His Battalion - Chapter 2, Part 2

"This is an outrage!" fumed the general, almost losing his self-control. Beside his ear hung the long and short ends of the unravelled bandage. At this point the major, who had been sitting mutely on the straw, leapt up and rushed threateningly to the exit.

"First-aid Instructor! Come back here!"

"She won't come back," said Gutmann quietly in the corner and Voloshin, scarcely containing his rage, looked eloquently at him. But the major was already addressing Voloshin:

"What do you mean 'she won't come back'? Battalion Commander!"

This was a command. It was Voloshin's duty to take whatever steps were necessary, and although he was almost certain that Veretennikova would not return, he strode determinedly into the trench.

"Junior Sergeant Veretennikova!"

Night assailed his face with dense, inscrutable darkness; the wind swirled smoke from the chimney above the trench. Voloshin strained his ears, but in the vicinity there was not a sound to be heard.

"Veretennikova!"

There was no response, and he stood a few minutes longer, wrestling with a feeling of mounting rage and gripped by the smoky cold. The devil knew what things were coming to! It was the last straw that he, the commander of the battalion, had to run after this capricious little minx. It was simply degrading! That's what he got for trusting Lieutenant Samokhin, the company commander, whom he had personally ordered yesterday morning to send the first-aid instructor to the divisional headquarters of the medical corps until further notice. At the time, Samokhin had said "Yes, sir!" - and now this - a scandalous display in front of the general…

On his return to the dug-out, Voloshin, deliberately avoiding addressing anyone in particular, said in a terse undertone, "I didn't catch her." The general looked at him with barely concealed contempt. Voloshin waited for angry reproaches or a reprimand, and probably would have heard them out in silence, acknowledging that he was at fault. But where women in uniform were concerned he felt quite helpless. All the logical rules of conduct to which he'd adhered during his years of active service ran up against a brick wall when he was confronted with the most trivial feminine caprice. Apart from that, he considered - as did many others fighting this war - that the army was no place for women, and that it was a mistake for women to go to war.

But now the general only sighed wearily and said nothing. His coarse face had hardened into a scowl of quite understandable displeasure, which for the time being he chose to suppress. The major somehow or other tied up the loose ends of bandage on his head and sat down on the straw. Voloshin resumed his former position. In the dug-out there was another awkward silence, produced by the constraining presence of a senior officer. Fortunately the silence was broken by sounds carrying from above. The clatter of horses' hooves was followed by the sharp cry of the sentry from the observation post. Voloshin sighed with relief - the regimental commander had arrived.

Major Gunko strode purposefully into the dug-out, ran his eye rapidly over those present, unerringly picked out the figure of the general in their midst, and briefly but distinctly announced himself. The general, however, sat immobile on the crate, frowning, and Gunko shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. The rustle of the groundsheet he was wearing over his greatcoat and the faint jingling of his spurs became audible in the stillness.

"What are you - commander of a cavalry regiment?" asked the general in a tone that augured badly for the major.

"Certainly not! Infantry, sir."

"Then why the hell are you wearing spurs?"

The major squirmed in confusion and again stood still, his eyes riveted on the general, who suddenly sprang energetically to his feet. The shadow of his stout form obscured half the dug-out.

"You'd do better to see to the discipline of your unit and worry less about looking like the cavalry! Your regiment's already enough of a brothel as it is, Major!"

Obviously still somewhat at a loss, the major stood calmly, gazing innocently at the furious face of the general. After an abrupt pause, the general rapped out over his shoulder to the men clustered round the stove:

"Go outside and have a smoke!"

Gutmann, Chernoruchenko, the soldier in the greatcoat and the scout climbed out into the trench, leaving more space in the dug-out. The general stepped aside, and the flame of the lantern dimly illuminated the regimental commander's ageing, pitifully strained face.

"What's your position like? Where are you entrenched? In the marsh? While the Germans are sitting pretty on the heights! Do you think they're going to throw you down bouquets? Wave their handkerchiefs?"

"No, sir, I don't," said Gunko stolidly.

"Oh, so you don't? You've grasped my point already? And did you know that all the access routes to your position are exposed to machine-gun fire? Just look at this!" The general pointed to his bandaged forehead. "They nearly despatched me to the Archangel Gabriel. And the jeep is lying with its wheels in the air. Will you give me a new one?"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

Voloshin smiled faintly - fancy apologising! It was difficult enough to conceive of the regimental commander's being at fault here at all, let alone his admitting to it. Most likely it was the driver who was to blame for not knowing how to find the way in the dark and, presumably, switching on the side-lights. But Major Gunko, intimidated by the anger of the big boss, was apparently ready to take the blame for anything rather than upset the general. Which possibly made good sense, for the general, encountering no objections, fell silent, walked over to the untended stove which was dying down and began to stoke it with the brushwood scattered about on the ground. The dug-out began to fill with smoke, and the general, seized by a fit of coughing, set the stove door ajar.

"He's also to blame," he said, with a motion of his head towards Voloshin. "He should have captured the hill instead of sitting in the marsh."

"Correct, sir," replied Gunko, becoming cheerful all of a sudden. Almost exultantly he turned to face Voloshin. The piteous expression on his face gave way to one of domineering arrogance at the thought that the general's wrath was being transferred to someone else. Voloshin coldly shrugged his shoulders.

"I had no orders to capture it."

The general straightened up from the stove, and the major in the sheepskin coat obligingly took over from him. The kindling began to buzz and crackle, and all the chinks in the stove were vividly illumined by the flame.

"This is the second time he's tried to justify his inactivity by saying there was no order to attack. According to the commander's plan the hill's in your sector, isn't it?" asked the general, and Gunko hastily grabbed his map case.

"Correct, sir. My sector."

With a trifle more fuss than was necessary, he took out a map covered in symbols, and they bent over it in the meagre light of the carbide lamp.  Voloshin had a feeling there was something amiss, but said nothing, awaiting further developments with the submissively expectant air of a subordinate. Suddenly the general swore.

"The hell it is! On the map it's outside your sector!"

"Correct, sir, outside my sector," the regimental commander hastened to confirm.

"Then why the hell did you say it was inside your sector? Or don't you understand the symbol?"

"I understand it, sir."

"Slackarses!" The general flung down the map. "Too concerned about your own skins!" he yelled and with a martyred air he put a hand to his bandage. Voloshin's eyes narrowed. His self-possession began to let him down.

"I hope, sir, that you weren't referring to me."

The general took a step towards the exit and stopped.

"I most certainly was referring to you! You're no exception! But we're going to get this little lot sorted out - and tomorrow you'll take the hill by storm! I'll teach you to try and get around me, you loafers!"

Voloshin swore silently to himself: that was all they needed! He suspected that the general's words were no empty threat, and felt sure they'd receive official orders to storm the hill, especially if someone of the general's status intervened in the matter. And yet so much time had been lost. There on the hill, most likely, all the trenches were already dug, minefields laid, the gun emplacements all equipped, and now - attack! Where were you all this time, comrade decisive general, thought Voloshin. Losing the last shreds of his self-restraint, he stepped forward and said as calmly as possible:

"According to my estimate, hill sixty-five zero is within the zone of the neighbouring army."

The general stopped in his tracks and fastened the malevolent gaze of his narrowed, gimlet eyes on the battalion commander. Below the fur cap perched high on his head, his freshly bandaged forehead contrasted whitely with the surrounding gloom. Without blinking, Voloshin returned the general's glare.

"Well aren't we clever! So it's in the next zone, fancy that! Well now I'm allotting it to you. And as for the neighbouring army! Do you know where they are? At the back of beyond, that's where. They still haven't captured Zhukovka."

"All the more reason why we shouldn't stick our necks out. On account of the exposed flank."

"I can see you're a damned sight too clever for your own good. Too worried about the flanks, when you should be thinking more about the front. Yes, the front! The flanks will be somebody else's problem."

"I'm worried about the battalion I command. The battalion is down to a ration strength of seventy-six men."

The general fell silent.  Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, he paced across to the stove and back to the crate, and stood with his gaze transfixed by the timid flame of the lantern. Without moving from his place in the middle of the dug-out, Major Gunko turned respectfully as the general spoke:

"Regimental Commander, you've received reinforcements?"

"Correct, sir. Late today."

"You are to reinforce his battalion."

"It will be done."

"I also need commanders," said Voloshin with stubborn persistence. The reticence he had felt in the general's presence suddenly vanished, displaced by anxiety at the new task which had unexpectedly been lumped on them. He was already completely preoccupied with this task, and wished to make the most of the opportunity to inform his superiors of all the numerous needs of his battalion. "I have only one regular company commander. I'm short of twelve platoon commanders. I myself have no deputy for the Political Section; he's been sent to hospital. The support battery from the artillery regiment is out of shells - "he said in conclusion. That was enough for a start.

Silence fell. Bending one leg, the commander of the regiment continued to stand in front of the general, whose craggy brows were descending closer and closer to his eyes.

Somewhere above there was another rumble of explosions, but this time farther off than before. Alerted by the sound, the general listened intently, and as soon as the echo of the explosions had died away in the distance he asked Gunko:

"Are you on horseback?"

"That's right."

"With a horse-holder? You'll give me a horse and we'll be off to HQ."

Now that he realised the worst was over, Major Gunko had apparently shaken off the inhibited manner of a schoolboy facing a strict headmaster which had dictated his conduct throughout the proceedings.
 
"With pleasure, sir. And your adjutant can wait, if you like, while I send a horse. It won't take long."

"What's the point of waiting?" said the major who was the general's adjutant. "We'll go on foot. The horse-holder will show us the way."

"As you wish," agreed Gunko affably, and Voloshin thought involuntarily, and somewhat at variance with his mood, how out of character this was. It was the first time Voloshin had observed such respectfulness - bordering on obsequiousness - in his commanding officer. That the caustic, peevish major should turn out to be so obliging! At another time Voloshin would not have failed to relish this discovery, but now, agitated by all that lay ahead of him, he asked Gunko brusquely:

"So what should I do - prepare to attack?"

The regimental commander, wrinkling his forehead uncertainly, half-turned to Voloshin then back to the general, who was laboriously pulling on his gloves.

"We'll sort matters out, and you'll receive the order."

Voloshin hurriedly got out his watch.

"It's already nearly twenty-two hundred hours, sir. What time will I have to prepare this battalion?"

The general took a step towards the exit, but halted and said with his unfailing sarcasm:

"What a panic we're in, to be sure! You should have done your worrying before this, Battalion Commander."

"Before this, the battalion had a different task."

"Attack - that's your task!" The general's voice rose. "Attack! Remember once and for all! Until the enemy is driven beyond the borders of our sacred land - attack! Give him no peace, day or night. Have you forgotten whose words these are? Shall I remind you?"

Voloshin maintained a vexed silence. Knowing there could be no objections to these words, he felt trapped. It was almost degrading to stand mutely at attention like this, subjected to the general's contempt, and feeling the disdainful eyes boring into him, celebrating this victory over him. Yes, the general had triumphed over the refractory battalion commander, and from his exalted position of power he openly savoured this for a moment. Then he reached for the groundsheet to facilitate his exit from the dug-out, but suddenly stopped as if he'd remembered something.

"For the lack of discipline in the battalion and this business with the first-aid instructor you're going to get a reprimand, Battalion commander. Do you hear me?"

"Sir!" Voloshin forced out the reply through clenched jaws.

"Right! You'll receive it as part of your orders."

In the dead silence that fell in the dug-out, the general's imperious eyes bored into him once more. Just then, as if by chance, he spotted Jim by the wall.

"And we'll take your dog with us. He'll only be in your way here - you've got a battalion to command! Krokhalev!"

The groundsheet at the exit was raised, and an unfamiliar soldier in a greatcoat crawled into the dug-out.

"Krokhalev, take the dog!"

Rather gingerly, the soldier took two steps forward and holding out his hand bent down towards Jim. The dog pricked up his ears threateningly and barked with such sudden ferocity that Krokhalev jumped back to the threshold in alarm.  A fat chance you've got of taking him, thought Voloshin with malicious glee. Come on then, have another go!

The general, who had already lifted up the groundsheet, turned round abruptly:

"What, won't he come? Battalion Commander, get me one of your men!"

Voloshin set his jaw, sensing how utterly he was to be defeated. The general waited, but Voloshin still lacked the will-power for this shameful treachery towards the dog.

The pause lengthened, the general waited, and Gunko snapped in mock indignation:

"You heard the order, didn't you? Where are your men?  You there, in the trench - at the double!…"

Chernoruchenko burst into the dug-out and fixed his enquiring gaze on the regimental commander. At his back, Gutmann was looking out from behind the groundsheet.

"Take the dog! Jump to it!"

Sensing that Jim could no longer be saved, Voloshin ordered in an icy voice:

"Gutmann, take Jim!"

"Where? He's our Jim. Take him where?"

"Cut the chatter! Carry out the order!"

Disarmed by the battalion commander's leaden tone, the orderly shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.

"Hm! Very well then, as you say. Jim, come here!"

The dog moved trustingly towards Gutmann, who took him by the collar. Jim didn't resist, and merely looked calmly and wonderingly at his master. Voloshin looked away from the dog, so as not to betray what he was feeling at that moment. Though what could a dog be expected to understand?

"That's better!" said the general with satisfaction. "Accompany us to HQ, my good fellow."

He switched on his torch, and one after the other they all climbed out into the trench.

The dug-out became silent, deserted and cold. Chernoruchenko busied himself stoking the stove. Lieutenant Markin emerged soundlessly from a dark corner and sat down in his place at the crate.

Voloshin swore violently, and jerking aside the groundsheet, stalked out into the trench.