Six days in the trench on the damp earth, the battle, and the early morning hunger without a bed.
And on the seventh through the bitter haze they issued us each a loaf of bread.
The battalion commander said, screwing up his eyes, to the battalion’s remaining company whom he led,
I beg you, sons, do not eat it at all at once, and then meekly die for bread.
It was a fascist, that made his way to us, so ferocious,
But we knew — we would crush his flanks, so atrocious
For this hardship with bread from rye,
For a house by the river and clouds in the sky.
Gradually I cut off a piece, and chewed it that quickly, so a thief would not find it.
And I hid the rest in a little sack so the stomach would not get accustomed to eat.
It started snowing harder and, having breathed deeply the smoke of dawn,
Put my hand in the sack for a new piece of bread, and rustled around, but there was no bread, it had gone.
It was a fascist, that made his way to us, so ferocious,
But we knew — we would crush his flanks, so atrocious
For this hardship with bread from rye,
For a house by the river and clouds in the sky.
I quietly announced my arrival to the sergeant-major and, having tightened my belt,
«In war, as in war: as with bread, as without bread — everything is grave,« I felt.
The commander, having taken a revolver from his holster, shouted he would shoot dead without tribunal,
Whoever picked his pockets, and wearily ordered me to find the scum and wipe off his smile.
It was a fascist, that made his way to us, so ferocious,
But we knew — we would crush his flanks, so atrocious
For this hardship with bread from rye,
For a house by the river and clouds in the sky.
The bread was found in the sack of a young boy, who had taken refuge in a quilted jacket from the severe cold,
And his look touched me, so the bread was not discovered was what I told.
Sweeping away life, like the ninth wave, to us war crippled souls in blood and pain…
And he lay in the trench and silently sobbed, twitching his shoulders under the rain.
It was a fascist, that made his way to us, ferocious,
But we knew — we would crush his flanks,
For this hardship with bran bread,
For a house by the river and clouds in the sky.