I was assigned to numerous observation parties. Usually four of us would be detailed to a listening-post, located sometimes in a bush, another time in a hole in the ground, behind the stump of a tree, or some similar obstacle. We crawled to our post so noiselessly that not only the enemy but even our own men would not know our hiding places, which were on an average fifty feet apart. Once at the post, our safety and duty demanded absolute immobility and caution. We had to strain our ears to catch any unusual sound, and communicate it from post to post. Besides, there was always a chance of an enemy patrol or post being in close proximity without our knowing it. Every two hours the holders of the posts were relieved.
One foggy night, while on guard at a listening post, I detected a dull noise. It sounded like a raiding party, and I took it at first for our own, but there was no answer to my sharp query for the password. It was impossible to see in the mist. We opened fire, and the Germans flattened themselves on the ground and waited.
There they lay for almost two hours, until we had forgotten the incident. Then they crawled toward our post and suddenly appeared in front of us. There were eight of them. One threw a grenade, but missed our hole, and it exploded behind us. We fired, killing two and wounding four. The remaining two escaped.
When the Company Commander received an order to send out a scouting party, he would call for volunteers. Armed with hand-grenades, about thirty of the best soldiers would go out into No Man’s Land to test the enemy’s strength by drawing his fire, or to alarm him by heavy bombing and shooting. Not infrequently scouting parties from both sides would meet. Then there would be a regular battle. It sometimes happened that one party would let an enemy party pass in front, and then attack it from the rear and capture it.
The fifteenth of August, 1915, was a memorable day in our lives. The enemy opened a violent fire at us at three o’clock in the morning, demolishing our barbed-wire defences, destroying some of our trenches, and burying many soldiers alive. Many others were killed by enemy shells. Altogether we lost fifteen killed and forty wounded out of two hundred and fifty. It was clear that the Germans contemplated an offensive. Our artillery replied vigorously, and the earth shook with the thunder of the guns. We sought every protection available, our nerves strained in momentary anticipation of an attack. We crossed ourselves, prayed to God, made ready our rifles, and awaited orders.
At six o’clock the Germans were observed climbing over the top and running in our direction. Closer and closer they came, and still we made no move, while our artillery rained shells on them. When they approached within a hundred feet of our line we received the order to open fire, and we greeted the enemy with such a concentrated hail of bullets, that his ranks were decimated and plunged in confusion. We took advantage of the situation and rushed at the Germans, turning them back and pursuing them along the twelve-mile front on which they had started to advance. The enemy lost ten thousand men that morning.
During the day we received reinforcements, and also new equipment, including gas masks. Then word came that we were to take the offensive the following night. Our guns began a terrific bombardment of the German positions at six in the evening. We were all in a state of suppressed excitement. Men and officers mixed together, joking about death. Many expected not to return and wrote letters to their dear ones. Others prayed. Before an offensive the men’s camaraderie would reach its height. There would be affectionate partings, sincere professions by some of their premonitions of death and the sending of messages to friends. Universal joy was displayed whenever a shell of ours tore a gap in the enemy’s wire defences or fell into the midst of his trenches.
At three in the morning the order, “Advance!” rang out. In high spirits we started for the enemy’s positions. Our casualties on the way were enormous. Several times we were ordered to lie down. Our first line was almost completely wiped out, but its ranks were filled up by men from the second row. On we went till we reached the Germans and overwhelmed them. Our own Polotsk Regiment alone captured two thousand prisoners and our jubilation was boundless. We held the enemy’s positions, and No Man’s Land, strewn with wounded and dead, was now ours. There were few stretcher-bearers available, and a call went out for volunteers to gather in the wounded. I was among those who answered the call.
There is great satisfaction in helping a suffering human being. There is great reward in the gratitude of a man tortured with suffering whom one has saved. It gave me immense joy to be able to maintain the life in an unconscious human body. As I was kneeling over one such wounded man, who had suffered a great loss of blood, and was about to lift him, a sniper’s bullet hit me between the thumb and forefinger and passed on and through the flesh of my left forearm. Fortunately I realized quickly the nature of the wounds, bandaged them, and, in spite of his protests, carried the bleeding man out of danger.
I continued my work all night, and was recommended to receive the Cross of St. George of the 4th Degree, “for bravery in defensive and offensive fighting and for rendering, while wounded, first aid on the field of battle.” But I never received it. Instead, I was awarded a medal of the 4th Degree and was informed that a woman could not obtain the Cross of St. George.
I was disappointed and chagrined. Hadn’t I heard of the Cross being given to some Red Cross nurses? I protested
