—— Lieutenant Butorin Has an Idea ——13The 14th Regiment, which had only just occupied the
defence sector allotted to it by the divisional commander, hastily
entrenched itself, digging in furiously. This was the last barrier
before Leningrad. It ran directly behind the city of Uritsk, which
was only a few kilometres from Leningrad’s Kirov district. From
our trenches the chimney stacks of the Kirov works were clearly
visible in daylight. In the evenings the lights of rockets, which did
not go out over the first trench line, were reflected in the windows
of the buildings in the suburb of Avtovo. The second echelons of
the regiment and the division were located right in Leningrad
itself. The defenders of Leningrad lived with one thought in mind:
to protect their native city, not allow the enemy into it. To hold out,
just to hold out!
All this passed through my mind while I tried to get used to
the unremitting pain in my wounded arm. A little to one side
of us, a young Komsomol lieutenant was sitting on the parapet,
his legs dangling into the trench. He was Vasily Butorin, who
had just joined the regiment. He was immediately appointed to
command the 5th Company. The lieutenant’s sparklingly shined
boots gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. A pleasant blond
fellow of average height, with broad shoulders and blue eyes, he
was built like a circus acrobat. His uniform was perfectly cleaned
and pressed; his tunic was tautly stretched by a broad officer’s
belt – you couldn’t have stuck a finger behind it! And at the same
time his whole appearance and behaviour bespoke a seasoned,
trained officer. And we felt it straight away, especially since the
lieutenant’s chest bore an iridescent scarlet and gold Order of the
Red Banner which was already thoroughly worn. Attached to
his belt by long straps, as on a sailor, hung a TT pistol in a black
holster. He appeared to be about twentyfive. Now, as he looked at
the thinned trees in Sheremetyev Park and listened to the noise
of vehicles beyond it, the commander was focussing his thoughts
on something. Perhaps he was thinking about his home town of
Barnaul, where he had been born and grown up, about his family,
about his wife Varvara, who was in the Kalinin Region. Or perhaps,