silenced them, but the enemy had an overwhelming advantage over us even without machine guns.
A series of explosions rumbled about 50 meters from us, somewhere in the middle between the first and second lines of German trenches, it was a Soviet mortar battery that opened fire. That was great, but what we needed now was something else entirely – a quick attack on the section of the German platoon that we had disorganized, while simultaneously suppressing its neighbors to the right and left with artillery fire.
The night battle was spreading like wildfire. The Soviet mortar men's strike was immediately countered by their German counterparts. A little later the artillery got involved in the battle. The density of German fire increased as more and more enemy soldiers approached the battlefield. I tried my best to regulate their numbers with a machine gun, but the winding passages allowed the Germans to get closer and closer. Soon I was concentrating only on the most dangerous targets, namely, enemy soldiers already ready to throw a grenade. The consequence of my efforts was several explosions right in the enemy's battle lines – the grenade throwers I killed or wounded blew themselves up together with their own comrades. This somewhat dampened the ardor of the German infantry, but it cannot be said that our prospects became brighter – the Red Army soldiers from our trenches still did not rise to the attack.
“We have to get out of here, Nagulin!” I heard the voice of Shcheglov, who had been pushed back by the Germans along with Ignatov and Nikiforov almost to my position, “Looks like there won't be an attack!”
“If we get out of the trenches, we will be cut down at once, or destroyed by mortars in the field,” I shouted back without stopping to shoot.
“We're sure to get crushed here, but this way we'll have at least a chance!”
“Take the prisoner and retreat through the ravine! I'll cover you with machine gun fire. You will have a two or three minute head start.”
Shcheglov did not answer anything, but fiercely let out a long burst from his PPSh, slightly elevating over the parapet, and then shouted out: “Fighters, follow me! We're pulling back! Take care of the prisoner!”
This order did not apply to me. Shcheglov did not say any solemn words and preferred not to say goodbye at all, for which I was very grateful to him.
The Germans were lingering. They were still confident that the Russians weren't going anywhere and were pulling up their forces for another attack. I managed to reload my machine gun before the group left, and now I had a hundred rounds to spare, but I still would not have been able to withstand a simultaneous attack from different sides.
To the right, beyond the ravine, there were enemy soldiers, too, but they did not fire yet, for fear of hitting their own, while at the same time, they did not want to climb the mined slopes in the dark. The view from orbit showed the utter hopelessness of the situation. The Germans would have launched a decisive attack had it not been for the rather intense mortar and artillery fire from the Soviet side, but for now they waited out the artillery preparations.
The night's darkness was broken by an eerie howl. The ground shook violently and tons of earth, illuminated by a bright flash, rose into the air a hundred meters to my right. Seconds later a similar fire geyser rose among the German trenches on the left. The howling continued, and I think I now understood what our infantry were waiting for. The command of the Southwestern Front finally realized that the Kremenchuk bridgehead could pose a significant threat, and it allocated to the 38th Army from its scarce reserves an artillery regiment of the Reserve of the Supreme High Command, which included a B-4 howitzer division.
The three minutes I had promised Shcheglov were over, and if I wanted to keep walking on this planet, I had to act immediately – there could be no better moment. I fired a long burst from the machine gun, using up the rest of my belt. My bullets didn't hit any of my opponents, but I hoped it made them think twice about whether they should stick out from behind the parapet right now.
A few steps behind me there was a ravine, and in a second I was rolling down the slippery slope, twisting and tumbling so as not to run into the mines that were not too densely laid by the Germans. The 203 millimeter "suitcases" continued to howl in the sky, unleashing the wrath of the gods of war on the German trenches, and in between bursts a resounding "Hurrah!" could be heard from our trenches – the Red Army men of the 300th Division had gone on the attack after all.
The artillery preparation stopped, and I climbed up from the muddy bottom of the ravine. The Germans in the trenches were now clearly not interested in me. It wasn't yet dawn, but the sky was beginning to lighten, and I was going to take advantage of the last minutes of limited visibility to get to our trenches.
Our infantry went on the attack, firing on the run. It was their fight, and I had done my job for the day. No one paid attention to the fighter in the camouflage robe, covered in mud, who ran to the rear.
About halfway through, I was stopped by a senior lieutenant with a pistol in his hand.
“Are you a scout? From Captain Shcheglov's company?”
“Yes, Comrade Senior Lieutenant. Returning from the mission.”
“You need to go a hundred meters to the right,” the officer shouted on the run, “All your guys are already there. The division commander himself is meeting you.”
Chapter 4
When I jumped into the trench like a dirty ghost, the division commander's guards immediately pointed their PPSh submachine guns at me, but I had no weapons in my hands, and the Red Army men relaxed slightly.
“Are you Junior Lieutenant Nagulin?” asked Kuznetsov, looking at me with interest.
“That's right, Comrade Colonel,” I tried to stand at attention and raised my hand to my cap.
“At ease, scout. Did you cover the retreat of the group?”
“That's right, Comrade Colonel.”
“You're lucky to be back. I was beginning to think that Shcheglov's platoon was once again without a commander.”
“Junior Lieutenant Nagulin is not so easy to kill, Comrade Colonel,” the Captain grinned wearily, “many have tried…”
“Don't jinx it,” the Colonel smiled faintly as he looked at Shcheglov. “Did he get the prisoner for interrogation, too?”
“Yes, he did, Comrade Colonel,” nodded the Captain. “He captured a boat carrying a German officer across the Dnieper, killed the soldiers who were rowing and the Feldwebel, and stunned the Hauptmann. He was wounded in the fight, but remained in the ranks.”
“Wounded?” Kuznetsov turned to me again.
“Slightly, Comrade Colonel, I got a knife in my shoulder. The arm moves normally.”
“I know you, heroes! Take the Junior Lieutenant to the infirmary, quickly! Captain, I give you and your men one hour to clean up. You will go to the army headquarters together with the head of the special department of the division. You got the prisoner for interrogation yourself – you will deliver it to the destination, and I have enough to do in the meantime,” the division commander looked toward the German trenches, from where the sounds of gunfire and grenade explosions could be heard. “And take Nagulin with you, if the medics let him go.”
It took us about an hour to get to the 38th Army headquarters. The German prisoner was sullenly silent, sitting in the back of a lorry between two men from the NKVD platoon. The five of
