Several Soviet soldiers emerged from the rear of the canopy covered first truck in line. He drew a bead on the first man to emerge and squeezed the trigger. An instant later the soldier dropped to the snow-covered road. Hale quickly worked the bolt of his rifle twice more dropping the first man’s two companions within the space of two heartbeats. Other Soviets who had emerged from the trucks behind the first one followed the sound of his rifle and began running toward him. He quickly tabulated the number of soldiers in his head, Three squads of eight men each. A full platoon. Too many.
Hale hit the tab on the bottom of his rifle that ejected the magazine. He caught the metal clip as it began to fall toward the earth and quickly slipped it into the left pocket of his white great coat. He reached into his right coat pocket and grabbed his next magazine. With a grunt he slammed it into place and pulled the bolt on his rifle to bring the first bullet into the chamber.
Hale took another deep breath as he drew a bead on the first man running toward him in his iron sights. He squeezed the trigger and his rifle roared to life as it bucked against his right shoulder and tried to leap out of his hands. With practice ease he held the rifle in place.
An instant later the lead soldier dropped to the ground. He operated the bolt quickly and expended the four remaining bullets in his clip. Each shot found its way into the head of one of the oncoming invaders. As more of the invaders emerged from their trucks the guilt he had been experiencing fell away and his heart hardened, Good riddance. He thought to himself.
As Hale coldly slapped his third magazine into place, the turret of the T-28 began traversing in his direction. He took a deep breath and held it, as he quickly took aim, and dropped four more of the Soviet invaders with his rifle. The barrel of the T-28 made him nervous as it slowly swung in his direction which caused him to miss a shot.
Dammit, he chastised himself mentally. He hit the tab releasing the magazine from his gun. Like before, he deftly caught the metal clip and quickly dropped it into his left pocket. He reached into his right pocket, grabbed his last magazine and slapped it into place. A faint click told him that the magazine had slipped into position and locked. As he raised his rifle to shoot again, his eyes focused on the black maw of the tank gun now pointed at him.
Time to go, he thought to himself. He slung his rifle onto his left shoulder and leapt onto the trunk of the tree from the branch that he had been perched upon. With his arms wrapped around the trunk he quickly slid to the ground. The moment his feet touched the frigid snow the place where he had been sitting a moment earlier exploded into a ball of flames. The wood of the tree groaned as it shattered into a million splinters and caught fire.
The shock wave from the blast knocked him to the ground face first. The snow helped to soften the blow from the concrete like surface of the frozen ground beneath. As he sat up, he blinked for several moments as stars danced in front of his eyes and his hearing became muted. The crackling flames of the tree branches above him sounded dull, as if he were underneath the surface of a lake.
Hale’s mind shifted out of reality back to another time. He stood shivering in the early morning air as he leaned up against a tree trunk. It was snowing. He glanced to his right in the direction that he knew his father stood. Like unmoving statues, they both waited for a moose or a deer to happen by.
Hale heard movement to his left, the sound of several paws striking the snow. He turned to face the sound and shivered as he met the steely gaze of a wolf running toward him. The beast’s coat was a dappled mixture of white and gray. As it drew near, the creature curled its lips into a snarl revealing two sharp fangs and dozens of smaller pointy white teeth.
Hale raise his single shot rifle up to fire, it had been his grandfather’s. Frightened, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. As his Grandfather’s gun spat fire, the memory faded, and he snapped back into reality. Hale shook the cobwebs out of his head and slowly made his way to his feet.
Nearby he heard the sound of a branch snap. He pulled his rifle off his shoulder as he whirled around toward the sound. He caught sight of an enemy solider topping the ridge a hundred feet from him. Like the wolf, as he caught site of Hale, the man curled his lips to reveal his not so white teeth. The soldier’s fur cap had a large red star emblazoned on it. As he saw Hale a hundred paces in front of him, he raised his rifle and squeezed off a quick shot.
The poorly aimed gunshot slammed into the trunk of the burning tree to Hale’s left. Hale raised his own rifle and returned fire. He didn’t miss. The next four Soviets to top the ridge quickly suffered the same fate as the first.
Hale slung his rifle over his shoulder again and glanced at the ground. He instantly spotted what he was looking for. My skis. He placed his booted feet into the skis and hurriedly strapped them in. As he drove his ski poles into the snow and started moving forward the crack from three rifles washed over him. A moment later three bullets impacted into the snow around his feet. The impact caused the snow to leap from the ground for a moment before falling back to earth.
As Hale built up speed, a group of Soviet’s standing atop the same ridge where he dropped several of their companions moments before, fired their rifles at Hale’s retreating zigzagging form. As Hale made his way up the opposite ridgeline bullets flew past him, some near enough that he could hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a wisp of wind as they passed.
As soon as Hale topped the ridge and disappeared from the sight of the oncoming soldiers, he changed direction to the south. He continued in this direction for several minutes. He fell into a familiar rhythm as he made his way across the countryside. Right pole, right leg forward, left leg pushing, then left leg forward, and left pole to pull him forward.
Hale had gone several hundred feet before he heard the voices of several Soviet soldiers behind them. Unable to understand what they were saying; he imagined their confusion as he wasn’t in sight. It won’t be long before they see my tracks and figure it out. He thought.
He slipped back over the ridge in the direction of the road. Finding a large oak tree amongst the birch. He came to a stop and placed the trunk of the tree between him and his trail. He then knelt and opened his overcoat. Underneath, over his shirt he wore two belts that held dozens of 7.62 x 54R rounds for his SK Nagant.
Hale took his gloves off, dropped them into his lap, and then reached into his left pocket to grab one of the empty magazine clips. He wore his ammo belts inside his coat to keep the bullets warm. This enabled him to do this barehanded reload quickly. He slipped the end of the first bullet into the clip he held, then the second, the third, fourth and finally the fifth.
Task complete, he hit the tab on his rifle that ejected the magazine. He let that one drop into his lap, where it landed on top of his gloves, and slapped the loaded magazine into place. He quickly reloaded each of the clips until his right pocket was again filled with three full magazines of bullets.
As Hale completed loading his last magazine, the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow on the other side of the ridge behind him could be heard. He slipped his gloves on, and then pulled the bolt on his rifle, so that a bullet dropped into place in the chamber. Preparation complete he quietly stood up.