New Year's Eve
December 31, 1942, our 7th Guards brigade was walking along the empty Sal' steppe. Again with the endless walking, and everyone was hungrier than usual to boot. Our rations have been cut. The trucks with our food and our New Year's presents were captured a couple of days ago when the drivers got lost in the steppe and ended up driving straight into a German position. And we wanted those presents so much! Of course, one can understand the truck drivers. In the Sal' steppe there aren't any recognizable features, and almost anyone can get lost without any effort.
The endless road twisted between sandy hills. The terrain was very monotonous. Suddenly, up in the sky, we spotted two big chicken-like birds flying across our front. You almost knew they were well-fed. Someone let off a shot, then another, and another. The birds kept flying, unperturbed. A few soldiers started sending up bursts from their SMGs. One by one, the soldiers raised up their rifles, SMGs, carbines, pistols, anything that could shoot down the birds. Soon, almost two thousand weapons were firing up at the sky, while the birds flew on oblivious to danger. The din was incredible, like there was a great battle taking place. Several commanders were running among the men, shouting something, but you couldn't hear them over the gunfire. It almost seemed a miracle that the birds were still flying on - but then one hit an invisible wall, and one of its wings stopped flapping. The bird didn't seem to understand what has happened and tried to right itself with the other wing, but then another bullet reached it and the bird started to drop towards the ground. Almost simultaneously the second bird froze in mid-air and began falling as well.
Several dozen soldiers took off towards the falling birds around a nearby hill. I didn't see what quite happened when they got there, but at least there weren't any casualties.
We moved on, discussing the incident. Darkness started to fall. We completed one more stage and bivouacked for the night. All around us was the same steppe with the same sandy hills that we saw all day long. About ten of us from the scout platoon found cover in a depression, and were sitting on the ground silently, resting. We tried to start a fire with some wet brush, but it just wasn't working. And then, to top things off, they told us that there'd be no supper. The blistering wind isn't making things any better - sitting around in the cold night, and with wet clothes on, is anything but comfortable. I suddenly remembered that it's New Year's Eve, our gloomy New Year's Eve. No-one was sleepy yet. We scouts have gotten used to soldiering mostly at night: throwing out pickets, trying to capture a "tongue", carrying ammo up to the combat companies, escorting someone up to the front, helping the cook and his kitchen around from place to place, etc.
After a little rest, I took my SMG and went for a stroll around the bivouac. After a bit I noticed some horses tied to a beam in the nearby valley and headed towards them. The horses were alone, each with a bag of some oats or something hanging from its neck. I felt up one of the bags and determined that it was filled with corn cobs. I took one out, first giving the horse a light slap in case it decided to bite me. The corn was half-eaten and covered in green horse spit. I wiped it off on the side of my greatcoat and popped it in my mouth. The corn was dry, hard like rocks. I retrieved some more corn in the same fashion, put it in my pocket and continued on, chewing vigorously.
It was now almost completely dark. I noticed some light not too far ahead. It turned out to be a fire, with several people from the battalion staff sitting around. There was a wooden railroad tie next to the fire - the staff hauls around a supply of them to start campfires in the steppe. I stood still in the darkness for a while, then began to slowly drag the tie away from the fire. Pull - pause, pull - pause, and soon I was far enough away to start dragging the tie at normal speed towards our bivouac.
The guys were still resting on the cold ground, shivering. I took out a bayonet, broke off a few small pieces of wood. When there were enough to start a fire, I woke up the platoon second Klochkov, who has a good tinderbox, and we started a small campfire. Together we quickly finished cutting up the rest of the railroad tie and soon enough the fire grew bright and hot. We moved in towards it, the cold wind blowing at our backs. The fire made things a little warmer. I finished off the corn in my pocket, which now seemed pretty tasty, and turned in. As I fell asleep, I remembered that it's New Year's Eve, and decided that it hasn't been such a bad one.
I woke up from the feeling that my leg was on fire. Turns out I was lying practically in the campfire itself and my greatcoat was smoldering with a part of it already gone. And so, I spend the first few days of 1943 walking around in half a greatcoat.
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