Kostya Frolov Biography

Forty -first.

The house broken by shells. Uneven lines on the wall. As you can see, with a bayonet. From the weapon only a nagan. I will die, but I will not give up! How often we met the inscriptions of our soldiers! And now - forty -fifth! The victorious, prophetic year! To the German borders, we walked recklessly forward! And our guys, like the Knights of ancient epics, entered the defeated Berlin on the wings of victories!

Our Russian heroic soldier, without reducing his step, hoisted the victorious banner in battle on the Reichstag! You carefully came out from the desk, despising everything except banknotes. You, as before, are combined into cohorts against a Russian bear. Are you longing for war, once again dreaming of victory? You will sneak to us, like a tattoo in the night, mumbled: “The winners are not judged!

And if suddenly the Lord does not bring! Some kind of madman will give the order to turn the living flesh in the ruins of the former squares and streets into the ashes, a thousand missiles will be shot at once, and the white light will fade in horror, sweeping away by a monstrous wave. Do not hide behind a stone wall, do not crawl into an underground dwelling ...

Yes, we will die. But the whole ball of the earth will instantly turn into ashes. And we, wearing our ceremonial uniform, the last question will ask the Messiah: - Tell me, why do we need this world, since there will be no place for Russia in it? No catch and secret -painting between the lines. Only concepts do not need to be confused - Europe and the West. We are also Europe, but the one who looks east.

And requests, threats, calls, and advice are meaningless. Between us are an impregnable wall of the coffin. For the West with the East is two worlds, two different planets, two everyday ways and two dissimilar fate. Compassion for our neighbor is familiar to us from birth. Our souls sob when someone is dying in the fire. How many times we came to the rescue to our neighbors, and in response we received an unreasonable anger.

Well, and the German, Austrian, Pole, Frenchman and Swede, my answer, unequivocal, should be clear quite: why did Europe forget the victory so quickly? Because she lost in that terrible war. Russia has its own, not subject to the world, charisma, its invisible Olympus and its own in the skies of the star. In the forty -fifth year, we saved Europe from fascism. And she will never forgive such a shame.

When we asked for the heaven about the miracle, to snuggle up to Russia with a wounded heart. He was, this fairy-tale invisible bridge. And each of us saw him through the haze. The same openwork, as beautiful as our hearts, he reached for Russia. And time came - we are tired of being afraid. And the invisible bridge suddenly began to manifest! From the Crimea to Taman, mighty piles pierced from the edge to the edge.

Heavy blocks crawled along them - the basis of the basics of the first -class road. And, as by Christmas, dear gifts, our bridge was crowned with openwork arches. He was, this bridge, in our thoughts of rebellious, as a symbol of the last, sacred hope. He is suffered and drawn on the tablets. Ask the inhabitants of Kerch about this! It seemed a hundred years to wait. But let justice triumph in centuries!

We are tied tightly by fate. I will be guaranteed - the bridge between Russia and the Crimea! Everyone who admitted love to us always betrayed us. Their vows are empty and naive, like a children's whistle. And why love us? For a wide Russian soul? For confidence that good is dominated in the world? The fact that you do not dare to violate this word in life, even if someone is pushing you under the rib?

Well, why love us? For our vast expanses, where the whole European route would easily fit, where lakes and rivers, forests, oceans and mountains; Where do the most delicious, soul cooked with the soul is baked? Even our dear neighbors will not love us! Even those that our threshold were offended. Those who pity the handful of silver or copper plaintively, but dreamed of sharing our Russian pie on equal terms.

It is time for us to realize that the time of handouts has ended, that it is impossible to play like a greed for this eagerly. We must protect the strength! You have to rally tightly! Otherwise, if we drown, no one will extend our hands! We are already torn into miserable, small shreds. And scars oozed with priceless Russian blood. All to the fact that there will be no rest in the afternoon or night.

Perhaps only fools are doubted in this. The war is forgotten. Again, the slogans of the bold bravado, and from the torch marches of the Nazis, a carbon monoxide. Even those whom grandfathers saved from the pitch hell are defiled by holy graves and eternal light. Well, God is the judge for them! We have seen just a century. Our memory is pierced by pain, as saved on blood. We need to be friends with us.

We have not betrayed anyone yet. We do not have to love us. We can do without your love.