The End of Sorrow: A Novel of the Siege of Leningrad in WWII

by JV Love

  Once they finished constructing the slingshot, they filled some of the tin cans the Germans left behind with dirt until they weighed the same as the Molotov Cocktails. They test fired several in the slingshot. Their preliminary tests went better than expected, and they were able to launch projectiles nearly ninety yards. But hitting a target ninety yards away was a different story. For that, they'd have to rely on Dima's expertise.

  All the men had gathered around to observe the test firing. "You gonna be able to hit 'em, Comrade Lieutenant?" one of them asked.

  "Of course he will," Felix answered. "When we were kids, he could hit a bird in a tree from thirty yards away."

  "I'll hit 'em," Dima said confidently. "You men do exactly what I tell you and I'll hit those bastards."

  "Maybe the giant slingshot will be our next secret weapon," someone joked.

  Everyone but Felix laughed. He was thinking how ninety yards wasn't much when it came to combating tanks, whose firing range was much greater. But ninety yards was about sixty yards farther, he knew, than anyone could throw a cocktail by hand.

  Ivanovich ran across the roof to Felix and Dima. "Comrade Lieutenant," he said, "we've spotted something on the north side."

  Dima used his arm to twist his neck to the side until a loud pop could be heard, then stood up and stretched. "Tanks?" he asked.

  "No, Comrade Lieutenant, so far we've only seen one man approaching."

  "One man?" Felix repeated, unsure that he'd heard correctly.

  Ivanovich nodded his head.

  They went to the north side of the roof to have a look. Dima used the binoculars and Felix the scope on his rifle.

  "He's over there now," Ivanovich said, pointing to a cluster of small bushes.

  When Felix leveled his scope on the area, a German soldier leapt out and started toward the warehouse at a full run.

  "It's a German soldier," Felix said. He focused in on the man, preparing to shoot, but then, strangely enough, recognized him. "No, it's not a German soldier, it's . . ."

  "Fedushkin!" Dima shouted. "Shoot that bastard!"

  Felix removed his finger from the trigger. He was relieved that his earlier premonition about Fedushkin dying hadn't come true. Felix certainly wasn't going to shoot him. But why was he coming back? And where were the others?

  "I said shoot him!" Dima repeated. "He's probably joined the Germans, that traitor."

  Felix put his rifle down. Fedushkin was close enough now that he didn't need the scope. Dima put his binoculars down and took his rifle from his shoulder.

  "He might be able to tell us something," Felix said.

  Fedushkin was rapidly nearing the warehouse, and Dima took aim at him.

  Felix thought about Dima's threat to send him to the firing squad for any further insubordination, but he couldn't just stand idly by. As long as he could still breathe, he had to uphold his values. He had to do what he knew was right. He laid his hand on the barrel of Dima's rifle, forcing it down toward the roof.

  "Damn you," Dima cursed under his breath. It was too late to shoot. Fedushkin was only a few yards from the front door now. Felix started running across the roof to go down to meet him. Dima's voice trailed behind. "I warned you, Varilensky," he shouted. "God dammit, I warned you!"

  Felix found Fedushkin gulping water from a canteen one of the men gathered around had given to him.

  "Where's everyone else?" the men asked him.

  "Dead," said Fedushkin.

  Silence.

  "We'd run out of ammo," he continued, "and decided to make a run for the Soviet lines. We'd made it about halfway when the Nazis spotted us and started firing." He paused to take another drink of water. "We kept running, but then our own comrades started firing at us!"

  "They thought you were Germans?" someone asked.

  "I don't know," Fedushkin said. "We dropped our guns and held up our hands as we ran, but they still kept shooting at us! They hit Volkov in the chest and killed him. We had no choice but to turn back. We would've all been killed if we kept going. But damn, we were so close!" He shook his head and sighed.

  Felix heard footsteps coming from the other end of the warehouse and wondered if it was Dima.

  "We ran back to the same spot we'd started from - a shallow, muddy trench," Fedushkin continued. "We were bombarded with mortars and machine gun fire by the Nazis. With no weapons, we decided we had to surrender. I took my white t-shirt off and we wrapped it around a stick and waved it. When they stopped firing at us, we put our hands up and started walking. They directed us to walk to their trench, but when we got closer, they started shooting us! I was the only one to get away alive."

  "What did you do? Where did you go?" the men asked Fedushkin.

  "I ran to a building, but I didn't know what to do once I got there. Then I saw a dead Nazi and got the idea to put his uniform on and try to make my way back here."

  "Nobody stopped you?" Felix asked.

  "Once," he said. "But I got out of it by pretending I was wounded in the throat, and of course there was lots of blood on the Nazi uniform to prove it." He finished off the last of the water from the canteen, and Felix handed him his.

  "So what was the fighting like there? Who's winning?" Felix asked.

  "I couldn't tell at first," Fedushkin said. "Neither side seemed to be going anywhere. But as I made my way back here, I could see the Nazis starting to fall back."

  "They're retreating?"

  Fedushkin nodded.

  Some of the men grinned and slapped each other on the back. "Very good. Very good," Ivanovich said. "Felix, you were right," someone shouted.

  "That's the good news," Fedushkin interrupted.

  Everyone grew quiet. Felix heard the footsteps close behind him and glanced over his shoulder. He saw Dima, pistol in hand. "And the bad news?" Dima asked.

  "They're headed right for us, Comrade Lieutenant," he said. His hands started to tremble.

  "How many?"

  "I don't know," he answered, "Ten . . . a hundred . . . a thousand . . .."

  Felix wasn't sure if Dima's pistol was pointing at him or at Fedushkin.

  "How much time do we have?" Dima asked.

  "They might be here in a few minutes, or maybe another hour. Who knows?"

  All eyes were on Dima and his pistol. He opened his mouth once, but no sound came out. Then he put the pistol back in his holster. "I will deal with you later," he said. Felix wondered who he was referring to.

  "All right," Dima continued, taking a big breath and addressing all the men. "Tell everyone manning a firing point on the south side to come here to the north side. We'll need to reposition the slingshot as well. Let's get ready!"

  Only a few minutes after they moved the slingshot and readied the Molotov Cocktails, Felix spotted the Germans with his scope. There were three tanks, a car, and two motorcycles. Half a dozen troops sat on the top of each tank. After another minute, Felix, with his excellent vision, could make out the various vehicles without the help of the scope.

  "I'm surprised they don't fire on our warehouse," one of the men said.

  "They're probably hoping to check back into their hotel and get some sleep," Felix joked.

  The sun was low in the sky and cast long shadows on the approaching convoy.

  "If they want to sleep, they're coming to the right place," Ivanovich said. "We'll make sure they get permanent slumber, right Comrade Lieutenant?"

  The men laughed nervously. Felix caught Dima with a brief grin on his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  One of the tanks was driving with its hatch open. Felix could plainly see the upper half of a German soldier casually smoking a cigarette. He mentioned this to Dima, who then surveyed the tank with his binoculars.

  "I'll be damned," Dima said, and put the binoculars down. He furled his eyebrows and then put the binoculars back up to his eyes. "Damn," he said again.

  "What?" Felix asked. "What is it?"

  "Well, I'm not sure," Dima started, th
en paused again. "But I don't think they know we're here." He looked with the binoculars one last time. "The way they're approaching . . . it's like they think this whole area has already been cleared."

  "Boy, are they in for a surprise!" Ivanovich said.

  When the tanks were about two hundred yards away, Dima addressed the men on the roof. "Remember," he said, "as I told you all earlier, we have to let them come in like there's no one here. Our best hope is to fight them in close where we can use our nail bombs and cocktails. Don't do anything until I give the word."

  As the convoy neared their range of fire, the men became still and quiet. A few crossed themselves when Dima wasn't looking. The tanks began to slow, and one of the tank drivers looked through a pair of binoculars at the warehouse. Felix and the others held their breath and sunk low behind the wall around the roof.

  Dima whispered aloud, "Come on, come on, keep going, just a few more yards."

  Felix and the others had made several holes in the wall earlier so they could see, and Felix looked through one now at the convoy. The tank driver with the binoculars made a hand motion to the other vehicles, and they all came to a stop. They were about twenty yards out of reach of the slingshot, and Felix felt his heart racing. What was going on? Had they been spotted? He took a long, slow breath, using his inner voice to help him focus his mind.

  The car - gray with a black iron cross on the side - pulled ahead of the others. The driver yelled and gesticulated wildly with his hands, and it seemed to Felix that he was ordering them to hurry, to get moving. Felix saw a man laying down on the back seat of the car, and wondered if he might be a wounded officer.

  "That looks like a general's car," Ivanovich commented.

  Felix had his doubts but kept them to himself. "Yes," he said, "I think it is, and he's lying in the back seat. That explains why three tanks and two motorcycles are escorting the car."

  The news spread quickly around the rooftop. "It's a Nazi general!" they whispered to one another.

  The rest of the convoy started moving again. The first tank pulled in front of the car, the second rode on the right flank, and the third on the left. The two motorcycles sped past all of them and would reach the warehouse in a matter of seconds. As the tanks rolled forward, Dima signaled for Ivanovich to pull the winch back, and Felix placed a cocktail in the pouch of the inner tube.

  "That's it," Dima whispered, "keep coming. Keep coming."

  A shot rang out unexpectedly and Felix saw one of the motorcyclists fall to the ground. One of the men from below must have fired.

  Another shot rang out and the second motorcyclist fell to the ground. The convoy came to a stop again. "Damn it," Dima cursed as he tightened the tension on the slingshot. "All right, let's give 'em hell," he said. Felix lit the cocktail, and Dima gave the signal to launch. Ivanovich disengaged the clasp and the Molotov Cocktail took off like a rocket - streaking high into the sky.

  The German convoy never saw it coming. The cocktail landed with a vengeance right on top of the first tank - its fire quickly covering the entire topside, including the six men riding there. They jumped off and ran and rolled on the ground trying to extinguish the flames. A few seconds later, the tank's crew tumbled out, screaming and on fire as well.

  The men riding on the top of the other two tanks climbed down and dove to the ground. One tank came to an abrupt halt and began firing on the warehouse, while the other turned sharply to the left. With the building being rocked by tank-fire, Ivanovich had trouble resetting the slingshot. His hands were trembling so badly that he dropped one of the cocktails. Luckily it didn't break. Felix took over and quickly reloaded and adjusted the slingshot. They launched it, and though the aim was good, the distance was off and the flaming bottle sailed well over the tank firing at them. The tank started driving in reverse while continuing to fire its shells and bullets at the warehouse. Dima yelled for Ivanovich to hurry and pull the winch back to the same exact place. The building trembled in its foundations, and it seemed like an eternity before Dima finally gave the signal to launch.

  But the wait was worth it - another hit! The left side of the retreating tank was engulfed in flames, and the tank crew quickly scrambled out. One of them grabbed a fire extinguisher and began dousing the flames, but Felix took aim at the uniform and stopped it from any further movement.

  There was still one more tank, and the car, and the infantry on the ground. "Let's get the car!" the men yelled.

  "No, that car can't hurt us. We've got to get that other tank!" Dima shouted.

  They loaded another cocktail, but Felix feared the tank was already out of range. Felix watched the cocktail fly through the air and land right next to the car, startling its driver who veered sharply to the right and smashed into the side of the retreating tank. The front of the car was mangled and undriveable, but the crash didn't slow the tank at all.

  Dima had them pull the winch back as far as it would go. He adjusted the aim, then released the clasp. Ivanovich crossed his trembling fingers as the cocktail streaked toward its target. The tank was already out of the range they'd practiced for, and soon enough it would realize it could stop and fire on the warehouse with no fear of being hit by return fire.

  The cocktail smashed into the ground, just to the right of the tank, spreading fire in an oblong circle. The distance had been good enough, but not the aim.

  "Load another one!" Dima ordered.

  "The tank's out of range," Ivanovich protested.

  "Load it, damn it!" Dima said. "We'll hit the car."

  The driver had helped the wounded man out of the back and they were hiding behind the vehicle. Dima and Ivanovich launched two cocktails that just missed the car, but convinced the Germans that they couldn't stay there. They made it no more than a few steps from the vehicle before being struck by bullets.

  Felix and the others had begun firing on the German infantry on the ground, and Dima and Ivanovich started launching nail bombs as fast as they could. The tank that had escaped now began its retribution, shelling the front of the warehouse and the rooftop mercilessly. A large section of the wall in front of Felix was obliterated, and chunks of concrete rained down on top of him. He quickly rolled to another position and resumed firing - picking off German uniforms meticulously one by one.

  The nail bombs proved to be extremely lethal, and the German troops decided to make a desperate run for the west side of the warehouse. But there was really nowhere for them to go, and they were methodically cut down.

  After a while, the gunfire became more sporadic, and the tank that was ravaging the warehouse eventually stopped firing and began to retreat. Nobody was sure why, though Felix guessed it might have run out of ammo.

  The men were exultant. They'd done it! They'd finally won a battle decisively. And they'd done it with their own ingenuity. "You did it, Felix!" they yelled. Felix corrected them. "We did it," he said.

  "Let's see if they're stupid enough to come back for another thrashing!" the men boasted, slapping one another on the back. "Hell, a few more battles like that, and we'll be the ones encircling Berlin!"

  Felix used his scope to check on the bloody uniforms splayed on the ground. None of them moved, not even in the slightest. Except one. Felix watched as the wounded man who'd been riding in the back of the car staggered to his feet and raised his arms over his head. His age and the epaulets on his uniform confirmed his higher status. They now had a German officer prisoner of war. Even Dima smiled this time.

  The man started toward the warehouse, stumbling every few steps, but managing to stay on his feet. Dark red blood covered the side of his wrinkled, leathery face. Felix couldn't tell what rank he was, but the invasion of grey on his otherwise black head of hair told him that he likely wasn't a mere lieutenant. As they rushed down from the roof, Felix was filled with anticipation. No matter his rank, he could be a valuable source of information. And if he was a colonel or a general, they might be able to use him as ransom should the Germans attempt another attack.
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  Felix and Dima were walking toward the man when a shot rang out and he collapsed to the ground. Felix turned and saw Fedushkin still aiming his rifle. Dima charged him and knocked him to the ground. "You idiot!" he screamed.

  "That's what the Nazis did to us when we tried to surrender!" Fedushkin yelled.

  "We are not Nazis!" Felix shouted back. He ran to the German officer, but it was clear he was already dead. A large chunk of the right side of his forehead was missing.

  Dima removed his pistol once more, aimed it at Fedushkin and pulled the trigger. Another shot, another man with part of his head missing.

  This wasn't war, Felix thought. War implied some kind of organized means of two enemies fighting one another. This was chaos. Madness. He wasn't sure he believed in Heaven, but he did believe in Hell. They were creating it for themselves. Right here, right now, they were building the walls and stoking the fires that would burn them and all those not yet born. And who was to blame? Who exactly was the enemy?

  He looked to the sky, and the sun burned his face.

  After they took the guns and grenades from the dead German soldiers, they retired to the warehouse to tend to their wounded and decide on the next move. Three more men had been killed in the fighting. Another four had minor wounds.

  The sun would be setting soon, and under a thinly-veiled threat of mutiny, Dima relented to the men's wish to get back to their side of the line. They would rest for half an hour, then set off toward Leningrad.

  Felix and Dima went to a corner of the warehouse and laid down on the floor. Felix used his pack for a pillow and prepared for some long overdue sleep. They were both too tired to make any kind of bed for themselves.

  "Tell me," Felix asked Dima tiredly, "why did you choose me to go with you that time to take out the machine gun? Any other man you would have picked had more experience than me."

  Dima took a drink from his canteen, then replied, "I selected you because I knew you'd hit him. We had very few bullets; you were a logical choice."