Time

We lay in the concealment of the brush atop a small hill, our eyes keenly overlooking our side of the dam. To get this close, we left early in the morning, arriving when it was still dark out. We had to crawl the last few hundred meters in order to not be seen. Nobody has talked in over an hour. We wait, checking our watches, and looking at what lays before us. We are ready, weapons loaded and bayonets mounted.

I look through the sights of my SVT at a pair of fascists, who are shooting the shit and smoking a cigarette with each other, completely unaware that they are in the last few moments of their lives.

My mind races with anticipation for what is to come. I try to reign in my thumping heart.

“Thirty seconds.” A hushed voice whispers.

I carefully pull the bolt of the SVT back partially and peek inside. It’s hot, and I readjust the rifle to look down the sights again. I pick one of them, steadying the rifle and lining up his upper chest. The one I’m watching has his shoulders square to me, making him an easier target than his companion who is standing sideways. I carefully ease my finger down to the trigger.

“Five seconds.” The voice whispers. “Four, three, two…”

My target takes a deep drag on his cigarette.

“One.”

I’m the first to squeeze the trigger and my target drops immediately. The others around me begin to open fire, and I shift my aim at the other, who is beginning to scramble. I wing a shot at him that is too far behind him, and then another that is too high as he dives over a sandbag wall. They begin to return fire at us, sending a few rounds wizzing through the trees. I duck down behind the earth and crawl to another spot, and take a deep breath as I prepare to fire again. The distant sound of gunshots come from the other side of the dam. I hear the ripping of a PPSh.

“Hear that?” Smirnov asks, ducking down next to me, then firing a shot off. I pop up and follow suit, taking two quick shots at a fascist behind the sandbags before ducking back down again. My bullets don’t hit him, but one tears into the bags right in front of his face, sending sand flying and making him cower.

“Prepare to advance!” Clarke orders with a bark, then fires an MP40 burst towards the enemies and ducks back down. My heart races. I crawl to the side, so that when I come up, it’s in a different spot than the one I was just shooting from. As hard as I try, there is no easy way to mentally prepare yourself to advance on the enemy. My time to think about it is cut short.

“Go!” Comes the order, and I spring to my feet and go over the top. A rifle cracks and a bullet whizzes right past me, directly to the spot where I just was a moment ago when I last fired. I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” I cry and try to zig zag forwards, making for a ditch with everything I have. Another bullet whistles by, and I cut hard to my right and dive into the ditch. Not a split second later, a German machine gun roars to life and sends a burst of hot lead where I was just running, then another to rip up the ground in front of me. I ball myself up as tightly as I can at the bottom of the ditch and cover my head.

A rifle cracks and silences the machine gun. Smirnov dives into the ditch next to me, panting for breath. “That’ll get the blood flowing.” He says to me in a breathy voice. “You’re lucky. I would have pissed myself if that was me.” He jokes.

“Maybe I did.” I gasp. “I’ll find out later.” I pop back up and fire another two shots at the sandbags before ducking back down again and crawling to another spot in the ditch.

“Move up!” Smirnov barks down the line at Yakovich and Kapustin, then fires a shot. I exhale in and out once hard, then pop up to cover my advancing comrades. I can see Yakovich getting close from one side, and fire two shots at a defender that makes him duck. I swing my rifle back towards where Kapustin is advancing and fire at the sandbags again to cover him.

A fascist pops up over the sandbags and I line his head up in my sights. Click. The enemy snaps his weapon up and blows a hole through Kapustin’s chest before taking cover. A sickening feeling overcomes me, my heart wrenching. I take cover to reload my rifle. It’s so easy to shoot so fast with this thing and lose track of what you have left, especially in the heat of the moment, but I still blame myself. I need to be better at counting.

I see the boys catch up and take cover down the line. I’m relieved to see both of them still on their feet.

“Where’s Yakovich?” I ask Smirnov.

“Most of him is lying in the dirt over there.” He answers, pointing over his shoulder.

“Chyort.” I mutter “So it’s up to us to take that position.”

“What do you think would be a good last word?” Smirnov asks me. I hear the boys start shooting. This is our chance. I look Smirnov in the eye for one brief second, then take off over the top.

There is only one word that comes to my mind. “URA!” I scream and charge forwards.

I dive for cover on the side of the road, and Smirnov runs past me, a grenade in his hand. I quickly scramble forwards to another spot and pop up to cover him, aiming right where I would be if I were defending.

I see the unmistakable shape of a stahlhelm pop up to fire at Smirnov, and put a bullet right through it. Smirnov throws his grenade, then follows up by immediately throwing another to a different spot. He takes cover. One of them explodes, then the other.

I break cover and rush to Smirnov’s side. The battle has become very quiet.

“Do you hear anything?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“I think they might all be dead.” Smirnov whispers, then carefully peeks over the top. He comes back down with an evil grin on his face.

“Come on.” He urges me, and climbs over the sandbags. “You can admire my handiwork.”

“I’m going to wait a second and make sure nobody shoots you.” I yell out to him.

“Holy shit!” Smirnov laughs. “I can’t believe I did this! How many did you get so far?”

“Two.” I answer him.

“Ha! I’m way ahead of you! You’ll never catch me now!”

“I saved your ass back there.”

“About time you did something!” He teases.

I hear a gunshot and then a bunch of shouting and running footsteps.

“Don’t shoot!” A voice shouts. It’s Novikov. I stand up to look over the top to see him running towards us. It looks like he still has over half of his men.

“Hey asshole!” Smirnov yells at one of the partisans. “You almost shot me!”

“He would have been doing you a service.” Clarke says from behind me, approaching with Hobbs in tow. I climb over the sandbags, and have to look away from the aftermath of Smirnov’s grenade spree.

“You could be a good baseball player with an arm like that.” Clarke tells Smirnov.

“I don’t know what the fuck that is.” Smirnov responds. “Sir.”

“No time to explain now.” He points to Smirnov and I. “The four of us are going in there, and we’re going to do what we came here to do.”