Journal of a Russian Gunner
Created | Updated Aug 8, 2006
I kneeled behind the cannon, my comrade Igor beside me.
“Are you sure they won’t see us” I stuttered anxiously.
“Don’t worry, we are well hidden behind the Fedioukine Hills” Igor replied.
It was time. The first two regiments were ready to charge down the valley. The battle that would make us famous in history was about to begin.
“Get the cannon ready, when the third regiment comes, I will fire,” Igor shouted confidently. My hands quivered as I loaded the cannon. I had never been more terrified in my life. But Igor, who was more experienced than I, wasn’t scared at all. As the first two regiments charged, the third regiment approached.
“FIRE!” shouted Igor boldly. I lit the fuse. Igor aimed. A cannonball torpedoed through the air blasting off a soldier’s arm. That was the first shot that started the battle. Soon the whole valley was splattered with blood and flesh.
They were turning back. We had a triumphed over the British. We fired another shot successfully killing someone. There blood was all over the valley I could not bear look. I had killed someone. In the midst of that madness Igor gave me a sharp admiring glance. Yet I had never felt more dreadfully ashamed and guilty in my life. A life had simply disappeared and it was my entire fault.
Suddenly the French came charging up the hills. I felt safe with Igor bedside me, with all his experience he must know what to do.
“Igor” I shouted. But Igor didn’t hear me. I shouted desperately again. But still Igor didn’t reply. What had happened?
I looked around and then I saw it. It must have happened so fast in all that mayhem. Igor had collapsed. I looked at him in utter devastation. I couldn’t believe it. He gave me one last look then closed his eyes. Igor was dead.
A sudden jolt of pain went through my leg. I didn't realise what it was until it was too late. I was shot. The pain had paralyzed my leg, it was unbearable. I tried to grab my rifle but I couldn't. I was shot again this time in the right arm. I knew this was it I was going to have the same fate as Igor. I was going to die. I remember seeing someone approach me. I remember slowly losing any reason to live. I remember closing my eyes thinking it was all over.
I woke up in the hospital the next day. I knew I was dead. I had to be dead. There were no other possibilities. But I could feel pain. I couldn't be dead. I had somehow survived the terrible ordeal. But death was what I needed. I had killed people. People with ambitions. People with a life ahead of them. I couldn't bear the facts. It hurted more than having my leg cut off.
I wonder if one hundred years from now people will still be fighting crazy futile wars. I deeply hope not.
Ivan Yagrovitch
25 November 1854
Miraculousrandomness
6 October 2005
“Are you sure they won’t see us” I stuttered anxiously.
“Don’t worry, we are well hidden behind the Fedioukine Hills” Igor replied.
It was time. The first two regiments were ready to charge down the valley. The battle that would make us famous in history was about to begin.
“Get the cannon ready, when the third regiment comes, I will fire,” Igor shouted confidently. My hands quivered as I loaded the cannon. I had never been more terrified in my life. But Igor, who was more experienced than I, wasn’t scared at all. As the first two regiments charged, the third regiment approached.
“FIRE!” shouted Igor boldly. I lit the fuse. Igor aimed. A cannonball torpedoed through the air blasting off a soldier’s arm. That was the first shot that started the battle. Soon the whole valley was splattered with blood and flesh.
They were turning back. We had a triumphed over the British. We fired another shot successfully killing someone. There blood was all over the valley I could not bear look. I had killed someone. In the midst of that madness Igor gave me a sharp admiring glance. Yet I had never felt more dreadfully ashamed and guilty in my life. A life had simply disappeared and it was my entire fault.
Suddenly the French came charging up the hills. I felt safe with Igor bedside me, with all his experience he must know what to do.
“Igor” I shouted. But Igor didn’t hear me. I shouted desperately again. But still Igor didn’t reply. What had happened?
I looked around and then I saw it. It must have happened so fast in all that mayhem. Igor had collapsed. I looked at him in utter devastation. I couldn’t believe it. He gave me one last look then closed his eyes. Igor was dead.
A sudden jolt of pain went through my leg. I didn't realise what it was until it was too late. I was shot. The pain had paralyzed my leg, it was unbearable. I tried to grab my rifle but I couldn't. I was shot again this time in the right arm. I knew this was it I was going to have the same fate as Igor. I was going to die. I remember seeing someone approach me. I remember slowly losing any reason to live. I remember closing my eyes thinking it was all over.
I woke up in the hospital the next day. I knew I was dead. I had to be dead. There were no other possibilities. But I could feel pain. I couldn't be dead. I had somehow survived the terrible ordeal. But death was what I needed. I had killed people. People with ambitions. People with a life ahead of them. I couldn't bear the facts. It hurted more than having my leg cut off.
I wonder if one hundred years from now people will still be fighting crazy futile wars. I deeply hope not.
Ivan Yagrovitch
25 November 1854
Miraculousrandomness
6 October 2005
