Migoz2
Senator
So does Barb. As Dostoevsky once said, "All happy Barbs are alike; each unhappy Barb is unhappy in her own way."
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It Ended in Moscow
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Is there a reason this chapter is not in blue type? Tree is very concerned!!!
THERE!!! Happy now? Geeze, the things I have to do around here to please this guy!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
For once I did not need a pair of strong glasses to read a Barb story!THERE!!! Happy now? Geeze, the things I have to do around here to please this guy!
(and no, I am not talking about glasses of Riesling)!
Rule 1: Never eat baked beans before a hot date
Really? What did that mean? That he wanted beans with his eggs?
... his subject matter was limited to sex?
Well, he seems easier to please than BaranovTHERE!!! Happy now? Geeze, the things I have to do around here to please this guy!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
In the Gulag, there is neither Bull nor Gunner, so Baranov has to compensate for the two of them!Well, he seems easier to please than Baranov
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 03
Henry Underwood’s Cell, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Henry looked up and his eyes widened. There were four of them, and he only recognised one, a fact that concerned him, scared him if he was being honest.
His wrists were already cuffed behind his back and then to the cell wall, and so he was helpless when hands skimmed under his torn shirt pulling it up as the touch ran higher, making his stomach and abs twitch.
Henry wriggled and writhed but was powerless when the shirt was pulled up over his head and slipped down to rest around his cuffed wrists, rendering the prisoner effectively naked. Fabric slipped over his eyes. And then rough masculine fingers gripped his nipples, pulling, tweaking, and he yelled out.
"You're so responsive, meine liebe." There was a round of laughter as the fingers continued aggressively until Henry was in real pain, his nipples red and engorged. Then Henry felt the bile rise from his stomach as he was pulled away from the wall, the chain holding him stretched out taut, to its maximum length.
“Oh fuck, no please …” Henry’s pleas were forthcoming because of the engorged cock rising against his ass, as men without faces reached out to touch him.
And then … “Ohhhhh no, nooooo.”
A fist gripped his semi hard cock, while a hand fondled his balls. His breath caught as the fist began to move, jerking him, wanking him, several hands stroked his cock, his balls and groin and in a matter of minutes Henry spilled his seed.
But they did not stop. Another ejaculation and more thick white semen burst forth and then … lips, a mouth, milking him of anything that was left.
“Owwwwwwww!” Henry was overly sensitive in his post orgasmic state but his cries of agony did not stop the bastards from sucking him literally dry.
More laughter and then words. "There'll be nothing left for his whore now!"
Tools Hut Number 3, near the edge of Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Barb’s head shot up as the door to the small hut opened and a body was thrown in.
“Henry?” She half asked, half stated, as she quickly rose to her feet. It was indeed Henry but he was in far worse shape than she was. Barb had become the relatively well looked after concubine of Oleg Baranov, the Camp Commandant, while Henry had clearly been subjected to hard labour and worse.
“You have thirty minutes with the Zeke then I take you both to the preparation centre.” Words that were clearly addressed to Barb.
Henry looked up and offered a weak smile. “Barb?”
“Oh Henry, we only have thirty minutes so let’s not waste time talking.” She lay down on the dusty floor and pulled the short prison dress, the only garment she wore, up and over her head. She began to kiss his cheek as her hand moved to remove Henry’s torn and tattered shirt, the only garment he wore.
“I … I … can’t,” he whispered, looking away.
“What? Why? What have they done to you Henry?”
Barb heard him choke back the sob as he then went on to tell her what had happened to him immediately before they brought him here, and how he had been milked of all his seed, and left exhausted after being buggered more than once.
Barb almost threw up at her lover’s words but knew that she needed to hold it together.
“Did he say preparation centre?” Henry asked. Barb realised that he knew nothing about the penal battalion to which they had been assigned, and so now it was her turn to explain.
“But it’s suicide?” He responded as her words sunk in. Barb just nodded. The fact they could not consummate their final time together was a sad burden that neither of them needed to speak out loud about.
They both replaced their meagre clothing and sat against the hut wall.
“Who brought you here?” Henry asked.
“A guard, Igor, why?”
“Well I was also only brought over by a single guard. And so …”
“So what?” Barb asked.
“So, they clearly thought we were so weak and ineffective and not a danger in any way.”
“Which we pretty much are, Henry.” Barb added,
“… unless they put us in a gardening tools hut full of sharp edges!”
Barb’s eyes lit up. “Of course,” she smiled her eyes wide.
In seconds they had a plan. Both held small rusty knives in their hands as Barb moved to the door.
“Igor, IGOR!” She yelled.
“What is it whore?”
“Get me out of here now. This man is not the man I remember, he can’t even get a hard on. Take me back to the Commandant, I want a real man before I’m sent to my death.”
They both heard laughter from the outside as the bolts were unfastened and the door unlocked. In a swift attack fuelled by surprise, Igor and his unfortunate colleague lay dead, their throats slit, as Barb and Henry headed barefoot and barely dressed to the gateway just a few hundred yards away which led to the rock breaking quarry.
They had made some headway down to the bottom so that they could hide among the rocks until a better opportunity to escape the camp presented itself – they hadn’t thought beyond that.
Nor did they need to because in no time at all the entire quarry, naturally shrouded in the darkness of the oncoming night was lit by large floodlights, and the sound of barking could be heard as men with dogs descended towards them from all angles.
“Come out now with your hands up and we will spare you so that you can still join up with the penal battalion. If we have to find you then I will let my men have you, both of you, after which the dogs will tear you to pieces.
“Fuck.” Barb whispered to Henry. There was no time for discussion, she knew what needed to be done. Pulling Henry’s mouth to hers she kissed him hard, and then stood with her hands held high.
The Yard, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Despite the prevailing chill, there was a swelling throng of excitement among the assembled zekes as the two naked prisoners were paraded across the yard.
Henry and Barb had been captured in the quarry, stripped, beaten and now faced a flogging before being despatched to the Penal Battalion’s preparation area.
Henry would be second, forced to watch his lover being whipped, the bastards had made his cock hard again and so now he stood with it jutting out from his body and no matter how much he attempted to distract his mind with the cold air surrounding him, the sight of Barb’s stimulating nudity only heightened his rigidity.
A rope hung down from the arm of the gibbet and Barb was ordered to stand underneath the dangling cord. It didn't take a great deal of insight to guess that her wrists would be bound by that rope and that her naked body would end up being stretched to its limit for all to see.
The handlers unfastened the cuffs that had secured her hands so tightly together, and the relief of having her arms free brought momentary respite before her wrists were joined in front of her, and lengths of rope were used to expertly tie them together rendering her helpless once more.
"Don't struggle," one of the guards warned her, and then Barb was ordered to raise her arms above her head so that the main rope could be used to finalise her position.
Henry was choked as he watched. He cared little for his own fate but was horrified at the punishment now faced by his beautiful lover.
"There, that should hold you," the guard assured her before smacking her cheerfully on the ass.
The second guard looked her up and down and said, "Maybe we should restrain her ankles. If her legs are free, she could twist and thrash around."
It was quickly agreed that would be a good idea.
"Legs apart, pretty little slut," one of the guards said and then he secured a leather strap around Barb’s right ankle, while guard number 2 fastened an identical leather strap around her left ankle. Then they pulled and her thighs were spread, splitting her body, opening her slit, causing her to cry out.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, ohhhhhhhhh!” It was a sight both stimulating and pitiful.
There was a strain in her shoulders and inner thigh muscles as the way they bound her had stretched her body ... she was on the balls of her feet, her arms raised so high and legs spread so far apart, that her heels couldn't touch the ground.
The satisfied guards stepped away, their work done. Barb trembled in fear and trepidation as she watched the monster of a man approach, brandishing an angry multi-thonged lash, his role in proceedings very obvious.
With hundreds of prisoners and guards alike focusing intently on her bound nudity, the whipmaster approached more closely and began to smack his open palm randomly across her breasts with a series of hard slaps. The hand cracking across her soft flesh made a series of loud sounds that echoed across the yard, interspersed by Barb’s cries.
"Owww, stop, please , noooooo ..."
Her breasts soon throbbed with angry pain, and her tormentor smiled when he saw her struggle against the bonds that held her. The watching zekes gasped.
Barb’s long hair was in such disarray that it covered much of her face. But then, in a move that could be described as strangely gentle, the man gathered up her hair and worked it into a neat ponytail before he resumed the slapping of her body.
The lust and blood hungry crowd wanted more as the brute of a guard slowly circled her hanging form, and suddenly Barb had nightmare flashes of her flogging at the hands of her BDM Seniors all those years ago.
“Ohhhh please …” Barb whispered feeling a hand delve between her widespread legs, fingering her open slit and working her soft folds apart. Reflexively she tried to close her legs, but the leather restraints on her ankles made that impossible. The man played with her pussy, until she convulsed causing her knees to give way, and the crowd cheered.
And then the whipping began.
The Penal Battalion Preparation Area, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
They were, all of them, poor wretches being sent to die.
Rabbits in gunfire headlights designed to seek out enemy positions and draw fire so that the real soldiers could move in for the kill. Why bother to make sure they’re fit and healthy. So long as they can stand, right?
Well, for Barb and Henry even that last point was questionable, because they could barely stand, not after the brutal and very public lashing they had both received.
“Put on.” The command was curt as the rag was dropped at their feet. Both of the captured British spies leaned into one another’s meagrely covered and bleeding bodies for support as they looked down at the small pile of torn cloth, one at Henry’s feet and the other at Barb’s.
With a resigned sigh, knowing that they had no option Henry stripped off his tattered and bloody shirt, as Barb did the same with her equally threadbare dress.
Pulling on the ripped pants, Henry knew that, despite the cold, it was all he was getting to wear.
“Oh Barb,” he whispered when he saw her short and torn tunic that did not even cover her ass.
“Move Zekes, time to go.”
And just like that Barb, Henry, along with all of the other unfortunates, were herded literally like cattle, into a convoy of ZIS-5 trucks.
TBC
Henry Underwood’s Cell, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Henry looked up and his eyes widened. There were four of them, and he only recognised one, a fact that concerned him, scared him if he was being honest.
His wrists were already cuffed behind his back and then to the cell wall, and so he was helpless when hands skimmed under his torn shirt pulling it up as the touch ran higher, making his stomach and abs twitch.
Henry wriggled and writhed but was powerless when the shirt was pulled up over his head and slipped down to rest around his cuffed wrists, rendering the prisoner effectively naked. Fabric slipped over his eyes. And then rough masculine fingers gripped his nipples, pulling, tweaking, and he yelled out.
"You're so responsive, meine liebe." There was a round of laughter as the fingers continued aggressively until Henry was in real pain, his nipples red and engorged. Then Henry felt the bile rise from his stomach as he was pulled away from the wall, the chain holding him stretched out taut, to its maximum length.
“Oh fuck, no please …” Henry’s pleas were forthcoming because of the engorged cock rising against his ass, as men without faces reached out to touch him.
And then … “Ohhhhh no, nooooo.”
A fist gripped his semi hard cock, while a hand fondled his balls. His breath caught as the fist began to move, jerking him, wanking him, several hands stroked his cock, his balls and groin and in a matter of minutes Henry spilled his seed.
But they did not stop. Another ejaculation and more thick white semen burst forth and then … lips, a mouth, milking him of anything that was left.
“Owwwwwwww!” Henry was overly sensitive in his post orgasmic state but his cries of agony did not stop the bastards from sucking him literally dry.
More laughter and then words. "There'll be nothing left for his whore now!"
Tools Hut Number 3, near the edge of Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Barb’s head shot up as the door to the small hut opened and a body was thrown in.
“Henry?” She half asked, half stated, as she quickly rose to her feet. It was indeed Henry but he was in far worse shape than she was. Barb had become the relatively well looked after concubine of Oleg Baranov, the Camp Commandant, while Henry had clearly been subjected to hard labour and worse.
“You have thirty minutes with the Zeke then I take you both to the preparation centre.” Words that were clearly addressed to Barb.
Henry looked up and offered a weak smile. “Barb?”
“Oh Henry, we only have thirty minutes so let’s not waste time talking.” She lay down on the dusty floor and pulled the short prison dress, the only garment she wore, up and over her head. She began to kiss his cheek as her hand moved to remove Henry’s torn and tattered shirt, the only garment he wore.
“I … I … can’t,” he whispered, looking away.
“What? Why? What have they done to you Henry?”
Barb heard him choke back the sob as he then went on to tell her what had happened to him immediately before they brought him here, and how he had been milked of all his seed, and left exhausted after being buggered more than once.
Barb almost threw up at her lover’s words but knew that she needed to hold it together.
“Did he say preparation centre?” Henry asked. Barb realised that he knew nothing about the penal battalion to which they had been assigned, and so now it was her turn to explain.
“But it’s suicide?” He responded as her words sunk in. Barb just nodded. The fact they could not consummate their final time together was a sad burden that neither of them needed to speak out loud about.
They both replaced their meagre clothing and sat against the hut wall.
“Who brought you here?” Henry asked.
“A guard, Igor, why?”
“Well I was also only brought over by a single guard. And so …”
“So what?” Barb asked.
“So, they clearly thought we were so weak and ineffective and not a danger in any way.”
“Which we pretty much are, Henry.” Barb added,
“… unless they put us in a gardening tools hut full of sharp edges!”
Barb’s eyes lit up. “Of course,” she smiled her eyes wide.
In seconds they had a plan. Both held small rusty knives in their hands as Barb moved to the door.
“Igor, IGOR!” She yelled.
“What is it whore?”
“Get me out of here now. This man is not the man I remember, he can’t even get a hard on. Take me back to the Commandant, I want a real man before I’m sent to my death.”
They both heard laughter from the outside as the bolts were unfastened and the door unlocked. In a swift attack fuelled by surprise, Igor and his unfortunate colleague lay dead, their throats slit, as Barb and Henry headed barefoot and barely dressed to the gateway just a few hundred yards away which led to the rock breaking quarry.
They had made some headway down to the bottom so that they could hide among the rocks until a better opportunity to escape the camp presented itself – they hadn’t thought beyond that.
Nor did they need to because in no time at all the entire quarry, naturally shrouded in the darkness of the oncoming night was lit by large floodlights, and the sound of barking could be heard as men with dogs descended towards them from all angles.
“Come out now with your hands up and we will spare you so that you can still join up with the penal battalion. If we have to find you then I will let my men have you, both of you, after which the dogs will tear you to pieces.
“Fuck.” Barb whispered to Henry. There was no time for discussion, she knew what needed to be done. Pulling Henry’s mouth to hers she kissed him hard, and then stood with her hands held high.
The Yard, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
Despite the prevailing chill, there was a swelling throng of excitement among the assembled zekes as the two naked prisoners were paraded across the yard.
Henry and Barb had been captured in the quarry, stripped, beaten and now faced a flogging before being despatched to the Penal Battalion’s preparation area.
Henry would be second, forced to watch his lover being whipped, the bastards had made his cock hard again and so now he stood with it jutting out from his body and no matter how much he attempted to distract his mind with the cold air surrounding him, the sight of Barb’s stimulating nudity only heightened his rigidity.
A rope hung down from the arm of the gibbet and Barb was ordered to stand underneath the dangling cord. It didn't take a great deal of insight to guess that her wrists would be bound by that rope and that her naked body would end up being stretched to its limit for all to see.
The handlers unfastened the cuffs that had secured her hands so tightly together, and the relief of having her arms free brought momentary respite before her wrists were joined in front of her, and lengths of rope were used to expertly tie them together rendering her helpless once more.
"Don't struggle," one of the guards warned her, and then Barb was ordered to raise her arms above her head so that the main rope could be used to finalise her position.
Henry was choked as he watched. He cared little for his own fate but was horrified at the punishment now faced by his beautiful lover.
"There, that should hold you," the guard assured her before smacking her cheerfully on the ass.
The second guard looked her up and down and said, "Maybe we should restrain her ankles. If her legs are free, she could twist and thrash around."
It was quickly agreed that would be a good idea.
"Legs apart, pretty little slut," one of the guards said and then he secured a leather strap around Barb’s right ankle, while guard number 2 fastened an identical leather strap around her left ankle. Then they pulled and her thighs were spread, splitting her body, opening her slit, causing her to cry out.
“Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, ohhhhhhhhh!” It was a sight both stimulating and pitiful.
There was a strain in her shoulders and inner thigh muscles as the way they bound her had stretched her body ... she was on the balls of her feet, her arms raised so high and legs spread so far apart, that her heels couldn't touch the ground.
The satisfied guards stepped away, their work done. Barb trembled in fear and trepidation as she watched the monster of a man approach, brandishing an angry multi-thonged lash, his role in proceedings very obvious.
With hundreds of prisoners and guards alike focusing intently on her bound nudity, the whipmaster approached more closely and began to smack his open palm randomly across her breasts with a series of hard slaps. The hand cracking across her soft flesh made a series of loud sounds that echoed across the yard, interspersed by Barb’s cries.
"Owww, stop, please , noooooo ..."
Her breasts soon throbbed with angry pain, and her tormentor smiled when he saw her struggle against the bonds that held her. The watching zekes gasped.
Barb’s long hair was in such disarray that it covered much of her face. But then, in a move that could be described as strangely gentle, the man gathered up her hair and worked it into a neat ponytail before he resumed the slapping of her body.
The lust and blood hungry crowd wanted more as the brute of a guard slowly circled her hanging form, and suddenly Barb had nightmare flashes of her flogging at the hands of her BDM Seniors all those years ago.
“Ohhhh please …” Barb whispered feeling a hand delve between her widespread legs, fingering her open slit and working her soft folds apart. Reflexively she tried to close her legs, but the leather restraints on her ankles made that impossible. The man played with her pussy, until she convulsed causing her knees to give way, and the crowd cheered.
And then the whipping began.
The Penal Battalion Preparation Area, Kondopoga Corrective Labour Camp, Kondopoga, Karelia, Soviet Union, Saturday 30th December, 1939
They were, all of them, poor wretches being sent to die.
Rabbits in gunfire headlights designed to seek out enemy positions and draw fire so that the real soldiers could move in for the kill. Why bother to make sure they’re fit and healthy. So long as they can stand, right?
Well, for Barb and Henry even that last point was questionable, because they could barely stand, not after the brutal and very public lashing they had both received.
“Put on.” The command was curt as the rag was dropped at their feet. Both of the captured British spies leaned into one another’s meagrely covered and bleeding bodies for support as they looked down at the small pile of torn cloth, one at Henry’s feet and the other at Barb’s.
With a resigned sigh, knowing that they had no option Henry stripped off his tattered and bloody shirt, as Barb did the same with her equally threadbare dress.
Pulling on the ripped pants, Henry knew that, despite the cold, it was all he was getting to wear.
“Oh Barb,” he whispered when he saw her short and torn tunic that did not even cover her ass.
“Move Zekes, time to go.”
And just like that Barb, Henry, along with all of the other unfortunates, were herded literally like cattle, into a convoy of ZIS-5 trucks.
TBC
Chapter 04
Near Niirala, Finland, with the Russian 493rd Penal Battalion, Sunday, 31st December 1939.
They stood together, side by side, shivering in the early morning light … they and nearly a thousand other Zekes of the 493rd Penal Battalion. Minutes earlier Barbara and Henry had been ordered out of the relative warmth of the timbered earthen dugout in which they’d spent the night … the relative warmth therein stemming from closely packed bodies and the large quantities of alcoholic spirits supplied and consumed.
The dugout had offered a welcome respite from the previous day’s freezing cold ride, from the penal camp at Kondopoga to the battle front, crammed into the open back of a ZIS-5 “Tryohtonka”truck. The 145 kilometer trip over rough roads to the frontline near the Finnish border town of Niirala had consumed nearly the entire day. And the half-frozen and ravenously hungry Zekes had piled gratefully into the battlefront dugouts where they’d quickly availed themselves of the copious amounts of alcohol available therein. There’d been no food.
Barbara, who much preferred wine, had drunk only enough to feel the warmth of the liquid going down. Henry had imbibed a whole lot more. And she’d liked to have had more intimacy from him as they lay in one another’s arms … as well as protection from the amorous attentions of a few of their more predatory comrades who kept sidling up to and pawing at her. But she’d been forced to fight them off, as best she could, all by herself, which meant spending much of the night lying guardedly awake and feeling bitterly angry with Henry and everything else.
Towards morning, as she’d laid awake, she’d overheard their camp commandant, Major Oleg Baranov, arguing angrily outside their dugout with, Comrade Lebedev, the battalion’s political commissar. Their argument had ended with the sharp report of a gun shot. And as she’d emerged that morning from the dugout, her worst fears had been confirmed. Baranov lay dead, sprawled on his back in the snow. A bloody hole in the center of his forehead marked the entry point of the Commissar’s side arm bullet that took his life. Poor Oleg Vladimirovich! He’d died trying to save the lot of them from the insanity about to befall them.
And the insanity of it all now became abundantly clear as Igor and the other camp guards set about forcing the Zekes to form up into three long ranks. Many were too drunk to comprehend and had to be kicked and shoved into place.
Henry, who seemed to have shaken off his alcohol induced stupor, and recognizing what was about to happen, whispered sharply to Barbara, “quick, get in the third line!”
She gave him a hostile look, still feeling annoyed with him for falling asleep back in the dugout, but also knowing they’d be needing one another to get through whatever happened next.
It took awhile, but eventually the Zekes formed up in the required three lines, more or less shoulder to shoulder. Some were so drunk they could barely stand up and were half-supported by their comrades. Barbara and Henry stood next to one another in the third rank.
She shivered. The thin summer- weight camouflaged tunic … barely long enough to cover her ass and the only thing she wore, save for a pair of old boots that were a size or two too large for her feet … was nearly worthless for keeping her warm. Henry was no better off, having only a pair of torn and tattered uniform trousers. The other Zekes, for the most part men, but a scattering of women too, were no better dressed to endure the wintry cold than she or Henry.
Before long Igor came along the line carrying an armload of antique Czarist-era rifles … barely enough to arm but a few of the Zekes. For whatever reason, he shoved one of them into Barbara’s hands. She looked at it dumbly. The use of such a weapon with its long slender bayonet had not been part of her SIS training at Arisaig. She wouldn’t even know how to load it, not that she was issued any ammunition for it anyway. After a moment’s hesitation, she handed it off to Henry, who took one look at it and muttered, “the damn thing’s worthless.”
The camp guards soon began moving along the lines and giving orders.
“At the whistle everyone moves forward in the direction of the Finnish positions,” the one nearest to them instructed.
Barbara craned her neck in an effort see past the forward ranks to determine where the Finnish defenders might be, but all she could make out through the haze was a wide-open snow-covered space, presumably a large field or meadow, and beyond it a densely wooded area. The snow-covered open space was littered with white humps, giving it a somewhat hummocky appearance
“The last time our side tried this it ended badly, poor devils,” muttered the grizzled older Zeke standing to her left. “No one in the Russian army ever learns. T’was no better in the Czar’s army back in ‘16’. Totally expendable Like lambs to the slaughter, we are!”
The voice of experience, she thought to herself.
A light snow had begun to fall. She instinctively pulled the collar of her tunic closer together around her neck … not that it mattered much.
There were voices and metallic sounds coming from behind them. She turned to look.
“Machine guns … in case we get the notion in our heads that we might turn about and flee,” explained the older Zeke.
New orders were being bawled out.
“At the whistle, we move to the attack,” chorused the camp guards from all up and down the lines. “First wave advances immediately. Second wave, counts to twenty and follows on. Third wave, the same. Keep closed ranks, don’t stop, keep moving forward no matter what! Anyone who refuses to move or turns and runs for the rear will be shot!”
The throaty sound of tank engines starting up behind them, shattered the relative calm.
“Any time now,” growled the veteran Zeke in Barbara’s ear. “May we all rest in peace.”
Henry gripped her hand tightly and instructed grimly, “stay close to me Barb, and do exactly as I say.”
She nodded, and bit her lip.
Moments later, the dreaded whistle blew, and the first wave stumbled out onto the field and began moving forward as a ragged closely-packed wave of humanity. A strange mood of gaiety had descended. Many had linked arms and were shouting huzzahs.
The second wave soon followed, and then the third, carrying Barb and Henry along with it.
At first, the advance seemed to be going well enough. The first wave reached the middle of the field without a shot being fired. The second wave closed up. And in its wake Barb, Henry and the third wave stumbled forward. Hand-in-hand she and Henry marched with the rest, keeping their heads down and carefully skirting around the frozen snow-covered corpses they came upon left from an earlier attack.
But just as she began to think that perhaps the Finns had pulled back during the night and they might actually survive this insanity, all Hell broke loose.
The Finns opened fire from hidden positions all along the distant tree line just as the first wave ran up against a heretofore all but invisible tangle of barbed wire. The Finnish fire caught the struggling, wire enmeshed line of Zekes full on, mowing them down with ease. The second wave, following on, quickly broke up amongst the heaps of fallen and went to ground.
“Fuck!” muttered the man on her left.
“Keep moving!” cried a prison guard, whom she happened to recognize as Igor. Moments later a burst of automatic Finnish fire ripped through him, picking him up and tossing him to the ground.
“Get down! Crouch down low like me! Yelled Henry, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
She obeyed. Behind them, she could hear the tanks coming on, engines roaring. And ahead, the flash of outgoing Russian shells bursting among the trees ahead.
They soon reached the killing zone where the human wreckage of the first two waves lay clumped together in grotesque heaps. Many lifeless bodies lay draped over the tangle of wire that had so effectively stymied the advance.
“Fall amongst the dead and feign having been shot,” yelled Henry, shoving her into a gap between two heaps of fallen Zekes. She stumbled forward into the gap and fell face down. Henry landed heavily on top of her.
Raising her head, she spotted the veteran Zeke who’d been on her left lying on his back a short distance away, his face half blown away.
And the Russian tanks, now nearly on top of them, were coming through, callously plowing their way without regard through the heaps of dead and wounded Zekes.
“Roll left. Now!” Shouted Henry, grabbing her tunic and flipping her off to the side, half ripping the tunic from her body in the process.
And as she rolled and fell, the tracks of a slithering steel monster clattered by, just missing them.
The tanks went on, bursting through the wire, and shortly thereafter a series of thudding explosions erupted as they blundered into a waiting minefield.
Soon after that the volume of fire from the Finnish positions slackened. Barbara and Henry lay amongst the heaps of dead and wounded, alive and untouched, but imobilized … unable to go forward or to retreat.
Eventually the shooting stopped, the roar of battle gave way to the cries and moans of the wounded and dying. All the tanks were burning lighting up the low gray overhead clouds, their ammunition occasionally cooking off and exploding. The attack had been a bloody massacre.
It wasn’t long before the Finns were moving amongst them, shooting the wounded.
Barbara and Henry lay perfectly still, feigning death until a Finnish soldier came nearby. He wore a white camouflage cape. And upon spotting Barbara’s half-naked body, he sauntered over her way. Whereupon he poked at her with the muzzle of his gun, snagging and sliding what remained of her tunic up around her shoulders. He used his gun to flip her over onto her back and to poke with an amused expression at her exposed breasts, before pressing the muzzle tightly against her chest.
And he may have pulled the trigger, but stopped short when Henry startled him by suddenly sitting up, batting the gun away with his hand and exclaiming in English, “don’t shoot! We’re British!”
TBC
Near Niirala, Finland, with the Russian 493rd Penal Battalion, Sunday, 31st December 1939.
They stood together, side by side, shivering in the early morning light … they and nearly a thousand other Zekes of the 493rd Penal Battalion. Minutes earlier Barbara and Henry had been ordered out of the relative warmth of the timbered earthen dugout in which they’d spent the night … the relative warmth therein stemming from closely packed bodies and the large quantities of alcoholic spirits supplied and consumed.
The dugout had offered a welcome respite from the previous day’s freezing cold ride, from the penal camp at Kondopoga to the battle front, crammed into the open back of a ZIS-5 “Tryohtonka”truck. The 145 kilometer trip over rough roads to the frontline near the Finnish border town of Niirala had consumed nearly the entire day. And the half-frozen and ravenously hungry Zekes had piled gratefully into the battlefront dugouts where they’d quickly availed themselves of the copious amounts of alcohol available therein. There’d been no food.
Barbara, who much preferred wine, had drunk only enough to feel the warmth of the liquid going down. Henry had imbibed a whole lot more. And she’d liked to have had more intimacy from him as they lay in one another’s arms … as well as protection from the amorous attentions of a few of their more predatory comrades who kept sidling up to and pawing at her. But she’d been forced to fight them off, as best she could, all by herself, which meant spending much of the night lying guardedly awake and feeling bitterly angry with Henry and everything else.
Towards morning, as she’d laid awake, she’d overheard their camp commandant, Major Oleg Baranov, arguing angrily outside their dugout with, Comrade Lebedev, the battalion’s political commissar. Their argument had ended with the sharp report of a gun shot. And as she’d emerged that morning from the dugout, her worst fears had been confirmed. Baranov lay dead, sprawled on his back in the snow. A bloody hole in the center of his forehead marked the entry point of the Commissar’s side arm bullet that took his life. Poor Oleg Vladimirovich! He’d died trying to save the lot of them from the insanity about to befall them.
And the insanity of it all now became abundantly clear as Igor and the other camp guards set about forcing the Zekes to form up into three long ranks. Many were too drunk to comprehend and had to be kicked and shoved into place.
Henry, who seemed to have shaken off his alcohol induced stupor, and recognizing what was about to happen, whispered sharply to Barbara, “quick, get in the third line!”
She gave him a hostile look, still feeling annoyed with him for falling asleep back in the dugout, but also knowing they’d be needing one another to get through whatever happened next.
It took awhile, but eventually the Zekes formed up in the required three lines, more or less shoulder to shoulder. Some were so drunk they could barely stand up and were half-supported by their comrades. Barbara and Henry stood next to one another in the third rank.
She shivered. The thin summer- weight camouflaged tunic … barely long enough to cover her ass and the only thing she wore, save for a pair of old boots that were a size or two too large for her feet … was nearly worthless for keeping her warm. Henry was no better off, having only a pair of torn and tattered uniform trousers. The other Zekes, for the most part men, but a scattering of women too, were no better dressed to endure the wintry cold than she or Henry.
Before long Igor came along the line carrying an armload of antique Czarist-era rifles … barely enough to arm but a few of the Zekes. For whatever reason, he shoved one of them into Barbara’s hands. She looked at it dumbly. The use of such a weapon with its long slender bayonet had not been part of her SIS training at Arisaig. She wouldn’t even know how to load it, not that she was issued any ammunition for it anyway. After a moment’s hesitation, she handed it off to Henry, who took one look at it and muttered, “the damn thing’s worthless.”
The camp guards soon began moving along the lines and giving orders.
“At the whistle everyone moves forward in the direction of the Finnish positions,” the one nearest to them instructed.
Barbara craned her neck in an effort see past the forward ranks to determine where the Finnish defenders might be, but all she could make out through the haze was a wide-open snow-covered space, presumably a large field or meadow, and beyond it a densely wooded area. The snow-covered open space was littered with white humps, giving it a somewhat hummocky appearance
“The last time our side tried this it ended badly, poor devils,” muttered the grizzled older Zeke standing to her left. “No one in the Russian army ever learns. T’was no better in the Czar’s army back in ‘16’. Totally expendable Like lambs to the slaughter, we are!”
The voice of experience, she thought to herself.
A light snow had begun to fall. She instinctively pulled the collar of her tunic closer together around her neck … not that it mattered much.
There were voices and metallic sounds coming from behind them. She turned to look.
“Machine guns … in case we get the notion in our heads that we might turn about and flee,” explained the older Zeke.
New orders were being bawled out.
“At the whistle, we move to the attack,” chorused the camp guards from all up and down the lines. “First wave advances immediately. Second wave, counts to twenty and follows on. Third wave, the same. Keep closed ranks, don’t stop, keep moving forward no matter what! Anyone who refuses to move or turns and runs for the rear will be shot!”
The throaty sound of tank engines starting up behind them, shattered the relative calm.
“Any time now,” growled the veteran Zeke in Barbara’s ear. “May we all rest in peace.”
Henry gripped her hand tightly and instructed grimly, “stay close to me Barb, and do exactly as I say.”
She nodded, and bit her lip.
Moments later, the dreaded whistle blew, and the first wave stumbled out onto the field and began moving forward as a ragged closely-packed wave of humanity. A strange mood of gaiety had descended. Many had linked arms and were shouting huzzahs.
The second wave soon followed, and then the third, carrying Barb and Henry along with it.
At first, the advance seemed to be going well enough. The first wave reached the middle of the field without a shot being fired. The second wave closed up. And in its wake Barb, Henry and the third wave stumbled forward. Hand-in-hand she and Henry marched with the rest, keeping their heads down and carefully skirting around the frozen snow-covered corpses they came upon left from an earlier attack.
But just as she began to think that perhaps the Finns had pulled back during the night and they might actually survive this insanity, all Hell broke loose.
The Finns opened fire from hidden positions all along the distant tree line just as the first wave ran up against a heretofore all but invisible tangle of barbed wire. The Finnish fire caught the struggling, wire enmeshed line of Zekes full on, mowing them down with ease. The second wave, following on, quickly broke up amongst the heaps of fallen and went to ground.
“Fuck!” muttered the man on her left.
“Keep moving!” cried a prison guard, whom she happened to recognize as Igor. Moments later a burst of automatic Finnish fire ripped through him, picking him up and tossing him to the ground.
“Get down! Crouch down low like me! Yelled Henry, raising his voice to be heard above the din.
She obeyed. Behind them, she could hear the tanks coming on, engines roaring. And ahead, the flash of outgoing Russian shells bursting among the trees ahead.
They soon reached the killing zone where the human wreckage of the first two waves lay clumped together in grotesque heaps. Many lifeless bodies lay draped over the tangle of wire that had so effectively stymied the advance.
“Fall amongst the dead and feign having been shot,” yelled Henry, shoving her into a gap between two heaps of fallen Zekes. She stumbled forward into the gap and fell face down. Henry landed heavily on top of her.
Raising her head, she spotted the veteran Zeke who’d been on her left lying on his back a short distance away, his face half blown away.
And the Russian tanks, now nearly on top of them, were coming through, callously plowing their way without regard through the heaps of dead and wounded Zekes.
“Roll left. Now!” Shouted Henry, grabbing her tunic and flipping her off to the side, half ripping the tunic from her body in the process.
And as she rolled and fell, the tracks of a slithering steel monster clattered by, just missing them.
The tanks went on, bursting through the wire, and shortly thereafter a series of thudding explosions erupted as they blundered into a waiting minefield.
Soon after that the volume of fire from the Finnish positions slackened. Barbara and Henry lay amongst the heaps of dead and wounded, alive and untouched, but imobilized … unable to go forward or to retreat.
Eventually the shooting stopped, the roar of battle gave way to the cries and moans of the wounded and dying. All the tanks were burning lighting up the low gray overhead clouds, their ammunition occasionally cooking off and exploding. The attack had been a bloody massacre.
It wasn’t long before the Finns were moving amongst them, shooting the wounded.
Barbara and Henry lay perfectly still, feigning death until a Finnish soldier came nearby. He wore a white camouflage cape. And upon spotting Barbara’s half-naked body, he sauntered over her way. Whereupon he poked at her with the muzzle of his gun, snagging and sliding what remained of her tunic up around her shoulders. He used his gun to flip her over onto her back and to poke with an amused expression at her exposed breasts, before pressing the muzzle tightly against her chest.
And he may have pulled the trigger, but stopped short when Henry startled him by suddenly sitting up, batting the gun away with his hand and exclaiming in English, “don’t shoot! We’re British!”
TBC
Mmmm potential orgy?
Lucky you weren’t forced to walk! The cannon fodder must be urgently required for the big push!
zekes must earn their food with blood
Only 2 glasses though!
Of course he did
He’s such a Cad! I would have just held you while fighting the others off you, claiming you as my own after…
Never argue with a political Commissar. His gun is not for the enemy, and his fight is from behind you..
Put the fear of the knout into them! That’s the best way to motivate zekes
Oh good, Flashman Henry awakens! Here’s hoping his plan is better than their “escape”!
Give him the cold shoulder, you have 2 to work with!
Why waste clothing for the dead?
It’s only for the aesthetics when you are ordered to march into the machine gun fire
Are we permitted to know what direction in particular?
The colour of the snow promises to be transformed soon enough!
And still the same tactic holding sway even now! (Sad reality)
Picturing this would be a great subject for any crux artist reading? Calling @thehangingtree
You can rely on the Red army to give the politicals the best equipment, unfortunately not to be used against the purported enemy, just the perennial real enemy of the Russian political elite
Traditional Russian order of attack
C’mon Flashman, save your own hide, and accidentally hers!
It’s called an ambush! You aren’t the first such waves the Finns have seen and they cunningly preserve their troops to benefit from experience, “cheating” in other words,,,
I think Barb said the same.
Good advice but unnecessary? Under fire most will fall flat to the ground, trying to dig in with their eyelids! (Actual quote from an Afghan war veteran friend)
A macabre cover of sorts, don’t be squeamish, use it!
There’s Flashy !
Improving our view?
Those damn cheating Finns, using real tactics again!
Useful strategy this
Awww don’t waste those tumescent tits, mr Finn?
Flashman In The Winter War
Shout it again, but louder, Old Boy. He's foreign, you know
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Brilliant Loin!
You know me too well
