Translation number 10 (week ten):

     “You must use up a cartridge on me,” said Dolgushov.

     He sat leaning against a tree.   His boots were thrust out in two directions.   Without lowering his gaze from me, he peeled back his shirt.   His belly had been torn out, his intestines were slithering out onto his knees and the beating of his heart was visible on them.

     “The Polacks will ride up—they’ll have fun with me.   Here are my papers.   You’ll write to my mother how and what…”

     “No,” I answered and spurred my horse.

     “Rnnning off, eh?” he muttered, sliding down.   “Go ahead and run, you skunk…”

     Sweat trickled down my body.   The machine guns were rattling away, faster and faster, with hysterical obstinacy.   Ringed with the halo of sunset, Afonka Bida was galloping toward us.

     I pointed out Dolgushov to him and rode off a little.

     They had a brief talk—I couldn’t hear the words.   Dolgushov handed his regimental book to the troop commander.   Afonka hid it in his boot and shot Dolgushov in the mouth.

     “Afonka,” I said with a pitiful smile and rode up to the Cossack, “I just couldn’t…”

     “Get lost!” he said, becoming pale.   “Or I’ll kill you!   You guys in glasses have as much pity for us as a cat for a mouse.”