Stalingrad: A Short Story

Under the supreme rulership of Stalin, Russia became one of the greatest countries, that of which rivals the capitalist pit dogs across the sea. We've built grand cities in the name of our leader one of which, our most prized possession, the city Stalingrad ripe with fresh snow and the spoils of Germany's war. But our success defying their betrayal in Poland, twisted their minds and in an effort to find violence in our own streets the Nazi war machine curved its path into the heart of our mother. Stalingrad did not fall in one day. Our brothers sought to that, but in deed it fell. Over the bodies of our sisters and fathers the Germans stood ground. Hidden but noticed in the frozen coils of stone and steel. All resistance failed. We were pulled

The Wölfe we've become to them. The wolves of war. Slayer of men, machine, and those whom lay in between. But now our red face roars back into our distant land. In a fiery dialogue to burn the intruder from our homes. We've embarked upon the metal snake that grinds east toward our destination. We traveled across the green wastes, overburdened by the weight of conquest. Into the lands that lead the Germans defeat. Russia. It felt empty, Heavy fogged poured over the orange barren hills clouding our vision. The grass stood still; lifeless. We traveled along an earthed rode. Cladded, in frothy mink fur and polished guns. However our new uniforms were masked in the dampened oils these terraformed lands had produced. The world around us proved stale, no movement only sound. The horrid screeches of crows grew deafening. Until We stumbled upon a stopped German resupply caravan. Freshly hit with an ambush. It was ripe with the smell of spent brass, gore, and leaked diesel. As our sight cleared to reveal The roads lay full of the damned being feasting on by birds of disease. Hundreds of crows bound over the flesh that littered the

Cloaked in darkness it was invisible only its sounds advised its location. It poured over the flame un scuffed from the fire. Its iron face toward over me. The drivers face visible from the front. Bent his expressions confused and angered to close to fire. He whipped the machine backwards spitting charred splinters into our faces. Its frantic retreat ended as the metal tracks slipped on the frozen earth. Mud, flung into the wilds as the bears feet failed to gain traction, Its last sight was of me. Tipping forward the mast of the towering vessel plummets into the pit of fat splashing violently across the ruins igniting from the squashed flame. Fire surrounded both us and the beast. The melted snow caressed the flames edge. The heat tortured the men trapped in the hellish oven. There's screams stopped as they gargled death. Our skin was to weak to pass through the flames. We stood silent inhaling the smoke of our finest kill. Smog covered our eyes as we rested our souls. Hoisted up to consciousness Day break broke my eyes. The fire had consumed my companions. The face of Golikov, shaded my vision. Screamed to the masses “We're advancing the line my