Post by Sergey Anatkin on Jul 9, 2010 17:10:55 GMT
Maneuver map
The light green dot indicates Sergey. Dark green the political Commissar.
Country: A large, wooded area north- east of Tula, Russia
Current Time: The late evening hours, 15th of March, 1943
Weather Conditions: Freezing cold, clouded sky but no snow or wind at the moment
Taking down his binoculars for a second, Sergey squinted his eyes, that slowly had started aching because of the horribly dry and cold air. His breath used to condense almost immediately, leaving a rather big cloud of white smoke behind. After the Praporschik had placed his binoculars back in front of his chest, he zestfully rubbed his two hands at each other, trying to at least somehow rewarm his stiff, bluish- red colored fingers. The holey, grey cotton gloves, that the Soviet was wearing, couldn't resist the horrible cold any more. Besides Sergey, there stood one of the political Commissars, who also where following this military maneuver. The Commissar had his brown field cap deeply pulled into his face and hadn't spoken any word to the Praporschik by now.
For the moment, the Praporschik and the Commissar had taken up an observing position at the edge of the small hollow way, which the narrow dirt road lead through. From the top of the small ridge, the Soviet soldier had an excellent view over the surrounding, heavily snowed area. The snow had fallen during the whole day, just having stopped about an hour ago. The last shimmers of daylight were slowly starting to disappear behind the horizon now, making Sergey only hardly recognize the thick, small copse, where the flag must have been situated in the moment. For the moment, the Russian wasn't able to discover any movements, neither in the little wood nor in the direction, the attacking force would most probably advance from. The small, dirt road to his feet was deeply covered with snow as well, with only slight tracks of heavy vehicles indicating the existence of a road at all. Actually, this small picture of a winter- forest, with the pine- trees peacefully covered with white snow could let one completely forget about that bloody war outside here. A slight hum sounding through the evening air made Sergey look upwards in curiosity. Instantly, he was able to discover a row of heavy, two- engined planes. After another second, the Praporschik could clearly recognize the big, red star shimmering at the side of the, completely white camouflaged bombers. The noise of the plane engines grew louder with every second now, swallowing every other sound in the, by now peaceful, little forest area.
Most probably, these bombers were heading for the front line, some hundred kilometers in the west of Tula, where still the war was wagging over the motherland. Although the German advance on Moscow in the winter of '41 could get stopped and the myth of the unbreakable German soldier had gotten more than destroyed during these bloody months in Stalingrad, the war still was far away from being decided. Sergey had fought in this awful hell at the river Volga by himself and he knew, how strong the Fascist enemy still had proven himself to be. Actually it had only been about a month, that the whole 76th Guards rifle division had gotten pulled out of the direct front for refreshing and supplying the single regiments with new recruits.
For a short second, Sergey had the idea to shoot one or two red flares into the sky, as a small greet to the brave comrades inside their flying weapons. But instantly he changed his mind, as a flare could also cause a lot of irritation. And irritation was something, that he couldn't use during this first, big maneuver of the refreshed division at all. All preparations had gotten done and a lot more army observers were watching all the actions, that would be taking place on this field of maneuver.
Still strained observing the direct surroundings of his position, the Russian soldier slowly repositioned the olive- brown steel helmet on his head in expectation of the events going to occur shortly.
The light green dot indicates Sergey. Dark green the political Commissar.
Country: A large, wooded area north- east of Tula, Russia
Current Time: The late evening hours, 15th of March, 1943
Weather Conditions: Freezing cold, clouded sky but no snow or wind at the moment
Taking down his binoculars for a second, Sergey squinted his eyes, that slowly had started aching because of the horribly dry and cold air. His breath used to condense almost immediately, leaving a rather big cloud of white smoke behind. After the Praporschik had placed his binoculars back in front of his chest, he zestfully rubbed his two hands at each other, trying to at least somehow rewarm his stiff, bluish- red colored fingers. The holey, grey cotton gloves, that the Soviet was wearing, couldn't resist the horrible cold any more. Besides Sergey, there stood one of the political Commissars, who also where following this military maneuver. The Commissar had his brown field cap deeply pulled into his face and hadn't spoken any word to the Praporschik by now.
For the moment, the Praporschik and the Commissar had taken up an observing position at the edge of the small hollow way, which the narrow dirt road lead through. From the top of the small ridge, the Soviet soldier had an excellent view over the surrounding, heavily snowed area. The snow had fallen during the whole day, just having stopped about an hour ago. The last shimmers of daylight were slowly starting to disappear behind the horizon now, making Sergey only hardly recognize the thick, small copse, where the flag must have been situated in the moment. For the moment, the Russian wasn't able to discover any movements, neither in the little wood nor in the direction, the attacking force would most probably advance from. The small, dirt road to his feet was deeply covered with snow as well, with only slight tracks of heavy vehicles indicating the existence of a road at all. Actually, this small picture of a winter- forest, with the pine- trees peacefully covered with white snow could let one completely forget about that bloody war outside here. A slight hum sounding through the evening air made Sergey look upwards in curiosity. Instantly, he was able to discover a row of heavy, two- engined planes. After another second, the Praporschik could clearly recognize the big, red star shimmering at the side of the, completely white camouflaged bombers. The noise of the plane engines grew louder with every second now, swallowing every other sound in the, by now peaceful, little forest area.
Most probably, these bombers were heading for the front line, some hundred kilometers in the west of Tula, where still the war was wagging over the motherland. Although the German advance on Moscow in the winter of '41 could get stopped and the myth of the unbreakable German soldier had gotten more than destroyed during these bloody months in Stalingrad, the war still was far away from being decided. Sergey had fought in this awful hell at the river Volga by himself and he knew, how strong the Fascist enemy still had proven himself to be. Actually it had only been about a month, that the whole 76th Guards rifle division had gotten pulled out of the direct front for refreshing and supplying the single regiments with new recruits.
For a short second, Sergey had the idea to shoot one or two red flares into the sky, as a small greet to the brave comrades inside their flying weapons. But instantly he changed his mind, as a flare could also cause a lot of irritation. And irritation was something, that he couldn't use during this first, big maneuver of the refreshed division at all. All preparations had gotten done and a lot more army observers were watching all the actions, that would be taking place on this field of maneuver.
Still strained observing the direct surroundings of his position, the Russian soldier slowly repositioned the olive- brown steel helmet on his head in expectation of the events going to occur shortly.
), so there won't be any people being wounded.
