Early morning sunshine crept lazily into the sky, framing the journey ahead with a warm, orange tint. The road was filled with the cacophony of grumbling trucks and marching men as the 62nd Army made its way towards the fallen city of Stalingrad.

Sasha let his head fall back against the woven canopy of the truck, his eyes closed to keep out the glaring light from the back opening. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but he might at least get some rest. His hand lay over his chest, his photograph of Natalya and his favourite letter pressed to his heart. It's the only way he ever got any sleep.

It was snatched quick and sharp from his hands.

Opening his eyes, he saw the perpetrator, Boris, perusing it across from him.

Boris had his obligatory cigarette between his fingers, his dark brows furrowed as he looked her over. For a platoon sergeant, he really was such a grumpy mudak. 'She really is a looker, isn't she?' he said, a few of the others all scrabbling for a look.

Smugly, Sasha settled back into his seat and let them. 'Yeah, she is.'

'This is your fiancé?' asked Danya, grabbing the photo from Boris. Always so eager, even at this time of the morning. Just listening to him speak would give away how young he was. Sasha was shocked Boris had welcomed him into their little group of friends. He didn't usually like 'easy targets'. 'She's beautiful. But so...'

'Small?' said Sasha with a chuckle.

Danya joined in. 'Yeah, big thing like you would crush her, no?'

Sasha cocked an eyebrow. 'Our height isn't so different when we're lying down.'

'Be better if she smiled though,' said Boris, squinting at her again over Danya's shoulder. 'Such a serious little thing.'

Micha snorted from beside Sasha. 'That girl would rather die than crack a smile when told.' Nudging him, Micha managed to coax another smile from Sasha. There was something entirely comforting about having Micha with him at all times; he was his little piece of home he always had with him.

'She's your cousin or something, isn't she?' asked Boris.

'Oldest friend,' corrected Micha. 'But might as well be related.'

'And you snuck in there and stole her?' asked Boris as he pulled the photograph out of Danya's grasp and handed it back to Sasha.

'He can have her,' laughed Micha. 'She might be small but she terrifies me.'

Boris took a drag of his smoke. 'Fiery?'

'And then some,' said Sasha, looking at the photograph for himself for a moment. The Ferris wheel was just visible behind the pair of them, Sasha holding Natalya up in the air as her blurry hand took a swipe at him. He adored this picture. Natalya had wanted the one taken moments before, with both of them smiling like a madly in love couple. But he preferred this one. This epitomised their relationship far better than gawking grins.

'The photograph I get why you always have,' said Boris, pulling Sasha's focus back. 'But why the letter?'

Sasha tucked them both back into his pocket. 'She actually admitted she was wrong.'

'And that's a good thing?' Danya asked, confused.

'It's rare,' explained Micha. 'The most you usually get off her is a pout and a grumble in recognition that you were right. That was an entire gushing letter of praise for the war effort.'

Boris scoffed. 'She'll eat those words when Moscow is finally invaded.'

The mood between them slipped.

'She wrote this ages ago, after revolution day,' said Sasha, his tone defensive. 'The Nazis are nowhere near Moscow now. She's safe.'

Again, Boris scoffed. 'Civilians aren't safe wherever they are.' He leaned in closer to the other three friends, lowering his voice from the prying ears of the others. 'Do you honestly think they've pulled out the civilians from Stalingrad? After Big Boy was talking about us having to 'harvest victory' in that last load of bullshit he was spouting on the radio?'

'Don't call him that!' bit Sasha. 'He's our leader. Show some respect.'

'Stalin is no leader', sighed Boris. 'He's a cold blooded killer of the people.'

'Shut up!' urged Micha, checking to see if the other men had heard what he said over their own conversations.

'You boys are all so young,' said Boris, flicking the butt of his smoke out of the truck. 'You've no idea the oppression the people face every day-'

'If he's so terrible, then why are you here fighting?' asked Sasha, his tone goading. 'Why not protest him?'

'I'd rather take my chances against the Germans than our government,' said Boris with a smirk. 'That fight will come, mark my words. And when it does, you need to be ready. It'll be worse than anything we'll face out there now.'

Before any of them could respond, the truck began to slow.

'Get ready lads,' said Boris, stretching before he hauled himself up. 'We're here.'

They pulled to a stop, everyone groaning as they got up. Boris opened the back catch and threw open the door. Jumping down from the truck, Sasha kept his rifle in hand. In all his days on the front, he'd never been greeted with such an eery silence.

It wasn't that there was no noise. Shouts for help could be heard, the crumbling of buildings, the rumble of the arriving trucks and the barked, hurried orders of their superiors. But the city was still. The buzz of life was completely gone with only emptiness in its wake.

'I don't like this,' murmured Micha.

Boris sparked his lighter and lit another cigarette. 'Steady your nerves boys. This is going to be brutal.'

'Where is everyone?' asked Danya.

Snorting, Boris pushed on ahead. 'I told you. They don't pull out civilians.'

'Some of them had to have survived,' encouraged Sasha, following Boris. Though, he wasn't so sure any more.

Slowly, the swarm of soldiers began to ooze into the dilapidated streets, calling out for signs of life. The four of them were near the rear, the broken landscape stretching before them in savage glory.

'There are no birds,' murmured Micha.

'What?' said Boris, looking back at him with his smoke dangling between his teeth.

'There are no birds,' Micha repeated. 'It's a city, where are all the birds?'

'They could fly away,' managed Sasha, his voice hoarse.

Danya walked a little closer to Sasha than normal, and he wasn't inclined to turn him away. This place made him queasy. Together, they took their first steps onto the streets of Stalingrad.

A few civilians were dotted about the roadside. Some were attending to the wounded, others simply sat, staring into an abyss they hadn't yet crawled out from. Not a single one of them was clean, each covered in dust or dirt or blood. A small boy sat on his own, huddled with his knees to his chest, tucked in the alcove of a butchers shop with blasted windows.

Micha ran to him, dropping to his knees as he pulled out his canteen. 'Here, drink this.' He tried to push the bottle to the boy's lips, but the child only stared vacantly up at his saviour. 'It's water.' The water spilled down his ashen face, Micha only just catching it with his hand. 'Why won't he drink?' Micha's voice wavered, staring out at his comrades pleadingly.

'He's in shock,' said Boris. 'Leave him, he'll come round.'

'He's just a child,' urged Micha.

Clearing his throat, Sasha offered his hand out to his friend. 'Come on. Someone else will get him the help he needs.'

Reluctantly, Micha grabbed his proffered hand and hauled himself up.

They pressed on.

Sasha's eyes darted around him, drinking in the carnage and chaos of this new reality. The ground crunched beneath every step they took, broken glass and shattered paving slabs at every turn. No structure remained intact, torn and tattered in some unknown violence. Just like the people. There were buildings with entire sides missing; gaping holes in the corners that let him stare right into the lives of those left behind.

No, not left behind.

Trapped.

Onwards they marched, swallowed deeper by the wreckage of this once great city, the namesake of their leader. Less and less did Sasha's gaze wander. It would do no good to focus on any more death, not when the fight was nearly upon them.

Eventually they reached the main square, such splendour rendered into complete disarray. Members of the 62nd were already mingling with the remaining civilians, helping them to carry the fallen and place them in neat rows for identification.

'So many children,' murmured Sasha, his lips moving before his mind could comprehend.

'It'll all be women and children,' said Boris, stalking over to inspect the first row of the deceased. 'That and the old men.'

From behind, Danya began to retch, leaning on the side of a former post office as he tried to swallow it down.

'Maylsh,' muttered Boris.

Sasha darted to his young friend, slapping him on the back. 'Cough it up, it's better to get it out.'

'Don't let the others see you like that,' called Boris, as Danya glanced at him with watery eyes. 'You've got to be strong.'

'He's never seen a dead child before,' snapped Micha. 'Give him a break.'

Shrugging, Boris went back to inspecting the lifeless faces.

'He wants us all to be dead inside, just like him,' seethed Micha.

'He's just hardened to it,' said Sasha.

'So are you, and you're not a complete kozyol.'

Danya managed to stand up straight, waving Sasha off in promise that he was all right.

Sighing, Sasha left him to it and came to stand beside Micha. He buried into his pocket for his lighter and smokes, sparking two before he handed one to Micha.

Micha mumbled a small thank you, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke towards the sky.

Following suit, Sasha tried his best to enjoy his cigarette and focus on the smoke that billowed in grey plumes around him. He made to take another drag, his hand trembling against his lips. Irritated, he held it in front of him, inspecting it. There was a slight but definite tremor, as though he were out in the cold. He shook it to dispel it, then continued with his cigarette.

The pair watched as more and more bodies were laid at temporary rest in the square. Some of the civilians had started to muddle through them, searching for the faces of their loved ones. An older woman pushed past them, knocking into Boris' arm as she hurried to the first row. As though she had tripped, she dropped to her knees, her head rested on the stomach of a young woman. Her anguished tears were muffled into the dead girl's body, lost amongst the deathly still.

'Boris was right,' said Sasha, the words grating against his throat. 'They really did just leave them all here.'

'Yeah,' replied Micha, his voice barely audible.

'They had to know this would happen-'

'And did it anyway.' Micha coughed out the last of his smoke, chucking it away from him before he pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Makes you think, doesn't it?'

'Yeah,' said Sasha, flicking the butt of his smoke away.

'Hey Sasha,' called Boris. 'Come look at this.'

'Stay with Danya, would you?' said Sasha to Micha. 'He'll definitely vomit if he comes any closer.'

'Sure.'

Warily, Sasha darted over to his friend, his rifle still at the ready. 'What is it?' He stood the other side of the death line from Boris, at the head of a young woman. He made sure to keep his focus solely on his friend.

'Look,' said Boris, pointing at the girl's face.

'Why would I want to look at that?' asked Sasha.

'So you understand,' said Boris, his tone filled with authority and gravity.

With a deep breath, Sasha glanced down.

It was Natalya.

At least, it looked exactly like her. Similar nose, dark hair, small frame. But the eyes were lighter, and vacant.

'Looks just like your Liya, doesn't it?' said Boris.

Teeth gritted, Sasha concentrated in not throwing up just like Danya. He wanted to look away. He was desperate to. Yet he couldn't. Crouching down, he reached out those same trembling fingers to stroke the girl's hair. It was slick with grease and sweat, her scalp icy to the touch. 'Has no one come to claim her?'

'Not that I've seen.'

So she was alone, frozen in permanent beauty and fear. Sasha's thumb stroked down her cheek, his eyes brimmed with aching tears.

If Moscow fell, is this what would happen to Liya? She was tough, she'd fight to the last. But you can't fight against bombs; you can only succumb.

Sasha wavered and fell to sit behind her, his legs crossed so that he could cradle her head in his lap. Would this be the nearest he would get to a final moment with the girl he had left behind? Would someone else, a stranger, be the one to say a proper goodbye as she lay lined up amongst the departed, ready to be forgotten when the battle raged on?

Looking down on the scene he'd created, Boris cleared his throat. 'Do you still think the great leader cares for us?'

Defeated, Sasha gave no response. What could he say? There was no glory in this; no way to harvest victory from the scattered ruins of these people's lives.

A shrill, high pitched whistle rang out, snapping every soldier to attention.

'Germans have been spotted along the river,' called their battalion leader. 'Arms at the ready!'

'On your feet,' shouted Boris, jumping over the line to pull Sasha to his feet.

Sasha stumbled up, letting the girl's head drop to the floor as he readied his weapon. He turned to check that Danya and Micha had caught up, then together they charged away to find appropriate cover.

He didn't look back at the girl he'd left on the street. There was no time.

Such was the nature of war.