The Tragedy of War

West Russia, World War II




One winter day at dark down the artillery opened hurricane fire on the enemy’s positions. Soon came the squadron and geysers of soil and curls of smoke erupted from the earth. The front enemy’s dugouts were razed to the ground for the first ten minutes. White rockets occurred on the sky as though they were artificial constellations. Then the infantry began to shoot in order to destroy that which had been missed by the shells.


The battle was won owing to one soldier – a slender, thin eighteen-year-old boy, named Sasha. There was an enormous machine-gun, skillfully hidden behind a stack of big stones. It starfed the whole road round a little bridge which was the only way to reach the fortification. No one was able to come closer and “dismantle” the private behind the cannon. If Sasha had not helped, enemy’s crafts would have come an hour later and would have killed all the soldiers on the battlefield.


The commanders saw him among the cracks of the rocks. Then he disappeared. A few minutes later a bomb explosion was heard and the machine-gun ceased shooting. And there were no holdbacks for invasion.


In the evening the chief commander of the companies called Sasha in his room.


“You ignored my explicit instructions!” he cried. “That was the worst and recklessest thing to do!”


The boy felt himself as the biggest traitor in the world.


“But nevermind”, continued the commander. “I’ve decided to reward you with a seen-day-furlough for being so devoted to your country.”


The boy smiled with satisfaction.


“Where do you want to go?” asked the commander.


“I’d like to visit my mother and father in Karanga.”


“OK. I’ve provided you with a lorry to Petropavlovsk and from there you’ll have to catch up the...