The Battle of the Bucket

Half an hour later, Sophia's company was at the rear lines of the bloodiest battle surrounding the city. The Oblast District stretched far outside of Moscow proper, but in many ways is was the key to the city. Here, the great Moskva-Volga canal, a vital construction that linked two of Moscow's great rivers and gave the city access to the sea, sat; its banks bristling with AA guns and pillboxes. Holding the gateway to the canal was a literal matter of life and ****, as the Moskva ran within rifle distance of the Kremlin itself. Beyond the pillboxes, enormous factories churned out the daily needs of not only the Red Army, but of simple daily life for the citizens of the great capital. Losing the gateway meant losing everything.

It came as no surprise then that the site had seen innumerable battles since the War began. The Moskva itself was so thoroughly mined and fortified beyond the gates that the canal now served more as a moat (and as bait for a quick passage to the Volga, a prize the Stadt desperately wanted) than a vital waterway for trade. The Stadt had taken its Western banks years ago, but constant counteroffensives had pushed them back more than a kilometer; and finally settled into a brutal trench battle between the two Great Armies. It was the closest the Stadti infantry regiments had come, and for the sake of millions, was vitally necessary that they make it no further.

The Russian salient bulging in a 7 kilometer line along the western bank was known as the Butcher's Bucket, and for good reason. Unlike other sections of the front, this was the site of constant, heavy battle. Moscow's biggest guns that roared fire and shells continuously hammered the Stadti positions constantly as flak guns scanned the sky for Stukas. The majority of those shells were aimed here; the Bucket. The air vibrated with shells and bullets, screams, and shouts as men went over the top into almost certain ****.

It wouldn't be the first time Sophia had led men into battle here, and Stalin willing it wouldn't be the last. She radioed ahead to the front positions, simply giving her rank and that she was "bringing in more Ukrainians for immediate deployment and in need of directions." When she heard the reply, she was not surprised. Line-Sector 14 sat some 750 meters from one of the oldest and most stubborn sections of the Stadti positions. They'd taken a hill overlooking the Moskva, and rather than dig down, they dug in. It was a veritable fortress; the perfect place to throw meat against steel. She didn't have time to waste, but her plan wouldn't work without the Night Witches.

"This is Commissar Ivanova! I am invoking my right to take control of this ****! Artillery, fire smoke at that bunker! Machine gunners, I want a 10 second burst at anything that moves! Infantry, bayonets at the ready, and prepare to charge on my mark!" she barked over the shared channel. She knew somewhere a very confused commander was now staring down the barrel of his Commissar's pistol, but there was little he could do about it. Most likely he would sigh, shrug, and wait to tally the casualties. What was one more suicide charge, after all.

For seven agonizing minutes, she saw the barely armed and **** men crawling from one rain-filled shell hole to the other. The mud was so bad in places that those who attempted to claw their way deeper into cover to avoid the brutally fast Stadti machine gun fire only sank deeper and deeper into it. She sat on her motorcycle and watched as a mortar scored a direct hit on three Sevastopolians, sending mud and gore high into the air. Others were curled up and sobbing, while some simply stood and charged the pillboxes unarmed, choosing to have their lives ended in a hail of lead. She had no way of knowing for sure, but out of the four companies sent out, she estimated only two remained in any sort of number, and those wilting fast.

Finally, her radio chirped. "Comrade Commissar, we are approaching. Target?" Capt Tuya Ganbataar's voice squelched out. Sophia's eye went wide. It was time.

"Hit the pillboxes on Line Sector 14, and get out of here!" she commanded.

"Acknowledged. We'll sweep the filth back under the rug." Ganbataar replied. Sophia clicked the channel over. It was now or never. She clicked the radio over.

"Artillery....fire!" she bellowed. Situated across the banks of the Moskva, eight D-44 100mm field guns fired at once, sending their 15 kg white smoke shells hurling into the sky. The crews sprang into motion, opened the breech, and loaded the standard HE rounds. Seconds later, these were sent flying directly at the "Devil's Ulcer" as the fortified hill was known in pre-planned impact zones. The hill wouldn't crack under such small shells, but it would certainly help to keep their heads down.

The whistling shells soared overhead as Sophia's T-88 revved up, ready to blast forward and up the vehicle access slope of the trench. Behind her, men shouted and waited. With dull thuds, the smoke canisters hit, exploding into pure white clouds in an instant. "NOW!" she yelled, and gunned it. The wide, deep treads of the T-88 gripped the concrete, and in seconds she was onto No Man's Land.

Seconds later, the terrible ripping sound of Stadti machines punctuated the clouds. She could feel the slap of bullets passing her with their sharp cracks like a thousand whips snapping at the roaring lion of a engine on her sidecar motorcycle. She kept her head down, hearing a round ricochet off of the ablative armored plate in front of her. Fedir made himself small as he returned fire with his RPD as the O-279s behind her let loose. What had been a fairly easy day of casual slaughter for the Stadtis had turned into a eruption of fire and Hell.

She passed the first of the Ukrainians not more than 50 meters from the trench. They hugged their knees and looked on in bewilderment as the 25 motorcycles and 4 tanks roared passed them. The less stunned among them rallied their comrades, and many left their useless shoes in the mud as they scrambled back to their lines.

She caught one T-88 out of the corner of her vision swerve suddenly and tumble, its driver dead from the 8mm rounds they were blindly charging. An entire squad of men disappeared as a mortar struck the ground before them. They couldn't take much of this. She passed the second large grouping of Ukrainians, some 40 men that had made it to an old, abandoned trench. Some with working rifles were firing toward the pillboxes while others scrambled back to safety. The whistling sound returned, and flashes of fire erupted through the smoke. The HE artillery pounded the hill like a drum roll.

She was at 200 meters from their lines now, and couldn't look back to see who was still with her. Judging from the concussion waves hit her back, the O-279's were doing just fine. There were only small pockets of **** soldiers this far out, and her bike was fishtailing in the mud. Fedir slammed another drum mag home and sprayed indiscriminately through the fading smoke screen. A string of bullets peppered her armored plate, and something behind her exploded, far too close for comfort. 150 meters. It was almost time to turn back.

It was then her front wheel hit an ancient patch of barbed wire. Sophia pulled the handlebars hard as it wrapped up into her front wheel, seizing its gears even as the motor fought to drive her forward. Sophia tried to maintain control, but the handlebars were ripped from her grip as the T 88 came to a sudden stop. Fedir screamed as his shoulder was slammed into the armored hull of the sidecar. Sophia went airborne and landed in the toxic water of mostly full shell hole. She did her best to roll with it, but the sharp pain of a buried rebar pole piercing her thigh stopped her momentum. She looked down, her eyes wide. It wasn't all the way through, but she was stuck.

Sophia gritted her teeth as she felt the hot blood flow down rusted metal pole. It was on the back of her leg, thankfully; and a quick, painful flex told her it hadn't shattered her femur or severed her hamstring. She was close enough to see the flashes of the machine guns and the thumps of enemy mortars. She saw the tracer rounds walking toward the motorcycle as Fedir pressed himself against the sidecar for cover.

She pulled her pistol and fired at the flashes, a defiant cry of rage and pain on her lips. The tracer fire quickly walked toward her, sending quick splashes of mud splattering againt her white, soft cheek. She took a deep breath and lay back on the ground as flat as she could, but they had seen her flashes and it seemed like a sheet of lead was just inches above her prone body. She watched as what seemed like an endless stream of tracer fire raced across her vision, a mere meter from her face.

"Commiss..." was all she heard as she saw three Ukrainian soldiers rushing toward her before their bodies were peppered with MG 42 rounds, sending them to ****. Fedir cursed loudly as he ripped the RPD from its mount and fired blindly from what cover he had. The tracer fire traversed back to him, and gave her time to rip her leg free and roll deeper into the shell hole. The pain shot up to her brain like a lightning bolt as she landed in the tepid water, a mortar landing between her and Fedir's position. She desperately clawed at her belt pocket, and popped the amphetamine tablet into her mouth. She ground it up quickly with her teeth, pulled the morphine stylet and squeezed half of it into the mud and other half a quarter of an inch above her wound. Finally, she loaded a fresh magazine into her pistol. Her company was almost there. She would have to move quickly...

Like most, she didn't hear them until it was too late. The sillouette of nine U-4 bombers was suddenly above her, the Night Witches gliding a mere 30 meters above the battlefield. She could see the faces of the two in the lead plane, a Mongolian and a blonde. She watched as if in slow motion as their bomb bay doors opened, and the engine suddenly roar back to life as the rose sharply. She turned to see the bombs almost float toward the Stadti pillbox like a casually tossed apple. Sophia came up to a knee to see a direct hit against the pillbox firing at her, the tracers desperately swinging upward only to be blocked by their own shelved concrete ceilings.

The explosions were tremendous. They hit in a quick B-B-B-BOOM! B-B-B-BOOM! B-B-B-Boom! staccato, the front of the bunker disappearing in smoke and fire as the HE bombs slammed directly into the face of the dug in complex along all three pillboxes in the line sector. "HURRAH!" Sophia shouted as she heard the men inside scream in agony as their machine guns quickly cooked off rounds and field mortars ignited in dulled, deadly thumps. THUMP THUMP THUMP! from behind her as the O-279's fired directly into the shattered concrete, their white phosphorus rounds boiling whoever was left alive.

Fedir stood and charged as a dozen T-88's roared passed Sophia, their machine guns firing into the inferno. Sophia took a step, but the pain shot up her leg and brought her to a knee. Breathlessly, she looked on as the Ukrainians took the Devil's Ulcer, and excised it from the battlefield. More units were moving up now, the line alive. She limped over to her motorcycle and yanked the barbed wire free. She had done her part here. What was left was for the fighting men. She righted the T-88, and drove away from the slaughter, the Night Witches disappearing silently behind her.

"The Premier will have some questions." she thought to herself as a trickle of blood ran down the leather seat. She smiled, and shrugged. She'd fight that battle when it came.

***Editor's Note: This marks 100 chapters in this story so far. Special thanks to all who have contributed!***