Chudakova Valentina Biography

She began her way in the war for sixteen years. During the war, who commanded a machine gun company and demobilized with the rank of captain. And she is the author of very interesting autobiographical books about the war. In the Red Army since July. Place of hostilities: Kalininsky Front of the village of Karpovo, Gnilovo, Vorobevo of the Rzhevsky district. In the battles for the village of Vorobyevo, while on the forefront, she provided medical assistance to more than 50 wounded fighters and commanders and herself directly took part in the attack in the assault group where she was injured.

After the hospital, the reserve regiment and officer courses, he was sent to the rifle regiment of the rifle division. On the night of March 10-21, with a machine -gun calculation, she knocked out the enemy in the amount of 15 people from the village of Kasnya and took her. In this unequal battle, she acted without the participation of rifle units. Exposure from the letters-memories of the front-line soldier N.

Shayka is thin, over the eyebrows of the bang, looks at the check, warily and expectantly. Not yet believing what is happening, I demand documents. Papers in order: year of birth, senior lieutenant Valentina Chudakova. Here you have! I contact the chief of staff. And on the face of a young commander, meanwhile, a storm, a storm. And in the first battle of her company, without losing a single person killed and wounded, destroyed six machine -gun points of the enemy, two mortar calculations and over 50 Nazi machine gunners.

Here you have Pigalitsa. After the next wound, she was transferred to the rifle regiment of the rifle division. In these battles, with the personnel of his company Art. In the battles for the village, in the following time, it will still be injured and twice controversial. I think that among the pages of her story, a page dedicated to the writer Valentina Chudakova will take a worthy place, during the war, an eighteen -year -old machine gunner.

Author: Lotta Bogopol site: celebrities. Today it is not with us, but there were wonderful books: “Chizhik is a bird with character”, awarded the prize of the Russian Writers Union, “military happiness”, “how I was afraid of generals” and other works that she managed to write for her life unexpectedly cut off from previous wounds. I met Valentina Chudakova in the mid -eighties.

Then I was asked to write an essay on the eccentric to the English editorial office of the magazine "Soviet Woman". The British and Americans were interested in whether our women fought. We met. Valentina Vasilievna turned out to be modest, laughed a lot, although her laughter usually ended with an angry cough: the punched light made itself felt. Chudakova was injured five times, but until the end of days she remained cheerful, witty and cheerful.

After the first meeting, we made friends. I recorded some of our conversations. Parents were repressed, lived with her grandmother. Many boys, my classmates, went to the military enlistment office: they asked, begged, but they were not taken to the front. And I was lucky. After long ups and downs, I was officially “adopted” by the rifle division. I said that an orphan is afraid to be alone.

I managed to run to my grandmother. She sobbed into her voice, but I kissed her and assured her that I would definitely return. The war will be short -lived. At first I was a nurse. There, at the front, first love came to me - it was the commander of a platoon of machine gunners Misha Fedorenko. How many years have passed, and the soul hurts on it. We were considered a bride and groom.

Dima Komsomol even threatened: “Was he getting married? Well, you can’t see you a Komsomol ticket. Something one: either love or a Komsomol. ” Misha taught me to shoot a machine gun. We believed in our happiness, in the wedding, which we will play immediately after the war. But is it possible to make something at the front ... I remember our last meeting. He came at dawn to our KP, called me.

There was shaved, in a helmet, with a machine gun and two grenades behind the belt. He said, smiling: “Baby! We are again in battle. All three battalions of our regiment were brought into one, and now I command the summary. ” I am very careful. After all, I have you ... ”I kissed him goodbye, not knowing that I was seeing off on the last journey. The battle began at night.

I bandaged the seriously wounded. And under the flashes of lighting missiles, she saw four fighters cautiously descend from the opposite shore with a stretcher. Still from afar, by dark string of the strands of hair, I recognized lying on a stretcher. It was Mikhail. The stretchers were brought into the house on the outskirts of the village. Putting them on the floor, the soldiers left, and we were left together on our last date ...

He was unconscious, in his face - not a blood. Kuzya ran running, made some kind of injection. I asked in a hoarse voice: “Where is it wounded? Run, call the division commander. We must call the plane! We kneel on both sides of the stretcher and cried silently. In the hospital, the doctor showed a fragment, which was removed from the lung: "A little to the right, and there would not be you." After the hospital, I was sent to the reserve regiment.

There I called the machine gunner - after the death of Michael, I firmly decided to become a machine gunner and shoot at him at the enemy. The commander of the training company knocked a finger at my hospital certificate: “It says black and white that you are medicine, and you are lying and not red.” After all, "Maxim" weighs twice as many of you!He asked me several questions about the material part of the machine gun and, having received more or less satisfactory answers, enlisted machine gunners to courses.

At the end, I became the commander of a machine gun platoon. The senior lieutenant led me to the summer sergeant, a former participant in the civil war to the machine gunner Bakhkhov: "Well, Chapaevets, here you have a new platoon commander." The lower jaw fell off at that. The rest of the subordinates turned their backs towards me. Suppressing embarrassment and timidity, I opened a machine gun box, ran a piece of Marley along the frame and told Bakhovalov: “Comrade sergeant, a muddy machine gun!

But the machine gun after the check was also faulty, and Bakhvalov was shameful. Then we often had skirmishes, but then he resigned himself that “children are fighting” his favorite expression. And they took care of me. During the shelling, they made sure that I did not stick out of the trench. And the blind destructive power of artillery, and the painful death of a comrade in your eyes.

But perhaps the most terrible for me was separation from front -line friends. It seems to me that I was orphaned not in childhood, but precisely when, after a wound, I could not return to my native Yu Rifle Division. It was in Poland. We walked along the front road. To the right and left on the sides - plywood shields: “Do not leave the road: mines! Major Ivanov. " And my legs got wet, and I thought of changing over.

She pulled out a footcloth from the field bag and sat on a green bump near the road. Suddenly, something clicked in a bump, something lightly pecked at me from below. Consciousness was pierced by the thought: “The fascist Spring-Min! Therefore, while I am sitting on it, it will not explode. I was scolded by cold.