I
The sun blazes fiercely in July,
Our own familiar sun, once greeted with smiles.
Across burning cornfields, down shallow ravines,
Under threat of encirclement, the regiment moves.
They fought honorably, bravely, selflessly, and skillfully,
Uncounted, sowing the colors of their uniforms
On the uncut fields.
Wave after wave surged drunken “superhumans,”
Trampling Europe beneath them.
Angry at the delay, amazed beyond measure,
Not understanding until the very last moment,
Like crashing on stone cliffs, granite ledges,
They shattered on simple, hastily dug trenches,
Foam or mold covering our soil.
Between them, stuck like stones in the surf,
Were blunt hulks of charred black tanks.
The regiment fought valiantly, bravely, selflessly, skillfully.
But there were no neighbors on the right, none on the left.
Only 23 soldiers remained, including staff, signalers,
Medical battalion, and quartermasters.
Not a single officer even of lieutenant rank.
No water, no ammo, because all bullets—
The Degtyaryov and two grenades—were left
For a soldier with broken legs.
“I will not be a hindrance. Take the flag.
I’ll cover you. Retreat!”
The regiment left. The soldier stayed.
To this day, no one knows his name.
It happened so.
The soldier sleeps, frozen in the year 1941.
Every Victory Day, comrades (some still alive)
Gather at the cherished mound,
Remembering, yet unable to recall—
What was the young man’s name?
Sleep, comrade, sleep in peace.
II
Across burning cornfields, down shallow ravines,
Under threat of encirclement, the regiment moved.
They fought honorably, bravely, selflessly, and skillfully,
Uncounted, sowing the colors of their uniforms
On the uncut fields.
Wave after wave surged drunken “superhumans,”
Trampling Europe beneath them.
Angry at the delay, amazed beyond measure,
Not understanding until the very last moment,
Like crashing on stone cliffs, granite ledges,
They shattered on simple, hastily dug trenches,
Foam or mold covering our soil.
Between them, stuck like stones in the surf,
Were blunt hulks of charred black tanks.
The regiment fought valiantly, bravely, selflessly, skillfully.
But there were no neighbors on the right, none on the left.
Only 23 soldiers remained, including staff, signalers,
Medical battalion, and quartermasters.
Not a single officer even of lieutenant rank.
No water, no ammo; all bullets,
The Degtyaryov and two grenades—left
For a soldier with broken legs.
“I will not be a hindrance. Take the flag.
I’ll cover you. Retreat!”
The regiment left. The soldier stayed.
To this day, no one knows his name.
The soldier sleeps. Years pass.
He remains in the same 1941.
Every Victory Day, comrades (some still alive)
Gather at the cherished mound,
Remembering, yet unable to recall—
What was the young man’s name?
Sleep, comrade, sleep in peace. Rest. We won.
May dawns, groves, birds, and Maria
(Maybe Olga, maybe Tanya)—
That beloved, dear, the only one in the world,
Come to you in dreams.
We know her not.
Even you would not recognize her today.
Sleep, comrade. Sleep, soldier, in peace.
Unknown, nameless—not for you.
Your glorious and proud name, “Defender of the Motherland,”
Is known to the whole world. It will live forever.
III
How could it happen? Stalingrad!
Terrifying to think.
Where did that cursed fascist find his strength?
Though he was crushed mercilessly, defeated
Near Moscow, near Rostov!
Hour by hour, battalion by battalion,
Mad from schnapps, the “conquerors of Europe”
Rushed to our Volga with a roar.
There it is, so close—Volga, Volga,
Mother Volga.
But know this, stinking fascist,
She is dearer than life to me.
I said: “Enough! Retreating, following orders,
Swallowing tears, giving up our land—no.
SS scum, on your beastly paws
Is the blood of children, crucified prisoners,
Ash of those burned alive.
I will not let you reach the Volga!”
Again, under machine-gun fire,
After furious bombing,
The “Aryans” rush at me.
Spitting death over fresh corpses
Of those who boldly surged toward Stalingrad
That morning,
Their tanks with hateful crosses ahead.
They are so close.
Only the nearest, a tall, red-haired, sweaty, crazed
From schnapps and fear,
Shoots an accidental bullet
Through the proud heart of the hero.
To this day, the soldier does not know
He was the last.
A moment before,
An anti-tank soldier was crushed.
He does not know the Germans
Reached the Volga,
Paying a cruel price
For an illusion of luck.
He does not know—each life, each death, each wound,
Every bullet and shell whistling over the Volga,
Brought closer that victory,
That great, unprecedented victory
Called Stalingrad.
The soldier is still in battle,
Counting: fourth, fifth…
Sleep, soldier, in peace.
You are not nameless, forgotten, or unknown.
All humanity knows your proud, glorious name—“Victor.”
IV
Step by step, house by house,
From dawn to dusk,
Through smoky days, fiery nights,
The Guards strike continuously at the SS.
This battle is special—
It is no longer 1941,
Today you are in Berlin!
In Berlin! The Reich is finished!
But the lid must be pressed firmly
To crush the band of cannibals,
To give freedom to the peoples
Of suffering Europe.
House by house, step by step,
Dash, grenade explosion.
For a second, you see him first…
PPSh fires sharply.
Cursed beasts!
They drive children to battle!
You, alone, face eight executioners,
Guards and killers, but you are a soldier.
You are faster.
You fire. But wait—
Out of ammo. Too late for a grenade.
The children—unarmed—are there!
Cornered, trembling.
The executioners—sharp in formation.
You are one. They are eight.
The Guards see what words cannot tell.
The heavy-sleeping soldier
From ’45 until now
No one will know his name.
Assault squads cannot tell either—
All fell there, under the door,
Never seeing Victory Day.
Sleep peacefully, Unknown Soldier.
Your feat is immortal.
Your glorious name, known to all humanity—
“Warrior-Liberator.”
The Motherland is proud of you.
V
How many armies have there been!
How many exist, how many will come!
How many famous, proud commanders,
Exalted in poems,
In sculptures, in paintings!
Famous battles, advances, retreats,
Triumphs, defeats—
All worthy of admiration.
Every student must learn
For the sake of peace—
Peace with mother, peace with father,
And with the teacher, of course.
Time flies swiftly.
The boy grew up, finished school.
And now, a man,
Shoulder boards suit him well.
He is no longer a student.
He is a soldier of the Soviet Country.
And all the world’s routes have changed.
He must now guard the world,
Daily and skillfully,
For mother and father,
For himself and for the people.