On a mound close by stood a grey-haired old man in an old-fashioned canvas blouse with a black bow-tie and gold pince-nez. He had appeared silently, like a vision from one of our childhood dreams, and the mere fact of his appearance had made us a good quarter of a century younger.
Were it not for the old man's familiar pince-nez, we might not have recognized him as Valerian Dmitrievich Lazarev. But he. it was—our favourite history master and the first head-master of the Taras Shevchenko People's School. Leaping to his feet, Petka brought up his hand in salute. 'Our deepest apologies, Valerian Dmitrievich! We were so excited we forgot where we were. This rubbish shall be removed at once.'
'I beg your pardon! But how do you come to know my name?' Lazarev responded, obviously a little confused as he stepped down from the mound.
How could he have recognized in this grizzled officer with medal ribbons on his chest that short little chap who had once run barefooted after a lot of other little boys with a lantern, all of them longing to go down the underground passage!
Lazarev had seen thousands of pupils like him in his many years as a schoolmaster—could he remember them all!
'How do you know my name?' Lazarev repeated, planting himself in front of Maremukha.
Then I intervened: '
'When shall we be going down the underground passage with you again, Comrade Lazarev?'
'Just a moment!.., What's all this about?' The old man took off his pince-nez and wiped them with his handkerchief. 'You aren't from the regional education committee, are you, comrade?'
'I'm from the Taras Shevchenko People's School, Valerian Dmitrievich. And so is the lieutenant-colonel. We both left in 1923. You haven't forgotten us, have you?'
And with these words I warmly embraced our old head-in aster.
We had talked of many things. . . 'You want to know about everything that happened here?' Lazarev asked, rising from the cape-tent. 'Let's make it a demonstration lesson then. I think the last one was about the rebel, Ustim Karmeluk, wasn't it?'
'Quite correct, Valerian Dmitrievich!' Petka rapped out in military style. 'Remember how we found those fetters of one of Karmeluk's or Gonta's friends...'
'Those fetters are still in the museum today,' Lazarev said. 'Now I'm going to tell you about some other heroes of the struggle against the oppressors of the Ukrainian people.... But just tell me this to start with, Colonel,' Lazarev glanced slyly over his pince-nez at Maremukha,' 'do you know what the general military situation was in this area in the early months of last year?'
'More or less,' Maremukha replied evasively. 'In that case you'll be able to help me out if I go wrong.'
And he began his story.
'When Soviet troops captured Volochisk in March 1944, the Nazis lost the direct railway to the West. Then all their forces that were left in the Podolia bag made a dash in this direction. Thus the Soviet forces had to cut off the Hitlerites way of retreat through our town into Bukovina and the Western Ukraine. At the beginning of March the Soviet artillery ripped open the German defences at Shepetovka. The tank forces of Generals Lelushenko, Rybalko, and Katukov poured through the gap in an offensive that was heading South, towards the Dniester... What are you smiling at, Maremukha? Have I said something wrong?'
'I'm smiling because I had something to do with the offensive you mentioned,' Petka said quietly. 'I served with Lelushenko.'
'Oh, you did, did you, you rascal!' Lazarev exclaimed. 'I suppose it was you who put up such a fight here? Come on, out with it!'
'No, not here—over there!' Maremukha pointed to the North-West. 'We took Skalat.'
'Well, listen to me then,' Lazarev went on reassured. 'After you had captured Skalat, a tank brigade of the Urals volunteer corps was sent here...'
'Yes, they were Guards, weren't they?' 'Maremukha added. 'The tanks of that corps were the first to break through into Lvov, and it was them who saved Prague from destruction.'
'You're probably right,' Lazarev agreed. 'When our forces struck in the direction of Ternopol, this brigade was given the task of paralysing the enemy's rear by cutting through Gusyatin, Zherdye, Orinin, and capturing our town... And then what happened, my lads...' At this point Lazarev's voice trembled and he spoke more quietly, pausing now and then to take deep breaths. 'On the twenty-fifth of March 1944, the inhabitants of Podzamche, for the first time after two and a half years of Nazi occupation, saw Soviet tanks! They wept for joy, they rubbed their eyes and thought it was a dream. . . I wept too, my boys, like a child, when one of those tanks stopped in the village where I was hiding from the Hitlerites.
A tank man jumped down and asked for a drink. He was covered with dust and grease.. . I kissed him as if he had been my own son...'
Lazarev started coughing and turned his thin face away, as if to look at the fortress gates, but we realized that he wished to hide the tears that had welled into his tired, old eyes.
'. . . At the head of the brigade,' Lazarev went on after a moment's pause, 'in that lightning swoop from Dolzhok to Podzamche was a heavy tank called 'Suvorov.' The banner of the brigade flew from its turret. Its driver was Junior Lieutenant Kopeikin, later to become a Hero of the Soviet Union. And the commander of the forward detachment was Senior Lieutenant Ivan Stetsuk, an orphan brought up in a children's home in the town of Dnepropetrovsk. His detachment was given the task of taking the Old Fortress district at all costs and blocking the road out of town.
'After capturing Podzamche, Stetsuk and his men crossed the fortress bridge and stormed the town.
'The attack was so sudden that the Germans came running out of the houses in their underwear. Later they recovered their wits and started counter-attacking the town on all sides.
'Stetsuk was given the task of defending the Dolzhok and Podzamche approaches to the town. By that time he had only four tanks and sixty infantrymen left. The whole day he and his men held the road-fork near the tinning factory, while the Nazi Panthers and Tigers assailed him from all directions. Although the Soviet soldiers showed exceptional bravery, they were pressed back to the bridge. Just at that time, in the last days of March, General Katukov had forced the Dniester in the region of Zaleshchik and reached the northern approaches of Chernovitsy. When, the Hitlerites got word of this, they started attacking our town even more fiercely, to force a way of escape for themselves into Bukovina.
'The roads were jammed with troops and the Germans were making their way across country straight to the Dniester and the Zbruch. But the spring thaw held them up and forced them to abandon their heavy equipment and even their wounded. Over fifteen Hitlerite divisions tried to dislodge our brigade. Of course, the tank men could have retreated and let the enemy through, for what is one brigade against fifteen divisions!... Are you smiling again, Colonel? Have I made a mistake?'
'Not one, Valerian Dmitrievich! You're quite right about everything!' Maremukha assured our old teacher gently.
'. . . The tank men decided to hold their defences here because they knew that if the Hitlerites recaptured our town the Soviet Army's offensive operations would be held up for several weeks,..' Lazarev continued. 'And now kindly follow me.'
On coming out of the fortress gates, Lazarev halted.
The cobbled road led steeply down to the bridge.
Lazarev tapped his stick on the big round cobbles and said triumphantly:
'This is where Stetsuk stationed his last tank commanded by Junior Lieutenant Kopeikin. You see where the stones have been torn up. That's where the tank swung round and faced the bridge. 'Do what you like, Kopeikin, but don't let a single Hitlerite reach the gates!' Stetsuk said to his second-in-command... '
Lazarev pointed his stick towards the bridge.
The entrance to the underground passage poked up out of the ground near the wooden bridge like a ship's hatchway. According to legend this passage led into Bessarabia, to another fortress like ours—the Khotin Fortress.
'In the underground passage,' said Valerian Dmitrievich, 'Stetsuk stored a supply of fire-bottles. His plan was simple. While the enemy tanks tried to force the bridge, our men stationed in the passage would throw fire-bottles at them. . . Captain Shulga mined the bridge under enemy fire and was killed in doing so. He was born in Krasnodon. . .'
