Post by Jack Ashcroft on Sept 7, 2009 16:40:19 GMT -5
November 3rd 1942
It is with the deepest regret that I begin writing this journal. The year is cold, colder then usual, but not just because of the weather, no, it is mostly due to the enemy on our doorstep. The Germans arrived months ago here in Stalingrad and they seem to have been here forever. The battle rages on throughout the night and there is little time for rest. The original squad of men I was given was killed long ago, at the start of this meat grinder. Now all I have are conscripts, poorly trained normal men the Kremlin has ordered us to use.
The orders go out for us to take the fight to the enemy but the enemy is far superior and our men are cut down like so many sheaves of wheat it is hard to watch. The men are depressed, this war seems to have no ending. Few remember life before the bombs and bullets and now few remember warmth.
This is futile. All we do is sit in hope and pray.
November 5th 1942
A full day has passed since my last entry for good reason. That full day I have been firing or hiding. The Germans seemed to be making a valiant push against us and were gaining ground through the night. Tanks rolled through the ruined streets, unstoppable machines of destruction, we had little to prevent their advance.
Retreat of course in the Union is unthinkable. We are Russians, we do not retreat, we do not surrender, we fight to the last man. It seems more likely that that is the case soon. For each gun I have in my command there seems to be five firing back at us. Our only hope is know the streets, but the original force is small now, the conscripts are from the surrounding farms and towns. I would say it is a matter of time now before the Germans simply roll over us, though if a Commissar were to hear me say that, or even read that (As many can read!) I would be shot.
But last night, as they advanced, something happened which is unexplained. The guns firing on us stopped and began to fire at themselves. It is amazing to believe but that is what happened. There were screams echoing through the night that shook my men and many were so in awe they stopped shooting. Quickly I managed to regain order and the conflict began again, but the strange occurrence still plays on my mind. What happened to them?
November 10th 1942
Pavel, a conscript from a town I have not heard of, nor can remember, began spreading the tale. I remember the first time he told it, and how he has since begun exaggerating. The Germans shooting each other because they dare not face the might of the Russian army. An romantic idea indeed, but I have doubt they would do such a thing. For one thing the Germans are winning!
The story aside, there are orders trickling down the line of command that we will be making a push soon. How well it will go I am not sure, of course the Commissars maintain that Mother Russia will win and this plan is fool proof. Again I have my doubts, living in a battle ground changes the mindset of many men. We shall see.
November 12th 1942
I believe in God (Another offense that could get me shot). I believe he is on our side. The reason I make this statement is because he has sent us a Saviour. The last two nights the same event has happened. The Germans begin shooting at each other and screams echoes out through the ruins. To save ammunition I ordered the men to hold fire, partly to let me listen to screams. It was unholy, but at the same time it felt righteous. These bastards had been killing men I considered friends for what seemed like an eternity and now something was happening to them.
I still cannot explain it. All I know is this: They only suffer death at night (Which comes quickly here in winter) and they began shooting at each other. This leads me to believe something is attacking them, though what I cannot say. It frightens me though, especially if this is indeed the power of God.
I keep this belief close to myself and focus on fighting back these invaders. That is the main priority. Whatever is out there doing this is merely an aid.
November 15th 1942
After another 3 nights of screams and silent guns, curiosity has hit the men. Many talk about some kind of soldier behind enemy lines, ahead of the advance, causing mayhem to the enemy. It sounds like a plausible idea, a spy could be doing all this, but how could he survive, or indeed avoid, all those bullets. I can't figure it out, it makes no sense. Still I am not here to think I am here to follow orders, but I can't when I could be leading my men toward something worse then the Germans.
Leonid, a true soldier, has been doing his best to keep the rumors down and focusing the men on the task at hand, something I should be doi...
November 20th 1942
I have seen the Devil and he terrifies me. I have not stopped shaking over what I saw in that shelled building, and I still cannot believe what I saw.
The advance went ahead as planned and we charged forward into the buildings in front for cover. The Germans opened fire and mayhem ensued. After around an hour of fighting the screams began again. Believe me when I say they sound so much worse close up. I have heard men weep, men scream and cry from bullet wounds, but these were cries of men caught in pure terror.
The guns went silent and we slowly picked out way through, a thin line of men entering each building to make sure the enemy was gone, from our street at least. I took the old bombed out butchers with Pavel. He went ahead of me to check the upper floors while I looked to the ground floors. My area was clear, but Pavel did not come back for ten minuets. This meant only one thing. He was dead. They were still here.
Slowly I climbed the crumbling stairs to the third floor, the best kept of them all, missing a lot of the damage the rest of the buildings had taken. The wooden door was waving open and I gulped and I stalked toward it closer. I could hear something coming from the room, it sounded like someone drinking. I remember sighing, thinking Pavel had found some Vodka.
I called out to him and casually walked in to see something I will never forget. Bodies. The room was littered with around fifteen German soldiers, all bleeding from the neck, and in the middle of the room was Pavel with a man hunched over him... Drinking his blood.
I froze. My body would not raise the rifle in my hands to protect myself. My blood ran colder than it had in months and I stopped breathing. The man rose from Pavel, wearing a German great coat. On his face a grin of pure evil, drenched in Pavel's blood. He asked my name and rank, I didn't answer. He moved to me at a pace I have never seen a plane move at, meeting me at the doorway.
He stared into my eyes and I could not look away. He told me to give my gun and I did, God help me, I did! Something took over my body and I simply gave him my rifle willingly. He laughed in my face and said I was no fun. I am now thankful for being boring as he left me alone to weep at the sight of the bodies. Nobody deserved a death like this.
It is with the deepest regret that I begin writing this journal. The year is cold, colder then usual, but not just because of the weather, no, it is mostly due to the enemy on our doorstep. The Germans arrived months ago here in Stalingrad and they seem to have been here forever. The battle rages on throughout the night and there is little time for rest. The original squad of men I was given was killed long ago, at the start of this meat grinder. Now all I have are conscripts, poorly trained normal men the Kremlin has ordered us to use.
The orders go out for us to take the fight to the enemy but the enemy is far superior and our men are cut down like so many sheaves of wheat it is hard to watch. The men are depressed, this war seems to have no ending. Few remember life before the bombs and bullets and now few remember warmth.
This is futile. All we do is sit in hope and pray.
November 5th 1942
A full day has passed since my last entry for good reason. That full day I have been firing or hiding. The Germans seemed to be making a valiant push against us and were gaining ground through the night. Tanks rolled through the ruined streets, unstoppable machines of destruction, we had little to prevent their advance.
Retreat of course in the Union is unthinkable. We are Russians, we do not retreat, we do not surrender, we fight to the last man. It seems more likely that that is the case soon. For each gun I have in my command there seems to be five firing back at us. Our only hope is know the streets, but the original force is small now, the conscripts are from the surrounding farms and towns. I would say it is a matter of time now before the Germans simply roll over us, though if a Commissar were to hear me say that, or even read that (As many can read!) I would be shot.
But last night, as they advanced, something happened which is unexplained. The guns firing on us stopped and began to fire at themselves. It is amazing to believe but that is what happened. There were screams echoing through the night that shook my men and many were so in awe they stopped shooting. Quickly I managed to regain order and the conflict began again, but the strange occurrence still plays on my mind. What happened to them?
November 10th 1942
Pavel, a conscript from a town I have not heard of, nor can remember, began spreading the tale. I remember the first time he told it, and how he has since begun exaggerating. The Germans shooting each other because they dare not face the might of the Russian army. An romantic idea indeed, but I have doubt they would do such a thing. For one thing the Germans are winning!
The story aside, there are orders trickling down the line of command that we will be making a push soon. How well it will go I am not sure, of course the Commissars maintain that Mother Russia will win and this plan is fool proof. Again I have my doubts, living in a battle ground changes the mindset of many men. We shall see.
November 12th 1942
I believe in God (Another offense that could get me shot). I believe he is on our side. The reason I make this statement is because he has sent us a Saviour. The last two nights the same event has happened. The Germans begin shooting at each other and screams echoes out through the ruins. To save ammunition I ordered the men to hold fire, partly to let me listen to screams. It was unholy, but at the same time it felt righteous. These bastards had been killing men I considered friends for what seemed like an eternity and now something was happening to them.
I still cannot explain it. All I know is this: They only suffer death at night (Which comes quickly here in winter) and they began shooting at each other. This leads me to believe something is attacking them, though what I cannot say. It frightens me though, especially if this is indeed the power of God.
I keep this belief close to myself and focus on fighting back these invaders. That is the main priority. Whatever is out there doing this is merely an aid.
November 15th 1942
After another 3 nights of screams and silent guns, curiosity has hit the men. Many talk about some kind of soldier behind enemy lines, ahead of the advance, causing mayhem to the enemy. It sounds like a plausible idea, a spy could be doing all this, but how could he survive, or indeed avoid, all those bullets. I can't figure it out, it makes no sense. Still I am not here to think I am here to follow orders, but I can't when I could be leading my men toward something worse then the Germans.
Leonid, a true soldier, has been doing his best to keep the rumors down and focusing the men on the task at hand, something I should be doi...
November 20th 1942
I have seen the Devil and he terrifies me. I have not stopped shaking over what I saw in that shelled building, and I still cannot believe what I saw.
The advance went ahead as planned and we charged forward into the buildings in front for cover. The Germans opened fire and mayhem ensued. After around an hour of fighting the screams began again. Believe me when I say they sound so much worse close up. I have heard men weep, men scream and cry from bullet wounds, but these were cries of men caught in pure terror.
The guns went silent and we slowly picked out way through, a thin line of men entering each building to make sure the enemy was gone, from our street at least. I took the old bombed out butchers with Pavel. He went ahead of me to check the upper floors while I looked to the ground floors. My area was clear, but Pavel did not come back for ten minuets. This meant only one thing. He was dead. They were still here.
Slowly I climbed the crumbling stairs to the third floor, the best kept of them all, missing a lot of the damage the rest of the buildings had taken. The wooden door was waving open and I gulped and I stalked toward it closer. I could hear something coming from the room, it sounded like someone drinking. I remember sighing, thinking Pavel had found some Vodka.
I called out to him and casually walked in to see something I will never forget. Bodies. The room was littered with around fifteen German soldiers, all bleeding from the neck, and in the middle of the room was Pavel with a man hunched over him... Drinking his blood.
I froze. My body would not raise the rifle in my hands to protect myself. My blood ran colder than it had in months and I stopped breathing. The man rose from Pavel, wearing a German great coat. On his face a grin of pure evil, drenched in Pavel's blood. He asked my name and rank, I didn't answer. He moved to me at a pace I have never seen a plane move at, meeting me at the doorway.
He stared into my eyes and I could not look away. He told me to give my gun and I did, God help me, I did! Something took over my body and I simply gave him my rifle willingly. He laughed in my face and said I was no fun. I am now thankful for being boring as he left me alone to weep at the sight of the bodies. Nobody deserved a death like this.
