I am Alexei Vasilyevich, my last name was Priemyshev, which I inherited from my dad. But he went missing in 1937, and my family changed our last name to Georgiev. We didn't actually know what happened with my father, one day he just disappeared and no one could ever tell us anything. It's a long story, my mom, and later myself, spent years trying to find a trace of him... But we found nothing. I never believed that my father could leave us like that, and the circumstances of his disappearance were very mysterious.
I grew up in Kirilov, where all my ancestors came from, it's in the Leningrad Region. After dad disappeared, my family was forced to relocate to Kirov, where my mom got a job in the garage. When the war broke out, the Germans were advancing very quickly, and we were evacuated along with the others to the east. My family ended up in a village called Khalturino, and my mom got a job at the local school as a cleaner. I was studying in that same school. Life was poor, to say the least; we barely had anything to wear and we were very happy when we had something substantial to eat. Nevertheless the locals were understanding and we felt welcomed. And when I look back on all those years, I still think that I had a happy childhood.
As the front line was moving eastward with the Nazis advancing, we had to move again. This time we got evacuated to a city called Gorky, it's called Nizhny Novgorod now. My mom found a job in the hospital. I think she took up some courses to become a nurse and began working in that hospital. I finished the eighth grade and started my technical education when I was 14 years old. The war meanwhile changed its course, and we were kicking Germans' ass.
In 1944, the hospital where my mom was working was ordered to be transformed into a field hospital and to be moved all the way to the Carpathian mountains, to the front lines. So we were called to move as well. The trip took a whole month. On the way there I saw total destruction - cities and villages turned into rubble, burned-out railway stations, true horror. By the time we got to Western Ukraine I turned 17, which was the draft age. We arrived on December 5, 1944, and on that day the hospital warden offered to enlist me as a hospital aide. He said to me, "Just stay with your mother. And after the victory is ours, I'll give you a good recommendation and send you to a medical school." But I said, "No, I want to go and fight." That was it, I went to the nearest recruiting station with my papers - it was in a town called Kolomiya - and enlisted in the Red Army. They gave me a gun right there, dammit! So there I was... A soldier. I already went through my Army training and knew the basics, back then it was part of the school program. So I was ready to go. My mom didn't argue with me, she understood that I was capable of making my own decisions.
I started my service right there, in the Western Ukraine. The situation was complex - we didn't really know who our enemy was. First of all, most Ukrainians didn't want us to be there and didn't recognize us as their liberators. Our mission was called "Giving a brotherly hand," meaning that we were freeing them from the Germans. In the meantime, we were just grabbing a part of their land, to be completely honest. So a lot Ukrainians were fighting against us, they had partisans hiding all over the place, and the local people didn't exactly welcome us with open arms. And, of course, there were the Germans too, mostly the ones who didn't manage to escape.
It was nasty. Sometimes we would surround a small village, if we had information that Ukrainian insurgents were hiding there, and just shoot everything out. I was just following orders. But I never thought that I was doing anything wrong, never thought about dying myself. I never shot a person in front of me, only shot from far away. If I killed someone - that I will never know. We arrested a lot of the people from the Ukrainian Insurgent Army and sent them to the concentration camps in Siberia. Of course, back then we called them "correction camps."
I didn't really feel hate either towards the Ukrainians or the Germans, but war was war. I feel like the people who were fighting there didn't care for their life as much. It came to that point.
We heard over the radio that Germany surrendered on May 8, 1945. I can't even explain how ecstatic and happy everyone felt, it was a real euphoria. We were shooting rounds after rounds into the sky. Well, Germany had surrendered, but the war didn't actually end. The fights with the Ukrainian partisans continued all the way into 1950s. And the war with the Japanese was still going on, and a month or two after celebrating the victory over Germany I found myself with my comrades on a train to Vladivostok, going to fight Japan.
The train ride was not luxurious to say the least, each car had about 50 people in it and just bunk beds. No sheets or anything. Couldn't sleep on those beds. It was a very, very long journey through the entire Soviet Union. Even though, of course, we saw great deal of destruction along the way, but also a lot of beautiful nature. I specifically remember Lake Baikal - it was if someone had put a perfect piece of mirror onto the land, it was so still and gorgeous.
Once we arrived at Vladivostok, we boarded some boat and shipped to an undisclosed location. The trip took 20 days and I found out what sea sickness is in full. We went through some horrible storms, and I was more scared for my life on that ship than at any time during combat. Ironically, that boat then brought us back to Vladivostok, because Japan had surrendered while we were at sea.
After arriving back to Vladivostok I thought I was going to be demobilized, as the war was over, and I didn't think there was anything else for me to do in the Army. But no - I was sent to work at a POW camp in Kamchatka. Almost all of the prisoners in my camp were Japanese. The Japanese were nothing like we were told and what we saw from those propaganda caricatures and posters, you know where they would draw Japanese soldiers like some sort of short idiots with tiny eyes and crooked teeth. No, these guys were disciplined, tough and well trained. Even as prisoners they maintained their order and showed their pride. Mostly everyone got along - they worked all day long and tried to study Russian. They would surround me, holding their notepads and pencils, all smiling, and ask pointing to a table or a chair, "What is that or what is this," and I'd tell them what's what. They all would nod and write it down. Funny people.
I served as a guard in Kamchatka for 5 years - 2 years over my term. Many of us back then over-served in the military for 2-3 years, some more. And none of us complained, I didn't hear a single person say a word to the higher-ups that they want to be demobbed. We all understood that we are there for a reason, and that we will stay as long as our country needs us to stay.
I got back home in 1951. My mom didn't recognize me when she first saw me - I left a boy and returned a man. Shortly after returning home, I continued my education - I wanted to become a geologist at first. I knew that education was the key to life, and I spent 7 years studying. The last two years were at the Moscow State University. Then I went into teaching, and would go on numerous expeditions all around the Soviet Union. I got married, had a kid. After 25 years of hard work I retired.
I took part in two Victory Parades. One of them was attended by Bill Clinton, by the way! He was up there standing, looking at us marching through the Red Square. That was in 1995. Yes, I have things to reminisce about: I've traveled through the length and breadth of USSR, been to all 16 republics and drank vodka in each of them! I've always written poetry, it just comes to my mind, and sometimes I write it down. But I never considered myself a poet, it's too much of a title for me. I had a long and exciting life and now I often sit here in this room, browse through my photo albums and proudly look back at all those years.
