“Next time, Graeber. Wake up."

When Graeber opened his eyes, he swallowed and blinked. He felt the grip of the machine gun as he shifted his weight. “Where am I?”

“Russland, Herr Graeber,” a voice said from behind, startling him. “Weir in Russland.”

Graeber looked back, spotting his sentry mate, Felix Wäger. In the midnight sun, his ashen blonde hair and pale blue eyes gave him a ghostly appearance.

“Did you fall asleep?” Felix asked.

Graeber checked his wristwatch. Hardy a minute passed since he last checked. “Nein,” he said, unsure if he was lying or not. “I was becoming poetic for a moment, was all...”

Felix sat next to Graeber, peering out into the night. It was silent, so their voices were loud. Even as he scratched the back of his head, it sounded like dirt sliding down a spade. What was louder was the sound of Felix taking something from his webbing. Metal against metal— on top of an ammo box was a Hitler Youth knife. The sleek black and silver design was like a torch with white flames in the darkness of night.

“I can’t wait to kill my first Russian,” Felix said with a tone of boyish excitement. “I spent all of Barbarossa in Poland dealing with the logistical nightmare of keeping our men armed and fed. Not to mention keeping the communist scum in check.”

Graeber coughed. “I was in Denmark before getting transferred here.”

“Den-Denmark?” Felix fought a laugh. “Where’s the fight in Denmark? I bet you were just fucking broads all day up there. I heard that the women are like whores there, and they are lining themselves up for some good German cock to be stuffed with.”

A second passed as Graeber recalled the women being stand-off to him and anyone else in German uniform. The usual gossip in the barracks was the scandal and the mysterious disappearances of officers and low-ranking soldiers. “Who told you that?”

Felix shrugged. “I dunno. All over the barracks, the guys wanted to take their leave there. Some of those lucky bastards actually made it. Not me, though. I was requesting deployment upfront where all the fighting is. I want to crack some communist skull before we’re all kicking sand with Rommel.”

The young boy beside Graeber sighed. “Are you going to Africa all of this?”

For some reason, Graeber felt the desire to disappoint this kid. “I would like to,” he says. “But I might get wounded. Lots of casualties since June.”

“Bah!” Felix’s displeasure shoots out into the pale night. “I’m going to Africa. I promise you that.”

The concept of another front seemed odd to Graeber. The dark landscape before him and his companion swallowed everything, man and the memories that made him. There’s another place like this one? But with more sand and less snow? He gripped the machine gun and leaned in. What kind of an abyss as he get himself into?

“Just one more year in Russia, right?” Graeber asked.

Felix chuckled. “One more season. These pigs will collapse after this operation. We’re making history, Graeber. Just you wait…!”

…And wait, he did…

Operation Fall Blau… Graeber knelt in a loose circle. The other infantry around him have foliage in their helmets and have bayonets fixed to the ends of their rifles— making him no different from them.

“There are a couple of scattered Russian units in this village. They’ve been harassing our patrols and knocking out some of our trucks,” the NCO commanding Graeber’s squad says. “As you may imagine, this is adding more stress to our already strained supply chain, so command is sending us in to knock them out.”

Lukas clears his throat. “Why not pound it with our 88s or call in the Luftwaffe?”

“Everything is either going forward or occupied in operation. We just discussed the attack plan. Is it not enough for you, Lukas?”

Graeber looked at Lukas and saw the gears moving behind his blue eyes, but they looked down, denying himself the argument he wanted to make. He had been complaining about the lack of order since their first time being deployed at the actual front lines; this was only solidifying his concerns.

Felix shifted. “Lukas can stay in the rear. Pit me against these animals, Schneider.”

Schneider looked at Felix. Felix was so young he **** his voice to be deeper amongst the veterans of the campaigns in France and Poland. “You’re with Graeber and me then.”

Felix smiled like a baby. Graeber sighed within. “We should have Lukas instead. He has more experience. And we’ll need Felix on the MG34 since he has more time with it.”

“Lukas can do that. You and Felix are fast. I need people I know can keep up, don’t you understand?” Schneider says and then looks at Lukas. “Pick one man to be your carrier then hand out your grenades.”

Graeber chews on the insides of his mouth. “Ja, Ich verstehe.“

“Gut,” Schneider points at Lukas and several others. “When things get hot, you know what to do.”

“Are we taking prisoners?” Felix asks.

“No prisoners,” Schneider confirms. He then gestures to anyone. “The only good communist is a dead one, understand?”

Lukas swallows, his eyes going hollow. “Where’s the rest of the platoon?”

“Just us,” Schneider says. “It’s up to us.”

The sound of hardware and rushing fills the once silent air with tension and dread. Why was Graeber feeling this now? He followed the Feldwebel closely. Felix traces him, hardly panting as they break through the forest like wolves on the hunt.

They wait a full minute for the others to get into position. Though Schneider's genuine concern was just Lukas and his ammo carrier.

“It should be you on the MG34,” Graeber hisses at Felix. “You spend every evening cleaning and worshipping that thing and every night cuddling it.”

“Well, I’m here now, so you better get used to it!”

“Are you both children!?” Schneider snaps. “Graeber, I’ll rotate you to the reserve if you continue to fight with the new recruits! Felix, shut your damn mouth and pay attention!”

Schneider slaps the barrel of Felix’s rifle away. “Maintain barrel awareness!”

“Es tut mir leid,“ Felix’s face flushed, and he glared at Graeber.

At the tree line, they waddled like ducks, examining where the weak points could be. There’s no armor or motor support, and the field is open. The only blessing God has given them is the cloudy sky and their gray uniforms. Schneider cuts the air between them and the closet straw hut. “Right there, that’s our opening. And right beside it is a pillbox.”

The subtle stink of cigarettes comes from the village. With strained ears, the distant chatter of Soviet scum filtered in too. The glint of his bayonet caught Graeber’s attention, and he regarded his two comrades. “Get ready to run,” Schneider says. “Get ready to throw your grenades.”

Graeber suddenly become’s envious of his NCO’s machine gun, the MP40.

“Los!” Schneider breaks from his cover, leading Graeber and Felix from their hiding spot. Lukas and the others probably spot them, or at least they should have.

30 meters. 20 meters. 10 meters.

They make it to a haystack without being noticed. “The Russian sentries must be asleep,” Felix celebrates, digging out his stick bomb from his boot.

“Shh! Into that ditch!”

Like gray snakes, they slither down into the dead grass and crawl into a ditch, which was thankfully dry somehow.

Graeber preps a stick grenade now, getting close to one of the buildings. But before anything is done, they have to wait for the others to get ready too. A small prayer goes out. It’s about safety and the easy accomplishment of this task.

Another minute goes by. Tension and fear build, but there’s no hesitation when the order is given to throwing their grenades into the huts…