Minsk

I

2010. The rain had bucketed down on Novosibirsk. At the hospital, 85 year-old Olga Popov had laid in bed as her two sons had been there with their wives and their children. "Please don't go grandma," said one of the kids. "It's ok sweet children," said Olga. Her voice sounding oh so quite weak. "I'll be with your grandpa soon enough."

"If there's anything we can do just let us know," said Her son Chuki. "Boys," said Olga. "I think it's time I finally tell you about who it was you were named after."

"Mom," said Viktor. "I thought you had already told us that story before. Me and Chuki remember it very clearly."

"That was never the true story," Olga had confessed. She had then coughed uncontrollably. "I was never ready to tell you. But to see you here, all grown up, I think you're ready."

Viktor and Chuki's kids had seemed both excited and understanding. They had been little and loved hearing their fathers tell them bedtime stories. Now they were ready to hear a story told by grandma. Viktor and Chuki had been intruiged to hear as well as their wives.

"It was the year I had my seventeenth birthday. I may not have spent it with my parents but your four fathers had done just as good a job. A year in which I would never forget."

Minsk. June, 1942.

Summer was supposed to be a time to have fun in the sun. A time you'd go to the beach. I time to go swimming. That wasn't the case.

It had been Dark as night. A small group of Russian soldiers had done their best to move through the storm. They had worn, thermal gloves, overcoats over their winter jackets that had already been meant for the cold, the warmest things they could find. Some had even carried out lamps. The snow in their face hit them like jacked pieces of broken glass. It had been worse than the Children's Blizzard of 1888. 

"Be on the lookout for shelter or a fire!" yelled Captain Dimitry Sokolov. "It won't keep you warm but it will keep you alive!" Sokolov was the officer in charged of the group. He had worn an overcoat, ski mask, and woolen gloves and boots. He had also been growing a stubble.

There had originally been twelve men in the group. Now they were down to eight. One of the men still alive was Viktor Smirnov. Smirnov was the Sniper of the Group. He wore a Garrison cap, a ski mask, a extra warm, coat and uniform, and a cape, and was clean shaven. "I see a house!" said Smirnov. It had been hard for them to see. The eight soldiers had struggled but made their way through the snow. There had been a Machine gun nest nearby but due to the storm it was impossible for them to see the soldiers or their movement.

As they had all gotten in and closed the door they had taken out their guns. Slowly moving through the house. Just as a Russian soldier moves up the stairs, A German soldier fires into his back. The Russian soldier tumbles down the stairs as he now lays lifeless. It was at this moment a shootout had broke out. 

A German MG would shoot from under the stairs. A Russian soldier would pull the pin to a fragmentation grenade but get shot before throwing it. "Der'mo!" screamed Petrov as he quickly grabbed the grenade and threw it at the staircase. The grenade went off, killing the MG within the stairs. One of the Russian soldiers would kill a German but get shot by another German after. One of the SMG soldiers had quickly returned fire. A German soldier would attempt to kill Smirnov when he'd roll away had shoot the German with his sniper rifle several times. 

Soon it had appeared they had killed all the German soldiers. The only soldiers still alive were Sokolov, Smirnov, Petrov, and Private Minoslav Egorov. "We're fucked captain," said Petrov.

"Maybe not Petrov," said Sokolov. "The wind could have drowned us out. Petrov, Smirnov, come with me to search the second floor for any Krauts in hiding. Egorov."

"Da?"

"Search the bottom floor rooms. We've cleared out most of the rooms so you should be fine." And with Sokolov saying that him, Petrov, and Smirnov had scaled up the blown up staircase as Egorov had searched the rooms. Egorov was a Smg soldier. He had worn an albino Ushanka hat with the flaps down, and a white camo uniform with black gloves and boots. He had been only twenty and was drafted the day he set off for college. He had dirty ginger hair, green eyes, and was clean shaven.

As he searched he had heard crying coming from within one of the rooms. It sounded like a female crying. Egorov had set his gun to the side of the door as he opened it slightly. As he did so, a female had rushed him with a knife. He had quickly caught her before she could stab him. She had looked to be no younger than sixteen years-old. She had messed up mascara, blonde hair, and her clothes had been torn and messed up.

It was the first time I had seen someone who wasn't a German. I didn't know him at the time, but for some reason I felt...safe. An emotion I hadn't felt in a very long time.

Realizing he wasn't a German soldier or a Nazi, the girl had dropped the knife, hugged Egorov, and rested her head on his chest as she cried. Egorov not knowing what more to do had held her trying to calm her down as it had looked like terrible things had happened to her. "Captain!" yelled Egorov. "I found a civilian."

The four had regrouped at the main entrance of the house or apartment as the girl had her arms around Egorov still. "I found her in one of the rooms," said Egorov. "She looks like she's been beaten."

"No," said Sokolov. "No goddamn way she's staying. Our orders are to infiltrate the city and clear the area of Germans, not babysitting  civilians."

"She's just a kid," said Egorov. "She's been through a lot. We can't just leave her to die, especially after what the krauts must've done to her."

"If she stays we need someone to look after her," said Sokolov. "Then we're one man short on the squad."

"Then I'll look after her," said Egorov. "She seems to trust me apparently."

Sokolov had let out a groan in frustration. "Fine," said Sokolov as there was no way he was gonna get her out without Egorov having a say. "She's your responsibility private. You're not to compromise that in any way. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well then," said Sokolov before turning to the others to talk. "Let's get you to bed," said Egorov as he carried her. "So what's your name?"

"Volga Popov," she said. "I prefer to be called Olga though. I used to live here."

"How old are you Olga?" asked Egorov.

"Sixteen."

"What about your parents?"

"They were suspected of being Jews," said Olga beginning to cry. "The Germans had executed them. They left me alive. The things they did..."

"It's okay," said Egorov in a soothing voice. "Those men won't ever hurt you again for as long as you live. Just try to breathe."

"Why would they do this?"

"Because they're angry," said Egorov. "They are suffering from a great loss. Now they are fighting to fill that hold they've gained from that loss." Egorov had entered one of the rooms. There had been decorations and a bed. Egorov had assumed this was her bedroom. He had then tucked her into her bed. "I'm Minoslav Egorov," Egorov introduced. "Now try and get some sleep. You seem like you need it." It had been ages Olga had slept without some sort of pain keeping her up.

Egorov had closed the door without making any noise then headed back towards the rest. "She's out," said Egorov. "Alright," said Sokolov. "Who wants to stay up and keep watch?"

"I'll do it," said Smirnov. "I'm the best shot."

"Very well then," said Sokolov. The rest would find a spot to sleep and wait for the snowstorm to pass.