“You can’t go to the trenches, Bochkareva,” my Commander addressed me upon his return from the Commandant. “The General won’t allow it. He was very much concerned about you and could not understand how a woman could be a soldier.”
For a moment I was shocked. Then the happy thought occurred to me that no General had the authority to overrule an order of the Tsar.
“Your Excellency!” I exclaimed to Colonel Grishaninov, “I was enlisted by the grace of the Tsar as a regular soldier. You can look up His Majesty’s telegram in my record.”
This settled the matter, and the Commandant withdrew his objections. We had to walk about thirteen miles to Corps Headquarters. The road was in a frightful condition, muddy and full of ruts. We were so tired at the end of seven miles that a rest was ordered. The soldiers, although they were tired out, made a dry seat for me with their overcoats. We then resumed our journey, arriving for supper at Headquarters, and were billeted for the night in a stable. We slept like the dead, on straw spread over the floor.
General Valuyev was then Commander of the Fifth Corps. He reviewed us in the morning and was extremely satisfied, assigning us to the Seventh Division, which was situated some miles distant. The Commander of the Division, whose name was Walter, was of German blood and a thorough rascal. We were quartered, during the night, in the woods, behind the fighting line.
In command of the reserves was a Colonel named Stubendorf, also of German blood, but a decent and popular officer. When informed that a woman was in the ranks of the newly-arrived regiment, he was amazed:
“A woman!” he cried out, “she can’t be permitted to remain. This regiment is going into battle soon, and women were not made for war.”
There was a heated discussion between him and Commander Grishaninov, which ended in an order for my appearance before them. I was subjected to a searching inquiry and passed it well. Asked if I wanted to take part in the fighting, I replied affirmatively. Muttering his astonishment Colonel Stubendorf allowed me to remain till he had looked into the matter further.
A big battle was raging at this time on our section of the front. We were told to be ready for an order to move at any moment to the front line. Meanwhile, we were sheltered in dugouts. My company occupied ten of these, all bombproof, though not in first-class condition. They were cold and had no windows. As soon as day broke we busied ourselves with cutting windows, building fireplaces, repairing the dilapidated ceilings of timber and sand, and general housecleaning. The dugouts were constructed in rows, the companies of odd numbers being assigned to the row on the right, while those of even numbers went to the left. There were notice-boards along the road and each company had a sentinel on duty.
Our position was five miles behind the first line of trenches. The booming of the guns could be heard in the distance. Streams of wounded, some in vehicles and others on foot, flowed along the road. We drilled during most of the second day under the inspection of Colonel Stubendorf. He must have kept a close eye on me, for at the end of the drilling he called me, praised my efficiency, and granted me permission to stay in the ranks.
On the third day came the order to move to the trench lines. Through mud and under shellfire we marched forward. It was still light when we arrived at the firing-line. We had two killed and five wounded. As the German positions were on a hill, they were enabled to observe all our movements. We were therefore instructed by field-telephones not to occupy the trenches till after dark.
“So this is war,” I thought. My pulse quickened, and I caught the spirit of excitement that pervaded the regiment. We were all expectant, as if in the presence of a solemn revelation. We were eager to get into the fray and to show the Germans what we, the soldiers of the Fifth Regiment, could do. Were we nervous? Undoubtedly. But it was not the nervousness of cowardice, rather was it the restlessness of young blood. Our hands were steady, our bayonets fixed. We exulted in our adventure.
Night came. The Germans were discharging a volume of gas at us. Perhaps they noticed an unusual movement behind the lines, and wished to annihilate us before we entered the battle. But they failed. Over the wire came the order to put on our masks. Thus were we baptized in this most inhuman of all German war inventions. Our masks were not perfect. The deadly gas penetrated some and made our eyes smart and water. But we were soldiers of Mother Russia, whose sons are not unaccustomed to half-suffocating air, and we so withstood the irritating fumes.
Midnight passed. The Commander went through our ranks to inform us that the hour had come to move into the trenches and that before dawn we should take the offensive. He addressed us with words of encouragement and was heartily cheered. The artillery had been thundering all night the fire growing more and more intense every hour. In single file we moved along a communication trench to the front line. Some of us were wounded, but we remained dauntless. All our fatigue seemed to have vanished.
The front trench was a mere ditch, and as we lined up along it our shoulders touched. The positions of the enemy were less than three-quarters of a mile away, and the space between was filled with groans and swept by bullets. It was a scene full of horrors. Sometimes an enemy shell would land in the midst of our men, killing several and wounding more. We were sprinkled with the blood of
