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In November 1919 frosts alternated with thaws and frequent long rains. The victorious offensive of the White army choked, and began a slow painful retreat with continuous battles. All day long, in the dreary drizzling rain, there was a battle like this rain, long and exhausting, without a decisive attack and without hope to win. It tired and demoralized soldiers and officers. At nightfall, the army would break away from the enemy and move further South. We would spend the night without undressing, very crowded to quickly get up and gather in the event of a sudden attack. All this was extremely exhausting for men and horses. Tired soldiers, as soon as they entered a warm house, immediately fell asleep, they did not have the strength to feed and unsaddle the horses, on whose condition depended our ability to move on.115 At first sign of dawn, the enemy would appear and the endless and tedious battle would go on until dark. All this went on day after day, day after day...
Since mid-December, the weather turned to severe frosts almost without snow. The roads were frozen, there was no dirt, we walked like on the parquet. The retreat became continuous, the fighting stopped, and the retreat became a true flight. We stopped only twice a day to feed the horses. Slept on the go. From cold, fatigue and the moonlight people started to have hallucinations. One night in the loose snow, broken by the hooves of thousands of horses, Boris saw countless armfuls of white roses. He rode, swaying in his saddle, struggling with slumber, and thought of what awaited them all. This retreat – will it ever end, or the White Army, retreating step by step, day by day, leaving behind one after another cities and villages, will leave Russia forever, will go to a foreign land and dissolve, disappear without a trace among foreign peoples, as if it never was, as if there was no heroism and betrayal, dedication of soldiers and officers, General’s ambitions, as if there was no attempt to save the Homeland – Homeland, which did not want to understand and accept its saviors, Homeland, which bids them farewell with phantom moon roses, Homeland, which each of them loves and to which forgives everything...
Natalija Tankova
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V noяbre devяtnadcatogo goda morozы čeredovalisь s ottepelяmi i častыmi zatяžnыmi doždяmi. Pobedonosnoe nastuplenie Beloй armii zahlebnulosь, i načalsя medlennый mučitelьnый othod s neprerыvnыmi boяmi. Vesь denь pod unыlыm morosящim doždem šel boй, takoй že kak эtot doždь, dolgiй i izmatыvaющiй, bez rešitelьnoй ataki i bez nadeždы pobeditь. Эto utomlяlo i demoralizovalo soldat i oficerov. Kak tolьko temnelo, armiя otrыvalasь ot protivnika i othodila dalьše na юg. Nočevali, ne razdevaяsь, očenь skučenno, čtobы bыstro sobratьsя v slučae vnezapnogo napadeniя. Vse эto neobыčaйno iznurяlo lюdeй i lošadeй. Ustalыe soldatы, edva voйdя v teplo, tut že zasыpali, u nih ne bыlo sil dlя togo, čtobы nakormitь i rassedlatь lošadeй, a vedь ot ih sostoяniя zavisela vozmožnostь dvigatьsя dalьše. Edva svetalo, poяvlяlsя protivnik i snova zavяzыvalsя beskonečnый i nudnый boй do temnotы. I tak denь za dnem, denь za dnem...
S seredinы dekabrя ustanovilisь žestokie morozы počti bez snega. Dorogi zamerzli, grяzi ne bыlo, šli kak po parketu. Otstuplenie stalo neprerыvnыm, boi prekratilisь, načalosь nastoящee bezostanovočnoe begstvo. Ostanavlivalisь tolьko dva raza v sutki, čtobы nakormitь lošadeй. Spali na hodu. Ot holoda, ustalosti i lunnogo sveta u lюdeй načalisь gallюcinacii. Odnaždы nočью v rыhlom snegu, razbitom kopыtami tыsяč lošadeй, Boris uvidel besčislennыe ohapki belыh roz. On ehal, pokačivaяsь v sedle, borяsь s dremotoй, i dumal o tom, čto ždet ih vseh. Эto otstuplenie – zakončitsя li ono kogdanibudь, ili Belaя Armiя, otstupaя šag za šagom, denь za dnem, ostavlяя pozadi odin za drugim goroda i sela, pokinet Rossiю navsegda, uйdet na čužbinu i rastvoritsя, isčeznet bez sleda sredi čuždыh narodov, slovno ee nikogda ne bыlo, slovno ne bыlo geroizma i predatelьstva, samootveržennosti soldat i oficerov, generalьskih ambiciй, slovno ne bыlo popыtki spasti Rodinu – Rodinu, kotoraя ne zahotela ponяtь i prinяtь svoih spasiteleй, Rodinu, kotoraя darit im na proщanie ohapki prizračnыh lunnыh roz, Rodinu, kotoruю každый ih nih beskonečno lюbit i proщaet eй vse...
Nataliя Tankova
Biografija
Natalija Tankova je pisac, autor velikog broja detektivskih, akcionih i istorijskih romana koje su objavile najveće izdavačke kuće u Rusiji. Član je Saveza pisaca iz Sankt Peterburga i Saveza ruskih pisaca.
Njene knjige imaju ukupan tiraž od preko osam miliona primeraka, od kojih su dve prevedene na francuski i objavljene u Francuskoj. Na osnovu njih je snimljeno nekoliko televizijskih serija.
Živi u Sankt Peterburgu.
