There was little time for relaxation, however, as we went through an intensive training course of only three months before we were sent to the front. Once a week, every Sunday, I would leave the barracks and spend the day at home, my mother having reconciled herself to my enlistment. On holidays I would be visited by friends or relatives. On one such occasion my sister and her husband called. I had been detailed for guard duty in the barracks that day. While on such duty a soldier is forbidden to sit down or to engage in conversation. I was entertaining my visitors when the Company Commander passed.
“Do you know the rules, Bochkareva?” he asked.
“Yes, your Excellency,” I answered.
“What are they?”
“A soldier on guard duty is not allowed to sit down or engage in conversation,” I replied. He ordered me to stand for two hours at attention at the completion of my guard duty, which took twenty-four hours. Standing at attention, in full military equipment, for two hours is a severe task, as one has to remain absolutely motionless under the eyes of a guard, and yet it was a common punishment.
During my training I was punished in this manner three times. The second time it was really not my fault. One night I recognized my squad commander in a soldier who annoyed me, and I dealt him as hard a blow as I would have given to any other man. In the morning he placed me at attention for two hours, claiming that he had accidentally brushed against me.
At first there was some difficulty in arranging for my bathing. The bathhouse was used by the men, and so I was allowed one day to visit a public bathhouse. I thought it a good opportunity for some fun. I came into the women’s room, fully dressed, and there was a tremendous uproar as soon as I appeared. I was taken for a man. However, the fun did not last long. In an instant I was attacked from all sides and only narrowly escaped serious injury by crying out that I was a woman.
In the last month of our training we engaged in almost continuous rifle practice. I applied myself zealously to acquiring skill in handling a rifle and won an honourable mention for good marksmanship. This considerably enhanced my standing with the soldiers and strengthened our feeling of comradeship.
Early in 1915 our regiment received orders to prepare to proceed to the front. We received a week’s leave. The soldiers passed these last days in drink and revelry and gay parties. One evening a group of boys invited me to go along with them to a house of ill repute.
“Be a soldier, Yashka,” they urged me laughingly, scarcely expecting me to accept their invitation.
A thought flashed through my mind.
“I will go with them, and learn the soldier’s life, so that I may understand his soul better.” And I expressed my willingness to go. Perhaps curiosity had something to do with my decision. It was greeted with an explosion of mirth. Noisily we marched through the streets, singing and laughing, until we came to our destination.
My knees began to tremble as the party was about to enter the house. I wanted to turn back and flee. But the soldiers would not let me. The idea of Yashka going with them to such a place took a strong hold on their imagination. Soldiers, before going to the front, were always welcome in the haunts of vice, as they spent their money freely. Our group was, therefore, promptly surrounded by the women of the place, and one of them, a very young and pretty girl, picked me out as her favourite to the boundless mirth of my companions. There was drinking, dancing and a great deal of noise. Nobody suspected my sex, not even my youthful sweetheart, who seated herself in my lap and exerted all her charms to entice me. She caressed me, embraced me and kissed me. I giggled, and my comrades gave vent to peals of laughter. Presently I was left alone with my charmer.
Suddenly the door swung open and an officer entered. Soldiers were forbidden to leave their barracks after eight o’clock, and our party had slipped out in the dark when we were supposed to be asleep.
“Of what regiment are you?” the officer asked, abruptly, as I rose to salute.
“The Fifth Reserve Regiment, your Excellency,” I replied ruefully.
While this was going on the boys in the other rooms were notified of the officer’s presence and made their escape through windows and all available doors, leaving me to take care of myself.
“How dare you leave your barracks?” he thundered at me, “and frequent such places so late at night, I shall order you to the military prison for the night.” And he commanded me to report there immediately.
It was my first acquaintance with the military gaol. It is not a very comfortable place to spend a night in. In the morning I was called before the prison commandant, who questioned me sternly. Finally, I could contain myself no longer and broke out into laughter.
“It was all a mistake, your Excellency,” I said.
“A mistake, eh? What the devil do you mean, a mistake? I have a report here,” he cried out angrily.
“I am a woman, your Excellency,” I laughed.
“A woman!” he roared, opening his eyes wide, and surveying me. In an instant he recognized the truth of my words. “What the devil!” he muttered. “A woman indeed: A woman in a soldier’s uniform!”
“I am Maria Bochkareva, of the Fifth Regiment,” I explained. He had heard of me.
“But what were you, a woman, doing in that place?” he inquired.
“I am a soldier, your Excellency, and
