The victorious spring of 1945. The Red Army is rushing to Berlin - “to finish off the fascist vermin in its lair.” The war is coming to an end, and for the first time the soldiers have a glimmer of hope of survival. But the last battles are still ahead - the most difficult and bloody, which will divide them into the living and the dead... “The fighting in Berlin was terrible. Severed heads lay underfoot, it was a mess. And the closer to the center, the more dangerous it is for life. But I wanted to live! Here's another block, a house, an attack - and that's it! Smells like Victory! But you take the wrong step, and - “hello, Shishkin.” How many guys were lost!.. Everyone had a banner, but not everyone was destined to hoist it...” “In Berlin, I commanded an assault group. Five tanks, a platoon of machine gunners and a platoon of sappers. They walked slowly forward, clinging to the walls of the houses in order to protect at least one side from the “faustniks”. Anyone who drove into the middle of the street was immediately set on fire. We reached a large intersection, and from behind the corner house there was continuous fire. Murderous. The infantry lay low, and I had no right to thoughtlessly launch tanks under Fausts and anti-aircraft guns. He took a machine gun, got out of the tank and went on reconnaissance, and then, together with the infantry, he climbed out of the building to smoke the Germans out. The first floor was recaptured, and on the second floor a bullet pierced my leg right through. The bone was not touched. They dragged me back, carried me into a house, and bandaged me there. One of our people said that this is the house in which Field Marshal Paulus lived before the war. He rested for two days in the medical battalion, “on sick leave,” and then limped back to the company, without any maxims, saying, God forbid, to die in the enemy’s lair, a moment before the Victory. And I didn’t have any self-pity or fear of death...”