My walk to the ridgeline is tedious, making me oh so aware of the fact that Churkin took not only all of the soldiers previously stationed, but also all the trucks too. Fucker couldn’t even leave me a damn bike.

  But the walk gives me time to plan out a defense in my head. They never taught defensive tactics in PJ school, which, to be fair, is the last thing a PJ wants is to dig in when behind enemy lines. Of course, they did teach us hasty and prepared fighting positions, ranger graves, all that stuff, but that’s small unit tactics. I gotta think higher than that if an entire German armored unit decides to roll up on us.

  I’m not a seabee or a combat engineer, but I do know enough about history to fuck up a few panzers.

  First, the terrain. The ‘HQ’, as I’m referring to the camp, is a set of tents and dugouts in Mstensk, a small village that is apparently less than sixty clicks away from Moscow. The village is just on the East bank of a small river, deep enough to drown a vehicle out if I had to guess, with a stone bridge crossing it.

  And, of course, there are these three flagpoles. One at the mouth of the bridge on the East side, and one to the North and South on the same bank, but within shouting distance of one another. The one at the bridge is surrounded by a mound of ammo crates and some camo netting, while the one to the North has some oil drums, followed by the Southern flag with nothing except some sandbags.

  Crossing the river, the ground has a sharp incline of maybe 25 degrees up onto the ridge, which has a small plateau. The plateau, luckily, has some trenches and dugouts built, and even reinforced with logs and timbers. Ivana, her engineers, and the conscripts are all gathered in a mob, loitering around the central-most—flag? God, why so many god damn flagpoles? What kind of shitty game mechanic is this?

  And, mirroring the village East, there are three of them, South, Center, and North. Because of course there is.

  Ivana sees me walking along the road, but I wave her off. I want a good, personal review of what the 161st did before leaving us high and dry.

  As the map showed, three main roads coalesce from the North, South, and West, meeting and merging on top of the ridge, before heading East and down, across the bridge, and onwards. The 161st did manage to put up some defenses—the anti-tank beams, a few lengths of barbed wire, and chopped down a swathe of trees on the bottom of the Western boundary of the ridge to give the top a better view downwards.

  That being said, the tank barriers are short. Not height-wise, but length-wise. A tank could easily make a 45-degree turn and drive around the barriers, or not take the road and ride on the sides. Also, speaking of height, the beams they used are so tightly packed and high that it’d be almost impossible to fire through them accurately. And the barbed wire they did set is so clumped and thick, it’s not only hard to see through, but approaching infantry could easily avoid it, or use it for concealment upclose.

  The flanks of the ridge I’m not too worried about. The foliage and wood are too thick for me to walk through, so I doubt a tank or Anthro soldier could get through, especially under fire.

  That leaves the big question:

  What the fuck can I do?

  Well, mine, for one, would be amazing. The tank traps don’t have to block off the enemy panzers completely, but if those tanks do end up trying to go around, a mine could easily blow a track or destroy a lighter AFV or APC. I’m not sure how many are left after the previous tango we had with the Nazi’s, but ‘anything helps’, as they say.

  Actually, following that up, don’t the engineers also have demolition explosives? Shit, we can rig the bridge, or even the roads leading up here, and detonate them. Then again, after what happened to Ivana’s friend, I’m not so sure I trust Soviet munitions so much right now.

  No shock troops, and I have no clue if the conscripts have grenades or not…I suppose the 161st may have left some barbed wire for us to use, or we may have to cut and disentangle the blobs they left in their wake.

  Ahhhhhhh, fuck. I hate this job…Ivana probably knows more than I do anyway.

  I turn back around and nearly fall into a T-shaped trench, just barely hopping over before breaking my neck.

  I stop on the other side.

  What…what would happen if I died right now?

  Up until, well, now I guess, every time I’ve died I’ve just…I dunno, respawned? Woken up? Returned? But it was always at the start of a fight or battle. But, after Stalingrad, I just sort of blinked and appeared in that other village. Then, after that, I had to sit and ride all the way here. I’m not complaining, of course, I’ve learned a lot from Churkin, and that ‘book’, some of which I think belongs back on a some guy’s hard drive rather than a printed primer, but fuck it. Complaining isn’t gonna fix a damn thing now.

  So, if I took my gun out and blew my brains out, would I just restart the battle in the village? I’m sure as hell not gonna test it, but…I sure as shit don’t wanna go back to that place. Besides, dying’s been painful.

  I walk back to the center of the ridge, my hand tracing the skin where that piece of shrapnel beheaded me like a French blue-blooded nobleman. My nerves felt like they were on fire…

  “Attention!”

  My head snaps up from my inner thoughts derail and crashing into a river as I leave my mind’s inner monologue to the sound of boots and bodies leaving the ground and snapping to attention in an image you would normally see on a fan art website instead of real life. I mean, come on…

  “As you were.” I wave off the squads and lower myself down into the trench with the rest of them. The trench isn’t necessarily a trench, more of a dug position that provides cover up to lower chest height. Which is funny when compared to the seven and a half foot tall engineers. “Ivana?”

  She nods and turns towards me, sitting on the top of the trench with her legs hanging over. “Comrade Lieutenant?”

  I cross my arms, having to lean back slightly to look up at her. “Before I begin, is there anything you need to report, or deem important enough to tell me?” She shakes her head.

  “Alright, good. So, here’s the situation:

  “Churkin has been called to meet with a General to discuss a strategy, or so he says, and the 161st has been pulled away to be used elsewhere,” Emphasis on ‘used’. “That means it’s just us for the time being, until Churkin gets back, or we get help.

  “Now, the good news is that he estimates the Nazi’s are gonna be delayed for a month, but in my experience, take anything the brass says and cut it in half-”

  “Brass?” Ivana asks, tilting her head while her small ears wiggle. Weird.

  “Brass, the officers up top. Our bosses.” I wave off the nickname. “Anyways, we have around two weeks to dig in and prepare for the enemy. That brings me to my first point: do we have any mines or supplies left over from the village we last fought at?”

  Ivana, thank whatever Furry Jesus above, nods. “We have a couple of crates of mines, grenades, and some more demolition charges.” She emphasizes this by reaching into a side bag and pulling out a small wooden brick with a metal rod sticking out of the short end. “Plenty of these wooden box mines.”

  I’m about to back away and tell her to carefully put that death trap in her paw when, surprisingly, more text starts to appear.

  “PMD-6M, Land mine, Soviet Union.”

  “The PMD-6 series landmine is a Soviet blast-type anti-personnel mine that consists of a wooden box with a hinged lid with a slot cut into it. The slot presses down against a retaining pin, which holds back the striker. When sufficient pressure is applied to the lid of the box, the retaining pin moves, allowing the striker to hit the detonator. The mines typically have an operating pressure of 1 to 10 kg.”

  Due to its minimal use of metal, it is virtually undetectable by 1940s metal detectors. As with other wooden box mines, the mine has a relatively short lifetime since the box is vulnerable to rotting and splitting, disabling the mine. In dry climates, however, PMD-6s were found in operational condition up to ten years after being laid.”

  “The mines are sometimes used with mortar bombs in place of the normal explosive blocks.”

  “We also have some of the larger TM’s we used back in the village to destroy those halftracks.” She sets the wooden landmine back in her bag and pulls out a plate-sized rectangular box with a carry handle, showing it off to me in the air.

  “TM-35 Land mine, Soviet Union.”

  “The TM-35 was a rectangular, metal-cased Soviet anti-tank mine used during the Second World War. The mine has a metal case, which is rectangular with a carrying handle on one side and a large raised pressure plate in the centre. Sufficient pressure on the central pressure plate presses down on one end of an internal see-saw-like lever, which removes the retaining pin from an MUV fuze, releasing the striker, triggering the mine. Its main charge of 200 grams of TNT was powerful enough to destroy lighter vehicles, and enough to disable heavier ones.”

  “This specific type of mine is indiscriminate, detonating regardless of the type of enemy unit that passes over it. Therefore, both enemy infantry and vehicles will trigger the Mine.”

  “Ivana, please, put the explosives back.” I plead. She does so without a care in the world, just sliding the bomb back in her bag with THE OTHER BOMBS. Christ, I hope this really is a game without friendly fire. Then again, I shot that commissar before getting shot that other time…

  “Ok…so, here’s the plan.” I grab the top log making up the wall of the trench and climb back out next to Ivana, who starts to get up with me, her nubby little tail making a line in the dirt as she slides.

  I point my hand westward. “We’re gonna finish what the 161st started and begin preparations. Assuming we have any barbed wire left from them, we’ll lay out flat, low-lying barriers all along the foliage to slow down infantry. The better we can hide them, the less likely they’ll use any armor to run them through or use explosives to clear them.

  “Next, we’ll see if we can’t chop down some more trees and make some chevaux de frise to make up for the lack of Anti-tank barriers we have. They won’t stop heavy armor, but it’s good to have more barriers against infantry, and lighter vehicles won’t be able to pass.”

  I point at the metal beams stuck in the roads. “Those’ll stop tanks on the road, but nothing is preventing them from just driving around. So, instead of adding more obstacles, we’ll concentrate some mines around the sides and flanks of the roads. That way, if any enemy vehicle tries to go around, they’ll be disabled and caught out in the open.”

  I turn around and face eastward. “But, I’m willing to wager that the Krauts will either push us out with more armor than we can handle, or bomb us out with artillery or air support. In that case, we’ll need to pull back. Luckily, there’s only one bridge we’ll need to hold, so it’ll be easier to rig with explosives and defend.”

  “And the ice?”

  Ice? “What ice?”

  Ivana walks across the ridge, and I follow. Overlooking the town, she sweeps her paw across the riverbanks. “It’s almost October, and the snow’s almost here. The river will freeze, thick enough for even tanks to cross.”

  Fuck me sideways. God damn Russians and their winters. “Well…that just means we can rig the bridge with mines and explosives and have the retreat be on the ice. The Germans will want to take the bridge, seeing it bare, and we can detonate it as they cross, which will also break the ice up.”

  I look to Ivana as she imagines my plan in her head. After a complentative look, she nods and looks down at me. When did I get this close to her? “It’s a good plan, Comrade Lieutenant. Which is first?”

  I look up at the sky. The sun is just now reaching its peak, with some dark clouds moving in.

  “If we start now, we might be able to lay out the posts for the wire now, we might be able to get it all set up before dark…”

  ===

  I stand back up, placing a hand over my side. The hexagonal frames I’ve been hammering in are almost a meter long in length, but only a foot sticks up out of the ground. I slide the handle of my hammer between my sweated-through uniform and take a moment to look around.

  The conscript squad, including Sofiya, who thankfully finally left her radio back up on top of the ridge, is all doing the same, taking a wooden post around the size of a broom handle and hammering it down in hexagonal patterns, starting from the base of the ridge and working our way up and along the roads.

  Ivana’s engineers and she, meanwhile, follow us up, stringing strands of razor, not barbed, wire in the frames. Every couple of strings, they’ll reach into a bag and pull out a wooden box mine, or sometimes they’ll pull out a grenade and strap it to the base of one of the posts and wire the pin to the razor wire.

  We’re about halfway up now, and we’ve been working for at least five good hours, maybe more. The sun is completely hidden by clouds now, and the wind is picking up, with some deep chill.

  Being a Floridian, I utterly refuse to work in the dark AND in the cold. I stand up straight and cup my hands. “EVERYONE! We’ll call it there for today! We’ll finish the rest of the way later, after some snow settles!”

  No one says anything, but the perked ears and softly wagging tails let me know their feelings. Even some of the Engineer’s tails twitch and give a wave, the bushy and thick appendages-hey. Wait a second.

  Why is Ivana’s tail so stubby? It’s barely the size of my balled fist in comparison to her friends.

  Suddenly realizing I’m staring at Ivana’s ass, I force my legs to do an about face once more and carry my up the hill. Good thing I stopped now for myself, otherwise my book would’ve been soaked through by my sweat.

  With my back turned, I pull the leather-bound manual out and march up the ridge with my women behind me. It’s been rubbing against me all day, and luckily, I think I have enough space in my ‘medic’ bag for it.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I open the flap of my satchel and drop the primer in, watching it nestle against the metal scissors and torn packaging of the German bandages. God, what I would kill for some fucking supplies…

  My bitching is cut short by my small unit all congregating at the center flagpole, many of them breathing heavily, and a few panting. Not the engineers, of course. All four wolverines haven’t even broken a sweat, not that I would know, given their fur, but their lack of panting is evidence enough.

  “Ok, good work, everyone. For the first day, we got a pretty damn good chunk done. Ivana, anything to report?”

  She shakes her head, dusting her paws off one another. “Net, Comrade Lieutenant.”

  I nod. Normally, what I SHOULD do is schedule a firewatch and make up a rotation schedule, but given this world’s affinity for not following the rules of nature and physics, I think we’ll be safe tonight. “Alrighty then, let’s head back and get some chow.”

  There are many sighs and droopy ears, but not from despair, as the conscripts all heft their tools and don their helmets again, making an erratic path straight towards the village. Ivana’s engineers follow behind, casually walking as if they didn’t just spend the last few hours handling questionable explosives and razor-sharp wires.

  Ivana, however, hangs back, looking at me and waiting.

  I start walking, a good distance behind the pack, and she joins me. “Something on your mind?” She asks.

  I look up at her. “Pardon?”

  She shrugs. “Humans have very expressive faces. Their tiny, very hard to decipher, but I’ve been around enough men to know what they’re feeling.”

  I snort, kicking a twig on the road. “Come on, you’re not that old.”

  “I’m 4o years old.”

  DAAAAAAMNNNNN! It takes every bit of military discipline I have drilled into my DNA and mind to not gawk at that number. I was gonna say, like, fucking, thirty at the oldest. “So, you were born-”

  “Before the revolution? Correct.” She takes off her cap and scratches just behind her right ear. “My father was one of the first mechanics in Leningrad, and my mother was a cavalry woman. They got married in 1898, and after a few tough years, had me on October 3rd, 1901.”

  Jesus Christ. “You’re not the first man to have that reaction either.” Oh God damn it. I look up at her, a palm on the back of my neck. “I’m sorry, but-”

  “Lieutenant Tidman, please. You’re quite alright. It’s not hard to figure out you’re from a chelovecheskaya derevnya.”

  “A what?” I ask. Damn, keeping cover, the hell am I supposed to figure out if they speak Russian half the time? Ivana, thankfully, doesn’t find it odd. “Human village. Out in the Urals and far East, there are plenty of villages full of humans only. If I had to wager a guess, you probably lived with your parents until they saved enough to send you off to a civilized place, and then you found yourself in the Army college.

  “Unless you ran away. Wouldn’t be too strange, given how isolated and boring those villages tend to be.” She says as we leave the bottom of the ridge, walking towards the road. “I bet you’ve also read that primer crap they give all the officers?”

  “How-?”

  “Please, they’re all made of fake leather that smells like kakat, and the Colonel is very easy to hear.” I wring my hands together. “So, you’ve read it?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I’ve overheard drunk officers or careless commissars talk about it. It makes us sound like animals with clothes, which, I suppose, isn’t too far off with a few of the more unsavory elements of our glorious union, but unlike the educated humans in charge think, we’re not all rapists and beasts that need their urges satisfied just to function.”

  “…huh.” Is all I can say. I mean, I did kinda figure the book wasn’t 100% true.

  We cross over the bridge, with Ivana pulling slightly ahead of me, reminding me of a question.

  “Hey, whatever happened to your tail?”

  “Combat injury.” She answers like a reflex while the nub on her rear flexes what little there is to flex.

  “Well, how?” I keep on. She doesn’t slow, but she does send a sideways glance over her shoulder. “Why do you keep staring back there?” She retorts.

  “Cause you’re ass is huge and I’m curious,” I reply.

  “…”

  …

  Ah. Well. I bet the guys in my old unit would’ve appreciated that response.

  However, I am now between a giant killing machine with claws, a rifle in one of her paws, and any potential help. Ivana’s stopped mid-bridge, stone silent and still like an oak tree.

  “…”

  I bet I could probably swim; the current isn’t too strong down there.

  “…I lost my tail while fighting.” Is all I hear her say. She doesn’t look back, but just continues her walk forward.

  I let her get a few meters ahead before I start following. Luckily for my health and safety, she arrives at the camp first and heads off to, I assume, her tent, thank the lord. Fuck, I’m gonna have to apologize to her later. For the ass comment and the tail.

  Fortunately, one of the things they taught me in the military was the ability to completely move on and focus on something else, like that smell. Anyone who’s spent any amount of time in the field knows that smell of barely edible food, condensed with calories.

  “Hey! Commander!”

  I walk the rest of the way into the camp by myself and see the engineers, Sofiya, medics, and the conscripts, all huddled around a fire, including a certain wolf with a fresh uniform on. She smiles and waves at me with her hand, her tail waving side to side regardless. “Anastasia? The hell are you doing out of bed?”

  The wolfess gently rests a hand on her side, waving her other. “It’s nothing. The medics changed my bandages, and since the bullet went through, I don’t feel much pain at all!”

  “Be that as it may,” I march on over to her. “You still have a wound, and for all we know, you could rupture an artery with all that movement.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, lifting her hand off her side. I flick my hand out and lightly flick her side, causing her to gasp and nearly fall off the log she’s sitting on. “Ow!”

  “See?” I cross my own arms. “Until that stops being painful, you aren’t fit enough for duty. Understood?”

  Anastasia huffs, crossing her arms gently and looking over her shoulder. Is this grown-ass woman pouting? At me?

  “Food’s ready!” A surprisingly gruff voice yells out over the camp. I turn around and see the rabbit cook stirring a big’ole pot of what smells and sounds like soup. Everyone freezes what they were doing and ‘calmly’ rushes the girl, who holds up her large ladle like a warhammer. “Back the hell up! I swear, I’ll knock you all on your ass if you knock this pot over!”

  The crowd does as she asks, forming a shoddy line up to her. All the conscripts and engineers grab metal tins on their backs and unclasp their tops, revealing the containers to be tiny mess kits of varying size, with the engineers having kits the size of small pots and the weird weasel conscript having one the size of a large coffee mug.

  I pat myself down and find something cold and metallic on my lower back, which reveals itself to be one such kit, as well as a longer metal canister. I really need to sit down and see what I have on me at some point.

  I joined the line at the rear with Anastasia in front of me. Ivana is nowhere in sight, and Sofiya is probably somewhere near the front. The line moves decently fast, with Anastasia holding out her kit for the cook to dump in a thin, light tan soup. The wolf girl’s tail starts to wag once more as she forgoes her spoon and starts to lap at the liquid, walking off to join her friends despite my order.

  “I will return in a few weeks. I expect to find substantial progress in the defences, and the discipline of the troops, as well as their superior.”

  Damn it…

  “Lieutenant?” The rabbit girl’s rough smoker-esque voice brings me back. I hold out my tin for her, which she fills with the same soup. But, before I can leave to eat this ‘meal’, she stops me with a raised paw and pulls a small booklet out of her pocket. “One second… omnivores…medium…human. Bah bah bah…Lower officer…”

  “Ah! Here, one second.” She sets her ladle down and reaches into a small wooden box next to her boots and pulls out two small paper packs with faded letters on the sides. She hands it over to me, as well as a metal mug with a thick-looking brown liquid with…something floating around inside. “Is this coffee?”

  “Tea.” She answers, wiping her paws off on her apron. “No sugar.”

  Unsweetened tea…My grandma would be up in arms.

  I take the tea and soup and sit my ass down on the stump from earlier, spreading my legs enough to set my cup and kit down. Thankfully, the kit came with a spoon, so no drinking or lapping for me!

  Welcome to the Wanted Man food review channel. On today’s episode, we have a brothy soup with some particles and chunks floating inside cause it’s thin enough to see the bottom of my kit, and a tea so strong and unsweetened I can smell it from up here.

  First, the aroma.

  I bring the spoon up to my mouth and give it a sniff. The smell is decently pleasant, and reminds me of chicken soup, but nothing else. Maybe the dry vegetable chunks in ramen and stuff? Perchance. The tea, meanwhile, is strong, with that Grey Earl or however the fuck you spell it scent, but way stronger.

  Next, the taste.

  I dip my spoon back in and get some vegetable chunks with a healthy amount of broth and dump them in my mouth. The taste is…well. It’s chicken broth, alright. I guess that means a lack of chicken anthros, unless…nah. Not worth thinking about right now. I don’t need that moral dilemma every time I eat. The vegetables are rather tasteless, no doubt because of the way they are prepared. I suppose being such an educated officer, I’m privy to basic seasoning but no sugar.

  I tear open the two packets I was given and dump both into the can, stirring the powders into the broth. After a few stirs, I give it another taste and find it very acceptable given the circumstances. It’s about as good as microwave noodles from the gas station, but healthier. Maybe.

  Setting the spoon down in the kit, I grab the tea and hold it up to my mouth. I give it a small sip and—holy fuck, that is some strong ass tea!

  It’s not so strong as to make me spit it out, but god damn do I wish I had some sugar for this. I give another smaller sip to try and acclimate myself to the taste, and move back to the soup.

  All in all, it’s not a bad meal. I half expected soggy bread and watery oatmeal, but some low-grade chicken soup with vegetables and tea is a very nice surprise.

  I sip the rest of my soup from the kit and dump the remnants out onto the ground. The tea is fine, I suppose, but much too strong for me to enjoy as is. In the future, if I ever do get it again, I’ll either have to find some sugar or have the cook make it lighter. Is that abusing my station? Well, all the officers in the USAF get reclining chairs, so I think I can afford some lighter tea!

  “Comrade Lieutenant.” I’m about to just dump my cup when I hear an oh so familiar deep voice from behind me.

  I crane my head up and up and up until I’m staring at the sky and an upside-down Ivana. “Ivana.” I greet her.

  “I would like to apologize for how I acted earlier. It was unbecoming of a person of my rank to disrespect an officer of a higher station than me,” She rattles off a clearly rehearsed and planned out apology. God damn it, I hate these.

  I stand up and turn around. “Stop, stop, please, for the love of God, stop,” I say. Ivana’s muzzle shuts, and her eyes harden like she’s expecting to be chewed out.

  “Look, I’m sorry for making that comment and asking about your tail, you’re sorry for acting the way you did, yada yada, right?”

  Her eyes immediately shift wide, and she relaxes her shoulders, only a bit. “W…What?”

  I rub the bridge of my nose. “Ivana, I’m not in the business of holding shit, ok? I apologized, and you’re apologizing. I don’t know if you mean it, or if you’re trying to just not get in trouble, but it doesn’t matter to me, alright?”

  Her mouth opens. Then it closes. Finally, she lets out a sigh. “Ok.”

  “Good.” I nearly sip my tea before realizing it’s…well, the tea. “Aw, fuck. Uh, hey,” I hold the cup out to her. “You want this?”

  Ivana’s mouth opens again, but hangs there. I wiggle the cup. “It’s stronger than donkey piss and isn’t sweet at all,” I warn her.

  Her left hand reaches out slowly, her eyes flicking between mine and the cup, as if I’m gonna splash her with it or suddenly yank it away. After giving her a raised brow, she finally moves her paw to grab the cup.

  Have I mentioned how big she is? Her hand/paw, whatever, could probably palm my skull like a basketball. Her ‘fingers’ reach out and gently grab the bottom of the cup, the tips of her claws poking the bottom of my hand gently.

  She pulls the cup back toward her and cradles the tiny container like a five-leaf clover.

  “Thank you.” She says quickly and rather hushed, turning and walking away with a shocking amount of speed. God damn, that’s fucking scary.

  “You didn’t grab any food!” I call after her, but apart from a flicking ear, I have no clue if she pays me any mind.

  Well.

  That was cool. I guess. No long, drawn-out, emotional apologies. And, I didn’t waste the tea. Hell yeah.

  With the sky getting darker and darker, I wash out my utensils in the river, getting a fresh cup of water to wash away the tea taste and find my tent. Unfortunately, my rank only goes as far as granting me a tent that’s half as tall as Ivana, which means I have to crouch inside. But I do have a cot and a folding table. Yippee.

  I give one last look at the camp and see everyone retiring to their smaller, crawl-in tents, with the medics grabbing their food and retreating to their aid tent.

  “Goodnight, everyone,” I say quietly to myself. I close the flaps to my tent and sit on the surprisingly sturdy cot. Electing to undress my outer layers, cause fuck Churkin, and Ivana did say the book was chock full of shit, I deposit my holster, belt, trousers, and coat, leaving me in a tank top and long johns that cut off before the knee.

  I lay back on the cot and pull the cotton blanket over me, finding sleep easily to the sound of a dying fire…

  ===

  I wake up to the sound of dozens of heavy footfalls, yelling, engines, and a bucket of ice water being dumped on me.

  Not literally, though.

  I bolt up, wrapping my blanket around me, and start throwing on my uniform. However, my uniform has been supplemented by a thick, brown coat, and my hat is now one of those fur Russian ushankas.

  Frankly, I’m more concerned about the sudden temperature drop and sounds outside, so I throw everything on, making sure I have my gun, and open my tent flap.

  Only to be greeted by dozens of conscripts and Ivana’s squad. In calf-deep snow. “What the fuck?”

  “Lieutenant Tidman!” Oh dear God. I turn toward Colonel Churkin as he marches over, map case in hand. “There is no time to dawdle! The Fascisti are on their way!”

  He holds his god damn map case up again, getting a pencil ready to start drawing. “German infantry approaches the ridge in great numbers. Although our weapon support is limited, we must hold these three positions!” He draws a box around the three flags on the ridge. “Maxim HMGs will be arriving soon, but until then, we must rely on conscripts and good cover. When an opportunity presents itself, we will push forward and secure the roads into Mstensk!” He points across the suddenly snowy landscape and up to the ridge. “Go! Get your squads up there, now!”

  God, I fucking hate this God damn game-world-bullshit, I can’t even have a proper break! Fuck it. I put my fingers into my mouth and whistle as loud as I can, drawing everyone’s attention. There are at least ten extra 6-soldier squads of conscripts, then Ivana’s engineers and my original squad of conscripts, and of course, Sofiya and the two medics.

  “ALRIGHT! EVERYONE, UP THE RIDGE! GET TO YOUR POSITIONS!” I yell as loudly as my cold body allows, marching through the crowds and picking up to a jog to get up the ridge. Other than me, Churkin, the medics, and Sofiya, who’s wearing thick leggings, everyone appears to be wearing normal clothes, but thankfully, a lot more helmets than I’m used to seeing.

  As Ivana said, the river is indeed frozen solid. But, as I cross the bridge, I spot a few bundles of rags scattered along the bank. IEDs, or hidden explosives, I imagine. Hard to tell, which is good, I suppose, if they manage to push us back.

  Sprinting up a snowy ridge with heavier clothes is not easy whatsoever, but adrenaline is a helluva drug and lets my legs kick me up as fast as I can. My troops have an easier time, not being burdened as much, and rush pass. Even Sofiya manages to keep up and almost pass me.

  Reaching the top, I have to stumble off the main road as a soviet truck goes flying past, the truck bed riddled with holes of a ballistic nature.

  Everyone’s already jumped into their trenches and dugouts, with a few setting molotov cocktails on cut-out shelves. When the hell did we get those?

  “Commander!” Ivana shouts from the edge of the Western side of the ridge. I run up to her, lowering myself down to a crouch and joining her. “There.” She points down the left road. I finally utilized my binoculars, only noticing their case when I was taking off my clothes ‘last night’, even though I’m pretty sure some video game shit happened.

  Raising the binos, I peer down the road and spot a loose column of enemy forces approaching. Squads of Grenadiers, a few trucks, and armor that stretches beyond my vision, including squat, low tanks with a gun emplaced in the hull.

  Like last time, there are more of them than us, and they have more equipment, not to mention being superior.

  “Fuck me.” I curse, moving my vision down and looking at the ridge’s side.

  Instead of the half-prepared minefield and razor wire, I see a modern-day Verdun. A vast sea of wire, both high and low, sticks out over the snow, with more probably being buried underneath. Not to mention, if I focus, I can make out grenades hung from posts and branches, their rings tied with string to the wires.

  “Ivana,” I ask. “Give me a rundown of what we have prepared.”

  “We have mines leading all the way up until there,” She points a sharp-looking claw (do they sharpen their claws?) toward a pair of debarked trees, one on the far left, and one on the far right. “There are no mines before the trees, but beyond…” She leaves the image to my imagination.

  “…Good shit.” I praise. “Anything else?”

  “Well, we just rewired the bridge and river, so the explosives should go off just fine.” She remarks. “And we did dig a few anti-tank ditches. Even though we covered them, however, I’m sure they’re all packed with too much snow to be of use.”

  “Well, nothing’s perfect.” I sigh, placing the binoculars into my case. I move away from the ridge with Ivana, and we both return to the left flank’s flag. We jump into the trench line, pushing conscripts aside, including- “Anastasia? The hell are you doing here?”

  She huffs and takes one of her paws off her rifle, using it to pull up her shirt and reveal her tummy, with no bandage or wound. “What the ffff…”

  “We heal fast,” Ivana says, knowing my lack of understanding. Thank God for that, I guess.

  I unholster my revolver and brace my hand on a snow-packed sandbag, aiming down the road.

  And I wait.

  The sound of engines fills the air in the distance, along with the boom of far-off artillery.

  I wait.

  A conscript off to my left affixes their bayonet.

  I wait.

  Someone racks their bolt and chambers a bullet off to my right.

  I wai-BANG

  My eye twitches at the sound of an explosion near, off to our front, along with yelling.

  Here comes the fun.

  ===

  “Report.” I say, trying to see ahead of the convoy with my binoculars.

  “Ma’am!” The pioneer salutes. “The Grendiers ran into heavy fortifications and mines up ahead. One of the halftracks has been knocked out as well.”

  “So use the mine detectors.” How about that? Ivan still has some toys left over.

  “We can’t. They’re using wooden land mines.” The man reports.

  “Very well,” I say. “Send the Osttruppen. Have them clear a path, with knives, or with blood.

  “But, we are not stopping.”