The Nazi line falters a bit as we fire a volley them. "Stay in formation, men. Send the Panzer and a few other soldiers todeal with these pests," barked the Nazi commander.Crap, intel never once mentioned a tank. "Take cover, Comerades," I order tomy men, most of whom don't speak German.

We rush behind buildings while the clanking of the tank draws near. I become deaf to all around me as a 75 mm round blows through a building, killing or woundingat least half a dozen of my men. After a minute, I could hear my shouting to each other "Throw the grenades," "Stay down," "Use everything we have." I've studied Panzers, our grenades will barely dent them like this. Our main hope would be for the cannon to turn towards the 7th division, letting us close in to shoot and throw grenades like hell. "Boom," another round. Another dead and probably several more wounded. One thing left to do.

"Charge!"

When people say how time seems to slow down in situations like these, they aren't lying. I could see bullets fly and bodies drop as we headed straight for the Nazis. I racedfrom building to building, poking my head out to fire a round or two then moving on. Some of the men climbed the tank, opened the latch, and threww in grenades. We were winning the fight. As the main force started to turn to face us, the 7th division finally broke through, and the fight was over minutes later.

I quickly join the front lines and, rifle in hand, shout cries of victory. We take the bettet, German weapons and ammoand give our castoffs to the 7th division, whi are suprisingly happy because the were running low.

So now we are returning to camp, heads high. Moments like these remind us the purpose of the Red Army: Loyalty to the party- loyalty to motherland! Screw that, I joined for money. Sure, it's nice to help out the party and the motherland, but with my parents dying, leaving 12-year old me and my 6-year old sister alone, I had to work hard for us to survive. She's 16 now, and quite lovely, set to be married withen the year, but I still send money just in case.

"Your leadership on the battlefield was an inspiration to us all, Comerade Asi" says Djini Vakhruchev, breaking my train of thought. I despise that nickname. "Thank you Comerade, but there s no need to state the obvious" He is a good soldier, but like the others who are older than I, he mocks me with that name. He is your steriotypical Latvian: dark hair, brown eyes, lightly tanned skin. He was on of the best soldiers in Latvia, so when the motherland took over, he took and did excellently on the test needed to enter this unit.
After thinking about her, I suppose I should write to my sister. Thanks to Comerade Stalin and his Industrialization process, my letter is sent to an ofice, which relays the message through wires to Moscow, to my sister. A genius process only a Soviet could possibly think of.

Dear Dominika,
today we have brought glory to the motherland. The traitorous Nazis shall soon be defeated, and we will be the ones todestroy them. How is life with your fiance in Moscow?
Your caring brother,
Afanasi

Time to head to the general's tent and discuss the day, as if he'll be sober enough to understand. At least Vladim will be there to talk with about ideas.