737. An Arduous Battle
In December 1941 I was appointed commander of a rifle platoon
in our own 5th Company, in place of the lieutenant who had been
killed in the last battle. But I would not part with my sniper’s rifle.
Every now and then I went out onto the front line. Taking one of
the soldiers along with me, I would teach him the sniper’s art, train
my successors if you like. My tally was increasing slowly but surely.
Also growing in direct proportion to it was the number of stars on
the stock of my rifle, which I carefully traced with oil paint. There
were now seven mediumsized and six small stars, adding up to
the seventysix Nazis in my tally. It was a brandnew rifle issued in
place of the one that had been smashed under the tram.
December 13th 1941 began as usual, with checks on the sentries,
compilation of the duty roster, issuing of orders and carrying out
commands from on high. Then suddenly a telephone operator
from the company command post, Junior Sergeant Filatov, burst
into the dugout.
‘The company commander wants to see you, Yevgeni. Urgently!
He said to drop everything, without delay.’
The company commander, Lieutenant Butorin, had given
orders as follows: ‘Go quickly to the regimental general staff.
Get there any way you can, but you’ll have to slip through before