Trench of a Russian Region

I don't remember when the war began. All I knew was that I wasn't ready for this, for the guns, the screams, the gore, and the blood. I was a low-ranking soldier on the boundaries of Russia, this was quite something different for me. I was studying to be a doctor and almost had my doctor's degree with just two more months to go. And then the conscription came, robbing people of their chance to have normal lives and follow their dreams. Since the time I have been here on the fence of Stalingrad, a lot has happened. The German soldiers, once our allies against Poland, assailed us violently. Since then we have been battling viciously every second of the day for our lives. I have only survived due to sheer luck. Even those who go home are not in one piece, bearing the scars of war. The most battle-hardened veterans returned with broken limbs and if they were unlucky an extra side of shell shock. 

 The temperatures have dropped up to minus forty degrees. And what's more ominous is that our uniforms are not thick enough to protect us from getting hypothermia. I am sure that if Hitler and his army get the rule of Stalingrad, Europe might undergo their first atomic bombard. 

My father was proud I was forced to undertake a soldier's life. He couldn't understand that I could have served the nation by being a healer as well. Well in his words ``I am not having a son who's not a man, go and face the war and bring pride to the family." And well here I am freezing my soul off my body. Being a soldier was completely complementary to my life goal, being a doctor and saving lives, whereas being a soldier means taking lives and saving yourself.

Stalingrad, a city so beautiful, now looked nothing like it was before. Gone were the lush green trees, the yellow-stoned paved roads, and the antique buildings, chock-full of history. All it now looked like was a fragment of the deepest parts of hell. Beautifully sculpted buildings all in ruins, in a way you can't find what the top was and what was the bottom. Piles and piles of ashes and rubbles everywhere your eyes might go. The once colourful sight was now grey, dull and hopeless. The streets were painted red. Bodies littered the walkway with every step you took. 

Night dawned, and soon it was my turn to guard the gates of the Stalinguard prison. I didn't know how time passed by but soon it was midnight. The atmosphere had an eerie calmness, I could hear the birds chirping I could hear a distant rumble of footsteps as if a lot of people were parading towards the prison gate together. As the sound grew more deafening I could catch the faint outline of numerous people. As they came closer I could see my army captain leading the group. Slowly they came near me and came to a stop. "They're here!" I hear a shout from another soldier. Pretty soon I was able to see the head chief of the army leading the prisoners into their cells. The inmates were roughly being pushed around till they were inside the prison house. At least they have warmth, false or not. I could hardly see details around me, much less make out the German's faces. From the bare to minimum light coming from the bulbs and flame-lit torches. As soon as the sound and people came it was gone. Silence again. "Oi Dimitri" I turned at the sound of my name being called. "Yes sir," "I want you to go to the border patrol." "Yes sir," I saluted and started walking in the direction from where the prisoners had come. I moved from one trench to another, hoping, and praying, that today wasn't my last day and hoping not to die in the night all alone and cold. After a long walk, I slow down to a lazy drawl and that is when I see him. A prisoner has fallen in a Russian trench. He's lying on the ground. He's screaming for help. He's moving his lips in what I assume is prayer. Most importantly, he's the enemy. I stare at his clothes, standard attire for a German soldier. He's the lowest of the low, a mere Schütze. It's not his fault, a voice in my head whispers, he didn't single-handedly massacre all those Russians. I turn away from him. "Bitte, Bruder," he says weakly. "Please, brother." And that is why I turn around. He's lying in a pool of blood. His own, I assume, from the giant wound in his leg. I should dismiss him, and put another bullet in him just to make sure. But I don't. Instead, I sat down beside him. I was tired anyways. "What's your name, brother?" "My name is-", he says, cutting himself off with a blood-curdling scream. "Oh, right", I realized sheepishly. I never had the chance to become a proper doctor, but I can try to patch him up. Every soldier has a basic first aid course, but this is more than that. I throw my backpack onto the ground and dig through it for a minute until I find the first aid kit. "This is gonna hurt", I warn him. "So does dying-", he grunts through the pain as I remove the bullet. Quite brave really. I stop the bleeding and patch him up. He won't die of blood loss, but there's no guarantee that he'll ever be able to walk again.  

"Well, buddy I will have to escort you to the prison, duty calls. You will never be able to walk back anyway." "No, thanks young man, I probably would have died in this cold. Maybe someday, when the war ends and the prisoners are freed, might we meet again, if God wills." Saying this I lifted him by his shoulder and made him stand on one foot, the leg which wasn't injured. We started our journey back and walked in silence, until halfway anyway. That's when the German decided to open his mouth again, he asked "Do you have any siblings? What's your age anyway?" I looked at him before answering, he looked blue and thin, but there was a strange kind of fire in his eyes that gave me warmth, "Yes, I do have a sister and I am twenty-seven. What about you?" "Nah, I don't have any siblings, but hey I am twenty-eight, just a year older than you." "Nice to know," I replied, and we fell back into silence, a comfortable silence which was hard to find these days. Though I wished we could have talked much more. It feels refreshing to be able to talk to someone normally even if the circumstances are not. Sooner than I would have liked we reached the prison, luckily no one noticed us as they were all gathered around the campfire. I opened the gates with my free hand as it was unlocked and guided the German prisoner inside. I saw that there was an Officer in the reception who looked at us and as if understanding the situation got up from his chair and took the German guy from me and started leading him in some gloomy dark corridor. That was it, I waited until they disappeared around the corner, but before turning the German guy turned around and smiled at me with those crooked teeth that I didn't notice before and shouted "I will rain check with the god if he can allow me to visit you!." I smiled back and waved him goodbye and went back outside to join the campfire. 

 I fought many battles after that, but I never forgot that pesky German. Had I done the right thing? Father would be so disappointed. What would Mother have thought, if she had survived past pregnancy? What would my sister have thought? I was a traitor of the highest order, I had betrayed every principle a soldier lived with and followed. And yet, if I had to, I'd do it all again. I didn't regret saving that man's life, even though I knew that he had probably taken more. After all, who was I to judge? I'd taken many lives too. Maybe that man would live on to kill other Russians, but I'd have one less death on my conscience on my way to hell. About a few months later, long after the victory in Stalingrad, my right hand was amputated to shreds in a battle with Chechnya. A blessing in disguise, it turned out, as I was honourably discharged and went home. Life was never the same. My father was dead, my sister had run away, and nightmares haunted me every night. Bodies, blood, gore, fear, despair, hope. The sound of bullets and crying and praying and wishing. It was over for me, but not really. How would I know if Stalingrad was targeted again if bombs rained in the dead of the night? I could lose my life in my sleep, my consciousness slipping away. We had stopped counting bodies long ago, they were too many. I'd just be another corpse, alone, forgotten. And that was when I decided to move to Sweden, a neutral country. It was hard to get the papers, after months and months of waiting and praying no one killed me. But I finally got the necessary documentation and went to Sweden, where many refugees had already escaped to. After months of voyaging, I reached Sweden, intending to start a new life. And that was when I saw him. He was on the street, clearly looking for someone. He'd grown a beard, and streaks of white were visible between his black tresses. But it was him. I walked up to him, "Do you remember me, Bruder?" His face lit up with recognition. "It's you! I cannot thank you enough. You saved my life. But why? I was the enemy." I replied "Past side, let's start afresh. I am Dmitri, Dmitri Petrov." He replied "Nice to meet you, I am Klaus Wagner. It's a pleasure to meet you." Remembering that Klaus was trying to find someone I asked, "Whom were you trying to find?" "Oh, my wife. There she is, Natasha!" I turned around and saw a woman carrying a basket filled with vegetables and a bag which had a loaf of bread in it. When I saw the woman's face I felt that I had almost died. "Dmitri!" She exclaimed with astonished eyebrows raised to her hairline like she always did when she was surprised. "Do you both know each other?" Asked Klaus. "Know each other?! She is my sister!" I replied. "Oh…" That was all he could say. While my sister was standing there all quiet and trying not to get attention towards her when she noticed I was watching her she quickly spoke up "How do you both know each other?" Her eyes darted from me to him and back again. "We met during the war," I replied. I missed her voice even though it irritated me to no end, brother and sister relationship is going to be this way, there's no changing it. "How, may I know?" Klaus and I looked at each other and grinned, by this time we had started walking in the right direction led by Kalus, presuming that he was leading me towards their home. Klaus said, "What happens in Stalingrad, stays in Stalingrad." With that, he winked at me and started walking talking about whatnot, some stuff I did not understand, I looked at my sister beside me and she was smiling. At least the man kept her happy. I am glad we could maintain a good relationship as I was starting to get fond of him. Perhaps Germans weren't that bad.

Co-Author: Diya Shah