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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 56
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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
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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
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,
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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
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—
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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
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 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-
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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 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
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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
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?” 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
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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 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 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
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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 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 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
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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 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 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.
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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
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.
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.
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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
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,
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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
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.
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.
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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
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. 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.
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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 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 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.
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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
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 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
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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
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, 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,
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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 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.
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.
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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
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 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
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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 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.
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
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.
*
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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 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.
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!
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
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,
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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
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.
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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
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.
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
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
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
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Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
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ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
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 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,
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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
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.
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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
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 a driver two notes from Gomel. They have been assigned to the 3rd Army. They are currently on a field trip.
O soldier’s happiness, are you always like this?
Won’t I ever get to see your smile?
In the difficult days, after the toughest battles,
In the moments of calm, I thought of her in my trench.
I didn’t know how she’d appear,
But I knew she would come, could not fail to come!
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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
And often I dreamed of unfamiliar eyes shining
And a girl’s laughter would cut through the premortal quiet.
And now you’ve come—I saw your true visage,
Your cheerful curls scattered my peace.
And all of a sudden no longer a stranger, mysteriously distant,
You have grown familiar, needed, and close.
But the sun does not stay long in northern sky . . .
Soon you were gone, leaving only a print in the snow,
And now it seems like a fiction, illusion,
Like there was no girl, no laughter, no caressing lips.
O soldier’s happiness, are you always like that?
Will the days start dragging on as before?
I ask you to bring her again, the one who stole my peace,
At least for a month, at least for an hour.
Yesterday one of Rima's friends returned from her field trip, Katusha Fedorova. I visited her, to ask her about Rima, but the visit turned into much more. In the army the ability to get together with people is intensely faster, the opportunity to make friends. We spent three evenings together. Only three (she has left already), but that was enough for us to have parted as great friends. The entire time one thought tormented me: is our entire generation corrupted? Is there not a single honest girl at the front? At every step I saw negative answers. And only now, having met Katya, I see that not everything is quite so. There are pure souls, but the environment, our surroundings are such that everything is made dirty, everything is cheapened, and they are made invisible against the general background. I told her about how girls are viewed, what is wanted of them, and sternly expressed my views of front line girls. The young lady cried, and I believe that her tears were genuine and honest. I again saw my old ideals surface. I am again able 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 not believe in and to despise disgusting, boastful talk. I believe again in the purity of a girl. Even though I know that are there no more than one in a thousand like Katya. She also tells me: "I never met anyone like you." For the first time in my life I asked her for permission to kiss her. And for the first time, I was declined. The rejection brought me such excitement. If only it doesn't turn out to be an illusion. I am unlucky. The captain does not leave her house, and of course I have to step aside, even though that made Katya angry and disappointed. He even dared to reach for more, and got his face slapped. Only yesterday we had the opportunity to hang out all night, until about 5 o'clock. She left in the day, leaving behind a letter tucked away in a glove, for me to remember. Today I received a letter from Tamara: wonderfully gentle and warm. Damn, Katya asked the right question: why am I searching for friendship with another when I already have such a girl. But she is infinitely far, there are 7,000 kilometers between us, and five to six years. I began writing her about Rima and Katya, but then changed my mind: she cannot properly understand things and such a letter would bring her undeserved suffering.
The holiday passed. I was hoping for more. But I am satisfied with it, the best celebration during the war. In the morning I was in a wonderful mood, everything was going well. The concert was successful. Klimko and I did our best to set up: the stage, the props, the "instruments," and the actors were prepared well enough under our circumstances. Then we drank the ration due to a commissar (in the evening we drank a bit more than the ration, Senior Lieutenant Basin brought some special for me). After dinner we wanted to put on the concert for the second time, but we had to postpone, everyone is a bit buzzed. That's when my mood when sour. Rima sent a note, that she returns in the evening of the 23rd, will spend a night in Gomel. I was waiting and waiting, hoping, and all for not.
Recently we watched a movie, and there was a concert. Our life is not boring. But these good conditions raise the new need, at times painfully so, to need in female companionship and sometimes even more. It is hard. Twenty years old, damn it! It is time for burning love. For us the war made this age a time of burning hatred. But perhaps this hatred and suffering will make more valued and precious future love.
A soldier walks down the street.
The soldier is twenty years old.
He has no shiny buttons,
He has no wide belts.
His hair is graying,
His beard is bushy—
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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
Fate brought him here
From the front line.
He wears a crumpled coat.
He wore it into battle.
A patch covers a hole
Drilled by a shell fragment.
His chest bears a strip
Red as blood.
Come on, cut it out,
Stop thinking about love.
His heart’s beating hard,
It wants to break out.
Look at this lad,
And fall in love.
He’s grown unaccustomed
To bliss, to affection—
There's no time for brown eyes
In the snowy fields.
But shells are no longer
Singing over his head.
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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
And now the soldier
Wants to be loved.
Fall in love with him, girl,
He is twenty years old,
Even though he doesn’t
Have a big rank.
A heart’s hard to see
Under an overcoat:
Maybe his heart is crying,
Maybe his chest aches.
You can cure him, girl,
You can smile at him.
Chase off his sadness,
The mother of soul’s torments.
Fall in love with the soldier,
Embrace him tightly.
His coat is patched up,
But there’s a heart under it.
But she won’t look at him,
What use is he to her?
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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
She wants shine and polish,
Stars on the epaulets.
She wants a cap,
With a bright visor,
Spurs or a saber,
Mirror-like boots.
Yes, of course, spurs—
Aren’t a bad thing,
Except that spurs quickly
Can grow tiresome.
The period of "roaming and confusion" ended. A merger took place. A new consolidated battalion under the command of Captain Voloshchenko. The battalion is now comprised of 700 people. Koltsov and Basin remain. I took over the role of the komsork from the previous one and became the komsorg of the DV 18AZSP. It is time to get to work.
Kolya Pekshev was here today. I thought we would never each other again. But it appears that today was the last time we meet. He is escorting troops in the direction of Vitebsk. He will probably remain there. Things worked out in a stupid way for him: he wanted to serve in army intelligence, and he wound up in the pastureland kingdom.
We are continuing to establish order. A lot of work. We received good news today; yesterday evening Finland withdrew from the war. As was expected long ago.
And still no letters.
She came, teased me, and fled,
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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
Sowing poison in my blood . . .
I realized that it was the start
Of a big, unfamiliar love.
Where did those child-like curls come from?
And the boisterous, mocking laughter?
Try, o great and wise one,
Not to distinguish her from everyone else!
I’ll remember that day for a long time,
That brought the anxious new feeling,
Because after the second birth,
I felt love for the very first time.
Who loves more ardently than a soldier
Who learned about life during war?
Why did you leave, why did you leave me?
And when are you coming back?
We bid farewell to the battalion commander, Captain Belyatskin. He was a good guy, a true commander. Only women and vodka that appeared in Zabolot'e got in the way.
A shattered mirror crumbled down,
The mirror you once used . . .
Will our love be as distorted now,
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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
As my features in this mirror?
I don’t trust omens, divinations.
I know there will be sunny days!
Come to me, come to me, beloved,
Unite the glass shards into one!
Berestovets. Barely got a chance to settle in the city, set up the Lenin room, and get to work; another march! Basin stayed behind to wait for the horses that had been taken to gather hay. The conditions on the road are difficult. Spring began early this year. There is barely any snow left in the fields; mud is everywhere, mud and water. About 30 percent of the people are in felt boots, ill, and we are forced to move very slowly. Gorodetz to Kamenka. We crossed over the Gomel-Dovsk highway, which is 12 kilometers away from Dovsk. We stopped in the Berestovetz village, which is in the Karlinsk region. We are heading east.
Kamenka. We arrived at our location around 2 o’clock. Will we be here for long? Perhaps we will take off from here in two days or so. The village isn’t small, but I have yet to see a single decent house. Although, the people here are living better and more cultural lives than the people in Orlovsk Oblast. The huts are bigger and cleaner, more comfortable. Oh, and the people are different, our kind of people. Here, they don’t treat the partisans as though they outlaws. Right now, I am staying at a woman’s house. Two of her sons were in the partisans units, and she and her third son would help them; doing reconnaissance, acting as messengers, supplying whatever was needed, etc. One of the sons died in battles and the other was on leave for two months, and is leaving for the army on the 13th, and the third one, the youngest, died of typhus. The mother was left alone.
Junior Lieutenant Nurse Marusya is among the new people who were transferred from the 19th regiment into our unit; she is interested in poetry and particularly likes Yesenin. It is rare to encounter that during the war. We walked together along the road and read each other poetry.
The local komsomol members organized an evening dedicated to women. On our own initiative we decided to help them. We did not have enough time to prepare and we only provided a few numbers from our old programs. Including our "Shults." The kids' performance followed ours. The conditions were unimaginable. I have never seen anything like it, I don't know how the walls endured it. "Beyond the stage"
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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 there was not enough space for a falling apple. I could only laugh looking at the scene. But for some reason it was very fun. And most importantly, the women were happy. After the concert the komsomol members prepared a fantastic banquet, invited us, but . . . soldier rules, it was already after our time for lights out, and though disappointing to them and to us, there was nothing we could do about it. The vodka and the party disappeared. Yesterday I received the first letter from Rima. She is only thirty kilometers away! That is less than 7,000, but the situation is no different: she isn't here with me.
If I return home from the war,
I will hang it on my wall.
I will talk about it
To everyone who steps into my room.
Even though it’s sun-bleached and torn,
Even though it’s burnt through in some spots,—
It took a fragment wound for me,
It saved me from death.
***
5. There is no other like her out there,
No other such tempting sweet lips.
When I’m with her, I have no need of heaven,
Life without her here would be hell.
The bureau was elected. Once again regular work commenced. We connected with the civilian party organs. Yesterday I presented a report to the citizens of Kamenka. "Thirty three months of the Patriotic War." Girls are practically hanging on my neck, but Rima is only 30 kilometers away. There are no letters. Vidzon was put into an isolation cell for three days because he wanted to party with girls on March 8. I'm sending him to take komsorg courses. Alesha Krivoruch is working in his place, my second assistant.
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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 weather is disgusting: rain, dirty, snow, an impenetrable swamp. And luck would have it, almost daily I have to travel to the regiment, located 6 kilometers away. I remain a member of the bureau of 18 AZSP. Today I will host a subplenary session of the regiment Komsomol caucus. I'm in a bad mood. The new commander and I "did not hit if off." It is difficult to work with him. I avoid running into him. If it wouldn't be for Koltsov and Basin, I would definitely leave.
I received two letters from Rima. She has fallen ill. She invited me to visit her. Of course that is impossible. There are still no letters from home.
You left me at dawn,
Returning at night in my dreams.
And since then, the southwest wind
Keeps singing to me about spring.
About spring all around the blue Dnieper,
About spring in my soul as well,
That is intoxicated by love,
Full of sorrow, sadness, and fire.
You are a child. And maybe for that,
For the childishness in your brown eyes,
The poet’s restless heart
Bathes your name in his verse.
I probably won’t meet another like you,
With whom I will not know.
What is more precious to me: the girl’s breasts
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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
Or the sly, childlike laughter.
19-21 March, 1944
***
The yard is full of spring mud,
A wagon is swaying slowly.
My night companion, the moon, is with me.
With her, I won’t be alone.
The stately oaks are standing around,
A beam cut the sky in half,
And the wind doesn’t scatter
My muffled singing around the fields.
There are no lit windows around,
There are no lights for a hundred miles.
Only the Little Dipper in the sky
Doesn’t extinguish its green lamps.
A mountain of a load came off my shoulders: the concert ended, not an easy task. We began yesterday after dinner, and finished this evening. We gave three performances. We are quite exhausted. I first performed in a sketch in the role of a senior lieutenant, and then turned around and assumed the position of M.C., with great improvisation, holding the program together. I did not even suspect I had such abilities. Lieutenant Colonel Likov came today, apparently. Rima sent another letter. This thing is a waste.
Today is a day of disappointment. All infantry soldiers are getting reassigned. I was hoping that would
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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 include me. In the morning Leshka declared that he was discharged and getting sent to an engineering school in Moscow (!). I almost did not doubt that I would also be discharged. I addressed Koltsov, who repeated the same old thing: "You are not going anywhere, you have to work here; we can do what we need without any school."
—But I am an infantry soldier, I shouldn't just stay in the rear.
—I can only discharge you with the approval of the lieutenant-colonel. You have to work here, educate people.
—I want to go to engineering school.
—You will never become an engineer. I know better. You will be in the literary profession. no engineer can become of you!
I spoke to him twice about it today. He categorically refused both times.
—You have to be an engineer of the human soul.
On the third time i opened up to him, read him my poems and the letters from Toma. A bit lyrical. Koltsov is a wonderful man. He found a connection in my poems to Yesenin. I am sad to leave him and Basin.
I received my first letter from Katuysha today; lively and cheerful. She asks for a reply. I must. Rima sent me a booklet with her poetry. Ugh, I'm sick of the bland life of a "reserve" man. Planes fly over us in flocks. Hang above our heads all day and all night. Beautiful.
Psycho weather. Yesterday there was a blizzard, unlike any other from the entire winter season. Heavy snow fall, cold winds, freezing. In a word, it's springtime. On the 31st there was a conference for the regiment's delegation. Again I was selected to the regiment bureau, now 18AZSP [Army Reserves Rifle Regiment]. I'm in a crappy mood. My desire to work has fallen off. First of all, all my assets were sent off, there is no one to work with. Second of all, the battalion commander drives away any desire to work. And on top of that I am not receiving any letters. Kartashevsky got a letter from Rima. None for me. The letter I sent to Yana was returned to me.
Miracles are taking place at the front. Our forces are in Romania, on the border with Czechoslovakia. Today we found out that Odessa has been recaptured and an offensive has been launched on Crimea. I can imagine Paulya's mood today. Odesa [Odessa] to her is like Kiev [Kyiv] is to me. I never met greater
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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 fanatics. Recently I got a letter from Rima, who promised to come visit on Sunday. I was hopeful. Of course she did not come. It was a good letter. I never received another like that from her.
Finally I got a letter from home. For now everything is the same, they want to move back to Kiev [Kyiv]. I would wish for nothing else. There was a celebration in the regiment yesterday. A combat banner was awarded. I did not attend.
Started getting letters from home. The situation there is an extremely difficult: grandmother and Aunt Klara died. Mother and Zunya are ill. It is difficult to get back home. I am submitting requests. This overwhelms me completely and distracts me from working to my full ability. I got a letter from Toma. What a sweet and lovely girl. She has such a big, loving heart. She of course doesn’t deserve the change in my behavior. But the more I think about it, the more it seems that this is how it should be. These are all temporary interests. After all, it often happens that large mountain ranges that are usually clearly visible in the distance are sometimes dimmed by a dense fog, after which only the smallest hillocks in the foreground are visible. But the fog eventually disperses and the mountains crawl back out into the sky, making the small hillocks insignificant in comparison to the giant peaks.
I have finally recovered a bit, and can now write a bit. Most importantly, Rima visited. It was completely unexpected, contrary to her letters and to common sense. She came on April 28. I was so overjoyed that I kissed her right on the street in front of everyone. She stayed for two days, went back to her place, and then returned here on May 2. This fortune would not have taken place if misfortune did not help: she was sent to the hospital, to Oleshno, located 3 kilometers from here. She did not lose her wits and "swooped down." She lived in my apartment until yesterday. Each day she went to the hospital for about two hours, and the rest of the day she was with me. It was unbelievable, a miracle. Of course I was beside myself, couldn't even work. The kids organized a wonderful evening on the 2nd. Several officers attended, she and I, and the village girls. It was a fun evening, only I poisoned it a bit for myself with jealousy. Overall the holiday was exceptional. For the first time during the war I genuinely had fun. I drank a lot of vodka. In short, I am completely satisfied. Is it possible that another meeting can happen during the war? I didn't even dare and wish for this one. She is a good young lady. Six nights. I discovered many things about myself, which I did not previously know. Life is a damn crazy thing.
As in her moment of anger the junior lieutenant of NKVD would say, "you bastard."
The end of May, like its beginning, was marked by Rima's visit. She spent two days here. Yesterday was probably the most pleasant of all. Every other time there were moments of grievances and sad conversations. But for once we agreed to do with them; after all, I love her deeply.
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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
During the day I wrote a literary and art installation. I wanted to prepare and perform it in two days. I pushed the actors so hard that half lost their voices, and the performance, the key element of this Sunday, was broken.
Our allies capture Rome! An important day.
The greatest day since the beginning of the war! All of our hopes and expectations have finally been realized! They’ve opened the second front! South, West, and East! I found out about this from the political unit of the regiment. Everyone went crazy, nearly kissing each other. We have to remember every detail of this day for all eternity—it is a historic day!
Rima visited again. She was on her way back from the hospital. She stayed for two days. I saw her off. For now there is no expectation about when the next time might come. "Goodbye 'till the end of the war," she said. Funny. The day before yesterday I presented a report at the battalion party meeting. The major said that my work, my support for the battalion commander, is perfectly satisfactory. That is the best review. Tishkin considers me to be the best komsorg in the regiment, and wants to transfer me to an infantry battalion, where the rank would be that of an officer.
We are bidding farewell to Kamenka! We stayed here for three and a half months. A lot has happened during this time, but life keeps moving forward. It’s a challenge to even keep up with it. There’s the war—Sevastopol, Odessa, Finland. Invasion of Europe. Internal affairs. And then, there’s the personal stuff: Rima, Tamara, Major Lunetz with all of his quirks and his crystal purity, and then the faint sign of a romance with Galina Frantsuzova and her remorse. The night raids in the neighboring village and the melancholic skeptic, Shtein. You add all of that up and that is life for you. The real world, facts and events.
Kirov [Kirawsk], Mogilev oblast, We walked 80km. Yesterday, we stopped in the regional center Kirov. It was a nice, pleasant place. Found great housing: in the school and in the club. We rested here today. I am in a great mood. I spent half of the day talking to prisoners who are brought in herds. About ten thousand have already come through. It is interesting to talk to them, especially the Poles, Czechs, and Austrians. I am struggling with two conflicting feelings: hatred for my mortal enemy and compassion towards this being that has a human appearance. The first one is of course is a thousand times stronger. I don’t even have any compassion for the Russian traitors. Everything is going well on the fronts. Rokossovsky was promoted to the rank of Marshall and our army’s third-in-command Gorbatov was promoted to be the regiment general. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as good as I do now. We have to cross Berezina tomorrow. Our army received an order to raid Minsk. The mail arrived today. A letter from Rimma. She is headed in this
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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 same direction. Might we really see each other again?
Orlik (Mogilev oblast)
We crossed 30 kilometers. [We are] 13 kilometers north of Bobruisk [Babruysk]. We got to Berezina. The same number of prisoners, the "heroes" of the Bobruisk [Babruysk] encirclement.
Prudishchi (Minsk oblast)
Another 32 kilometers. We passed Berezina in the area of the town Oktyabr'. Berezina was costly for us, but I have not seen such an enormous number of German corpses. The entire road was practically covered with them. Several hundred corpses in the most diverse positions and poses. It was so repulsive that I even felt nauseous. Every day there are more and more prisoners. Germans were in Oktyabr' only three days ago. Their entire division was trying to break out of our encirclement. Half were killed, some were taken prisoners, some disbursed in the woods. Nevertheless they had enough time to burn down the town and the nearby village. Oktyabr' was occupied in the first days of the war(!) by a landing party. Yesterday Minsk was retaken. Today we entered the outskirts of Minsk oblast. In about three days we will be in the capital.
Town of Dukary (Minsk oblast). Life has become livelier. We are far away from the front, but many things keep us aware of our July 1944 environment. Germans have already been captured not only with their hands up in the air, but also with their machine guns raised. We are located at the Minsk “pocket” 40 kilometers away from Minsk. Here an army comprised of three corps formations has been encircled. The front moved but they stayed behind in the forest with guns, mortar shells, rifles, and even tanks. Many generals. All of these units and larger groups are trying to unite somewhere south of Minsk, to break out of the encirclement. Yesterday at night, we entered into combat with a unit that was headed along the same direction. The Germans didn’t fire back. All night they held defensive positions. In the morning and all day we were catching the Germans . The prisoners are showing that an entire regiment was moving through yesterday. We have a rest day today. In the morning we bathed in the river and washed our uniforms. The Germans appeared again. A fire exchange began. The Germans even hit us with mortars. We had barely set up. We hadn’t had to be in true two-sided combat. We have very few guns. I got myself "Parabellum" pistol, removed it from a German. The major let me take it. During the fire exchange today one of our soldiers drowned in the river. He died without combat.
Village Grichino. I was finally in combat again. Difficult to write now, I'm excited. We were in combat twice today. The first time was around the region of Vytzkovshina. A car was shot at from the wheat fields. We
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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 got into combat formation and swept the wheat field. We quickly spotted a group of Germans and started chasing them. Senior Lieutenant Borodavko and I were in the front. We engaged in real combat. What are the results? Fourteen captured, one killed; I caught two easily. I put myself to the test once more. I’m happy. The second battle took place near the village of Grichino. Our soldier who was on patrol duty on the left side stumbled upon a group of Germans and they started strangling him. The soldier screamed. We ran towards him. Another battle: four captured, five killed. One of our soldiers was killed. We buried him in a cemetery. I’m walking as if it's my birthday. We took many trophies. I am carrying two bags, two pistols, binoculars, and a camera. I removed [from Germans] three watches. There you have it, motorcycles with crutches! Everyone is really worked up after the battle. And we only have about twenty people with weapons.
Dzerzhinsk [Dzyarzhynsk].
Yesterday night we got to the city, the new deployment center. The entire regiment is here. Dmitriev is the head of the garrison. We are staying at a former bank. As ordered by the major, I was working all day today with the Guards Lieutenant Kaminski, writing a description of the march: a report for the colonel. The major submitted the names of twelve people for an award, including mine.
Dzerzhinsk [Dzyarzhynsk]
Got some rest, completed the march report, back on the road. Our orders have been received. We were able to execute some of the work in these last five days. Many people were sent away: home, marches, hospitals. It will be easier to travel. The regiment caucus met on the 13th. Turns out that nearly all the komsorgs are nominated for awards. Our regiment was engaged in serious combat. Seven people remain from the caucus. The commander was wounded twice.
Kolesovo [Kolosovo].
At 7:00 we set off. Direction: Volkovisek [Vawkavysk]. We're moving all right. At around 14:00 we reached the old border (!), where we had dinner. A historical place. We have entered the territory of Western Belorussia. I got letters from Zyunya, Rimma. Here's the thing: she was surrounded! The war does not recognize rear territory.
Grabówka, Białystok oblast.
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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 have been marching across Belorussia for more than a month. We walked over 600 kilometer. The march from Kamenka to Białystok took place in three stages.
Stage 1: Kamenka—Dzerzhinsk [Dzyarzhynsk]. 300 kilometers. Fierce battles near Minsk at Gruchino [Grichino] and Vitskovshchina. We captured fifty German POWs. Among them were those who I captured as well.
Stage 2: Dzerzhinsk [Dzyarzhynsk]—Volkovisk [Vawkavysk] (260 kilometers) without any incidents. We spent five days in Volkovisk [Vawkavysk], rested a bit. It is a pretty city where life is nearly normal. Factories and rail roads are blown up. Time bombs exploded in front of us. One exploded in our regiment headquarters and lieutenant colonel Grodskii was seriously wounded. Our army was engaged in battles near Białystok. As soon as Białystok was captured we were back on the move.
Stage 3: Volkovisk [Vawkavysk]—Białystok (95 kilometers). A wonderful paved highway. We are moving easily. The rains are in the way. Yesterday evening we got to the Białystok area. There are 4 kilometers to the city, but we are not allowed to move further. Battles are 15-18 kilometers away from us.
Artillery barrages are clearly heard. We are used to marches, grew accustomed. Our forces are pulling up to the geopolitical borders throughout. The war is moving towards its end. Is it possible that I will not have a chance to fight, to earn an award? My name was submitted for an award for the battles in Poland, but it appears that it was without results.
Belostok [Białystok] (Skorupy). We are basically living in the city itself, but I have not yet been in the center. 50 percent of the city is destroyed, but as in any large city, people are living full lives, regardless of the ruins. People on crutches are working, people scurrying in all directions, stores are beginning to function. The atmosphere in the city is one of ambiguity and uncertainty. Who will be in power in Belostok [Białystok]? What administration will control the city? That is what everyone is interested in right now—both the civilians and the military personnel. Belostok [Białystok] is on the other side of the Curzon Line.
We don’t have any administrative offices or government institutions here. Polish red and white flags hang in the streets; the Poles wear the same colored arm bands. It seems that Poland will control the city. That means that we have crossed the border and are on foreign territory. There are currently three administrations in control here: our military, the Polish State National Council, and the emigrant government, which releases their own bulletins (which are loyal to our cause). The fact that we have stepped onto foreign territory, a territory of a friendly government, forces us to change our ways quite a bit. We have to demonstrated how cultured we are to them, which we have very little of right now. Cursing is flourishing. Insatiable rage. Special instructions were printed on behavior, and how to act towards the local population. Any sign of looting must be severely punished. Unfortunately, many of our officers pay
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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 little attention to this. We have not yet resolved the question of behavior on foreign territory.
Belostok [Białystok]
No changes in our military garrison. We will probably stay here for a long time. The situation has stabilized a bit. The temporary border is recognized at the Curzon Line. As a result, we are on foreign territory, in Poland. The number of Polish soldiers in the city increases daily, but under local Red Army command. The national army is very hesitant, slow. One representative was already removed. The local population is not particularly warm towards us; very stingy, petty. They don't want to recognize our money.
Vyshomezh-Bol.
After Belostok [Białystok] we changed the location of our deployment center twice. Miski-Zhish (near Vys. Mazovetsk) and Vyshomezh village (near Shumovo). The "September Plan," is happening. An order came for my medal award "For Battle Merit." I received a Certificate of Gratitude from Comrade Stalin for the Bobruisk [Babruysk] mission. Major Lunets has sharply changed his attitude toward me. He is probably not as nice to anyone else in the battalion. Wishing to secure me in his battalion, he devised an original plan. He secured a regiment decree appointing me as platoon commander and submitted certificate documentation. From August 26 to date I have been working both as platoon commander as well as the komsorg. Bad. I felt no satisfaction from my work. I wasn't finishing anything; neither in the platoon nor in the political work. But the major was satisfied. The regiment does not want to release me to active combat duty and intends to transfer me to a different battalion. The major summoned me today, and highly evaluating my work with the platoon, ordered me to release my command to Guards Lieutenant Kalinkin and work exclusively with political affairs. "I feel that we will soon have to part with you. A pity. You worked for a year, and no one saw you. When the battalion commander started, he ordered for your work not be wasted, and when a person is noticed then they want to take him away. Pity. I will visit the colonel tomorrow. And I wouldn't protest if you were requested to handle a large volume of work, otherwise you might end up as the battalion komsorg there as well." And so forth. I was very happy to release platoon command. It's not my type of work. You become a different person there, in the platoon. It's bad when you stop seeing a living person, and instead you only see a loose button. Under these circumstances and with such an enormous turnover volume, it cannot be otherwise.
Vishomezh. I received a medal today. The ceremony was held in the village of Shumovo in a garden. Forty people in total were awarded. There were three from our battalion: Captain Koltzov ("For Courage") and Lieutenant Borodavko ("For Battle Merit"). They lined us up in two rows on a small field that was decorated with slogans and flowers. There was a table on the right, where little white boxes were neatly placed on
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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 top of certificates. Colonel Dmitriev summoned the honoree, handed him the box, congratulated him, and shook his hand. Everyone mumbled some inarticulate words, overwhelmed. Then the Colonel briefly and not very clearly congratulated us. Thus, a medal now hangs on the left side of my chest.
Vyshomezh-B.
I recently returned from the village Grodzen (2 kilometers from Chervin), where there was a meeting of the army Komsomol Caucus. Gathered: assistant directors of corps komsomol, divisions and regiment komsorgs [political officers]. The first impression is awestruck: captains, majors, each with three-four awards. There was almost no one like us. We got there on the evening of the 15th. The property was a former estate. A large garden with walkways, lakes, little bridges, fences. In the center, a two story stone house. Now it is a hospital. Several rooms were reserved for us. The meeting began at on the 16th at 9:30. Major-general Amosov presented a report on "The work of Komsomol organization during army advance." He spoke for about two hours, at length and clearly. At around 2 o'clock army commander Colonel- General Gorbatov arrived, and member of the Supreme Soviet Major General Konkov. Both were wearing simple military shirts. On Gorbatov's chest eleven award symbols shine with all the rainbow colors. He sat down at the table, placed the stick he never parts with next to him, and stared at every attendee sideways. It seemed that he was very angry at someone, but when he approached the little table and started speaking, the impression drastically changed. An extremely simple, smart, kind and warm elderly man. He highly regarded the work of the komsomol. Many battalion commanders should learn from him. He gave a wonderful talk about the new recruits, born in 1926:
"They are weak, inexperienced, and everything is new for them. They are children. These children will be wiped out, tormented, stripped of their oatmeal, without their soup, burdened with heavy loads, and also komsomol assignments. Thus they will go under."
He is a sensitive, caring father, reasonable; a farsighted military leader. He spoke about the "final offensive" which our army was going to launch imminently, beginning with the crossing of the Narew River, and about our behavior on foreign territory. "We will go there as victory, avenge all that they did." General Konkov gave a speech. His head is shaved, no awards. His eyes are marvelously intelligent, lively, and insightful; they looked especially so when he was presenting. Calm, quiet manner of speaking. The assistant of the head of the army political department Major Ozerov, as well as the assistant of the front's political department, Lieutenant Colonel Zholnin. Then the locals. And that's when I became convinced that an epaulet star does not reflect brain size. General Amosov spoke of this as well. Unfortunately people with poor literacy, lack of culture, who are boastful also have their place. Cursing is endemic, especially after 200 grams. In their free time they mostly talk about women. They are good guys, brave, but the war ruined a lot. I saw my former friend from administration office of the policial department, Streltsov. A rather dumb and unpleasant person. He's a lieutenant, regiment komsorg, with two award orders and two
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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 medals. A pretty good dinner with vodka. After dinner we posed for photographs with General Amosov, and received pleasant letters from Stalin and the People's Commissariat. The army is fully consumed with preparations for crossing the Narew. Everyone is talking about it. I saw Guards Senior Lieutenant Levin, the former regiment komsorg. Tishkin died. The komsorg of the communications regiment is a wonderful young lady, a senior lieutenant. We were not able to leave in the evening. We slept the night in Chervin, in a Pole's home. The foot of a Red Army soldier has never been inside here: foreign territory since 1941. Rimma is somewhere nearby, can't find her.
On September 18 a regiment decree was issued, giving me the position of the komsorg of the education battalion. I just transferred today. The cadets are living in the woods, in tents, and the officers are situated in the village. I, along with the party organizer Senior Lieutenant Molodavkin are occupying a large empty room. It is immediately apparent that this work has fallen through the cracks, and there are almost no assets. There will be many difficulties. But I'm in an upbeat mood, ready to work, focus. I introduced myself to the deputy battalion commander, Batinin. The only problem is that everything has to be started from the beginning. There was a very nice, warm farewell. Captain Koltsov personally escorted me to the door.
September 27 [1944]. Eventually I adapted. I met people, became friends with the party organizer. The most important advantage is the stable consistency of the personnel. It got horribly tired of working with ever-changing staff, never seeing the results of my work, never feeling fully satisfied. A huge percent of the cadets are young. We all remember here our school of political affairs. I remember what I was like then: constant stress, the anticipation of something unknown, lack of self confidence, and practically a fetish towards the commander. Not enough food, not enough sleep, coldness, fantasy of a moment of freedom. It all seems so long ago. These 18-year-old cadets remind me of these old images. They have ten hours of field training, two hours of personal study. That's only enough to complete the komsomol work
September 29 [1944].
Everything is upside down again. New army decree confirmed that the komsorg of the training battalion is Jr. Lieutenant Konovalov. Today at the regiment I was shown the document and introduced to my replacement. That's it, my work is over. All my plans are ruined. Compensation directed for my mother, rank and role, all of it out the window. I am requesting to be transferred to active duty. For now I remain in the reserves, in the training battalion. Nevertheless a different joy today; Rimma came. She used her day off and traveled here to the regiment, along with her friend Klava. Fortunately I was in the political office, she found me, and we spent several hours together; she left in the evening. As a result I feel better, she dispelled my bad mood.
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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
October 10 [1944]. City Ostruv-Maz [Ostrów Mazowiecka].
I remained in the training battalion until October 8. I rested, assisted the komsorg, led political lessons and discussions. The day before yesterday the battalion with all its personnel and equipment, including artillery, anti-tank guns, machine guns, mortars, was sent to the front, to the Fifth Orlov Division. An hour before departure I was summoned and assigned to the Recovery Battalion, to my previous position, promising that after some time I will be transferred to some other battalion or to a division. Yesterday morning I completed my paperwork and set out to Ostruv-Maz [Ostrów Mazowiecka], which is close to the location of the Recovery Battalion. My mood is not very good: I am going backwards, having accomplished nothing. I walked around the city. Only the graves of soldiers in parks and city squares are reminders of the war. The streets are lively, noisy (there is mobilization of the Poles). There are many stores, stalls, stands, where absolutely everything is available, though the prices are exorbitant. Along the way I decided to go visit Rimma, thought it took a long time to make that decision. The devil knows why I am so hesitant, why the shyness. But I forced myself, got into a car and went in the direction of Gervina [Gervinė]. A few kilometers before reaching the city the car stopped, and I had to walk. I walked about a kilometer and near the check point I ran into Sasha Denisov (what luck!), the former komsorg of the communications regiment, who now works together with Rimma.
If it wouldn't be for this encounter, the mission would have failed, as they relocated. I walked with Sasha to the village Seltz, she brought me into a room where the girls live, and ran to get Rimma.
December 3, 1944. Góry, Gmina Goworowo [within Ostrołęka County, Masovian Voivodeship, in east- central Poland].
I worked at the Rehabilitation Battalion for exactly two months, performing my previous role. I tried to petition to be transferred, but the deputy regiment commander Major Kuvakin rejected my request. At some point my feelings were hurt, but I got over it. I was accepted by the Party, I received my party membership card, and felt more stable on my feet. I have started working more towards elevating my knowledge. There are fewer people in the battalion and less work. The former spark, the indomitable desire to work, to do more, wasn't there. On top of everything, feelings of sadness over underachievement were in the way. Balakin often said that he would see things to the end, would realize his promise. But my attitude towards this talk was doubtful, with a sense of irony. Today after dinner he came unexpectedly to the battalion and announced that he is being transferred to the 120 Guards Division as the assistant head of the komsomol political department. He will be replaced by Kott, and I am going to be the komsork of the 1st Rifle Battalion.
December 9 [1944]. Village Kachki, 15 kilometers from Rozhana.
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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
In the morning Kot and I went to the regiment. Balakin gathered all the komsorgs to say goodbye and hand his work over. Then I took over the work from Kot and went back to the Rehabilitation Battalion. My mood is good. Nothing frightens me. First of all, I am bored there to high heaven, I have to change my environment, I have to grow. Second, I am confident in my abilities. I have one wish: to see Rimma. On December 12 I visited her, but our meeting ended unpleasantly. There have been no letters since.
Suddenly (as I was laying around in my bed), the door opens, and I couldn't believe my eyes: how is it possible for wishes to come through so instantly? Rimma walked in! At that moment I could not feel happier. Exactly one month ago she was at my place in Legionov. That was a special day in my life.
She spoke of many things this night. I don't know if I can take everything that was said seriously. It is sometimes difficult to tell whether she is serious or joking. Afterwards, out of nowhere, a bitter accusation: "You are all the same!" And also, "A guy who is 20 years old is not yet a man..." In the morning I escorted her, some other silliness on the way: sometimes I blurted something stupid, sometimes she did. We walked separately for a large part of the trip.
Laughter and tears!
December 12 [1944]. Suchcice, Gmina Czerwin
I wanted to go to the battalion yesterday, but Captain Samokhvalov did not allow me, or the release order has not yet arrived. I'm resting. Yesterday, suddenly, Balakin and Captain Zhukov (he used to be a komsorg in our regiment's third battalion, and now he is the regiment komsorg in the 163rd Medical Division. A very good guy, hanging out with him is a complete pleasure. But he is a poor worker. An extreme drunk.) We found vodka. Drank. Then some other captain with a harmonica invited us. They went. About an hour and a half afterwards I followed them, to make sure nothing bad happened to them. Balakin felt good, played the harmonica all evening.
We exchanged some fleeting phrases, which confirmed that relations between us are friendly. Zhukov got very drunk and his behavior stretched out of a proper framework. He began firing a pistol, pestering women, and then, at night, demanded to be led to VAnka Samokhvalov. He spent the night there.
In the morning the battalion commander approved my departure and I, together with Balakin, left the Rehabilitation Battalion. We parted at the intersection: he drove off to the division, located at the Narew Bridgehead, and I set off back to the rear, to the Asian Regiment. We live in Golubev [Gołubie], in a big cold room. The room, like the rest of the battalion, is not cozy, alien; a repeated desire to take a deep breath. It is possible that with time [these feelings] will pass. For now I feel as if I'm only a visitor. I'm looking around, meeting people, and trying not to stand out. I have no friends, no one to share [my
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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 feelings] with. Golubev is not talkative, mostly qiet, and when he speaks it seems that he only asks questions and is always surprised. He makes the impression of an honest person, but helpless and weak.
December 16, 1944. Sukhchine, Poland.
I went to the Paseki station with one of the platoon commanders today, where our crew of fifty people is working. They are under the command of the Recovery Battalion. We stayed at our work post for a bit and then went to Kachka, where the battalion was. This is where I feel like I am at home. I am in a different mood here. The people are more familiar and more pleasant. Of course, it only feels this way now. I appointed two out of the company to perform the roles of party organizer and komsomol organizer, gave them instructions, and promised to assign helpers from the Rehabilitation Battalion. Later it turned out that one of the soldiers – Avdeyev – went missing from his work post. They suspect that he left for his division (169th) by car, the 160th О.П.И.Д.
In the first days of work, there was an extraordinary event: a deserter. A very unpleasant situation. The lieutenant and I went to search for him: we went to the village where this division was posted before (it was no longer there) and to Govorovo, the staff quarters, to patrol outpost... No success. We reached the runway in Govorovo by 9 o’clock in the evening. We waited for about 40 minutes, froze to teh core (as if to spite us, there were fierce, cold winds). Still no cars appeared. We decided to walk, a distance of 8 kilometers. Walked no less than 35 kilometers in one day. We returned home in time for lights out. Today everyone's mood was soured because of the incident. In the morning, and officer and a sergeant were sent to the division. They came back by the evening. They found Avdeyev in his division, on the bridgehead. In spite of the order given by the commandant of the army, he was accepted without any documentation. Now they are saying that “He is a decorated fighter and we will not give him away.” What sort of deserter can he be: he is a candidate member of the Communist Party (VKPb), has three awards, and he ran off to his unit at the front. A whole bunch of unpleasantness here.
I was unpleasantly affected by the anti-Semitism displayed by my indirect boss, Guardian Captain Krut. I wish I had not known about it. It will be hard to work now, I won’t be able to respect him after this. I will of course try to supress my resentment, so that it doesn’t keep me from doing my job. However, it is very unpleasant. Actually, there is a lot that is unpleasant about this battalion. Either you have to fight it, likely as one against many, making enemies along the way, or choose the path of least opposition and not take anything to heart, living like everyone else.
We had a guest today: Senior Lieutenant Basin. He really cheered me up with the news that he’d been awarded a medal. Rimma is sick. She is in the hospital 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
January 7, 1945. Novo-Mallinovo, Poland.
New Year's passed. I didn't celebrate it. But it doesn't wait for people's "welcome" toast to appear. New Year's comes anyways. On December 28, on the way back from the hospital, I stopped by to visit Rimma. She invited me to her place on the 31st, the day she turns 20 years old. I desperately wanted to go, to the point of tears and grinding teeth. But I didn't go. I am weary of problems at the battalion, I want to avoid another encounter with Captain Tarasov, my rank, and my old and faded military shirt: a lot of reasons. It was a very difficult evening for me. I began drowning with longing. It would have been good to get drunk. But even the 100 gram of vodka "dose" was delivered one day late. I smoked and wrote. Later I was glad that I didn't go. I would not have gone to her place, to her apartment, but to her unit. And oh, that unit.
There are no changes at work. An army order with confirmation of my role has not arrived. The new rank will probably come in about two months. Kuzmin, who has been working here since September, just now received his rank.
The battalion environment is somewhat unpleasant, but I work energetically and diligently. I don't know where this energy is coming from. It's probably Rimma. If I look from a distance and reflect deeply, who is she? Today I received a postcard: "My mood is awful. I feel like cursing and smoking. In general I will soon... I will soon... forgive me, but we are in war... and I don't want to understand anything more." And I CAN'T understand anything. What is the meaning of this? That soon she will become the same as most of the other girls in this war? Then what do I need her for? Even if I am guilty, I will still not agree to this. Or perhaps there is some other meaning? Perhaps she wants to become a mother? Yesterday I received a letter from her mother. At the bottom there was writing from someone named Ana: "I wrote a lot to the front. But an enemy bullet killed the one I was writing to. My husband died at the front. I ask you, when you have the opportunity, put down ten Fritz in the name of my little two orphans who are left behind. I think you cannot decline my request." These words practically broke me. Such a request cannot be declined. But I cannot complete the request now. Germans are not killed 30 kilometers from the front line. It is as if the letter of this woman stranger is blaming me, telling me I have to go there, I have to fight.
This morning I went to escort five departing soldiers to the 5th Orlov Division. I had the same feeling. it's almost like I'm embarrassed because they are going to the front and I remain here, in the rear. I didn't find the rights words to say to them. It felt that any sentence I would say would invite an ironic smile on the soldiers' lips. Motivation should be done there, in the trenches, not at a major offensive "send-off location." It is has become torturous to have to say to a soldier, "kill, avenge," understanding that I am not doing so.
We left the battalion at 7:00, while it was still dark. I didn't even notice when an older soldier appeared next to me, with a nice looking black mustache. We started talking. During our conversation, he asked:
"What is your nationality?"
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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
'I'm a Jew.'
"I'm also a Jew, but i hide it."
'Unnecessary, totally unnecessary.'
Without replying to my comment directly, he began telling me a story.
"There is horrible anti-Semitism everwhere. At every step. Whether you are guilty or not, you are blamed. I couldn't stand it any longer."
He told me about himself. His name is Ilya Cherepakha, originally from Belorussia. That's where the Germans got him. His entire family of thirty five people died. He was shot at twice, but he survived and at night crawled out from under the corpses. His wife, a Ukrainian, married a Vlasov follower, robbed together with him, and then went to Germany. He fought with a partisan unit as a platoon commander. "We drank their blood. For took revenge for my family in full."
There was also a lot of anti-Semitism among the partisans. Jews who had ranks of commanders were not assigned to such roles. Only when the front got closer, then the situation began to change. He told me a lot about his life, about the partisans, about his current experience in the army, and I regretted saying "unnecessary" earlier. What moral right do I have to teach and judge the actions of a person, who saw and experienced a thousand more than I did? I cannot defend a person who gives up his nationality. But a person only has one life to live, and he has lost his twice already.
January 26, 1945. Village Vishtolz, Western Prussia.
On January 23 at 21:15 we crossed a small river, Ozhetz, located at the geopolitical border between Western Prussia and Germany. I did not see any fortified positions at the border. Immediately past the small river begins a beautiful winter leaf forest. We have not seen an untouched forest in a long time. In Belorus and in Poland the forests are destroyed: either cut down or dugouts and trenches, or covered in spent ammunition. The first thought: here in the springtime the Fritz were collected flowers. We passed Rögen, a large village where almost all the houses are undamaged. Regiment staff quarters stopped here. At around 11 at night we reached our deployment location. We were exhausted and laid down to rest immediately. In the morning we checked everything out in detail. In the entire village only two houses are burned down, all the other ones are whole. The houses, just like everything else there, are perfectly civilized, an urban sense. Belongings all remain in place, Except for clothes and jewelry. Furniture, kitchenware, grain, cattle, dishes, farming equipment, bicycles; everything was left in the yards. With all the hatred, with desire to avenge, our soldiers began to take out on these belongings. They began to knock
2021 © BLAVATNIK ARCHIVE FOUNDATION PG 54/56 BLAVATNIKARCHIVE.ORG DIGITAL COLLECTIONS ITEM TRANSCRIPT
Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN down windows, mirrors, gramophones and records, heat the ovens with their beds, tables, and cabinets.
2021 © BLAVATNIK ARCHIVE FOUNDATION PG 55/56 BLAVATNIKARCHIVE.ORG DIGITAL COLLECTIONS ITEM TRANSCRIPT
Boris Komsky. Wartime diary, July 1943-January 1945
ID UKR058.008 PERMALINK http://n2t.net/ark:/86084/b4hx15s2p
ITEM TYPE DIARY ORIGINAL LANGUAGE RUSSIAN
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