My grandfather was born in November 1906. He spent his childhood and teenage years in a town that is now called Donetsk, but was known as Yuzovka at the time. During the Civil War, every possible force involved in the conflict passed through these areas, from the Germans and the Whites to the Reds and various insurgents.
His father died of cholera in 1922, and that is all I know about him. My grandfather had three brothers, and all of them died during the coming war.
My grandfather learned to drive locomotives, joined the party, and by the late 1930s had risen to mid-level leadership positions (incidentally, he knew Brezhnev well, who worked in a neighboring city).
This is the earliest surviving photograph. Judging by my father’s age (he’s the little boy in the picture), it was taken sometime around 1932.
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There is a photo showing my grandfather as part of a group of construction pioneers at the Kryvyi Rih Metallurgical Plant, pictured alongside Kalinin, one of the leaders of the Bolshevik Party. My grandfather is second from the right in the top row, Kalinin is in the center.
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When the smell of war was in the air, my grandfather was drafted into the army as a commissar and, as part of an engineering battalion, was sent to the border near Lithuania to build defensive structures. That’s where he found himself when the war broke out.
Incidentally, his wife, my grandmother, set out to join him at his post the day before the war, on June 21, 1941, along with the children (my father and uncle), so they could be together, but as soon as they left Kryvoi Rog, they learned of the outbreak of war and turned back. From there, they were later evacuated to Central Asia, where they spent most of the war.
Here is a photo of my grandfather with his family taken before the war. The baby in the photo is my uncle.
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My grandfather retreated with the army to Leningrad, where he took part in its defense.
It should be noted that, as a political commissar, he would have been doomed to immediate execution if captured, just like communists and Jews. But he was lucky. His three brothers were not. One died defending Leningrad, another during the final days of the defense of Sevastopol in 1942, and the third died of his wounds immediately after the war.
By the way, my other grandfather died in a hospital in February 1942; the notice of his death arrived on the day his youngest son was born. No photographs of him have survived.
When the position of commissar was abolished in the army, my grandfather, like all the other commissars, was sent for retraining as a political officer. I remember reading his notes on the history of warfare as a child, starting with the Macedonian phalanx.
After completing the course, my grandfather was assigned to the troops and served as the battalion’s deputy commander for political affairs. In addition to the usual frontline duties of an officer in the sapper units, his responsibilities included propaganda and agitation work among his subordinates.
His further combat path took him through Ukraine as part of the 3rd Ukrainian Front; in 1944, he was even able to briefly visit Kryvoi Rog, where his family had by then returned from evacuation. This photo was taken right then:
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Then came the fighting in Europe. My grandfather fought his way through Romania, Hungary, Austria, and Czechoslovakia. He saw the end of the war in Prague, by then a major in a guards unit.
In the photo, soldiers are celebrating Victory Day. My grandfather is on the right, dancing:
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And this photo was taken after he returned home. My grandfather is wearing a military uniform, without epaulets. At that time, many people were forced to wear army uniforms because there wasn’t enough civilian clothing. The country’s entire effort was focused on producing military supplies.
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My grandfather died in 1976. Cancer. I was a teenager at the time. Unfortunately, I hardly asked him any questions, like all teenagers back then, I had other interests. My grandfather himself never talked about the war, except for a few episodes unrelated to combat. That’s understandable; a normal person wouldn’t tell their young children about the horrors of war. Although I did hear some things from other people later on, while I was working. Veterans were everywhere back then, and they weren’t old at all...
During the war, my grandfather was awarded two orders, here is a brief excerpt from the description of why he received one of them:
"...In combat situations, he was brave, resourceful, resolute, and proactive.
During the fighting from October 29 to November 7, 1944, comrade Kalashnikov consistently carried out his duties directly on the front lines, inspiring soldiers and officers to heroic deeds through his personal example.
On November 2, 1944, the enemy launched a counterattack with up to 30 tanks and self-propelled guns against our units in the sector where a group of sappers was mining the field. Despite the enemy’s fierce artillery and machine-gun fire, the sappers, led by comrade Kalashnikov, successfully mined the field on schedule; seven enemy tanks were destroyed by the mines laid by the sappers, and the rest turned back. This operation facilitated the advance of the corps’ units.
On numerous occasions, comrade Kalashnikov personally took part in the rout of scattered enemy groups and personally shot and killed three hungarian soldiers and one officer with his pistol..."
Here’s another photo of my grandfather holding gun, taken before the war. It’s also interesting because it shows two different submachine guns that were adopted by the Red Army. Production of these models was discontinued after the war began, as the Red Army started manufacturing the PPSh, which was easier to produce.
By the way, the man on the left also survived the war; I knew him.
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