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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
TABLE OF CONTENTS ITEM TRANSCRIPT
ENGLISH TRANSLATION 2
CITATION & RIGHTS 37
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
TRANSCRIPT ENGLISH TRANSLATION
Komsky Boris Grigorevich Kiev (Kyiv) Active Army July 1943 Party candidate membership ID: VKP(B)
5811004 Komsomol membership ID: 1116212 *** “Mortar Gunners’ Song” It stands, made for battle, With
its base plate sunk deeply. Its spitting will make the enemy howl And go silent forever. * Fly, my mine,
Whistle, my mine. Crush everything in your path. Cleave yourself, my mine, Into the fascists’ avalanche So
the Germans don't escape alive. * We became friends long ago, We're always together now. It stands,
made for battle, Waiting for the order "Fire!" * The gun crews await the order. Only markers are seen in the
field, So fire, fire, mortars, On the enemies of our dear country. * We will send a lethal hurricane Onto
fascist backs and necks. Behind the mountain and in a deep trench Our mine will find the enemy. —July 8,
1943
“Soldier’s Song” There are many big roads out there in the world, There are many footpaths and trails—
Everywhere, there are imprints of soldiers’ boots, Everywhere, the soldiers’ stomping. * It’s a difficult
march, full of misfortunes— A soldier’s life is like that. Bullets are whistling, looking for soldiers, Their
whistling is a soldier's song. * The ground is covered with the wrinkles of ditches, So much strenuous work!
Rivers of sweat rolled down like hail From the soldiers’ dust-covered foreheads. * Don’t spare your
strength getting into the ground. A soldier’s life is like that. Bullets are whistling, looking for soldiers, Their
whistling is a soldier’s song. * So many shells and bullets were cast— Who would begrudge steel or lead?
The cruel lashes of death, Await us at every step. * The mine and the shell are all to the soldier. A soldier’s
life is like that. Bullets are whistling, looking for soldiers, Their whistling is a soldier’s song. —July 11, 1943
July 11, 1943. Area if Orlovka village. All day we were moving towards the front line. An intense artillery
barrage and major air battles have been going on since morning. Our units have begun to advance.
Moving along the same coordinates where the Germans was positioned this morning. The fighting is at a
distance of 4-5 kilometers. We move from place to place at night. Twice we began preparing fire positions.
Chaos.
July 12, 1943. Our guys are moving forward. We can’t keep up with the infantry. The Germans are
escaping quickly, leaving behind weapons and supplies. We’re gathering the spoils of war. My mood is
good. We didn’t launch a single mortar, as the front line is moving further ahead of us each minute and we
can’t catch up to our forces.
July 13, 1943. We covered 30 km and set up our positions in a destroyed village, previously a German
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
base. Not much fire. The Germans lived here like they were in a resort; the only thing they were missing in
their dugouts was bird’s milk.
July 14, 1943. We are catching up with infantry. We are firing German 81mm shells. A great deal of
disorder. Got completely lost at night. Really exhausted—we move without stop… with cannons and high-
powered five-ton lorries with ammunition. The delivery of ammunition is fantastic. A row of trucks in the
street but there is not a single worthless car available for our mortars, so we have to walk for dozens of
kilometers in the heat, carrying the machinery on our backs.
July 21, 1943. We’re following our offensive line. On the way—whole, untouched villages—[the enemy]
didn’t have enough time to set on fire, and fields full of wheat, potatoes and so forth. We stopped in a
village, entrenched ourselves. “Tigers” expected. No civilians in the villages. Saw a former POW who was
working for the Germans and who escaped back to our side. Tells us about frightening things. All men
wearing Russian clothes are shot without any discussion, partisans. Ahead of us is the Vlasov Army. We’ll
send them a couple of knock-outs. 37 km to Oryol. We have taken over Mtsensk and Laoarchangelsk.
Taking advantage of this rest, we are constantly boiling potatoes, eating apples,etc.
July 22, 1943. Got our military assignment at noon—we are going to replace the second battalion. There
are no reserves left. We have to occupy two elevated positions around the village Zelënyye Sady. Front
line. The road was very challenging. Swarms of bullets fly right above our heads. Set up the fire positions in
a deep ravine. Already fired about ten shells. The Germans are constantly pounding us with his artillery.
Sasha Ogloblin is wounded in the head. He went to the medical battalion. Yesterday, the head of the
regiment headquarters was killed. My mortar fired 45 shells in one day. That’s my record so far. Just now
the body of Jr. Lieutenant was recovered: he was burned alive after he wound up in occupied territory with
twelve other wounded soldiers. Women with small children are passing us, returning to their villages,
carrying their miserable things. These are the ones who were able to hide when everyone was expelled.
Everyone else was chased away to Oryol. The women’s faces are filled with fear and joy, confusion and
happiness. There were Germans here. It smells of Fritzes. The traces of the Germans are all over: An oak
cross above a murderer’s grave, And ruins, rifles, helmets, smoke. I saw the fire over the Orel villages And
the smoke rising up to the skies, Haggard women with naked children And the horror on their faces—I saw
it all firsthand. And the corpse of a commander burned alive Still stands before me now like a ghost. I
swore to avenge them all threefold, To make the beast endure hellish torment.
Zelënyye Sady, Dubrovskiy, and Krasnaya Polyana have been captured. In the last two places, almost all
the civilians survived, except the men. They greet us as their own: “Where have you been all this time?”
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
That increases our strength tenfold. Today’s a difficult day, the Germans broke away and put quite a
distance between us, apparently entrenched themselves, and found reinforcements. We advanced about
15km. They keep pounding us with artillery and mortars. Our company lost only three people at the
marshes—one dead. The fire is fierce. Tons of airplanes. Getting closer to Oryol and Bryansk.
July 24, 1943. There has never before been so much German aviation. Up to 40 planes are hanging above
our heads. One fleet barely finishes dropping bombs before the next one arrives. Everything is grey from
the smoke. Six Juners were strafing our fire positions; no casualties. We launched sixty shells each. Two
traitors were escorted in front of us: a village elder and a polizei. The latter was young and tall. The roads
are filled with a moving mass of our forces: motorized infantry, tanks, and artillery.
July 25, 1943. We’re shooting from old fire positions. Launched about fifty shells. There are two mortar
batteries and three battalions near us. Met some guys from the Operational Search Administration. The
company commander was contused. He was replaced by Lieutenant Kovalenko. Two guys are MIA; they
probably ran away. Intense artillery barrage since morning. Guns and mortars lie beneath each blade of
grass. Fired fifty shells each. Katushas and Andrushas are firing. Tanks are supporting our infantry, but the
advance is slow. It seems that the Germans brought in their reserves and reinforced. We moved forward
towards the evening. We were hit by heavy fire in the village. The Germans are using their aviation. We
roamed all night.
July 26, 1943. We didn’t sleep this night. At dawn we manned our fire positions and started shooting.
Advancing slowly, though there’s a lot of force assembled on our side. Ahead of us is an important railroad
station which marks 12 km from Oryol. We have to take it. Our battalion is seriously depleted. No more
than two platoons remain. The battalion commander’s legs were blown off and he died. Staff commander
is injured. Around evening two sergeants were delivering supper in thermoses to the front line. One of
them was playing on a harmonica; the other one was distressed about having to deliver dinner. Both were
killed. Unprecedented downpour with thunder and lightning; the luck of soldiers. We received Stalin’s
order in which he thanks the personnel of our army. The years won’t soon erase it from my memory, And
only death will quench this hate. For the torment of bodies thrown into the flames, For everything they
perpetrated in Rus.
July 27, 1943. We’re in the same place. We are resting while second unit is leading an attack. Measures
have been taken to organize our unit. The regiment, which consisted of dwarfish battalions, has been
reinforced and reorganized into a full operational battalion of 300. They have brought in the extra cooks,
medics, etc. All three of the mortar companies remain for now. Each one supports a rifle company. Getting
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
ready to attack on Stanovoy Kolodez'.
July 28, 1943. In the morning we found out that the Stanovoy Kolodez' railroad station on the way to Oryol-
Kursk, the one that our division was supposed to take, was relinquished to the Germans. It is 4-6 km from
here. We started moving under heavy artillery fire. It turned out that the Germans fortified 1 km behind the
station and were reinforced. We stopped along the road about 3 km away from the station and set up
along the country road. Artillery fire came out of nowhere, pounding us with precision. We hid in German
slit trenches. When they stopped firing and we returned to our previous spots, my heart started pounding
uncontrollably: The exact spot where I was laying down was hit by a shell. The stem of my mortar, which lay
under my head, was bent like a can of sardines, and two spots were pierced through with fragments. My
gas mask was blown to pieces. My rain cape had fifteen small fragment holes; one would have been
sufficient for me to no longer need the the cape or anything else. Misha Indechenko is seriously wounded
in his groin, Semenov in his leg. My mortar is out of commission. Will they give me a new one? If not, then
I'm off to mother infantry. Immediately after the attack 10 Katushas took revenge on the Fritz, for my mortar
and for Misha.
July 29 [1943]. We wandered around all night near the front line. It wasn’t until sunrise that we found our
battalion and assumed our fire positions. The reserves dug up positions by the side of the road. We barely
got out of the area before it was bombed. Then thirty planes appeared. Fun all around. They brought me a
new mortar, so we’ll be able to fight. Some pleasant news coming from Italy. Mussolini submitted his
resignation, so the fascist party is dissolving, etc.
The mission to capture the station Stanovoy Kolodez', has been completed by our division. We will now
serve as moving defense; we will not chase the Germans but only move forward after they retreat. These
have been our orders for several days. We are currently about 3 km west of the station. I was there
yesterday: everything’s been destroyed. The Germans are gradually retreating, afraid of a second
Stalingrad. The civilians say that the Germans have making noise about some betrayal. They are retreating
in an orderly fashion: they aren’t leaving a single thing behind and are driving all of the civilians away.
Many traitors among the peasants. Many young, healthy guys lay low in their simpleton households. At the
moment, we are resting, as if we are in a summer home: the Germans are 5 kilometers away and our fire
positions are in the wheat fields at the edge of the village, so we have plenty of vegetables and we are
boiling buckets of potatoes. We walked all night and dug; we are rolling in the wheat all day. The grains
have been ready for a long time, they should be picked, but there’s no one to do the job. The seeds are
blowing away because of the wind and the waves of explosions. Autumn is coming. This is slightly scary. It
seems that we will only go on leave and into formation after occupying Oryol. Those who survive will be
fortunate; they are promising us the rank of a guard, honors, and medals. There’s been mention that I will
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
be recommended for an award. I received my party membership candidacy card on the 31st.
August 3 [1943]. Tough day. Sergeant Turkalev, who fought for two years, stepped on a mine and was
blown to pieces. He recommended me to the Party and just yesterday wrote my military reference
document for the Medal of Bravery. Three guys wounded. Drunk Sergeant Cap. Fornel led a battalion into
heavy fire and, without any artillery preparation, sticks and bones are all that’s left of the battalion, which
was a battalion assembled from the entire regiment. Fornel himself was killed. That which I presumed
happened: in the evening our mortars were taken away from us and we were sent to the front line. Here
she is, mother infantry. I was assigned to a unit.
August 4, 1943. The Germans retreated. We are following them. We passed many large villages. Many
civilians, the villages are buzzing like bees. There’s life and laughter all around. Smoke rises from the
chimneys, there is a big celebration all around, the soldiers are being treated. I saw Oryol on the horizon (8
kilometers away from the regional center of Lavrovo), enveloped in smoke. The civilians are saying that
there aren’t any Germans left in Oryol. The bridges are blown up, everything has been burned, blown up,
and demolished. In the evening, we set up our defensive positions right by the Oka River. We have a clear
view of the Germans 2 kilometers away from the river. Huge caves were discovered in the mountain, where
about five thousand peasants from the neighboring villages were in hiding. I went in to to check out the
place. They poured out of the holes, they latched onto me. The old women sobbed, “Dear God, let us look
at you. Haven’t seen anyone in two years.” The men told us, in detail, where the Germans were located,
how many there were, where the safe routes were, where the mines were planted, etc.
August 5 [1943]. We silently moved towards the Oka River at 9 a.m. We have a self-propelled cannon with
us and there are some tanks rattling somewhere in the back. In a loose forward formation we forced the
Oka River, with the water up to our waists. It wasn’t until we crossed that the Germans spotted us and
opened fire; those who got stuck behind in the mound were wounded. I quickly crossed the river and
moved on. Apparently the Germans were not expecting an attack. On a hill near a burned-down village,
some Germans were shooting at us. We attacked. The Germans ran. Our platoon ran forward, eight
people in the platoon. We passed the village. The Germans were retreating through the wheat fields. Our
guys were chasing them. I knelt down on my knee, fired my rifle. One Fritz fell. I felt triumphant. I ran
ahead. I saw two Germans were falling behind. I commanded my guys: "surround them." One raised his
hands. I ran to the second guy, got to him, it turned out to be the guy I shot: head injury. He handed me his
personal kit. I didn’t bandage him. A strong Fritz, wearing an award and an award ribbon. I removed his
machine gun, searched him. Someone yelled: “Take off his watch, what are you looking for." True, I
thought to myself; removed it. We sent both of them to headquarters. Caught another one. He yelled:
"Pan, nike boom-boom." Sent him off. A group of thirty or so crossed the wheat fields. I wanted to attack. I
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
glanced around, I only had four guys with me. There was no one else around. We got separated from the
others by about 2 kilometers. We opened fire. The Germans were gathering the dead and wounded and
retreating. They obviously didn't realize how close we were and how few of us there were. Our mines were
exploding behind us. I was thinking, I’m stuck, how do I avoid getting captured? The Germanс headed
towards the village. Our guys appeared about two hours later. We took our defensive positions. I was
given a machine gun. The Slyshanski Heights was set on fire, which is 600 meters away from us.
August 6 [1943]. At 4 o’clock we set off south-west. Captured a village. It was burnt to the ground. The
residents were crying: “Why didn’t you come earlier?” Women kissing. I felt guilty. A blind old man came
out with bread and salt (who knows, maybe that’s how he greeted the Germans also). Awful downpour. We
moved on from the village, entrenched ourselves behind the vegetable garden. The Germans noticed us
and opened a hurricane of artillery and mortar fire. We rushed out of there and got behind the other side
of the hill, covered with wheat stalks. Many guys were hit. We entrenched ourselves. Rain again. After
dinner, around 4 o’clock, we attacked again. The enemy hit us again with his cannons and mortars. When
we got to the edge of the wheat fields, his machine gun started talking. His fire operation was very
successful. We were forced to hit the ground under the fire. Our guys were getting knocked out one after
the other. Our units were behind somewhere again. Oshkov crawled towards them, promised he’d come
back for us: there were five of us. The Germans were hitting my machine gun with their machine-guns.
They were watching us: any slight movement and there was a burst of fire. My #2 Greenshpoon was
seriously wounded in his leg. “Vanuysha” began making sounds, there was no one who could get
Greenshpoon out, and there was nowhere to take him. No Oshkov. I raised my head for a second, saw our
guys crawling along on the left, about 700 meters away from me, very difficult to get to them. The wheat
fields were ending. Nevertheless, I ordered the two remaining guys to crawl and drag Greenshpoon on
top of their rain cape, while I tried to reach our guys. This is when my turn came: a mine fragment hit my
right hand. The medic bandaged me. I calmly, with a steady heart beat, waited for the end, was calm about
the injury, and even saw how the fragment tore off a piece of my flesh together with a piece of my shirt. I
crawled backwards along the wheat field. They were all firing at me with a machine gun, couldn’t even
raise myself on my knees. Somehow I reached the other end of the slope and stood up straight. On the
way I was stopped by the regiment commander Major Isay (who asked me about the situation) and other
people from our rear units stopped me. By evening I reached the medical company.
August 7, 1943. In the morning medical cars transported us from the medical company to the medical
battalion. The guys riding with me from our company: Katz (leg), Makimov and Dzumaev (hands). The latter
is suspected of a self-inflicted wound. Many guys are from our regiment, including the platoon
commander, Shevkunov, who’s been awarded twice.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
August 8, 1943. After several ordeals, they brought us to hospital #2641 for the lightly wounded in the
Chichirino Village, in the Mokhovsk region. I had a bath, and was bandaged. The doctor says that I won’t
have any fragments left in my hand. They expect up to thirty days for recovery.
August 9, 1943. I was assigned to the second surgical unit in the Arzhannoye Village. Everyone is
incapable. Shevkunov and Makimov are here as well. Complete chaos. We were placed in an empty hut,
where the windows are practically shattered. We sleep on the floor. Two mattresses which we had to fill
with straw, for four people. Absolutely no entertainment. Impossible to lay your hands on a book. Not even
a single newspaper. We are not well fed and the conditions in the dining commons are a total mess. We
have to eat standing up, etc. My soul aches—is this how wounded soldiers should be treated?
August 14 [1943]. Everything’s the same as before. My arm isn’t bothering me. I gave my watch to the
senior nurse for some lard, canned food, and bread. I am nourishing myself.
August 19 [1943]. Tough day. Godik Kravets who was also brought to our hospital came over to me. He
was wounded in his leg by a fragment on August 9, three days after me. It was a fatal day for our company.
When the new staff commander arrived, a complete idiot, they began “improving” our positions and
encountered defensive German mortar fire. Killed: Yasha Maliev, Kslamov, Oshkov, Mikhailov, Jr.
Lieutenant Kushnerev. Five guys remain from the company, no one from our platoon. The news had a
terrible effect on me. Most importantly – Yasha Maliev, my dear friend, a man of gold. At night the division
was taken away to rest and reorganize. How many heads were sacrificed needlessly because of inert
command. The shells explode all around me, Hell’s bullets ring above my ears, In a cramped trench, in rain
and heat, Lies a young fighter with his gun. * The planes cast ominous shadows above him, He faces death
a hundred times a day. But bullets will rush by, the danger passes, And he is back to his accustomed
thought. * Far, far away from the dugout’s walls, His girlfriend lives—oh, what a catch! In his heart’s depths,
a feeling wakens, He loved this girl with mighty love. * He loved this girl with all his soul, For her kindness,
tenderness, her dear voice. He will again recall the spring of their love, And he won’t fall asleep for a long
time. * But many weeks have passed since those times. The boy put on his soldier’s uniform, And fighting
enemies in savage battle, He rarely thinks of his sweetheart. * Does she still love him as she used to? She
sent him keepsakes: a kerchief and tobacco bag. So that it would light up his eyes with warm joy, So that
he'd show it to a friend with pride.
August 22, 1943. Mokhovoye station. The hospital is relocating. We are traveling up to Oryol by freight
train.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
August 25 [1943]. Oryol. In the morning we got off the train at the station “Oryol”. Now it is ruins and coals.
The railroad station building complex is torn apart. The indicators are torn down, the transport
infrastructure is burned down. We crossed the city. The impression was not as oppressive as I would have
thought. No matter what, a big city cannot be destroyed completely. The majority of the buildings are not
livable now, only walls remain, but after a few months of intense work—everything will be reinstated. You
feel life in the city. People are hurrying about, cars are running, our barely standing walls are filled with
announcements of motivation and mobilization. There are signs everywhere, “Needed…, opening, hiring!”
and so forth. Kindergartens are open, pharmacies, and other institutions. Kharkov [Kharkiv] was captured
yesterday! Signs posted on fences read “The City of Kharkov [Kharkiv] is Soviet Again!” We have a journey
of 60 km from Oryol to Naryshkino. Everyone has to find their own means of getting there—everyone’s on
their own.
August 28 [1943]. Village Gorky. Traveling on foot and by cars, we have almost reached our destination.
Currently life is of a "wanderer." Only 6 kilometers remain until we reach the unit. We (us three sergeants)
stopped in a village that was destroyed to its core. We slept the night in some woman's hut. We then
decided to help her and within two days built her a dug-out, a perfectly reasonable living space. Other
women came to ask us to do the same, even promised us moonshine, but I have to go to the hospital
because my hand is bothering me.
August 30 [1943]. Khodakov. Surgery. Five stitches in my hand.
September 5 [1943]. Khodakov. Stitches were removed. Success. Each day brings new and most pleasing
news.
September 9 [1943]. Unexpectedly I ran into Izya Vainer. Vova Tuv and Luysik Kisluyk died; the first near
Stalingrad, the second in Kiev [Kyiv]. I am convinced: the best people die. The British essentially landed in
Italy. Now action will move at cinema speed. The Donbass is fully cleared. Stalino [Donetsk] and Artemovsk
[Artëmovsk] are also ours.
September 13 [1943]. Letters from home arrived. Zyunya is finishing technical college and staying in
Chimkent. I have a slice of happiness after all.
September 16 [1943]. Yesterday Izya Vainer was released [from the hospital] and left for the reserves unit.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
Today I escorted my new friend, Daniil Shevkunov, who’s a wonderful person, to our regiment. He’s from
Altai Krai, a true Siberian; he's been at the front from the very beginning of the war. He’s been awarded
three military honors. He’s so genuine and modest, too! We became quite close and even kissed as we
parted. Tears nearly appeared in his eyes. Will we ever meet again? It’s unlikely. Nezhin is occupied. The
first time that the path towards Kiev [Kyiv] has appeared in the report of operations. I wait for it like the
Messiah. There’s still hope.
The hospital is emptying. Kravets left and headed to our division. Today I said goodbye to my new friend,
L. Keselem, an engineer from Odessa [Odesa]. A really good guy, an intellecural, traveled throughout
Europe and America, served a prison sentence and served in a penal company. Had the rank of military
engineer, and now he is a private. He is only ten years older than me. I met him coincidentally and we
quickly became close friends. He left today for a hospital in the rear. Soon it will be my turn, to go west.
Major things happening, couldn't be better. Poltava, Chernigov [Chernihiv] and Smolensk are recaptured.
There are unofficial rumors about the recapture of Gomel and Kiev [Kyiv]. Just the thought of it makes me
tremble.
September 30 [1943]. It finally happened. Today I was release from the hospital and directed to the
battalion for recovering soldiers. Only a few people remain in the hospital. To "start with," thirty people
were assigned to me, whom I have to lead and submit to the Rifle Regiment Reserves. The Recovery
Battalion was located in the area of Lokot', but has now been relocated to Trubchevsk. After dinner we
started moving. We covered 7 kilometers. We spent the night in Moldovo. The village is burned down.
Started setting up. Only a few men remain here, but there are some after all.
October 1 [1943]. Gerasimovo village. We are moving forward. In Shablykino. There is a placard hanging
at the point of entry that says, "This used to be the regional center. It was completely burned and looted by
the Germans. Remember this, soldier, and avenge!” There are several Red Army burial sites. All that
remains from the big village are some tall chimneys. Along the road, carts and wagons with peasants
return from “evacuation.” The wagons are harnessed by horses and cows, and two-wheeled carts are
dragged by people. We walked 11 kilometers today: Shablykino, Vorontzovo, Gerasimovo. The latter was
miraculously left unharmed. All of the regional offices are concentrated in this area. I slept in a real hut for
the first time in six months.
October 2 [1943]. Turishevo. Walked 16 kilometers today: Gavrilevo, Turishchëvo. We are moving slowly. I
am guessing that we will be in Lokot’ by the 5th of October. We cooked and slept outdoors, in the hay. The
village was burned down. Didn’t feel like going to the mud huts. The people are angry, calling
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
everyone—the Germans, [Red Army] soldiers, and each other—"snakes," at every step. Something
unfortunate happened: one of the wagons carrying evacuated people hit an antitank mine. It killed a man
and a horse, broke the cart, and injured a lady. 7 kilometers left before we get to the village. A person
never knows where death awaits.
October 3 [1943]. Dobrik. Moving along slowly. Until we reach Lokot' 25 kilometers remain. We walked 15
kilometers today: Telyatnikovo—Dobrik. The villages are all intact. Even the windmills are still standing.
Pleasant to look at. A group of German POWs was escorted on the road. A group of them voluntarily ran
over to our side. The civilians wouldn’t let them pass, cursed them in both Russian and German: “Where
are you taking these snakes?! Kill them on the spot! They stole! They destroyed!” The Germans simply
showed guilty smiles and babbled, “I never burned anything. Never hit anyone.” Some old women boiled
a bunch of potatoes in one of the villages, threw them on the ground and yelled: “Eat that! You’ve taken
enough of our geese and eggs!” Rumors going around that there may be gangs of Germans and Vlasov
fighters in the woods. Already liquidated one of these groups that was made up of 5,000 people. Slept in a
hut again. We stayed up late by the oil lamp, listening to a kid’s story about the partisans. Those guys truly
worked hard.
October 5 [1943]. City of Lokot'. Here’s Lokot'. All it brought was disappointment. No produce center in
the city. Didn’t give us a single piece of bread. We're on your own. 60 kilometers to Trubachevsk. But the
deputy commander of the regiment has already moved out of Starodub. He will have already changed
positions twice before we even get there. Lokot' used to be a beautiful city. Now, it’s all in ruins. The road
ahead of us will be a difficult one. All forests, no villages. There are not even potatoes that we can get. On
top of that, the rumors about the gangs are confirmed. All of the guys were disheartened by this. Met a few
partisans today who were coming from the Oryol Parade [Partisan Parade in Oryol]. One guys, born in
1926, had a partisan medal. It turns out that there were many partisans, and many Jews were among them.
Partisan territory was considered Soviet, and the civilians were forbidden to cross the “border.” Anyways,
the civilians were themselves terrified to even come close. Sometimes the partisans took cows, bread, and
hay from settlements. Good job! The Germans were scared of them like the plague! They sent the Magyars
(Hungarians) to crush their detachments. There’s the famous detachment led by Kovpak, which is currently
in the Kiev [Kyiv] region. The guys from Orlovsk willingly hunted after the partisan units. The Germans
entrusted them with weapons and did not doubt their loyalty. The wives followed the “punishers” and
robbed the partisans of their things. The families of partisans were brutally tortured. Repulsive people.
Many people treat us with animosity still now. The partisans hate them, like enemies.
october 8 [1943]. Krupets [Village]. Slept the night in Krupets, which is 9 kilometers away from Lokot'. We
decided to stay here for two nights, work a bit and fill our sacks with bread. Eight of us formed a team to
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
build a real house out of the cut wood. We stayed for three days instead of two. Even got used to it. The
woman who owned the house gave us food and water. We earned some bread and lard for the road. I
drank moonshine for the first time in my life, which I also earned with my own hands. The people here are
repulsive: mean, greedy, jealous.They don’t get along with each other; and the houses that are intact are
filthy. But, the way we lived here for three days reminds us of life before the war. 50 kilometers to
Trubchëvsk. The road continuously follows the Bryank Forest. Not a single village along the way.
Everything was burned down.
October 9 [1943]. Chern' Village. We walked 25 kilometers. Here they are, the Bryansk Forests: the
impregnable stronghold of the partisans. Their marks are everywhere: trenches, dugouts, earth houses.
We also saw a wire attached to tin cans which the Germans tied to trees, so they could hear approaching
partisans. There are truly no villages around. We are going through more and more forest. In the evening
we approached what used to be Chern' village. A few destroyed huts remain. In one of those live two radio
operators, who are safeguarding their belongings. Only walls and a stove remain in the hut. We heated the
stove and the three of us slept through the night wonderfully. My guys had to freeze.
October 10 [1943]. Bryansk Forest. Today was the most failed day. Some woman pointed me to a
roundabout, god-forsaken trail. We walked half the day and did not see any signs of life, not even a trace
of a car or a wagon. We walked 15 kilometers extra. We have no water, no food. The guys began to get
angry, a fight broke out. But we finally got back on track. We walked 40 kilometers in one day. There was
no where to stop for the night. At night we kept moving. Their legs were buckling beneath them, but the
guys kept going. At midnight we finally reached the edge of the forest. At the edge we found wonderful
dugouts with plank beds and hay. Went to sleep angry and hungry. I didn't even assign any guards.
Rumors about bandits proved untrue. Apparently, they were female fantasies.
October 11 [1943]. Trubchëvsk. We saw the city of Trubchëvsk in the morning, which is situated on a large
and steep bank of the Desna River; the left shore is as straight as a table. It would be impossible to take the
city by storm. We got across the river by ferry. We went straight into a village that is 3 kilometers from the
city. The head of the communal farm situated us in houses and instructed that we be fed breakfast. What a
striking change in every way! The villages are standing, just like in a painting: intact, neat, and clean, with
smooth streets, tall houses, and windmills in the background. The people are hospitable: everyone is
happy to feed a soldier. But they are especially sensitive when the speak about the communal farms and
the partisans. The city wasn't particularly damaged. There aren't any ruins like there were in Oryol. You can
see people with red stripes on their hats everywhere—partisans. The military commandant’s office is very
busy; mobilization. I only got to find out that the reserves regiment is located in Novozybkov and that there
is no produce again. I managed to get some bread and food concentrates from the field hospital, but if,
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
moving forward, the people are like here, we won’t need bread. We are moving forward. A curious thing:
the Germans won’t stop talking about “the Bolshevik zhyds,” while the women call the Germans “dumb
zhyds.” More discussion about the local men; a lot of them voluntarily joined the Germans, some out of
hatred towards Soviet power, and others were simply enticed with vodka, a uniform, and candy. One
brother fights in the Red Army, while another joins the Germans.
October 12 [1943]. We walked 15 kilometers. The road goes along the hilly and steep shore of the Desna
River. We come across a village every 2 kilometers. We spent the night in Khot’yanovka. We have 20
kilometers left until we reach Pogar. We will be there tomorrow.
October 13 [1943]. Pogar. A small town, three fourths of it is demolished by the Germans. These ruins
leave the worse impression, even worse than in Oryol. Many houses stand undisturbed here, but those
touched by the Germans are reduced to rubble, without any remnants of walls. The same story, no
distribution of produce, we are told to go elsewhere. We were housed for the night in different
apartments. Luck in not on my side. I wound up in some god-forsaken place where four insane elderly men
live who ask questions: "Who will we belong to after the war? Will they divide people between England
and USA," and so forth. I can't find any news anywhere. I only heard that the Red Army is attacking again
and forced the Dnieper River in three locations. Kiev [Kyiv] is not yet retaken. For the past two days artillery
bombardment is clearly heard without a break. The locals are worried, assuming the Germans are
returning. I heard from the commandant that in Gomel [Homyel'], which is surrounded by our units, the
Germans threw in a lot of support forces and pressured ours to retreat 12 kilometers. At the same time
others confirm that Gomel [Homyel'] is already in our control. Complete confusion.
October 14 [1943]. We walked 20 kilometers. We stopped in a large village, half of it burnt. A very heartfelt
woman is the head of the house; a person who is happy with all her heart about the appearance of the Red
Army. She told us about how much she tried to show resistance to the Germans, hid her cattle in ditches,
knocked eggs out of the hands of their soldiers. When the Germans were retreating and wanted to burn
the huts, the men chased them, the Germans got scared off and decided not to set fire.
Starodub Village. This Pokrov holidays is a disaster. My entire group ran around the villages "partying."
Only eight people are walking with me. I don't know when I will gather everyone. I also hung out. I walked
into one hut to eat, and inside women were feasting, served me wine, lard, meat, sour cream, etc and
would not let me out until I ate. In the evening we were in Starobud. Regimen 181 is in Klintsy.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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October 16 [1943]. Chervonniy Yar. Spending the night at the home of the director of the village counsel.
The youths born in 1925-1926 were taken to Germany. Mass killings of Jews in Starodubsk. The local
police worked extra hard at it. The locals helped the unfortunate ones as much as they could.
October 17 [1943]. My group is slowly coming back together; 20 kilometers remain until we reach Klintsy.
Last night I was in a closed bath house. Nearly choked to death.
October 18 [1943]. The regiment is 8 kilometers ahead. I took guard duty. My group is all gathered, except
for two old guys. A last worrisome day.
October 19 [1943]. Klintsy. I came to Klintsy. Once this city was beautiful and warm, but now all the central
roads are destroyed. Entire blocks have disintegrated into piles of rock. In the city and in its vicinity there is
an enormous number of soldiers. Newly mobilized blockheads are in training. I led my group to
headquarters, where the two old guys were already waiting for us. The registrar admitted that no other
group was delivered so fully and in such a short time frame. Most take a month or more, stopping at
different villages. In the evening I brought my team to the recovering patients battalion. Barracks are
located in a large three-story building.
October 25 [1941]. I am living in the recovering patients battalion. Living conditions are perfectly
satisfactory. We only work until lunch. Then we are free for the rest of the day. I spend my free time in the
library. An assignment almost every other day. Life is going smoothly, except that after committee
inspections people leave and new people come nearly every day. The weather is unusually good: dry and
warm. In a word, one can live here. A German field hospital was previously where are barracks are, and the
previous "landlords" left us an inheritance: clothes and winter uniforms, including pleated vests and pants,
and boots carved out of wood. The two faces of Hitler's empire.
Kiev [Kyiv] is ours again! Can’t put the emotions into words, that would be sacrilege. All you can do it feel
the emotions, the excitement. It’s a gift in time for October. I’ve been in the medical battalion for twenty
days now. I was appointed the Komsomol organizer for the battalion at the end of October, replacing the
previous one, who was deployed to the front. Worked a lot with the head of the Lenin room, a guy from
the north named Pekshev. We are impeccably prepared for the holiday, applied all of our efforts. The
battalion commander awarded both of us in a festive order. Senior Lieutenant Koltzov, who is my
immediate superior, is a very pleasant and nice guy. Our living conditions are such that we wouldn't even
dare dream of. Could get some work done here, although it’s unlikely that we will need it. We are awaiting
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
the arrival of a train with staff personnel. The holiday was celebrated in a festive and elated fashion. This
year we can be festive. I am only saddened by the lack of letters from home. I wrote holiday letters to my
uncle Toma today. I plan to write the guys in Kiev [Kyiv] as well. The weather is already very much fitting for
autumn. The conditions are difficult on the front line, so each day we spend here is a valuable one. I can
now start the search for my father. Everyone I’ve spoken to has given me little encouragement, but I still
have hope. And after all, knowing is better than not knowing, no matter what the truth turns out to be.
November 18 [1943]. Everything is the same. Work is going along smoothly, no one has said anything
negative. The majority of the work is dedicated to reports for Stalin. By doing this work you think less about
irrelevant things, you forget about trials and tribulations.
November 27 [1943]. The staff personnel arrived at the medical battalion, including the komsorg [political
officer] Boris Kott. I was ready to be assigned to the reserves regiment and from their to the marching
company heading to the front. But things developed differently. I was retained in my position as
department commander and 1st company komsorg. The regiment komsorg insisted on this, as did Senior
Lieutenant Koltsov. It appears I am liked. Fundamentally, little has changed in my position. I spend nearly
all day as I did before, working in the Lenin room. Nikolai remained in his old position. I received letters
from Paula, Zyuna, and Beba. The latter writes that she saw Yanka. He is a guards junior lieutenant. God
damn.
December 3 [1943]. We are spending our last days in Klintsy. We are preparing to transfer our location.
Where—we don't know. There is no change in the work. I received a certificate of gratitude issued by
Senior Lieutenant Koltsov. I am praised at all party meetings and even at the regiment komsomol
committee. I can't wait for letters. Especially from Tamara. I wait for her letters like they are a declaration of
our relationship. I often recall with special affection Alla Antonovna, especially now, when wonderful winter
evenings have descended, exactly like in Kiev [Kyiv], when we strolled together. Such genuine feelings
remain for them: for Tamara, Alla, Galina! I would never prefer to replace those impressions of love and its
beauty with those that permeate our soldier community. Nikolai Pekshev and I talked a lot about this, as we
were lying in one bed.
December 15 [1943]. Neglyubka village (Belorussia). Yesterday evening we left Klintsy, and moved west; in
two bursts we walked 60 kilometers in one day. I am the assistant regiment komsorg. The march is not
easy, but I endure it like a soldier. Cold and ice. Today we entered Belorussia. Finally the detested Oryol
oblast has ended. local residents are greeting us warmly. They even made us pancakes. Yesterday I
received wonderful, unprecedented letters from Toma.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
December 18 [1943]. Zabolot'ye. We walked for five days. We crossed the Iput and Sozh Rivers. In 40
kilometers we will reach the Dnieper River. Territories were liberated two weeks ago. We passed
Chachersk, a large village. In total we covered 130 kilometers. We are now resting in Zabolot'ye. There is a
village nearby somewhere, where we will stop. A typical Belorussian landscape unfolded. The scenery has
changed, but the talk of the locals will never change: partisans and Polizei, bad and good Germans, the
poor soldiers, etc. Cattle was confiscated, young people were taken away, many villages were burned.
December 21 [1943]. Boyevoy Village. Seems like we've arrived at our destination. The battalion extends
to two neighboring villages. The locals live relatively well. Germans barely lived here and didn't evacuate
anyone, as it is removed from the road. Everyone is very afraid of collective farms. So damn annoying to
hear. We are not far from the front; bombardment is audible at a distance of about 30 kilometers from us.
We are comfortably situated, three to four people in a hut. The dining hall is 1 kilometer away. There are
no classes for now. Life is calm, pleasant. Today in the evening we will celebrate Nikolai's birthday. We
scraped together coins from all our pockets and hid a liter of moonshine beneath the bench. For several
days we collected sugar, saved buckwheat concentrate, and our cook Shashkov made pancakes. Once we
were dismissed we gathered, six soldiers. We drank a glass each: for the birthday boy, for quick victory, for
our health. We had some snacks. Old man Saprikin in whisper sang a gypsy song about bravery (the
homeowners were sleeping, lights were out, twigs burned in the "fireplace"). We talked in hushed voices,
joked, sighed, and then parted. That was the end of a soldier's birthday celebration.
December 22 [1943]. I delivered the platoon to Senior Sergeant Shukshin. Again I took over the work of
battalion political officer. Senior Lieutenant Koltsov said, "from now on, forever." Kot was assigned to the
1st battalion. The difficulty is in that the battalion spans two villages, and regiment headquarters is 12
kilometers away. The fields are covered with down, And the snow in the steppes is knee-deep. I’m once
again with you, again I’m with you, Although a thousand miles away. Past midnight, I went out to see the
stars, But there are no stars in the skies. The sky is cut through by a silver path, And you can hear the voices
of rockets. I am intoxicated by this boundless expanse Of silence. Of sky. And of snow. I should go to you,
southeast, But my path is now taking me west. * You are probably still awake, Maybe thinking about me. I
am marching through the snowy steppe, With my submachine gun slung over my shoulder. You are
probably sitting at the table, And looking at a photo with longing. Maybe you are remembering how We
were once sitting together. The wind sings the songs of the blizzard— It is a witness of our joys and
misfortunes. I march, but meanwhile my heart Flies toward you as though on wings. * The blizzard may
howl, may grow more ferocious, My feet may no longer be able to walk. The soldier will go on, endure all
hardships: All grief. And any misfortune that comes. They march at night. Without complaints or moaning.
Knocked down by the wind and buried by the snow. The horses are dropping with howling and squealing,
But he keeps on marching, a Super-man. *** To Nik. Pekshev The west wind is singing odes to us, The
snow makes our epaulets silver. On with the march! On with the march— Our columns are moving again.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
We walk side by side on the frozen ground, We sleep under one coat. Walk with more cheer! Look around
with more cheer! Fight with the snow and blizzards! The strict ranks of pine trees are greeting us—
Solemnly strict ranks. Our spirits, Our youth— We will never lose them.
January 1 [1944]. Kuchinsk Village. We lived to New Year's! We didn't have a chance to celebrate, but
there is a festive feeling. The past week was feverish: hundreds of people arrived and departed daily, and I
was busy with paperwork 24 hours a day. We deployed marching companies. More and more people
come. Among them were two of my friends from Orlov Infantry School. I received a letter from Yani. He is a
junior lieutenant, a paratrooper. His new position changed him. It shows in his letter.
January 13 [1944]. The war is moving in cinematographic speed. [Soviet forces] have already entered
western Ukraine. Gomel is already liberated. I wrote some letters there. Who knows how former friends
behaved under German occupation? We work a lot. Lectures on international affairs, political training,
talks, meetings nearly every day. It's not easy. Praise and admonishment come alternately, though I am
valued. Today we were recruiting for different training schools. I was again not released, though I did not
demand it. Let me end the war with the rank of a sergeant! Fifteen meetings where I have to make reports.
The Germans have begun bombing the highway at night. They don't let us sleep. Heinkel bombers fly all
day. Damn them. Lilac spruces, Pine-tree branches— I recalled you again Among the white fields Snowy
expanses And a boundless sky, My darling, Lovely and tender. * The January sky With its matte hue With its
sunny caress Is beckoning They’re a long way away, Those eyes and curls, The black curls Of my darling. *
Among snowy banks, Arise in my memory. Stand in front of my eyes In the battle’s heat. Where do I look
for you? How can I hold you? Squeeze you in my embrace— My darling.
January 18 [1944]. Reports were presented at the meeting on the 15th. There is a lot of work. I love active
work. Received a letter from Asbest, from the factory komsomol representatives, where I was supposed to
visit. A very good, heartfelt letter. They address us as "Dear heroes." I am pleased about establishing
relations between our combat comrades and my student comrades.
Yesterday we had the regiment's delegation meeting. It was organized in an official manner. For the first
time I heard the new hymn performed by an orchestra. After the meeting there was something like a
banquet. A wretched imitation, though a pleasant reminder of what was and what can be. I was elected to
the regiment council. I did not expect this at all, thought I was little known. Abramov, the previous
regiment political officer patted my shoulder: "I did you a favor." A wonderful manager. Too bad he was
taken away from the regiment. I returned "home" at around 3 a.m.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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We moved to Zabolot'ye. The living conditions are incomparably better. We got a wonderful Lenin room,
where our living quarters are also houses; we are well situated. We were issued an orderly who cleans,
brings us food, etc. Party organizer Dmitrenko is reassigned somewhere else. Too bad, we lived well
together, understood each other, even though we have a big age difference: his daughter is one year
older than I am. Senior Lieutenant Basin is the new party organizer. Today at the regiment there was a
meeting of the political department. Colonel Aleksandrov spoke, the head of the political department of
the 63rd Army, and Colonel Volkovskii spoke, the head of the department of military training.
Nikolai left. All of a sudden, without thinking it through, he signed up for army reconnaissance and left. For
some reason the battalion did not stop him. We said goodbye. Air of melancholy. For three months we ate
from the same kettle, slept together, covered ourselves with one overcoat. Argued, disagreed, but loved
each other. And that's it. We will never meet again, even though we said and wrote memory notes to each
other, saying that we will definitely meet. Either in Kiev [Kyiv] or in Siberia. Not. The way things work in war:
encounter, friendship, parting, to never meet again and to remember that: "Yes, I had a good friend..." Life
can't be changed.
Well, here we are— I’m twenty years old. The roads we’ve walked Are countless. We’ve gone through so
much! Don’t count the miles. Our dear Motherland, Gentle land. The poplar over a hut, Holiness. Peace.
No, you don’t stand before me Like a page from a book. No, you don’t seem Like a maiden— Instead, you
are vengeful, irate, Surrounded by tempest, by fire. For the land of Orel, For this small piece of land, I
spilled my young blood, My soldier’s blood. I bent over my mother: Soak up every last drop. Let this red
tablecloth Be strewn over my land. We didn’t moan in pain, Ripping kits with our teeth. More blood was
spilled there, Than there are stars in the sky.
Zabolot'ye. Finita la comedia. The battalion is reorganized. Major changes are going to take place, even at
the army level. It is possible that we are going to leave Belorussia. If only to the south! With a light-minded
frame of mind I await for the sharp changes to my destiny. Where will fortune throw me? I don't regret
anything. Only too bad about the timing. For the first time in a year and a half I held the hands of a girl in
mine. We were preparing an amateur performance in honor of the holiday. We did not have enough
female voices for our chorus. It turned out that girl medics were living near us. They accepted our
invitation. When I saw them, my eyes opened wide in surprise: where did such girls come from! I have not
seen such beautiful girls in a long time. My twenty-year youth announced itself. Youth, nothing you can do
about it. My blood temperature rose especially because of a nineteen-year-old Tatar girl, Rima. Fire. Soul. I
decided to end my soldier's monkhood. But I cannot get used to the commonly accepted rules in the
army. Friends laugh at me: "She doesn't need poems. Less talk, or she will leave." I can't. And I cannot
believe that the innocent, radiant face belongs to a slut. The grave will fix the hunchback. The hell with it. I
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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will not be here tomorrow. And I will never see her again. But while I am here I want to think that she is the
one whose image is in my heart. Idealism. We spent only a few evening together. Now, after meeting Rima,
my soul will not know tranquility until the end of the war. To you, Rima. A soldier's heart is rough and
callous, A soldier's heart's forgotten love, And laughter stirring soul and blood. But there are still times
here and there, When feelings light up in his chest, And seems as though a winged angel Is flying to meet
desires and dreams. So you appeared, like a bright morning, All of a sudden facing my heart. Like the May
sun, with pearl-like glimmer, And then my heart ordered: "Love!" I know it's hard to believe a soldier. What
could I do to prove my love to you? But my honesty can be verified By the beat of my heart, by the gleam
in my eyes. Life has little regards for my wishes— Where will fate toss me from here? Maybe soon on a gray
misty morning, A pickaxe will carve out my grave. I won't say that I'll be yours forever. Greater flames will
be put out by time. But if you believe in existence of love, Believe me—I love you today! February 13, '44.
Belorussia.
Happiness did not last long. We left today. However, I will remember yesterday for a long time. During the
day I talked to her for a long time, in the forest. About everything, absolutely, because we knew that the
next day we would be far from each other. No, this is not a hollow hobby, this is serious interest. It is
possible that I will not hold me for long, but for now, my entire being is shaken. I cannot even say that she
is a good, honest girl: you can't believe in words and I've only known her for a week. I did not expect that a
girl I happen to meet—even though she is cute, nice, good—can conjure such strong feelings in me. I was
electrified by her mere presence, and even by the mere thoughts that she is somewhere nearby. It wasn't
much fun. Dancing is a big part of her life. I don't dance, so even in those few evenings she did not spend
much time with me. But later when we walked by ourselves, I felt that some of my heightened feelings
were shared by her. She said that she loved me. I know that it is naive to think that, but I could not resist
myself in this happiness. I believe. That is my strength. That is my weakness. In the evening four officers
gathered, myself and Bonduyk. The atmosphere was awkward, stiff, but I could not deny myself this last
joy. Then the mood lightened a bit. We drank a little, had some fun. We hung out until 4 o'clock. Then she
escorted me to say goodbye. A last kiss. In those moments I believed that she was indeed pure. This
morning there was a concert. She ran over to say goodbye and gave me a photograph. That is how the
real life romance with a military censor (not a liberated soul) ended, with Rima Okolnikova. Now a word
game will commence; the emotional game is over. I think it will be not long before she finds an excuse to
terminate correspondence. Yes, I will try to suppress these uninvited feelings. Perhaps it is for the best that
these feelings did not have a chance to grow. Oh, Rima! It is true that you had a part in the suicide of
Lieutenant Gorshkov.
Another aimless day lived. No one knows any damn thing, everything is up in the air. There is no desire to
do anything under these circumstances. Barely anyone is doing any work. There are barely any people.
That's how we live. Nevertheless, we are preparing amateur entertainment for the evening. Rima sent with
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