Yu Bondarev hot snow read in full. Bondarev Yuri Vasilievich - hot snow

Chapter first

Kuznetsov could not sleep. The knocking and rattling on the roof of the carriage grew louder and louder, the overlapping winds struck like a blizzard, and the barely visible window above the bunks became more and more densely covered with snow. The locomotive, with a wild, blizzard-piercing roar, drove the train through the night fields, in the white haze rushing from all sides, and in the thunderous darkness of the carriage, through the frozen squeal of the wheels, through the alarming sobs, the muttering of the soldiers in their sleep, this roar was heard continuously warning someone locomotive, and it seemed to Kuznetsov that there, ahead, behind the snowstorm, the glow of a burning city was already dimly visible. After the stop in Saratov, it became clear to everyone that the division was urgently being transferred to Stalingrad, and not to the Western Front, as was initially assumed; and now Kuznetsov knew that the journey remained for several hours. And, pulling the hard, unpleasantly damp collar of his overcoat over his cheek, he could not warm himself up, gain warmth in order to sleep: there was a piercing blow through the invisible cracks of the swept window, icy drafts walked through the bunks. “That means I won’t see my mother for a long time,” thought Kuznetsov, shrinking from the cold, “they drove us past...”. What was a past life - the summer months at the school in hot, dusty Aktyubinsk, with hot winds from the steppe, with the cries of donkeys on the outskirts suffocating in the sunset silence, so precise in time every night that platoon commanders in tactical exercises, languishing with thirst , not without relief, they checked their watches, marches in the stupefying heat, tunics sweaty and scorched white in the sun, the creaking of sand on their teeth; Sunday patrol of the city, in the city garden, where in the evenings a military brass band played peacefully on the dance floor; then graduation from school, loading into the carriages on an alarming autumn night, a gloomy forest covered in wild snow, snowdrifts, dugouts of a formation camp near Tambov, then again, alarmingly at a frosty pink December dawn, hasty loading onto the train and, finally, departure - all this unsteady , temporary, someone-controlled life has faded now, remained far behind, in the past. And there was no hope of seeing his mother, and just recently he had almost no doubt that they would be taken west through Moscow. “I’ll write to her,” Kuznetsov thought with a suddenly aggravated feeling of loneliness, “and I’ll explain everything. After all, we haven’t seen each other for nine months...” And the whole carriage was sleeping under the grinding, squealing, under the cast-iron roar of the runaway wheels, the walls swayed tightly, the upper bunks shook at the frantic speed of the train, and Kuznetsov, shuddering, having finally vegetated in the drafts near the window, turned back his collar and looked with envy at the commander of the second platoon sleeping next to him. Lieutenant Davlatyan - his face was not visible in the darkness of the bunk. “No, here, near the window, I won’t sleep, I’ll freeze until I reach the front line,” Kuznetsov thought with annoyance at himself and moved, stirred, hearing the frost crunching on the boards of the carriage. He freed himself from the cold, prickly tightness of his place, jumped off the bunk, feeling that he needed to warm up by the stove: his back was completely numb. In the iron stove on the side of the closed door, flickering with thick frost, the fire had long gone out, only the ash-blower was red with a motionless pupil. But it seemed a little warmer down here. In the gloom of the carriage, this crimson glow of coal faintly illuminated the various new felt boots, bowlers, and duffel bags under their heads sticking out in the aisle. The orderly Chibisov slept uncomfortably on the lower bunks, right on the soldiers’ feet; his head was tucked into his collar up to the top of his hat, his hands were tucked into the sleeves. - Chibisov! - Kuznetsov called and opened the door of the stove, which wafted out a barely perceptible warmth from inside. - Everything went out, Chibisov! There was no answer. - Orderly, do you hear? Chibisov jumped up in fear, sleepy, rumpled, his hat with earflaps pulled low and tied with ribbons under his chin. Not yet waking up from sleep, he tried to push the earflaps off his forehead, untie the ribbons, incomprehensibly and timidly crying out: “What am I?” No way, fell asleep? It literally stunned me into unconsciousness. I apologize, Comrade Lieutenant! Wow, I was chilled to the bones in my drowsiness!.. “They fell asleep and chilled the whole carriage,” Kuznetsov said reproachfully. “I didn’t mean to, Comrade Lieutenant, by accident, without intent,” Chibisov muttered. - It knocked me down... Then, without waiting for Kuznetsov’s orders, he fussed around with excessive cheerfulness, grabbed a board from the floor, broke it on his knee and began to push the fragments into the stove. At the same time, stupidly, as if his sides were itching, he moved his elbows and shoulders, often bending down, busily looked into the ash pit, where the fire was creeping in lazy reflections; Chibisov's revived, soot-stained face expressed conspiratorial servility. - Now, Comrade Lieutenant, I’ll get you warm! Let's heat it up, it will be smooth in the bathhouse. I myself am frozen because of the war! Oh, how cold I am, every bone aches - there are no words!.. Kuznetsov sat down opposite the open stove door. The orderly's exaggeratedly deliberate fussiness, this obvious hint of his past, was unpleasant to him. Chibisov was from his platoon. And the fact that he, with his immoderate efforts, always reliable, lived for several months in German captivity, and from the first day of his appearance in the platoon was constantly ready to serve everyone, aroused wary pity for him. Chibisov gently, womanishly, sank onto his bunk, his sleepless eyes blinking. - So we’re going to Stalingrad, Comrade Lieutenant? According to the reports, what a meat grinder there is! Aren't you afraid, Comrade Lieutenant? Nothing? “We’ll come and see what kind of meat grinder it is,” Kuznetsov responded sluggishly, peering into the fire. - What, are you afraid? Why did you ask? “Yes, one might say, I don’t have the same fear that I had before,” Chibisov answered falsely cheerfully and, sighing, put his small hands on his knees, spoke in a confidential tone, as if wanting to convince Kuznetsov: “After our people came out of captivity, I They released me, they believed me, Comrade Lieutenant. And I spent three whole months, like a puppy in shit, with the Germans. They believed... It’s such a huge war, different people are fighting. How can you immediately believe? - Chibisov glanced cautiously at Kuznetsov; he was silent, pretending to be busy with the stove, warming himself with its living warmth: he concentratedly clenched and unclenched his fingers over the open door. - Do you know how I was captured, Comrade Lieutenant?.. I didn’t tell you, but I want to tell you. The Germans drove us into a ravine. Near Vyazma. And when their tanks came close, surrounded, and we no longer had any shells, the regimental commissar jumped onto the top of his “emka” with a pistol, shouting: “Better death than being captured by the fascist bastards!” - and shot himself in the temple. It even splashed from my head. And the Germans are running towards us from all sides. Their tanks are strangling people alive. Here and... the colonel and someone else... - And then what? - asked Kuznetsov. “I couldn’t shoot myself.” .They crowded us into a heap, shouting “Hyunda hoh”. And they led... “I see,” said Kuznetsov with that serious intonation that clearly said that in Chibisov’s place he would have acted completely differently. - So, Chibisov, they shouted “Hende hoch” - and you handed over your weapons? Did you have any weapons? Chibisov answered, timidly defending himself with a tense half-smile: “You are very young, Comrade Lieutenant, you don’t have children, you don’t have a family, one might say.” Parents, I suppose... - What do children have to do with it? - Kuznetsov said with embarrassment, noticing the quiet, guilty expression on Chibisov’s face, and added: “It doesn’t matter at all.” - How can he not, Comrade Lieutenant? - Well, maybe I didn’t put it that way... Of course, I don’t have children. Chibisov was twenty years older than him - “father”, “daddy”, the oldest in the platoon. He was completely subordinate to Kuznetsov on duty, but Kuznetsov, now constantly remembering the two lieutenant’s cubes in his buttonholes, which immediately burdened him with new responsibility after college, still felt insecure every time talking with Chibisov, who had lived his life. - Are you awake, lieutenant, or are you imagining things? Is the stove burning? came a sleepy voice overhead. A commotion was heard on the upper bunks, then senior sergeant Ukhanov, the commander of the first gun from Kuznetsov’s platoon, jumped heavily, like a bear, to the stove. - Frozen as hell! Are you warming yourself, Slavs? - Ukhanov asked, yawning protractedly. - Or do you tell fairy tales? Shaking his heavy shoulders, throwing back the hem of his greatcoat, he walked towards the door along the swaying floor. He pushed the cumbersome door, which rattled, with one hand, and leaned against the crack, looking into the snowstorm. The snow swirled like a blizzard in the carriage, cold air blew, and the steam rushed down our legs; Along with the roar and frosty squealing of the wheels, the wild, threatening roar of the locomotive burst in. - Oh, and the wolf's night - no fire, no Stalingrad! - Ukhanov said, twitching his shoulders, and with a crash he pushed the door, which was lined with iron at the corners, closed. Then, tapping his felt boots, grunting loudly and in surprise, he walked up to the already heated stove; His mocking, bright eyes were still filled with sleep, snowflakes were white on his eyebrows. He sat down next to Kuznetsov, rubbed his hands, took out a pouch and, remembering something, laughed, flashing his front steel tooth. - I dreamed about grub again. Either he was sleeping, or he wasn’t sleeping: it was as if some city was empty, and I was alone... I entered some bombed-out store - bread, canned food, wine, sausage on the shelves... Now, I think, I’m about to chop it up! But he froze like a tramp under a net and woke up. It's a shame... The store is full! Imagine, Chibisov! He turned not to Kuznetsov, but to Chibisov, clearly hinting that the lieutenant was no match for the others. “I don’t argue with your dream, Comrade Senior Sergeant,” Chibisov answered and inhaled warm air through his nostrils, as if the fragrant smell of bread was coming from the stove, looking meekly at Ukhanov’s tobacco pouch. - And if you don’t smoke at all at night, the savings come back. Ten twists. - Oh, you’re a huge diplomat, dad! - said Ukhanov, thrusting the pouch into his hands. - Roll it up at least as thick as a fist. Why the hell save? Meaning? He lit a cigarette and, exhaling the smoke, poked the board in the fire. “And I’m sure, brothers, that food on the front line will be better.” And there will be trophies! Where there are Krauts, there are trophies, and then, Chibisov, the whole collective farm won’t have to sweep up the lieutenant’s extra rations. - He blew on his cigarette, narrowed his eyes: - How, Kuznetsov, are the duties of a father-commander not difficult, huh? It’s easier for soldiers - answer for yourself. Don't you regret that there are too many gavriks on your neck? - I don’t understand, Ukhanov, why you weren’t awarded the title? - said Kuznetsov, somewhat offended by his mocking tone. - Maybe you can explain? He and senior sergeant Ukhanov graduated from the military artillery school together, but for unknown reasons, Ukhanov was not allowed to take the exams, and he arrived in the regiment with the rank of senior sergeant and was assigned to the first platoon as a gun commander, which embarrassed Kuznetsov extremely. “I’ve been dreaming about it all my life,” Ukhanov grinned good-naturedly. - You misunderstood me, Lieutenant... Okay, maybe I should take a nap for about six hundred minutes. Maybe I’ll dream about the store again? A? Well, brothers, if anything, consider him not returning from the attack... Ukhanov threw the cigarette butt into the stove, stretched, stood up, walked clumsily to the bunk, jumped heavily onto the rustling straw; pushing the sleeping ones aside, he said: “Come on, brothers, free up your living space.” And soon it became quiet upstairs. “You should lie down too, Comrade Lieutenant,” Chibisov advised, sighing. - The night will be short, apparently. Don't worry, for God's sake. Kuznetsov, his face glowing from the heat of the stove, also stood up, straightened his pistol holster with a practiced drill gesture, and said to Chibisov in an ordering tone: “You better perform the duties of an orderly!” But, having said this, Kuznetsov noticed Chibisov’s timid, now bewildered look, felt the unjustification of the boss’s harshness - he had been accustomed to a commanding tone for six months at school - and suddenly corrected himself in an undertone: - Just so that the stove, please, does not go out. Do you hear? - I see, Comrade Lieutenant. Don't hesitate, one might say. Peaceful sleep... Kuznetsov climbed onto his bunk, into the darkness, unheated, icy, creaking, trembling from the frantic running of the train, and here he felt that he would freeze again in the draft. And from different ends of the carriage came the snoring and sniffling of soldiers. Slightly pushing aside Lieutenant Davlatyan, who was sleeping next to him, who was sobbing sleepily and smacking his lips like a child, Kuznetsov, breathing into his raised collar, pressing his cheek against the damp, stinging pile, shivering with a chill, touched with his knees the large frost on the wall, like salt - and this made it even worse. colder. The compacted straw slid beneath him with a wet rustle. The frozen walls smelled iron-like, and everything wafted into my face like a thin and sharp stream of cold from the gray window clogged with blizzard snow overhead. And the locomotive, tearing apart the night with an insistent and menacing roar, rushed the train without stopping in impenetrable fields - closer and closer to the front.

Bondarev’s novel “Hot Snow,” written in 1970, tells the story of real events that occurred during the Great Patriotic War. The book describes one of the most important battles that decided the outcome of the Battle of Stalingrad.

For better preparation for the literature lesson and for the reading diary, we recommend reading online a summary of “Hot Snow” chapter by chapter. You can test your knowledge using a test on our website.

Main characters

Bessonov– general, mature, reserved, responsible man.

Kuznetsov- young lieutenant, platoon commander.

Drozdovsky- commander of an artillery battery, a disciplined, strong-willed guy.

Zoya Elagina- medical instructor, love object of Kuznetsov and Drozdovsky

Other characters

Ukhanov- senior sergeant, gun commander.

Chibisov- a man of about forty, the oldest in the platoon.

Evstigneev– gunner, calm and experienced fighter.

Nechaev- gunner of the first gun.

Ruby– driving, straightforward and rough.

Deev– division commander

Vesnin- Member of the Military Council.

Davlatyan- commander of the second platoon.

Chapters 1-2

Lieutenant Kuznetsov learns that Colonel Deev’s division is “urgently being transferred to Stalingrad, and not to the Western Front, as was initially assumed.” The division also includes an artillery battery under the command of Lieutenant Drozdovsky, which in turn includes a platoon of Lieutenant Kuznetsov.

The train stops for a long time in the steppe, outside - thirty degrees below zero, no less. Kuznetsov goes to the battery commander Drozdovsky, with whom he studied at a military school. Even then he was “the best cadet in the division, the favorite of the combatant commanders.” Now Drozdovsky is Kuznetsov’s immediate superior.

Kuznetsov's platoon consists of twelve people, among whom Chibisov, Ukhanov and Nechaev stood out. Chibisov was the eldest, he had already been in German captivity, and now he tried in every possible way to prove his devotion.

Before the war, Ukhanov served in the criminal investigation department, and after that he studied at the same school with Drozdovsky and Kuznetsov. It is not easy for the latter to communicate as a commander with his former classmate, who at one time “for unknown reasons” was not allowed to take the exams.

During the forced stop, the soldiers and, in particular, Nechaev, dashingly flirt with the pretty Zoya Elagina, the battery’s medical instructor. Kuznetsov guesses that Zoya often looks into their carriage not to check, but to see Drozdovsky.

At the last stop, division commander Deev arrives at the train, accompanied by army commander Lieutenant General Bessonov. He often thinks “about his eighteen-year-old son, who went missing in June on the Volkhov Front,” and every time he sees the young lieutenant, he remembers his son.

Chapters 3-4

Deev's division is unloaded from the train and continues its journey on horseback. Kuznetsov guesses that Stalingrad is left somewhere behind, but still does not know that their division is moving towards the enemy with one goal - “to relieve Paulus’ army of thousands encircled in the Stalingrad area.”

The field kitchen is lagging behind, and the hungry soldiers have no choice but to eat snow. Kuznetsov conveys the indignation of his subordinates to Drozdovsky, but he only harshly orders to prepare “the personnel not for thoughts of food, but for battle.”

Chapters 5-7

Manstein's tank divisions begin fighting with the goal of breaking through to “Stalingrad, tormented by the four-month battle,” to the army of many thousands of General Paulus, squeezed on all sides by Soviet troops.

At the same time, the “newly formed army in the rear” under the command of General Bessonov, which included Deev’s division, was sent south “towards the army strike group “Goth”.”

At this time, Hitler’s operation called “Winter Sleep” was in full swing, the purpose of which was to encircle the “Don”. This is being prevented by the troops of the Don and Stalingrad fronts. Paulus demands Hitler's consent to retreat, but he gives the order “not to leave Stalingrad, maintain a perimeter defense, fight to the last soldier.”

The Germans are slowly but confidently advancing towards Stalingrad, and the main task of Bessonov’s army is to detain the Germans on the outskirts of the city.

Chapters 8-14

After a two-hundred-kilometer throw, Deev’s division takes up defensive positions on the northern bank of the Myshkova River, which became “the last barrier before Stalingrad.”

Drozdovsky orders Kuznetsov and Davlatyan to appear to inform them of the unstable situation ahead. To find out the location of the Germans, “reconnaissance was sent from the rifle division.” If everything goes well, reconnaissance should reach the bridge at night. Drozdovsky orders "to observe and not open fire on this area, even if the Germans start."

Zoya comes to Drozdovsky, and he expresses his dissatisfaction with the fact that she spends a lot of time with Kuznetsov. The commander is jealous of the girl, and at the same time wants to hide his relationship with her.

Drozdovsky shares painful childhood memories with Zoya: his father died in Spain, and his mother died the same year. He did not go to an orphanage, but moved to distant relatives in Tashkent and “slept on chests like a puppy for five years - until he graduated from school.” Drozdovsky believes that the parents he loved so much betrayed him, and is afraid that Zoya will also betray him “with some brat.”

Deev and Bessonov arrive to personally question the scouts, who should return with the “language”. The general understands that a turning point in the war is coming: the outcome of the Battle of Stalingrad will depend on the testimony of a captured German.

The battle begins with the approach of “heavily loaded Junkers,” followed by German tanks to attack. Fierce battles do not stop for a minute, and by the end of the day the Soviet army cannot withstand the onslaught of the Germans. Enemy tanks break through to the northern bank of the Myshkova River. Bessonov does not plan to bring fresh troops into battle in order to save his strength for the decisive blow. He orders to fight “until the last shell.” Until the last bullet."

Feeling success, the Germans rush to expand and deepen their breakthrough before darkness. In the confrontation between the two armies, one observes either “a critical situation, or a state of the highest point of the battle, when a stretched arrow has strained to the limit, ready to break.”

Chapters 15-17

One scout barely manages to break through to “his people.” He reports that the remaining scouts discovered by the Germans were forced to give battle, and are now “stuck together with the taken “tongue”” somewhere in the German rear.

Bessonov is informed that the division is surrounded and “the Germans can cut off communications.” Meanwhile, Vesnin is brought a German leaflet, which shows a photograph of Bessonov’s missing son with the inscription “The son of a famous Bolshevik military leader is being treated in a German hospital.” Vesnin refuses to believe in Bessonov Jr.’s betrayal, and decides not to show the leaflet to the general for now. While carrying out the order, Vesnin dies, and Bessonov never finds out that his son is alive.

Chapters 18-23

The only “miraculously surviving Ukhanov gun” completely falls silent in the evening - all the shells brought from other guns have run out. General Hoth's tanks cross the Myshkova River. As darkness fell, “the battle began to move away and gradually fade away behind us.”

Ukhanov, Chibisov and Nechaev are barely alive from fatigue. These four have great happiness - “to survive the day and evening of endless battle, to live longer than others.” They don’t yet know that they are behind enemy lines.

Kuznetsov finds Zoya in the dugout. She gives the platoon commander a note from the mortally wounded Davlatyan, who asks him to write a letter to his mother and beloved girl in case of death.

Suddenly the attack begins. In the light of the rockets, Chibisov notices a stranger and, mistaking him for a German, shoots at him. He turns out to be one of the scouts that General Bessonov was waiting for. He reports that two more scouts with a “tongue” hid in the shell crater.

Kuznetsov, accompanied by Ukhanov, Chibisov and Rubin, goes to help the scouts. Following them, Drozdovsky advances with Zoya and two signalmen. The group attracts the attention of the Germans and comes under fire, during which Zoya is hit by machine gun fire and Drozdovsky is shell-shocked.

Zoya dies, and Kuznetsov blames Drozdovsky for her death, who, in turn, is jealous of his beloved even after death.

Chapters 24-26

Already late in the evening, Bessonov realized that, despite all efforts, “the Germans could not be pushed off the north-bank bridgehead they had captured by the end of the day.” From the “tongue” delivered to the command post, the general learns important news - the Germans brought all reserves into battle. Soon he is informed that four tank divisions are moving towards the rear of the Don Army. In turn, Bessonov gives the order to attack.

Forty minutes later, “the battle in the north-bank part of the village reached a turning point.” Bessonov cannot believe his eyes when he notices on the right bank several miraculously surviving guns and soldiers, cut off from the division, who begin to fire at the enemy. The enemy is slowly retreating.

Touched by the courage of his soldiers, General Bessonov goes to the right bank to personally reward everyone who survived after the terrible battle and fascist encirclement.

Bessonov presents the four fighters who survived from Kuznetsov’s platoon with the “Order of the Red Banner on behalf of the supreme power.” Ukhanov suggests immediately washing the medals: “If it’s ground, there will be flour.” We are ordered to live."

Conclusion

In his work, Yuri Bondarev reveals as fully as possible the tragedy of the Great Patriotic War and the unparalleled heroism of the entire Soviet people. Moral and psychological aspects occupy a key place in the book.

For a more complete understanding of the writer’s work, we recommend that after reading the brief retelling of “Hot Snow”, read the novel in its entirety.

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Yuri Bondarev

HOT SNOW

Chapter first

The locomotive, with a wild, blizzard-piercing roar, drove the train through the night fields, in the white haze rushing from all sides, and in the thunderous darkness of the carriage, through the frozen squeal of the wheels, through the alarming sobs, the muttering of the soldiers in their sleep, this roar was heard continuously warning someone locomotive, and it seemed to Kuznetsov that there, ahead, behind the snowstorm, the glow of a burning city was already dimly visible.

After the stop in Saratov, it became clear to everyone that the division was urgently being transferred to Stalingrad, and not to the Western Front, as was initially assumed; and now Kuznetsov knew that the journey remained for several hours. And, pulling the hard, unpleasantly damp collar of his overcoat over his cheek, he could not warm himself up, gain warmth in order to sleep: there was a piercing blow through the invisible cracks of the swept window, icy drafts walked through the bunks.

“That means I won’t see my mother for a long time,” thought Kuznetsov, shrinking from the cold, “they drove us past...”.

What was a past life - the summer months at the school in hot, dusty Aktyubinsk, with hot winds from the steppe, with the cries of donkeys on the outskirts suffocating in the sunset silence, so precise in time every night that platoon commanders in tactical exercises, languishing with thirst , not without relief, they checked their watches, marches in the stupefying heat, tunics sweaty and scorched white in the sun, the creaking of sand on their teeth; Sunday patrol of the city, in the city garden, where in the evenings a military brass band played peacefully on the dance floor; then graduation from school, loading into the carriages on an alarming autumn night, a gloomy forest covered in wild snow, snowdrifts, dugouts of a formation camp near Tambov, then again, alarmingly at a frosty pink December dawn, hasty loading onto the train and, finally, departure - all this unsteady , temporary, someone-controlled life has faded now, remained far behind, in the past. And there was no hope of seeing his mother, and just recently he had almost no doubt that they would be taken west through Moscow.

“I’ll write to her,” Kuznetsov thought with a suddenly aggravated feeling of loneliness, “and I’ll explain everything. After all, we haven’t seen each other for nine months...”

And the whole carriage was sleeping under the grinding, squealing, under the cast-iron roar of the runaway wheels, the walls swayed tightly, the upper bunks shook at the frantic speed of the train, and Kuznetsov, shuddering, having finally vegetated in the drafts near the window, turned back his collar and looked with envy at the commander of the second platoon sleeping next to him. Lieutenant Davlatyan - his face was not visible in the darkness of the bunk.

“No, here, near the window, I won’t sleep, I’ll freeze until I reach the front line,” Kuznetsov thought with annoyance at himself and moved, stirred, hearing the frost crunching on the boards of the carriage.

He freed himself from the cold, prickly tightness of his place, jumped off the bunk, feeling that he needed to warm up by the stove: his back was completely numb.

In the iron stove on the side of the closed door, flickering with thick frost, the fire had long gone out, only the ash-blower was red with a motionless pupil. But it seemed a little warmer down here. In the gloom of the carriage, this crimson glow of coal faintly illuminated the various new felt boots, bowlers, and duffel bags under their heads sticking out in the aisle. The orderly Chibisov slept uncomfortably on the lower bunks, right on the soldiers’ feet; his head was tucked into his collar up to the top of his hat, his hands were tucked into the sleeves.

Chibisov! - Kuznetsov called and opened the door of the stove, which wafted out a barely perceptible warmth from inside. - Everything went out, Chibisov!

There was no answer.

Orderly, do you hear?

Chibisov jumped up in fear, sleepy, rumpled, his hat with earflaps pulled low and tied with ribbons under his chin. Not yet waking up from sleep, he tried to push the earflaps off his forehead, untie the ribbons, screaming incomprehensibly and timidly:

What am I? No way, fell asleep? It literally stunned me into unconsciousness. I apologize, Comrade Lieutenant! Wow, I was chilled to the bones in my drowsiness!..

“We fell asleep and let the whole car get cold,” Kuznetsov said reproachfully.

“I didn’t mean to, Comrade Lieutenant, by accident, without intent,” Chibisov muttered. - It knocked me down...

Then, without waiting for Kuznetsov’s orders, he fussed around with excessive cheerfulness, grabbed a board from the floor, broke it over his knee and began to push the fragments into the stove. At the same time, stupidly, as if his sides were itching, he moved his elbows and shoulders, often bending down, busily looking into the ash pit, where the fire was creeping in with lazy reflections; Chibisov's revived, soot-stained face expressed conspiratorial servility.

Now, Comrade Lieutenant, I’ll get you warm! Let's heat it up, it will be smooth in the bathhouse. I myself am frozen because of the war! Oh, how cold I am, every bone aches - there are no words!..

Kuznetsov sat down opposite the open stove door. The orderly's exaggeratedly deliberate fussiness, this obvious hint of his past, was unpleasant to him. Chibisov was from his platoon. And the fact that he, with his immoderate diligence, always reliable, lived for several months in German captivity, and from the first day of his appearance in the platoon was constantly ready to serve everyone, aroused wary pity for him.

Chibisov gently, womanishly, sank onto his bunk, his sleepless eyes blinking.

So we're going to Stalingrad, Comrade Lieutenant? According to the reports, what a meat grinder there is! Aren't you afraid, Comrade Lieutenant? Nothing?

“We’ll come and see what kind of meat grinder it is,” Kuznetsov responded sluggishly, peering into the fire. - What, are you afraid? Why did you ask?

Yes, one might say, I don’t have the fear that I had before,” Chibisov answered falsely cheerfully and, sighing, put his small hands on his knees, spoke in a confidential tone, as if wanting to convince Kuznetsov: “After our people freed me from captivity.” , believed me, Comrade Lieutenant. And I spent three whole months, like a puppy in shit, with the Germans. They believed... It’s such a huge war, different people are fighting. How can you immediately believe? - Chibisov glanced cautiously at Kuznetsov; he was silent, pretending to be busy with the stove, warming himself with its living warmth: he concentratedly clenched and unclenched his fingers over the open door. - Do you know how I was captured, Comrade Lieutenant?.. I didn’t tell you, but I want to tell you. The Germans drove us into a ravine. Near Vyazma. And when their tanks came close, surrounded, and we no longer had any shells, the regimental commissar jumped onto the top of his “emka” with a pistol, shouting: “Better death than being captured by the fascist bastards!” - and shot himself in the temple. It even splashed from my head. And the Germans are running towards us from all sides. Their tanks are strangling people alive. Here is... the colonel and someone else...

And what's next? - asked Kuznetsov.

I couldn't shoot myself. They crowded us into a heap, shouting “Hyunda hoh.” And they took...

“I see,” said Kuznetsov with that serious intonation that clearly said that in Chibisov’s place he would have acted completely differently. - So, Chibisov, they shouted “Hende hoch” - and you handed over your weapons? Did you have any weapons?

Chibisov answered, timidly defending himself with a tense half-smile:

You are very young, Comrade Lieutenant, you have no children, no family, one might say. Parents I guess...

What do children have to do with it? - Kuznetsov said with embarrassment, noticing the quiet, guilty expression on Chibisov’s face, and added: “It doesn’t matter at all.”

How can he not, Comrade Lieutenant?

Well, maybe I didn’t put it that way... Of course, I don’t have children.

Chibisov was twenty years older than him - “father”, “daddy”, the oldest in the platoon. He was completely subordinate to Kuznetsov on duty, but Kuznetsov, now constantly remembering the two lieutenant’s cubes in his buttonholes, which immediately burdened him with new responsibility after college, still felt insecure every time talking with Chibisov, who had lived his life.

Are you awake, lieutenant, or are you imagining things? Is the stove burning? - a sleepy voice sounded overhead.

A commotion was heard on the upper bunks, then senior sergeant Ukhanov, the commander of the first gun from Kuznetsov’s platoon, jumped heavily, like a bear, to the stove.

Yuri Bondarev

HOT SNOW

Chapter first

“That means I won’t see my mother for a long time,” thought Kuznetsov, shrinking from the cold, “they drove us past...”.

“I’ll write to her,” Kuznetsov thought with a suddenly aggravated feeling of loneliness, “and I’ll explain everything. After all, we haven’t seen each other for nine months...”

He freed himself from the cold, prickly tightness of his place, jumped off the bunk, feeling that he needed to warm up by the stove: his back was completely numb.

Chibisov! - Kuznetsov called and opened the door of the stove, which wafted out a barely perceptible warmth from inside. - Everything went out, Chibisov!

There was no answer.

Orderly, do you hear?

What am I? No way, fell asleep? It literally stunned me into unconsciousness. I apologize, Comrade Lieutenant! Wow, I was chilled to the bones in my drowsiness!..

“We fell asleep and let the whole car get cold,” Kuznetsov said reproachfully.

“I didn’t mean to, Comrade Lieutenant, by accident, without intent,” Chibisov muttered. - It knocked me down...

Now, Comrade Lieutenant, I’ll get you warm! Let's heat it up, it will be smooth in the bathhouse. I myself am frozen because of the war! Oh, how cold I am, every bone aches - there are no words!..

Chibisov gently, womanishly, sank onto his bunk, his sleepless eyes blinking.

So we're going to Stalingrad, Comrade Lieutenant? According to the reports, what a meat grinder there is! Aren't you afraid, Comrade Lieutenant? Nothing?

“We’ll come and see what kind of meat grinder it is,” Kuznetsov responded sluggishly, peering into the fire. - What, are you afraid? Why did you ask?

Yuri Bondarev’s book “Hot Snow” is about the war, which the writer saw with his own eyes. It is dedicated to one of the most important events that influenced the course of the war, and talks about what happened during the siege of Leningrad in December 1942. She describes only a couple of days, but a lot depended on what happened then. This is a book about people, about war and losses, about pain, suffering, about incredible fortitude and heroism, patriotism. It is painful to read, every now and then a lump appears in the throat, the author depicted the war as cruel as it was in reality.

Paulus's army was surrounded, and Manstein's tank division was moving to its aid. She had to break through the ring and create a corridor for the withdrawal of Paulus's army. The further course of the war largely depended on the outcome of this operation. General Bessonov's army defended a small piece of land to prevent the tanks from moving forward. It was two hard and cold days and two endless nights. But they managed to survive, although they suffered heavy losses.

The reader's attention is focused mainly on several main characters. The writer sought to reflect the fate and character of each of them. During hostilities, character is shown best. Some people are openly afraid, others are ready to risk their lives, overcoming their fear. Some people hide their emotions with anger, vulgarity or rudeness. And sometimes those you don’t expect at all show courage. They are all different, but there are no differences in social status, here no one cares who you were before. The only thing that matters here is what kind of warrior you are. Both the wisest, with experience in combat, and the youngest, who have not yet known the taste of a woman’s lips, stand up to defend their homeland, ready to sacrifice their lives to save it.

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