Last Witnesses : An Oral History of the Children of World War II

“THEY CARRIED ME TO THE UNIT IN THEIR ARMS…I WAS ALL ONE BRUISE FROM HEAD TO FOOT…”

Volodia Ampilogov TEN YEARS OLD. NOW A LOCKSMITH.

I’m ten years old, exactly ten years old…And it’s war. That bastardly war!

I was playing hide-and-seek in the yard with the boys. A big truck drove into the yard, German soldiers leaped out of it, began to catch us and throw us into the back under the canvas. They brought us to the railway station. The truck backed up to the freight car, and they threw us in like sacks. Onto the straw.

The car was so full that at first we could only stand. There were no adults, only children and adolescents. For two days and two nights we were driven with the doors shut, we didn’t see anything, and only heard the wheels knocking against the rails. During the day some light came through the cracks, but during the night we were so frightened we all cried: we were being taken somewhere far away, and our parents didn’t know where we were. On the third day the door opened, and a soldier threw in several loaves of bread. Those who were close managed to snatch some, and swallowed the bread instantly. I was at the far end from the door and didn’t see the bread, I only thought I smelled bread for a moment when I heard the shout: “Bread!” Just the smell of it.

I don’t remember how many days we were on the road…But we couldn’t breathe anymore, because there was no toilet in this car. So for number one and number two…The train was bombarded…the roof was blown off our car. I wasn’t alone, I was with my buddy Grishka; he was ten like me, and before the war we had been in the same class. From the first moments of the bombing, we held on to each other, so as not to get lost. When the roof was blown off, we decided to climb out of the car through the top and escape. Escape! It was clear by then that we were being taken to the west. To Germany.

It was dark in the forest, and we kept turning to look—our train was burning, it was all a big bonfire. High flames. We walked all night. By morning we came upon some village, but there was no village. Instead of the houses…it was the first time I saw it: only black stoves stood there. There was low fog…We walked as if in a cemetery…among black monuments…We looked for something to eat, but the stoves stood empty and cold…We walked on and on…Grisha suddenly fell down and died; his heart stopped. I sat over him all night waiting for morning. In the morning I dug a hole in the sand with my hands and buried Grisha. I wanted to remember the spot, but how could I remember it if everything around was unfamiliar?

I walk along feeling dizzy from hunger. Suddenly I hear, “Stop! Where are you going, boy?” I asked, “Who are you?” “We’re Russians,” they say, “partisans.” From them I learned that I was in the Vitebsk region, and so I wound up in the Alexeevsky partisan brigade…

When I got a little stronger, I started asking to fight. They joked in response and sent me to help in the kitchen. But then a chance came…Such a chance…Scouts had been sent three times to a railway station and had never come back. After the third time, our commander lined us all up and said, “I can’t send anybody for a fourth time. Only volunteers will go…”

I stood in the second row and when I heard, “Are there any volunteers?” I raised my hand like at school. I had a long jacket on, the sleeves hung to the ground. I raised my hand, but it wasn’t seen, because of the hanging sleeves, and I couldn’t get out of them.

The commander ordered, “Volunteers, step forward.”

I stepped forward.

“Dear boy…” the commander said to me. “Dear boy…”

They gave me a little bag and an old hat with one ear flap torn off.

As soon as I came out on the high road, I had the feeling that I was being watched. I looked around—no one was there. Then I noticed three thick bushy pines. I cautiously took a better look at them and saw German snipers sitting in them. They would “skim off” anyone who came out of the forest. But when a boy appeared at the edge carrying a little bag, they didn’t touch him.

I returned to the unit and reported to the commander that German snipers were sitting in the pine trees. During the night we took them without a single shot and brought them to the unit alive. That was my first scout mission…

At the end of 1943…SS soldiers caught me in the village of Old Chelnyshki, Beshenkovichi district…They beat me with ramrods. With their feet in iron-shod boots. Hard as stone…After torturing me, they dragged me outside and poured water on me. It was winter, and I was covered by a bloody crust of ice. I couldn’t figure what the hammering was I heard above me. They were building a gallows. I saw it when they picked me up and put me on a block of wood. The last thing I remember? The smell of fresh wood…A living smell…

The noose tightened, but they had time to tear it off…There were partisans in ambush. When I regained consciousness, I recognized our doctor. “Two more seconds—and that’s it, I wouldn’t have been able to save you,” he said. “You’re lucky to be alive, dear boy.”

They carried me to the unit in their arms. I was all one bruise from head to foot. I hurt so badly that I wondered: will I ever grow up?