The Battle Underground

“We’ll have a better chance if we work together.” Is my answer.

“That’s what I like to hear.” The one who seems to be the leader tells me. He’s carrying a Tokarev SVT-40. “By the way, I’m Sokolov, Alexei.”

“Good to know.” I say. “So, what is the plan?”

“We stopped when we heard a PPSh behind us. I assume that was you, correct?”

“Yes, I killed two of the enemy.”

“Good work.” He tells me. “Now that we know we’re clear, we’re going to proceed east and try to find a way out of this rathole.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ve wanted out for a long time.”

“Prepare yourselves, comrades!” Sokolov orders out. “And be aware…. The enemy lurks in these tunnels.”

One foot in front of the other, we proceed down the tunnel. I follow the light from a lantern, held by one of the men up front. One of ours walking next to him carries an MP40. We carry on for a time.

They stop at a corner, waiting for a few moments, before rounding it. The rest of us follow.

“What was that?” The one with the lantern calls out. I cover behind some rubble from a collapsed section of wall.

“It was nothing.” The one with the MP40 says. “Come on.”

The entire tunnel lights up with the roar of gunfire, the incoming hail of bullets shredding him and the man with the lantern. I hug the wall behind the pile of rubble as tightly as I can. Bullets whip by us and pepper the walls, floor and ceiling all around. One of the men next to me dives into cover, practically on top of me.

I panic, my heart racing. This tunnel may be the worst place in the world for a firefight. There may be no escape, only a fight to the ****. I need to find a way through this. My story can’t end here. I don’t want be left down here to be devoured by the rats.

After I wrestle my way out to the side, I let my PPSh loose and fire wildly at the muzzle flashes at the other end of the tunnel. A burst of fire comes back at me and tears the wall above my head. I duck back down. The man covering with me pops up and fires his Mosin at the enemy. He cycles his bolt and fires again just before he eats a round to the face and topples over me.

I stick my weapon over the pile and blind-fire another few bursts down range before taking cover again. My bolt locks back, empty. Hands shaking with fear, I replace the drum in my weapon and cycle the bolt.

I take a second to look over to the rest of the men. I count four bodies total. This is not looking good. The enemy does not let up, rounds still flying towards our position.

A grenade explodes somewhere in front of me and the shockwave showers us with dust and debris. The cloud of dust blocks our line of sight to the enemy, and their line of sight to us. It doesn’t matter. Bullets still whip back and forth from both sides.

“Arrrghhhhh!!!” I hear a groan from behind me. One of our men. He’s on the ground in the open. “My leg! Comrades, help me!”

“I’m coming!” Somebody yells and rushes to his side.

“Get him back!” I hear Sokolov shout from the corner.

The man grabs the wounded soldier by his armpits and tries to pick him up.

Like a bolt of lightning, an enemy soldier charges through the dust and lunges forwards. The man helping the wounded soldier screams, the German’s bayonet piercing him through the torso. I whip around to the side and line him up.

The moment the enemy yanks his bayonet from my comrade’s guts, I squeeze my trigger and put a burst of fire into his side and lower back. He screams and falls over.

I have no time to pay more attention to him, four more enemies descending on us. I gun one of them down from point blank range. Another rushes towards me. He lunges for me. I have the luckiest sidestep of my life, deflecting the bayonet away from my soft body and to my side with the PPSh.

He recovers before me and pummels me in left side of my ribs with the butt of his rifle. I feel something crack inside of me and all of the breath leaves my chest with the **** of the impact.

“Russian bitch!” He snarls, throwing me to my back and mounting me. I’m unable to resist, reeling from the pain.

My comrades are busy fighting the other two Germans hand to hand. The two wounded men cry out, being trampled beneath the melee.

The one on top of me takes his rifle and presses it down sideways against my throat to **** me. He shifts his weight forward so I can’t breathe. I struggle as hard as I can but he shows no mercy. Every time I try to take a breath, pain shoots through the left side of my rib cage. He growls, looking into my eyes as I try to fight my way out from under him. I’m growing weaker.

From out of nowhere, one of my comrades tackles him off of me and to the ground. They roll and end up on their feet. The German pulls a knife and whips it around, trying to land a fatal blow, the Russian trying to keep his distance, dodging the swipes. I strain, crawling on the ground, reaching for my PPSh.

The German takes the upper hand and takes my comrade to his back. My hand closes around the grip of my weapon. He raises his knife up, preparing to stab downwards and finish the job. I’m faster than him, and kill him with a burst to the neck and head.

Those of us that are left either lay on the ground or stand hunched over, panting once everything is over.

“You, come with me.” Sokolov tells one of the survivors.

They leave to check ahead of us where the Germans were, leaving just me, one other soldier, and the two wounded men.

“Are you okay?” The healthy one asks me.

“I think I broke a few ribs, but I’ll make it.”

“Try to help him.” He tells me, pointing to the man with the wounded leg. He tries to help the soldier who was bayonetted. Both of them groan with pain.

“Fuck.” I grumble, painfully rolling over onto my face, rising to my hands and knees, then just my knees. I half knee walk, half crawl to the soldier with the wounded leg.

My skin goes pale when I see the condition he’s in, his pant leg completely soaked through with blood.

“Help.” He says weakly.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask. “I have no medical supplies!”

“Search the Germans, for Christ’s sake!” The one helping the other soldier yells at me before turning back to his patient. “Stay with me!”

Forgetting my own pain, I dig frantically through the packs and pockets of the enemy soldiers until I finally find some bandages.

“Stay with me!” He yells again. I hurry over to him. “Damn it, he’s gone.”

We hear the man with the wounded leg shriek. I whip my head around to see a huge rat crawling on his stomach.

“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!” He screams.

I run over as quickly as I can and swat it off with the back of my hand. It scurries over to one of the German bodies and sniffs around, crawling over his face and onto his chest. Disgusting. The other soldier joins me by my side and starts tearing open bandages.

“Put pressure here.” He tells me. I follow his direction.

“Oh my God, I’m going to die!”

“Shut up!” The one helping me orders him. “You’re going to be fine.”

We do the best we can for him, bandaging the shrapnel wound in his leg. Sokolov and the other come back to us.

“Comrades, what did you find?” I ask.

“The way is clear, for now.” Sokolov tells us. “Get him up, give him a shoulder to help him walk.”

We hoist him up, and he balances between the shoulders of two of his men. I walk alongside Sokolov, holding my aching ribs.

A weak voice calls out to us.

“Helfen… mir…”

It’s one of the Germans, just a boy, laying wounded on his back, wincing in pain.

“Helfen…. Bitte.”

“What should we do?” I ask.

“Fuck him.” One of the soldiers says. “There’s nothing we can do for him anyways.”