Ivan cleared his head of the disruptively blurred noises that so vividly surrounded him. His eyes reluctantly after approximately 3 long minutes opened to the whizzing of lead that so closely followed his own sight. An explosion, this time much clearer, pounded his ears into submission and again he lay his head to the ground as the deathly fires continued to blur into a darkening vision.
Bellows of screeching men began to fill his ears again.Why? Within the closed memory's of his brain he saw a light begin to emerge, to engulf his thoughts as if feeding on his past, present and what ever would be next.
A street packed with snow and civilians wondering about in idleness as they clasp their coats to endure the bitter cold. A firm grasp grabbed onto his hand, a hesitation, a look. There was no rifle, neither a grenade, but a little girl, his little girl, Anna. She began skipping with him singing a lullaby song so Beautiful that he felt he could sleep once more,
"I love you, I love you. Sleep now, dream now. Remember the stories, you'll sing them some-day"
His faint eyes clasped shut to the gentle humming of little Anna's voice so sweet like the whistle of the gentle swift. Once more his head fell into the abyss of peace, the abyss so hard to come out of, the abyss so few wanted to leave.
Finally his head emptied into nothingness. Until the dull droning brought him back into the so borrow of his life. With what little strength he encouraged, he pushed himself over 3 feet of harsh rubble and glass cutting his blistered hands and back. Opening his scorched eyes to the Orange stained sky's he began to make sense of his surroundings. Men lay shot to pieces by German machine guns that opened fire on the now rotting carcasses of the deceased only using them as simple target practise and a catalyst to endure on into the harsh and ragged Russian winter.
Only hours ago had Ivan been leading his men across the desolate wasteland in a desperate attempt to claim back territory from the advancing 6th Panzer Division. His eyes were weary, artillery fell around him and yet he continued into the ever growing fire of the German Machine Guns. Men armed with nothing but the boots and clothing on their backs fell easily to the overpower full forces. Debris flew across the dank fighting ground from an artillery blast wiping him straight of his feet into an unconscious state behind a low cart. This is when he began to wonder why.
Why was he to keep fighting?
YOU ARE READING
STALIN GRAD-СТАЛИНГРАД
Historical FictionRussian blood is awash in the city of Stalingrad but time will be re-written when a new terror is unleashed upon the world, a weapon that will annihilate the Nazi power dead in its tracks.
