My heart leaped for joy. The soldier did not recognize me. He was a new man. But the others must have told him of me.
“I am Yashka,” I said.
That was a pass-word. They all knew the name and had heard from the veterans of the regiment many stories about me. I was taken to the Colonel in command of the supply train, a queer old man who kissed me on both cheeks and jumped about, clapping his hands and shouting, “Yashka! Yashka!”
He was kind-hearted and immediately began to look after my comfort. He promptly ordered an orderly to bring a new outfit and gave instructions for the bath used by the officers to be prepared for me. Clean and in the new uniform, I accepted the invitation to sup with the Colonel. There were several other officers at the table and all were glad to see me. The news spread that Yashka had arrived, and some soldiers could not restrain their desire to shake hands with me. Every now and then there would be a meek knock at the door and in answer to the Colonel’s question, “Who’s there?” a plaintive voice would say:
“Excellency, may I be allowed to see Yashka?”
In time quite a number of comrades were admitted into the house. One part of it was occupied by the owner, a widow with a young daughter. I spent the night with the latter and in the morning started out to the front. Some of our companies were in reserve and my progress became a triumphal journey. I was feasted on the way and given several ovations.
I presented myself to the Commander of the Regiment, who invited me to dine that afternoon with the Regimental Staff, certainly the first case of an ordinary soldier receiving such an invitation in the history of the Regiment. At dinner the Commander toasted me, telling the story of my work with the Regiment and wishing me many more years of such service.
At the conclusion he pinned a cross of the 3rd Degree on my breast, and marked with a pencil three stripes on my shoulder, thus promoting me to the grade of senior non-commissioned officer. The Staff crowded round me, pressing my hands, praising me and expressing their good wishes. I was profoundly moved by this display of cordial appreciation and affection on the part of the officers. This was my reward for all the suffering I had undergone.
And it was a reward worth having. What did I care for a wound in the spine and four months’ paralysis if this was the return that I received for my sacrifice? Trenches filled with bloody corpses held no horror for me then. No Man’s Land seemed quite an attractive place in which to spend a day with a bleeding leg. The screech of shells and the whistle of bullets presented themselves like music to my imagination. Ah, life was not so bleak and meaningless, after all. It had its moments of bliss that compensated for years of torment and misery.
The commander had, in his order of the day, stated the fact of my return and promotion. He furnished me with an orderly to show me the way to the trenches. Again I was hailed by everybody as I emerged from the dugout of the Commander of the Company, who had placed me in charge of a platoon of seventy men. In this capacity I had to keep an inventory of the supplies and equipment of my men, a soldier acting as clerk under my instructions.