Omskaya Pravda:
Human animals
For more than two thousand years, the Russian, the original inhabitants of Eastern Europe have faced occupations, oppression and genocide.
The root of these problems originates from the distant wastes of the original living space of human animals, the home of the primitive tribes who survived through the pillaging of Roman civilization, sustaining their numbers by kidnapping and raping women from those with culture.
As the superior Celts started to push the inferior animals away from their homelands, to protect their population against the feral aggression of those beasts, wave after wave of the barbaric marauders flooded Eastern Europe.
Their pitiful primitivism, their genocidal instincts made them the ideal killing machines that had taken roots in our homeland.
For hundreds of years, these barbarians were raping our homeland, alone we were defending our shared land while the Huns and Magyars were standing and waiting for our annihilation.
And yet again when the Germanic hordes purred into our civilized lands, our supposed allies in civilization just stand witness to our near annihilation, not even lifting a finger to assist their allies in the fight for civilization and humanity against the race of chaos and destruction.
Idly are they watching the genocide of our people, while screaming at us that is all only a Russian conspiracy to harm the image of their Germanic masters!
Let them laugh, for now, we will soon have our revenge!
"Dear comrades, at this point, we have omitted from printing the rest of the article written by our beloved writer Ilya Ehrenburg, as we do not find the rest of the article appropriate for any loyal citizen of Omsk to read."
Yakov POV
Twenty minutes in our great handy work, and the doors to the bakery are still shut.
Or to be honest, the building could be a crematorium, but not even the most destitute of wretches would be willing to live near that sort of bakery, imagine smelling the smell of shit so profound in this shithole with the smell of well overcooked human crust.
As soon as we managed to conquer the malicious doors, the doors of pure hatred evil and the sheer assholishness of the carpenter who crafted that evil creation after dragging six victims to the altar of Belphegor to bless those accursed doors, that we the honest hard working penal soldiers would be unable to survive from the involuntary donations from the selfish greedy people, we started to look for anything useful, preferably something edible.
Soon enough, after we searched this poorly, or very good run shop, for we found only two sacks.
One of them is nearly empty and the other one is full, but the weight of that thing does not add up.
What should be half of a weight of a man, is nearly three-quarters of that, not that we are suspecting the baker of deceiving the people.
For we are absolutely certain that the cheat was adding either sawdust, dust or perhaps ground wall plaster.
But if we will look at it from the bright side, those things would not be the most toxic, nor the foulest that we have ever eaten.
Still, we are two sacks richer than we were before.
Still, we have to find where the rat hid its cheese.
Pavel POV
As weird as it may sound, I quite enjoy these peaceful moments of respite.
Whilst it is intriguing to know that this time the League's egg heads did not add anything into our water supply, I still wish that they did.
It might sound ridiculous, but knowing that you are tripping your damaged organs off is a good justification to shoot bloody monstrosities that are charging at you with axes and swords.
I don't believe in that god nonsense that the older generation uses to justify our downfall, for it was our hubris and the weakness of humanistic socialism that brought us to the bring of our annihilation, however, whatever those things are, they are not humans, they are some unholy aberration of man and animal.
It is horrifying to see them move, how uncanny those things are when they act as humans would.
Even more terrifying were the moments when those things display a semblance of emotions, it was akin to the moments when a dog would try to communicate with its owner through the eye gestures, that momentary pause of your mind when for just a moment you saw humanity in those eyes.
For even at those moments when your mind is fighting with your sense of reason, your eyes could still see those aberrations for what they were, monsters.
Even when they display emotions, you could see their hatred, the sheer animalistic blood lust, they did not see those Redempioneries as their opponents, they saw them as prey.
Not even the hungry wolves, lynxes nor bears display such hunger.
Even if they could display hatred, the Arctic predators would not display it.
Fuck, even the German jailors in the Moscow ghetto seemed to be more human than those things.
Whatever the case may be, we are on this side of the barricade, and those things are on the opposing side, and hopefully, it will stay that way.
If there is an entity that those lunatics are referring to as God, then may it preserve us against those vile monstrous.
For no one else can.
Even if the order would be given, the Commissar's will would be challenged by force which rules above all kinds of commanders, for the much dreaded inept sadists bureaucrats in the logistical companies will not hear any request for war material, be it firearms, guns ammunition or the formals which they so much believe in the much-needed fuel.
How far could we march without bullets?
Even this question is being scoffed at by the crooked god-like figure that for now must be respected, as he holds our lives in his hands.
Without a trace of a doubt, I would not be surprised if he wouldn't to our selfish interest to stay alive, no doubt he is ready to send us in only with bayonets and rifle butts, after all, it's our duty as penal soldiers to earn our freedom through blood, our or the enemies, it does not matter from where it flows just that it flows.
At least this time we can keep the Russian on Russian violence at bay, even though that some sort of rules of warfare is taking place in Eastern Siberia.
I wonder how badly it will get them when an outsider to their region will join their 'honourable' war.
"Hey, Sarge! The freaks are masing on the other side of the bridge!"
For fuck sake, why is this bad happening to us?
Soon enough I managed to scramble myself from the comfortable stove to the window, from which Yakhim is looking down at the pitiful revisionists, as comical as the shameful display of the revisionists who are attempting to play soldiers, the Commissar will have our asses salted and steamed if we will let the freaks get past our line.
"Yakhim, drag Fjodor Vlad and Dmitry here, the idiots might fuck up."
"With all due respect Sarge, we should also drag the looters here."
"No time to waste the time private go!" I barked at Yakhim, knowing too well that getting with him into a conversation of any kind would be a total loss on my part.
'What could a near child and one cripple help now'
Yakhim knowing what is going on in this unit decided that the lives of the Tyumovites are not worth arguing with the neurotic phlegmatic before him.
With a relative mixture of annoyance, pity and sheer disbelieve at the disunity of the leftists of the same branch of leftism left to do as he was told.
'Leftist unity huh?' Was the first thought that entered his mind as he left the comfort of the now uninhabited shed, whilst the coldness outside could be compared to the harsh -20°C of Tomsk, or what the students living on the campuses are describing as -40°C in their poorly insulated buildings.
'They don't believe in any religion, and yet they treat their ideological differences as the late Romans treated their theological schisms, they as well might put aside the pretence of revisionism and might call it as it is, a crusade against the heretics from the other sect of the same religion"
Again Yakhim thought, but of course, he will keep this very sensitive opinion from the ire of the two warring parties, as he does not want to be that one 'Heathan' that would unite the two schismatic sects with his honourable and most selfless of sacrifices.
Yakhim quickly made his way past the former soldiers of the Kaganovich's government, and closer to the houses, those three are disabling for more material.
At that moment Yakhim just hoped that he will not encounter one of those fabled barrier troopers, for that very reason he had never ventured beyond the last line, although he was not one to believe the tales of the old drunks, the amount of the rumours of bloodthirsty communist vampires, who are more concern about gunning their own than they are about winning the war, worries him.
But before he could reach his troublesome comrades, he was stopped by one of the barrier troopers.
The junior commissar took a quick glance at Yakhim before he as he stopped in his tracks.
Before Yakhim could say anything, the junior commissar opened his mouth and started to speak with something that could only be described as a tired uninterested tone of voice, similar to those soulless husks that are working in departments.
"What are you doing here? the front line is on the opposite side"
With a fear harboured from the tales and rumours, Yakhim sang like a hummingbird with the truth.
Unamusingly the young novice a junior commissar asked, "That's it?"
"Yes...?" Yakhim who is now sweating bullets answered, already imagining the draw of the pistol and the bang accompanying the lead deuce claiming his life.
After an uncomfortable awkward moment of staring at now weirded out junior commissar, the poor sud who felt more uncomfortable by the stare of the weird penal soldier than a woman in Vorkuta, spoke with that authoritative tone of voice so valued in the commissariat.
"What are you waiting for? Go, you have your orders" The commissar disgustingly spat out, "Fucking Tomskien weirdos, shot the whole lot of them" The creeped out junior commissar grumbled underneath his nose.
"Look ya damned Muzhik, for the last time, the 'Lizards' on these coins are dragons!" Dmitry bellowed at his insufferable fellow.
"Nah, dragons have three heads." Smugly replied Vlad, steadfast in common sense and folklore.
Vlad interrupted Dmitry, for the sight of the scared 'thinker' and knowing all how appeared right before the house that the Pat Mat and Dat were trying to get in.
"Look." Pointed out Vlad to Dmitry, "Zhyd! He will try to get our money!" Vlad jokingly yelled out in poorly acted terror.
"Du farkirtst mir di yorn! Muzhik, you will be the death to my schemes you dickhead!" Screamed Yakhim at the Vlad, while he run to the two miscreants of the thieving kind, in amusement and joking familiarity.
"What's happing? Are you all right?" Dmitry inquired as he did not expect the presence of Yakhim in the appropriations efforts.
As soon as the newly appointed messenger regained his breath he responded to Dmitry's question with a very rude but somewhat authoritative question of his own, "Where is Fjodr?"
To that, both of the usual suspects just shrugged, in that very moment for once they agreed on something, unfortunately, they agreed on the fact that they know that they don't know the answer to the imperative question.
"How could you lose that weirdo?!"
"Don't man, were are not caretakers, nor were we appointed to be caretakers, Why do you need him though?"
With no time to spare Yakhim shrieked like"Look, we need more guns on that bridge now!"
Without needing further explanations the two roguish involuntary volunteers dropped whatever they have been doing till this point and embarked to reinforce whoever is left of their company, for in the probably twisted minds, of the petty criminals, the most hated side of their leader had just overpowered the nicer phlegmatic officer who doesn't care.
'Great, now it is a bridge, soon enough the future megalomaniac will demand 'discipline' and soon enough we will have to starve for a medal.' Thought Dmitry as he made haste with Vlad to the bridge.
Old's town alley
Great, more pretenders trying to fool us with their folly of a play.
"Tell me freaks, are the more human freaks so stunted by your shared ancestry?" Fjodor angrily asked before proceeding to bayonet their ilk.
The abominations were undeserving of life in the eyes of Fjodor, unlike their brethren who earned their right to live through blood and steel, these cowards dare to disregard the spilt blood and stain onto their pride, honour and prestige of their kind for their petty selfish desire to live.
For in Fjodor's mind, these kinds of traitors and fearful rats in the Russian population are the reason for the downfall of our civilization.
'The meek are only able to be redeemed through bleak obedience and loyalty after all.'
Amazed by his stream of thoughts the madman cackled to himself before regaining a semblance of himself. 'Oh well, even the most harmless of mice is able to bite'
Thus the butcher started with his craft, each thrust being more resembling of butcher's chop, cold and hateful.
And yet the hate was not meant for the abominations, even after the showcase of their inhuman nature Fjodor saw their version of the human spirit in them.
Out of disgust or out of mercy he took upon himself to at least help the aberrations bleed faster.
Abominations and monsters that they are in the eyes of Pavel's axeman, they are least are deserving of a quicker death, not that one reserved for proper humans but for possessing the comparably weaker will to survive.
Before the dozen or so carcasses were finished Fjodor heard the sound of the gunshots, the little bangs and rings and the whatnots used by the Kaganovists could be heard even by their supposed commander in his castle.
'Whoever that prick and his bosom boy maybe, that commander is not the one of Front's material, nor even the leader of partisans, those leaders are commanding from the front, and at best at the shouting distance.' Fjodor spat out of disgust for that kind of a unit leader, 'No, this is one of them bureaucratic commanders, the know it all how.'
As Fjodor made prepared himself for the run to the barricades, he saw one of the furred freaks trying to escape, not even daring to waste the now invaluable time, Fjodor braces his rifle and start running towards the barricades.
Barricades Defenders POV
"Jesus! They are numberless!" yelled one of the men on the barricades, for just that one moment, in the face of the hordes, are the Kaganovists, White soldiers, Blues and the Omskovits working fighting shoulder to shoulder on their man-made mounts of wood and rubble.
Whenever one of those beasts was slain, another two took its place in the horde, 'they must breed at the same right as the animals' was the prevalent thought on the mind of those who in the houses.
The situation had deteriorated to the point that many of the barricades on the bridge had to be either abandoned, or overrun.
The men dragged out of the barricades and tore limb from limb, a few of them who had grenades decided to at least take as many of them with them out of spite.
The ones who choose to abandon their positions were more fucked.
Either they made it quickly enough to the 'friendly' lines, or they were shot on their own.
Only a few squads made it through the bridge, the rest of them were either butchered or shot as the lives of nearly a dozen of soldiers is not as valuable as the now invaluable time.
With each moment that the horde spends chewing and tearing through the fallen fresh stranders joins the fray.
The hope of many of the men is now to hold them as long as possible for a machinegun squad is hauling its way to their position.
The old Commissar was the first one to get iced, one of those robe-wearing freaks decided that now it is a great idea to send a rock after rock into the improvised company HQ.
"Men to me!" bellowed and waved Pavel as he is desperately trying to find and relly as many of his men as possible.
He managed to relly Yakhim, Vlad, Dmitry and Kair, 'these must suffice for now' thought Pavel as he ordered the men under his command to follow him.
Soon enough they made it to the right flank of the bridge, with their small number of men they would be a hindrance in the main section of the engagement, rather Pavel has chosen to relieve the 20 or so suds and take the other flank of the bridge.
Soon enough they saw the attackers that are trying to outflank them by using the ice.
Some of them are just using the ice nearest to the blindly charge the entrenched position, but the majority of them opted to take the long flank outside the firing lines of any available units.
I am sorry for the short length of this chapter, my ancient keyboard died on me, and I had to write this through the on-screen keyboard.
The new keyboard should arrive on the 14th of November.
Please, leave your thoughts about this chapter, it really helps me out the writing of this story.
And I know that at the time of me posting this it is not Friday, but I just returned from my swift, and I forgot to post it before going away.