In April they had their son. "He's so like you, Ivan," said Vera, the woman with the swarthy complexion. "He'll be a Hero, too." The child was crying and she had picked him up and handed him to his father.

Toward evening Tanya began to feel breathless. They opened the window to let in the cool April dusk. Vera gave her an infusion to drink but nothing brought her comfort. The nearest doctor lived in a village a dozen miles away. Ivan put on his overcoat and set off at a run on the deeply rutted road. He did not return till the early hours of the morning. He had borne the old doctor on his back the whole way.

The injections and medicines brought Tanya some relief. Ivan and the doctor, both of them light-headed with weariness after their sleepless night, sat down to drink some tea. Vera brought a little crock of goat's milk, warmed it and fed the child.

Before going on his way the doctor downed a small glass of samogon and said: "Now then, if ever her heart falters you must give her this powder. But, strictly speaking, she shouldn't have had a child, she shouldn't even knead dough… Yes I know, I know, soldier… when you're young… I was young once myself!" He winked knowingly at Ivan and set off toward the main road.

They called their son Kolka, like Ivan's baby brother who was killed by the Germans.

In the spring, as ill luck would have it, the kolkhoz's only horse died just before plowing time. Of late they had had nothing to give it but rotten hay and dried stems.

One morning they saw the Party's local boss, the Secretary of the District Committee, arriving in a jolting jeep. No sooner had he jumped down from his vehicle than he pounced on the head of the kolkhoz.

"So that's your game, is it? Sabotage, you son of a whore? You want to screw up the entire grain plan for