Preparations

Soldiers tackle part of an obstacle course at Camp Edwards, Massachusetts, 1942.
(Source)

"Damn it, Hernandez! You never leave your buddies behind! Go back and get him!"

Private Stephen Hernandez hadn't noticed one of his squad mates falter at the last obstacle, he had been so focused on leading from the front. Turning he saw Jackson sprawled on the ground.

"Lou, Smitty, with me!" Hernandez shouted at the two men nearest him.

Running back, all the while the drill instructor was bellowing at them, the three men got Jackson up and half-carried, half-dragged him to the obstacle.

"Guys, I can't do this, I'm too damned tired." Jackson kept saying.

Stopping, Hernandez got right in Jackson's face, "If you quit on us in combat, we're all gonna die. Come on Bill, you can do this!"

Eventually the entire platoon got through the obstacle course, but they had done so poorly that they would be doing it again, tomorrow.

"Damn it people, it's a simple f**king course, no one is f**king shooting at you! We'll keep f**king doing this until you get it right or you all collapse and die."

Slamming the barracks door as he departed, the men could still hear their drill instructor cursing as he stormed off.

"Jesus, Steve, the man is insane." Pvt. Bill Jackson moaned.

"Bill, I told you, my name is Stephen, not Steve, and no, he's not insane, we're just sloppy, and weak. We can do this."

Pvt. Stephen Hernandez was just a kid, a volunteer surrounded by draftees as they went through boot camp. He was driven to succeed and he wanted those around him to succeed.

Little did Hernandez realize, he was slowly establishing himself as a leader in his recruit platoon. The drill instructors saw it, many of the other recruits saw it. The instructors leaned on Hernandez hard, they saw a man who might lead other men in combat.

He seemed a lot older than 17, but he was, fresh out of high school and determined to serve the country which had given his family such opportunities.

(Source)

As the dawn broke, Mládshiy serzhánt Ustin Rodionovich Kazankov looked down into the trench and asked, "How bad is it, Vitaliy Afanasievich?"

Kazankov was maintaining a watch over the lip of the trench while occasionally glancing down at Efréĭtor Vitaliy Afanasievich Kolobkov, Majór Telitsyn's orderly, who had been wounded a couple of weeks before. Kolobkov had been moaning softly, holding his left arm and rocking back and forth.

Kolobkov looked up, startled, "It's not too bad, it oozes a bit, but I think I'll be okay."

In truth Kolobkov was in danger of his wound becoming septic. On the lines surrounding and protecting the city of Leningrad, the Russians were short of everything, food, ammunition, and medicine.

The regimental surgeon had patched Kolobkov up as best he could, but without proper medicine he could do nothing to help Kolobkov fight off infection.

Shortly after, Efréĭtor Nazar Danylovych Petrenko and Krasnoarmeyets Kyrylo Ihorovych Antonyuk came down the trench from the direction of a small salient into the German lines. Kazankov had sent them out to try and get into the German rear and steal some medical supplies. The two Ukrainians were very talented scrounges.

Kazankov looked up, a question in his eyes.

Antonyuk held out a German rucksack, "There's medicine in here, I think, I don't read German but it looks like doctor-stuff."

Kolobkov looked up, "I know some German, let me look."

Petrenko watched as Kolobkov looked at the small package, "Well?"

"It's something call Sulfonamid.¹" Kolobkov turned the package over and tried to read the very small print on the back of the package.

"Ah, this might do the trick, it's an antibiotic."

Majór Telitsyn showed up just as the men were trying to figure out how the medicine was supposed to be used.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

"Comrade Major, I sent the Ukrainians into the German lines to try and find something to treat Kolobkov's wound. They found something, but we don't know how to use it."

The Major took the package, he could read and speak German fluently. "It's a powder, you put it on the wound, then bind it. Where did you find this stuff, Petrenko?"

"There's a German aid station just under that ruined water tower near the tip of the salient."

Telitsyn looked over the lip of the trench, as it was full light now he made his glance quick, there were snipers active in this sector, an artillery colonel had had his head blown off two days okay.

"Was there anything else there?" Telitsyn asked, casting a suspicious eye on the two Ukrainians.

"You mean, like this?" Antonyuk held out another German rucksack.

Telitsyn cocked an eyebrow at the man.

"Uh, it's food, Comrade Major, Fritz food. Looks like bread and some kind of sausage." Petrenko had hoped to keep this bounty for the squad, but ...

"Give it here, Comrade." Telitsyn said, sarcastically.

He rummaged through the rucksack for a few seconds, pulled out a tin of meat, then handed the rest back to Petrenko. "In case you forgot that your beloved Major also gets hungry."

Petrenko grinned sheepishly, "Of course, Comrade Major, how could we forget?"

Stuffing the tin in his greatcoat pocket, Telitsyn looked over at Kolobkov, "Are you ready to go back to the command post?"

Kolobkov was donning his quilted jacket, it was obvious that his wound had been treated and rebandaged. "Yes, Comrade Major."

"Good." Turning to Kazankov and holding out his hand, "Keep the food, but I'm going to give the medicines to regiment. Kazankov, I want a full platoon raid on the Germans tonight."

Kazankov turned to Petrenko, "Did you kill any of the Germans when you were prowling around over there?"

"Nope, in and out, we were quiet as church mice."

"Good. The Germans probably won't be expecting us. Platoon strength, Comrade Major? I only have twenty-two men."

"That's a full strength platoon these days, Ustin Rodionovich. Good luck, try and get more medical supplies if you can, food as well. This time, kill a few fascists as well, I want them terrified of us."

"By your command, Comrade Major. We'll go in before midnight?"

"That will be fine." turning to the two Ukrainians, Telitsyn said, "Nice work, boys. Thank you."

Antonyuk grinned, Petrenko looked embarrassed, he didn't like being noticed by the higher ups, that usually meant more work, especially the dangerous kind.

As Telitsyn and Kolobkov headed back towards the command post, Kazankov said, "Share the food out, then get some sleep, the Fritzes are quiet today. It won't last, so get some rest."

Another day on the Leningrad front in the winter of 1942, it was supposed to be warmer today, the temperature "climbing" to -25° C² by midafternoon.

¹ The German word for sulfonamide, an antibiotic, not as effective as penicillin, but the Germans had very little of that. Sulfonamide was issued to American troops in the form of sulfa powder.

² -13° F