In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never seen so many pleasant surprises as he has had in the past three weeks. He had been waiting for an order to confer on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, a military rank for a long time, but after the order, pleasant surprises rained down in such abundance that Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter.

After the morning formation, at which the order was read out, they were immediately taken to the clothing warehouse. No, not in the general, cadet, but in the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp belts, stiff holsters, commander's bags with smooth lacquer plates, overcoats with buttons and tunics from a strict diagonal stood out. And then everyone, the entire graduation, rushed to the school tailors to fit the uniform both in height and in the waist, in order to merge into it, as into their own skin. And there they pushed, fussed and laughed so much that a state-owned enameled lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.

In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on their graduation, handed them the "ID card of the commander of the Red Army" and a weighty TT. The beardless lieutenants deafeningly shouted the number of the pistol and squeezed the dry general's hand with all their might. And at the banquet, the commanders of training platoons enthusiastically rocked and tried to settle scores with the foreman. However, everything turned out well, and this evening - the most beautiful of all evenings - began and ended solemnly and beautifully.

For some reason, it was on the night after the banquet that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov discovered that he was crunching. It crunches pleasantly, loudly and courageously. It crunches with the fresh leather of the belt, the unrumpled uniform, the shining boots. It crunches all over, like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.

Actually, it all started a little earlier. At the ball that followed after the banquet, yesterday's cadets came with girls. And Kolya did not have a girlfriend, and he stammeringly invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern, said thoughtfully: “I don’t know, I don’t know ...”, but she came. They danced, and Kolya, out of burning shyness, kept talking and talking, and since Zoya worked in the library, he talked about Russian literature. Zoya at first agreed, and in the end, touchily stuck out her clumsily painted lips:

You are crunching painfully, comrade lieutenant. In the language of the school, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was asked. Then Kolya understood it that way, and when he arrived at the barracks, he found that he crunches in the most natural and pleasant way.

I’m crunching,” he informed his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.

They were sitting on the windowsill in the corridor of the second floor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.

Take care of yourself, said a friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she is a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a foreman from an ammunition platoon.

But Kolka listened with half an ear, because he studied the crunch. And he liked this crunch very much.

The next day, the guys began to disperse: everyone was supposed to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one by one they disappeared behind the latticed gates of the school.

A Kole travel documents for some reason they didn’t give out (although there was nothing to drive: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go to find out when the orderly shouted from afar:

Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissar! ..

The commissar, who looked very much like the suddenly aged artist Chirkov, listened to the report, shook hands, indicated where to sit, and silently offered cigarettes.

I don’t smoke,” said Kolya and began to blush: he was generally thrown into a fever with extraordinary ease.

Well done, said the commissioner. - And I, you know, I still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.

And smoked. Kolya wanted to advise on how to temper the will, but the commissar spoke again.

We know you, lieutenant, as an exceptionally conscientious and diligent person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven't seen them for two years and you miss them. And you have a vacation. - He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, intently looking at his feet. - We know all this, and yet we decided to ask you specifically ... This is not an order, this is a request, mind you, Pluzhnikov. We have no right to order you ...

I'm listening, comrade regimental commissar. - Kolya suddenly decided that he would be offered to go work in intelligence, and he tensed up, ready to yell deafeningly: “Yes! ..”

Our school is expanding, - said the commissioner. - The situation is complicated, there is a war in Europe, and we need to have as many combined arms commanders as possible. In this regard, we are opening two more training companies. But their states are not yet staffed, and the property is already coming. So we are asking you, comrade Pluzhnikov, to help sort out this property. Accept it, post it...

And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position "where they send him." His whole course had long since left, he had been spinning novels for a long time, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya diligently counted bedding sets, linear meters of footcloths and pairs of cowhide boots. And wrote all sorts of reports.

So two weeks passed. For two weeks, Kolya patiently, from getting up to lights out and without days off, received, counted and arrived property, never once leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and was waiting for a leave from an angry foreman.

In June, there were few people left at the school: almost everyone had already left for the camps. Usually Kolya did not meet with anyone, up to his neck busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow he found with joyful surprise that he was ... welcomed. They salute according to all the rules of army regulations, with cadet chic throwing out their palm to the temple and famously throwing up their chin. Kolya did his best to answer with weary carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.

It was then that he began to walk in the evenings. With his hands behind his back, he went straight to the groups of cadets who were smoking before going to bed at the entrance to the barracks. Tiredly, he looked strictly in front of him, and his ears grew and grew, catching a cautious whisper:

Commander…

And, already knowing that his palms were about to fly elastically to his temples, he diligently frowned, trying to give his round, fresh, like a French bun, face an expression of incredible concern ...

Hello Comrade Lieutenant.

It was on the third evening: nose to nose - Zoya. In the warm twilight, white teeth sparkled with a chill, and numerous frills moved by themselves, because there was no wind. And this living thrill was especially frightening.

Somehow you are nowhere to be seen, Comrade Lieutenant, And you don't come to the library anymore...

Are you left at the school?

I have a special task, - Kolya said vaguely. For some reason, they were already walking side by side and not at all in that direction. Zoya talked and talked, laughing incessantly; he didn't get the point, wondering why he was walking so obediently in the wrong direction. Then he worriedly wondered if his outfit had lost its romantic crunch, moved his shoulder, and the harness immediately answered with a tight noble creak ...

- ... terribly funny! We laughed so much, we laughed so much... You're not listening, Comrade Lieutenant.

No, I'm listening. You laughed.

She stopped: her teeth flashed again in the darkness. And he no longer saw anything but that smile.

You liked me, didn't you? Well, tell me, Kolya, did you like it? ..

No, he answered in a whisper. - I just do not know. You are married.

Married? .. - She laughed noisily: - Married, right? You were told? Well, what if you're married? I accidentally married him, it was a mistake ...

Somehow he took her by the shoulders. Or maybe he didn’t take it, but she herself moved them so deftly that his hands were on her shoulders.

By the way, he's gone," she said matter-of-factly. - If you go along this alley to the fence, and then along the fence to our house, no one will notice. You want tea, Kolya, right? ..

© Vasiliev B. L., heirs, 2015

* * *

Part one

1

In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never seen so many pleasant surprises as he has had in the past three weeks. He had been waiting for an order to confer on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, a military rank for a long time, but after the order, pleasant surprises rained down in such abundance that Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter.

After the morning formation, at which the order was read out, they were immediately taken to the clothing warehouse. No, not in the general, cadet, but in the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp belts, stiff holsters, commander's bags with smooth lacquer plates, overcoats with buttons and a tunic from a strict diagonal stood out. And then everyone, the entire graduation, rushed to the school tailors to fit the uniform both in height and in the waist, in order to merge into it, as into their own skin. And there they pushed, fussed and laughed so much that a state-owned enameled lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.

In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on their graduation, handed them the "ID card of the commander of the Red Army" and a weighty "TT". The beardless lieutenants deafeningly shouted the number of the pistol and squeezed the dry general's hand with all their might. And at the banquet, the commanders of training platoons enthusiastically rocked and tried to settle scores with the foreman. However, everything turned out well, and this evening - the most beautiful of all evenings - began and ended solemnly and beautifully.

For some reason, it was on the night after the banquet that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov discovered that he was crunching. It crunches pleasantly, loudly and courageously. It crunches with the fresh leather of the belt, the unrumpled uniform, the shining boots. It crunches all over, like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.

Actually, it all started a little earlier. At the ball that followed after the banquet, yesterday's cadets came with girls. And Kolya did not have a girlfriend, and he stammeringly invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern, said thoughtfully: “I don’t know, I don’t know ...” - but she came. They danced, and Kolya, out of burning shyness, kept talking and talking, and since Zoya worked in the library, he talked about Russian literature. Zoya at first agreed, and in the end, touchily stuck out her clumsily painted lips:

- It hurts you crunch, comrade lieutenant.

In the language of the school, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was asked. Then Kolya understood it that way, and when he arrived at the barracks, he found that he crunches in the most natural and pleasant way.

“I’m crunching,” he informed his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.

They were sitting on the windowsill in the corridor of the second floor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.

“Crack your health,” said a friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she is a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a foreman from an ammunition platoon.

But Kolya listened with half an ear, because he studied the crunch.

And he liked this crunch very much.

The next day, the guys began to disperse: everyone was supposed to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one by one they disappeared behind the latticed gates of the school.

And for some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (although there was nothing to drive: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go to find out when the orderly shouted from afar:

- Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissioner! ..

The commissar, who looked very much like the suddenly aged artist Chirkov, listened to the report, shook hands, indicated where to sit, and silently offered cigarettes.

“I don’t smoke,” Kolya said and began to blush: he was generally thrown into a fever with extraordinary ease.

“Well done,” said the commissar. - And I, you know, I still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.

And smoked. Kolya wanted to advise on how to temper the will, but the commissar spoke again:

“We know you, lieutenant, as an exceptionally conscientious and diligent person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven't seen them for two years and you miss them. And you have a vacation. He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, intently looking at his feet. - We know all this, and yet we decided to ask you specifically ... This is not an order, this is a request, mind you, Pluzhnikov. We no longer have the right to order you ...

- I'm listening, comrade regimental commissar. - Kolya suddenly decided that he would be offered to go work in intelligence, and he tensed all over, ready to yell deafeningly: “Yes!”

“Our school is expanding,” the commissar said. - The situation is complicated, there is a war in Europe, and we need to have as many combined arms commanders as possible. In this regard, we are opening two more training companies. But their states are not yet staffed, and the property is already coming. So we are asking you, comrade Pluzhnikov, to help sort out this property. Accept it, post it...

And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position "where they send him." His whole course had long since left, he had been spinning novels for a long time, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya diligently counted bedding sets, linear meters of footcloths and pairs of cowhide boots. And wrote all sorts of reports.

So two weeks passed. For two weeks, Kolya patiently, from getting up to lights out and without days off, received, counted and arrived property, never once leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and was waiting for a leave from an angry foreman.

In June, there were few people left at the school: almost everyone had already left for the camps. Usually Kolya did not meet with anyone, up to his neck busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow he found with joyful surprise that he was ... welcomed. They salute according to all the rules of army regulations, with cadet chic throwing out their palm to the temple and famously throwing up their chin. Kolya did his best to answer with weary carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.

It was then that he began to walk in the evenings. With his hands behind his back, he went straight to the groups of cadets who were smoking before going to bed at the entrance to the barracks. Tiredly, he looked strictly in front of him, and his ears grew and grew, catching a cautious whisper:

- Commander...

And, already knowing that his palms were about to fly elastically to his temples, he diligently frowned, trying to give his round, fresh, like a French bun, face an expression of incredible concern ...

Hello, Comrade Lieutenant.

It was on the third evening: nose to nose - Zoya. In the warm twilight, white teeth sparkled with a chill, and numerous frills moved by themselves, because there was no wind. And this living thrill was especially frightening.

“I can’t see you anywhere, Comrade Lieutenant. And you don't come to the library anymore...

- Work.

- Have you been left at the school?

“I have a special task,” Kolya said vaguely.

For some reason, they were already walking side by side and not at all in that direction.

Zoya talked and talked, laughing incessantly; he didn't get the point, wondering why he was walking so obediently in the wrong direction. Then he worriedly wondered if his outfit had lost its romantic crunch, moved his shoulder, and the harness immediately answered with a tight noble creak ...

“…Eerily funny!” We laughed so hard, we laughed so hard. You're not listening, Comrade Lieutenant.

No, I'm listening. You laughed.

She stopped: her teeth flashed again in the darkness. And he no longer saw anything but that smile.

"You liked me, didn't you?" Well, tell me, Kolya, did you like it? ..

“No,” he answered in a whisper. - I just do not know. You are married.

“Married?” She laughed out loud. - Married, right? You were told? So what if you're married? I accidentally married him, it was a mistake ...

Somehow he took her by the shoulders. Or maybe he didn’t, but she herself moved them so deftly that his hands were suddenly on her shoulders.

"By the way, he's gone," she said matter-of-factly. - If you go along this alley to the fence, and then along the fence to our house, no one will notice. You want tea, Kolya, don't you?

He already wanted tea, but then a dark spot moved towards them from the alley twilight, swam up and said:

- Sorry.

- Comrade regimental commissar! Kolya shouted desperately, rushing after the figure that stepped aside. - Comrade regimental commissar, I ...

- Comrade Pluzhnikov? Why did you leave the girl? Hey, hey.

- Yes, yes, of course. - Kolya rushed back, said hastily: - Zoya, I'm sorry. Affairs. Service business.

What Kolya muttered to the commissar, getting out of the lilac alley to the calm expanse of the school parade ground, he had already forgotten an hour later. Something about a non-standard width, or, it seems, a standard width, but not quite a linen ... The commissar listened, listened, and then asked:

- What was that, your friend?

- No, no, what are you! Kolya got scared. - What are you, comrade regimental commissar, this is Zoya, from the library. I didn't give her the book, so...

And he fell silent, feeling that he was blushing: he greatly respected the good-natured elderly commissar and was embarrassed to lie. However, the commissar spoke of something else, and Kolya somehow came to his senses.

- It's good that you don't start the documentation: the little things in our military life play a huge disciplinary role. For example, a civilian can sometimes afford something, but we, the regular commanders of the Red Army, cannot. We cannot, for example, go for a walk with a married woman, because we are in full view, we must always, every minute, be a model of discipline for our subordinates. And it is very good that you understand this... Tomorrow, Comrade Pluzhnikov, at eleven-thirty I ask you to come to me. Let's talk about your future service, maybe we'll go to the general.

- Well, then, see you tomorrow. The commissar extended his hand, held it back, and said quietly: “But the book will have to be returned to the library, Kolya. Have to!..

Of course, it turned out very badly that I had to deceive a comrade regimental commissar, but for some reason Kolya was not too upset. In the future, a possible meeting with the head of the school was expected, and yesterday's cadet was looking forward to this meeting with impatience, fear and trembling, like a girl - a meeting with her first love. He got up long before getting up, polished his crisp boots until they glowed on their own, hemmed a fresh collar and polished all the buttons. In the command canteen - Kolya was monstrously proud that he fed in this canteen and personally paid for food - he could not eat anything, but only drank three portions of dried fruit compote. And exactly at eleven he arrived at the commissioner.

- Oh, Pluzhnikov, great! - In front of the door of the commissar's office sat Lieutenant Gorobtsov - the former commander of Kolya's training platoon - also polished, ironed and tightened. - How's it going? Are you rounding off with footcloths?

Pluzhnikov was a thorough man and therefore told everything about his affairs, secretly wondering why Lieutenant Gorobtsov was not interested in what he, Kolya, was doing here. And finished with a hint:

“Yesterday, the comrade regimental commissar asked me about business as well. And ordered...

Lieutenant Velichko was also the commander of a training platoon, but the second one, and always argued with Lieutenant Gorobtsov on all occasions. Kolya did not understand anything from what Gorobtsov told him, but nodded politely. And when he opened his mouth to ask for clarification, the door of the commissar's office flung open and a beaming and also very smart lieutenant Velichko came out.

“They gave me a company,” he said to Gorobtsov. - I want the same!

Gorobtsov jumped up, habitually straightened his tunic, driving all the folds back with one movement, and entered the office.

“Hello, Pluzhnikov,” Velichko said and sat down beside him. - Well, how are you, in general? All handed over and all accepted?

– In general, yes. - Kolya again spoke in detail about his affairs. Only I did not have time to hint anything about the commissar, because the impatient Velichko interrupted earlier:

- Kolya, they will offer - ask me. I said a few words there, but you, in general, ask.

- Where to ask?

Then the regimental commissar and lieutenant Gorobtsov came out into the corridor, and Velichko and Kolya jumped up. Kolya began “on your orders…”, but the commissar did not listen to the end:

- Let's go, comrade Pluzhnikov, the general is waiting. You are free, comrade commanders.

They went to the head of the school not through the reception room, where the duty officer was sitting, but through an empty room. At the back of this room was a door through which the commissar went out, leaving Kolya alone, preoccupied.

Until now, Kolya met with the general, when the general handed him a certificate and a personal weapon, which so pleasantly pulled his side. True, there was another meeting, but Kolya was embarrassed to remember it, and the general forgot forever.

This meeting took place two years ago, when Kolya - still a civilian, but already cut like a typewriter - along with other cut-cuts, had just arrived from the station to the school. Right on the parade ground, they unloaded their suitcases, and the mustachioed foreman (the same one whom they tried to beat after the banquet) ordered everyone to go to the bathhouse. They all went - still without formation, in a group, talking loudly and laughing - but Kolya hesitated, because he rubbed his leg and sat barefoot. While he was putting on his boots, everyone had already disappeared around the corner. Kolya jumped up, was about to rush after him, but then he was suddenly called out:

"Where are you, young man?"

The lean, short general looked at him angrily.

“The army is here, and orders in it are carried out unquestioningly. You are ordered to guard the property, so guard it until a shift comes or the order is canceled.

No one gave Kolya an order, but Kolya no longer doubted that this order, as it were, existed by itself. And so, clumsily stretching out and stifled shouting: “Yes, Comrade General!” - stayed with the suitcases.

And the guys, as a sin, failed somewhere. Then it turned out that after the bath they received cadet uniforms, and the foreman led them to a tailor's workshop so that everyone would fit the clothes to fit. All this took a lot of time, and Kolya dutifully stood near the unnecessary things. He stood and was extremely proud of it, as if guarding an ammunition depot. And no one paid any attention to him until two gloomy cadets who received extraordinary outfits for yesterday's AWOL came to pick up their things.

- I won't let you! Kolya shouted. - Don't you dare come close!

- What? one of the penalty boxers asked rather rudely. - Now I'll give it to the neck ...

- Back! shouted Pluzhnikov enthusiastically. - I'm a sentry! I order!..

Of course, he didn’t have a weapon, but he yelled so hard that the cadets decided not to get involved just in case. They went for the senior in line, but Kolya did not obey him either and demanded either a change or cancellation. And since there was no change and could not be, they began to find out who appointed him to this post. However, Kolya refused to enter into conversations and made noise until the school attendant appeared. The red armband had an effect, but, having handed over the post, Kolya did not know where to go and what to do. And the duty officer didn’t know either, and when they figured it out, the bathhouse was already closed, and Kolya had to live for another day as a civilian, but then incur the vengeful wrath of the foreman ...

And today we had to meet the general for the third time. Kolya wanted this and was desperately cowardly, because he believed in mysterious rumors about the participation of the general in the Spanish events. And having believed, he could not help but be afraid of the eyes that had only recently seen real fascists and real battles.

At last the door opened a crack, and the commissioner beckoned him with his finger. Kolya hurriedly straightened his tunic, licked his suddenly dry lips, and stepped behind the dull curtains.

The entrance was opposite the official one, and Kolya found himself behind the general's stooped back. This somewhat embarrassed him, and he shouted out the report not as clearly as he had hoped. The general listened and pointed to a chair in front of the table. Kolya sat down, putting his hands on his knees and straightening unnaturally. The general looked at him carefully, put on his glasses (Kolya was extremely upset when he saw these glasses ...) and began to read some sheets, filed in a red folder: Kolya did not yet know that this is exactly what he, Lieutenant Pluzhnikov, looks like, a private matter.

- All fives - and one three? the general was surprised. Why three?

“Troika in software,” said Kolya, blushing thickly, like a girl. “I’ll retake it, Comrade General.”

“No, comrade lieutenant, it’s already late,” the general chuckled.

“Excellent characteristics from the Komsomol and from the comrades,” the commissar said in a low voice.

“Uh-huh,” the general confirmed, plunging back into his reading.

The commissar went to the open window, lit a cigarette and smiled at Kolya as if he were an old acquaintance. Kolya politely moved his lips in response and again stared intently at the general's nose.

- Are you a good shooter? the general asked. – Prize-winning, one might say, shooter.

“I defended the honor of the school,” the commissar confirmed.

- Perfectly! The general closed the red folder, pushed it aside and took off his glasses. “We have a proposal for you, Comrade Lieutenant.

Kolya leaned forward eagerly, without uttering a word. After the post of commissioner for footcloths, he no longer hoped for intelligence.

“We suggest that you remain at the school as the commander of a training platoon,” the general said. - Responsible position. What year are you?

“I was born on the twelfth of April, one thousand nine hundred and twenty-two!” Kolya chimed in.

He spoke mechanically, because he was frantically thinking about what to do. Of course, the proposed position was extremely honorable for yesterday's graduate, but Kolya could not suddenly jump up and yell: “With pleasure, Comrade General!” He could not, because the commander - he was firmly convinced of this - becomes a real commander only after serving in the troops, having a meal with fighters from one pot, having learned to command them. And he wanted to become such a commander and therefore went to the combined arms school, when everyone was raving about aviation or, in extreme cases, tanks.

“In three years you will be eligible to enter the academy,” the general continued. “And it looks like you need to study further.

“We will even give you the right to choose,” the commissar smiled. - Well, in whose company do you want: to Gorobtsov or to Velichko?

“Gorobetsov is probably tired of him,” the general chuckled.

Kolya wanted to say that he was not tired of Gorobtsov at all, that he was an excellent commander, but all this was useless, because he, Nikolai Pluzhnikov, was not going to stay at the school. He needs a unit, fighters, a sweaty platoon strap - everything that is called short word"service". So he wanted to say, but the words got confused in his head, and Kolya suddenly began to blush again.

“You can smoke, Comrade Lieutenant,” the general said, hiding his smile. - Smoke, think over the offer ...

“It won’t work,” the regimental commissar sighed. He doesn't smoke, that's bad luck.

“I don’t smoke,” Kolya confirmed and cleared his throat carefully. "Comrade General, may I please?"

- I'm listening, I'm listening.

- Comrade General, I thank you, of course, and thank you very much for your trust. I understand that this is a great honor for me, but still, allow me to refuse, Comrade General.

- Why? The regimental commissar frowned and stepped away from the window. - What's the news, Pluzhnikov?

The general looked at him silently. He watched with obvious interest, and Kolya cheered up:

- I believe that every commander should first serve in the troops, Comrade General. So we were told at the school, and the comrade regimental commissar himself at the gala evening also said that only in a military unit can one become a real commander.

The commissar coughed in confusion and returned to the window. The general was still looking at Kolya.

- And therefore, of course, thank you very much, Comrade General, - therefore I beg you very much: please send me to the unit. In any part and for any position.

Kolya fell silent, and there was a pause in the office. However, neither the general nor the commissar noticed her, but Kolya felt how she was stretching, and was very embarrassed.

- Of course, I understand, Comrade General, that ...

“But he’s a young man, commissar,” the chief suddenly said cheerfully. - You are a young man, lieutenant, by God, you are a young man!

And the commissar suddenly laughed and clapped Kolya hard on the shoulder:

Thanks for the memory, Pluzhnikov!

And all three smiled as if they had found a way out of a not very convenient situation.

- So, in part?

- To the unit, Comrade General.

- Won't you change your mind? - The boss suddenly switched to "you" and did not change this address.

“Does it matter where they send it?” the commissioner asked. - And what about the mother, sister? .. He has no father, Comrade General.

- I know. The general hid his smile, looked seriously, drummed his fingers on the red folder. “Will the Special West suit you, Lieutenant?”

Kolya turned pink: they dreamed of serving in the Special Districts as an unthinkable success.

- Do you agree with the platoon leader?

- Comrade General! .. - Kolya jumped up and immediately sat down, remembering discipline. “Thank you very much, Comrade General!”

“But with one condition,” the general said very seriously. - I give you, lieutenant, a year of military practice. And exactly in a year I will request you back, to the school, for the position of commander of a training platoon. I agree?

“I agree, Comrade General. If you order...

- Let's say, let's say! The commissioner laughed. - We need such non-smoking passion as we need.

“Only there’s one problem here, lieutenant: you can’t get a vacation. Maximum on Sunday you should be in the unit.

“Yes, you won’t have to stay with your mother in Moscow,” the commissar smiled. - Where does she live?

- On Ostozhenka ... That is, now it is called Metrostroevskaya.

- On Ostozhenka ... - the general sighed and, standing up, extended his hand to Kolya: - Well, happily serve, lieutenant. Wait a year, remember!

Boris Vasiliev

Not on the list

Part one

In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never seen so many pleasant surprises as he has had in the past three weeks. He had been waiting for an order to confer on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, a military rank for a long time, but after the order, pleasant surprises rained down in such abundance that Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter.

After the morning formation, at which the order was read out, they were immediately taken to the clothing warehouse. No, not in the general, cadet, but in the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp belts, stiff holsters, commander's bags with smooth lacquer plates, overcoats with buttons and tunics from a strict diagonal stood out. And then everyone, the entire graduation, rushed to the school tailors to fit the uniform both in height and in the waist, in order to merge into it, as into their own skin. And there they pushed, fussed and laughed so much that a state-owned enameled lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.

In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on their graduation, handed them the "ID card of the commander of the Red Army" and a weighty TT. The beardless lieutenants deafeningly shouted the number of the pistol and squeezed the dry general's hand with all their might. And at the banquet, the commanders of training platoons enthusiastically rocked and tried to settle scores with the foreman. However, everything turned out well, and this evening - the most beautiful of all evenings - began and ended solemnly and beautifully.

For some reason, it was on the night after the banquet that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov discovered that he was crunching. It crunches pleasantly, loudly and courageously. It crunches with the fresh leather of the belt, the unrumpled uniform, the shining boots. It crunches all over, like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.

Actually, it all started a little earlier. At the ball that followed after the banquet, yesterday's cadets came with girls. And Kolya did not have a girlfriend, and he stammeringly invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern, said thoughtfully: “I don’t know, I don’t know ...”, but she came. They danced, and Kolya, out of burning shyness, kept talking and talking, and since Zoya worked in the library, he talked about Russian literature. Zoya at first agreed, and in the end, touchily stuck out her clumsily painted lips:

You are crunching painfully, comrade lieutenant. In the language of the school, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was asked. Then Kolya understood it that way, and when he arrived at the barracks, he found that he crunches in the most natural and pleasant way.

I’m crunching,” he informed his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.

They were sitting on the windowsill in the corridor of the second floor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.

Take care of yourself, said a friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she is a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a foreman from an ammunition platoon.

But Kolka listened with half an ear, because he studied the crunch. And he liked this crunch very much.

The next day, the guys began to disperse: everyone was supposed to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one by one they disappeared behind the latticed gates of the school.

And for some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (although there was nothing to drive: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go to find out when the orderly shouted from afar:

Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissar! ..

The commissar, who looked very much like the suddenly aged artist Chirkov, listened to the report, shook hands, indicated where to sit, and silently offered cigarettes.

I don’t smoke,” said Kolya and began to blush: he was generally thrown into a fever with extraordinary ease.

Well done, said the commissioner. - And I, you know, I still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.

And smoked. Kolya wanted to advise on how to temper the will, but the commissar spoke again.

We know you, lieutenant, as an exceptionally conscientious and diligent person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven't seen them for two years and you miss them. And you have a vacation. - He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, intently looking at his feet. - We know all this, and yet we decided to ask you specifically ... This is not an order, this is a request, mind you, Pluzhnikov. We have no right to order you ...

I'm listening, comrade regimental commissar. - Kolya suddenly decided that he would be offered to go work in intelligence, and he tensed up, ready to yell deafeningly: “Yes! ..”

Among the books about the war, the works of Boris Vasiliev occupy a special place. There are several reasons for this: firstly, he knows how to simply, clearly and concisely, literally in a couple of sentences, draw a three-dimensional picture of the war and the man in the war. Probably, no one has ever written about the war so severely, precisely and piercingly clear as Vasiliev.

Secondly, Vasiliev knew firsthand what he was writing about: his young years fell on the time of the Great Patriotic War, which he went through to the end, miraculously surviving.

Novel “Not on the Lists” summary which can be conveyed in several sentences, is read in one breath. What is he talking about? About the beginning of the war, about the heroic and tragic defense of the Brest Fortress, which, even dying, did not surrender to the enemy - it simply bled to death, according to one of the heroes of the novel.

And this novel is also about freedom, about duty, about love and hate, about devotion and betrayal, in a word, about what our ordinary life consists of. Only in war do all these concepts become larger and more voluminous, and a person, his whole soul can be seen, as if through a magnifying glass ...

The main characters are Lieutenant Nikolai Pluzhnikov, his colleagues Salnikov and Denishchik, as well as a young girl, almost a girl Mirra, who, by the will of fate, became Kolya Pluzhnikov's only lover.

The author assigns the central place to Nikolai Pluzhnikov. A college graduate who has just received the shoulder straps of a lieutenant arrives in Brest fortress before the first dawn of the war, a few hours before the volleys of guns that crossed out the former peaceful life forever.

The image of the main character
At the beginning of the novel, the author calls the young man simply by his first name - Kolya - emphasizing his youth and inexperience. Kolya himself asked the leadership of the school to send him to the combat unit, to a special section - he wanted to become a real fighter, "smell the gunpowder." Only in this way, he believed, can one acquire the right to command others, to instruct and educate the youth.

Kolya was heading to the fortress authorities to file a report about himself when the shots rang out. So he took the first fight, not getting into the list of defenders. Well, and then there was no time for lists - there was no one and there was no time to compile and verify them.

It was hard for Nikolai to be baptized by fire: at some point he could not stand it, left the church, which he was supposed to keep, not surrendering to the Nazis, and instinctively tried to save himself, his life. But he overcomes the horror, so natural in this situation, and again goes to the rescue of his comrades. The incessant battle, the need to fight to the death, think and make decisions not only for yourself, but also for those who are weaker - all this gradually changes the lieutenant. After a couple of months of mortal battles, we are no longer Kolya, but a battle-hardened lieutenant Pluzhnikov - a tough, determined person. For every month in the Brest Fortress, he lived like a dozen years.

And yet youth still lived in him, still breaking through with a stubborn faith in the future, that ours would come, that help was near. This hope did not fade away with the loss of two friends found in the fortress - the cheerful, resilient Salnikov and the stern border guard Volodya Denishchik.

They were with Pluzhnikov from the first fight. Salnikov from a funny boy turned into a man, into such a friend who will save at any cost, even at the cost of his life. Denishchik took care of Pluzhnikov until he himself was mortally wounded.

Both died saving Pluzhnikov's life.

Among the main characters, it is necessary to name one more person - a quiet, modest, inconspicuous girl Mirra. The war found her 16 years old.

Mirra was crippled since childhood: she wore a prosthesis. The limp forced her to come to terms with the sentence never to have a family of her own, but always to be a help to others, to live for others. In the fortress, she worked part-time in peacetime, helping to cook.

The war cut her off from all her loved ones, walled her up in a dungeon. The whole being of this young girl was permeated by a strong need for love. She did not yet know anything about life, and life played such a cruel joke with her. This is how Mirra perceived the war until the fates of her and Lieutenant Pluzhnikov crossed. Something happened that inevitably had to happen when two young creatures met - love broke out. And for the short happiness of love, Mirra paid with her life: she died under the blows of the butts of the camp guards. Her last thoughts were thoughts only about her beloved, about how to protect him from the terrible spectacle of a monstrous murder - her and the child she already carried in her womb. Mirra succeeded. And this was her personal human feat.

The main idea of ​​the book

At first glance, it seems that the main desire of the author was to show the reader the feat of the defenders of the Brest Fortress, to reveal the details of the battles, to tell about the courage of people who fought for several months without help, practically without water and food, without medical assistance. They fought, at first stubbornly hoping that our people would come, accept the battle, and then without this hope, they simply fought because they could not, did not consider themselves entitled to give the fortress to the enemy.

But, if you read “Not on the Lists” more thoughtfully, you understand: this book is about a person. It is about the fact that the possibilities of a person are endless. A person cannot be defeated until he himself wants it. He can be tortured, starved to death, deprived of physical strength, even killed - but he cannot be defeated.

Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was not included in the lists of those who served in the fortress. But he himself gave himself the order to fight, without anyone's command from above. He did not leave - he stayed where his own inner voice ordered him to stay.

No forces will destroy the spiritual power of one who has faith in victory and faith in himself.

It is easy to remember the summary of the novel “Not on the Lists”, but without carefully reading the book, it is impossible to assimilate the idea that the author wanted to convey to us.

The action covers 10 months - the first 10 months of the war. That is how long the endless battle continued for Lieutenant Pluzhnikov. He found and lost friends and beloved in this battle. He lost and found himself - in the very first battle, the young man, out of fatigue, horror and confusion, threw the building of the church, which he should have kept until the last. But the words of the senior fighter breathed courage into him, and he returned to his combat post. In the soul of a 19-year-old boy, in a matter of hours, a core matured that remained his support until the very end.

Officers and soldiers continued to fight. Half-dead, with their backs and heads shot through, their legs torn off, half-blind, they fought, slowly leaving one by one into oblivion.

Of course, there were also those in whom the natural instinct for survival turned out to be stronger than the voice of conscience, a sense of responsibility for others. They just wanted to live and nothing more. The war quickly turned such people into weak-willed slaves, ready to do anything just for the opportunity to exist for at least another day. Such was the former musician Ruvim Svitsky. " ex man”, as Vasiliev writes about him, having got into the ghetto for Jews, he resigned himself to his fate immediately and irrevocably: he walked with his head bowed low, obeyed any orders, did not dare to raise his eyes to his tormentors - to those who turned him into a subhuman, nothing unwilling and hopeless.

From other weak-minded people, the war molded traitors. Sergeant Fedorchuk voluntarily surrendered. A healthy, full of strength man who could fight, decided to survive at any cost. This opportunity was taken away from him by Pluzhnikov, who destroyed the traitor with a shot in the back. War has its own laws: there is a value here greater than the value human life. That value: victory. They died and killed for her without hesitation.

Pluzhnikov continued to make sorties, undermining the enemy's forces, until he was left completely alone in a dilapidated fortress. But even then, until the last bullet, he fought an unequal battle against the Nazis. Finally, they discovered the shelter where he had been hiding for many months.

The end of the novel is tragic - it simply could not be otherwise. An almost blind, skeleton-thin man with black frostbitten feet and shoulder-length gray hair is led out of the shelter. This man has no age, and no one would believe that according to his passport he is only 20 years old. He left the shelter voluntarily and only after the news that Moscow had not been taken.

A man stands among the enemies, looking at the sun with blind eyes from which tears flow. And - an unthinkable thing - the Nazis give him the highest military honors: everyone, including the general. But he doesn't care anymore. He became higher than people, higher than life, higher than death itself. He seemed to have reached the limit of human possibilities - and realized that they are limitless.

“I didn’t appear on the lists” - to the modern generation

The novel “Not on the Lists” should be read by all of us who are living today. We did not know the horrors of war, our childhood was cloudless, our youth was calm and happy. A real explosion in the soul modern man accustomed to comfort, confidence in the future, security, this book evokes.

But the core of the work is still not a story about the war. Vasiliev invites the reader to look at himself from the outside, to probe all the secrets of his soul: could I do the same? Is there any inner strength in me - the same as those defenders of the fortress who have just come out of childhood? Am I worthy to be called Human?

Let these questions forever remain rhetorical. May fate never put us in front of such a terrible choice as that great, courageous generation faced. But let's always remember them. They died so that we might live. But they died undefeated.

The book “Not on the Lists” by Boris Vasiliev tells about one hero who personifies the exploits of many people. This story is heartbreaking and brings tears to my eyes. The book tells not only about war, heroism, patriotism, but also about love, honor, justice, the value of human life and the ability to fight to the last breath.

It is known that the writer came up with the idea of ​​creating the story when he was at the railway station in Brest. He saw a woman who brought flowers to a tablet with the name of Nikolai. The writer asked the woman, it turned out that this was a hero whose last name was never found out. Boris Vasiliev tried to find at least some information about him, but Nikolai was not on the lists. And the writer came up with his last name and told his story.

The life of Kolya Pluzhnikov is developing quite well. Recently he became a second lieutenant, he was given new form vacation ahead of him. In a good mood, he goes to the dance, where he invited a pretty girl. When the commander asks if Nikolai is going to go to the academy, he replies that he wants to serve first. After all, to become a good commander, you need to see and feel everything yourself.

Nicholas is sent to the Brest Fortress. On the way, he calls home, where he falls in love with young Valya, whom he promises to return to, and she will be waiting for him. When he arrived at the fortress, he learned that there were rumors that the Germans were going to start a war. Few people take this seriously, especially since everyone is confident in the strength of the Red Army. On the morning of June 22, German troops attacked the fortress. The Russians hope that the Soviet troops will arrive soon, but there is still no help. They are forced to fight for their lives themselves, hiding from the Germans in a damp basement.

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