In trenches The order about step back is coming absolutely unexpected. Only yesterday from division headquarters was sent detailed plan of defensive organization: fallback position, road repair, bridges. They claimed by me three sappers for furniture devisions club. In the morning they call from division headquarters: Lets prepare to welcome frontline song and dance company. What could be calmer? Igor and me specially had shaved ourselves, washed and cut our hairs, at the same time washed our underpants and undershirts, and waiting when they get dry, we were laying on the bank of half-dry small river and watch out my sappers, who made floaters for reconnoiters. We were laying, smoking and killing fat slow gadflies on the backs of each other, and watching, how my platoon assistant commander, glistening with his white ass and black heels, somersaults in the water, proving fixity of a float. In this moment came courier from headquarter, his name was Lazarenko. I have noticed him far from away. Holding his rifle, which is slapping his back, he is running jogjog over kitchen gardens. By this trot I understand at once that is not about the concert. (This is my attempt to translate into English a small passage from the book "In the trenches of Stalingrad")

Das ist eine Übersetzung von das Buch "Wer hätte das gedacht?" Im Oktober 1945 fühlte der Amerikaner Charlie Swarth, der in Japan diente, plötzlich selbst betrunken, obwohl mehrere Tage Alkohol nicht berührt hatte. Nachdem er sich geschlafen hatte, verging die Betrunkernheit, aber nach manche Zeit kommte es wieder zurück.