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Short Stories by Ruski

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Post by Ruski Thu Jan 21, 2010 3:46 pm

Darkness enveloped the city, swallowing the occupants in a mad disease of fear. The fires of the October District raged as they flicked for the stars themselves. Echoes of gunfire reported through the shadows of the night, creating the sense of a rifle sight tearing into your back for the next kill. Booms of explosives hitting the beach head ripped through the chilly night. The snow fell slowly to the ground; a peaceful gift for the departed.

A few flares sparkled in the distance, casting shadows on those around them. Flares used to prolong light so fear cannot once again reach them, even for a few moments. As the light drifted upwards, bullets screamed at both sides. A few shouted orders and screams were heard before, like an owl going in for a mouse, the flare was out and the sounds stopped in that area.

Joseph awoke from the bitter cold surrounding him as he lay. Had he slept longer he would have become it's victim, another claimed by the Russian Winter. His eyes stung and he was caked with dirt. He brought his hands up to his face and they were cut, bruised, and battered. He looked to his left for only a moment and caught sight of someone leaned up against him. The face was turned toward him with snow building up on it. The man's gray eyes stared back at him, lifeless and sad. Joseph turned away and tried to sit up. Something blocked him. He arched his head slightly upwards and saw another man, his mass across his lower chest.

He readied his arms, holding strength back. He pushed forward, removing the man's presence on him. Joseph fell backward, tired from his efforts. Snow fell apon his brow and in his opened mouth. It tasted good in his dry mouth. He sat back up, slowly, and turned over to his right. He could not find his gun anywhere around. He shifted to his knees and slowly crawled over to a soldier, proped up against a few remains of other soldiers, and retrieved the weapon from the his grasp.

A rifle shot rang out. Joseph ducked and covered his neck with his freezing hands. He's got me. Right in his sights. I'm dead. I'm dead as the rest of everyone here. He looked back up, slowly and carefully. He stayed there for a few moments and when he finally determined that the shot had been from else where and cursed himself for his stupidity, he checked his satchel. He dug into the items inside, pulling them out. He found a few rounds of spent ammunition, several grenades, a roll of medical tape that was almost gone, and a picture of Tania back home in Moscow. How he missed her.

The last time he saw her was back in 1941. When the Germans had betrayed them and had invaded the motherland, he felt the need to stand up against the threat. When he had told Tania of what he planned to do, she begged him not to go. After a day or so, he finally convinced her that he had to go. To protect the Rodina. To protect the free people. To protect her. That night he had made love to her. She wished him luck when he had gone to the station to board the train that would take him from there to the approaching frontline. He kissed her goodbye one final time and hopped aboard. She watched him, through tears, as he pulled away from the town and out of the area.

And that had been the last time he had seen her. He wished that the Germans had never invaded. Had never placed harm to Russia. Had never taken him away from her. But he knew if he didn't do anything, she would be gone from him. He took a few magazines from the surrounding ground and placed them into the satchel. He loaded the rifle and stood up, his brown uniform and fur hat blended with the surroundings.

He looked around. He saw that he was in the plaza from earlier. The dead of his comrades littered it alongside the craters of the artillery that had rained down on them. He walked toward the sound of gunfire. He knew he would find Russians there. And Germans. He got to the edge of the opened area and walked over to a building with a back entrance created by....what? He looked back and couldn't see anything. Just then, a flare soared above him. As it illuminated the area, he saw what had done the distruction. The remains of a Panzer IV sat in silence, it's barrel still pointed in the buildings direction. He was about to look back and go inside when movement caught his eye.

Several figures were coming his direction and had just gotten to the dead tank. He didn't know whether or not they were Russians, so he took a risk. Joseph looked back inside and then back. He raised his arm with the rifle in it above his head and shouted.

"Long live the Motherland!" He jumped once.

The figures stopped and looked around. Two of the four, Joseph counted, dropped to a prone position. The lead one replied.

" Russisch Abschaum! Sie rat der Stadt! Sterben!" Gunfire followed his response.

Joseph fell to the ground at first, scared. He dropped his rifle and ran inside when he got back up. The floor boards creaked underneath him. He tripped over something in the darkness and fell to the ground. Stars filled his vision and he felt pain from his chin. He got up on all fours and hurried to the other side of the house. He peered out of the window. Soldiers shuffled past him on the street. This time he didn't talk. He would die. The soldiers were German.

He walked away from the window and found a pair of stairs. He slowly climbed his way up them. When he reached the landing, he gazed around. Another flare flew into the sky. The room became lit and he saw bodies. Bodies of fellow russians. A radio cable hung into the room and continued through the building. He got upright and walked over to the one peering out the window, frozen in place. In his hands layed not a rifle. But a plunger for explosives. Had he used them already? Joseph didn't know. But he had a plan form in his head.

A minute later, he was ready. Gun from one of the dead in his hands, he raced down the stairs and looked out the back. The germans were nearly to the house. He aimed the rifle at them and fired. The shots went wild, but that didn't matter. He was simply showing them he was still there. They fell to the ground in response, but one charged to the building. He fired two rounds at him and he fell to the ground clutching his thigh. Joseph had fired a single round and it had been true to hit him. He turned and sprinted to the otherside and saw the troops hadn't took notice to the gunfire on the otherside of building.
I guess war has numbed them, he thought. Joseph put the next part of his plan into effect. He fired into the running soldiers and screamed, "See you in Hell, Hitler scum!"

The soldiers leaped for cover and shouted panic screams and orders. Meanwhile, Joseph ran back upstairs. He placed around five grenades on the ground for ready use. He would wait for them.

And, Joseph thought, I will kill them.


End of Part One
Ruski
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Post by Carlos Spicyweiner Thu Jan 21, 2010 3:53 pm

Really good job Ruski. You have a weird obsession for Russia
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Post by Ruski Thu Jan 21, 2010 3:55 pm

Hmmm, you really think so? Razz
Ruski
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Post by Carlos Spicyweiner Thu Jan 21, 2010 4:02 pm

Ruski wrote:Hmmm, you really think so? Razz
Razz
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Post by Indecisive One. Wed Mar 24, 2010 9:08 am

Really like the set up of your first short story. Great detail that Homer would be jealous of. Surprised
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