The value of 7.62

The value of a life.

As we crossed the bridge, the sound of whistling bombs forewarned of the hell we approached, when they crashed into the earth and defiled it, sending water up and people down, I shivered. I rushed across the bridge in a group with the others, we were a massacre waiting to happen. I expected more from this city

They handed Andrei a rifle, and me the clip.

“What am I supposed to do with this Комиссар?”

I looked into his eyes, the eyes of my once friend, and I found no hope. He pulled me close, and whispered sharply, viciously, into my ear.

“Find a rifle. Remember: Not. One. Step. Back.”With that, he threw me into the gates of hell, and I ran like a lost soul, selfishly and depravedly hoping someone might fall so that I might have their weapon. These 7.62x54mmR rounds I held in my hand were worth more than the lives around me, and I guess the commissars that stood at our rear, pointing 9×18 Makarovs ahead were thinking the same thing.For the motherland, and for the lives already lost; but mostly for the chance at survival, I decided to push back the fascist dogs.

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