Subject: Nikolai Belinski

Location: Twelve miles east of Moscow

Date: December 10th 1941 (Battle of Moscow)

Status: Heavily engaged in an entrenched position defending the capitol along with the rest of the 5th, 16th, 43rd and 49th armies /Drunk

"Держите голову вниз товарищи! Ах дерьмо гранату!"

Were the only words Nikolai heard before the grenade went off next to sergeant Yazov. The blast threw Nikolai back some and he landed hard on his back into the snowy covered dirt. His ears rang, a noise he was actually quite accustom to. Still shell-shocked he looked around.

The makeshift trench walls stood high above his head. He looked to the sky seeing only the gray stillness of clouds as the snow settled softly on to his face.

The thick white layer upon layer of clothing had protected him from any small shards of shrapnel that the German grenade had spat out. He stared at where Sergeant Yazov was… or more fitting where he had been standing. The ground where the sergeant was had a small black crater begging to fill with snow.

He crawled to the side of the trench where the grenade had come and picked up his PPSH-41 submachine gun and cradled it with one arm. He leaned against the snowy wall of the freshly dug trench and took out his Silver flask of vodka. He took a long shameless swig and tucked it back in his jacket. Since there was no one person on earth he could count on he could still count on vodka.

"Fuck that's good vodka…"the Russian commented to himself.

Just then a young blue eyed private knelt beside him shaking violently. He wore a thick brown coat that stretched down beyond his knees. Upon his head he wore a brown Russian style winter hat, flaps down over his ears. In the center, it bore the Russian communist symbol, of the star with the hammer and sickle inside, the metal slightly white with frost.

"Comrade! Belinski! Please get up I don't know what to do!" he yelled over the screaming sound of whizzing bullets and mortar shots.

The kid held onto his Mosin Nagant rifle for dear life as he stared helplessly on to Nikolai's blank expression . "I'm not the guy you need to talk with," Nikolai said in slurred drunken speech, heavy with accent "The sergeant… Yazov will…" He turned his head seeing the scorch mark on the ground and his shoulders slouched.

"Well fuck!"

"Belinski you don't understand! Yazov was the highest ranking solider in this unit!" even in Nikolais' drunken state his head was already coming to a conclusion.

Ahhhhhhh….. This is going to really blow,he thought to himself, a lot like his third wife. Actually if I think right her blow was actually quite good… He grinned stupidly.

"You're the highest ranking, comrade!", yelled the young private snapping Nikolai back to reality.

"Sir! What do we do?", He asked more sternly.

Nikolai shook his head as he got to his feet and stumbled for a few seconds. The whizzing by his ear reminded him where he was and he crouched. A large number of other soldiers had gathered around the sloppy drunk, staring at him, waiting for his words of wisdom.

They varied in size, clothing, and weapons. Some had bolt-action rifles others had a sub-machine gun like himself. One of the larger men who was still a 'private' held a Russian DP-28 heavy machine gun. Most of their weapons were becoming white from frost. He stared dumb found for a moment.

I don't know shit about tactics or any of that bullshit, he thought to himself. I always thought it was you see thing you don't like shoot it. Just like first wife…

He thought for a few more seconds, and reached for his greatest source of inspiration, his flask. He tilted it upwards, chugging at a truly incredible speed. "comr…?" one of the soldiers was about to speak up but Nikolai held up his index finger looking at the boy past his up turned flask.

He emptied it and threw the flask backwards out of the snowy trench making a PING! sound being hit mid air by a bullet. The warm feel of alcohol warmed his body and let him focus.

"Bondarenko, Titov! Head for the east flank and support the mortar team! Fedorov, Oganesyan, move to the west flank and set up a machine-gun position! Kosygin put that rifle to good use and see if you can kill someone important!" The soldiers began to move and shift around each other heading to their assigned positions, relief washing over them like a tidal wave.

"Grombyo! Tend to the wounded! Sarayev! See if you can scrape up some vodka! The rest of you take up positions along the trench! We can't let the dogs break through" Nikolai shifted and put a fresh drum clip into his weapon backwards before correcting himself.

He set himself up along the trench and looked on to the crater ridden battlefield. It was an open, flat, snow covered plane. If you turned around and looked in the distance you could make out some buildings from Moscow that poked up in the distance.

Across the main battlefield there were small shacks and random debris across the snowy expanse that the Germans were using for cover. Several Panzer tanks, immobile or destroyed, scattered the battlefield as well. Some Germans taking cover behind them. The Germans were not prepared for Russia's harsh, cruel winter, or her deadly frost-bitten kiss.

They wore blankets, scavenged clothing, and other apparel, trying to stay warm. The enemy moved behind barrels, wagons, whatever they could find , but couldn't escape his drunken accuracy.

An older Russian soldier with a thick black beard and brown eyes set up on Nikolais' left with his Mosin Nagant rifle. Another soldier set up on his left firing a rifle as well. Nikolai drifted into thought as he killed those who threatened the capitol of his country.

He knew if the Germans broke there line here they would lose Moscow and if that happened, they were destined to take all of the mother land. But Belinski knew that he couldn't let that happen.

He loved his home almost as much as vodka.

"How did you suddenly take charge and give orders!?",the old soldier asked as he reloaded," You even came up with sort of a plan!" the private yelled over gunfire. "Are you actually…really smart underneath everything Belinski?!" the private asked wanting an honest answer.

"Comrade let me tell you,"

Nikolai said in between bursts of fire, "I'm not smart," he stated. He turned his head to the soldier next to him.

"I'm drunk" he simply stated.

As if on cue he gagged in front of the man and turned around vomiting drunkenly into the trench they fought in. He had put his hands on his knees and looked up slightly talking to himself. "Looks like 'nother shitty morning for Nikolai…" , he mumbled right before he passed out into a puddle of his own vomit and bullet casings.