Barbarossa
A Lily By Any Other Name
Diclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Much thanks to stirringwind on Tumblr for letting me use their awesome artwork as inspiration for this piece.
post/84635095190/operation-barbarossa-stupid-boy-did-you-forget
November 27th, 1941
the outskirts of Moscow, Russia
It was snowing again.
Ludwig rubbed his frozen, gloved hands together. The dull blade of the knife he held was covered in a thin coat of frost. He blew his warm breath on it—the only thing in Russia that was warm—over the blade in a useless effort to melt the ice crystals. The layer of frost only became thicker as the human moisture solidified upon contact with the -10 degree air. No use. There was no way to melt anything—not the frost, not the ice jamming his gun, not this blizzard—out in the middle of frozen nowhere.
The brittle blade clumsily scraped over the action of the tank's main gun. An amber film of frozen grease prevented the loading of shells, but Ludwig didn't see the point to having so much ammunition when the muzzle was frozen shut, or when the tanks refused to move in the heavy snows. Snowflakes gracefully dance down from the grey skies above like ballerinas on pointe as the freezing wind began to pick up. That very wind should have sliced through his uniform like a deadly blade—chilling him to his very core—but he felt nothing as he diligently (but hopelessly) attempted to chip away at the ice. Awkward, stiff fingers worked away at the sap-colored obtrusion only to slice through the black leather of his frosted gloves.
"Dammit." He muttered darkly as he inspected the wound through the haze of falling snow. Rich, warm, red blood the color of a flame began to well at the cut on his thumb only to freeze into a red veil a few seconds later. He disregarded it, and continued his futile scraping.
The campaign was supposed to go as planned: go into Russia in June, defeat the Soviets, and then be out of Russia by July. It was supposed to be simple and effortless; the Soviets wouldn't—couldn't—put up a fight as soon as they saw the silhouette of the Reich flag standing tall against the horizon of Leningrad. They'd take Ukraine, the Baltic, and the left-over scraps of Eastern Europe, wipe out the Slavic population, and then use up their coveted resources. We'll only have to kick the door down, Ludwig's boss had said. Watch, the Fuhrer instructed; watch as the whole rotten structure comes crashing down.
When Barbarossa commences, the whole world will hold its breath and make no comment.
Ludwig knew the whole world was laughing because it was almost December.
Or so he thought.
He'd lost track of the days a couple weeks ago.
The knife fell out of his hand as a spasm of violent shivers overcame him. So cold… So, so cold. Cold, in fact, could not begin to describe Russia. It wasn't just the wind, or the snow, or the air that was cold; no, it was the country itself. Some considered Germany to be cold, but unlike Russia, Germany was not deceptive. Germany did not welcome invaders with open arms in the dry, mild summer only to later trap them within its crushing confines of a brutal winter. Germany had paved roads, Germany had standard railways, and Germany wasn't so damn cold. Russia was the devil's winter palace; a destitute, frigid hell full of blizzards and ice shards.
They'd definitely underestimated the Soviets. Anyone that dared to live in Russia was not to be reckoned with—
"Germaniya."
Ludwig—pardon the cruel pun—froze. He knew that voice. He'd heard that voice shout orders from the opposite front at Leningrad. The tall, looming silhouette was the same one from Smolensk; it seemed to tower over the Soviet tanks through the haze of smoke and explosions. The snows swirled around this hazed giant as if he were the very essence of winter itself.
"This is not like you." The voice spoke to him again through the blizzard. It seemed almost sad. Ludwig gripped his rifle—ready to fire blindly into the storm—in case he needed to defend himself from the owner of the voice. Not as if he could, though. The action was still jammed, and he was too tired—too weak—to fight. "What happened?"
"Ivan." Ludwig attempted to keep his voice level, but it sounded more like a shout over the howling of the wind. His teeth chattered. He doubted he could speak more than he already had. "What do you want?"
"Using gun oils that freeze in this weather, wasting fuel to keep your tanks running because you have no antifreeze…" The voice was soft like the plush of a good, warm blanket Ludwig so yearned for. His gun trembled in his hands. Whether it was from fear or cold, he did not know. "That civilian winter coat you wear is useless against the deadly frostbite… You lose 30% of body heat with every movement out here, Germaniya. That gun won't work no matter how much ice you chip off the action because it will always freeze again. Such silly little mistakes, Germaniya… Not like you at all."
Did the wind seem to be getting stronger or was it just Ludwig's exhausted, iced mind? Was it night time already? The sky was a dark, inky gray that more closely resembled the black of night than it did that of a daylight storm. It seemed as if the snow itself was blocking out whatever ray of sunlight considered itself strong enough to shine upon the tundra. But the man—Ivan—still kept speaking, and even the wind could not drown him out.
"Ah, you thought I would go down so easily that you'd be done by summer, yes? That you'd invade in June and be out by July? You silly westerners are all the same."
Over the din of the storm tinkled the distinct sound of laughter. It vaguely sounded like sleigh-bells; innocent, carefree, and good-natured. Ludwig clenched his chattering teeth. He was laughing. Ivan found him funny.
"Did France never tell you the story of his famous boss?" Ivan continued with a chuckle. "The one who called himself Emperor? He tried to invade Russia, too, you know. He too thought himself immune to the clutches of winter. He too was unprepared to face me. History repeats itself, Germaniya."
The snows were getting heavier; falling more like sheets rather than flakes. Visibility was now in the negatives. Ludwig felt as if he were in a vortex; the white projectiles closed in on him from what seemed like every which way. The wind was a pack of hunting dogs with the scent of blood in their noses; its baying turned into a piercing whistle that made Ludwig want to bury himself beneath the hard ground to avoid getting ripped to pieces by its sharp claws and teeth.
"So arrogant are you, Ludwig, that you did not prepare?" Was that really Ivan's voice? Or was it the wind? Was he losing his mind so soon? "Did preparations not cross your mind? This is winter, Ludwig, this is cold. This is my house, Germaniya."
Ludwig felt as if he were suffocating. The snow, the wind, the ice, the cold. It was too much. It was all too much…
Mein Gott, he thought. I'm going to die here. I'm going to die in Russia and there is nothing I can do about it. Mein Gott, mein Gott, mein Gott…
"My house, yes…" Ivan's voice sounded more and more distant as if he were a million miles away. "And I do not recall inviting you."
And then the blizzard seemed to swallow him whole.
Historical Notes: Operation Barbarossa was the Nazi campaign to take over Russia. Barbarossa was infamous for being the biggest (failed) military operation in human history. Hitler's plan was to take over the Soviet Union not only to wipe out the Slavic and Jewish populations of Eastern Europe, but also to use up the much needed resources (such as oil) to keep fueling his troops. Operation Barbarossa was also formulated to further isolate the Allied powers. Comparable to Napoleon's retreat from Russia in the 1800s, German troops planned to take over Moscow in the summer- when the temperatures were mild- but found themselves stuck once winter hit. Hitler himself even vowed that he "would succeed where Napoleon had failed", but we all know that worked out in the end considering both Napoleon and Hitler failed epically at taking over both Great Britain and Russia. There were many reasons for the failure of Barbarossa, but the biggest one had to be the extreme weather conditions. Winter in Russia was nothing like winter in Germany, and not only did half of the troops freeze to death, but supply lines were also cut short because of the railways. German tanks would often get stuck in the muddy, unpaved roads during the fall, and the engines completely froze during the winter. The oil-based lubricants used for guns and vehicles would freeze, making it impossible to load shells. German troops were so unprepared for winter conditions that when the Soviets later retaliated (and these guys were all suited up for winter warfare) the fight wasn't even fair.
wiki/Operation_Barbarossa