In Odessa

I was born in the city of Vinnitsa in 1926. In 1932 our family moved to the city of Odessa where my father had been shifted to work. In the early 1900s my father was a student of the Emperor Alexander the Second, Highest Technical School, the Mechanical Faculty, bridge-building specialty. (By the way, at the same time Boris Rossinskii, the future “Russian Aviation’s Grandfather,” studied at that Highest Technical School).

In 1905, Nkolai Bauman, a famous Russian professional Bolshevik-revolutionary, was killed and a civil funeral for him was conducted in the Highest Technical School’s assembly hall. Since my father was an excellent elocutionist, it was suggested that he deliver the great Russian poet Mikhail Lermontov’s poem which contains accusatory lines “You, the haughty descendants…” near the Bauman’s coffin. Although my father wasn’t a member of any political party, he accepted the suggestion – to declaim was a pleasure to him. The School’s deputy rector summoned him and said: “You are a junior but if you deliver this poem, you’d be thrown out of Moscow within 24 hours and be blacklisted. And no educational institution of the Empire would accept you.” In spite of this threat my father delivered the poem during the ceremony and … “flew out.” Initially he worked at some light industry works, and then he became a mathematics teacher in Odessa. Much later my father stopped teaching and worked at a study aids store.

All of my mother’s relatives were connected to the Odessa Opera in different ways. My grandfather was a watchman there and my mother’s older sister, aunt Polia, was a doorkeeper. My mother became a dressmaker at the same theater. In that way I became attached to the theater since my early childhood. And I had no doubt that I would be an actor. Being a sixth-grader, I became a member of the school puppet show and had played the part of the old man in the Pushkin’s “The Tale about a Fisherman and a Fish.”

It is hard for me to remember the relationship between my father and me when the war started. He wanted to have a talk with me but I was too busy with my own matters and refuse. My father became upset. Then, when I needed fatherly advice, it was too late – my father was killed in action…

Despite his age and poor health, my father was one of those who left for the front shortly after 22 June. He knew field-engineering and was mobilized. On 13 September 1941 we received the pokhoronka (an official notice about his death).

A member of the Fighter Battalion

In 1941 I was 15 years old and moved up to the 9th grade of the high school. Since the first days of the war I along with several teens joined the local Fighter Battalion. (Fighter battalions were organized in the western regions of USSR just after the war began. They were militarized volunteer formations of civil citizens and were initially intended for fighting against the enemy’s saboteurs. Most members of the fighter battalions were armed with rifles). As the Fighter Battalion’s youngest members we had a special mission: as soon as the air-raid alarm sounded we had to be on alert on the roof of a particular building. When a firebomb fell, we had to grab and to throw it down. Then we covered the bomb with sand.

German and Romanian troops attacking toward Odessa were very strong but the city defense went on for quite a long time. Soon our Fighter Battalion was ordered to retreat. Initially our way lay along the Black Sea coast. Then we were ferried over to the city of Nikolaev. Our final destination was the city of Mozdok, North Ossetia. Only there an order came in to shift all of our battalion’s personnel to the frontline forces. I was too young to be drafted. Nevertheless, at my request some well-wishers made a distortion of a couple of years upward on my papers, and finally, I found myself in the “mother infantry”: the 1374th Rifle Regiment of the 416th Azerbaijan Rifle Division that belonged at that time to the Transcaucasian Front. With this division I came through up to the end of the war.

At the time of our arrival to Mozdok the division was re-forming and I received a uniform and a rifle.

Meanwhile, the German troops managed to occupy a substantial part of the Soviet land including my hometown Odessa. (My mom had left the city and already stayed in Vinnitsa with her uncle and aunt).

The Hungarian, Italian and Romanian troops supported the Hitler's forces. It was a very hard period for the Red Army, and scores of our warriors had been taken prisoners. Their fate was terrible.

On the occupied Soviet territory the Germans conducted themselves as victors. They were taught that we are muck, rags, Russian swines. People who came through the occupation told how terrible their life was at that time. The occupiers raped local young women. Also the Germans formed a police consisting of local men, and these policemen were espesially cruel.

At the Third Ukrainian Front

After its reinforcements our division started fighting in the fall of 1943. This time it was a unit of the 5th Assault Army that belonged to the 3rd Ukrainian Front. The division commander was Major-General Syzranov, the deputy division commander was Major-General Ziuvanov. Both were very wise and attentive commanders. They personally took part in our hard battles. Assault armies were specially trained and armed for breakthroughs and for forced wide river crossings.

Soon we began driving the enemy out. After crossing the Dnieper River we liberated Nikolaev, Odessa… In was an unbearably hot summer of 1944 when we crossed the South Boog River and continued our attack. There were a lot of grapes and plenty of food on the whole.

It was clear that the German troops would retreat while our offensive went on. Nevertheless they used a terrible weapon – the flamethrowers. I had a friend who came from Siberia, a wonderful fellow. He was the deputy platoon commander, a sergeant-major. He helped me a lot! Being a townsman, I wasn’t fitted to long marches. My footwear was a pair of soldier’s shoes with the leg-wrappings, and when our column had a halt for dinner after my first 30-kilometer-long march, I realized that I couldn’t take a single step. My feet were covered with red blisters. A medic washed my feet, lanced the blisters with a blade and applied the ichthammol. During the procedure my Siberian friend was looking at me and when everybody moved off, he told me: “I see that actually you aren’t so afflicted by these wounds. Do you want to live? I’d advise you: are you comfortable right now?” – “Yes,” was my response. – “Enjoy your temporary status. Don’t think ahead – and you will live longer. If you start thinking of your fate, your attentiveness declines, and you can get under a bullet.”

So, we were already rushing into the city of Kishinev, and somewhere from the side a German triggered his flamethrower at my dear friend. I still can’t forget the dying man’s scream. We began covering him with loamy soil but in vein. I lost my friend in such a terrible way…