At two in the morning the Commander appeared in our midst. He seemed nervous. The other officers came with him and took their positions at the head of the men. With drawn swords they prepared to lead the charge. The Commander had a rifle.
“Climb out!” he shouted.
I crossed myself. My heart was filled with grief for the bleeding men around me and stirred by a fierce desire for revenge upon the Germans. My mind was a kaleidoscope of many thoughts and visions. My mother, death, mutilation, various petty incidents of my life filled it. But there was no time for thinking.
I climbed out with the rest of the men, to be met by a volley of machine-gun fire. For a moment there was confusion. So many of our number had fallen like ripe wheat cut down by a gigantic scythe wielded by the invisible arm of Satan himself. Fresh blood was dripping on the cold corpses that had lain there for hours or days, and the moans were heartrending.
Amid the confusion the voice of our Company Commander was raised.
“Forward!”
And forward we went. The enemy had seen us go over the top, and he let loose Hell. As we ran forward we kept firing. Then the order came to lie down. The bombardment grew even more concentrated. Alternately running for some distance and then lying down, we reached the enemy’s barbed wire entanglements. We had expected to find them demolished by our artillery, but, alas! they were untouched! There were only about seventy left of our Company of two hundred and fifty.
Whose fault was it? This was an offensive on a front of thirteen miles, carried out by three army corps. And the barbed wire was uncut! Perhaps our artillery was defective! Perhaps it was the fault of someone higher up! Anyhow, there we were, seventy out of two hundred and fifty. And every fraction of a second was precious. Were we doomed to die here in a heap without even coming to grips with the enemy? Were our bodies to dangle on this wire tomorrow, and the day after, to provide food for the crows and strike terror into the hearts of the fresh soldiers who would take our places in a few hours?
As these thoughts flashed through our minds an order came to retreat. The enemy let a barrage down in front of us. The retreat was even worse than the advance. Only forty-eight of our Company got back to our trenches alive. About a third of the two hundred and fifty were dead. The greater number of the wounded were in No Man’s Land and their cries of pain and prayers for help or death gave us no peace.
The remnant of our Company crouched in the trench, exhausted, dazed, incredulous of their escape from injury. We were hungry and thirsty and would have welcomed a dry and safe place in which to recover ourselves. But there we were, smarting under the defeat by the enemy’s barbed wire barrier, with the heartbreaking appeals for help coming from our comrades. Deeper and deeper they cut into my soul. They were so plaintive, like the voices of hurt children.
In the dark it seemed to me that I saw their faces, the familiar faces of Ivan and Peter and Sergei and Mitia, the good fellows who had taken such tender care of me, making a comfortable place for me in that crowded teplushka, or taking off their overcoats in cold weather and spreading them on the muddy road to provide a dry seat for Yashka. They called me. I could see their hands outstretched in my direction, their wide-open eyes straining in the night in the hope of rescue, the deathly pallor of their faces. Could I remain indifferent to their cries? Was it not my bounden duty as a soldier, a duty as important as that of fighting the enemy, to render aid to stricken comrades?
I climbed out of the trench and crawled under our wire entanglements. There was a comparative calm, interrupted only by occasional rifle shots, when I would lie down and remain motionless, as though I were a corpse. There were wounded within a few feet of our line. I carried them one by one to the edge of our trench where they were picked up and carried to the rear. The saving of one man encouraged me to continue my efforts till I reached the far side of the field. Here I had several narrow escapes. A sound, made accidentally, was sufficient to attract several shots, and I only saved myself by at once lying flat upon the ground. When dawn broke in the East, putting an end to my expeditions through No Man’s Land, I had saved about fifty lives.
I had no idea at the time of what I had accomplished. But when the soldiers whom I had picked up were brought to the relief-station and asked who rescued them, about fifty replied, “Yashka.” This was communicated to the Commander, who recommended me for an Order of the 4th Degree, “for distinguished valour shown in the saving of many lives under fire.”
Our kitchen had been destroyed the previous night by the enemy’s fire, and we were very hungry. Our ranks were replenished by fresh drafts, and our artillery again boomed all day, playing havoc with the enemy’s wire fences. We guessed that it meant another order to advance the following night, and our expectations proved correct. At about the same hour as the previous morning we climbed out and started to run towards the enemy’s position. Again a rain of shells and bullets, again scores of wounded and killed, again smoke and gas and blood and mud. But we reached the wire entanglement and it was down and torn to pieces this time. We halted for an instant, emitting an inhuman “Hurrah! Hurrah!” that struck terror into those Germans that were still alive in their half-demolished trenches, and
