PART ONE
1
In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never encountered as many pleasant surprises as he has experienced in the last three weeks. The order to assign to him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, military rank I waited a long time, but then surprises came in abundance. Kolya woke up at night from his own laughter. After the order, they issued a lieutenant's uniform, in the evening the head of the school congratulated everyone on graduation, presenting the “Identity Card of the Red Army Commander” and a weighty TT. And then the evening began, “the most beautiful of all evenings.” Pluzhnikov did not have a girlfriend, and he invited “the librarian Zoya.”
The next day the guys began to go on vacation, exchanging addresses. Pluzhnikov was not given travel documents, and two days later he was summoned to the school commissar. Instead of taking a vacation, he asked Nikolai to help sort out the school’s property, which was expanding due to the complicated situation in Europe. “Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position “wherever they send you.” The whole course had long since left, had long been having affairs, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya was diligently counting the bedding sets, linear meters foot wraps and a pair of cowhide boots and wrote all sorts of reports.” Two weeks passed like this. One evening Zoya stopped him and began calling him to her place; her husband was away. Pluzhnikov was about to agree, but he saw the commissar and was embarrassed, so he followed him. The commissioner summoned Pluzhnikov the next day to the head of the school to talk about further service. In the general’s reception room, Nikolai met his former platoon commander Gorobtsov, who invited Pluzhnikov to serve together: “Ask to me, okay? Like, we’ve been serving together for a long time, we’ve worked together...” Platoon commander Velichko, who left the general after Gorobtsov left, also called Pluzhnikov to come to him. Then the lieutenant was invited to the general. Pluzhnikov was embarrassed, there were rumors that the general was in fighting Spain, and they had special respect for him.
After looking at Nikolai’s documents, the general noted his excellent grades, excellent shooting and offered to remain at the school as a training platoon commander, and inquired about Pluzhnikov’s age. “I was born on April 12, 1922,” Kolya rattled off, while he feverishly wondered what to answer. I wanted to “serve in the troops” to become a real commander. The general continued: in three years Kolya will be able to enter the academy, and, apparently, “you should study further.” The general and the commissar began to discuss to whom, Gorobtsov or Velichko, Pluzhnikov should be sent. Blushing and embarrassed, Nikolai refused: “This is a great honor... I believe that every commander should first serve in the troops... that’s what we were told at school... Send me to any unit and to any position.” “But he’s a young fellow, commissar,” the general unexpectedly replied. Nikolai was sent to Special Western district platoon commander, I never even dreamed about it. True, with the condition that in a year he will return to school after military practice. The only disappointment is that they didn’t give me leave: I have to arrive at my unit by Sunday. In the evening he “departed via Moscow, having three days left: until Sunday.”
2
The train has arrived in Moscow early morning. Kolya got to Kropotkinskaya by metro, “the most beautiful metro in the world.” I approached the house and felt awe - everything here was painfully familiar. Two girls came out of the gate to meet him, one of whom he did not immediately recognize as Sister Vera. The girls ran to school - they couldn’t miss the last Komsomol meeting, so they agreed to meet at lunch. Mother had not changed at all, even her robe was the same. She suddenly burst into tears: “God, how much you look like your father!..” My father died in Central Asia in 1926 in a battle with the Basmachi. From a conversation with his mother, Kolya found out: Valya, her sister’s friend, was once in love with him. Now she has grown into a wonderful beauty. All this is extremely pleasant to listen to. On Belorussky railway station, where Kolya came to buy a ticket, it turned out that his train leaves at seven o’clock in the evening, but this is impossible. Having told the duty officer that his mother was sick, Pluzhnikov took a ticket with a transfer in Minsk at three minutes past twelve and, thanking the duty officer, went to the store. I bought champagne, cherry liqueur, Madeira. The mother was frightened by the abundance of alcohol, Nikolai carelessly waved his hand: “Go for a walk like that.”
Arriving home and setting the table, my sister constantly asked about his studies at the school, about his upcoming service, and promised to visit him at his new duty station with a friend. Finally Valya appeared and asked Nikolai to stay, but he could not: “it’s restless at the border.” They talked about the inevitability of war. According to Nikolai, this will be quick war: We will be supported by the world proletariat, the proletariat of Germany and, most importantly, the Red Army, its combat capability. Then Valya offered to look at the records she had brought, they were wonderful, “Francesca Gaal herself sang.” They started talking about Verochka, who was planning to become an artist. Valya believes that in addition to desire, talent is also necessary.
In nineteen years, Kolya had never kissed anyone. At school, he regularly went on leave, visited theaters, ate ice cream, did not go to dances - he danced poorly. I didn’t meet anyone except Zoya. Now “he knew that he had not met only because Valya existed in the world. It was worth suffering for such a girl, and this suffering gave him the right to proudly and directly meet her cautious gaze. And Kolya was very pleased with himself.”
Then they danced, Kolya was embarrassed by his ineptitude. While dancing with Valya, he invited her to visit, promised to order a pass, and only asked her to inform her about her arrival in advance. Kolya realized that he had fallen in love, Valya promised to wait for him. Leaving for the station, he said goodbye to his mother somehow frivolously, because the girls had already dragged his suitcase downstairs, and promised: “As soon as I arrive, I’ll write right away.” At the station, Nikolai is worried that the girls will be late for the metro, and is afraid if they leave before the train departs.
It was the first time Nikolai had traveled so far by train, so he didn’t leave the window the whole way. We stood in Baranovichi for a long time, and finally an endless freight train thundered past. The elderly captain noted dissatisfiedly: “We are sending bread and bread to the Germans day and night. How do you mean to understand this?” Kolya did not know what to answer, since the USSR had an agreement with Germany.
Arriving in Brest, he looked for a canteen for a long time, but never found it. Having met the namesake lieutenant, I went to lunch at the Belarus restaurant. There tanker Andrei joined the Nikolai. The wonderful violinist Reuben Svitsky “with golden fingers, golden ears and a golden heart...” played in the restaurant. The tanker reported that the pilots' vacations were canceled, and every night beyond the Bug the border guards hear the roaring engines of tanks and tractors. Pluzhnikov asked about the provocation. Andrei “heard: the defectors reported: “The Germans are preparing for war.” After dinner, Nikolai and Andrei left, but Pluzhnikov remained - Svitsky was going to play for him. “Kolya was a little dizzy, and everything around seemed wonderful.” The violinist offers to take the lieutenant to the fortress, his niece is going there too. On the way, Svitsky says: with the arrival. Soviet troops“We have become unaccustomed to darkness and unemployment too.” Opened music school- soon there will be many musicians. Then they hired a cab and went to the fortress. In the darkness, Nikolai almost did not see the girl whom Reuben called “Mirrochka.” Later Reuben left, and the young people drove on. They examined the stone on the border of the fortress and drove up to the checkpoint. Nikolai expected to see something like the Kremlin, but something shapeless loomed ahead. They got out, Pluzhnikov gave him a fiver, but the cab driver noted that a ruble would be enough. Mirra pointed to the checkpoint where documents had to be presented. Nikolai was surprised that there was a fortress in front of him. The girl explained: “Let’s cross the bypass canal, and there will be the Northern Gate.”
At the checkpoint, Nikolai was detained and the duty officer had to be called. After reading the documents, the duty officer asked: “Mirrochka, you are our man. Lead straight to the barracks of the 333rd regiment: there are rooms for business travelers there.” Nikolai objected, he needs to join his regiment. “You’ll figure it out in the morning,” the sergeant answered. Walking through the fortress, the lieutenant inquired about housing. Mirra promised to help him find the cat. She asked what was heard in Moscow about the war? Nikolai did not answer. He does not intend to have provocative conversations, so he started talking about the treaty with Germany and the power Soviet technology. Pluzhnikov “really did not like the awareness of this lame person. She was observant, not stupid, sharp-tongued: he was ready to come to terms with this, but her awareness of the presence of armored forces in the fortress, of the relocation of parts of the camp, even of matches and salt could not be accidental...” Nikolai was inclined to consider even his night trip around the city with Mirra not accidental. The lieutenant became suspicious when they were stopped at the next checkpoint, he reached for his holster, the alarm went off. Nikolai fell to the ground. The misunderstanding soon became clear. Pluzhnikov cheated: he did not reach into the holster, but “scratch it.”
Suddenly Mirra burst out laughing, followed by the others: Pluzhnikov was covered in dust. Mirra warned him not to shake off the dust, but to use a brush, otherwise he would get dirt into his clothes. The girl promised to get a brush. Having passed the Mukhavets river and the three-arched gate, we entered the inner fortress to the ring barracks. Then Mirra remembered that the lieutenant needed to be cleaned out, and took him to the warehouse. “He entered a vast, poorly lit room, pressed down by a heavy vaulted ceiling... In this warehouse it was cool, but dry: the floor was covered in places with river sand...” Having got used to the lighting, Nikolai saw two women and a mustachioed foreman sitting near the iron stove. Mirra found a brush and called Nikolai: “Let’s go clean, woe... someone,” Nikolai objected, but Mirra energetically cleaned him. The lieutenant was angrily silent, yielding to the girl’s commands. Returning to the warehouse, Pluzhnikov saw two more: senior sergeant Fedorchuk and Red Army soldier Vasya Volkov. They had to wipe down the cartridges and fill discs and machine gun belts with them. Khristina Yanovna treated everyone to tea. Nikolai got ready to join the regiment, but Anna Petrovna stopped him: “The service will not run away from you,” she offered him tea and began to ask where he was from. Soon everyone gathered around the table to drink tea and baked goods, which, according to Aunt Christia, were especially successful today.
In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never encountered as many pleasant surprises as he has experienced in the last three weeks. He had been waiting for the order to confer a military rank on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, 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 the general cadet one, but the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp sword belts, stiff holsters, commander bags with smooth lacquer tablets, overcoats with buttons and a strict diagonal tunic were issued. And then everyone, the entire graduating class, rushed to the school tailors to have their uniform adjusted to both height and waist, to blend into it as if into their own skin. And there they jostled, fussed and laughed so much that the official enamel lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.
In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on graduation and presented them with the “Red Army Commander’s Identity Card” and a weighty “TT”. The beardless lieutenants loudly shouted the pistol number and squeezed the general's dry palm with all their might. And at the banquet the commanders of the training platoons were enthusiastically rocking and trying 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 a sword belt, uncrumpled uniforms, and shining boots. The whole thing crunches like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.
Actually, it all started a little earlier. Yesterday's cadets came with their girls to the ball that followed the banquet. But Kolya didn’t have a girlfriend, and he, hesitatingly, invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern and 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 assented, and in the end, her clumsily painted lips stuck out resentfully:
“You’re crunching too hard, Comrade Lieutenant.”
In school language, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was wondering. Then Kolya understood this, and when he arrived at the barracks, he discovered that he was crunching in the most natural and pleasant way.
“I’m crunchy,” he told his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.
They were sitting on the windowsill in the second floor corridor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.
“Crunch for your health,” said the friend. “But, you know, not in front of Zoya: she’s a fool, Kolka.” She is a terrible fool and is married to a sergeant major from the ammunition platoon.
But Kolya listened with half an ear because he was studying the crunch. And he really liked this crunch.
The next day the guys began to leave: everyone was entitled to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one after another disappeared behind the barred gates of the school.
But for some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (though the journey was nothing at all: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go find out when the orderly shouted from afar:
- Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissar!..
The commissioner, very similar to 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. “But, you know, I still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.”
And he lit a cigarette. Kolya wanted to advise how to strengthen his will, but the commissar spoke again:
– We know you, Lieutenant, as an extremely conscientious and efficient person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven’t seen them for two years and miss them. And you are entitled to vacation. “He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, looking intently at his feet. – We know all this and still decided to turn to you with a request... This is not an order, this is a request, please note, 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 up, ready to shout deafeningly: “Yes!”
“Our school is expanding,” said the commissioner. “The situation is complicated, there is 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 they are not yet fully staffed, but property is already arriving. So we ask you, Comrade Pluzhnikov, to help us deal with this property. Accept it, capitalize it...
And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position “wherever they send you.” His entire course had long since left, he had been having affairs for a long time, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya was diligently counting bedding sets, linear meters of foot wraps and pairs of cowhide boots. And he wrote all sorts of reports.
Two weeks passed like this. For two weeks, Kolya patiently, from waking up until bedtime and seven days a week, received, counted and arrived property, without ever leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and waiting for 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, he was up to his neck busy with endless calculations, statements and reports, but somehow with joyful surprise found himself... welcomed. They greet you according to all the rules of army regulations, with cadet chic, throwing your palm to your temple and jauntily raising your chin. Kolya tried his best to answer with tired carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.
That's when he started walking in the evenings. With his hands behind his back, he walked straight towards the groups of cadets smoking before bed at the entrance to the barracks. Wearily, he looked sternly 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 carefully furrowed his eyebrows, trying to give his round, fresh, like a French roll, 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.
“For some reason you’re nowhere to be seen, Comrade Lieutenant.” And you don’t come to the library anymore...
- Job.
-Are you left at the school?
- I have special task“, Kolya said vaguely.
For some reason they were already walking side by side and in the wrong direction.
Zoya talked and talked, laughing incessantly; he did not catch the meaning, surprised that he was so obediently walking in the wrong direction. Then he thought with concern whether his uniform had lost its romantic crunch, moved his shoulder, and the sword belt immediately responded 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 except this smile.
– You liked me, didn’t you? Well, tell me, Kolya, did you like it?..
“No,” he answered in a whisper. – I just... I don’t know. You're married.
“Married?” She laughed noisily. - Married, right? Did they tell you? So what if she’s married? I accidentally married him, it was a mistake...
Somehow he grabbed her by the shoulders. Or maybe he didn’t take it, but she herself moved them so deftly that his hands suddenly appeared on her shoulders.
[ 11 ]“Not on the lists
page 3
PART THREE
1
The warehouse in which foreman Stepan Matveevich, senior sergeant Fedorchuk, Red Army soldier Vasya Volkov and three women were drinking tea at dawn on June 22, 1941, was covered by a heavy shell in the first minutes of artillery preparation. The ceilings held up, but the stairs collapsed. Pluzhnikov remembered this shell. The blast wave threw him into a crater, where Salnikov later fell into. The walled up thought that they were cut off from the world forever. They had food, the men dug a well, and up to two pots of water accumulated there in a day. They began to open passages and one day made their way into a confusing labyrinth to an armory, the entrance to which was also blocked; We found a gap to the top and took turns climbing up to breathe and look around. The fortress was still alive: they were shooting somewhere, but everything was quiet around. After Pluzhnikov appeared, Anna Petrovna left to look for her children. The foreman said that reconnaissance was needed, but Fedorchuk dissuaded him - it was pointless, there were Germans all around. Anna Petrovna was shot on the bridge by a random burst. Her children were long dead, but neither she, nor those remaining in the basement, nor
Pluzhnikov. Having come to his senses, the lieutenant demanded cartridges, and he was taken to the warehouse where Salnikov fled in the first hours of the war. Pluzhnikov forced everyone to clean their weapons, remove grease, and prepare for battle. By evening, we prepared machine guns, spare discs, and ammunition with ammunition. Everything was moved to a dead end under the gap, where during the day he lay gasping for breath, not believing in his salvation. The men left, carrying weapons and flasks of water from Stepan Matveevich’s well. The women stayed. Pluzhnikov promised to return. A little later, Nikolai and the young fighter Vasya examined all the nearby craters in search of Salnikov and did not find him. The lieutenant understood that the Germans took Salnikov prisoner, “they don’t bury the dead.” There is still a chance, lucky Salnikov will survive, get out, and maybe escape - during the days of the war he “grew into a desperate, smart, cunning, resourceful fighter.” Pluzhnikov warned the women that if the men did not return, from 2-4 p.m., during the period of calm, they should come out with white rags and surrender. But Mirra and Khristya refused, they were not a burden to anyone, and decided to sit out in their hole. Volkov, who was sent to reconnaissance, did not report on the passing German machine gunners. Before we could reach the ruins, there was an explosion. Pluzhnikov understood that the Germans had blown up the wall. He rushed to the aid of his comrades, but the foreman knocked him down, pinned him to the ground, and it was too late to do anything. “Nikolai realized that he did not have time, did not fulfill the last order.” Fedorchuk warned that the Germans could cut off the path to the shelter, and silently went down into the dungeon. Nikolai did not know how long he lay there, remembering everyone who covered him, rushed forward without hesitation, without thinking... The lieutenant did not try to understand them, he simply let them pass before his eyes again. “He only survived because someone died for him. He made this discovery without realizing that this is the law of war...” Fedorchuk, believing that Pluzhnikov had lost his mind, decided to act: he blocked the hole with a brick. He wanted to live, not fight. Stepan Matveyevich realized that the lieutenant was weak not in body, but broken in spirit, and he didn’t know what to do.
Page:
Boris Lvovich Vasiliev
“Not on the lists”
Part one
In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never encountered as many pleasant surprises as he has experienced in the last three weeks. He had been waiting for the order to confer a military rank on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, for a long time, but following 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 the general cadet one, but the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp sword belts, stiff holsters, commander bags with smooth lacquer tablets, overcoats with buttons and strict diagonal tunics were issued. And then everyone, the entire graduating class, rushed to the school tailors to have their uniform adjusted to both height and waist, to blend into it as if into their own skin. And there they jostled, fussed and laughed so much that the official enamel lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.
In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on graduation, handed over the “Red Army Commander’s Identity Card” and a weighty TT. The beardless lieutenants loudly shouted the pistol number and squeezed the general's dry palm with all their might. And at the banquet the commanders of the training platoons were enthusiastically rocking and trying 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 a sword belt, uncrumpled uniforms, and shining boots. The whole thing crunches like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.
Actually, it all started a little earlier. Yesterday's cadets came with their girls to the ball that followed the banquet. But Kolya didn’t have a girlfriend, and he, hesitatingly, invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern and 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 assented, and in the end, her clumsily painted lips stuck out resentfully:
You're crunching too hard, Comrade Lieutenant. In school language, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was wondering. Then Kolya understood this, and when he arrived at the barracks, he discovered that he was crunching in the most natural and pleasant way.
“I’m crunching,” he told his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.
They were sitting on the windowsill in the second floor corridor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.
Crunch for your health, said the friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she’s a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a sergeant major from the ammunition platoon.
But Kolka listened with half an ear because he was studying the crunch. And he really liked this crunch.
The next day the guys began to leave: everyone was entitled to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one after another disappeared behind the barred gates of the school.
But for some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (though the journey was nothing at all: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go find out when the orderly shouted from afar:
Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissar!..
The commissioner, very similar to 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. - But I, you know, still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.
And he lit a cigarette. Kolya wanted to give advice on how to strengthen his will, but the commissar spoke again.
We know you, Lieutenant, as an extremely conscientious and efficient person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven’t seen them for two years and miss them. And you are entitled to vacation. - He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, looking intently at his feet. - We know all this, and yet we decided to make a request to you... This is not an order, this is a request, please note, 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 to work in intelligence, and he tensed up, ready to scream deafeningly: “Yes!..”
Our school is expanding,” said the commissioner. - The situation is difficult, 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 they are not yet fully staffed, but property is already arriving. So we ask you, Comrade Pluzhnikov, to help us deal with this property. Accept it, capitalize it...
And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position “wherever they send you.” His entire course had long since left, he had been having affairs for a long time, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya was diligently counting bedding sets, linear meters of foot wraps and pairs of cowhide boots. And he wrote all sorts of reports.
Two weeks passed like this. For two weeks, Kolya patiently, from waking up until bedtime and seven days a week, received, counted and arrived property, without ever leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and waiting for 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, he was up to his neck busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow he was joyfully surprised to find that he was... welcomed. They greet you according to all the rules of army regulations, with cadet chic, throwing your palm to your temple and jauntily raising your chin. Kolya tried his best to answer with tired carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.
That's when he started walking in the evenings. With his hands behind his back, he walked straight towards the groups of cadets smoking before bed at the entrance to the barracks. Wearily, he looked sternly 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 carefully furrowed his eyebrows, trying to give his round, fresh, like a French roll, 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.
1
In his entire life, Kolya Pluzhnikov has never encountered as many pleasant surprises as he has experienced in the last three weeks. He had been waiting for the order to confer a military rank on him, Nikolai Petrovich Pluzhnikov, for a long time, but following 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 the general cadet one, but the cherished one, where chrome boots of unimaginable beauty, crisp sword belts, stiff holsters, commander bags with smooth lacquer tablets, overcoats with buttons and strict diagonal tunics were issued. And then everyone, the entire graduating class, rushed to the school tailors to have their uniform adjusted to both height and waist, to blend into it as if into their own skin. And there they jostled, fussed and laughed so much that the official enamel lampshade began to sway under the ceiling.
In the evening, the head of the school himself congratulated everyone on graduation, handed over the “Red Army Commander’s Identity Card” and a weighty TT. The beardless lieutenants loudly shouted the pistol number and squeezed the general's dry palm with all their might. And at the banquet the commanders of the training platoons were enthusiastically rocking and trying 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 a sword belt, uncrumpled uniforms, and shining boots. The whole thing crunches like a brand new ruble, which the boys of those years easily called “crunch” for this feature.
Actually, it all started a little earlier. Yesterday's cadets came with their girls to the ball that followed the banquet. But Kolya didn’t have a girlfriend, and he, hesitatingly, invited the librarian Zoya. Zoya pursed her lips in concern and 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 assented, and in the end, her clumsily painted lips stuck out resentfully:
You're crunching too hard, Comrade Lieutenant. In school language, this meant that Lieutenant Pluzhnikov was wondering. Then Kolya understood this, and when he arrived at the barracks, he discovered that he was crunching in the most natural and pleasant way.
“I’m crunching,” he told his friend and bunkmate, not without pride.
They were sitting on the windowsill in the second floor corridor. It was the beginning of June, and the nights at the school smelled of lilacs, which no one was allowed to break.
Crunch for your health, said the friend. - Only, you know, not in front of Zoya: she’s a fool, Kolka. She is a terrible fool and is married to a sergeant major from the ammunition platoon.
But Kolka listened with half an ear because he was studying the crunch. And he really liked this crunch.
The next day the guys began to leave: everyone was entitled to leave. They said goodbye noisily, exchanged addresses, promised to write, and one after another disappeared behind the barred gates of the school.
But for some reason, Kolya was not given travel documents (though the journey was nothing at all: to Moscow). Kolya waited two days and was just about to go find out when the orderly shouted from afar:
Lieutenant Pluzhnikov to the commissar!..
The commissioner, very similar to 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. - But I, you know, still can’t quit, I don’t have enough willpower.
And he lit a cigarette. Kolya wanted to give advice on how to strengthen his will, but the commissar spoke again.
We know you, Lieutenant, as an extremely conscientious and efficient person. We also know that you have a mother and sister in Moscow, that you haven’t seen them for two years and miss them. And you are entitled to vacation. - He paused, got out from behind the table, walked around, looking intently at his feet. - We know all this, and yet we decided to make a request to you... This is not an order, this is a request, please note, 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 to work in intelligence, and he tensed up, ready to scream deafeningly: “Yes!..”
Our school is expanding,” said the commissioner. - The situation is difficult, 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 they are not yet fully staffed, but property is already arriving. So we ask you, Comrade Pluzhnikov, to help us deal with this property. Accept it, capitalize it...
And Kolya Pluzhnikov remained at the school in a strange position “wherever they send you.” His entire course had long since left, he had been having affairs for a long time, sunbathing, swimming, dancing, and Kolya was diligently counting bedding sets, linear meters of foot wraps and pairs of cowhide boots. And he wrote all sorts of reports.
Two weeks passed like this. For two weeks, Kolya patiently, from waking up until bedtime and seven days a week, received, counted and arrived property, without ever leaving the gate, as if he was still a cadet and waiting for 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, he was up to his neck busy with endless calculations, statements and acts, but somehow he was joyfully surprised to find that he was... welcomed. They greet you according to all the rules of army regulations, with cadet chic, throwing your palm to your temple and jauntily raising your chin. Kolya tried his best to answer with tired carelessness, but his heart sank sweetly in a fit of youthful vanity.
