"Hello, my Varya! No, we will meet with you. Yesterday at noon we smashed another Hitler column. The fascist shell struck the side armor and exploded inside. Until I took the car into the forest, Vasily has died. My wound is cruel. I buried Vasily Orlov in a birch grove. It was a light. Basil died before he could tell me a single word, nothing is handed to your beautiful Zoe and white-haired Masha, similar to dandelion fluff. So of the three tankers were single. In sulemani I drove into the woods. The night passed in agony, lost a lot of blood. Now for some reason the pain, burn the entire breast, and lay down on the shower quiet. It's a shame that we have not done everything. But we did everything we could. Our friends chase the enemy, who must not walk on our fields and forests. I never would have lived life so if not for you, Varya. You helped me always: on the Khalkhin-Gol and here. Perhaps, after all, who likes that kind to people. Thank you, dear! People get older and the sky is forever young your eyes that only look to admire. They will never age, never fade. Time will pass, people will heal wounds, people will build new cities, will grow new gardens. There will be another life, another song will be sung. But never forget a song about us, about the three soldiers. You will have beautiful children, you will love again. And I'm happy that I leave you with my great love for you. Your Ivan Kolosov." This is the letter twenty-five years later found in the tank together with the remains of the tanker, the letter that was never sent...