MEMOIRS OF A SOVIET ANTI-AIRCRAFT GUNNER

By the end of October 1965, the formation of the 3rd Anti-aircraft Missile Regiment of the Vietnamese People's Army (VNA) was completed, and some Soviet military specialists from our division were transferred to train it. Among them was my starting calculation.

Soldiers and sergeants of the third year of service and some officers went to the Union, and we went to a new Training center for basic training, located in the mountainous region of Chaikao. The duties of the regiment commander were performed by Major I. K. Proskurnin.

The new regiment had to start from scratch. But there were other difficulties, and, first of all, these are diseases.

In severe climatic conditions, as a result of huge physical exertion and frequent stress, the body quickly weakened, and diseases were not long in coming. Most of all, we were plagued by skin diseases: rashes all over the body and fungus on the legs. Some suffered greatly and were almost unable to walk because of a continuous rash in the groin area, on the inner surfaces of the thighs, under the arms. This rash quickly turned into a continuous non-healing ulcer. The fungus was also rampant, and the soles of the feet presented a terrible picture: there was, as they say, no living place on them. And, most importantly, there were no effective medicines against this infection.

But the most unpleasant thing was that we had cases of dysentery.

The reason for this was the marching conditions and shortcomings in cooking and eating related to the combat situation. Several people, including myself, were admitted to the hospital with a diagnosis of amoebic dysentery. This happened when the divisions of the regiment were already in combat positions,and every man was counted. But everything worked out, and after 17 days I returned to the regiment. However, when I returned from the hospital, I weighed only 49 kg at a height of 177 cm. But, as they say, not to fat...

We settled down in several one-story brick barrack-type houses, covered with tiles, standing on a hill. There was a railway line below, and beyond it, also on higher ground, was a small machine factory. Not far from us on several hills were located firing points - anti-aircraft launchers (ZPU) and batteries of anti-aircraft guns of different calibers.

In the intervals between the raids, there was a process of training the combat tactics of the Vietnamese crews of 57-mm anti-aircraft guns, which were located two hundred meters from our houses. The commander, holding a small model of an American aircraft, showed the anti-zenith tactics and maneuvers used by American attack aircraft and fighter-bombers, and explained at what point and at what point it is most likely to hit the target. The gun crews worked out the commands " To the gun!", " Load!", " Calculation to cover!", target tracking, imitation of fire. Then the gun commanders trained their crews.

A model of the target aircraft was launched along a wire stretched with a slope (fishing line). The crew, standing with their backs to it, at the command of the commander should have time to take up combat positions, turn the barrel in the direction of the target "diving" along the fishing line, identify and catch it in the sight. And so on dozens and hundreds of times in a row.

Sometimes the training was interrupted by an air raid alarm, and then the theory of classes turned into the practice of real combat. Anti-aircraft guns thundered at different voices of their calibers-from the sharp, whip-like sounds of 57-mm guns, to the powerful hooting volleys of 85-mm caliber. Whole

Ending. For the beginning, see "Asia and Africa today", 2006, N 3.

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this chaos of a military symphony of repelling an air raid was accompanied by a clear clatter of ZPU fire, as if a team of carpenters were expertly hammering nails into the fire-breathing sky of Vietnam with a single blow.

Getting under such a dense curtain of barrage fire, American pilots, as a rule, did not seek to tempt fate and hastily retreated, barely having time in a hurry to drop bombs and launch air-to-ground missiles. Once the anti-aircraft gunners were successful-they shot down one plane, which crashed into a mountain 1.5 km away from us. Vietnamese anti-aircraft gunners celebrated their next victory.

The regiment's position was located in a dense jungle on a mountainside, three kilometers from where we lived. The launchers were placed under the crowns of large trees, which, along with a reliable camouflage, protected us and the equipment from the scorching rays of the sun, but the humidity in the shade of the jungle was much higher than in the open. It felt like my entire body was covered in cling film. Even her hair was sticky with sweat. A shower was a luxury, and we could only take it once a week.

The learning process was based on our previous learning experience. We already knew what it was necessary to pay more attention to, how to explain the purpose and structure of various mechanisms to our wards in a simpler and clearer way. Each Vietnamese kept his own notes very carefully, writing down explanations in a neat handwriting and sketching out the components of mechanisms, kinematic and electrical diagrams.

VIETNAMESE EVENINGS

In the evenings, when the heat subsided a little, we sang songs to the guitar. We had a great guitarist, Sasha Kurakin. The "Lone Accordion" played more loudly than the others. Imagine: a hot tropical night, twinkling fireflies, ringing cicadas, large stars in the dark sky and "Again everything froze until dawn..."

Sometimes they organized volleyball competitions between the Soviet and Vietnamese national teams. They played gamely, "got sick" also gamely. Each serve was accompanied by a friendly shout of "Wow!" On the volleyball court, the team-mates became "opponents", sincerely experiencing the loss of their team.

A real holiday was the days, or rather evenings, when the film crew came to the position and showed our Soviet films. Residents of all the surrounding villages came to the session. I remember that the film "Malakhov Kurgan" had the strongest impact on the Vietnamese from war films, especially the episode in which Black Sea sailors with bundles of grenades throw themselves under enemy tanks. Later films about peaceful life were also very popular, for example, the musical film "The Sailor from the Comet".

The Vietnamese expressed their surprise and admiration for what was happening on the screen by clicking their tongues together. Most often, this sign of admiration was marked by the appearance on the screen of beautiful Soviet girls and especially kissing couples in love. While the kiss as an expression of the feelings of lovers was just beginning to find recognition among Vietnamese youth, kissing openly was not accepted.

Especially admired were the buxom young heroines of the film. Once, while sharing his impressions after a movie, Tien put two oranges to his chest and said:

"Congai Vietnam is the one! (The Vietnamese girl is nice).

Then, taking off his and Lai's hard hats and holding them to his chest, he said::

"Congai llenso zat tot!" (The Soviet girl is very good).

Of course, we didn't argue about this - who likes what?..

The film "Dog Watchdog and an unusual cross" enjoyed constant success. It was played several times, and each time they laughed heartily. The only movie that can be understood without translation.

I regret to say that during the entire period of our participation in the fighting in Vietnam, we have never been visited by Soviet artists. I think that this is not their fault, but the fault of the "strict secrecy" regime...

SOVIET VIETNAMESE HOA

The third number of the Hoa calculation I trained was the youngest of all-he recently turned 17 years old. Lean, tall, and agile, he was everyone's favorite. I learned everything on the fly. But this was not enough for him, and he asked more questions than anyone else, trying to get to the very essence of the material being studied, whether it was a mechanism or an electrical circuit. Hoa really wanted to learn to speak Russian and quickly succeeded. He pronounced the Russian words clearly, without an accent, and in character he was more like a Russian than a Vietnamese. I told him that once. Hoa asked doubtfully:

"Nikolai, is that true?" You're not kidding, do I really look like a Russian?

"Of course it's true, Hoa. You only have a Vietnamese first and last name, but otherwise you're like Lienso.

Hoa thought for a moment, then hesitantly asked, " What is it?":

"Nicolai, can you call me Llenso Hoa?"

"Of course I can, Llenso Hoa.

Hoa's face lit up with a happy smile, and the Vietnamese guys standing nearby clapped him on the shoulder approvingly, saying:

"Llenso Hoa, reaper!" (Soviet Hoa, excellent!).

So, at the request of Hoa, with my light hand, his second name was fixed - Llenso.

But to Yakut Sasha Alekseev, Vietnamese people who did not know him often addressed him in Vietnamese, taking him for their own. One day, Captain Fook, a communications officer from the Air Defense General Staff, arrived at our division and, accidentally hearing the guys call Hoa, turned to our party manager, Captain Kudryavtsev, with a question:

- Comrade Kudryavtsev, please tell me, how many Soviet Vietnamese came to Vietnam to help us in the fight against the American aggressors?

Captain Kudryavtsev, guessing what was going on, answered without hesitation:

"Everyone here, as one, is Vietnamese. The rest are still waiting for the team in the Union.

Captain Fook was genuinely surprised at first, but when he looked into the partorg's laughing eyes, he understood the joke and laughed too.

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SLOTH AS A GIFT

One evening in the jungle, Vietnamese children caught a sloth monkey, the size of a one-year-old child, hanging from a branch of a eucalyptus tree and slowly eating leaves. They decided to give it to us and brought the sloth to the room where we lived at the time. He was calm. We fed the sloth bananas and gave it water. The sloth ate the bananas, but didn't drink the water, just looked at us in surprise with big, round eyes. At night, so that the sloth does not escape, we put it in the closet. The night passed quietly. The sloth must have been fast asleep after eating bananas. When we got up in the morning, the first thing we did was look in the closet. The sloth sat in a corner and put a front paw to its lips, hissing:

"Shih-shih!" "as if to say to us,' Hush, I'm still asleep.'

We laughed and treated him to the remaining bananas, then carried him back to the jungle. There the sloth quickly climbed up the trunk of a large eucalyptus tree and began to eat, paying no attention to us.

SELF-TRAINING

Self-training started at 7 pm and ended at 9 pm. During the day, the fighters were very tired and by the end of classes "nodded off". I had to take a ten-minute break and cheer them up sometimes with an anecdote or a short story about funny incidents from my personal life. Everyone brightened up, especially if the story was about girls or some funny incident.

After such a" detente", the Vietnamese again "bit into the granite" of military science.

Upon completion of the study of the main sections on the device and maintenance of PU, individual tests were taken. All calculations were passed and tests for the implementation of established standards and coherence in combat work. There were exams throughout the course, but the main exam for everyone was on the combat position.

Soon, equipment for the 3rd ZRP arrived by rail. Unloaded at night. The weather was extremely disgusting and cold: drizzling light rain with wind at a temperature of about +10°. An hour later, my clothes were soaked to the skin. The work continued until dawn.

By morning, everything was done: the division, stretching out in a multi-feathered column for almost a kilometer, made its first march. After about two hours, we turned aside and took up our first combat position. On the way, our PAZik was shelled by a pair of fighter-bombers flying at an altitude of no more than 150 meters. Machine-gun fire tore through the road five meters ahead of the bus, spouting fountains in the water-soaked rice paddy to the left of the road. The driver braked hard, but before we could even get out, the planes were out of sight.

"CRAZY" LAUNCHER

The next day, we received equipment from the delivery guys. They filled the rockets with oxidizer and loaded them on the launchers.

All the control units were in order, except for one, which was controlled normally, and after passing the "Sync" command, it behaved unpredictably, like crazy.

At first, she dutifully worked out the angles set by the operators in sync with the other PO's, then suddenly stopped and began to shake the arrow and turn in different directions, like a skittish horse. After playing around for a few seconds, she went to the loading angle, then, as if calming down, she started working out the "Sync" command again. After a few seconds, it was all over again. The deliverer-captain, having spent almost two days with it, could not do anything, decided that it was necessary to completely change the electronic units of the control unit. And they will still have to wait until they are sent from the Union.

By this time, my platoon had already finished all the work on preparing their launchers for battle, and I decided to ask what was going on with this "crazy" launcher. I told the division commander Major Proskurnin about my intentions.

"See if you and the captain can handle it together,"the commander said.

When I arrived at the faulty launch site, I offered to help the captain. He asked me what I had done before joining the army, where I worked. I told him that I graduated from a technical school and worked as an automation installer. The captain was delighted:

"It'll be more fun together." I'm the only one who's already broken all my brains with her. I can't understand anything. In the Union, before being sent here, I personally checked all the launchers. They worked like clockwork. And here this one seems to have gone berserk.

I remembered that we had had a similar incident on a 57-mm anti-aircraft gun due to a faulty cable connecting it to the gun-pointing station of the battery where we trained before going to Vietnam, and suggested to the captain:

"Let's connect it to another control cable, so that we can immediately eliminate him from suspicion.

We dragged the cable from the neighboring control unit and connected the connector. Result zero - launcher software-

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still "walking". So, you still need to look for a malfunction in the launcher.

It was time for lunch. In the dining room, I once again "scrolled in my head" what is the cause of such a malfunction, and came to the conclusion that somewhere in the circuit there is a random "floating" contact-it is there, it is not. When he returned from lunch, he told the captain about his suggestion. They began to carefully inspect with it all the suspicious places of the control units of the PU, but found nothing. And here it dawned on me: "Since the launcher spontaneously goes to the loading angles, it means that it is somehow affected by the signal from the BMD (local sensor unit). I opened the automation unit and after a detailed inspection I saw: the oxidized middle lobe of the output of the variable resistance of adjusting the feedback signal coefficient slightly touches the metal body of the unit. There is almost no clearance. From the vibration of a working installation and high humidity, the petal probably periodically closes on the body.

- That's it, I found it! It should be working normally now, " I said happily.

The captain looked at me incredulously.

"Can you show me what you found?"

I showed him the suspicious petal and peeled it away from the body.

"Shall we try it?"

"Go ahead," the captain said without much confidence.

Turned on the PO. We checked the management from the BMD - everything is fine. We asked the operator to give the command "Sync" - the installation obediently fulfills the control signal. We drove the launcher back and forth for 20 minutes-there are no more failures. Now all six launch divisions were simultaneously turning and looking in the same direction.

The delivery captain was very happy and sincerely thanked me for my help. That was the end of his mission in Vietnam, and now he could safely return to the Union. I was just interested in defeating this "crazy" launcher.

As it happened, I didn't remember the captain's last name or first name, because I had to work with him for no more than two hours.

NEW YEAR'S GREETINGS TO THE MOTHERLAND

The New Year of 1966 was approaching. The raids continued. December 30, 1965 By decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, a group of Soviet military specialists was awarded military orders and medals for their courage and heroism in carrying out a government task to provide international assistance to Vietnam. Several people from the 236th and 238th air defense units in the NA, including Senior Lieutenant Vladislav Konstantinov, Senior Lieutenant Anatoly Bondarev, Lieutenant Konstantin Karetnikov, Major Boris Mozhaev, Captain Valentin Brusnikin, Junior Sergeant Anatoly Bondarenko, Sergeant Arseny Durkin, Major Anatoly Zaika, Senior Lieutenant Yuri Demchenko and myself. awarded the Order of the Red Banner. Our commander, Major Proskurnin, was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel ahead of schedule and awarded the Order of the Red Star. The same award was given to the operator of manual support Sasha Burtsev. The first number of my team, Rafail Akhunov, who worked for the commander of the PU, received the medal "For Bravery", and the third number, Alexey Fomichev, received the medal "For Military Merit". The same medal was awarded to Ivan Agalakov, Tarzan Chirkviani and cameraman Viktor Kubushev, who later, after returning to the Union, was awarded the Order of the Red Star.

Our division was awarded by the USSR Ambassador to the DRV, Ilya S. Shcherbakov, right at the combat position. In a brief speech, the Ambassador stressed that for the first time since the Great Patriotic War, the awards of the Motherland are awarded to Soviet soldiers on the territory of another state.

On a special flight from Moscow, we received holiday packages organized by the USSR Ministry of Defense and the Defense Department of the Komsomol Central Committee. The packages contained the most scarce products in Vietnam-black bread and herring, in addition, a bottle of cognac or vodka, smoked sausage, sprats, chocolate, cookies, etc. But the most pleasant thing was the greeting enclosed in each package: "My dear friend! The Soviet Motherland welcomes you and wishes you a Happy New Year in 1966! I wish you good health and excellent performance of the combat mission."

The awareness that we were remembered and understood, and the conditions we were in, helped us complete the task.

I have kept this laconic greeting as a memory of those hard and unforgettable days of my military youth.

FORMALISM IS A HINDRANCE TO BUSINESS

Just before the regiment entered the combat position, a new addition arrived in our division: the commander of the launch battery, Captain Yevgeny Ivanovich Bogun, who had recently arrived from the Union

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(instead of Captain Sirenko) and the commander of the starting platoon, Lieutenant Viktor (I don't remember his last name, unfortunately).

In the first days, they, still not properly oriented in the situation and in the peculiarities of relations that developed in the group of Soviet soldiers of our regiment, tried to establish the order adopted in the combat units of the air defense in the Union: organized lifting, physical exercises and in the dining room in formation, shirt collars buttoned up, treatment only by rank. All conscripts, of course, took this with hostility, but did not conflict. A couple of times we marched to the dining room in formation. During lunch, a siren wailed:

"Battle alert!

Everyone dropped their spoons and bowls and ran for the launch pads and booths. The lunch continued for forty minutes. They all walked back to the dining room together, talking animatedly about the atmosphere. We never marched in Vietnam again.

DISCHARGING ALONE

In the morning, having deployed the equipment, all the calculations of the launch battery conducted an autonomous control and reported to the cabin "C" about the serviceable condition of the PU. A second round of missile ammunition was delivered from the technical division. To prepare the ammunition for combat use, it was necessary to fill it with an oxidizer immediately.

- While the air is calm, all Vietnamese crews must be allowed to pass through the gas station again. I'll take care of the rocket refueling with your guys, and you'll stay in position, " the battalion commander decided.

After sending Akhunov, Ilyin, and Fomichev to refuel with Vietnamese crews, I bypassed the launchers. Everything was fine. And then, on the third PU, I noticed the LDPE (rocket air pressure receiver): the LDPE tube was curved. Obviously, during the night when the rocket was overloaded, it was inadvertently caught on something, perhaps on a tree branch - the technical division was hiding in the jungle.

When the rocket is launched, the curved tube will not be able to move to the operating position, and the rocket will lose control. The rocket needs to be replaced immediately. What to do? I'm alone. The guys won't be back for a while, and the raid can start at any time.

"I'll risk defusing the launcher alone," I decided.

I have already had to charge alone - the main thing there is that the rocket's stopper-yoke exactly coincides with the landing socket of the launcher's boom. But to discharge one, it is more difficult - there is a great danger of flooding the rocket.

I drive a free transport-charging car (TZM) to the access bridges (working as a car mechanic, I often had to drive cars myself to the pit in the box and drive them out after the repair was completed). I remove the rotating beam of the semi-trailer from the latches, move the support roller of the copier to the working position. I adjust the movable carriage of the semi-trailer beam to fit the rocket. The rocket began to rise slowly above the boom.

Crucial moment: during normal combat operation, the 1st and 2nd numbers of the calculation help with loading and unloading the launcher, and the 3rd number, hanging at the opposite end of the rotary beam, balances it with its own weight. At the same time, the commander constantly monitors and insures them.

I stand on tiptoe and slowly turn the drive handle, and the rolling pin slides sharply down from the edge of the boom pocket, and the beam falls with all its weight on my head. "Hold it!" I order myself mentally.

I barely manage to grab the handrail of the beam with my left hand. "Mokrostup" softens the impact. From the weight that has fallen on my head, I squat a little, then slowly squeeze out the weight, returning the beam to a horizontal position. With a small step, I move the beam console to the right. The most difficult part is already over. I slide the beam onto the landing bosses of the semi-trailer and fix it with screeds.

- Done! Drive away!" "I'm commanding myself out loud now.

I drive the TZM away from the launcher. Half an hour later, two TZMS arrived with calculations and "freshly refueled" missiles. We charge one of them to the third launcher, and send the rejected rocket to the technical division. The division commander Proskurnin, learning that I was the only one who discharged the launcher, severely scolded me for "amateur activity:

- I absolutely forbid you to violate the Instructions and Instructions for combat work! There is no need to take risks unless absolutely necessary, even in war.

At this time, the sound of a siren rang out.

"Battle alert! Everyone to their places! the commander finished abruptly.

"So it was worth the risk after all," I thought to myself, and together with the calculation I rushed to the launcher.

QUINN

I first saw her on the second day of my stay in the hospital, during an air raid. In the hospital bomb shelter, we were next to each other. Outwardly no different from the other Vietnamese nurses, she inexplicably caught my attention. Several times our eyes involuntarily met. She was looking at me with an anxious look in her beautiful oriental eyes.

The dull sound of a massive explosion came through the thick walls of the bomb shelter. Everyone started. I later learned that it was the launch of a rocket from our division, which was then covering Hanoi. An unmanned reconnaissance plane was shot down. After about 10 minutes, they hung up.

As I left the bomb shelter, I helped Quinn, as she was called, up the steep stairs. She was slender and short, and she blinked comically in the bright sunlight. She looked to be about 18 years old. Her delicate features, black eyes with a hint of humor, were harmoniously combined with a short haircut of resinous black hair, coquettishly covered with a light blue nurse's cap with embroidered initials.

A day later, she was back on duty, and early in the morning, Quinn came to my single room for an injection. She smiled pleasantly and said hello:

- Tiao an, Nikolai.

"Hello, Quinn.

"Does it hurt very much?" She asked as she administered the medicine.

"Thank you, Quinn. It hurts a little.

Quickly gathering up the instrument, Quinn left, but her sweet smile and affectionate politeness showed no sign of her presence.-

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they continued their healing effect.

I looked forward to each of Quinn's next shifts, and as if sensing this, she came into my room more often than the other nurses. Once, with a conspiratorial smile, she held out two small red-sided apples clenched in her fists.

"Take a bite, Nikolai. Touched by the attention, I picked up

he took her hands and pressed them to his chest in gratitude. Quinn didn't pull them away, but suddenly leaned forward and leaned into me. Her eyes were tender and expectant at the same time. I put my arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently. Quinn stood motionless for a moment. Even the pounding of her heart could be heard. Then, with a light movement, she released herself from my embrace and quickly left.

The next twenty-four hours dragged on endlessly. And now, finally, she was back on duty. I woke up earlier than usual and waited impatiently for Quinn to arrive. I recognized the sound of her quick, light footsteps from a distance. And then there's a soft knock on the door, and the silhouette of Quinn's slim, slender figure appears in the dark doorway. I open my arms wide and walk toward her.

"Quinn!

"Nikolai!

Quinn snuggles up to me without hesitation. I hug her and stroke her hair. Slightly moist, they still seem to exude the unique aroma of a hot tropical night and the cool freshness of the morning dawn. I press my cheek against her peach-soft cheek. Quinn flinches and glances worriedly at the door. When she sees that the door of the ward is closed and the window is tightly curtained, she calms down a little.

I kiss her forehead, then her cheek:

"Quinn, my good one.

Her lips are right next to mine. They're almost touching, but I'm not sure how she'll take the kiss. The coral color of her parted lips calls irresistibly. I gently brush my lips to the corner of hers. Quinn looks at me in surprise. I kiss her. She clumsily tries to return the kiss. I carefully cover her eyes with my hand, and Quinn obeys without a word. A shy smile touches her face.

The sweetness of the kiss spreads all over my body. Quinn's trembling arms wrap around my neck. She's shivering as if with a chill. A few minutes fly by instantly. Quinn, it's time to leave. I kiss her good-bye and hold her tight once more.

When we parted, Quinn and I arranged to meet the evening after her nursing training course, which she attended.

That evening I put on a dark shirt and trousers and went for a walk in the protected area of the hospital. At the appointed time, I slowly walk along the palm alley, along which Kuin usually returns. Here is a group of female nurses, talking cheerfully, coming towards me. Then the other girls pass by singly and in pairs. It was already quite dark. Here's Quinn. When she sees me from a distance, she signals me to follow her and turns down a side path. After waiting for a while, I caught up with her and we walked side by side, talking quietly. Kuin talks about himself, and we understand each other perfectly.

Her father was killed in the Battle of Dien Bien Phu. My mother is already old. She also used to be a nurse in the Liberation Army detachment, where she met her future husband.

Kuin has two brothers and two sisters. Everyone is older than her. The sisters are married and live separately, and the brothers serve in the army. Senior, Chin-sapper, and junior, Nyak-anti-aircraft gunner-gunner. Recently, he came for a three-day vacation and brought Quinn a gift-a bracelet and ring made from the wreckage of an American plane shot down by his battery.

I also told Quinn about my family and my work before the army. Imperceptibly, the time for parting came. After seeing Quinn out of the hospital grounds, I kissed her and said good night. Soon, Quinn's white blouse disappeared into the darkness of the alley.

After a couple of days, the doctor said with satisfaction that he could be discharged soon. Quinn felt sad when she heard about this.

- Nikolai, do you have your photo?

"No, Quinn. Unfortunately, no. Will you give me a picture of yourself, Quinn?"

"Yes, Nikolai. I already took a picture yesterday. The photos will be ready in three days.

I was discharged two days later. Quinn wasn't on duty that day, but she came to see me off on purpose. I said goodbye to the wounded and sick people I had made friends with. I thanked the doctor and nurses for their care and kindness to me. As I shook hands with everyone, I held Quinn's gentle hand in mine for a moment and looked into her sad eyes.:

"Quinn, a photo?"

"Not yet. Only tomorrow, " she said, just as quietly.

This was our last meeting. Even Quinn couldn't give me her address. But I always remember sweet, little Quinn and hope that her life turned out well.

return

After the New Year, the hot days started again. American aviation has become particularly active in the area of the largest seaport in North Vietnam - Haiphong. In January 1966, our regiment was transferred to the defense of the port. Later, for the successful conduct of military operations, he became

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be called the "Haiphong Heroic Regiment".

In each battle, Vietnamese rocket men gained experience and technical knowledge, becoming real masters of rocket fire. Our functions were increasingly limited to monitoring, securing and troubleshooting equipment.

In March 1966, our group was unexpectedly removed from combat duty and sent to Hanoi - the order came to return to the Union. The Minister of Defense of the DRV, General of the Army Vo Nguyen Ziap, held a reception in honor of the departing Soviet military specialists, at which we were presented with Vietnamese Friendship medals, certificates of appreciation signed by the DRV Prime Minister Pham Van Dong, and memorable gifts.

Even on the eve of departure, I couldn't believe that all this hell with American planes spewing death out of their bellies every day on the heads of Vietnamese cities and villages was over for me.

The parting was sad. Sad were those for whom the business trip was already over, and especially those who stayed. We knew that in the future we would probably never have to meet again, and who knows, maybe tomorrow some of those who remain will no longer be alive? We didn't want to think so, but a warrior is a war.

Representatives of the 1st and 3rd anti-aircraft missile regiments came to see us off. Among them was Thanh. Impatiently, I ask him how things are going in the division, how are the guys, if everyone is alive? Thanh calms me down:

"It's all right, Nikolai. Today, the 15th plane was shot down. Everyone is alive and well. We often think of you. Everyone sends their regards and wishes you all a safe journey. Tien is now the squad leader, I have been assigned as the 3rd platoon commander, and Vinh has become the second-in-command of the battery.

"Congratulations, Thanh! Well done! Keep it up !

As a keepsake Thanh gives me a picture of himself with a field mail address:

"Nikolai, you know that my home is in Saigon. After our victory, be sure to come and visit me. Saigon is a very beautiful city. And with a smile he adds: "We have very beautiful girls in Saigon. Come.

We shake hands for the last time and say goodbye three times in Russian.

I walk slowly to the bus. Last steps on the native Vietnamese land. The bus starts moving. Thanh looks after us with moist eyes and waves for a long time. A lump rises in my throat, too.

You are forever in my heart, Vietnam!

ZERO FLIGHT

It was a long walk home. In Beijing, there was an unexpected delay - heavy snowfall blocked the runway so that the Chinese had to resort to the help of the civilian population to clear it. It wasn't until the evening of the third day that we finally took off. At the appointed time, the plane began to descend. We announced that we were approaching Irkutsk. If in Hanoi on the day of departure it was relatively cool (no more than +25°), then in Irkutsk there was still a real winter-a frost of 20 degrees with a wind. We were mostly dressed in light demi-season coats. We started to get out everything we had from warm clothes: sweaters, jackets, put on two pairs of socks, in general, we prepared for the meeting with winter.

We were told from Hanoi (apparently for reasons of secrecy) that our plane was on a "zero" flight, i.e. without passengers, and after landing in Irkutsk, it was driven to the farthest lane, 400 meters from the terminal building. The bus to the plane was not served - the flight is zero. And now we're running through the biting wind and breaking through to the terminal building. They were surprised: "Who are the people from the empty plane?"

We spent the night in Irkutsk and flew to Moscow the next day.

In our native regiment, we were greeted as if we had returned from the dead. For our colleagues, we were people who had accomplished something impossible: to be in the midst of a brutal war and return alive and unharmed-it seemed a miracle not only to us. After all, military fate is very changeable... In the "citizen", who had lost weight beyond recognition, with an unusual yellow tan on their faces, we impressed the guys as "people from the moon". Some, not believing that it was us, after the first handshakes again came up and touched us with their hands to once again make sure that it was really alive Rafail Akhunov, Nikolai Kolesnik, Lyosha Fomichev.

Then questions began to pour in: where and how we lived, what kind of climate, what kind of people are the Vietnamese, how they treat us, are the Vietnamese beautiful, how many divisions were trained, how many planes were shot down, what were we awarded, are there many snakes in the jungle, are there elephants and monkeys there, how do pineapples grow, did we often get bombed were we afraid?..

The whole division gathered and talked until late at night. We could see from the children's burning eyes that they were kindly envious of us, and everyone would like to be in our place.

By the end of the conversation, the questions became more serious: will Vietnam be able to survive, how do the Americans fly, what interference they use, what is "carpet bombing", how did it work?

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what is our equipment in a tropical climate, do our MiG-21s fly there and who is piloting them, have we seen captured American pilots, do the Vietnamese have enough weapons for successful combat operations and can they defeat the Americans?

We answered all the questions frankly, without hiding or embellishing anything. It was a real unofficial political information about the "Vietnam War". Later, I had to conduct such conversations many times among soldiers and officers in other divisions and units of the Air Defense Ministry.

At the end of March 1966, our regiment was visited by the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, Nguyen Duy Chinh, who arrived as part of the Vietnamese party delegation to the CPSU Congress. He thanked the missile soldiers for their help in repelling US air raids and handed over the wreckage of an American plane shot down by a Soviet missile to the regiment's museum. As a combatant in Vietnam, I was assigned to make a response. I said my final words in Vietnamese, which greatly touched the Vietnamese Minister.

For a special mission, we were given 20 days of leave, and since I had 10 days left unused, announced before the trip to Vietnam, the regiment commander gave me a leave of absence for 30 days. The Gorlovka military enlistment office did not believe that I, a land traveller, had arrived on an incentive leave of such a length that was given only to sailors or due to illness. I had to tell you where and how I earned it.

But I didn't have to rest. At the beginning of April, a telegram arrived: "Urgently arrive at the unit in connection with the election of a delegate to the XV Congress of the Komsomol." Signed - commander of the Pobozhakov unit.

At the congress, I was instructed to deliver a greeting from the Armed Forces of the USSR. As I was later told, at first Glavpur considered the candidacy of the famous pilot, three times Hero of the Soviet Union, Colonel-General Kozhedub Ivan Nikitovich, but preference was given to a young representative of the army Komsomol, and I was approved.

To train my diction and correct intonation, I was sent to the TSSA to see People's Artist of Russia Pyotr Vishnyakov. He listened carefully as I read the greeting text and said:

- Nikolai, your diction is normal, your voice is clear. You read everything correctly with the appropriate intonation of the content. And to avoid any hiccups, read the text aloud, thinking about the meaning of what is written, until you have it by heart. Then nothing can prevent you from speaking emotionally and militarily clearly at the congress.

I followed his advice.

In the text of the greeting were the following words:: "Soviet soldiers have a lot of experience in how to beat the enemy, and if necessary, we will not only use this experience, but also multiply it... Neither atrocities, nor bombs, nor napalm can break the will of the Vietnamese people. We, Soviet soldiers, express our fervent solidarity with our struggling Vietnamese brothers and are always ready to help them."

I think that few of the delegates and guests of the congress who were in the hall had any idea that such assistance was already being provided, and I had just returned from Vietnam.

AFTER THE WAR

For the first time after my return to the Soviet Union, I felt a sense of monstrous injustice. I looked at the people walking calmly down the street and thought that maybe at this very moment in faraway Vietnam, ball bombs were raining down on the heads of equally peaceful, innocent people from the bomb boxes of American Phantoms and Skyhawks. Mentally, I was still there. For a long time I took the siren of the diesel locomotive as an alarm signal and impulsively took off: Hurry to the launcher, he thought. And only after running two or three steps did I stop, realizing that I didn't have to run anywhere.

One day in the fall, when I was returning from school, I was walking down the street with my classmates, when suddenly a machine-gun burst rang out from somewhere above. My reaction to the aerial bombardment was instantaneous - I threw myself on the side of the sidewalk to lie down, and the guys laughed. It turned out that the "queue" gave a jackhammer from the second floor of the renovated house.

MEETING AT THE PASS

In April 2002, I visited Vietnam again. REN TV organized a trip there for the filming of the TV documentary "Vietnam, 30 years Later", which was based on the manuscript of my memoirs.

In Hanoi, I met with the former commander of Division 236 of the VNA Air Defense System, Senior Colonel Ho Chi Minh, who invited us to his home. We drank a bottle of champagne for the meeting and after a short conversation went to Ninh Binh province to visit the very position where our division received its first baptism of fire on August 11, 1965.

The six-lane N1 Expressway was now nothing like the wartime road pitted with craters from American bombs and rockets.

Ho Chi Minh, like a true military man, took with him his old field bag-a tablet with a wartime map, on which we periodically checked the route. The journey, which took almost two days in August 1965, was completed in 3 hours. We drove through the city of Fu restored from the ruins-

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However, they asked local residents for the name of the area. Looking at the map. Yes, it's here somewhere. We get out of the car and walk up the mountainside, making our way through the thickets. From there, you can see the fields stretching out into the distance, green with bright green rectangles of rice checks and dark vegetable beds.

The outlines of the surrounding mountains are the same as 37 years ago, but I hardly recognize the mountain on which the division stood: around the planting of eucalyptus trees, and at the foot grew dense thickets of bamboo.

The weather is sunny and clear. Fuli is clearly visible in the distance.

"This is where we were standing," Ho Chi Hoo points excitedly.

"So our launch pads were located a little to the right and about forty meters below," I say.

During the war, Ho Chi Hu, first as a division commander, then as a deputy commander, chief of staff, and regimental commander, changed hundreds of positions, but he, like me, remembered his first combat position to the smallest detail.

Let's go to the former launch pads. All around is covered with round pockmarks of prolonged bomb craters. It is difficult to find the once ledge-shaped platforms of the launch battery, which were almost completely smoothed out by time and heavy rains.

"At that time, we received formidable and effective weapons from the Soviet Union, and Soviet military specialists provided us with practical assistance in mastering air defense systems, especially in the first battles," says Hu.

At the foot of the mountain, a camping tablecloth was laid. We drank to the meeting, then the front-line "mot cham gamm "(one hundred grams) for the Victory, remembered our combat friends who participated in the battles, remembered those who are no longer with us: Colonel Proskurnin and Major Nguyen Van Tuen, then drank to the health of all veterans of that war, for all those who remember their own battle friends.

The sun was moving steadily but imperceptibly to the West and was already riding the top of the nearest mountain. It's time to go back. We get in the car and drive to Highway No. 1. Outside the town of Fuli, we stop at the military cemetery and lay flowers at its foot in memory of the dead.

It seems like it was only yesterday, and it's been 37 years. Young people, and not so young anymore, who were born after the Vietnam War and in Russia and in the former Soviet republics, know little about that brutal war.

The United States paid for its aggression with a crushing defeat and the lives of 57 thousand of its soldiers, but even today, one of the former American green berets who survived in the jungles of South Vietnam, Colonel Mitchell Hague, says that the war "was lost by politicians, but not by soldiers. I am sure that the victory was close."

Knowing the Vietnamese and their centuries-old history, I dare say that America could never have won this war. As they say: "The wrong people were attacked."

Then the route of our group was as follows: by plane to Da Nang, then by car to the ancient capital of Vietnam, Hue, from there again by car through Da Nang, Nha Trang along the coast through mountain passes to Ho Chi Minh City, where I was going to meet my combat friend Van Thanh. He was tracked down by the Vietnam Veterans Association at my request.

But the meeting in Ho Chi Minh City did not take place. Thanh made a phone call to say that he had to leave for Da Nang immediately, and on May 2, he would arrive in Hue by car, where we could meet.

Thanh did not arrive in Hue at the appointed hour. There was an accident on the Haiwan Mountain Pass, and he was stuck in a multi-kilometer traffic jam for several hours. After consulting, we decided to meet him halfway, periodically checking the coordinates on our mobile phone. After 2 hours, Thanh reported that the traffic jam was eliminated and he was coming to meet us. I named the place where he would be waiting for us in an hour - a cafe near the bridge over the river.

And now we are approaching the bridge. I recognize Thanh from afar. He stands by the side of the road, looking impatiently at the passing cars. We stop about fifty meters away.

I'm going to meet Thanh. His face expresses surprise and impatience at the same time.

"Thanh, dear, hello!

- Hello, Nikolai!

"Thanh, do you recognize me?"

"Just a little, just a little," Thanh says, embarrassed. "You were very young then.

We shake hands firmly and embrace three times according to the Russian custom. There are no words to express our feelings. The meeting, which was almost impossible to believe, finally took place.

Hanoi - Ho Chi Minh City-Moscow

KOLESNIK Nikolay Nikolaevich was born in 1943. He graduated from a technical school and worked as an electrical fitter for mine lifts in Gorlovka. From 1963 to 1966, he served as a conscript in the Soviet Army. In 1965 - 1966, he participated in combat operations in Vietnam. In 1972 he graduated from the Moscow Power Engineering Institute. Currently, he works as the head of the State Duma Electrotechnical service section. Honorary Professor of the Russian Academy of Natural Sciences. Chairman of the Presidium of the interregional public organization of Vietnam War veterans.

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