Hale heard the voice of the first soldier on top the ridge line. The man said, “Syuda.” The voice sounded young like his own. Such a waste. We should all be inside by a warm fire, not trying to kill each other. He thought to himself.
He peeked around the tree trunk he hid behind and quickly stole a quick glance at the enemy. The young Soviet soldier, who missed Hale’s quick glance, looked much like the rest of the soldiers he had killed. Green fur cap, with a red star emblazoned on it, black leather boots and gloves, with a dark green overcoat that stretched down to the man’s knees. A small lock of blond hair was visible hanging down from the hat, Same color as mine. Hale thought.
As Hale stepped out from the protection of the oak tree, the Russian soldier was looking back at his companions on the other side of the ridge. Hale quickly raised his rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the back young man’s head with a dull smack and he fell backwards. His green cap and body fell separately, as they disappeared and tumbled down the hill. As the corpse came to rest at the bottom of the gorge, another senseless and nameless victim of Stalin’s aggression, the lose lock of blond hair became matted in the young man’s blood.
Hale quickly retreated behind the trunk of the tree to wait. He heard the voices of the man’s companions as they talked hurriedly in Russian. After chattering excitedly for several moments, they came to a consensus on what to do next. Silent now, they began to creep forward toward the top of the ridgeline that separated them from Hale.
Hale heard the men crawling forward and then stop, What are they doing? Do they know where I’m at? He thought.
Before he could decide on his next course of action, the men rose up with a roar and began charging down the hill toward Hale’s oak tree. Not knowing what else to do, Hale sat down so that he would blend in with the snow, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out his Lahti pistol. Next, he removed his gloves and checked the clip to ensure all was in order. The metal of the gun felt cold against his skin. Task complete, he held it with the barrel pointed skyward and his right index finger on the trigger.
Without warning, the squad of Russians barreled past him as they ran down the hill. As they rushed past, they seemed heedless of him as his white overcoat helped him blend in with the snow on the ground. Hale stood and stole a glance around his oak, back in the direction the Russians had just come from. There were two more of them standing on the ridgeline, I’m surrounded. He thought in dismay.
Not knowing what else to do, Hale raised his pistol and took aim at the Russian that was furthest away from him as the man charged down the hill and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The Lahti bucked in Hale’s hand as the bullet found the back of the Soviet’s neck. The unfortunate, fell face forward into the snow and slid for several feet before coming to a stop.
The seven other members of the squad dropped to the ground in reaction, as the single shot rang out. Hale managed to put a bullet into another of the green clad soldiers as they dove for the earth. The forest became silent save for the injured man’s cries of pain.
The two Russian’s behind him on the ridgeline conversed hurriedly in their native tongue, Trying to figure out where the shot came from. Hale thought.
Coming to a consensus, the two enemy soldiers started slowly creeping forward toward Hale. Panic ensued as the reality of the situation set in. What do I do now? I’m trapped between two groups and it won’t be long before they figure out exactly where I’m at. Hale thought.
Hale’s thoughts slipped away from reality as he remembered back to a time when he was in a similar situation. He glanced down at the cold water he stood in and shivered, Must stay quiet or they will find me.
He had sat in the cold creek for what had seemed like hours as two older boys, hunted him. Hale had made them look the fool in front of the other children at recess earlier that day in school and now they aimed to even the score. The sound of the trickling water from the creek reminded him that his bladder was full. The gurgling, bubbly, frothing water tormented him as he continued to try and out wait the boys that hunted him. He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to let it go. I’d never hear the end of it, if they found me, beat me up, and I pissed myself.
As one of the larger boys drew near, Hale crouched down further into the creek bed trying to make himself invisible. It didn’t work. Without warning, two large hands painfully grasped his shoulders and jerked him to his feet as the voice behind those hands said, “I’ve found the little worm!”
Hale shuddered as his thoughts snapped back into reality. A Russian, another young man like himself, stood over him and yelled, “Bot Oh!”
As the Soviet’s rifle swung upward, Hale took aim with his Lahti, and put a bullet in the man’s head. The soldier, slain, fell backward as his rifle tumbled to the ground. Hale, hearing movement directly behind him, swung his pistol toward the noise and fired.
Another man, his eyes wide as his faced filled with a look that was one-part horror and one-part shock, was a mere three feet from his own. The man’s stunned look and wispy hints of his first beard would forever be emblazoned in Hale’s memory. As a scarlet spray exploded from the Soviet’s neck. He stumbled back a step and tried to place his left hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding. It didn’t work. Must have hit an artery. Hale thought.
Without warning a pair of arms grasped him from behind forcing him to drop his pistol. Oh God not again! The thought exploded into Hale’s mind as anxiety took over.
At the same time, the dying enemy soldier in front of him staggered forward and raised his right hand to grasp him. Hale grabbed the knife from the bleeding man’s belt with his left hand and thrust it over his right shoulder. The arms around him slackened and fell away without a sound. He then kicked the dying man in front of him in the stomach. The breath knocked out of him, the man Hale had shot tumbled down the hill. As he rolled, he tried to warn his comrades but all that came out of his mouth were red bubbles and a hiss as his lungs filled with blood.
Hale dropped to the ground to retrieve his pistol. He glanced to the right to confirm that the man he had stabbed wouldn’t be a threat. The man would never be a threat to anyone ever again, as Hale’s desperate thrust had put the knife right through the man’s left eye. Hale glanced around and shuddered at the gruesome sight. The snow around him had turned red from the blood of his enemies.
He felt a pang of guilt before his heart hardened and his thoughts shifted to rage. The soil of my homeland will feast upon the blood of every last one of you filthy invaders.
A few shots rang out from the group that had ran past Hale in his general direction. He heard a few of the bullets slam into the trunks of nearby birch trees. Hale crouched down, careful not to get any of the blood on his white pants and great coat. He searched the body of the soldier he had slain with the knife. As he searched his hand wrapped around the cool metal cylinder he was hoping to find, a grenade. The word Bingo, flashed through his mind.
Hale took the grenade and twisted the cap, so that it was armed. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the wooden shaft and threw it down the hill toward the origin of the poorly aimed gunfire. Moments later an explosion erupted and the gunfire ceased. The grenade, created a large fireball that expanded and reached up toward the heavens.