Book: Iron wind in the face

... To the suffler booth petty officer
fell and beat into the darkness.
History itself
suffled him.
Supporting us with fire,
in the side clamping the pain,
He is without posture and without embellishment
played a great role...

Does not sleep in these nights native Stalingrad
From the rumble of bombs and shells.
But the Soviet soldier holds bravely -
He will not let the reptiles go beyond the Volga.
Over the Motherland, glory, like a bird fly
And proudly tell our people:
As long as we are alive, the enemy cannot pass!
We will die, but we will get victory.

When I now remember my soldiers, commanders, day after day I recall the events of that unforgettable time in my memory, I am most amazed at the mass heroism. Not individual exploits, of which there are many in any war, but mass heroism.

These endless Russian offensives are completely unexpected and incomprehensible to us. Some crazy people. It would seem that there is no need to resist, but they are still trying to attack. They are dying under bullets, mines, shells, from our aviation, which here undividedly owns the airspace and every day unleashes combat strikes on the city. They are dying, but holding on. Women, old people, teenagers, just imagine, they are shooting at us too, setting fire to tanks, killing our soldiers. It turns out that even factories are operating, a tractor repairs tanks under our bombs and sends them into battle. Wild country, incomprehensible people.

Uncle, kill Hitler! My dad beats Hitler the same way, and my mother was killed by a bomb. I live far away with my grandmother. Hitler won't get me, but my grandmother said that we should help beat all hitlers. I tied my mitten and left my finger free to better press the hook, my grandmother said. Mittens are warm, wear them to health.