Hero of the Great Patriotic War, Kyrgyzstani Pyotr Fedoseevich Kolesnikov

Hero of the Soviet Union Kolessnikov Pyotr Fedoseevich

Pyotr Fedoseevich Kolessnikov was born in 1922 in the village of Semenovka, Issyk-Kul region, Kyrgyz SSR, into a peasant family. He was Russian. A member of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. He served in the Soviet Army from October 1942. Lieutenant. Commander of a battery of a self-propelled artillery regiment.

He participated in the Great Patriotic War as part of the 1st Ukrainian and 1st Belorussian fronts. His combat feats were recognized by the Motherland with the Order of the Patriotic War 1st class and two Orders of the Red Star.

On February 27, 1945, for courage, bravery, and heroism, he was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

A secondary school in the village of Semenovka, Issyk-Kul region, is named after Pyotr Fedoseevich Kolessnikov, and a corner of military glory dedicated to the Hero is arranged there; a pioneer detachment is named in his honor.

THE SELF-PROPELLED GUNS GO INTO BATTLE

The self-propelled artillery unit of junior lieutenant Pyotr Kolessnikov was preparing for battle. The task set by the regiment commander was as follows: a rapid march to the area of the village of Shuravtsy and to engage in battle immediately upon arrival.

Here, on the Lviv direction, in July forty-four, fierce battles were fought. Breaking through the first line of enemy defenses, our troops reached the second, no less powerful line, which the fascists called the "Prince Eugen" line. Intense fighting ensued, with the Germans deploying their armored forces against our advancing units. In some areas, up to 200 enemy tanks participated in the battles. It was necessary to overcome the enemy's resistance and immediately introduce the First Guards Tank Army into the breakthrough. The self-propelled guns followed closely behind the tankers.

Pyotr put on his headset, set the radio frequency, turned on the transmitter, and began to call the commander of the neighboring self-propelled unit.

— “Yasen”, “Yasen”, do you hear me? I’m giving the setup. One, two, three...

In the headphones, he heard the familiar, slightly hoarse voice of junior lieutenant Alexei Selifanov. They had arrived at this self-propelled artillery regiment together in October forty-three. Pyotr was from the Kyrgyz village of Semenovka, located on the northern shore of Issyk-Kul, and Alexei was from Chelyabinsk. They became friends, fought together long enough to have smelled gunpowder and gotten to know each other well. In battle, they tried to stay close to each other as much as possible — after all, one platoon could face unexpected situations, and it was safer with a reliable comrade.

— “Sosna”, we are ready. How about you?

— We are waiting for the signal, — replied Pyotr.

The crew had prepared in advance for the march.

Driver-mechanic Syrcov and gunner Kravchenko did everything they could to ensure the vehicle was in order and clean. Pyotr did not like disorder or sloppiness. He respected his self-propelled unit, and there had never been a case where the engine stalled or the track accidentally broke down in a critical situation.

Today, it seemed, a serious test awaited them. And then the engines roared, the column moved, and, gaining speed, rushed down the dirt road. They passed by villages where the traces of fires were evident everywhere.

Shells had left gaping holes in the walls of houses, and sometimes where a house used to stand, there was a pile of straw mixed with clay.

At the edge of a small forest, our tankers destroyed a fascist column. Broken and burned vehicles, carts, and the corpses of people and horses lay scattered everywhere. And against the backdrop of this merciless war scene, young birches rustled cheerfully in the wind, and bluebells bloomed in the green grass.

The sharp contrast between the tranquility of nature and the brutality of war somehow stirred Pyotr. He remembered the familiar Semenov gorge from his childhood, along which a river flowed peacefully, and on the slopes stood sprawling fir trees, and he thought that he and his comrades had grown unaccustomed to familiar concepts, and that the war imposed on them by the fascists was to blame. He caught himself thinking that he would no longer simply say “river,” but only “water barrier,” and if he saw a solitary oak by the road, he would not admire it, but involuntarily note to himself — “good landmark.”

The self-propelled guns burst onto a wide field. Where the road climbed a hill, stationary tanks loomed darkly.

— Slow down, Mikhail, — said Kolessnikov. — Could it be ours? — He brought the binoculars to his eyes and did not lower them for a long time. Indeed, ahead, three burned-out T-34s were visible.

Other self-propelled units also stopped. What awaited them there?

The junior lieutenant descended into the vehicle and turned on the radio. In the headphones of his headset, he heard the command: “Forward!”

The self-propelled guns moved towards the hill. Closer and closer, less than a kilometer remained, and then enemy “Ferdinands,” anti-tank guns, opened fire. One self-propelled gun caught fire, then another...

— Well, here we go, — thought Pyotr and gave the command to fire.

— Where to, commander? — Kravchenko asked in surprise.

— Straight ahead. Aim eight hundred.

— Fire! — shouted the gunner.

The gun roared, and the shell casing flew out with a crash.

Loader Skorik immediately rammed a new shell.

— Fire!

The gun roared again, and acrid yellowish smoke filled the air.

— “Yasen”, “Yasen”, do as I do, — Pyotr transmitted to Selifanov over the radio and ordered Syrcov: “Come on, shift to third gear and zigzag!”

Two self-propelled units broke away from the main formation and raced forward, throwing their iron bodies left and right, trying to evade enemy fire.

Only a short distance remained to the positions of the enemy artillery, perhaps two hundred meters — and then the nerves of the fascists gave way, and they began to flee.

After the battle, the regiment commander, Colonel Melnikov, called Kolessnikov to him: “What’s this — are you out of your mind? What if you had been shot at point-blank range?” — But he immediately smiled: “Winners are not judged!” And he embraced Pyotr.

He too had survived a lot in this not-so-long battle, and while counting the burned self-propelled guns with annoyance, he could not help but admire the daring boldness of the junior lieutenant. Did he act recklessly? Of course. But he acted quickly and bravely.

He accomplished his task and helped other crews. A good job, in short. Deserving of a high award. Soon, the Order of the Patriotic War 1st class shone on Pyotr Kolessnikov's chest.

That summer, they faced various difficult situations. In August, they fought on the Sandomierz direction, occupying a small bridgehead — three tanks, six self-propelled guns, and an infantry company. Ahead — the enemy, behind — a river, and they had to hold on until the main forces arrived. Fascist bombers swooped in, the ground shook from explosions, and deadly metal fragments flew everywhere.

Kolessnikov and his crew took cover in a trench they had dug under the self-propelled gun. They seemed to be protected, but at any moment a bomb could hit the vehicle directly. The “Junkers” howled, searching for targets like predatory vultures. This bomb fell to the left, but where would the next one land...

And then Pyotr had a flash of inspiration. In a moment of terrible danger, a brave person’s will and mind are stretched to the limit, and suddenly, in a fraction of a second, the only correct decision comes.

Kolessnikov lit a smoke grenade and placed it on the armor of the vehicle. A black, swirling trail of smoke rose to the sky. Meanwhile, the “Junker” dived again but rushed past. Perhaps the pilot decided that he had already shot down this smoking self-propelled gun and did not need to waste an extra bomb on it. Pyotr's ingenuity was used by the commanders of the other crews, and now the entire position was engulfed in smoke — and the enemy planes, swaying their wings, flew west.

When the fascist machine gunners launched their attack, they were unexpectedly met with a powerful fire from our combat vehicles. The Germans, disconcerted by this turn of events, were forced to retreat. And a few days later, the small bridgehead became the very starting point from which our new major offensive began.

In January 1945, the troops of the 1st Belorussian Front were preparing for the decisive assault on the enemy's fortifications south of Warsaw. Here, the fascists had built a defense system, layered up to 20 kilometers deep. It consisted of a series of trenches with extensive communication routes, pillboxes, and bunkers. Wide minefields, various engineering structures, anti-tank ditches, and obstacles on the roads hindered the advance of our troops.

The offensive began on a cloudy morning, January 14. For over an hour, our guns delivered devastating fire, and following the barrage, the infantry advanced. The enemy's defense was breached. The regiment in which Pyotr Kolessnikov served advanced in the direction of the main strike.

In the deep of night, the commander of the self-propelled units called for the commanders. Colonel Melnikov spread out a map.

— Our task is as follows, — he said. — Acting in the advance detachment, enter the breakthrough and, making a dash into the enemy's rear, reach the Pilica River, cross it on the run, cut off the main grouping of the enemy at the defensive line of the Vistula, and not allow the fascists to retreat westward.

Three days of continuous battles ensued, covering about 80 kilometers, but the main difficulties lay ahead. On the banks of the Pilica, the self-propelled units spotted enemy sappers. They were working feverishly, building new firing points, and apparently did not expect to see our advance units so soon. With accurate fire, the fascists were scattered, but there was no bridge for crossing. The Pilica here was shallow, and the 20-centimeter ice would hardly withstand heavy equipment, so they decided to cross the river by the bottom. Under hurricane fire, our sappers blew up the ice — and now the first self-propelled unit, commanded by Kolessnikov, sank into the water. Cold water seeped into the combat compartment through the cracks, but then the lieutenant felt solid ground, the self-propelled gun climbed heavily onto the bank, and immediately opened aimed fire.

In the early morning of January 17, a fierce battle erupted. The fascists, sensing they might end up in a “cauldron,” concentrated a powerful armored fist and attempted to break through. In the darkness, it was difficult to distinguish where their own vehicles were and where the enemy's were. And here Kolessnikov again showed ingenuity. Approaching a tank or armored vehicle closely, he unexpectedly illuminated them with the headlights, and if he saw the enemy — he fired at point-blank range. Later, it was counted that in this battle his crew destroyed 7 tanks and 3 armored vehicles.

But the self-propelled units were not spared either. In the heat of battle, a deafening roar erupted from the front of the vehicle.

The self-propelled gun jerked back, engulfed in smoke.

— We’re burning! Jump out!

Syrcov opened the hatch, and they tumbled out of the burning vehicle one by one. Pyotr was the last to leave the self-propelled gun — and immediately felt that he was wounded. Something heavy struck him on the head and knocked him into the snow. He drew his pistol from its holster and shouted to his men to move right, towards the forest, and take positions there.

The lieutenant's strength was fading. And then a new shell explosion occurred, this time a fragment hit him. He managed to rise, took a step — and fell. The loader and gunner carried the heavily wounded lieutenant out of the battle. Their commander never regained consciousness. In the field hospital, he underwent surgery, but even doctors cannot always overcome death...

Pyotr Fedoseevich Kolessnikov never learned that he had been nominated for the high title of Hero of the Soviet Union. The decree of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR was published in the central newspapers on February 28, and a month earlier, his comrades had saluted at his grave with a farewell volley.

In the Glory Museum, created by the students of Semenov Secondary School, one of the stands is dedicated to the brave fellow countryman.

His mother passed away, and three brothers heroically died at the front. Only a photograph remained, showing Pyotr with his combat friend Alexei Selifanov. And the inscription on the back: “Dear Mommy! Remember and do not forget.

The golden time will come, we will meet again, Mom.”

A simple boyish face, slightly squinting eyes — and nothing, at first glance, heroic. But did he himself feel like a Hero?

And far from Kyrgyz land, in the Polish city of Lowicz, every spring bright living flowers are laid on the grave of Hero of the Soviet Union P. F. Kolessnikov. No one is forgotten — and nothing is forgotten.

V. NIKSDORF