"That's right."
Tomilin nodded, as if agreeing with the opinion that "all there was to it" was that "it must be done." After that he walked away.
The order came to leave the trench and begin to approach quietly the enemy's positions. The familiar feeling, half fear, and half apprehension, seized me.
The enemy was alert. They saw us and guessed our intentions. The machines guns began their rapid clicking, and their fans of bullets began to sweep the field.
It seems as though ripe ears of grain flutter over your head. It is the whisper and the hissing of thousands of flying bullets. They fly on and on, and finally fall to the ground, their destructive force already spent.
And again, as a few days ago, during the previous attack, I feel that I must not think about fear, otherwise I am lost. Tomilin and Kirichenko are not far away from me, one to the right and the other to the left All of us are lying flat on the ground. I do not know why we are lying so long, but through my half-closed eyes I see something big and fiery spinning around us, with a hoarse, hissing sound. I ought to creep away, but my body is heavy, and my arms and legs refuse to obey.
"Will 'it' hit me? Me or Tomilin? I guess it'll be Tomilin; 'it' is nearer to him. Oh, I wish it wouldn't be I! How old am I? Only thirty-two. If I reach an even number before it explodes, I'll be saved. One, two, three . . ."
Bach!
Tomilin jumps up to his feet. I get up also. Kirichenko is still prone on the ground.
"Kirichenko!"
"Ah?"
"Are you alive?"
"Yes."
"Is it over?"
"Over"
Kirichenko raises himself to a sitting position, takes off his cap, and makes the sign of the cross.
A narrow strip of red light runs over the field. This is the signal for the attack. We rush forward. I cannot see anything, except gray and blue spots ahead. I cannot hear anything, except a chaos of sounds, that remind one of the noise made by an in-flowing tide, or of a peculiar buzzing.
