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village seized back from the Germans. ‘So, what do you think of Germans?’
    ‘They aren’t bad people,’ [she replied]. The general swore at her.
    There was one officer who ate very little. A woman said of him: ‘He is so spoilt.’
    The general’s cook who had worked in a restaurant before the war stays in the izba . He is critical of the food in the village. The village women are angry with him. They call [the cook] Timka instead of Timofei. His appearance is awe-inspiring.
    Timka: ‘When I was working in the front line, I would drive there, gulp down a glass of “denaturate” [industrial alcohol], and I didn’t give a damn any longer. Shells and bullets were whistling all around me, and I was singing and pouring food for soldiers. Oh, they loved me, how the soldiers loved me.’ Timka demonstrates with ballet movements how he poured portions, and sings. It looks as if he’s had his glass today, too.
    The adjutants: Shlyapin’s adjutant is the tall, handsome [Lieutenant] Klenovkin. Petrov’s adjutant is short like a teenager, with monstrously broad shoulders and chest. This ‘teenager’ could bring down an izba with one heave of his shoulder. He is loaded down with all kinds of pistols, a sub-machine gun and grenades. In his pockets are sweets stolen from the general’s table and hundreds of cartridges to protect the general’s life.
    Petrov watched his adjutant eat rapidly, using his fingers instead of a fork. ‘If you don’t learn some culture,’ the general shouted at him, ‘I’ll send you to the front line. You should eat with a fork, not fingers!’
    The general’s and the commissar’s adjutants are sorting out their chiefs’ underwear, trying to borrow an extra pair – the commissar’s adjutant from the general’s, and vice versa. Crossing a small stream, the general jumps over it, the commissar steps in and washes his boots. The general’s adjutant then jumps over, but the commissar’s steps in and washes his boots.
    Evening by candlelight. Petrov’s speech is brusque. He responds to the request of a divisional commander to postpone the attack because of the loss of men: ‘Tell him I’ll postpone it when he’s the only one left.’ Then we played dominoes for a long time – Petrov, Shlyapin, a fat-cheeked pretty nurse called Valya, and I. The army commander puts his dominoes on the table with a bang and puts his palm over them, like a real player. From time to time a major arrives from the operations department bringing reports.
    Morning. Breakfast. Petrov isn’t hungry. He has a glass [of vodka]. ‘It’s been allowed by the Minister,’ he says with a grin. [A ration of one hundred grams of vodka a day had been authorised.]
    Before going to the forward division, the general plays with the cats. We go to the divisional headquarters first, and then to one of the regiments. We leave the car and walk in a field of wet clay. Our feet get stuck in the mud. Petrov shouts Spanish words which sound out of place here, under these autumn skies, on this wet ground. 2 The regiment is in combat. It fails to seize the village. There is the noise of sub-machine- and machine-gun fire, the whistling of bullets. The army commander severely reprimands the regimental commander: ‘If you fail to capture this village within an hour, you will have to give up your regiment and take part in the attack as a private.’ The regimental commander answers: ‘Yes, Comrade Army Commander.’ His hands are shaking. There isn’t a single man walking upright. Men are running stooping low or crawling on all fours from one hole to another. They are afraid of bullets, and there aren’t any bullets. They are all covered in mud and wet. Shlyapin is walking around as if on a country stroll and shouts to the soldiers: ‘Bend lower, cowards, bend lower!’
    When we arrive at the second regiment, its headquarters are empty. There are three clean cats in the empty house and lots of weapons and icons.
    After dinner,