Yashka · Part II · Chapter 7 (1/2)

VII

My First Experience of No Man’s Land

Our train was composed of a number of vans and one passenger-car. These vans, in which the soldiers sleep, have two bunks on each side, and are called teplushkas. There are no windows in a teplushka, as it is really only a converted luggage van. The passenger-car was occupied by the four officers of our regiment, including our new Company Commander, Grishaninov. He was a short, jolly fellow and soon won his men’s love and loyalty.

There was plenty of room to spare in the passenger-car and the officers took it into their heads to invite me to share it with them. When the invitation came the soldiers all shook their heads in disapproval. They suspected the motives of the officers and thought that Yashka would fare as well among them as among their superiors.

“Bochkareva,” said Commander Grishaninov, when I entered his car, “would you prefer to be stationed in this carriage? There is plenty of room.”

“No, your Excellency,” I replied, saluting. “I am a plain soldier, and it is my duty to travel as a soldier.”

“Very well,” declared the commander, chagrined. And I returned to my teplushka.

“Yashka is back: Good fellow, Yashka!” the men welcomed me enthusiastically, bestowing some strong epithets on the officers. They were immensely pleased at the idea that Yashka preferred their company in a teplushka to that of the officers in a spacious passenger coach, and made a comfortable place for me in a corner.

We were assigned to the Second Army then commanded by General Gurko, with headquarters at Polotsk. It took us two weeks to get there from Tomsk. General Gurko reviewed us at Army Headquarters and complimented the commander upon the regiment’s fitness. We were then assigned to the Fifth Corps. Before we started, the news spread that there was a woman in our regiment. Curiosity was at once aroused. Knots of soldiers gathered about my teplushka, peeping through the door and cracks in the sides to verify with their own eyes the incredible news. Then they would swear, emphasizing their words by spitting, to having witnessed the inexplicable phenomenon of a baba going to the trenches. The attention of some officers was attracted by the crowd, and they came up to find out what the excitement was about. They reported me to the Commandant of the station, who immediately sent for Colonel Grishaninov, demanding an explanation. But the Colonel could not satisfy the Commandant’s doubts and was instructed not to send me with the men to the fighting line.

“You can’t go to the trenches, Bochkareva,” my Commander addressed me upon his return from the Commandant. “The General won’t allow it. He was very much concerned about you and could not understand how a woman could be a soldier.”

For a moment I was shocked. Then the happy thought occurred to me that no General had the authority to overrule an order of the Tsar.

“Your Excellency!” I exclaimed to Colonel Grishaninov, “I was enlisted by the grace of the Tsar as a regular soldier. You can look up His Majesty’s telegram in my record.”

This settled the matter, and the Commandant withdrew his objections. We had to walk about thirteen miles to Corps Headquarters. The road was in a frightful condition, muddy and full of ruts. We were so tired at the end of seven miles that a rest was ordered. The soldiers, although they were tired out, made a dry seat for me with their overcoats. We then resumed our journey, arriving for supper at Headquarters, and were billeted for the night in a stable. We slept like the dead, on straw spread over the floor.

General Valuyev was then Commander of the Fifth Corps. He reviewed us in the morning and was extremely satisfied, assigning us to the Seventh Division, which was situated some miles distant. The Commander of the Division, whose name was Walter, was of German blood and a thorough rascal. We were quartered, during the night, in the woods, behind the fighting line.

In command of the reserves was a Colonel named Stubendorf, also of German blood, but a decent and popular officer. When informed that a woman was in the ranks of the newly-arrived regiment, he was amazed:

“A woman!” he cried out, “she can’t be permitted to remain. This regiment is going into battle soon, and women were not made for war.”

There was a heated discussion between him and Commander Grishaninov, which ended in an order for my appearance before them. I was subjected to a searching inquiry and passed it well. Asked if I wanted to take part in the fighting, I replied affirmatively. Muttering his astonishment Colonel Stubendorf allowed me to remain till he had looked into the matter further.

A big battle was raging at this time on our section of the front. We were told to be ready for an order to move at any moment to the front line. Meanwhile, we were sheltered in dugouts. My company occupied ten of these, all bombproof, though not in first-class condition. They were cold and had no windows. As soon as day broke we busied ourselves with cutting windows, building fireplaces, repairing the dilapidated ceilings of timber and sand, and general housecleaning. The dugouts were constructed in rows, the companies of odd numbers being assigned to the row on the right, while those of even numbers went to the left. There were notice-boards along the road and each company had a sentinel on duty.

Our position was five miles behind the first line of trenches. The booming of the guns could be heard in the distance. Streams of wounded, some in vehicles and others on foot, flowed along the road. We drilled during most of the second day under the inspection of Colonel Stubendorf. He must have kept a close eye on me, for at the end of the drilling he called me, praised my efficiency, and granted me permission to stay in the ranks.

On the third day came the order to move to the trench lines. Through mud and under shellfire we marched forward. It was still light when we arrived at the firing-line. We had two killed and five wounded. As the German positions were on a hill, they were enabled to observe all our movements. We were therefore instructed by field-telephones not to occupy the trenches till after dark.

“So this is war,” I thought. My pulse quickened, and I caught the spirit of excitement that pervaded the regiment. We were all expectant, as if in the presence of a solemn revelation. We were eager to get into the fray and to show the Germans what we, the soldiers of the Fifth Regiment, could do. Were we nervous? Undoubtedly. But it was not the nervousness of cowardice, rather was it the restlessness of young blood. Our hands were steady, our bayonets fixed. We exulted in our adventure.

Night came. The Germans were discharging a volume of gas at us. Perhaps they noticed an unusual movement behind the lines, and wished to annihilate us before we entered the battle. But they failed. Over the wire came the order to put on our masks. Thus were we baptized in this most inhuman of all German war inventions. Our masks were not perfect. The deadly gas penetrated some and made our eyes smart and water. But we were soldiers of Mother Russia, whose sons are not unaccustomed to half-suffocating air, and we so withstood the irritating fumes.

Midnight passed. The Commander went through our ranks to inform us that the hour had come to move into the trenches and that before dawn we should take the offensive. He addressed us with words of encouragement and was heartily cheered. The artillery had been thundering all night the fire growing more and more intense every hour. In single file we moved along a communication trench to the front line. Some of us were wounded, but we remained dauntless. All our fatigue seemed to have vanished.

The front trench was a mere ditch, and as we lined up along it our shoulders touched. The positions of the enemy were less than three-quarters of a mile away, and the space between was filled with groans and swept by bullets. It was a scene full of horrors. Sometimes an enemy shell would land in the midst of our men, killing several and wounding more. We were sprinkled with the blood of our comrades and spattered by the mud.

At two in the morning the Commander appeared in our midst. He seemed nervous. The other officers came with him and took their positions at the head of the men. With drawn swords they prepared to lead the charge. The Commander had a rifle.

“Climb out!” he shouted.

I crossed myself. My heart was filled with grief for the bleeding men around me and stirred by a fierce desire for revenge upon the Germans. My mind was a kaleidoscope of many thoughts and visions. My mother, death, mutilation, various petty incidents of my life filled it. But there was no time for thinking.

I climbed out with the rest of the men, to be met by a volley of machine-gun fire. For a moment there was confusion. So many of our number had fallen like ripe wheat cut down by a gigantic scythe wielded by the invisible arm of Satan himself. Fresh blood was dripping on the cold corpses that had lain there for hours or days, and the moans were heartrending.

Amid the confusion the voice of our Company Commander was raised.

“Forward!”

And forward we went. The enemy had seen us go over the top, and he let loose Hell. As we ran forward we kept firing. Then the order came to lie down. The bombardment grew even more concentrated. Alternately running for some distance and then lying down, we reached the enemy’s barbed wire entanglements. We had expected to find them demolished by our artillery, but, alas! they were untouched! There were only about seventy left of our Company of two hundred and fifty.

Whose fault was it? This was an offensive on a front of thirteen miles, carried out by three army corps. And the barbed wire was uncut! Perhaps our artillery was defective! Perhaps it was the fault of someone higher up! Anyhow, there we were, seventy out of two hundred and fifty. And every fraction of a second was precious. Were we doomed to die here in a heap without even coming to grips with the enemy? Were our bodies to dangle on this wire tomorrow, and the day after, to provide food for the crows and strike terror into the hearts of the fresh soldiers who would take our places in a few hours?

As these thoughts flashed through our minds an order came to retreat. The enemy let a barrage down in front of us. The retreat was even worse than the advance. Only forty-eight of our Company got back to our trenches alive. About a third of the two hundred and fifty were dead. The greater number of the wounded were in No Man’s Land and their cries of pain and prayers for help or death gave us no peace.

The remnant of our Company crouched in the trench, exhausted, dazed, incredulous of their escape from injury. We were hungry and thirsty and would have welcomed a dry and safe place in which to recover ourselves. But there we were, smarting under the defeat by the enemy’s barbed wire barrier, with the heartbreaking appeals for help coming from our comrades. Deeper and deeper they cut into my soul. They were so plaintive, like the voices of hurt children.

In the dark it seemed to me that I saw their faces, the familiar faces of Ivan and Peter and Sergei and Mitia, the good fellows who had taken such tender care of me, making a comfortable place for me in that crowded teplushka, or taking off their overcoats in cold weather and spreading them on the muddy road to provide a dry seat for Yashka. They called me. I could see their hands outstretched in my direction, their wide-open eyes straining in the night in the hope of rescue, the deathly pallor of their faces. Could I remain indifferent to their cries? Was it not my bounden duty as a soldier, a duty as important as that of fighting the enemy, to render aid to stricken comrades?

I climbed out of the trench and crawled under our wire entanglements. There was a comparative calm, interrupted only by occasional rifle shots, when I would lie down and remain motionless, as though I were a corpse. There were wounded within a few feet of our line. I carried them one by one to the edge of our trench where they were picked up and carried to the rear. The saving of one man encouraged me to continue my efforts till I reached the far side of the field. Here I had several narrow escapes. A sound, made accidentally, was sufficient to attract several shots, and I only saved myself by at once lying flat upon the ground. When dawn broke in the East, putting an end to my expeditions through No Man’s Land, I had saved about fifty lives.

I had no idea at the time of what I had accomplished. But when the soldiers whom I had picked up were brought to the relief-station and asked who rescued them, about fifty replied, “Yashka.” This was communicated to the Commander, who recommended me for an Order of the 4th Degree, “for distinguished valour shown in the saving of many lives under fire.”

Our kitchen had been destroyed the previous night by the enemy’s fire, and we were very hungry. Our ranks were replenished by fresh drafts, and our artillery again boomed all day, playing havoc with the enemy’s wire fences. We guessed that it meant another order to advance the following night, and our expectations proved correct. At about the same hour as the previous morning we climbed out and started to run towards the enemy’s position. Again a rain of shells and bullets, again scores of wounded and killed, again smoke and gas and blood and mud. But we reached the wire entanglement and it was down and torn to pieces this time. We halted for an instant, emitting an inhuman “Hurrah! Hurrah!” that struck terror into those Germans that were still alive in their half-demolished trenches, and with fixed bayonets rushed forward and jumped into them.

As I was about to descend into the ditch I suddenly observed a huge German taking aim at me. Hardly did I have time to fire when something struck my right leg, and I had a sensation of a warm liquid trickling down my flesh. I fell. My comrades had put the enemy to flight and were pursuing him. There were many wounded, and cries of “Save me, Holy Jesus!” came from every direction.

I suffered little pain and made several efforts to get up and reach our trenches. But every time I failed. I was too weak. There I lay in the darkness of the night, within fifty feet of what had been, twenty-four hours before, the enemy’s position, waiting for dawn and relief. To be sure, I was not alone. Hundreds, thousands of gallant comrades were scattered on the field for miles.

It was four hours after I was wounded before day arrived and with it our stretcher-bearers. I was picked up and carried to a first-aid station a mile and a half in the rear. My wound was bandaged, and I was sent on to the Division Hospital. There I was placed on a hospital train and taken to Kiev.

It was about Easter of 1915 when I arrived in Kiev. The station there was so crowded with wounded from the front that hundreds of stretchers could not be accommodated inside and were lined up in rows on the platform outside. I was picked up by an ambulance and taken to the Eugene Lazaret, where I was kept in the same ward with the men. Of course, it was a military hospital, and there was no woman’s ward.

I was there all through the spring of 1915. The nurses and physicians took good care of all the patients in the hospital. My swollen leg was restored to its normal condition, and it was a restful two months that I passed in Kiev. At the end of that period I was taken before a military medical commission, examined, pronounced in good health, provided with a ticket, money and a certificate and sent to the front again.

My route now lay through Molodechno, an important railway terminus. When I arrived there in the early part of July I was sent to the Corps Headquarters by wagon, and thence I proceeded on foot to my Regiment.