EVERYTHING IS RUBBLE and ash in the Soviet city of Stalingrad.
The year is 1941, and Vaska Khovsankya- a 19-year-old civilian- is stranded in the midst of a brutal, bloody battle she never wanted to be a part of. Her thoughts on how ruthless war is...
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Lanterns hung on knives driven into the dirt walls. The rest of the infantry occupied a low-ceiling cellar. They sized us up with their eyes as Rokossovsky shut the door which they had restored. Glares boiled down into pure curiosity and a soldier on the wall stiffened.
He turned and whispered to a beautiful face amongst the rest of them; a woman with dark red hair and soft, grimy skin.
"Are you here for Shlykov?"
The soldier turned her head and threw her withered cards to the middle where her comrades collected them. They looked over their shoulders to see who she had cared enough to speak with.
The smallest smirk crept across Alexey's face.
"You're Red Army, and you?" Her head lifted in my direction as I took a step to Panfilov's right to make us distinct from one another. "Civilian?"
"Partisan."
"Interesting. You were in the rubble field. I tried to kill you," she gestured towards Alexey. "And yet, saved your lives from the top of the building."
"Sounds right, considering Katya is always ready to jump the gun- literally." One of her comrades made the joke, another laughed, and soon there was a chorus between the group.
She glared and took her fresh set of cards without a word. The young woman gestured to the archway that divided the cellar while not looking up from her hand.
Alexey had enough nerve to thank her and slid beneath the arch, letting me trail after like always.
Sitting in the room was a single man. His eyes were grey and matched the surroundings, but the red banner that hung behind him made them have a more sinister look than they deserved.
He didn't look up and leaned back against the wall, continuing to clean the revolver in his hands.
"You're the ones who brought the horde, and now my men bring me you. It flattery at this point., they want to impress me with their catches."
The pistol clattered on the second table salvaged from the building. He straightened into a man of equal height to Alexey, yet his hair was darker. The sharpness of his tongue matched his face; narrow and defined.
"We killed fascists for you and we aren't looking for trouble."
"Skip the introduction, you're a partisan, but you," he took a step towards Alexey. "You're always looking, sometimes accurate with your gun and claim to be infantry. Yet look at you; you hide better in the rubble more than anything else."
"It wasn't just your men who defended the trenches." Panfilov was on the verge of snapping at the Lieutenant after he silenced me and after he dismissed his credibility.
"You're right, sometimes it's Comrade Katerina up on the third level as a gunner covering for the snipers who do not pick off men from the swarm fast enough. Sit." The Lieutenant turned his back and settled into the chair behind the table, allowing us to take the remaining two.
