Chapter 7

I descended the wooden steps to the shelter. The room, not very spacious, was filled with smoke, making the already poorly lit space even darker. I finally managed to make out a tall soldier standing straight, his head almost touching the ceiling. Then I saw a wooden table, and by it, an officer holding a telephone receiver.

"Comrade Commander," due to the dim light, I couldn't see the rank on his shoulder and could only vaguely address him as I saluted, "I am Sergeant Osharina from the Air Defense Command."

The tall officer didn't speak, just pointed to a stool nearby, gesturing for me to sit and wait a moment. He then turned his face and stared seriously at the man on the phone.

I walked over and sat down. The officer's voice on the phone came through clearly. "Comrade Colonel, I still believe that we should be quickly reinforced with regular troops. The militia division, from its name alone, can be seen as merely... a formality in terms of specialized military significance. Yesterday, the Germans tried to break through our lines, but we repelled their attack. Who knows when they will attack again. If the enemy knows that this section of the front is defended by irregular troops— their scouts are neither deaf nor blind. The militia cannot withstand a tank attack. If the Germans break through here, the Pulkovo Heights could fall, and then they will advance directly into Leningrad..."

"The militia division will not retreat," a voice from the receiver interrupted him. "Instead of complaining here, you should consider how to use the troops at your disposal to hold the line, not retreating a single step."

"Comrade Colonel, have the militiamen ever seen German tanks up close? Have they ever been hit by machine gun fire? When they see tanks crawling towards them and planes diving overhead, they will show their true colors! When they see the tanks and turn to run, no amount of propaganda can stop them, believe me, a veteran's words!"

"Enough, Comrade Captain," the colonel's angry voice came from the receiver. "Who gave you the right to insult the militia division? They are the working class of Leningrad. As long as they are alive, they will hold this ground and not a single one will run away."

The captain hesitated for a moment, then quickly changed the subject. "In yesterday's battle, our battalion lost more than a third of its men. I won't lie; the soldiers fought very bravely. But we won't be able to withstand the next attack. We need to be reinforced with regular troops, even a platoon would help..."

"None left, Captain," the colonel's voice softened. "I have no reserves left."

The captain finally hung up the phone in disappointment. The tall officer impatiently asked, "What did the division commander say?"

"What else could he say? Troops are needed everywhere. If we sent only regular troops, it would be far from enough. The division commander said that tomorrow, two companies of the militia division will be sent to reinforce us." He glanced at me and asked, "Who are you?"

I quickly stood up and saluted him seriously. "Comrade Captain, I am Sergeant Osharina from the Air Defense Command, assigned to command the anti-aircraft machine gun platoon on the heights."

"How long have you been in the service?" He picked up a paper on the table, frowned, and asked.

"Four months. I enlisted a month before the war started."

"Oh, just four months, and you're already a sergeant. It seems promotions in the rear are quite easy," his words were full of provocation. He continued, "War is a man's business; women should stay in the rear."

"Order of the Red Banner?!" Just as I was considering how to respond to the captain's provocation, a voice from the side interrupted, surprising the tall officer. "You actually received the Order of the Red Banner."

"Yes, I have participated in several battles. These two medals were personally awarded to me by Marshal Voroshilov," I replied firmly. This was not the time to be modest; otherwise, they might think I had climbed the ranks through connections.

The medals and the marshal immediately bridged the gap between us. The captain's attitude did a 180-degree turn. He smiled and extended his hand. "I am Captain Khlopov, commander of the assault battalion. Welcome to the unnamed heights."

After shaking hands, he pointed to the tall officer and introduced him to me. "This is the battalion's first political instructor, Captain Khlopov."

Once we were seated again, the captain began to point at the map on the table, explaining the current situation. The Pulkovo Heights are a series of hills on the shortest route from the south to Leningrad. If the Germans occupy them, they can control the roads from Moscow and Kiev to Leningrad, ensuring their motorized units can advance into the city. The Germans can also deploy artillery on the heights to bombard a series of areas in the city with precision.

"What is our anti-aircraft machine gun platoon's mission?" After the captain finished his explanation, I asked.

"The mission is clear. Our battalion is holding the right flank of the Pulkovo Heights. We must firmly resist the German invaders and not retreat a single step. Your platoon's mission is to provide effective air defense for our battalion's position."

"Understood." I stood up straight. "Comrade Captain, I think I should go meet my platoon. May I leave?"

"Go ahead, I'll take you to the platoon with the instructor." The captain led the way out the door.

I followed the two of them along a well-trodden path. After a short walk, we saw a large wooden house. Suddenly, a voice rang out, "Who's there? Stop, password!"

I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a female soldier with a bayonetted rifle blocking the way.

"What password?!" The captain said, somewhat annoyed. "I am Captain Khlopov. Go get the deputy platoon leader and tell her the new platoon leader has arrived."

"Yes." The female soldier slung her rifle over her shoulder and ran to the wooden house.

"Go on, Sergeant Osharina," the instructor, who had been silent, pointed to the wooden house and said kindly, "Your soldiers are in there."

"Comrade Sergeant," a voice called from behind. I turned around and saw the driver who had brought me, carrying a cardboard box and running towards me. He handed me the box before I could say anything. "I almost forgot. This is the soap issued by the Air Defense Command for your platoon."

I took the box, and the captain muttered, "The Air Defense Command even issued soap specifically for your platoon." The driver, though a low-ranking private, still spoke bluntly to a non-superior officer. "Comrade Captain, female soldiers are different from male soldiers; they have privileges."

He saluted me and said, "Goodbye, dear, good luck! See you in victory!" Then he turned and walked back the way he came.

By the time we reached the wooden house, the female soldiers of the anti-aircraft machine gun platoon had already assembled. "Attention!" At the command, the female soldiers saluted us in unison.

Then a tall female soldier ran up to us, saluted Captain Khlopov, and reported, "Comrade Captain, Deputy Platoon Leader Katerina Sergeant reports that the anti-aircraft machine gun platoon is assembled and awaiting your orders."

"At ease." The captain walked to the front of the formation and introduced me straightforwardly. "This is your new platoon leader, Sergeant Osharina. She will command you in battle."

I put down the box, walked up to the female soldiers, and saluted them. "I am your new platoon leader, Sergeant Osharina. Deputy platoon leader and squad leaders, stay. The rest, dismissed." I had a lot to say, but I was afraid my Russian vocabulary would betray me, so it was better to say less. As the formation dispersed, I called out to a nearby female soldier, "Wait, could you please take this box inside?"

After the captain and the instructor left, I took the deputy platoon leader and three squad leaders to inspect the gun positions. "This position is manned by Sergeant Jeanne, with no less than two basic loads of ammunition," Katerina introduced.

"Right, besides this, we need to prepare one or two reserve positions." Although I hadn't been in battle, I knew that staying in a fixed position during combat makes it easy to become a target.

"Understood."

I reached out and touched the gun barrel, and my hand came away with a bit of rust. I instructed Katerina, "Arrange for someone to clean the machine guns tomorrow. They haven't been used in a long time and are rusty."

"Understood."

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