With bowed heads and bleeding hearts we paid last homage to our comrades. They had laid down their lives like true heroes, without suspecting that they were being sacrificed to no purpose by a vile traitor.
On March 10th, still suffering from the effects of my dreadful night among the corpses, I was sent to the Divisional Hospital for a three days’ rest. I was back in the trenches on the 14th, when another advance was ordered. The German positions were not yet strongly fortified, and we captured their first line without serious losses. Then there was another few days’ respite, during which our ranks were reformed.
Early in the morning of March 16th, after an ineffectual bombardment of the enemy’s position by our artillery, the signal to go over the top was given. We advanced in the face of a stubborn German fire, dashing through No Man’s Land only to find the enemy’s wire defences intact. There was nothing to do but retreat. It was while running back that a bullet struck me in the right leg, shattering the bone. I fell. Within a hundred feet of me ran the enemy’s first line. Bullets whizzed over my head, pursuing my fleeing comrades.
I was not alone. Others were groaning not far from me. Some prayed for death.... I grew thirsty. I had lost a great deal of blood. But I knew it was useless to move. The sun rose in the east, only to be obscured by grey clouds.
“Shall I be rescued?” I wondered. “Perhaps the enemy’s stretcher-bearer will pick me up soon. But no, he just fired at that soldier yonder who raised himself in an effort to move.”
I pressed myself closer to the ground. I seemed to hear voices coming near. I held my breath in suspense.
“I am a German prisoner!” I thought. Then the voices died away, and again my thirst tortured me.
“Holy Mother, when will help come? Or am I doomed to lie here indefinitely till I fall into unconsciousness and die?... The sun is already in mid-heaven. My comrades are having their soup and warm tea. What would I not give for a glass of hot tea! The Germans are eating, too. I can hear the clatter of their pans. Why, I can even smell faintly the steam from their soup.”
“It is calm now. Only rarely a sniper’s bullet crosses the field.... Night, night, night.... How I wish for night! Certainly our men are not going to let all of us perish here. Besides, they must have missed me by now. They surely won’t let Yashka, dead or alive, lie in the field. So there is hope.”
The thought of my comrades’ discovery of my absence gave me new strength. The seconds seemed hours and the minutes days, but the shadows arrived at last, creeping toward the side where the sun had disappeared. Then came darkness and rescue was not long in coming. Our brave stretcher-bearers, aided by some of the soldiers, were out on their pious mission. Cautiously they moved nearer and nearer to the German line, and finally picked me up. Yes, it was Yashka whom they carried into our trenches.