—— Lieutenant Butorin Has an Idea ——11They had already captured Uritsk and had been stopped before the
Pulkovo Heights. Our neighbours on the left turned out to be a
battalion of the 6th Regiment of our own division. To our right lay
the Gulf of Finland.
Having achieved the objective, we almost got into a shooting
match on the way with, it turned out, a mounted patrol of our
own border guards. We were returning to our regiment in good
spirits. We were heading towards Leningrad through territory
already in our possession, along a broad concrete highway, now
deserted, which was without any doubt visible to the enemy. To
be more precise, owing to my inexperience and an excess of zeal,
it was only me walking along the highway – as the senior member
of the group. I had ordered the troops to go along the deep ditch
on the right hand side of the road, which kept them well hidden
from view. And also to spread themselves out, 8–10 metres apart.
Only the head and shoulders of the tallest in the group, Private
Kotelnikov, who was bringing up the rear, rose above the level of
the road.
I was walking along the highway because it seemed more con
venient; everybody and everything would be visible. And my lone
figure could scarcely be of much interest to the enemy. However,
it seems I nevertheless drew the attention of the fascists; mortar
bombs and shells were suddenly flying in our direction. Falling
a long way short, they began exploding in an empty field, getting
closer and closer to the road. I instantly gave orders to move at
the double, and began running myself, while continuing to watch
the explosions of the shells. A minute later it was as if somebody
coughed beside me and struck me heavily on the left arm with the
flat surface of a plank. Grunting with the pain, I only then sized
up what was what and, pressing my right hand on the smitten area,
scooted into the ditch. After running another ten metres from the
momentum, I stopped. The explosions had ceased by then. I did a
visual count of the troops; there were only ten of them with me.
‘Where’s the eleventh?’ I asked, surveying the group. ‘Where’s
Kotelnikov?’