Page 21 - Excerpts from the diary

Nepochaty persuaded me to spend the night in another house, two doors away, the second from the end. There he obtained moonshine,
potatoes fried in lard, [...].

I went to talk with Tina—to have a bit of a chat, as the Ukrainians say. I talked with her and then with her mother until late after dark. But
my hand—the pain was unbearable—kept me from talking calmly, and I hurried away so as not to show them how much I was suffering
and make them worry about me as well.

I drank two glasses of moonshine, but did not become drunk; it merely sat heavily in my stomach. My hand hurt all night. I dozed off
only toward morning, then woke at once when I remembered that we had to move on. From a major of the 416th Rifle Division I learned
the further route of our unit.

Kherson has been taken by us. He advised us to move toward Nikolaev.

My hand is tormenting me mercilessly. The medical battalion is at Novosibirsk. I saw it passing yesterday. Perhaps they will dress my
hand there. After all, I have not had the dressing changed for four or five days since the operation.

Nepochaty hinted that he had given away his overcoat, his money, and his tent. I felt awkward and gave the hostess my quilted jacket—a
German one. Now I am back to having only my overcoat, while Nepochaty traded my jacket with the hostess for a groundsheet. Let him
wear it in good health; I am not going to spend my life in enemy clothing.

Spring is already here, and the day promises to be magnificent. We are about to move on. According to the major, the front is fifty or
sixty kilometers away.

Novosibirsk. I came across a medical unit. The army doctor was very kind. They dressed my hand. They soaked it in a bath, but even that
did not loosen the bandage, so it had to be torn off. A piece of flesh came away from my hand with it.

16.03.1944
Judendorf in German; the second section of the Chkalov collective farm in Soviet terms.

A former Jewish village, a little farming settlement. The Germans shot all the Jews and buried them in an anti-tank ditch, down to the
smallest children—“right down to the babies,” as the peasants say. After a short march from the settlement of Novosibirsk, I stopped here
for the night.

The weather was rainy and gloomy all day, and it seemed there would be no end to those sullen clouds. From horizon to horizon the sky
was drawn over with a gray veil.

It was warm in the hut. The wind could not penetrate the thick walls; only its hungry rustling could be heard outside the window. But I
wanted to find lodgings where there was a girl, dreaming of spending the time more pleasantly. I had been told that some girls had
remained on the farm. I found only one, though she was very attractive. She was married, however, even though she was my age. I
arranged to stay there, but my companion, the soldier Nepochaty, values a hearty meal above everything, and because of him I remained
in the first house we had occupied on entering the village.

We ate, and then Nepochaty decided we should move to another, cleaner place. I suggested the one I had chosen. It was already getting
dark. All the houses were occupied, and after wandering through the village for quite a while, we returned to our old place. The hut I had
chosen was occupied too.
We decided to set out in the morning. Outside, an unimaginable blizzard had risen. Snow fell without pause, trying to trample down once
again the earth that had awakened from its long sleep and begun to turn green in the sun. The wind knocked us off our feet. It roared and
raged, angry and baring its teeth in our faces, making the heart fearful and melancholy.

I think we will manage seven kilometers today. Earlier we had expected to cover eighteen or twenty.

I learned that our troops have crossed the Bug. Kherson was taken some time ago. Everywhere our forces are succeeding in the struggle
against the enemy.

Freidorf. I covered another eight kilometers. No more than twelve remain to Kalinindorf. During the march the sun peeped briefly from
beneath the pale-gray vault of sky, but now that we have reached our stopping place it has set and is hidden by the clouds. And the wind...
it rushes about, tears at everything, leaps and plays. A wild wind. It wants winter to return. But in vain: spring is already in full swing.

After the dressing my hand feels better. The doctor put Vishnevsky ointment on the wound so that the blood and the finger would not
stick to the bandage. No small matter: all the cotton wool and part of the dressing had been soaked in blood, and all of it had stuck to my
finger. It was impossible to remove. I kept it in a bath for more than an hour, but the dressing still did not soak free completely; when
they tore it off, the gauze pulled skin and flesh with it. The doctor then held the bloodstained gauze with forceps, cut away part of the
skin, and thus freed my finger from it. He dressed it gently and neatly. I still feel pain now, but incomparably less than before.

There is good news on the radio: our front has crossed the Bug; on one sector a German military grouping has been encircled. Things are
going well on the other fronts too. The supply of weapons, ammunition, and food is difficult, however. All the heavy and medium
artillery is still here. Only some types of weapons have gone forward; some are even farther back. The same is true of food and
ammunition. This creates serious difficulties for a successful offensive and for combat in general.