wounded colonel commanding the 55th Guards Tank Brigade of the 3rd Guards Tank Army of Marshal Koniev’s 1st Ukrainian Front. Shortly before the launching of Operation Berlin in April 1945 he was sent back to the Soviet Union on sick leave, taking the opportunity of having a thorough medical examination in Moscow before recuperating at a health resort.
During Dragunski’s absence on sick leave, Koniev’s forces had smashed their way through the German lines to the southern outskirts of Berlin. At the planning conference in Moscow in January it had been decided that Koniev’s forces should meet up with Zhukov’s 1st Byelorussian Front in the Brandenburg–Potsdam area, but Koniev’s initial attack across the Neisse River had been so successful that he had subsequently suggested to Stalin that he be allowed to attack Berlin from the south. Stalin, who was out to enhance his own position by humiliating the nationally popular Zhukov, agreed and even ordered the air force commander for the Berlin operation not to reveal the extent of Koniev’s involvement. Although Zhukov was informed of this change in plan, he was determined to have Berlin to himself and assumed that Koniev’s troops would not approach closer than Potsdam, as had previously been agreed in Moscow.