V.Vysotsky, The Penalty Battalion - Translation (Rus.) Poem by Lyudmila Purgina

There's only one hour for the whole bombardment,
There's only one hour for infantry to rest,
There's only one hour for main affairs, rather.
Who's sentenced holding orders, who's - to death.

At this hour we're not engaged in writing-
Let's pray to artillery men - the gods of war!
Because of that we are not mere fighters,
We are the soldiers of the penalty battalion.

We shan't write ever: '... I'm now a communist'.
And we drink vodka before battle - bad!
We've drunken all our fate 'in civil',
So we don't cry 'Hurra! ', we are silent.

The penalized have only one law, one end -
To kill, to pierce the fashist wanders on.
If you're lucky not to catch in breast the lead -
Then you'll hold medal there for your valour.

Beat with your bayonet, or better - with your hand:
It's more reliable, and even quiet.
If you're able get alive from that -
Then have a good time, with a rouble or higher!

The enemy considers us as weak
In morals - wood and towns after him are burned.
But you should better cut wood for the coffins,
For breach are going the penalty battalions.

Now six o'clock - again the fire -
So, God of war - shoot hard without end!
It's only one hour for main affairs:
For someone - order, and for someone - death!