Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough. Yuri Korchevsky - Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

Cover illustration – Nina and Alexander Solovyov

Chapter 1. Shock

Alexander didn’t like the guy right away. A black jacket, a black knitted cap on his head, brown eyes and dilated pupils, like those of drug addicts. In my hand I have a Chinese bag, the kind that shuttles used to carry. However, in principle, what does it matter whether he liked the guy or not? You will meet everyone at the airport - from Caucasians to fancy dressed Indians. So what? Maybe they don’t like me for my Slavic appearance either. However, some vague uneasiness, a slight anxiety settled in my soul.

Alexander looked at his watch. Soon. It is now 16–20, the plane from Yekaterinburg is due to land in five minutes.

And almost immediately, over the speakerphone, the announcer announced: “The Tu-154 plane, flight 268 from Yekaterinburg, has landed. We ask those meeting..."

Alexander didn’t listen any longer and began to slowly move into the arrivals hall. Why rush? Until the gangplank is served, until the passengers get off, happy that the flight is over and they are on the ground, and until they receive their luggage. If Anton's bag is small, it will appear quickly.

Anton is his old friend, from the army. Together they pulled the burden in training, where, in fact, they met. Then a two-year service as a sergeant in the 22nd GRU special forces brigade in Bataysk. If anyone doesn’t know, the GRU is the Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff. It was created to conduct reconnaissance and destroy the enemy’s mobile nuclear weapons in his deep rear, as well as carry out sabotage and organize the partisan movement. Of course, in case of war.

At first, without the habit of serving, it was difficult. And not because of the notorious hazing, but because of physical overload. Try to complete the training task, having first marched forty kilometers with full gear and secretly, which was zealously watched by intermediary officers. If you find yourself, consider it a failure. That’s why we moved more along animal trails, and in such a way that we didn’t accidentally break any twig or crush the grass. At the same time, they followed each other strictly, and not so much because of the trampled grass, but because if the first one did not see the mine, not everyone would be blown up. And there are fewer traces left. Go figure, one person passed or several.

Anton was a physically strong guy and helped Alexander out. Either the roll will take him away - albeit for a short time, or the unloading. But Anton and Alexander were also interested: he knew a lot of different stories and helped write letters to Anton’s beloved girlfriend. Anton was silent: “yes” and “no” - and the whole conversation. And he wrote clumsily - the letters are uneven, like a drunk man. How many years have passed since the army... Alexander figured: “So, now I’m thirty-six, I was demobilized at twenty. It turns out that our friendship is already eighteen years old.”

They meet sometimes, once every two to three years. For this reason, Alexander takes time off and introduces Antoshka to the capital. There are many interesting places in Moscow, but you can’t show them all at once. The Historical Museum recently opened - after a lengthy renovation, and Anton asked to take him to Sokolniki, to the wax museum. And in the evening - definitely vodka, so that it flows viscously from the freezer, and so that the bottle has frost on the glass. And a snack: be sure to have homemade pickled cucumbers, which Alexander bought at the Dorogomilovsky market, and pickled mushrooms, preferably milk mushrooms, and with black bread. Yummy! And then - fried potatoes with lard. Sasha bought lard at the Kievsky station, from visiting Ukrainians. Wow! Previously, independent Slavic brothers shouted at every corner - they say, Muscovites have eaten them! And now they bring their own lard to Moscow, voluntarily. Wonderful are Your works, O Lord!

In anticipation of meeting his friend and the subsequent feast, Sasha rubbed his hands. The old Caucasian in black caught my eye again. Ugh, damn you! Like a black raven! Alexander craned his neck, trying to see Anton over the heads of those greeting him.

Someone tugged my hand from behind.

- Countryman, we’re going to Moscow! Inexpensive, only three pieces,” suggested the impudent taxi driver, twirling a bunch of car keys on his finger.

Alexander did not have time to answer. A bright flash flashed behind the taxi driver, and a heavy roar hit his ears. Glass fell with a crash and screams of horror were heard. "Caucasian!" - flashed in the fading consciousness, and Alexander passed out.

It seemed to him that he came to his senses quite quickly. It was just not clear where he was and why it was so light.

Sasha raised his head and was amazed: he was lying on the bank of a small river and, surprisingly, it was summer. The water gurgled, the grass turned green and smelled intoxicating, and bumblebees flew over it. It was warm, even hot.

What the hell! Alexander remembered well the explosion at the airport and how he was protected from shrapnel by a taxi driver who took a portion of the deadly metal. But it was January then, it was cold.

Alexander stood up, sat down and looked around himself. The entire left side of the jacket was cut, with synthetic filler showing white in the holes. Taking off his jacket, he examined it critically. Well, she got it, perhaps, homeless people wear it better. But it's almost new.

Alexander rummaged through his pockets, took his cell phone and keys to the apartment, and left his jacket on the shore. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had happened. In theory, he should now be at Domodedovo airport and lying on the concrete floor, and not on the bank of the river.

And what else surprised me - why summer? And how did he get here? Left in shock after the explosion? It could have happened. But summer? It didn’t take him six months to come here, did he?

First you need to call Anton - he met him.

Taking out his phone, Alexander dialed the usual number. But the phone showed “network search” and did not respond to calls from subscribers. Okay, we can deal with this later. And now we need to go out to people and find out where he is.

Alexander began to carefully examine the surrounding area. In the distance, barely visible against the background of the forest, stood several houses. That's where he headed. He walked quickly and breathed steadily, just as he was taught in special forces.

Here we are at home. Alexander experienced slight disappointment: wooden poles with electric wires led to the log huts, but there was no sign of a telephone. And he was so hoping to call!

Alexander knocked on the door of the log house.

When she knocked, a girl of about eighteen came out, just like Alexander: not thin, not fat, with something to look at.

Sasha asked:

- Girl, I’m a little lost, can you tell me what kind of village this is?

- So Bogdanovka!

Alexander digested what he heard for a minute. For some reason he doesn’t remember the name of a settlement near Moscow or in the Moscow region, although he is a native Muscovite. But why be surprised? After the army, he got a job in the metro, completed courses, worked as an assistant driver, then as a driver, and spent more time underground than on it. And I only went out of town a few times with friends to the dacha: to grill kebabs and drink beer.

- I can’t figure out where it is - please forgive me... What area is it?

- Pinsky.

– Do you want to say that I am in Belarus?

- Yes exactly.

It looks like the girl wasn’t joking, and her speech is strange - not harsh, like the Muscovites.

The first thing that came to his mind was the Pinsk swamps. Where, from what corners of his memory did he pull this association?

– And do you have swamps here? – he specified.

“There’s a lot around,” the girl smiled for the first time during the entire conversation, “but not just swamps.” There are still rivers and lakes.

- What is the date today?

“The first of July, the tenth day of the war,” the girl became serious again, not taking her eyes off the unfamiliar guy, who had suddenly become suspicious.

He was probably shell-shocked after the explosion. The girl talks about the war, he himself cannot understand where he has gotten to.

- Month, what year are you talking about? – asked the amazed Alexander.

At this point the girl was surprised:

– That’s what I say – the first of July, one thousand nine hundred and forty-one.

- Is it true?!

Suddenly, Alexander heard a strange, unfamiliar rumble coming from somewhere above. The hum was strained and did not promise anything good to those living on earth. He warned: “I’m taking it, I’m taking it…”

Alexander raised his head and saw flights of heavily loaded aircraft, apparently bombers, moving in an even formation, accompanied by nimble fighters.

Olesya followed his gaze and also saw planes:

- They're flying again!

– Who are “flying”?

- Yes, the planes are fascist! Russian cities are flying to bomb! But our planes are not visible! Who will stop this black force? – she said with bitterness in her voice.

And this made Alexander believe in a terrible, implausible, but reality. Shock and tetanus! No one had surprised him so much in his life.

“Aren’t you shell-shocked, comrade?” – the girl asked sympathetically.

“There was an explosion, my jacket was cut, but there wasn’t a scratch on me,” he answered honestly.

- Ah, got it! So you forgot everything. Where will you be from?

- From Moscow.

– From the capital itself? Have you seen Stalin?

- No, only in photographs.

- Why are we standing at the door, you’re probably hungry? Come into the hut!

Alexander walked into the room. The furnishings are rather poor: a bed with armored mesh and nickel-plated bumps, a home rug on the floor, and a very ancient round loudspeaker in the corner.

A girl came in carrying a jug of milk and a loaf of bread.

- Excuse me, comrade Muscovite, I don’t have pickles - what am I rich in...

She poured milk into a mug and cut off a slice of bread.

Alexander didn’t really want to eat, but given the circumstances, he decided to eat some food - it’s still unknown when he’ll have to eat next.

The milk turned out to be very tasty: thick, with a thick layer of cream on top, and the bread was excellent - with a crispy crust.

Alexander drank the entire jug and ate half the loaf; He brushed the crumbs off the table into his palm and threw them into his mouth.

– What’s going on in the world now, where is the front?

“Our people are retreating, retreating on all fronts.” They say that the Germans took Borisov and Bobruisk.

- It is far from here?

– Two hundred kilometers towards Moscow. We are already behind German lines.

- Were the Germans here?

-What are they supposed to do here in the swamps? They wander along the roads. I didn't even see them.

- God willing, you won’t see it.

– I’m a Komsomol member and I don’t believe in God.

- But in vain! You can only believe in him, the rest lie.

The girl pursed her lips offendedly.

- Well, do you have any kind of government in your area?

- Don't know. My father was drafted into the army a week ago, I haven’t heard anything about Pinsk.

Alexander sat in complete confusion. It would be nice if there was a shell shock, otherwise it’s 1941! Or maybe the girl is crazy, and he believed her...

– Is the radio working?

“No, of course,” the girl sighed.

We need to go to our neighbors and find out from them.

Alexander stood up and thanked the girl for the treat.

-What is your name, beauty?

The girl’s cheeks flushed red - no one called her that in the village.

– Does anyone else live in the village?

- Only old men and women remained. I was the only one of the young people before the war. And the men were drafted into the army. Why aren't you in the army? Or sick?

“Yeah, sick,” Sasha joked.

“But from the looks of it, you can’t tell,” Olesya shook her head.

- Tell me, Olesya, which direction of the highway?

- Which one do you like? If you go north, then there will be Minskoe, about three hours on foot. If you go south, then Pinskoye will be, it’s closer to it - about two hours’ walk. And the railway is there too.

Alexander sat down again and thought. If everything you heard from the girl is true, then you need to think about the situation. Go to your own, breaking through the front line? It’s a bit far, and most importantly, even if he does come out, he has no documents, and he can’t give his address or place of work. After all, the NKVD will check, but in the personnel department of the metro, citizen Alexander Dementyev, thirty-six years old, Muscovite, no criminal record, non-party member, is not listed. So - a spy! And according to the laws of war, he is to the wall! Alexander shrugged his shoulders, imagining such a prospect.

Another option is to sit out here, in this Bogdanovka. But sooner or later the Germans will show up here. Who it? Why didn't they take a healthy man into the army? Or maybe they left the partisans? The prospect is unenviable.

But by the way... In peacetime, he was trained for reconnaissance and sabotage activities behind enemy lines - in case of war. Now there is a war, and the rear is very hostile. Although he is not called up, but, having found himself in an unforeseen situation, he must act according to his conscience, at the behest of his soul and in accordance with his idea of military honor. The enemy tramples his land, kills his compatriots, which means he must act accordingly.

True, the special forces act on instructions from the intelligence department. The raids are short: dropping behind enemy lines, carrying out actions and returning to your own. Now he doesn’t have a walkie-talkie, he doesn’t have a boss, he doesn’t have a mission—he doesn’t even have a weapon. But this is not yet a reason to sit idly by. And Bogdanovka is a good base. The area is remote, wooded, with swamps, on both sides in the distance there are highways and railways. Heavy equipment will not work here, and you can easily hide yourself. The only problem that remains is how to get legalized. He is not in the raid now, how long he will stay is unknown, he has to eat somewhere, wash himself, after all, so as not to be different from people.

Alexander looked at Olesya, who was calmly doing household chores.

- That's it, Olesya. Can I stay with you for a while? But I have nothing to pay, I can only pay in kind: fix the fence there, cut grass for the cow, chop firewood. A man is always needed on the farm.

There was silence for some time. It was clear that the girl was surprised. She thought - a refugee, and even without memory, shell-shocked, and he was asking to stay. He doesn’t seem to look like a bandit, although she herself has never seen one. There is enough space in the hut, but... just give the villagers a reason for gossip.

“Okay,” Olesya answered hesitantly. - However, you will not sleep in the hut, but in the hayloft, in the backyard. And just don’t smoke.

– I don’t smoke at all.

- Agreed then. Wait, I'll take you now.

The girl pulled out a sack cloth, a pillow, and a thin blanket from the chest and handed it all to Sasha.

- Follow me.

They left the hut, turned into the backyard, and passed the cowshed. On the outskirts there was a bathhouse and a barn.

The girl walked first, Sasha walked behind and involuntarily admired Olesya’s figure.

The hostess opened the wide door. One half of the barn was empty, the other contained hay.

- Settle down here.

“Thank you,” Sasha spread a sackcloth on the hay and threw a pillow and blanket on it.

There was a stupefying smell of forbs in the barn.

- What is your name?

- Oh, sorry - I forgot to introduce myself. Alexander, thirty-six years old, Muscovite.

- Oooh! Old already! – the girl laughed.

Alexander almost choked. Is he old at thirty-six?! On the other hand, he’s twice her age. And in general - everything is relative. Just before he was drafted into the army, the thirty-year-olds seemed almost like grandfathers to him.

“Rest today, Alexander, tomorrow we’ll go get firewood.”

- Yes, mistress! – Alexander bowed playfully.

Olesya left. Sanya lay down on the sackcloth and threw his hands behind his head - it was easier to think that way. First, you need to come up with a legend - who he is and how he got here. Secondly, what should Olesya tell her neighbors if they inquire about her guest?

If a refugee comes from Brest, from his relatives, then why shouldn’t he return to them? It won't work. Then - the version about the bombed train. It’s plausible, at least for Olesya. She hasn’t asked any questions yet, but she will definitely ask, women are curious people.

What about the neighbors? A stranger in a village is immediately noticeable; this is not Moscow or St. Petersburg, where residents of the entrance do not always know their neighbors. If we say that he is a relative, then why does he live in the hayloft and not in a hut?

Alexander went through one option after another until he settled on a deserter... He allegedly avoided conscription into the Red Army, he did not want to serve either Stalin or Hitler. So he moved to distant relatives in the wilderness, away from any authorities. Considering that in Western Belarus, which was not so long ago annexed to the USSR after the famous Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, the residents still did not really trust the Soviets, this could have passed.

Until the evening, Alexander pondered his legend, behavior and future activities. This is not how he imagined a war - separated from his own people, without a combat mission, and the worst thing - without support and a deadline for return.

But he also had an advantage, unlike an infantryman or a tankman. He was taught this! For a private in any army, being surrounded is stressful, an emergency situation from which you need to get out. But for a saboteur this is the norm.

There is, however, one weak spot in his plan – Bogdanovka. GRU special forces are tactical reconnaissance, army. Climb into the near rear, a hundred or three hundred kilometers away, do more harm and get away with it.

This was the first department of the KGB, which later grew into Foreign Intelligence, which was engaged in strategic intelligence with undercover agents - the same diplomats, journalists, and trade representatives. And they also have illegal agents - like the well-known Anna Chapman. Scrupulous work, preparation takes place over years, and an illegal immigrant has to work in a foreign country for decades, or even his whole life. You need to study the country of introduction carefully, know all the little things that people don’t pay attention to in everyday life, but a careful look will immediately notice: your shoes are not laced properly, you put out your cigarette incorrectly, you gave the doorman a lot of tips, you parked your car differently than, say, a Frenchman .

Each country has its own characteristics. If you're Italian, why don't you like pasta? And the guy may have heard this word for the first time in intelligence school - he grew up on potatoes. How does he know that pasta comes with different types of cheese and other seasonings? No, strategic intelligence is a different level, a kind of aerobatics with maximum self-denial and self-sacrifice. And it is actually built on patriotism, since it is not paid based on results. Who remembers at least one intelligence officer who became an oligarch? And you won't earn fame there. Only a few of them become famous, and only after high-profile failures. Special forces are something else: a kind of militants, a fist hitting the enemy’s weak spot. Hit - walked away. In Alexander’s position, there is nowhere to go. There are no relatives, no documents. For the Germans he is clearly an enemy, for his own people he is an unknown person, a man from nowhere. He will not withstand any serious test among his own people in the NKVD. It’s better to send him to a camp or shoot him.

Therefore, as he reflected, his conviction to remain in the German rear only grew stronger. But the problem is – where to develop your activities? After all, even a wolf does not kill sheep near its lair. So he also needs to conduct military operations far from Bogdanovka.

And again a lot of questions arose: where to store weapons and explosives - not in the hayloft? Sasha simply had no doubt that he would quickly acquire what he needed. After all, what is “special forces”? Professional killers! It's the same in other countries. War and reconnaissance and sabotage are not done with white gloves. This is hard, dirty, bloody work.

Alexander spun around on the sackcloth for a long time, heavy thoughts creeping into his head. Let's start with how he got here. Why him? Or is it related to the explosion at the airport? Is Anton alive or did he not have time to reach the site of the explosion? Eh, if he had come a little later - well, at least for a minute, now we would be sitting with Anton at the table, in Sasha’s one-room apartment, which is in the passage of the Straw Lodge, remembering our youth.

Still, I had a dream. Sasha always followed the golden army rule: when a soldier sleeps, the service is on, because it is unknown when he will be able to get enough sleep.

In the morning he woke up from unfamiliar sounds, trying to understand what it was. As it turned out, Olesya was milking the cow, and tight streams of milk were beating into the milk pan.

After all, Sasha is a city dweller to the core. The special forces taught him a lot: to walk silently through the forest, to camouflage himself by blending into the terrain, to survive by eating edible plants and various worms. But he only saw a live cow from afar, from a car window, and he never saw how it was milked.

He stood up quickly and folded the pillow and blanket into a bundle. I jumped out into the yard, did a quick exercise, and washed myself at the well. The water is clean, tasty, but icy - it hurts your teeth.

Olesya came out of the barn with a full milk pan.

- Good morning, Olesya!

- Good, Sasha! Go to the hut, it's time for breakfast.

They ate yesterday's boiled potatoes, drank fresh milk with homemade loaf.

- That's it, Olesya. If anyone in the village asks about me, say - a distant relative, he was hiding from conscription into the Red Army. And now - from the Germans. And call me “you” - a relative after all, if you agree, of course.

- Fine. Now - into the forest. There are ropes hanging on the wall in the hayloft, take them.

Sasha went down, took a bunch of short ropes from the wall of the hayloft, looked for an ax with his eyes, but couldn’t find it. It’s strange: going into the forest for firewood - and without an ax and a saw. However, Olesya knows better - she is local. As they say, every hut has its own rattles. His job is to help the housewife with firewood for the winter. However, the stove is heated even in the summer, so you have to cook on the stove... But there has never been gas in the village. In addition, a foray into the forest is useful for him - he needs to remember the approaches to the village and get his bearings on the terrain. There are no maps, even the most seedy ones, and you have to remember everything.

We didn’t have to go far, the forest was nearby.

Olesya and Sasha were collecting dead wood. Then they tied him into two bundles, and Sasha tied a huge one for himself, he barely lifted it.

“Make sure you don’t overstrain yourself, refugee,” Olesya joked, “I don’t know how to heal.”

However, Sasha remained silent and continued to drag the bundle. “It would be better to take a saw,” thought Sasha, “it’s inconvenient to carry dead wood - it’s wide, it clings to bushes, and it will burn out quickly in the oven. Not so - sawn trees: there is more heat and they burn longer. It wouldn't hurt to have a cart for transportation. Yeah, if only you had a truck,” Alexander grinned at his thoughts.

The hike into the forest took half a day. For another two hours Sasha chopped up dead wood to fit into the oven. The pile of firewood turned out to be quite large.

- Yes, there’s enough here for a week! – the girl happily clasped her hands when she saw the results of his work.

Pleased with the praise, Sasha looked at the pile of firewood and said gravely:

- I would like a saw and a wheelbarrow or some kind of cart - I need to stock up on firewood for the winter, you can’t heat it with dead wood.

- My father also took coal for the winter, but where can you get it now? War! Wash your hands, let's eat.

While Sasha was chopping dead wood, Olesya prepared potato pancakes and put pinkish lard cut into thin slices and lightly salted cucumbers on the table.

When Sasha sat down at the table, Olesya looked around at the treat and sighed sadly:

- Oh, if only my father were at home!

“Don’t worry,” Alexander responded, “your dad will return.”

- Someday this will happen again...

- Let's chase the German - he'll come back!

- I'm afraid! Look, the war has just begun, and the Germans have already advanced far! Now you are an adult - explain to me why the Red Army is retreating?

“They caught us by surprise,” said Sasha, who later became a common argument.

He couldn’t, in fact, tell her about the purges in the army of 1937–1939, when the commanders of armies, divisions, and regiments were repressed, and also that they were replaced by inexperienced, poorly educated party promoters, nothing understand tactics and even more so strategy. And about many other reasons, like Stalin’s order “not to give in to provocations.” There was military equipment in the hangars, but there was no fuel or ammunition for it. Moreover, the military personnel did not know how to handle the new equipment: gasoline was poured into the tanks of diesel tanks, which powered the T-26 and BT. Thus, a lot of equipment was disabled.

What about fortified areas along the old state border? After the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, weapons were removed from the pillboxes, and the fortifications themselves were destroyed. No one had time to build new ones, and they didn’t really bother with it - after all, there was a Stalinist doctrine: we will beat the enemy on its territory, we will defeat it with little bloodshed! We've loaded up on our hats!

Sasha stuffed his mouth with potato pancakes and sour cream. Well, yummy! Belarusians know how to make bulbs out of potatoes, in their own way, downright delicious! After chewing, he asked Olesya:

– Are there any messages from the fronts?

“I’d like to know myself, but the radio doesn’t work.” Why were they caught by surprise? – she returned to the interrupted conversation. – After all, Comrade Stalin should have foreseen, known.

“I can’t answer you for him,” Sasha reasoned reasonably. - Yes, after lunch I’ll go for a walk around the area.

Olesya shook her head, condemning. What kind of walks can there be when there is war?

After lunch, Sasha thanked Olesya and, leaving the hut, slowly headed south from Bogdanovka. After half an hour, he added a step, and then ran, since the road, although unpaved, was level. He ran smoothly, keeping his breath.

Unexpectedly, he heard the sound of wheels behind the trees. Alexander rushed to the nearest bushes and, bending down, carefully moved forward.

After fifty meters the trees ended and an embankment with railway tracks opened up. There was a handcar standing on the rails, next to it were two Germans, and judging by the fact that they were inspecting the rails and the switch, they were clearly a technical specialist. One, with glasses, seemed to be the eldest - he had a holster with a pistol hanging on his belt. The other, a lanky one, had a Mauser 08K rifle dangling from his back.

While Alexander was figuring out how to get closer and remain unnoticed, the Germans sat on the trolley and grabbed the levers. Tapping the wheels at the joints of the rails, the trolley slowly rolled around the bend.

“Your happiness, fascists, if you had stayed a little longer, I would have taken your weapons,” muttered the distressed Alexander.

However, two Germans are too insignificant a target. According to Olesya, there should be a small Lobcha station nearby. We need to find out what's going on there.

Alexander went out onto the path leading along the embankment and barely managed to walk a hundred meters when far behind he heard the noise of an approaching train. A steam locomotive puffed ahead. “Ugh, they don’t let you walk on your own land!” – Alexander dived into the bushes again.

A few minutes later, a steam locomotive, a Soviet one, the FD series, rolled past, heavily puffing, followed by a long train, almost entirely made up of platforms on which stood military equipment covered with a tarpaulin.

- ABOUT! This is the goal for me! Only the mine is missing - so this is a profitable business...

The train began to slow down, the pads began to grind, and there was a smell of burnt iron. Slowly pulling into the station, the train stopped.

Alexander followed, then climbed the tree and climbed higher. From here the station was clearly visible.

It was small - only three paths. There were trains on two of them. On one there is a train with platforms that has just arrived, on the other there are tanks and a filler. “If only we could point our bombers at him! – Sasha thought with annoyance. “But there is no radio, and I don’t know the call sign.”

He observed and remembered. There is a sentry walking around the entrance switches, and most likely at the exit switches too. But whether they are around the perimeter is not visible from here. Most likely, the Germans did not have time to deliver. “This is good for me,” Sasha was delighted.

A rustling sound was heard from below. Alexander leaned over the branch. Below, under a tree, a young boy of about fourteen or fifteen years old lay down. Interesting! Why would he lie here, being buried? Well, I would mind my own business.

The boy observed the station for a while, then pulled out from under his shirt two German grenades with long wooden handles, called “mallets” at the front. The fuse was rather weak and had a long burning time after the pins were pulled, which our soldiers often used. When such a grenade fell into our trench, the soldiers managed to grab it and throw it back. True, the Germans soon found an “antidote.” Having pulled the pin, they held the grenade in their hand for a second or two and only then threw it away.

The boy was clearly planning a terrorist attack, intending to throw grenades at the Germans. There was no one to throw at yet, but at any moment a handcar could appear or a patrol could pass. If you started to slowly climb down from the tree, the boy could get scared and run away. Call out? The effect could have been the same. You have to jump to catch him by surprise.

Alexander slowly, trying not to make a rustle, began to descend, watching the boy. So far he has not suspected anything.

When the height remained four meters, Alexander pushed off from the tree, landed on half-bent legs and immediately fell on his side. He rolled and leaned on the boy, not giving him the opportunity to stretch his arms forward and grab the grenades.

The boy was so stunned by Alexander’s unexpected appearance that he didn’t even twitch.

- Lie quietly, otherwise I’ll kill you! – Alexander promised. - Who are you?

“Let me go, uncle,” the boy whined, “I was just passing by.”

- Come on, be quiet! Yeah, I passed by, lay down to rest, and put some grenades nearby. So?

The boy just sniffed.

- What is your name?

- Mykola.

-Where did you get the grenades?

- Stole it from a truck. There were German cars on the road with boxes in the back. I thought there were canned goods in them, I opened the drawer. And there... - the guy pointed to the grenades with his head.

– And the Germans didn’t see you?

- Nope. They left immediately.

- You're lucky, guy. If they noticed, they would shoot.

- They didn’t notice!

- Why did you bring them here now?

The boy frowned and was silent.

- Yeah, I decided to play the hero. You will die in a bad way!

- Eh - no, that won’t work! You kill one, they will kill you, and the score will be “one-one.” And you kill a hundred and stay alive.

- Smart hurts! Why aren't you in the army yourself?

- None of your business. Do you want to inflict serious damage on the Germans?

-Where is your box of grenades?

The guy turned away - he didn’t want to answer.

- That's it, Kolya. Bring three or four more and a piece of rope. Will you find it?

- I’ll find it! – the guy answered boldly.

- Then why are you lying there? Bring it! I'll wait here.

- Won’t you deceive me, uncle?

- Are you still here?

The boy jumped up and disappeared between the trees.

It's starting to get dark. Half an hour passed, an hour... “He didn’t find me or my mother didn’t let me go,” thought Alexander. And almost immediately the bushes began to stir nearby.

- Uncle, where are you?

- Be quiet, crawl here.

Noisily, like a boar on the path to a watering hole, Mykola approached. From his bosom he took out four grenades and a piece of clothesline. That's it!

Alexander pulled all the grenades into a bundle with a rope, and one grenade with the handle in the other direction, opposite from the rest.

- What will it be? – asked Mykola, who had been watching Alexander’s actions so closely.

- It's called a bunch. One grenade is weak, but together it’s already something. I really want to blow up that train with tanks.

- Oh, uncle, don’t go! There is a German with a rifle, their sentry.

- Will you help?

The guy nodded.

- Then we do this. Take the grenades and come with me. When there is little time left before the sentry, I will give a sign. You will lie quietly and count. When you count down two minutes, make some noise.

- Scream, or what?

- In no case. Throw a pebble.

- Wherever you want. You need the German to hear and turn in your direction.

- Understood. And then?

- You are curious. And then I will call you. Take the grenades and come to me. Got it?

Yuri Korchevsky

Grand Duke's Special Forces

Battle slave

Fedka did not remember his father; his mother raised him and his younger brother. They lived from hand to mouth in a half-dugout, half-hut. The boy grew up hardworking, sharp-witted, quick-witted, but with character. For which he was beaten more than once as a village elder. Evgraf Ilyich, the boyar’s faithful servant, always angry, dissatisfied with everything. After working in the fields and a meager dinner, Fedka ran to the sexton and to church. The small church is calm and smells of incense and wax candles. And most importantly, the sexton never offended anyone, he spoke kindly. As Fedka grew up, he began to learn to read and write. The teenager was greedy for learning and absorbed knowledge like a sponge. In two weeks I learned the entire alphabet. The sexton gave me a handwritten book to read – “The Lives of the Saints”. Fedka read by candlelight in a small chapel of the church. Over time it started to work out well. Deacon Afanasy is pleased with the student. He began to teach arithmetic and praised him.

– You have abilities, Fedor. Learn to write, over time you will become a clerk, a respected person. Anything is better than bending your back in the field.

There was no money for paper and ink, but Afanasy gave practical advice.

- Make a sign. If you know beekeepers, they are made of wax. Or yourself, made of clay. Sharpen the stick and write with it.

Oh, how difficult it was to write at first! The letters turned out crooked, like they were drunk. And the line either slid down or up. But over time he mastered wisdom, because he practiced every day and did not shirk. In winter, when there was little work, I wrote and read by a torch. My mother approved of my desire to study.

- You're doing the right thing, son. Don’t forget Afanasy, he won’t teach you anything bad. You'll see, over time you'll become a clerk.

The clerk in the village is the second person after the headman. He recorded taxes for each slave, wrote petitions and petitions, and letters.

Fedka's life changed in one day. I was harvesting turnips from the master's garden, and by noon they found black clouds, and the rain began, turning into downpour. Fedor quit his job. I was completely soaked, but you couldn’t pull the turnip out of the ground, which had turned to mush. As soon as he took up a large willow basket, almost full, to take it to the barn, the headman appeared on a cart, making a detour.

- Are you lazy, did you quit your job?

He’s sitting on the cart, covering himself with matting.

- It’s raining.

The elder got off the cart, took the whip with which he was driving the horse, and began to whip Fyodor.

- Here you go, lazy fellow, here you go!

The blows were strong, Fyodor dodged, covering his face with his hands so that the whip would not hit the headman in the eye. How to live with one eye? Both of them did not hear the riders approaching because of the sound of the rain. The blows with the whip suddenly stopped, and the headman screamed. It was one of the riders who kicked him in the side with his boot.

- Why are you giving this guy a hard time?

There are three riders. Two warriors, judging by their armor, are in chain mail, with helmets on their heads, and with swords. And one is wearing a cloak and a helmet on his head. From under the cloak the edges of silk trousers are visible, tucked into short soft boots. Apparently he is no ordinary knight.

The headman jumped up at first. Who dared to hit him? And when he saw the horsemen, he took off his hat and bowed at the waist.

- Sorry, prince!

The prince grins contemptuously, and the warrior next to him asks again:

– What is the guy’s fault?

– He doesn’t want to harvest turnips.

- Well, it’s raining, the wet turnips in the barn will rot. Is that how you care about the harvest?

And he kicked the headman again. Not so much from pain, but from humiliation, and in front of the guy’s eyes, the headman screamed. The warrior, as if the elder was not screaming heart-rendingly, bowed from his horse:

-Whose slave will you be?

- Okhlopkova.

- How old are you?

In Rus', the New Year was counted from the first of March.

- Fifteen.

- And he looks more, therefore, not sick. Will you join the junior squad?

Young men were taken into the prince's junior squad and taught weapons combat. As soon as the newcomer mastered the entrusted weapon, they were taken on military campaigns, but not in the first line, but in the last ranks. Gradually they grew into experienced warriors. There was a constant decline in the squads. Some dropped out due to death in battle, some due to injury, and some, although rarely, dropped out due to age. Such people remained saddlers and grooms in the military hut.

Becoming a princely warrior is the dream of a young man. Everything is ready - a roof over your head, food, good quality clothes. And they obey only the governor and the prince. Of course, it’s a risky business, you could lose your belly. But this is a matter of chance. During the Tatar raids that happened, they took people in full, from which no one had yet returned, and killed them. When for fun, but for those who resisted - always. Loop a hairline around the neck and drag it behind the horse until the skin and meat are worn down to the bone.

“I’ll go,” Fedka immediately agreed and bowed.

“Run to your father and mother, ask for blessings,” the prince grinned.

The prince did not doubt the consent of his parents, but this is how it should be according to tradition.

- Vlasiy, take the guy. By evening, they should be in the military hut.

- I obey, prince.

The prince and the warrior took off from their place. Vlasiy remained.

- Run home. What's your name?

- Fedka.

Fedor was confused. Should I take the basket of turnips or leave them? Hesitantly, he took the handle, and Vlasiy shook his head:

- This is no longer your concern.

Fyodor rushed to the hut, Vlasiy slowly followed him. Fyodor burst into the hut, out of breath, and his mother was scared.

- What happened?

“The prince himself invited me to join the junior squad.” Will you bless?

And he fell to his knees in front of his mother. What could the woman do? With Fyodor leaving for the squad, there is one less mouth in the family to prepare for everything. And also hope. Fedor will grow up, become a gridnik, and help with a penny.

The mother took the icon from the red corner and blessed it.

- When are you leaving?

– Grid Vlasiy is already waiting.

- Why didn’t you invite the man to the hut, left him to get wet in the rain?

There is no need to get ready, there is not even a change of linen. Fyodor rose from his knees, hugged his mother tightly and his younger brother.

– If I have the opportunity, I’ll visit you.

– Don’t forget your roots, son! - the mother admonished.

Fyodor jumped out into the street. Grid was surprised.

- Where is the bundle of junk?

- It's all on me.

- It's clear. Get on the horse with me, let's go.

Fyodor loved horses, especially when he rode with the guys at night. A horse is a smart animal. You treat him kindly, treat him with carrots, and he won’t let you down. The warrior set off his horse. The mud is impassable, a horse cannot walk at a trot or gallop, he will slip, and he can’t bear the weight of two people. Fyodor looked around. Does any of the villagers see that he is traveling with a warrior? As luck would have it, there is no one, the rain has driven everyone into the huts.

After a while we entered a large village, Borisovo, not far from Serpukhov, which stood on the Oka. Grid Vlasiy goes straight to the squad hut. He brought the horse into the stable and unsaddled it.

“Wipe the horse with some hay,” Grid pointed out.

That's right, it's not good for a horse to stand wet. Horses have weak lungs and can catch a cold. Grid waved his hand, inviting him to follow him. The military hut is long, there are many warriors in it. Some sharpen the sword, some play dice. Vlasiy led him to the far end and introduced him to the gray-haired warrior. Apparently, the vigilante took part in more than one battle; he has scars on his face and is missing his little finger on his right hand.

- Prokhor, accept the newcomer, the prince has his eye on him. Put on shoes, dress, and teach.

- I will do it. What is your name, boy?

“Your place will be,” Prokhor pointed to the trestle bed. – Before dinner is ready, we’ll pick out some clothes. Went.

There is a small nook in the hut. They quickly picked out a linen shirt and trousers for the teenager. Yes, everything is new, dry. And once they tried on the boots, with soles made of thick pigskin, Fyodor’s joy knew no end. All his short life he walked barefoot or in bast shoes. Of the villagers, only the headman had boots.

Finally, Prokhor presented the belt.

- You can call me uncle. I am a mentor to the younger squad.

Some trestle beds were already occupied by the same teenagers. The prince nurtured replacements and reinforcements for the senior squad. After minor troubles, dinner time came. Everyone headed to the refectory. Dry, clean, smells delicious. Long tables and benches to the side. After praying at the icons, we sat down. The food turned out to be tasty and filling - porridge with slaughter, take as much bread as you want, and then sweets will fill you up. At my mother’s house we rarely ate meat, on holidays. After dinner, the warriors have free time. Fedka was chilled during the day in the rain and tired. How many new impressions! He lay down on the trestle bed. That's great! The trestle bed is wide, made for a strong man. And in his mother’s hut he slept on narrow floors. Involuntarily, the comparison came to mind. He fell asleep unnoticed. This morning I woke up early, as usual. It is still dark behind the small windows covered with mica plates, and the snoring is thick in the military hut. Of course – one and a half hundred hefty men and two dozen newcomers, all of them sleeping soundly.

After getting up, there was a prayer service in the house church, then classes began. The new recruits were given felt underarmor, and paper hats made of cotton wool, similar to thick tafya, on their heads. It’s unclear for Fedor. I realized why when in the yard they handed out strong straight sticks to the newcomers instead of swords. Prokhor the mentor began to teach me how to hold a weapon in my hands, how to strike, how to defend myself. And then the mentor divided the newcomers into pairs.

Yuri Korchevsky

Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough

Cover illustration – Nina and Alexander Solovyov

Chapter 1. Shock

Alexander looked at his watch. Soon. It is now 16–20, the plane from Yekaterinburg is due to land in five minutes.

And almost immediately, over the speakerphone, the announcer announced: “The Tu-154 plane, flight 268 from Yekaterinburg, has landed. We ask those meeting..."

Someone tugged my hand from behind.

- Countryman, we’re going to Moscow! Inexpensive, only three pieces,” suggested the impudent taxi driver, twirling a bunch of car keys on his finger.

It seemed to him that he came to his senses quite quickly. It was just not clear where he was and why it was so light.

Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough Yuri Korchevsky

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Title: Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough

About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

Special forces are always special forces - both in the 21st century and in 1941. Having found himself in the Great Patriotic War, our contemporary “remembers his youth” and his former service in the GRU Special Forces, takes the fight against the Wehrmacht and declares a sabotage war on the invaders. He will have to derail enemy trains and blow up ammunition depots, burn tanks and armored trains, break out of encirclements and fight to the death near Smolensk. After all, saboteurs are never former! And his war is just beginning...

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Yuri Korchevsky

Grand Duke's Special Forces

Battle slave

Fedka did not remember his father; his mother raised him and his younger brother. They lived from hand to mouth in a half-dugout, half-hut. The boy grew up hardworking, sharp-witted, quick-witted, but with character. For which he was beaten more than once as a village elder. Evgraf Ilyich, the boyar’s faithful servant, always angry, dissatisfied with everything. After working in the fields and a meager dinner, Fedka ran to the sexton and to church. The small church is calm and smells of incense and wax candles. And most importantly, the sexton never offended anyone, he spoke kindly. As Fedka grew up, he began to learn to read and write. The teenager was greedy for learning and absorbed knowledge like a sponge. In two weeks I learned the entire alphabet. The sexton gave me a handwritten book to read - “The Lives of the Saints.” Fedka read by candlelight in a small chapel of the church. Over time it started to work out well. Deacon Afanasy is pleased with the student. He began to teach arithmetic and praised him.

You have abilities, Fedor. Learn to write, over time you will become a clerk, a respected person. Anything is better than bending your back in the field.

There was no money for paper and ink, but Afanasy gave practical advice.

Make a sign. If you know beekeepers, they are made of wax. Or yourself, made of clay. Sharpen the stick and write with it.

You're doing the right thing, son. Don’t forget Afanasy, he won’t teach you anything bad. You'll see, over time you'll become a clerk.

The clerk in the village is the second person after the headman. He recorded taxes for each slave, wrote petitions and petitions, and letters.

Are you lazy, did you quit your job?

He’s sitting on the cart, covering himself with matting.

So it's raining.

The elder got off the cart, took the whip with which he was driving the horse, and began to whip Fyodor.

Here you go, lazy fellow, here you go!

Why are you giving this guy a hard time?

The headman jumped up at first. Who dared to hit him? And when he saw the horsemen, he took off his hat and bowed at the waist.

Sorry, prince!

The prince grins contemptuously, and the warrior next to him asks again:

What's the guy's fault?

He doesn’t want to harvest the turnips.

Well, it’s raining, and the wet turnips in the barn will rot. Is that how you care about the harvest?

Whose slave will you be?

Okhlopkova.

How old are you?

In Rus', the New Year was counted from the first of March.

Fifteen.

And he looks no longer sick. Will you join the junior squad?

“I’ll go,” Fedka immediately agreed and bowed.

Run to your father and mother, ask for blessings,” the prince grinned.

The prince did not doubt the consent of his parents, but this is how it should be according to tradition.

Vlasiy, take the guy. By evening, they should be in the military hut.

I obey, prince.

The prince and the warrior took off from their place. Vlasiy remained.

Run home. What's your name?

Fedka.

Fedor was confused. Should I take the basket of turnips or leave them? Hesitantly, he took the handle, and Vlasiy shook his head:

This is no longer your concern.

Fyodor rushed to the hut, Vlasiy slowly followed him. Fyodor burst into the hut, out of breath, and his mother was scared.

What happened?

The prince himself invited me to join the junior squad. Will you bless?

The mother took the icon from the red corner and blessed it.

When are you leaving?

Grid Vlasiy is already waiting.

Why didn’t you invite the man into the hut and leave him to get wet in the rain?

There is no need to get ready, there is not even a change of linen. Fyodor rose from his knees, hugged his mother tightly and his younger brother.

If I have the opportunity, I'll visit you.

Don't forget your roots, son! - the mother admonished.

Fyodor jumped out into the street. Grid was surprised.

Where is the bundle of junk?

It's all on me.

It's clear. Get on the horse with me, let's go.

After a while we entered a large village, Borisovo, not far from Serpukhov, which stood on the Oka. Grid Vlasiy goes straight to the squad hut. He brought the horse into the stable and unsaddled it.

“Wipe the horse with hay,” Grid pointed out.

Prokhor, accept the newcomer, the prince has his eye on him. Put on shoes, dress, and teach.

I will do it. What is your name, boy?

“Your place will be,” Prokhor pointed to the trestle bed. - Before dinner is ready, we’ll pick out some clothes. Went.

Finally, Prokhor presented the belt.

You can call me uncle. I am a mentor to the younger squad.

Some trestle beds were already occupied by the same teenagers. The prince nurtured replacements and reinforcements for the senior squad. After minor troubles, dinner time came. Everyone headed to the refectory. Dry, clean, smells delicious. Long tables and benches to the side. After praying at the icons, we sat down. The food turned out to be tasty and filling - porridge with slaughter, take as much bread as you want, and then sweets will fill you up. At my mother’s house we rarely ate meat, on holidays. After dinner, the warriors have free time. Fedka was chilled during the day in the rain and tired. How many new impressions! He lay down on the trestle bed. That's great! The trestle bed is wide, made for a strong man. And in his mother’s hut he slept on narrow floors. Involuntarily, the comparison came to mind. He fell asleep unnoticed. This morning I woke up early, as usual. It is still dark behind the small windows covered with mica plates, and the snoring is thick in the military hut. Of course - one and a half hundred strong men and two dozen newcomers, everyone is sleeping soundly.

After getting up, there was a prayer service in the house church, then classes began. The new recruits were given felt underarmor, and paper hats made of cotton wool, similar to thick taffia, on their heads. It’s unclear for Fedor. I realized why when in the yard they handed out strong straight sticks to the newcomers instead of swords. Prokhor the mentor began to teach me how to hold a weapon in my hands, how to strike, how to defend myself. And then the mentor divided the newcomers into pairs.

Fight!

No one wants to be defeated, they fought seriously. There is a sound of sticks in the yard and screams. From the outside looking in, it’s fun, the guys are fighting with sticks. But not a single member of the senior squad smiled; everyone went through the training. The felt underarmor protected him from blows, but it still hurt his ribs, and most of all, his fingers and hands. The skin on the fingers is already torn, the abrasions are getting worse, and they hurt. Fedka clenched his teeth. Never yields to the enemy. Periodically, Prokhor approaches each pair, points out mistakes, and sometimes he takes the stick in his hand and slowly demonstrates the movements.