Mozdok steppe. There is a war with fascist Germany. I am a fighter, mortar man. I am a Muscovite, I am eighteen years old, the second day on the front line, a month in the army, and I bring the regiment commander a “very responsible package”. Where this commander is is not known. And for failure to complete the assignment - execution. Someone pulls me into the trench by force. They explain that another hundred meters, and I would run into the Germans. They lead me to the regiment commander. He reads the report and asks to give it to my commander, so that he no longer sends such reports. I dream about how I will come back, report back, get some hot tea, sleep - now I have the right. In our battery, Sashka Zolotarev, Kolya Grinchenko, Shongin, Gurgenidze, platoon commander - junior lieutenant Karpov. Kolya Grinchenko, no matter what he says, always "charmingly smiles." Shongin is an "old soldier." He served in all armies during all wars, but he never fired, he was never wounded. Gurgenidze is a small Georgian; a drop is always hanging on his nose.

Yesterday Nina came, “a beautiful signalman,” she is married. “And you are still a little thing, right?” She asked. Will Nina come today or not?

Here she comes, next to her is an unfamiliar signalman. Suddenly in the distance a gap. Someone screams: "Lie down!" I see how Nina slowly rises from the dirty snow, and she, the other, lies motionless. This is our first mine.

I have lost a spoon. There is nothing. I eat porridge with a sliver. We are going on the offensive. "What is up with your palms?" - asks the foreman. My palms are in blood. “It's from mine crates,” says Shongin.

Sasha Zolotarev makes nicks on a stick in memory of the dead. There is no more space left on the stick.

I come to the regiment headquarters. “And you have good eyes,” says Nina. From these words, wings grow behind me. “I’ll come to you tomorrow, I like you,” I say. “Many people like me, because there is no one except me,” she replies. We are changing positions. We are going by car. It is snowing in half with rain. Night. We stop and knock on some hut. The hostess lets us in. Everyone goes to bed. “Climb to me,” a quiet voice says from the stove. "And who are you?" I ask. "Maria Andreevna." She was sixteen years. “Come closer,” she says. “Let go,” I say. "Well, go to your shop, since you are close with people." The next day hurts Gurgenidze. “Come on,” he smiles sadly. He is sent to the hospital.

Sashka Zolotarev finds out that there are cars with cereals nearby, and the drivers are sleeping. “It would be nice for us to pour out a pot,” Sashka says and leaves for the cars. The next day, the battalion commander scolds Sasha for theft. I say that Sashka handed out to everyone, and I myself think where he was, this battalion commander, when we took the first battle under state farm No. 3. At school, he fed on the regime. I recall how at the last Komsomol meeting, when the boys vowed one by one to die for their homeland, Zhenya, whom I loved then, said: “I feel sorry for you, boys. The war needs silent, gloomy soldiers. No need to make noise. ” - "And you?" Someone shouted. "I'll go too. Just I won’t scream and crucify. ”

We - Karpov, foreman, Sashka Zolotarev and I - go to the army base for mortars. We ride in a half. On the way we meet a girl in uniform of foreman. Her name is Masha. She asks to give her a lift to the rear. We stop for the night in the village. The mistress of our house is very similar to my mother. She feeds us a pie from our crackers, pours alcohol to keep us warm. We go to bed. In the morning we get into the car.

We are returning to the division headquarters. I meet Nina. “Have you come to visit?” She asks. “I was looking for you,” I reply. “Oh, my dear ... Here is a real friend. I haven’t forgotten, then? ” She says. We have lunch with Nina in the headquarters dining room. We are talking about what happened before the war, that in the middle of the war we have a meeting, that I will wait for her letters. We exit the dining room. I touch her shoulder. She tenderly withdraws my hand. “Don't,” she says, “that's better.” She kisses my forehead and runs into a blizzard.

We get an American armored personnel carrier. We ride it and carry a barrel of wine - for the whole battery. We decide to try the wine. It pours into the pots along the hose for gasoline and smells of gasoline. After drinking, Sasha Zolotarev begins to cry and remember his Claudia. The car goes forward. A figure is running towards us. This is a soldier. He says that "the guys were beaten with bullets," seven. Two survived. We help them bury the dead.

There is a battle. Suddenly, it hits me in the side, but I'm alive, only in the mouth of the earth. They didn’t kill me, they killed Shongin. Sasha brings a bunch of German aluminum spoons, but for some reason I can’t eat them.

“Rama indulges,” says Kolya. I feel pain in my leg, left hip in the blood. It hurt me! How so - not a fight, nothing. I'm being taken to medical battalion. My sister asks me for documents. I take them out of my pocket. Following them drops a spoon. A Shongin is scratched on it. And when did I manage to pick her up? Here is the memory of Shongin. New wounded are brought into the hut. One of them is evil, from a mortar. He says that all of us are killed: Kolya, Sasha, and the battalion commander. He was left alone. “You're lying,” I scream. “He's lying,” someone says. “Don’t listen,” the sister says. “He's not in himself.” “Our people are moving forward,” I say. I want to cry and not grief. Cry You have a harmless wound, schoolboy. You will still live.