Page 4 - Excerpts from the diary

Showed leaflets to nobody except the commander of our platoon. I will carry them to the political leader. Them it
is much scattered here across the field and our and German leaflets.
Long ago wrote letters to nobody there was no address, and now there is no free minute. I write now when my
workmate, only to me the subordinated fighter of my office works digs a trench. And I, having dug, I have a rest.
Mosquitoes are bitten ruthlessly. How many they are here!.

06.13.1942

At dawn. To light worked dug a trench. Now Haustov the fighter of my division digs. This person causes in me
grumbling pity: he is not so old as looks, is not so weak as he becomes. For example, he digs trenches rather and
better me as got used to physical work since the small childhood. But I should carry a mortar, a shovel and other
weights most because he says that he is not able to carry weights. He cannot go too somewhere.
At first, we were together in PTR platoon. Then we were transferred to a mortar platoon. I was appointed the
commander, he was defined in my detachment. It strongly wounded self-esteem him.
In Novorossiysk he said to me that he is sick with heart and lack of teeth. Complained that will not take out a shot
and at the first fight will die of a cardiac rupture. When at us there took place educational firing, he did not suffer
at all, however to shoot with a mortar was afraid, and I had to lower mines most. As it was told above, I did not
regret it at all, but he, Haustov, never shot still from a mortar. During shooting ranges of the second in pillboxes
he stood the sentry and was not present at a firing line.
When we arrived here he began to sing to me absolutely another. He said that he will not listen to me and will not
begin to execute my orders, said that I give the wrong orders, he just angrily scoffed over me, ordering in the
presence of other fighters of a platoon: «Gelfand, to me!», or, sending me to tell to the platoon commander that he
with me will not work and obey me.
Well, how, you said to the lieutenant what I told you? he spoke.

06.22.1942

Today year of war between our country and fascist bastards. This significant date coincided with the first fierce
raid on these places today.
I write in a dugout trench. Raids proceed and now. Haustov, my fighter, finally became puzzled and even from a
fright got sick. He had a vomiting. Hands at him shiver and the face is warped. He at first tried to hide the fear
before bombings of enemies, but now, anymore does not hide, openly admits to me that nerves at him do not
maintain the yesterday's hero who last night rap out an oath on me so behaves and said that I «petty coward» and
at the first fight will do in trousers, and I will leave him most to perish.
I am positively lost in desire and aspiration, in dreams, to bring to reason this person at all not of the person
interested to submit to me, declaring to me: «Though you shoot me now, I will not listen to you!». Last night we
had one of a daily talk which affects me stronger, than cruelest and dangerous fight what I can imagine in
imagination. «What you are a commander? Yes you are a fool! You are sillier than any fool...» he said to me.

07.01.1942

What, however, unscrupulous this Haustov! What unpleasant person! Yesterday the whole day he slept. I did not
awake him as, first, erased and wrote at this time, and secondly decided to allow him to get enough sleep that by
the evening he did not disturb me too. But far from it!