I wonít beat around the bush - itís too late anyway. The entire platoon one morning shot me with their rifles. How did I earn this evil, absurb punishment? Not that I donít know - itís just forbidden to talk about it. My commander almost saved me, But someone insisted on a firing squad. And the platoon carried out the order excellently. But there was one who didnít shoot. My feverish fate was long ago at the crossroads: One day I added a tongue, but didnít report it. And so our untiring Osobist1 Suetin, Then took note and grabbed his pencil. He dragged out into the light and pulled in My hidden and hemmed material - No one could do anything... No, but one could, the one who didnít shoot. The arm fell downward with a silly shot And the salvo gave me a pass to the other side of the earth. But then I hear: heís still alive. Take him to the battalion infirmary. The orders say nothing about shooting him twice. While the doctor later clucked his tongue And, in surprise removed the bullets. But I in my delirium conversed secretly With that little fellow, who didnít shoot. I licked my wounds like a dog, but I didnít heal, In the hospitals I was a big celebrity. I entire weak, loving, feminine sex came to me: Hey you, ínot-completely-shotí, here have an injection! Our battalion was heroic in the Crimea, And I sent my glucose tablets there, So that the fighting was sweeter for one of them, To whom? To the one who didnít shoot. I drank tea from the dish, with a little medical alcohol, It didnít give up, I fought my way back to health. They found out back at my regiment. Fight - said the battalion commander, So what if they didnít completely shoot you, Iím even glad brother. Iíd should be glad, here squatting by the tree-stump, But I flopped like a sturgeon and howled at destiny: The German sniper competed shooting me By killing the one who didnít shoot.
1 KGB army officer
 
© Peter Struwwel. Translation, ?