“...Pevchikh looked out the window of the peasant hut in which the division headquarters was then located: “Hey, Grigoriev!” The march comes running towards me. A moment later, the efficient soldier appeared on the threshold of the room. “Here.” You will witness that I ordered our Mendoza, in the sense of junior lieutenant Herschelson, to raise his morale to fight me with his fists. - Yes! – the soldier blurted out. “Well?” Shall we go? Or are you going to tell me now that there are no gloves? Or that you and I weigh differently? “Orders are not discussed,” Gershelzon shrugged....The battle did not last long. Having dodged the first two heavy blows, the political instructor suddenly somehow with an imperceptible short movement knocked down the commander’s right hand and powerfully attacked with a side blow to the jaw. Pevchikh barely had time to shake his head and offer his left shoulder. And at that very moment, it was as if a landmine exploded in my head. He felt the junior lieutenant's hard, cast-iron fist crash into his chin from below. Sparks flew from the eyes, and suddenly it was as if someone had turned off the light. Pevchikh came to his senses from a stream of cold water from a bucket. “Strong, Mendoza,” the major stated, just in case, checking whether his jaw was in place. - I respect you. Go. Get your allowance..."