Who is interested in my granddad's memoirs?

World War II Russian Military
#41

Huge THANK YOU to Mr. Slim Fan for editing my lousy English translation and giving it grammatic and stylistic sense!
This part has been edited by him. He also edited the previous parts which I now will replace (Done!). So you may as well re-read them again. :slight_smile:

- 10 -
The celebration of 1st of May ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/International_Workers’_Day ) approached. Major Pehota, who as I mentioned was our “zampolit” ( remark: Commander’s deputy for political work – not to be confused with “Commissar” ), was very busy with the preparations. Knowing that I was a student before the war he offered me the opportunity to join his orderly, Buriak, in making a newspaper poster dedicated to the celebration. Buriak was a boy aged about 14 or 15 and was regarded as our “regiment’s son” [remark: “regiment’s sons” were usually orphans picked up by the regiments on their campaigns. Hence the name “regiment’s son” indicating that a child had been adopted by the regiment]. He wore a uniform and was always “sticking his nose in everywhere”, hanging around the newcomers, reading aloud from the newspapers distributed by [i]Sovinformbureau /i. Together we began the work. I was responsible for the design and layout and Buriak for the content – for which he went around the platoons collecting material. I remember how our zampolit Pehota criticised me because a German tank with swastika drawn by me did not look as though it had been disabled. I had to redraw it more vividly. This time he was pleased. The tank was depicted with a fractured gun barrel, a huge gaping hole in the side and a broken track. Our tanks were rushing forward belching fire and smoke.

Around 26th April we again had a “bath day” and after that received new sets of cotton uniforms. We got English boots, puttees and old patched grey
greatcoats. It was apparent that the greatcoats had already seen combat, but had been cleaned before being given to us. We knew that the fallen were
buried in common graves without their greatcoats, which had to continue to serve, this time to other people.

Once in uniform we immediately became indistinguishable from one another. Our field caps fitted our shaved heads very well; though the red star badges were missing and there was no possibility of replacing them. But we found a remedy: we made stars ourselves out of tin and attached them to the field caps with thread. On the eve of 1st of May the remaining troops arrived from the Don, Rostov and Donetsk provinces. Some of them said that they had been working on windmills for the army, others worked on some army farms, but the main occupation was loading and unloading the trains.

Even though we all wore uniforms and looked alike, the odessits [remark: recruits from Odessa] still stood somewhat forward showing a special Odessa disposition. Major Pehota made me responsible for politinformations - reading aloud every day the official front reports and make regiments “battle leaflet” [remark: a kind of in-house newspaper].

After the celebration day the combat engineering forces repaired the railway tracks, and trains started coming in to Razdelnoe station. Our battalion was also involved in the loading and unloading work. In their haste to retreat, the Germans had abandoned a large number of loaded railway cars on the 70km stretch between Odessa and Razdelnoe. There were even two German armoured trains and a train loaded with tanks at Razdelnoe station.

Apart from our battalion, General Pliev’s cavalry division was also stationed in Razdelnoe. But now, in the process of being transferred to another stretch of the front, they were leaving us. The frontline stabilised along the Dnestr river and Tiraspol was now adjacent to it. That frontline was not far from us, maybe 12 - 15 km, and we could clearly hear the artillery at work.

In May the battalion’s headquarters were relocated to the German village of Baden ( remark: there were more than a million German colonists living in the USSR ) on the coast of Dnestr estuary. The inhabitants had left. Probably they fled west together with the German army. There was a station by the name of Kuchurgan about 2km from Baden. Our First Platoon from Second Company was stationed there in an open field guarding a store of chemicals in an abandoned German ammunition dump. It was encircled by barbed wire. Our battalion staff officers were short of writing paper for their work and the only place to get more was Odessa. So they began looking for two people from Odessa willing to procure more paper. Naturally, this operation was not budgeted for and the procurement required promtness and a certain native wit. Since I myself needed paper for my “battle leaflet” I agreed to go on the business trip. I was delighted with the opportunity to return to Odessa, to meet Olga and her parents, and to catch up on their news. I had agreed to go, but I really had no idea where I would find writing paper and how it would be paid for.

[ to be continued ]

#42

read it all!
very very very exciting! It would be cool if someone made a comic out of it.
shame your grandfather died in 2002.

[ to be continued ]

please do so:D

#43

- 11 -

Our squad commander was from Krasnoyarsk. He had lost toes on his right foot near Stalingrad and as the result of his service had reached the rank of senior sergeant. His name was Kostja (remark: short for Konstantin). Unfortunately, I can’t remember his surname. We became good friends – true comrades in arms. Sending me to Odessa he gave me his greatcoat, which was brand new and had tabs and the shoulder bands of a senior sergeant. The greatcoat was for show – I was to meet my girlfriend in the town… The shoulder bands were to be changed according to the situation. Now, after so many years, I understand how risky it would have been if I had run into a military patrol.

I went to the nearest crossing close to Kuchurgan station and sat on the Odessa-Tiraspol road to wait for a car going to Odessa. There the road was of a better standard. On the roadside a Soviet tank, American made, which was hit in the first days of April, still stood. I guess it was a “Valentine” or a “Katrine”. (remark: It seems my granddad was not sure about the name). I climbed onto it and the first passing Studebaker stopped at my signal. The driver thought I was a tanker and let me sit in the cabin. In three hours I was in Odessa, in the Moldavanka district.

When I reached Kulikovo Square I put on the senior sergeants shoulder bands. But then I thought that I would appear too young to have made senior sergeant and ripped off two of the badges of rank. I entered the house as a corporal.

My appearance on Pirogovskaya Street was unexpected. Olga was happy for my visit and tried to feed me up. But her parents were depressed. Semen Vikentievich was being summoned to the local Communist Party office. He was to report on his Party assignment – conducting resistance work during occupation. The situation was not in his favour and it could prove to have serious consequences for him.

I explained the purpose of my visit and asked for their help. I had two days at my disposal. Olga had about 300 sheets in her possession. But it was not enough. Semen Vikentievich said that with a bit of luck I might find paper at the market but it would require money, approximately 150 Roubles. I only had 70 Roubles in my pocket and Semen Vikentievich gave me the rest. The paper was purchased the next day from black market dealers, who seemed to feel free to operate again. I noticed that town was being slowly reconstructed. Some workers were fixing the walls of the ruined Central Railway Station. I stopped to look at a passenger train arriving from Moscow. A group of young women with backpacks and suitcases got off the train. They asked me where to find a street where they were to work as civil engineers. We fell into conversation. It was interesting for me to meet people from the capital. These were newly graduated specialists. I recounted my arrival at this very station in 1940. Did I think back then that my life would develop in this way? I began to wish that I could continue my studies at Odessa’s Agrarian Institute. As I stood next to the station, I suddenly realised that I was on the very spot where 40 days earlier a Rumanian marauder was hanged (the place is marked by a blue cross on the attached photograph.). People came and went from the station and nobody knew what happened here on the 11th of April 1944.

[ to be continued ]

Klimov_1a.jpg

#44

- 12 -

In the evening Olga and I went to the Beaumont cinema, near the central train station, and saw for the first time the film “Two Soldiers” ( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0036782/ ). The main roles were played by Andreev and Bernes. The song from that movie - “Dark night… Only bullets whistle in the steppe…” ( youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDGLFLKa5o4 ) – was popular and was already being sung, with guitar accompaniment, in our battalion. Of course, we liked the movie very much and I have seen it many times since. But the first time I saw it in liberated Odessa – that was an unforgettable experience. And what about the other song from the same film – “The skiffs brim-full with gray mullet the sailor Kostja brought to port…” ( youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CebvBldszqM )? One wants to hear these songs over and over.

I made the return journey to my battalion in a railway tank-car. It just so happened that I reached the Odessa goods station by tramway late at night. It was still about 2km to the Tiraspol road. A goods train was standing in the station, which, according to the train conductor, was to go to Razdelnoe station and then via Kuchurgan to Tiraspol. It was a train delivering military equipment to the frontline. I spoke to the train driver and explained that I urgently needed to reach my unit in Kuchergan. He understood and pointed to a 50tonne tank attached behind the tender. I climbed the tank and settled behind the hatch. The weather was very warm. I took off my greatcoat and took out some food. Then the engine SO-20 emitted a low tone from its whistle and the train started rolling. Some familiar stations passed by – Dachnaya, Vigoda – and the train kept rolling without stopping. The tank I was riding was meant for transporting water. The cinder and soot from the steamers smoke gathered on me. I could not open my eyes. I was starting to look like a chimneysweep. Finally the train came to stop in front of a semaphore signal light. I had to do something to counter the smoke. The hatch was not locked and I opening it and noticed that it was possible to settle there, protected rather like being behind the armour of a tank. It was possible because the hole in the hatch had a metal grid fixed inside. Besides, a wooden plank had already been placed there, probably by a previous traveller. It was comfortable. The water was below me in the tank. And I opened the hatch much like tankers do. Just before Razdelnoe the sky suddenly lit up with searchlights, AA guns opened fire – a German air raid on the station. The train slowed down and continued slowly to Razdelnoe. Luckily there was not much damage to the place this time. In the morning I was in Kuchurgan. I washed myself and tidied myself up as much as possible. I delivered the paper to the chief of the headquarters office and returned to my platoon. The soldiers were digging a dugout for the whole platoon. The work was progressing well and in the evening we had made a huge hole in the ground. We fixed the roof and covered it with earth. For the plank beds the trophy wooden ammunition boxes were used. Cosy and cool. The next day we started the dugout meant for the kitchen. Our cook was an old Cossack from the Don, a jolly and tireless man. He could make a good meal out of the most basic ingredients. The ration was not bad, according to the frontline norm: 600 grams of bread, sugar, tea, American spam or lard. With such ingredients, no matter what you cook, it would taste good. Kulesh was especially good – a soup made of millet or pearl-barley with consistency of a thin porridge and richly seasoned with fatty American spam. In those days it was the pinnacle of every soldier’s culinary desire.

Our work during that time was not complicated – guarding the chemicals and the captured ammunition dump encircled by one layer of barbed wire. There were many guard posts and we were short of people. It meant a shift almost every day or night. Back in Razdelnoe I received a rifle as my personal weapon. It was an old slit Mosin rifle ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mosin-Nagant ). Obviously, I was in no way satisfied. I wanted a PPSh submachine gun (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PPSh-41 ), which I one day accidentally found in a ditch near Kuchurgan station. I still wonder how it got there. The 71-round drum magazine was empty. I took care of it, cleaned and oiled it. And to get hold of appropriate ammunition was not a problem at all: we unloaded the ammunition boxes.

[ to be continued ]

#45

- 13 -

There was a soldier from Odessa in our platoon – Chernenko. Once his wife came to visit him – she found our location after Chernenko sent her a note by means of a passing truck on its way to Odessa. We had to arrange a separate family dugout for that couple. We made a stove right under the open sky and let them use the kitchen dugout.

One of our amusements was using the captured German firing pins with detonators from the antipersonnel land mines. We pulled practical jokes on each other by mining most peculiar places: plank beds, mess tins, back sacks, benches and even toilets. They could not cause any harm because we only used the detonators which looked like brass heads with primers of a shotgun shell.
I noticed that there were wild hares in the field around us and I one day I managed to hit one with my PPSh; a big grey hare. After that the guys asked me to go hunting – it seems they did not object to having delicious game for dinner. All in all I think I bagged about eight until all of them were hunted down in the immediate vicinity.

Once in July, together with five other soldiers, I was sent to assist in the chemical readiness courses for the officers. The course involved the different chemicals being used in the war: bottles with incendiary fluids, flamethrowers, smoke grenades, means of chemical protection against poisons and so on. The exercise was conducted in the field with practical application of the aforementioned substances and devices. There I could for the first time see in action our Soviet backpack flamethrower. And I had myself chance to throw incendiary bottles against a tank mock up model as well as set up a smoke charges for setting up a smoke screen. If I am not mistaken this exercise took place in the county of Domaneevsky.

In July the whole battalion was put on alert and marched to the next station at Migaevo. Then after a sleepover we were marched back to our old location. This happened several times. It all seemed a senseless waste of our energy and indifference on the part of our senior officers. Only after the war, after reading the memoirs of the commanders of the 3rd Ukrainian front, it became clear to me why our unit as well as many others had to do that job. It was done to deceive the enemy’s land and air reconnaissance. The goal was to make it look like the troops were moving to a specific sector of the front line. Later the effort proved to be indispensable – the enemy did not expect the strike on the Kitzkansky bridgehead. For a number of reasons the enemy was convinced that this bridgehead was of no real operational value.

There was an old man from Odessa in our platoon. He suffered from poor eyesight and an ulcer. He was often sick and this was a burden for the platoon. The officers decided to send him to the Filatovskaya clinic in Odessa. I was assigned to accompany him. So I had another chance to visit Odessa, but this time we were given a car from our battalion and I only spent couple of hours with Olga.

At the end of July three companies from our battalion were relocated for an unspecified period near Migaevo Station. For the purposes of deception we were ordered to set up camp outside the settlement and start digging the fox holes and trenches. Near the station a large storage dump was arranged containing only empty boxes. Trucks and cargo trains came with those empty boxes. All of it was openly unloaded in the broad day light, under the eye of the German “frames” ( Frame – Russian nick name for the German FW 189 recognisance airplane ), which patrolled over the front line from dawn till dusk. Two ferocious night bombing raids were conducted against Razdelnoe and Karpovka. The targets were already alight because during the day the Germans had dropped incendiaries before the bombing. The whole night sky was covered with AA tracers and searchlights. For about an hour the explosions of the bombs could be heard from Razdelnoe and the fire raged the rest of the night. When we arrived the next day there was still a burning train loaded with ammunition – the explosions preventing us from starting work. We expected another raid would be mounted to disrupt the reparatory work, but God had mercy on us. We also expected that our dummy storage dump may be attacked and we organised special shelters.

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#46

with those empty boxes. All of it was openly unloaded in the broad day light, under the eye of the German “frames” (Frame – Russian nick name for the German FV 189 recognisance airplane), which patrolled over the front line from dawn till dusk. Two ferocious night bombing raids were conducted against Razdelnoe and Karpovka. The targets were already alight because during the day the Germans had dropped incendiaries before the bombing. The whole night sky was covered with AA tracers and searchlights. For about an hour the explosions of the bombs could be heard from Razdelnoe and the fire raged the rest of the night. When we arrived the next day there was still a burning train loaded with ammunition – the explosions preventing us from start

you mean fw 189.

#47

Yes, of course!

#48

- 14 -

During one of the company’s meeting I was voted into the Komsomol ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Komsomol ). The head of our Komsomol cell was my friend Sashka Shefatov (remark: see top photo on the attached picture). I still have his photograph, which I have appended to the text. He was born and raised on the Don in a Cossack family. He lost an eye as a child and was cleared from military duty. He was called up after the Battle of Stalingrad. I tried to locate him after the war but in vain. The area of his khutor ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khutor ), Zaharovo, was flooded by a reservoir during the construction of the Volga-Don canal.

The decisions of our meetings were to be approved by political department of the 3rd Ukrainian Front. One August day I, together with three other new Komsomol members, was called to the political department office located in Berezovka.

I will never forget my conversation with the major, the Secretary of Komsomol of the 3rd Ukrainian Front. First, he asked me for a brief outline of my biography. Finding that I was stuck in Odessa during the occupation, he started questioning me:

  • “You, comrade Klimov… why did not you open fire the first time you saw that there was an enemy, a Fascist, in front of you?”
  • “I was not conscripted into the army. I was not armed.”
  • “Does one necessarily have to be armed for that? There are thousand of other ways to fight. Why did you not take a hand grenade, a rifle or a machine gun and open fire?
    “You are entering the Komsomol’s ranks, you serve in the Soviet Army. Are you ready to dedicate yourself wholly to Victory?”
  • “Yes, I am ready.” - was my reply.
  • “But you already had a chance to show yourself in front of an enemy and you did not take it. How can you be trusted that it will not happen again?”
  • “I have understood and have had the chance to think over many things.”
    He started telling me about some Komsomol activists from “Molodaya Gvardia” ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Young_Guard_(Soviet_resistance) ) from Krasnodon which I knew nothing about back then. Seems as he was well informed about those resistance fighter, or maybe he was even connected to them.
  • “Well, let us say that you are now admitted into the ranks of the Komsomol” – he said at the end.
    ( remark: On the attached picture: bottom left – Komsomol membership papers. Bottom right – Photo of Yurii Klimov taken in Rumania on the 30 Dec 1944. )

At the beginning of August we got good news – the opening of the Second Front by the Americans and English. ( remark: A little time line mix up. ) This news gave us even more confidence in the imminent defeat of the Hitlerites. Tank brigades under the cover of night began arriving at our station and hastily unloaded their material. We were pleased to see their armour and the long calibre guns. The heavy artillery and “Katyusha” rocket launchers also arrived. We were exhausted, working day and night to unload the ammunition boxes from the train cars. Everything indicated that soon our Front would see some action. In the middle of August near the station … (remark: blank space. ) companies from our battalion were involved in a land sweep intended to capture German parachutists-saboteurs allegedly dropped in our rear. There was even a description of the enemy’s radio operator. From early morning to the late night we swept the area, walking in a line 20-30 meters apart. We walked the fields, forests, and ravines. In the settlements after setting up guard on the perimeter we thoroughly searched every structure, every cellar, every garret and every barn. It was all in vain! But they must be somewhere? Later after the war, I understood that it was part of a planned deception operation - the falce direction of the intended ofensive was fed to the enemy. In order to avoid chances of him checking the real level of our troop concentration on this false direction we had to sweep the area.

On the morning 20th of August the mighty roar of the salvos came from the direction of the front line.

[ to be continued ]

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#49

- 15 -

On the morning 20th of August the mighty roar of the salvos came from the direction of the front line. They came like ocean waves – one moment they would die out but only to re-emerge with new force in another place. In the beginning the cannonade could also be heard from the front stretch north of Tiraspol, near town Dubasari. But the main thrust was conducted from the bridgehead, which was cleared on the other side of Dniester in the area of Moldavian settlement Kitzkany, south of Tiraspol. General Tolbuhin’s plan succeeded – the thrust was strong and unexpected by the enemy. The tanks and motorised infantry rushed into the breach. The swift advance of the 3rd and 2nd Ukrainian fronts had begun. The result was the defeat of the German forces in the area of Kishinev and Iasi. At the end of the 23rd of August the Soviet mobile groups reached the outskirts of the Romanian capital – Bucharest. The Romanian king, Michael I, a young handsome officer of my age, overthrew the government grovelling before Hitler and asked for peace. Michael I later received from Stalin order of “Victory” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Order_of_Victory) – the only Soviet diamond covered order that was given to a monarch. His service was described shortly – “for courageous act which lead to Romania’s withdrawal from the war”.

Our battalion was urgently relocated to the Tiraspol suburbs – khutor Blizhny. Tiraspol, whish was a front line town just three days ago, now was in deep rear. The civilian life begun to re-emerge. In Blizhny our unit occupied all of the buildings: one storey school was used for barracks, farmyard sheds, the previously existed Kolhoz office, and the private houses. The town’s commandant ordered all the military units residing in the town and suburbs to organise around the clock patrolling. Our squad was sent for the guarding duty in accord with the order. Tiraspol in those days was flooded with columns of Romanian and German POW captured in encirclement at Kishinev.

According to the schedule I had to take the guarding duty at the battalion’s guardhouse from the midnight to four a.m. Already before the offensive all the automatic weapons were collected in our battalion. It was in need in the first place for the soldiers who were to break through the German defence. And so my PPSh was collected too and I instead was again given an ordinary rifle with a four edged bayonet. I never had ordinary cartridges in my belt. Unloading cartridges I always got only armour piercing-incendiary, tracers or explosive ones, which bullet point market with red.

Sergeant, who the guard commander that night, led us to our posts. I got the guardhouse post as planned. The guardhouse was a small structure, either a sauna or a shed, under a two sloped roof, without windows and a small door. It was located outside of the khutor on the edge of a bush covered ravine. There were two or three soldiers from our battalion placed in the guardhouse. They got penalty for disciplinary misdemeanour. The place was dark and not illuminated. The weather was still and sultry. The “punished” were already asleep. The door was locked; the key was in the guard commander’s possession.

While I was there my mind wandered and I recalled my father and mother who I had not seen in four long years. Recently I had begun to receive letters from them on a regular basis. They were alive and healthy, both had jobs. My father had become head of studies at the newly opened pedagogical school in Petuhovo. I wished I could be there to visit them, just for a day – to see and hear everything for myself, to meet old childhood friends. My mother wrote that Tema Mikov had left for a flying school in Kurgan. He passed out at the end of 1941 and was sent to the frontline near Tula or Kaluga. He was not lucky. His IL-2 was shot down on the very first sorty. (remark: Information from the death certificate accessible on the online RKKA casualty database - “Anatoly Ivanovitch Mikov, second lieutenant of the 624 ground-attack aviation regiment, died 5th of June 1943 in crash at the airfield Volintsevo in Tula region, buried in Village Volintsevo.“) This is the sad story of my best friend. Mother also wrote that my sister, Tanja, was studying in Petropavlovsk in an institute evacuated from Moscow. I was impressed that my sister, like me, was studying land management. In 1943 the institute returned to Moscow, to the original office at 15 Kazakova Street. The institute’s name was “Institute Of Land Use Planning” (http://www.guz.ru/index.phtml?lang=eng), or MIIZ for short (remark: this is the Russian acronym for the “Institute Of Land Use Planning”). I already knew of its existence; a couple of students from our group had moved there from our institute in Odessa in 1940. One of them was a girl from Moscow – Kravchiskaya. Our paths were to cross again after the war when we met at MIIZ.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a group of people who I could not recognise in the darkness.

  • Halt! Who goes there? – I challenged.
  • It is us! – came the reply, followed by the password.
    I recognised the voice of our guard commander. Apart from him and two other patrol soldiers there were two men dressed in civil clothes. They were mumbling something incoherent in either the Moldavian or Rumanian language. It was clear that they were pretty drunk. The guard commander took out the key, intending to open the door and place the detainees inside with our soldiers. But those categorically objected because there was not enough room inside. Then the guard commander made a decision to leave the two detainees outside the guardhouse until the morning. The "Rumanian saboteurs”, as the guard commander called them, had been stopped by our patrol. They had tried to run and when stopped again attempted to resist the patrol by threatening them with a bayonet. They had neither a pass nor any other kind of documentation on them.

They were made to lie on some rush mats next to the guardhouse door. Leaving, the guard commander earnestly warned me that I would bear my full responsibility for the detainees. If they escaped it, would be on my head. He was convinced these really were not ordinary people and therefore ordered me to be extra careful. Saying this, he and the rest of the patrol left. It was about two o’clock in the morning.

[ to be continued ]

#50

- 16 -

My “saboteurs” started to converse quietly. Since I knew many Romanian words, I understood that they were planning to escape. It alarmed me. Holding my rifle in my hands, I walked back and fourth five meters away from where they were laying. It was dark, but the two grey figures could be distinguished on the light mats. At one point when I was in front of them, one of the men rose on his knees and said: “Tovarischul! Comrade! Eu vreu merzhi a kasa. Povtim!” – “Comrade, let us go home. Please!”

  • Zhos! – I shouted at them. (Down. Do not get up.)
    And I turned my rifle on him. But the one who was just talking suddenly rose up onto his feet and grabbed the bayonet with both hands… I sensed his strong hands pulling the rifle. There was no time for hesitation – I realised it immediately. Every split second would be decisive in the outcome of the duel.
  • Stop! Do not move! I will fire!
    I shouted, this time in Russian, and pulled the rifle back hard simultaneously jumping three – four steps backwards. Despite his two-handed grip he did not managed to keep hold of it – the Russian four edged bayonet is to thin for that ( http://1.1.1.5/bmi/world.guns.ru/rifle/mosinbayo.jpg ). Clanking the bolt forward, I armed the rifle and fired without aiming… at the attacker. Then again one shot after another, but this time above their heads. Two tracers went flying high into the night sky – this meant the alarm and a call for the guard commander. He and two other guards came very quickly. Their tramping could be heard all over the sleeping village.

At the commander’s order I gave a brief report: assault and attempted escape. He pointed his flashlight at the detained… Something was quietly squelching, like a little stream… A large bloodstain on he rush mat. His legs and lower torso were on the ground, hands wide spread to the sides… The guard commander examined the second detainee, but he was lying down without any sign of life. Both of them killed with one bullet – the thought flashed in my mind. But the patrol soldiers managed to bring him round and establish that he was alive.
The “prisoners” in the guardhouse woke up and kept asking the commander about the events outside. There were maybe 30 minutes left of my watch. I was relieved and we went to the guard quarters. I placed the rifle in the weapon pyramid ( http://www.nortfort.ru/kaur/foto_sn12.html ) and undressed preparing to sleep. But I could not close my eyes. The guard commander and other soldiers asked me again and again about the night’s events. No one had any idea who those men were or why they had come or what they were doing near our position. Very early the next morning the commander left to go to headquarters, probably to report on the incident. My troubled slumber was interrupted by the guard commander and a captain – the headquarters officer. He gave orders to place me under arrest. My belt, shoulder marks, and puttees were taken from me by the guard commander and placed in the safe box. Now the problem was where to place me for the arrest – the guardhouse was full. The solution was found in a small storeroom next to the school building. The door was closed on a latch and a guard was placed outside. The guard commander and the officers explained to me that this measure was necessary until the investigation came to a conclusion. In the afternoon an official from the public prosecutor’s office in Tiraspol arrived – a very young woman, almost a teenager. She was an investigator. Records of formal questioning were assembled as well as an inspection of the rifle. The questioning was long and many questions were asked.
I remember some of them. Apparently they seemed natural to the official but they dragged the investigation onto a false track:

  • Did you know the detainees?
  • Why did you apply deadly force without a warning shot?
  • Why did you use a fragmentation round?
  • Why did not you use your bayonet instead of shooting?
  • Why were the detainees not placed inside the guardhouse?
  • What did the detainees talked about?
  • What are the details of the assault?

All the points were checked many times. I remember that she took a handkerchief out of her purse and wiped the bayonet trying to establish if this rifle had been fired recently. In the first day our officers found out everything about the detained men. It was all very straightforward: the two “saboteurs” were two Moldavian workers mobilized for work on the nearby airfield, old family men. The previous evening they had left their unit without permission to visit a woman on the outskirts of Tiraspol. They got very drunk and while returning to their unit were arrested by our patrol. Both were from a village close to Kishinev. The nature of their innocent prank and my actions towards them shed some doubt on the legality of my action as a guard. At that time the military prosecutor’s office had already moved on behind the front line and according to rumours was already in Kishinev.

The public prosecutor’s office that investigated my case was leaning to the conclusion that I had committed “use of excessive force in self-defence”. According to the criminal code of those days it could mean up to three years in prison. My commanders, seeing that it might end badly, decided instead to address the case to the military prosecutor of the 3rd Ukrainian Front. It is worth mentioning that there was an apparent breech of the regulations as the detainees were not placed inside a guardhouse and were ordered to be guarded in the open.

[ to be continued ]

#51

- 17 -

The result of the interrogation of the other Moldavian was not in my favour: he denied any escape attempt and any assault on a guard. The soldiers locked in the guardhouse were not considered to be direct witnesses and their testimony did not clarify the situation for the investigators. The victim’s autopsy supported my testimony: shot from a distance of four metres, bullet entered the thorax in the area of the heart and exited in fragments from the back. The bullet’s path indicated that the victim was on his feet and his torso fully turned in my direction, which corresponded to a posture during an assault…

After about four days, I was escorted to the military prosecutor’s office in Kishinev under the guard of Lieutenant Asyamochkin and two soldiers from our battalion. Unfortunately at around that time my bad leg started to hurt. The feeling was familiar to me from my childhood. A new abscess was forming on my right thigh in the area affected by the poliomyelitis. At first it doesn’t hurt and doesn’t hinder walking, but with time the pain gets sharper and after 10 – 15 days reaches the stage where the leg gets swollen and walking becomes impossible. We crossed Tiraspol, then a large village – Tarkani, then over a pontoon bridge across the Dniester. When we reached Bendery we halted for lunch. Lieutenant Asyamochkin had been in the forces since the autumn of 1941 and was from Omsk, where he had left his wife and children. Learning that I came from Petuhovo and that my parents were teachers living in Siberia, he immediately considered me to be his “fellow Siberian” [remark: Petuhovo and Omsk are actually rather far apart]. He gave me back my shoulder marks, puttees and the belt, which strictly speaking was forbidden by the regulations. Yet what else could he do to make things easier for his fellow countryman? This also made it easier for my escort – they did not have to follow some of the formalities, which otherwise they would have to observe while escorting a prisoner. Now we just appeared like four servicemen and no one would guess that this group was a prisoner under escort. In the evening we reached a big village. We procured some grape wine from the local innkeeper – Asyamochkin was a master in these matters. We had wine and food and slept on the floor in one of the rooms. Everyone was happy – to spend a few days away from base – every soldier’s dream. We all enjoyed our sudden freedom.

In Kishinev we found lodgings in a house with a big garden on the southern outskirts of the town. This was the season for pears and there were so many of them that they covered the ground under the trees. While we were having breakfast, Lieutenant Asyamochkin left with a dispatch to find the prosecutor’s office. Obviously, I was again without my belt and shoulder marks. He returned very quickly. The military prosecutor’s office had moved two days earlier and according to the rumours was now located in Izmail, or maybe in Constanta. On the way back we came across the town market. We were impressed by the abundance and cheapness of the fruits and wine. We had some grape wine and caught a “Studebaker” going in our direction – soon we were again in the vicinity of our battalion. On the way we noticed large columns of German and Rumanian POWs. They were being escorted to Tiraspol, where several POW camps were located. The railway to Kishinev was still under repair and soldiers were working day and night fixing the tracks and the bridges. It had all been blown up by the Germans during their retreat. To this day I remember and will never forget the sight that only a war can produce: the corpse of a German squashed on the asphalt, maybe by a tank column. It had been flattened to a pancake by the passing trucks. No one bothered to take him away. It was causing no hindrance to the traffic but it was a horrific sight!

My leg was hurting and I limped noticeably. Yet I was placed again into solitary confinement. I was there for two days, with time to reflect on my situation. The veterans said that I would not escape the fate of being sentence to a penal battalion. I was mentally ready for that. In the long hours of solitude I thought of my youth when my parents lived and worked in Kamishlov, then Sverdlovsk, a two-storey house made of logs and situated in a settlement almost exclusively populated by railway workers… the boys who I played “cops and robbers” with… Boria Smirnov - son of the chief train conductor for the route “Sverdlovsk – Mineral Springs”… Volka and Shurka Shipulins, who lived in the adjacent room in our house… their sister Sonya. I well remember their father dressed in the railway uniform with a uniform cap on his head and a railway badge. Their tall and almost deaf mother – she was eternally grumbling with her snuffling voice.
Vitka Nadtochiy – son of the former Austrian POW in WWI who stayed in Russia and served in the Red Army during the Civil War. We shared the same apartment with them – a communal kitchen and toilet.
I recalled the childhood pastimes: riding on the railcars. We travelled like that very often in the summertime to the station “73km”. We also sailed self-made rafts and climbed tall trees. Did it all really happen to me?

And what about me walking alone to the kindergarten? I went through the whole town alone without my parents. It was a real adventure! Many things to see on the way – everything was exciting for me! Those were good times! I went to school in 1930. Elementary school was located in front of a huge grey granite building. My father worked there – inspector of the schools for the families of workers on the Perm railway net. For the second class I went to another school – closer to our home. They were difficult and hungry times. It cheered me to remember the extra meals we got in school. Pea soup or pea mush. It was delicious! I was not enthusiastic about studying during the primary school years. Something I did not like much. Too much discipline and too little playtime.

My recollections were interrupted. A captain and Lieutenant Asyamochkin opened the door. They told me to dress quickly and to prepare myself for a journey to Tiraspol.

[ to be continued ]

#52

Do you have any more to post yet egorka?

#53

yes, i do. Will continue in short time.

#54

Thanks. I enjoy reading the “human interest” stories, rather than just history/historical fact books. Take care!

#55

- 18 -

From Tiraspol we took a freight train that included a single passenger car. It took us to the end of the line which, if I am not mistaken, was the station at Artsyz. Beyond that the tracks had been damaged and not yet repaired. By a combination of walking and hitching we reached Izmail by evening. It was already dark and we could not see the town. The military commandant’s office and the border guard’s office were located at the river port [the river Danube]. We spent the night on the pier and very early the next morning went to the river crossing. Apparently the military prosecutor’s office had not stayed for long in Izmail and had already moved to Rumanian town of Giurgiu, which is also located on the banks of the Danube. Izmail’s military commandant advised Lt. Asiamochkin to go there by train across Romania. My bad leg concerned me more and more, especially after long walks. We reached the Danube crossing point at about noon. It was a wonderful warm and sunny September day. We purchased a huge watermelon from the ferryman. It was time to get something to eat. The ferryman sat with us and we chatted. He was “Rusyn” [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rusyns] – a local name of the Nekrasov Cossacks who fled here from Russian Tsar’s oppressions in the previous century [ Inaccurate information. The Nekrasov Cossacs moved to the Danube area after 1740, not in the 19th century. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nekrasov_Cossacks ]. His attire was quite distinctive; there was something traditionally Russian in his look. A broad, thick beard, long curly hair, and proportional facial features – it all clearly distinguished him from local Rumanian and Moldavian population. A long white robe girdled by sash highlighted his well built figure.

Here we received 5 days food ration from the military food supply depot. I remember, we were amused by the German hard tack, which we were given instead of bread. Formed as a biscuit, but not sweet; well packed. Back then we were thinking that Germans made such tasteless biscuits because of shortages. Now I know that those were just intentionally dry crusts, nothing more.

The town of Tulcha, located on the other side of the Danube, was quickly reached thanks to the quick rowing of our ferryman. Now we had crossed the border and were in another country. Here we were in the domain of the Romanian language, though there were some people who could understand a little Russian. We took a train “Constanta – Bucharest.” We shared a compartment with a Rumanian naval officer dressed in neat sparkly uniform. He fawned over us all the way trying to win our favour. But just recently had been enemies, fought against each other. And now he had to fawn over the victors…

The next day – Bucharest. We walked across the whole town to the other railway station. We looked around, gazing. We were impressed by the wide selection of consumer goods and food available. Such abundance was not familiar to us from our pre-war lives. The currency in use was the Rumanian Leu, which we did not have. Of course the prices were high, but at least one had possibility to buy what one needed. An express train, “Rapid”, delivered us to Giurgiu the next morning. Then we took ferry to the other bank of Danube where a Bulgarian town, Ruse, could be seen. The commandant told us that the front’s military prosecutor’s office had moved to the Bulgarian town of Dolna Oryahovitsa. Train again. In the evening we reached the town of our destination. In Ruse we were impressed by touching Bulgarian affability and our ability to communicate without an interpreter. We noticed their newspapers, signboards and greeting banners. All was similar to Russian and rather understandable. The whole of Bulgaria was flooded with red flags, Bulgarian flags and flowers. They were celebrating the expulsion of fascism from their land. They were very happy to see us, Russian soldiers: they treated us well and greeted us with kind words. Such welcome I saw nowhere else before. And likely will never see it again.

The next day we were received in the military prosecutor’s office. First, Lt. Asyamochkin delivered my case documents from the civil prosecutor’s office of Tiraspol and papers from my regimental headquarters. Then I was asked into the office. I was asked to report the whole matter and after answering few questions told to await in the reception.

[ to be continued ]

#56

- 19 -

Soon Lt. Asiamochkin too came out of the office. Looking at his face I could see that he was pleased with his talk with the prosecutor. “Everything will be alright” – he told me. We were told to come back in a couple of hours to arrange the paperwork. My leg really started to hurt, I got shivers. When we came back I, in the presence of the lieutenant, was informed that I had acted correctly at the guard post and my actions had not been criminal. I was to be released from custody upon leaving the prosecutor’s office. I was happy beyond understanding! Both Lt. Asiamochkin and the other soldiers were happy too. The only thing that cast a shadow over my happiness was my poor state of health.

We took a train back to Bucharest. There we stopped for a couple of days. We stayed in barracks built by the Germans at the railway station square “Gara-de-Nord”.

Unexpectedly, I met Pavka Obogrelov while eating in the special canteen for the Soviet soldiers. Pavka was the older brother of my childhood friend in my home town. We were both happy to meet and shared our life stories, talked about relatives and friends. Obogrelov’s family moved from Petuhovo before the war and settled in the neighbourhood of the town of Batum, Azerbaijan. Pavka finished a technical school course there while his younger brother, Yurka, continued in primary school. And now this surprising reunion in the soldiers’ canteen in Bucharest. After lunch I lay on my bed as my leg hurt, while Asiamochkin with soldiers went for a tour of the city. In the evening they joked about their tour and the “easy girls” they saw at the railway square.

From Bucharest our way back crossed the town of Brailu on the banks of the Danube. I do not know why we ended up there, maybe accidentally, just because the train stopped there or maybe because of Lt. Asiamochin’s lack of geographical intuition. But now in order to reach Tiraspol we had to take a boat over Danube to the town of Galati. That is about 70km upriver. We spent the whole night on the upper deck, chilled to the bone. I felt really ill. My temperature rose. In the morning going from the port to the railway station I had to use a stick as a cane. I had to hurry to reach my battalion and its medical unit where I was guarantied care and help.

Next morning we reached the khutor of Blizhniy. As always, the company’s morning muster was ordered. Overcoming my pain I took a place in the line. Lieutenant-Colonel Chernih – the battalion’s commander and Major Pehota – the commander’s deputy for political work announce to the battalion the order that I was to be given a citation for remarkable conduct during guard duty and the prevention of escape.
– “I serve the Soviet Union” – I answered according to the regulations.
Then I had to stay in bed for 10 days, released from all service duties.

While staying in Blizhny our unit began to prepare for a long march to the towns of Reni and Galati. The exact place that we had just came from.

[ to be continued ]

#57

- 20 -

Liberation of Europe
In the meantime the Yasso-Kishinev strategic offensive of the 2nd and 3rd Ukrainian front developed swiftly. Our forces, after a forced crossing of the Danube, rushed across Rumania into Bulgaria and Hungary, and reached the Yugoslav border. The fight for liberation of Budapest had begun.

Lying on my sickbed I saw that our 88th Separate Work Battalion was preparing for relocation. Dislocation was approaching. The battalion’s personnel were to make a 200km route march into Rumania. I was to move as part of one of our logistic units, the one that looked after the horses.

Just before departure the platoon leader, comrade Zhitovoz, sent me and another soldier on a two-horse carriage to Tiraspol. We were to collect some supplies from the military storage depot. The road wound along the bank of Dniester which used to be our defensive line before the war. Here and there I could see pillboxes blown up in 1941 by our forces retreating under enemy pressure.

At the supply store in Tiraspol I exchanged my ordinary rifle for a new sniper rifle. The sergeant major, who was to issue weapons to us according to the equipment list, had for a long time rejected my request to get a rifle with an optical sight. But he changed his mind after I gave him my entire personal stash of tobacco. My dream of having a sniper rifle finally came true. I had loved firearms since I was a kid, when we hunted ducks and roe deer. A good gun is essential for a hunter. Everyone bragged about the finer qualities of his gun. Competing claims were decided in shooting at a cap or a hat thrown high up into the air. We could be easily recognised by the pellet holes in our headgear.

Our battalion was lined up on the local school ground. The companies formed a square with our commander Chernih and his deputy Pehota in the centre. The order for the march and the specific details were given and our column got going.

The logistical company closed up the rear of the column. In such a manner we covered the distance in a week, passing by places such as Căuşeni, Besarabeasca, Comrat, Bolgrad and reaching the town of Reni on the banks of Danube. But soon we were ordered to relocate to Galati where we stayed next to the river port. We worked in three shifts a day loading the barges and other boats with the ammunition, provisions and other goods for the front. The stuff first had to be unloaded from the rail cars because the European rail tracks were narrower than Russian ones.

Galati is a small Rumanian town on the Danube, tidy and cosy. I remember it also because that is where I learned about the failed assassination attempt on Hitler. We regretted so much that he did not get nailed. We believed: his death - war’s end.

[ to be continued ]

#58

- 21 -

The battalion command, knowing that I can speak a little Rumanian, relieved me from the loading work in the port and gave me some assignments in the town. I remember how together with the section leader sergeant Komarov (he was from Vladimir county, a secondary school teacher in the town of Kovrov) we went to a shop to buy a Soviet flag with the hammer and sickle on its silk surface. The abundance of textile goods – wool, silk, cotton – was astonishing, as was the speed with which the hucksters adapted the prices to the increased demand from the customers, i.e. the Russian army, and adapted to their customers’ tastes. That is why such Soviet flags were available. I bought a “Kubanka” – a hat that was in fashion with all cavalrymen and with anyone from the Don, Kuban or Caucasus. In Galati I took a photograph – with my sniper rifle and wearing my “Kubanka” – and sent it to my parents in Petuhovo.

The abundance of consumer goods and food was simply astonishing to us. Where does it all come from during such a difficult time of war? Although the prices, in Rumanian Leu, were very high for ordinary people, everything was available.

The Soviet currency was accepted. It was accepted in all kind of transactions at the rate 100 Leu for 10 Rubbles. One week earlier in Tiraspol, milk cost 80 Rubbles and a loaf of bread 120 – 130 Rubbles. But now the prices in Soviet currency were not more than one Rubble! Obviously, everyone who possessed Rubbles immediately used them. In demand were sausages, salo, fruits, wine. Also clothes, footwear, wool and silk fabrics were purchased for the purpose of sending them home.

We were stationed in Galati for a long time, about 2 months. Towards the end of this period the store shelves emptied and prices skyrocketed. While in Galati, in the first two weeks, I was assigned to arrange the delivery of freshly baked bread from the local baker. For this purpose I had to deliver to him a certain amount of flour and get the bread in return. What wonderful bread that was! Little loaves of 400g each. Our soldiers could eat them in one go! But there also occurred an “international dispute” with the bakery owner. The thing is that our flour was of poor quality, either rye or barley with admixtures. According to Soviet regulations the final weight of the batch should be 100% greater than the weight of flour used, i.e. double the flour weight. The baker argued that it was not possible and that it was robbery. He could not use our flour in production. Maybe his equipment and the technology he used did not allow for it. But authority is authority, especially a military one, and, moreover, one that ideologically subordinates private capital. Therefore he found it sensible not to argue with me and regularly delivered the correct quantity of his wonderful bread.

Another event linked to Galati stands out in my memory. One day I was called urgently to headquarters to act as interpreter. In the office an old couple with tears on their eyes were trying to explain something to the officer on guard duty. With some effort we came to understand that they were complaining about the overnight robbery of their little shop, a theft committed by Soviet soldiers. The guard commander, myself and two other soldiers went to the place of the incident. Their shop was located on the ground floor of a two-storey house at the end of a street not far from our headquarters. This area was in our unit’s patrol zone. The owners lived on the second floor, above their shop. Their shop was small and they traded exclusively in groceries and wine.

The shop had clearly been ransacked. Salt, cereals and other goods were spilled on the floor. The owners did not say much, but told us it had become difficult to keep the shop open because of the shortage of goods. “Tovarischuli” [the Rumanian for the Russian word “Tovarisch”] threatened them with guns and took 15 boxes of fruit jelly and a couple of wine boxes. From their descriptions we gathered that the soldiers were in tankers’ uniforms – overalls and tank helmets. They had been led by a young officer in a green greatcoat. That’s when I noticed a loose button with a star and with loop broken off. It seems the button (it was a plastic one) was torn off while the thieves were moving the boxes. Clearly it was work of the tankers who had been waiting for 2 days for the transportation by rail of their equipment. Our patrol had seen them in the night entering a house on our street. In short order they were delivered “fresh as a daisy” to our headquarters and placed under interrogation. The young Lieutenant-Major was missing one button from his greatcoat. Only the loop was left hanging on a thread. The three tankers were sitting hanging their head. At first they categorically denied any involvement but after they were presented with the missing button and identified by the shop owner, they confessed the crime. But we are not a prosecutor’s office. The owner was told that “the robbers” will be punished and he was sent home. The boys remorsefully begged us to let them go. They were going to the frontline, into the fighting, and what awaited them there no-one knew. It was decided to let them go but to report the incident to their troop train commander.

[ to be continued ]

#59

- 22 -

While in Galati Sergeant Komarov, odessit Silonov [ “odessit” – resident of Odessa; www.odessitclub.org/en/ ] and I organised a lucrative transaction. We bought a case of matchboxes and a box of toilet soap. The soap was for the sergeant from the 3rd platoon. He lived in the town of Syzran where he had a wife and two children. He was veteran of the Finnish war, had been wounded. Since the beginning of the war he had not been able to get home. Oh happy day – someone was needed to escort a train loaded with used artillery cartridges to Syzran. Directly to his hometown! The soap was for him – selling it he would get money to spend while staying with his family, for presents.

The matches were taken care of by myself and Komarov. We took them to the town of Bolgrad (a small Moldavian town). There on a street market, the middlemen immediately bought the matches from us paying 9 Rubbles per matchbox while the retail price was 10 rubbles. Komarov and I got rich in a flash. Such money could make for a good life even in Rumania!

Soon after that our platoon was sent to the town of Chernavoda for work at an army supply depot. One of the sights of this little Rumanian town was the long railway bridge across Danube. Nowadays it is protected as an example of 19th century architecture. The bridge was built by the Rumanian engineer Angela Salingi in 1895 and has length of 1,595 metres. I have recently read in a newspaper that there is plan to build a new road and rail bridge there and that the old one will be preserved as monument.

The headquarters of the General Tolbukhin, the commander of the 3rd Ukrainian Front, had been located in Chernavoda prior to our arrival. Being a student I was considered to be educated and therefore was assigned as clerk to the supply depot. My task every tenth day was to compile a list of all the items present. This list was then sent to the Front’s headquarters. We were billeted in a fine villa, which we shared with some repatriated civilians who were temporally employed at Supply Depot #18916. [ remark: “Repatriated civilians” are likely to be some “OST-Arbeiter” repatriated from the liberated area. ]


On this picture (taken in October 1944 in Chernavoda) I am standing with my section mates. In the background is the bridge across Danube. The bridge is named after a Rumanian king. It was built in 1895 and is considered to be an architectural monument.

I can’t remember the names of those I briefly worked with at Supply Depot #18916, but I have kept the photograph from that time. I took it myself with a camera that I bought in Galati from a second-hand shop. I bought a cheap “Agfa” which used wide film. My own photo camera, a “Turist”, was confiscated by a Rumanian security officer during an apartment search back in Odessa. Here is a photograph of those decent and honest companions from the supply depot head office. Right in the middle, behind the desk, is my chief. He is a bookkeeper from the town of Ufa. Next to him is the Captain, the depot manager.

On the other side, there is a civilian employee, a nice young woman from the settlement of Milerovo in the Rostov area. The photo was taken at the end of September or beginning of October 1944, just before we were relocated back to our battalion in Galati. As a reminder of those times I still have a belt that I got from a German horse saddle stored in the depot trophy section. By the way, a lot of German POWs worked there and we had lengthy discussions with them. Their defeat in the war they mainly explained by the fact that they had been outnumbered by the Russians.

Returning to Galati we found that our battalion had almost completely relocated to the Rumanian town of Timişoara. Soon we and our other soldiers who arrived back in Galati from various assignments, left for Timişoara via Bucharest. In the waiting time between trains we wandered around the Rumanian capital sightseeing. For lodgings we stayed at private apartment in the area of the “Malaksi” factory. The evening was spent in the theatre hall at a concert given by Kala-Tanase – a Rumanian celebrity, well known in artistic circles at that time. I had heard of him back in Odessa where he had been performing on tour.


Remark: 1st map with the war path marked on it.
click to enlarge (1.5Mb)

[ to be continued ]

#60

Whewww…finally got caught up! I’ve been away and have had only short intervals online lately. Thanks for posting Egorka!

Mooooooo:D