Special forces always. Yuri KorchevskySpetsnaz is always Spetsnaz. The saboteur's breakthrough. About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

Cover illustration – Nina and Alexander Solovyov

Chapter 1. Shock

Alexander didn’t like the guy right away. A black jacket, a black knitted cap on his head, brown eyes and dilated pupils, like those of drug addicts. In my hand I have a Chinese bag, the kind that shuttles used to carry. However, in principle, what does it matter whether he liked the guy or not? You will meet everyone at the airport - from Caucasians to fancy dressed Indians. So what? Maybe they don’t like me for my Slavic appearance either. However, some vague uneasiness, a slight anxiety settled in my soul.

Alexander looked at his watch. Soon. It is now 16–20, the plane from Yekaterinburg is due to land in five minutes.

And almost immediately, over the speakerphone, the announcer announced: “The Tu-154 plane, flight 268 from Yekaterinburg, has landed. We ask those meeting..."

Alexander didn’t listen any longer and began to slowly move into the arrivals hall. Why rush? Until the gangplank is served, until the passengers get off, happy that the flight is over and they are on the ground, and until they receive their luggage. If Anton's bag is small, it will appear quickly.

Anton is his old friend, from the army. Together they pulled the burden in training, where, in fact, they met. Then a two-year service as a sergeant in the 22nd GRU special forces brigade in Bataysk. If anyone doesn’t know, the GRU is the Main Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff. It was created to conduct reconnaissance and destroy the enemy’s mobile nuclear weapons in his deep rear, as well as carry out sabotage and organize the partisan movement. Of course, in case of war.

At first, without the habit of serving, it was difficult. And not because of the notorious hazing, but because of physical overload. Try to complete the training task, having first marched forty kilometers with full gear and secretly, which was zealously watched by intermediary officers. If you find yourself, consider it a failure. That’s why we moved more along animal trails, and in such a way that we didn’t accidentally break any twig or crush the grass. At the same time, they followed each other strictly, and not so much because of the trampled grass, but because if the first one did not see the mine, not everyone would be blown up. And there are fewer traces left. Go figure, one person passed or several.

Anton was a physically strong guy and helped Alexander out. Either the roll will take him away - albeit for a short time, or the unloading. But Anton and Alexander were also interested: he knew a lot of different stories and helped write letters to Anton’s beloved girlfriend. Anton was silent: “yes” and “no” - and the whole conversation. And he wrote clumsily - the letters are uneven, like a drunk man. How many years have passed since the army... Alexander figured: “So, now I’m thirty-six, I was demobilized at twenty. It turns out that our friendship is already eighteen years old.”

They meet sometimes, once every two to three years. For this reason, Alexander takes time off and introduces Antoshka to the capital.

There are many interesting places in Moscow, but you can’t show them all at once. The Historical Museum recently opened - after a lengthy renovation, and Anton asked to take him to Sokolniki, to the wax museum. And in the evening - definitely vodka, so that it flows viscously from the freezer, and so that the bottle has frost on the glass. And a snack: definitely homemade pickled cucumbers, which Alexander bought at the Dorogomilovsky market, and pickled mushrooms, preferably milk mushrooms, and with black bread. Yummy! And then - fried potatoes with lard. Sasha bought lard at the Kievsky station, from visiting Ukrainians. Wow! Previously, independent Slavic brothers shouted at every corner - they say, Muscovites have eaten them! And now they bring their own lard to Moscow, voluntarily. Wonderful are Your works, O Lord!

In anticipation of meeting his friend and the subsequent feast, Sasha rubbed his hands. The old Caucasian in black caught my eye again. Ugh, damn you! Like a black raven! Alexander craned his neck, trying to see Anton over the heads of those greeting him.

Someone tugged my hand from behind.

- Countryman, we’re going to Moscow! Inexpensive, only three pieces,” suggested the impudent taxi driver, twirling a bunch of car keys on his finger.

Alexander did not have time to answer. A bright flash flashed behind the taxi driver, and a heavy roar hit his ears. Glass fell with a crash and screams of horror were heard. "Caucasian!" - flashed in the fading consciousness, and Alexander passed out.

It seemed to him that he came to his senses quite quickly. It was just not clear where he was and why it was so light.

Sasha raised his head and was amazed: he was lying on the bank of a small river and, surprisingly, it was summer. The water gurgled, the grass turned green and smelled intoxicating, and bumblebees flew over it. It was warm, even hot.

What the hell! Alexander remembered well the explosion at the airport and how he was protected from shrapnel by a taxi driver who took a portion of the deadly metal. But it was January then, it was cold.

Alexander stood up, sat down and looked around himself. The entire left side of the jacket was cut, with synthetic filler showing white in the holes. Taking off his jacket, he examined it critically. Well, she got it, perhaps, homeless people wear it better. But it's almost new.

Alexander rummaged through his pockets, took his cell phone and keys to the apartment, and left his jacket on the shore. He furrowed his brow, wondering what had happened. In theory, he should now be at Domodedovo airport and lying on the concrete floor, and not on the bank of the river.

And what else surprised me - why summer? And how did he get here? Left in shock after the explosion? It could have happened. But summer? It didn’t take him six months to come here, did he?

First you need to call Anton - he met him.

Taking out his phone, Alexander dialed the usual number. But the phone showed “network search” and did not respond to calls from subscribers. Okay, we can deal with this later. And now we need to go out to people and find out where he is.

Alexander began to carefully examine the surrounding area. In the distance, barely visible against the background of the forest, stood several houses. That's where he headed. He walked quickly and breathed steadily, just as he was taught in special forces.

Here we are at home. Alexander experienced slight disappointment: wooden poles with electric wires led to the log huts, but there was no sign of a telephone. And he was so hoping to call!

Alexander knocked on the door of the log house.

When she knocked, a girl of about eighteen came out, just like Alexander: not thin, not fat, with something to look at.

Sasha asked:

- Girl, I’m a little lost, can you tell me what kind of village this is?

- So Bogdanovka!

Alexander digested what he heard for a minute. For some reason he doesn’t remember the name of a settlement near Moscow or in the Moscow region, although he is a native Muscovite. But why be surprised? After the army, he got a job in the metro, completed courses, worked as an assistant driver, then as a driver, and spent more time underground than on it. And I only went out of town a few times with friends to the dacha: to grill kebabs and drink beer.

- I can’t figure out where it is - please forgive me... What area is it?

- Pinsky.

– Do you want to say that I am in Belarus?

- Yes exactly.

It looks like the girl wasn’t joking, and her speech is strange - not harsh, like the Muscovites.

The first thing that came to his mind was the Pinsk swamps. Where, from what corners of his memory did he pull this association?

– And do you have swamps here? – he specified.

“There’s a lot around,” the girl smiled for the first time during the entire conversation, “but not just swamps.” There are still rivers and lakes.

- What is the date today?

“The first of July, the tenth day of the war,” the girl became serious again, not taking her eyes off the unfamiliar guy, who had suddenly become suspicious.

He was probably shell-shocked after the explosion. The girl talks about the war, he himself cannot understand where he has gotten to.

- Month, what year are you talking about? – asked the amazed Alexander.

At this point the girl was surprised:

– That’s what I say – the first of July, one thousand nine hundred and forty-one.

- Is it true?!

Suddenly, Alexander heard a strange, unfamiliar rumble coming from somewhere above. The hum was strained and did not promise anything good to those living on earth. He warned: “I’m taking it, I’m taking it…”

Alexander raised his head and saw flights of heavily loaded aircraft, apparently bombers, moving in an even formation, accompanied by nimble fighters.

Olesya followed his gaze and also saw planes:

- They're flying again!

– Who are “flying”?

- Yes, the planes are fascist! Russian cities are flying to bomb! But our planes are not visible! Who will stop this black force? – she said with bitterness in her voice.

And this made Alexander believe in a terrible, implausible, but reality. Shock and tetanus! No one had surprised him so much in his life.

“Aren’t you shell-shocked, comrade?” – the girl asked sympathetically.

“There was an explosion, my jacket was cut, but there wasn’t a scratch on me,” he answered honestly.

- Ah, got it! So you forgot everything. Where will you be from?

- From Moscow.

– From the capital itself? Have you seen Stalin?

- No, only in photographs.

- Why are we standing at the door, you’re probably hungry? Come into the hut!

Alexander walked into the room. The furnishings are rather poor: a bed with armored mesh and nickel-plated bumps, a home rug on the floor, and a very ancient round loudspeaker in the corner.

A girl came in carrying a jug of milk and a loaf of bread.

- Excuse me, comrade Muscovite, I don’t have pickles - what am I rich in...

She poured milk into a mug and cut off a slice of bread.

Alexander didn’t really want to eat, but given the circumstances, he decided to eat some food - it’s still unknown when he’ll have to eat next.

The milk turned out to be very tasty: thick, with a thick layer of cream on top, and the bread was excellent - with a crispy crust.

Alexander drank the entire jug and ate half the loaf; He brushed the crumbs off the table into his palm and threw them into his mouth.

– What’s going on in the world now, where is the front?

“Our people are retreating, retreating on all fronts.” They say that the Germans took Borisov and Bobruisk.

- It is far from here?

– Two hundred kilometers towards Moscow. We are already behind German lines.

- Were the Germans here?

-What are they supposed to do here in the swamps? They wander along the roads. I didn't even see them.

- God willing, you won’t see it.

– I’m a Komsomol member and I don’t believe in God.

- But in vain! You can only believe in him, the rest lie.

The girl pursed her lips offendedly.

- Well, do you have any kind of government in your area?

- Don't know. My father was drafted into the army a week ago, I haven’t heard anything about Pinsk.

Alexander sat in complete confusion. It would be nice if there was a shell shock, otherwise it’s 1941! Or maybe the girl is crazy, and he believed her...

– Is the radio working?

“No, of course,” the girl sighed.

We need to go to our neighbors and find out from them.

Alexander stood up and thanked the girl for the treat.

-What is your name, beauty?

The girl’s cheeks flushed red - no one called her that in the village.

– Does anyone else live in the village?

- Only old men and women remained. I was the only one of the young people before the war. And the men were drafted into the army. Why aren't you in the army? Or sick?

“Yeah, sick,” Sasha joked.

“But from the looks of it, you can’t tell,” Olesya shook her head.

- Tell me, Olesya, which direction of the highway?

- Which one do you like? If you go north, then there will be Minskoe, about three hours on foot. If you go south, then Pinskoye will be, it’s closer to it - about two hours’ walk. And the railway is there too.

Alexander sat down again and thought. If everything you heard from the girl is true, then you need to think about the situation. Go to your own, breaking through the front line? It’s a bit far, and most importantly, even if he does come out, he has no documents, and he can’t give his address or place of work. After all, the NKVD will check, but in the personnel department of the metro, citizen Alexander Dementyev, thirty-six years old, Muscovite, no criminal record, non-party member, is not listed. So - a spy! And according to the laws of war, he is to the wall! Alexander shrugged his shoulders, imagining such a prospect.

Another option is to sit out here, in this Bogdanovka. But sooner or later the Germans will show up here. Who it? Why didn't they take a healthy man into the army? Or maybe they left the partisans? The prospect is unenviable.

But by the way... In peacetime, he was trained for reconnaissance and sabotage activities behind enemy lines - in case of war. Now there is a war, and the rear is very hostile. Although he is not called up, but, having found himself in an unforeseen situation, he must act according to his conscience, at the behest of his soul and in accordance with his idea of military honor. The enemy tramples his land, kills his compatriots, which means he must act accordingly.

True, the special forces act on instructions from the intelligence department. The raids are short: dropping behind enemy lines, carrying out actions and returning to your own. Now he doesn’t have a walkie-talkie, he doesn’t have a boss, he doesn’t have a mission—he doesn’t even have a weapon. But this is not yet a reason to sit idly by. And Bogdanovka is a good base. The area is remote, wooded, with swamps, on both sides in the distance there are highways and railways. Heavy equipment will not work here, and you can easily hide yourself. The only problem that remains is how to get legalized. He is not in the raid now, how long he will stay is unknown, he has to eat somewhere, wash himself, after all, so as not to be different from people.

Alexander looked at Olesya, who was calmly doing household chores.

- That's it, Olesya. Can I stay with you for a while? But I have nothing to pay, I can only pay in kind: fix the fence there, cut grass for the cow, chop firewood. A man is always needed on the farm.

There was silence for some time. It was clear that the girl was surprised. She thought - a refugee, and even without memory, shell-shocked, and he was asking to stay. He doesn’t seem to look like a bandit, although she herself has never seen one. There is enough space in the hut, but... just give the villagers a reason for gossip.

“Okay,” Olesya answered hesitantly. - However, you will not sleep in the hut, but in the hayloft, in the backyard. And just don’t smoke.

– I don’t smoke at all.

- Agreed then. Wait, I'll take you now.

The girl pulled out a sack cloth, a pillow, and a thin blanket from the chest and handed it all to Sasha.

- Follow me.

They left the hut, turned into the backyard, and passed the cowshed. On the outskirts there was a bathhouse and a barn.

The girl walked first, Sasha walked behind and involuntarily admired Olesya’s figure.

The hostess opened the wide door. One half of the barn was empty, the other contained hay.

- Settle down here.

“Thank you,” Sasha spread a sackcloth on the hay and threw a pillow and blanket on it.

There was a stupefying smell of forbs in the barn.

- What is your name?

- Oh, sorry - I forgot to introduce myself. Alexander, thirty-six years old, Muscovite.

- Oooh! Old already! – the girl laughed.

Alexander almost choked. Is he old at thirty-six?! On the other hand, he’s twice her age. And in general - everything is relative. Just before he was drafted into the army, the thirty-year-olds seemed almost like grandfathers to him.

“Rest today, Alexander, tomorrow we’ll go get firewood.”

- Yes, mistress! – Alexander bowed playfully.

Olesya left. Sanya lay down on the sackcloth and threw his hands behind his head - it was easier to think that way. First, you need to come up with a legend - who he is and how he got here. Secondly, what should Olesya tell her neighbors if they inquire about her guest?

If a refugee comes from Brest, from his relatives, then why shouldn’t he return to them? It won't work. Then - the version about the bombed train. It’s plausible, at least for Olesya. She hasn’t asked any questions yet, but she will definitely ask, women are curious people.

What about the neighbors? A stranger in a village is immediately noticeable; this is not Moscow or St. Petersburg, where residents of the entrance do not always know their neighbors. If we say that he is a relative, then why does he live in the hayloft and not in a hut?

Alexander went through one option after another until he settled on a deserter... He allegedly avoided conscription into the Red Army, he did not want to serve either Stalin or Hitler. So he moved to distant relatives in the wilderness, away from any authorities. Considering that in Western Belarus, which was not so long ago annexed to the USSR after the famous Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, the residents still did not really trust the Soviets, this could have passed.

Until the evening, Alexander pondered his legend, behavior and future activities. This is not how he imagined a war - separated from his own people, without a combat mission, and the worst thing - without support and a deadline for return.

But he also had an advantage, unlike an infantryman or a tankman. He was taught this! For a private in any army, being surrounded is stressful, an emergency situation from which you need to get out. But for a saboteur this is the norm.

There is, however, one weak spot in his plan – Bogdanovka. GRU special forces are tactical reconnaissance, army. Climb into the near rear, a hundred or three hundred kilometers away, do more harm and get away with it.

This was the first department of the KGB, which later grew into Foreign Intelligence, which was engaged in strategic intelligence with undercover agents - the same diplomats, journalists, and trade representatives. And they also have illegal agents - like the well-known Anna Chapman. Scrupulous work, preparation takes place over years, and an illegal immigrant has to work in a foreign country for decades, or even his whole life. You need to study the country of introduction carefully, know all the little things that people don’t pay attention to in everyday life, but a careful look will immediately notice: your shoes are not laced properly, you put out your cigarette incorrectly, you gave the doorman a lot of tips, you parked your car differently than, say, a Frenchman .

Each country has its own characteristics. If you're Italian, why don't you like pasta? And the guy may have heard this word for the first time in intelligence school - he grew up on potatoes. How does he know that pasta comes with different types of cheese and other seasonings? No, strategic intelligence is a different level, a kind of aerobatics with maximum self-denial and self-sacrifice. And it is actually built on patriotism, since it is not paid based on results. Who remembers at least one intelligence officer who became an oligarch? And you won't earn fame there. Only a few of them become famous, and only after high-profile failures. Special forces are something else: a kind of militants, a fist hitting the enemy’s weak spot. Hit - walked away. In Alexander’s position, there is nowhere to go. There are no relatives, no documents. For the Germans he is clearly an enemy, for his own people he is an unknown person, a man from nowhere. He will not withstand any serious test among his own people in the NKVD. It’s better to send him to a camp or shoot him.

Therefore, as he reflected, his conviction to remain in the German rear only grew stronger. But the problem is – where to develop your activities? After all, even a wolf does not kill sheep near its lair. So he also needs to conduct military operations far from Bogdanovka.

And again a lot of questions arose: where to store weapons and explosives - not in the hayloft? Sasha simply had no doubt that he would quickly acquire what he needed. After all, what is “special forces”? Professional killers! It's the same in other countries. War and reconnaissance and sabotage are not done with white gloves. This is hard, dirty, bloody work.

Alexander spun around on the sackcloth for a long time, heavy thoughts creeping into his head. Let's start with how he got here. Why him? Or is it related to the explosion at the airport? Is Anton alive or did he not have time to reach the site of the explosion? Eh, if he had come a little later - well, at least for a minute, now we would be sitting with Anton at the table, in Sasha’s one-room apartment, which is in the passage of the Straw Lodge, remembering our youth.

Still, I had a dream. Sasha always followed the golden army rule: when a soldier sleeps, the service is on, because it is unknown when he will be able to get enough sleep.

In the morning he woke up from unfamiliar sounds, trying to understand what it was. As it turned out, Olesya was milking the cow, and tight streams of milk were beating into the milk pan.

After all, Sasha is a city dweller to the core. The special forces taught him a lot: to walk silently through the forest, to camouflage himself by blending into the terrain, to survive by eating edible plants and various worms. But he only saw a live cow from afar, from a car window, and he never saw how it was milked.

He stood up quickly and folded the pillow and blanket into a bundle. I jumped out into the yard, did a quick exercise, and washed myself at the well. The water is clean, tasty, but icy - it hurts your teeth.

Olesya came out of the barn with a full milk pan.

- Good morning, Olesya!

- Good, Sasha! Go to the hut, it's time for breakfast.

They ate yesterday's boiled potatoes, drank fresh milk with homemade loaf.

- That's it, Olesya. If anyone in the village asks about me, say - a distant relative, he was hiding from conscription into the Red Army. And now - from the Germans. And call me “you” - a relative after all, if you agree, of course.

- Fine. Now - into the forest. There are ropes hanging on the wall in the hayloft, take them.

Sasha went down, took a bunch of short ropes from the wall of the hayloft, looked for an ax with his eyes, but couldn’t find it. It’s strange: going into the forest for firewood - and without an ax and a saw. However, Olesya knows better - she is local. As they say, every hut has its own rattles. His job is to help the housewife with firewood for the winter. However, the stove is heated even in the summer, so you have to cook on the stove... But there has never been gas in the village. In addition, a foray into the forest is useful for him - he needs to remember the approaches to the village and get his bearings on the terrain. There are no maps, even the most seedy ones, and you have to remember everything.

We didn’t have to go far, the forest was nearby.

Olesya and Sasha were collecting dead wood. Then they tied him into two bundles, and Sasha tied a huge one for himself, he barely lifted it.

“Make sure you don’t overstrain yourself, refugee,” Olesya joked, “I don’t know how to heal.”

However, Sasha remained silent and continued to drag the bundle. “It would be better to take a saw,” thought Sasha, “it’s inconvenient to carry dead wood - it’s wide, it clings to bushes, and it will burn out quickly in the oven. Not so - sawn trees: there is more heat and they burn longer. It wouldn't hurt to have a cart for transportation. Yeah, if only you had a truck,” Alexander grinned at his thoughts.

Yuri Korchevsky

Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough

Cover illustration – Nina and Alexander Solovyov

Chapter 1. Shock

Alexander looked at his watch. Soon. It is now 16–20, the plane from Yekaterinburg is due to land in five minutes.

And almost immediately, over the speakerphone, the announcer announced: “The Tu-154 plane, flight 268 from Yekaterinburg, has landed. We ask those meeting..."

They meet sometimes, once every two to three years. For this reason, Alexander takes time off and introduces Antoshka to the capital. There are many interesting places in Moscow, but you can’t show them all at once. The Historical Museum recently opened - after a lengthy renovation, and Anton asked to take him to Sokolniki, to the wax museum. And in the evening - definitely vodka, so that it flows viscously from the freezer, and so that the bottle has frost on the glass. And a snack: be sure to have homemade pickled cucumbers, which Alexander bought at the Dorogomilovsky market, and pickled mushrooms, preferably milk mushrooms, and with black bread. Yummy! And then - fried potatoes with lard. Sasha bought lard at the Kievsky station, from visiting Ukrainians. Wow! Previously, independent Slavic brothers shouted at every corner - they say, Muscovites have eaten them! And now they bring their own lard to Moscow, voluntarily. Wonderful are Your works, O Lord!

Someone tugged my hand from behind.

- Countryman, we’re going to Moscow! Inexpensive, only three pieces,” suggested the impudent taxi driver, twirling a bunch of car keys on his finger.

It seemed to him that he came to his senses quite quickly. It was just not clear where he was and why it was so light.

And what else surprised me - why summer? And how did he get here? Left in shock after the explosion? It could have happened. But summer? It didn’t take him six months to come here, did he?

First you need to call Anton - he met him.

Here we are at home. Alexander experienced slight disappointment: wooden poles with electric wires led to the log huts, but there was no sign of a telephone. And he was so hoping to call!

Alexander knocked on the door of the log house.

When she knocked, a girl of about eighteen came out, just like Alexander: not thin, not fat, with something to look at.

Sasha asked:

- Girl, I’m a little lost, can you tell me what kind of village this is?

- So Bogdanovka!

- I can’t figure out where it is - please forgive me... What area is it?

- Pinsky.

– Do you want to say that I am in Belarus?

- Yes exactly.

It looks like the girl wasn’t joking, and her speech is strange - not harsh, like the Muscovites.

The first thing that came to his mind was the Pinsk swamps. Where, from what corners of his memory did he pull this association?

– And do you have swamps here? – he specified.

“There’s a lot around,” the girl smiled for the first time during the entire conversation, “but not just swamps.” There are still rivers and lakes.

- What is the date today?

“The first of July, the tenth day of the war,” the girl became serious again, not taking her eyes off the unfamiliar guy, who had suddenly become suspicious.

He was probably shell-shocked after the explosion. The girl talks about the war, he himself cannot understand where he has gotten to.

- Month, what year are you talking about? – asked the amazed Alexander.

Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough Yuri Korchevsky

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Title: Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough

About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

Special forces are always special forces - both in the 21st century and in 1941. Having found himself in the Great Patriotic War, our contemporary “remembers his youth” and his former service in the GRU Special Forces, takes the fight against the Wehrmacht and declares a sabotage war on the invaders. He will have to derail enemy trains and blow up ammunition depots, burn tanks and armored trains, break out of encirclements and fight to the death near Smolensk. After all, saboteurs are never former! And his war is just beginning...

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Yuri Korchevsky

Special forces are always special forces. The saboteur's breakthrough

Cover illustration – Nina and Alexander Solovyov

Chapter 1. Shock

Alexander looked at his watch. Soon. It is now 16–20, the plane from Yekaterinburg is due to land in five minutes.

And almost immediately, over the speakerphone, the announcer announced: “The Tu-154 plane, flight 268 from Yekaterinburg, has landed. We ask those meeting..."

Someone tugged my hand from behind.

- Countryman, we’re going to Moscow! Inexpensive, only three pieces,” suggested the impudent taxi driver, twirling a bunch of car keys on his finger.

It seemed to him that he came to his senses quite quickly. It was just not clear where he was and why it was so light.

Special forces always. Yuri KorchevskySpetsnaz is always Spetsnaz. The saboteur's breakthrough. About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

Chapter 1. Shock

About the book “Special forces are always special forces. Breakthrough of a saboteur" Yuri Korchevsky

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