This was the heyday of iron rather than of wood. It was manifested in the persecution of bodies of all kinds—human, animal, vegetable—by means of machinery. The infantry had not really ceased to be the queen of armoury, but her realm was no longer that of a world that killed with rifles and bayonets. The Mannlicher had been superseded in the Imperial and Royal Infantry by the Schwarzlose automatic rapid-firing machine gun, model 07/12, calibre 8. At the outbreak of the war, two machine guns were allocated to each infantry battalion. But when it turned out that Tsar Nicholas had actually won a victory over Emperor Franz Joseph thanks to the superiority of automatic weapons, the high command of the Imperial and Royal armed forces began rapidly creating new machine-gun units, but also training as many of the infantry as possible to operate this weapon.
Sometimes, in combat, the enemy would manage to take out all the machine-gunners, who would then have to be replaced by whoever was at hand, without waiting for qualified replacements to be sent from the rear. Therefore, in Regimental Sergeant-Major Bachmatiuk’s opinion, no marching formation was ready for the front until all its members were familiar with the machine gun, at least superficially. Of course, not every cretin could be permitted to have access to such a delicate and unpredictable machine. Piotr Niewiadomski, for example, was not under consideration here. It would be criminal to allow any man (if he was indeed a real man) to come into close contact with the Schwarzlose not knowing his left hand from his right. He did not know which was which, although he already had experience of being clapped in irons. He did not know which was which although the garrison commander himself, Lieutenant-Colonel Leithuber (the one with the withered right hand) had struck him twice in the face with his left hand. If necessary, you can entrust the less important parts of the machine gun to anyone—the shield, the tripod base, the ammunition boxes. But only to carry them. Piotr Niewiadomski was a porter on the railway in civilian life. Let him do the carrying. In peacetime, mules and Hutsul ponies of Turkish origin, which fed exclusively on hay, were used in the Imperial and Royal Army to transport machine guns. In our garrison there were actually mules, but not enough to carry the increased numbers of machine guns. So the machine guns were dismantled and people had to carry them.
Bachmatiuk took a liking to Łeś Nedochodiuk at first sight. If the RSM had still been capable of loving anybody after Knauss’s death, he would have loved Łeś. Much in the way that a man of the cloth might sense that someone had a vocation to serve God, Bachmatiuk spotted Łeś as a potential NCO. He wondered whether to recommend him for NCO training before the battalion set off for the front. He gave Łeś numerous special, but on the face of it insignificant, dispensations, avoiding doing so ostentatiously. Nedochodiuk seemed not to notice. He did not realize that Bachmatiuk exempted him from cleaning latrines or helping in the kitchen, or clearing-up jobs, more often assigning him to more subtle tasks. For example, he was honoured with the functions of an inspection lance corporal, and during training exercises Bachmatiuk sent him on patrol as leader of a reconnaissance detachment. Łeś did not notice any of this. It also escaped his notice that Bachmatiuk never mocked him, did not address him as “Your Excellency” or “Your Grace”. He accepted these privileges as if they were conferred by the Emperor himself and were not even worth acknowledging. Throughout the training of the recruits Bachmatiuk waited for some response from Łeś—for at least some small sign of approval, if not gratitude. He saw none. Łeś Nedochodiuk carried out all orders impeccably, but nothing more. When the battalion began practising with machine guns (all of iron and steel, only the rear handles being made of wood), Łeś’s behaviour changed. It was very obvious that he found it repulsive to touch the machine gun. When it came to firing, Bachmatiuk asked Łeś if he would care to transfer to the machine gun detachment permanently. Łeś drew himself up on the command to stand to attention.
“Begging your pardon, Regimental Sergeant-Major, I cannot.”
“Why can’t you?”
By way of answering, Łeś Nedochodiuk showed his left hand. Bachmatiuk understood this: with a missing thumb you cannot fire the Schwarzlose. So he ordered him to lie down beside the gunner and the gun-layer, hold the ammunition belt and collect the cases of used rounds. Drowsily, sluggishly, Łeś fed the cartridge belt through his fingers. He did so with an expression on his face as if he was feeding acorns to pigs rather than handling Imperial and Royal ammunition. And when Bachmatiuk, taken aback by this attitude, ordered him to remove the barrel from the tripod, Łeś took hold of it as if it was something unclean.
Other Hutsuls did not trust the machine either. They could not get on with it. How does a Hutsul know how a machine gun lives and breathes? Had his mummy taught him that?
And so they lay in the fields at Andrásfalva alongside the Emperor’s machine guns, as if they were guarding some precious livestock, as though they were watching over it as it grazed there. They pretended to be caring for its well-being, although they would rather have drowned it. Łeś Nedochodiuk made no such pretence. He openly displayed his disgust for the machine gun. Bachmatiuk took it all in and it troubled him, but he was unable to fault Łeś, who worked impeccably. But when Nedochodiuk displayed aversion to this beautiful weapon for a second and third time, as it were spitting on it, this was too much for Bachmatiuk. With a voice coming from the depths of his suppressed anguish, he cried out in a tone in which he had never before spoken to Łeś:
“Careful there with the machine gun, Your Grace! A machine gun is no slut!”
No slut! There was a flash in Nedochodiuk’s bloodstained eye. Open conflict had occurred only after live firing of the machine gun.
It was a beautiful autumn morning when the third company of the 2nd Battalion (2MB / III) marched through the town, singing as they went. The chestnuts at the market were displayed in the glory of yellow leaves gleaming with water droplets. The rain which had lasted all night had cleared the dust from the pavements and streets. The great Hungarian statesman Ferenc Deák stood with his foot of stone protruding as if he was tapping it in time to the Ukrainian song. Then the recruits, tired of singing, were relieved by the company trumpeter Hryć Podbereznyj.
Our men were in good spirits. They preferred live firing to the boring parade drill by the barracks, to the accompaniment of bellowing from the Farkas and Gjörmeky brewery’s bloody neighbour, the municipal slaughterhouse. Down the middle of the road at the head of the detachment marched Regimental Sergeant-Major Bachmatiuk with a sheathed sword. The officers walked on the pavement so as not to stain their puttees.
When they reached the field where live ammunition drills were held, Lieutenant Lewicki, the battle training manager, ordered the burdens to be removed from the mules and the men. He allowed a short break. The mules were fed, and the men stretched out on the damp ground, which had been flattened by the garrison’s constant practice manoeuvres. Soon a sharp whistle interrupted the hubbub. The men jumped to their feet. They stiffened. And one of those military silences ensued as when words with the significance of life and death were uttered. On Bachmatiuk’s order to “Fall in!” the men rushed for their rifles stacked in pyramids, to their dismantled machine guns, and to their equipment, prepared according to regulations. The Indian summer had enfolded the damp rifle butts in thin silvery strands. On the command to shoulder equipment, they hurriedly took up their packs and fastened their belts. When they were ready, Bachmatiuk ordered them to shoulder arms and stand at ease. Then he posted sentries to check the boundaries of the firing zone and chase away all living creatures, Hungarians and cows, if they came near. After the sentries had left, the machine guns were assembled and set up in trenches.