Mikhail Svetlov
On Reconnaissance

Our rifles at the ready,
Bayonets gleaming with blue light,
As we rode a star peeped shyly
Through the darkness of the night.

Our horses walked on slowly,
Bridles lay slack in our grip,
“Mercury that star is named,”
Pensively I let the word slip.

When the fight is in the offing
Stars do look weird and cold...
“This here Mercury,”
He muttered,
“What in Russian is it called?”

As he waited for my answer,
This brave serious young scout,
That far-off foreign-named planet
Disappeared behind a cloud.

Softly,
Muted by the distance
Came the creak of peasant carts...
We had set off in the morning
And now night chilled our hearts.

Silence reigned,
Then swiftly
Deadly lead began to fly —
We were caught out in the open,
Not a hope of galloping by.

So I said to him in a whisper:
“We’ve got to change our tack,
Not a chance of holding out,
Let’s turn the horses back.

“There’s none will tell the story
Of our taking to our heels,
The commander need not know it,
If we keep our mouths sealed.”

Frowning from under his hat,
He said:
“They can go to hell.
Are we rabbits to skedaddle
From a hunter in the dell?

“How shall I face our people,
What their looks will enquire?
How I’ll tell our stern Commander
That I’ve fled from under fire?

“No, I’d rather keep on riding,
Come whatever is to come.
Better lie in earth with honour,
Than to walk the earth as scum.”

Death ran amock in the darkness,
Bullets drummed there without rest...
He was shot right in the forehead,
I was shot right through my breast.

Bridles hung limp, the dull jingle
Of the stirrups carried far,
Mercury above us floated —
A foreign-named distant star.

Translated by Valentina Jacque