Post by Nikolai A. Syratov on Jun 12, 2009 0:52:32 GMT
Country: Stalingrad, Russia
Current Time: 9:08 AM
Weather Conditions: Somewhat clear sky, obscured by clouds of smoke from still-burning buildings. The Soviets claimed victory over the Stalingrad yesterday, after the final pocket of German resistance had surrendered. The streets are filled with rubble and the occasional corpse, but the frozen Volga is still packed with dead human and animal bodies. Columns of Nazi POWs walk in surrender to the nearest Prisoner Camp, and the Red Army is in somewhat good spirits. Snow lays in a haphazard blanket over the city.
***
Kolya inhaled deeply, as if the sooty air of Stalingrad had changed during the Soviet victory. His blond hair lay in stringy clumps over his head, no longer dulled by dirt. He had taken his first shower in weeks yesterday, as well as turning in his entire leftover vodka ration cards for a total of seven bottles. He had drunk one last night, and the rest stood on the small table next to his bunk where he sat. He had slept an entire night, the first after the occupation. Kolya stretched his weary muscles and stood up, ready to greet the day. The Russian reached for his knapsack where his uniform was, and slipped into the dirty Red Army uniform, two sweaters, and three pairs of socks. He also put on his tattered leather and felt boots, which warmed his cold feet. Kolya also dressed in his big brown greatcoat, the collars adorned with red. For added insulation, he put on his fur ushanka hat and wool gloves, both of them dirty and smelling like gunpowder. He adorned his leather equipment pouches and grabbed his Mosin Nagant rifle and loaded in a fresh clip. Just incase, Kolya also broke open a fresh vodka bottle and poured some in a small steel hip flask, which he returned to his greatcoat pocket. After his long morning ritual, the Russian left the ruined apartment building that served as Prospekt A’s NCO barracks.
Kolya had been granted the day as leave, and he was at a loss of what to do in the ruined city. He guessed he could always look for more jewelry to add to his box of precious metals, but he would have to be careful, looting was punishable by death. And with all the NKVD soldiers on leave, he decided that would not be the greatest idea. At loss for ideas, Kolya sat down with his back pressed against the only standing wall of a bombed out café, and followed several armored convoys with his light blue eyes. Trucks filled with wounded soldiers from both sides lazily moved along, followed by the occasional T-34 or half-track. Kolya found happiness in the cumbersome metal vehicles, the rumble of their engines almost lulling him to sleep, as if the rifle he held was not a weapon at all, but just a stuffed toy that some young child could not sleep without. But suddenly, from the deepest pits of his mind, an idea showed itself. Dosminsko square! It was a large open area in the middle of the city, packed with the empty husks of tanks that had been destroyed in some great armored conflict. Bands of snipers used the area to train there aim on, for there are many small nooks and crannies to hide in and many targets to shoot at. Kolya had visited it once, months ago, and found it great fun. The Russian stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, took a swig of vodka from his hip flask, and began to hike towards Dosminsko square.
On the way there he was frightened by how many rotting bodies where still left on the street, most of them German. The Russians had started to gather up their own dead, and Kolya figured they just didn’t bother about the enemy carcasses. He saw quite a few soldiers, both on active duty and on leave. More tanks and trucks rumbled past, and Kolya had to resist the temptation to just jump on one of them and ride off into the sunset. The Russian could tell he was getting close to Dosminsko square as he saw more and more scoped rifles, and he almost felt out of place with his standard issue Mosin Nagant. It was beginning to get warmer out, so Kolya tied up the flaps of his fur hat as he approached the square. It was a magnificent sight, massive metal shells of German Panzers and Russian T-34s everywhere you looked. The square was surrounded by factory buildings where marksmen perched, shooting down at different targets. Kolya looked around giddily before deciding to lay down in a small pile of rubble to the left and try to hit the German cross insignia on a tank’s bow about 75 meters away. He got down in prone position against the in the pile, his coat dirtying. He lay his rifle on a small pile of bricks, let his lung deflate, and slowly pulled down on the trigger.
Current Time: 9:08 AM
Weather Conditions: Somewhat clear sky, obscured by clouds of smoke from still-burning buildings. The Soviets claimed victory over the Stalingrad yesterday, after the final pocket of German resistance had surrendered. The streets are filled with rubble and the occasional corpse, but the frozen Volga is still packed with dead human and animal bodies. Columns of Nazi POWs walk in surrender to the nearest Prisoner Camp, and the Red Army is in somewhat good spirits. Snow lays in a haphazard blanket over the city.
***
Kolya inhaled deeply, as if the sooty air of Stalingrad had changed during the Soviet victory. His blond hair lay in stringy clumps over his head, no longer dulled by dirt. He had taken his first shower in weeks yesterday, as well as turning in his entire leftover vodka ration cards for a total of seven bottles. He had drunk one last night, and the rest stood on the small table next to his bunk where he sat. He had slept an entire night, the first after the occupation. Kolya stretched his weary muscles and stood up, ready to greet the day. The Russian reached for his knapsack where his uniform was, and slipped into the dirty Red Army uniform, two sweaters, and three pairs of socks. He also put on his tattered leather and felt boots, which warmed his cold feet. Kolya also dressed in his big brown greatcoat, the collars adorned with red. For added insulation, he put on his fur ushanka hat and wool gloves, both of them dirty and smelling like gunpowder. He adorned his leather equipment pouches and grabbed his Mosin Nagant rifle and loaded in a fresh clip. Just incase, Kolya also broke open a fresh vodka bottle and poured some in a small steel hip flask, which he returned to his greatcoat pocket. After his long morning ritual, the Russian left the ruined apartment building that served as Prospekt A’s NCO barracks.
Kolya had been granted the day as leave, and he was at a loss of what to do in the ruined city. He guessed he could always look for more jewelry to add to his box of precious metals, but he would have to be careful, looting was punishable by death. And with all the NKVD soldiers on leave, he decided that would not be the greatest idea. At loss for ideas, Kolya sat down with his back pressed against the only standing wall of a bombed out café, and followed several armored convoys with his light blue eyes. Trucks filled with wounded soldiers from both sides lazily moved along, followed by the occasional T-34 or half-track. Kolya found happiness in the cumbersome metal vehicles, the rumble of their engines almost lulling him to sleep, as if the rifle he held was not a weapon at all, but just a stuffed toy that some young child could not sleep without. But suddenly, from the deepest pits of his mind, an idea showed itself. Dosminsko square! It was a large open area in the middle of the city, packed with the empty husks of tanks that had been destroyed in some great armored conflict. Bands of snipers used the area to train there aim on, for there are many small nooks and crannies to hide in and many targets to shoot at. Kolya had visited it once, months ago, and found it great fun. The Russian stood up, slung his rifle over his shoulder, took a swig of vodka from his hip flask, and began to hike towards Dosminsko square.
On the way there he was frightened by how many rotting bodies where still left on the street, most of them German. The Russians had started to gather up their own dead, and Kolya figured they just didn’t bother about the enemy carcasses. He saw quite a few soldiers, both on active duty and on leave. More tanks and trucks rumbled past, and Kolya had to resist the temptation to just jump on one of them and ride off into the sunset. The Russian could tell he was getting close to Dosminsko square as he saw more and more scoped rifles, and he almost felt out of place with his standard issue Mosin Nagant. It was beginning to get warmer out, so Kolya tied up the flaps of his fur hat as he approached the square. It was a magnificent sight, massive metal shells of German Panzers and Russian T-34s everywhere you looked. The square was surrounded by factory buildings where marksmen perched, shooting down at different targets. Kolya looked around giddily before deciding to lay down in a small pile of rubble to the left and try to hit the German cross insignia on a tank’s bow about 75 meters away. He got down in prone position against the in the pile, his coat dirtying. He lay his rifle on a small pile of bricks, let his lung deflate, and slowly pulled down on the trigger.
