My Enemy Is My Savior

Chapter 45 - Anton Kretzsky

Chapter 45
Kalach, Russia, USSR
February 11th, 1943

Presented above our heads was something I would paint if I knew how to.

The moon was retreating below the treeline, telling me that another day would come. My valenki--felt boots--were becoming powdered with the loose snow that blew around. I tilted my head slightly upwards to scrutinize the masterpiece of the dawn again before it went away for another day to come. Layers of golden, pink, and purple hues peered shyly over the horizon of trees far ahead. What dominated that were hues of blue and darker shades of purple. Murky clouds spread across like paint marks across a canvas. Who else looked up to the same sky as I?

I lifted the collars of my coat so that they would provide at least some warmth from the dawn's breezes. It was three or so in the morning, and we operated like as if we had a week of sleep when we only had a couple hours. Some of us had no sleep at all. Some would sleep forever.

Thin mists rose up from the snowy ground like ghosts of those who were left by their comrades in the forgotten fields. Those forgotten fields would remain undisturbed for a while, or until the civilians ever move back into that barren city. Would the fallen ever receive any proper burial? Some of our men were left in the empty staircases, in a ditch under an apartment complex, or piled up like rags along the streets back at Stalingrad. Most likely they were piled up in a common grave with the enemy.

I wasn't there anymore, in that city, nor did I want to go back there again.

It was a relief to hear that our unit was sent out here to this town of Kalach, which was located at the Don River. We were transferred out after Stalingrad had been liberated a few days ago. It was an unimaginable fight; something that I hoped that the world would never see again. Every inch seemed to become a dual; a street, a house, even a single floor of a factory became a battleground. We were desperate, and the time had come for the Germans to fully surrender. That did not mean that they had all been found and taken care of, however.

We would've been hunting for the remaining Germans if we were still stationed at Stalingrad, but thank goodness our unit was moved. I couldn't stand seeing such a wasteland that was in this very country of mine.

Now our objective was to head west, and to hopefully continue heading that way. The pressure was never ending, and the air wasn't quite clean yet, but we did not want to be pushed eastwards again by them. I didn't want to return to the city where we had fought with all of our forces there anymore. I didn't.

"Dobroye utro," Good morning, a voice said. I tilted down my head from the sky and saw Frederick coming up. His rifle clattered with each step as it was slung over his shoulder.

"Guten Morgen," I responded to him. He replied with a chuckle that sent out a small cloud of his breath. Tiredness was clearly seen in his face, but he seemed willing to do something. He was just like one of us.

But where had he come from? An aristocratic family somewhere in the big cities? A small farming town away from the hectic streets? He was from somewhere in the west, somewhere far from where we stood today. Yet he ended up here. With us. Would he ever return home? I questioned that constantly. Perhaps he thought the same inquiry. From the look of his eyes, he seemed to have felt no worries, no fret, but just followed with whatever we would carry out.

The other one, Vladimir, was not like him.

"Vladimir?" I asked him, paused to recollect my German, then continued. "Where is he?"

Frederick shrugged, but remained careless. He didn't bother looking for him, but just stood there, facing forward. Maybe he was mapping out his route to escape. Maybe he was imagining something that I could not decipher, or he was too numb to be able to feel anything.