The devil himself works for the Germans:
Sometimes pouring wet filth,
Sometimes raining something vile from above.
You can’t walk, you can’t swim.
But the Guards march on anyway—
To hell with your impassable roads!
Nikolaev calls for help!
Soldiers can do anything in the world
(Though they are human, tired too).
Yet how the wind hinders,
A wind of fire, lead, and steel!
“Commander, to the wire!”
“Answer, Dunaev, why are we stuck?”
To see hell in delirium,
To feel death in your teeth,
To understand what is called “Ferdinand,”
From the power of the beast itself,
Through roaring engines and gunfire,
Their armored herd charges straight at the battery.
The fascist—a skilled, clever fighter,
Trained to shoot even in smoke.
Suddenly a three-inch gun explodes,
And two Ferdinands blaze in fire.
Overwhelming thunder, shots unheard,
War rages, frenzied.
A blinding flash again!
Silence soaked in blood…
This is the essence of military service.
But where is the time to sing,
Or even rasp a word?
Still, it must be told:
From all the guns and men,
Only one cannon remained.
Only one soldier lived.
Yet the infantry marched boldly:
Death blazed, death burned.
The loader, bloodied and legless,
Marked the victorious count.
The “fun” work continued.
Forward, Guards infantry!
“Fun”? How to say…
The cemetery still had to be taken.
Mortars pressed to the ground,
Machine guns firing from the bell tower,
Yet the companies rose:
“Forward, Guards infantry!
Forward, for the Motherland!”
Above an abandoned grave,
On a half-erased slab,
Such pure, sacred words
In their original simplicity:
“Sleep, our son, in peace.”
Upon them, a boy with a shattered head
Lies—a warrior
In premature rest.
But no company will lie down again,
No platoon, regiment, nor battalion.
Through wails, whistles, and the clang of explosions,
The Guards infantry moves!
The enemy trembles—no longer the same.
Now they try to flee—
Quickly to the bridge, to Odessa, to hell,
Throwing all, saving their lives.
And the city is strangely clean,
And, incredibly,
As if the fascist were thrown away,
Smoke, smolder, but the sky lightened.
The tired troops march on,
Relaxing just a bit, thawing.
And not a tear, but a snowflake
That strayed by the temple,
Dunaev wiped secretly from a face.