—— Red Army Sniper ——152the enemy to establish your identity – in case you are wounded or
killed.
It only remained now to rehearse everything beforehand: to
carry out another check, to work out how long it would take me to
use a weapon – to draw the knife, throw a grenade, fire the pistol, to
grab another one, to be ready to fire, either right or lefthanded, to
fire through my trouser pockets or padded jacket, and from inside
my shirtfront. We organised these rehearsals ourselves – they were
always useful. Even with a sniper’s rifle I learned, while walking
with the weapon over my shoulder, to prepare on command ‘for
action’ with a count of one rather than the regulation three. It was
a very deft and dramatic move; you seize the neck below the butt
with your right hand and ‘hey presto!’ – the rifle spins in the air
and, in an instant, you have it ready for firing.
Beyond the door of my dugout it was already night – dark,
moonless and impenetrable. That was not altogether a bad thing
to begin with. I was escorted on my way. There was our front line;
there was our last outpost. A final farewell from the battalion
commander, final instructions from the reconnaissance platoon
commander, synchronisation of watches and specification of
signals. A brief, friendly farewell – a pat on the shoulder or back.
A last handshake with friends and a light push upwards, over the
parapet of the trench. And I would merge with the landscape.
But I was still not alone; I was now accompanied by an
experienced sapper who would help me to get through the barrier
of mines – both our own and the enemy’s, although the path
through our own mine belt was already well known to me. For the
moment the sapper went ahead of me. But then he extended his
hand and waved with the other one: ‘I’m off!’
Now I was all alone in the pitch darkness. As always at the start
of a mission, I felt a little uncomfortable. Only for a few seconds, but
it was a bit scary. Exactly the sort of fear experienced by everyone
returning to the frontline trenches after lengthy treatment in
hospital: for two to three days you duck at every bullet flying past
and stoop low after every shell explodes. But then you feel at home