Dawn, 22 June 1941

Soldiers of the Red Army, 1941
RIA Novosti

Krasnoarmeyets Vitaliy Afanasievich Kolobkov's world had gotten muffled during the bombardment. He was hoarse from screaming, trying desperately to preserve his hearing by doing so. As a result, his mouth tasted like dirt, for his head was buried in the floor of the trench with his hands holding his helmet down as tight as he could.

The ground seemed to be trying to throw him into the sky, with each explosion the earth heaved and rippled as if alive. Kolobkov had no idea of the fate of the men around him, all he knew was that he was still alive, but seemed fated to be swatted out of existence at any minute.

He nearly wet himself when a hand grabbed him by the back of his gymnastyorka¹, shaking him roughly. He could vaguely hear a voice ...

"Up and at it Kolobkov, the Fascists are coming for tea!"

Kolobkov raised his head, his ears were ringing but he could feel his hearing coming back.

"Damn it, Vitaliy Afanasievich, get on the Degtyaryov²! Suvorkin is dead, we need that gun in action."

Efréĭtor Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov practically dragged his old comrade to where Suvorkin lay atop his gun. Kazankov pulled Suvorkin's corpse aside, there didn't appear to be a mark on him but he was quite dead.

"Get on it, I'll get you an assistant if I can find someone alive!"

Then Kazankov disappeared down the trench.

Shaking his head, Kolobkov eventually got his bearings. He checked the gun, pulled the magazine off, checked the feed, it looked good. He put the magazine back in, then worked the action. He and the gun were as ready as they would ever be.

Suddenly realizing that a single drum magazine wouldn't last long, he looked around. There! A wooden box holding the spare ammunition for the gun. He pulled it close.

Gefreiter Ernst Paulus was moving forward, running hunched over as fast as he could. He looked rather comical to the two Poles who made up the rest of his machine gun team.

Schütze Kazimir Dutka grinned at his friend, Schütze Jan Kołodziej and briefly mimicked running like an ape. The smile froze on his face as they heard Paulus bellow, "DOWN!"

Both men had been under fire when they had been in the Polish Army, fighting the men wearing the uniform they now wore. The sound of enemy bullets overhead was nothing new to them.

It still terrified them though.

Paulus had the gun, it was his team and he was the gunner. The two Poles carried the ammunition which the MG 34 went through like a glutton at a buffet, as Dutka put it.

Paulus had the gun set-up quickly and was already returning fire. Dutka and Kołodziej quickly took up their positions to feed the gun as needed.

Kołodziej looked across the uneven ground towards the Soviet lines, it was partly wooded, with a few open fields interspersed. He had a rough idea of where he was but very little conception of what their exact mission was. He supposed it was to support the attack on Brest, the big Russian fortress to the south.

"Ah! Got you Ivan! Didn't duck fast enough did you?"

Paulus had a tendency to chatter when firing the gun, talking to the enemy as if they could hear him. He was firing in short bursts and his efforts were paying off.

Kołodziej looked over to his left, the infantry in his battalion were advancing in bounds. Here and there was a rumpled bundle of clothing and equipment which Kołodziej knew to be a man, struck down by the Russian fire, which was beginning to slacken.

"Come on my valiant Poles! We need to move up!" Paulus was up and running with the two Poles fast on his heels, they knew better than to lag behind.

Well, most of the men who survived the Winter War are still here, Kazankov thought to himself as he looked down at the body of Krasnoarmeyets Vladimir Antonovich Dudin.

Dudin had been hit multiple times as he had run down into the trench from the command post. He had lived long enough to pass along his message ...

"Fall back Ustin Rodionovich, the Majór ... commands it." His voice had trailed off on the last two words, then he had sighed and his eyes glazed over.

Shaking his head, Kazankov bellowed out, "Back to the next line boys! Stay low and move as if the devil himself was at your backside!"

Jan looked around the Soviet entrenchment, lots of bits of paper, scattered pieces of discarded equipment, and a number of dead bodies. The Russians had left in a hurry.

The two Poles were waiting for Paulus to return, he had moved past the trench to look for a place to set up the gun. He came scrambling back within minutes.

"Let's go boys, Ivan seems determined to run all the way to Moscow. So we need to give chase. Up and at 'em!"

Upon arrival at the second line of entrenchments, Kazankov and his men were ordered to continue to fall back. Apparently German armor had gotten through over on their left flank and were driving hard towards the division's rear areas.

Majór Ivan Filippovich Telitsyn had spotted Kazankov and his men, he came over to them.

"Lose anyone, Ustin Rodionovich?"

"Yes, Comrade Majór, Dudin was hit bringing us the word to fall back. He died shortly thereafter."

Telitsyn shook his head, "We've lost a lot of the boys today. Now we need to run, try to set up further east. This war has started badly, but we need to keep fighting, somehow."

"My boys will fight, you know that Comrade."

Telitsyn nodded, then put his hand on Kazankov's shoulder, "We fight for the Motherland."

"Yes Sir, for the Rodina³."

As darkness fell, the Russians continued to fall back. In the surrounding darkness the rattle of distant machine gun fire and the roar of artillery fire continued.

The first day had gone very badly indeed.

¹ Russian military smock, the men in the opening photo are wearing them.

² The DP-27, a Soviet light machine gun.

³ Literally, the homeland.