On Thursday, January 8, 1941, Major-General N.I.
Krylov drove out in a car to the third sector to inspect the location of the combat units.
He visited the headquarters of the 79th Rifle Brigade and were already moving along a country
road towards us, to the 25th Division.
Suddenly the general stopped the car.
He wanted to look from a small hill at the picturesque view of the Kamyshlovsky ravine,
which at the end of December was the site of stubborn battles.
A minute later, a mine exploded behind him, then the second - from the side, the third
- in front.
Krylov received three wounds from mine shrapnel.
He was urgently taken to the hospital in the same car, where he underwent several operations.
Fortunately, the Major General survived and returned to duty.
The fact is that the Kamyshlovsky ravine, along the bottom of which a winding stream
flowed, was now a neutral territory.
Its two slopes, a gentler northern one and a steep wooded southern one, formed a deep
ravine between them.
The ridge of the southern slope in some places went up to a height of more than three hundred
meters above sea level.
This ridge was occupied by our forces.
On the northern slope were units of the 50th Brandenburg Infantry Division of the Germans.
They could fire at short distances from mortars and machine guns and the bottom of the ravine,
and its southern slope, and our positions on the ridge.
We naturally answered them.
So for the outrageous attack on the Major-General, the Fritzes received from us many hot "gifts".
The beautiful mountain landscape, which greatly interested the general, complemented the bridge.
It was called Kamyshlovsky bridge and connected two high slopes of this ravine.
It was built in ancient tsarist times, when a railway line was stretched from Moscow to
Sevastopol and passenger trains began to run along it.
During the defense of the city, neither the Russians nor the Germans needed the bridge.
It was blown up.
Twisted, broken metal structures were now in disarray above the gray concrete pillars.
The central part of a rather long bridge collapsed downward, only two or three spans on the other
side survived.
The magnificent engineering structure has fallen into ruins, testifying to the merciless
and senseless power of war.
Sometimes I looked at him through binoculars.
It is clear that the destroyed bridge represented a military advantageous position.
He dominated the area.
From one of its sides - I will call it the northern - at a distance of 600-800 meters,
the forward positions and rear of our troops were clearly visible.
On the other - respectively, southern - German.
Among its iron carcass, raised over the ravine, one could well find a place suitable for a
sniper ambush.
I thought about it.
My attachment to the Crimean forest prevented me from making a quick decision.
I was used to trees, and the pile of twisted metal still had to be studied and mastered.
In addition, the bridge was in the area of ​​responsibility of the 79th brigade,
four kilometers north-west of our regiment.
In this case, it is interesting that professional snipers think in the same way...
On that day, in the morning, Fedor Sedykh and I conducted a lesson in our platoon with
SVT-40 rifle.
As you know, Tokarev's self-loading rifle has a rather complex device.
Even an incomplete disassembly of it requires good skills, accuracy, and I would even say,
caution.
We organized the lesson in such a way that I told the soldiers about the details that
make up the weapon, Sergeant Sedykh slowly showed how it was disassembled.
The number of parts, large, small, very small, laid out on the table, gradually increased.
At the same time, the anxiety of our soldiers grew.
It was felt that the lesson would not be easy.
I did not want to be distracted from the lessons at all, but the orderly, who appeared in the
dugout, conveyed the order of Major Matusevich: the platoon commander should immediately arrive
at the regiment command post.
There, besides the major, was another officer - of medium height and strong build, about
38 years old, dressed in a black naval uniform with four gold stripes on the sleeves.
Matusevich introduced me to him: senior sergeant Lyudmila Mikhailovna Pavlichenko, platoon
commander of the second company of the first battalion, - then him to me: the commander
of the 79th naval rifle brigade, Colonel Alexei Stepanovich Potapov.
The colonel gave me a close look.
- People say that you, Lyudmila, are the best sniper of the Chapaevsk division.
I saw your photo on the Divisional Honor Board.
“She was placed there recently, Comrade Colonel.
- I have a serious matter for you.
It seems that an excellent German shooter has appeared in our sector of defense.
In two days, five were killed, two of them were commanders, including the battalion commander.
All hits are to the head.
- Has his ambush been detected?
I asked.
- We believe it hits from a broken railway bridge.
- From the bridge ?! - I could not resist exclamation.
- So you know this place?
- Potapov was surprised.
“Not that close.
But I thought about him.
- And what are your thoughts?
“A very advantageous position,” I said.
- Especially if you find a place on the surviving span and hide among the broken metal structures.
You can shoot aiming at a distance of six hundred to eight hundred meters.
The front line and the near rear of the German Fiftieth Infantry Division are at a glance.
From the other side, your brigade's rear are probably just as clearly visible.
So he shot for fun.
- Can you stop these exercises?
“I can,” I said firmly.
“Besides, I need an observer sniper.
Best of all is Sergeant Fyodor Sedykh, my constant and experienced partner.
Who will be my opponent, we did not begin to guess.
After all, the location of only one ambush by a German is known, and even then it is
inaccurate.
We do not yet know how many such prepared positions he has.
Fedor and I, loaded with sniper equipment, with duffel bags on our backs, with Mosin
rifles on our shoulders, in greatcoats and caps with earflaps, settled in the back seat
of the car and drove to the location of the 79th Marine Rifle Brigade.
At first glance, it became clear to me that it was impossible to set up a sniper ambush
at its southern end, since it was badly damaged by the explosion.
Only one span of the bridge survived here, and even then - not completely.
A completely different picture was on the enemy side, at the northern end of the bridge.
Three spans have survived there.
They stood quite firmly, although they were surrounded by bent metal beams.
Hiding in this iron-wooden chaos was easy.
I had no doubt that fashist was shooting from there.
But will he come back to a position where he has already twice successfully hunted?
The sappers of the 79th brigade helped Fyodor and I set up an ambush.
At night they dug a trench up to 80 cm deep and up to ten meters long in front of the
first line of defense of the third battalion.
The trench led into a deep and large trench.
Above it, we installed a sliding metal frame, pelted it with branches and snow.
The trench was also camouflaged, so that from above it seemed like an ordinary ditch.
In addition, we have prepared a "doll", that is, a mannequin on a stick, dressed up in
an overcoat and a helmet, with a rifle tied to his back for added credibility.
For two days I studied the blown up bridge with binoculars.
There were only two places that were ideal for accommodating a man with a rifle.
Fedor and I took turns watching them, and especially carefully - in the predawn hours.
The malicious German did not appear.
I was already beginning to fear if ours had finished him off somewhere in the forest,
where he went in search of new prey.
Sedykh answered me in the spirit that the fascists, being extremely calculating people,
simply cannot refuse the bridge with such a wonderful view of the forward lines and
the nearest rear services of the 79th Marine Rifle Brigade.
The shooter will appear.
It is important to notice it in time.
Suddenly the sergeant touched my shoulder with his finger and then pointed to the bridge.
I quickly took the binoculars out of the case hanging on my chest and held them to my eyes.
The dark figure of a man making his way through the twisted beams appeared against the background
of the brightening sky and immediately disappeared.
Now we need to give him the opportunity to look around, set up the gun, load it, find
familiar landmarks in the space where he managed to get used to it earlier.
But the german sniper is unlikely to detect our ambush.
We did a great job, following absolutely all the rules of disguise taught at the Kiev school
of snipers.
Half an hour passed.
Friday, January 23, 1942, began as a very quiet day.
Cannons, mortars, machine guns were silent.
Bombers, attack aircraft, fighters did not rise into the sky.
The war seemed to be lurking.
In these minutes and hours it seemed that the murder was over, that peaceful life was
returning, and our craft would no longer be in demand.
Unfortunately, it was dangerous to believe so far.
Listening to the unusual silence, I put two fingers to my lips and whistled.
Sedykh responded with the same short whistle.
I did not take my eyes off the bridge and knew that Fyodor, hiding in the trench, had
already dragged the "doll" to the neutral lane.
From a distance it seemed as if a Soviet sentinel had left the trench and was examining the
area in front of him.
Will a German fall for the old trick used on the fronts of the First World War?
The shot from the bridge sounded muffled, as if someone had hit a wooden plank with
an iron stick.
A shot flashed exactly where I expected.
Honestly, I would also choose this nook.
On the left, the position was reliably covered by a metal beam.
Finally you, the fascist bastard, I got caught!
Through the eyepiece of the telescopic sight, I saw his head.
Fritz twisted the bolt of the rifle, picked up the case, put it in his pocket, and looked
out of his hiding place.
My Dear Teacher from sniper school said correctly: "Never think that your shot is the last one,
do not be curious in vain!"
Holding my breath, I gently pulled the trigger.
From a height of five meters, the German fell to the bottom of the Kamyshlovsky ravine.
His rifle fell behind him.
To my surprise, he worked with a Mosin rifle, of course a trophy one.
Fyodor, picking up the PPSH-41 submachine gun, remained in the trench: to cover my way
to the defeated enemy.
In a quarter of an hour, where by running, where by crawling, I overcame the thickets
of reeds and found myself near the corpse.
I do not like to look at the faces of dead enemies, and even more so - then to remember
them.
The count went on for minutes.
I quickly searched the Nazi, dressed in a camouflage coat over an jacket.
Here is his soldier's book, here is the sign of the Iron Cross.
With a knife, sharp as a razor, I cut off these things.
Throwing over my shoulder a rifle with a telescopic sight, now completely unnecessary for the
fascist, I returned to my trench.
Fyodor Sedykh was waiting for me impatiently.
He helped me to roll over the parapet back into the trench and asked, smiling:
“Who did we hit this time, Comrade Senior Sergeant?
- An important bird.
Look, what regalia he has, - I took a medal from my pocket.
- Well, the most important thing, - answered Fyodor, - he would not shooting our sailors
anymore.
- Note the silence around.
So, one went hunting, was confident in himself - I took out a German soldier's book and read
it aloud.
- Helmut Bommel, 121st Infantry Regiment of the 50th Brandenburg Infantry Division, Oberfeldwebel.
Okay, let's get out of here before they missed him ...
Sedykh took both rifles from me, mine and the trophy, and we quickly crawled along the
trench to the front line of the third battalion of the 79th brigade.
The Germans woke up and started a fiery rain over the neutral zone.
Our artillery answered them.
Friday, January 23, began quietly and peacefully, but still the war took its toll ...
Dear friends, this is all for today.
It was Tim and the channel is the eastern front.
I wish you health and peace.
See you.