The Pig Farmer

(Source)

Schütze Manfred Sauer was quite sure that he had never in his life been this cold. He was standing in a foot of snow near a small copse of trees in the siege lines around Leningrad. With him was another man, Oberschütze Wilhelm Schulz, from Brunn, a village in Saxony near the border with Thuringia.

Schulz had been with the division since the invasion in June of '41, Sauer thought him a bad soldier. He shirked his responsibilities and looked for any opportunity to stay off the lines. Sauer suspected that the only reason he was at this guard post was to keep on eye on Schulz.

"Manfred, I need to urinate, I'll be right back." Schulz said as he turned to head back into the trees where the dugouts and trenches were.

Sauer shook his head, "Again, Wilhelm? I think you wish to get out of the snow. Be quick, if the Unteroffizier comes I won't make excuses for you."

"Danke, Manfred, you're a pal."

As soon as the man had vanished, Sauer began to pace back and forth, trying desperately to stay warm. At the same time he looked out at no-man's-land. Today was a pretty day, the newly fallen snow covered the corpses and muted the devastation. If it wasn't so damned cold, he would almost be enjoying this.

"Tovarisch Kapitán, come look, one of the fascists has left, there is only one man now."

Kapitán Yuriy Germanovich Popov, carefully crawled forward, his man was hidden in the wreckage of a burned out Soviet tank. They were shielded from the view of the Germans not fifty meters away.

They had come out of the lines surrounding the city, he led a patrol of three men, himself and two privates, Valerian Makarovich Chesnokov and Aleksandr Rodionovich Sharshin. Their unit was slowly starving to death, civilians were already dying from the lack of food, but the Party insisted that the defenders of the city receive rations. They just didn't provide any, so Popov decided they would provide for themselves. The Germans had food, they would steal some.

Popov was from Leningrad, his parents had gone east when the Germans had approached the city. His father was a Party official, so he had travel papers allowing him to do so. Popov wanted to go with them, but his father had said, "Yura, what would it look like if you were to leave your post?"

"But Papa, you're leaving yours!" he had protested.

"A soldier must fight, and if necessary die for the Rodina. A Party member must survive, to ensure the future of the State." Popov was reminded, once again, that his father symbolized everything he hated about the Soviet system.

But he was resolved to do his duty, now that there was no hope of escape. Any hope of surviving was also growing more unlikely. The Germans had an iron ring around the city.

When he got to where Chesnokov was positioned, he whispered, "What do you see, Lera?"

"A single German, Tovarisch Kapitán, he looks very cold." Chesnokov grinned as said that. Chesnokov grew up near Murmansk, he didn't consider this a "proper" winter. The temperature had been above -10 the other day. Where he grew up, that was considered a warm day!

Popov looked through his field glasses, sure enough a single man, pacing back and forth, trying to stay warm. "Do you think you can get close enough to kill him, Sasha?" he asked as he looked over at Sharshin.

"Child's play, Tovarisch Kapitán. The man is more concerned with staying warm than he is watching his surroundings."

"Go then, take him."

Sauer was furious, Schulz had been gone for 30 minutes, probably settled in by the wood stove enjoying himself. He was starting to have trouble keeping his focus on the job at hand, sentry duty could be so wearying.

As he turned he glimpsed something from the corner of his eye. What the ...

The Russian was wearing a white snowsuit, which explains how he managed to get so close without Sauer noticing. But he had given himself away at the last minute with a softly whispered curse as he leapt at Sauer.

Sauer let himself fall back into the fighting position behind him, purposely dropping his rifle as he reached for his bayonet in its scabbard. It surprised the Russian who fell in next to Sauer.

Before the Russian could do a thing, Sauer's bayonet was buried in his chest. Sauer held his hand over the Russian's mouth as he put his full weight behind the blade. The Russian struggled, briefly, then his eyes dilated as he tried to draw one last breath. The man was dead.

Sauer knew that there had to be more, he snatched his rifle up and checked it. Safety on, barrel clear. Slowly he looked around, nothing. All he saw was the gently falling snow. Maybe the man had been alone, driven by desperation into the German lines, no doubt looking for food.

No, there, he saw movement, or thought he did.

Now he saw it, there was a destroyed Russian tank about fifty meters away. He'd never really noticed it before, but it was obvious now. Perhaps the wind had shifted the snow, making its outline clearer now, he didn't know. What's more, he didn't care.

For there, underneath the wreck was another human being. Slowly moving his head as if trying to see better. Sauer drew his rifle into firing position, he took the safety off and lined up the sights on what he thought was a man.

"I don't like this, Lera. Sasha should have signaled by now."

"Ah, Tovarisch Kapitán, I'm betting Sasha is helping himself to something to eat from the dead fascist's bread bag. He's a greedy bastard sometimes."

Popov was under the tank now, watching the position while Chesnokov warmed himself as best he could. Even someone from the far north could get too cold if they kept still for too long.

Chesnokov heard the captain grunt, just a moment before he heard the "crack" of a rifle.

"Tovarisch Kapitán?" Chesnokov said as he pulled on the captain's leg. Nothing.

He pulled harder, which is when he realized that the captain had been shot. He crossed himself, he knew at that point that Sasha wasn't coming back.

He heard a footstep in the snow, he looked up, "Svyataya Mariya, Bogoroditsa¹..." were his last words.

Schulz returned after an hour. There in the fighting position was Sauer and a very dead Russian. Next to the dead Russian were a second Russian rifle and an officer's pistol. Plus two bloody Russian fur caps. Sauer was glowering at Schulz.

"Go get the Unteroffizier." was all Sauer said.

Not long after, Sauer and Schulz were standing in front of their company commander.

"So Schulz, what happened out there?" the Hauptmann said, ignoring Sauer, the junior man.

"Well, Sir, I, well, Sauer tells the story better than I can." Schulz stuttered as he looked at Sauer.

"Sauer?"

"It all happened very quickly, Herr Hauptmann, the Russian was on us, next thing I knew, Schulz and I had killed two more, watching from a wrecked Panzer near our lines." Sauer had no desire to draw attention to himself, nor did he wish to get Schulz in trouble. He claimed to have an uncle in the Gestapo.

"That's it? Well, good work, boys. Dismissed."

After they left the headquarters, Schulz grabbed Sauer by his lapels. "What was that all about? I wasn't there, you lied to the company commander."

"Did I? Like I said, it all happened so fast. Besides what good would it do to get you in trouble? We're comrades, you've been out here longer than me, I might need you to watch my back someday. You were cold, you went to warm up. I covered for both of us, no big deal."

Schulz released Sauer's lapels, then brushed them off, as if to apologize.

"Perhaps I was hasty, I owe you now, Manfred."

"No, you don't. Just do your job. I want to survive this horror, we're in this together, ja?" Sauer said, he knew that Schulz would let it go, less work for him than to protest. The man was a very lazy soldier.

"Of course, we're in this together." Schulz said, unconvincingly. From what he had seen this day, he did not want Sauer as an enemy.

¹ Holy Mary, Mother of God