Red Army Sniper A Memoir on the Eastern Front in World War II

—— Our Zhenya ——

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was needed most. Therefore, they excused her whims. There was no
time to deal with her re­education and nobody to do it; the Germans
were only three kilometres from Leningrad and 40–100 metres
from our trenches. From time to time accurate grenade­throwers
would toss their missiles back and forth between the trenches.
Zhenya always had plenty of work. She saved the lives of
dozens of troops, carrying seriously wounded soldiers and officers
from the battlefield regardless of the rifle and machine­gun fire,
the exploding shells and mines. She would patch up the lightly
wounded and evacuate them to the rear, and again dash into the
front line, into the very heart of the fighting. It was regarded as her
normal work, like that of the soldiers themselves, or anybody else
at the front, where everybody knows their job and place and takes
responsibility for them.
But there was one incident involving our Zhenya which I will
remember for the rest of my life.
The battalion was stationed by a mill not far from the ‘Klinovo
houses’ near Uritsk, which were made famous by another episode
in the war. It was an ordinary day at the front, the sort on which
the Soviet Information Bureau would record: ‘On the remaining
fronts there was no significant activity.’
It was late at night before our divisional scout group ventured
into the enemy’s rear areas. Leading it was scout platoon commander
Junior Lieutenant Ivan Pilipchuk. An excellent trainer, an intrepid
scout, as well as a wag and a joker, he was everybody’s favourite.
The days went by and in the trenches we waited for the return of
our ‘trekkers’. They ought to have been back already; it was almost
two nights since they had gone. People had gathered in the trenches,
ready at any moment to dash out to rescue their comrades, but
everything remained as silent as before. Day had almost dawned
when all those concerned by the group’s long absence suddenly
caught the sound of random machine­gun fire and faint but frequent
grenade explosions in the enemy lines. ‘It’s our lot! They’ve been
spotted! Don’t say they won’t break through?’ each of us thought,
getting ready for a charge at the German trenches if necessary. We