The ship also needs to be prepared for the voyage. We are leaving for Rosta. Rosta had already become a part of Murmansk by the 60s of the last century, although from old memory it was still called a village for a long time. The village was formed in the 30s of the 20th century near the ship repair shops founded by the polar explorer Papanin to repair ships of the Northern Sea Route, and which later became the 35th ship repair plant. By the 60s of the 20th century, the plant had already become a fairly large enterprise and was “overgrown” around the perimeter with many auxiliary production facilities and other enterprises, one of which was the base of nuclear icebreakers of the Northern Sea Route, which still exists today.
There the ship is docked, the water is pumped out, and the beautiful giant again exposes its underwater part. Repair work involves painting and repairing equipment. It would be better not to get up. It seemed to me that after the repair the ship was painted, and the mechanisms - the valves of the submersion-ascent system and the fuel system - became worse. At least, before the repair I did not notice any fuel leaking from the fuel valve seals, but after the repair the seals leaked so much that I had to tie a plastic bag to each valve and drain the leaked fuel into the main drain pump line every morning.

During repairs in Rost, however, we were in dry dock.
Boat 651 project is moored with the first hull on the left side.

At first we lived on the floating base “Fyodor Vidyaev”. I don’t know when it was built, a huge ship, but I know that the tanks with boiled water were made of copper. The Vedyaevsky toilet made a terrible impression on me, in nautical terms - a latrine. There were no partitions in it, and there were about a hundred shocks in a row. In orderly rows they went into the future, it seemed, towards the horizon. There was an impression that the whole crew could immediately sit down to these shocks, not only the crews of the boats living on Vedyaev, but also the crew of Vedyaev himself. Dirt and rats are the distinguishing features of this ship. During the emergency cleaning, we found a storage room with dead rats, the smell was terrible. They cleaned it out, at least scrubbing out their own compartment. I slept on the second tier. At night I woke up because someone was looking at me. I opened my eyes. On the pipeline that ran above my bed, right above me, at chest level, there was a rat sitting on the pipe. She sat on her hind legs and pulled her front legs towards her. A long pink tail hung almost to the blanket. She looked intently and carefully. The thought flashed: “Now he’ll bite you on the nose.” I slowly and carefully pulled the duvet cover over my face, holding it over my face. “If she jumps, I’ll throw her on the deck with a sheet,” I decided. A couple of seconds later, the rapid steps of a retreating rat were heard along the pipe. “I changed my mind about biting,” I thought with relief. The rats ate galley waste and were well-fed, well-fed and therefore not aggressive. There was not a single case of anyone being bitten by a rat.
The boat is in the dock, the chief mate can go on vacation. Captain of the second rank Kurkin is a dashing submariner. In full dress he bids farewell to officers and sailors on the occasion of leaving on leave. Our chief mate was no ordinary person. He was an officer, as it seemed to us, in years (although military personnel retire at forty-five). He was not tall, strongly built, even a little plump, and his style of behavior was, to put it mildly, rude. It cost him nothing to yell at the sailor. For example, a sailor needs to go on leave. He goes to the first mate’s cabin: “Comrade captain of the second rank, I ask you to sign a leave letter for the city.” The first mate reads the leave letter for a long time, signs it, takes the stamp in the pencil case from the safe, and opens the pencil case. Suddenly he remembers: “I need to go to the first department.” The stamp is put away in the pencil case, the pencil case flies into the safe, the safe is locked with a key and the first mate leaves for the first department. The sailor stands like a fool and waits for him to return, and the time for dismissal is coming. After some time, the first mate returns: “Why are you standing here?” he asks the sailor. “Stamp for leave,” - “come on,” the sailor receives the long-awaited seal, he can go on leave.
“Comrade captain of the second rank! “You forgot to sign the documents,” reports the watchman - the man on duty downstairs. The first mate puts the suitcase on the deck and runs along the ladder to sign documents. Well, finally, that's it. We accompany the first mate to the checkpoint. The factory entrance is a formidable post. It is served by civilian northern women. They differ in that they clearly carry out their service. For example, he sees our Soviet sailor climbing over the fence and returns from AWOL. No, to turn away, not to notice. On the contrary: “Stop! Who goes!" And it can even shoot. The XO passes by the sentry. “Open the suitcase,” the guard commands. “Yes, I am the senior assistant commander from a submarine. Yes, I’m the commander at five minutes,” the first mate is indignant. There is nothing to do, the suitcase opens and a huge wrench falls out of it, which the guys managed to put down at the moment when the first mate ran to sign the documents. The scandal was quickly resolved and the first mate, thank God, did not miss the plane.
The team is involved in repairing the ship. She is entrusted with painting work. We prime with red lead and ethinol. Ethanol is a synthetic drying oil. It is used as a basis for preparing primers for metal (the same red lead is diluted with ethinol). Minium can be lead or iron. Differs in color. The result is a naval primer that is resistant to salt water. The outer body is painted factory. For painting work, the ship is covered with scaffolding. First, the scaffolding was installed in the stern, in the area of ​​the steering group, behind the propellers. It must be said that the vertical rudder of the boat is a structure about five by ten meters. Thanks to him, the huge ship was very easy to navigate. Such a huge steering wheel, of course, was controlled by hydraulics. Thanks to sloppiness, they, of course, forgot to turn off the hydraulics. At one point, someone sat with his back to the steering lever and scratched himself. The huge rudder demolished the scaffolding on both sides, but luckily it was lunch break and there were no people on the scaffolding.

Project 651 submarine in dry dock. The containers are raised. Scaffolding is installed along the building.

“Foreman of the second article Volnov to the commander!”, “Comrade commander! The foreman of the second article Volnov has arrived on your orders,” I report. “What's going on in your team? Look at the lids of the missile containers!” - the commander, captain of the second rank, Sklyanin speaks quietly, but every word reaches the last convolution in the brain. I look up at the open lids of the missile containers. They are painted with ethinol - brown, on the ethinol with red lead it is written “Peace to the world!” War - war! The containers were painted by BC-2 sailors - my subordinates, which means I am responsible for their work. “What world? - The commander is indignant, - How do you educate them! We are called to war! Immediately repaint everything, remove the inscriptions with metal brushes.” “Comrade commander, these people are eighteen years old. They are already adults. How to educate them? - I object, emboldened. “F...at (Scold, scold and scold again),” the commander says, of course, not so intelligently, but in naval jargon.
The crew was tasked with painting the ballast and fuel tanks. This work is a technological operation that can only be performed by young and reckless sailors who will take their ship “through thick and thin” and into the tank. Main ballast tanks are quite large rooms that can easily accommodate several people without interfering with each other. The tanks are connected to the outside world by a system of pipelines for supplying air to purify them when the ship surfaces.
Dear reader, if necessary, I will try to explain the principle of submersion and ascent of a boat, since the entire submarine fleet is based on this. A tank is a metal container welded to the outside of the ship’s strong hull. It has ventilation valves at the top and seacocks at the bottom. At the command “Urgent dive”, - automatically, at a command from the central post, first the kingstons are opened hydraulically, then the ventilation valves and water flows into the tanks. What happens to the crew at this time? According to the combat schedule, a sailor is assigned to each valve. Having heard this command, the sailor must look at his valve opening mechanism (kingston) and count to six, if after counting “six” the hydraulic valve opening mechanism (kingston) does not work, the sailor must open the valve manually. There is scope for this. Rosmah is a ring wrench, the handle of which is a meter long and has a diameter of three centimeters. There have been cases when a sailor threw the key onto the valve drive before counting six; this is very bad. Can you imagine the metal lever described above, rising up or down, powered by hydraulics. There were cases when sailors suffered. The ship sinks under the force of its own gravity, the dive is also facilitated by the motion and horizontal rudders of the dive and ascent. At the command “Urgent ascent! Blow out the ballast” ventilation valves are closed. High pressure air is supplied to the tanks. Air, through open seacocks, displaces water from the tanks. Dear reader, thanks to the above, you can imagine how smoothly and clearly the bilge team should work. When you look at them during a dive or ascent, you are amazed at how quickly and deftly their hands flash across the mass of valves, it looks like a pianist playing, only each key of this organ must not be pressed, but unscrewed or tightened.

Blowing columns of the central gas tank (main ballast tanks), in the central control room of the submarine.

During a dive, in order to stop the inertia of the dive, the TsBP (fast dive tank), also known as the “fast tank,” is purged. The main ballast tanks remain full.
According to the combat schedule, this task was to be performed by the young sailor Demsky. He was physically weak, and every time he hung on the valve, rested his feet on the ceiling and shouted: “Help,” - there were always helpers.
So, painting the ballast tanks. The cysteine ​​had to be cleaned, the old peeling paint off the walls, for this we had metal brushes. The stripped paint, of course, did not disappear anywhere, but hovered in the air inside the tank in the form of dust and scraps. In order not to breathe this muck and not to suffocate, they worked in gas masks with a long trunk, the end of which was stuck out of the tank. The stripped paint was removed from the tank floor with buckets, and the remaining paint was removed with a vacuum cleaner. The sailor entered the tank through a special removable hatch, which is opened only during repair work. Then the tank needs to be painted from the inside. To do this, you are given a pneumatic spray gun filled with “Marine Red Lead” paint. A sailor in a tank waves a spray gun, from which red lead is sprayed in all directions, painting everything around, not excluding himself. The painting of fuel tanks is worse. With a “carrying” lamp, you climb through the holes in the outer frames, not knowing whether you will get out back. True, thank God, there were no stuck people. Since there were still fuel residues in the fuel tanks, they also worked in them wearing gas masks.
It was funny to see sailors in padded jackets, matching trousers and tarpaulin boots, painted bright red, crawling out of the tanks. They gather in groups to smoke and march in colored formation to the locker room and shower.
We had almost no contact with the factory workers, they did their job, we did ours.
True, there was one contact. It was necessary to turn a part for our antenna on a milling machine. I went to the machine shop. "Guys! Who can turn a part like this on a milling machine?” “Seryoga,” said the old worker, “the third machine in the second row.” I approached Seryoga. Seryoga estimated the work at half a liter of alcohol. That's what they decided on. In the evening the work was done, the settlement was made. The next day I decided to hang my friend Seryoga. I walked around the workshop, Seryoga was not there. I approached one of the milling operators. “Where is Seryoga?” I asked. “Seryoga of that one,” he waved it off in a laconic manner. My heart sank: “Is the alcohol really bad, has Seryoga really been poisoned?” - beat in my frightened brain. After walking around the workshop a little, I approached a worker who was working next to Seryoga. “What’s wrong with Seryoga?” I asked timidly with a sinking heart. “He got drunk, you fool, and he flew into the well,” I heard the answer, “What will happen to him, he was pulled out alive, he’s just recovering now,” the worker added. My heart was relieved. I didn’t order anything else from the workshop.
Finally we were transferred from the floating base to the barracks. It was a standard military unit with a parade ground for drills and physical education. We walked to the factory in formation. They performed regular army service. Like everyone else, we were assigned to guard duty and patrol on weekends. "Foreman of the second article Volnov." "I". “Assigned to patrol. Senior - senior lieutenant Byrdin, second patrol foreman of the second class Erokhov.” We got a plot in which there was a women's labor colony. Women served their sentences not in prison, but in settlements. We lived in a hostel, we went to work, we went home from work. Morning and evening check. Otherwise they lived like civilians. It was cold for us to walk down the street. We decided to go to their club to warm up, and to check if there were any sailors in the club who were forbidden to visit these places. Let's go. The club is a standard room: either a school assembly hall or a school sports hall. The music is blaring. The air is saturated with the smell of cologne and female sweat; it is not smoky, but not transparent. Women dance something like rock-en-roll, twist or shake, however, it doesn’t matter, as long as they move to the beat of the music and at the same time splash out the accumulated energy. A large woman with a very short haircut dances with elements of Russian dance, in her arms is a thin little woman, her arms and legs hang down and twitch to the beat of the music. The rest are a mass of jumping, writhing female bodies who, apparently, really want to forget themselves at this “celebration of life.” I want to leave. Let's leave. We walk along the dark streets of the thirty-eighth kilometer, that’s the name of this place. The area is very turbulent. Here live families of fishermen who spend many months at sea. Before the detachment, the commandant instructed us: “That month. A fisherman came from the sea, and his wife had a sailor from the military. So the fisherman threw him out of the window, breaking the frame with the glass. The poor guy fell from the fifth floor onto the roof of a store built into the house. Crashed to death. So if you see a sailor or officer, immediately detain them, take the documents to the commandant’s office.” Thank God, I only had to serve as a patrol in these places once, but believe me, that was enough.
The crew on my team was a young sailor Chernyak. Not a bad guy. I liked that he graduated from radio engineering school. He understood technology. And I often put him to maintenance of devices, instead of combat or household work. Chernyak often asked to be put in to repair instruments on Saturday. When visiting the bathhouse, he offered to look after the team’s uniform while everyone washed, and preferred to wash afterwards. But one day I was called to the first department. “Comrade Sergeant Major, how is your political educational work organized?” "What's the matter?" - I asked, perplexed. “Do you know that there is a Baptist among you?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “The fact of the matter is that you don’t know your subordinates well. An analysis of the correspondence of sailor Chernyak shows that, but a Baptist.”
A Baptist is a Baptist. I didn't really understand what was going on. He serves well, but religion is probably his business. Influence on others is a matter for the political officer. Although influencing the crew is a very difficult matter. The team somehow learned, perhaps from the political officer, or perhaps on purpose, that sailor Chernyak was a Baptist. And so it began. At dinner: “Our Chernyak is a Baptist, he can’t have a meat cutlet. A movie about love, no Chernyak is not allowed either.” It must be said that he steadfastly endured the team’s attitude towards him.
Team on the boat. I am the duty foreman at the coastal barracks. Everything is quiet. Suddenly a call: “Comrade Sergeant Major! You are asked to come to the checkpoint.” " What's the matter?" - I ask. “Yes, Chernyak’s wife has arrived.” “Which wife? There is no wife in his personal file.” I go out to the checkpoint. There is a pretty pretty girl standing in the entrance. “Comrade Sergeant Major, I am Chernyak’s wife.” “Which wife? There is no mention of any wife in his personal file.” “We are married in a civil marriage. We have a baby. I missed you very much, so I came from Donetsk.” What to do? I found the duty officer for the company, Lieutenant Orlov. “Comrade Lieutenant, we need to help Chernyak out, his wife has come to see him.” “Okay, I know a woman here, she rents out rooms for the night,” said Orlov. Let's go to town to see grandma. Agreed. Chernyak's wife is waiting at the checkpoint. They gave her the address and told her to wait, as soon as the team came from the factory, we would give Chernyak leave. For my leave, I turned to the senior mate: “Comrade captain of the second rank! The sailor Chernyak’s wife came to see her, she needs a leave of absence.” “There’s no point in hanging around women! “He’ll wait for Sunday,” the first mate answered. I go to the political officer: “Comrade captain of the third rank. The sailor Chernyak's wife came to see him. I need a leave of absence." The political officer agreed, but warned that he should be in the barracks at twelve o'clock without delay. The team arrived from the factory, dinner. Before dinner, I called Chernyak over, handed him his leave, and allowed him not to go to dinner, but warned him that his leave was only until twelve. “You’ll come at twelve, check in, and then we’ll see.” Chernyak quickly got dressed and was the only one they saw. After dinner, Petya Brazhnik, a sailor of remarkable height and equal strength, approached me. “Max,” he said in a deep voice. “What was the crane operator from the factory floating crane doing at the entrance?” “Yes, this is Chernyak’s wife,” I answered. “No, Max is definitely a crane operator from a floating crane, I know for sure,” Petya boomed again. "Wow! Spent it!” - I complained. “Maybe they have love,” I thought, “but it’s still not good, and he’s also a Baptist.” At five minutes past midnight I was woken up by the command officer on duty, Lieutenant Orlov. "Max! Chernyak did not return from dismissal.” Forty-five second rise. “Eroshka! Rising - Chernyak didn’t come back from dismissal.” “Vanya – get up!” Thank God, we know the address. Let's go, three of us. We find grandma's house. The house is old. Behind the door is a large hallway, dark and dirty. From the hallway there are many doors to many rooms. We know which door Chernyak is behind. We open the door wide open: “Rise!” - frightened faces. Chernyak understands everything. To avoid the worst, he quickly gets dressed in forty-five seconds. Chernyak ran from his grandmother’s house to the unit, driven by our kicks. His wife never came to the checkpoint again. Later, before autonomy, for reasons of his religion, he was decommissioned from the ship. I got a job in the political department of the division and re-educated, which made our head of the political department very proud.
The commander calls the three of us: me, the boatswain Misha Kolodiy, Gena Erokhov. Business trip to Zapadnaya Litsa, to the base. The ship ran out of alcohol. We accompany a forty-liter flask. It is empty for now, but on the way back it will be full and sealed. Ship mechanic captain third rank Milokostov forgot his slippers at home. The city of Zaozersk - the city in which the officers' families lived - was located among rocks and hills ten kilometers from the submarine base - "Zapadnaya Litsa". Milokostov gave us the keys to the house, explained where his slippers were, and asked us to bring them. We arrived in Zaozersk, took the flask home to the mechanic and went to fill out the paperwork.
Three elders, old-timers, in full dress uniform are walking through the city. We didn’t have time to react, but the commandant of the garrison, Major Yunusov, came towards us. "Documentation!" - present documents, explain the travel assignment. “Why aren’t there political classes on Tuesday? - Yunusov asks for formality, - So. Collect all the cigarette butts around the city, report to me, I’ll check, get the documents,” with these words Yunusov walked away towards the commandant’s office. The eternal question is what to do? Thank God, by this time I was already familiar with the deputy commander for armaments. The fact is that there were still few rocket specialists then, and I, Gena Erokhov and Vanya Smagin fired from all the ships that passed the combat shooting mission. From the mechanic’s apartment, we managed to get through to the deputy commander for armaments and tell him about what happened. An hour later we already had the documents. Another problem is that they didn’t take food certificates with them. At our own floating base, in our own galley, there was no food for us. But a sailor, that’s why he’s a sailor, because he doesn’t have hopeless situations. We found fishing gear, and an hour later we had half a bucket of haddock and several pieces of flounder, which was not royal food. We fried fish at the mechanic's house. He found both butter and flour. I remembered how my mother did it, and we had a great dinner. The next day, the garrison bus was already taking us to Murmansk. Luckily, Yunusov didn’t see off the bus.
God bless! The renovation is complete. The team is on board. The dry dock fills with water and the gates open. "Combat alert! We're going through the narrows! Both engines are small back." “There are both motors small back.” I’m at my combat post on the command “We’re going through the narrowness.” I am sitting at the end of the open hatch from the conning tower into the strong hull of the ship, in front of me are my favorite engine telegraphs. The commander clearly gives commands and I, it is I, transmit them by machine telegraphs to the mechanics or diesel operators, they do not see how the ship is moving, they blindly carry out the will of the commander, and I am the conductor of this will. You must be extremely careful and precise. My fate and the fate of the ship are now united. We went out to the open sea, "Combat alert cleared." With relief, the commander descends from the bridge along the vertical ladder through the hatch of the central control post. When the commander passes me from top to bottom. I rise from the hatch and stand at attention on command. “Well, why are you standing there, go and rest,” the commander grumbles and goes down to the central post.

But the head of the personnel department sent me to the floating submarine base (FSB) Magomed Gadzhiev. It was the same ship of unknown destination that stood at the first pier. Now, “until clarification”, they put me on it as the commander of the motor group. My classmate has already been appointed commander of the bilge-boiler group. Which of us will be sent to the same floating base “Fedor Vidyayev”, which will go from Sevastopol to “combat”, will be decided. An order will be sent down from above.

All I have to do is re-issue food and clothing certificates and haul it all to the« Gadzhiev." And for now it’s better not to show your face to your bosses. I didn’t have to say this; I didn’t want to show myself to anyone else at all. But there was a desire to see what kind of ship it was.

I found my classmate, Dimka. In his school language he is known as Dimon. We sat, talked, and “debugged” our impressions. He, like me, was recalled to Severomorsk from the boat base in Gadzhievo in the same manner and put on the floating base of the same name. He knows that, not without my help, he can now be matched with Vidyayev. He is a bachelor and, by and large, he doesn’t care. The same floating base, assigned to the same submarine squadron.

By the way, the Northern Fleet also has a base in Vidyaevo. They could have pulled someone from there to Vidyayev. No, they grabbed me from Gremikha.

The next day I introduced myself to the commander. I was already expecting to hear something bad, but nothing happened, I gave parting instructions and sent him to the commander of the BC-5, but he wasn’t on board, he managed to go on vacation for a few days. I received the keys to the mechanic's cabin, found some documentation, and began to study the ship. I immediately remembered the words of the North Sea personnel officer: “The modern surface ship” was built in 1957. My peer. But he was born iron right away, and has already aged. I just have to become iron, and only then I have to grow old.

The decision on an urgent personnel issue dragged on for a week. I was no longer averse to remaining a motor mechanic. I figured it out and realized that it was less troublesome than a bilge-boiler group. I have already passed one test for admission to independent management of a group, and commanded sailors with all my might, especially during chores and drills that were completely trusted to young pilots. And then an order came, according to which my classmate and now crewmate was transferred to Vidyayev, and I was appointed commander of the Gadzhiev bilge and boiler group.

It would seem that's it. Finita la tragicomedy. But no. Five days later the ship's commander calls me. I am given three days, one to send my wife, then to hand over the cases and complete the paperwork. I will be seconded to the Fyodor Vidyaev PBPL for the duration of my combat service. He doesn’t know why there is such a zigzag, but the order must be followed.

I can't say that this made me happy. But it didn’t kill either. Iron has already increased. Orders are not discussed, but rights can be downloaded. I declare that I am ready to go, but my wife has nowhere to go. Give her a place to live, or I’ll go to an appointment with the head of the political department.

Cap connects the ship's political officer, who contacts the brigade's political officer. The deadlines are pressing and they don’t lead me “under the gauntlet” through the stage, but gather a consultation: the brigade command, including the brigade flagman, the head of the personnel department, my commander and political officer. Everyone was confused by this problem. It comes naturally, and I made everyone hesitate. So much fuss because of some lieutenant.

I was removed and what was said, of course, is unknown. The order has already been printed, but not yet signed; along with it are the travel documents and certificates. I am sitting on the ship and waiting for my fathers-commanders. There is only one thought in my head: how and what should I tell my wife? After all, how Colonel Komissarov looked into the water: “How will you kick a dog”...

They call upstairs. Cap squints slyly and sarcastically says:

And I thought that right now he’ll get drunk and won’t go to school... So, at the moment you’re not going anywhere. We'll see what happens tomorrow... Yes, everything is fine, relax, student... But tomorrow it's like a bayonet! Understood?

What did you understand? I didn’t understand anything then... And I didn’t say anything to my wife this time. We passed - and okay!

Two years later, I learned the story of this last somersault with sending me to Sevastopol. I found out when I served on the Fyodor Vidyayev, which in the same way left Sevastopol for military service. This time a reverse “castling” was carried out: I was transferred to Dimka’s place, and he was sent to “Magomed Gadzhiev”. However, you cannot escape fate.

So, Dimon, who then arrived on the Vidyaev, did not immediately like the commander of the BC-5 and he skillfully took advantage of the commander’s scrupulousness in the selection of officers and the situation. The ship was just undergoing inspection by the headquarters of the Black Sea Fleet. The arriving lieutenant was a non-party member, his studies at the school were not brilliant, and he had important tasks ahead of him in combat service in a dense ring of adversaries. Tests for independent management of a group, for duty and watchkeeping were not passed. They made a fuss and asked for a replacement.

The only candidate for castling was me. Party member, no punishments, half an excellent student in school.

Cap presented counterarguments at a council held in my honor. He is a party member, but does not want to serve, and hides behind his wife, whom he specially brought with his belly. No penalties, but you can already hang them around him like a Christmas tree for his systematically arising desire to live well. I passed the test, but not for the control of the hold and boiler room, but for the engine group, and with the running watch - no way either, the ship requires repairs and does not leave the pier.

To be continued

Fyodor Alekseevich Vidyaev - Soviet submariner during the Second World War, holder of three Orders of the Red Banner and the Order of the British Empire, 4th degree. He died in July 1943 while performing a combat mission. Biography Fedor Alekseevich Vidyaev was born on November 7, 1912 in the Erzyan village of Stepnaya Shentala, now Koshkinsky district, Samara region. In 1921, the Vidyayev family moved to the Murmansk region. In 1930 he graduated from high school in the city of Murmansk. For two years he worked as a sailor on the Sevgosrybtrest fishing seiner. In 1932, on a permit from the Murmansk Regional Committee of the Komsomol, he was sent to the Higher Naval School named after M. V. Frunze. In September 1937, Fedor successfully passed the last state exam. As an excellent student, he had the right to choose a fleet, thereby receiving assignment to the Northern Fleet. The beginning of a military career On the submarine D-2 Narodovolets, Lieutenant Vidyaev became the commander of the steering group. In February 1938, he took part in the famous ice voyage of the submarine “D-3” to remove the heroic four Soviet polar explorers from a drifting ice floe. In the fall of the same year, he was sent to study at the Higher Special Classes of Submarine Command. In October 1940, Vidyaev was appointed assistant commander of the submarine Shch-421, where the commander was Lieutenant Commander N.A. Lunin. During the “Finnish campaign” she carried out patrol service in the Barents Sea, for which the commander of the Northern Fleet, Vice Admiral V.P. Drozd, expressed gratitude to the entire personnel of the boat. Assistant commander - Fyodor Vidyaev taught submariners and studied himself, never hesitating to ask a sailor or petty officer to help him master this or that mechanism. Modest, caring, demanding, Vidyaev quickly won the respect of the personnel. On the very first day of the war, Shch-421 went on a combat mission. Commander "Shch-421" On March 4, 1942, N.A. Lunin was appointed commander of the cruising submarine K-21; Lieutenant-Commander F.A. Vidyayev became the commander of Shch-421. Two weeks later, Fyodor’s friends accompanied him on his first command tour. Together with Vidyaev, the division commander, Hero of the Soviet Union, Captain 2nd Rank I. A. Kolyshkin, went to sea. Having left Polyarny on March 19, on March 28, in the area of ​​​​Lakso-fiord, they found a transport guarded by two patrolmen. The ships moved in an anti-submarine zigzag, hugging the rocky shore. Having determined the distance, he set out on an approach course to intercept the target before entering the fiord. When the boat came within salvo range, the ships sharply turned straight towards it. "Shch-421" dove under the convoy and took up a position to attack from the opposite side. At the same moment, the convoy abruptly changed course, leaving the angle of attack. There was still an opportunity to intercept ships at the entrance to the fiord. And the boat went to the expected meeting point. The convoy was chased for almost an hour. Finally, he turned to the entrance to the fiord, and Shch-421 launched an attack that ended with a four-torpedo salvo. The boat quickly broke away from the pursuit. The day of April 4 became a holiday for submariners - the Military Council of the Fleet congratulated the crew of "Shch-421" on being awarded the Order of the Red Banner. Sixth trip of the Shch-421 On April 8 at 20:58, while patrolling at the mouth of the Porsangerfjord at a depth of 15 meters, the submarine encountered an antenna mine of the Ursula-B obstacle (delivered by the Ulm minzag on March 16/17), lost speed and ability to dive. The boat surfaced and found itself in a shroud of snow, which hid the ship from visibility from the enemy shore. The mine explosion tore off both propellers, tore off the top cover of the aft hatch, dislodged the radio transmitter, and smashed the entire stern. At the suggestion of the assistant commander, Lieutenant Commander A.M. Kautsky, a sail was urgently sewn from diesel covers and hoisted onto the periscopes. For thirteen hours, “Shch-421” sailed along the enemy’s coast in the direction from Nordkin to the North Cape. At this time, “K-22” (commander captain 2nd rank V.N. Kotelnikov) came to her aid. Despite poor visibility, V.N. Kotelnikov found the boat. After attempts to tow the boat failed due to strong sea conditions, the crew of the emergency "Pike" - 42 people - and the division commander I.A. Kolyshkin were taken on board the "K-22", and the "Pike" was sunk at close range by a torpedo. New appointment In July 1942, Lieutenant Commander Vidyayev was appointed commander of Shch-422. During the September campaign, "Shch-422" entered into battle with two patrol ships and sent one of them to the bottom with a two-torpedo salvo from under the periscope. This attack went down in the history of the war as one of the few times a submarine destroyed an anti-submarine ship that was pursuing it. Upon returning to the base, Fedor Alekseevich was awarded the second Order of the Red Banner. The last nineteenth campaign Later, in June 1943, F. A. Vidyayev was awarded the third Order of the Red Banner. Before going to sea again, Fyodor wrote to his family in Leningrad. He said that he would soon come on vacation. I put a photograph in the envelope. On the back he wrote: “To my son Konstantin, the future defender of our dear Motherland, from his father. Vidyaev. June 23, 1943. Active fleet." This was his last letter. On July 1, Fyodor Alekseevich Vidyaev went on his last, nineteenth campaign. On July 25, by order of the People's Commissar of the Navy, Shch-422 was converted into a guards unit. The submariners were happy for their friends and were waiting for them for the holiday, but the Vidyayevites never learned about the high appreciation of the Motherland. They did not return to the base... Immortalized In the city of Polyarny, on November 6, 1943, not far from the pier, where friends saw off Fyodor Vidyayev on his last trip, a monument was erected to the brave submariner using funds raised by the North Sea residents. Its author is naval artist Alexey Koltsov. In April 1945, Vidyaev’s wife Marina Ivanovna was invited to the military registration and enlistment office and, on behalf of the People’s Commissar of the USSR Navy, she was presented with an English order and certificate, which the British government awarded her husband. On July 28, 1968, according to the design of the sculptor D. M. Epifanov, as they wrote then: “in one of the polar garrisons,” another monument to Vidyaev was erected. Fyodor Alekseevich - without a headdress, in a tunic with three Orders of the Red Banner on his chest. This was his last photograph during his lifetime...

The Syrian authorities allowed one submarine at a time to enter the port of Tartus for minor repairs for a period of three weeks. And so it happened: one Soviet boat leaves the port, the other immediately crosses the border of Syrian territorial waters and heads to Tartus.

This time too, the submarine B-74 (“Yoshkar-Ola Komsomolets”), under the command of Captain 3rd Rank Sazansky, met at the rendezvous point with the newly repaired “unit” B-444.

An American corvette, as always, hovered nearby, accompanying the submarine leaving Tartus to the diving point, and then transferring contact to the Orion anti-submarine aircraft or other “shark hunters” - hunters of “Soviet sharks”. It was not easy to break away from tracking.The boats came together almost side by side - for voice communication - and began to drift. The commander of the “forty-four” asked Sazansky to delay entering the port and distract the corvette to himself, since his boat did not have time to be brought to condition; it was necessary to debug the ascent-immersion system. The senior naval commander in Tartus, Captain 1st Rank Ivannikov, confirmed the request of the B-444 commander via VHF:

Petrovich, take the spinning beech-buki away from the “unit” and let her perform the “ground”.

All this abracadabra was extremely clear to Sazansky and almost incomprehensible to American radio intelligence officers. If we translated it into strict naval language, it would sound something like this: “To the commander of the submarine “Yoshkar-Olinsky Komsomolets”, captain 3rd rank Evgeniy Petrovich Sazansky, take the corvette escort away from the submarine B-444 as quickly as possible and give her the opportunity dive in secretly."

Our commanders deliberately used jargon in radio communications to confuse the Americans listening in on them. Classic example:

- “Where is the log?

Who knows, they say he’s scratching a macaque on the satellite.”

While the radio interceptors were scratching their heads about what it all meant, both negotiators understood perfectly well what they were talking about: “Where is Captain 2nd Rank Derevianko?” “I don’t know, they say that it works through a closed communication channel and monitors American tests of the Mk-48 torpedo prototype.”

Or here’s another example of a “closed connection”:

“Seryoga, check: Dimka told me that the Canadian is rinsing the hall in your basin.”

Translation:

Sergei, Dmitry reported that a Canadian anti-submarine helicopter is conducting acoustic sounding in your sector.” That is, he lowers the OGAS capsule - a hydroacoustic station - into the water on a cable.
In short, Sazansky understood and accepted his colleague’s request. There was only one thing left to do - figure out how to take the corvette escort away with you. And Sazansky came up with...

The American corvette tilted to the left side, facing the Yoshkar-Ola Komsomolets, when a tall, busty girl in a white miniskirt stepped onto the submarine’s aft superstructure. She had a thick braid thrown over her shoulder, held behind her back by the cross strap of a bright blue bra.

The girl threw something out of the bucket overboard, turned it upside down, sat down on it and with great enthusiasm began to shave her legs and then her arms. The Americans looked at her with all their eyes and binoculars. And not only because it was a discovery for them: women serve on Russian submarines, but also because the shameless girl, while performing depilation, was turning up her already not too long skirt higher and higher.

Then a sailor approached the girl and placed a smoking hookah in front of her! The diva finished shaving, took the cigarette holder into her mouth, blew out a cloud of smoke and only then noticed the American spectators. She was photographed! The girl blew a kiss to the photographers, delighting her uninvited viewers.

Meanwhile, the Yoshkar-Ola Komsomolets slowed down and went south. And the corvette follows the strange submarine. Of course, it was much more interesting to watch than the B-444, which lay lazily drifting. Moreover, a sailor with a balalaika climbed onto the aft superstructure of the Yoshkar-Ola and, sitting down next to the lady, struck the strings:

The moon is shining, the moon is shining clear!

The Americans responded to the challenge adequately: a sailor with a banjo appeared on the deck of the corvette and performed something cowboy. Then the midshipman-accordion player climbed out of the fence of the wheelhouse and unfolded the bellows to its full width: “The sea spreads wide...”

And the waves are raging in the distance! - For some reason the girl picked up in a deep voice. - Comrade, we are going far, away from this land!

Applause rang out from the corvette. An African-American man with a saxophone appeared on the waist and began to play Duke Ellington’s famous “Caravan.”

Then the button accordion player struck up “Yablochko” so zealously and recklessly that the commander himself could not stand it: as he was in blue disposable shorts and a tropical cap with a visor, he began to dance. And the girl supported him - she lifted her skirt and squatted!

Well, how could the Americans know that Sazansky’s partner was the foreman of the torpedo team, Yura Shilo, who was appointed chief mate on the occasion of the recent New Year by the Snow Maiden in pair with the boatswain Father Frost? And her outfit was made from the cooks’ galley clothes. And the braid was woven from soaked jute rope. Now all this has come into play in a new way in connection with the assigned task of distracting the guard. And he was glad to be distracted!

The routine of combat patrol gave way to an unexpected concert on the high seas. It’s an amazing thing: on the submarine and on the corvette they forgot for a while that they were “probable opponents” and hit each other not with the fire of bomb launchers and torpedo tubes, but with the knees of amateur artists, playing the banjo and balalaika.

Captain 3rd Rank Sazansky completed the assigned task: he took the corvette away from the B-444 and allowed his squadron comrades to secretly go under water. After which he set off on a course to Tartus.

In Tartus, the mechanisms and nervous systems were put in order. We went into the city, drank Arabic beer, and bought “colonial goods.” Six officers and three midshipmen acquired brass hookahs. The assistant commander bought a luxurious wig with golden curls for his wife. And Sazansky...

And while Sazansky was stationed at the side of the floating base, together with the foreman of the engine crew, he built a model of a ship-to-air missile. Which took eight empty ration cans. The conical warhead was painted a frightening red color, and the stabilizers, coated with Kuzbass varnish, turned menacingly black. On the golden sides, in black paint, there was a marking: “SRS -174”, which meant “Sazansky homing missile plus the side number of the submarine.”

The missile was very easily mounted using a rubber cap on the head of the anti-aircraft periscope and rotated with it. And so that it could look for a target in a vertical plane, for this purpose a thin string like twine was tied to its “warhead”.

The missile brilliantly passed “full-scale” tests when Tartus flew over an Israeli reconnaissance aircraft. Sazansky himself aimed the missile from the conning tower, and the sailor-signalman expertly chose the angle of the place with a stick. The plane, flying over the harbor, quickly completed its inspection of the water area and disappeared in a southerly direction.

With such a wonderful “weapon,” the B-74 left Tartus on time. Fortunately, Sazansky was given an open passage to the Tunisian Gulf of Hamamet, where the headquarters of the submarine brigade was waiting for him on board the Fyodor Vidyaev mother ship. He waited impatiently, since the “northern shilovoz,” as the Polar boats were called at the headquarters of the Mediterranean squadron, had not yet paid their tribute to the verification commission with all its numerous flagship specialists.

All of them - the flag navigator, and the flag mechanic, and the flag-RTS, and the flag signalman, and the flagman, and the flag doctor, and the flag chemist, not to mention the brigade commander and the head of the political department, have long ago prepared voluminous briefcases and bottomless “slippers” for the ship’s alcohol , ram, ration wine, hard smoked sausage and other delicacies. This is how it happened on the operational squadron and became almost a ritual with the help of which it was possible to increase the Commission’s rating by a lesser point.

The passage from Tartus to Hamamet Bay took several days, and every day American Orion patrol planes circled over a single submarine. The howl of their engines was annoying, like the itching of large tundra mosquitoes. But the very first Orion, which began to fly around the Yoshkar-Ola Komsomolets, as soon as it entered neutral waters, was met by a missile aimed at it. The red tip of the rocket tracked the plane in ASC mode - automatic target tracking.

The pilots knew very well that the diesel submarines did not have any air defense systems. And here comes a surprise! Out of fear or surprise, “Orion” dropped two RSL - radio sonobuoys and flew away towards its base. The buoys were immediately caught, performing a “man overboard” exercise.

Their long cylindrical bodies were filled with tracking, sound recording and radio transmitting electronics, which were highly rated among ship craftsmen. They made magnificent color and music attachments for tape recorders from “trophy” circuit boards and transistors.

Therefore, one buoy was left for transfer to reconnaissance, and the second was quickly used for wiring and parts. The “frightened” Orion returned with another winged brother. Both circled the submarine several times, taking frantic photographs.

They set up a cut-off barrier of six buoys and disappeared into the sky. At Yoshkar-Ola they sounded the “Man Overboard” alarm and pulled out all six “people” with the help of a lasso, to the delight of the electronics experts.

Apparently, reports about the unusual Soviet submarine went through the warning system of all NATO fleets, because two hours later the English anti-submarine aircraft Nimrod, a serious machine with a massive fork and powerful search antenna fairings, arrived to admire the newest SRS-174 missile. His compatriot, the British anti-submarine aircraft Shackleton, came after him.

Boat reconnaissance midshipman Atomanyuk was knocked off his feet while photographing an air parade of anti-submarine aircraft. He was completely delighted when the newest Italian “shark hunter” - the Piagge-Avanti - began to turn over the ship. The Italian was replaced by the French, slightly outdated, but still dangerous for submariners, the Atlantic. Then, apparently from Sicily, an American Poseidon anti-submarine aircraft flew in with a shiny magnetometer pin sticking out from under its tail.

All flags will come to visit us! - Captain 3rd Rank Sazansky joyfully recited, very pleased that his missile blew up NATO aerial naval reconnaissance. He ordered the missile to be removed from the periscope and hidden in the wheelhouse fence.

In the evening, the discoverer Orion arrived. Not finding the rocket in its normal place, the pilot showed disappointment to the submariners with a gesture: “Where?”

In Karaganda. - Sazansky said and sent a response gesture, which meant - “drop the buoys, then I’ll show you!” The pilot understood the signal correctly and two buoys fell along the submarine's course. The rocket immediately returned to its place and its tin sides shone brightly.

Well, just like pikes go for lures! - The senior mate was surprised.

Can you imagine how much fuel they burned today? And this is aviation kerosene, it’s worth a lot! - Sazansky, who in his youth worked as an aircraft mechanic, rubbed his hands.

The bargaining with the rest of the visitors was the same: if you want to see the latest secret development of the Soviet military-industrial complex, drop the buoy. And the buoy is expensive, each of them cost American taxpayers the price of a good Ford.

At the floating base they were waiting for the approach of the Yoshkar-Olinsky Komsomolets submarine. The flagship specialists were already crowding behind the brigade commander.

What's that on his periscope? - The surprised brigade commander raised his binoculars. - Oh, no rocket! Where? Why dont know? Miner - what the hell is he doing there?

The miner, who had just graduated from the academy, not wanting to lose face, explained importantly:

This is the Igla MANPADS - a man-portable anti-aircraft missile system. Ship-to-air, ship-to-ship missile. Range of flight…

When Sazansky finished his report on the transition, the brigade commander told him:

Well, okay, commander, show us your new dick! We've never seen anything like this.

Impossible, Comrade Brigade Commander!

Didn't understand?! - The brigade commander, a man with great aplomb and the same belly, was offended.

By mistake, the third stage of protection was removed, and now it can start at any time. You can't get close to her!

So shoot her the fuck out into the sea!

She is homing. - Sazansky looked expressively at the lazily circling Orion. - The adversary will be beaten by accident, then an international scandal will break out.

So-o-o-o,” the brigade commander drawled in gloomy thought. - Why didn’t they report the emergency?

I didn’t have time, comrade brigade commander! This just happened on the approach to the floating base. I wanted to remove the rocket for travel and accidentally removed the third stage.

And you didn’t film anything else?!! - The formidable boss began to boil. - You would... You would... I would... In general, “two” for you based on the results of the test!

Comrade brigade commander, I will correct my mistake myself! - Sazansky exclaimed pathetically. “I put her into combat mode, and I’ll take her out!”

The brigade commander thought.

Is your senior mate cleared?

Admitted. If something happens, he will replace me - don’t doubt it. - Sazansky took off his watch. - Give this to my wife. Tell me not to remember her unkindly.

Everyone became gloomy and frowned. On the one hand, a feat was being accomplished before their eyes, and on the other, it was clear that no gifts would now fall from the “northern shilovoz.”

Go, get off the side and stand on bakshtov. - The brigade commander blessed the hero. - What is her radius of destruction?

Thirty meters.

Forty meters. No, half a cable is better.

Comrade brigade commander, if it takes off, it might target our pipes. - The flagship miner suggested in a low voice. - They are hot, and she has an infrared guidance head.

Eat! - Sazansky saluted and returned to the bridge of his boat. But instead of giving up the mooring lines, he began to remove the rocket from the periscope. Everyone closed their eyes and even ducked down, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But there was no explosion. Moreover, Sazansky, hugging the rocket, carried it to the floating base. A bad thought arose in the brigade commander’s head: “Here, the bastard, he decided to take us with him to the next world! This happens to suicides...” But running away from a commander who had gone crazy was shameful and the brigade commander, drenched in cold sweat, stood courageously surrounded by such sweaty specialists. Meanwhile, Sazansky placed the rocket on the stabilizer and proudly announced:

In front of you is the SRS-174 missile - Sazansky's homing missile. Factory name "Taran-Sazan-1"!

Only then did it begin to dawn on the headquarters that in front of them was a homemade product assembled from ramming tins. Only here... And the mask of horror and anger on the brigade commander’s face itself was replaced by a grimace of a timid smile. Then the smile stretched to the ears and... laughter burst out:

Well, Sazan... Damn it!... Well, blah... Well, you give it!.. Ah-ah-ha-ha-ha!!!

The stress I experienced instantly degenerated into Homeric cackling. Nerves discharged like a Leyden jar. The brigade commander's royal laughter was echoed by the entire retinue. The sailors also laughed, who didn’t even know what was going on - simply because they unwittingly became infected with the general fun. The laugh got into the mouth of the ship's duty officer, who, instead of announcing over the broadcast, “Team, get ready for lunch!” neighed into the microphone with a nervous goat laugh, and this laugh was immediately picked up in the cockpits and cabins.

The cooks laughed in the galley, wiping away their tears with white caps, and the engine mechanics laughed, wiping away their tears with rags. The entire floating base laughed so hard that the ship rocked slightly at anchor. People writhed as if they were gripped by unbearable colic. And the flag doctor began to fear that a precedent for mass psychosis had arisen on the ship. But he also laughed, trying to stop laughing, which was clearly unhealthy. And the more he tried, the more he suffocated from lack of air.

Only Sazansky did not laugh, standing in an embrace with the Taran-Sazan - one rocket. And the foreign pilots kept circling and circling, almost touching the masts and antennas of the Fyodor Vidyayev, and apparently could not understand why all the people on the deck were writhing, writhing, and crouching?

Everything comes to an end. So the laughter, so rare in combat service, dried up on its own. The time has come to make “reports” for the members of the verification commission. Moreover, the flagships perked up and quickly found their briefcases.

Then Captain 3rd Rank Sazansky took the “foul mouth” (megaphone) and pointed its bell at the bridge of the submarine:

Masha, Marusya! Bring out the “reports”!

On the gangway leading to the waist of the floating base, a stately black-haired mulatto woman appeared, carrying a garland of heavy plastic bags.

The brigade commander's jaw dropped again:

What the hell kind of queen is this?! - He gasped!

Comrade brigade commander, she accosted us in Tartus and wandered into the holds. We only discovered her at the crossing.

Why didn't they report?

The radio was given to both the squadron and the brigade headquarters.

The brigade commander looked menacingly at the flag signalman. He shrugged:

We didn't receive anything! I'll figure it out!

But there was no need to figure it out. The brigade commander noticed in time that chocolate melted in the sun was dripping from the “mulatto woman’s” stubbled face, that her hands were white, and that in general, this was a midshipman in disguise...
And he again began to greedily gasp for air!

Sa-sa-sa-za-za-zan... ski... Perish... Uh-uh-go away... Hu-hu-hu-hu-ligan... Take your floating circus away! We won’t test you, otherwise we’ll die laughing. For-for-test!

Sazansky took his rocket to the boat. The ship's reserves of rams and "shil" were largely saved, while the potential enemy's naval aviation reserves of fuel and sonar buoys were pretty much wasted.

Note:
All names, with the exception of Evgeniy Petrovich Sazansky, have been changed. The coincidences are random. The story is authentic.

Nikolay Cherkashin

There are quite a lot of monuments in this park, especially for a rural settlement.
There is a monument to the Internationalist Soldiers who died in Afghanistan

The stela of five residents of the area who became Heroes of the Soviet Union will also be later
There is an iron tree fountain and a monument to the Leader


Monument to Fyodor Alekseevich Vidyaev

Fyodor Alekseevich Vidyaev (1912-1943) - Soviet submariner during the Second World War, holder of three Orders of the Red Banner and the Order of the British Empire, 4th degree. He died in July 1943 while performing a combat mission.


Fedor Alekseevich Vidyaev was born on November 7, 1912 in the Erzya village of Stepnaya Shentala, now Koshkinsky district, Samara region. In 1921, the Vidyayev family moved to the Murmansk region. In 1930 he graduated from high school in the city of Murmansk. For two years he worked as a sailor on the Sevgosrybtrest fishing seiner. In 1932, on a permit from the Murmansk Regional Committee of the Komsomol, he was sent to the Higher Naval School named after M. V. Frunze. In September 1937, Fedor successfully passed the last state exam. As an excellent student, he had the right to choose a fleet, thereby receiving assignment to the Northern Fleet.
On the submarine D-2 Narodovolets, Lieutenant Vidyaev became the commander of the steering group. In February 1938, he took part in the famous ice voyage of the submarine “D-3” to remove the heroic four Soviet polar explorers from a drifting ice floe. In the fall of the same year, he was sent to study at the Higher Special Classes of Submarine Command.

In October 1940, Vidyaev was appointed assistant commander of the submarine Shch-421, where the commander was Lieutenant Commander N.A. Lunin. During the “Finnish campaign” she carried out patrol service in the Barents Sea, for which the commander of the Northern Fleet, Vice Admiral V.P. Drozd, expressed gratitude to the entire personnel of the boat. Assistant commander - Fyodor Vidyaev taught submariners and studied himself, never hesitating to ask a sailor or petty officer to help him master this or that mechanism. Modest, caring, demanding, Vidyaev quickly won the respect of the personnel. On the very first day of the war, Shch-421 went on a combat mission.
On March 4, 1942, N.A. Lunin was appointed commander of the cruising submarine K-21; Lieutenant-Commander F.A. Vidyayev became the commander of Shch-421. Two weeks later, Fyodor’s friends accompanied him on his first command tour. Together with Vidyaev, the division commander, Hero of the Soviet Union, Captain 2nd Rank I. A. Kolyshkin, went to sea.
Having left Polyarny on March 19, on March 28, in the area of ​​​​Lakso-fiord, they found a transport guarded by two patrolmen. The ships moved in an anti-submarine zigzag, hugging the rocky shore. Having determined the distance, he set out on an approach course to intercept the target before entering the fiord. When the boat came within salvo range, the ships sharply turned straight towards it. "Shch-421" dove under the convoy and took up a position to attack from the opposite side. At the same moment, the convoy abruptly changed course, leaving the angle of attack. There was still an opportunity to intercept ships at the entrance to the fiord. And the boat went to the expected meeting point. The convoy was chased for almost an hour. Finally, he turned to the entrance to the fiord, and Shch-421 launched an attack that ended with a four-torpedo salvo. The boat quickly broke away from the pursuit. The day of April 4 became a holiday for submariners - the Military Council of the Fleet congratulated the crew of the Shch-421 on being awarded the Order of the Red Banner.
Later, in June 1943, F. A. Vidyaev was awarded the third Order of the Red Banner. Before going to sea again, Fyodor wrote to his family in Leningrad. He said that he would soon come on vacation. I put a photograph in the envelope. On the back he wrote:

“To my son Konstantin, the future defender of our dear Motherland, from his father. Vidyaev. June 23, 1943. Active fleet."

This was his last letter. On July 1, Fyodor Alekseevich Vidyaev went on his last, nineteenth campaign. On July 25, by order of the People's Commissar of the Navy, Shch-422 was converted into a guards unit. The submariners were happy for their friends and were waiting for them for the holiday, but the Vidyayevites never learned about the high appreciation of the Motherland. They did not return to base...
In the city of Polyarny, on November 6, 1943, not far from the pier, where friends saw off Fyodor Vidyaev on his last voyage, a monument was erected to the brave submariner using funds raised by the North Sea residents. Its author is naval artist Alexey Koltsov. In April 1945, Vidyaev’s wife Marina Ivanovna was invited to the military registration and enlistment office and, on behalf of the People’s Commissar of the USSR Navy, she was presented with an English order and certificate, which the British government awarded her husband.

On July 28, 1968, according to the design of the sculptor D. M. Epifanov, as they wrote then: “in one of the polar garrisons,” another monument to Vidyaev was erected. Fyodor Alekseevich - without a headdress, in a tunic with three Orders of the Red Banner on his chest. This was his last photograph during his lifetime...

The village of Vidyaevo in the Murmansk region and the submarine bases in the Northern Fleet are named in honor of F. A. Vidyaev. Once upon a time, the floating base “Fyodor Vidyaev” plied the Northern Seas.

On the occasion of the 100th anniversary of the birth of Fyodor Vidyayev, on November 3, 2012, a monument to the legendary submariner was unveiled in Victory Park in the village of Koshki, Samara Region.
Monument to fellow countrymen who died and fought on the fronts of the Second World War and the Great Patriotic War