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Stx Boards Alibaba Pictures’ High-Profile ‘Warriors’ (Exclusive)
Stx Boards Alibaba Pictures’ High-Profile ‘Warriors’ (Exclusive)Stx Entertainment has come on board to co-produce “Warriors,” one of the highest-profile movies being developed by Alibaba Pictures. “Harry Potter” producer David Heyman and Stx board member Gigi Pritzker will produce the live action-and-CGI hybrid, which is based on a series of young-adult books and targeted at children and the Ya crowd.
Award-winning Hollywood pair Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger have signed on as screenwriters. Their credits include the three installments of “Kung Fu Panda,” “The SpongeBob Movie: Sponge Out of Water,” and “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.
”
“Warriors” is based on books by Erin Hunter, the collective pseudonym of three U.K.-based writers – Kate Cary, Cherith Baldry, and Tui Sutherland – along with an editor, Victoria Holmes. Published by Harper Collins since 2003, the books feature clans of forest-dwelling cats caught up in stories of adventure, forbidden love, and faith.
Stx and Alibaba Pictures, the film offshoot of Chinese e-commerce giant Alibaba,…
See full article at Variety – Film News
- 5/14/2018
- by Patrick Frater
- Variety – Film News
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Vasily Terkin: 21. Death and the Warrior – Tvardovsky. The full text of the poem is Vasily Terkin: 21. Death and the warrior
Beyond the distant hillocks
The heat of battle was leaving.
In the snow Vasily Terkin
Lying unkempt.
Snow under him, swollen with blood,
Caught in a heap of ice.
Death bowed to the headboard:
– Well, soldier, come with me.
I’m your friend now
Terkin trembled, freezing
On a snowy bed.
– I did not call you, Kosaya,
I am a soldier still alive.
Death, laughing, bent down:
— Full, full, well done,
I know, I see:
You are alive and not a tenant.
In passing by the shadow of death
I touched your cheeks,
And you don’t even notice,
That dry snow is on them.
Don’t be afraid of my darkness,
Night, believe me, is not worse than day…
— But why do you need
personally from me?
Death seemed to hesitate,
Deviated from him.
– I need … such a little,
Well, almost nothing.
We need a sign of one agreement,
That you are tired of saving your life,
That you pray for the hour of death …
– Itself, it turns out, sign? —
Death thought.
– Well, –
Subscribe, and rest.
– No, fire me. Yourself is more expensive.
– Don’t bargain, dear.
Still going down.—
Death moved closer to the shoulder.—
Lips tightened anyway,
Teeth are getting cold.
..
– I don’t want to.
– And look, it’s time for the night,
Dawn burns in the frost.
I mean that I’m shorter than
And you don’t have to freeze in vain…
— I’ll be patient.
– Well, what are you, stupid!
After all, you’re lying, it’s all gone.
I would immediately throw a sheepskin coat on you,
So that it is always warm.
I see, you believe. Here are the tears,
Now I’m dearer to you.
– You’re lying, I’m crying from the cold,
Not from your pity.
– Whether from happiness or from pain –
It doesn’t matter. And the cold is fierce.
A snowstorm has curled in the field.
No, they won’t find you…
And why do you think,
If someone picks you up.
You’ll regret that you didn’t die
Here, on the spot, without any hassle…
— You’re kidding, Death, weaving a net.—
He turned his shoulder with difficulty.—
I just want to live,
I haven’t lived yet.
..
90 002 — And you’ll get up, there’s little use, —
Death continued, laughing. —
And you’ll get up — all over again:
Cold, fear, fatigue, dirt…0003 Judge in simplicity.
– What to judge! You can’t recover
from the war in any court.
— And sadness, soldier, in addition:
How is it at home, what about the family?
– I’ll complete the task –
I’ll finish the German – and go home.
— So. Let’s admit. But you need
And why come home?
The land is stripped naked
And plundered, mind you.
All cast.
– I am a worker,
I would go into business at home,
– The house is destroyed.
– I and the carpenter …
– There is no stove.
– And the stove-maker …
I’m out of boredom – jack of all trades,
I’ll be alive – mine is with me.
— Let me say to the old woman:
What if you come with one hand?
Or some other cripple –
I was ashamed of myself even then .
..
And with Death to Man
It became beyond strength to argue.
He was already bleeding,
Stiff. The night was descending…
— On my one condition,
Death, listen… I’m not averse…
And, tormented by cruel longing,
Lonely, and weak, and small,
He is with a plea, or something with a reproach
Began to persuade:
– I am not the worst and not the best,
That I will die in the war.
But at the end of it, listen,
Will you give me a day off?
Will you give me the last day on that day,
On the holiday of world glory,
Hear the victorious salute,
What will be heard over Moscow?
Will you give me a little that day
Walk among the living?
Will you give me one window
Knock in the lands of my relatives,
And when they come out onto the porch –
Death, and Death, I still have it there
Will you let me say one word?
Half a word?
– No. No ladies.
..
Terkin trembled, freezing
On a snowy bed.
– So you went away, Kosaya,
I am a soldier still alive.
I will cry, howl in pain,
Die in the field without a trace,
But of your own free will
I will never give up.
– Wait. A better reason
I’ll find it – give me a sign…
– Stop! They follow me. Looking for.
From the sanitary battalion.
— Where, eccentric?
– Won, brought in by stitch …
Death laughs at the top of his lungs:
– From the funeral team.
– It’s all the same: a living people.
The snow is rustling, two people are approaching.
A crowbar clanged against a shovel.
— There is still a warrior left.
We won’t remove everyone by night.
– And then: tired for the day,
Get out the pouch, fellow countryman.
Let’s sit down on the deceased
Let’s smoke on an empty stomach.
– If, you know, before puffing –
Hot pot scallop.
– If only a drop from a flask.
– If so – one sip.
– Or two …
And then, even if weakly,
Terkin gave his voice:
– Drive this woman away,
I am a soldier still alive.
People are watching: that’s the thing!
They see: right, the soldier is alive.
– What do you think!
– Come on,
Let’s take him to the medical battalion.
– Well, and a rare case, –
They argue slowly. –
One thing – just a body,
And here – a body and a soul.
– Barely a soul in the body …
– Joking, or something, completely cold.
And we wanted you,
You see, in the People’s Commissariat…
— Don’t talk. The little one was waiting.
Cut your overcoat in the ice.
Get up.
And Death said:
— I, however, will follow.
Compatriots – they are for work
Adapted to another.
Lie, think, shake –
And he will be mine.
Two belts and two shovels,
Two greatcoats across.
– Take care, soldier, soldier.
– They suffered. Be patient, my friend. –
They strive to make less shaking,
To make it somehow more even,
Protect, carry with caution:
Death is on the sidelines.
And the road is not a road, –
Virgin lands, belt-deep snow.
– Would you rest a little,
Lads …
– Dear man, –
The countryman speaks sensibly, –
Don’t worry, don’t be sorry.
Therefore we carry the living,
The dead is twice as heavy.
And the other:
– It is known.
And also take into account,
That the living hurries to the place –
The dead is at home – wherever there is.
– So, it’s a matter of habit, –
Compatriots conclude. –
What are you, friend, without a mitten?
Very warm, from the hand…
And thought for the first time
Death, watching from the side:
How alive they are,
Friendly among themselves.
That’s why you need to be able to cope with a single person
,
You reluctantly give a respite.
And, sighing, Death lagged behind.
Read the full story
Next verseAlexander Tvardovsky – Vasily Terkin
Previous verseAgnia Barto – In the days of war
Poems about war heroes. To the centenary of Nikolai Masalov – State Scientific Library of Kuzbass named after A.I. V.D. Fedorova
They wrote about the war (download)
N.I. Masalov (download)
FULL VERSION
Georgy Rublev “Monument”
It was in May, at dawn.
The battle grew near the walls of the Reichstag.
I noticed a German girl
Our soldier on the dusty pavement.
She stood trembling by the pillar,
Fright froze in her blue eyes.
And pieces of whistling metal
Death and torment were sown around.
Then he remembered how, saying goodbye in the summer
, he kissed his daughter.
Maybe the father of this girl
shot his own daughter.
But then, in Berlin, under fire
A soldier was crawling, and shielding his body
A girl in a short white dress
Carefully carried out of the fire.
And, stroking her with a gentle hand,
He lowered her to the ground.
They say that in the morning Marshal Konev
reported this to Stalin.
How many children were given back their childhood,
They gave joy and spring
Soldiers of the Soviet Army
People who won the war!
And in Berlin, on a holiday date,
It was erected to stand for centuries,
Monument to the Soviet soldier
With a rescued girl in her arms.
It stands as a symbol of our glory,
Like a beacon glowing in the darkness.
It is he, a soldier of my power,
Protects peace throughout the earth.
SHORT VERSION
Georgy Rublev “Monument”
0003 Fear froze in blue eyes.
And pieces of whistling metal
Death and torment were sown around.
Then he remembered how saying goodbye in the summer
He kissed his daughter.
Maybe the father of this girl
shot his own daughter.
But then, in Berlin, under fire
A soldier was crawling, and shielding his body
A girl in a short white dress
Carefully carried out of the fire.
… How many children were given back their childhood,
They gave joy and spring
Privates of the Soviet Army
People who won the war!
Natalia Sollogub “Russian warrior – winner (to Nikolai Masalov)”
In Treptow Park for many years
Russian warrior – winner …
holding a girl,
pulled her from the jaws of death miraculously .
Russian warrior is a soldier
of the world, not of war, guardian.
For people of any country,
was and is, and will be a friend.
In the midst of the bombing and the scrip
the crying of the baby is quiet, quiet
He must go into battle,
take the Reichstag – a bit left
He is a friend: “Listen, cover!”,
accomplished a great feat!
And where did the fear go,
and where did the fatigue go?!
Our soldier dived under the bridge,
pulled the girl out of hell.
And pressing her to his chest,
broke through with her
through the fire, lead rain,
even though the shells were close, nearby
tore the ground, and the child
hugged him by the neck,
like her father,
she is not afraid of bullets, bombs.
Mom is gone – she is dead:
The baby’s life has changed.
Will no longer see the eyes of
mother’s, beloved, kind.
Russian soldiers saved her:
she was born again!
And now she stands
together with the Russian Nikolai, –
a symbol of peace and goodness,
so that the children do not know the warrior,
so that this earthly world
becomes simply a paradise for children.
Only a Russian warrior can save this earthly world
.
Nikolai Starshinov
Wearing a cloak and unchanging tunic,
A child in one hand, damask steel in the other,
On a pedestal, as if on a hillock,
Stands a Soviet Army soldier.
He walked victoriously through the fire and distance,
Ruthlessly smashing the invaders.
And bowed their heads before him,
And friends raised their heads.
V. Avgustinok “He is our countryman”
Spring came to Tyazhin again,
But not like in 1945,
Then Russia went completely crazy,
From the joy of the end of the damned war.
We are boys, we are children of that war,
That we survived – we were also glad,
Rejoicing with the population of the country
We shared the victory as a reward.
… Well, well, well, the war is over,
The front-line soldiers went to work again.
It was already a peaceful spring,
Suddenly we learn about the feat of Masalov.
He is in kindergarten. Cab. It looks simple,
That he carries milk to children in the morning.
In Germany, with a girl in full growth
His feat is immortalized in bronze.
According to Chuikov, it looked like this:
There were three hundred meters to the walls of the Reichstag,
We were preparing for the last of the attacks,
And everyone now knew the price of risk.
A platoon of standard-bearers – there was a special platoon,
(Masalov knew all of Europe in it)
Everyone could die for the banner,
But the goal is to elevate, consolidate the victory.
From under the bridge across the Landwehr Canal
In the short pauses between breaks
The child was crying “muddy” calling,
And hearing it was beyond strength.
The battle ended. Silent last volley.
The child is crying – how to go on the attack?
“… I’ll crawl, comrade, general!”, –
The sergeant said as he put on his cape.
“Get back, sergeant! Possibly a trap.
Fascists know our weakness for children,
To divert attention from themselves,
Or they urgently need “language”.
But our Masalov did not retreat
“… I’ll figure it out, please let me go.”
He could not restrain the sergeant’s impulse
And looking into his eyes, he said: “Go.”
And the silence, hovering, kept waiting
Will someone come to the rescue of that little one,
But the fighter from Tyazhin was already crawling
And he didn’t remember anything except his debt.
Add.
That’s right.
Her mother is killed.
He pressed a German girl to his chest,
And the Germans shouted: “Gut soldier!”
Masalov has long been at gunpoint with them.
And he didn’t fear anymore,
Army bannerman and battle banner,
With a German girl he stepped onto the pedestal
From the walls, finished off in Germany, the Reichstag.
Maxim Gettuev “It was in the Tiergarten”
It was in the Tiergarten,
At the channel,
Before a new forward thrust.
Cautious sun rose above the earth,
Going around the clouds,
– Bypassing.
Gravel creaked underfoot –
Shelling has recently ended.
It became quiet,
And the cry of a child
Suddenly flew up to our soldiers.
Somewhere nearby, on a narrow street,
Under the bridge that closed the quarter,
Near the water, at a steep descent,
Running into trouble, the kid screamed.
And then – by his own order,
Looking at the soldiers,
Without distant words,
Immediately jumping over the parapet,
Sergeant Masalov crawled to the bridge.
Above him through the clouds in the high sky
The sun blinked,
Disappeared in the distance.
Towards – from balconies, from roofs, from windows
The Nazis fired at him.
For his life he would not have given a penny,
Until he crawled to the bridge.
Ahead
A woman was lying,
And a little girl
Shouting, crouching against her mother’s breast.
Clumsily caressing her fair curls,
He picked her up and crawled towards his own.
The machine gun scribbled from the side, then from behind,
Smoke drifted over the dusty paving stones.
The girl was silent.
Thin curl
Hanging down, almost touching the ground.
And from tiled roofs,
From balconies, from windows
Fascists aimed fire…
That girl became a mother a long time ago,
Raises children,
Lives happily.
It was in the Tiergarten, by the canal,
Before a new thrust forward.
Mikhail Nebogatov
A SOLDIER WITH A CHILD
To N.
I. Masalov
0003 In the incessant roar of attacks
A German girl from death
Saved in Berlin by our hero-countryman…
There is a fighter who passed through the flames,
In the halo of glorious military deeds,
The sculptor with inspired hands
Imprinted in bronze forever.
Many springs, sunny and bright,
Reflected in the reflections of the sword,
He stands in Berlin, in Treptow Park,
With a girl rescued by his shoulder.
He stands against a background of clear blue,
As a warning to all enemies,
The majestic symbol of Russia,
That she threw a swastika at her feet.
He stands, handsome and mighty,
And watches the clouds in the distance…
How many countries from the spider swastika
We, like this girl, saved!
Sword down. But it can rise,
If they come to us again with a sword!
Variants of poems about the heroes of the Kuhbass (download)
Nikolai Tikhonov “The Ballad of Three Communists”
Gerasimenko, Krasilov, Leonty Cheremnov –
Experienced scouts, the campaign is not new for them.
Green forests stand, snows are white, –
In them are hidden nests of the accursed enemy.
Gray bunkers have dug in, blocking the way,
Neither on the right nor on the left can they be bypassed.
Enemy burrows dug in the Volkhov sand,
Scouts are walking towards them, clutching a grenade in their hand.
That thing is familiar to them – and even knocking in the heart,
When their grenade thunders walk around.
Long smokes walk between narrow embrasures,
And blue German corpses are lying down below.
And the snow seemed to become smoother and the sky of doves –
Take the enemy’s weapons, turn around – and strike.
And the platoon went forward without a shot – but immediately the platoon lay down,
Having fallen under a frantic hail of three new lairs.
Gerasimenko, Krasilov, Leonty Cheremnov –
All three saw one thing at that moment:
That you couldn’t take enemy machine guns from the embrasures,
That there wasn’t even a grenade – and they couldn’t delay!
That until now the scouts, doing their business,
Did not go where it is easier for them – where the war led.
And now they will go on a feat in the deaf snows
Three proud communists, three fighting brothers.
Gerasimenko, Krasilov, Leonty Cheremnov
They look at the gray bunkers, but they see only one thing:
The dear regiments go, breaking the steel barriers,
There, where Leningrad raises smoky chimneys,
Where he has been fighting with the fascist horde for two hundred days
And he laughs at the enemy with deadly beauty.
Hurry to his rescue! Fly to help him
Through packs of brown dogs, through blizzard, battle, night!
And among the thunder of hell they hear a distant call:
That Leningrad heart is buzzing through the distance of the forests!
And the three looked back: and, as seen from the mountain,
Lies the country of heroes, native land.
And in their hearts there is not the former, familiar, steady beat, –
The heart is clothed with fire, and its ringing is all around.
And it expands and shines like the dawn –
Not three fighters at the bunkers, but three heroes.
Death creeps towards them, it burns from the embrasures,
But the bogatyrs go right through the blizzard.
You beasts, stray dogs, look to the end,
Like machine-gun fury closed their hearts.
And the jets of deadly bullets whistle through their hearts –
They stand separately, but, as it were, stand in a row.
Their blood is filled with foam, the bunker is silent behind the bunker,
There is no power in the universe to budge them,
And the platoon rushed without a shot – it goes forward with bayonets,
And the snow is lined with enemies, and the platoon sees the bunkers.
And he names the valiant country of his native sons:
Gerasimenko, Krasilov, Leonty Cheremnov!
Their faces are dark, as strict as an ancient carving,
Snowflakes are few frozen on the lips.
Ordinary Russian people stand at the gray walls,
And the narrow slots of the bunkers are closed by their breasts!
Yuliya Afanasyeva (Zhilina)
“Three Friends – Three Heroes”
The second formidable war year,
The Nazis marched in an armada.
The outcome of the war is still far away
And Leningrad is in blockade…
It is bright over the Volkhov, like in the daytime.
But in the head patrol
Crawling in the fiery rain
Three friends – three heroes.
They blew up the bunkers, sentries
Removed with a bayonet, with a bullet.
But three jets of fire here
A platoon was slashed
Without agreement, at the same moment
The Siberians rushed,
And machine guns with their blood
Instantly drowned …
Hearts of the Motherland, not a bunker,
The battle was closed by three,
Our invincible people,
The people of the country of heroes!
Touch heroism with your heart,
Their stellar feat is bright.
Like a flash of lightning their life,
A dash through death into immortality.
Cast in marble and granite,
Heroes are always with us.
And the Russian heart keeps
sacred memory of them.
We glorify our countrymen,
You who have become a legend,
Friends Krasilov, Cheremnov,
Ivan Gerasimenko!
Vasily Stepanovich Afanasiev
“On the glorious field of Borodino”
dedicated to Viktor Ivanovich Polosukhin
Going fighting on the field of Borodino,
Fascist regiments rush to Moscow;
But they stood up to death with gigantic power
Siberian guard regiments.
Six days and six nights of continuous hell,
Six days and six nights the battle rumbles,
Bombs and shells cripple the earth,
Mine howl exhausts the soul.
Enemy tanks are attacking quickly.
Try these dragons!
A command is given to everyone:
“Direct fire on the enemy!”
And Polosukhin seems to be calm,
Mighty, grey-eyed, strong-willed,
Hassan warrior tested in battles
At the hottest firing point.
The divisional commander said the following words to the shooters,
Kutuzov prophetic words:
“Darlings! Stand like sentinels!
Not a step back! Behind Moscow!
Smashing the enemy, breaking and crushing,
When in anger – shells are not terrible,
The Siberian soul survives everything.
And the enemy trembled. He fled from the battlefield.
And we hear through the fiery years
Those holy immortal words:
“Darlings! Stand like sentinels!
Not a step back! Behind – Moscow!
In memory of Vera Voloshina
Aleksey Romanov
Ballad
The lady already has an offer*
And the dress was bought with a veil
Her girlfriends pooled –
Everything crossed out by the war.
She came when they weren’t expected,
When the country was still sleeping
And it became terrible from the bombings,
And from the conflagrations – only ashes.
The girl’s name was simply – Vera
And, making a jump from the sky,
She was the first in school
And the Voroshilovsky shooter.
And now she is a scout,
And goes on a mission in the night,
And all girlish shoulders hold,
To help the Motherland.
Together with Kosmodemyanskaya Zoya **,
Vera walked boldly in the rear,
Their feat became known,
Names became known.
On the same day on the rack
The Nazis pulled up their girlfriends,
They died under torture,
But villainy did not get away with it.
* * *
There is a crossroads in Kemerovo,
Two streets have merged on it:
One with a heroic name,
In honor of Vera, you, countryman, be proud.
Another is named after a friend,
Who proposed to her,
His service to the Motherland –
Hero’s Star from the authorities.
To whom it means anything:
Betroth hearts forever
And with the gratitude of the people
Strengthen their faithful union.
* * *
Read, descendant, these lines
And remember – there is only one Motherland,
And we are all responsible for it,
And let her be proud of us.
2018
Vladimir Fedorov
The Ballad of Zoya and Vera
They were seized in different places.
Dissimilar names…
Two mothers raised them –
They have one fatherland.
Splashed into the girls’ faces
Frosty blue and expanse,
And nearby Moscow is smoking,
And there – all in the forests – Siberia.
They kneaded snow behind Zoya
Shod boots.
On a willow, on a sad willow
Enemies hang Vera.
Where will you find a man,
So that you don’t take off your hat before Zoya?
A quarter of a century about Vera
Nobody knew anything.
Silent gray willow,
The bloody snow has melted,
Two proud stars
Let them shine forever!
Two gloomy swallows,
Executed on a gloomy day.
Graves in neighboring villages –
And how many such villages!
Friend, you were born in forty-one.
Look into their young faces.
Vera – in Russian faith,
Zoya – in Greek life.
O. Aliyeva
“I will live a hundred years…”
Lightning fires have blazed,
Cannonades have died down basses.
What is the mother dreaming about today,
In these morning hours?
Laughter with a wheat scythe,
Bully in the school yard.
How she loved with the dew
To wash her face at early dawn,
And then to drop on her shoulders
A golden scattering of hair
And skipping towards the dawn,
Run away under the sandy slope!
Not offended by her strength and height,
Sometimes she gets an “A” rating
Suddenly she could simply, like a boy,
Stand up for her friends with her fist.
In the evenings student Vera
Run away to the shady garden
And through the sleepy flowering squares
Silently led the guys.
The whole company quickly and quickly
Classmates dug ditches
And they did not think that so soon
The shadow of fascism would touch Moscow.
Only this was not enough.
Many days and nights in a row
Vera dreamed of being enrolled
In a combat partisan detachment.
And the ticket came – intelligence.
There, beyond the front line – fate,
Trials thorny branch
And alarms battle trumpet.
Here are the first letters from the front:
“Don’t worry, mamush! Now,
Only the day will fall from the horizon,
We will go to fulfill the order.
I am a scout. It’s hard,
But don’t cry and keep up the good work
And as often as possible,
Stay with your sick father.
It’s hard to wait, I know very well,
But understand that I’m needed here.
Do not worry about me, my dear,
I am well-fed and armed.
I was born, you remember, in a shirt,
So, I will live a hundred years.
..»
These triangular pieces of paper
Mother is ready to keep until death.
Among them there is one, in an envelope,
And in menacing voices sounds:
Notice of Vera’s death.
Somewhere in the Naro-Fominsk forests,
Near Yakshino, on the edge of the forest
From severe wounds in the chest
A simple girl was dying.
Twenty-two – and the journey is over.
At the cold snow cloud,
Eyes looked without blinking,
And to the sounds of thundering misfortune
A tear flowed down in a cloudy stream.
Only torture did not break her,
Cold water washed away the pain.
In the blue sky and on the grave
A star shines in her name.
A on the azure water surface
The ship floats like a white bird.
For the sake of life and happiness for the sake of
Vera went out on her last campaign.
Lightning fires have blazed,
Cannonades have died down basses.
The old mother can’t sleep again
In these morning hours.
..
VIKTOR IVANOVICH TRETYAKOV
To the participant of the Great Patriotic War,
to the driver of the T-34 tank, 90 285
Georgy Vasilyevich Basyrov
dedicated.
I drove a thirty-four,
I’ve been in battle many times,
But I’ve never seen such a grind
More, brothers, I haven’t seen…
Our tank company,
Rounding the enemy’s flank,
Landed in the edge of the swamp,
Like “to hell with the horns”!
A reconnaissance tank “sat down” in the quagmire,
We – to him, deciding to help,
Following – another, the two of them are lighter
Drag him on the ropes.
Derg-twitched, and we got stuck…
And the infantry is waiting for help!
And while we were skidding,
Tanks wedge went around.
Suddenly the fascists attacked with artillery
They covered us, unfortunately…
We are like flies in a saucer of honey,
We are swarming in plain sight!
Fritz, hiding behind the forest,
Sending a shell behind the shell –
We, remaining in the quagmire,
We answer at random!
It’s bad for a tank to be a target,
And doubly on a leash,
After all, shells are more than a pood! –
They hit the tank armor!
From the platoon commander’s tank
They shot down the turret like a head of cabbage!
And the second one, – shouts the gunner –
Smoked and “shut up”!
And on our tower Fritz
Bang through! Hole – with a fist!
Didn’t have time to move,
Into my t-rah hatch! And complete darkness.
..
I woke up. Manhole cover…
Five centimeters armor!
Like a razor blew it, a slut…
I don’t have a lid!
There is no crew either:
Silence is burdensome in the tank.
The lads perished from the world
Into the jaws of a gluttonous war!
He himself is alive, but his body is cotton wool.
Blood from the shoulder and aching side!
Grumbled all the same: – Fritz-gad
We’ll bend it into a ram’s horn!
Someone is talking… I understand:
Panzer, Russish, Transport, Gut…
It’s cold, I understand:
Like a trophy, dragged!
I hear that they are winding a long cable,
To pull it from the shore,
And they are driving their tractor…
There is despondency, dregs in my soul.
The “wounded wound” will be patched up there…
Again into battle, but against us.
Who is the fate – mine and the tank’s –
Will be able to resolve now?
… Hooked, dragged
My tank back and forth.
And the tractor, that there is strength in it,
The tank is rushing to the West with me …
Then it suddenly dawned on me
Play a cruel joke on them!
If only there was enough strength
To control the levers.
If the first attempt
the Tank will be launched,
It will blow that flimsy tractor,
To drag it back.
The cable will break, perhaps
From a mighty jerk…
That’s when it will be possible
Give us a drapak with the tank!
I only said to myself:
– Well, Egorushka, hold on!
Either you will burn them,
Or you will lose your life!
My heart sank somewhere,
Blood beats like a hammer in my veins:
It will be the end for me, guys,
If my tank fails.
Starting, exhaust smoke black
The Fritz will immediately give a signal,
That the tank is defeated
Someone rebelled against them!
If the start is suddenly interrupted…
Stop tractor! And in every hatch
of my tank
will burst
Many Fritz, and .