Hero of the Great Patriotic War, Kyrgyzstani Alexander Ivanovich Romanyutin

Hero of the Soviet Union Alexander Ivanovich Romanyutin

Alexander Ivanovich Romanyutin was born in 1924 in the village of Georgievka, Kurday District, Jambyl Region of the Kazakh SSR. Russian. Member of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. In 1930, he moved with his parents to the workers' settlement of Kant in the Kyrgyz SSR. From there, in September 1942, he was drafted into the Soviet Army and sent to the Kharkov Artillery School. Senior lieutenant, commander of an anti-tank gun platoon.

He participated in battles on the Steppe, Voronezh, 1st and 2nd Belarusian, and 1st Ukrainian fronts.

On February 2, 1944, for his courage, bravery, and heroism, and for excellent performance of combat missions, Alexander Ivanovich Romanyutin was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. He participated in the Victory Parade on June 24, 1945. For his combat achievements during the Great Patriotic War, he was awarded two Orders of the Red Banner, the Order of Alexander Nevsky, the Order of the Patriotic War II class, the Order of the Red Star, and many medals.

In 1948, he was demobilized from the ranks of the Soviet Army.

A. I. Romanyutin lived and worked in Kyiv, at the Research Institute of Construction Structures of the State Construction Committee of the USSR as the head of a sector.

STOOD TO THE DEATH

Their division approached the Dnieper north of Kyiv and immediately began to cross. The commander of the platoon of 45-mm anti-tank guns, senior lieutenant Alexander Romanyutin, ordered to look for sturdy logs and tie a raft for transporting the guns to the western bank. It was the last week of September 1943.

Anyone who witnessed the crossing of the Dnieper will never forget that scene; it is still vivid in Romanyutin's memory. In the blue autumn sky, fascist planes constantly hovered, and huge columns of water rose on either side of their makeshift raft. Another bomb, another one, Alexander counted to himself. How wide the river is, it seems endless, and somewhere far ahead, the right bank is visible, where our first soldiers had already landed and where the booming gunfire began.

— Watch out, "lapti" are coming! — someone shouted from a neighboring raft.

"Lapti" refers to the enemy fighters, "Focke-Wulfs." They were nicknamed so because they fly low, just above the ground. Immediately, tracer rounds began to rain down, one after another — oh, if only we could get through!

Following the "lapti," the "musicians" appeared — "Junkers," singing in the air on one unpleasant note. And again — bomb explosions, the hissing of shrapnel, cold fountains of water.

— Just a little more, — Romanyutin encouraged his fighters.

There was no way back. Those who fell from the rafts, who jumped into the water to escape the shrapnel, all swam, some faster, some with their last strength, toward the western bank. There, where the enemy was. Where the danger was.

Finally, their raft bumped against a small sandy island overgrown with low bushes. It seemed they could catch their breath, rest. But no, Romanyutin ordered them to swim further, without stopping.

Here it was, the long-awaited right bank, and all four of them on the raft were alive and not even touched by shrapnel. The soft sand rustled under their feet — the saving land.

— Dig in immediately! — however, this order could have been unnecessary for the senior lieutenant to give. The fighters understood themselves that they needed to dig in quickly and take up defensive positions. The guns sank deep into the sand, and from the nearby explosions, the trenches collapsed, but no one paid much attention to that. They were already here, here, where they had fought for so many days — and let the fascists try to drive them out now!

In the morning, "Junkers" hovered over their positions. The loud roar of engines shook their ears, and the ground trembled from the explosions.

Not a single minute of respite.

"As long as the shrapnel doesn't break the sights," thought Romanyutin. He felt that the air raid was just a prelude to today's battle; they had to wait for the tanks. His combat experience told him so.

Romanyutin had only fought for a year, but he had already seen a lot. Behind his back, the soldiers called him "our Sasha." And he did not take offense because he was indeed young and had only recently started shaving. He was drafted as soon as he finished high school in the Kyrgyz settlement of Kant, not far from the capital of the republic, Frunze. Sasha studied at the artillery school for six months and, donning new lieutenant epaulettes, arrived at the Voronezh front.

All summer, fierce battles raged, opening the way for rapid offensive operations. Our main forces were there, on the opposite bank, and here they had to hold their positions until they arrived. But how long could they hold out — a day, two, a week? Who could answer them this difficult but most important question? They only knew: there was no land behind them.

And the iron crackling hung in the air, drowning out other sounds. Romanyutin peeked out from the trench — the entire space ahead was covered in black smoke. Someone shouted from the left: "Tanks!" — and that cry drowned in the roar of airplanes.

"Has it already begun?" — thought Alexander. Now he saw tanks in the gaps of smoke. They swayed heavily over the uneven ground, moving in a triangle, the tip of which seemed to pierce into our defenses and split them in two.

— Guns to battle! — commanded Romanyutin.

The fighters tore the covers off the breeches, dragged boxes of armor-piercing shells closer so that when "this" began, they wouldn't waste time.

— Sight twelve... Armor-piercing... Fire! — Alexander himself could barely hear the words of his command, but they understood him. After the first shot, the tanks moved as if there was nothing and no one in front of them. Another shot — and again it missed.

— Fire... Fire! — commanded Alexander.

The front tank suddenly stopped, as if it had hit some invisible barrier, and clumsily began to turn in place — bright flames ran over it.

— Aha, got one! — Alexander couldn't help but exclaim joyfully. — Come on, guys! Fire!

Our machine guns opened fire from the flanks. They shot at the enemy infantry following the tanks, taking cover behind their armor. Enemy soldiers lay down, waiting for reinforcements. Then they would get up and run forward, and again they were stopped by artillery and machine-gun fire. That day, our artillerymen repelled ten furious attacks.

And suddenly the gun fell silent: two crew members were killed, and the others were wounded. Romanyutin ran up to the gun, crouched behind the shield. He fired direct fire, sending one shell after another to where the enemy was advancing.

Explosions billowed, an enemy shell hit the gun. It stunned him, pushed him aside, but he did not feel pain. Alexander was completely caught up in the chaos of battle; he saw that the fascists were beginning to retreat and that they could not be given a moment's rest now.

— Forward, for the Motherland! — commanded Romanyutin and rushed forward. Immediately, the soldiers rose behind him. The clash was fierce and short — the enemy could not withstand it and fled. In that battle, senior lieutenant Romanyutin personally destroyed ten fascists.

The day was drawing to a close. Crimson smoke lay before their positions, three enemy tanks remained on the battlefield with torn tracks, and the fire lazily licked at their iron carcasses.

Sasha wiped the sweat from his brow. It was necessary to count the survivors and prepare for the next day.

For this battle, for his displayed courage and heroism, senior lieutenant Alexander Ivanovich Romanyutin was awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.

Later, after the liberation of Kyiv, he and his battery marched west, and in early spring 1944, he participated in the defeat of the Korsun-Shevchenkovsky grouping of the Nazis. There, Alexander was seriously wounded, and for several months he ended up in the hospital. He lay there, recovering, envious of his guys who were fighting the enemy on his territory; he couldn't wait for the hour when he would return to the front lines.

He made it in time. In May 1945, Romanyutin commanded a battery and met Victory Day near Berlin, in the troops of the renowned commander Marshal of the Soviet Union K. K. Rokossovsky.

The twenty-year-old artillery officer had seen many cities, but he had not yet been to Moscow. And then Romanyutin was called to the unit headquarters and told: "You are going to Moscow to participate in the Victory Parade!"

Days of training began, and on June 24, he marched across Red Square as part of the combined regiment of the 2nd Belarusian Front. For this solemn hour, the boy from the workers' settlement of Kant fought against the hated enemy, defeated the fascists, shed his blood — and won.

Now Alexander Ivanovich lives in Kyiv, often visiting young warriors. He loves to stand on the high bank of the Dnieper, where the Museum of the Great Patriotic War has been established, where, like living beings, stone-carved Soviet soldiers cross the mighty Dnieper. He looks and remembers himself as a young man and that terrible battle when they had to stand to the death — and they held firm.

In May, the chestnuts bloom on the streets of Kyiv. Lilac gardens are in full bloom. And over the Dnieper, as a reminder to all the living, the Eternal Flame flickers in the light wind — the flame of our passionate hearts.

V. NIKSDORF