Ion Cristoiu: Well, if the Romanian military did not want to leave Crimea in 1941, how can the Russian military do it today, in 2022?

Although Ukrainian-Western war propaganda continues to claim that Russia focused on southern Ukraine after failing to conquer Kiev, it is more than certain that the South, or more precisely the conquest and Russification of the South, was the target of Russian intervention from the beginning.

The South must be handed over to the Russian administration for the sake of Crimea. Crimea is an enchanted place for Vladimir Putin. Not only for him, I say, but also for the Romanian military in the Eastern Campaign.

In the year of grace 1942, Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu published the report at the Gh. Mecu National Publishing House I fought in the Crimea.

The report stems from the accompaniment by Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu of a detachment from the 1st Mixed Mountain Brigade, as part of the operation to clear the Road to Crimea from the Eastern War.

The 1st Mixed Mountain Brigade, commanded by Mikhail Lascar and Deputy Commander Leonard Mociulschi, reached Carasabusar after crossing the Salkovo Isthmus. By then, he had crossed the Dniester into Moghilev, taken the Bug, then down the Dnieper, guarded the Germans who had already entered the Crimea, and taken part in the Battle of the Sea of ​​Azov. As he says, the report, until Iaila, did not have much to do with the detachment (one of the three) commanded by Leonard Mociulschi. The Russians had retreated beyond the mountains under pressure from the German Army. The operation in which Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu participates is one of cleaning the road to the Sea. I don’t know when the reporter and the Propaganda team joined the detachment. If we take into account the reports of the march through the Nogai Steppe, I think the moment was after the Battle of the Sea of ​​Azov, when the Brigade was ordered to march on the Crimea. The report gave me the opportunity to learn for the first time about Leonard Mociulschi, one of the legendary heroes of the Eastern Campaign. His post-war destiny reaches the limits of the improbable, ready to pass into the space of the fantastic. Leonard Mociulschi, commander of the Mountain Hunters Brigade, doing practically the entire campaign in the East and then in the West, one of the most decorated Romanian generals, was arrested in 1948, after being transferred to the reserve in 1946, sent to Canal without trial. . Released in 1955, he works as an unskilled worker, as does his wife, a day laborer. He was rehabilitated in 1968, with the arrival of De Gaulle, who became interested in him.

After clearing the road of 50 kilometers of Russian commando units, the detachment reaches the southern coast of Crimea.

Constantin Virgil Gheorghiu describes the dream atmosphere of Crimea in 1941 as follows:

“At a quarter past eight on the morning of November 5 – twenty-four hours after leaving Carasanbusar – we arrived victorious at the Black Sea, near the village of Uskut, on the southern coast of Crimea.

The day passed banally. It was a warm, sweet sun, like tea. We ate a lot of fruit, which kept us hungry; for our supply would come into operation only in the evening. The last columns arrived without restraint, after crossing the mountains, on the sea shore.

The houses of the Tartars here are like dolls’ toys: glittering clean, the walls lined with flowered canvas and have no beds. They sleep on colorful mattresses, sitting down on the carpets. When they enter the house, the Tartars take off their slippers. Grapes, apples and pears hang from the ceiling. They have so many fruits and are so beautiful that they keep them like ornaments hanging on the beams and on the walls.

In fact, these fruits are the main food of the locals, in winter. They feed more on grapes, apples, nuts and pears.

They all eat sugar, drink coffee and smoke, absolutely all of them. Their lives are quiet and colorful. They are treated like ambassadors to us.

However, I did not manage to sleep in any of these short, fruit-laden houses, clean and adorned like dolls’ rooms: it smells hot in them. And these obsessively beautiful tartar, and their garments, and their beautiful and large mattresses, and every handkerchief or handkerchief of theirs, though very clean, have a pungent odor like the smell of chemicals.

I couldn’t stand it. I had a headache. And although I would have liked to sleep in one of these fairytale-like rooms, I had to leave.

I fainted from the strong smell of ammonia. Where does this smell come from? I do not know.

We went to the seashore, to the harbor.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon. I sat on the wooden terrace with Colonel Mociulschi Leonard and Captain Angel, watching the calm, blue sea. Even though it was November, you could stay in your shirt. A warm mist was coming from the sea and a calmness and tranquility crept into our chests, as we had not known for a long time.

“I think we’ll stay here longer!” said Colonel Mociulschi, sitting with his head resting in his right hand, and looking at the boundless expanse of the sea.

There was so much peace, so much peace around me, as I think it was only in the days of the Bible pastors. Captain Angel, this brave man, who has always faced the scourge of battle, fearless to death, with his delicate, delicate creature, answers:

Yes, Colonel, I think we will linger here

And again, all three of us fell silent. It was as if our nerves were relaxing, one by one. We gave in to the thoughts, the peace on the shore, and the dream.

In the evening we ate grapes, drank sweet must, took a bite of a fragrant pear, big and sweet, and then lay down on the straw in the harbor building, with the doors and windows wide open to the calm and restful sea.

“How nice of us to stay here for a few weeks!” said Captain Angel.

“I think we’ll stay,” said Colonel Mociulschi. People will also rest, because they have walked, without stops, almost four thousand kilometers since the beginning of the war.

And again we were silent, tasting with all our being, with all our souls, the peace and tranquility that surrounded us. How good it would be here! We could only hear our hearts and clocks beating – slowly – and the silky waves hitting the beach sand. How long have I been like this? I do not know. We couldn’t move. We would have remained, lost in a dream, an eternity.

But the phone rang, the wire of which was brought through the window to the headboard. I was startled. We came back immediately: it must be a trivial order. There can be nothing else.

But our foreboding and trembling were justified. A new order of attack had come. We had to start at dawn, to the right and to the left of the shore, to crush resistance, to fight again! ”

Well, if the Romanian military didn’t want to leave Crimea, how would the Russian military do it today?

NOTE: This editorial is taken entirely from

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