Davydov Fyodor Vasilievich_x000D_ _x000D_ He served in the Navy. While on a convoy guard boat, he destroyed two enemy Messerschmitts in one battle and was awarded the order of the red Star. This is just one episode of the glorious path of my grandfather, who began his military career in 1941 and ended it in 1945 in Japan. It was the path of a simple hero, a Russian sailor who saved me, my three brothers and two sisters. He defended his country without complaining or crying, but marching forward without looking back. My grandfather didn't look back, because he was afraid, afraid of losing sight of the enemy, whom he hated fiercely. He hated it for his wounded and tormented Homeland, maimed and abused. He was small in stature, thin as a chip, and possessed neither heroic strength, nor immortality, nor iron health. So why did he survive? Why did Grandfather Fedya, who had never even fired a hunting rifle before the war, shoot iron monsters to death? How could he win this war? I don't know the answer, I forgot to ask him how he did it. He died when I was eight, and I just didn't have time. I just didn't have time... I'm trying to correct this mistake and put myself in his shoes to understand him. But I can't. I can't imagine that I'm standing in a shower of hot iron, that I'm sleeping in a trench in a forty-degree frost, that the day is dark as night because of the smoke and dust, that for four years, 1400 days and nights I have to go to my death... Every minute. Now there are a lot of treacherous screams about why we remember this War, they say, it's time for us to forget this page. But I know for sure that the Russian people experienced the brink of destruction, this is the very moment when we hung over the abyss and had to fall there, disappearing into the abyss forever. And this must be remembered. Everyone should remember this. This cannot be forgiven or forgotten. My grandfather lived a simple life and tried not to think about the war. Only a few times we managed to get him to tell us a couple of stories from those days. And he told us about how he went to his death and saw her walking around. He told some episodes casually, as if remembering how he went fishing yesterday. We were children and didn't think about it deeply. But now I understand that my Grandfather is a hero, not because he shot down twenty planes, but because he was a Hero, a Hero who was supposed to save Russia and destroy the enemy!