The Starless Nights

Pte Vacslav Tretiak looked up at the night sky. It reminded him of his home of Petrolow. His father raised sheep, and when Vacslavwas old enough, he would go out as a shepherd to look after his father's sheep herd. This he would do for 3-4 days, then get relieved by his brother. Then in 3-4 days he would be back shepherding and protecting his herd.
The main threat was wolves, a lesser threat was sheep just wandering off. So far from others, poachers were of little concern. Vacslav spent many nights on the steppes with his herd of sheep. He gradually identified star systems, and he had an uncle that pointed out the big bear and the small bear. Vacslav soon learned that the north star could be easily found if one can identify Ursa Major, the big bear or big dipper. As he followed his herd of sheep, he tried to keep then on his father's land in reference to the north star.

Pte Peter Richter was the son of a bricklayer. He soon learned how to work with his hands. But as much as he had a head start to become a manual labourer, like a bricklayer, he also had a desire to write. His town of Heclkingdorf had produces a few good writers in its time. He worked in his early teens as a labourer, but still kept an interest in a higher education.

Unfortunately, for this story, their paths would cross at the gates of Hell that was Stalingrad. They were drafted and after training sent to Stalingrad at about the same time. They both were keen to enter the fray, and each considered it a good battle to fight for. Soon they got worn down by constant shelling and death. German reinforcements dwindled to a trickle, and not many Russian troops survived the crossing of the Volga.

The clatter of the tanks;
The clatter of the tommy gun;
Get to the prize before the Yanks;
General Staff is sorry for your son.

Monty is a British Bastard;
Patton is a psychopath;
How to kill troops faster;
Push the troops to the Nazis wrath.

2 arrogant assholes;
Turn the tide of war into a partridge beat;
Every day they have syrup in their bowls,
Troops thaw out their frozen feet.

Many missions we have done;
Try to push the Muslim side;
We should have thrown the first stone;
But the jabones will cry genocide.

We are all under the stars;
See them here, see them there;
Flashing lights in the bars;
It almost seems too fair.

To the brink of total war;
We all seem to hate each other;
Who will be the first to push the bar;
Every head shot has a mother.

Arseholes, muslims and druggies;
Aren't there immigration rules?;
Immigration staff are not old fogies;
They are stupid fools.

Lector was a chosen one;
Hate someone, make them dead;
WOP operas was the tone;
Another novel to be read.

How was your life?
Did you accomplish anything?
Was it filled with any strife?
Did you answer every ring?

Was your life 9-5?
Have you got a doggy shrink?
Do you even know what life is?
Force yourself to the brink.

American TV reality shows;
Loser yanks with no life;
They are all the size of cows;
A life of privilege with no strife.

Our soldiers have done their task;
Answered every mission statement;
No need for any mask;
Their mission may as well be cement.

This civvie lif is OK;
The beer store is so near;
Live my life day to day;
Nothing left to fear?

They never knew it could be so dark. They were used to the woods at night, but against an enemy, the night was too dark and scary. Both sides patrolled each other's defences; they snatched prisoners and the next night we would. And then some relative calm and quiet.

They and we knew the battlefield, and understood further patrolling was unnecessary. They were in their holes and basements; we were in ours. Their guns knew the range, and ours also. Snipers slithered around both sides of the front lines, truly a dance macabre. Both sides knew what was coming, a battle to the end. Say your prayers or choke your chicken, whatever felt better. Soon the flares would be fired, whistles will be blown. A totally useless waste of mankind, they only hoped to kill a few before their own miserable death.