Inside Leningrad, 1941

PROLOGUE

21ST, JULY, 1941.

The overwhelming sense of air that had been thrown off of it’s course made itself far from silently known, as it passed by the once muffled eardrums of a courted soldier, lining his back up behind the substantial bags of sand that seemed to become their fortified blockages over time of what was genuine defense being used for the centric blockades around the city. Though, it seemed to be what he once mistook for the angers of Mother Nature, were the graces of lead that their rival formalities found so comforting in their times of need. With the quick motion that ducked his head behind the fortifications, he instinctively courted the rackety SVT-40 of a fallen comrade closer to his chest-- a quick breath in, and a longer one out-- bringing him back from the chastise of slowed fantasy, and into reality.

Reality was the opposite of warming. He was met with what felt to be an explosion of sounds that only seemed to mash further together as he let his conscious settle back into what was familiar for it. The rampant offerings of artillery bombings that rummaged along the lines between civilian and soldier, the opposite of cautious gunfire that now reigned above his head, the shouts of his fellow soldiers that had finally been unmasked by the plastic wrap that covered his ears, but were silenced by a discomforting edge.

To check the reasoning for the silence that overcame his comrades, he slowly began to peek his head over the border between he and the enemy. His breathing nearly halted once he felt his body actually begin to move, though he didn’t keep himself from continuing. He knew that this was the decision he wished to make-- in order to advance or wait for orders. He hovered, his breath slightly wavering, before his eyes finally gained sight of what was before him.

The view became narrowed as he settled his gaze upon the bloodied cotton of his higher-ups, their arms that once responded to active nerves no longer having any of their own orders to respond to. Their motionless chests finally altered to the altercations in their chest, those lungs having been poked over a dozen times with overbearing bullets, just as it had done the same to every maroon-stained corpse that easily became comfortable with the brick-lined sidewalk of what was once a close-to-functioning city.

Though, any city could be declared more beautiful than what this one had become. The monstrous dome that held this home captive became the mindful enemy of every soldier and civilian that felt captivated here, and every German soul was faulty for their ruins, and a fine soldier that had lost his home, and now his company-- had every reason to get back at them.

As he looked on for what felt like a few moments in his own mind, it most likely had been much longer. He became the victim of the dirtily-colored hail, and once more hid his head beneath the safety of their poorly situated defenses, and laid there once more until the fire subsided. He inched himself further at the worm-like inching that took him across the empty side of his battalion, and only came back up for air when he knew he had a target in mind.

He quickly lined up his self-loading rifle and grasped at the trigger as he hovered over the unsuspecting head of a Kraut, before firing. Through his temple it went, before his knees capped beneath him and sent him to the ground. The rest of the German’s nearby were stunned, giving him time to cock back each bullet before it ran deep into their heads, sending them to what he could imagine was such a perfectly fit pile of bodies--mimicking the one that they had created for his own grouping. Frustration overtook his being, and while fire began to reign down on him once more, he popped off on each one of them, knocking out an important soldier in a machine gun nest and ratifying their dead bodies with a concluded, confirming molotov cocktail.

He always thought the war wouldn’t get to him. He was lying to himself.