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He looked at us as if he had taken us prisoner, not the other way around. Anyway, we had nowhere to take the prisoner to as we were on our way to break out of the encirclement. A safety pin was fastened to the pocket flap of my service shirt. Forgetting about stealthiness, in a panic and in despair, I cried out: "Sasha." But the river was silent ... With great difficulty I got ashore and exhausted, sprawled myself out on the wet sand. And then I began to weep: neither pain, nor losses nor fear were the cause of those tears. I had not eaten anything more delicious in my life. The rumors were circulating in the village that the Germans had already captured Poltava. They said that a few Red Army deserters had returned to the village who alleged that the Germans had released them from captivity. A couple more days later the Grigoruks dressed me in civilian clothes, put me on a cart and took me to a nearby village to their relatives. Once I did not even notice that a driver transported me across the front line. In the summer of 1949 I went to that village to thank the Grigoruks for my salvation. On crutches with an attending soldier assigned to me I was discharged home from the hospital in Kirov.We began to interrogate him, but the German was silent. I took as a "keepsake" from him his “Parabellum” pistol. We sank the machinegun’s bolt in a cesspit and crawled to the east. We dropped our weapons into the water and took off our boots. I proceeded with pricking my leg and the cramp let me go. I wept from my awareness of the tragedy of the retreat which I had witnessed and in which I had taken part, I wept from the terrible thought that all our sacrifices had been in vain ... Why do I exist while my army and my country have collapsed? There was a German garrison in that village and all the villagers had been warned that for harboring Jews and communists they would be shot. Praskovya baked a large onion in the oven, cut it into halves and applied them to my wounds, attaching the halves with a white clean cloth. There I was again hidden in a peasant's house and the next morning transferred to another cart. But in place of the village there were only ruins, overgrown with weeds...- How many people from your volunteer ninth graders’ platoon had survived? Before even reaching Kiev we had to change trains twice.
Our platoon consisted of ninth graders, almost all born in 1924, and only three born in 1925.
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