Going after a "tongue"
It's been several hours since we went out into the neutral zone on this night in February 1943. Our mission is to bring back a German prisoner, a "tongue". The action is very straightforward - we walk towards the German trench line, hoping to break in and capture someone. But twice already on this night we've run into German pickets. They start shooting, the rest of the German line opens fire, and we have to pull back. So far, no-one's been killed or wounded. In the darkness we shift half a kilometer to the left and start towards the German trenches once more. The Germans again discover our presence and open fire, and we have to pull back. Still no casualties.
We're probably not going to get a "tongue" tonight. Most of the team is made up of rookies, replacements who were sent to our battalion just a few days ago. The team is led by a captain who also hasn't seen combat yet. He's the only captain in our battalion - even the battalion CO is technically just a lieutenant. They probably gave this mission to the captain to rein him in a bit, and so we're not trying especially hard, probably pulling back earlier than we should. The few veteran scouts among us keep quiet and just let things develop.
After a third failed attempt, we move to the left once more. Suddenly a few of us recognized this place - the other night, we chatted up some scouts from a neighboring unit right around here.
- Good place for an attack, - I said, looking at the shallow slope running from our trenches all the way to the German lines.
- Sure thing, - replied the neighboring unit's scout, - but rumor has it it's mined.
Now the team has reached this exact spot. The night is almost up, and we only have time for one more attempt. We take a smoking break at the bottom of a gulley, then start towards the Germans.
- I think there's a minefield around here someplace, - I venture hesitantly.
I feel someone's fist punch me in the side.
- Who's asking you? - hisses the platoon second Klochkov. I look at him in surprise and hurriedly consider the situation. It was, as they say, a difficult one. We've been trying to capture a "tongue" all night long and have nothing to show for it - and no casualties. Someone might think we just spent the night hiding out somewhere. We need for someone to at least get himself wounded.
The team moves out. I shift towards the middle of the group, behind one of the other soldiers, and start walking in his footprints. A night walk over a minefield is no easy feat. Every step leaves you practically paralyzed with fear. Every time I lift my foot to step forward, I think that this time there'll be an explosion and I'd lose my…well, what does an eighteen year old boy fear to lose the most? And I could almost physically feel it happening.
I try to change my walk, moving forward with my knees held together. Better my legs ripped off than my…but walking like that, I can't quite reach the footprints made by the soldier in front of me.
We walk forward for another five minutes. Then suddenly, black-red flame bursts out of the ground. An explosion sounds. For a moment, I instinctively shut my eyes, and when I open them, the soldier walking in front of me has disappeared. It was like a miracle - he was just there, and now he's completely gone. Everything falls completely silent - no moans, no sound at all, the team just freezes. Then everyone slowly turns 180 degrees on one foot and starts walking back. Soon, we make it back to the gulley and start the ascent towards our own trenches. Somewhere in the back of each of our minds is the thought that we did all we could, and that we could now get some sleep.
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