Make a break for the friendly position!

Sokolov chucks a smoke grenade towards the enemy position. “Brasayu dymavayu!” He yells out.

There is a lot of ground to cover, a lot of open space. I’m worried that the enemy will gun us down before we even get close. The smoke should help a little bit. However, I’m just as worried that our own men will cut us down, whether by mistake or on purpose. We are blatantly retreating, violating Stalin’s orders. We can only pray that we will make it.

I sprint after Sokolov. A few bullets whip past us as the smoke is still setting up.

“SVOY!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “FRIENDLY! SVOY!”

“SVOY!” Sokolov yells out. “RUSKI!”

Another hail of bullets impacts all around us, coming from the German side of the square. We dive into a shell crater behind a burned out tank. Bullets ricochet off the tank.

“Fuck!” Sokolov shouts. “We’re pinned down!”

I hear the distant popping of cannons. Fuck. Just what we need.

“Artillery!” I cry out.

“Ours.” Sokolov tells me.

A round of epic explosions rains down along the German line, fire and debris dancing in the air as the shells impact. I hear another round being fired. It’s coming from across the Volga.

“This is our chance, move!” Sokolov screams and kicks me.

We leap to our feet and run as fast as we can for the nearest corner of the building. The ground shakes as the next round of explosions erupts behind us.

Fifty meters. Forty.

“SVOY!” Sokolov yells out again.

Thirty meters.

“SVOY!” I repeat. “Don’t shoot!”

We hear a voice yelling in front of us.

“Comrades, run, run!”

Twenty. Fifteen. I can see their faces as they fire, trying to cover us. Ten meters. Five.

Using all of the strength that I have in my burning legs, and the last bit of breath in my empty lungs, I dive into the window, the sill hitting me in the midsection. My ass and legs are still hanging out. A pair of hands grabs me and yanks me the rest of the way through. I collapse on the ground, gasping for air, my heart racing. Sokolov dives through another window, making it through without help, but not without cartwheeling head over heels and crashing to the ground. I can’t even describe the relief I feel to be back in friendly hands.

I look up at a pair of sunken, tired, soot covered faces.

“You’re a girl.” One of them comments.

“How could you tell?” I jest, still trying to catch my breath.

“Comrade Commissar, they’re both still alive.” One of the men calls out.

“Good work.” An authoritative voice tells them. I drag myself to my feet.

A handsome man in a commissar’s uniform approaches us, holding a PPSh.

“Welcome, comrades.” He says to us. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Makarov, Vasily Petrovich.”

“Sokolov, Aleksei.”

“Kulikova, Tatyana.”

“Who called that artillery in?” Sokolov asks.

“That was me.” Makarov tells us.

“You couldn’t have timed it any better, comrade commissar.” I tell him. “Thank you for saving us.”

“You are very welcome, comrades.” Makarov says. “You are also welcome for us allowing you to retreat.”

We remain silent.

“We made a special exception to the rule, you see. We made this exception because we need help. Now I expect you to return this favor.”

“What do you need help with, Comrade Commissar?”

“This position is very important. You see, if this building were to fall, the Germans would have a clear line of sight to the Volga, and they could cut what remains of our army in half. We must hold this building at all costs.” Makarov explains. “What do you say, comrades? Will you make your stand with us?”