Drozdova Vera Mikhailovna_x000D_ _x000D_ My mother Batalova (Drozdova) Vera Mikhailovna was born on June 22, 1922 in Nizhnyaya Kurya, Kirovsky district, Perm region. Ural girl, mischievous and strongly built, she played football in the boys ' team, in the attack and believe me, drove the ball, not worse than them, so that she always cut her hair bald and looked like a guy. My mother told me that she really wanted to become a ballerina, danced in a circle, pulled a leg and dreamed of a big stage, the audience and applause. In 1941, no one came to her birthday party. Everyone gathered at the military enlistment office to be the first to get to the front. In the same year, she was enrolled in special, at that time Bershet camps (Kungur). My mother was taught a lot there, after which she was a very good shot, was an excellent student and went to the front in 1942 as a machine gunner of the 20th anti-aircraft machine gun regiment. Their division was commanded by Konstantin Rokossovsky. At that time, a lot of Ural and Siberian girls were called to protect Moscow. My mother stood with a wooden, black-painted gun on the important buildings of the capital. These were the Kalibr factory, the Bolshoi theater, and many other important objects. Then long and bloody battles near Mozhaisk, koloch station, where for the first time she was wounded in the neck by counter fire from an enemy plane. On June 22, 1943, already somewhere near Smolensk, the girls from the regiment decided to celebrate the birthday of their friend Verochka. We exchanged alcohol for chocolate from the pilots, made tea and decided to decorate the table with flowers. The three of them went to the field. Mom stepped on a mine, the blast wave threw her, but her combat friends were killed. She survived, but lost one leg. Hospital, operation after operation, crutches... Yes, my mother did not become a ballerina, her old dream did not come true, but even in the harness of the prosthesis, she still gracefully whirled to the rhythm of the waltz. Never once did anyone guess that she was missing a leg, but when they found out, they applauded her, stood in line to dance with her and gave her flowers. My mother gave birth to and raised three sons and six grandchildren. Despite her disability, she worked for many more years. On June 22, my family no longer celebrated my mother's birthday. This day became a day of remembrance and mourning. The greatest and most important day in her life was Victory Day on may 9. It won't be long before there won't be a single one of those who fought, died, and survived this damned war. Eternal memory of the heroism of the soldier inscribed in the pages of the history of our great state.