Uncle Sasha

My grandfather, father’s father, died at the age of 47. He has a brother, Alexander. by Alexander Petrovich. The Uncle Sasha. He will be 91 years old in August.
Two years ago I went to Moscow. I stayed with Uncle Sasha. I have seen him once before. I liked the curiosity and erudition that young people can envy. I am here with him every night. He cooked dinner himself. He served himself, almost entirely. The sons helped. We drank a drink every night, and he told me something. There was a story of war.

I want to tell you a little bit.

It was a fight. The aircraft hit them. Uncle Sasha in the field. The Fascist plane looked at him and decided to shake up. He turned, walked low and, flying over him, began to shoot from the machine gun. Uncle Sasha says:
“I run, and he comes on me, I fall, and around the bullets into the ground: tum-tum-tum. As he turned, I ran away. He’s on me, I’m lying down, he’s shooting. He came in to me three times. Later the commander asks, Alexander, did you see your shine? We began to look around, and you won’t believe, the shinel on the sides was full of bullets. How he did not get into me, I don’t know.

I am heartily grateful to Uncle Sasha, a veteran of the Great Patriotic War, uncle of my father, and sincerely wish him to give us the opportunity to communicate with him.

I am deeply grateful to my grandfather and grandmother, the veterans of the Great Patriotic War, the kingdom of heaven.

I am very grateful to all those who fought for us. So that we can now live, breathe, fall in love, meet, break up, laugh, come home from work, sit in the evening in front of a cellar, or go to rest, raise children, communicate with each other, sometimes without even suspecting that all this could not have been without them.