guards regiment, 100th guards svir red banner airborne division. mikhail nikolaevich peymer fought on the bryansk front in august forty-two in stalingrad, in october forty -two, the commander of the katyusha rocket launcher battery took part in operation bagration, liberated belarus, lithuania, fought. thank you to east prussia, thank you, dear ones, be healthy, happy, thank you for being with us today, thank you for the victory. performed by the people's artist of russia stas mikhailov, it is called such a simple word , understandable to all of us, order. scraps of life go away, i look at the sun, but i see night, only the smell of a gray, dull groan, someone nearby is wheezing alive, don’t die, the order is for me, i need to get up. i need to get up from those youths, failed fathers, for those who went to the last battle, for those who did not return home, for unborn children, for the tears of our mothers, i have to... i have to get up, i have to get up, and i'm wheezing , but i get up, i die, but i live, our commander shouts fire, the fire of a grenade cuts pain. and i merge with the silence, not to die, an order from the sky i need to get up, i need to stand up for those youths, failed fathers, for those who went to the last battle, for those who did not return home, for unborn children, for the tears of our mothers, i must stand up, i must stand up, not die, orders from heaven must stand up, i have enough of those youngsters who will not succeed. our fathers, for those who went to the last battle, who turned home. for the unborn children, for the tears of our mothers, i must stand up, i must stand up, i must stand up, i must stand up, thank you, happy holiday. stas mikhailov, today we celebrate victory day with the whole world, all the people, the whole earth. this is the day when our heroic grandfathers and great-grandfathers defeated destroyed the enemy, defended their homeland, liberated europe, saved the whole world from fascism. today we bow deeply to all veterans; love and gratitude will always live in our hearts. thank you for winning. the great generation of victorious heroes is an immortal moral example for all of us, for future and current defenders of the homeland. on stage, shaman. it seems to me, sometimes, that the soldiers who never came from the bloody fields did not once die in our land. but they turned into white cranes, they are still flying from those distant times they give us voices, that’s not why it’s so often sad, we know looking at the heavens, yeah. it flies, flies across the sky, a tired wedge, flies in the fog at the end of the day, there is a small gap in that formation, maybe this is the place for me. the day will come from the flock of cranes, i will swim in the same blue gloom, from the skies i will call the birds, all of you whom i left on earth. it seems at times that soldiers who did not come from the bloody fields, not to our land, once died, but turned into white cranes, i want to congratulate our entire country on the holiday, on may 9, on the great victory, hurray, hurray , yes. let's get up, get up, get up, while we're still with you, we're alive, and the truth is behind us, there's someone looking at us from above with their own eyes. they smiled like children outside, let's stand closer to them , let's stand, stand, stand, while the lord is with us, the truth is with us, we will say thank you for the victory. we were given for those who found their heaven is no longer with us, let's stand up, start a song, let's stand up, our eternal memory beats stronger in our chests, between us, let's stand up, the heroes of russia will remain in our hearts, to the end, let's stand up remember all those whom in this fire lost those who went to die for freedom. and not swept away, i know that we will definitely meet with you, we will get up again, we will get up, we will get drunk, our eternal memory is breasting, between us... we will get up, we will get up, we will get up, we will get up, beating stronger in our chest, our eternal memory, between us. the heroes of russia will remain in our hearts until the end, let us rise , our eternal memory beats stronger in our chests between ... the heroes of russia will remain in our hearts. shaman and festive choir of the danilo monastery, artistic director georgy safonov. another favorite song of ours sounds: a blue handkerchief, a modest little blue handkerchief was worn out. their shoulders, you said that you would not forget affectionate, joyful meetings, sometimes, at night, we said goodbye to you, there are no previous nights where you are a handkerchief, dear, welcome dear. i remember how on a memorable evening, your handkerchief fell from your shoulders, how you saw off and promised to steal the blue handkerchief , and let it be with me, no, today my beloved dear one, i know with love, you hide it at the headboard. dear, when i receive your letters, i hear my dear voice, and between the lines, the blue handkerchief again stands before me, and often accompanies me with you. and your appearance, i feel next to your loving gaze, you are always with me, how many treasured handkerchiefs we carry in chanels with us, tender speeches, tevichi beaches, we remember in our suffering... for them, happy , desired loved ones, such as the machine gunner scribbles for a blue handkerchief, that was on the shoulders of dear ones. for them, relatives, desired, loved ones, such, take care of their little little ones, as big as the blue handkerchief that was on the shoulders of the dear ones. honored artist of russia, zara, thank you, well now we would like to tell you about a wonderful family dynasty, that’s all generations of which chose a heroic profession, to defend their homeland, the fuzhenko dynasty, today its representatives in... colonel evgeny fuzhenko, served in staff and command positions in the russian armed forces, a participant in combat. his wife, aina gulfuzhenka, a foreman of the medical service, a participant in a special military operation, and their son georgy, an eighth-grade student at the suvorov military school. thank you! the people's artist of russia addresses you with words of gratitude, that's the name of the song, thank you guys, remembering, it was quiet, sitting at the grave, the men say, their wrinkles will remember everything about how in an instant, without warning, the bloodshed broke out in the morning, we flew up as birds, in the fire on... the border, thinking it was a dream, but crazy thunder in a black chariot, the main thing will be a dream for their whole life, then, their whole life, then... hurray, thank you, guys, for being with us, thank you, region, but. what you shielded within yourself stood as a strong wall, thank you, guys, to all those who were russia’s older brother, for what i could have had without you. but you managed to win, bequeathing us to live, bequeathing us to live, in the warm light of the eternal might, terrible moments. and disobedience, generations, we must remember their names, so that one morning, if necessary, we can always fly like birds. to distant villages or cities, the star saw how the goths and grandfathers made victories, we will remember this, this is forever with... forever, thank you guys for being close to your father, thank you, hero, for what you blocked with you stood like a wall, thank you. guys, to all those who was a race and an older brother, for what could not have happened without you, but you managed to win, bequeathed to us to live. bequeathed to us to live, thank you, happy holiday, grigory lepts, our festive concert, may 9, victory day continues, meet pilogey, he will not come for you. it is clear, the water will not flow for you, and the girl’s heart will beat with the delight of feelings, not for you. the gardens in the distance will not bloom for you; the grove will bloom there; the nightingale will greet spring; it will not sing for you. it’s not for you that streams gurgle, run like diamond streams, there’s a theme with black eyebrows, she is not growing for you. easter will not come for you, all your relatives will gather at the table, the wine will be drunk so much... my life is not for you, but for you a piece of lead, her white body will scream, bitter tears will be shed, because... my life, brother, is waiting bitterness will be shed upon you, such a life will gnaw at you. thank you, happy holiday, thank you, pilogea. alexander yatsenko, we didn’t leave them, they follow us, behind us, this is war, we are part of it, in war shering is not chosen, jews here are not peaceful people, they are killed by enemies and that means they must. on july 29, 1937, japanese troops captured beijing, the true story of world war ii. ui appeared in the northeast not by chance, it all happened. frames in the film by alexei denisov emperor without an empire, a throne on bayonets. this newsreel was captured by soviet soldiers in august 1945 . premiere on may 10 on rtr. a wonderful soviet poet, alexey. fatyanov, a private who fought throughout the war, told. i remember the front, in a large green grove, we were soldiers, lying after a battle, shaking off the earth that had covered us, suddenly we hear, following the hum of german planes fading in the distance, as if affirming life, the nightingale clicked. and so the song was born, spring came to our front, which soon... began to be called simply nightingales. today this song will be performed by people's artist of russia, nikolai baskov. nightingales. nightingales, don’t disturb the soldiers , let the soldiers sing the matter a little. god, saved, spring came to us at the front, i became a soldier without sleep, not because the guns were firing, but because they were singing again, having forgotten that there were battles going on here, they were singing. there are crazy salavis here, salaviy. nightingale, do not disturb the soldiers, oh, soldiers, a little sleepy. yes, let them save you, but what is war for the nightingale, the nightingale has his own life, the soldier does not sleep, remember the house and the green garden above the pond, where the nightingales sing all night, in that house. they are waiting somewhere, nightingales, nightingales, don’t disturb the soldiers, oh, soldiers. let them sleep a little , let him save him, and tomorrow there will be a battle again, it’s so destined by fate, so that we don’t leave... unloving from our wives, from our fields, but with every step in that battle, home in our native land is closer to us, salavi, salavi, don't worry. that the soldiers have little sleep! happy holiday of great victory. thank you! people's artist of russia, nikolai baskov! our soldiers at all times knew what they fought for and what they died for! they were led to a great victory by selfless devotion to their native country. love for your people, for your small homeland. this is where we were lucky enough to be born, where for the rest of our lives until death, we found that handful of earth that is suitable for seeing in it the signs of the whole earth. yes, you can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts, yes, you can go hungry and cold, face death, but these. three birches in one's lifetime cannot be given away. on stage are alexandra vorobyova and the moscow state academic dance theater gzhel. i look into the blue lakes. i look into the blue lakes in the fields, i pick daisies, i call you. i call russia alone, ask, ask me again. and there is no dearer land, i was once given a russian name here, i look into the blue lakes in the fields of daisies, i call you russia, i call you the only one, i don’t know greater happiness than to live with one destiny, to be sad with you, my land, and to celebrate with you. your beauty has not aged, neither years nor misfortune ivanami yes marami. and you were always proud, not all falcons returned, some were chiefs, some were killed, but their high glory belongs to you, your beauty was not stolen. never mind, it doesn’t matter, ivanamilya maryami, you were always proud, i don’t know greater happiness than to live with the same destiny, to be sad with you, my land, and... to know with you, i don’t know greater happiness than to live with the same destiny, to be sad with you , my land, and celebrate with you. and one more favorite song that helped our warriors live and survive in mortal combat, their wives and mothers to believe and hope for a quick meeting and, of course, a quick victory. on our festive stage, dima bilan. dark night! it’s a dark night, only bullets whistle across the steppe, only the wind hums in the wires. the stars twinkle dimly on the dark night, you, my beloved, i know you don’t sleep by the baby’s crib, you secretly wipe away a tear. how i love the depth of your tender eyes. how i want to press my lips to them now, the dark night separates our beloved and the disturbing black one that lies here. and between us, i believe in you, my dear friend, this faith saved me from a bullet on a dark night. i am happy, i am calm in a mortal battle, i know you will meet me with love, no matter what happens to me, death is scary to me, we have met it more than once. were flying in the steppe, and now, she’s circling above me, you’re waiting for me, you’re not sleeping by the baby’s crib, so i know. nothing will happen to me. death is not scary, we have encountered it more than once, and now it is circling above me and waiting for me. happy holiday of the great victory, honored honor of russia, dima bilan, front-line folklore, you can’t do without it in the war, songs, jokes, sayings, riddles composed our pilots and sailors, tank crews, signalmen, infantrymen, sappers, partisans, work cleanly, put a fascist right in the coffin and the russian says good, when the germans are fleeing, don’t give the enemy a break, don’t give him a tire, now let’s remember one song that although it appeared 2 years after the end of the war, but in our memory it is forever associated with the victorious days, the famous song of a front-line driver, in it... these words: the path for us to berlin, by the way, friends, was not easy and not quick, meet, people's artist of russia, alexander buinov. through the mountains rivers and valleys, through blizzard fire and black smoke, we drove the car. let's clear the mines to the frontline roads, the road is smart, we're not afraid of any little girl, but die. it’s enough for us, we still have things to do at home, but it’s enough for us to die, we still have things to do at home, the path for us to berlin, by the way, my friends, was not easy and not quick, we walked days and nights, it was very difficult, but he didn’t throw the steering wheel... he threw the drivers on the way, the front line is not scary for us, any little girl, but it’s too early for us to die, we still have things to do at home, and dying is the same for us, what else do we have business at home, maybe a separate civilian ? this song is a little out of place, we won’t forget, no matter where we live, front- line roads are well traveled, front-line paths, we’re not afraid of any little girl, but it’s too early for us to die, we still have things to do at home, but we’re equal to dying, yes we still have things to do at home. oh, the path, the front line, we are not afraid of any bombing, but it’s too early for us to die, we still have things to do at home, it’s too early for us to die, we still have things to do at home, happy holidays, well done! people's artist of russia alexander muinov. friends, we have another military dynasty in our hall today. let's start with the youngest, young suvorovite, nikolai kozlov. his father, major general valery kozlov, a border guardsailor, served on the ships of the red banner amur fleet. he is not in the hall today, but we say hello to him. happy holiday, dear defenders of the homeland. another legendary song, in zemlyanki. on the stage, taisiya povaliy. the fire drinks in the cramped stove, the resin on the logs is like a tear, an accordion sings to me in the dugout. about your smile and eyes, the bushes whispered to me about you, in the snow-white fields near moscow, i want you to hear how my living voice yearns. you are now far, far away, between us there is snow and snow, it is not easy for me to reach you, and there are four steps to death, sing a harmonica in the south for evil, lost. whose happiness depends, i feel warm in the cold dugout, on your unbearable love. sing a harmonica in the south for evil, lost happiness, howl to me in the cold. the dugout is warm, from your unbearable love, the fire drinks in the tight fire, the resin on the logs is like a tear, the accordion sings to me in the dugout, abou