The Obersturmführer had never been to the frontlines before; he had never experienced war firsthand, he had never been in the line of fire or heard the sound of artillery screaming overhead as he ducked for cover, he had never witnessed bullets wising by, or the heavy smell of burnt powder filling his lungs, the screech of tank treads as they rolled towards the enemy.
The Obersturmführer had to admit, war was beautiful.
He had never been to the frontlines before, today he ordered to retrieve an officer from the battle, but he never dreamed that it would be so beautiful, so exciting, and so euphoric.
The Obersturmführer clutched his rifle in his hands, the nine pound concoction of wood and steel felt lighter in his hands. He had never used his rifle; the he carried it with him making full use of his equipment like a good soldier would.
He had never fired this rifle, he had never aligned its sights with an enemy, or fixed its bayonet. he never fought on the battlefield.
He shouldn't have been doing this, he should of just found the officer like he was ordered to, but he was compelled.
The Obersturmführer took a position behind a broken wall, not far from a few fellow soldiers; he shouldered the rifle, peeking around the corner he saw six Russian soldiers pinned down by heavy fire. The Obersturmführer took aim, and fired.
The first soldier's went down in a shower of blood as the round ripped through his neck, the Lieutenant chambered another round, working the bolt with such ease he had never felt before as he felt adrenalin pumping through him.
The Obersturmführer knew he was in danger, he knew he could be killed so easily right now, but that didn't concern him, that's what made this so exciting, he was so close to death he was flirting with it, he was so close to death that he never felt so alive.
The Obersturmführer kept firing, each round finding its target. The rifle clicked empty, he opened the bolt, and taking cover behind the wall as the last Russian opened up on him, he slammed a striper clip into his K98 closing the bolt and waiting for the Russian to reload. When the shooting stopped he whirled around the corner delivering a well placed shot to head.
A few fellow soldiers rushed to his position carrying a MG42, the fellow Germans didn't even say anything to him, they began to set up the machinegun on its mount, the gunner taking his position as his operator began to feed him ammo.
It didn't sound anything like a machinegun; it sounded more like someone was tearing cloth up, the rounds cutting up a platoon of enemy soldiers.
The Obersturmführer suddenly felt warm blood splatter over his face as the gunner was taken down by a single bullet. The Lieutenant acted on instinct, he threw his rifle down and mounted the Maschinengewehr, he pulled back on the trigger letting out a long burst, the bullets cutting down the enemy, the causalities increasing every second.
The gun stopped, it had overheated, the barrels needed to be swapped and the gun reloaded. The Obersturmführer dismounted the gun, pulling his Luger PO8 from its holster, he began to fire wildly at the enemy, not knowing it he was even hitting anything, not really caring. He remounted the gun and opened fire at the enemy again.
So this is war the Obersturmführer thought, how beautiful.
Ten days later
The Obersturmführer scanned the field hospital, the ground was overflowing with patients, screams could be heard every few minutes as medics had to perform surgery without morphine.
Three days ago his company had faced a counter attack, at first it seemed rather simple jab at reclaiming a few Russian villages, this was different though, the Russians swept through their rear flank, cutting his company off from supplies and reinforcements. The Obersturmführer's commander was a senior Obersturmbannführer, he moved the company south into a small village away from their main force, furthering their chance of receiving aid of supplies.
The Obersturmführer never thought that he would ever see the sights he was seeing, all around him bleeding out over the floor were fine German soldiers, pure-blooded Aryan soldiers giving their flesh and bone to the Third Reich.
Pure blooded Aryan's being killed by dirty Russians, the thought was once not even conceivable in his head yet he was witnessing it before his eyes.
How can they kill us? He thought, How can they defeat us? Aren't we supposed to be the superior ones?
Are we not a master race?
The Obersturmführer had never thought things like this before, before this there such thoughts would be considered blasphemy.
But that time was over, he had seen the harsh cruel light, everything his life had led him to believe was being burned in the light of harsh truth.
One of the medics approached the Lieutenant ready to dress his wounds, the Obersturmführer told the medic not to use morphine, he wanted to feel the pain, and he wanted to forget.
The Obersturmführer walked into the small house that the Obersturmbannführer occupied, the small little cottage that was once occupied by a Russian family had been turned into his own private quarters. The small house stood on a hill, the Obersturmführer had thought that it would make a observation post for managing the battlefield.
The house that would logically make a command post was instead used for his commander's personal comfort. The sad part of having his company take refuge in this small village was that they had to fight to even claim it. The Obersturmbannführer decision to move into this village was completely absurd, the Obersturmführer knew this village had no tactical value, the fact that they were taking refuge in the village was absurd enough but to have them fight to even claim it was ridiculous.
The Obersturmführer unslung his rifle, fixing the bayonet and flipping the safety. The Obersturmführer marched through the narrow halls entering the living room to find his commander sitting next to the warm fireplace, next to the commander's chair was a small desk which a small bottle of whisky and a shot glass, what concerned the Obersturmführer was that right next to the bottle was the commanders Walther p38 sitting within reach.
The commander already looked suspicious seeing him with his rifle in hand and bayonet fixed, his hand was hovering over the gun just waiting for him to make a move.
The Obersturmführer kept the rifle pointed at the ground, not wanting to make a move to soon. He walked closer to the Commander, taking small slow steps not rushing to him in any way. Just getting close enough to bayonet him.
"Sir" said the Obersturmführer, "I fear that the enemy is getting to close to this position, I had to practically fight to get up here, those Russians have moved in rocket artillery and I advise that you relocate yourself."
The Obersturmführer needed to calm him down; he just needed to put his guard down. "Is that so Obersturmführer" said the Commander, "I didn't hear any reports of rocket artillery over the radio"
The Commander picked up the gun from his desk ready to kill his subordinate, the Obersturmführer lunged and kicked the Commander square in the chest, sending the man to the floor, the man brought the rifle down on the Commander, the blade pierced through his wrist, the gun fell from his hands as he screamed in pain, the Obersturmführer pinned his other hand down with his foot.
"You see Commander" began the Obersturmführer, "I have realized something, this war is the only thing that I have ever truly loved, and right now I can't think of anything sadder than the thought of it ending, the thought of my life ending from your foolishness is something I can't stand, I don't want to die, I want to live, I want to have this conflict last forever, If I die who am I going to fight, Who am I going to crush. How I ask you."
Still holding the rifle with one hand the Obersturmführer pulled out his Luger, aiming it at the Commanders head, "THIS ARMY, THIS BATTLE, THIS WAR ITS ALL MEIN NOW, ITS MEIN AND NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME, NO ONE !"
The Obersturmführer pulled the trigger, the gun kicked and he felt warm blood and brain matter splash his face.
The Obersturmführer stepped off the corpse removing the bayonet from the wrist, and let the rifle drop from to the floor.
The Obersturmführer walked across the room towards the radio and picked up the microphone, "At 1330 today our Obersturmbannführer died at my hands, I have executed our commander in the sake of winning this battle for the glory of the Third Reich and hereby take command of his post, and all those beneath him.
The Obersturmführer set down the microphone and looked down at his dead commander, "The Krieg is only beginning, and I have no intention of ever letting it end."