Table Of Content

PROGRESS SOVIET AUTHORS LIBRARY BORIS POLEVOI A STORY ABOUT A REAL MAN EH PROGRESS PUBLISHERS MOSCOW REQUEST TO READERS Progress Publishers 'would be glad to have your opinion of this book, its translation and design and any suggestions you may have for the future publications. Please send all your comments to 21, Zubovsky Boulevard, Moscow, USSR Translated from the Russian by the late Joe Fineberg Edited by David Skvirsky Illustrated by Nikolai Zhukov B. IJoAeeoiL FloeecTb o nacTOHtqeM HenoeeKe Ha aHSJiu uckom H3biKe First printing 1949 \ ^ j Second printing 195& * ' Third revised edition 1957 Fourth printing 1967 Fifth printing 1973 Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics CONTENTS About the Author.* . . , 7 Author’s Note. 9 Part One. 17 Part Two.102 Part Three. 203 Part Four.. * !.283 Postscript.* . . . 334 ABOUT THE AUTHOR By Hero of the Soviet Union ALEXEI MARESYEV I met Boris Polevoi in the summer of 1943. Fierce fighting- was raging in the Kursk Salient, and my regiment was committed to the battle. We flew several missions every day. One evening I returned from a mission tired, hungry, with my thoughts on what I would order at the canteen. As I climbed out of the cockpit I saw a stranger with a group of airmen, who were pointing in my direc¬ tion. “What a bore. Another correspondent,” I thought, sighing and hurrying off to the canteen as fast as I could make it. The stranger quickly overtook me and introduced himself saying: “Pm Boris Polevoi, Pravda war corres¬ pondent.” I remember seeing the name in Pravda but for the life of me I could not recall what he wrote about. However, I took an instant liking to him. He was quick, impetuous and simple, and there was a smile in his eyes. I invited him to my dugout and we sat talking for a long time. Polevoi filled several notebooks, and still the ques¬ tions came. Dawn was breaking when he was ready to go. Before leaving he said: “I’ll give this a write-up, Alexei. Definitely. I can’t say how exactly but I’ll cer¬ tainly write the story.” In the morning we were back in the thick of the battle. One mission followed another, and I soon forgot about the Pravda correspondent. To be more exact, I kept com¬ ing across his name in the newspapers. And I liked the people he wrote about. But these were meetings only on the pages of newspapers. One day in 1947, I don’t remember the exact date, I switched on the radio and heard the announcer ending a broadcast with the words: “You can hear the next instalment of Boris Polevoi’s A Story About a Real Man at nine o’clock tomorrow.” In my mind’s eye I at once