Red Snow Chapter 3

--Chapter 3-- An uneasy silence--




--South Rostov 1100 hours--

The sound of boots and rain echoed throughout the hallway. I could not tell how many there were. Scared, I gripped my PPSH and mounted it on the desk, ready for battle.

"Niko?” Whispered Alexei, who was crouching right behind me. “Listen to the steps. I believe there are four of them."

I nodded in response to Alexei as I began to hear voices. They were speaking with heavy German accents as they rounded the corner. Sure enough, there were four men, all of them stopping for a moment. One was wearing an all black uniform with silver tailoring and a peaked cap bearing a skull and crossbones emblem. He was angrily scolding another man in a tan uniform who was carrying a brown briefcase and had several medals pinned to his chest. The other two men were walking closely behind with their pump-action shotguns. They wore camouflage patterned jackets accented with gray pants, along with their uniquely bowl shaped helmets.

I allowed them to get closer, for I'm not well versed in shooting. I had only shot a few times with my father, but I was never very good. The men were by now close enough for me to hear their low breathing and the exact words the two officers were saying.

" Sie positiv Sie hörten etwas oben hier?“

“Ja, bin ich positiv dort sind mehr von ihnen oben hier.“

" Warum macht es aus? Der Inhaber hier gelassen in einer Hast, zusammen mit die meisten des Geldes. Wenn nur Sie hatte nicht so gesorgt um Sicherheit, könnten wir ihn gestoppt haben Tote in seinen Schienen!“

" Denken Sie uns nehmen unserer Jagd eine Spitze zu weit? Wir sind bereits von unseren Frontlinien zu weit entfernt und-”

" Und lassen Sie schmutzigere Juden entgehen wie der Eigentümer von Banken hier? Sie Idiot! Es ist unsere rechtmäßige Aufgabe unten zu jagen zum dieser Schädlinge ."

As they turned to walk into the office I was in, I stood up and held down the trigger, continuously fanning the weapon from left to right until I began to hear it click empty. I looked over the desk to see the men were dead, adrenaline pumping heavily into my veins. Small flecks of dark red gore clung to the walls, as a few drops of blood dripped from the ceiling. Surely, no one could survive that.

Yet, I watched in horror as the man dressed in black began to move, holding something in his hands as he groaned in pain. Stepping out from behind the desk, I ran over to the Fascist and kicked at his hands with a strong kick, perceiving it was a pistol. Instead, a meter of his intestines flung out, spilling all over the man he had previously been scolding.
I watched as he shrieked in pain and hopelessly tried to gather his guts, looking scornfully at me. For some strange reason, I felt pity as my eyes met his. He looked at me in horror, as if I was rubbing salt all in his wounds and just prolonging his misery.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, "Alexei, shoot him."

Alexei quickly exited the office, briefly looking around at the men on the ground. He then stopped and stood over the man in black, intently examining him.

"The black uniform he's wearing means he is SS, and that man wearing tan, he is a higher rank than the others."

"Where did you learn that, Alexei?"

"One of the men on the train said Nazis wearing black came into his home and kidnapped his mother, because she was a gypsy. They then rounded up all the Jews and gypsies in the whole village. He said it was over two hundred. Then, they marched them out to a cow pasture where they had them dig a deep hole. Made all the men, women and children climb down, and once all of them got in, they began tossing grenades into the trench before they buried them right there. He said the ground moved for days from the people who had not died trying in vain to dig out."

"That is horrible, Alexei. Who are these men to say who lives or dies. And to believe I felt sorry for him!" I then spat into the dying Nazi's face.

Alexei lifted his rifle, pointed it down at the mans head, and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed out throughout the hallway, signing the end of his life. We both stood there for a moment, letting the sound of rain resound through the hallway. After a moment, I then asked curiously.

"Alexei, how can you look him in the eyes and shoot him?"

"When I hunted, the animal you shoot do not always die on impact, so I would have to finish them off. Whenever you looked in their eyes, you saw fear, sadness, and regret, even in a wolf's eyes. But, in this man, all I saw was pure anger and hatred. I hoped he would have regretted killing those innocent people..."

After a momentary pause, I then asked, “Hey, you have my ammo, right?”

Alexei passed me the drum magazine and responded, "Next time, don't use the whole drum on four men."

Looking at the pile of bodies, I remembered the brown briefcase. "Alexei, this guy had a briefcase. You think we should we take it?"

"We should drop it off at the Resistance Headquarters, just in case its important."

With careful precision, I stepped around the bloody mess and removed the briefcase from the gore-encrusted hands of the officer.
With our minds made up, we exited the building into the besieged streets. On the train we had been told that we were to reinforce the rail yard and market, then meet up with the local resistance and receive new orders if we got lost. Since the majority of the Russian defenders were in the central districts of Rostov and we had landed in the south, we figured we had to be close.

We hung low to the ground as we traversed the alleyways heading north, letting the rain pour down on us. Suddenly, we started hearing screams and gunfire, followed quickly by whistles, then a loud explosion. A large fireball shot up into the air, just a few blocks away.

"Alexei, lets head over to that battle. Those could be the resistance fighters."

A cloud of dust greeted us as we entered the battle site. The Nazis had collapsed two buildings to prevent the Russian advance and it had worked. Right there was a large group of men standing around a man in a black trench coat, listening carefully to him. We decided to join the crowd and listen in to the man.

"Men, good job! Those Fascist dogs had no idea what was coming! I can see in your hearts you want to continue the fight, but our job is to resist the invaders. Our Great Leader believes in us, as he reads about our endeavors every morning. I can tell you right now he is proud of us. Let us make this a day he will remember forever! URAAH!"

All the men around him yelled out the infamous battle cry as Alexei and I moved in closer to the mysterious leader. Just as I neared him, he stared right at me with a cruel gaze.
Slightly scared, I lifted the briefcase and said, "Sir, we're with the 150th Infantry. We got lost from our unit when we found this briefcase on the body of a German officer we shot."

The mysterious man laughed for a moment and then said, “Come with us. You're under my command now. Welcome to hell and welcome home."

We tagged along with the large group of men. They walked for a few meters before stopping in the middle of the road. Two of them then lifted the cover to the sewers. Without saying anything, we dropped down into the disgusting sewer system.
To my surprise, the men had painted various signs on the walls denoting what lay in each direction a rather crude color coded system. From what I heard we were to follow the blue arrows back to base. We walked for about fifteen minutes wading through the awful gunk until we came upon another ladder leading to a sewer exit. Going up, we came back topside and into the old tractor factory.
The moment I stepped into the building, I was greeted by dust and wreckage. The crumbling facade was deteriorating even before the war had started. Piles of bricks laid on the ground, coated in dust as shattered panes of glass hung in their frames. As an plane passed overhead, the entire building began to shake. It amazed me that the building still stood even in the war-torn city.

“Hey! You bumbling idiots! Get over here!” Said a our mysterious new leader as he waved us over. He then opened a rust-covered metal door that revealed lead down a small flight of stairs where he stopped at a small hallway with another door concealed in darkness. Without hesitation, he continued straight into the darkness. Opening the door, he said,“Welcome to the glorious Rostov Defense Army!”

My eyes widened in shock as entered into the Resistance HQ. Just like the tractor factory, the headquarters was a place of ruin. The smell of rotting meat hung in the air as the room was dimly lit with the glow of gas lanterns. Grizzled, bloodied faces of men stared back at us through the twilight of the dim light. Numerous guns and equipment of all kinds lay amid the spectacle. My mind became numb as I wondered: is this the real Soviet Russia?

"Hey! Move your asses, I don't have time for your bullshit!"

We hurried over to our new leader as he sat at a desk. The wall above him was adorned with portraits of German officers in uniform. Several of them had an crude X marked through them.

"Sorry sir. My name is Niko and this is Alexei. Pardon me, but who are you?"

"Sergeant Feliks Dyakov, Perhaps you've heard my name?"

Alexei looked awestruck, "Yes Sir! You're a hero of the Soviet Union! You defeated the Whites in over ten separate battles during the Revolution! Stalin himself pinned a medal on your chest. I saw it in the newspapers when my father would read it to me as a child."

"Then you understand that when I give you orders, you are to execute those orders to the letter. Now, lets see what is in that case."

Feliks grabbed the case from me and tried to open it to no avail. His smirk was accompanied with a sigh. He then pulled out his TT-33 pistol and shot off the locking mechanism. Emptying the briefcase, we watched as numerous papers including maps, reports, and unit lists spilled onto the aging desk.

"There is much we can learn here, but first, tell me about the man you killed."

Surprised, I looked at him questionably, only to be returned with the same question. Finally, I took in a deep breath and started. I described all of them in great detail, being careful not to miss a detail. While I went on describing them, Feliks carefully looked at the wall of photos. As I finished, immediately Feliks took two pictures off the wall and passed them to us.

"These men?" He asked.

"Yes sir, I believe so."

"The SS officer was most likely Adolf Braun. He's the man in charge of hunting the Jews in this area. The man he was talking to who had the case sounds a lot like Klaus Ghering. He leads the SS division of the first Panzer army. And those two men who were guarding them were most likely Fallschirmjäger paratroopers. Very good work."

I blushed a the thought, before he continued on.

"You have done your country a great honor today, therefore, let us drink in your honor"

Feliks grabbed a large bottle of vodka and four glasses from his desk. He then poured four glasses, and passed one to me and another to Alexei.

"Why four glasses?", I asked curiously.

"This one is for the dead. A man should not pass on to Heaven or Hell without the fine taste of vodka on his lips." Feliks poured the fourth glass on the ground at his feet.

"Men! Here's to Niko and Alexei: Heroes of Rostov!"

We drank several shots of vodka. Though it was of low quality and it tasted like petrol, in that moment it was like the finest French wine to me. As we sat there, Feliks told us stories about his life growing up on a farm, his service during the Revolution, and the men he had served with. He was a man deserving of honor, a true soviet hero, and I was proud to serve him. Later that evening we were given cots to sleep on and some very stale bread with a bowl of salty potato soup. Though it was just meager rations, we ate it as if it were a feast from Stalin himself.

---- North East Rostov 1200 hours---

Mikhail took in a big sigh as he walked alongside Ivan. They were still looking for signs of the Nazi barracks in Northern Rostov when Mikhail finally said, "Ivan, we have been walking north for four hours now and we have seen nothing except for puddles of water, broken glass and piles of rubble."

"Mikhail, are you sure he said north?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it."

"Fucking Fascist piece of shit,” grumbled Ivan as he trekked on forward. “I was right to kill him."

After a moment, they stumbled into an open courtyard for some tenement housing. In that instant, a horrible stench hit their nostrils as they looked around in shock.
Dead Russian men were hanged from light posts by piano wire. The stench of rotting flesh hung high in the air. Numerous dead civilians lied on the ground, many still with fear and shock etched into their faces. Mikhail stared in horror at a mother who still held her baby in her arms, both turned blue by decomposition. Rats had nibbled at their flesh and maggots swarmed around their bodies.

"Who would do this? These people never deserved this,” said Mikhail as he stood, staring in horror at the dead mother and child.

“Only the Nazis, Mikhail. And only they deserve this,” said Ivan as he began to unhook the barbed wire from around a young boy's neck. He then carefully held him in his arms and closed the boys eyes before laying him on the ground.

In that instant, a single, distinct click came from the boy. Mikhail's eyes widened as he yelled out, "Ivan! Run!"

Ivan snapped to his feet and started running like a madman. He had only made it barely three meters from the body when the boy's gut exploded. The landmine that had been implanted in the boy's rib cage tore the body's insides out. Bits of his corpse flew for dozens of meters, impacting the nearby walls. As Mikhail looked back, he saw Ivan laying motionless on the cobble stone walkway.

"Ivan! Talk to me! Wake up!"

He ran to Ivan's side, rolling him over onto his back. The extent of Ivan's injuries were severe. Bits of bone had become shrapnel in the wake of the explosion, as a jagged section of the boy's rib had lodged itself in Ivan's left thigh. He was bleeding severely as it had impacted his femoral artery, spraying the precious blood all over the ground.

“Hang in there Ivan,” Mikhail said as he tore off Ivan's belt and made it into a truncate to stem the blood flow to his left leg. He then took a cloth rag from his pocket and began wiping the blood from Ivan's face as tears started rolling down his cheek.

"Damn it Ivan! I can't carry you all the way! You need to wake up!" Mikhail held Ivan close, gently tapping Ivan's cheek with his hand. He was not waking up.

"Please don't die on me. I need you..." Mikhail began to weep heavily. The only friend he had in this place, gone in a flash, leaving him all alone behind enemy lines.


Suddenly, a loud grumbling emitted from the body.

"Mikhail, stop your crying you whiny bitch..." Ivan's eyes opened, looking directly at Mikhail. A smile stretched across his as he then laughed and said, "It will take more than explosives to kill me!"

"Thank God! Ivan, you're seriously wounded, are you feeling okay?” Mikhail said as he wiped away the tears from his eyes.

"Just help me up. I now have a score to settle with a Nazi engineer..." Mikhail helped Ivan to his feet. Leaning on Mikhail, Ivan hobbled towards the center of town with his friend on his side.

As they walked along, the sounds of a small skirmish came closer. They could hear the buzz of machine gun fire accompanied with men shouting.

"Mikhail, I'm in no condition to fight without weapon and a bum leg. I'm sorry to say this, but I will need your help in order to be of any use."

Mikhail gently set Ivan down in front of a door way and then held out his rifle to Ivan. "Here take the rifle. I'm going over to that battle to steal a rifle. Just stay safe and if I'm not back in thirty minutes..."

"Then I'll go hunt you down. Fine, go. Hurry up. I don't have all day."

Unsure if it was a Fascist-held position, or if it was Russian, Mikhail ventured forth into the unknown with only one goal: to find a rifle.

Before he could take another step, Ivan yelled out, "Mikhail, take the knife at least.”

Taking in a deep breath, Mikhail turned around and grabbed the Hitler Youth knife before entering into the rain-soaked streets. He kept low in the streets as machine gun fire radiated through the afternoon rain. Mikhail decided to stay out of the open and move through the buildings that lined the street.

The clever Russian, with extreme caution, climbed through a shattered window of a bakery. Looking around, Mikhail saw that glass and dust coated the old, molding baked goods. Dozens of once beautiful cakes that had lay under the glass counter had grown a green, nasty fuzz. Quickly, Mikhail was brought out of his thoughts by screams that echoed from the nearby street. He headed to the back and exited the kitchen into a small service ally behind the shop. There was nothing to be seen so he moved to the end of the ally where he entered the next set of shops.
Kicking open the door, Mikhail found himself in the back room of a flower shop. Withered black roses and decaying flower arrangements marred the hell-scape of the burned structure. The front windows were blackened with soot from the fire that had once ravaged through the building. As Mikhail walked to the front door, his boots began sticking slightly to the ashen floor. Leaning down, Mikhail placed his fingers on the floor.
"Blood?" he whispered quietly to himself. A trail of it lead outside. With caution, Mikhail gently opened the front door. Laid up in the door way were two dead Russian soldiers; both had been wounded severely and had succumbed to their wounds. Instantly, the bricks around him shattered to dust as machine gun bullets rained down all around him. Mikhail quickly jumped back inside and shut the door.

"Think, Mikhail, think." Mikhail began muttering to himself. "The street is well covered, so I need to stay inside, but these shops are not interconnected and the alleyway stops at this store."

The MG continued firing at the front of the flower shop, shattering the windows. Mikhail crawled behind the sales counter, as he quickly surveyed his surroundings. He spotted what appeared to be a small, heavy-weighted butcher's knife laying on the back counter. Mikhail moved over and grabbed the cleaver.
"They must use this to cut the stems off large bouquets,” he thought to himself. “Maybe its sturdy enough to break through this charred wood..." Mikhail gripped the cleaver with both hands and began smashing at the charred shop wall. Slowly, the burnt wood began to splinter and chip away until he had created a hole big enough for him to fit through.

Mikhail looked through the small hole he had made. Luckily, it led into another shop. As he crawled through, he noticed the next shop's exterior wall had been blown wide open. Mikhail guessed that it had been blown out during the initial Blitz on the city.
Keeping low, he looked for where the German machine gun was positioned. Time seemed to slow down as he crept along, unsure of where the enemy was. Finally, he spotted it at the end of the block where the incline of a hill started. Keeping out of sight, Mikhail gazed up at the hill. There stood a large granite building that was adorned with the famous Red Cross symbol and the letters 'Rostov General Hospital'.

The hospital stood high on a slope much like a castle keep. As Mikhail looked down to the streets, he panicked. Around the building Russian soldiers lay dead on the street. Looking up above, Mikhail saw that one of the windows had been reinforced with steel plates. Two menacing large caliber machine guns were mounted in the window, their careful gaze scanning for targets. Mikhail's fear was a reality: the whole area was a kill zone.

He whispered to himself, “It's a snowball's chance in hell for me to survive that, but I need a rifle.” Sighing, he continued, “No way around, so it looks like I'll need to clear this area in order to move Ivan. I have no choice.”
Laying down on the ground, he slowly crawled in to the street and into the massacre field.

Luck was on his side, for the Germans hadn't noticed him yet and the rain had began to stop. Using his stealth, Mikhail crawled over the dead, being extra cautious. The mud, grime, and blood stained his clothes as he wallowed through the gory mess.

As he went along, he saw the body of a commissar, still clutching his TT-33 pistol. The commissar had been obviously gunned down violently in the valiant but futile fight. His head had been blown wide open, his brain mixing with the gravel in the street. Mikhail stared at the fallen commissar for a moment before taking his pistol and a clip from him before continuing forward. No more than a few meters farther along did he he reach another man. This one though, was different.
Several gaping bullet holes pelleted all over the man's body; his blood-covered hands were held out towards an SVT rifle that was a meter out of his reach. As Mikhail crawled towards the rifle, he heard a slight cough from the body.
Suddenly, the man slowly lifted his head, their gazes meeting each other. He gestured toward his rifle and simply mouthed "help". Before Mikhail could do anything, the man's eyes rolled back as he exhaled his final breath. Mikhail stared in shock, feeling his entire body become numb. He grabbed the SVT rifle and wallowed towards the corpse. He then took his hand and closed the man's eyes, whispering “Rest easy my comrade.” He then ventured forth through the massacre field.
He was less than ten meters from the Nazi occupied hospital when the doors to the building opened out. Immediately, Mikhail laid still and pretended to play dead among the dead.

Two men came out of the doorway, both laughing as they walked down the small concrete steps leading downhill. Mikhail looked curiously at their camouflage patterned jackets that was accented with gray pants. Suddenly, the first man stopped just in front of Mikhail to light a cigarette. The second man proceeded over to a body and started kicking it and laughing, before kneeling down to it. After a moment, the German rose up triumphantly holding a single photo. The man then walked over to his partner and showed him the photo, proclaiming, “Eine hübsche Familie…”

The other man quickly yanked the photo out of his hands and then, taking his cigarette, burned a hole through a small portion of the photo. He and his buddy then laughed before throwing it down on the ground and smothering it under his foot.
Then, the second man walked over and stopped directly over Mikhail. The Russian held his breath and carefully turned face down, praying he hadn't been noticed. What came next he did not expect. He heard a zip, followed by something that sounded like water. Mikhail felt the back of his jacket become further soaked with the Nazi's urine. The German then called out to his partner and both started heading away.

The Russian became livid at the sight of this. How could they would treat his fellow country men, dead or alive, like this? A ravaging thirst for revenge swelled in him, quenching for nothing but blood. As the two men moved away, Mikhail grabbed two hats from the nearby corpses. Folding them, he placed them over the muzzle of his TT33.

“Hopefully firing through the wool hats would muffle the sound of the shoots,” Mikhail thought. He quickly took aim and fired off two muffled shots and watched as both bullets impacted their heads, dropping them instantly. Mikhail watched as their Fascist blood mixed in with that of the Russian dead.
Quietly, Mikhail crept to the doorway, unsheathing the Hitler Youth knife and his cleaver. He then carefully opened the door and checked the corridor, using the knife as a mirror.
There were two sentries, one soldier was leaning back in a chair reading a newspaper, and the other one slumped in the corner next to him asleep. Mikhail put away the knife, but kept the cleaver at hand. Taking out his pistol, he held it in his left hand and gripped the cleaver in his right hand. Mikhail then took in a deep breath and opened the door.

In one swift motion, Mikhail threw the cleaver at the man reading the newspaper and, re-gripping the pistol into his right hand, placed two rounds into the sleeping guard. The cleaver had found it's mark, impaling the newspaper to the guard's face. The guard's hands moved in short jerking motions as the last few neurons tried attempting to understand what had just happened. Mikhail moved forward and pulled the cleaver from the guard's cranium, leaving a deep gash in the dead man's head. Looking to the left, Mikhail found a stairwell leading up. He reloaded his pistol and then made his way up the staircase.

To Mikhail's surprise, the hospital was three stories tall, with the machine gun being on the third floor. “Knocking that gun out would allow the attacking Soviet forces to reclaim this structure,” Mikhail thought as he slowly climbed the stairs to the third floor. He also thought about his luck as no one had yet noticed the shots from his pistol. As he reached the top, he crouched near the door to the hospital ward.

Peeking through the door's glass window, he immediately saw the German gunner standing next to two machine guns. Both the machine guns were operated by a single trigger mechanism; much like the Soviet duel 85MM AA gun. Taking a closer look, he saw that there were three others nearby. One of them was moving ammunition while the other two were guarding the doorway. The two guards were adorned with grenades and both held Winchester Model 12 trench guns in their hands. No doubt they had just recently acquired them, but from where was anyone's guess.

Mikhail pushed on the door opening it and let it slam back, alerting one of the guards. As he came to investigate, Mikhail hid in the shadows to right of the door. Right as the guard pushed open the door with his shotgun, the clever Russian leaped at him. With a single, fierce swing, Mikhail swung the cleaver, contacting the guard's face and slicing just above the bridge of his nose. Shocked, the man fired blindly in front of him, missing Mikhail completely.
The other guard, alarmed by the noise, quickly came to the dying man's defense. Just as he was about to fire, Mikhail grabbed his victim by the neck and pulled him in front him, absorbing the shotgun blast. He then took his pistol and placed two pistol rounds in the Fascist's head, splattering brain matter all over the wooden door. Mikhail then relinquished his victim, letting the body crash onto the floor with a sickening thud. Without hesitating, he moved into the hospital ward, expecting an attack.

He was only met by silence. Cautiously, Mikhail moved through the ward, avoiding the few overturned surgical carts and abandoned medical equipment. As he entered the room that housed the machine gun, he was met by the remaining soldiers. The machine gunner stood there with his pistol while the ammo-carrier had his K98 directly trained on Mikhail. Mikhail immediately froze at the sight of them. Suddenly, the machine gunner pushed the barrel of the rifle away from Mikhail, and the Nazi began to speak in Russian.

"Communist, do you speak German? "

Mikhail looked suspiciously at the strange Nazi before replying in German, "Very little"

The German laughed before continuing on in his native tongue.
"How did you get in here? I had the front covered and we had planted mines all around the other sides."

"Why would I tell you anything?” Remarked the sly Russian.

The German machine gunner released his ammo-carrier's gun. "Take aim," said the gunner as the soldier raised the rifle back, pointing it on Mikhail again.

"You Russians are boring, though you're a lot more exciting than the French, but incompetent none the less. You see, I have already spent months hunting Jews for the SS, yet I became bored, so I was sent here.

Obviously, you saw the numerous number of your countrymen laying dead in the street below. Where they all failed, you alone have killed my men and now you hold me at gun point? I find this amusing! A lowly conscript stands here, believing he can kill the great Fallschirmjäger Sgt. Johannas zu Gurchmann, or as your excuse for a military calls me, 'Hitlers Buzz Saw'! I welcome a good fight, Russian dog!"

Johanns then took his Walther P38 and shot the lowly German Private in the chest. "That should even the odds!"

"… This man is a lunatic! Does he revile in death?" Mikhail thought to himself as he started running. He quickly dodged a bullet that whizzed by him, barely missing him by inches. Hiding behind a steel surgical instrument cart, he checked the clip in his pistol only to find he only six rounds remaining. “Looks like I'll have to make my shots count. Can't use my rifle in these close quarters or he will see me.”

"Conscript? Have you run away already?"

Three bullets impacted the surgical cart with a loud thud. Mikhail looked around the edge of the cart, but the German paratrooper was nowhere to be seen.

"When the cat wishes to catch a mouse, it stalks it, but when a man hunts another man, greater skills are required, conscript!"

Suddenly, Mikhail heard footsteps to his left. As he glanced left, he saw the bottom of a pair of boots, slightly covered by an overturned hospital bed. The clever Russian grinned.
With all his might, he pushed the surgical cart over, causing it to crash into the overturned bed. He then dove over the counter of the nearby nurses station, and aimed his pistol. Mikhail's eyes widened in shock. Behind the bed was the not Johannas, but the dead private's boots!

"Lesson one!" boomed the voice of the German. Mikhail turned to see Johannas standing directly behind Mikhail. An crooked grin stretched across his face as he pumped his newly acquired shotgun, cycling the next round into the breech. “Misinformation is your enemy! You lose, conscript! Now, get down and say your prayers, you Russian dog!"
Mikhail closed his eyes in defeat and placed his pistol on the ground. He then crouched onto the ground and did the sign of the cross with his finger as he said a silent prayer. Suddenly, a single shot rang out. Mikhail looked up to see Johannas falling down, clutching his right shoulder. Mikhail turned around to be greeted by an familiar figure.

"Mikhail! Move!" cried Ivan as he leaned on the door frame, bleeding heavily.

"Ivan! Thank God!"

"Damn You! I'll kill all of you! You, your families! Everyone!” sneered Johanns.

Despite the injury he had sustained, Johanns rose back to his feet. He tossed away the pump-action shotgun, unable to use it in his condition. He then grabbed Mikhail by a chokehold and placed his P38 to Mikhail’s head.

"Peasants who wish to become kings! Ha! The world doesn't work this way! Die vermin!" he said as he pulled the trigger.

The sound of metal scrapping met Mikhail’s ears, but no bullet. Johanns' shook his P38 before angrily announcing “Fluch! It's jammed!” Johanns swiftly smashed the P38 into the back of Mikhail’s head, knocking the Russian down to the ground. The injured German then hopped onto the counter, narrowly missing another shot from Ivan. He then kicked a wooden pallet out of the way and jumped through a hole in the floor.

As Mikhail went in and out of consciousness, he saw Ivan, slumped next to the front door. His face was pale from blood loss as he stared grimly at Mikhail. Then, everything faded into a black void.