This is the way I heard it.

When you get your face on a stamp, you know you've done something right.

When you get your face on two stamps, well, then you know you've done something extraordinary.

The face to which I'm referring belongs to L. M. Pavluchenko.

And if the name doesn't ring a bell, picture in your mind's eye a war hero.

It was tuned with medals and awards, proudly receiving a soldier's highest honor.

That was Pavluchenko, a soldier's soldier, with one indisputable, unrivaled talent, killing Nazis.

From the start, Pavluchenko and guns went together like peas and carrots.

As a teenager, there were long hours spent working in a weapons factory, followed by daily visits to the shooting range.

There, the 14-year-old Ukrainian performed with the precision and consistency of a proven marksman.

So, when Hitler came calling in 1941, Pavluchenko volunteered for the infantry.

But the Red Army wasn't interested. There were standards, you see, especially when it came to combat, and not everyone measured up.

Eventually, persistence paid off, as persistence so often does, and after refusing any and all non-combat positions,

the stubborn volunteer was finally given a chance.

Like an actor, trying out for the lead in the high school play, Pavluchenko was invited to audition for the desired role just outside of Odessa.

In the distance, the targets were tiny, even through the high-powered telescopic side of the Tokarev semi-automatic rifle.

Two Romanians, Nazi sympathizers, enemies of the homeland.

Pavluchenko breathed in and slowly exhaled. A second later, only one Romanian was standing.

A second after that, no Romanians at all.

And with that, Pavluchenko was welcomed into the 25th rifle division and thrust directly into the action.

In no time, the young private watched a close comrade die at the hands of the Nazis, and that was not good for Hitler's army.

Because the patriotism that drove Pavluchenko to enlist was now magnified by a burning desire for vengeance.

...